Protector

You were mine, my strong sweet protector. I loved you with all my heart, but I found it hard to tell you so. I don't think I realised that I did. In the throes of passion you would tell me how much you loved me, you would expect an answer, I couldn't give you one.

When I woke up every morning and felt you there by my side I would lie next to you just breathing in your smell, just resting in your arms. I loved the feel of your arms around me they made me feel safe protected and wanted. I liked the feel of your skin, I liked your smell and your warmth.

I kept telling my self it was the way you made me feel, and it was just lust. And I think you must have realised that was the way I felt. You didn't tell me once after that, even in our most intimate moments, you wouldn't tell me how much you loved me.

Then three weeks ago you said it. For the first time in I don't know how long, you said it, and this time you didn't even wait for a response. You walked off, your cloak billowing, off into the sunset.

I followed you. At the time I tried to convince myself it wasn't because I love you, it was because I hated him. I wanted to fight, to help you but that wasn't going to happen. I had barley cast my first spell when I was hit in the back, hit by my own father, my own flesh and blood. I couldn't breathe, I collapsed to the floor and I lost consciousness.

Your father's friend took me to the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He didn't have to, but he did. I was healed and put into a deep sleep. I woke up 24 hours later. Drowsily I looked over. Pomfrey was next to my bed.

"Is it over?" I asked and she nodded and began to cry. I gave her a look; a questioning look and she just looked over at the bed two down from mine.

All I could see was your hair. The rest of your body was covered with a sheet. I scrambled over to you. Tears began to trickle down my face, praying you weren't dead. I told you how much I loved you, told you how much I wanted you to wake up and hear me say it. How much I wanted you to smile. I kissed your soft hair and my tears subsided. I looked up and Madam Pomfrey was staring, pityingly, at me. I asked shakily

"Is h-he…is he…d-dead?"

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