A/N: This one is almost a missing moment of sorts from my fic 'weaving fantasies'. You'll understand even if you haven't read it, but I would advise you to. Thanks for reading, please review!
nothing left but all the time in the world – Shawshank Redemption
if you love me,
won't you let me know?
Violet Hill Coldplay
june. 30.11
VictoireOC
cozy fire (bell, opalescent, fragrant)
-:-
David sat on the scarlet couch, watching the fire burn in front of him. The flames are flickering, crouching down and then springing up again, moving to some sort of unknown rhythm.
He sips the fragrant tea from the opalescent mug, and contemplates the letter gripped in his hand. It's covered with Victoire Weasley's unmistakable handwriting, describing to him how she can't stay in Sweden anymore, and how she must go back to her family. He's not angry with the whole thing; he was never one for anger, anyways. He's not really sure what he is, actually, and this is believed to be the root of the problem.
He knows misses her, with her bell-like laughter, and her blue eyes that sparkled when he said something not particularly funny, but creative all the same. He misses her little winks and quirks that made her Victoire, and right now, sitting on their favourite couch in his apartment, it feels almost like a physical ache. The fire looks the same as it did a few nights previously, when they were discussing English literature. Yes, he misses her, but he can't help but feel this is for the better, and who can play with fate?
So he continues to sip and stare at the flames, the cozy fire long since burnt out.
A/N: I've had so many hits/visitors to this fic, it would be really lovely if I got some feedback! Thank you in advance =) Please, no alerts/favourites without reviews!