Disclaimer: Not mine, none of them. All of them are JKR's.
This is for Naeva, the cuddly one. I'd also like to dedicate it to Haruno Asahi, who's kind words awoke the need to write this in between my other work. Also, a thousand thanks to Gloompuddle, my beta reader.
oOoOo
Harry put down the letter on the table next to the armchair he was sitting in. He had read it so many times that he knew it by heart now. But he kept on reading it, hoping against hope that something would be different this time. "I need some time on my own." The words were beginning to lose their meaning, burned into his mind and with him all the time.
He looked out the window; a light blue shade was spreading over the sky, getting brighter and brighter. It was morning, and obviously he had done it again. But hey, who needed sleep anyway? With a sigh he went back to staring into the fire, but even the flames seemed to shape a well-known face. He closed his eyes for a moment, before standing up and walking out in the kitchen to make himself some coffee.
When the coffee was ready he slumped down at the kitchen table, listlessly sipping the hot drink. His eyes fell on a book lying a bit away, and reached out for it. He had started to read it some time ago, but never gotten around to finish it. Why not now? Anything for some distraction. Opening the book he put it down on the table in front of him, and with the coffee in the other hand he tried to lose himself in some fiction. He gave up soon though, finding the plot thin and unable to keep his attention. Closing the book and slowly pushing it away from him, he took a deep breath. Even though his coffee was getting cold, he tried to drink it, but decided that it wasn't drinkable any more. Muttering to himself he walked over to the sink and poured it out, just to start over, making a new cup. It was not as if he had anything better to do.
With a fresh cup of coffee in his hand he returned to the armchair. He had spent a lot of time there these last few days. Four days? Five days? Ten days? He had no idea. "I need to figure things out." The letter haunted him, day and night. Sitting down he felt a prickle behind his eyelids, and he quickly set his coffee down. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he run his fingers through his hair and took a couple of deep breaths. At least he wasn't here to see him in such an undignified state.
The day went on, an endless line of attempted distractions and new thoughts. It was in vain though, his mind was filled with him, his voice, his smile, his face. A lot of the time was spent just sitting and staring, repeating every last word, every touch, every look, in an attempt to understand why he left. A question kept recurring – how he could do this to him, didn't he understand what he would leave behind? And from there it was a short distance to the heart-wrenching hope – did he miss Harry too? Just a little? Nothing really got any better by that.
Again and again he took out parchment and quill, decided to write to him, to clear this whole thing up. But with the quill inked he just sat there, staring at an empty parchment. He just didn't know what to say. How to explain how he felt, in a way that would make him want to come back again? He put down the quill on the parchment, but the result was nothing more than a growing ink blot. Frustrated he dropped the quill, snapped the ink-well shut and crumpled up the parchment. With a couple of long strides he went over to the fireplace, and throw the parchment on the flames. He had never been good with words.
As darkness fell he found himself at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. After some time he gave up though, with a sigh he left the cup on the table and headed for bed. When he slid in between the sheets he felt as if his chest had constricted – the bed was so very big. Big and empty. Everything just felt so unreal. Sometimes he thought that maybe, maybe, this was all just a dream, and when he woke up he would not be alone in the bed. If that was the case, he begged someone to wake him up soon, because he had had just enough of this.
The next day he got an owl from Hermione and Ron, again, who asked if they could come over later. He found a quill and scratched a quick "Sorry, not today" on the back of the letter and sent it back with the owl. His friends had good intentions, but facing anyone was too much right now. Especially as he knew what they would say. They would point out that life had to go on, even if it perhaps meant that Harry would be alone. After that they would continue arguing that time would heal all wounds, and that even if it was hard to see now he would get over him. Finally they would smile and assure him that they were there for him. He was very grateful for them, but he needed to be alone. Also, their constant attempts to get him to move on made him want to scream that it wasn't over. He only needed time and then he would come back to Harry. Maybe hoping was meaningless, but he just couldn't help himself.
Sitting in front of the empty parchment again, he fiddled with the quill. Suddenly he pressed his lips together, dipped the quill in the ink and wrote something. Staring at the words he sat motionless for a while. When he started to move again, he crumpled up the parchment, crossed the room, and threw it in the fire. He sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace, with his legs drawn up and arms around his knees. Looking into the fire, he saw the parchment unfold itself in the flames. The letters became visible, and he could read it a last time. "I don't know how to live without you." Then they were gone. He bowed down his head and leaned it on his knees, and he didn't move for a long time.