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A/N

This is a rather depressing fic. I've definitely broken my long string of happy, almost fluffy oneshots. I'm actually a huge Dransy shipper, but I got the idea for this and I just had to write it. I was kind of afraid of what would happen if I tried to resist the plot bunny's commands (they wield knives...or, at least, mine do.


How could he do this to me? I trusted him! I thought he trusted me! I thought he cared! I thought he loved me!

Now I've found out that he's only pretending to put up with me because of my family connections. He's only pretending to care because my parents are Death Eaters. He's only pretending to trust me because I come from a long line of purebloods.

I realize now that he's never cared. He's always though I'm an annoying little freak. Maybe, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I've always know it. Maybe, somehow, I always know that what we had (or, at least, what we pretended to have) wouldn't last. But I never acknowledged that part of my brain. I never let myself see the truth. I kept it locked away in a dark dungeon, hoping it would starve and die.

But it endured, and I can't ignore it now. I can't pretend that it doesn't exist. I saw it. I saw him. I heard him talking to that Greengrass bitch. I know now. There's no more pretending that everything's all right.

My name is Pansy Parkinson. This is my story.

When I was little, my parents introduced me to all the pureblooded boys who were within three years of my age. I quickly became friends with most of them, but I was definitely closest with Draco Malfoy. We grew up together. We were best mates from the time we were six. We told each other everything. At first, his father had to force him to come and see me, but he was happy to come by the time we were seven. I liked him from day one.

By the time we started school, we were inseparable. When we were thirteen, a romantic relationship seemed to be the next logical step. It was what I wanted. It was what he said he wanted, too. But it wasn't long after that when things started falling apart.

I was happy. I thought he was, too, but looking back, I might have been missing major signs of unhappiness. I remember noticing that he didn't smile as much as he used to. At the time, I figured it was just stress. But now I know it wasn't.

I didn't want to believe I wasn't making him happy, and after a few months, he seemed to be better. I forced myself to believe that I'd imagined it.

Soon after that, we started seeing each other less. It was unconscious on my part. I had a lot more schoolwork than before, and I began spending more time with my other friends. I told him to tell me if he ever started getting lonely. He agreed, but he never did it. I thought that meant he was fine. I was wrong.

That was three years ago. I thought we were happy. I thought we had a good relationship. I thought we loved each other. I know I loved him.

But now I know I was wrong. Now I know that he doesn't love me. I don't know if he ever did. I hope he did, but I don't know. What I do know is that he's been lying to me. Probably for years. He didn't even have the heart to tell me it was over. He just kept pretending. He pretended to love me while his kissed my roommate when I wasn't looking.

I found him kissing Astoria Greengrass, today. He saw me and tried to explain himself. I cursed him and ran away. He couldn't have cared that much. He was happier with her, anyway. He doesn't need to explain anything. I understand it all. He betrayed me, he stole from me, he lied to me, and he hurt me. There's nothing to explain.

But if she thinks she'll be safe in her bed, tonight, she's wrong.


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