It was a sad day.
She reaches an arm out attempting to silence the screeching alarm, screwing her eyes up as tight as possible in defence of the invading morning light. Moaning, she flips her body round burying her head deep into the pillow. Normally he would lean across, kiss the space between her shoulder blades, pull the pillow out from under her face, climb out of bed and as he exited their bedroom, he'd turn the light on.
But today there was no kiss, the pillow remained under her face, and the light stayed off.
It was a sad day.
It was a miserable day.
She stands under the shower, letting the scolding hot water cascade down her body. Eventually picking up the shampoo and rubbing it into her long red hair, her elbows hit the sides of the tiny cramped cubicle. Normally, he would join her, complaining about how she was using all the hot water, his wet body pushed up against her back and he'd take over washing her hair.
But today there was no complaint, no hard chest pushed against her back and she had to wash her own hair.
It was a miserable day.
It was a depressing day.
She heads into the kitchen after getting dressed. She goes to the cupboard to retrieve the cereal and pours it into a bowl. Opening the fridge door and getting the milk out. She then tips it on to her cereal, instantly the smell of rancid milk hit her. She pushes her bowl away from her with such force it skids off the table and falls to the floor. Normally, he would enter the kitchen, make a joke over her domestic failings, clear the mess up and produce two peach pastries for their breakfast.
But today no such joke was made, the putrid mess remained on the linoleum and she went without breakfast.
It was a depressing day.
It was a heart-breaking day.
In her rush to leave the house, she trips over his dress shoes, falling on to her face. She calls out into the flat, cursing him for his untidiness. Normally, he would stroll out into the hall, telling her that Malfoys are most certainly not untidy. That it is her own fault that she can't walk properly, and he'd blame her Weasley genes for that particular trait. He'd pick her up; brush her down, kissing her on the lips and steering her out the front door so she wouldn't be late for work.
But today he didn't stroll out of the hall, her family were not insulted and she remained laying on the floor, where she proceeded to curl into a ball and sob.
It was a heart-breaking day.
It was a tormented life.
He'd never fulfil his side of their morning routine again. He couldn't. Draco Malfoy was dead. He had been for five years, but every single day Ginny Weasley, followed the same routine and hoped that one day, he'd participate.
That's why she never got up at the sound of her alarm, never turned the water down from boiling hot, never purchased milk and why his dress shoes remained in the same place they had on the day that he had been killed.
It was a tormented life.