Disclaimer: I do not, nor ever will own Harry Potter or its characters. Those all belong to the magnificent J.K. Rowling. I simply borrow them, kill them off, and return them to their original story (this isn't really a spoiler because I think most of, if not all, of my stories involve the boys dying at some point.). I am not making any money from this publication. I do this for fun to express myself in ways that I cannot do verbally.

A/N and WARNINGS: So, this is a sad one. Sorry. I've been feeling a little melancholy lately, and it was bound to come out in my writing sometime. There is one thing I'd like to address quickly just so it doesn't confuse you later: in this story, there is a way for every witch and wizard to give birth, barring any external, damaging factors, either naturally or magically. There is no mpreg, but it is possible in this universe for this story.
Also, there may be TRIGGERS for anyone involved in a traumatic event. Please use your discretion as this story contains mass murder. It's not that graphic, but I want to warn you that it is in here. Please know your limits before proceeding. Now without further ado, let's get on with the story. Enjoy!

The large grandfather clock in the hall screams at me angrily, pleading with me to move on, but my heart refuses to acknowledge its violent shrieking, beating slowly and calmly as I move through the house one last time. My beloved is still here. I can feel him beside me, though I know it is a bittersweet lie that I keep on my tongue to mask the pain. His spirit lingers, and it draws the tears I'd been fighting to the surface.

This house was his; he built it by hand. I watched him as he connected each board and laid every brick. This house used to be our home. Now it is the shell of what used to be, what could have been, and what will never be again. It hurts my heart to leave here, but it is necessary. I cannot live in the space he created any longer. It's been nearly six months and everything here still reminds me so wholly of him.

Every time I walk into his office, I expect to see him there working. He always brought work home, but never too much that he didn't have time for me. He prided himself on being timely and efficient with everything he submitted, even when it couldn't be completed before the office closed. He was dedicated to his work, but even more so to me.

We were going to start a family. We had found our surrogate who would have carried our child for us. I was told I would never conceive a child because of my past abuse and neglect. We'd hoped there would be potions or salves that would have allowed us the opportunity, but none were true. It killed me to know I was unable to do something that everyone else could. My body refused to create life, like I had refused to accept death.

I remember the night he died. It was on the news for weeks until they found his killer. I know they meant well, but every time they showed his face I died a little more. My soul mate had been murdered. Mercilessly and brutally. There was nothing I could do to save him, and I still blame myself for his death. My friends and family tell me it isn't true. It isn't my fault. But they don't know the whole story. I should have died with him.

We were celebrating his new promotion at work. He was going to be the Editor in Chief of a local muggle paper. He was so excited. I had gotten hung up at practice and was running late for our dinner. He'd already arrived at the restaurant to get our table. Had I been on time, I would have been there when the gunman walked in. I would have been shot like everyone else there.

I arrived at the restaurant after the massacre, but before the emergency responders. All I wanted was to find my husband alive, hiding somewhere clever, but I found his body lifeless on the floor by our table instead. The sight didn't bug me. I'd seen enough death that it no longer affected me, but the smell of blood and fear clinging in the air was enough to make me sick. I called for assistance but no one was around to hear me.

After nearly 30 minutes of screaming and searching for people to help, the police arrived, shortly followed by EMTs. I had never felt more helpless in my life as I watched the emergency personnel close my lover's body in a night black body bag and load him into the back. All I could do was watch as the coroner took his body away, and I felt my life collapse around me. I tried to answer the questions, but I had no answers. The only people who could help were dead, so they let me go.

I couldn't go home. I couldn't bear to step into that house knowing it was a member short of whole. So I checked into a hotel and cried myself to sleep for the first time in a long time. Days later the media finally had some good news on the tragedy. The man responsible was in custody and would be sent to prison. I was glad they'd found the man who killed my husband, but somehow life in prison just didn't seem like enough. I wanted him to hurt like I did.

The trials continued, and it took four and a half months for the verdict to come through. Guilty. He was guilty of murdering thirty-five innocent people in cold blood. One word had never been so important in my life. I was finally able to grief the loss of my better half. I could finally begin to put this all behind me. It was over.

So, here I am. Wandering through our house for the last time. I'm moving back to my ancestral home. The only thing I'm taking away from this house is our wedding photo. When I'm ready I might come back for more, but for now this is all I can stand. He never understood why I loved that photo so much. It isn't perfect. The lighting is weird and the angle isn't straight, but we were happy. It was the happiest day of our lives. The picture represents everything we were and could have been. It kills me to leave this house behind, but it kills me to stay here even more.

There is one other thing I'm taking with me. It wasn't here for very long because he'd designed it to arrive after his death. He'd written me a letter when we first started dating. He gave it to a friend for safe keeping, but wanted me to have it nonetheless. The ink is a little smeared and there are tear stains from my reading and rereading of it. I'll keep it with me forever. It's my husband's last words to me.

To my Lion,
I love you more than words can say. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you because you are everything I could ever want or need. You are my soul mate and the Yin to my Yang. You are my duet partner, even when you sing off-key. I will love you for eternity and will never let you go. I want to have you by my side until the day that I die, and I hope you feel the same. You are my perfect sunset. My never ending sunshine. I'll love you forever and always. Please don't forget that.

With eternal love,
Dragon

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, or cried, or something. Please leave me a review with your thoughts or feels. I'll love you forever. Until next time, I hope you all have a WONDERFUL day (sorry this was a downer, maybe my next one will be happier)! :)
~DrarryLover28