A/N: This ficlet is based around verses from the book of the Bible entitled Song of Solomon or Song of Songs depending on your version. Any comments or reviews are always greatly appreciated :)
And she'd found me. She had called out to me… searching for me… It took me a while to answer her, but I did. I let her find me. I hadn't let anyone find me before. It was thrilling, and terrifying, and numbing at the same time. I let her see parts of me that I didn't even know existed until I showed them to her.
She didn't falter. It wasn't all sunlight that I showed her. No… there were some shadows. There were shadows in my soul that I thought only I had to deal with, or that only I could possibly understand. But she understood. Or… at least she said she did. Who knows if she did or not, but it always sounded pretty and comforting when she'd say that.
Truthfully, everything sounds pretty said in her voice.
Everything… because she loves me.
It's so smooth. Just like when we were younger. You were always beautiful, you know that? Even when we were young - you were beautiful in that… cuddly child way. You were cute. Your whole bloody family was cute… how could you be anything less?
And then you grew up. I… I didn't even notice until one day I was walking past your dormitory and you were brushing your hair. I know you didn't see me… you could've have. But I could see your face in your mirror, and your figure reflected, and your hair falling against your shoulders. You weren't a child anymore. It should've have been that much of a shock to me, and I'm embarrassed to say that it was. My friends laughed at me when I mentioned it in passing. 'Yeah… who would've ever considered that someone could grow up in six years? Why, it's utterly preposterous!' they mocked me with that, or some other equally sarcastic phrase.
I tried before. Wedding vows. But they came out sounding more like Quidditch commentary than a profession of undying love. Quaffles and bludgers and Lord knows what else. I never told you this… but your sister-in-law wrote the vows. It's true! She was always good with words. And I got so frustrated and confused with getting what I wanted to write from my head to my quill that one night in your brother's kitchen, she snatched the parchment right from under my quill, wrote furiously for five, maybe six minutes and slid the finished vows back across the table. I don't think I ever thanked her enough for that. I hope you don't hold that against me… it did turn out for the best.
A second gray-haired man, the one referred to as Harry, sat upon the soft ground… his gaze traveling over the spring blossoms. "Yes, Ron?"
"You're going to soil your knickers just sitting on the ground like that," Ron replied, aiming for levity.
"At least I can blame mine on the dirty ground," Harry replied. "What will be your excuse?"
Ron laughed. "Point taken." His expression sobered quickly. "She loved that about you, you know. That you'd finally lightened up. After… you know. The incident."
"It was a war, Ron." Harry grinned slightly. "A bloody war. And after 60 years you're still calling it an incident?"
Ron shrugged. "I prefer to call it that because I don't like thinking about it, that's all. Plain and simple."
Harry laughed, rising up from the ground and dusting himself off. "I guess you're right," he said. "How long has it been?"
"About five years," Ron replied. "Seems like just a drop in a great river of time at this age, doesn't it?" Harry nodded, slipping an arm around his friend's shoulders. "She loved you," Ron continued. "She never stopped talking about you. After a couple of decades you would think that she could find a new topic to discuss."
"She loved us both," Harry corrected.
"I'm blood, but you're her heart, Harry," Ron stated simply.
"I know."
Without another word, the beloved drew a single white rose from his pocket and laid it against the only stone marker - for there were many marks in many hearts that she had made, many of love and kindness, good thoughts and memories… but only one of immovable and impenetrable stone - that signaled where his love lay without waking. The beloved insisted that it not be inscribed with a trite saying or a sappy quip. Instead, the beloved chose a verse to be the final words to his love…