She slammed the door shut as hard as she could. The vibrations shook the walls and rattled several small figurines belonging to one of her roommates.

"Too bad I didn't knock the whole collection to the floor." she thought spitefully. But she wasn't feeling very spiteful. More like frustrated, confused, hurt, and severely heartbroken. She supposed that could make anyone a bit mean-spirited.

Suddenly, a great wave of nausea hit her like a bludger to the stomach. She lurched forward and knocked a chair out of her way to get to the bathroom. She barely made it before she threw up in the basin of the toilet. Shaking and a few tears leaking out of her eyes she slumped forward, resting the side of her face against the seat of the toilet, her arms supporting her slightly awkward position. Her heart was pounding fast and forcefully inside her small chest, but was slowing down now that she had emptied her stomach. After several minutes of resting, the small young woman shoved her body into a standing position and she made her way back to the bedroom.

"First things, first," she mumbled aloud as she hastily locked the door. She shuffled toward the mirror by her desk and peered at her reflection. Her eyes were rimmed red and her skin was a grey shade of pale. No smile graced her lips and her eyes held no warmth. She felt dead inside.

"Great," she moaned. "I've got throw up on my jumper." The spot was a small one, just on the sleeve, but to her it felt like the straw that broke the camel's back. She tugged the soiled garment over her head, and as the slightly rough fabric grazed over her face, she caught a scent that made her eyes tear and her throat swell until she felt she could barely draw in a single breath. It was his scent. His lingering musky scent that reminded her of lazy days by the lake and passionate kisses in the commons. It made her heart soar and sink in one breathless second.

She threw herself petulantly onto her curtained bed, and lay there, smelling him. He was no longer hers, and in a futile attempt to hold onto him for even a moment longer, she grabbed him round the middle and held on for dear life. It was quite immature and she realized later that her desperate ploy would only manage to drive him further away. She drew one ragged breath after another, unwilling to let go of his smell. When she managed to open her eyes once more, they stung with the wetness that memories of him would probably always bring.

Staggering to her feet, she righted the chair that she had knocked down in her hasty flight to the bathroom earlier. She withdrew a piece of parchment from her desk and prepared a quill to write with. It would be cathartic to purge her emotions in ink. Later she would sent it to him, or possibly burn it, whatever her mood dictated.

I knew you would end things.
It hurt when you did. It still hurts.
I wanted you to see it in my eyes, feel it in my kiss.
As I saw your back retreat, I whispered it aloud.
Did you see it in my eyes, feel it in my kiss?
Did you hear me across that great expanse? Do you know?
Do you know that I love you?
You were standing right in front of me and I couldn't tell you.
I wanted to and it raced through my mind a hundred thousand times.
But I was afraid. I'm still afraid.
Maybe you're afraid, too.
I cried when you told me you wanted to leave me.
Did you cry, too?
Did you try to tell me with your eyes, your kiss?
Tell me once more, because I need to know.
Do you love me?
Would you tell me if you did?
Would you say it whisper soft and sweet in my ear?
Would you shout it from the rooftops?
Would you tell your friends?
Would you tell my friends?
Would you tell me every day and promise to love me when I'm old?
Would we have kids and grandkids?
I never really wanted them before, but it's different with you.
Is it different for you, too?
Do I live in the back of your mind?
Do I work in your heart?
Do I shop in your lungs and take your breath away?
One day I hope to move from your mind back into your arms.
Please save your arms for me.

It had begun as a letter, but along the way had morphed into a poem, a song. A solemn, depressing sort of song. The kind that brought tears to your eyes. She wiped a few tears from her eyes as she waited for the last few words to dry on the page. They were being ripped apart by this stupid war. He wasn't even going to finish school, at least not until it was over. Maybe she wouldn't either.

"I could get a job," she thought offhandedly. "I could start working and take my mind off of every horrible thing going on." She wasn't sure if she could even get a good job, but she could find work somewhere, what with all the people who had gone missing over the past year. Ollivander and Florean Fortescue had disappeared that very school year. She would look there first. And maybe, just maybe, if she and Harry both came out the other side of this war alive, they could be together once again.

A/N: My shortest one-shot yet. I won't say I'll never continue it. But I won't kill myself writing a second chapter for it either. So this is it in it's entirety, for now. Review if you have the urge, I do enjoy reading your thoughts.