Hands
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter…that glory is reserved for J.K herself.
Thanks to Zelos-Wylder for beta-ing…I luv ya!
Its 6am, and she's awake…as usual. Seeing the door to his room ajar, she stands still
and quiet, and peers inside. She sees the tousled red hair on the pillow, one arm hidden
under the covers, wrapped around the other occupant of the bed. The other arm hangs
out to the side, and she watches his hand in a way only a mother can. She notices how
worn it is, lines etched deep, scorch marks and calluses cover it. She remembers better
times…when he was a baby and his hand was small and chubby, grasping whatever
found its way into the crib, which was usually her finger, a toy, or his twin's hair. She
remembers when he was a toddler, how he used his hands to pull himself up, to steady
himself as she helped him walk. She remembers him as a child, hands sticky and
mischievous, prone to destructive tendencies, but always welcoming her firm grip. She
remembers him as a teen, using his hands to create frustration. She chastises herself. It
was only frustration for her, to everyone else, it was the light at the end of the tunnel…a
laugh at the end of a hard day. He always used his hands to make others happy…but
she stopped being happy a long time ago. She realizes now, that she's been holding his
hand for so long, that she doesn't find the same comfort in it she used to. She has to let
go, so he can use his hands to make others happy, to protect those he loves. She
realizes…his hands are never empty.
A/N: See that little review button in the corner? If you use it, I'll give you a cookie!