When Leaves Begin To Die

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is much too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone...
But you still have all of me.

*

The leaves falling to the ground were various shades of orange, brown and yellow, as a blond man walked along the winding cobblestone path leading to the small cemetery atop Doon's Hill. The crisp wind left his hands and face chapped, as he had left both his scarf and gloves in the chauffeured Jaguar that sat idling at the gates. Reflecting on how much the dismal October weather matched his current mood, he came to the conclusion that he would not have it any other way - as if he could control the weather; the sun was too cheerful, and the thick layer of grey clouds overhead did an effective job of blocking it out.

It had snowed the night before, and the ground had an even layer of pure white snow covering it. He remembered how much she had loved the first snowfall and swallowed fiercely, forcing back the tears that threatened to overflow. Although it had been so long ago, and he had many other things to occupy his time, even after all these years, when the leaves began to die, so, it seemed, did another piece of his soul.

She never took anything for granted. She was well aware of how lucky she was to be constantly surrounded by people who cared about her. And everyone liked her - even those that pretended otherwise. The simplest things made her happy - a walk in a rose garden, a glass of her favourite Chardonnay, a letter in the post, snow...she taught him how to appreciate things like she did, and changed him.

And slowly, he felt himself falling in love with her. Which would turn out to be, quite possibly, the biggest mistake he ever made.

The first time he kissed her, it was snowing. They were sitting on one of the benches on the shore of the lake when it started. Her face had lit up as if it was the greatest thing on earth. She stood up and spun around with her arms wide open, and the prettiest smile graced her face, and it was the right moment. She had snowflakes on her lashes when she opened her eyes.

Through all the years they spent together, the first snowfall was always the most precious time of year. And that very first snowfall would be the one he thought of whenever he wanted to remember her smile. Because that moment - like a freshly fallen layer of snow - was the purest, most blissful moment he could imagine, and sometimes, though not this time, it could force all the awful memories away. Because whatever the opposite of pure was - that was how she died.

She was what he found when he was looking for something more - something worth living for. And she was his one weakness; everyone knew he would have done anything to keep her safe. He would have jumped in front of an Unforgivable if it meant she would survive. He fought the Great War, simply because it was what she believed in. He helped defeat the greatest evil in centuries, because it was what she wanted.

The man in the cemetery stood in front of the grave, a single, silent tear trickling down his cheek, willing the memories away, yet knowing that they would keep coming. He kneeled down and placed a single rose on the ground in front of the stone, aware that the snow was melting through the thin fabric of his dress pants, but not caring.

They had been walking in the park one night in late October when it started snowing. Once again, her face lit up, and, like so many times before, she spun around with her face toward the sky and her arms outstretched. She stopped abruptly, however, when a man came around a corner and stepped in her path. "Gregory," she acknowledged him. Neither of them saw the knife in his left hand, which he brought upwards in a swift motion, and sliced through her insides as if they were butter. She fell as the man ran away.

He caught her before she hit the cement, and she brought her hand up to sweep out of his eyes the strands of hair that glittered silver in the moonlight. She wiped an un-fallen tear out of his eye and smiled. Another one fell, and landed on the tip of her nose.

The last time he kissed her, it was snowing. She had snowflakes on her lashes when she closed her eyes.

~~ ~~ ~~

Anton looked in the rear view mirror as the young man climbed into the Jaguar.

"That's the last time, Anton."

"Yes, Master Malfoy."

"I can't keep doing this."

"Of course, Master Malfoy."

"It hurts too much."

"I understand, Master Malfoy."

"I miss her..."

They both turned their heads as they saw an old Ford Anglia pull up. Three people dressed in black climbed out, a tall, fiery-haired young man, a shorter man with the same glasses he had been wearing for fifteen years, and a graceful young woman who carried herself with dignity; after all, she had earned it. The young man with the hair like fire turned his head slightly and noticed the Jaguar. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, which the young man in the car returned; the most trivial of acknowledgements, backed by a gaze that seemed to say so many things that were better left unsaid, and echoed sentiments unspeakable.

"Anton?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Let's go home."

Anton just smiled.

*

You will always be there every time I fall
You are, to me, the greatest love of all
You take my weakness and you make me strong
And I will love you 'til forever's gone.