2. Fate Leads To Mysterious Places

I hurry out of the shambles I call a house, my head bent against the heavens’ salty tears. They are crying for me, tears of remorse, of guilt, of self-disgust. They cry the tears I cannot muster, the tears that ran so freely just hours ago, but now are trapped behind the barrier of my pride. I know that it is stupid to still think that I have pride, and others’ respect, but I still keep my dignity in public, for there is still a miniscule particle of me that still hopes I can be recognised with something other than hatred or disgust.

I can see the town looming before me, its once blackened buildings re-painted, still decorated with cheerful Christmas trees and tinsel. The sight of all the colour and optimism makes me shiver – not at the thought of it, but at the contrast to myself.

I approach the main street tentatively, not wanting to be noticed, wanting more than anything just to blend in smoothly. I turn the corner of the street, and see there, walking towards me, a beautiful girl with brown wavy hair and chestnut eyes. The girl of so many of my tainted dreams. The one person I have never attempted to forget. Hermione Granger.

She walks with obvious joy, and bounce in her step, her hair swinging from side to side. A radiant smile is beaming from her face, her eyes gleaming in a magical way. Suddenly I realise that I have stopped in the middle of the pavement, transfixed by the oncoming figure of Hermione. I hurriedly begin striding down the street, determined for her not to see me – not like this.

I succeed. She will never know I was there. I am merely a shadow, passing through her life of promise. That is all I’ll ever be – a shadow that no-one knows or cares about. But at least I’ll have the memory of her…at least I saw her, if for the final time.

*

It is much later, the rain has ceased to fall and I have bought all I need, so I am ready to return to my solitary living. But I will stop for a drink, just to prolong the illusion of a meaningful life for a little while longer.

I find a small café at the end of the road, it looks fairly empty, but not desolate. I duck under the small door frame and enter a beautifully decorated little room. It is painted in waves of pale blues, with swirls of gold and silver. I am enchanted by the quaintness of the room, but the obvious care in which it was decorated. It makes me smile, for the first time in months, just to think of how much effort was injected into this café, how much it meant to that one person.

I walk over to the glass counter opposite me, and order a plain black coffee. Bitter, like the thoughts inside me. I walk over to an empty table and sit down dazedly, admiring the charisma of the room. The table in front of me is intricately carved with the emblem of a golden leaf. I trace it with my fingers, feeling the textured paint and soft indentations against my cold, white skin.

My coffee arrives, the young girl gently placing it on the tabletop and smiling mildly at me. It seems so long since someone has purposely looked at me. I force a smile back, and she ambles away happily. I must remember to tip her, not for the service but for the smile.

I drink deeply, feeling the hot sensation of boiling drink hit my tongue. The harsh taste of unsweetened coffee bites at my taste buds and my eyes begin watering. I hastily set my mug down and wipe my eyes with a nearby paper napkin. I then wrap my hands once more around the mug, warmth spreading trough my fingers. I take another gulp of the steaming liquid, now prepared for the scalding feeling in my mouth.

I hear the door open and close, but ignore it like everybody else. I once again stare at the design of the room, amazed by its odd beauty, taking frequent gulps of the gradually cooling coffee. Then I hear a woman’s voice above me.

“Sorry to disturb you, but it this yours?� she asks pleasantly.

I look up quickly towards the woman’s face, and there she is. My angel.

She is holding out a thick black ring set with a tiny crystal. My mother’s eternity ring. I look into her chestnut-brown eyes and reply softly, “Yes, yes it’s mine. Thank you.�

I extend my hand gratefully towards hers, but I can sense that she is staring at me in shock. I quickly look back up at her, hoping that she has not realised who I am. Confusion is clouding her dancing eyes, but when she sees me again her expression clears. For an infinitesimal moment, I hope that she is about to move away, but then I hear a disbelieving word escape her rosy lips.

“Draco?�

With one word, she brings my carefully crafted barrier crashing down around me. I look into her eyes once more and murmur tenderly, “Hermione.�