warning for character death and grief. lots of grief.

strikeouts are in parentheses because… ffn.

for quidditch league, magpies, Beater 2: old and young / 8. (word) careless; 13. (pairing) Draco/Astoria; 14. (object) quill

tree climbing - (genre) hurt/comfort

triple threat: "what was the point?" and angst

writing club: actor appreciation - 11. Visits hospitals whilst dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow - (genre) Hurt/Comfort; record collection - 10. You Need Me, I Don't Need You: Dialogue: "I don't need you."; fab world of comics - (word) partnership; amber's attic - Let's Meditate: Write about someone trying to clear their mind.; elizabeth's empire - Ethereal - (dialogue) "You light up every room you walk into."; liza's loves - Jenga - Write about trying to keep something intact; angel's archive - 6. Rainbow Rose - (theme) unstable; scamander's case - (dialogue) "I don't know what to think anymore."; lyric alley - Sad and delicate

thank you to ever, ciara, and piper for betaing!

1867 words by gdocs

It's been three days since you died and —

Draco presses the quill in his hand down so hard that the tip snaps. His hand is shaking as he yanks open his desk drawer and pulls out another quill. Over the past week, Draco's cried so much that he doesn't see how he could cry any more. Still, there's a sharp pinprick behind his eyes, and he wills himself to not let the tears fall as he dips the new quill in ink and continues to write.

To be honest, I'm angry. Of course I'm upset, but I'm angry, too. (I don't understand how you could do this to me.) I know you didn't plan or want this, but it still makes me angry whenever I think about you. Which, of course, is always. (I can't stop shaking because of it.)

I was thinking, earlier, that we had said "until death do us part". I guess we fulfilled that part of the promise, huh? Except we also promised, later, that we'd love each other until we're old and graying and I don't see how we're supposed to do that when I'm here and (you're six feet under.)

Draco pushes the piece of parchment away from him roughly, causing it to crumble at the edge. His ink is probably smudged there, and he could pull out his wand and fix it, but what's the point? It's not like anyone's ever going to read it.

He's writing a letter to someone whose eyes will never be able to read again.

…

It's been seven days since you've died and I know, if you could see me now, you'd think I'm being a shit father. To be fair, I was never exactly a good one in the first place. I was always afraid of messing up, like my father did with me. Now, I guess, is where it'd be pretty clear that I am messing up. If you were here, you'd probably tell me to reach out to him, that he needs me at this time, that he'd take great comfort in me being there.

(I'm trying, I'm really trying, I don't know how. Why is this so hard?)

This was supposed to be a partnership. We were supposed to be a team, you and I. (I guess that's another promise you broke.) How am I supposed to do this by myself?

What would you do if you were here? If it was the other way around? I know that you probably wouldn't be writing to me. You were never one to do something that doesn't have a purpose, and what purpose do these letters have except me complaining? I've written seven so far, one for every day you haven't been here, and so far, all they've done is make me feel even sadder, to know that I'm writing a letter that I can never send.

Draco pauses, his quill hovering above the parchment. His study is adjacent to Scorpius' room, and Draco thinks he can hear his son moving around. Listening closely, Draco thinks he can hear faint sobs.

His heart aches.

He should go to him.

…

I need to move on, Draco writes, and the hand holding his quill is shaking as it moves across the parchement. I think it's killing me, still loving you. You were too young to die. (Is it selfish that I don't want to be the same?) I hate that I'm going to have to grow older without you.

I can't stop thinking about you, though. It's been a month and I can't stop thinking about how you light up every room you walk into. Or, you lit up every room. (I still can't get used to speaking about you in the past tense. It feels wrong.)

I've survived, though. I didn't think I would be able to survive one day, but it's been thirty-one whole days and I'm… still here. (You're not, and that's the problem.)

I just can't keep writing to you.

When Draco puts down his quill, his hand still shaking, it feels final.

"I don't need you," Draco says. The words feel wrong on his lips, like he's betraying Astoria by voicing the words. "I don't need to write to you."

He's lying to himself.

"What was the point?" he says miserably, folding up the most recent letter and putting it on top of the thirty old ones. He puts away his quill and he thinks that he'll never want to use it again.

…

How is it possible that it's been a full year?

Draco's quill stops on the parchment, the ink making a big blot on the page.

I don't know what to think anymore. I don't think that anything I can do will ever make it okay. I still miss you like it was yesterday.

How do I make it stop?

…

(I still love you. It's been two years and it still hurts and waking up every morning feels like a fresh wound and I don't know how to make the pain stop. I just want it to stop hurting, please.)

…

It's weird, moving on. I mean, I still think of you every single moment of every single day, but it doesn't quite feel like a hot knife anymore. It still stings, but it doesn't make me bleed.

(Can I apologize for what I'm about to do? It feels like I'm betraying you, though I know if you were here you would be happy for me.

If you were here, though, I wouldn't be doing this. Isn't that interesting, the way that is?)

It's been three years since you've died. I need to do this for me.

Tonight's bittersweet in Draco's opinion. With a sigh, he folds up the piece of parchment and places it carefully on the stack of his other letters before getting up.

He has a date to get to.

…

I've become careless, I think. Honestly, though, what's the point? What's the point of caring in the first place? It's been five whole years and I still can't move on from you. What's wrong with me?

I know, if you were here, you'd want me to move on, and that's what makes it so hard. I can't make myself care enough about someone else the same way I cared about you. (I'm too scared of getting hurt again.)

I just can't do it.

So of course I just reverted back to who I was when I was a freaking teenager and of course I became careless enough to not actually express that I love someone because how am I supposed to love someone that's not you? (And so I lost a second relationship, but somehow this hurts the same because it's all my fault. If I just tried a little bit harder, maybe I wouldn't be so hung up on you.)

I'm sorry.

Draco's entire body is trembling. Without meaning to, he grasps the quill in his hand a little too hard. It snaps at the same time something in Draco's heart does.

Draco doesn't replace it.

…

(My hair's starting to get gray. Why aren't you here?)

…

Draco looks in the mirror, and his blond hair isn't quite blond anymore. There are gray streaks in his hair, and his heart gives a little pang as he thinks of a promise he made so long ago, about how he'll have someone there when he's old and gray.

Draco can count on one hand the amount of people he has in his life now, and none of them is the person who promised to be there.

He thinks, this time, it's actually the last time he'll pick up a quill to write a letter. He doesn't think he's long for this world anymore, not when he's seventy-five and approaching eighty faster than he can blink.

I don't know how to write this letter, he says, his shaky hand going across the parchment. He thinks that it's interesting to see that, for once, he's not shaking out of sadness.

I think it needs to be done, though. I know you don't need this closure, but I still do, somehow. I just need to get it out.

I've never stopped loving you. It hurt me, (sometimes.) (a lot of the time.) sometimes. I think that I'm going to see you again, though.

I don't think it's fair that I've lived to be this old and you had to die so young, but I think that maybe you were there the entire time. (Maybe I just refused to see you.)

I can't wait to see you again.

Draco pushes the quill away and folds up the letter, as always.

Closing his eyes, Draco thinks about how, sooner or later, he'll be able to see Astoria again.

…

Draco pulls Astoria into his arms and, together, they fall backwards onto the bed. He can't believe he's finally married. It's like he's been waiting his entire life to be with this one person and now, finally, he's with her.

"You know," Astoria says, tracing Draco's face with her finger, "I think wedding vows are a little bit bullshit."

"Then why'd you say them?" Draco remarks, his hands exploring the planes of her back. His fingers trail over the lace of her wedding dress, and he thinks — not for the first time, and definitely not for the last — that Astoria's never looked more beautiful than she does in this moment. She leans down and presses a deep kiss to Draco's lips, one that has him shuddering just a little bit.

"Don't get me wrong, I plan to keep them," she says, moving her lips to Draco's nose and kissing that. "I just think that there's so much more to say that those vows didn't."

"Oh, yeah?" Draco challenges, moving his hands to cup her face and kiss her deeply. His wife. He feels giddy. "Like what?"

"Like…" Astoria starts, her fingers now climbing into Draco's hair, and he can't even complain. "Like, I'm going to be there when you're old and gray and when you can't do much anymore. I'm still going to love you, even then."

"Isn't that a given?" Draco asks, reveling for a second in the feel of Astoria's hands on his body. "I love you now. I don't think I could ever stop loving you, even if your hair turns gray."

Astoria lets out a little breathless laugh, and Draco's a bit breathless too, but he still manages to kiss her. He wants to memorize the shape of her lips on his, the taste of her mouth. He knows that they have eternity to be together, but Draco still wants to keep something for later. A reminder.

"I love you," Draco says, as he thinks about how he'll remember this for the rest of his life. "Forever and ever."

"I love you forever and ever," Astoria repeats back. It feels like a dream, to have someone this ethereal in his arms. If it's a dream, Draco thinks, he never wants to wake up.

It's almost overwhelming to know that it'll be like that for the rest of his life.