Disclaimer: Anything recognisable form the Harry Potter series does not belong to me.
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Nobody knew he was capable of doing that. Nobody.
Some would say jealousy; others would rely on the reason of revenge. But there was nothing to be revengeful for. Their inter house rival should be long forgotten; it was four years ago. Most would even forget inter house rivalry... but not him.
He hated seeing her with her lover. They seem unusually happy. She was always laughing to what he had to say even though they're not funny; maybe it's just one of those lover to lover communication.
He hated it when they start to kiss. It was always passionate, and his body always yearns the same passion from her. He wished it was him kissing her lips, playing with the roof of her mouth with his tongue and exchanging his saliva with hers. But it isn't.
When the news of their marriage arrived, he was dumb founded. He was invited, of course, along with all the others in their Hogwarts graduation year. He came to the occasion out of force and he wanted to see her in her last moments of being an unmarried women. When she appeared, he was more stupefied than the time the news of them getting married reached his ears. She was beautiful and compared to her minutes-to-be-husband, he shouldn't be with him.
But that was just him being biased.
She looked happy; happier than the time they were dancing during the Yule Ball, or the time she was asked to go to the Yule Ball or even the time they won the Quidditch cup against Slytherin. Their dance was different also. Of course, the occasion screams formality. To dance like a bunch of love-sick teenagers is not something the wedding after party demands.
He wanted to break her husband limb by limb. The way they touch each other makes him itch to throw the glass of champagne to her husband's head; or hers, to see if she's senile for marrying him.
After three songs, she went up to him and asked him for a dance. The grim line on his eyebrow disappeared; not because he was given the chance to be with her a few minutes but because she was just so beautiful. And he gladly accepted the dance.
They were waltzing; not too slow and not to quick but quietly. He wanted to ask her how can she marry him but the words never came out. She smiled at him; the smile she gives to her friends, not to her lover. The smile differs from the one she gives to her husband judging by the line on her eyes, or the sparkle of its brown. It didn't sparkle so much for him.
He was interrupted when her husband's brother asked her to dance. And that was his cue to leave the after party.
Mortified by the fact he can no longer be her hero, he spent the one month after their wedding shun away from everyone. He didn't go to the pub once a week to see his friends, his only form of communication is work and least of all, he never replied any letters, even from her.
The hatred had to stop. He has to stop hating himself, hating her and her husband. A sudden decision to go to their house appeared in his mind. "I'll do it this weekend," he thought.
He never did.
He did not take a liking over inner struggle. Part of his mind told him to go that weekend, but a bigger part of him told him not to. After forcing the thought of not going to their house out of his head, he decided to do it next weekend instead.
Again, he never did.
It wasn't until one day when she and her significant other were drinking at Leaky Cauldron and he accidentally bumped into them. They looked happy with each other; it's hard not to be with her around. It was then they invited him over to their house at Nottingham the following weekend for a bit of catching up since they haven't heard from him for more than a month. Her husband looked happy also; which is unusual. He never had seen the man happy with his presence around.
This time, he went without hesitation.
Their house was quite lush but walking on the stone steps to the door, the environment around him didn't sink in so much. He knocked four times on the front door and her husband answered it; shook his hand and asked him to sit down on one of the couch in the living room.
Her husband was drop dead on the floor a few seconds later.
She came out a few minutes later, horror written on her face to see her spouse on the floor and she ran to his lifeless body. Tears streamed down her face as she starts screaming words of shock to the killer.
He didn't have a choice, it seemed to him. He would prefer not to have her go into insanity over a man.
Another jet of green light from his wand, she was dead; the dead figures look as if it was taken from a painting. A man on his back looking up to the ceiling with his dead eyes and a woman, hand over her partner's chest and her face on his shoulder.
In that moment, he regretted his actions just by looking at the body on the floor before him. They were meant to be. They were both beautiful together; alive or dead. And he had been denying it for years.
The bodies were found later that evening by one of the house elves. The murderer was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban. His friends never visited him in the prison; they were too appalled by his actions.
Nobody knew Fred Weasley was competent of murdering Graham Montague and his wife, Angelina Johnson Montague.
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Author's notes:
-The writing isn't very satisfying, it's hard not to use a name; but it was written under two hours. And in addition to that, my dad was pestering me to get my driving license the whole time I was doing this.
-I can't find a name for Montague. Wikipedia put Montague's name as 'Graham'. I might as well use it.
-If reviewed: thank you very much.