The first of four chapters. AU.
Where are you?
As the sun's rays break the horizon and fill the grounds with their golden light, the girl wonders. It's late spring now, almost the end of the school year. The sparkling dew soaks her robes as she lays there, waiting.
Please come.
She thinks of the boy and how he reminded her of the warm weather, summer. His hair the color of fresh soil, falling over his eyes and constantly having to be brushed away. His eyes, a bright, sky blue, reminding her of rain.
They're so similar to each other, yet so different at the same time. Books and school. That's what they're mostly known for. But he never said hardly anything and was often forgotten when put with his friends. She was the Savior of the Wizarding World's best friend, never brushed off as just another student. The dew soaks her robes, dampens her hair, so much like his.
I'm still waiting.
Summer was supposed to be fun, warm and inviting, pleasant. But sometimes it was harsh. Burning heat rippling through and making the days terrible. She hates wondering about the season, but she contemplates it anyway. Summer, like winter, was one of those subjects that you couldn't help but wonder about.
She just can't understand why someone who was supposed to represent summer, a time of laughter and fun, could be so serious.
He likes it that way, though, she thinks.
If she were to be honest, she would say she liked autumn better, though, because winter was too white and summer too green. And although spring had brightly colored blossoms and new life sprouting everywhere, autumn had a sort of magic to it that no other season had. The beautiful colored leaves were entrancing in their own way.
But she still loves and enjoys the summertime anyway, just as she loves him.
Hurry.
Somewhere, a long way away, she imagines Harry and Ron, on the pitch and playing a Quidditch match—flying around on those dreadfully thin pieces of wood and throwing balls around. She imagines Ginny and everyone else cheering for their team, hoping for one last victory. She smiles, her eyes starting to glaze over and become glassy. At that moment, she wishes she could just stand up and run back to where they were, cheering them on to get one more win for the year, despite her distaste for the sport.
But she can't, because she's stuck, waiting and waiting and waiting forever and ever and ever…
Aren't you coming to save me?
There are soft footfalls near her, but she can't see them nor hear them as she stares up, almost unblinkingly, at the sky, which reminds her of his eyes…
She flicks her eyes toward her left and sees the gleaming silver of the dagger lying a couple feet away. The dark crimson matches the color soaking from her side. You don't deserve to die like a witch, they had sneered. Born a Muggle, die a muggle.
Please come.
It hurts to die alone, outside and where no one can see you. She won't cry but she starts to lose hope that someone—anyone—would be there. But she hangs on to that hopeful thread, that he'll come to save from this and make her better so she can run and laugh and be with him again.
Then she realizes that he isn't here, and probably never will be.
I'm slipping…
Slipping off the precarious cliff of life that she hangs on by just one hand... Her heart still beats, her lungs still breathe, and her mind still turns, but everything seems to get colder, even as the sun warms the grounds and dries up the dew.
A rustle stirs the silence. She doesn't hear it.
She does hear, though, ever so faintly, the voice calling to her from beyond, desperately asking her to stay awake, to not die on him now, not after all they've been through… Just the wind, she thinks, the wind mocking her in her last moments. She's too exhausted and sleepy to be angry, though, so she just smiles.
He's here and he's come to save me from this he's here he's here he's here—
And his face appears above hers, looking like summer, eyes wide and frantic, shining with fear and desperation. Though her eyesight is blurry and everything blends together, she can clearly see his eyes, those beautiful blue orbs, pleading with her to look into them and say she's still alive, please—
Of course, she thinks, but doesn't say aloud. I always will be, right?
As long as he wants her here, she'll be here, right?
Safe, now…
The pain has ebbed away and the cold has disappeared and all she feels is him.
Perhaps he isn't like summer at all, but like autumn. His arms feel cool but comforting. His body is warm as he holds her. His tears bring back memories of the late October rains, the ones that make the ground soft and quiet.
A light breeze drifts by and a brown leaf crinkles past, and then nothing.
Too late.