Remember Me Always

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all things associated with the books belong to the great Jo Rowling. I own nothing that you recognize, if I did they wouldn’t be children’s books.

Remember Me Always

~Chapter 1~

I’ll never forget the last time I saw Draco, his alabaster skin and white-blond hair streaked red with blood; whose I’m not sure. It was during the final battle, obviously; that’s the only time I had ever seen so much blood. God, it was everywhere, like sand, working its way into every crevice of my skin.

I still see him in my sleep sometimes; he was perfect. That was the last time I saw him. No one knew what happened to him after the final battle. He disappeared. I spent three months looking for him. My friends were… well, not exactly supportive, but they didn’t stop me; not when they realized that I wouldn’t listen.

It’s been six years since I stopped searching for him. I’m just glad that I got to tell him that I loved him before he…before he…

But he left me with a little piece of himself. I thought I had gotten ill over his loss, and Hermione insisted I go to Madam Pomfrey to get checked out. Our daughter turned five last March. She reminds me of him so much. She has beautiful white-blond curls (I’ve no idea where she got those from) his pale complexion, and bright green eyes. “Vera Lillian Potter: Daughter of the Man Who Triumphed.” That’s what the papers reported the day of her birth. There was a great deal of speculation over who the mother of my child was for weeks afterwards. Needless to say, the majority of the wizarding world got quite a shock when I made a formal statement outlining the details of her parentage.

I had just dropped her off at her “Aunt Mione’s”, as she was want to call her God-Mother, Hermione, when I Apparated to a small farmers' market in Surrey. I developed a penchant for cooking somewhere along the road and preferred fresh ingredients to those found in the local grocery. Vera loved to help me in the kitchen, even if it meant that it took an extra hour to prepare the food and the kitchen took on the distinct appearance of a war-zone afterward. Hermione and Ron had given her a child-sized chef’s hat, oven mitts and an apron bearing the words, “Everything I Bake Tastes Like Magic.” Ironically, they found it in a Muggle toy store.

The three of us encouraged all of her interests, from Quidditch to reading to ballet (Hermione thought it would be good for her to associate with other little girls). The child had more toys than I knew existed at her age. I know spoiled her, but I couldn’t help it; she was my world. After all, it’s not as though I had to work, what with my inheritance and the steady flow of money that came in from Fred and George’s. The two of them insisted on making me a full partner since I helped them start the shop; thus, I owned twenty percent of the stock. Any work I chose to do was simply to ward off boredom and to allow me to spend time with people my own age, other than Ron and Hermione that is.

I know that Draco would be proud of her. I explained to Vera the reason why Draco wasn’t around. She was four when she asked me right out why she didn’t have a mummy (she was a very blunt little girl, even for her age). She previously had no idea why it was strange that she didn’t have one. It was when other children in her ballet classes asked her if Hermione was her mum, that she saw fit to wonder. So I explained that she had another daddy and that he didn’t come back from the war. I told her that even though he had never met her, he loved her very much. She accepted my explanation without further questions.

I was brought out of my musings when I felt a tingle at the back of my neck. I was more than familiar with the feeling of someone looking, even staring, at me, but that was an occurrence usually reserved for the wizarding world. Who in a Muggle farmers' market, in the middle Surrey for that matter, would find me so terribly interesting? Slowly, I turned to find myself looking into a pair of silvery eyes that I hadn’t seen in over six years. It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water into my stomach. Completely overwhelmed with feelings, I didn’t know what to think. Should I be angry? Thrilled? A little of both? Maybe I was seeing things; this wasn’t the first time I thought I had run into Draco. It had been over six years, I thought he was dead for God’s sake!

The only thing I could manage to get passed my lips as I approached him, was the weak exhalation, “Draco?”

TBC

A/N: Reviews are much appreciated, however flames will be ignored. Thanks for reading.