Sometimes I let myself forget how much he hurt me. For a few moments, I'll be in love with him again. In my mind, at least, we'll be the twenty-somethings we were. I'll allow myself to fall back into the decade where I loved and hated Draco Malfoy.

This usually happens on the mornings when I wake up too early. I'll spend the entire night dreaming of him (which isn't unusual), and the sun will call too early. On those mornings, I'll pull the covers back over my head. I'll roll to the side and curl myself around the warm body next to me. And I'll allow my mind to think back to the days we were together.

It took me a long time to realize there was more good in our relationship than bad. After it was over, I once said we made a relationship of hurting each other. It took me a long time to realize how wrong I was. There was good, because I loved him. At the age of nineteen, I discovered there was more to Draco Malfoy than anyone at Hogwarts ever wanted to find out. He was still sarcastic and hateful. But I found that with age, his edges didn't cut me like I thought they would.

I could elaborate on the things I discovered about him, but over time I found this practice to be a complete waste of time. Anyone who wasn't a Slytherin already had a well-formed opinion of him. I've spent countless hours trying to convince my Mum and Dad, or one of my brothers, that Draco wasn't nearly as horrible as he seemed. Sometimes I think they almost believed me, and sometimes they walked away hating him more than ever. In the end, it did no good.

The person I knew was known entirely to me. Draco was completely different when he was with someone else, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't accurately describe the man I loved. I gave up trying after our fourth year together. I loved him and he loved me; and that was what mattered.

I can still remember the morning he left me. I remember the argument we had, I remember the hateful things I said, and I remember how defeated he looked. If I could go back and change one thing, I would tell him I understood. Had our positions been reversed – had it been my father – I would have ignored him as well. I would have turned my back on everything I believed in, just to be with my dad. Or so I tell myself.

It's been nearly four years now, since that fateful morning. Since then I've experienced a variety of emotions concerning Draco Malfoy: love, hate, fear, envy, jealousy, but none as strong as regret. How much I regretted those last moments together. Had I known… had I one inkling of what was coming, I would have changed those last moments.

I would have…

"Mum?"

I pulled the blankets from over my head and stared down at my son. "Yes?"

"You're in my bed," he said. "Again."

I blushed, even though I had nothing to be ashamed of. "You used to like to sleep with me."

"When I was a baby," he told me. I bit my lip, thinking he was the spitting image of his father at that age. "I'm nine now, Mum."

"I know," I sighed heavily.

A look of concern crossed his features. "Are you alright, Mum?"

"I'm fine."

He narrowed his eyes, exactly like his father would. "Mum."

I couldn't stop the rush of tears. He was exactly like Draco. "Today is your father's birthday, love."

His hand immediately reached for mine. I knew he didn't know what to say – he was only nine. And he never asked for any of this. He didn't ask to be born a Malfoy, he certainly didn't ask for his father to leave us, and he never asked to have an emotional mess for a mother. "I'll be fine, dear."

A small hand reached for the edge of the blanket and tugged at it. I stifled a smile, knowing it was exactly what Draco might have done, had he been here. Once I was fully covered, he slipped from beneath the sheets. I didn't protest – he was nine, and it wasn't entirely proper for him to be sleeping in the same bed with his mother. I let him tuck me in, as if I were the child and he the parent, and accepted a kiss on my forehead. "Go back to sleep, Mum."

I nodded, already closing my eyes. I longed for dreams of Draco. I needed to see his smile, or hear his voice, or perhaps have his arms around me. I needed him today. For today I could forget how much he hurt me, how much I hated him. I hated him because I loved him so much.

Four years now… he was thirty-five today, and if he were here, I would tease him about how close to forty he was. Draco, being Draco, would likely pout and refuse to get out of bed for most of the day. I squeezed my eyes closed tighter at the rush of emotion I felt.

I hated him. He left me in this wretched place, all alone, raising his heir. What I hated most though, was how I couldn't hate him at all.