A gentle but bitterly cold breeze had struck Hogwarts this year, catching the fallen snow and whirling it in intricate dances that both captivated you with its beauty and gave you a wistful sense of the freedom you had lost, now that the only thing fighting for your freedom was lost, gone; dead.
Although it brushed against your cold skin, through your hair like a lover's caress, over and under the folds of your thick robes and scarf, you felt nothing, but you swore you could almost hear the sounds of screams echoing from the bloodshed that was the final battle still carrying along the wind, as if to remind you further of all you'd lost.
You would of wept, if not for the fact you was raised not to, and a detached sort of fear that the tears would freeze against your skin, coat you cheeks to match the wall of ice you felt around your heart.
'Do you love me?'
A laugh, both malicious and bitter.
'You know I don't…'
You did, of course, love him, you still do and somehow your love knew that, if the look of understanding and small, sad smile was any indication; and then he left.
It was the last time you ever saw him. The-Boy-Who-Lived was dead.