Disclaimer: do not own Harry Potter
Written for: LJ com writerverse
Prompt: cracked-ice (a photo); at least 200words.
[0]
They had been fighting when she dies. No, thinks Harry, and she isn't quite so dead anymore. All told her heart was enchased by sparking green light for all of forty seconds. Then, of course, she got back to it; adrenaline pushing her forward despite a body that feels as if it had been ill used and now missing pieces. Harry doesn't say anything when the battle is done and they are in relative safety of a momentary victory. He just holds her longer and tighter to his chest as the image of her death-fall play at each unstoppable blink. Not ever.
[-1]
She finds herself displaced. Carries on, regardless. They are racing across a frozen duck pond and just shy of the anti-everything-useful ward. It isn't a single solidary crack, more of a crinkle beneath their feet muted by fearing hearts and faster breathing. When the noise is loud enough, she calls to Charlus and tosses the ever-so important messenger bag his way. "Hermione!" is shouted in horrified denial above her head, but she has already slipped into icy waters and drowned. No not ever comes to her, hallowed bones break a weakening barrier of ice above her head. She lives.
[+1]
They are at the anniversary celebration of evil thwarted, and while the once dead dance the halls she is still unborn. Harry smells of petrichor, his hands are warm and sure, there is grey at his temples, and his crow's feet are, in all, quite handsome. She teases: "Will you love me tomorrow?" Always, he thinks, and speaks of many things. She holds him tight, for he is not just a fool in love: she hasn't aged since they met all those many years ago. No not ever keeps her so and Time –forwards or backwards— has no say in this.