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I PROLOGUE I

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Nil. None. Naught. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

That was the number of reasons I had to live for. I had come to this conclusion after acute speculation of the remnants of my life.

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I could become an extremely powerful Death Eater that would only too obviously be one of Voldemort's finest. Oh, right, and serve a decaying hypocrite that is in extreme self-denial? Intelligent people would quickly come to the conclusion that after so many consecutive defeats that winning is out of the question. War is different, it does work that way, but when it comes to dueling all troops are combined as one and pose a different threat. As it is, that thing which calls himself the Dark Lord is not worthy of my servitude, as is no one but myself.

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I have no friends that would miss me; I smirk just thinking about it. Crabbe and Goyle are not friends, they are more akin to having flies as pets. Firstly, they reek like no other; I've smelt decaying bodies that make it seem like a perfumery compared to those imbeciles. They buzz all about me, which is no fault of my own (I imagine they have been ordered to by their thicker than rock fathers), and it is all I can do to not swat them away, literally. They will also eat just about anything you put before them. What self-respecting wizard such as myself would call those dolts friends? Everyone else I know is either an acquaintance or an enemy; as to which is worse, I haven't figured out.

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My family? Right, my father is going to be so upset because a mudblood will no longer shame the family name; he just loves the fact of that Gryffindor wench surpassing my marks every year. As for my mother, I'm surprised she hasn't passed me off for a figment of her imagination, what with all the booze and potions she consumes. I'm not positive that she even eats solid foods anymore.

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My marks certainly won't matter in the end and neither will quidditch. Neither are sufficient enough to sustain my life as it is. I am not by any means insufficient in either, but just because I am good at something does not necessarily mean that I should want to pursue it further in my future. Quidditch is no more than something else for me to succeed at; it is also a means of beating Gryffindor in anyway possible. With my marks, I could most certainly obtain any career; I could eventually even become the Minister of Magic. What everyone fails to conceive is that I simply do not want to. It is not a matter of need; it is a matter of want.

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This is when I came to the conclusion that I had absolutely nothing to live for. If any of those people want me alive it is for the sole purpose of what they need from me that they cannot provide for themselves. Others must be ordered to befriend me; if any of my self acclaimed friends had the choice, they certainly would have chosen someone else. The others simply want to get in a good word with one of the wizarding world's most prominent families. The only good word I've put in for anybody got them severely injured, much to my satisfaction.

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I had nothing to live for what so ever. Take notice of the past tense. I had nothing to live for. No, I haven't killed myself, but not for a lack of disregarding the option. I had nothing to live for, until this very moment.

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I know that I hate life, it is something I came to terms with long ago. What I didn't know is that someone else could despise it in the same quantity. As I somehow came to lock eyes with him only seconds ago, I discovered that I wasn't alone. Now I have something to live for, for Harry Potter hates life just as much as I do.

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The end....or is it?

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v


Shall I continue or not? If anything, I shall only write one more chapter to complete it and that will be all. That is unless I am asked to continue it into a full-length story. My other story will be complete rubbish compared to this if I do fulfill its potential (or so I hope.) If I do continue then I am warning you that it will be slash, but as it is now it does not have to be. I have never written slash before but I want to take the chance that I'll be okay at it.

P.S. - Both characters have extreme reasons to hate life as they do; I would not allow myself to write this if I did not plan on giving them reasons. If you doubt me, you will discover why as you read if I chose to make it full-length. Until then, if it comes, please enjoy as is.

- Writer


Disclaimer:

I do proclaim, that in shame, I own nothing of the sort.

Just the plot, you little snot, so I shall make this short.

She who owns it, and condones it, harbors all the glory.

Now to you, please review, and do enjoy my story!