A/N: So, got bored, saw this prompt, decided to write something based on it. This will be a very short, probably quite angsty piece, and you won't find out who the characters are until the very end. I own nothing, but I hope you enjoy it!
She's sitting there again. What's that? Who's sitting where? The woman I love, is sitting by the window again, watching. She's always watching. Always watching him, but never watching me, never has any time for me. Whenever I try and get her attention, she always frowns at me, before going off to talk to him.
He never talks back, of course. If it weren't for the way he uses her affections for him, I would doubt if he knew she existed. He talks at her a lot, but never to her, if that makes sense. I wouldn't do that. I would move heaven and earth, rip the stars out of the sky, if it would make her happy, if she would just say one word to me. Just one kind word. But she never does. She thinks I'm a nuisance, tells him that I don't know how to carry myself, how to behave properly.
Of course I know how to behave properly, everyone does. But the only time she pays me any attention is when I act like this, so I have to do it, because her not seeing me would be an even crueller punishment than her harsh, biting criticism. At least this way, I know she acknowledges me, even if it is as nothing but a nuisance.
He's dangerous, you know. I can see it, all around us. Everywhere he goes, Death follows him, a silent spectre, waiting to pounce. Everywhere he goes, people always die. No one lives once he's met them. It's only a matter of time. I tell her this, beg and plead with her to see that if she stays with him, she'll die too. But she never listens. Says it would be an honour to die for such a great man. Says he won't let her die, and even if she did die, it would have been worth it to know him.
I have prepared myself for the inevitable. She will die, eventually. Everyone around him always does. Sometimes, I think he truly is Death, come to collect the souls of the damned. I tell myself over and over that nothing I do can save her now. There is a haunting melody all around me. A requeim of death, playing a funeral dirge for her. Her final battle has begun, and the world is telling me this. All I can do is pray that she makes it through just one more battle. But I know she won't. The song is too loud.
Eight years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, a small grave received an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night. The next morning, when Harry Potter and his family came to pay respects to those who died in the war, his youngest son, Albus, pointed it out to him. Ron Weasley, who was visiting them that day, blinked in surprise. There, atop the small grave, with the image of a snowy owl carved upon it, was the body of Pigwidgeon.
A/N: So, did anyone manage to guess who the mystery couple were? Hope you all enjoyed it, though I have to say, it did upset me a little while I wrote this. Please remember to review, and thanks for reading!
Prompt: "I cannot kiss you, and I want to."