The beauty of thy most treasured peace,

Will come only in forgiveness of conscience truce,

To desire lone in heat of dreams is dire and leads to defeat,

Yet to not yearn and crave assails all fire from flesh and heart,

It is that what makes us live and that what leaves its mark,

The window to his retired soul remains forever black,

The emerald light has gone.

It will never come back

I held on to Potters robes with desperate fingers as my neck throbbed an agonising throb. My extremities were starting to turn icy and the unloved room hazily diminished of life and light as it began increasingly difficult to hang on. Then all of a sudden he grasped my hand in his, a fiery relief against the chill of death. In all the years I had known Potter I had never touched his skin, so pale like his mothers.

I heard gurgling's of blood in my throat. I tasted it on my tongue and at the back of my teeth. It would soon be over.

Even though I knew I was dying, I felt oddly detached from it. It was although I was watching on from above the scene where I did not feel I belonged. Perhaps it was because I had expected to die so many times beforehand and yet it had never come into fruition. I saw myself lying on the dirty floorboards with Potter crouched next to me, bowed close to my face by my fists implorations; Granger and Weasley stood back a little from the scene, a fly on the wall.

But now it was final, it was conclusive. The deadly blow had been struck. The final job had been completed. It was time to go.

I think I knew somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind that I was not going to make it through this war even if Dumbledore expected me to. If I had, I'm not sure whether I would have wanted to. Everything in my life had been lived. I had no reason to stay anymore.

I felt Potters quick breath on the slick skin of our hands as he clutched in the other the memories that had overflowed my being in a glass vial. The imprints that gave heed to everything. In some cases he would know me better than Dumbledore and his mother put together.

My breathing was slowing, my blood was draining, and the Shrieking shack was disappearing.

'Look…at...me.'

It was nice to see her one last time.

The end. Thank you to anyone who has read my story, I hope you enjoyed it! x