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Chapter 1: Stolen
She tucked away the cream silk dress with all it’s frills, lace, and elegance. The top was a form fitting bodice, and the bottom ballooned out like a ball gown. Yet it was no longer needed. It depressed her for she had been so thrilled when it was being made for her. She had thought she would have been one of the most beautiful brides in the history of the Wizarding World. It was a wedding dress for a marriage that would never occur. She felt like bawling her eyes out, but dignified women did not cry. She had already disgraced her family in her youth by being such a gossip in her youth. Now it was time to make up for her many failures. Tears wouldn’t solve anything, anyway. It was time to put on a stoic face, and move on with life.
The sky was a beautiful cerulean blue, birds were tittering, and the scent of lilacs wafted through her open window as wind teased and tugged gently at the thick burgundy curtains of her room. Yet she was blind to all of this. All she could see was him, without her, and it was killing her inside. What right, did he have, to disregard her as if she were a piece of garbage? She was a real human being with thoughts and feelings, too. Yet he had dismissed her as if it were sufficient enough to end their relationship for good. Oh, how she wished that she could forget him.
. . . If only it were that easy.
She wasn’t used to the prolonged silences, the absence of twined limbs, his fingers not lacing hers. She wasn’t used to freedom for without him, independence was merely a vice. It was some sort of constricting cage that was slowly sucking the life from her. For what was her life without him? She had lived for the mere ecstasy of seeing him, the whispers in the night, the passionate kisses, the petals strewn all over her satin pillows without delay.
She recalled the way that he used to kiss the sides of her face to wake her in the morning, how he ran his fingers through her dark silken tresses, the way his lips curled when he laughed at one of her ridiculously outlandish notions. . .
Of petals, of love, of roses. . . these were the things that she pined for. Things that had rapidly turned to decay and dust. Something of which made her feel overwhelmed and nauseous.
He may as well have burned her at the stake for what it was worth. Her heart, what was left of it, was bleeding symphonies for him. Sonatas that he would never hear for he had already moved on. In fact, he was marrying her best friend’s sister. She felt so betrayed by the Greengrasses from that moment on she never spoke another word to Daphne, and she told her mother to sever contact with the treacherous fiends. Luckily for her, her father felt the same way, and so it wasn’t hard to persuade her mother to cut ties with a family all too willing to stab hers in the back.
She spitefully hoped that Astoria’s engagement would run sour like spoiled milk, and she would choke on her own curdled poison. For it was nothing more than the wench deserved. She had dashed her chances for marriage to the most wonderful man she had ever known. One year ago Draco was kissing her hand, whispering her sweet nothings, telling her of the beautiful family he one day hoped to have. Then she had to walk in with her understanding and charisma, and her stupid blonde curls, and slowly charm her Draco into loving her instead. It was enough for her want to projectile vomit. She couldn’t believe that Astoria would dare do this to her! It was improper, cruel, and quite vile. She wanted to stab the little wench until the heifer bled dry. That stupid cow did not deserve to live, if she had to suffer a life without the beloved boy she had dated for seven wonderful years.
Yet she would not go to Azkaban on account of such a wench.
She wasn’t even sure how her love life had turned into this messy labyrinth full of twists and turns that she couldn’t figure out, even if she tried her hardest. It wasn’t like her best subject of Charms, she just couldn’t hex or conjure her way out of this turmoil. Vines, dead roses, and branches laid all about her feet; and she didn’t know where to begin when it came to cleaning up the calamity all around her.
It infuriated her.
She would be the first to admit that she was childish and immature, but this simply wasn’t fair! She had been faithful, she had clung to his side, she had sent witty insults and retorts to anyone who profaned his name, she had promised him to bear him a screaming; wailing brat if he should really want one, and she had always been painstakingly loyal. Yet, after everything she had done with and for him, he dismissed her as if she were a mere dragonfly in a sea of wild flowers that he wanted to preserve for his precious golden butterfly.
Damn Astoria and those stupid wings, she wanted to rip them clean off.
Little Miss Optimism with her charming laugh, well rehearsed jokes, and good fashion sense. It all made her want to shriek like a banshee until he could hear no more. He had been terribly cold to her, and his lapse in judgement led to this foolishness. She wished that she could hate him for it, but she could only hate her.
She loved him, she thought she always would. It was a dangerous infatuation, a never ending lust, an encumbering need. Yet she would give up all her diamonds, all her gold, and all her silk if it were to mean only one more night in his arms.
She knew it was pathetic. She knew it was stupid. She knew it was illogical.
Yet she cared not. Love was not logical, and the heart wanted what it yearned for. She could not control it’s flight or fancy. Nor could she help but be embittered by the current state her poor throbbing heart was in.
She felt a salty excess burning at her eyes, threatening to fall from her eyes like a flood, and this time she let it go. She let the rain tumble down her cheeks, unchecked. For nothing mattered. All that mattered was that she had been his queen, and she had been robbed of her thrown, only to be robed in loneliness and shame.
Closing her eyes, she recalled the day of their engagement:
“Pansy, are your eyes closed?” he had asked. She nodded impatiently. “Good,” he replied, and she could see his smirk clearly in her mind’s eye, though, her eyes were firmly shut. “Keep them closed.” She gave him an impatient sigh, but did as instructed. He led her after him, and she nearly fell. She clung to his gloved hand with her own, squeezing it so tightly she worried that she might break it, but she couldn’t help it. Without her eyes, she couldn’t see. She wanted so desperately to see. “Open your eyes.”
Pansy opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by an enchanted forest of flowers, in the winter! Snow was falling all about them, ice skaters skated behind them on the ice, and she could hear the familiar lull of Christmas carols being sung in the background. “Why, Draco,” she remarked, trying to drink it all in. “This is beautiful!”
He had laughed. “I knew you would like it.” He looked at the ice warily. “I suppose that you want to go skating now?”
“Oh yes,” she had cried. She had always loved ice skating, especially without mudbloods in the near vicinity. “Let’s go, Draco.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Pansy,” he had said, uneasily. He eyed the ice begrudgingly, with obvious discomfort at what was looking back at him. “I’ve never. . .” He broke off looking embarrassed. “I’ve never gone ice skating before. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. I’m sure that you’ll be a natural,” she cooed, in an attempt to get him out on the ice. It worked. She skated with poise and grace, but she couldn’t help but snicker at him. He was clumsy as ever, and even wound up with his face in the ice. How he managed that, she didn’t quite know. “All right. I won’t torture you any further. I can see that you’re like a fish out of water,” she replied. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I have to do something first.”
“Draco, really, can’t it wait?”
“I don’t think it can,” he persisted.
“Oh, all right. As long as it doesn’t take all night.”
“Pansy Daisy Parkinson, will you marry me?” he asked, on bended knee. He opened a minute box in his palm that had contained one of the largest diamonds she had ever seen. She would be the envy of town! It rendered her, speechless, however. She simply blinked at him a few times. “Pans?”
“Of course, a thousand times yes,” she shrieked, all but squealing when he placed the ring on her finger. “Oh, Draco!” she exclaimed. “This is the best night of my life.”
He had smiled, pulling her closer to him, and they kissed for so long that it felt like eternity.
Opening her eyes, she snorted bitterly. It was the happiest she had been when in regards to him. She treasured every moment that they had spent together. Every midnight encounter entangled in sheets, making them both irritable and grumpy at work the next day. Every rose. Every smile. Every laugh. Every argument. Every make-up sex session. Every kiss. Every word. Every silence. She had cherished it all, and it had all been ripped from beneath her like a silver lining being stripped from a cloud.
She wanted him back, yet she knew that would never happen.
He had taken all her jewels, all her assets, all her love. In it’s place, he left her granite. A useless, common rock that she would gnash between her teeth if it wouldn’t have broken all of them like he had busted her heart. There was nothing that could sew together the chasm in her heart. There was nothing that could make this right.
He had taken her love and given her granite.
All she could remember were those silvery eyes that resembled the stone that she so detested, and she loathed Astoria for it. If it weren’t for that slag, Draco would still be hers. It would be in his arms he sought refuge, in her lips he would find solace, in her eyes he would find the unfathomable depths of an undying romance.
Yet no, that wasn’t meant to be.
She was obsessed, but not enough to use love potions. That wouldn’t be right. As much as she loathed Astoria, she would not do that. She couldn’t. She could not render Draco powerless. If he were to love her, he wanted it to be his choice. She didn’t want it to be by force.
She glanced away from the window, which caught nothing of her vision, as she espied a moth on her floor. She scooped it up in her porcelain palms and gently placed it on the window. It didn’t deserve to be rudely thrown to it’s death simply because of the perpetual pain that plagued her. “Fly away,” she told it. Its wings weren’t broken like hers. It had that option of soaring into the sky and starting anew.
She, however, was too shattered to move. She threw herself at the floor, wrapped in nothing but tattered wings and broken dreams. She looked over at a picture that was in her line of vision. One of she and Draco, and she looked at it curiously. She was throwing her head back in laughter, and he was kissing her hand.
If only she knew then what she knew now.
Then maybe she would have sought comfort in the arms of someone else. Maybe, just, maybe her wings wouldn’t be worn and rugged and to the point where bone was exposed.
Yet it was too late for maybes.
He had taken her love, and left her granite, and she had nothing more to gain by dreaming again. Closing her eyes, she just laid there in her grief. Eventually, she’d pull herself from the wooden floor boards, but the mahogany was oddly soothing.
Right now, though, she only wanted him.
He, the man who had jilted her. He, the man who had taken her love. He, the man who had only given her granite and vibrant memories unwilling to fade into the obscurity of which she wished.
She threw the photograph from whence it came. It was too late for laughter. It was too late for dreams. Life was no fairytale, there was no happily ever after, and there were far more frogs in the world than princes.
Closing her eyes, she tried to will this all away. She wanted the soothing comfort of sleep to overwhelm her, and push these troubling thoughts aside.
No reprieve came.
She opened her eyes.