We take our miracles where we find them. We reach across the gap and sometimes, against all odds, against all logic … we touch. [[Grey's Anatomy
.x. Touch .x.
They're sitting with their backs against the edge of her bed, bottles of butterbeer in their hands. The war is over, and she's a teenager again. And he…he's the teenager he never had the chance to be.
"It's over." She takes a swig and grins, glad to hear the words. She thinks that she could hear them a million times and still smile at the sound.
"It's over." But he doesn't smile like she does. Instead, he sees faces and thinks of names that he can't picture; names he never met. "I miss them." He looks at her, and she glances back at him, the smile gone. She swallows and nods.
"Me too."
"Sirius, Remus, Tonks… Fred." Her face turns ashy and she glances at the carpet. "You don't want to talk about it."
"I don't want to talk about it." He nods. "Does your scar hurt you anymore?"
"No. I can't feel it anymore."
They pause awkwardly, unsure of what to say. The last time they were alone together, she had kissed him in this very room, but she wasn't sure that was appropriate now.
"I…"
"I didn't meet any Veela."
She cocks an eyebrow in his direction. "What?"
"A year ago, you said that you wanted to give me something to remember you by. In – in case I met a Veela, or something of the like."
"Oh. Right."
"So…?"
"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course."
He smiles and leans toward her, his hand on the back of her head.
"I'd rather kiss you than a Veela, anyways. Quite nasty when you get them ticked."
"Bollocks, Harry," she laughed, and with that he kissed her.
The end of the war never felt so real as it did when he touched her again.
