seven days lost

Some dark, utterly lonely element, some quivering sob like a plantain, like a silver fish slipping between my fingers and disintegrating into a pool of dark water.

I fell on the sofa and rested for a while, then got up and walked into the bathroom.I walked to the front of the mirror and looked at my face. Even though I had seen this strange face countless times in the brand new morning, I still felt an unreasonable fear every time I saw it.

I locked the door, turned on the faucet and started running hot water in the bathtub.A misty mist filled the bathroom, covering the silver mirror.I reached out and wrote on it with my fingertips.I didn't know what to write, so I dropped my fingers and started writing my name.I glimpse the edge of my own cheek from the rough strokes.

I stared at my silver bright name on the white mirror, and blurted it out with a huff.The new strokes cover the original traces.

Draco Malfoy, I write, with particular skill, as if I've written the name countless times.

Why did I write the name of this liar?I don't know, like I don't know why I'm crying.My emotions became uncontrollable, but my body still remembered some deep memories.

My hands, my tears, my heart.

The water in the bathtub was almost full, so I went to turn off the hot water, took off my clothes and sat in carefully.Some of the water seeped out over the shoulders and formed a small puddle on the ground.

I watched the pool of water as it crept into the shadows along the sloping stone bricks.I was in a trance for a moment.

"...No, no. No, I didn't mean to..."

A violently trembling, mournful voice sounded in my ears, very close at hand.It took me a while to realize that I was talking.

"No, don't..." I squatted down on the ground full of stagnant water and gravel, and knelt in the blood that kept oozing out.They stretched wildly and quickly covered my eyeballs, everything I could see.I raised my hand, and it was also stained with blood, sticking to my fingers.

I covered his wound with my hand, but I didn't know where to touch it. It seemed that no matter what I did, it would only make him more painful, so painful that he even lost his soul.There was no trace of blood on his face, his eyebrows were tightly knit together, his arms were twitching, and hideous and terrifying blue veins appeared on his white skin.

What do I do, what exactly do I do?How could I...how could I have done such a thing...Merlin, save me...How can I make him better and save my mistakes...

I looked down at his pale cheeks. His original golden hair had also lost its luster, and his bangs were dripping with water, messily covering his eyelashes.

"Sorry……"

I leaned down and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"Please...please get well..."

I opened my eyes suddenly, sat up straight with my hands on the armrests, and stared at my toes immersed in the water.I breathed heavily, like a swimmer just surfacing.

I touched the part of my heart, there was something missing there, and I felt empty and sad.Resentment, astonishment, disappointment, grief... Countless emotions are intertwined in my heart. I retch, but the inside of my body is empty, and there is nothing for me to pour out.I tried to stop myself, I put my head in the water - not a good idea, I choked right away and had to lift my head and rub my nose, it was very uncomfortable.

I feel it now.In the stimuli of the inside and outside, I feel what my soul is attached to.I am a drowning person, I am floating between life and death.Memories are ice in my palm, I can't hold them.

I reluctantly climbed out of the bathtub, drained the hot water that was about to cool down, dried my body, put on pajamas, and walked slowly back to the room.

I glanced at my watch, it was already two o'clock in the morning.I took out my diary and wrote down what happened just now.I tried to describe the emotions that were chaotic inside, but when I put pen to paper, I could only express poverty.

Now I'm going to focus on describing those feelings that I have captured from memory.The reason why I didn't write these down earlier is because they are indeed very ethereal and difficult to describe in concrete language.No pen and ink can really describe the flowing inner experience.

The three episodes I remember are very messy and don't seem to follow any trajectory, but they are undoubtedly related to Draco.I don't know what they mean, but I can feel it—my heart beats very fast, my breath suddenly when I turn and see Draco's face, or peek at him and Parkinson from behind the wall. Hot and cold, like sick.Talking to him made me alternately happy, exasperated, and sometimes inexplicably jealous, and my emotions moved so quickly that it was hard for me to feel them fully.

And the heart-piercing pain in the bathroom covered up almost everything else, blood, dampness, guilt, the inner state of drowning, the mask was stripped off, and what I showed was my true self.

The regrets are real, the heartache is real, the expectations are real...and so are the kisses.

It is true.Really...what else?

Maybe……

No, no... I don't know.I can't write anymore, please let me go.I can't write any more.

No, I can't sleep... When I fall asleep, I...

I remembered something again, but it was too vague, too vague...but it seemed important.what to do?

A big fire...screaming, crying...a headache.I can't remember it, I can't write it down.Stop writing and go to sleep.Why push yourself?

No... not... what I want to say is...

come here... come to me...

There seems to be a voice downstairs, I have to put the diary away... Is it Hermione?Not Ron anyway.It hurts...go to sleep...

... (handwriting wet with water)

... (handwriting wet with water)

Not Hermione.

I love him.

Good night, although it is already morning.

Write this to yourself when you wake up tomorrow: Give this diary to Draco Malfoy and tell him all the answers are in it.

The weather on the seventh day, June 6: sunny

I'm completely confused.

When I woke up in the morning, I found the mobile phone in my pocket. The page unexpectedly showed more than 70 missed calls, and they were from the same person. They continued continuously from yesterday afternoon to night, and some of them were only separated by a few minutes.Strange, what did I do yesterday afternoon?I can't remember.Why don't I answer the phone?

But all the call records are from yesterday, and the last one is at 32:51:[-] last night.He didn't call today.

Naturally, I found a box from under the bed, as if I knew what I was going to do.I took out the notebook inside.

I read it all.It turns out that my life is like this.My week was spent like this.

I went to see him.

Part2: Solid Ice

Ice 1

Draco always thought he wasn't that persistent.

There were very few times when he really wanted to do something - except maybe Quidditch, but gradually even this favorite sport of wizards gradually lost his interest.He is too busy, and there are too many things to do, but sometimes when he thinks about it carefully, he doesn't know what he has done, and time just flows away like this.

He has been in St. Mungo's Hospital for a year, and he has successfully transferred from an intern to a formal therapist.One year is enough to change a lot of things, enough to make him forget the original intention of choosing this profession, enough to make him think he has forgotten.

That day, Draco walked out of the consultation room as usual, and his colleague Senari was walking towards him.The latter waved at him and yawned lazily.

"Good morning, Draco."

"It's already noon, Senari."

"It's all the same for me. Let alone, I have more work today than yesterday. Ah, I hate working overtime."

"A new patient?" Draco asked casually, taking off his white gloves.

"Oh, of course...and it's quite tricky. But which patients in the magic injury department are not troublesome? Those Aurors come to us if they have nothing to do..."

Draco felt that the more he said, the more he went astray, and he was looking for an opportunity to slip away, but Senari suddenly patted him on the shoulder, and whispered in his ear: "By the way, one of them is a famous person... ...You must know Harry Potter, don't you? It seems that the story that was all the rumours was true...something was wrong with him."

"He's fine," he said almost without thinking.Senari looked at him a little strangely, he smiled and scratched the back of his head: "Oh, don't be so serious... I'm just saying, but his condition is indeed not very good, and his mood is very unstable."

"What's he—what's his symptom?" Draco asked, his throat constricting.

"It's not completely sure yet. The preliminary judgment has very serious memory gaps and illusions, and there may be persecution paranoia... These diseases are very difficult to treat, even if it is me..."

"You're not sure either?"

"No one dares to say that they are sure, in the field of the brain." Senari shrugged, "Of course, I will try my best."

After Senari finished speaking, he left in a hurry, and Draco still stood there motionless.After a while he came back to his senses and walked slowly towards his office.

He was very ill, and the words kept echoing in his mind.It's not surprising, is it?Who hasn't been traumatized after that war, after defeating that man?And he who is in the center of this vortex is naturally the most serious, which is not surprising.

Draco scratched his sleeve, trying to forget about it.already