A Portuguese and Galician word for a feeling of nostalgic longing for something or someone that one was fond of and which has been lost. It carries a fatalist tone and repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never really return. It was once described as “the love that remains” or “the love that stays” after someone is gone.
Sometimes one has to do things one wasn’t fond of. In extreme cases, one might even have to rip out their beating heart and stomp on it repeatedly.
But it didn’t mean one had to like it.
“Another,” Draco called out to the bartender, who gave the sodden man in front of him a doubtful look but proceeded to pour him his poison anyway.
Draco sipped the offensive liquid slowly, and felt it flood through his blood-stream, numbing his senses, his thoughts.
“Your father must be turning over in his grave,” said a bespectacled man as he took the seat next to him.
“Then it’s a fucking delight I don’t give a fuck about him, isn’t it?” came the prompt reply.
Looks like I’m not as drunk as I had thought. Time to remedy that.
Tilting his glass at the bartender, Draco indicated his desire without speaking.
“She misses you,” Harry said, taking a sip from his own drink.
Draco flinched slightly before gulping down the liquid in his glass.
“She needs you in her life, Malfoy,” Harry said, sighing.
“Save her…Draco, promise me you’ll save her!”
He clenched his fists, remembering the way she had held his hand in a death grip, even as she had breathed her last.
“She needs to be protected, Potter,” Draco replied, not looking at the man he was talking to. “And this is the only way.”
“Malfoy, I can arrange for protection…”
“And look at all the fucking good it did to my wife!” Draco roared, throwing the glass he had been holding at the wall, startling the patrons of the bar.
“I ignored reality. I went after her, and I selfishly claimed her. If it weren’t for…” gulping a breath of air, he shook his head and said, “Claire needs a family that isn’t tainted by the blood of innocents. She needs a parent that won’t be a curse she has to carry around for the rest of her life. She needs people who can care for her without getting her killed. That’s what she needs.”
His shoulders slumped in defeat, his voice cracked as he said, “She doesn’t need me.”
This is the first in, hopefully, a series of drabbles inspired by the words listed on Otherwordly