Heliophilia; d.m

XXVII

Goodbyes are always difficult, they leave a bitterness in the soul and a continuous melancholy.
But goodbyes are made for those who love with their eyes, because those who love with their hearts never part.
They always find their way to each other, they are always connected, even through thousands of kilometers.

—

VIOLET

"Write something about me," Draco suddenly said, turning away from the fireplace to face me, "Like you usually write, with all the comparisons and all that."

His pale face was shadowed by the crimson flames that flickered in the fireplace; his eyes glittered either from the reflection of the fire or from the enthusiasm aroused by the idea of me writing something about him.

It was the last day of the sun strip in my life, that is, on the last day when Draco was there with me, I felt a heavy weight on my heart, I felt everything inside me crying and screaming, because it did not want to let him go.

I hadn't wanted to leave him since the morning, because I was incredibly sad — so we walked together through the woods that surrounded the manor, hiding from the rain under the same umbrella, then we sat in the library and he read aloud to me, then we came to the drawing room, and since then we have not left the couch, warming ourselves by the fire.

It reminded me of the times when we'd stay in the Slytherin common room after lights out, lying on the not-so-comfortable couch, our eyes fixed on the fire. It was always fascinating, the sight of dancing flames, short and long, reaching higher, as if they wanted to get out. Looking at the fire, I could see nothing but the light of the flames, my eyes were catching every movement, every shadow, every spark shooting somewhere in the depths.

The fire seemed to be a separate universe, which attracted attention without the possibility of getting out of this hypnosis.
And the fire would always remind me of Draco and our quiet evenings.

"And why would you want me to do that?" I asked, running my finger along his knee. Every touch was a pain and a sinking of the heart, which was ready to burst into a million pieces, like sparks of fire in a fireplace.

"Because I want to know what you think of me."

I thought of him as the sun that warmed me on the coldest days, I thought of him as a ray of light that brought me out of the darkness, I thought of him as the ocean, soothing and mysterious, that wrapped me in its waves, plunging me into the serene depths.

I thought of him as someone I wanted to be with for a long time. I couldn't say all my life, because life's unpredictable, and I couldn't know that tomorrow he would still be with me, or whether I wanted him to be.

I thought of him as my salvation, no matter what happened in my life, he tried to save me, he always did.
He was the little light part that kept me from getting used to the unenlightened darkness.

"Okay, when you come back, whatever happens, I'll be here with written lines about you." The corners of my mouth lifted involuntarily as I saw the joy on his face, struggling to break through the mask of indifference.

"But only if you play me something beautiful on that piano right now." I pointed my finger at the musical instrument that was behind him. I noticed it from the first day I was there, and every day I wanted to hear the melody coming from the keys.

"But how do you—" He frowned, glancing at the instrument, "How do you know I can play the piano?"

"Your mother told me." I giggled and got up from the couch, walking over to the piano, "Come on, play for me."