This was a response fic to a Portkey challenge hosted by the inimitable Hopeless Romantic. The challenge: True love as being selfless. Thx for the feedback/encouragement HR.
Forgotten Lights
Three years ago today would be the last time I slept next to him. The last of many times. During the war I stayed on his couch, ready to wake him if the nightmares became too much. I spent the better part of a year watching him sleep, memorizing the way his face looked in the firelight, the moonlight, and the sunlight.
I remember the way he looked when he first woke up. Well, strike that. He didn't have just one "look." There were many different expressions, each with their own cause and complaint. One for chilly mornings. One for sweet dreams. One for when he was just glad to get through the night. I couldn't count them all. There was this one though, that I saw more than most. I couldn't place it, try as I might, and it took me months to figure it out. And one day I realized it wasn't his look, it was mine. The one he got when I was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.
I loved him for that. Ha. Who am I kidding? I loved everything about him. Note how I use the word 'loved,' past tense. I never think about 'us' and 'love' in terms of the present or the future. I used to though, every day, but not any more.
So, yeah, I ran from him. I ran away as fast and as far as I could. I'd go farther, but I like speaking English. Not I get much of it in Ireland. Here, I'm the quiet Englishwoman with the rosebushes that bloom the year round. Matterly is a nice town though. I have my own little picturesque cottage, complete with clinging vines and a vegetable garden. Yes, I'm now an expatriate with a marrow fetish. Laugh if you dare.
I'm happy though. Not happy-happy, but, definitely not unhappy. That's all I can hope for really. Mostly because I can't mourn for him properly, what with his not being dead. Well, not really. The part that was mine, the part of him that belonged to me, is gone. Long gone. I understand that now, and I accept it. Maybe that's what I should be mourning: my moving on. On to a much less grand, but no less important, chapter in my life. The one without Harry.