Introduction {Author's Note}Edit

This is a story, though I don't know it's length yet, that will be about a young girl and her boyfriend, and a bunch of other Hogwarts students. Each chapter or part will focus on a segment of the girl's life but will relate to songs in the real world - for example, Little Things by One Direction, or Red by Taylor Swift. Though the actual lyrics of the songs won't be included, those will be the titles of the chapters or parts, and the story's segment will follow a plotline similar to the song.

I hope you enjoy. :)



Part One ~ Little ThingsEdit

"Malfoy, Amelia!"

Whispers follow me to the stool. I glance back at the assembled crowd, and wince. Eyes, hundreds of eyes, are on me, watching me, hissing amongst themselves, pointing, grumbling at my name, noticing me, noticing my trademarked blonde hair, booing me, waiting for me, judging me.

The Sorting Hat settles onto my head, nestling into my hair.

I can't hear its voice through my disbelief that I've made it this far. I hear a mumble, a jumble of words, then one word, a roared word, permeates my dim mind.


The announcement is met by shock.

Never before has any Malfoy ever been sorted into any house but Slytherin. It's just as Scorpius has always said - I'm a blemish on the Malfoy name, that it wouldn't be long until Mum and Dad decided to disown me, or take away my magic and wipe my memory and set me to live amongst Muggles. I can hear his voice jeering me to the table filled with somewhat wary students.

No one scoots aside to allow me into the bench. I pands towards the end of the table where one seat remains, and slip into it, eyes on my hands, folded in my lap. I can't bear to look at anyone.

That was the day my life worsened.


"No, Harry. Stop, please."

I curl away from him, wrapping my arms around myself, pulling my legs up to my chest, and rest my forehead on my knees. I feel the smooth skin of my lips on my cracked, bumpy knees, and I feel the slight breeze perk my hair up in the back.

A tug on my arm causes me to turn to him.

His golden-blonde hair and green eyes turn to face me, wide, concerned, pleading. His slim fingers tighten their grip around my wrist, and he tilts his head in an endearing way, lips slightly pursed, but slightly parted. He's seated cross-legged, one hand on my wrist, the other in his lap. He reaches over with one hand, cupping my cheek, brushing a single long hair out of my eyes.

"You're beautiful, Amy," he whispers.

"Stop being cliche," I reply, turning away again. "There are no such things as happy endings."

"If you're not happy, it isn't the end," insists Harry.

"It's the end," I respond heavily, "it's the end, Harry. You've got to understand that."

Harry takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. My hands in his, perfectly fitting together. Harry bends his head to look at me. "Like we're made to be," he says softly, swinging our hands. Withdrawing one hand from mine, he traces my lips, then pokes my stomach, smiling. I shake my head at him, frowning, upset. "I'll love you," Harry says, "forever."

"You talk in your sleep," Harry says abruptly, his eyes crinkling.

"What do I say?" I whisper as though suddenly intrigued, though really, I'm frightened.

"It's our secret conversation," Harry replies tapping my nose. His eyes shine. I snort, and let my gaze drift to my feet, which I can hardly see because of my protruding stomach. Before I can think an insult, Harry's fingers tip my chin up so I'm gazing into his eyes. "You're perfect to me."

"Perfect," I mumble. It's a word, foreign, that no one has ever used to describe me. Certainly not.

"Stop," Harry whispers, taking my hands again. "Amelia Daphne Malfoy. You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you." He taps my nose again. "But maybe someday, if you treat yourself right, you'll love yourself like I love you."

"Treat myself right," I mutter. "I treat myself just fine, Harry."

"Not eating is 'just fine'?" Harry demands, suddenly harsh. "Not coming to lunch every other day, hoping no one will notice? Skipping breakfast every single morning, and dinner once every week?"


"Taking swims in the Black Lake?" Harry insists. "That's healthy? That's good treatment of yourself?"


"Throwing up all of the food you eat? Amelia, I know you. You try too hard to fit in. You don't need to do this to yourself. I love you, Amelia, you're perfect the way you are."

"Nothing about me is perfect!" I snap. Harry recoils; he's never heard me use an angry tone before. "You don't understand! There are standards, Harry. I'm not skinny enough, not smart enough, not brave enough, not pretty enough. I'm not good enough to be a Slytherin, I've dishonored the family name. Harry, I'm a Hufflepuff because I don't fit in. I'm not loyal or caring, I'm...I'm me."

"Exactly," Harry cries, "you're you! You are brilliant, Amy--"

"Stop," I plead. "Harry. Stop."

"No," he says forcefully, grabbing my hands. "No, Amy. Not until you realize you're good enough."

"I'll never get you to stop, will I?" I whisper, half to myself. I see Harry sigh, and sadly turn his head away.

Even he can't bear the shame of being with me.

Chapter Two ~ RedEdit

Coming Soon!

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