We never were friends. Some might consider me his enemy. They think that because I tried to give him up when asked, it meant I hated him. That I was evil. It wasn't that, not at all. I was scared. Terrified out of my mind, unable to think rationally. So, I obeyed that terrible, echoing voice.

I always obeyed. It is what I was raised to do. Obey my parents when they tell me which pureblood to marry. Obey my future husband when he wants me in bed… or someone else. Obey my children and do whatever they ask.

Only, everything went to pieces. In the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, my parents were killed. They became Death Eaters just a few weeks before. And, Ginny Weasley, the woman Harry loved was killed as well.

I tried to save her. I tried to save her because no one else did. It was a Cutting Curse across the throat. I didn't get to her side quick enough. I tried to heal her. I tried. I failed.

I always fail. I failed at being beautiful. I know what people say, how I have a pug face, a squashed face. I know I am not the smartest either. I am not the nicest, or the meanest. I am not as bigoted as my parents, but not tolerant enough for anyone else.

But most of all, I fail at love. Draco Malfoy was my first love. He gave me up for Astoria Greengrass. And now, I love Harry Potter. The person I tried to betray to Voldemort. I failed at that to.

I can see in his eyes how he still loves her. How he wishes she were alive. I can tell by the bags under his eyes that his dreams are filled with her. He seems to be drowning in grief. I wouldn't be able to help. How can I? I am only that Slytherin bitch to him. The useless one.

Ginny isn't the only one he grieves for. There are so many others who were lost. But, Ginny is the only one I grieve for. All of the people I knew who fell in the war fell on the wrong side. They were Death Eaters, evil and cruel. I don't miss them. I don't miss my parents either. I enjoy thinking for myself.

All those who fell facing Voldemort were aliens to me. We barely spoke, never knew each other. But I could have saved Ginny. If I didn't freeze for those few seconds after she was hit. If I didn't lose my nerve a few feet before I reached her. If. I hate the word if. It means more pain for me. Another thing I failed at.

I could have saved her. And I could have saved him. If she were alive, he would be so much better, so much happier.

---

Every Thursday, I go to Ginny's grave. Thursdays are unimportant, so I make them special. I talk to her. I tell her what has happened here. I tell her about Harry and Ron and Hermione. I don't know too much about the rest of her family, but if they make the paper, I clip out the article and bring it.

I always leave three roses. A red rose, the color of blood, to apologize for not saving her. A black rose, as black as Harry's hair, to remind her that he still loves her. And a white rose, pure, to show her that I am trying to make amends.

I am sure she doesn't know what I do. She is dead, beyond this world. But, this little ritual saves me a little. Makes me feel less evil and more pure. I feel like I am healing. Like I am more deserving.

Honoring Ginny is the one thing I haven't failed at.

---

Today is Harry Potter's birthday. It may be a Wednesday, but I think she will need someone. Or I need to pretend there is someone there for me. All my friends are gone. Well, I never had true friends in the first place. So, it seems weird, insane even, that a dead person is my first true friend.

I kneel by her grave, the sun warming my back. It is beautiful weather.

"Well, hello again. I know you don't expect me today. But, it is Harry's birthday, and I thought you could use some company. The weather is lovely. Sunny, warm, just the faintest breeze. I am sure you would be flying if you were here.

"Ron and Hermione announced they are engaged yesterday. So, you won't be the only Weasley girl anymore. You have a sister now. Or will, once they get married.

"I am beating around the bush, aren't I? I am sure you want to hear about Harry. I don't want to talk about him. It isn't good news. No, he isn't dating anyone. He is just fading away. He is losing himself in his grief. I think he blames himself for every person that died. Especially you. That man has the biggest hero complex I have ever seen.

"He misses you. I can see it in his eyes. I wish I was faster that day. I wish I didn't freeze up, that I didn't get scared and try to run. I wish I had been able to save you. You should be alive today, and you aren't. It is my fault." Tears are running down my cheeks. I can barely get the words out. "I could have healed you. It was only a Cutting Curse. I know, I knew how to heal those.

"Ginny, I am so sorry. You should be here, laughing in the sun, flirting with Harry and celebrating your brother's engagement. But, because I failed, as usual, you aren't. I am so sorry. I broke him, you know. If I had saved you, Harry would be whole today.

"I want to fix him, Ginny. I broke him, and I want to fix him. I want to see if I can do something right. If I can love. I know more about him than he'll ever know. I know his favorite color is dark blue, the color of your eyes, I can tell because he always tears up when he sees it. It isn't Ravenclaw blue, which is a common mistake. I know his favorite food is lasagna, because I sat near him once at a restaurant and he muttered about how his was sub par, and shouldn't the Chosen One's favorite food be perfect? I taught myself how to make lasagna, just in case.

His favorite book is a Muggle one. I found him staring at it in wonder one day and Flourish and Blott's. 1984, by George Orwell. He didn't even see me. He never sees me." I sobbed, and all the words got stuck in my throat. She'll never know, he'll never know.

I will always fail.

A low voice interrupts my wallowing in self-pity. "What the fuck are you doing here?" I jumped when I saw Harry, standing right behind me. He looked gorgeous as always, hair tousled and eyes bright. I grabbed the roses I brought, and laid them on her grave.

"I am sorry, so, so sorry." I whispered, not wanting him to hear. "Leaving. I'll give you privacy." I replied to him, and turned to go.

"Why are you crying over her? You are just a wannabe Death Eater." He was angry, and his words cut. He never sees, he can't see.

"I killed her." My voice is so flat. So emotionless. He stiffened. "It was a Cutting Curse to the neck. I didn't get to her quickly enough. I didn't get to her in time to heal her." I was screaming, my voice high and shrill. "I could have. I could have saved her. I might not be as smart as Hermione Granger, but I am not an idiot. I could've saved her."

Harry looked at he, his eyes wide with surprise. I pushed past him, sobbing, and Apparated home. It was a cozy little flat. I bought it with my inheritance, and then put the exact amount back in my inheritance after I got a job. I don't want to touch that money. It was made off pain and blood and tears.

I didn't fail at my job, but I didn't succeed either. I was mediocre. If I wasn't failing, I was average, too average to matter. Just Pansy Parkinson, worthless pureblood.

---

A knock at my door startled me. I was reading, getting lost in Harry's favorite book. I loved it too. The message, the fear, the terror. And how in this case, evil won. I loved Harry, and I wished I could thank him for introducing me to Muggle literature. All the shelves in my room are full of it, classics and romances, drama and fantasy.

"Pansy, are you in?" The voice called on the other side of the door. It was masculine. It couldn't be Draco. Astoria never let him visit. She and I didn't get along. She was jealous that I was the one he had first. I gave him my all first. And he gave me part of him before she could get him.

I bookmarked my page with my finger, and walked to the door, wand in easy reach. Besides, my book was hardcover, so it counted as a weapon. I opened the door, and he stood in my doorway. Harry Potter. I felt my heart race, and then my face flush as I realized he was here.

It was winter, months after we had last spoken at Ginny's grave. I saw his eyes dart to my feet, before his lips curved in a small smile. I was barefoot. I hate shoes. Absolutely hate them.

"Oh, hello. Do you, er, want to, um, come in?"

"That would be… nice."

I ushered him in, and let him sit in the chair I had sat in before. I only have one chair, because good chairs are expensive, and I haven't saved enough to buy new one yet. I sat in front of the fire, drawing my knees to my chest, looking up at him. He didn't look so hurt now. He looked like he was healing.

"Did you really try to save her?" I knew immediately whom he meant. I rested my forehead on my knees, muffling my voice and hiding my tears.

"I tried. I failed." Suddenly, bitterness swept through me. "I always fail. I am useless." A warm arm wrapped around me. Harry held me tight, wrapping his arms around me as I began to sob. He felt so good and strong and safe. I wasn't ashamed of my tears. I usually was.

"Hermione said I am blind." That startled me. "She told me that you…" His voice trailed off.

"Care about you." I pulled away, and went to stare out the window, and watched the snow fall down. "Want to help you." Softly, I whispered, "Love you."

I heard him come to stand beside me. I turned to look at him. "Let me make you dinner." The words tumbled from my lips. "I have some meals frozen. We can sit and talk."

---

Harry was delightful company. We talked, about him and how he is trying to cope. About how I am trying to distance myself from my family, everything that made me who I was in school. We talked and talked and ate and drank and talked some more.

He asked me out. That Thursday, I went and told Ginny. That was the last time I went alone. Since then, Harry has been coming with me. He's talking to her too. Telling her that he misses her. He told her that he loved her, but he thinks he can love me. And he wants to try to move on. He wants to be with me.

We aren't the best fit. I am not always as spunky as he'd like, he isn't as straightforward as I'd like. But, I want to make this work. And if I fail, it won't be for lack of trying.

We leave three yellow roses now. Yellow for the light she brought to this world. Yellow for giggles, and smiles, and happiness.

Harry and I aren't what is expected. We aren't what is normal, and we aren't perfect. But, I think we can work.