[HP Spring Fling 2011] The Lovely Pearls - A gift for scarletladyy
Title: The Lovely Pearls
Author: willfully
Recipient: scarletladyy
Pairing(s): Draco/Pansy, implied Draco/Astoria
Rating: PG-13, to be safe.
Word Count: 1064
Warnings: implied character death.
Summary: "There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."
Author's Notes: I hope you like it, scarletladyy!
Draco is standing on the cobbled street. Everything is grayscale except for his hair, his skin; his hair looks golden in the early morning light, his cheeks flushed from the cold wind. His robes are buttoned all the way to the top. I can see him as clearly as if I were there, but I'm not.
He's looking at something in the window. It's Knockturn Alley, a land full of the grotesque and obscene, with dark corners and dangerous objects. If anyone could pick out the beauty here, though, I know that it would be Draco. He told me he wasn't proud of it, the way he found beauty in pain, the way he relished it, but I don't think he would have survived the war otherwise. I am grateful that he survived, even if he wasn't unscathed. There are always scars.
I hear a voice, a voice that makes everything inside me cringe, and the moment is broken. There's a blonde girl coming down the street now, a girl I used to know. A girl I used to like. I hate her now, because I can't let go, I can't accept that what was once mine is now hers.
The jealous rage fills me, soaks into my surroundings, until all I can see is red. They always said envy was green, but now that I actually see it in colors, I'd have to disagree. I always hated red, even when all it represented was Gryffindor. Now it reminds me of blood, reminds me that I will never bleed again. I used to feel sick at the sight of blood, but I would give anything to feel that again; I would give so much to feel anything besides these swirls of colorful emotions that I don't really feel at all.
By the strength of wishing, I can make my vision return to Draco, to the world below me. Time has passed, he looks older. I try to will myself to drift closer, to brush his hair with my fingertips, to sit on the couch beside him. His head turns, and for a moment I think he's staring right at me. But what would he see, if he could see me? What would I be, if I could take shape now, become corporeal?
Red. I would be red, covered in blood, soaked in it. I had been wearing white that day, that fateful day. I can see it all as if I was looking through Draco's eyes when he found me, maybe because he's imagining it. Even if he can't see me, perhaps he can feel my presence, like a resurfacing memory. One that he's trying not to remember. Selfishly, I want him to remember, even if it hurts. There's beauty in the pain, Draco, remember?
It's gone, as quickly as it came. His eyes have lowered, and he's fingering something in his pocket. I will him to take it out, wondering if he has a keepsake to remind him of me. Even as I think it, I know I'm wrong, because his thoughts have turned to better things, happier times. There's a small smile at the edges of his mouth, nothing at all like the expressions he wears when I can feel him thinking about me. I don't want to know what he's thinking about now, I know it would hurt. I can't take solace in it the way he can, because my emotions are colors, they're unending, there's no bittersweet relief in feeling it physically to make them ephemeral, to allow them to heal.
I should want him to heal, to be happy. I know that he is getting there, whether I want him to or not. He always was the stronger one of the two of us, he endured so much more than anyone ever should. He endured it, and he still manages to smile. I can't smile, because I don't have a mouth; I can't come to terms with my scars, because I can't see them on my skin.
When my vision clears again, Draco has taken the object out of his pocket. It's a jewelry box, long and slim; at least it's not an engagement ring. It must be a necklace, but what kind it is, I won't know, at least not yet. He's startled by something, by the voice that grates on my incorporeal ears, and he slips it quickly back into his pocket.
I have to leave, at least for a little while. I know that this is wrong, that I should be moving on, that I should let go. I keep trying, but it seems more futile each time. I hear his voice, and I rush back to see him, telling myself each time will be the last. But then something in the world of colors reminds me of him: a flash of silver like his eyes, a swirl that looks like a snake, a harsh line that looks like the scars on his chest.
Other times, it feels as though it's not my responsibility to let him go, but him that needs to release me. Sometimes I am drawn back by his thoughts, by his return to places that we used to know together. I never get drawn back by anyone else, not anymore. Which of us is at fault is impossible to discern.
I don't know how much time passes before I feel his footsteps, like a heartbeat in my ears. I realize, when I look up at him, that he's standing over my grave, that I must be a part of the earth here, instead of watching him from above.
He's holding the jewelry box. I have a brief moment to feel pleased that the gift was for me, not for her, before the pearls are dazzling me with their shifting hues, momentarily making it impossible for me to see anything else. But I'm not back in my world, the world he can't touch, I'm still here, with him. He lays the necklace on the ground, and I almost feel it, as though it's settling around my neck. I hear him whisper my name.
I close my eyes, feel the pearls sinking into my skin, feel myself sinking deeper into the ground. I feel him exhale, releasing the breath from his lungs, the last of the oxygen we used to share. I let go.
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Author: willfully
Recipient: scarletladyy
Pairing(s): Draco/Pansy, implied Draco/Astoria
Rating: PG-13, to be safe.
Word Count: 1064
Warnings: implied character death.
Summary: "There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."
Author's Notes: I hope you like it, scarletladyy!
Draco is standing on the cobbled street. Everything is grayscale except for his hair, his skin; his hair looks golden in the early morning light, his cheeks flushed from the cold wind. His robes are buttoned all the way to the top. I can see him as clearly as if I were there, but I'm not.
He's looking at something in the window. It's Knockturn Alley, a land full of the grotesque and obscene, with dark corners and dangerous objects. If anyone could pick out the beauty here, though, I know that it would be Draco. He told me he wasn't proud of it, the way he found beauty in pain, the way he relished it, but I don't think he would have survived the war otherwise. I am grateful that he survived, even if he wasn't unscathed. There are always scars.
I hear a voice, a voice that makes everything inside me cringe, and the moment is broken. There's a blonde girl coming down the street now, a girl I used to know. A girl I used to like. I hate her now, because I can't let go, I can't accept that what was once mine is now hers.
The jealous rage fills me, soaks into my surroundings, until all I can see is red. They always said envy was green, but now that I actually see it in colors, I'd have to disagree. I always hated red, even when all it represented was Gryffindor. Now it reminds me of blood, reminds me that I will never bleed again. I used to feel sick at the sight of blood, but I would give anything to feel that again; I would give so much to feel anything besides these swirls of colorful emotions that I don't really feel at all.
By the strength of wishing, I can make my vision return to Draco, to the world below me. Time has passed, he looks older. I try to will myself to drift closer, to brush his hair with my fingertips, to sit on the couch beside him. His head turns, and for a moment I think he's staring right at me. But what would he see, if he could see me? What would I be, if I could take shape now, become corporeal?
Red. I would be red, covered in blood, soaked in it. I had been wearing white that day, that fateful day. I can see it all as if I was looking through Draco's eyes when he found me, maybe because he's imagining it. Even if he can't see me, perhaps he can feel my presence, like a resurfacing memory. One that he's trying not to remember. Selfishly, I want him to remember, even if it hurts. There's beauty in the pain, Draco, remember?
It's gone, as quickly as it came. His eyes have lowered, and he's fingering something in his pocket. I will him to take it out, wondering if he has a keepsake to remind him of me. Even as I think it, I know I'm wrong, because his thoughts have turned to better things, happier times. There's a small smile at the edges of his mouth, nothing at all like the expressions he wears when I can feel him thinking about me. I don't want to know what he's thinking about now, I know it would hurt. I can't take solace in it the way he can, because my emotions are colors, they're unending, there's no bittersweet relief in feeling it physically to make them ephemeral, to allow them to heal.
I should want him to heal, to be happy. I know that he is getting there, whether I want him to or not. He always was the stronger one of the two of us, he endured so much more than anyone ever should. He endured it, and he still manages to smile. I can't smile, because I don't have a mouth; I can't come to terms with my scars, because I can't see them on my skin.
When my vision clears again, Draco has taken the object out of his pocket. It's a jewelry box, long and slim; at least it's not an engagement ring. It must be a necklace, but what kind it is, I won't know, at least not yet. He's startled by something, by the voice that grates on my incorporeal ears, and he slips it quickly back into his pocket.
I have to leave, at least for a little while. I know that this is wrong, that I should be moving on, that I should let go. I keep trying, but it seems more futile each time. I hear his voice, and I rush back to see him, telling myself each time will be the last. But then something in the world of colors reminds me of him: a flash of silver like his eyes, a swirl that looks like a snake, a harsh line that looks like the scars on his chest.
Other times, it feels as though it's not my responsibility to let him go, but him that needs to release me. Sometimes I am drawn back by his thoughts, by his return to places that we used to know together. I never get drawn back by anyone else, not anymore. Which of us is at fault is impossible to discern.
I don't know how much time passes before I feel his footsteps, like a heartbeat in my ears. I realize, when I look up at him, that he's standing over my grave, that I must be a part of the earth here, instead of watching him from above.
He's holding the jewelry box. I have a brief moment to feel pleased that the gift was for me, not for her, before the pearls are dazzling me with their shifting hues, momentarily making it impossible for me to see anything else. But I'm not back in my world, the world he can't touch, I'm still here, with him. He lays the necklace on the ground, and I almost feel it, as though it's settling around my neck. I hear him whisper my name.
I close my eyes, feel the pearls sinking into my skin, feel myself sinking deeper into the ground. I feel him exhale, releasing the breath from his lungs, the last of the oxygen we used to share. I let go.
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