They are seventeen and they are in love.
They are seventeen and they've waited far too long to get to where they are now. They are seventeen, and their lives together could start today. If they wanted.
They are seventeen and their lives are lived in hiding. Hiding inside brick stacked upon brick during the harsh, screaming winter months. Hiding during the days when it seems like safety paints the trees and air, swirling her long red hair around her shoulders invitingly. Hiding inside of textbooks with worn pages. Hiding from the horrors they are told about, the ones they are not. Hiding from the horror who creeps alone at night.
And, increasingly, during the day.
They all hide. And they all are ashamed.
She lays on her stomach upon her bed, and he sits on the ground, his back resting against the side, thinking, fiddling with his wand. She is reading, her hands supporting her chin.
"We have forever, you know," he tells her suddenly, turning to face her. He props himself on his knees and takes her face in his hands, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. He discards her book easily.
She giggles.
"You and I," he continues seriously, kissing her brow, "have forever."
The laughter dies in her throat. Dies. Dies. "James—"
"I'm serious," he says. She believes him, only…
"We could die tomorrow," she reminds him gently. "Nobody is safe."
"Correct," he agrees easily. "I could die by eating one of those funny looking mushrooms in Greenhouse Three—you know, the one that Sprout always says is 'more than just a trip to the hospital wing'?"—her lip quirks up at this—"and you," he continues, kissing her again, "could die because of a rogue bludger during the Hufflepuff match tomorrow afternoon."
She pulls away. "You know that's not what I mean."
"There's a chance that we die every day, Lil."
"Cheerful you are tonight, eh?"
"I'm just saying that we have forever together. Whether we both die tomorrow by a freak accident, or in three years when You-Know-Who knocks on our front door." He grabs her hand, intertwining them together, pressing his palm tightly against hers. "My point is that my soul was meant for yours, and yours mine. If we die, we'll find each other again. We'll be together always."
"My, you're a confident one," she grins lopsidedly, giving his hand a quick squeeze.
"I'm confident about us," he says seriously, tucking her hair behind her ear with his free hand. Suddenly she feels like she's said all the wrong things at all the wrong times, guilt settling into her belly.
"Most seventeen year olds don't think like that, James," she says finally, looking down at their intertwined hands.
"Maybe," he says with a small laugh bubbling against his lips. "But I suppose we're not like most seventeen year olds, now, are we?"
She laughs in surprise, tugging on his arm. Suddenly he is next to her, and her arms are around him, and she doesn't want to ever ever let go.
"We have forever together," she whispers against his skin, her voice loud in the silence. She feels like she's screaming, her throat raw. She is raw. Raw in front of him, the boy she loves. Raw with emotion and feeling and desire to not mess up what they have. To not mess up what they have crafted with their hands and beliefs and thoughts and words.
They are seventeen and they are in love.
She listens to his heart, the bu-bum bu-bum that sounds like, to her ears, in-love in-love , and she succumbs to him completely, visions of their future together playing across her eyelids as if she was a young girl watching the telly, invincible to the horrors of the world.
R&R.