God was mocking him. He knelt down besides the dull black coffin, tears seeping through his closed eyes onto the dusty path beneath him. On top of the coffin lay a single white rose, its thorns sinking deep into the lid of the coffin and its beautiful petals deteriorating with every passing second. Around him stood two people; an elderly priest dressed in black robes and Eleanor. He himself was wearing black, a perfect picture for mourning. It was a black suit to be precise, with a high collar and black Italian leather shoes. Eleanor stood behind him, with one hand on his right shoulder, the other holding a small bunch of white daisies, their heads drooping sadly towards the ground. His best friend had insisted on coming with him, he could not have faced it alone.

But nothing could help him now. Estranged tears poured down his face in gallons but they were nothing compared to the emotional battle raging on inside of him. His thoughts were ravaged; a true expression of loss and sorrow lay on his sharp, colourless face. There were no words; nothing that could fill the growing black chasm inside of him.

The priest began to speak in a drawling, dreary, monotonous drone.

'We are gathered here, on this sorrowful day…' but everything washed over him. He glanced painfully towards the white marble headstone, which on it bore the words,

'Emily Louise Morgan

22nd May 1990 – 31st September 2008

Nothing beautiful is ever lost.'

More tears welled up in his grey, stony eyes and cascaded down onto his lap. He burrowed his head in his hands resting on the coffin and whimpered quietly to himself, whispering to himself, wishing for her to be alive again, to give him another chance. Eleanor knelt down beside him and he cried into her chest like a little child. The pain was unbearable; all he wanted to do was to die. Nothing would or could get better; he would spend his whole life in the darkness, never attempting to escape to the outside world.

The priest stopped talking, and closed his weary bible. He left without a word, seeing it as quite appropriate.

Clouds were beginning to start to cover the entire sky. Soon enough the pitter patter of heavy rain came, beating down onto the ground. They hammered against his skull, each blow causing him agony. But he was numb. There was nothing. Eleanor had thin tears sliding slowly down her pinkish tinged cheeks. She stood.

'We have to go. We have to let her go.' She whispered quietly. She squeezed his hand and then left. He heard her gentle footsteps splashing in the rain, getting fainter and fainter until they became completely silent. The tears would not stop. His body was paralysed. He would never come to accept that he had lost her. And it was his fault, he had let it happen.

Four days later…

He sat alone in the common room. His face was blank, free of any emotions. He had not spoken or eaten for three days now, he held in his hand and tiny piece of parchment bearing three words in script text

'It's unfortunate darling


His hand shook as he held it and it fluttered out of his fingers onto the black carpet. His whole face was shadowed in a green light, coming from the fact that the common room was beneath the Great Lake.

Funnily enough, the Great Lake was where they had first met. Well not in the Great Lake, next to it. He had been sat; bare-footed waiting for the tide to come in and she had accidentally tripped over his outstretched hand. She couldn't stop apologizing and he was holding back strange laughter, it was packed with amusement, something he didn't normally feel. They had talked for hours, something he normally hated to do. In the end, they decided to go to Hogsmeade together on the next weekend: Valentine's Day.

On Valentine's Day, they had walked down the frozen path (she had fallen over and laughed herself silly) to Hogsmeade. They went to the local pub, The Three Broomsticks, and ordered pints of Butterbeer. They leaned in over their drinks, but then along came Professor Snape, glaring at him, his black beady eyes glinting maliciously. However, it had been a fantastic day, so much laughter.

He had never felt this close to someone, he had never been able to let out his feelings to people, but then she came along and captured his heart in her little butterfly net.

In the common room, several weeks later, they had lain on their backs, their heads facing the fire, which hugged them warmly. They had laughed so hard that tears of joy had rolled down their faces and he felt like he would smile forever.

Walking out of the Great Hall together, after taking a long three hour exam, they had first kissed. He took her waist and she put her hands on his cheeks. When they drew away, they both looked up simultaneously and saw a huge bundle of mistletoe gathered directly above their heads. He had said that he loved her and she had winked before skipping off, ecstatic.

But then, two weeks later, they were walking on the Cliffside, on the late eve of a fine autumn day, right near the edge. She spotted something in the forest opposite and tottered daintily towards the very edge of the cliff. He had warned her not to go to far. She had jumped up and down, she has spotted a thestral. He told her to stop it, that she desperately needed to be careful. She had scorned him, telling him not to be such a fuss pot. At that precise moment, a huge crack appeared next to where she was standing. She fell, but managed to grab hold of the edge, cracking her wrist in the meantime. He ran over to her, and told her to grab his hand, but she couldn't lift it without endangering her life further. She looked directly into his eyes, her own bursting with glistening tears that had already began to dribble down her face.

'Don't forget me.' And then she let go. She fell silently, hundreds of feet in the watery depths below and the water rippled for a moment, and then all was still.

'NOOOO!' he screamed loudly, his cries echoing through the emptiness of the land. He stood for hours, screaming and crying, sudden despair controlling him and reckless tears pouring down his face and shirt. 'No, no, it can't have,' he muttered disbelievingly, looking left and right having spasms of random movement. He then gathered up his senses, and ran, raving and ranting to anyone to get help. He roared at them, shrieking trying to make them understand what had happened. They fished her body out three hours later. He cried for a solid two weeks, not sleeping, eating drinking, or even moving, hoping that every breath would be his last.

1 year later, the anniversary of Emily's death…

'People say that time heals. It does nothing of the sort; it just pains you more and more. People have tried to help, they have made it more agonizing,' he wrote shakily, pressing his quill firmly against the parchment, thick tears pouring down his lips, 'I want it to end. It was my entire fault and now I'm rectifying my mistake. But do not try to save me; I will be with my darling Emily once more. God is due another soul and now it is my turn. There is nothing left for me now.' He finished decidedly, gazing his last look up at the hangman's twisted rope.