A/N: Heya. This is just a random drabble, I don't truthfully know where I got the idea for this, but give it a shot? Love y'all,
Milli
Quarter past twelve.
Tick tick tick tick. The clock is the only sound in the room, aside from her breathing. He left at a quarter past twelve. Through the window, outside was a wonderland. Snow fell in spirals towards the ground, a thick layer already blanketing the hard earth. Their breath had curled, foggy, in the misty early morning. Smiling. He was always smiling.
Quarter past twelve.
Harry had brought him back at a quarter past twelve. Not him, his body. She had seen him that night too. He had come to her. Sitting beside her on the cool dewy grass in the early morning, the sun rising past him, illuminating her face, and the last moments she had with him. She was lucky, she knew. To get to say goodbye. It was a quarter past twelve when she had finally stood up, and left that place. Their special place. It would change everything. As she stepped out from under the tree, she knew she couldn't ever go back. Back to those winter days.
This was the time she missed him the most. They would go and sit outside in the snow, making snow angels in the soft powder. Having snowball fights, coming back inside, freezing cold, dripping wet, running from the wrath of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Sitting in the common room, watching the roaring fire and sipping from steaming mugs full of hot chocolate. Winter was their special time.
The fire has long died. The room is slowly becoming icy cold, like death. She is slowly fading; she could feel the heat from her body gradually ebbing, till there would nothing left. She no longer needed revenge. Voldemort was dead. Harry was on the mend. She was not needed. She could go back to him. She would see him again; feel his arms around her, knowing she was safe. The prospect was so enticing. She could almost smell him, clean and snowy and hot chocolaty, all the smells she associated with winter, her favourite season, if she tried. She could taste his lips, warm and soft and tasting of candy canes and peppermint. Breathing deeply, she inhaled and exhaled and inhaled until she fell. Lying on the couch, she smiled almost sardonically, although, if someone had been watching, the might see that her smile was sincere. They wouldn't know how she needed him. They wouldn't realise who this was. The woman who had helped end the war victoriously. Harry Potters adoptive sister. No one would believe she would give up. She wouldn't go like this. Just leave the world of the living.
For anyone watching this woman, it would be impossible to deny how otherworldly she looked, her thick chestnut hair spread under her like a pillow, framing her face, with its hollowed contours. Her eyes were bright and alive, the hazel colour dimming slowly, as though she could see things not meant for mortal eyes. Her ears looked as though they tapered slightly, into her hair. The room was filled with an unearthly light, casting an ethereal glow on everything.
Her eyes flicked to the window. She counted snowflakes. Twelve. Thirteen now. She thinks, if only she could get up and break off part of that thirteenth snowflake. The first light of the day was creeping in through the window, banishing the frosty chill. She shivered uncontrollably, chicken skin breaking out all over her arms.
Quarter past twelve had come and passed. He had been going to ask her that night. He knew there wasn't much time. He knew Voldemort was back. He knew how he felt, no matter what anyone said. He understood the dangers of their everyday lives. He would've waited. He would've fought the war beside her, lived each day with her, watched the countless bloody sunrises, watched people they knew and loved lose those they cared for, he would've put his life in danger, and she would've never stopped worrying. And in the end, he would've been there for her. Been there to wait for her to finish school, to get a job, to start their lives, and then they would've had a family. Little children running around the yard, reading her favourite books, going to Hogwarts, learning enough to overflow their minds, loving, falling, healing, living, laughing.
He always used to say that hearing her laugh was like seeing her soul. And through it all, the two would be each other's strength. She let out a hollow echo of a laugh, a remnant of her soul. And who'd said she didn't possess the 'inner eye'? What did it matter? The mean, nasty voice in her head questioned. He's gone now. Crying over it won't bring him back. It laughed scornfully at her. It mattered everything. That is what it mattered. Maybe it would've been enough. Maybe... Maybe if I keep waiting, keep watch, he'll come back. At a quarter past twelve, on one of the cold winter nights like the ones we used to love. Maybe if she wished and prayed and hoped enough... Her thoughts trailed off. She didn't know what. Maybe it was hopeless. Maybe all the quarter-past-twelves left in the world wouldn't be enough.
A tear catches the light coming through the window. Its glistens, hanging, suspended in time, before tracing a path down the curve of her cheek and onto her hand. As though a dam inside her had suddenly given way, the tears flowed freely from her eyes, soaking her hand and hair. She stopped resisting, and let herself grieve the loss of the dream that had kept her alive during the long harrowing days and seemingly interminable nights that she lay awake, feeling wretchedly despondent without him. When at last the barrage of tears had stemmed, she sat up, unlatched the window, and inhaled greedily.
The brisk morning air jolted the last of her wits back into her, clearing her mind. Standing, she watched the last of the sun's vibrant rays rise above the horizon. The sky was vivid shades of orange and pink and an indescribable blue. Actually, it wasn't indescribable. It was the same shade his eyes were. The most beautiful blue she'd ever seen. Behind her, there was a scuffle. She found herself being enveloped in an embrace, being held by the same arms that had comforted her through the war. She sagged against him, feeling herself lose control over consciousness. As she succumbed to the darkness threatening to surround her, her last thought was something her Grandma always used to say...Good friends make life worth living.
A/N: And indeed they do, which is why this story is to all my friends. I love you guys more than you'll ever know.
Loads of Love & Chocolate,
Milli