Because You Loved Me

Because You Loved Me

By

AmethystPhoenix

For all those times you stood by me,

For all the truth that you made me see,

For all the joy you brought to my life,

For every wrong that you made right,

For every dream that you made come true,

For all the love I found in you,

I'll be forever thankful, baby,

You're the one who held me up,

Never let me fall.

You're the one who saw me through it all.

You were my strength when I was weak,

Harry sat by the fire, staring into the flames. The Gryffindor common room was deserted, and the fire was beginning to burn out. The dimming light cast a shadow over his face, but Harry didn't notice.

Why was I so stupid? Harry thought. If it hadn't been for me, Sirius would still be alive. And so would Cedric. And my parents. No, it was the prophecy's fault. He had to blame it on the prophecy. No, it's my fault. Get a grip on yourself, Potter. It's your fault, not the prophecy's.

He glared at the flames, as if Sirius would pop out of them and say, "I'm alive, Harry. It was all a sick joke that I invented. Go on, throw a punch at me for making you go through so much."

But Sirius didn't come out of the fire. The embers began to glow orange as the fire dimmed to a few small candle-sized flames. Harry was soon left in the dark, moonlight filtering through the windows of the common room.

Why? Harry thought. Why me?

"Harry?" a soft voice said from the staircase.

Harry jumped in surprise. "Ginny," he said. "What are you doing up so late? You surprised me."

Ginny smiled in amusement as she sat in the armchair across from Harry. "I should ask you the same question. I couldn't sleep, so I came down here to think. Of course, I thought everyone else had gone to bed already..."

"Same here," Harry said. "Well, almost," he said as Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Harry, are you all right?" Ginny asked seriously. "Ron told me you haven't gone up to your dormitory since we got here. That's three days, Harry."

"It's none of Ron's business," Harry retorted. "Look," he added as Ginny opened her mouth to argue, "Don't worry about me. I'm the hero, remember?" he said bitterly.

"This is about Sirius, isn't it?" Ginny said heatedly. "Because it isn't your fault. Bellatrix Lestrange killed him, not you!"

"I did, actually," Harry said. "I led him there."

"Harry, he came, knowing that death was a possibility. He wouldn't want you to sit here, mentally beating yourself up," Ginny said softly. "Harry... Ron, Hermione, and I care for you because we're your friends. So stop pushing us away. None of the deaths were your fault, and I doubt that if any of them were alive, they would blame you. It was Voldemort's fault, Harry. Not yours."

"But if I hadn't been born-" Harry started.

Ginny interrupted him. "If you hadn't been born, Voldemort would still be in full power, and Hogwarts would be a school for the Dark Arts. If you hadn't been born, Hermione would be a Muggle, as would all the other Muggle-born students. If you hadn't been born, Ron wouldn't have a best friend. Harry, if you hadn't been born, I wouldn't know what I would do without you..."

"What?" Harry said in surprise.

The moonlight illuminated Ginny's face. She blushed. "Did I just say that out loud?" she whispered. "Harry, I've got to go. I'm really tired," she said quickly. She got up, and began to walk back to the girl's staircase.

"Wait," Harry said softly, grabbing Ginny's wrist before she could leave. Ginny stopped, and turned slowly.

"Harry, I'm tired," she lied.

"Hermione told me you got over me," Harry said. "Last winter."

Ginny blushed. "Well, I went out with Michael Corner because he asked," she said softly. "I thought it would help me get over you. But it... oh, I can't believe I'm saying this to you of all people... it just made it worse."

"I don't know what you see in me that has made you hang onto me for five years," Harry said in disbelief.

"Harry! Don't say that! You're kind, brave, loyal-" Ginny said, blushing with every word.

"Arrogant, messy-haired, stupid, and a complete bastard at times," Harry finished dryly.

"No!" Ginny said.

"Admit it," Harry said.

"Well, maybe a little. But that's what makes you even more perfect," Ginny said softly, her blush gone.

"Perfect? How the bloo-" Harry started. He was cut off by Ginny pressing her lips to his, silencing him. She stopped after a few seconds, looking embarrassed.

"Sorry," she said, turning red again, and trying to leave.

"Sorry?" Harry said seriously. "What's there to be sorry about?" This time, he moved towards her. "You're kind, brave, and loyal too," he said, grinning.

"And arrogant, with ugly red hair, stupid, and a complete bitch at times," Ginny said, giggling.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "How about determined? You know, determination always pays off."

"How?" Ginny asked.

Harry's grin grew wider. "Because you just got what you wanted," he said in a mock-obvious tone.

At that moment, it didn't matter whether Ron or anyone else walked in on them. It didn't matter that Ginny was wearing her night clothes, or that it was nearing two in the morning. Harry felt like he could take on Voldemort right then and there.

You were my voice when I couldn't speak,

Ron Weasley was extremely annoyed. He had to write a speech for some stuffy old dinner party at Percy's, and as a Department Head for the Department of Magical Games and Sports, his speech was expected to be good.

At twenty-five, it was amazing that Ron was in the same job that had been occupied by Ludo Bagman previously. Perhaps he wasn't as respected as his best friend Harry, who was a captain of the Aurors at a young age (he was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all) or his other best friend, Hermione, who was working her way up in the Department of Charms (including Experimental Charms, Charm-breakers, etc.). However, Ron wished he was a lowly coffee boy still.

"My fellow dinner goers..." Ron muttered, scratching the words onto parchment. "That's just horrible," he commented to himself, scribbling the words out. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and looked out the window of his office (one of the perks of his position). His parchment already had twenty other scribbles on it.

A memo flew into his office. Ron caught it and opened it quickly. Hermione's writing was on the inside of the memo. "I'm coming over to your office. We need to discuss your speech," Ron read. "Why doesn't she just come?" he said to himself. "Discuss my speech," he added, snorting with derision. "She'll end up writing it for me."

A few minutes later, Hermione bustled in, wearing the green robes of the Charms wing. That was also a peeve of Ron's. He felt unimportant around Harry and Hermione, who both had department uniforms. They made Ron feel excluded, since his department didn't have a specific uniform.

"Ron, have you got your speech out?" Hermione asked.

"Right here," Ron said, handing Hermione his parchment covered in cross-outs.

"Ron, this is just a page full of cross-outs," Hermione said disapprovingly. "Where's your speech?"

"That is my speech," Ron said pointedly. "I can't figure out a way to start it."

"How about 'Ladies and Gentlemen'?" Hermione said.

"I already wro- great idea, Hermione!" Ron said, relieved. "I could kiss you!"

"Don't," Hermione said wryly. "It's highly unprofessional to kiss someone at work, while everyone is watching."

Joey Jenkins, a player for the Quidditch team the Chudley Cannons, chuckled as he passed by.

***

"Now, Ron, you will not mess up," Percy said sternly. "Messing up may cause our family to lose the community's respect..."

Percy's lecture became "blah blah blah," in Ron's mind. Why doesn't he just say 'this is important' and leave it at that? Ron thought, annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, I get it," he said out loud.

"Good," Percy said. "You're up in three minutes. You have your speech?"

"Yes," Ron said dully, pulling out a sheaf of parchment. It was covered in Hermione's neat, minute writing.

"Hey, mate," Harry said from behind him.

"Not now, Harry," Ron said irritably. "After."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You need to go on stage," he informed Ron.

"What?" Ron said in surprise. The three minutes had felt like three seconds. "Now? As in right now?" he choked.

"No, Ron, as in tomorrow now," Harry drawled in a Malfoy-like way, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Ah, just get out of the way," Ron said as he pushed past Harry roughly, his shaking hands nearly dropping the immaculate sheaf. He didn't know why he was so nervous all of a sudden. A minute before, he had been fine. Now there were the evil butterflies from his Quidditch days in his stomach, and his hands were leaving marks on the paper. He felt dizzy and sick.

"Er... Hermione?" Ron said weakly.

Hermione didn't notice. Instead, she pushed him through the stage curtain. "Good luck," she hissed. The gap in the curtain closed, and Ron was left gulping in front of an audience of about two-thousand.

"Er... good morn- I mean, good nigh- I mean, good evening," Ron stuttered to the crowd. "Yeah, good evening," he said, trying to make his squeak more masculine. A sneer so large that Ron could almost hear it appeared on Draco Malfoy's, one of the school governors, face.

"Uh... ladies and gentleman," Ron started. He looked down at his sheaf. Where was his first page? Bloody hell, he thought. He spotted the sheet of parchment fluttering towards the floor of the stage back near the left entrance. Stupidly, (Ron later cursed his nervousness) he dove on the ground, and landed with a thump on the stage, flopping like a fish. As if mad, Ron grasped at the floor, his hands squeaking against it until he finally succeeded in dragging the sheet towards him. By now, the audience was tittering with mirth. Percy was turning beet red.

Blushing, Ron got up, picked the sheet up like a normal person, cleared his throat, and began. "Er... ladies and gentleman: as, uh, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sporks... I mean, Sports, I, uh..." He couldn't read Hermione's writing. The words were all blending together, as if determined to torture him.

Ron lifted the parchment up to his eyes. The crowd began to laugh again. Suddenly, the words on the page glowed red, and rearranged themselves. "Say that Hermione Granger will be giving a special presentation," the parchment now said.

Ron pulled the parchment away from his face. "As head, I would, er, like to introduce Hermione Granger for a, er, special presentation," he said.

Hermione came out of the wing, looked at Ron, and continued the speech. When read by her, the speech sounded ten times better than Ron's best speech. The crowd went wild at the end, forgetting all about Ron and his blunders. Which was fine with Ron, of course. "Thank you, Hermione!" Ron said ecstatically. He kissed her in delight. The audience went even more crazy.

Ron and Hermione pulled apart. "I told you it was unprofessional," Hermione said. But she had a grin on her face.

"Who cares?" Ron said, shrugging and grinning back.

You were my eyes when I couldn't see,

Draco Malfoy was a very lucky wizard. He was rich, was a school governor, influential, and had a beautiful and regal wife. And according to the media (and Mr. Arrogant himself), Draco had his looks going for him too. After all, how else would he have won Blaise over?

"Father?" Xavier Malfoy, his sixteen-year-old son, said from the doorway of Draco's study.

"What, Xavier?" Draco said irritably. "I don't have time for whatever it is. Go ask your mother."

"You want me to ask Mother about how Maia Potter's... er... assets suddenly appeal to me?" Xavier said, shocked.

"Maia Potter?" Draco said, almost having a heart attack. "Out of all the bloody witches in the world... no, don't even talk to me about Maia Potter! I have an idea. Go to her father and talk to him about it!"

"I'm not attracted to Maia Potter!" Xavier said hotly. "It's just that I find myself staring sometimes..."

"Argh!" Draco screamed. "Don't talk to me about anything that has to do with Harry Potter! Bad mental pictures, Xavier! Leave me to my work!"

Xavier rolled his eyes. "Father, Maia is a girl. If she resembled anyone, it would be her mother."

"GO!" Draco said.

"Leaving, Father," Xavier said. He slipped out of the room haughtily.

"That was interesting," Blaise said, stepping out of the shadowy corner of the study she had been standing in. "Of course, Potter's daughter is-"

"STOP!" Draco said. "Anything but Potter! Let's talk about the Easter Bunny instead!"

"The Easter Bunny, my blond one?" Blaise said sweetly.

"Blond one?" Draco repeated. "What is that?"

"My new nickname for you, Drakkie."

Draco stiffened in his chair. "Draco will do," he said coldly. Blaise shrank away.

"Of course, Draco," she said softly. Draco swore to himself that he was imagining the hurt in Blaise's voice. The hearty sniff that followed as Blaise began to stride towards the exit convinced him of otherwise. And the Slytherin stereotype of heartlessness is generally true, but not always.

Cursing his heart, Draco got up and playfully covered Blaise's eyes with his hands. He felt a twinge that he later categorised as hunger when he felt wetness on his hands. "Suppose I let you call me... Drakkie," he said distastefully, "for a day. Would that make you feel better?"

"I suppose it would," Blaise murmured. "Pansy Parkinson never was allowed to do it."

"Of course not," Draco said. Blaise turned, a Slytherin smile that could only mean one thing on her face.

"Well, Drakkie," she said seductively. That was all Draco needed.

***

"Where is Xavier?" Draco said, annoyed.

"Young Master went to Diagon Alley, sir," a house-elf said. "By floo powder. Young Master insisted, sir, there was nothing Yoodle could do to stop him, sir..."

"Quiet!" Draco said. "Blaise," he said.

"Let me guess," Blaise said, appearing at the foot of the stairs in one of her robes for Diagon Alley, "Xavier has gone to London again."

"Yes, yes," Draco said impatiently. "Let's go."

"As you wish, Drakkie," Blaise said. She Disapparated. Draco scowled at the nickname, but Disapparated after her.

"Mister Malfoy! And Mrs. Malfoy!" Tim, or something like that, said. Tom... yes, that was it... Tom.

"Hello, Tom," Draco said. He needed to be cultured outside.

Tom looked behind him. "Ah! Mister Potter! Mrs. Potter!" he said. Draco spun around. Behind him was his school-time arch-nemesis and his wife Ginny.

"Well, hello, Potter," Draco said, his tone barely civil.

"Hello," Harry said. "I heard the governors are taking the heat for a portion of the greenhouses crumbling."

"Really? That was a rumour, Potter. I heard Antonin Dolohov is giving the Aurors a hard time. A shame... he is very dim-witted."

"For your information, Malfoy, Dolohov was caught two years ago," Harry said.

"Oh? Well, I must be mistaken," Draco said, sweeping away. He and Blaise walked into the back alleyway, and tapped the bricks on the wall.

Diagon Alley was crowded that day. Most people gave the Malfoys a respectable distance. "Where is he?" Draco said, getting very frustrated.

"This is a big place," Blaise said.

"Bloody little whelp," Draco muttered.

"Who are you looking for?" Blaise asked Harry and Ginny, who also looked as if they were looking for someone.

"Our daughter. She came here," Ginny said briskly.

"Really?" Draco said, bored. "My bloody whelp of a son seems to have come here as well."

"No wonder. You probably chased him out," he thought he heard Harry mutter. However, all thoughts of knocking Harry to the ground and starting a fistfight were struck out of his head as he saw a very familiar blond colour come very close to a very dark, almost black, red.

The fat witch blocking Draco from seeing what was happening finally moved, and Draco nearly screamed in terror.

His son was outright... snogging with Maia Potter in front of everyone. "Ah! My eyes! They're burning!" Draco said, covering his eyes. Maybe a bit melodramatic, but Draco loved causing scenes.

Harry looked over. "Bloody hell, what the hell does she think she's doing?" he said furiously.

"The pain!" Draco cried.

"Shut up," Harry snapped.

"Draco, dear," Blaise said. "They've moved apart."

"Ahem," Draco said, straightening. "Right. I couldn't see. Now, Potter, we must settle this problem..."

You saw the best there was in me,

I couldn't believe it when Lily and James started going out. They hated each other! (Or at least Lily hated James. My best mate drooled over her night and day.) It was something that I, Sirius Black, will never be able to comprehend, no matter how much I think about it.

It was a beautiful sunny day... no, wait, it was cloudy... no, it was drizzling... ah, whatever! It was pouring, all right? It was grey, wet, and bloody annoying!

That day, Moony, Prongs, and I decided to stop at the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. (Peter had detention.) It was an official Hogsmeade weekend, so everyone else was there too. Honestly, where else would you go if it was miserable outside?

Anyway, Madam Rosmerta came over. She was very pretty those days... fresh out of Hogwarts, and therefore, flirtable material. "Hey, Rosie," I said.

Rosmerta blushed. "Hello, Sirius," she said. "How are you, James? Remus?"

"Good," James said unenthusiastically. Poor Jamsie. He had been depressed ever since that incident after the O.W.L.s. Evans never really went berserk at him before. In fact, no one had. Ever. Bit of a shock for Prongsie-poo. He stopped asking Evans out, and became all goody-goody. Remus should have just given him his Prefect's badge. "Excuse me, I've got to review my History of Magic notes."

See what I mean? I almost choked on my own spit. You could never put the name 'James Potter' in the same sentence as 'responsible' and 'studious'. "Review notes?" I managed to gasp, nearly passing out.

James looked at me. It reminded me eerily of Evans. "Yes, Sirius, review notes."

Another thing. Prongs never called me Sirius out loud. I hate that name. Reminds me of my bitch of a mum, who named me. We Blacks have a curious habit of naming our children stupid names, so they can get laughed at by people their own age. Just a few weeks ago, I heard my cousin Bella telling Snivellus about how her older sister Narcissa would name her first born Draco. Poor child! And poor Nymphadora... Andromeda found out her baby will be a girl.

James pulled out a huge stack of carefully taken notes (honestly, who takes notes in History of Magic, besides Evans? I use that class to catch up on my sleep.) and began to peruse them.

Evans entered with a bunch of her giggly friends. Remus and I looked at each other. Time for James to look up and start drooling. (Hey, I only said he didn't ask her out! Not drool silently!)

James didn't even notice. We began to think it was an act for Evans to notice him studying, paying no attention to her, just so she would get jealous.

Half an hour passed, and our Jamsie was still studying. It was driving Moony and I crazy.

Evans came over. Was James' plan working? "Lupin," she said. Not. "Do you have the minutes from the last Prefects' meeting?" she said coolly.

Moony and I expected James to fall out of his chair in shock at the fact that Evans hadn't been looking for him. He didn't do anything except sit there, reading his bloody notes. Okay, Prongs, you can stop reading now... your plan's not working...

"Potter seems studious today," Evans said. James did nothing. Even I almost fainted from shock. Evans had said something half-complimentary to James!

"Er... James?" I said tentatively. "Uh... Prongs? Yeah, Evans just complimented you..."

James was still sitting there. It was fully scaring me. It seemed like he was actually studying. We do not study. Rule #3 of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs: Never study unless if you're faking it.

"HELLOOOOOOOOO!" I yelled. Well, at least James moved. More accurately, Prongs fell off his chair in shock.

"What the hell was that for?" he said irritably, gasping as he hoisted himself up. He swore when he saw his beloved notes in a pile on the floor. "Accio," he said. The parchment zoomed into his hands.

"I was going to say that Evans paid you a compliment," I said. Evans winced. Moony winced. I winced when I figured out what would happen now.

"Oh. Thanks, Evans," James said without a trace of interest. All three of us nearly had heart attacks. James returned to his notes.

"Is he ill?" Moony asked me.

I nodded, completely disturbed. "Bloody hell, yes."

Evans walked away.

"That was Evans, you idiot!" I hissed.

"So?" James said.

Remus and I stared at each other, jaws dropped. James Potter had lost interest in Lily Evans. What was this world coming to?

Anyhow, we left Hogsmeade, and went back up to the castle. We were in the common room when Evans came up to us again. Twice in one day. James didn't even bat an eyelash. I swear, he must have fallen in love with homework instead.

Evans looked impressed with something. It had to be my dazzling good looks. Or my beautiful hair. Or my piercing grey eyes. Pop. Nope, it was goody-goody James.

"James?" Evans said tentatively.

James? Since when did Evans refer to 'Potter' as James? Did she switch bodies with one of Prongs' fan girls?

"James, can I talk to you?" she added.

"James!" I prodded the idiot.

"Hmm?" James said distractedly.

"Evans wants to talk to you!" I hissed. James shrugged, and got up. He and Evans walked to a corner of the common room. James came back a minute later.

"What did she want?" Remus said, looking over his homework.

"She asked me out," James said in a bored voice.

"What?" I said. If Evans switched with a fan girl, Prongs switched with Lucius Malfoy or someone. "What did you say?"

"No," James said simply.

"No?" Peter squeaked.

"I have homework, studying, and Quidditch practice," James said. "I'm not perfect, you know. And it's not like she liked me before this."

I nearly hyperventilated. Arrogant James Potter loves Lily Evans. That was the new golden rule. This went against the laws of physics! Outrageous!

"Prongs, you will go out with her!" I ordered. God, am I a nutter. "Look!" Evans was looking depressed in front of the fire.

Prongs noticed. "All right, Padfoot. But only because you ordered me to," he said, getting up. I watched him like a hawk as he walked over to Evans, said something, and waited as Evans grinned. James came back.

"So, where's the first date?" I asked.

James shrugged. "We're going to the library to study tomorrow," he said.

Oh, god, no.

Lifted me up when I couldn't reach,

Neville stood on the stool, teetering on the edge of falling and breaking his neck. His hands shook as he put the first wreath on the wall of the Great Hall. Dumbledore's mad, he thought. Why can't we just levitate these things?

"Hello, Neville," said a dreamy voice behind him.

"Hello, Luna," Neville said cheerily to the younger sixth year. "How are you? Going home for the holidays?"

"No. Dad is going to Peru to find some Tooter-Headed Knutknuts," Luna said matter-of-factly.

"Tooter-Headed Knutknuts?" Neville said. "I've never heard of them before."

"Oh, they're cousins of the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Luna informed him. "They migrated from Sweden two hundred years ago."

"Really?" Neville asked. Harry and Ginny had stopped what they were doing, and were now watching with amusement. Neville looked at Harry. Harry immediately began to hang mistletoe again, flushing.

"Yes," Luna said. "Need help?"

"Thanks," Neville said, relieved. He handed her a wreath. "That goes right there," he said, pointing at a spot on the wall. "I'll hold the ladder still."

Luna took the wreath, and climbed up the ladder easily. Neville held onto the ladder tightly, even watching Luna making him feel nauseous.

"Done," Luna called. "Throw up another wreath, Neville."

Neville tossed another wreath up. Luna caught it deftly, and proceeded to hang it up expertly. Neville threw another wreath up.

Soon, the hall was almost completely done, except for one wreath, which was to go above the head table. "Oh, Neville, I can't reach the hook," Luna said.

"But if I raise my arms too much up there, I'll fall," Neville said nervously.

"That's easily solved," Luna said. "Come up here and lift me up. You won't be lifting your arms too much. It's only a little."

Neville took a deep breath, and made his way up the ladder. Don't look down, don't look down, he chanted in his mind. Bloody hell. The ground looked far away, even though Neville was only halfway up the ladder.

Shaking, Neville bravely went up the rest of the ladder, finally making it up to the top without falling.

"Now, lift me up," Luna instructed.

Neville put his hands around Luna's waist. It felt... weird. He had never touched a girl on purpose before.

"Go on," Luna said, a bit impatiently.

Feeling stupid, Neville lifted the petite Ravenclaw up into the air. "Done," Luna said triumphantly, a few seconds later. Relieved, Neville lowered Luna, and climbed down, followed by Luna.

"Thanks," Neville said sheepishly.

Luna smiled at him. "Anytime, Neville."

The two started to walk out of the Great Hall. "You're done already?" Ginny asked Luna and Neville.

"Yes," Luna said. "Are you two done?"

"We are now!" Harry called from the other side of the hall. "I hate mistletoe!" he said, scowling.

Neville snickered. Ginny shook her head, grinning. "Do you have to sound so whiny and immature?" she said.

"Yes," Harry said sullenly.

He was so serious that the other three burst into laughter. "Let's go, Harry," Ginny said, giggling, pulling her boyfriend after her.

"Well," Neville said, still smiling.

"Harry is so funny at times," Luna said.

"Yes he is," Neville agreed.

"Neville?" Luna said.

"Yes?" Neville said.

"Mistletoe. Look," she said, pointing up above them. Hanging on a peg was some mistletoe, put up by Harry and Ginny.

"Luna? I..." Neville said, leaning in.

Luna just smiled. "Lovely day, isn't it?" she said.

"Yes. Beautiful day," Neville answered. "What do we do under mistletoe?"

"What do you think?" Luna said, her voice sounding less dreamy and more like any other girl's. She leaned in towards Neville.

"It's perfectly obvious," Neville said.

You gave me faith 'cause you believed...

You were good. Kind. Outgoing. Popular. Everything I wasn't, and more. You also loved me, something I was never fully truthful about. At least something I will never admit. You were naïve. You laughed when I talked of Voldemort, thinking it was a joke I made up.

You were a smart girl. After all, the only reason we got together was because you were Head Girl and I was Head Boy. There were many who wanted us together before tha, but we didn't agree... until then.

We snuck out to the Astronomy Tower. Back then, you were fun, with a sense of adventure. You Gryffindors are like that. You would drag me along, just to look at the stars. And I have to admit, I enjoyed doing that with you.

You loved me with all your heart. You thought we would get together after Hogwarts, have a family. No matter that I was a Slytherin... you still loved me. But I didn't love you back, at least not in truth. Not as much as you loved me.

You see, you were the only one who got past the ice of my heart. I am ashamed to admit it. I was young... that was my excuse. I was fond of you... your devilish tricks and your fuzzy little nicknames for me.

The younger students looked up towards us. We were their role models: a perfect, happy couple who also happened to be the Head Boy and Girl. Even Dumbledore encouraged us.

When you finally realised that my intentions were serious, you didn't stop loving me. You had faith in me. You tried to turn me back, to do what was right. You told me Lord Voldemort was wrong, and he would give me the wrong kind of power. Power, you said, was earned by people willingly giving it to you. Seized power was not real power.

You believed Voldemort had not corrupted me all the way when we left school. You believed in me. And every time you tried to persuade me that Voldemort was wrong, I could never bring myself to kill you. I still had a heart, beating coldly against my chest.

Dumbledore himself told you I was a lost cause. He told you to give up... the boy you loved was gone.

But you hung on for three whole years. It wasn't until I left for Germany when you finally gave up. And even that was half-hearted.

I still remember our last conversation. "Don't go," you said. Real tears were flowing down your beautiful face.

It stirred something in my heart. I wanted to stay. But Voldemort was my priority, and I convinced myself that you were stupid and weak. My heart disappeared that day. I left you behind, weeping.

You were one of the first to know Voldemort's true identity, because of me. Voldemort has never returned to being a game for you. You lost your true love to that monster. You lost your carefree ways. You became strict and bitter. You never loved again. You didn't trust love and its silliness. You had been betrayed by it.

Many years have passed. I am no longer the handsome boy you once loved to call "my cutie". That name makes me want to retch. I am not innocent. I have no heart.

I used to call you Minnie. But my mind has become accustomed to calling you McGonagall. Or the Mudblood lover. But I call you Minnie once more. And in the deepest corner of the evil mind Voldemort and I share, Minnie and Tom are together once more, young and innocent.

I'm everything I am,

Because you loved me.

You gave me wings and made me fly,

You touched my hand, I could touch the sky,

I lost my faith, you gave it back to me,

You said no star was out of reach.

You stood by me and I stood tall,

I had your love, I had it all.

I'm grateful for each day you gave me.

Maybe I don't know that much,

But I know this much is true,

I was blessed because I was loved by you.

You were my strength when I was weak,

You were my voice when I couldn't speak,

You were my eyes when I couldn't see,

You saw the best there was in me,

Lifted me up when I couldn't reach,

You gave me faith 'cause you believed...

I'm everything I am,

Because you loved me.

I'm everything I am,

Because you loved me.

~fin~