A note from the author who always gives notes from the author: Hello there. This is me. Just wondering what you all think about this . . . should I make it into a long or keep it a short story?
Please R&R.
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Harry Potter or any characters, places, or objects from Harry Potter. If I did, I would be J.K. Rowling, and I would have better things to do than write fanfiction about my own book . . . like, say, writing the seventh book for instance?
The electricity between them was so intense, she could barely stand it. But she loved it as well. Almost more than she loved him.
He felt the spark as well. He cupped her shining face in his hand, to give it one last kiss.
She leaned into him with the force of the kiss. It was something she would never forget, should never forget, could never forget.
He could feel her soft eyelashes brush his cheek. They and everything about her were gentle. He knew that this was the girl he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.
And then he remembered.
He pulled away sharply from her grasp. She fell immediately to the ground with nothing supporting her now. "What's wrong?" she asked faintly. She felt just a little dizzy by the fall. She hadn't realized how much she had depended on him. And she knew that she did depend on him, so much that she didn't know how she could live without him. But this was not the time for falling. Definitely not.
He held out a hand, which she gratefully grasped.
"You know very well what's wrong." He stared her squarely in the eye, now that they were at the same level. "Everything." She broke his contact and stared down at her feet.
"Why does it matter?"
"Come off it. How do you expect to hide it from them? What if I can't stay here much longer? You know what has to happen as well as I do." She raised her face again, and he was surprised to see tears running down it.
"But . . . but . . . y-you mean s-so m-much to me . . . a-and I j-just feel so em-empty when you're n-not w-with me!" He softened.
"It's the same with me. And you know that falling in love is not as easy for me."
"B-but . . . there's more." His ears pricked up. What hadn't she told him? What was the reason other than great, powerful love that she wanted to be with him forever. " . . . so no matter what, they'll find out something" She had stopped crying.
"What else is there? You know that, given the choice, I would choose you over even my own death. And this is me. But I want what's best for you. So why do you still cling to me?" She brushed a long, curly lock of hair out of her now red, puffy eyes. He wanted to kiss her now more than ever, but it didn't seem the right time.
"I . . . I . . . well . . . I'm . . ." she took an incredibly long time trying to choose her words. She didn't want to shock him too much. But before she could stop herself, she had blurted, "I'm pregnant."
His jaw dropped so far that he thought it might hit the grassy, muddy ground. How could he leave her now? It was all for the best, he decided. She deserved a good life, a happy one, one that would never be possible for her.
But it would at least be a little better for her if they parted ways, he knew.
But he also knew he was going to be a father. He did not want to wrench himself from his child's life forever, but he had to. His love and his child deserved so much better than that.
He hated himself. He hated how he'd ruined so many innocent people's lives. He hated how he had misjudged so many people. He hated how he had even misjudged the pretty young woman standing before him. He couldn't help but wonder: if he had taken a different path, would it have been different? Would they have been able to remain together, a part of each others' lives, linked in matrimony. But, then again, perhaps he would be too old for his love. Perhaps he wouldn't have been able to make himself young again.
It's a common game that we all ask ourselves: what if things had been different?
He hated himself and his life, and to live forever, he now realized, would be horrid.
Especially without her.
"I'm so, so sorry. You must know how much I would love to raise our child, marry you, have a happy, normal life. But I screwed up. And it's so much safer for you to stay away from me."
He gently pressed his lips against hers. He could barely see her face, as the moon and stars were covered and clouded up. But he still knew how beautiful she was. He would always know. It was one of the many reasons that he couldn't bear leaving her. That added to her brilliance, wittyness, cleverness, friendliness, gentleness, fiery personality, bravery, and, now, her child.
"But . . . maybe things could still change . . ." she tried weakly.
"No. It's too late now, Hermione. I am not even a real person. I am just the memory of Tom Riddle. It is my destiny to either kill or be killed by Harry Potter, one of your best friends. Imagine how upset he would be if he knew you'd fallen in love with his nemesis! And Ronald Weasley, too. You're engaged to him. How will he feel? No, my dearest, truest, not to mention only love. We can no longer see each other. I just hope that your fiancé can find it in his heart to forgive you when you break the news that should be so great for me, but would be a nasty shock for him and tears me apart, so that you and your child can live . . . at least a happier life than this one." With that, Tom brushed his soft, thin lips against hers one last time and disappeared into the foggy, dark, mysterious stillness of the night, until all that she could see left of him was a shadow.