I wake up every night wishing he was here.

I wake up every night yearning for his touch, his love, his hands on me as we hug each other in a warm embrace. The bed was all too big without him, so vast, so strange. The sheets that drown me remind me of when he saved me, of the times where he would hug me at night, whispering sweet nothings to me as I slept. It was comforting to feel his warmth seep into my back.

Each morning I would wake up to the smell of freshly baked toast and fresh coffee. He would drink tea instead, earl grey. The coffee was for me, black with a dash of cream. I would sip my coffee in a shirt all too big for myself;it was his. We'd smile and laugh at how ridiculous I look, and how messy his hair was. Curly hair would bounce up and down, and his eyes would wrinkle at the corner while dashing green eyes looked at me with love.

While we finished our breakfast, I would sit with him on the modest couch we had. I'd snuggle into his shoulder, wrapping ourselves in a thin blanket talking. I would talk about school, about how I was slowly making the house acknowledge me as a person, and as someone who would do great for the house. He would only smile at me with eyes far too old, far too wise, and simply listen to my rambling. It was nice, having someone to love, to know, to care for. Did he feel the same?

Sometimes he would ignore me, and those days would hurt me the most. Those warm, caring eyes would glare into me, cold and heartless. Did I do something wrong? Please tell me if I did, please don't leave me. I need you, tell me, please? I would ask him what was wrong, what did I do, but he would never respond. So I let him be alone on those days, on the days I hated the most.

I should've done something, I really should've. But what could a teenager do? What was I supposed to do? I was helpless, ignorant, if only I knew better. If I did, he would have never left me.

We were together for a while.

I forget how long, the days blended together all into one. We never did anything special, it was him and me. During the breaks, I would stay with him in his flat lounging around, doing nothing.

It wasn't like me to do such a dumb thing, but with him, I lost all my logic in me.

It was scary, yet exhilarating.

Maybe it was months, maybe it was years, but he had been a constant in my life. Ever since young he was there, next to me. On my birth, my days in the Orphanage, when I had decided to kill my father, when I became the Dark Lord.

He was always there, by my side.

Not anymore.

It was like any other day when he left. I woke up in his sweater. Drowsy and tired, I made my way into the kitchen. The usual breakfast was laid out, and I spoke with him. We joked, we laughed, we were happy. Even if his vibrant green eyes were now dull, lifeless, and his hair was ridden of ash and chalk. Nothing was wrong. Nothing. I kept telling myself lies, maybe in an effort to distract myself.

I had my usual coffee, black with a touch of cream, and he had his wonderfully scented tea. I fed him some crisp bread, sweetened with powdered sugar, and he fed me plain bread and butter. I remember how quiet that meal was that day. After, we migrated to the couch, and again the same thing happened. We snuggled together, talking, reminiscing, exchanging ideas. He told me he loved me, and as I would usually do, I would not.

I wish I had.

After staying some hours on the couch, it was time for us to leave. I left first, giving him a quick look before I left. His smile was normal, the usual goofy smile Harry showed me when he was saying I love you.

.

That was the last time I saw Harry.

.

I came back home, ready to open the door and be greeted by my love. But the lights were out, the rooms were empty, and no Harry. I could not believe it- no. I would not believe it. In a state of shock, I stood in disbelief. My eyes watered up, and tears started to fall from my face.

For the first and last time, I cried.

I got into bed, covering myself in the blanket. I was over it, Harry was in the past. He left me, he didn't love me. It was okay, I didn't need him anymore. He is nothing, I thought.

Then I slept.

I wake up every night wishing he was here, trying to move closer to the body next to me. But I realized, that body was long gone.

My eyes opened to meet hollow caves, and I smiled as I caressed cheekbones, long separated from flesh and muscle. My Harry was gone, my Harry was dead.

There could only be one master of death, and that was me.

With satisfied glee, I held the skeleton close to my chest, closing my eyes as I imagined both young and old Harry loving me to my sleep. Sacrifices had to be made, and it costed me of my love.