Ginny's thoughts after Dumbledore's funeral in HBP.

Disclaimer; Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Tendrils of smoke drifted through the air, seeping through the crowd. As it went up my nostrils, I coughed, the burning sensation too much to bear.

Later, I would blame the tears in my eyes on the smoke, the funeral, anything but him.

Harry.

I guess I had always knew this was coming, always expected it. He was the 'Chosen One', no point denying it. Sworn enemies.

He could not exist, could not live, while he lived too. While he controlled, maimed, killed. And I could not exist, could not live, without him.

I never thought that I could wish death upon someone. Ever. But how could I not when he was destroying everything I ever cared for?

Turning towards the lake, my eyes scanned the trees, needing something to take my mind off the pain, the stabbing in my chest.

People describe hurt as cold, like ice, frozen.

It is not cold. Not ice, not frozen.

It is hot, burning, consuming my heart in a single, uncontrollable blaze.

I thought I cringed from the smoke in the air, but it was long gone.

I cringed from the smoke, the ash in my chest.

Where my heart used to be.

Closing my eyes, I focused on that first moment, that first kiss, and remembered thinking that it was a perfect piece of eternity.

I never knew that eternity was just a small piece of forever.