6 years later.

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It's dark, dreary, wet and completely miserable – a typical day in England. The weather is fitting for the mood and the event.

As a couple of nameless wizards levitate the now closed coffin into the pre dug grave, I stare at its decent. It just seems so surreal. Two warm arms are around me, one freckled, the other pale and clammy, I need their warmth; I won't be getting it from my husband anymore.

I can feel the clammy arm – Harry's – tighten and grip my black robes, I must be crying. I've been crying non-stop since I got the letter. Stupid bloody letter anyway. I wipe away the wetness furiously.

"To whom it may concern-" I think it's quite obvious who it concerns,

"Mr Thomas, of Patterson's Uncured Junk, has been killed in an unforseen-" If it was foreseen, you probably wouldn't have told me anyway, bastards.

"-accident. An item that was previously deemed safe and its curse lifted, was falsely diagnosed.

Our condolences,

Shane Patterson Jnr"

And that was it really. Three days ago, my husband was killed in a stupid accident involving a dodgy clock and three enchanted balloons.

The grave is completely filled now. Harry and Ron help me walk to the freshly laid grey headstone. As I kneel, I muster my energy together; I cast a spell which scribes the message in my head onto the blank headstone in front of me.

"Dean Thomas

1980- 2006

-I loved him-"

I stumble to a stand and those warm arms gather me up again. They'll be with me for days, I know it, I really don't mind. I don't want to go back to my empty house full of reminders of a life I no longer have, by myself.

I hug the boys close, they hold me tight. I'm not really capable of emptying my mind for apparition – they know that. So we floo from the mortuary.

I'm home again. Home. Such a hard word to think of without him. Will I ever be alright again?

I need to sit. I crawl onto the large brown sofa which was always so comfortable. My eyes focus on the two men in front of me. They're unsure. Obviously. I scoot over to the middle of the couch and invite them either side of me.

We stay there for hours. Then we sleep there. No words are spoken, only hugs and changes in the tightness of their grip, they know that they're the only thing keeping me sane. I love them.

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Author's Notes:

I hope your liking this. I'm trying a different approach to the narrative here then in my other stories. Next update will be Harry's point of view. If you're unclear about the events here, Harry will fix that up for you.