Professor Malfoy.

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆.

* ★ ♡ ☾ *

ℐt was horrible.

I remember every newspaper, every single word about it. Flash. Click. On the Daily Bugle. The thought brings me to tears when someone mentions it.

The Battle of Hogwarts.

The whole thing with Potter, damn, I felt bad for him. Almost everyone around him died. Including Harry himself. But you'd think, did Voldemort win? No, he didn't.

He slowly drifted and passed away.

You see, Harry destroyed all of the Horcruxes, including himself. And Neville killed the snake. But Harry. Poor Harry. Someone tipped him off, telling him that he too was a Horcrux. So he died. He killed himself.

Of course, there were rumours about who told him, but you could never prove anything. I blame whoever gave him that stupid idea.

Harry did such a noble thing, he probably thought.

If only he realised that he was able to survive, simply by letting Voldemort kill him.

He would destroy that Horcrux in him and he would emerge victoriously, or so I read.

Families mourned at the funerals. Hundreds died. Of course, I knew all of this by simply reading the newspapers, hearing the stories from others who had survived the war, and a couple of handy books.

I heard that Ron and Hermione are doing well. They survived and have many children together. I think they named their last child Harry.

But they aren't here. They eloped at first, and they enjoyed staying away from the press, so they moved. Somewhere in America.

They were constantly being asked about Harry. There are even conspiracies about the whole thing being fake, saying that everyone who died is now magically alive.

Like, what the fuck?

The whole thing is so insensitive. I couldn't imagine what they all went through.

Even up until now, Hermione deals with everything that can be diagnosed...and Ron - oh Ron. Well, let's just say he looks about double his age.

I was in the same year as Harry. I went to Hogwarts at fifteen and I used to talk to Ron, Hermione, Luna, mainly everyone.

But I had a bit of bad news myself. See, here are a couple of things about me. My mum died after giving birth to me, and my father gave me away to an orphanage. I mean I couldn't remember what happened so that's a plus, eh?

Anyway, my Mum and Dad (who are really my foster parents) love me very much and I do the same. I do feel sometimes a bit distant from them, as I feel as they aren't really my parents, but I love them all the same. But that's not important right now.

So...back when Voldemort started with his recent appearances around ninth year, we decided as a family for me to go to another school. I didn't want to leave because I liked it there. But in hindsight, I should have left earlier. Like, I didn't want to die.

But I promised my friends I would return.

I enjoyed being taught at Durmstrang Institute, but it wasn't as good as Hogwarts. It could never be. It wasn't long before I turned eighteen when I opened the newspaper at breakfast. It was the same routine each morning - opening the newspaper and reaching for my cup of tea. The only thing that wasn't usually included was an aching sensation in my heart.