I keep my original dedication, to Epiphanies, Liebling, and Spectrosilver I can only hope to write as well as you three do.
Rain was falling on the Malfoy Manor, though the young woman clothed in fine black robes, standing next to the slab of black marble fails to care.
"Draco. It…it's me again." She states her tone barely above a whisper.
"I'm here again, as I said I would yesterday. I think I'm ready to speak now…I know the past three days have been me sobbing and trying not to. Well, I suppose it makes up for the past twenty-one years of my life when crying was not an option. Remember me telling you whenever you'd listen, not often that is, 'Parkinsons don't cry'? But, the number of times I actually did, they became just words, just words.
"I spoke at your funeral, three days ago. As I promised I would….in…what was it, second year? I think that was the year we really became good friends. Vividly, I remember us promising when one of us died the other would add a bit to their funeral. Just a few days ago, you gave me that privilege. I made you write down what you were to say, just as I did. I might still have that bit of parchment somewhere. You called me mental, you called me 'Parkinson', I retorted with some immature insult. But, that was the way things were…I wouldn't have had it any other way. Draco, I scarcely believe you would remember I don't expect you to. I was content in a naïve sort of way in my fairytales. This is anything other then one.
"People pitied me three days ago, a widow at the age of twenty-one. I despise being pitied, another thing we had in common. Was there really that many? You were twenty-two I always fancied twenty-two would be the best year of our life. Twice as old as when we first entered the castle, it seemed so perfect. Bloody Potter, who had to go and become an auror. If I was there I would have begged them to perform the curse on me as well. Yes, you heard me correctly Malfoy, I would have begged for you.
"Potter was called a hero once more in the papers then, where the word 'hero' is a complete matter of opinion. How can I think him a hero? How can the mothers and wives…and family of victims call him a hero? Even if the person was considered 'bad', would that make someone love them any less?
"Your mother's here, at the manor, she is possibly the only person who knew you better than I. She has lost too much now to think straight, I hate to admit the truth. And that scares me.
"I remember our school years, how during the first two I fancied Zabini. I believe everyone knew that. The real reason was that I couldn't have you. You were always off with some girl I considered prettier than I even at that young age. We were the best of friends, Draco, 'The Golden Trio' was always second best.
"Remember how almost every other night in the common room you would take your brandy with whipped cream? I would wrinkle my nose and warn you of the calories while I sipped my own firewisky. But you just rolled your eyes and smirked at me, as always. Did that smirk ever really leave your face? Narcissa and I tried that last night, your infamous concoction. I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you, Malfoy, and say it was lovely and that I should have realized that years ago, that's not the way things work. It was utterly repulsive, I doubt my taste buds will ever be the same.
"I think I cried in front of you once, just once…back in fourth year, when my father died. I imagine it was your idea of sympathy then, asking me to the Yule Ball and such. It did not occur to me then, not until I've gotten older. I was still ecstatic, you know. If nothing else, that night was perfect.
"It's raining now, I always liked the rain. Rain hides tears. We had our first kiss in the rain, fifth year, do you remember? That evening we'd just had a row and I was screaming at you, later I went outside for some air. You swallowed your pride and came after me...forty-five minutes later and swearing under your breath. I got the worst cold of my life that night. It was worth the embarrassment to go to the hospital wing later, coughing up a lung with swollen lips. I doubt Pomfrey ever believed the lie you fed her about why we were outside, that I eagerly went along with.
"Second to the last memory, love, I know you never were as oddly sentimental as I. One of the first memories I have of you. I think I was five; you were six, at one of my mother's infamous summer garden parties. We were the two children alone upstairs in the manor, with just enough magical power to amuse ourselves for the afternoon. Remember sticking one of the house elves to the ceiling as it tried to serve us tea? Dipsy has never really been the same... Haven't changed much, have we Malfoy?
"I remember our wedding, three years is not nearly enough time. Twenty-two is too young to die, but there you are. Just to tell you I have no intention to remarry, we were perfect for each other and had so many blissful years, even before Hogwarts, as friends. And if you can find that twice, I distrust fate.
"Your mother will be waiting for me, back at the house. I hate to leave, but I will be back tomorrow, and the next day, love. Everyday."
But the woman called "Pansy" seems to think better of leaving right away, hesitating before she spoke as though barely trusting herself to speak. Her voice cracks, laying a few long, bony fingers on the cold, impersonal monument that constantly serves as a reminder of how her life was made hell.
"D-Draco…love…I know we've spoken of this before…long before anything had happened to you. We knew what we were getting ourselves into and, I entertained the façade that I was prepared completely for the worse. And I made a promise to you…to avoid things suicidal. But…but you haven't the faintest idea how it is without you now… Or maybe I'm not giving you the credit you deserve, sweetheart. Either way, Draco…t-tonight…ton-ight…"