No.
It was the only coherent thought in that pretty little head of hers.
No.
It was the most primitive of defense mechanisms; just a detour to sanity.
No,
that was all it took, that one simple word, to destroy everything.
All he had to do was turn away.
But no.
He had to be the hero, he had to help the fallen victims.
Never mind there was no hope, even then.
No hope.
She fell beside his body in a heap of bloody robes.
No,
this couldn't be happening!
This wasn't how it was supposed to be!
It was just supposed to have been a trick!
Something to make fun of him for weeks to come.
But it had gone too far.
She grasped his hands, traced his scar, kissed his lips.
It was her fault. This was her idea.
They'd all been drinking in the Slytherin common room,
and she'd been the one to say,
"Give him a choice. He can walk away from the red head freak
and the dog faced brain, or he can say no and rush to their sides."
No!
Draco was pulling her away.
She clawed desperately, her vision blurred.
No,
it was him. He'd been the one.
He'd killed them. All of them.
He'd killed the one even Voldemort had failed numerous times to murder.
He'd taken his vengeance
in jealous rage.
He'd found out.
No!
He shook her, tried to grab the piece of glass.
No,
this isn't how it should have gone, he was saying.
You should have loved me! He screamed.
He should have loved me! she thought.
But no!
And now he'd never have the chance to.
She plunged the glass into her wrist.
No.
It was the only coherent thought in that pretty little head of hers.
--------------------------------
A.N.
So, did you figure it out?
Pansy Parkinson and Harry Potter.
Who'da thunk?