AN: This is another exercise for my creative writing class that I turned into a fanfic. The original handwriting version of this is way shorter, and I like this one much more. I won't tell you who the narrator is; you get to figure that out on your own. (It's not that hard to tell, really.)
I can't believe I was afraid of Malfoy. Of Malfoy! Would anyone believe it? I know I never acted like it, but I was. Terrified of him, in fact. He'd stare at me with those piercing silver eyes full of malice, a wicked smirk on his lips, and a wand firmly in his hand, and I knew that if he really wanted to curse me, he'd do it, and he wouldn't hold back. If he wanted to cause me pain, he'd cast the Cruciatus without a second thought. If he wanted to humiliate me, his stupid Virginity Spell always did nicely. If I collapsed in the Great Hall or in class, he'd always be the first to react, but he'd never help me. I was afraid that he'd be able to kill me if he ever had to or wanted to.
I'm not afraid of Malfoy anymore. I haven't been for years.
I can't believe I was intimidated by Malfoy, either. I was no longer afraid of him, but when he'd stalk across a room toward me with that sexy swagger he always had, I'd stare at him wide eyed and wouldn't be able to move a centimetre. I'd watch him come closer and closer until he was shoving me back against a wall, his body pressed tight against mine. I wouldn't fight when he kissed me, or rubbed against me, or slammed into me. I'd let him do what he wanted with me, because it felt so good and I couldn't think when we were close, and he was experienced and he intimidated me.
I'm not intimidated by Malfoy anymore. Now I'm the one that does the stalking.
I can't believe she never told me she knew about us. She'd known since sixth year, when she'd walked in on us once, and she'd never breathed a word of it. She'd watched us in seventh year and saw how many times week we met, as we just couldn't get enough of each other, and how sometimes I limped and winced when I moved, and sometimes he did, and how we'd sneak secret smiles to each other across the Hall, and how sometimes one of us couldn't wait for night to come and dragged the other into an abandoned classroom at break, and how we sent each other special Christmas presents and Valentine's cards. And she'd never said a word.
Of course, she never mentioned it to Ron either; I've silently thanked her for that.
I can't believe how many years it's been since I died in Draco's arms. I was in so much pain–I'd been hit by the Blood-Letting Curse and it was killing me so slowly I almost asked him to kill me himself to end it. Even covered in my blood, he look so beautiful, like an angel; he always has when he's smiling or worried. He kept telling me in a shaky voice that I was going to be alright, that Snape was on his way and he had a potion that would make me better, and I couldn't summon the breath to tell him that it had been Snape that had cast this on me in the first place so he probably wasn't coming at all. I remember something wet hitting my cheek as he leaned over me. Then he kissed me and I was in heaven, and when I opened my eyes again I saw him crying over my body from above for an instant before I was forced away into the land of the dead.
He followed me into death. The amount of power he used to destroy Voldemort for me killed him, though thankfully it was quick. I was almost afraid that he'd become a ghost, thinking I had, and wander the earth searching for me fruitlessly. But he came and found me in the beyond instead, and it seems like that was only yesterday, though it must have been fifty years ago.
I can't believe how far we've come.