My Mate

It has been seven and three-quarter years now. And she still sits in her room, not our room, hers right at the top of the house. Sitting on the windowsill, legs hanging down and wind blowing through her hair. You can see the grip on her shoes from the garden

Ours is a strange relationship. We both lost our mates. (Or our soul mates, whichever suits other people's opinions) in the many battles faced, with many people gone I don't think anyone took any death as badly as she took that one. It could have been described as the death of her.

She was to have a child. After her lover had gone the child was the one reason to hang on. That is the reason we came to be together to share the same house. But the baby was born with a hole in its heart. It lived for only a few hours. I remember we named it Ophelia it was what they had decided on. She snapped her wand right after. Stranger things have happened. You could say the baby had died of a broken heart

That's what they all said.

It has been three years since she touched me in the light. Some nights she will come into our room. Come to our bed. She touches me in a way that will make any man shiver. I think she just wanted to feel again. We would talk occasionally, about everything and the universe. Sometimes she cries and I hold her until the light peaks over the horizon. That is when she leaves to pretend the day away

Her only passion now is her work. She works in research. A very fitting placement. As far back as I remember that is what she loved to do. The majority of our conversations consist of discussing what she has been discovering, what her brilliant mind has developed. She does not like talk of recent events, not anymore. She stopped the delivery of the Daily Prophet five years ago

It has been two weeks and four days since she has touched me at all. Our room is empty now. I still sleep there but the bed remains vacant now she does not. Why do I cover for her, why do I carry on day in day out with her? I love her too much. Not the same love as my mate but still a special love.

I felt I had lost everything when my one and all had died, but she rescued me and showed me that there were other things to live for. Friends, family. I hate that I can not save her as she did me. She has become my all now. All I work for

It has been 122 hours since we have spoken. The silence gaps have been getting wider over recent months. I think something new has happened I have asked, with no response as of yet

It has been 24 hours since I have seen her. And this is where I began. She is in her room; she has been up there for days. Sometimes I like to sit at the door and talk to her. Most times I sit and listen to her sob.

She once told me to please respect her privacy and her space. To please not enter her room. In seven and three-quarter years I have not. Until this night. I had not heard a noise for a few hours now and was worried. I kicked the door down.

The walls were lined with merely books, with the single window on the left wall. A plant in one corner.

She was gone, forever I feared. A letter lay where she previously sat. With no wand or fireplace there was only once place she could have gone.

The letter read.

Dearest Ron

I knew you would come, eventually I am not angry. Understand, for me. I wrote this for you to help you understand

In my head I sit and think of times when I could have been happy, times when I could have felt joy, but as the darkness revolves around me I grow cold.

Thinking of days when the sun shone down on me and he was happy, we would have fun, laze on the yielding grass of our back field, those days have passed me by and I grow cold

You're not to see me any more,

I won't lock myself in, no loft door

I wish those days would come back to me

But I'm cold

Even when your skin is pressed against mine, I'm still cold

Nothing can warm me anymore,

Your skin is not like his, his could warm me with one kiss,

Yours always remains stiff

His shadow is hung over our head and it is cold

When I'm with you it's like ice daggers driving into my skin.

I know you love me I know you care

But I'm still in love him

And you know

And that's why I'm cold

Cold that burns my skin. I miss him.

I would give anything to hold him again

But it can't happen,

I can't go on with you

I still yearn for his touch the feel of his voice.

I must leave now, to join him

I know you understand

One last sunrise, to warm me, then I will truly be free

While you grow cold.

I hope that you will forgive me one day.

Love Hermonie

A picture lay underneath the letter. It was crumpled, faded and Smudged but told me everything I needed to know. She always loved Muggle photography. The special way it can capture one raw moment of emotion. This was what she had found. It was at her parents house the sun was shining and it was or her and Harry from behind. I had never seen it before.

That was it, the reason. She broke when she found this. I wish I knew when

I leaned over the windowsill and out into the dawn. There lay my lovely. Her leg twitched. I was sick

It has been one minute and six seconds since I lost her and everything I had tried to hold on to. I like to be precise with my time keeping.

She hated that.