I really don't know where this one came from. I was just bored after I finished this health quiz and all this just came spilling out. Hopefully, you all enjoy reading it. And maybe you can guess exactly who's point of view this is from before the end.
In the end, that was all that mattered. Both of them had fought for him, but she'd won. That was all that counted. She was supposed to be happy. She'd finally gotten what she'd always wanted. She had him. He had married her.
That was all that mattered.
She had the perfect man, the perfect house, the perfect children her parents had always wanted. It was the fairy tale life she'd always craved. But when you took away the house, the money, the fame, and the adoring public...what did she have?
A man who didn't love her. At least, not in the way she wanted him to. She was like a sister to him. A sibling he could protect. A best friend. She didn't want that.
She wanted his love. His passion. The one reserved just for him.
She never spoke of him. Neither of them did. It was an unspoken agreement between them. He was among the many subjects they never brought up. Things like the War and Voldemort. The people they'd lost. They never talked about those. It brought up too many painful memories.
He didn't know she knew either, at least not to the extent she did. She knew more about his sordid love affair that she'd led on. It wasn't right. He was hers damn it! Not his. Hers. He belonged to her and her alone, no matter what he believed. His lover had never cared about him the way she did. He was her world. To him, he was just a good fuck.
He deserved better.
He'd spent so many sleepless nights crying over it. Over his lost love. Sometimes, he would sit by the window, looking into space, a sad smile on his lips. It hadn't mattered to him that it had been almost five years since it had ended.
It was as if he was frozen in time, reliving those happier times. Then his eyes would fill with tears when he remembered their last moments together. For five years, he had suffered a thousand times, each time more painful than the last, when he remembered. To him, it was as if the pain was still fresh, the wound still open.
And it had finally gotten to her.
Which led to where she was now.
Washing her hands of her husband's blood. He had it coming. She'd had enough of this. She could have been merciful, killing him swiftly with magic.
But she hadn't.
She wanted him to suffer as much as she had these last few years, watching him waste away for his 'lost love'.
Instead, she'd killed him the Muggle way, prolonging his pain for as long as she could. This was her revenge.
His last breath was his name.
She walked out of their 'home' and went to the place where he had been buried.
Her husband's lover. His only love.
She knew that someone would find his dead body sooner or later. The Aurors would come to arrest her.
She welcomed her death though. It would mean the end to her miserable excuse of a life.
That day, Pansy Parkinson Malfoy knelt at Harry Potter's grave and laid a single white rose on it.
"Congratulations Potter. You won."