An angsty one shot. I reckon Harry will kick the bucket at the end of book 7, and this is how Ginny copes. Started chapter 34 of MPSIMP, and slight writers block on SC. But this is a time filler, please review!

I leaned over to switch 'WWN – Muggle Hour!' off. It's bad enough listening to someone wailing their heart out over jilted love, depression and death anyway. But when you're not sure whether it's the radio or your head saying all those things?

That's when it gets to be too much.

All those words. I Will Always Love You – no doubts there. Comfortably Numb – sounds about right. The Closest Thing to Crazy – right where I'm heading without you, darling.

I pulled a copy of Witch Weekly toward me across the tabletop, managing to forget for just a second what was sure to be inside. But the headline was a sufficient reminder.

Life Times and Death of a Hero

Harry Potter

A Life Story

That's the worst thing about it. You forget sometimes. It sounds callous, but you really do. I keep making enough coffee for two, wondering what to buy him for Valentines, calling him down for dinner.

And then it all comes flooding back, and I hate myself once again.

You try to carry on, you really do. But once the end has come, you can't magic a continuation. When you finally pluck up the courage to leave the house, all it takes is for you to see a flash of black hair, and your heart turns over, sure that it's him at last.

And of course, it's no coincidence that there's not a single green item in my wardrobe, even though I suppose the colour suits me.

Some days, amendment, every day, whenever the post comes, your fingers tremble as you hold the envelopes. Pleading, pleading with yourself to believe that it really is a letter to say that the whole business was a mistake, that he'd actually alluded death once again, given the Grim Reaper the slip, landed on his feet one more time.

I long for some sort of epiphany, some moment when you suddenly realise that Life Goes On.

Or maybe I'm just made for heartbreak. No, worse than heartbreak. Because what is broken can sometimes be mended again.

But you see, my heart's fully functional. I can hear it thudding in my chest whenever I hear his name. It's my lungs that are the problem.

Because I didn't know that when he died, I too, would stop breathing.