Author's NoteEdit

Note: If you listen to Rolling in the Deep while reading this, it kind of works...

By the way, this is just a short story. It's not supposed to be a novel, though I may add onto it, who knows...

The fool's spell shoots out of her lame wand, and as it speeds towards me, my eyes close. I laugh, but images flash before my eyes., and him, together...looking like dirty Muggles, I in a white dress, and he in a tuxedo. He looks as handsome as he did before he was reborn...dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale...Slytherin. We hold hands, and then his figure is replaced by that it is now, bald, red-eyed, snake-like.

I am sitting in a frivolous plush armchair, my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth as he pats my arm and strokes my hair. I thought he was incapable of love...I was wrong.

"It's okay, dear," he soothes, his dark eyes boring into mine, full of love. "It's fine."

"No," I howl. "It'll never be all right! don't understand!" I wrench myself away from him and tear out the door, storming out into the pouring rain while pulling my arms through my coat.

I throw one last glance at the window of the tall mansion looming on the street, surrounded by stores and shops, and see his pale face in the rain-streaked window, looking sad and frightened. Feelings I never believed he was able to...feel.

Now I am laughing as he picks up a dark haired boy, with a small smile and a pudgy face, curly-haired like me, smooth and cool like him.

I'm opening a letter, with familiar handwriting...half mine, half his, and I see in my mind's eye an eleven-year-old boy sitting on a three-legged stool with a tattered hat on his head. "SLYTHERIN!" shouts the hat, and the boy, our son, flounces of towards the table.

A small girl with curly black hair in a ponytail is tugging on my arm, and the same older boy is standing next to her, our children. Their father pulls me close, and we hold hands as our children prance around us.

"I love you," he whispers, and then I see our daughter at school, trying on the Sorting Hat, and hear it scream, "SLYTHERIN!" He and I beam as we read the note our daughter wrote us, and then he and I are on a broomstick, flying into a crimson sunset.

I open my eyes dizzily, and see blood-red eyes with slit-like pupils staring into me, and a snake-like face.

"I'm sorry, Bella. Sorry we could never have been together," Voldemort says softly.

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