'They are a happy family, with two kids. The boy is called Alexander. The girl is Hope. Their house is large, but not disgustingly so. It is situated somewhere in the countryside, with them owning acres and acres of green land around their house.
'She looks happily up at him, her very own angel, sunlight dancing off his hair, taking her time, as the bacon fries merrily away in the pan, to enjoy the solitude they have, just before the children come down. She glances up, and smiles in content, and he closes his eyes, and buries his nose in her hair. She laughs, and offers him a piece of bacon, which he takes using his teeth, and she grins, disentangling herself from his embrace, as she goes about her work.
'The children dash down the stairs, their feet pattering rhythmically on the wooden steps. She watches, laughing, as he stands in front of the stairs, and scoops up the two kids in his arms, balancing them on his hips. He walks into the kitchen, where she prepares breakfast, bouncing the kids at his hips, as the children giggle, as only little children can.
'He sets the children down into their seats, walking over to her, and hugging her from behind. She knows that he loves her, and she loves him back. The children squeal and 'eeeew', covering their eyes, as he tilts her head back for a lingering kiss. She slaps his hand away from the waffles she's making, pushing him towards the dining table. He mock-scowls and pretends to kick the table leg. The children chortle in delight, at their parents' antics.
'After breakfast, he goes off for work, kissing her goodbye at the porch, bathed in cheerful sunlight, as he always does, every single day without fail. She watches him disappear, a smile gracing her features. Just then, she hears Hope start crying, and she starts back into the spacious living room. There, she finds out from a wailing Hope that Alex had tugged on her hair. Alex, his face streaked with contrite tears, chokes out that he had only wanted to know if her hair is attached to her head. The young boy, a mirror image of his father, then gives his baby sister a big hug, and Hope stops crying.
'She pats both their heads, and leaves them to play, as she does her housework, for cleaning such a big house is seriously no laughing matter, but she doesn't mind, for she loves her role in the household, a mother, a wife, a lover. She dusts over the family pictures gathered on the mantelpiece, fondly, watching as the animated figures waved to her.
'She climbs the stairs to her children's bedroom. Her children sleep in the same room, as they are too young, and Alex is still afraid of the dark. Ironic, that her older son should be scared of something her younger daughter isn't. She picks up their toys, which are scattered all over the floor, tutting to herself, as a mother does all the time. She rearranges their books on the shelves, charming the dust off them.
'A shout from downstairs alerts her, and she hurries down the stairs to her children. As she comes down, Alex asks her, with all the vigour and energy of a five-year-old, if he could have some water. She ruffles his hair affectionately, and pours some for him, in his favourite cup, adorned with famous Quidditch figures. She feels a tug at her sleeve, and she looks down at Hope, whose face is suffused with innocence and naivety. Hope needs to go to the washroom, and wants her mummy to accompany her. She laughs, and tells Hope to hold on a while, as she takes Alex's cup from him, and places it in the sink, smiling to herself as Hope hops comically from foot to foot.
'After lunch, he returns from work, saying that the boss let him off early. She knows he's lying, that he is the boss of the company, knows that all he wants is to spend some time with his wife and children, and she loves him even more for that. He then takes them all out, for an outing to Diagon Alley, watching in amusement at his children's amazed expressions.
'They then go to visit their friends and relatives, standing by proudly smirking, as the others swoon over their smart kids. They aren't surprised – they know their kids are the best of all. Hope can already read and write, and Alex has already displayed some magical ability, much to the delight of the father. Then again, it isn't surprising that their children will be magical. They have a secret bet, that Hogwarts already has their letters ready for them.
'In the evening, the children fall asleep in front of the fireplace, in their parents' arms, tired after the day's activities. They smile knowingly at each other, and then carry the kids up to bed. They climb into their own plush bed, not sleeping, but just lying in each other's arms, enjoying the sensations of being close to each other, basking in their love for each other.
'They talk, about how they met each other, about the fights they have had, about their wedding, about their children, about anything and everything. She falls asleep first, and doesn't feel him pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose, doesn't feel him settling down beside her, throwing one long arm over her, pulling her closer into him, as she settled deeper into peaceful slumber, blanketed in love and warmth.'
~
The thunder crashed over her, as large drops of water fell onto her cheek, wetting her hair, running little rivulets down her neck, her arms, her hands. The wind whipped around her mercilessly, tugging harshly at the soaked tendrils of hair, lashing the dying grass around her into waves of yellow and brown, blowing her imaginary reality away from her. She dug her hands into the dirt, feeling the mud clump under her nails, as she fell to the ground, cruel sobs tearing their way out of her lungs, as she ached to fall back into her alternative world.
There was so much she wanted, and yet so much she would never have. Dreams she never would be able to achieve. It was all his fault, he said he would come back. He lied, lied to her. He promised never to break her heart, as long as he lived, promised never to hurt her. Instead, he broke her heart after he died. Her tears mixed with the rain, plummeting to the ground, onto the hard cement tombstone before her. She pounded her hands onto his tombstone, reading his epitaph over and over again. Died 17th December 2001.
She stared at the grey stone, reading, but her mind not registering. Perished in valiant combat against Voldemort, by the side of Harry Potter. Tom Riddle. Why wouldn't he stop ruining her life? He had stolen her angel away from her, forever. The bitterness in her overwhelmed her; she wished that Harry Potter had died in his stead, even if it meant that Voldemort would return to full power. Anything, as long as her angel had lived.
She ran her fingers over the engraved words, as if trying to seek comfort from the cold granite. There was nothing. Her simple gold ring glinted almost sneeringly at her on her finger, and she slipped it off, fingering it gently, playing with it, watching the water dance off its bright surface. She would never have the lavish marriage she dreamed off, longed for, yet, she was thankful, for the hasty ceremony conducted, in the dark dank headquarters. She would be his forever, for all eternity. She slid the ring back on, feeling a small measure of warmth trickle through her, as she closed her eyes, head bowed, almost as if in prayer.
The lightning flashed again, the thunder rumbling all around her, illuminating the last line of carved words.
Mourned by his friends, and especially by his beloved, Virginia Malfoy.
~ Finis
A/N: *Am tired* Whew. Review please, constructive comments welcomed.