AN: This is my first time writing a short story so please be gentle with me. This is also non-magical story and Fem!Harry/Draco. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable Harry Potter elements, nor do I make any money by writing this.

I bring her hair up to smell the distinct strawberry scent that I attribute to her shampoo. I still remember the pure joy I felt when I realized that maybe she was the one I was waiting for; that special someone destined to build a life with me. I thought that after the long agonizing years of waiting alone she was finally the answer I yearned for. I believed that after praying fervently at night, when the cold winds emphasized the unbearable loneliness and the constricting sound of silence, God had finally give me a boon in the form of a companion.

I can still see her vividly in my mind's eye.

I first saw her outside a cafe in London. It was love at first sight. She had a sculpted figure, her waist was tapered and she had a cream-colored complexion. Her hair was a glorious tumble of midnight-black hair that hid a swan-like neck but surrounded her photogenic face perfectly. Her eyes, framed by sweeping eyelashes, were curious jade green and were twinkling in a way that reminded me of stars that graze the moonlit sky. She had a small button nose and full plump lips. When her gleaming, heavenly-white teethed smile was directed upon me, I felt my heart stop. I thought that I could die in that moment, when this goddess of a woman graced me with her attentive smile.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me", she asked.

"There is an empty seat right here, surely, we can chat for a while" she stated while gesturing to the chair in front of her.

I looked and hesitated, for certainly she was not talking to me. I eventually came closer to her table and sat down with a quiet "Thank you".

"And sorry for staring", I added bashfully in hopes that I did not offend her.

"It is of no consequence" she said, once again giving me that heart-stopping smile. "So what brings you to our lovely country?"

That was the question that started it all. I sat there and listened to her sugary sweet voice that perfectly reflects her bubbly personality. We talked for hours, and only parted once it started to darken outside and the shops started to close. We met every day after that, sometimes we would share stories about our childhood adventures, other times we would go to the nearby amusement park and spend the day laughing while high on sugar snacks, and occasionally we would go to the park near my house and cuddle up on the blanket while we watch the sunset then I would amuse her with the legends behind constellations.

"I do". That sentence sealed it all; she was mine as I was hers.

For five years we were happy. Although there would be small misunderstandings that were normal for couple, we were content to just have each other. I thought we were young; there was no rush to have children.

But apparently, only I was the one not in a rush. She changed so subtly that I was not able to perceive any changes in the way she acted around me. When she asked for more things like new jewelry or new clothing, but I was still happy to accompany her shopping and to ply her with material things to show my affection. When she demanded to be left alone in order to have some alone time to pamper herself, I freely gave her time thinking that maybe some time for ourselves would bring back the spark we had in that small café years ago. However, more times alone seemed to emphasize the lack of communication thus matters just continued to deteriorate. I started to spend more time at work, opting to bury myself in the countless forms I need to fill out and use the ever growing paperwork as an excuse to spend time away from home. We never had time to bond or to make love.

When she began having cravings, asking me to buy ripe mangoes or pickles at 2 in the morning, I had my suspicions; but she was so happy to finally fall pregnant that I could not bring myself to question her. Hence I just took the pregnancy in stride, and hoped that this is a sign to improve our marriage.

I spoke too soon.

I came home one night to find her bleeding. The crimson, sticky, life-sustaining liquid was running down her legs. I rushed her to the hospital but it was too late. She blamed me and she became even more distant after that. I, once again, gave her space. But I never thought that she would go would do such a thing.

I came home early, a rarity recently, and the moans and groans that came through the bedroom walls was unmistakable.

My mind shut down and a red shade filled my vision. The last thing I can remember was the loud echoing of the door as I slammed hard against the wall.

I bring her hair up to smell the distinct strawberry scent that I attribute to her shampoo. I hair I shaved from her head that I plan to keep as a memento of our love. I observe her one last time to embed the result of my masterpiece. She has a sculpted figure, her waist is tapered and her complexion is a kaleidoscope of blues and blacks. Her bloodshot eyes are hidden behind blindfolds that accentuate her tear-stained face. Her feet nailed together and her arms are spread apart and tied to opposite bed posts in a mockery of Jesus on the cross. I even draped her lover amorously beside her, delicately placing his arms to account for the knife deeply stabbed on their chests.

As I gaze at her lovingly wrapped in her new lover's arms, I hope that she believed it was worth it.