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Not everyone likes festival cheer and unnecessary bustling of other people interactions in life. What is Christmas anyway, other than a utilitarian way to cheer up the masses into thinking that yes, you finally deserve to spend all your measly yearly savings on a holiday that is also utterly meaningless to us magical kind. If one really looks at our history, one would understand the carnage behind Christmas. We only started celebrating it to blend in with the muggles but now look at everyone trying to be like bloody muggles which might as well obliterate us.
As a child, I understood the need for parties and functions my mother had organised around Winter Solstice, but it all seems so meek now.
Mother is no longer around and Father was not far behind. Not that I blame him; I always knew he was devoted to mother, and living without her would have been worse than life after a dementor's kiss. I miss her terribly; she was the only one who loved me without any demands and consequences. I guess, in the end without her sacrifice, the war would have been lost. But she lost herself to the war, too. Saving Potter and giving him one last chance to kill the Lord Snakenose. I refuse to call him Dark Lord anymore. He took everything from me, the least I can do is keep my integrity. Fuck the Dark Lord.
I suppose I am in a brooding mood today. Why wouldn't I be? Sipping on firewhisky directly from the decanter, like the bloody fucking Malfoy I am. It's that wretched invitation again, "Honoring the Dead, Christmas 2019.". I don't want to go, I fucking don't. It's the same bloody story every year. Potter stopped going anywhere around 2005, and I found Granger drunk and crying in an alley in 2011. What the Ministry doesn't understand is that even if we are honouring the dead, some of us are actually dead inside. The Ministry just wants galleons anyway. As long as you fill their pockets, they won't care if you sent a representative, appeared naked or didn't attend at all.
I admit, I don't envy the Golden Trio anymore. Potter, no matter his flaws, settled down with she-weasel in some sort of reclusive countryside castle and disappeared off the face of the earth. He probably doesn't want to be the boy wonder anymore. Not that I blame him, so many people died in that battle. And some even who weren’t even actively fighting. I would be a fool to want his life. So much loss and so much pain. All for the whims of a madman on the quest for immortality.
My fingers are numb and I can’t feel the weight of decanter. Merlin, I miss you. Sometimes I wish I was a dragon, flying high burning mayhem down the fiery sky. Sometimes I wish I could see you one last time. I saw the Weasel just a few weeks before though. I think he runs the joke shop now. He lost Brothers too, the Twins, but you already know that. I suppose it's true what they say about twins, they do everything together. George was just a little late this time but he is with Fred now and just like that Ronald Weasley was never the same again.
War changes people, but in terms of scope , Granger was affected the most. I still remember like it was yesterday. I was going through the things in Father's study when the tiniest tingle notified me of a breach in the wards. Imagine my surprise when, upon checking the disturbance, I found Granger in the ballroom, slashing her wand through the air and smashing everything to bits. I should have hexed her for breaching the Malfoy wards alone, but I did the unMalfoy thing instead. I left her to it and went back to the study. She spent eight hours in that wretched ballroom wrecking the thing, and if I am being honest, it was probably a good thing Bellatrix had already been dead. I don't think anything would have saved her from Granger's fury.
Ever since, it became a weekly habit of hers to visit and release mayhem on that particular spot where Aunt Bella had tortured her. After a few months, I finally decided to intervene because this much dark magic was too much even for the Manor. And the rest is history.
I won't talk about the tales of our love and understandings in years to come, all you need to know is that one fine winter morning she agreed to cleanse the area of Dark Magic, and I helped.
I don’t know how, but I managed to persuade her into working for me as a curse breaker for the entire Manor. Week after week, we went through each and every room, and each and every wing. It never felt so alive before. But hey, even mended china still have cracks right?
The problem is, how do you convince a person who doesn't feel worthy that life is worth it. How do you do it, if you don't feel alive yourself most of the time?
Fred Weasely: dead. George Weasley: dead. Colin Creevey: dead. Potter: a wreck. Survivor’s guilt is a death trap. Granger is an excellent example. She tried and tried to move out of the rabbit hole. She destroyed the ballroom. She cleansed the Manor of dark magic. She exposed Snakenose’s collaborators in the Ministry. But the roots kept on dragging her down and down.
The decanter is almost empty, and I am almost blissfully drunk now. She hates when I am like this, but we can't both win at this game. How else am I supposed to survive the sordid party. If Granger didn’t expect me to go, I probably wouldn’t anyway. This doesn't happen a lot though, but I am sure when Granger finds me like this , she will not approve. Or at least she wouldn't have if she hadn't killed herself in 2011, after one of these "Honoring the Dead" Galas. Survivor’s guilt really fucks you up.
I wish I could follow you one last time though, Granger.