Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize are property of JK Rowling.
A/N: I strongly suggest you listen to Enya's Watermark while reading this, if possible. It inspired this and is very fitting.
Pages, old and yellow, flutter under rough fingertips in an unseen breeze. The sea rolls with the wind, crashing against the cliff's face like the waves of pain crash against his heart. The rain begins to fall, mixing with the salty tears sliding down the worn cheeks.
How long has it been? It seems endless, as does the vast sea before him, ever reaching farther, but to what? What does the sea, his heart, reach for that it cannot obtain? The sea reaches for its union with the sky, such a distinct yet vague line on the horizon. His heart reaches for the union with its mate, a distinct line in times past but a vanished one in times present.
The intrusive raindrops slow, but the tears continue to fall, spotting the old and yellow pages. Callused fingertips trace lightly the scrawling lines scribbled hastily across the many pages in a careless way, careless, like how it used to be, like how it will never be again.
A sob escapes through dry lips, carried to lands distant and unknown by the frolicking breeze. Somber golden eyes, bright with tears, watch as a hand, his own, tosses the old and yellow pages into the breeze, watch as the carefree remembrance of yesterday disappears with the dawn winds, watch as the sheets twist and turn madly, caught in a whirlwind, yet strangely free.
The scrawling, scribbled lines become indistinct, like everything else in this seemingly straightforward world, distancing themselves on the air. The wind whips around his lean body, tugging at his clothes and hair, willing him to let himself go. The tears keep him grounded. The tears forever keep him from the freedom his soul so desperately longs for.
Another sob wracks his thin frame as the wind-chapped lips whisper the words they longed to utter once more, once more to the one who will never hear them. The words that, like the tears, keep the gate of freedom barred shut. The breeze carries the words away, away to a place where ears shall never again hear them. He, however, has heard them. He hears them when he wakes and when he sleeps. He will never stop hearing his voice utter the four simple words: Love you forever, Padfoot.
Always he waits for a reply, but none has ever come. Turning his back to the sea, this time he doesn't wait. He gives up on the answer and closes his ears and heart off the to soft whisper that, finally, but in actuality, always, answers him: Love you always, Moony.
A/N: Take this as you will: the strongest of brotherly bonds or true love.