InsaneJournal

Silver

I remember the first day I ever met you – properly, that is. You were two years older than me, already boasting to my little sister about how you were going to grow up just like your father as we walked through your gardens while our parents talked. I remember thinking that she was stupid, to be listening to all the things you were saying. I remember wondering how she could be so stupid as to throw herself at the feet of any boy who came her way – and you were only a boy then, don’t deny it.

But mainly, I remember you. There was no other word for it, you shone. Your hair was white, bleached even paler than its natural colour by the sun, reflecting every ray that filtered through the trees. It gave you a halo, one that you didn’t deserve, but one that my sister clearly thought you did. Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight, too, in a way which I had never seen before and have never seen since. It wasn’t just your looks that made you shine, though, it was you. It was the way you gestured your hands wildly as you explained things to us mere mortals. It was the way your smile stretched across your whole face, lighting up those eyes so that they sparkled like polished silver, even without the sunlight. I didn’t throw myself at your feet, like Daphne had done, but I knew that there was something about you. I liked you at first glance, which rarely happened to me with anyone.

(Did you ever realise that my favourite metal was because of you? I know I didn’t, not at first. I didn’t know that every silver locket bought, every silver ring that graced my fingers, every pendant, every bracelet, was an attempt to capture your eyes, to carry them around with me so I could picture them whenever I wanted to. I didn’t realise that until I began to notice the silver of your eyes dying, becoming cold and lifeless, becoming almost identical to the pieces I wore. It made me stop wearing them, for a while, but I couldn’t bear to live without the reminders of how your eyes had once shone.)

You always thought it was luck that brought the two of us together. It wasn’t. In the two years between the Battle of Hogwarts and when I left, when I was finally able to come after you, I kept a close eye on you. I made sure I knew of your whereabouts constantly, knew exactly what was happening to you. It was that that saved your life. I don’t know the exact workings of your mind that made you wonder out into the middle of the Sahara Desert, with no food, water or wand, and I never wanted to force you to tell me. I told you that I was out there to see the Pyramids and the tombs of the wizard Pharaohs between leaving school and having to find employment, or marry – like one of those Muggle Gap Year things – but really, as soon as I knew you couldn’t Apparate out of there I left home and was by your side.

You hated me then, didn’t you? But I think I hated how you looked even more. You had died, inside. After everything that had happened, with Potter and the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord – or Voldemort, Tom Riddle, whatever name the Ministry is getting us to call him this week – everything that I had held dear about you had gone, every memory of you I had was false. I remember wishing I had got to you sooner. I remember staring into those dull grey eyes and wishing for the silver to return.

I don’t know whether you bought my story, of why I wanted to help. I can’t even remember what puny excuse I used. I managed to help, though, didn’t I? I managed to drag you, kicking, from the desert. I managed to force you to eat and drink, to build your strength back up. I managed to squeeze every last drop of that dullness from your eyes. On our wedding day they were silver again. When Scorpius was born, I looked up to see the sparkling ones I remembered from my childhood. That was the happiest day of my life, and I don’t know which made me happier: the fact that I had Scorpius or the fact that the man I loved was finally recovered, was finally healed and whole again.

I never told you that, did I? Even though we married, even though we had a son, even though we’ve lived and slept together for all these years, I’ve never told you that I loved you. Well, I do. I love you, from the bottom of my heart. I love the way you talk in your sleep. I love your stories, about school or work or your friends. I love your sense of humour, the way that even now you still spread rumours – my favourite is still the one about Myrtle and the Grey Lady, by the way, and I still wonder whether the Bloody Baron ever heard it. I love the way you care for me, and for Scorpius, and even for Al, in your own way, even though you always hated Potter. I love your eyes, as you might’ve guessed. I just love you.

And that’s that. After Merlin knows how many years of marriage we’ve had together (fifty-three, I know the number really) I’d never told you any of that, and I just thought that it was about time I should.

Give my love to Scorpius, and tell him that I don’t blame him for not being here. I know it’s not his fault that I’ll be gone before he can come back to Malfoy Manor. Don’t let him blame himself.

Love,

Astoria