Catching the Moon
He knew it was her as he crested the hill, just from the way she was sitting. No one else would have sat out here beneath an unusually chilly August sky, gazing up at the stars and wearing just their thin robes. No one else would have been sitting, perfectly serenely, cross-legged beneath that tree as the cold seeped into their bones, and not so much as shivering.
She hadn't seen him yet – if she had she made no sign – and so he remained in the shadows and satisfied himself with simply watching her. The red-gold of her hair, always long, seemed brighter in the half-light as it lay silky-smooth against the flat expanse of her back. She sat perfectly erect, her small hands in her lap, and though he stood behind her he knew her eyes would be closed.
As silently as he could, he settled himself gently next to her, so close he could see the goose bumps that freckled her arms. A faint wind had begun to blow, gently, bringing with it an odd, fresh, scent that danced through him pleasantly without leaving any trace by which he could identify it.
"You shouldn't be out here. It's too cold." He jumped, startled, as she spoke without opening her eyes. He hadn't realised she was aware of his presence.
"Well, nor should you."
She turned now and looked at him properly, her skin glowing almost ethereally in the moonlight. "I knew it was you," she smiled, displaying small, even teeth.
"How? You had your eyes closed."
"Doesn't mean I couldn't tell it was you. You're the only one who'd come out here and not say anything."
He shrugged. "Fair enough. Why're you out here anyway?"
She returned her gaze to the horizon that lay across from the hill, a huge expanse of inky black speckled with the lights of a thousand homes that perfectly reflected the sequinned dark of the sky above them. For long moments she said nothing, until he began to feel worried that he'd somehow offended her.
"I come here to think," she said, holding her gaze outwards. He opened his mouth to ask her what she thought about but she seemed to pre-empt his words and continued to speak. "About my family…what'll happen now, you know?"
Her words caused an odd stirring in the pit of his stomach; it was as though an angry creature had sprung to life within him and begun to claw viciously at his insides. And all too quickly he heard her voice catch and the smooth calm with which she spoke suddenly snagged on her sorrow; her eyes filled with tears that spilled over and coursed down her cheeks, and without thinking he put his arms around her and pulled her close to him whilst she cried as though her heart would break, until he felt as though he was all that held her together tonight, until he was afraid to relinquish his hold on her lest she crumble into a thousand tiny irreparable pieces.
Soon her sobs ebbed away until they were little more than little hiccoughs, and still she clung to him, whispering over and over in a small voice, "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to do that…I'm really sorry…"
"Shh," he soothed, and stroked her hair. His fingers found her face and her skin was like ice beneath them as he gently wiped her tears away. "I'm sorry too…I wish I'd done more."
She made a noise like an angry cat and sat up suddenly, wiping her face roughly and tucking her hair behind her ears, as if tidying her outward appearance would solve everything else. "You've already done more than enough. Stop blaming yourself for everyone who couldn't be saved."
He nodded in silence. "I'm still sorry," he said quietly, and her features softened a little.
"I know. I just miss him, that's all. It's just hard sometimes."
She returned to her position, leaning against the rough bark of the tree and hugging her knees with his arm around her, so that his fingers lightly traced the material at her hip, and they remained like that for long moments. He felt he could have stayed there forever, simply feeling her skin against his, and he closed his eyes as she had done before and allowed time to slip around him as freely as it wished. He barely noticed when she began to speak again.
"I'm sorry about us, too," she whispered, and when he said nothing but remained still, his eyes closed, she turned her head slowly, carefully, and he felt the brush of her lips against the skin on his throat, and tried to conceal the way his pulse fluttered there as he had received her kiss. She moved now and he felt her lips at his jaw, gently, softly, and he fought to remain still, not to respond. When she came to kiss the left corner of his mouth, as lightly as a butterfly, he moved at last, offering his own lips instead, and if comets had rained down from the night sky, if the oceans had receded and engulfed the world, if the lands had frozen and all life on earth perished from cold, in that moment he would not have cared. If the world had ended there and then he would have welcomed it, because what other opportunity, what other experience, would he have been missing if he died now? She was his world now; he needed no other.
When finally she pulled away from him, he smiled gently at her, and asked, "Are you still sorry?"
She laughed breathlessly, and the light of the moon was in her smile and her eyes. "Not anymore," she said, and then she was kissing him once more and he forgot everything but the flowery smell of her hair and the dappled smoothness of her skin.
It was several hours later, therefore, that he crept back into the darkness of his room, having kissed her goodnight several times before she had finally disappeared into her own room. The only other occupant lay sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly, the hue of his hair subdued somehow in the half-light, and as Harry slid carefully under his own sheets, he made an odd noise halfway between a cough and a snore and sat up suddenly. Squinting through the darkness, he finally discerned his friend in a haze of sleep, and yawned loudly.
"Where've you been?"
Harry tried to suppress his grin before he answered, wondering whether or not he should tell Ron the truth just yet. But then he thought of the way her smile had shone in the darkness and warmed his heart, and smiled more broadly than ever. Abandoning all hope of acting naturally, he turned to face his friend, and the words slipped into his mind as easily as if they had always been there, and perhaps they had.
"Catching the moon," he said, a perfectly reasonable explanation for his activities, and when he rolled over and slept, he dreamt of the night sky and all the light of the stars that made up her smile.
A/N This was one of those "I've-just-been-inspired-by-a-really-tiny-stupid-thing-and have-to write-something-quick-before-the-inspiration-flies-off-and-leaves-me-forever" kind of one-shots, in this case inspired by the line "I can catch the moon in my hands" (extra Brownie points to anyone who guesses what it's from), so apologies that its not up to my usual standards as I really had to work quickly with this one. It started off being Lily/James getting together, then ended up being Harry/Ginny, which is why it's rather general till the last paragraph, and its set post-DH. Anyway, I hope whoever reads this enjoys it.