Glory
A drabble fic in response to the '365 Days of Drabbles' Challenge by ToxicRainfall.
Pairings – Harry/Hermione.
Warnings – None.
Prompt – Glory.
Day 2 – 08.07.15
Word count – 251
It's over.
It's over.
No matter how many times Hermione says it, the words never really sink in. In the books she reads, the victors of dramatic, dystopian wars glory in their victory, and all the pain seems to melt away instantly.
That doesn't really seem to be happening any time soon.
Harry's passed out upstairs. Ron's winging, but Hermione feels that her best friend deserves the right to rest. She wishes that she could.
In the great hall, among the dead, she manages to slip away from the reporters. Once she reaches the first floor, though, she doesn't really know what to do. She wants someone to tell her what to do. She wants purpose.
So, she makes her way to Gryffindor tower.
Walking into the common room, she winces slightly at the sight in front of her. Harry refused medical attention, and, by the look of things, didn't wash. He's sprawled out on a sofa in front of the fire, his mouth lolling open. His face is a mess of bruises, cuts, blood and burns. His clothes are ripped and dirty. His hand curls to the floor gracefully, and his skin is gold in the firelight. He looks like a fallen angel.
Hermione's feet move before she knows what's happening. She stands over him, and all the aches all over her body reach a peak. She can feel her nerves tingling.
And she kneels down and presses her lips to his.
Her pulse bangs in her ears.
Her hands clench into fists.
Her eyes close.
Harry doesn't stir.
She pulls away.
Suddenly, she knows exactly what glory feels like.