Disclaimer: I do not, nor will ever, own the characters used to bring this random piece of the Harry Potter universe to life. It owes it's life to several people, JK Rowling, Lain, Brooke Valentine, my writer's block and the persistent little voice in my head bugging me to finish it. Ciao ya'll!

A Love Without Light

"Zacharis Smith for the prosecution your honor," the foolhardy lawyer began. The judge nodded for him to continue. He did. "Mrs. Zabini-"

"Ms Parkinson, please," I corrected.

"Ms Parkinson, can you tell us, in your own words that happened in the events preceding these murders?"


She folded her hands in her lap and looked at me expectantly. I knew what she wanted to hear, so I told her the exact opposite. I hated my mother.

"I'd rather die."

My mother narrowed her eyes and frowned. "That can always be arranged, dear. Be careful what you wish."

"Go to hell," I told her, turning around to walk out of the room.

She picked up her wand and whispered the spell to lock the door before coming up behind me. I felt the cool silver of the knife on my throat as she pulled me backwards towards her. "Pansy," she hissed, pressing the knife against my throat. I knew that knife, it was silver, ten and a half centimeters with a six centimeter mother-of-pearl and diamond handle. Mother sharpened it nightly, often pricking her finger with it to test the sharpness. I watched her do this nightly, because one day I knew that knife would be mine. "I wasted sixteen years of my life raising you, and the moment I ask you to do something, you disrespect me. That's no way to treat your mother, especially after I've given you everything."

She was breathing heavily, and I knew at that moment she wouldn't hesitate to kill me. "Now, you will follow the plan of your own free will because you honor and respect me, you understand. I would kill you before I caused dishonor to my lord by allowing my insolent offspring to dishonor me. Go, get ready. You have a long journey ahead."

She pushed me, removing the knife, but in the process nicking the side of my neck. I didn't flinch, knowing she would consider that a sign of weakness. I didn't look back at her as I stepped through the doors, and once I was in the hallway, I touched the torn flesh gingerly. When I reached my chambers, I took my wand and said the spell to close the wound before looking at myself in the mirror.

There was no scar on my neck, luckily, but as I looked at my face, I realized how thin I had become over the last year. The set of robes I was wearing had fit perfectly at the beginning of the year, but now they were so loose they looked as if they were about to fall off. I pulled my long, dark hair back and continued my inspection. My lips were chapped and pale; I hadn't fixed my make up in days and my eyes were ghastly empty.

I hated what I'd become, a shell of what I used to be and it was all because he was too stupid to finish the job and come back to me. He swore he would, that no matter what, he'd come back alive, but here I was, standing alone while he was out hiding somewhere. My temper flared, and I smashed my hand into the glass, shattering the mirror.

My hand was cut, and as I stared at my shattered reflection, I saw a tear course down my cheek. I didn't recognize myself anymore.

I snatched a long piece of glass off the floor and drew the pointy edge across my palm, drawing blood. I smiled grimly, pulling at my upswept hair. When it was down and around my shoulders, I held it in one hand and pulled the sharp edge across the dark silk, feeling the waves fall limp in my hand. I threw the lock on the floor before repeating the action across the rest of my hair.

The result came moments later, and as I picked up the largest piece of bloodied glass, I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. Pale and shaking, my hands brought the glass closer as I peered into the glass. My hair was ragged, the left side longer than the right and I watched my nose flare as I breathed in and out.

What would he think of me now?

I dropped the glass and walked to my wardrobe. I took out a valise and stuffed a clean change of clothes, extra shoes, socks and a few other items before walking to my nightstand. On it, framed in silver, was a picture of us.

He was sitting behind me, his pale blonde hair whipping around as the wind blew. He had one arm draped around my waist while the other was around my shoulders. His hand, even though you can't see it in the picture, was in my hair and he was whispering things in my ear. In that picture I'm smiling, blissfully ignorant of everything that was about to happen. I didn't know that would be the last time I'd have him that close. He became moody and withdrawn after that, and I didn't see him until the night before everything went to hell.

He made it into the girls' dorms and woke me up. "I have to do something for the Dark Lord," he whispered, cradling my face in his hands. My mind was fuzzy, blurred from sleep, so I didn't try to stop him. He kissed me gently and laid me back down before touching my hair and saying, "I'll be back Pansy, I promise. No matter what, I'll come back to you."

I kissed the tips of my bruised fingers before pressing them to the glass above his face. He looked so innocent, perfectly happy. Then he went and threw it all away. I hated him for it. He gave me up, he gave up everything we could have had for something so stupid and pointless. I dropped the picture in the valise and closed it.

I picked the cloak on the frame of my bed up and tossed it around my shoulders, buttoning it up and pulling the hood over my head. Even though it was the middle of July, it was raining hard outside and the temperature was chilly at best. I blew out the torches in my room after grabbing my wand and the valise and after I shut the doors, I locked them.

I snuck down the hall to Mother's office, cautiously peeping in before stepping through the threshold. There she was, passed out on the couch like a two bit tramp, a bottle of Ogden's in her limp hand. I picked up the bottle, took a swig and placed it on the table. She moaned softly and I froze, watching as she turned in her sleep. Her eyes never opened.

The knife was laying on the table, gleaming in the moonlight. I bumbled around the desk, finding the sheath and putting the knife in it. I slipped the knife into the waistband of my pajama trousers and turned around, prepared to walk out the door. Then I remembered the safe behind the portrait of my great-great grandfather Parkinson, and just as I removed the money, he awoke and began screaming. I slammed the portrait shut and ran out into the hall.

Panic filled me as I ran down the hallway, my boots heavy against the polished marble. I fled down the stairs, confident my mother was right behind me. She and that portrait had a special bond, mainly because she loved money as much as he did and if he was disturbed, Mother knew her money was in danger.

The doors were locked, and after I managed to get them unlocked I turned and looked behind me.

No one was there.

I closed the door behind me, and when I turned around again I was greeted by a chilly breeze and a full moon. I placed my valise on the ground and muttered the shrinking spell so I could carry it in my cloak pocket. When it was safe inside, I began the walk towards the fence surrounding out house.

Parkinson Manor wasn't like the other pureblood manors. They were all fenced in and huge, while our manor was small and only fenced in the front. A ten meter deep moat surrounded our property and marked the beginning of the centuries old magic shields put up by the first owners of my home, my great, great, great, many more times great, grandparents, Fergus and Victorie Parkinson. The moat has only one bridge, and only the blood of a true pureblooded Parkinson can cause it to materialize.

As I reached the edge of the moat, I saw the pale stone serpent that marked the beginning of the bridge. I'd never done this before, but after seeing my mother do it many times, I thought I knew what I was doing.

I unsheathed the knife, watching as it glinted in the moonlight. Placing the blade in the palm of my hand, I drew it across sharply, watching as my crimson blood spilled across my skin. Quickly, I pressed my hand against the serpent's chest and watched as the blood soaked into the stone.

White light shot out of the serpent's mouth, arching in the air and forming a path across the moat. I stepped across it quickly, and once my feet touched ground on the other side, the light disappeared. I stared at the dark manor one last time, knowing I'd never see this hellhole again.

I was leaving for good.

I found the path leading to Knockturn Alley quickly, not needing to use my wand because of the moon. From Knockturn I could Floo to Hogsmede and use the tracking spell I'd found to locate him. Our home was located conveniently close to Knockturn Alley, being as Fergus Parkinson opened the first shop just on the outskirts of Diagon Alley in 1456 called 'Parkinson's Entitlements'. It was the first and last shop to sell titles to land grants surrounding the Parkinson Manor, and since he made so much money he ensured none of his offspring would ever have to work in a low paying job again. When the family was arranging marriages, they always made sure to marry someone better off, and that's how the money accumulated.

The path swerved left, and as I followed it I realized I had no idea where I was going. Mother had just told me to go, she'd never said to where. I knew there was supposed to be a town a few miles down the road, but I wasn't exactly sure where it was. So I kept going, letting my feet carry me.

The trees became thicker as I went on, and as the moonlight dimmed, everything became a blur. My eyes focused on the primitive dirt road, and my hand instinctively flew to the knife in my waistband. The moment I touched the pure silver, the hair on the back of my neck rose. This is what my mother must have felt when she touched it, I thought grimly, pulling the knife out of it's sheath. The power that radiated off of it touched someplace inside me I never knew existed. Then I noticed that ever so faintly, words were engraved on the blade.

Actio ad Salveo

I don't know how long I was on that road or even if I came upon anything while walking. It was as if I was in a trance, just walking without knowing what I was doing. The first thing I remember, however, was coming upon a poor little town just as dawn broke. Fog lifted off the ground in puffs, and at first I thought I was imagining things, but as I drew closer I realized there was indeed small buildings in front of several large hills. I knew I'd have to scale those hills eventually, but before I wanted to stop and grab something to eat.

The building at the far end was a cheap hotel called 'The Whisking Wand'. The town was obviously the poorer of the purebloods, there wasn't a Muggle thing in sight, and as I walked along the deserted looking alley, I realized there wasn't a person in sight.

I pushed the hotel door open, immediately greeted by the smell of rotting wood. At first look the room was empty, but just as I was about to walk out, a voice called out, "Who's 'ere?"

I whirled around, coming face to face with a dirty looking, black haired witch in tattered robes. "I need a room," I told her, trying not to breathe in. The smell was overpowering.

"It's awful late madam, check in is--"

I heard a hiss in the back of my mind, Actio ad Salveo. I moved my hand enough to show her the knife, and once she saw it, she changed her mind. "Pri'ate bath?" she asked, walking behind the desk and picking up a key. She turned back to me and that's when I realized she wasn't as old as I had originally thought.


"Folla me," she said, pushing her way into a narrow hallway. The wallpaper was falling off and the smell grew worse as she continued. "Didn't catch yer surname," she shouted, causing some of the grout to fall off the wall. "I always like teh know the surnames' of the guests."

"Collins," I told her as she jammed the key into the door and twisted the doorknob violently. She pushed it open, before standing aside and smiling proudly, her one haggle tooth sticking out. "This will do," I told her, cautiously stepping inside.

"Collins, lovely name--" but before she could finish I slammed the door in her face.

The room wasn't lit, just a small dark hole in the wall with a bed and a sink. There was a toilet in the corner, but after I performed a cleaning spell on the bed, I fell asleep, not bothering to take off my overcoat.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of rain and lightening, and I knew this was my best chance of finding him because he'd be stuck in one place. I snatched my wand off my bedside table and placed the point on my temple, trying to recall all the memories of him I had and they began to pull out of my memory and into my wand. When I had cleared my mind, I uttered the words the one of the darkest spells known to the wizarding world, and a bolt of red light flew out of my wand and onto the floor.

The light was blinding, but as I watched it, it began to slide across the floor. I followed it as it oozed along and out into the hallway. I pulled my hood up as I crossed the lobby, and just as I got out the door, the blob sped up.

I ran after it, almost losing it a couple of times, but the moment it slunk into the woods, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up anymore. I was forced to leap over stumps, run through puddles and trample over underbrush. Just when I thought the woods would end, the trees became thicker. Branches cut my face and my breathing became ragged and uneven as I ran. My cloak tore several times, getting stuck on various branches and bushes as the red blur went faster. I knew I had to be close, the tracking spell sped up the closer it got to it's target, but at this rate I couldn't keep up.

My foot got lodged between the ground and a fallen tree and I took a hard spill face first into the dirt. Mist was falling off the tree leaves and branches, and even through my cloak I shivered. I pulled my knees up to my chest and moved so I was under a large tree. My breathing was still shallow and irregular, and as I began wiping the dirt and sweat off my face, I realized my lip and nose were bleeding.

My eyes stung with tears, and after I ripped a fairly clean section of my pants to clean my bloodied lip, I broke down. The mixture of salty tears, the smell of the earth and the taste of blood only added to my misery, and soon I was lying on my side in a puddle of tears, blood and mud.

I covered my head with my hood and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths to try and calm my racing heart. My hands shook as I clenched my fists and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to shake the cold, wet feeling that was slowly creeping into every pore in my being. The tears still came, feeling like icy rivers as they crept down my almost numb cheeks.

An icy cold wind rushed past me, the cloak not doing anything because I could feel the wind hit every inch of me. I shivered, the unnatural wind shaking the leaves and causing the water droplets to fall. My stomach growled, and I began sobbing all over again.

I drifted off into a restless sleep, filled with speeding red blobs and blonde hair, before I heard something that chilled me to the bone. A voice, from nowhere, began speaking to me, and while I realized it was in another language, I understood it perfectly.

Whilst the hunter sleeps, the hunted sneaks. He won't wait for you, you must go to him.

I opened my eyes, half expecting to see Satan himself standing before me with his flaming sword of vengeance, but when I realized darkness had fallen, I pulled myself to my feet and took out my wand. I muttered the spell to give me light, and I walked in the direction I had seen the red blob go.

The path lead to a mountain, and on the first ledge I could see the delicate light of a fire barely licking the outside wall. I knew it was him.

My mind stopped screaming in protest and my body felt light as a feather as I began climbing the ledges towards the cave. Each time I grabbed onto a rock and pulled myself up, adrenaline coursed through me and I stopped feeling tired and hungry. I just felt the thrill and fear of what was going to happen next.

I grabbed hold of the ledge where I knew the cave was and waited for a moment before pulling myself up and peering inside.

A small fire was built in the centre of the cave's mouth, far enough inside that the rain couldn't hit it. The shadows danced on the walls, occasionally licking the ceiling before being struck down by a blast of wind. My cloak was soaked through, and when the wind blew, I shivered.

It took a few moments to get up and onto the ledge, and I ripped my cloak on a jagged edge. I swore softly, feeling the wind rush through the hole and hit my skin. As I reached up to pull my hood back, I felt a sharp jab in my side.

"Who are you?"

I vaguely recognized that voice, but before I could say anything, the person spoke again. "Turn around slowly."

I did, and I found myself staring into the cold grey eyes of none other than the man I was sent here to kill. "Draco," I whispered, my stomach tying itself in knots.

"Who are you?" he demanded, reaching up to push my hood back. I let him, and as it fell, his jaw went slack. "Pan-Pansy?" he stuttered, dropping his arm as his wand fell to the ground. "What in Merlin's name?"

He was thinner, his face gaunt. I could tell he hadn't eaten in awhile, and even though his face was sallow, his eyes hadn't lost their guarded, mysterious glint. "Draco," I whispered again, finding it to be the only word that came to mind as I looked at him. "Draco…"

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to him as he pressed his lips to mine. The shock that had suddenly overcome me was replaced with desire, and I found myself clinging to him as if he was the only thing that could save me. Little did I know he probably could have if I had given him the chance.

He broke it off, still holding me tight to his chest. "Pansy," he murmured into my hair, touching it as if he couldn't believe I was real. "Merlin, I missed you."

My eyes burned with unshed tears, but true to form I didn't let them fall. He continued. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"Draco, I--"

Do my bidding, let his blood flow across the floor as his breathing deepens before stopping completely. Feel the power radiating through you, kill him you foolish little girl. Do it now.

My hand snaked under my cloak and gripped the handle of the knife. He stared at me, confusion etched across his features, but the moment I drew the knife, he let go of me and backed away. "Pansy?" he choked, darting glances between my face and the knife. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I asked, my voice empty of emotion even though my mind was screaming for me to stop. "I've been ordered to kill you. You betrayed the Dark Lord's trust; now you must die."

I lunged at him, nicking his arm with the blade. He grabbed my shoulders and held me back while I tried to slash him with the knife. Then, he pushed me back, against the wall and pinned my arms. He brought his knee up to press against my wrist, and as the pressure grew, I was forced to drop the knife.

"Stupid bitch!" he shouted, grabbing my arms and pulling them over my head. "What the hell has gotten into you?" I glared at him as he stared at me, and I could see the hurt in his eyes. "Why the hell are you acting like this? I didn't betray the Dark Lord, Snape killed him before I could do the spell."

"He doesn't care," I snapped, my mouth taking on a life of it's own. My brain was telling me to stop, but my mouth kept running. "You should have killed him when you had the chance. You should have taken his words to heart. You should have told me! You shouldn't have left me!"

I kneed him in the crotch and when he let go of my arms, I snatched the knife. He was bent over, and when I had the knife securely in my hand, I lunged at him. We fell onto the floor, rolling around until I managed to pin him underneath me. I drew the knife across his throat. "Speak and die," I hissed, watching as the vein in his neck pulsed.

"You wouldn't," he whispered, his chest rising as he squirmed underneath me. I pressed the knife against his flesh harder. "You couldn't do this even if you wanted to. Killing me would disappoint the Dark Lord."

"Don't doubt me," I snapped. "You are completely under my control. Don't think I'm weak; you of all people should know I hate being underestimated."

"I'm not-" he winced as the knife pressed harder "-underestimating you. I know you Pansy. I know you better than you know yourself. Don't do this, baby-" his voice trailed off into a squeak as I pressed the knife down harder. "Please."

I watched as his eyes widened. "I loved you, Draco," I whispered.

"Do you remember anything else?" the prosecutor asked, turning back to me.

I stiffened. "No."

"But did you kill him?" he asked again, crossing the floor and placing his hands on the witness box. "You killed him in cold blood after telling him you loved him?"

"If you had been there," I snapped, my hands clutching the edge of my chair. "You would have done the same."

The courtroom gasped, and whispers broke out. The judge slammed the gavel down and called for order. "Ms Parkinson, please continue."

I woke up in a strange bed to a woman singing. "Aye, yewr up!" she exclaimed, plumping my pillow as I sat up. "It's been three days love, we were worried yew wouldn't come around."

I recognized her voice as the woman who had given me the room. "How long have I been here?" I asked, trying to get out of the bed. I couldn't move.

"On and off for eight years," she told me, filling a glass with water and handing it to me.

"Eight years?" I exclaimed, dropping the water. The glass shattered and she tutted, waving her wand to clean it up. "That's impossible!" She filled another glass and brought it to my lips, but I refused to drink. "I just rented a room from you at the Whisking Wand!"

"The what?" she asked, placing the glass on the table and wiping her hands on her apron. "I'm sorry love, I've never 'eard of de Whiskin' Wand befer. Maybe it was part of yer dreams because you always 'ave something odd to say when ye come out of em."

"No, no, you don't understand! I rented the room from you and cast the tracking spell so I could find him! I killed him with the knife- Wait, where's the knife?" I began searching the bed linens for it. The knife, I had to find that knife…

"Love, love!" she exclaimed, grabbing my wrists and forcing me to look at her. "You fell off a balcony in London eight years ago. They brought you here from St. Mungo's because St. Marog's specializes in head trauma. You've been suffering from delusions and dreams ever since. You didn't kill anyone; you've been in this bed for eight years."

"No!" I screamed, closing my eyes and trying to regain my composure. "My name is Pansy Parkinson, I was born October 13, 1980, my mother's name in Margaret Parkinson and my father's name is Leonardo Parkinson, I killed Draco Malfoy July 15, 1996..." I trailed off when I realized I didn't remember anything else.

"Yer name is Pansy Parkinson," the nurse whispered softly. I opened my eyes and tears began to fall. "Ye were born October 13, 1980, yer mother's name is Margaret Parkinson and your father's name was Leonardo Parkinson. He died July 16, 1996 of a massive heart attack. Ye fell off a balcony July 15, 1996 while looking at stars. Ye've been here ever since. As for Draco Malfoy, he hasn't been seen or heard from since 1996."

"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "No, I killed him. I slashed his throat with a knife."

"Shhh," she murmured, helping me recline back on my pillows. "Yer just confused. Try and relax a bit, that's a girl…"

I didn't hear what else she said, because at that moment someone burst through the door. "Is she awake?"

I turned my head towards the person. "Yes, but she's still delusional," the nurse told him.

He was a tall black man, and as he looked from her to me, I realized who he was. "Blaise?" I mumbled.

He flew to my side, taking my hand and kissing it. "Pansy," he whispered, smiling. He reached up to brush several stray locks of my hair back and kissed my forehead. I winced. Draco used to do the same thing… "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Get me out of here." It was the only thing in my head. "Please."

He smiled again. "Of course. I already signed the papers."

"Mr. Zabini, I don't think-" the nurse began, stepping towards us.

"No one asked what you're thinking," he snapped, casting her a scathing look. He grasped my arm and slowly pulled me up. He transformed my hospital gown into a pair of trousers and a button up shirt before helping me out of bed. My legs shook uncontrollably, so I had to hold onto him as we walked out of the room and down the hallway.

"What year is it?" I asked him, grabbing onto the hand rail on the wall.

"July 15, 2004," he replied. "Why?"

I shrugged, feeling tired. Exactly eight years. Why couldn't I remember any of it?

He had to hold onto me while we flooed to my old home. The one I had sworn never to return to eight years ago. When he pulled me through the fireplace, something hit me. We'd done this before. "Welcome home," he said, helping me into a chair. He brushed the soot off my legs and arms. "I'll have Menlo bring you a cup of tea."

Before he could say the order, a house elf appeared. "Tea for you sir. Menlo fix it fresh, he know Mrs. Zabini coming home." With a bow, he disappeared.

"Mrs. Zabini?" I asked, taking the cup from him. I took a sip and winced. My throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. "You're married?"

Blaise sat back, rubbing his temples. "This one was really bad, wasn't it?" he asked, closing his eyes. "Pansy Zabini. That's your name now."

I spit out the sip of tea I'd just taken. "What!"

He took the teacup and placed it on the table. "Two years ago," he said, taking my hands and looking into my eyes. "I took you as my wife. I swore for better or for worse, and while this is definitely worse, I'm going to help you through this."

"I remember he was so sincere," I told the judge. "I thought he really loved me."

"What made you think otherwise?" the prosecutor spat. "From how you describe him, he was perfect."

I stared at him for a moment. "He was perfect. Too perfect. One night, weeks later, I found myself alone in the front room…"


I turned my head to see him standing in the doorway. "Yes?" I asked, pulling my dressing gown around me tighter.

"Are you going to bed?" he asked, sitting on the far end of the couch.

"Yes," I replied, looking down at the Persian rug. Even though we were married, we hadn't slept in the same bed since I'd been back. I hadn't even worn my wedding ring. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I was going to turn in and I was wondering if you were tired."

"I'll go to bed in a few minutes," I told him. "I just want to sit here for a few more moments."

"Okay. I'm going." He stood and awkwardly kissed me on the cheek. "Good night."


He walked out and once I was sure he was gone, I stood and walked over to the desk. The room had been Mother's former study, and her desk was still in the corner. I slid into the chair and grasped the handle of the drawer that formerly held the knife. I slid it open, holding my breath.

There it was.

It was covered in dust, but I could still see the mother-of-pearl and diamond handle poking out from underneath a purple velvet cloth. I ran my fingers along the slim handle, before wrapping them around it. When I pulled it up, it became unsheathed.

The delicate glow of the fire caused an eerie shadow to fall upon the blade, and as I turned it, the words seemed to glow.

Actio ad Salveo

I heard footsteps in the hallway, so I slipped the dagger up my sleeve and crept to the door. I pushed it open and after making sure no one was coming, I crept down the hallway.

My senses became sharper, and I could hear my bare feet on the marble floor. My heart was racing, and as I turned the corner, I stopped dead.

Light spilled across the floor as Blaise opened the door to my mother's new chambers, and after casting a paranoid glance down the hall, he walked inside and closed the door. Well, almost.

After a few moments, I slipped down the hallway and stood outside the door. I heard them talking in hushed voices, but Mother must have said something that set Blaise off.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! She still remembers him! I heard her talk of him in her sleep last night."

"You have to make her forget," Mother told him calmly.

"I know that!" he snapped, pounding his fist on her coffee table. "I killed him like you told me to, I pushed her off that cliff like you told me to, I had the hospital give her potions to erase her memory, I've done everything!"

"There must be something," Mother replied, desperation creeping into the edges of her voice. "Something, anything…"

"If there is," he said, "we must be overlooking it."

They sat in silence for moment or two before Mother cut in. "Just go to bed, I'll think of something."

"Good luck," he said. "Goodnight Mother Parkinson."

"Goodnight Blaise."

He arose and walked towards the door. The knife slipped down into my hand and I heard the voice again.

Kill him.

"I trusted you," I whispered.

He whirled around and faced me. "Pan- Pansy?" he stammered, backing away from me.

"I trusted you," I repeated, raising my arm. "You killed him."

The prosecutor crossed his arms and leaned back on the table. "So you killed him."

I paused before answering. My lawyer shook his head violently, but I looked towards Smith and smiled. "Yes."

A collective gasp caught in the throats of everyone in the courtroom. "What about your mother," he demanded. "What of the woman who gave you life? Did you kill her as well?"


My hands were covered in blood, and my dressing gown was soaked through as I stepped into my mother's chambers. "Good evening Mother."

She looked up from her desk and stared at me. "What--" she stopped dead when she noticed the blood. "Pansy, what are you doing?"

"You lied to me," I whispered, raising the knife. "You let him kill him. You let him kill the one thing that mattered to me."

Yes, make her pay.

"Pansy," she said cautiously, backing away from me. "You're delusional. I'd never do that to you--"

"Save it," I snarled. "You killed him and you tried to make me crazy. I hate you."

"What did you do next?"

"I killed her," I replied simply. "And I'd do it again."

"Why didn't you try to run away? Clean up the blood? Why did you sit there and guarantee a guilty verdict today? WHY?"

I smiled. He really didn't understand. "If for once in your life you finally did something you felt proud of, wouldn't you want people to know too. If you avenged the death of the one you loved, if you ended the life of a person that was the bane of your existence your entire life, if you finally felt like your life had a purpose, wouldn't YOU let people know. I could shout it off the roof tops! I finally feel completed. My life had its purpose."

"So do you deserve to die? Now that your life has had it's purpose?"

"Hopefully some day you will do something that makes your life feel completed and you can feel peace in death."

The judge looked at me.

"Miss Parkinson, you killed your mother and husband in cold blood, to avenge a murder we can't prove even happened, due to the death of the afore mentioned persons. And yet you sit there and tell me that you feel peace. PEACE? I have no choice, nor do I feel any remorse, in sentencing you to the dementor's kiss."

I didn't move. I suddenly felt cold. Cold like my mother. The dementor swooped toward me.

"Draco, I still love you."

Pansy Parkinson

"Here I am.

I'm hidden and shrouded,

Here I am, begging to be.

Here I am, somebody's perfect,

Here I am, imperfect to me.

Forever I'm bound,

Waiting to be."


Angsty, yes? I've been working on this story forever, and it definitely owes it's life to Lain because without her, the end would totally suck. Inspired by Brooke Valentine's 'I Want You Dead' song, it's finally being published. Thanks Brooke for the inspiration and thanks Lain for the brilliantly angsty ending.


PS- Final count (longest ever for me!) 15 pages, 6130 words.