Her face was cold.
As he carried her away from the battle he remembered all the times he had touched her; her arms, her shoulders, her neck, her cheeks. Her silk like skin had once captivated him.
Now they were pale.
Her hair was singed.
Passing through the crowded mob with her in his arms memories passed in and out of his mind. How long had it been since he ran his fingers through her brown curls? How long had it been since he woke up with the sweet scent all around him?
Now it hung limp, covered in sweat and blood. As he ran it swung to the rhythm of his feet.
She was most surely dead.
Only a year ago since his lips had touched hers for the first time.
"You ignorant little codfish!" She exclaimed her eyes bright with fury. She had been yelling at him about something unimportant.
His tone had softened. He tried to keep his expression in check as the laughter rumbled in his chest.
"So I'm a . . . codfish did you say? How very creative of you."
"That's- that's completely beside the point. The point I'm trying to get across to you is that-"
His lips came down upon hers. How her face had glowed when they pulled apart. It was the best feeling of his life. Kissing her had never once lost its luster.
There was no glow now. No bright eyes. Nothing.
Even her anger to him was beautiful. How many times had they argued only to end up kissing? How many times had he purposely said something only to see her face become so angered?
He had loved her. Had.
"No! I still do!" he yelled pushing, looking for someone who could help him.
Was it too late?
But how many times had she pulled through when it was too late? How many times did she show an unconquerable strength?
"She is not dead." He whispered trying to convince himself.
Shielding her body from rebounding curses that flew like shooting stars all around him he looked around. Noticing an empty corridor he ran towards it. How many times had they been in this hallway together?
Then he saw him.
Him, standing at the end of the passageway covered in blood with a determined expression on his face.
The battle was over. The battle was won.
Sword in hand he stood. Harry only noticed the man when the he made a whimpering sound. Without a second thought he nodded and beckoned for his friend to follow him.
When they had finally reached the office he laid her down on the crimson sofa. He could see no other thing or hear no other noise; there was only her. Days he sat by her. For days he concentrated on her and the small amount of hope deep inside him. How many days could he go on without her? How many times had he taken her for granted? How many times had he forgotten to say 'I love you'?
For days he waited and never once did he move. Never once did he even glance away from her. Every minute he begged for her, every second he cursed the fate that brought him in his position. It took twelve days. And as the sun set on her face he came so close to giving up. Closing his eyes he saw her face, looking as if she had woken up. He did not believe this silly daydream. Opening his eyes again he saw the truth: pale face, limp hair, empty eyes, blank expression. But slowly it began to change . . . a blink . . . a breath . . . a movement . . .
"Ron? Ron are you there?"
"Yes love, right beside you."
How much did he need her.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I did write this at about 3 in the morning so please excuse any horrendous grammar mistakes i might have made. And if its not too much trouble REVIEW!!