Following a fantasy
It was a hard battle against him. He shot his followers as if they were bullets from the sky; they showered among the inncoent and killed the unsuspecting. He did not have mercy.
I awake during the night, sometimes, seeing a face that has perished, contemplating it's whereabouts and weeping without a sound. My love for that face will never dominish, and I will certainly destroy the one who dissolved the life of my love.
In times of desparation, I follow a distant voice I hear, and I swear that I see his faint, ghostly essence. But he is dead.
Voldemort is stronger than ever. He is forcing the death eaters upon each and every naive muggle. The poor souls. I fought against him. I felt his wrath. I fought with my love. And my love did not survive.
One day I will rest again, but not now. Until he is defeated and destroyed, I will not sleep. He has killed my love.
Never again will I see the face of Draco Malfoy. For his grave is clearly palpable, as is my undying devotion to my love. I read his tombstone resentfully it says, "Draco Malfoy, loving husband of Hermione Granger and father of 3." I read this every day and admit, though however un-willingly, that I will never hear the voice of my love again. And every day I see a reflection of his face in our children and feel tears run down my mangled, charred cheek.
I will not sleep a minute until I bring my love to justice.
It was a hard battle against him. He shot his followers as if they were bullets from the sky; they showered among the inncoent and killed the unsuspecting. He did not have mercy.
I awake during the night, sometimes, seeing a face that has perished, contemplating it's whereabouts and weeping without a sound. My love for that face will never dominish, and I will certainly destroy the one who dissolved the life of my love.
In times of desparation, I follow a distant voice I hear, and I swear that I see his faint, ghostly essence. But he is dead.
Voldemort is stronger than ever. He is forcing the death eaters upon each and every naive muggle. The poor souls. I fought against him. I felt his wrath. I fought with my love. And my love did not survive.
One day I will rest again, but not now. Until he is defeated and destroyed, I will not sleep. He has killed my love.
Never again will I see the face of Draco Malfoy. For his grave is clearly palpable, as is my undying devotion to my love. I read his tombstone resentfully it says, "Draco Malfoy, loving husband of Hermione Granger and father of 3." I read this every day and admit, though however un-willingly, that I will never hear the voice of my love again. And every day I see a reflection of his face in our children and feel tears run down my mangled, charred cheek.
I will not sleep a minute until I bring my love to justice.