I stared at the writing engraved on the stone.
Vincent Crabbe the headstone read. I couldn't bear to read any more of it.
"Crabbe." I whispered. All there was was the sound of the gushing wind. I sighed. He may have not been the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you know what I mean, but he didn't deserve to die.
In truth, none of them did. As I looked around the Second Wizarding world war cemetery, I felt a soaring pain in my chest. People were all standing in front of graves. But, me, I was alone. Crabbe's dad had been arrested and put in a life sentence in Azkaban for life, and his mother had died of a heart attack. He had no cousins or siblings and his grandparents couldn't so much as drink tea. So I was alone. I conjured a wreath of flowers and laid them on the grave. Tears streamed down my face. I was crying not just for Crabbe, but everyone. Even the mud – oh, muggle borns. The battle of Hogwarts had taught me that every life's a life. I stared at the headstone, before saying something I wish I told him in school.
"I love you." I whispered, my tears spilling out. I did my best to not start to sob. I wondered out of there, knowing something.
That battle from last year would always haunt me. I stared at all the people with flowers and crying babies. Life wasn't fair.
It never was.