A/N : This is my first fic! I pray unto thee, do not go easy on me. Rip and tear it to shreds, destroy it, hand me the scraps, and tell me how to put it together again in a life saving, thirst quenching review.
Disclaimer: If there is anything you recognize, I don't own it, though I wish I did.
She doesn't argue, just walks out as quietly as she came.
One minute she is sitting on the floor surrounded by magazines laughing with Lily. Pointing out the ridiculous fashions and poofy meringue wedding dresses in the frippery filled women's magazines, planning his best friends wedding. What follows after that is a blur and the next thing he knows is that she collected her things and swept out of the apartment as silent as a summer breeze leaving nothing behind as if she had never been.
It is as if she had never tip toed across the wood floors, warmed by the afternoon light spilled across them. It is as if she had never tackled him onto the couch in her eagerness to see him. As if the hundreds upon hundreds of books had not been littered all over the tiny flat in a haphazard disarray that only she could navigate. It is as if the wet towels dropped on the floor after their frenzied lovemaking had been some intangible delusion of his. And in the bedroom, the only thing left was the phantom imprint of her body against his on the tangled bed sheets. He knows she is gone.
It was a silly stupid, brainless mistake. She got too close, he got too scared. In the recent days past his mind had wandered to the gleaming rings displayed in the windows of the bijioutier's shop and how lovely they would look on her. He had wandered across the street from the quidditch shop to the diamond district wondering what life would be like with her, if he proposed to her, if he made this 'thing' into their forever. And then he walked home, to find her laughing with Lily and choosing dresses. With the sunlight streaming through her hair, her bell-like laughter ringing through the apartment, she looked up at him with clear unadulterated joy and his heart stopped. With his brain defunct, and his hands clammy and cold he said the wrong things and she vanished before he could take them back.
But that was weeks ago. The sun rose again and Lily's wedding will go on as planned but without her gentle touch it is bound to be a garish nightmare draped in red and gold. He tries to be happy for his best mate but his smile comes out all wrong; too sharp, too strained, and too unnatural. He avoids them. All he wants is to be alone to stare out of the dusty window lost in his own misery, with the broken snifter in his hand and the whisky running down his arm and mixing with his blood as he regrets.