Potter's Twin Sister || Draco Malfoy

39

Today's a real downer.

But then again, it's an annual downer, the thing about holidays—they just keep coming back, like a bad penny.

It's October 31, 1994, Halloween to be precise.

But it's not the Halloween festivities that are getting under my skin. It's the date itself.

This day is no holiday for me or for Harry. It's an anniversary, and not the kind you throw a party for, like a birthday.

Thirteen long years have crawled by since Voldemort brutally ended our parents' lives.

It's almost poetic in a cruel way that this anniversary coincides with Halloween.

The entire castle is in a festive frenzy. The Great Hall was transformed into a spectacle—gigantic pumpkins, carved by Hagrid into lanterns, floating around with sugary secrets inside. Apples, cauldrons of candy, cakes, and an explosion of orange decorations filled the space.

Even the Enchanted Ceiling played along, mimicking a dark night with a luminous full moon, a haunting reminder of Moony.

But the students, oh Merlin, they're the worst part. Grinning ear to ear, suffocatingly happy, wearing those fake smiles that make me want to retch.

It's not truly about celebrating All Hallows' Eve.

Not even Muggles care about the holiday's true meaning.

No, they're here to revel in the fact that Voldemort got his arse kicked, his defeat.

Fantastic, right?

Except sometimes, people forget what it cost us.

Why should they care anyway? It's not their parents who were ripped away in a flash. They don't have a lightning bolt scar etched on their foreheads, a permanent reminder of that night. They don't have to live in constant fear.

So, why the hell should they care?

Sure, there are exceptions like Lyra. I spotted her, sneaking glances at Zabini, savouring her carrot cake.

She's been by my side all day, mostly down by the Black Lake. I've poured out my heart to her, and let tears flow as we talked about the past.

I know it's cliché to let emotions loose on the anniversary of my parents' death. Just like it's cliché to shower your sweetheart with affection on Valentine's Day only.

But here's the truth of it: I think about my parents every single day, at least once. Yet, if I let myself wallow in sorrow daily, it would diminish the power of their memory.

So, Halloween becomes the one day in a year I let myself grieve.

Sometimes, though, even on this day, I refuse to let grief consume me.

I don't like crying. It feels like a surrender, a display of vulnerability I'd rather avoid. But I'm no statue, and bottling up emotions isn't always an option either.

Sighing, I left my vantage point by the Great Hall's entrance and made my way through the bustling Entrance Hall.

Bats fluttered by, causing torches to sputter, and ghosts, probably twenty of them, floated around, doing their ghostly thing. Students dashed through corridors, laughter and mischief trailing them.

And as if that's not enough, Dumbledore's brought in skeleton troupes.

Yeah, dancing skeletons, just what we need.

One bony dancer even grinned at me as it shimmied past.

I kept walking, finding refuge in the Clock Tower Courtyard.