"Amore."

Regulus ran to you. He was still dirty from the qudditch match, having hit the ground and fell off of his broom once too many times. A light cut on his bottom lip and black curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. He was wearing his dirty robes, the golden snitch in his hand. You were sitting at the window, which allowed you to oversee the field, sunlight going through your nearly see-through body.

"I won for you."

He cleared his throat as he extended the hand holding the snitch towards you. It glimerred so prettily in the warm light, and the wings still fluttered delicately against Regulus's fingers. At that moment, you remembered when you caught those. When you flew on your own broom and won with your own might.

"And this, this is for you too, mon amour. We're not supposed to take those but, uh— well, I took it anyway."

You didn't want that— didn't want a living, breathing human to grow attached and to think that you two could be something in the future... but it was your fate to be dead and watch everyone die around you. All the friends you ever made dissappear out of the castle, finish school, marry, have jobs, have children, have lives while you stand there, unchanged by the cruel time. Still sad and still very much dead.