Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the world. That all belongs to J.K. Rowling

Prologue

Love.

What is love? Love is nothing but a worthless emotion that weaklings seem to feel for another person.

Love is useless. Love is nothing but dirt.

But then why do people, muggles and magical folk alike, feel it. Why am I different?

I feel emotions. But love is a blank sheet of paper. I don't understand it. Maybe thats why I find it worthless. Watching my mother love my father, despite him cheating on her. Abusing her. And just plain and simply hurting her. I hate it.

But then again I can't even say that I love my mother. I feel a connection with her, and even adore her. But I don't love her. I wish that I could, but I can't.

But that isn't the point of love. No, I can't say that it is. I watch, no more like observe the people of this world, and the muggle world everyday. Watch as they pour there useless hearts out to the ones they love. Some getting hurt (which I laugh at those people. Cause really it is quite hilarious). Others groping and snogging each other (one that I have to have displayed to me everyday! By none other then the head girl and Weaslbee).

But I seem to have this thing called, oh whats the word for it...Empathy. Yes thats it. I feel others emotions (How I got that stupid ability, I have no clue.) So it seems that everytime I feel the girl and him fucking, he is in pure ecstasy. Yet she feels nothing. She feels incomplete.

She says she loves,probably thinks it too. But she doesn't love him. She adores him. It's funny. He gets something. Her none. Ha!

Now your probably wondering why I have so much to say on this particular head girl. Well I will tell you why...well she...umm. Wait I can't. Stupid me. But I guess the reason is she intrigues me. She says she loves, yet she doesn't. We are one in alike. Both liars when it comes to the heart.

I think that I will have fun with her. Maybe are incompleteness will complete each other.

Not bloody likely.

He closed his journal. Leaned back into his chair, smiling at his musings. He would have fun this year. He was pretty damn sure of it. Now his only thing to do was make sure the little firey bookworm did too.

That is with him of course.