She was everything he was not, everything he craved, everything he didn't deserve, for he never really deserved anything except hatred, her hatred, her disdain, her anger, the anger he didn't even know he needed until it was gone and replaced by indifference, coldness and it was as if he didn't exist anymore and maybe it was real and he was dead. He certainly wished he was.
And yet- yet he had hope for a forgiveness he didn't deserve either.
But then she was gone and there was nothing left but his memories, his cherished and hated memories, a past so bitter but the sweetest he had ever known.
It had been years and for everyone she had been perfect but she had not been, he knew it and nobody would ever listen to him if he ever cared to tell the truth. She was bright and warm and beautiful, everything he was not but she craved beauty, kindness and brightness and it made her cruel. There is no worth nor bravery in loving perfection but he had loved her when she was not and he still did, he always would. He loved when she was cruel to her sister, loved her when she was ashamed to be seen with him, loved her when she turned away from him and humiliated him so thoroughly he would have taken hundreds of times hanging by his ankles and yet stayed on his knees and begged because there was no other recourse, no other way to make her notice, no other way to atone.
And pathetic that he was he resorted to watching her, delighting in her laugh and his eyes full of her glorious autumn hair and spring eyes that hid a winter heart. She was warm but not when he was not worth to impress. He had been worthy when he had introduced her to magic, worthy when at home he was being abused and hit and never, never good enough but then they came to Hogwarts and she ended up in a bright and warm house away from him and she forgot. But still he had tried over and over again to keep things the way they were for those years when he thought he had a friend and sometimes, late at night, when his eight-years-old self could think without being afraid, when he thought he was being loved. It was love he craved more than anything, and she gave him hope he was worth caring for and it destroyed him, she destroyed him because all of it had been lies, lies so pretty and so bright he should have known better but didn't and then it was too late and he was trapped.
And he loved her, loved her so much and she knew, she used him and he let her because it felt like happiness when it wasn't, it was twisted and selfish and even when he realized he was too far gone to care.
He watched her –he was such a creep people said- and he watched as others noticed her, others that were handsome, popular, funny, rich, everything he was not and he could do nothing except lose, again and again. She craved beauty and brightness and he was an hindrance and she got rid of him but it was his fault, he had made a mistake –again- but this one was too big, an eight letters word, a forbidden word and then her eyes, her beautiful eyes were so full of hatred it tore him apart to look at them but he could not bring himself to look away and he let himself burn in her brightness.
He already was bitter but it worsened and he thought for a time that if he had enough power he could have her and at this time he was selfish and thought that his need to possess her was love never mind that it was not pure nor selfless enough and it didn't matter anyway because he couldn't have her.
And then she was gone, it was his fault and he was not dead because death could never hurt that much and he wished he could join her but he had myriad of sins to atone for and promises like chains. He wore his guilt every day but not in the ostentatious way of the Bloody Baron, he kept it quiet and hidden through layers of acerbic wit and sarcasm nobody would ever care to look through, and he wore it like bones, like skin, this goddamn mask they would bury him in.
Then her son came and the pain increased ten folds, her green eyes felt like the blade slicing through his wrist and he was bleeding, but he couldn't show it except in anger and so he was angry because he was hurting, he clutched at straws of happiness in the dark world that was his, he fulfilled the promises he had made to madmen, he tore his soul apart and threw away his chance at forgiveness, he was so weak he prayed for death and when his wish was finally granted he died looking at her eyes, looking at her hatred and welcomed its scorching heat.