I don't know why you chose me. Or why we're here.
You prefer blondes, usually. And, honestly, so do I.
But you're close enough. (For now)
And getting closer.
I like it rough, and that's just as well, really, because I didn't hear you asking if I was okay, if I wanted it slow.
I didn't.
We need this.
I could die. So could you. But you've brushed past death, doffed your cap, and continued on.
I'm secretly on my way out.
I haven't eaten for weeks. Months maybe. I've lost count- I don't know what's real or not anymore.
Except for this. This is as real as living. As visceral as scars.
And we have more than enough of those.
I stroke the ones on your face, the ones that I can see. Follow them down from underneath your eye, trace them to your collar bone.
You stop. Stare. Your eyes are blue. Mine are brown. Although you shouldn't be able to see that in this light.
You are startled. Panicked, even. You think I can't relate.
I almost laugh.
I show you my scars. I start from the one behind my ear. Ron gave me that one, however long ago it was now. He snatched the locket from around my neck.
It bled for forty minutes.
That locket only gave us pain.
I hold my forearm in front of your staring eyes. mudblood.
I tell you, that in a twisted way, it's my favourite.
It's who I am. It's what I have to overcome.
I think you're shell shocked. In the first gentle interaction we've had since we ran to this cave, to feel alive after so many moons of being dead, you take it in your hands. Trace the raised letters.
You tell me it is a mark of my bravery. A sign I have been through excruciating pain and I'm still standing.
Just.
You're still inside me. We can feel the rush of magic from outside. The rush of an army preparing for war.
It's starting.
You glance to the entrance. Then swiftly return to me.
"I promise you, Hermione. We will finish this afterwards."
You had no intentions to die, it seemed. Nobody made promises in war.
We could die. But you wouldn't, I knew. You'd already decided death wasn't for you, yet.
You could make promises.
You looked at me. Blue eyes. Brown eyes.
"Wait for me, once this is all finished?" You didn't say it like a question, but your eyes gave you away, even in this light.
I leant my forehead against yours. If you could make promises, so
could
I.
We left the cave together, went to join the formation of battered soldiers who were once mothers, students, shopkeepers. Now they are just people, fighting for light.
As we emerged onto the battlefield, I doffed my cap at death, and continued on.
