Grow Old


"Harry,"

No matter how many times she says his name, she always says it the same; Consistency and comfort in a single syllable.

"Harry!"

"Do you remember the forest?"

"The trees, the river, everything…

He could never forget. Sometimes, in the middle of winter, he'll forget to wear his coat on purpose, just to feel the chill. But it never bites the same as when he was seventeen.

…of course, everything's changed."

It doesn't feel right to speak, so he nods and silence falls between them.

"It's strange, being here now – with everything done… Maybe we had it easier then."

And she's right, because Hermione is always right. It was easier years ago, when it was just the two of them. When they only had each other to count on, but knew without a solitary doubt that they could – No matter what. Even years later, quiet winter nights in a tent with each other were more appealing than hot summer nights in a noisy pub with all the people that lived and felt they shouldn't have. Nights when the pressure of "what now?" felt far heavier than those of "I'll keep watch.".

Maybe we could stay here, Harry.

He guesses that they both grew up, but just not in the right place.

Grow old.


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