Him. Harry. Harry Potter. I felt like an angel around him; he always treated me as if I was the most precious thing in the world.
I remember when he didn't respond to my letters for an entire summer. I went into a depression, the first of many I would encounter. I thought of going to his house, calling him, writing until he responded. But deep down, I knew that he would only get in trouble by his aunt and uncle if I went into such desperate measures. I waited in my despair until Hedwig finally came to my house . . .
Harry explained everything that happened over the summer, all the details about the lunatic house elf. I was outraged, but knew the poor creature didn't mean any harm. I began to write Harry almost every day. We spent so much time together through our letters. Neither of us openly expressed our feelings. We were too scared that the other didn't feel the same. Oh, if only I stopped it then. Those were the golden days, the days where nothing mattered.
I thought the next year would be so much better. In the previous year, Harry had to encounter the Dark Lord. I prayed that he would have an easier time this year. I thought I would make sure of it. Oh how wrong I was!
The year started blissfully. For the second time in my life, I felt the breathtaking warmth of being wrapped in Harry's embrace. I tried to convince myself that Harry didn't like me more than a friend, regardless of my love for him. I tried to bottle all the love deep inside of me, but every once in a while it would creep out.
Strange things began to happen that year. It started with a message written in blood on the wall. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was petrified. Everyone blamed Harry. He also began hearing voices . . . I worried so much about him. Attack after attack, petrification after petrification, I realized the answer. I was attacked before I could tell my love.
Harry was smart enough to finally figure it out. I faintly remember him talking to me as I was petrified, though I don't remember the words. He only blushed when I asked him what he said after I awoke.
I awoke. Harry had defeated Tom Riddle without my help. I was deeply hurt that I couldn't be there for him. He was so brave, so smart, so charming . . . everything I could ever wish for. Damn it, if only I could have stopped myself!
He was like poison. His face, his scent, his charm. They took over my mind. I couldn't think, I couldn't sleep, I found it hard to breathe without knowing he was safe.
And things went on like this for yet another school year. Our third year. It's so hard to remember my first years. They were sickeningly sweet and naive. I loved Harry. I still do love him. He's my soul. He's my life. He's my love.
Where are you now, my sweet? Where are you? If I ever found you . . .
I won't. I did my best to keep myself out of the world. I don't even know why. The truth of my life is buried underneath mounds of lies. The truth of the ending is a mystery . . . one I must discover.
One day.