Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.

Chapter Fifteen

October 11, 1996 — Present Time

There was someone standing in front of him with their back turned to him. Somehow, even without looking at their face, he could tell that the person was a she. She was 5'3" tall, wearing an old fashioned Hogwarts uniform and had long brown curls that tumbled down the middle of her back. Something inside of him tugged at the sight of her; her presence was like a siren's call that beckoned him closer. He took a silent step towards her, and as though she heard it, she suddenly twisted her torso and looked at him over her shoulder.

Something inside of him — something similar to a broken china plate — mended whole as he stared into her eyes. He didn't dare move, afraid that the slightest movement would rob himself of the chance to sink deeper into her eyes. Her eyes that were big and honey brown and filled with initial surprise that soon shifted into an expression that was close to tender and fondness. Her plump pink lips slowly curved into a smile, and there was something there that was synonymous to happiness. He moved another step closer and she fully faced him in response.

She looked somewhere between sixteen or seventeen but she was small and almost fragile looking. She wasn't what he would describe as classically beautiful. He could list girls on top of his head that were far more beautiful and prettier than her but for some unknown reason, he couldn't stop staring at her. He just couldn't.

He felt so warm, so content, so goddamn filled with happiness at seeing her that he never wanted to look at anything else ever again, not when she was there. Everything in the world seemed insignificant and pointless, not when she existed. There was a reason for living, for breathing, because she was there. She was there. In a world as dark as his, she was the singular light that brightened the darkest corners of his life and that— that made her beautiful in his eyes.

And she was his. He felt his mouth twitch. She was pure and beautiful and his.

"You're late," she suddenly said.

He blinked and tried not to shiver at the sound of her voice.

"I'm sorry," he felt himself answering her as he erased the distance between them with a few more steps until they were standing face to face. "Did you wait long?"

"What do you think?" She retorted and grasped his hand. Her hand was soft and small and so perfect as she interlocked their fingers together. "Come on. The carriages are leaving soon."

She began pulling him towards the open doors and there was a slightly noticeable limp on her step that made it all too easy to catch up to her. He felt himself frowning when he saw the freshly fallen snow beyond the doors and already felt the chilling wind brushing against his exposed skin. He looked at her and frowned some more when he saw that she wasn't wearing any scarf. She would shiver and catch a cold before they could arrive at their destination.

"How many times do I have tell you to wear your scarf especially at this type of weather?" He grumbled, tugging his hand from her grasp and then untangling the silver and gold scarf around his neck. "You'll get sick before we can make it to Hogsmeade."

"I casted a Warming charm," she told him, ducking when he tried to wrap the scarf around her neck. "What are you doing? You'll get sick!"

"I'll cast a Warming charm," he mocked her, smiling tightly as he held the scarf up. "Now, come here."

She didn't as much as budge. "It's really alright. I can take care of myself. You don't have to do that."

He sighed. "Stop being ridiculous. We're not leaving until you wear this bloody scarf on. I absolutely refuse to let you get sick."

"But I won't though," she said adamantly. "I have a wand and a handy charm—"

"That you have to recast every 3 minutes, maybe 2 in this weather," he pointed out as he took the matters into his own hands and wrapped the scarf around her neck before she could even make a move.

She eyed the gold and silver scarf as though it was offending her. "But you'll get sick in my place," she weakly protested.

He almost rolled his eyes. They both knew that he rarely, if not never, got himself sick.

He made sure to tighten the scarf around her neck, careful that the soft material wasn't choking her, before he remarked, "Better me than you." Then he looked up into her brilliant honey brown eyes and smirked wickedly. "If I do get sick, you'll be responsible for me, of course. After all, it's your fault for not wearing a scarf in the first place."

Instead of protesting, she smiled at him, resigned to her fate and to the scarf that wasn't hers. "We take care of each other," she said as she pressed a hand against his chest where his heart laid beating.

He looked at her, at her sweet smile, at her sparkling eyes, at her red nose, and then let himself smile back just because it would be a travesty not to. "Yes, we do," he agreed quietly and there was a beat of silence before he added, "But next time wear a bloody scarf. I'm not going to catch hypothermia for you."

She bursted out laughing.

And somewhere in the future, Harry Potter gasped as he woke up from his dream.