Warnings: None.
Four
Wistful
Long fingers trailed across the beaming faces, caressing the cool glass separating his world from theirs. The man—who looked so much like him—held the woman—whose hair was red as fire and eyes were as green as freshly cut grass—like she was the most precious thing in the world. They were held in a tiny frame, a perfect little snapshot of a happier time.
Harry bit his lip. He wanted that. He wanted someone to love him with such fierce abandon that they would give their very lives for him, and he wanted to be able to love them back with just as much, if not more, intensity. He wanted someone real, someone tangible—oh, how he wanted that, needed that.
Giving one last caress to the smiling faces of his late parents, Harry turned away to gaze at his two best friends from the back of the assembly, one dressed in white, the other in black, and their hands joined. Their love for one another was palpable.
Do you, Ronald Weasley, take Hermione Granger to be your partner in all things, to love and trust, care for and cherish?
I do.
And do you, Hermione Granger, take Ronald Weasley to be your partner in all things, to love and trust, care for and cherish?
I do.
Harry looked away, a single tear falling from his eyes, and stowed the picture frame back into his pocket. He would never have that.
Words: 244
