A/N: Okay, so, from re-reading The Backstory over and over again I've concluded this: Alix is a Mary Sue. So, here's where it ends. I'm not actually posting this in The Backstory, because I may or may not continue it. Per usual, this is a songfics, Grenade, by Bruno Mars. You can tell how it'll end. Maybe not.
No one saw it, but ever since he'd kissed Alix for the first time, he'd been anxious. He'd known, right since then, things would end badly. After all, why were her eyes wide open? Even worse, Draco had given her everything he had, and little more. What did she do to it? Tossed it in the trash, she did. What did she toss away, exactly? Well, you'll see.
All Draco ever wanted was for Alix to give him all her love, she never did. Not even half of it. Alix was stringing him along the whole time. Where did she string him into? Well, a certain place one doesn't normally come back from. What Alix didn't understand, or she didn't let it on, was that Draco would jump in front of a Killing Curse for her life. He'd take a thousand Cruciatus curses for her. Even jump in front of one of those Muggle things, trains. In short, yes, he would do anything for her.
The only problem was that she wouldn't do the same. If she'd wanted to, Alix could beat him black and blue, and he wouldn't so much as tell her to say hello to the Devil for him. Was she mad? Yes, yes she was. Alix would smile at his face and then push him to the Dark Lord without his wand.
It was the yearly celebrations of the Evanscas, so what did this mean? Just that a human would have to be charred to the bone. The Elders had chosen none other than Draco Malfoy as the victim. When asking for approval from the youngest ruler, who incidentally was Alix, she said "Go ahead. It doesn't matter to me." without missing a single beat. The sickest thing of all, it was the very day that marked the seventh year of the tumbling turmoil of Draco and Alix's relationship.
The two royal guards dragged him into the stone cold room, bare in decorations. Only two things stood in that room; a single throne and a fire pit. Situated in the throne was none other than Alix Aceline Volemore. Draco, worn ragged in a measly excuse of clothing, was held in a bone crushing grip a foot away from the pit.
"Go, now, Luke." Alix murmured, a pleasant look directed towards the young human as the fire pit roared to life. Seconds later, Draco Malfoy was in the pit, his screams echoing in the room. His one true love sitting feet away, laughing sadistically. His final thoughts were of how Alix was a filthy liar, she'd said she loved him, and now here they were, on of the charring to death while the other laughs. Alix never, ever, ever loved him. To her, he was useless plaything, and now she cast him to the side like an old rag doll.
The last thing Draco thought before his soul was ripped from his body was how he still loved her, and he would still die for her. Somehow, Draco always knew he'd die for her. Just not this way. No, never this way.