The Perfect Gift

She's smiling – always smiling; she never seems to stop. I remember when I first saw that smile. It was infectious. Everyone that saw it would smile too. I can't say why... It's just one of those things in life that seems to happen, and that you can't explain – it's a mystery. There was just something about her that would make people smile. There was this aura around her that radiated confidence and happiness – perfection, even. Everything about her was perfect – there was nothing wrong with her. No imperfections. No flaws. Nothing.

She was always the best – better than everyone else; better than me. I was only second best – it was all that I could hope for. I could never be the best with her around. And being second best wasn't enough... Not for my father, at least. He always had the best of everything – nothing could be anything lower than number one. And for me – his own son – to be second best; to a girl like her, no less – was simply unacceptable.

So I buried myself in books. I gave it my all, and I put everything I could into my work. I stayed up endless nights working hard at my desk – memorizing facts, writing essays, doing projects... And it still wasn't enough. She would still beat me in everything we did. It didn't even seem like she put in any effort into it – it just seemed to all come to her naturally. It bothered me to no end that she did so much better than me, and she didn't even seem to care.

She was too perfect... No one that had her deserved her. She was too good for this messed up world that we live in. She was an angel sent from the heavens to grace our presence; always doing good for others, and going out of her way to help them. In our bleak world filled with hatred and spite, she was a bright, shining light of beauty that shone when all other lights were off...

But somehow, somehow she became mine. For some reason, she chose me. She got the idea in her head that I was the one for her. I still remember that night in the library where it began...

She was always in the library – it was practically her second home. Whenever I was at the library I would see her there- surrounded by books, reading. Nothing could distract her when she was with her books. It was as if she was lost in her own world that no one else could enter.

She was in the library more than I was. At one point, I thought that it might be her escape – as it was mine. Whenever I'd had enough of everything, I would seek sanctuary in the quiet library where everything seemed safe. Amidst the tomes of books and shelves, I could easily get myself lost in someone else's life, and forget about the harsh realities. It was a far better place than where I lived with my parents could ever be. A home is a place where you have a loving family that cares about you – a place to run away to when everything else seems to be falling apart. My only home was the library.

My house was simply a building where three people lived together. My parents kept up a cool façade at all times – you weren't to show any emotion; it was a weakness. Dinner was the only time that we were together, and I always tried to find ways out of it. However, my parents would have none of that. It was a silent family affair – the only thing that made us remotely like any family. Most of the time, my father wasn't even there during dinner – it was just me and my mother.

I suspected for the longest time that my mother only used dinner as an excuse to be with someone. Whenever my father wasn't home, she was all alone in our big house with nothing to do. We had people to do all the work for her, so all she could do was drink – she couldn't even be a proper housewife. She craved human company, and behind her mask of poise and superiority, there was simply a woman that wanted to break free and breathe fresh air, feel the sun's rays grace her pale features, and simply have a conversation.

However, when my father was home for dinner, it was cold. He always criticized everything, was angry at the world, and made everyone around him feel bad. Those were the nights when he would come home from the Dark Lord, angry and in pain. He had only us and the house-elves to take it out on.

Whenever I was younger, I thought that that was how all families behaved. But then when I went to school, I saw how wrong it was. That was another thing that bothered me about her – her family. Like everything about her, it was perfect. A loving mother and father that were proud of their child. They were the picture-perfect family that actually acted like one too. She knew what love was – I'd only seen and read about it. But all of that changed – all because of that one night in the library.

She was pouring over her books as she always did. We were the only two people in the library apart from the librarian, and the only sound you could hear was the occasional sound of her flipping a page in her book from the corner she was sitting in. It was then that I noticed just how beautiful she was. She's not what the average person would call gorgeous; perhaps pretty, at most. But at that moment, I saw the most beautiful thing in the world.

The best – perhaps worst, now that I think about it – part, was that we were pretty well alone. Normally I would have simply glanced at her ever so often and mused about what if situations. But that night, I didn't – I did something different; I went up to her.

I'd recently lost my grandmother, so I wasn't thinking straight. My grandmother was a formidable woman. She wasn't like many grandmothers that bake cookies, give hugs, and buy gifts for their grandchildren. My grandmother did what she had to do to get along in life. She didn't care what anyone thought of her as long as she believed in what she did. She had been a single mother her entire life, and the family had always shunned her. Nevertheless, she'd stood her ground, and hadn't let it get her done. She was someone that demanded respect, and she was one of the only people in the world that I did truly respect.

Everyone knew what I thought about her. We'd had to write a paper about the person that we admired the most in the world. Foolishly, I'd poured out all of my thoughts onto that sheet of paper that I turned in to the teacher. Everyone heard my paper when the teacher asked me to go up and read it in front of the class.

Then when she died, I was devastated. There was a silent love between us, and then it was gone. In a small town like mine, news travels fast, and soon enough, everybody knew about her death. They would all send me sad smiles, with eyes full of pity. I didn't want it – they didn't know what it felt like to lose the one person that you had any connection with. I'd managed to survive before when she was there, but when she died, I didn't think that I'd be able to go on – she was what had kept me going. And that's how it happened.

She must have heard me walking because she looked up from her books and looked be straight in the eye. Her eyes were filled with pity and sadness – I didn't want pity from anybody; much less her. So I told her. I don't know why, but, I told her that I didn't want her pity. She didn't answer me, and simply kept looking at me, as if searching for something.

And then I did something I never thought that I would do – I kissed her. And then it all began. For several wonderful months, I was living in a fairytale with her. Nothing could bring us down. But then, reality started to set in.

Our fathers were completely different. Hers was a muggle, while mine was apart of the Dark Lord's extermination of muggles and muggle-born witches and wizards. Her father knew about us from her letters, and mine didn't – he couldn't. He clearly didn't approve of it, and I knew that my father wouldn't either. I knew that my father would get angry with me when he finally did find out. Not only because she wasn't rich and not that high up on the social ladder; but also because of the fact that she was a mudblood, that had bested me not once in our classes.

Her friends didn't approve of me either. I wasn't the type of person that they'd pictured her to be with. They'd pictured her with someone perfect – just like her. Not me. I was the son of a deatheater, and they all thought I would grow up to be just like him - she was too good for me.

We both knew that our perfect world was going to come to an end soon. We started arguing constantly, and soon after, we would run back into each others' arms, sad that we were so stupid earlier, and glad that we were fine then. But the magic was gone. The War is approaching, and two people like us just can't be together in a world like this.

I breathe in the air around me. There's the faint sound of water coming from below in the lake. The giant squid is languidly swimming around – not a care in the world. This place is beautiful. I can see the sun setting, and the colours of light dancing around, slowly fading into darkness. It's ironic that this is the one place that we didn't go together. It seemed like a place to cheap to take her since everyone came her to snog. She deserved better than to be taken here. I never realized that this place could be better for something other than just kissing.

As I look down below me, and I see the grounds below, I'm happy that this'll be the last thing I see – everything looks so peaceful from up here. How ironic that the sun is setting at almost the same time as my life is setting. I've been through so much in this world, that I'm amazed that I've gotten through it all. All of the troubles that I've faced seem to be piling up on my shoulders, and that weight seems to keep growing. Each day that I've woken up, I've been amazed that I've made it through to the next day. But this time, I won't wake up to greet the sun's rays.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and I'm going to give her the greatest gift that I could ever give her. I'm going to kill myself.