Memoirs
When I first realized who he was, I didn't know what to do. So of course, I had to be a total braggart. Our first few meetings, I could tell he was quickly getting turned off by my stupid behavior. What can I say? I was young and stupid back then. So I went with it, always teasing him. His smart friend loathed me and his ginger friend was of a family of traitors to purebloods. But I couldn't help my fall back reaction! I guess I'm a sadist, really, but how can you blame me? He was just my type: pale, dark hair, glasses, and almost pureblood, to boot. If only his mum weren't a mudblood… but she did give him those dazzling eyes. Eyes that would look amazing if he cried… I get shivers every time I think about him.
But of course, he wouldn't like me. Pale, blonde, and spoiled. My family is absolutely bonkers, out to get rid of Potter. A bit like Romeo and Juliet, though, it seems. But I guess Juliet doesn't know about Romeo yet. Or am I Juliet? Sometimes I feel like I could tell him at any moment and everything would work out. Other times, well, I know it wouldn't ever work out. My mum might be on my side, a bit, but my father would be appalled.
I remember when I got to step on his face… his blood was a lovely red. And later that year, when I realized we were sharing the same hiding room… I tried to stop him and really wanted to kiss him then and there. If I had gotten that vial, I might not only have succeeded in my mission, but also might have been able to be with him. When we locked eyes in the Three Broomsticks, I wish I could have taken him to the back room. Those moments I had with him alone I now treasure even more. First year in the Forbidden Forest, I might not have seemed to enjoy his company, but there I was again with my back-up emotions.
Now I have to suffer my marriage to some girl I don't even care about, my own child able to go to the same school as his children. I keep daydreaming of how it could have been, or how I could meet with him now. I fear it won't ever happen, not in this lifetime. Maybe I should have stolen a kiss from him. Would I have been satisfied? When he was centimeters from my face, even though his was blown up and disfigured, I could have done it. I could have asked to question him alone, couldn't I have? No. I knew then it could never work, and I refuse to admit it, but… it definitely wouldn't work ever. These words will most likely burn themselves if ever they got into public, out of sheer embarrassment in my memory. I hope whoever reads this is confused as to who I am, or who I'm talking about, or doesn't understand this jumble of words.
In a way, I guess, this is my suicide note. I shall be killing my memories of him tonight, or I fear my own family is going to fall apart soon. But what could ever replace him? Who could ever – oh. My wife. Goodbye, Harry Potter, soon you shall be but a person of my past, not even…
