It was the little things that bothered me the most.

I rolled over in the queen sized bed and shut off the alarm. Even after ten years, I still wasn't used to doing that myself, not when she had done it everyday. My toes were freezing, and despite the fact that they always were, I couldn't help but think that they'd always been warm when she'd been with me. Even my slippers were in the usual place; downstairs by the hearth. She'd always brought them up with her when we went to sleep, and even after a decade of her being gone, I still hadn't gotten in the habit of doing it myself.

People thought that I was sensitive to the subject of war, of battle, of the Unforgivables. But I was an Auror, hardened to the fact that Death Eaters used these tools everyday. No, after ten years, words such as Imperius, Cruciatus, and Killing Curse didn't bring her face to mind. Instead, it was the little things that made me remember her.

Like the way she would always have my coffee ready for me in the morning. I'd always had trouble starting up before breakfast, and because she was such an early bird, she would always have my coffee ready for me. Now the linoleum was stained with dark brown spots, marks of where I'd missed my mug.

I cracked open a couple of eggs into the skillet and began to reach for a third (she only ever had one egg's worth of scrambled eggs) before I realized that she wasn't coming to breakfast. Sometimes I forgot and actually scrambled that third egg. Everytime, the sight of the extra bits of yellowed food sitting there, uneaten, reminded me of her more than any mention of Bloody Sunday. I always ended up feeding the rest to Skip, who just wagged her tail and buried the damn food. Stupid dog.

The rain was pouring down in sheets outside. Lord, I hated the rain. Didn't always. No, once I loved the rain. I loved it because she loved it. We would sit for hours, just the two of us, on the porch steps, letting the water wash away our worries. Sometimes we danced in it, swirling to the music of the thunder. It rained at our outdoor wedding, but instead of moving inside, we insisted to continue outside. Afterwards, we just swayed for hours in the rain, her wedding dress and my tuxedo plastered to our skin.

But I hated the rain now. Not because it reminded me of her. I cherished the memories of our times together in the rain. It was the fact that the weather was gorgeous on the day of her funeral. Like her favorite weather had refused to appear for her to see it one last time. So I hated the rain.

I reached for the two person umbrella that wasn't there anymore. As my hand closed on air, I sighed. Not there anymore. Like her. Both she and the umbrella were gone.

Work, at least, didn't carry any reminders of her, and the minor details that I had never paid attention to when she was with me. I was an Auror and she'd worked in the Ministry as a Interspecies Relations director. Not exactly related jobs. The day at work was fine. It was coming home that I dreaded.

We'd always had ice cream before dinner. Why, I don't now. It was just one of our funny quirks, sort of like dancing in the rain. I reached into the freezer, the same one we'd gotten from her parents when we got married, and blinked. Rocky Road. I'd done it again. I always used to do the groceries (still do, for a matter of fact), and every week I'd buy her that revolting ice cream. Rocky Road. Bleh. I myself preferred Mint Chocolate Chip. The Rocky Road went in the trash. Even after ten years, I still automatically placed it in my shopping cart.

God, I missed her. It hurt worse everyday, and the little things made it harder for me. I still placed two sets of towels by the shower after doing laundry, still set two places at the table, still fixed her favorite meals.

They say it gets better after a while.

They are wrong.

Ten years, and it's the little things that haunt me.