WHEN THE MOON SHINES ✪ DM

the diary

THE DIARY WAS still kept intact, as if no one had touched it all. Viola and Hannah practically cried over the diary, their tears barely touching the parchment as they yelled at Draco furiously for not telling them, he couldn't help but cry. His thoughts were flooded by her words that day, telling him that the brightest stars were Viola and Hannah; he had wished they would've heard it from her firsthand. But he didn't let any of his tears nor the others soil the prized possession.

Ophelia's diary looked like a normal book, brown leathered cover, a small button that enclosed the book, securing it to show the privacy that dominated the blank pages. Now, it was filled with memories, different ones for each occasion. Draco saw them more as letters, he felt as if she had just wrote to him and was expecting him to write back. Did she ever receive the letter he wrote to her a week after her passing? That was a silly question. Of course she didn't.

She was gone.

The dark mark on his forearm stung badly; it reminded him of his fate, one that he could not leave. His heart wrenching reality, one he wished he could run away from. But if he did, death would take him away, and he didn't want that to happen. He wasn't going to let Ophelia down. He was going to live for her no matter what, but all he needed right now was guidance, just her words.

His fingers flipped through the pages, one by one the pages fell on top of another, he didn't know why, but he hoped something of her soul would come out. Something that could possibly help him even if it wasn't direct. His fingernail had gotten caught in one of the pages, he didn't realize the paper had left a small cut, as blood oozed out of his dainty fingers.

Blood spilt onto the pages.

He cursed underneath his breath. No, he couldn't soil those pages, his blood could not cover her writing. However, it was too late, blood inked the page of the dairy, he was frantic at this point, blood dried quickly on paper, there was no going back.

Time was a terrible thing indeed.

Yet something was odd.

Blood seemed to edge in between one of the pages, as if there was something on the other side, as if a page had been glued stuck. That wasn't possible, Ophelia had used up every page in this diary. He had read every single one, he had repeated them in his mind, he had read them at night, he would run his fingers across the parchment.

But he was wrong. He didn't read all the pages of her diary, he didn't read all of the memories they shared one time.

He had one more page to read.

And that's when Draco Malfoy took the page apart.

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