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You Could Be Happy by Proud Hufflepuff
Chapter 1 : I Won't Know
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 8

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You could be happy and I won't know
But you weren't happy the day I watched you go
And all the things that I wished I had not said
Are played on lips 'till it's madness in my head

Is it too late to remind you how we were
But not our last days of silence, screaming, blur
Most of what I remember makes me sure
I should have stopped you from walking out the door

-Snow Patrol, You Could Be Happy


What had he done? His life was in ruins, sitting before him pathetically. Words came back in frightening ways to haunt him. He could be simply sitting around and listening to the wireless and he would hear her words. Or it could be a frightening time, like now, lying in bed alone. The words were even more haunting at times like these.

“How could you?!” she had shouted, her frail figure shaking angrily as she shouted insults at him.

Looking back in time, he saw that he deserved every one of the words she had said to him. He was a cheater, a liar. Of course, at the time, he did not believe that he was any of the things she had called him. At the time, he did not think that he was a jerk. But now he saw it. He had hurt the love of his life and he had lost her forever. He had lost her feisty temper and her soft encouragement. He had lost her gentle kiss and her feverish passion.

“You lied to me!” her fiercely angry voice had yelled at him. Rather than admitting to his mistake, he spat words that he regretted. He could barely even think the words he had said to her. Tonight, he would not let his brain utter them, even if it was only to himself. 

Running his fingers through his silvery blonde locks, exasperated that he could not sleep, he got out of bed. The icy stone floors weren’t any more of a comfort than the bed of the same temperature. As he reached the end of the hall, he looked himself up and down in the mirror.

The reflection reminded him of a ghost. Though his skin was typically rather pale, it looked as though it belonged to a ghost rather than to Draco Malfoy. Beatrice had taught him everything. She had taught him how to love and how to care, especially after he had run away from home due to his father’s controlling behavior. He could only take so much.

“Why?” he whispered to himself sadly. He traced a photograph sitting on the table before him with his fingertip. It nearly killed him to look at it, but it drew him in.

The smiles that had turned into lies haunted him mercilessly as he looked to yet another photograph. In this one, Beatrice had her arms wrapped around him while he stood still, repellent of all emotion. It was photos like these that hurt him the most. She was able to love someone who did not dare show her love back. And now, Draco regretted it. He regretted not telling her that he loved her and he regretted cheating on her.

Standing in that tiny hall, he could almost hear her telling him that she was home from work. He could hear the tiny jingle of her car and house keys as she stuffed them in her purse and set it on the little table by the door to the flat. The scent of imaginary sweet spring flowers wafted to his nostrils as an imaginary Beatrice kissed him good evening.

Then, he sat on the floor. It was odd for anyone, but especially for Draco. Dirt was disgusting, especially in the form of a Muggle or a Muggle-born. Yet, it was a Muggle who he had fallen for. He shook his head, as though everything that had to do with Beatrice would disappear, but in the back of his mind he knew it was etched for all of eternity.

“Bea,” he whispered to himself. This time, his voice was not so sad but more angry than anything. But he was not sure who he was angry at: himself or Beatrice. He could possibly be angry at her for walking out the door, leaving everything behind. She left all of their memories the moment she carried her box of clothes out the door. But perhaps he was angry at himself. After all, he was the one who stood and stared as she left, rather than trying to stop her.

Confused, he stood up and paced the hall as though he was anxious about something. It was as though he was baby who only knew how to go two ways and hadn’t quite learned how to maneuver its body around. Draco suddenly stopped, staring at yet another photograph. This one was of his family, back before they had torn each other away. His mother and father, who both looked so much like him, were actually smiling—quite a surprise for someone such as Lucius Malfoy—and embracing each other warmly while a tiny Draco waved and smiled toothlessly at the camera. A bittersweet smile crept upon his thin lips as he turned away.

Though he was smiling, his insides were like the snow that was falling in thick balls out side: icy. He sighed heavily when he realized why: he had no one. Beatrice was gone and he had disassociated himself from his family. He couldn’t just go back to either of those things.

“You are so stubborn,” Bea had once joked to him. Of course, at the time it was a joke. As the time passed, Beatrice came to see how stubborn Draco really was. Oddly enough, that did not change the way she felt about him. It was as though she did not care that he liked things to go only his way and no one else’s.

Unfortunately, his stubbornness landed him in his current situation. Had he not been so stubborn, he may be happy. Had he not been so stubborn, Beatrice would be with him. Had he not been so stubborn, he would have reminded Bea of their happier memories before he let her go. Had he not been so stubborn, he would not be making useless wishes.

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