Obviously, NOT mine. As always. *sigh*. I've gotten over it, anyway. Sort of. After months of therapy, but I've gotten over the fact that Harry Potter is not mine, but JK Rowling's. I have, I swear.
Anyway, onto the short one-shot, obviously you know when and where this is taken from. I'm not good at labeling, but I suppose that it is angsty. At least, it is to me. Review and tell me, maybe? (sing it with the "call me maybe" thing, oki?)
Enjoy!
"You died."
It isn't a question, but it isn't a statement, either.
You flinch. You wish that she would be a little gentler, a little more sensitive, but you know her too well, you know that she's always been straightforward. So, you do the only thing you can think of: you nod.
That's it.
That's enough to break her.
Enough to break both of you.
You both stumble blindly into each other's arms. Clinging, clutching, squeezing. Everything and nothing at the same time.
You hold her, she holds you. You hold each other.
"I- I would've gone. I told you- how could you? I would've…- God, I still would-"
"I know." you whisper back at her, feeling so, so grateful. "But he would've killed you! He would've never let you go, and I just- I wouldn't be able to- to…live. I-"
"I don't care! I don't! I don't care if he would've k- I…I'd g-go with you anywhere, everywhere. I-"
You simply block out the rest of her rant, letting her talk herself out and…you- you just breathe her in. You breathe her, and feel her, and hold her, and you've never felt this way before, you feel more…alive than you've ever felt in months, in years.
And it's all thanks to her.
"…and then you went on your own and you died. Oh God! You- you died."
And that's when she starts sobbing, shaking harder than ever, holding you even tighter, as if you were the only thing that's keeping her from collapsing.
You hate the way her voice breaks when she says the d-word, you hate all of that sadness and anguish and pain in her voice, in her face, in her eyes. You hate the fact that you are the one who put it there, but…you also love that other lovely, little feeling that's also present in her voice, in her face, in her eyes, beneath all that sadness and anguish and pain, you love the fact that you are the one who put it there.
"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."
You know she doesn't mean it, you know that, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt a little when she says it, when she says those words to you.
"I love you. I love you. I love you."
You sigh in relief. You know that you should say it back, because you- you do, you do feel that way, you've always felt that way, and now- now you see that so does she, and still you don't say it aloud, you don't need to say it aloud because she knows and you know, and that's more than enough, better than enough.