He felt so numb that day.

One Harry James Potter was sitting down with the snow outside their tent. Soon, Spring will come, the snow left from the months of winter will fade soon as the sun will start shining, it's heat melting the cold of the next days to bloom a much softer hue, with the warm sun joining itself with the cold air. Soon, everything that withered will once again reawaken, to recreate what was once lost to give birth to something anew, like how the last days of December were the last holidays before the New Year will start to come with the promise of something that was never before here. Something unique to find after figuring the one from before. If only he felt the same.

He will and will always be stuck with this plague that always haunt him as each passing day become less and less bearable. He liked winter only because the cold is the exact same replica of his cold heart, and it was not pleasant to see the snow because he could feel himself being buried by it, his full being trying to sense any sort of snowstorm coming, and it will only take a few more before it comes to squash him and take over him. Soon, he will also hate the spring because it'll be a reminder of what he needs to bring back. The light and happiness that radiates around the air after the storm, after the darkness of the year, in the hope of a promise that everything will be better than what was being left behind by the last year. A fate of a nation, of a world, resting upon his shoulder, that he only wish was gone already. It's starting to take over his very being, and it won't be long before he has no more control.

As if this thoughts were being read by the person beside him, he heard her call his name.

"Harry,..." her soft voice said through the thickness of the air. Her whisper was with the air, but in contrast as her message behind the way she said the name was warm with kindness, with passion. With a promise.

He groaned at that. If only he could give the same. If only he felt the same emotion as his; have the same faith to himself that, yeah, everything was going to be fine, that everything will be fixed by him. No - by them. By them. She's here because she wanted to. She is here because she knew how help to him. She's here because she never leaves someone important. She is here because he's her best friend.

Best friend.

That left some sort of ache that he couldn't understand, because it was...different now.

She tried again, only with more sharpness - with a more firm reason. He looked up to her soft eyes, boring inside of him, and he felt warmth wrap inside him as he saw her desire to give him comfort; to give him strength; to give him assurance that she's still there, that he does not have to give a shadow of a doubt, because she's still there, believing in his capability. Believing in his worth, more than just the useless name of 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' or 'The Chosen Once', because Harry Potter is just as worthy.

"I wish we could just stay here, Harry,"

She said, looking around the trees of the winter forest.

"Grow old."

He could see that her smile didn't reach her eyes, and the suggestion of staying, of growing old, together, was half-heartedly stated, and it must be because of the thought of him denying. She can never blame him for it, though. It's been his nightmare for so long, a dread that is sitting on him everyday and could see it everyday in his eyes that only made her heart ache for him each and every day.

Not that he does not want it, but the thought never occurred to him, only because he knew of every consequence, every possible path he could take, and all leading to something dark, something that is so blurry he couldn't see, not because of the inability without his own glasses, but because even with it, the thought of it sounds impossible. He could never think of anything but ending Voldemort, and a part of him knew he might not survive after, even when Voldemort's already dead. Just some thought that occurred that he can never remove, but accepted as a new fact, even when it wasn't there yet, even when it was just a possibility.

He knew he drifted off after, but it was interpreted by one Hermione Jean Granger that he didn't want to, that it was impossible. That it was never happening. Her eyes landed on her book when he still remained quiet after, suddenly losing interest in her book - so unlike of her. She sighed, closing her book and standing to enter the tent.

His musings stopped as his visions saw her, leaving him alone. With a panicked jolt, he stumbled as he stood, the effects after the fight with Nagini still stinging in his being and fiber, but it didn't stop his resolve.

"Wait!" He said, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, effectively stopping her in his tracks. He nuzzled his head on the space between her neck and shoulder, holding onto her as tightly as he can. Hermione was so shocked, she dropped her book, forgotten. The feel of his arms around her was a feeling that she never thought will happen. To have him stop her with such ferocity was a rarity, if not possible. Harry himself was surprised by his sudden action, but he didn't relent a single second.

They both felt warmth in each other. They both felt some of the tension leave from them as they gave and took comfort together. They wanted the time to stop, for someone to do the duties of someone so young to someone much fitting to be the hero, because they all just want to go home, now with much more ferocity from the thought of them in each other's arms.

"I want to, Hermione," he said through the crook of her neck. "I want to, so badly, to just go somewhere and be…normal…even for just a day." She could hear the despair, the desperation in his voice, and she held her tighter as her own heart break for him. "But, I can't. I need to finish something once and for all. Even if it meant my death."

That shocked her to her very core, she turned to face him, wrapping her hands around her neck. "Don't you dare say that, Harry James Potter!" She exclaimed. "Don't you dare say it, or even think of such a foul thing!" She pulled away to look at his emerald green eyes, those wonderful, vibrant orbs that was starting to dull. Her gloved hands cupped his face, making sure he was staring right into her. "You will live, Harry, you need to. There's still so much more to come for you, so much things to see, to be wasted just from him."

"But, Hermione -"

"I know! It's dangerous, and it's unfair, but please...please, just...promise me." She could feel her tears forming around her eyes. Harry tensed - he was never good with crying women. He rubbed her arms in a slow, awkward way, trying to soothe her.

"Um, Hermione,-"

"No. Listen to me first." Her voice was slightly shivering, but she didn't mind it. "Don't you try throwing yourself to something that'll kill you unless it's the last resort. I swear if you do, I'll revive you and then kill you myself."

"Okay, okay," he hurried, hoping she'll stop crying, for her to stop the hurt that was looming on her. He suddenly wished he never said the possibility of death. "I won't. I promise." He tried to smile in a means of assurance.

Hermione visibly sighed a breath of relief. She started wiping the tears that fell, but Harry beat her to it. His own gloved hands touched her cheek, and even through the woolen garment, his skin was warm under it, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

They only now realized how close they were - but none tried to move away. They stared into the other's eyes, its rational side leaving for a temporary time as their hearts long for the other in a way that none knew was there. Without realizing, both were so near - so near, that it was infuriating because something deep inside them, a fire, was burning with so much anticipation, growing to fill their bodies, but their bodies never dared, stopping the inevitable to happen. Both were frozen on the spot, and the fire only ignited in a bigger flame.

Their lips barely touched when Hermione lost her trance. Instinctively, she pushed away with one thought.

Ron.

"I..." Harry, now seeing the panic in his best friend, panicked himself. "Hermione, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't, Harry." She said in a tone that was meant to be kind, to be forgiving, but it only came out as a snap, in a harsh, sharp tone and she groaned inwardly. Her mind was racing at how she let herself lose her control - and it just had to be the worst of times. She turned and hurried inside the tent, leaving Harry alone in his own oblivion.