I loved you.
Once.
I’m positive it was love – it’s just like they described in those romance novels that Hermione reads. The funny feeling in the stomach, as if I was going to burst into tears at any second, because I were just so, so happy. The sadness whenever you were upset, and the desire to make you happy, even if it meant letting you go. The sweet certainty that you were feeling the same about me. It wasn’t hard to feel like I was in a living romance novel.
I’d have done anything for you. I’d have walked away if it were good for you. I watched you when you were sleeping, amazed at how boyish and innocent you looked. Your blonde hair, falling over the pillow when it wasn’t slicked back. All defences abandoned you in your sleep, and I remember feeling oh, so privileged that you would allow yourself to be relaxed when I was there.
It couldn’t last, I knew that. But I was happy while it did, and I didn’t want to think about it ending. You were a Malfoy, though, and I was never in your class. I accepted that. I never dreamt of marriage, or children, or even of a house together. I dreamt of pretty lights, and dancing in the rain and snow with you. There was never any doubt in my mind about how good you were, how sweet and innocent you were underneath your façade.
Dear God, you were everything I ever wanted. I suppose it was partly to do with my ‘bad boy’ complex, my need to change the bad ones into good. That was part of the reason I fell for Tom, because he was so evil, and I, being the little fool I was, listened when he spoke of wishing to be like everyone else. In my mind, he was as good as Harry. And so were you.
You hid it well. You hid the ruthlessness as well as you hid the tenderness, if not better. In the end, you came across as a snide prat, and nothing more. I know that Ron cursed you often, but I never thought any more of it. Just like I never questioned Tom’s jokes about Muggles and Mudbloods. I guess it’s almost harsh to compare Tom with you – you never had plans for world domination. But I can’t help but feel wrathful sometimes, especially about the way you took me from Harry.
Now, I’m not blaming anyone, you must recognise that. After all, I loved you more than anything. I haven’t felt that way since I met you. But I’m married now, and I can’t help but feel remorse about the way you shattered my illusions, especially about Harry.
I never loved Harry, not the way I do you. But, he’s secure, and safe. He won’t hurt me the way you did. Of course, if anything happened to him, I’ll certainly be upset, but nonetheless, I wish you were still with me. I dream of marriage to you now. Ironic, isn’t it? But that’s just the point – life is ironic.
As I said before, I’m not blaming you. I’d never blame you. I loved you. Once. It has to be once. I can’t still love you, not after all these years. Not when I’m married, not when I have commitments to other people. But I just can’t help but think that perhaps you knew what you were getting me into. That perhaps – just maybe – you understood what you were doing to me. What was going to happen.
Sometimes it happens like that. Flashes of insight, some people call it. You never believed in that, though, did you? You’d just call it logic. You were a strong believer in logic.
It still hurts that you believed logic more than you believed me. I know that perhaps I wasn’t the best choice at that point in time, but I was pregnant with your child. You never knew that, did you? I never ended up telling you. It doesn’t matter now though. She died in my arms, a week after she was born. I called her Elisabeth, after your grandmother. She was so beautiful. My only regret is that I never got to announce her to the world. She was like a shameful little secret.
We had lots of those, didn’t we? Secrets. Our affair. Our love. Our friendship. And, of course, we lied to each other. Almost every night. Do you remember that?
Promise me you’ll never leave.
I promise you.
Yes, we were quite the Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps you haven’t heard of the story. It’s about two star-crossed lovers, with families who hate each other. We could have been them. Of course, they both die in the end, and they never had children. Or sex, for that matter.
Do you remember the night when it rained? You fulfilled all my dreams that night. I think you must have read my diary, because you did exactly when I’d written. I didn’t mind, though. It started raining, and you looked outside, then smiled slightly and pulled me off the couch. We ran through the corridors and out the gates. There was a large beech tree near the lake, and you pulled me along, then started to twirl me, as if keeping in motion would keep us together for longer. You’d have known your fate by then, and it’s bittersweet to realise that you didn’t tell me, that you wanted to protect me.
You were like my brothers, only, you were much closer to me. I loved you, after all. Oh, I loved them, but I was in love with you. It made all the difference. I can’t be anymore. Now I’m in love with Harry. At least, I should be. I don’t know if I am. It’s so tame, so mature. There’s no laughing and playing in the rain. It’s about security. I suppose there might be different kinds of love, but I loved you so much then that I don’t think I could accept Harry’s love if you were here.
But then, you aren’t. You could have been. Do you remember when your father found out about me, and threw you out of the house? You came to me then, and I accepted you with open arms. It must have been nice to know how much I loved you. I took on my whole family for you that night, but it didn’t matter. Not then.
It sort of hurts now, though. I was so close to alienating my family that I honestly think I could have ended up on the street too. It’s almost possible that they only put up with you because they didn’t want a repeat of what Percy did to my family. And so they kept the peace.
Do you remember, in the beginning? I used to stare at you, fascinated about you. The way you moved to gracefully, the colour of your hair, how pale you were? They all served to make me completely besotted. I remember you catching me at it, how you used to raise your eyebrow and look away, and look back when you thought I’d been distracted.
It hurt so much when you stopped looking back. I never told you about the baby. It’s always possible that you read my diary again. Actually, it’s more than possible. But when I found out about the baby, all of a sudden, you stopped looking back at me.
I caught you when you fell...where were you when it was my turn?
According to my brothers, you were off screwing Pansy Parkinson. But then, you’d told me that you couldn’t stand the sight of her, and the disgust on your face was not the kind that could be faked. I know where you were now, of course. And I almost couldn’t forgive them for lying to me. But...I was three months pregnant, and I doubt anyone would have minded if you didn’t go and get yourself killed. Except perhaps Voldemort.
I didn’t believe it when they’d told me. I thought there should be some sort of flash of insight, some sort of emotion. I didn’t even realise until the next day that you weren’t beside me in bed. Then Professor Snape came barging into your bedroom, to find me asleep in your bed. He was wild with grief. It’s the only time I’ve seen him show anything but disdain to a Gryffindor. At first he was surprised to see me there, but then he told me.
You’d run off in the night; confronted Dumbledore and then Voldemort. You’d gotten yourself killed.
And all of a sudden, I was sinking so low that not even seeing you could have helped me. I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep. And then, I had Elisabeth.
I nearly died having her. I almost haemorrhaged. But I was so pleased, so alive when I saw, all of a sudden, that you weren’t gone. I had part of you there with me. And then she left, too.
In the end, I married Harry. I don’t love him as I should, but I’d grieve if anything happened to him. I just wouldn’t grieve like I did for you.
Because once upon a time, I was a little girl, who was in love with a Dragon.
Only, my happily ever after never came.
All I got was a tombstone, and the knowledge of what could have been.
And I loved you, once. It has to be once. Because betrayal and death is remarkably easy to turn into hate.
So why is it I still cry when I think about you?
Once.
I’m positive it was love – it’s just like they described in those romance novels that Hermione reads. The funny feeling in the stomach, as if I was going to burst into tears at any second, because I were just so, so happy. The sadness whenever you were upset, and the desire to make you happy, even if it meant letting you go. The sweet certainty that you were feeling the same about me. It wasn’t hard to feel like I was in a living romance novel.
I’d have done anything for you. I’d have walked away if it were good for you. I watched you when you were sleeping, amazed at how boyish and innocent you looked. Your blonde hair, falling over the pillow when it wasn’t slicked back. All defences abandoned you in your sleep, and I remember feeling oh, so privileged that you would allow yourself to be relaxed when I was there.
It couldn’t last, I knew that. But I was happy while it did, and I didn’t want to think about it ending. You were a Malfoy, though, and I was never in your class. I accepted that. I never dreamt of marriage, or children, or even of a house together. I dreamt of pretty lights, and dancing in the rain and snow with you. There was never any doubt in my mind about how good you were, how sweet and innocent you were underneath your façade.
Dear God, you were everything I ever wanted. I suppose it was partly to do with my ‘bad boy’ complex, my need to change the bad ones into good. That was part of the reason I fell for Tom, because he was so evil, and I, being the little fool I was, listened when he spoke of wishing to be like everyone else. In my mind, he was as good as Harry. And so were you.
You hid it well. You hid the ruthlessness as well as you hid the tenderness, if not better. In the end, you came across as a snide prat, and nothing more. I know that Ron cursed you often, but I never thought any more of it. Just like I never questioned Tom’s jokes about Muggles and Mudbloods. I guess it’s almost harsh to compare Tom with you – you never had plans for world domination. But I can’t help but feel wrathful sometimes, especially about the way you took me from Harry.
Now, I’m not blaming anyone, you must recognise that. After all, I loved you more than anything. I haven’t felt that way since I met you. But I’m married now, and I can’t help but feel remorse about the way you shattered my illusions, especially about Harry.
I never loved Harry, not the way I do you. But, he’s secure, and safe. He won’t hurt me the way you did. Of course, if anything happened to him, I’ll certainly be upset, but nonetheless, I wish you were still with me. I dream of marriage to you now. Ironic, isn’t it? But that’s just the point – life is ironic.
As I said before, I’m not blaming you. I’d never blame you. I loved you. Once. It has to be once. I can’t still love you, not after all these years. Not when I’m married, not when I have commitments to other people. But I just can’t help but think that perhaps you knew what you were getting me into. That perhaps – just maybe – you understood what you were doing to me. What was going to happen.
Sometimes it happens like that. Flashes of insight, some people call it. You never believed in that, though, did you? You’d just call it logic. You were a strong believer in logic.
It still hurts that you believed logic more than you believed me. I know that perhaps I wasn’t the best choice at that point in time, but I was pregnant with your child. You never knew that, did you? I never ended up telling you. It doesn’t matter now though. She died in my arms, a week after she was born. I called her Elisabeth, after your grandmother. She was so beautiful. My only regret is that I never got to announce her to the world. She was like a shameful little secret.
We had lots of those, didn’t we? Secrets. Our affair. Our love. Our friendship. And, of course, we lied to each other. Almost every night. Do you remember that?
Promise me you’ll never leave.
I promise you.
Yes, we were quite the Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps you haven’t heard of the story. It’s about two star-crossed lovers, with families who hate each other. We could have been them. Of course, they both die in the end, and they never had children. Or sex, for that matter.
Do you remember the night when it rained? You fulfilled all my dreams that night. I think you must have read my diary, because you did exactly when I’d written. I didn’t mind, though. It started raining, and you looked outside, then smiled slightly and pulled me off the couch. We ran through the corridors and out the gates. There was a large beech tree near the lake, and you pulled me along, then started to twirl me, as if keeping in motion would keep us together for longer. You’d have known your fate by then, and it’s bittersweet to realise that you didn’t tell me, that you wanted to protect me.
You were like my brothers, only, you were much closer to me. I loved you, after all. Oh, I loved them, but I was in love with you. It made all the difference. I can’t be anymore. Now I’m in love with Harry. At least, I should be. I don’t know if I am. It’s so tame, so mature. There’s no laughing and playing in the rain. It’s about security. I suppose there might be different kinds of love, but I loved you so much then that I don’t think I could accept Harry’s love if you were here.
But then, you aren’t. You could have been. Do you remember when your father found out about me, and threw you out of the house? You came to me then, and I accepted you with open arms. It must have been nice to know how much I loved you. I took on my whole family for you that night, but it didn’t matter. Not then.
It sort of hurts now, though. I was so close to alienating my family that I honestly think I could have ended up on the street too. It’s almost possible that they only put up with you because they didn’t want a repeat of what Percy did to my family. And so they kept the peace.
Do you remember, in the beginning? I used to stare at you, fascinated about you. The way you moved to gracefully, the colour of your hair, how pale you were? They all served to make me completely besotted. I remember you catching me at it, how you used to raise your eyebrow and look away, and look back when you thought I’d been distracted.
It hurt so much when you stopped looking back. I never told you about the baby. It’s always possible that you read my diary again. Actually, it’s more than possible. But when I found out about the baby, all of a sudden, you stopped looking back at me.
I caught you when you fell...where were you when it was my turn?
According to my brothers, you were off screwing Pansy Parkinson. But then, you’d told me that you couldn’t stand the sight of her, and the disgust on your face was not the kind that could be faked. I know where you were now, of course. And I almost couldn’t forgive them for lying to me. But...I was three months pregnant, and I doubt anyone would have minded if you didn’t go and get yourself killed. Except perhaps Voldemort.
I didn’t believe it when they’d told me. I thought there should be some sort of flash of insight, some sort of emotion. I didn’t even realise until the next day that you weren’t beside me in bed. Then Professor Snape came barging into your bedroom, to find me asleep in your bed. He was wild with grief. It’s the only time I’ve seen him show anything but disdain to a Gryffindor. At first he was surprised to see me there, but then he told me.
You’d run off in the night; confronted Dumbledore and then Voldemort. You’d gotten yourself killed.
And all of a sudden, I was sinking so low that not even seeing you could have helped me. I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep. And then, I had Elisabeth.
I nearly died having her. I almost haemorrhaged. But I was so pleased, so alive when I saw, all of a sudden, that you weren’t gone. I had part of you there with me. And then she left, too.
In the end, I married Harry. I don’t love him as I should, but I’d grieve if anything happened to him. I just wouldn’t grieve like I did for you.
Because once upon a time, I was a little girl, who was in love with a Dragon.
Only, my happily ever after never came.
All I got was a tombstone, and the knowledge of what could have been.
And I loved you, once. It has to be once. Because betrayal and death is remarkably easy to turn into hate.
So why is it I still cry when I think about you?
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