[A.N Not usually big fan of songfics, and this isn't really one, it's more of a story that came to me from a song. Enjoy!]

I do not own Harry Potter or Something Corporate.

It's a good year for a murder

She's praying to Jesus

She's pulling the trigger

There's no tears

Cause he's not here

She washes her hands

And she fixes the dinner

Soon they'll be coming to rush her away

No one's so sure every crime had a reason

The reasons like seasons they constantly change

And the seasons of lies still like reasons are flowing, away

Away with this spilled milk?

Away with this dirty dishwater?

Away

Seventeen years and all that he gave was a daughter.

^^^

"Come on now, eat up, dear! They're not all that bad!"

"But Mum, you know I hate broccoli why do you always make me eat it?"

"Because its good for you, you're still a little girl! You need all the vegetables you can get!"

"I'm not a little girl, come September, I'll be in Hogwarts!"

"That's right, dear. I didn't mean little girl I mean growing girl, and no matter what, you still need to have some broccoli."

"Mum!"

"Alright then, fine, go change into your pajamas, you're new ones, and I'll come up to tuck you in bed in a bit, alright, Lily?"

"Alright, mum. Night."

"Night, dear." Hermione looked at the retreating back of her daughter, gazing at the bushy, jet-black hair. She used her wand to pick up Lily's plate and move it to the sink, where the water turned on and began to wash it, the uneaten broccoli floating from the plate into the wastebasket.

She sighed, looked around, making sure everything was clean, then went upstairs to quickly tuck in Lily.

"Mum, can we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get my school stuff, please?"

"Lily! You haven't even got your list yet! How can you expect to get your school things if you don't even know what you need?"

"You're always saying how you remember your first year like it was yesterday, you must remember what you needed!"

"Dear, it's been a long time since I was a first year at Hogwarts, things have probably changed! Especially with a new headmistress and all.."

"Mum, is Professor McGonagall mean?"

"She was a strict teacher, but in my time, she was just a Transfiguration teacher. I can't imagine what she'll be likes as a headmistress."

"Oh, she can't be strict, can she?"

"Lily, not to worry, you've still got a month to go! Now go to bed, get some rest, alright?"

"Night, mum."

"Goodnight, Lily."

She kissed her daughter on the forehead and blew out the last candle before leaving the room. She went downstairs wearily, a strong cup of tea waiting for her from before she went upstairs. She collapsed down onto the chair, massive mug in hand, and started to think.

It had been 10 years since he had left, in that one night. That one night, bursting with yelling, tears, and misunderstandings. She had not thought about that night this long, but then again, it was Harry's birthday.

She thought back to when they were young in love, in seventh year, and Ron, making fun of them everywhere they showed affection. Ron, poor Ron. But this wasn't the time to be thinking about Ron.

Then, after he and Ron had become Aurors, three years after they left Hogwarts, when they were 20 and still young, he had proposed to her. Casually, he had proposed, and surprised her out of her wits. She said yes at once, she had known him so long it was no question. There wedding, now seeming so distant, was all happiness, hugs, and presents.

Then two years after that, after buying a cozy old flat near Ron's new house [which was near the Burrow, mind you] they had had Lily, named after Harry's mother. She was a beautiful baby; with Harry's [and essentially his mother's] green eyes, and Hermione's bushy hair. It was bushy, but it was jet-black.

Then the big incident. He had never been the same after than, sulking around, moping, never happy unless looking straight into his daughter's eyes. She was the only thing that made him happy. Other than that, he felt nothing. He didn't have a heart of steel, in fact, he didn't have a heart at all. He didn't care that he was more famous than before, he didn't care that he was a hero, he couldn't care less. He had no emotion. He had an empty soul, yet no dementor had advanced upon him.

Then, the night. It was funny how all other times with him seemed so far away it could have been someone else's story. Then, it flashed back in her head.

^^^

"Harry, Harry, please, calm down-"

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" "Please, darling, you'll wake Lily-"

"I DON'T CARE! I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ANYMORE! NOTHING! AT ALL!"

"Harry, don't take like this!"

He lowered his voice to a deadly whisper, a manic and hollow gleam to his eyes, making him look barely sane.

"I killed someone. I killed someone-"

"He deserved it! You killed the one person who deserved to be killed, for all the lives he took-"

"DOESN'T CHANGE THE FACT THAT I KILLED SOMEONE!"

"Please, Harry, calm down-"

She tried to touch him, calm him, hug him, but he pushed her away with such force that she landed on the ground, cowering at a man she no longer knew. The tears that had glazed her eyes now fell out of eyes, pouring down her face, forcing the salty taste into her mouth.

"WHAT ARE YOU CRYING FOR? YOU'VE GOT NOTHING TO CRY ABOUT! DO YOU HEAR THAT? NOTHING!"

"P-p-please, Harry-"

"SHUT UP!GOD! I killed someone Hermione. I murdered him. I used illegal curses and I murdered Lord Voldemort."

She flinched at the sound of his name.

"And DID YOU SEE HOW MANY LIVES I TOOK TO TAKE HIS? MY BEST FRIEND IS DEAD! HE WAS ABOUT TO GET MARRIED AND I TOOK HIS LIFE!"

"It was an honest mistake Harry, you didn't aim the spell at Ron, You-Know- Who dodged out of the way!"

"No. I killed my best friend. I killed Neville Longbottom. I killed George Weasley; I killed Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Cho Chang, Anthony Goldstein, Zacharias Smith, Hannah Abbott, Dean Thomas, I senselessly murdered all of them."

His voice has that low, insane whisper to it. He was advancing upon her, wand in hand.

"You didn't, Harry, You-Know-Who did, and the only one you accidentally killed was Ron!"

"No. Voldemort. Possesive. He made me do it. He was inside me when I did."

Her eyes opened wide, tears not stopping, coming from a source with no end.

"No, Harry, you didn't-"

"I did. I'm responsible for more than half the deaths he committed. It's over. I can't take it anymore, knowing I did this."

He walked out the door silently, robes whipping behind him, with only his wand for companion.

He walked out the door, leaving her sobbing in the direction of his shadow..

^^^

Every month she got a check. She didn't know where it was from, how he had sent it, or which owl he was using, but he knew he sent it for Lily, and with this, she was able to manage raising her along. Lily had barely known her father, all she remembers is a man taking her to fly on a broomstick. That's all she remembered of her father. She didn't even know that her father was a legend.

She remembered his words. "I can't take it anymore"

She couldn't.

She had had enough of this, enough of everything. Enough of pining for him, worrying about him, worrying about him for Lily, worrying about his mental state, worrying about where he was. She couldn't take it. She had no one to turn to. Her parents had died of old age. Her Hogwarts friends were out of touch, and wouldn't talk to her if she wanted to contact them, because they had heard about Harry. Her rage started to boil Her work friends were too distant, a little scared for her, a little sorry for her. She had no siblings. Ron had died, so tragically, and his fiancée [Poor, beautiful Padma Patil] had gone off somewhere, trying to get over him. She had no one, and she was tired of it all. She needed to get out. The rage that had laid dormant inside her for 10 years was now enveloping her. She, in her fervor, wrote a long note to Lily, explaining everything, about her father, and wrote in the letter never to forget her mother, and wrote to Lily that she loved her. It was the one thing she had left, her love for Lily.

She stood outside, the rain starting to fall, the sky blacker than her own daughter's hair, the thunder rumbling in a distance, the wind whipping at her, pointed her wand at herself, and muttered: Avada Kedavra.

{a.n: Whoa. I just listened to that song and this came to mind. Short, not very sweet, and kind of far-fetched. But I hope you enjoyed it. Now go read something happy, like perhaps, my other story! Shameless promotion, I know. Please R&R!]