Summary: The secret behind his heart of stone is revealed. Draco tries to deal with the loss of a loved one while reliving his past through a goodbye letter.
Categories: Works in Progress Characters: None
Compliant with: None
Era: None
Genres: Drama, Mystery, Romance
Warnings: Character Death
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 4
Completed: No
Word count: 3912
Read: 11089
Published: Jul 21, 2006
Updated: Nov 14, 2007
1. Introduction: “It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.” by kenzie
2. Chapter 1 Letter by kenzie
3. Chapter 2 Chocolate Frogs by kenzie
4. Chapter 3 Looney Love by kenzie
Introduction: “It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.” by kenzie
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: The only charachters that are mine in this story are the children. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling.
This is my First D/G story so I would very much appreciate your thoughts on the beginning before I continue on. I would also like to thank Wolfstar for the wonderful beta.
My Dearest Ginevra,
I guess you could say today was one of those ‘get out of bed and hope for the best’ days. That’s how my morning started at least. Mother came over to watch the children. Of course, I wasn’t actually aware they needed to be watched, but then again, I wasn’t aware Father had signed me up for a counseling session. I guess the blame lies squarely on my shoulders. So, to the doctor I went, kicking and screaming, naturally. She fed me a bunch of shite about mental healing and whatnot. I know you don’t believe it polite to do as such; however, I began to tune out around prescription potions. To think, that kneazle-brained, Hufflepuff twit thinks I am in need of mind altering potions.
After the session I was accosted by your family and made to take part in the weekly Weasley rituals. I don’t know how I ever make it through Sunday brunches at the Burrow. Your father just pats me on the shoulder and gives me one of his ‘I know how you're feeling’ forlorn looks of despair. Your mother pulls me into one of her bone-crushing hugs while at the same time asking how I was feeling today. I always reply with the tight-lipped, “I’m fine,” to which I receive yet another pat on the back from your father, and a bit of watery eyes from your mother. It’s enough to make Merlin himself run out of the house screaming. We all can’t be as strong as I am, though. I am beyond blaming others for their shortcomings. Mother and Father were at the Burrow this Sunday as well. You would be rather surprised to see how pleasantly they have begun to get along.
Mother brought the children with her and I don’t recall ever feeling more at ease to see them. I’m afraid I have become quite overprotective when it comes to them. Could you blame me though? Lillian's holding up rather well, or at least that is the side she shows to everybody. She is so much like her father, it’s almost scary. I wake every morning and listen for Asher’s tiny feet running down the corridor, trying to reach my door before Lillian catches him and scolds him for disturbing 'Da'. You’ll be pleased to note that although he is very much in my own likeness, his character bears no resemblance to mine. He is, without a doubt, his mother’s son. It hurts when I think about how much he will miss with your absence.
I wish everyone would just leave me alone sometimes. It’s not like I’m lying in bed crying and whatnot. I try and forget the pounding in my head as I look over at your side of the bed only to find it bare again. It hurts more and more because I can almost feel you in my dreams. They seem so real. I can feel your hair tickling my stomach as you lay your head on my chest. I can feel your breath on my lips as you close your eyes and drift off. Then, blindingly, cruel reality sets in, and I open my eyes to find myself once again alone, in a bed that you picked out, in a room that you so lovingly decorated. The worst of it is reliving that tiny moment where I once again believed that you were here. It is in these moments where I wish I could make the world go away. I wish death would come and end my misery. Never in my life before you would I have ever imagined feeling this way. I was always taught that fear was a shameful emotion. If it is true, then ashamed is what I am. Each night I am afraid to close my eyes, afraid that I will slip into my dreams of you. What’s worse is my fear of the morning, when you will be ripped away from my dream world with the dawning of a new day.
Chapter 1 Letter by kenzie
Author's Notes:
Sorry for the delay. Thanks go to Wolfstar for the beta.
~Kenzie
As he wiped the sleep from his eyes, he pictured her there lying next to him. Everyone told him it would get easier as time passed. They obviously hadn’t lost the love of their life. There was no use agonizing over something he had no control over; he had been down that road before and wasn’t about to go back. The parchment lay on the desk by the window overlooking the garden. As hard as he tried, he could not bring himself to continue the letter. It seemed life had begun with a letter. A small, worn, scrap of parchment he carried with him always. Her first letter to him had been a beacon of hope in a very troubled world, ‘Meet me at 1:00 by the pitch.’ She had signed off with only her initials, but he knew exactly who the bit of parchment was from before he opened it. He had been watching her since his fifth year.
It was nine months to the day exactly since the accident, but it felt as if a century had passed him by. In a fit of anger he had tried to destroy everything in the house that reminded him of her. In the end, he had only succeeded in banishing all her things to the upstairs attic, where he promised himself he would never go. All that was left of her in their room was an unopened letter and her memory. Try as he might, her memory would never leave. It was not only ingrained in every aspect of this room. She would forever be a part of his soul, a piece that he could not afford to loose. The unopened letter had been tucked away in his desk drawer. Every once in a while he would play with the notion of reading it. Try as he might though, he could never bring himself to open it. He hadn’t the faintest idea what might be in the letter. A part of him kept repeating over and over again, that as long as the letter remained sealed, he would still carry with him one of her secrets; one last message, that if left unopened would leave the writer forever alive. If the letter remained closed, then he could never really admit that all of her was gone. She still had one more thing to say and he couldn’t kill her yet.
On Monday mornings such as these the normal routine would be to sit in bed for a good part of the morning and wait for the kids to rise. Ever since the accident he had been taking his work home with him, not able to bear being away from them for too long. During these early hours before the sun came up, he would sit and think about the years before they were married. He couldn’t honestly say that those years were less hectic than the ones after Hogwarts.
There was a war going on and his family had been in the middle of it. Two years before the war ended his father had changed his allegiance and pledged himself to Dumbledore. All that it took for a change of heart was the brutal death of a friend at the hands of his sister-in-law. Rodolphus Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy had been friends since childhood. They were both wealthy, both purebloods, and both married to Black women. Fortunately for his father, Rodolphus and he did not share one thing. Lucius wasn’t killed at the hands of his wife. It was during these trying months that he first began his infatuation with the flame haired beauty.
She was exquisite to say the least. He had memorized every inch of her porcelain skin that wasn’t hidden beneath her Hogwarts uniform. He could close his eyes and picture where every single freckle lay. They were no longer scattered dots marring her perfect skin. They had taken the form of golden stars in a sky of opaque beauty, and he could recite every constellation. At first being the high and mighty, wealthy pureblood snob that he was, he deemed this obsession as a form of treason, punishable by death. A year before the war ended he happened upon a nauseating couple sitting in the corner of The Three Broomsticks. It wasn’t until he got up to leave that he realized who one half of that duo was. Anger, jealousy, and hurt filled his eyes. There she was, his secret obsession, his unreachable fantasy, in the arms of some foul, bleeding heart, noble Gryffindor ponce. At that very moment in time he pledged himself to the task of making her his. There was no longer concern of wealth or family. She had Malfoy written all over her; it was her destiny. And so, with that thought in mind, the games began.
Even though his proclamation of want was, in his own mind, rather impressive, in reality he hadn’t a clue as to the proper way to approach the situation. He spent many a sleepless night strategizing in an effort to create the most fabulous battle plan the world had ever seen, or so he thought. His so called efforts were in vain, for she clearly was not impressed by the so-called tactics that elicited his usual charm. Imagine that, a young witch of pureblood stature (however deluded it may have been by mixing with such miscreants as Pothead and Granger) who was not impressed by the flaunting of wealth and status. Most times he couldn’t pull them off quick enough. She however, his one desire, cared little for his timely thought out displays of superiority and he couldn’t fathom why. In truth she had seemed almost disgusted. To think, someone disgusted by wealth and stature. It was unheard of, that’s what it was. After a thoroughly devastating loss the score stood Universe: 1, Draco: 0. He needed to reevaluate his strategy and try again. A Malfoy never quit.
All of a sudden he was pulled from his reverie by a tiny knock at his door signaling Lillian’s arrival. With a resounding sigh he called for her to enter. From his door peeked a tiny head covered in a mass of brilliant fire-red curls.
“Da, Asher and I are ready for the day, and Millie says breakfast will be ready shortly.” It amazed him how brave she was trying to be. She had silently taken over her mother’s usual task of preparing Asher in the morning along with a few other daily rituals. At the age of nine she’d shown great maturity in the aftermath of the accident, events he would wish to Obliviate from his memory entirely. It worried him to no end that perhaps she was growing up too fast. He wanted so badly to make everything better. He just couldn’t find a way to alleviate his own pain. How was he even to begin to ease hers?
Chapter 2 Chocolate Frogs by kenzie
Author's Notes:
I am so very sorry about the delay. Unfortunately school comes first. I would like to thank Wolfstar for the wonderful beta.
~Kenzie
P.S. Every other chapter will feature a new excerpt from Draco's letter, and these chapter's will be short. The chapter's depicting his present day will be much longer. Enjoy!
…Serene, that was the look on your mother’s face the day of the funeral. I remember sitting in one of those oversized, moth-eaten chairs with Asher in my lap, trying to hide from the world. I scanned the room to make sure that Lillian was still in sight, and I saw your mother sitting quietly amidst the crying and the declarations of sorrow. She looked upon the scene with a distinguished calm about her. I remember thinking how odd that she, the Weasley matriarch, the kind, caring soul that everyone knew her to be had yet to shed a tear on what should have been one of the worst days of her life. As I sat there, anger began to fill the very depths of my soul. She may have buried one child already; how on earth does that give her the right to not grieve for her only daughter? Every witch and wizard there had an expression of grief etched across their features, clearly visible to anyone who might happen by, everyone except the one woman who should have been inconsolable.
A month passed before I learned the true reason for her placid state on the day we had both tried unsuccessfully to forget. She sat me down and held my hands in hers, a gesture which I’m sure could not have been more unnerving. She began to regale me with stories of your happy childhood, many of them I remembered from our days at Hogwarts. As each story passed through her wearied lips, so too did the one emotion I earlier believed she had forgotten. With each happy occasion the tears began to fall, until sorrow pouring from her eyes became a river mapping the life lines strewn across her face. With her head buried in her apron she cried freely. I never would have imagined being privy to such an outburst of emotion, and truthfully I will admit, the very act she displayed left me alarmed and uncomfortable. I could not leave her to cry in a kitchen by herself; at the same time, I could not fathom what should be done to cease this torrent of despair she so surprisingly unleashed upon me. What she uttered next firmly cemented my original theory regarding your family’s lunacy. “She’ll never eat another chocolate frog.” That statement alone, I believe, would be enough grounds for having her committed. Perhaps I would not have to suffer your mother’s unusual form of torture every Sunday if I had.
That idiot counselor told me that grief comes in all sorts of forms, and some rot about five stages to acceptance. Why people would want to constantly dwell on their hidden emotions is beyond even my comprehension. What the purpose of spilling your soul to some stranger who’s paid to sit behind a desk and spout rubbish, I will never know. I have only been to my second “grief session” and already I’d rather perform an Unforgivable on myself than listen to her speak. I believe the proposition a very noble aspiration of mine seeing as I am the least liked half that once made up our whole. You always hear the joking during happy times when you see couples introducing their significant others as “My better half”. Everyone knew the truth when it came to our relationship. What do they expect of me now that you are no longer here?
After the accident I tried my best to keep everything together. I put on my mask for the rest of the world. As the days grew longer and the seconds seemed like hours, my mask became harder and harder to maintain. I do not understand how all of this can be. The sun still rises and sets. The earth still spins, and at night there are still stars in the sky. It seems as if nothing at all has changed; as if through everything that has happened, the world keeps on going. Why can’t I? Sometimes I feel as though I cannot breathe. Life seems to creep out of me far too slowly. What’s worse is my feeling that I have let down the two people who mean the most to me. What sort of father cannot pull himself together enough to help his children “cope”?
End Notes:
Hoped you liked it so far. The next chapter will be up this weekend.
Chapter 3 Looney Love by kenzie
Author's Notes:
So sorry for the long wait. WIth moving, school, and work, my writing had to be put on the back burner. Big thanks to Wolfstar for the beta.
Narcissa Malfoy Apparated to the foyer, grumbling husband in tow, to search out her elusive son. She was determined to make an appearance today and nothing would stop her. Having contemplated all week with Molly, they had finally come up with a plan. Phase one would begin today and she sure as certain would not disappoint on her end of the bargain.
Draco was situated in his study, a glass of Ogden’s best on the edge of the desk. Lillian and Asher had departed moments before with his former least favorite Weasley and his snippy, overbearing wife, Mrs. Weasley nee Granger. For the life of him, he never understood what Weasley saw in her. She could drive a saint to drink. Draco had never considered himself a saint, far from it actually. For that reason alone he felt fully justified in his half-noon foray into the land of whiskey and wallowing. However, his somewhat induced bliss was interrupted with a loud and quite familiar…
“Draco Lucius Malfoy! How could you?”
Now the headache began. He looked down at the tumbler in his hand and instantly regretted his decision to make his home accessible to all family members. “It will be wonderful,” she had said. “For the children’s safety,” she had said. Apparently, the children’s safety consisted of random and unwarranted visits from one overbearing Narcissa Malfoy.
Here he was again, another Weasley family gathering. Lord how these took their toll. How people could breed so rapidly was beyond him. It seemed every year the number of redheads grew exponentially. He had thought to send the children along with one of their many aunts or uncles so that he might side-step another Weasley family fiasco; however, his mother had thought differently. His own mother, a traitor.
Looking around at the chaos before him, Draco immediately began to search out a head of blond amongst the crowd. Asher was not that hard to misplace seeing as he stood out in any situation, whether it was for his trademark Malfoy locks or his rapid change of moods. He could be quiet and subtle or loud and obnoxious depending on which way the wind was blowing at that moment; a lovely trait passed down by his lovely mother.
He spotted his son almost instantly sitting in the lap of a tall, blonde woman he had yet to recognize. He was contemplating whether to venture over to his children or hide in a corner when his decision was made for him as he was unceremoniously hauled forth by the “traitor” (formerly known as Mother) to the awaiting blonde.
“Draco, close your mouth,” his mother commanded in her most dignified and superior tone. “This is Ms. Lovegood.”
Draco stared in utter amazement. How could this be “Loony Lovegood”? He hadn’t seen her in years. All he remembered of her was the friendship she had shared with his Ginevra during her Hogwarts years. She had become an attractive women, he’d give her that, but no more.
She eyed him curiously as Asher prattled on about this and that. Mrs. Weasley had graciously invited her to this Sunday’s family dinner for some nefarious reason of her own of which she wasn’t quite sure. Ten years had passed since she had seen Ginny, or Draco for that matter. Luna had never intended to stay away for so long. Circumstance, and a bit of luck, had given her the excuse she needed to leave the war-torn country.
Asher began to demand more attention from his new acquaintance; he commanded an audience wherever he was. It wasn’t until this point that Draco finally realized the topic of their conversation. She had been speaking of Ginevra. This one subject was never discussed in the Malfoy home. In the beginning he’d tried to speak of her, but the thought of losing his famed control in front of the children had always resulted in a change of topic.
Mrs. Malfoy and her partner-in-crime, Mrs. Weasley, sat patiently in a corner waiting for phase two of their master plan to begin. They had both been good on their end of the deal and anxiously anticipated the fruits of their labor. However, the fruits soon spoiled as a very discrete “ahem” could be heard behind them.
Lillian Malfoy was too smart for her own good. Every inch of her screamed Weasley, but in truth she was a Malfoy, right down to that infamous smirk that now graced her dainty features. She had a way of laying the guilt on anyone she deemed deserving. Severus himself wouldn’t go near her for fear of apologizing for something he considered to be absolutely nothing. This skill, Narcissa was loath to admit, came directly from her side of the family, and never had she imagined in all her “ahem” forty-five years of living that her perfect granddaughter would use it against her.
“I do hope you aren’t trying to replace my mummy with someone so wholly undeserving as that.”
There it was, that sinking feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach after having been caught in the act of treachery. Lillian knew she had succeeded in thwarting their efforts for the time being. Her father didn’t need the world's most infamous busybodies playing matchmaker. She made her graceful exit and continued on her way to the kitchen knowing that her small victory would be short-lived.
Draco had finally closed his mouth and excused himself, making his way towards the back of the house. He contemplated the possibility of making an unnoticed attempt to leave. They would surely hunt him down if he tried. Between the two of them, his mother and Molly Weasley were a force to be reckoned with. He finally decided the upstairs would be his best bet. He made his way up the old rickety steps, careful not to make a sound. With a silent prayer to every deity he could think of, he held his breath and opened the first door he came to.
Sod the deities, sod them all. He had stepped into a room adorned from ceiling to floor in nothing but pink frills. His breath caught in his throat and his stomach immediately began to revolt. Try as he might to hold it in, the famous Malfoy control was about to fall. The world was surely against him, he realized that now. As he sat down on the four-poster bed complete with pink lace and little red roses, memories began to flood his mind. They were horribly happy memories of a time long past, a time he was loath to remember now.
~*~
It was twilight and her parents had retired for the evening. The day boasted happiness and celebration for The Dark Lord had been killed and Harry “Sodding” Potter had saved the day just as everyone knew he would. After the parties and reuniting with loved ones, everyone was exhausted. The war had dealt a heavy blow to the side of Light and they were only just recovering.
They had quietly slipped up to her room, unnoticed by the many throngs of family and friends. He remembered her embarrassment at the childish features of her tiny room. The pink in no way described her character. He had been nervous at first, though he never showed it. The thought of her six brothers walking in on them would have sent a lesser wizard running. She looked radiant in a plain cotton sundress. Her hair had been swept up in a messy pile atop her head. He couldn’t remember her ever looking as lovely as she did at that moment. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in her eyes even though most girls, he knew, would be afraid at the prospect of their first time. She trusted him completely and the warmth that filled him entirely from knowing this was a feeling he longed to recapture.
End Notes:
Hoped you liked it so far. The next chapter will be up this weekend if all goes well. Please review.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.