Love

Two vowels

Two consonants

Two fools

Everyone promised her love. Her parents. They got divorced, and squabbled over possession of their daughter. They fought like children over the last cookie in the jar.

Her first boyfriend,Viktor. He was a champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and went back to Bulgaria later that year. When she finally plucked up the courage to visit him, he was arm-in-arm with some perfect blonde.

Her I'm-Getting-Over-Him guy, Ron. He was sweet, kind and cared for her, but she caught him sucking on the face of his ex-girlfriend, Lavender Brown, and felt her heart, barely sewn together after her first heartbreak, rip apart at the seams.

That one stung. Maybe she wasn't enough for them. She had a flat chest, no hips, and a brain. Not much for a young girl to work with. Maybe she was going to be alone for the rest of her life. She then slammed down her walls and drowned herself in her studies. She never gave one thought to the guy who had, too, been missing love.

He had been living a lie. His parents acted like they loved each other, but secretly loathed their spouse. His father served a beast, a monstrous mass of hatred and death.

But his mother loved him. She was decent. Never did she take the Dark Mark, never did she leave her baby's side.

Soon enough though, he was sent to Hogwarts. Nobody could protect him there. So he donned a façade of cold, cruel unfeeling. He almost begged the sorting hat to put him in Slytherin, just to please the empty man that was his father.

Then he met her. She was different. A Gryffindor, yes, but she, too, bore the scars of an unhappy childhood.

He watched her change over the years, and in sixth year, something snapped in her. She refused to speak to Potter and the Weasel, and seemed to throw herself into her studies, as if wishing she could drown away her sorrows in schoolwork.

What had once been a glowing orb of beauty fell into the horrible chasm of forsaken, depleted, fruitless ruin. She had become a hollow shell, like the war and her failure in love had sapped away her life, drained her like a Dementor would.

Perhaps two broken hearts create a whole. One torn apart by what had once been love, another half formed because love never was there to nurture it.

Perhaps two really are better than one. Perhaps together, their barren wastelands of uninhabited desert will flower and bloom into new life.

Love was all the other needed. Love was all the other would give.

Hey. This is kind of sweet and sad, but angsty. I hope that I ended it well enough. If not, review in and complain. The little button is right down there!