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They say that a candle burns brightest right before it dies; for us, it was true.
I can hear the crowd; I can almost SMELL the anticipation. This new idea of last thoughts being recorded for later viewing, it certainly is interesting. Let’s see what they make of this. She is here, I can feel her. I’m sure that the crowd is watching and listening now, for the whispering has stopped. If this is the only way for me say my last words to her, to tell her goodbye, then I welcome the chance. This is my last goodbye, the only one that matters.
I remember her best right before the end. She was so happy, no, that doesn’t even cover it. She was exuberant and free. When we were together, there was no war, no hate, and no disappointing future: It was just us in the NOW. No thoughts or expectations, just unharnessed passion. We were, for those hours, free to be ourselves. She was simply Gin, and I Draco. She loved hearing me say her name, and, for some odd reason that I’ve never really figured out, hearing her utter my name from her soft red lips seemed almost as if it kept me alive. She was cheese to my macaroni. It was simply meant to be.
By the end, we were frantic. The hours we spent were never enough, we always needed more. We found ourselves snatching each other in between classes, just for even a minute, we were desperate. Despite everything, it was never enough. It was as though we needed each other just to simply carry on living. We were in love; keywords being “were”, as in past tense. I have no doubt that I still love her, even to this day, but I have long ago accepted that she has moved on. Yes, if anything, she has moved on. I wish her luck in her marriage, and promise that the first time that she is even the slightest bit unhappy; I will find a way, even from the other side, to make whoever caused the sorrow pay. For she has always been my light, my happiness, my anguish. She is, and always will be, my everything.
The fighting started when Potter came along. Oh, we were still as passionate as ever, but it killed me that to the public she was Potter’s girlfriend, and not mine. At one point, I even suggested eloping. I was met with the reply that then it would be adultery when she went out with Potter. That was when I started truly losing her.
The whispering has started again. They have to wait so long for just a simple Kiss. Oh well, let them wait. This needs to be said, or, in my case, thought.
I think that secretly, she liked having someone show her affection in public. That she liked being able to say that she has someone to call her own. Then the pressure came, and she suggested going to Dumbledore, and so, foolishly, I went. He gave me no hope, and simply told me that to come back to talk to him when I wasn’t drunk or raving mad. I never told her about that night, she would have been devastated. The year continued to play out, and our meetings became strained. The day of the attack, I locked her into a supply closet, with a charm that wouldn’t wear off until she was safe. That was the last time that I saw her for quite a while.
I wrote her every day for almost two years, and each letter was returned, unopened. After that, I copied each letter and sent the compiled set, plus one new one, every year. Those never returned, and, hope renewed, I sent her one every year. I never once received a reply. I never stopped sending the letters.
It was exactly six years, three months, five days, and eight hours after I last spoke to her that I found out. She was to be a bride. I was a raving drunk for the next two weeks and almost lost my job as a bartender. Despite my hopes, I was never invited to the wedding. The day of her wedding, I sent her twelve dozen white lilies in congratulations. They were her favorite. I later saw a picture of her walking down the aisle; a single white lily was tucked into the folds of her hair. It was the kindest thing that anyone had done for me in my life: I hated it. I hated knowing that she was his now and not mine. Life’s a bitch.
The most surprising day in my life was the day I saw the birthing announcement in the paper. Sophie Amelia Potter was born at 10:14 AM and weighed five pounds, seven ounces. Sophie Amelia. I had once told her that if I ever had a daughter, I would name her that. She still remembered me.
I never dated, and lived most of my post-Hogwarts years as a muggle. It seemed as though I had finally escaped my past; then it caught up with me.
The Ministry had been steadily going through the lists of suspected Death Eaters ever since the war had ended. They reached my name. I spent nearly a year in Azkaban before they reached a verdict. On November 16, I would be given the kiss. I laughed when I found out, for, on that date, nine years ago, I first kissed Ginevra Molly Weasley.
Ah, that was the best day of my life. We didn’t expect it to happen, but we still found ourselves snogging in a broom closet as if our lives depended on it; looking back, it seemed they did. She is, and always will be, my everything. I have all my affairs in order, just so you people know, every single Knut goes to Sophie Amelia: the child I wish I could call my own. I even had my lawyer check it out, there is no way in hell that Gin and Potter can deny or keep my possessions from that girl. The first thing that she will be gifted with upon turning seventeen is every single letter I have ever written her mother, including several to her, explaining my actions.
A shadow falls into my vision, but I am not startled. I almost welcome the sweet oblivion promised to me. I am tired of missing her, loving her, and wishing that it hadn’t gone so wrong. Goodbye, Ginevra. Goodbye, My Love.
Oblivion has never felt sweeter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fifteen years later….
“It’s the weirdest case I’ve ever seen! It seems, Mrs. Potter that the late Mr. Malfoy asked for you. After almost fifteen years, Azkaban has caught up to his soulless body and yet, on his deathbed, he called for you. The nurses described it as the most heartbroken sound they have ever heard. We also feel that now as your daughter is reaching maturity it is important that you and your husband hear Mr. Malfoy’s last thoughts, as they seem to be directed at you and your daughter.
“Now, if you’ll step this way, I’ll escort you both to the Audio/Visual room and leave you be with Mr. Malfoy’s lawyer. “
Gin followed the man, almost in a daze. Draco. It had been so long since she had heard his name; it felt like forever. As she and her husband sat down, a voice began to speak, and a memory began to play.
They say that a candle burns brightest right before it dies; for us, it was true.
I can hear the crowd; I can almost SMELL the anticipation. This new idea of last thoughts being recorded for later viewing, it certainly is interesting. Let’s see what they make of this. She is here, I can feel her. I’m sure that the crowd is watching and listening now, for the whispering has stopped. If this is the only way for me say my last words to her, to tell her goodbye, then I welcome the chance. This is my last goodbye, the only one that matters…
Ginevra Molly Potter sat silently in her seat, tears streaming down her face, wondering when it had all gone so wrong.
Draco was wrong: she had never truly moved on.
I can hear the crowd; I can almost SMELL the anticipation. This new idea of last thoughts being recorded for later viewing, it certainly is interesting. Let’s see what they make of this. She is here, I can feel her. I’m sure that the crowd is watching and listening now, for the whispering has stopped. If this is the only way for me say my last words to her, to tell her goodbye, then I welcome the chance. This is my last goodbye, the only one that matters.
I remember her best right before the end. She was so happy, no, that doesn’t even cover it. She was exuberant and free. When we were together, there was no war, no hate, and no disappointing future: It was just us in the NOW. No thoughts or expectations, just unharnessed passion. We were, for those hours, free to be ourselves. She was simply Gin, and I Draco. She loved hearing me say her name, and, for some odd reason that I’ve never really figured out, hearing her utter my name from her soft red lips seemed almost as if it kept me alive. She was cheese to my macaroni. It was simply meant to be.
By the end, we were frantic. The hours we spent were never enough, we always needed more. We found ourselves snatching each other in between classes, just for even a minute, we were desperate. Despite everything, it was never enough. It was as though we needed each other just to simply carry on living. We were in love; keywords being “were”, as in past tense. I have no doubt that I still love her, even to this day, but I have long ago accepted that she has moved on. Yes, if anything, she has moved on. I wish her luck in her marriage, and promise that the first time that she is even the slightest bit unhappy; I will find a way, even from the other side, to make whoever caused the sorrow pay. For she has always been my light, my happiness, my anguish. She is, and always will be, my everything.
The fighting started when Potter came along. Oh, we were still as passionate as ever, but it killed me that to the public she was Potter’s girlfriend, and not mine. At one point, I even suggested eloping. I was met with the reply that then it would be adultery when she went out with Potter. That was when I started truly losing her.
The whispering has started again. They have to wait so long for just a simple Kiss. Oh well, let them wait. This needs to be said, or, in my case, thought.
I think that secretly, she liked having someone show her affection in public. That she liked being able to say that she has someone to call her own. Then the pressure came, and she suggested going to Dumbledore, and so, foolishly, I went. He gave me no hope, and simply told me that to come back to talk to him when I wasn’t drunk or raving mad. I never told her about that night, she would have been devastated. The year continued to play out, and our meetings became strained. The day of the attack, I locked her into a supply closet, with a charm that wouldn’t wear off until she was safe. That was the last time that I saw her for quite a while.
I wrote her every day for almost two years, and each letter was returned, unopened. After that, I copied each letter and sent the compiled set, plus one new one, every year. Those never returned, and, hope renewed, I sent her one every year. I never once received a reply. I never stopped sending the letters.
It was exactly six years, three months, five days, and eight hours after I last spoke to her that I found out. She was to be a bride. I was a raving drunk for the next two weeks and almost lost my job as a bartender. Despite my hopes, I was never invited to the wedding. The day of her wedding, I sent her twelve dozen white lilies in congratulations. They were her favorite. I later saw a picture of her walking down the aisle; a single white lily was tucked into the folds of her hair. It was the kindest thing that anyone had done for me in my life: I hated it. I hated knowing that she was his now and not mine. Life’s a bitch.
The most surprising day in my life was the day I saw the birthing announcement in the paper. Sophie Amelia Potter was born at 10:14 AM and weighed five pounds, seven ounces. Sophie Amelia. I had once told her that if I ever had a daughter, I would name her that. She still remembered me.
I never dated, and lived most of my post-Hogwarts years as a muggle. It seemed as though I had finally escaped my past; then it caught up with me.
The Ministry had been steadily going through the lists of suspected Death Eaters ever since the war had ended. They reached my name. I spent nearly a year in Azkaban before they reached a verdict. On November 16, I would be given the kiss. I laughed when I found out, for, on that date, nine years ago, I first kissed Ginevra Molly Weasley.
Ah, that was the best day of my life. We didn’t expect it to happen, but we still found ourselves snogging in a broom closet as if our lives depended on it; looking back, it seemed they did. She is, and always will be, my everything. I have all my affairs in order, just so you people know, every single Knut goes to Sophie Amelia: the child I wish I could call my own. I even had my lawyer check it out, there is no way in hell that Gin and Potter can deny or keep my possessions from that girl. The first thing that she will be gifted with upon turning seventeen is every single letter I have ever written her mother, including several to her, explaining my actions.
A shadow falls into my vision, but I am not startled. I almost welcome the sweet oblivion promised to me. I am tired of missing her, loving her, and wishing that it hadn’t gone so wrong. Goodbye, Ginevra. Goodbye, My Love.
Oblivion has never felt sweeter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fifteen years later….
“It’s the weirdest case I’ve ever seen! It seems, Mrs. Potter that the late Mr. Malfoy asked for you. After almost fifteen years, Azkaban has caught up to his soulless body and yet, on his deathbed, he called for you. The nurses described it as the most heartbroken sound they have ever heard. We also feel that now as your daughter is reaching maturity it is important that you and your husband hear Mr. Malfoy’s last thoughts, as they seem to be directed at you and your daughter.
“Now, if you’ll step this way, I’ll escort you both to the Audio/Visual room and leave you be with Mr. Malfoy’s lawyer. “
Gin followed the man, almost in a daze. Draco. It had been so long since she had heard his name; it felt like forever. As she and her husband sat down, a voice began to speak, and a memory began to play.
They say that a candle burns brightest right before it dies; for us, it was true.
I can hear the crowd; I can almost SMELL the anticipation. This new idea of last thoughts being recorded for later viewing, it certainly is interesting. Let’s see what they make of this. She is here, I can feel her. I’m sure that the crowd is watching and listening now, for the whispering has stopped. If this is the only way for me say my last words to her, to tell her goodbye, then I welcome the chance. This is my last goodbye, the only one that matters…
Ginevra Molly Potter sat silently in her seat, tears streaming down her face, wondering when it had all gone so wrong.
Draco was wrong: she had never truly moved on.
Author notes: Oneshot, review please.
The End.
sarfisushi is the author of 3 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 5 members. Members who liked Oblivion Has Never Felt Sweeter also liked 1243 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 5 members. Members who liked Oblivion Has Never Felt Sweeter also liked 1243 other stories.
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