AN: Hiya Folks! I'm back! ^.^ (If you want the reason as to why I was gone for so long, check out my author's page.) Anywho, I hope you might like this little oneshot I put together under two hours (I should be sleeping right now, school and all that tomorrow, but oh well, when you're muse attacks, one can't resist... *shrugs*)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Believe me, if I did, the books would be very different... ^.^'
His emerald eyes stared at her while she was sleeping, a common feat nowadays. Frankly, as long as she was within his sight he was content, happy, even. Too many times she had slipped away from him, and every time she had, she got hurt.
In their first year, she nearly got killed by a troll, all because of something the redheaded menace had said, and his cowardice of not standing up for her, like he should have.
Second year she got petrified by that bloody basilisk, because he was to busy to go to the library with her. Once again letting her out of his sight.
Third year he got better at watching her, making sure she was alright. At the time he had thought himself doing a good job. However, looking back now he realizes what an idiot he was. How many times had she really used that time turner? How many times could she have been hurt simply because he didn't realize that she wasn't where he thought she was? Sighing slightly, he simply thanked merlin that nothing too serious had happened that year.
Fourth year he had been nearly too busy to keep track of her. Too self absorbed in his pity party over the fact that once again someone was trying to kill him. He should have been used to it by then. But no, instead of making sure that she was coping ok, he simply snapped at everyone, probably making her feel worse. And even worse, as a result of his clueless nature she got swept away by that blasted Bulgarian seeker. It wasn't only Ron who was pissed of that night. He was simply better mannered.
Then, again! He was bested by Krum during the second task, because the sight of her under water made him feel paralyzed. Because of that eye opener, he realized that while he was crying over Diggory's body, it wasn't because of the hufflepuff's death, it was because he was so relieved that it wasn't her that had gotten killed this year.
His depressing thoughts where disturbed by her deep sigh. Tensing, he waits to see if she'll wake up. After a few seconds though, she simply shifts her position a bit, and resettles. He takes another chance to study her features. Features he had long since memorized, but couldn't seem to get enough of.
Her chocolate brown hair lay like a wild halo around her head, bushiness long gone, only silky curls remained that he longed to touch, but never dared.
Her face was the definition of perfection to him. That face that belonged to the only person who had always stood steadfastly with him, even if it meant them against the world. To him, it was the face of an angel sent from heaven. His angel. His guardian angel.
Another sigh passes through her pale lips, lips that taunt him with something he can never have. Her long eyelashes flutter against her high cheek bones, a quick glance of brown showing her eye color. Eyes that once had sparkled with life and knowledge, but now shined dully, if they even deigned to open. Another fault of his inability to keep her out of harms danger, no matter how hard he tried.
He slowly rolled the rock between his fingers, making sure he never lost contact with it, another habit he has formed lately.
His thoughts slowly drifted back towards their fifth year, as he watched her still body. Fifth year, he remembered, found them taking on the horrid toad-like lady Umbridge, with her brilliant plans of evasion and subterfuge. It was that year that he truly for the first time saw what a gem he had by his side, his angel, who had been with him through everything. That was why he felt betrayed when she didn't want to help him rescue his godfather. Oh, if he only had listened... He never told her how much he loved her, needed her. He sighed, if only he still had a time-turner, everything would be different. First of all, the white sheets around her body wouldn't be there, and the general whiteness of the room wouldn't make her look like deaths lover. However he would take what he could get. After all, there was nothing wrong with that? He had destroyed there precious dark lord, so he should be given some leeway.
Ah yes, the dark lord.
He doesn't remember much of his sixth or seventh years, only that they where depressing, and more lonely then they should have been. He vaguely remembers the horcrux hunt, but mostly he only remembered the story of the three brother's, and that of the deathly hallows. Ironically enough, it was the prospect of finding the deathly hallows that brought him back to life, more specifically, that of the story of the second brother, and his wondrous little rock, the very one that he was now fiddling with in his hands.
He comes back to reality when he see's that she's starting to wake up. Slowly, more slowly then usual, her eyelids open up, showing brown pools of darkness, showing no signs of life, yet staring at him unblinkingly. He feels ecstatic. He has so much to tell her. Maybe if she wouldn't sleep so much and act like she did in the beginning then maybe he'd have time to. But no matter. She's here with him now, and he is blissfully content.
"Oh, Harry..." she whispers, more like a sigh then anything else. Her voice is music to his ears.
She looks at him sadly, seeing the rock that he's fiddling with out of the corner of her eye. It's not healthy for him to continue with this, and she feels so tired. She doesn't belong here, and neither does he.
He starts talking nonsense, like he always does when she finally awakes. She can no longer find the strength to even try to pretend to listen, and he quickly starts to notice.
His talking soon turns into ranting, his ranting over going into screaming. He starts pacing the room, a wild look in his eye while he screams nonsense into the air, spittle flying everywhere.
She simply cannot find the will to care.
Soon enough an alarm is raised. Men in white coats rush into the room to try and subdue the crazy man. It takes several men to to hold him down long enough for another to inject a calming drug into his system. Slowly the man starts to relax, and they put him back onto his bed.
Right before he succumbs to the darkness, a ragged, anguished "Hermione..." escapes his throat.
Sad brown eyes watch the scene that goes on before them. A small gray rock fell from one of Harry's hands and under the bed, noticed only by the sad brown eyes that slowly disappeared.
Harry Potter had long since beome a myth in the wizarding world. No one knew what had beome of him after the war. It was rumoured that he finally went crazy because of the war, and was hiding away where not one soul could find him. Others say that he had infact gone insane long before the war had ended, and that it wasn't the deaths of several hundreds of strangers that tipped him over the edge, but the death of his best friend, the greatest witch of her time, Hermione Granger, in their fifth year. How she died the public never found out, only the elusive Order of the Pheonix knew the exact details.
It was that same secretive group that after the war spirited away the boy-who-lived to merlin knows where. A select few know that one Harry J. Potter was emitted to St. Mungo's AMU Ward, the asylum for mentally unstable, where he resides up until this very day, blankly staring out of his window, never moving, with a look of loss on his face, and no stone to hold on to.
Several years later, it is said that if one passes by the room that still belonges to the boy-who-lived, one might occasionally catch a glance of sad brown eyes. And if one happens to listen more closely then usual, one might hear on the wind the words of a girl long past, still waiting for her love.
"Oh, Harry..."