It's been a very long time. But this idea came to me today. Many of my other stories are not finished and I cannot guarantee they will be. Fanfiction was something I started way back in high school (you can probably see how long I've been posting on here, shows my age), and there are occasions when stories come to mind. This particular story was inspired by both book and movie events. I'm not sure how I feel about the ending. It feels a bit rushed ,but my cat Crookshanks is in need of attention, so this may appear rushed. I hope you enjoy.
It's somewhere between Fall and Winter. The tent is warmed by spells and blue fires in jars. Whether it's the locket or the recent events of heartbreak, there's a sadness that has permeated their hideout. He wonders if that is what is keeping him from telling her. She stayed. Without a second thought. Until this moment, his ears only focused on the sounds of sniffles and knees rocking back and forth, a comfort from infancy, he had been taking her loyalty for granted. They all had. But loyalty wouldn't be the right word. He wasn't a king or head of a government. It was something stronger. Built on years of wordless communication and trust. Their relationship had never been defined, or needed to be. Titles changed things, created complications that wound't have existed without them. He was born with a title. And there are moments when he finds himself missing the moments when he existed and there were no expectations. But then, he thinks of letters, bewitched ceilings, adventure, and he can't let himself go back. She's moved from the bed. Sitting now outside the tent, her shadow outlined by the remaining light. The locket splayed out on the small table, alone in its weight. He considers picking it up, wearing it. If only for the fear that it might disappear. But, the desire for a moment of peace wins out.
She's staring ahead, wand between her fingers, tracing the vines like a map. Tears have stopped, but the stains are still visible on her cheeks. Yet somehow, even in her own heartache, he can still find that determination in her eyes. It's what gives him more reason to say it.
"Thank you." His eyes stay on her, because he wants her to believe it.
Lost in her own thoughts, she keeps straight ahead. So he says it again.
"Thank you Hermione." She moves this time. Questioning in her eyes.
"You deserve to hear that. And I'm sorry I haven't said it sooner. It's just...You stayed. You are the only one who stayed, and that...thank you."
He moves back into the tent before she can respond. It may not be want he intended to say, but he hopes it lifted her a bit.
Someday she'll hear the rest.
Dying seems so far away. With grey hair and smile lines. Not at seventeen when the chapters of your story are just starting to write themselves. But maybe his was supposed to end like this. Because if everyone else is okay, and gets to breath in summer air and still look at the stars with wonder, how can he deny them that?
It's a fact he keeps in the back of his throat, and it helps him lie to the people he loves most. She knows of course. In the way she says, "I'll go with you." Because she stayed. And the people that stay, always follow. But this isn't her fight. So he lets her hold him, his neck now stained like her cheeks. He thinks about what he never told her, and the letter buried in his pocket. Written inside a tent in the middle of a forest. If this is where his story ends, she should know. He doesn't want to fall apart. So instead, he whispers in her ear. "Thank you."
He leaves them both there. On the stone steps of his home. Hoping they get to see the stars.
The Resurrection stone disappears into the forest floor. He thinks of his mother's words. Until the very end.
He steps out into the clearing.
The air still smells the same. Even in the wake of war, Gryffindor tower does not fail to bring that familiar comfort. His bed is still unmade, maroon and white tangled in knots. The same window seat still provides the best view from the castle. He's grateful for the place that gave him rest. Maybe that's why he retreated here, away from the remnants of war. Death and tearless sorrow.
Sounds of footsteps reverberate off the castle walls, instinct tells him to have his wand ready. But before he can move, the door opens and it's her.
"I'd hoped I would find you here."
He moves over to let her share in the comfort.
"Where's Ron?"
"Oh, he's with his family. Mrs. Weasley is trying to put together something to eat. In times of sorrow, she's still making sure everyone is fed properly."
That was is favorite thing about Mrs. Weasley, there was never not enough love to go around.
"You should go back down, get something to eat. I'll be fine."
"I'm okay really. Plus sleep sounds far more appealing. Maybe my old bed is still free."
As she moves from the window he takes her hand.
"Stay."
" I guess you might not want to sleep alone, you've been through so much. I'm sure Seamus wouldn't mind if I took his bed."
"No, stay with me. We can share my bed. If you think it's too small, use that spell you used on the bunks in the tent."
"Of course. Maybe it will help us both sleep."
The moonlight casts a glow over them both as they lay on the bed of his youth. For the first time he feels like you're supposed to at seventeen. Nervous and content all at the same time.
"Hey, Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Thank you."
She lays her head on his chest after that.
The people who love you most stay.