Too Much?

Epilogue

Pansy,

If you've read this; then I'm dead right—you really like meddling with other people's business. Because if you didn't, then you'd never get the chance to do otherwise. Odin would never accept a letter from a person to whom the letter itself is addressed; but I also know you're stubborn and cruel enough to force him to accept it. If ever, this bloody letter would come back to me and I would probably burn this to ashes before anyone could discover it.

Well, you should know that this would be the last letter you would ever receive from me. Like ever. I will soon leave this bloody school, and I don't even know when we'd see each other again. I wrote this just to clarify some things I did for the past five years.

When I met you on the train on our first year (you're so ugly back then I'm laughing), I did not tell you that Granger, who sits with you in the compartment, is a mudblood just for you to freak out and leave her alone. I did in the purpose of slightly (just slightly) hoping that you'd sit with us. But I guess I was just too handsome for you to handle that you chose to sit with Blaise instead, who looked more bearable (You can tell him I said that).

When you confessed your feelings to me on our second year, it isn't true that I'm expecting it. I was expecting you to like Blaise and not me—like I said, he looks more bearable. And he go around being the biggest chivalric prat that I ever met when he's around you. I don't expect you to notice because you're dumb, but there's depth whenever he sets his eyes on you—the type of stare I often give you secretly without you looking—sorry, I have a reputation to keep.

I never fully accepted your offer of help because you are bloody careless and stupid in giving excuses—if ever Snape would interrogate you, it would not probably take five full minutes before you give in. I knew that you had detention with Snape back then—Blaise told me. So I waited anxiously for you the whole night, and I spent the entire waiting period debating with myself if I should give the box of Cauldron Cakes to you or just let you starve. In the end, I went to the resort of giving Blaise the credits and just hoped that you'd be smart to enough to read my note underneath the cover.

And I probably should've forcefully grab your arm to heal the bruise I gave you; maybe in that way you could at least realize that I somehow regret hurting you.

Somehow.

But then you didn't talk to me weeks after that; so I thought you've probably gave up on me. It's okay, though—I don't need you anyway. Or maybe so I thought. Or I don't know, I don't want to explain. I was also a little bit resentful about refusing to come with you at the party, because I know we'd not enjoy it anyway. We'd probably leave the place earlier than the others just because we hate the people around so much. But when that stupid Squib caught me lurking in the corridors that forced me to give an excuse of gatecrashing purely because of instinct—I was surprised to see that you're still there, and alright—you look fine. And I never thought you'd look okay with a blonde head. I should've probably risked to exceed my daily limit of spitting out compliments to tell you that—maybe in that way you'll know that sometimes I really find you pretty.

Sometimes.

And please don't ever mention that I fainted right in front of you in the common room that night. I was happy that I woke up before anyone else; in that way, no one ever saw us sleeping together in the couch. Well, maybe except Blaise. I'm sure he was the one who gave you blankets—that's definitely not me, by the way. I don't know if you assumed that was me—and I never got to know, because you never mentioned it again. And I was glad you didn't. I'm just glad.

I saw you flying with him, by the way, and although you're screaming like a lunatic—that was probably the only moment I saw you happy when riding a broom. Don't deny it, wanker, I know you were happy—I know when you are. And although I'm aware you didn't enjoy our little ride at the Siberian Arrow, I'm happy I was able to bring you in the boys' bathroom by accident. You should've seen your face—it was pretty hilarious. I was glad you chose to see Blaise and Daphne instead when you failed to pursue me—because I realized you are slowly, slowly learning to sort out your priorities.

Oh, and I was also glad you didn't give in to my request of coming with us in the middle of the chaos in the Parkinson Palace. If ever you agreed, you'd probably end up surrounded by Death Eaters and only Merlin knows what would happen next if ever that happened. That was probably the only moment I showed you some care but didn't know how to do it right. Good thing you're becoming more rational in making decisions than before. I went to the funeral, by the way, but didn't care to show my face up. I was consumed by second-hand guilt. So I was really surprised when you defended me in front of Norman when we went back to school—you're really an idiot.

I tried my best to apologize by giving lame explanations when we made rounds but you told me you aren't asking for it. I probably should've paralyzed you and force you to listen to my explanations—maybe you will realize how desperate I was to gain your apology. But then you just gave it to me freely when we got drunk after the party. I must say that you shouldn't have—you should've made it hard for me like what you did to Goldstein. In that way, you could've given yourself even the slightest chance of being treated right by at least, giving me what I deserve.

Were you surprised to know I wasn't dating anyone else while we're together? If yes, that's quite offensive. Just because I don't usually show some care it doesn't mean I would go around playing with your overflowing feelings. But you should know that Crabbe and Goyle suggested to use your appearance instead when they disguised as my look-outs; they found your hairbrush in their luggage which you have probably misplaced because you're really careless. But I didn't let them—the same way I didn't agree with their suggestion that you should be the one to hand Bell the package instead. Yes, I wasn't supposed to ask you out that time—but I don't regret doing so, anyway. Because for the record, that was indeed, the first time after years.

Now, I want you to get rid of this bloody letter and to never see me again. You can have Blaise, or anyone else. I know I'm irreplaceable—but at least, get someone that you deserve. We ruined our life enough by dating each other when we could've just been good friends—and let's say, we're just preventing further damage.

I know you'd be glad being in constant trouble with me (and somehow, I would probably be, too—somehow) but you should listen to your father for the first time—stay out of trouble.

And I have your hairbrush by the way, and don't even attempt to take it back—I'll keep it as a souvenir. Don't mention this letter to anyone, and don't be foolish enough to try.

Would probably kill you if you didn't get rid of this as soon as you finished reading,
Draco