It's the Thought that Counts

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Warning: This story contains self-harm and attempted suicide. Do not read if either of these may be triggering. You have been warned.

The first time I saw him, that time in the robe shop, I knew instantly that I wanted to be friends. Except, I've never been very good at making friends and somehow our conversation became stilted and awkward. I thought at the time that he looked familiar but I couldn't place him until I went looking for the famous Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express and found the messy haired boy I had met in Madam Malkin's instead. Again I tried to be friendly but I guess it just isn't in my nature because I ended up insulting Weasly and then retreating without so much as an apology. I was an idiot so I thought perhaps I could make amends before we entered the great hall. It's always the thought that counts right? Alas it was not to be and my rejected handshake left me feeling deflated and irritated that despite all my efforts I could not be friends with Harry.

Over the next few weeks I found that my need to get his attention became stronger than any other feeling I had, so I turned to sneering and name calling to try and get him to retaliate. Surprisingly it worked but then I had the dilemma that we were enemies when all I wanted was to be his friend. And then Potter, as I had grown accustomed to calling him, got a place on the Gryffindor quidditch team. He was a natural on a broom. Throughout all of his matches I couldn't tear my eyes away from his scarlet form tearing up and down the pitch. That was when I realized my need to befriend Harry Potter had become an obsession. A fanatical devotion to something I could never have.

The year went on in an endless cycle of teasing, hexes and fighting. I had decided long ago that if I couldn't be friends with Potter then I would distance myself from him, make myself forget about the golden boy. And before I knew it the end of term feast was upon us and Slytherin had won the house cup! Except, we hadn't because Dumbledore decided to award loads of points to the Gryffindorks and they won instead. Of course this was all Potter's fault but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to be angry. Instead I felt... Proud? Guess my infatuation with Harry wasn't over...

The next year I managed to buy my way onto the Slytherin quidditch team in order to try and impress Harry. I wanted him to notice me, to pay me attention. I didn't know why the dark haired boy mattered so much to me, all I knew was that he did. So when I was presented with the perfect opportunity to duel him I couldn't say no. Perhaps I went a little too far but I sort of got caught up in the moment and before I knew it Potter was speaking Parseltongue to the snake I had just summoned with my wand. However, instead of being disgusted by this I was simply interested to learn of his new ability. Every new little thing I learnt about him seemed to give me another insight into Harry's perfect life.

When the chamber of secrets was opened and students started getting petrified I wanted to help the golden trio defeat the beast that lurked within. A chance encounter with Granger gave me the chance I desired. I happened upon her in the library whilst I was looking up Basilisks in the restricted section as my father had given me some hints as to the monster which lurked in the school. When I saw her I hurriedly tore out the page I was looking at and stuffed the book back on the shelf. I then discreetly passed it to Hermione

who gave me a confused glare. I explained what it was and although she looked unconvinced, she ran off to look for Weasly and Potter.

When I learnt that Hermione had been petrified I was distraught. Not because of her condition but because she had failed to pass on the vital information to Harry. I didn't know at the time why I cared so much but I do now. It was because I was scared that Harry would lose his mudblood friends and become a depressed, broken version of his former self. His cocky, idiotic, yet attractive smile would be gone. Of course, Harry being Harry, he managed to defeat the beast and become even more of a hero than he already was in my eyes.

Over the course of the summer holidays I had time to wonder why I liked Harry Potter so much when he was just an ignorant, heroic, beautiful show-off. The answer hit me as I was practicing quidditch skills. I was attracted to the boy who lived! I almost fell off my broom in shock but now that I've had time to think about it I guess deep down I always knew. I mean my heart always felt a little fluttery when he was in the room and my eyes would light up every time I caught a glimpse of him. For my first two years at Hogwarts I had been in denial, pretending my feelings were simply friendship when I knew all along that they were something more. So like the idiot I was I decided to repress my feelings and distance myself even further from Harry. After all, what good could come from a crush on the golden boy?

Over the next few years I acted like a fool. Purposefully irritating Potter, Weasly and Granger just to convince myself that I had never liked him. Never considered him attractive. And definitely never imagined... Well you get the picture. If only I hadn't been such an 'insufferable git', if I'd confessed my feelings or even made attempts to be friendly then perhaps I wouldn't have taken the mark. I wouldn't have joined the wrong side. But I made the wrong choice, and that night in the bathroom, I was going to end it. I couldn't take the pain of unreturned love and I certainly couldn't betray Harry by working for You Know Who.

It was sixth year and I was alone in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Tears were streaming down my face as I started to maul and destroy my flesh on which the dark mark resided. Still it remained, my futile efforts harming nothing but myself. I was about to slit my wrists and end the misery that was my life when Potter entered the room. Of course it was him. It's always him. And now he was seeing me in this weakened state. I may have got slightly defensive which lead to us dueling. Before I knew it I was lying on the floor with all the blood in my body draining out of me. To tell you the truth I was pretty relieved. Soon it would all be over and I could die looking into those emerald orbs that I had grown to love. As I blacked out I smiled, safe in the knowledge that Harry was the last thing I would ever see. You can imagine my disappointment when I woke up a week later in the school's hospital wing. At least the spell gave me an excuse for my arm as moving to St Mungo's was not high up on my list of priorities.

When Harry failed to return for seventh year I was almost frantic with worry. I barely noticed my surroundings and couldn't concentrate in class. Not that that mattered as by then everyone knew I had the mark. My orders were to remain at Hogwarts even though I wanted to join the squad of death eaters in charge of locating and capturing Harry. I thought that at Christmas I might have been able to slip out of the manor but Potter arrived before I could leave.

I was in my room when I received a summons from downstairs. Curious as to what I was needed for I came down the stairs to find Potter. Imagine my surprise to find that the great Golden Boy had been captured. When Aunt Bella asked me to identify him I lied without hesitation and said I wasn't sure in order to present him with an opportunity to escape. In the fight that ensued, Potter disarmed me, stole my wand and disapperated. I was relieved that he had got away relatively unharmed but worried that I would never see him again. How wrong I was.

"The Boy-Who-Lived is dead." With that simple sentence my life starts crashing down around me. I feel hot, angry tears forming in my eyes and I begin to shake uncontrollably. As I walk over to join the death eaters I feel pure hatred towards them and it takes all my restraint not to start throwing curses. The limp, lifeless body of the boy who I had loved, lies in Hagrid's arms and I can feel that I'm not the only one mourning Harry. He's dead and now I can never tell him how I've felt towards him for so long. All those years of pent up emotions were for nothing and now he's gone to the grave believing that I hated him. I never hated him and I never will, but Harry thought I did and it's always the thought that counts. 


A/N: I only published my first oneshot last night and I already have onE reader who isn't myself! I really don't know what to say. Thanks I guess, for happening upon my stories. This is already one more person than I had anticipated reading this. 

Until next time, goodbye my fellow awkward peeps. Xx

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