It all started with a tongue, serpentine and snakelike, it flashed out and retreated in a second, before disappearing behind a pair of plump lips. These were not the genuine movements of Barty Crouch Junior, they were a mocking imitation. A joke laughed between three friends, they laughed all together about a man they only truly met for one moment three years ago, but the movements were beautiful. Not because of the deatheater they mocked, but because of the face that was mocking them.
A girl called Hermione Granger.
How could something so filthy, so dirty and undesirable be just the opposite? She was the purest thing I'd ever seen, so innocent and beautiful. She was clumsy, her arms and legs were slightly too long, she was too thin and not yet fully developed, her hair was a little too bushy, her eyes a little too big. But she was so beautiful. Have you ever seen someone and immediately not been able to take your eyes off them? They walk straight past you and you're stood staring. It started like that, then became something a little deeper, a little darker, a little less pure. I dreamed of her, of her little pink tongue, her big brown eyes and thin teenage body, I longed for it to be under me, for me to feel her heat, hear her gasps and moans as I longed to do so much.
Bit I couldn't, because of who I was, Because of what I'd done.
How I regretted my choices, I knew if I hadn't followed the path in life that I had, we would never have crossed paths, I would never have seen her gorgeous, perfect, imperfect face. I would have never known the mysterious force that compelled the greatest writers. I didn't know what else to call it, if I was a muggle I would have called it magic, but I knew that wasn't the case. No magic was this potent, so love potion this strong. How could I of all people be struck down with the one thing I laughed at the most...love.
I'd spent my whole life laughing at muggles trying to save the lives of the people they love, lots could have gotten away if they tried, but they always returned, there was always someone worth coming back for, someone worth giving the last few seconds of your life for, someone worth dieing for. How could I find that person, that one person for me, in the nest of my enemy's in the body of a muggleborn. I couldn't call her mudblood. Not that, that was not her, her blood was not her any more than the muscles within it or cells within them. No. She could never be mine, I couldn't pluck her from her happiness and inject my darkness into her life, I'd done so much already to see her, I couldn't destroy her happy naivety. That wasn't how love worked, at least it didn't feel like it did. No. I would stay silent, of course it would hurt me but I had suffered a lifetime of pain myself, what is a little heartbreak on top of that? If I can suffer for her, for the one person I care about inexplicably, if I can save her pain (which is the only thing I can do) how can I not? If its the only thing I can do for someone I care for how can I not? I've taken so much pain. This last ounce will not break me, it will give me strength.
I let tears slip over my closed eyelashes, I feel them trickling down my pale gaunt face, hidden by the trees I look more ghostly than usual. She's still out there, Hermione Granger, laughing, joking, living, in a way I never could. But I can smile through my tears, my pain, because if she is happy there's nothing more I could ask for. I don't deserve to be happy, so I am not. I walked away through the trees, a dark shadow disappearing as if I was never there. No-one would miss my presence. One last glimpse of her, I caught her laughing and slipping on the damp grass, she laughed even harder at the slight pain of bumping her bum. The happiness was beautiful in its simplicity. With that image burned into my mind I slipped away, the shadow of a shadow of Bellatrix Lestrange.