I had always thought Harry would be my first. The stupid childhood fantasy of having your first love that were you infatuated with for years prior be the one to take your virginity. It would be on our wedding night with us both laughing from nerves and embarrassed for our inexperience. And we would love each other more for that. When I turned 16 I threw away that fantasy along with my dolls and things frilly and pink. Began to date boys and started to make out in corridors always managing to make a clean escape before Flitch or his stupid cat saw us.
Once Harry and I did start to date I for a moment thought perhaps that dream could come true. Only for a moment though. It would seem the chase for him was better than the catch. There was no fun in it for me once I conquered his heart and soul. It all came quite boring. I hadn't the heart to tell him - especially with the war, his life being threatened constantly, all I could was hold his hand and support him. When the day came that he told me he was putting us on hold my first reaction was relief for several reasons. None that I spoke to him. Even after his death almost a year to the day of that conversation I didn't regret my feelings towards him and to us. He was a great friend simple and true.
Still I had to play the role of grieving widow, though there was no marriage or vows between, people just seemed to except me to act as if there were. I didn't mind putting on a show. Fake tears, sobbing uncontrolled and sometime being excused from class because of it. I should have been ashamed of myself and in a small way I was. It didn't alter my behavior any though. It had become easy to influence those around me, get anything I wanted by mentioning Harry's name and how much I missed him. After all he was the savior of our people, or so claimed some random fresh writer for the Daily Prophet. I am sure that both the Virgin Mary and Mary Magellan easily were given things just by there connection to that other savior.
The day came that I tired of this play and of the part I played. I threw off the mask and stood straight with pride shining off of me. I had to do something grand to celebrate my return to life; my life at the fullest ability I could muster. And there he was. The one rumored to have delivered Harry to Voldermort that night, the one that I knew had been responsible for the death of one of my dearest friends, because I was there when it happened. I knew I should have ran from him, instead I went to him. With oozing sexuality spilling from my lips and every moment I made I flirted with him, not caring as others watched. It didn't take long, he wanted it too but for other reasons that weren't spoken of. He fucked me hard against the wall of the restroom and the moment I screamed his name I knew that former fantasy was smashed forever.