Romantic Ideals

I'd always had ridiculous romantic ideals. Anyone who'd met me wouldn't believe it, but it's the truth. I'd always believed that everything would be OK once I found my One True Love. My Fair Maiden would give me a Happy Ever After. Life didn't exactly work out like that.

My Mum was a beautiful woman. She was also incredibly kind and intelligent. She had no knowledge of her own self-worth, though. That was one of the reasons she was so brilliant. My father was a cruel, sadistic maniac and my family in nothing but blood. Blood. That mattered so much to him. I never gave a shit. My Mum taught me that what was on the inside was the most important.

She was the one who instilled my romantic beliefs. Every night, she'd read and reread old muggle fairy tales. I always knew that she was the one who needed to hear those endings. Gregory was her … lover, I suppose. It seems such an inadequate term for the bond they shared. He was a muggle in the village. He would take me on trips and things and taught me all sorts of things.

They're buried together. My father found them when he escaped Azkaban during my sixth year. I never got to go to their funeral. I made sure he paid for it though. There wasn't enough left of him to be buried. I hit him with everything I could and then blew him to pieces and set those pieces of fire. Yes, he paid for that particular sin. Nothing anyone could do would make him pay for everything else he did.

My Mum was beaten regularly. From comments Bellatrix Lestrange made, in passing, it is something that had continued from when she lived with her parents. Her father's violent genes apparently all ended in 'Bella'. I knew that unless I was my father's carbon copy, my mother's beatings would be worse, so I kept my opinions to myself. My father never laid a finger on me. He knew hurting Mum would hurt me worse than anything he could do to me. He may have been cruel and sadistic, but he was intelligent. Was. In his case, I've never liked the word more.

I'd always watched Harry. You could say I was obsessed by him. He reminded me of Mum in a way. Both were obviously under-nourished, low self-esteem, cruel relatives, intelligent. Harry had more passion for life than my Mum, though. I must have saved her from several suicide attempts – I'd always walk in just as she was about to do something drastic. She could never leave me.

I'd argue and fight with him just to prove to myself that his passion was still there. I knew my Mum had once had that passion; I wouldn't let him lose it too. I think I knew Harry better than any of his friends without ever having had a civil conversation with him.

After Mum died, I stepped out from the mask I created to save her. There was nothing left to save anymore. I don't think I've ever seen Ron more shocked than when I said Hello nicely to him for the first time. Harry and I still fought, but there was no hatred. The fights were even more passionate though. We had our first kiss during a fight. One second we were yelling at each other and the next … well, I don't think most of the Hogwarts students will ever fully recover. Ah well, they got used to it after a while.

He told me about the prophecy on our sixth date. I told him I didn't care. He killed Voldemort later that year, during the battle when I killed my father. Voldemort hit me with a green curse. It wasn't Advada Kedavra, but Harry thought it was. After finishing Voldemort off, he ran. No one knows where he went. We've searched for a full year, even Dumbledore. Everyone else is giving up, but I can't. not until I see his dead body will I give up.

Malfoy Heir Commits Suicide by Rita Skeeter

After the discovery of Harold James Potter's body two days ago, the Wizarding world has been in uproar. It was proved that Harry took his own life – he slit his wrists.

Yesterday, the body of Draco Regulus Mafoy was found on his grave with a dagger through his heart. May they rest in peace, together.

A/N Just a plot bunny. I hope it's enjoyed. Even if it wasn't PLEASE REVIEW. If, for no other reason than I will promise to review at least one story of anyone who does. Cross my heart.