Little Memories

The Great Hall burst into cheers as Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle, fell back onto the floor. On the other end, Harry Potter stood there, staring down at the dead wizard in disbelief. Then, it all blurred together. People were rejoicing, embracing each other, and celebrating the fact that they were all now free from the oppression the wizard had brought them regardless of blood status. A few rogue Death Eaters and Voldemort followers were being captured. The Malfoy’s, the most prominent followers of Lord Voldemort that were still alive, sat off to the side.

Narcissa and Lucius would occasionally shoot each other worried looks when they noticed how worn and depressed their son looked. They had searched high and low for their boy, to make sure that he was going to survive the battle. He had, and they were so thankful for that, but they also noticed that his eyes were hollow and void of emotions. He wouldn’t answer when they asked what was wrong and he wouldn’t tell of anyone else who had made it out alive.

Draco sat on a bench to the side of the commotion in the Great Hall beside his parents. They were receiving dirty looks from others; sometimes they would receive a small nod or a forced smile. Everything they knew for so many years had crumbled to dust and rubble at their feet. It seemed that all Draco had held dear to him had done the same. He stared blankly ahead, running through how he could have tried to save Charlotte, how he could have prevented her from following him. All these scenarios were running through his head, making him feel tired, weak, and miserable beyond anything he’d ever felt before.

This was much worse than he remembered feeling when Charlotte had been taken away to Azkaban. He doubted that she would have left behind little letters or clues of her return. If she had known about her death beforehand, and judging by Gregory’s reaction she did, Draco felt she would have wanted it to be a clean break for Draco’s sake. Draco wanted to try his hardest not to cry in front of his parents or to let them see how shaken he was at everything.

His hand wandered to the spot on his chest, just over his steadily beating heart. Surprisingly enough, his heart rate was calm and rhythmic; a soft ka-thump, ka-thump against the palm of his hand. Draco’s eyes slipped shut as he focused on the beating. If Charlotte had died, wouldn’t he have felt it? He knew when she was sick in Azkaban and he knew when she was frantic or stressed about something. Perhaps Draco was so hurried and frantic, and his heart rate constantly jumping around, that he wouldn’t have noticed had it changed. Perhaps, and this he hoped, Charlotte’s death came so swiftly and unexpectedly, that she didn’t have time to be scared or to fear anything.

A shaky sigh escaped him at this thought and Draco had to bow his head and cover his eyes, lest anyone see him crying. He sat there for a moment, his shoulders shaking slightly with the quiet, quick sobs that escaped him. He realized now that the plans for the rest of his life, his plans to marry Charlotte, to have children, and to grow old by her side, were now never to pass. He could feel the soft touch of a hand on his back as his head immediately flew up to see who it was. He’d still hoped that Charlotte would miraculously turn up, as dim a chance as that seemed.

Draco was a bit crestfallen to see his mother sitting beside him with her hand on his back. She took one look at him and tears began to well up in her eyes despite herself. Her lips trembled for a moment and Draco could see his father take her other hand in his and clasping it warmly. It was the most affection he’d seen from the two of them in his lifetime in such a crowded room.

“Are you sure you’ve checked everywhere for her, Draco?” She asked in a watery whisper, pulling her lips in and biting them. Draco looked up at his mother, feeling scalding hot tears dripping down his cheeks and off his jaw. He nodded and futilely wiped at the tears that kept coming no matter how much he told himself to stop.

“I’ve checked with those who’ve kept track of the bodies they’ve found and those who‘ve died,” he said in a thin, rough voice, sniffling a bit here and there and stopping when he needed to stay the quiver in his voice. “I was probably the last person to see her alive,” he managed to get out before he clasped a hand over his mouth to silence the hoarse, horrible sobs that threatened to cut through all the celebrating around him. His mother let out a small sob, shaking her head a bit at this revelation. Narcissa Malfoy had seen Charlotte as the daughter she’d never had, regardless if Draco wanted to make her his bride or not. Draco watched as his father, breaking all former decorum and standards, gathered his sobbing wife into his arms and held her close.

His father’s eyes bored into his and without saying anything at all, he said everything he needed to. Lucius Malfoy, while initially wary of the youngest Goyle, had grown to trust and care for her much like his wife did. She would have made a pretty bride for his son and a wonderful companion for his Draco for the rest of his life. In losing her, he conveyed with those steely grey eyes, he knew that Draco was losing the love of his life, his best friend, and the only hope his son ever had of being completely happy ever again. And beneath the blank ceiling of the battered and war-beaten Great Hall of the half-destroyed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Malfoy family grew closer to each other than they had ever been. Unfortunately, it was prompted by the heart-wrenching death of the darling girl they had all grown fond of.

A few days later, Draco, Gregory, Lucius, and Narcissa were standing on a high cliff just outside of the Goyle Castle. The pre-summer air, rife with the smell of the salty sea beneath them, whipped at them as they peered down at the ocean, garbed in black, funeral attire. The sun was out and shining happily, a few cotton ball-like clouds spotting the clear azure sky. The grass had never looked greener and the forest surrounding the castle had never looked fuller of life and greenery. It looked so different, yet remarkably the same as it did back in December when Charlotte and Gregory gave their parents a seaside burial. The reason they were all gathered was the same, yet this time, there wasn’t a body present to mourn over.

Instead, Gregory held Charlotte’s most prized possession, well, one that she didn’t keep on her person at all times. The charm bracelet that Draco had given her and the serpent ring she always wore had perished in the fiendfyre along with her body and Crabbe, they supposed. So, they were to dispose into the sea the next best thing; Charlotte’s pure white, one of a kind broomstick. It wouldn’t feel right to keep it around, nor would Gregory want to see anyone else atop of it.

“Thanks for being here,” Gregory told the Malfoy’s as they watched him closely. He was cradling the broomstick in his arms with a kind of delicate manner, as if he were cradling his sister. Draco kept his eyes focused on the broom, not making any notion to reply to what Gregory had said

“Don’t worry about it, Gregory,” Narcissa replied softly, offering him a kind, sad smile.

“She wouldn’t have wanted us to make a big fuss out of it,” the only Goyle remaining said in a quivering voice. “She probably…she probably would laugh at me right now, tell me to stop being such a pansy,” he said through his tears as he let out a small laugh and shook his head a bit. Lucius merely stared on at Gregory, not imagining how hard and what all these stark changes in his life must have been doing to him. “We may have bickered, taken small jabs at each other here and there, but I loved her and I know she loved everyone else that’s here right now.” Narcissa’s face crumbled with tears yet again and she lifted a black, silk handkerchief to dab away at the tears. “I um…” Gregory’s voice faded as he ran out of things to say. “She’s going to be missed terribly,” he whispered before stepping over to the edge of the cliff. “Does anyone else want to say anything about her?” He asked, adjusting the broomstick in his arms. He could hear footsteps as the Malfoy family joined him, lining up on the very lip of the cliff.

“I…loved Charlotte like she was my own daughter and I felt very protective of her,” Narcissa started in a watery voice. Gregory sniffled and wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his eyes, staring down at the broomstick in his hands. “I saw a lot of myself in her. You know…her strong exterior but will to do anything to make sure the ones she loved were safe. She was loyal to her friends and loved ones until the end,” she finished, closing her eyes and letting tears streak her cheeks. She dabbed at them with her handkerchief, biting her bottom lip hard. There was a long pause in which everyone was waiting for someone to say something else, but they all found they had no words left for the deep emotions they all felt.

Gregory let his arms loosen slightly around the broomstick but he faltered for a moment. He set his jaw and stared down at the deep, midnight blue and white-capped sea beneath them. It was beautiful and violent, just like his sister could be at times. He sniffled hard before looking over at Draco. Draco, who had remained quiet this entire time, was looking down at the raging ocean with a hollow look in his tearful eyes. His expression was impassive, yet it was obvious that he was deeply hurting. Gregory then looked down at the pure white broomstick in his hands and stepped over to Draco. The broken man’s steely grey-blue eyes flicked up to Gregory’s and his mouth and jaw tightened almost unnoticeably. Gregory stopped beside Draco, all eyes on the two men who were so close to the girl this whole, albeit small ceremony was for. The tension, merely for the uncertainty of the situation, was thick as the two of them just stared at each other. Then, Gregory gripped the handle of the broomstick in his hands and held it out carefully to Draco.

It was with this simple notion that Draco’s strong façade crumbled as his face finally reflected the turmoil that was eating at him from within. His statuesque, sculpted face pulled down into a frown as sobs tore from him. Still, he forced himself to reach out and take the broomstick that was all they had for Charlotte’s farewell in trembling hands. The wood of the handle felt cool beneath his hands as he finally grasped tightly onto it, like he wished he had done to Charlotte to prevent her from leaving his side. Gregory’s hands slipped down to his sides as Draco held back any sobs that threatened to escape him by biting his bottom lip hard.

He turned back to the sea and stared down at it before willing his fingers to one-by-one let go of the broomstick until it fell from his grasp. The item fell gracefully through the warm, nearly summer air until it crashed into the ocean. The four that had gathered there watched as the broomstick was battered and broken against the rocks that jutted out from the ocean, welcoming the only sentimental thing left of Charlotte to join the same grave of her parents. The four remained silent for the longest time before Gregory looked up and over at the Malfoy’s, his face pink, blotchy, and stained with tears.

“You can come have some tea in the parlor if you’d like,” he offered softly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay in this place for a very long time and I’d like to enjoy it while I still can.” Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a quick look and Narcissa nodded to Gregory, offering him a watery smile as she dabbed at the tears that remained hanging on her high cheekbones. Gregory ran a hand over his face to clear it of tears, shooting the sea one last look before turning and leaving. Narcissa and Lucius followed behind, but Draco stayed, staring down at the ocean as he began to fight back the emotions that threatened to break forth once more. Narcissa turned and looked over her shoulder to see that her son was still standing there.

“Are you coming, Draco?” Narcissa asked softly, concern wrought on her features. Draco nodded numbly, not lifting his eyes from the sea.

“Give me a moment,” he replied in a thin voice. Narcissa pursed her lips for a moment, before turning back to Lucius and heading inside the Goyle Castle. Draco stood there for the longest time, breathing evenly and looking down at the water. Finally, he lifted his eyes to the horizon and his chest tightened a bit. He needed his own goodbye to Charlotte, to give peace to the imagined memories they would never share. His eyes then found a particular window on the Goyle Castle and he knew what he had to do.

Slowly, he walked the path back toward the glittering castle that he knew would feel so empty without the presence of the woman he loved, or still loves. Death could not change the fact that the two of them were meant to be, he knew that for certain. He pushed open the door to the castle and heard his parents and Gregory talking quietly in the parlor, accompanied with the occasional musical twinkle of a teacup being set on a tea saucer. Thankfully, he closed the door silently enough that it didn’t bring attention to him, and if it did, no one brought attention to it.

Draco retraced the steps of the stone staircase, his feet padding softly across the royal purple carpet runner. His eyes glanced around the foyer, wondering when it would be that anyone would inhabit this house once more. It would probably be a very long time before Gregory would want to even look at the house, now that it was completely empty, sparing him. Draco remembered which tapestry to pull back to enter that secret staircase Charlotte and he always took as children to get to her room and, consequently, his room. Even if they could not stand one another, Charlotte always made sure to keep him as close to her as she possibly could. Soon enough, he was exiting the staircase and walking into the wing that housed Charlotte’s room and the guest room that Draco always stayed at.

His brows bent as he noticed the portraits were sleeping, almost as if Charlotte was gone, so was the magic that kept them alive. Slowly, he made his way over to Charlotte’s door and grasped the handle. His heart gave an awkward jump in his chest as he turned the handle and pushed open the door. Draco merely stood in the doorway for the longest time, looking around the still, empty room. Drawing in a deep breath of air through his nose, he stepped into the room, letting the door close behind him. He swallowed hard and glanced around at everything that was Charlotte’s.

The baby grand piano had a thin sheen of dust over it. The bed was made and looked like no one had slept in it for weeks upon weeks. The fireplace had the ashes of the last fire burned in it, exposing the blackened bricks on the back of it. The curtains were pulled open and letting in the only light into the room. To Draco, it seemed, like she had just been here and like she hadn’t visited this room in years. He frowned a bit as he slowly walked further into the room, his shoes thudding hollowly on the wooden floors. He stopped in front of the small, yet empty wooden bookshelf and pushed it aside, exposing a miniscule staircase compared to the other ones in the house that led up to a familiar purple tapestry.

Draco climbed the stairs with his hands in his pockets, stepping into the room and letting out a heavy sigh. Charlotte’s private library was much dustier than her room, probably because she didn’t even allow the house elves to enter the room to clean it. His memories of this room were a bit hazy, because he only spent time in the room on Charlotte’s birthday on which they had their first partaking of firewhiskey and getting off their faces drunk. He bit his bottom lip, to keep the tears back at the simple luxury that Charlotte had enjoyed so much.

He walked over to a chair and sat down on it, staring into the empty fireplace in that room. It was then that his eyes connected on a stray book left on the mantle. Charlotte normally kept everything neat and tidy. In a moment, he was on his feet and walking over to the stray book. Tentatively, Draco lifted the book and felt even more confused when he realized that the book had no printed title. It was bound in this midnight blue leather that felt worn in a few places, like someone had touched the same spots over and over again.

Flipping the book open, he discovered that it was a diary. The first page was written back when Charlotte was ten, but that wasn’t the thing that caught his eye the most. Trapped between the first page and the cover of the book was a picture, a picture that brought tears to Draco’s eyes. It was of Charlotte and him, taken when they were around six or seven. Charlotte’s thin arms are wrapped around Draco’s shoulders and she’s smiling broadly. Draco’s expression, however, is the complete opposite. His arms were crossed defiantly and his face was set in the scowl. Charlotte leaned over and kissed Draco’s cheek, causing him to scrunch his face up a bit, as if she had a contagious disease and then the two children picture returned to their original position.

Draco choked out a sob as he lifted his hand and brushed his fingertip over Charlotte’s young and smiling face. The memories, told in her own words her, that lay in his hand would stand testament to how much he was going to miss Charlotte Adelyn Goyle and the beauty and joy she brought to his life in even the darkest of times. He would never get to hug her again. He would never get to kiss her again. He would be absolutely miserable without her. But he knew she would want him to move on and to try and live as happily as possible. It would take an uncertain amount of time for him to do so, but he would go on with what he believed would have been her wishes.

Draco Malfoy, with tears in his eyes and a gaping void in his heart, lifted the photograph up to his lips and kissed the girl that he loved and that would now forever reside in those pictures and the little memories captured there.