Borrowed Heaven, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Don't own: Borrowed Heaven, HP, some lines from Moulin Rouge. Plot entirely mine.

All beauty, all fade away, borrowed

All moonlight, return today, borrowed

All sunrise, all shooting stars, borrowed

All earth bound bare feet in day

To see you there, Harry, lying prone for all the world to see, makes my heart beat faster and slower at the same time. You don't know just how much you've changed my life. Perhaps you never will.

I couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning hadn't done wonders for me. Tousled hair on end, eyebags so gray under my eyes, peaky skin. I just couldn't sleep. What is it about the night that keeps me up?

The eerie glow the moon seems to emit. The shadows so elegant yet at the same time, frightening. The thought that Professor Lupin could be in so much pain every time the moon assumes its full form.

In the end, it all comes back to the moon.

I can't let the moon take all the blame. It is heavenly. And it gives off a sense of security.

He is heavenly... He gives off a sense of security...

Harry James Potter. He's the reason I can't drift off to the land of dreams.

Why do you keep me awake at night, Harry? Why can't you just disappear from my heart? Why do you have to linger there all the time? Why can't I just forget about you?

What am I thinking?! He stays in my heart because he belongs there. I can never forget Harry. Not after all he's done. If I erased him completely from my mind, forever wold I be looking for that huge missing piece of my own self. I'd never be complete.

The very thought that Harry was here just wouldn't stay put in the back of my mind where I'd tried to stow it. Every time I'd start to doze off, there his eyes would be, staring at me, and it would be just beautiful to gaze into them forever...

Have you ever seen such lovely eyes?

You know we're standing on

Borrowed, borrowed heaven

I had a yearning for a cup of hot tea... it's the British blood. So, I decided to sneak down stairs and fix myself some refreshing herbs in steaming water. The image of the soothing substance touching my lips sent me into a brisk walk, that evolved into a full-fledged sprint.

The streams of flambeau from the moon that managed to peek through Mum's curtains splayed on the living room. The result was resplendent: the surfaces the beams hit shone with a passion and the silver effect was stunning.

A few minutes later, and I was heading towards the unbelievably soft armchair that the family had christened mine, with a cup of chamomile in my hand.

I paused in front of the windows. Tentatively pushing the curtains back, I was suddenly bathed in warm silver light. It felt incredible. It was as if I was unanticipatedly reborn.

creeeak

Something snapped in my mind. Fear encompassed my heart as I turned around and looked to see where the noise came from, expecting the very worst of life to hit me.

But...

... At the sight of Harry lying there, so innocent, so deserving of love, the alarm that had come so quickly to enclose my heart left just as fast. How could I ever be afraid of him? Instead, a heated surge of emotion for Harry surged through my veins.

All heartache, all rivers cried, borrowed

Don't stay out too late tonight, borrowed

I love you, don't wanna die, borrowed

You taste like paradise

I dared to approach him. The light on his face swayed for a second, following the movements of the curtains I had so swiftly dropped in terror.

When the careening curtains finally stood still, a small bout of moonlight illuminated his face. He looked like a god, and to me, he was a god.

I remembered why he was sleeping here. He'd had a spat with Ron, and I knew that Harry would never willingly start a fight with my brother. Something that Harry joked about Hermione, and Ron took in the most annoying way possible.

My idiot of a brother had, once again, ruined the day. I wonder how that must be for Harry. He came here, I know, with a longing for escape from the people who treated him like vermin, and there Ron goes, saying nasty things he will realize later he didn't even mean.

And Harry... Harry. He looked so vulnerable. I was seeing him raw. Without his barrier to hold back the fear he didn't want the world to see. And I could see he was just a child, there was still the child inside who longed for his mother to soothe his worries.

Strands of raven fell into his eyes as he shifted his position. I felt my face breaking into a smile, and firmly kept my hands to my side, clenching my fists, to fight off the craving to run my fingers through his hair.

I stared at him for the longest time.

It was then that I grasped the knowledge that he looked more tired than I'd ever seen him before. Then I knew... it was the wall again. The guard he kept up every damn day so the rest of us would know that he would always be there to help us, and he wasn't afraid to do so, when in all the truth, he was terrified.

I didn't feel like smiling anymore. Quite the contrary. I felt like crying for Harry, because he had to deal with so much at the same time. It wasn't enough for the world that he had to face the future without his parents. It wasn't enough for all the cruel wizards and witches that he practically always laid down his life for them, for people he didn't even know, but cared about. It was never going to be enough, was it?

Was it?

Borrowed, borrowed heaven

Suddenly my life didn't seem such a waste. A flood of memories had swept me away. Vestiges of the terror I felt during my first year at Hogwarts still haunted me. I was already an incoming fifth year. Why did I ever think it was a waste? Harry saved me. He risked his life for me. I can still feel his hand on mine, urgently muttering me back to life. He could've died for me. And that is worth everything.

Never knew I could feel like this. Like I'd never seen the sky before. Just looking at Harry stirs up a storm of raging emotions inside. Self-actualization. Maybe it's because I look up to Harry. Not because he's Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

It's because he's Harry...

He is the bravest, strongest person I know. If you aren't afraid, then you aren't brave. When I say strong, I don't just mean it literally.

Harry has faced so much in his life that most of us never have to deal with. He's become an orphan, endured ten years' of emotional torment from his hateful relatives. If that isn't enough, he has practically become a martyr for the people of the wizarding world.

And how do they repay him? They attacked him in the newspapers. They didn't believe him. They made their own illusions that his sanity was to be questioned just so they could avoid the fact that the Dark Lord had risen again.

Grateful people, they really are.

An intensification of poignancy went through me as the thoughts swirled uncontrollably around my head. Even the most mitigating of teas can't help calm my soul.

It's heaven just to be able to be near him. After all he's been through, it's always a miracle that he comes out alive. I care for him too much to take him for granted.

I'm indebted to his parents. For though no longer living, they still find a way to take care of their son. They keep him alive. They give him faith. He does it for them. It's always for them.

A soft rush of wind passes under the space between the floor and the doors. He shivers slightly, before pulling up his blanket to his chest.

It's cold. Harry's cold.

You have my life and I will give it back

But before I do, I'm gonna hold it tight

This is my prayer

My fingers itched once more. This time it's not for the feel of his silky locks under their tips. It's for a quill and some parchment. I want to capture this moment forever. I think there's more love than stones, but it's harder to find than diamonds. Just like this moment could never happen again.

I made a dash for the stairs, a mad yet quiet scramble. I didn't want to wake him up. He needed his rest. We all did.

In my room, I flung open my bedside table. Spare parchment. Need spare parchment.

In moments, I was already bounding down the steps, back to the living room, back to where my friend lay asleep, back to Harry. I propped two throw pillows up on the floor beside him, and gripped my quill with sweaty fingers.

I'm not much of an artist, but I could draw fairly well. Most of my drawings were of Harry. But those times, I drew him from the image of him that I had in my mind. I hadn't drawn what I'd seen. I'd drawn what I knew.

This time was going to be different. The moment the tip of the feather touched the surface of the paper was inspiring. I started to make the faint outlines of his hair. Detailed, amplified.

Scratch, scratch.

I sincerely hoped the noise wouldn't wake him up. That would lead to an awkward question.

What are you doing here?

My answer to that would lead to more questions, inquiries I wouldn't be able to answer more often than not. I prayed it wouldn't come to that.

I struggled to clasp the plush of his raven tufts, to put it on paper. I imagined that one day I would look back on the drawing and be reminded of all that I'd thought when I'd seen him in his slumber. It inspired me to try even harder.

Scratch, scratch.

On to his eyes. I wished he would open them, so I could fill in his orbs on paper with the right shade of green which his eyes possessed. But then he wouldn't be sleeping. And that was one of the differences this time around that I drew Harry. It was going to be a challenge of sorts.

I tried my hardest to ensnare the captivating shape of his eyes. I'd always paid enough attention to his eyes. The deep pools of chartreuse were enchanting. Now they were closed, down so the world couldn't see the fear that managed to emerge in them sometimes, I focused on the shape, the way his eyelids closed, the sweet way the corners curved a bit downwards, the elegant slant of his eyebrows.

Harry was blessed with beautiful eyes. I'd never seen a pair lovelier.

Scratch, scratch.

His nose was easier than the previous part. I'd always loved his nose. It was perfect, slightly long, but not so much like Snape's that it was hideous. The shape gave off an impression of haute monde.

The way it sloped was astonishing. I tried, again, to make it more realistic. Shadows here, little dent there.

Scratch, scratch.

I tried to limit the amount of noise my quill was making as I moved on to his mouth, one of the final parts. I decided to draw only his face. It was expressive enough.

His lips were a delight to draw. I felt a smile on my face develop as I delineated the faint curve of the corners.

Harry's lips had a natural red that any girl would've died to have. It was the softest shade of red and bordered slightly on the teritorries of pink.

I'd always wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Would there be the infamous 'fireworks'? Or would there be a flash of electricity?

Scratch, scratch.

Thinking about that made a blush come to my cheeks. I could never control it around Harry. There was just something about him.

I hummed a random tune as I added the finishing touches to my picture. When I held it with my arms outstretched in front of me, I was speechless.

All body, all skin all bone, borrowed

All silky, all smooth and warm, borrowed

Almighty I stand alone

I was glad I thought of drawing him. The picture was my treasure. I didn't want to be boastful, but I'd drawn what I'd seen. And what I'd seen was beautiful. Harry would always be a wonder to me.

Carefully, making sure it didn't get crumpled, I tucked the parchment into one of Mum's cooking books, just to make sure it stayed flawless.

When I looked at Harry again, I was just so... happy...

How do you do this to me? Why is it that whenever I look at you, I feel as if the world's all right again? That nothing bad could ever happen to anyone? Why do you have this effect on me? What is it about you, Harry? What is it exactly about you that I love so much?

At that moment, I thought I would've loved to live in a world where Harry loved me back. Not just as a friend, but something more...

I would've loved to have said to anyone who would listen that his heart only beat for me, and mine for him... that he without me, he wasn't living at all... that he only existed to hold me in his arms again.

I would've loved to be able to love him openly, to have him say I belong to him, and all my fears would be left behind. Let me close my eyes this moment, a chance to dream. To have him love me with all of his heart, his soul, with all of him. And for me to love him back. Only heaven could bring me this...

...I know I'm living in

Borrowed, borrowed heaven

I don't want to return my borrowed heaven, Harry. That's where I am. That's where I belong. Borrowed heaven with you.