Hero
When she dreams of him, he's always in a Hogwarts uniform lying down in a bed of grass, his tie unknotted around his neck and his top three buttons undone. He smiles, carefree and lopsided, what she thinks his father must have smiled like when he was a boy. His hand reaches out ready to give her an intimate caress, and he fades away.
In her dreams, there isn't a war. There are only flowers in a small garden outside the burrow, and only lawn gnomes running away from Fred and George. There is no death in her dreams. No pain. No tears.
In her dreams, there is only life.
A meadow, a few deer running across a rainbow, and rabbits hopping close enough to allow her to pet them. There is music, the wind blowing or the notes of birds, but enough for him to reach out his hand and take her into his arms.
"Come on, Princess," he would say. "Let's dance until the sun goes down." And in her dreams, the sun never goes down.
In her dreams, nothing exists beyond the two of them. Not like when her eyes are open and she has to be in the world.
She cannot cry in her dreams; she is too happy for such sentiments. Instead, she cries in the world. She sits at her desk in a trance because someone else has died, someone else has been captured and tortured. She cries as she shuffles dinner around her plate and the number of family members sitting with them becomes smaller. She cries when she reads his letters, quick notes scribbled on parchment that is ripped and smudged with dirt that she keeps locked up in her desk drawer.
In the world, she imagines his hair matted to his forehead with sweat and his shirt ripped right on the shoulder from an out of control spell. She imagines a fierce look in his eyes as he battles death eaters and his voice strong and determined as he moves forward in his fight.
He would look like what she believes a hero should be.
The last time she saw him, he was just learning the torture of being a hero. He was just learning what the word destiny truly means.
He had seemed so sad.
She took his hand and told him it was him, always him. Tears were in his eyes and his hand shook within her own. Her lips rested on his cheek as she whispered that never again would he have to suffer alone.
He had stared at her. Backed away as if her words were poison and shook his head.
What is it you think you can save me from? Harsh words that broke through the very laughter he once loved about her. What do you think you can do?
She opened her mouth to repeat the exact words he has heard a thousand times. She wanted to say that together they could defeat anything. That he doesn't have to do this alone. That love conquers all.
But she knows that none of that is true.
She knows that heroes, real heroes, are nothing like the ones she once read about when she was a girl. A real hero doesn't get to be normal by day and superhuman by night. A real hero has to fight alone. A real hero has to lose something within himself before he can save the world.
She just wishes that Harry wouldn't have lost his heart.
Please, she said, the war doesn't have to be fought like this. Those are the same words Hermione said to him over four months ago. The same words Ron said, almost a year ago, when Harry finally told them there was nothing left for them to do. The night Harry looked at them and said that he has to do the rest alone.
The way her looked at her, his eyes as hard as stone, was how she's sure he looked at them. It's the only way, he whispered before once again looking away.
She was about to fight him. She could feel her fingers curling into her palms. She could feel the heat entering her cheeks and knew they were turning red. Her eyes narrowed. She moved forward slightly.
But when he turned around, the sight of him made the fight within her flee.
Instead, she fell to the floor, tears leaking down her face, and closed her eyes. She pretended to be in her dream world and that his arms were around her and his lips leaning dangerously close to her own. She could hear an echo of comforting murmurs and feel the heat of his chest. She told him she loves him as their lips finally met.
Her eyes opened the second their lips touched, yet she could almost hear him whisper that he loves her. Telling her that she's everything to him.
She looked up, but saw him far away at the window, staring over the world he's tearing himself apart to save. His body was drenched in shadows; his hands clung to her drapes as if he was afraid to move from that very spot.
And for the first time since the war started, she no longer believed in the hope that he would survive.
Even if he comes back safe from bodily harm, the boy that returns to her won't be Harry. It'll be a tortured soul she'll spend her life trying to save in vain. His smile will never come back. His eyes will be troubled with memories. His passion will have fled. He will be a living ghost haunting her until the end. A hero.
Are you afraid to die, Harry? She asked as she stared at the floor, picking the lint off the carpet.
He stayed quiet. In her dream world, he would laugh that off as another one of her innocent questions. He would take her into his arms and tickle her until he has her tackled to the ground, and when she stops laughing he would kiss her softly and whisper that he isn't afraid of anything.
The real Harry turned to her with lifeless eyes. Yes, he whispered and then walked away.
End
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to jk rowling