The Malfoy Project

𝟖𝟗 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝

     Every once in a while, an unpleasant memory resurfaces from the dredges of our minds: a mistake or a regret. Like a whirlpool, it sucks us into the thousand possible things we could have or should have done instead. We rehash it on sleepless nights, picking it apart like a knot to find the exact moments of the how, the why, and the could-have-been.

     For me, this is something I will always do for the rest of my life pertaining to the events that have unfolded since. I will spend nights on end picking at this impossible infinity knot; searching, deducing for that pivotal second in Time when it all went so horribly wrong. 

     It is hard to pinpoint this culprit moment, especially when there are so many before and after. But each and every time, my mind inevitably lands on this very day. 

     I call it the Incident At The Hospital, or, sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly unforgiving towards myself, The Beginning of The End.

     It torments me like a Boggart. If I had done this instead of that, this wouldn't have happened, and if this hadn't happened, that wouldn't have happened, and so on and so forth. But the most devastating thing of all is knowing that all of it had been my doing. Mine and no one else's. Because if I hadn't asked Monty to come with me to visit Narcissa in the hospital, Hogwarts need not have seen another unnecessary death.  

     A bystander would say it happened on the night of the Leaver's Ball, but I know the truth. And the truth of the matter is that the genesis of it all was much, much earlier. It all began on this pleasant late April morning, when the sky was smiling and the grass was dewy. 

      Everything else is just ripples.

༻❁༺

     Monty is exactly seventeen minutes late. I had expected him to be. I waited by the backdoor of the castle, pretending not to notice him as he takes long and unhurried strides. He is dressed in a black felt coat, the dim indoor light gleaming off carefully-placed waves I know he had taken his sweet time on. Monty likes making people wait, to anticipate his arrival. He enjoys punishing us like that.

     "Sorry," he says as he closes the remaining distance between us. "I had to deal with some Quidditch thing."

     I don't say that it's alright, because that would imply there had been a problem in the first place. Instead, I say, "I thought you would've handed captain duties to Henry by now," as my eyes travel down to the brown bottle-shaped package he is gripping by the neck.

     "Yeah, that's one of the things." He breezes past me and uses his free hand to push open the door. The sun hits one side of his face and I am taken aback by how startlingly green his hazel eyes are today. 

     They change colours often, flashing dark ocean or leaf green according to the seasons and his moods, but they have never been this shade before: bright orange centres melting into a pale sea glass green, looking straight through me as if I am nothing but the thinnest veil of lace.

     I force myself to look away. "Ready?"

     He offers me a half-shrug, giving no indication of his answer. Then again, I decide I am too tired to particularly care. I move to step outside when he catches my hand. "What do I say?" he asks, with a hint of nervousness in his voice.

     "You don't have to say anything," I tell him. "Even just a smile will do."

     His gaze rests upon me as he considers this. "You know I'm only doing this for you."