You like her; she's gentle, she's warm, she's perfect. But she'd never look at you; you're just a mudblood, nothing of her interest.
Until you are.
She loves you; she tells you that everyday.
You love her too.
You want to be together; you need her like you need to breathe. But you and her both know it's not going to happen.
Until it does.
You never meant for this to happen; you didn't think she'd do it.
But she told you, and you got so caught up in the amazement, the excitement, you didn't think of the repercussions.
You were never foolish.
Until you were.
She marries you, and you're so guilty. Then you hold the multicolour baby in your arms and you burst, because you know it's yours and it's all so wrong, but it's too right to give up.
You never thought you were capable of this love, this power.
Until you loved this way.
You miss it; her gentle touch, her utter amazement at you, and the way she looked at you. You miss her.
You never realised how much danger she was in.
Until she was too deep in it.
You miss her; you scream and cry in your sleep, because you want her and you need her.
Then you want her touch, and you say her name once more.
You never realised that you loved her so much.
Not until you were dead.