Title: Leftover
Summary: They'd probably ordered the pizza earlier on and put the leftovers aside for him. Leftovers. He smiled at the irony of it. Leftovers. Leftover. Wasn't that exactly how he felt? When it had finally all come to an ultimate confrontation, to an end to so many things, he had survived. Death had offered him a choice when no one else had been given one. He'd been left over.
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Harry came home from another long day at work. Kicking off his shoes at the threshold he nearly stumbled across Ron's discarded outer robe on the floor. Sighing, he picked it up and put it on the coat hook to his right.
Entering the living room of their apartment, he immediately heard noises coming from Ron's bedroom, noises that had become quite familiar over the last few months. For reasons he could not fathom they never seemed to remember putting up some privacy charms, no matter how often he discreetly told them to do so. With a swish of his wand the noises stopped, and Harry sighed again, this time out of relief. He really didn't need to hear them right now.
Harry was totally exhausted, yet he knew that sleep wouldn't come to him yet if he dared to go to bed. Instead he went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of ice-cold water. Leaning against the counter he took great gulps, relishing in the feeling of the cold water running down his throat. Cold - the only thing he ever felt at all these days. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when his life had started to feel so cold, he only knew that it had started slowly and with every tragedy he had to encounter, every death he had to mourn, his life had become darker, the cold creeping through his veins like a disease.
He knew he should eat something, he hadn't eaten all day, but he didn't feel hungry, he never felt hungry these days. All he ever felt was cold.
And yet he knew he had to eat. He had always been quite thin, but lately he had become downright scrawny. Molly had commented on his condition innumerous times, and so had his friends. He knew he was sleeping too little, eating too little and working too much. There were dark circles around his eye, further proof of how little care he took of himself these days. He didn't enjoy anything he was doing, just lost himself in his work, grateful that the auror training gave him something to take his mind off things and that auror raids weren't just limited to five days a week.
Rita Skeeter had even published an article on him 'Is the boy-who-lived-to-conquer finally falling apart?' Well, he had stopped to care what the public thought about him a long time ago. But even he had to admit that his lifestyle was far from healthy and had become downright dangerous lately. Still, he couldn't bring himself to care about it, not really.
He spotted some pizza in a carton and went over to get it. Sitting down at the small kitchen table, he picked at his food, half-heartedly tearing off some small pieces and chewed them slowly.
They'd probably ordered the pizza earlier on and put the leftovers aside for him. Leftovers. He smiled at the irony of it. Leftovers. Leftover. Wasn't that exactly how he felt? When it had finally all come to an ultimate confrontation, to an end to so many things, he had survived. Death had offered him a choice when no one else had been given one. He'd been left over.
He pushed the pizza away from him, unable to swallow even one more bite. His thoughts wandered back to the final battle. There had been so much blood, so much despair, so much death. And yet there had also been hope and determination.
When he had defeated Voldemort, it had not only put an end to the Dark Lord's life.
When Cedric had died, Harry had been shocked. When Sirius had died, Harry had been devastated. When Dumbledore had died, Harry had nearly given up hope. And yet it was exactly that little hope that had helped him to pull through. Back then he had still had a goal to achieve, an aim to work towards, future to fight for.
But when Voldemort had died, Harry's plans and goals had died with him. He had never considered the future before that, never allowed himself to think beyond that inevitable confrontation. He had never thought about life beyond that point at all.
He had not fought for a future, but for future as such. And now that he lived in that future he was lost, not knowing what to do with himself. There was nothing left over to fight for, nothing left over but him.
Thinking back to the battle he thought about how things could have gone differently. How Fred could have stood a few feet farther to the right. How Lupin might have been able to doge that final curse that killed him if he hadn't been staring at his wife's corpse. How Tonks would have been able to defend herself, if her clumsiness hadn't kicked in, causing her to stumble.
Deep down, he knew it was not his fault, that he couldn't have done anything to prevent these deaths, yet he couldn't help but feel guilty. Well, there was one thing that was his fault. One thing that he so desperately wished he could change. If only he had listened to his heart instead of his head. He let out an empty, humourless laugh. It was ironic, really. Usually it had been her who had been the voice of reason, the one to listen to her head above anything else. And the one time she had decided to listen to her head it had been him to let her down.
He remembered how she and Ron had come back from the Chamber of Secrets, holding hands.
'We kissed', Ron had mouthed at him, a radiant smile on his face.
He wished it would have been him. He wished he hadn't turned her down so many months ago. Now it was too late. He would never get to know how it was to be with her, to feel her lips on his. If only he hadn't been so stupid.
It had been three days since Ron had left them and he could see what a heavy toll it was taking on her. He had heard her crying in her sleep for the last few nights. Right now, she was sitting outside, staring into nothingness, her face void of any expression.
"I still can't believe he's gone", Harry said softly, settling down on the ground next to her. She didn't turn.
"Leaving because he thought that he had a secret relationship behind his back, really." Harry had meant for it to sound like a joke, but it only sounded bitter.
She didn't reply for another while. When she did, she never turned to face him but kept staring off into space instead.
"You know what the real irony is?" she asked him, tearing out blades of grass with her right hand without even realising that she was doing so.
Harry shook his head no, not considering that she couldn't see his reaction but she seemed to have guessed it anyway as she continued speaking.
"The real irony is that by leaving, by throwing this ridiculous accusation into our faces, he made me think it over, caused me to realise how I really feel about you."
'And how do you feel about me?' he wanted to ask her, but he couldn't bring himself to utter the words, dreading her response.
Apparently she hadn't expected him to reply anything, as she now turned around to face him, placing her right hand on his left knee.
"When I imagine a future, I can't imagine it without you, Harry. When it comes down to deciding between you and Ron, I'd always choose you over him. You're the one I can't imagine living without, even though it took me Ron leaving to realise that. I", her voice faltered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but she stubbornly held them back. Taking a deep breath she went on, her hazel eyes boring into his green ones. "I've fallen in love with you without noticing. And, now that I know I can't just ignore it, even though my brain is telling me that it's stupid to spill my feelings to you like that, without even being able to guess how you feel about me. But, you may not believe this, for once the brainy bookworm has actually decided to listen to her heart instead of her brain: If I die tomorrow I want to do so without regrets. I want to know that at least I told you how I felt about you. I love you, Harry."
Harry didn't know how long he had been dreaming about hearing her say that, hearing that she reciprocated his feelings. And yet now that she had confessed it, he wished she didn't feel that way about him, it only served to complicate things.
He wanted to take her into his arms and hug her tightly, telling her not to worry, that they would make it, that she and he would make it, together. That he loved her, too and that he wasn't planning on ever letting her go. But he couldn't bring himself to say any of those things.
"I'm sorry you feel that way", he said after a long pause, his eyes avoiding her face, not able to look her into the eyes. "You've always been like a sister to me..." he said, trailing off, leaving it to her to jump to her own conclusions.
'You've always been like a sister to me, or at least that's what I thought for a long time', he wanted to shout at her. 'Back then I was still too blind to see, to realise how I really felt about you.' He wanted to tell her how he had started to think of her as an essential part of his life, someone he couldn't live without, someone he didn't want to live without. He wanted to confess that he loved her and he wanted to kiss her.
He didn't do any of those things.
He could feel her gaze on him.
"I see", she finally said, her hand dropping from its place on his knee. "I hope this doesn't complicate things between us. You are still and will always be my best friend, Harry."
"And you'll be mine", he replied softly. 'My best friend and so much more.'
"I'll check the surroundings before we leave", she said, getting up to her feet. He could hear the tears in her voice.
He didn't reply, didn't offer to come with her, but simply nodded. Nodded, when all he really wanted to was to wipe those tears of her face, to kiss her and to tell her that it would be alright.
But he couldn't do that to her. Even though he hadn't liked the way she had so casually talked about how she could die tomorrow, he knew she was right. This war was certain to cause a lot of casualties, and with him being at the front line his chance of survival were slimmer than those of anyone else.
He couldn't do this to her, promise her a future when he didn't even know whether he would live to see the next day. He didn't want to tell her that he loved her only to leave her completely grief-stricken if he was to die at Voldemort's hands. He didn't want her to be unable to move on if she should survive while he died. He didn't want to do that to her, didn't want to make any empty promises.
He sat there for a long time, his thoughts in disarray, his heart aching. And all the while he could still feel the place where her hand had so trustingly lain on his knee. But it didn't feel warm anymore. It felt cold.
That night he heard her cry in her sleep again. And he knew that this time her tears had nothing to do with Ron and everything to do with him.
Now he wished he had told her back then, told her how he really felt about her. He wondered how things would have played out if he had told her.
She would have certainly never left for the Chamber of Secrets with Ron. It would have been he she would have kissed.
But he hadn't told her and she hadn't kissed him. Instead, she had kissed Ron and had gone on to fight by his side. It had been Ron who had avenged her when Bellatrix had hit her with that curse. And even though he knew it was silly, he begrudged Ron for that.
If only he had told her she probably wouldn't have even been fighting Bellatrix to begin with. He knew she would have never left his side. She had never done so before, the Final Battle had been the first time for her to do so and he knew things would have been different if he had just been honest.
If…
He knew thinking about it was futile, it wouldn't change anything. And yet he hoped for some miracle, he wanted to turn back time.
She had had it right back then. He should have taken a chance, should have followed her example.
Because in the end it all came down to two simple facts:
Hermione Granger had died without any regrets.
He would have to live with regrets for the rest of his life.