She stood at his grave, and lay flowers. He had died 6 years after Hogwarts, at a Battle in the Ministry. Voldemort had been killed, she thought, but at a heavy price.
A single tear slid gently down her cheek as she kissed the name on the tombstone. It was cold and unfeeling. Rather like you, yes? Her voice sounded dead, even to her ears. She glimpsed her face in a puddle near her feet: Harry was right, she sighed miserably. She was a walking corpse. Her hair hung in ragged curls, matted around her face. Her cheeks were sunken and hollow, her eyes draped with dark purple circles.
She was unrecognizable compared to the smiling girl in the photo... it was a wizarding photo, so every so often, her and the... boy... in the photo would turn, she would grin adoringly and he would kiss her.
She sat and watched it replay for what felt like hours through her eyes. It would haunt her nightmares later, she knew.
Her mind flashed images of them through her mind: the way he'd looked at her at the Yule Ball, the first proper time he noticed her; the way his jaw dropped, and he'd watched her blush as he'd asked her to dance; his smile at her shy yes. She wanted nothing more than to go back to that night, the night that everything changed, and You Know Who rose again.
She wanted him to look at her again, with the silver grey eyes that shone like moonlight; the voice that drawled, lazily captivating, enthralling all who listened; the confidence mistook for arrogance; the way he listened, and occasionally proved her wrong; their heated debates in their common room over absolutely nothing. They could argue the time of day, she thought. And occasionally we did, came the afterthought, bathing her in a glow of bitter reminiscence.
Her heart ached as she thought of the night before Halloween, when they had sat at the fire in their common room. How he'd looked at her like she meant the earth; how her heart skipped a beat when he said her name; the jolt she felt when his hand brushed hers.
Closing her eyes, her mind drifted backwards, blocking the pain. She was in agony every second of every day. It was like a piece of her died with him. She was always empty, always broken. She knew what could fix her, she just couldn't face moving on just yet. Why should I, she thought angrily.
'You were stupid enough to turn your back on your father!' She pounded the soft, plush grass beneath her. 'You thought he wouldn't curse you because you're blood!' She spat the next few words out, her tears bleeding like rivers down her face. Her body wracked as her throat closed up, a rasping sob choking her words. She smudged her arm across her face, wiping her eyes viciously. 'You know what? I was blood too. Just not the right kind for us to have 'worked.'' Her mouth contorted into a sneer, a smirk that changed her face to something bitter and ugly. She looked hateful and wrong.
'We were the Heads of Hogwarts,' she smiled through her tears. 'Us!', she laughed. 'Dumbledore's final attempt at house unity.' She cringed slightly at the mention of the former Headmaster. She knew what he had meant to him. 'We got so caught up in being at eachothers throats, we didn't realise when we fell in love.' She wiped more tears from her face: then stopped, she let them flow freely. 'We wanted everyone to be like us. To be so... happy. We were going to save the world.' Her smile faded. 'We were such fools, weren't we?' She paused, her smile faltering.
'Look,' she caught a snowflake in her hand and held it to the name on the tombstone. 'Its snowing. Like back at Christmas! Do you remember that, at Hogsmeade that year? We were by the Shrieking Shack... Harry terrified you!' She laughed fondly at the memory. 'Everything was simple then. Nobody died.' She cocked her head, imagining him scolding her for being silly. 'Well, apart from Quirrell. And the Riddle in the Diary.'
The tears caught up with her, 'I miss you so much, you know. It's just not the same without you.' She stood back up, her eyes resting on the name on the tombstone.
'I thought you'd like to know: Ronald and Pansy are doing really rather well, despite everything. They're still happy. Pansy's pregnant,' She cringed: Pansy was awful at the best of times, but a hormonal Pansy? She knew he would have had the same reaction, and probably a load of witty comebacks for all of Pansy's snappy remarks. 'If its a boy they said they're going to name it Draco. Isn't that lovely?' She wiped more tears from her cheeks, 'And Narcissa if its a girl.'
She knelt and placed the roses onto the snow-covered grave. It was picturesque, beautiful. The gold in the tombstone caught in the winter sunlight. Her eyes were full of tears and silent promises. She vowed with all of her heart that one day, Lucius Malfoy would pay for this.
'Merry Christmas Draco. I love you.'