A/N: Who hasn't written on this little scene? Nothing is mine, just thought I'd throw my own interpretation into the fire.
Disclaimer: All belongs to J.K. Rowling.
ooooooooooo
He'll lie in bed and think about this forever.
She'll lie in bed and over-analyze this forever.
ooooooooooo
He watches her, bent over form rocking silently back and forth on that step. The radio hums in the background and it's like his footsteps are claps of thunder he can't silence.
He feels his hand extend towards her, an offering, of what he's not sure. Her little hand slips into his own and she's pulled up off that step. Fumbling fingers of his graze the back of her pale neck, removing the weight of her fears all at once.
The necklace falls on to the table from his hand, forgotten for the first moment of this journey.
He guides her towards the center of the room, and dear god, he remembers why he never dances. Gripping her other hand, he pulls her to and fro, attempting to find the beat of melancholic song that begins to wrap around them. Her feet begin to give in, moving slightly as to ease his discomfort at dancing alone, but soon every other part of her follows, and he forgets.
She forgets all but his warm hands, strong, larger than her own, pulling her around the space. In and out, she twirls into his body and she's quite sure she's never been here before; this close, this warm, this light. She can see his smile reflected from her own, whole-hearted laughter joining in with the chorus.
It's only her and him. No world beyond this impenetrable bubble of soft music, swaying melodies, warm hands, and forgotten responsibilities. Someone else can save the world tonight. Tonight she's here, in this moment, holding on to him, a smile plastered on her face because it's just too absurd. Tonight he breathes her in and wishes for this moment to last forever because at least one thing in his life needs to be perfect.
Somewhere along the way, their joking dancing, full of flailing arms and stumbling twirls, meandered its way into something much more intimate. Bodies pressed all too close with heads bent on to each other's shoulders; they fit like a broken jigsaw puzzle, swaying to the beat of the melody that quickly slipping away into the silence. He pulls back slightly and catches her eye and a million questions explode into the space, into their bubble. The "what if's…" and "what could have's…" silence them; suffocate them because it's as if that necklace is linked around both of their necks. Shock settles into forgotten bubble and the world slowly crashes around both of them.
The radio continues to hum statically in the background, and they're both alone once more.
oooooooooo
He'll look back one day on that night and regret he didn't kiss her twice.
She'll look back one day on that night and regret she kissed him once.
oooooooooo
He leans on his bed, waiting for her to return, convinced that this night is never ending. The radio's static is beginning to comfort him, a fuzzy reminder that they are not the only two people in the world. His hands run over his face and his eyes close inadvertently. He's too damn tired to figure out why it hurts so much, but his resting eyes provide him no sleep. He can still her smiling, holding his hands, pressed against him, swaying in their bubble of contentment. It's as if they are in one of those snow globes; his mind shaking the memory to watch the music fall around them once again, to feel her once again.
The gentle rustling of the tarp alerts his ears and he can feel her enter the tent. Sitting up, his eyes flutter open to her. The frost bit her cheeks pink and the wind threw her hair every which way, tumbled curls falling haphazardly from her head. Her eyes look tired. Tired of the journey, tired of the hunt, tired of the sadness, tired of their game. They've been living on this thin, thin line for far too long.
His feet are moving him towards her before he realizes it, and then she's right there. His mouth opens as if to explain something, them, this, why, but he knows no words. She's only looking at him, waiting for him to say something, to tell her she's gone mental in this tiny tent.
He wants to tell her that this would've never happened if it weren't for the war. That they'd be back at Hogwarts right now, sipping butterbeer in the Great Hall. That Ron's arm would be slung around her shoulders comfortably pulling her against his side. That her ears would be filled with his obnoxiously loud laughter. That she and him would be firmly on one side of that line as they chatted across the table at dinner. And everything would be perfect.
She wants to tell him that they are so, so wrong. That she should be buried in her books right now, searching for something, anything to get them out of this. That he should be outside standing guard, watching for Snatchers. That Ron should be laying in the bed glued to the humming radio. That Ron should've been the one twirling her around the tent, making her feel utterly alive. That he and her should be planted on one definite side of that line. That everything that should be isn't, and everything is wrong.
But he can't ignore that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that no matter where they were, who was there, that somehow they'd still find themselves here, where all the "would be's…" and "should be's…" made a wrong turn. Teetering on that thin, thin line.
But she's not entirely convinced she doesn't enjoy that line, that she has, no matter who was there, no matter where they were.
All they can see is exhaustion. Failed words dead on their tongues.
The radio hums a static tune, soft and wavering. His hand extends once more, but she steps forward, mere centimeters apart. He watches them fall off that line into the abyss as she leans up and presses her lips against his.
And for a moment, he kisses her, and forgets the world once more. Her soft hand against his cheek, his hands running across her waist and back slowly, pulling her ever closer.
And for another moment, she kisses him, and lights ablaze. Her fingers tips grazing his stubbled cheek, his finger tips dancing across her back, pushing herself so much closer.
Tonight the world is forgotten twice, as her knees hit the edge of the bed she didn't remember moving towards, as he bends towards her on the bed he didn't remember climbing on to, as the radio hums a sad song in the background.
oooooooo
He'll remember this as he falls asleep at night.
She'll try to forget this as she falls asleep at night.
oooooooo
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