"It's funny," she says. "He started a Harry Potter fanclub."

He looks at her with those eyes - the ones that always have the odd look in them of bewilderment, not pain or anger or joy, just shock and the look of an overwhelmed boy.

"And I joined," she adds, because she can tell he doesn't understand. Can tell that no one can, not with this grief. "We loved you."

He says nothing.

"We loved each other."

There's a flicker. She's seen it before - it's the look that drew her in. (Well, it might not have been the look. It might have been the fame and the heroism, but Colin understood that.)

It's a flicker of pain, of grief.

She sees him glance slowly back at the body, and refuses to look. She just stares right at his face.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Maybe it's that her - their - hero has just apologized, or maybe it's becuase she's still numb, but she nods anyway. "I know."

He walks away, looking like he's in the same fog she is, and she kneels down and begins to tend to Colin's wounds, even thought they've stopped bleeding oh so long ago.

When no one's looking, she steals on last kiss. It's cold, but the love's still there.