Inner Strength

I looked deep into those inviting emerald eyes. Eyes that had been riveted on me at the moment the life went out of them. They had lost their allure greatly since then, but I still cherished those eyes.

I ran my hand through the ebony black hair. It was so silky, and untidy. I had often run my fingers through it, but I knew this would be the last time I would get to. I saw a tear fall and stain his lovely green robes, which greatly complemented his eyes. Again I am drawn to his eyes. The eyelashes are so smooth, so wonderfully beautiful. Another tear falls. I cannot cry all over him. Harry cannot be ugly in death.

I notice his lips, those light, lovely lips. They were so soft to kiss, like kissing a baby's cheek. All of the words that came out of those lips were heavenly, but my favourite must have been, 'Hermy.' Harry called me Hermy very often after we became a couple. It was what Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother, called me. But when Harry said it, it was indescribably warm. Like hot chocolate on a cold day.

Even his nose is appealing now. Curved at just the right place to be attractive. Harry always had a perfect nose. Just a few freckles scattered about his face. So perfect, and angelic. The only blemish that ever cursed Harry's face was that scar. That unbelievably hideous, lightning-shaped scar, right in the middle of his forehead. We could never go anywhere without, 'Oh look! It's Harry Potter!' being thrown at us by an inconsiderate passerby. So many people I have never seen before came to his public funeral. They can brag to their friends, 'I saw Harry Potter, dead in his casket.'

I close those wonderful eyes with a feeling of disgust. This is the last time I will ever see him, and he must be so formal... so proper... everything he wasn't. He was known to give a beggar on the street as much money as he had on him. (This could be ten galleons, depending on the time.) He genuinely cared about the people he was setting out to save.

Not that Voldemort cared about any of that. No, he insisted upon tracking down my Harry, and killing him. But Voldemort wasn't the actual murderer. No, no, Harry took him out before any damage was done to himself, but Narcissa Malfoy came storming in at that precise moment. It turned out, (quite strangely, I might add) that she had been passionately in love with Voldemort, and had a child with him. (The child was given up, much to the grieving of the mother.) Voldemort gained her trust in the way only a man can... with false promises and fake compassion. He turned her against Lucius so fast, it made her own head spin. She believed every word that came from that vile liar's mouth, and apparently believed it still when she entered that room.

I thought the shock would kill her. I honestly did. I was sitting with Harry, kissing him with all my might, when suddenly she raised her wand and screamed in fright. The scream was not only emotional; it carried a curse with it. Harry was gone before I could do anything about it, finally fallen victim to the dreaded 'Avada Kedavra.' I know the last thing he saw was me. I stared into those eyes until finally the last shred of life, of hope, was gone.

At first I didn't notice the sound of screams. I suppose that I assumed they were Nacissa's, but it did not take me long to realize that they were my own. I turned around, the pain still fresh, and saw her lying slumped in a cold heap on the ground. I can only imagine that she killed herself from anguish. I considered killing myself as well, but then I thought, what would Harry do? So here I am today, proudly grieving my deceased lover, husband, and friend.

I watch as the sweep his body up and throw it into the flames. I whisper his name to the sky as the ashes are blown by the wind, finally free from all that had restricted them in life. I feel the caress of Harry's hand once more, and I swear I can see him smiling at me from the sky.