the girl who lost it all [d.m]

epilogue

Elara stands there, looking at him with bated breath, her pulse racing. She doesn't know what to say or how to console him—or even if she should console him.

Draco glances up, blinking through the soft strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes from the way his head is angled downwards. "Are you—How have you been?"

Elara considers the question, rolls it about on her tongue and then answers, "Where do you want me to start?"

"The beginning." His answer is immediate.

She quietens, gathering her thoughts and then said, "Okay—but will you let me cook for you as I talk?"

He hesitates and then shrugs.

So she gets to work, deciding on making him one of her favourite dishes—sweet and sour chicken with a side of egg-fried rice.

He waits, patiently as she puts the water to boil and doesn't protest when she stays silent until she's added the rice and starts on getting the vegetables out of the grocery bags.

"I wish I could kill you," she says finally, having created some sort of timeline in her head to explain things to him. "I really fucking wish I could."

He watches as she places three different coloured bell peppers on the cutting board. "I know," he says, quietly. "I expected that."

"You had no right." Her voice wavers as she pulls out a knife from one of the bags and rinses it. "Absolutely no right."

He stays quiet from behind her where he's taken a seat at the counter.

"When you disappeared for those few days," she begins, "I didn't think anything of it. You said it would take you a couple days to get everything in order in Balloch. I knew you were mourning your mother. I knew you were helping dismantle whatever was left of Voldemort's regime. I believed you."

Again, he says nothing but she can feel his gaze on her back as she finishes chopping the red bell pepper and moves onto the yellow one. "Orion was the one who told me what had happened to you—two hours after you were sentenced. He told me how there was a trial, a hearing—and he also told me about the conversation you two had before you went off to Azkaban."

She hears him shift behind her.

"He told me you forced him to keep me away. He told me you begged and pleaded with him to make sure I didn't testify."

"I did." His voice is so quiet.

Her eyes burn at the admission and she focuses on cutting. It doesn't help that she's lived with this for two years, wondering and dreaming and wishing and hoping—only to have him confirm it all. That he'd really kept her away. That he'd begged for her not to be there.

"It's not what you're thinking." He has gotten up and moved behind her—she can't remember when. His hands come into view beside her, long fingers reaching out and grasping the knife she's currently clutching onto for dear life.

He extracts it from her grip, gently and sets it down. "I did it for you."

Anger flares in her chest, white hot and rampant and she whirls on him, finding she's standing barely a couple inches away. "For me? You didn't even care enough to give me a goodbye and you think it was for me? What, were you scared I'd start crying and screaming? Thought I'd embarrass you? What was it that convinced you I was so undeserving of a goodbye?"

Draco blinks, taken aback by her outburst and says, "That's not how it was. That's not how it—Fuck, is that what you've been living with for the past two years?"