Disclaimer: I own nothing, characters are property of J.K.R and inspiration (and a couple lines) belong to The Avett Brothers.
Ballad
Dear George,
Just wanted to send one last postcard!
The weather has been wonderful and the ocean is
absolutely beautiful.
I'll be home on the 20th, can't wait to see you!
LOVE -H
George looks at the at the front of the postcard. It has an overused picture of the sun sinking into the ocean, 'Greetings From …' wherever the hell she was, stamped over the silhouette of a palm tree. He reads the back one more time, looks at the calendar, and rips the postcard to pieces and throws them towards the bin. It's the 20th, "she'll be home tonight" he mumbles to himself, "whatever."
Hermione sings softly as the plane cuts under the clouds. The woman next to her smiles and looks out the window, "beautiful day to fly, isn't it?"
"Sure is." Hermione states cheerfully.
The woman's smile broadens, "you must be heading home to someone."
"I am" Hermione sighs, and she knows that anyone who has heard her can tell just how much she loves that someone.
George slams the door on his way out and rolls his shoulders back, head high and face set. He walks along of the side of the road, nodding at everyone who drives by. Town isn't far, or at least the small shop at the edge of town isn't. George shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling the crumpled notes and heavy coins, "just enough," he thinks.
Hermione walks out of the airport, suitcase rolling behind her and purse tucked under her arm. She takes a deep breath, savors the smell of damp and earth mixed with motor oil and wet asphalt. Her heart swells and presses against her chest, "home," she thinks and grins, turning her face to the sky. It's overcast and she shivers as the occasional raindrop hits her cheek, but it doesn't break her smile.
George leans against the car hood. Bottle heavy in his hand, though significantly lighter than when he started his walk home. He purposefully avoids looking at the sky, "what she loved most about living outside the city," his thoughts betray. The moon and the stars, away from the pollution and memories. "A fresh start," he lets out a snort and takes a long slow drink from his bottle. He takes another until the last drop splatters on his tongue. The empty glass clinks loudly in the dark as he steps around the car and opens the door, "a quick drive, I'll be fine." He fumbles to put his key in the ignition but finally the car roars awake.
"Harry!" Hermione's cheer is evident.
Harry grins, and embraces the women he has been friends with for ages, "how was your holiday?"
"Really excellent," she says, "but I'll be glad to be home." Harry loads her suitcase into his car and opens the door for her. They talk back and forth for the long ride, catching up on each others lives. Hermione's excitement is contagious, and a few tears escape when Harry bids her farewell. Their reunions have become few and far between, "this one car ride won't change that," he thinks and watches her disappear in his rearview mirror.
The car runs over the curb and parks haphazardly in back of the house. George kills the engine and sits in the dark, breathing hard, hands pressed into his temples. "Driving was a bad idea," he says into the night.
He walks to the door, tripping on the last step, and lets himself into the house. The kitchen light is on and the clock says it's nearly 3 a.m., which means it absolutely is 3 a.m.
Hermione sits at the kitchen table, she glances at the clock once again and then at the phone.
She had known George wasn't home the second Harry dropped her off. She had walked into the hall and catalogued the house, the hall mirror was gone. She suspected that the rest of the mirrors in the house were also gone, or covered, or broken in pieces at the bottom of a bin. She lets a tear drop off her chin, he hadn't mentioned this, she would've come home earlier.
So, Hermione sits down at the kitchen table, bags still in the hall, and she waits.
George stumbles in, leans harshly in the doorway, hand holding onto the trim. He stares at the floor, exhausted he sputters, "I'm sorry."
Hermione rises, knees cracking, she smiles softly and walks to her partner, "what for?"
George meets her eyes, and he collapses onto her. Sobbing heavily, Hermione helps him to the floor and cradles him against her. She brushes the long unkempt hair back along the side of his head, "I should not have been gone for so long," she whispers to him. His hair falls back to its previous position without anything to hold it back. He heaves deep breaths, the occasional agonizing sound escapes, and he curls into himself. Her has told her, that it feels like a gaping hole, a vortex, pulling at where his heart once was. There is no filling that hole, just lessening its pull on him, anchoring him so that the rest doesn't get pulled away.
Hermione lifts his head. His cheeks are wet and blotchy red, snot as gathered above his lip and smeared across his face. She leans in and kisses each eye. "I love you," she says. And she says it again, and again until he looks her in the eye and nods ever so slightly.
"I'm yours and that's it, forever" she pushes all of her love towards him, she knows he can see it when she looks at him. She knows he can feel it as she pulls him to lay beside her on the dirty kitchen floor. She presses full against him, brings his arms around her waist, and tucks her head under his chin. His crying has stopped, he breathing now smooth. His hand comes to life on her hip and grips the soft flesh there, making an anchor.
"You're mine and that's it, forever."