Never • The Lost Daughter | A Draco Malfoy Love Story

Chapter 85 - Godric's Hollow

I couldn't help wishing that it wasn't Harry I was kissing, but Draco. Harry knew that very well but it was what he had expected and accepted. He made me forget for a few moments.

Why was I feeling dirty and lost the next morning? I thought I was sure some hours ago. I even remembered liking it.

Yes.

I had regretted.

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It was kind of hard for me to Apparate since I was so tired. But when I reached Godric's Hollow followed by Hermione and Harry, I could do nothing else but go up to Harry and pass my hand around his, thinking that it would be warmed this way.

It was snowing in this little old town. Harry and I walked down the street while Hermione was only a few feet behind us, knowing that we would love to be alone here. Everything was quiet. No one was outside. Only a man getting out of a pub and heading home was there to break this silence.

"Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve!" said Hermion. "Listen," she whispered and looked towards the church trying to recognise the prayers.

Harry's eyes were wandering somewhere else. It was behind the church, where there was a graveyard. I knew what he was thinking.

"Do you think they are in there, Anne? Our parents?" he asked.

"I think we should find out."

We walked inside and started searching the graves silently. Hermione was still behind us, and she was letting us search on our own. In every grave I was passing through, I felt my heart beating faster and faster. I felt I was getting closer to my mother.

Harry found his parents just a few minutes after starting searching. There were not many things to say or to do now. It was a moment that was only his. I felt Hermione closing up and kneeing beside the grave. Then she waved her wand in a circle and a white rose ref showed up just in front of the grave. She took multiple steps back and gave us some time.

I saw Harry's eyes glistening.

"Merry Christmas, Anne," he said, with the tears blocking his voice.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," I answered back, with my voice bitterer than ever.

He took his eyes off his parents' grave, turned to face me, and looked into my blue eyes.

"They would be happy seeing me here with you. The daughter of their best friend," he said after a moment.

"I'm sure they would," I said and I felt my own eyes getting the same glimmer of tears as Harry's.

"Anne?" said Hermione with a soft voice, breaking the silence. "There's a statue there. And I think it's yours," she said and I followed her hand to see a white marble statue standing about forty feet away, near the end of the graveyard. I simply let go of Harry's hand and walked toward it, hardly finding my steps. I felt Harry following me but leaving me alone to walk to my mother's statue.

I could see the woman made of marble, clearer and clearer. That woman looked so much like me. With long hair and kind features the same as mine. Even her body looked the same shape as mine, even though it looked older and mature. In her hands, she was holding a little baby. Me. Under the statue, I saw her name.

Here lies Sophialine McGregory, ex-Ambassadress of the Ministry of Magic, spiritual leader of the magical world and mother of the Lost Daughter.

Rest in peace.

And after that, with small letters, there was a short quote.

"Retribution shall be ours."

All around the grave I could see flowers. Most of them were dead now, but there were some roses that were still fresh while most of them had either a small piece of paper or even a letter tied up to them. I kneed with the snow watering my jeans and took one of the oldest letters.

I'll never forget what you did for me. I will never forget how you saved me, I read. You are and you will always be alive in our minds.

Leonard Stormfelt

I didn't know who he was, or what my mother did for him, but I felt like I knew him the way my mother did. I felt his pain, his loss. Sometimes I thought I could see him standing beside me. Because my mother had done the same thing for me. She saved me. She saved me from Voldemort's hands.

I picked another letter and unfolded it. The letter was three pages long, but only some of the words remain.

...he'll pay for what he did...

...made us proud of being wizards...

...gave us hope...

...made us your own family...

...should be the one ruling the Ministry...

Just as I'd felt Leonard approaching and admiring with me, I felt the touch of a hundred people standing with me in that graveyard. We were all looking up to her.

By the time I stopped reading, I felt Harry kneeling beside me. I hadn't cried and he seemed surprised when he realised that.

"She is happy now. She has a daughter such as you," he said and kissed my forehead again.

"She must be proud," said Hermione, squeezing my shoulder even more.

I hoped I could say something to her, show her how much I loved her even though I had never really met her, tell her all about my sorrow and my pain, my worries and my problems. Somehow I knew that she would be the best mother and given me the most thoughtful advice. I imagined me being a small kid and running up to her with the same laughter as I always did when I ran up to my adoptive parents. She would be a great mother if Voldemort hadn't taken her away from me.

And then I imagined how life would be if I had Sophialine and Voldemort as parents. What if my mother had made my father a good man, stopped whatever he was doing and devoted himself to his family, my mother and me?

The image inside my mind changed again. Now I saw a handsome man standing beside my mother, who had let her hands around my shoulders. It was Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort. The man my mother loved. I had his eyes. A light blue. He was the father I wish I had. He was a true father, instead of the monster he now was.

No. That image couldn't become true. My mother was dead and Tom Riddle was now Voldemort. And I was lonelier than ever.

"She is proud of you, baby."

The voice came from behind us. This gentle, kind and melodic voice that I still loved. I was the only one who had ever met this voice. In front of other people, he used a much stiffer and stronger voice.

I thought it was my imagination, as it was so many times before. I couldn't imagine how it could be right, so I just ignored the voice. But Harry and Hermione turned and looked behind. Hermione made a noise of both excitement and terror. Harry shot himself up with either fear or anger. Harry had made a few steps but I heard him stopping.

"Anne?" she said silently but her voice was in terror. "It's..." she started and she nudged me softly on the shoulder but didn't say anything else. "It is..."

I turned my head back to see what they were looking at, knowing that it couldn't be who I wished it was. I had idly hoped that he would turn up one day and I would be stunned and confused. I had gotten over that phase of grief and now I knew how to fight even the smallest of suspicions even before they arose. But when I turned and saw this face, there was nothing that could prove that I was not insane. I swear I could see him. Standing just a few feet away from me and looking at me with the most bitter but also joyful eyes.

"Draco..." I muttered.

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