Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot. :-)
Read it while listening to the song at the side, alright. It'll definitely set the mood. Hope you guys like it.
~
"But move on, we shall."
Draco stood there, under the pouring rain, with a blank face that would give away nothing to the pain he now felt.
He visited her grave every Saturday at midnight. He would never forget and he would never miss it, no matter how busy or tired he was. He’ll be there. He’ll always be there.
He would never grow tired of her. He’d dream of her, whisper her name, think about her and love her with all his heart and with all his being. ‘Till death do us part.
He brought her flowers, the usual, white daisies. They were her favorite. She never told him but he knew. He’d watch her by the window of the Manor. How she’d have her morning walks in the garden then she’d stop by the daisies. She’d pick the white one up, bring it close to her face, close her eyes and breathe in its scent. Then Draco would think she was never as beautiful as she was right there.
She’d return to their room with the flower in hand and she’d sit next to Draco, who would play the piano every morning. She’d sit there and Draco would feel her warmth and he could smell not only her, sweet lilac with a touch of vanilla, but also her daisy. She’d rest her head on his shoulder and Draco could now feel the warmth all over his body. He would be engulfed in her sweet lilac smell and he’d love every second of it.
“Play our song,” She’d say in a whisper, as if it were a secret she didn’t anyone else to hear. As if it were their secret.
“Anything for you, love.” He’d say in the same tone, his voice filled with so much love and adoration that it would make her smile that smile of hers.
He remembered every single thing about her. He memorized her face just like he memorized his old Potions lessons. Her laugh echoed throughout his head, it kept playing, it never stopped. It was his favorite melody. Sometimes, he’d sleep while clutching her dress just so he can inhale her scent as he cried himself to sleep, so he can fool himself into believing that she was right there, right next to him.
Maybe, just maybe, if he remembered her hard enough, if he remembered every angle, every color, every scent, every sound, and every smile, she’d come back to him. If he tried harder, maybe she’d be back in his arms, whispering his name again.
She never came back.
She’d only visit him in his dreams. He was able to hold her again in his arms, to feel her soft skin against his. Her scent pervaded the air, sweet lilac with a touch of vanilla. He’d bury his face in her dark hair and she’d let out a small laugh. She fit perfectly in his arms and his head fit perfectly at the crook of her neck. Her fingers interlaced with his, his lips against her soft ones. Her melodious laugh filled the air, it was melody to his ears. Their heart beat as one. She was his and he was hers. They were perfect. Everything was perfect.
Until he wakes up, that is.
He’d squint at the moonlight and he’d feel tears in his eyes. He doesn’t even bother to wipe them away. What was the point? He’d continue crying, his sobs getting louder and stronger. His shoulders shook and his chest heaved. Her laugh no longer filled the air, now it was his cries. They sounded so mad, so angry but at the same time, they sounded so desperate and so broken.
He’d continue to cry until the sun would rise. Then he would get up, wash his face and put on his mask, the façade nobody could break through.
He’d wait until Saturday midnight until he could finally fall on his knees and cry and tell her, to shout to the skies, “I need you! Why did you leave me? You promised you wouldn’t! I can’t do this without you. I’m falling apart without you. I can’t go on another day without you!”
