Fanfiction, the only way to settle the appetite of the whiny monster inside.
This was created in order for me to prove something to myself.

I grabbed a random pairing off of a thread in my HP Guild on Gaia Online, and I told myself to make a fan fiction for it. Yes, it is screwy, but I want to prove to myself that I can do it.

For my friends from the guild reading this, it is Elfy's second post on the HP Parents thread on the third page. Yes, I chose it. Why? Because it was the last one on the page at the time.

Disclaimer: I do not own HP or any of its characters. Duh.

An Angel Samantha Production.
The first in ages. Bear with me.

Trying for the Unthinkable

No one cares about my feelings… No one knew how I was suffering, but then again no one knew about us. He wanted it to be a secret. He told me that I was just practice for his dates with her. I tried to move on, but my heart was stuck. I didn't want to ruin his name, as would happen if they found out how we dated secretly behind his girlfriend's back.

Luckily, my parents are actors. They have shown me since I was born how to play different roles, how to keep the real emotions locked away. In order to keep up my new persona of a happy-go-lucky girl, I put all my attention into acting giddy, acting a little peppy while focusing on Divinations with a passion. I tried different things to interest myself that he would have approved of and supported.

In fifth year, I joined Harry's DADA group called Dumbledore's Army because I knew he would have wanted to help Harry any way he could. That is how he died, really. At first, I blamed Harry; I made him the center of my hatred. During the summer before fifth year, I yelled, screamed, cried out my hatred for him. I mutilated his pictures. My parents knew what happened. I had to explain; they wouldn't let me not. They hugged me and said that it would pass. It did not and has not passed, but they were only trying to comfort me. Once I arrived at Hogwarts in fifth year, I believed all the articles I read in the Daily Prophet, I really did, but then, Hermione ranted about what a good person Harry really was. That was when I realized that he did not get him killed, but instead, my poor, dead love died trying to help him, so I would carry on, trying to what he could no longer do.

During my fifth year, I watched his girlfriend break down; I watched how she suffered while I was tearing myself apart behind my cheerful mask. She went to Harry for comfort, hoping he could feel the void that he had left for her. Stupid woman, I hate her almost as much as I hated Harry. She didn't understand him! She didn't know his weaknesses, his flaws. She did not know him like I did, yet publicly, she was his prefect angel left on this planet alone. Dammit… I need to calm down.

In sixth year, I tried to move on. I tried to overcome my lover's death and our secret relationship. It sounds so wrong that was, especially for something that felt so right. I tried to date again. Silly as I know it was, I tried to seduce him. He was a shy, yet bold teenager, you know, so I thought that it would be the best way to get his attention. I regret that tactic now for various reasons. He was trying to overcome a relationship too, but… But I guess I was too clingy, too desperate for attention and for love. I drove him right back to her. I sent him letters, I sent him gifts, and I even made out with him in the common room, despite my inner voice telling me not too. I didn't want to lose this too. I was scared and wanted to latch on to replace my love with someone new. I was trying for the unthinkable. It is impossible to erase one person from your memory and replace it with another.

I regret even trying now. It hurts more than ever. He was the only one who understood me, the only one who made me laugh, the only one to make me cry. He was the only person I have loved so much that I wanted to die for. Now, now for the first time since he died… The first time in two years, three months, and four days now… I… I think I will drop this silly persona and show the real world the pain I feel inside. I think that he would want me to. I think he would want me to be with others truly, instead of hiding and carving up my soul without any help. And now, I will fold up this letter and place it on his grave along with a bouquet of irises. He always said that irises brought out my eyes, the flirt. Dammit… I am crying again.

Did you get the pairing? I hope so; I tried. Read and review, please.