Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all, and I own nothing but the plot. Enjoy!

"Mrs Weasley," a man said to an elderly woman. "I can see why you're upset, but wouldn't you like to sit down?"

"Sit down?" Said the woman, as though the thought hadn't crossed her mind. "Very well."

When she sat down on the wooden chair, the man looked at her without a sparkle in his eyes.

"Ronald Billius Weasley, 108, passed away last night at 3:45 A.M of a severe case of dragon pox. The ministry is investigating, but so far they have concluded that the cause of death is in no way homocidal..."

I can still see your face, as though it has been preserved in ice for all of these years. You look young and whole...the redness of your cheeks, the tiny dots of your nose. The flaming red hair that gently folds into the crevice of your neck. I see your blue eyes staring at me; only an inch away yet enternally gone forever.

I feel your touch on my shoulder. Your fingers are calloused and hands rough. Your figure rises far above mine, almost shadowing it. I roll my head back and bring you closer to me, your large hands cupping mine.

Your pale skin reflects mine in the moonlight. It is almost the same tone- mine is just slighty darker. Our bodies intertwine as we kiss beneath the clouds, any worries or woes gone from our minds.

What is love? Is it that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you realise you've found the one for you? The one you can tell your every secret to without being judged? The one you would willinglingly risk your life for if it meant their safety?

I have been selfish. I couldn't let you go. I clung to any hope that you would still be alive. Deep down, we both knew you were gone, but it was me who waited up every night, just hoping that you would walk through the door.

I think that I am still clinging on to you. You are like a parasite within my heart....the strongest drug known to man. I can't get enough of you, and if I think for a minute that you have left me, I crash. I try not to remember your limpless body, lips blue and eyelids purple, hands together in a stiff position. It's not how I want to remember you. I want to remember the sound of your voice, the smell of your shirt, the bright gateway that was your personality...

Rose worries about me sometimes. She says that she will put me in a home if I keep at this. I don't think she understands. I shut my blinds and leave the television on for a reason...and I know it's not you.

Hugo admits he misses you, if that means anything. It's been the first time he's spoken to us in over fifty years. Who would've thought you'd be gone when it finally happened? He has two daughters who are absolutely georgous. You would be so proud of him.

The family is moving on, but I don't see how. Your energy buzzes around me like a livewire, and your presense is intoxicating.

A part of me wishes I didn't love you so much...maybe then the numbness would go away.

The other part of me relishes our love for one another. It reminds me of all the times we had together, whether it be good or bad. It remembers when we were teenagers and always fought. It remembers our awkward first dates and mute kisses. It remembers our engagement, and the baby showers, and all the good times.

Our love was special.

Love is like sand. Sometimes it hits you head-on...and sometimes it just hits you, and you have no control over it. You can't help who you love or who loves you.

Love is like the seasons. It is always changing and developing, but no matter what, will return.

Love is like a ball game. You watch it progress and just hope for the best.

Love is like daisies. It is beautiful until one of them wilts away.

"Thank you for your time, sir," The lady calls after the Ministry lad. He waves his hand nostalgically before apparating away. When he is gone, the lady closes the blinds, turns on the television, and locks the door.

Annddd there you go, loves. Sorry if my grammar is bad. It is one in the morning where I am now and I'm writing it off the top of my head. I should get some sleep.

Tell me what you think (A.K.A review). It makes me happy and when I'm happy I'll write more.

I was in a depressed mood...maybe I should write some humour?

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