And he gave her flowers in a lightning storm,
They disappeared at night in green fields of silver corn.
That summer was glorious. We crawled all over Edinburgh, haunted the museums and castles, played in the parks, watched the sun set over the Firth of Forth. I treasured every moment, pouring each into a Perseive as insurance against the fall.
One night close to Midsummer, as I lay in my bed, restless from some unknown anxiety, I heard a soft knock at the door. I slipped out of bed, moving quietly to not wake Hermione, and opened the door a few inches. A bright green eye winked at me.
"Harry? Are you okay? What's wrong?" He didn't look hurt or sick. I wondered if Ron was ill.
"Nothing's wrong. Go put on some clothes and let's go for a walk." He grinned at me. I checked my watch.
"Harry, it's four o'clock."
"Are you doing something else? I just thought, see, I was awake, and I kind of thought you were too, and I thought you might like company, but I didn't want to wake up Ron or Hermione. So I thought we'd go for a walk."
"I'll get my shoes." I slid into a knit skirt and long-sleeved top, shoved my feet into a pair of comfortable shoes, and woke Hermione up. "'Mione, I'm going out for a walk. I'll leave a note for Gram, but I didn't want you to worry." She nodded sleepily and promptly went back to sleep.
Harry twined his fingers in mine as we slipped out of the house. The moon hung, swollen and creamy above the Leith, a soft breeze brushing through our hair. We walked across the bridge to the city, down the High Street to Holyroodhouse and up again into Holyrood Park. Harry slipped his arm around my waist as the hill grew steeper. We struggled up the steep slope through the sparse tree line and out into the brilliant white moonlit meadows.
Harry drank in the city spread out below us like a chalk drawing, the Firth a shimmering ribbon in the distance, the remains of the Great Forest silent woody sentinels in the night. He climbed up on an outcropping of rock and lifted me up beside him. I shivered slightly as the breeze picked up, and he wound his arms around me.
"I used to come up here every summer when I was little. Mom would bring us to visit Gram at Midsummer, and my brother and I would sneak out of the house and come up here. We used to pretend that we were Arthur and Guinevere, or that we were the great kings of Scotland. He used to make flower wreaths for me, then threaten to thrash me if I told any of his friends."
I could feel Harry's breath in my hair. "You miss your family, dearest?" His voice was low and sweet in my ear. I nodded, suddenly melancholy.
"Sometimes. Things used to be...better. That's what I miss, I think. How we used to be, before things got all complicated." He squeezed me gently. I wondered if could understand how angry I still was with my family, even after three years. I gripped his arms tightly, leaning against his lithe body. We were silent for long moments. The wind increased, the trees below us rushing and whispering amongst themselves. Low clouds skidded across the swollen moon.
"I think it's going to storm." He spoke louder to be heard above the murmuring wind. "Are we safe up here?"
"We should be. We're a little lower than you think- the edges of the saddle are higher up than us." I squirmed around to grin into his eyes. "We used to come up here when it stormed all the time. But if you're scared..." I let the challenge trail out, knowing that he'd never back down.
"Not a chance. But I do think we should get down off this rock." He handed me down off the outcropping to nestle down at its base. The clouds rolled in, black and angry, bursting with a cold rain that soaked us to the skin. Lightning cracked just above our heads, wild flashes of blue. Harry reached out to pick a few wildflowers, tucked them into my hair, and kissed me. His lips were firm and sweet, a ripe summer fruit I had never tasted before I met him, a new urgency in his kisses and in his hands as they moved across my back and buried deep in my hair. I pressed against him, shaking with chill and icy desire, twisting on his lap to face him, his hands cupping my bottom. He nibbled on my ear, along my jaw, a hot pressure against my chilly flesh. His lips returned to mine, slower this time, less desperately hungry.
He disentangled himself gently, leaning his forehead against mine. "You're freezing, dearest. We should go back. Look," he pointed over my shoulder. I turned to follow his finger. "That's the edge of the storm. And that's sunrise."
And sometime in July she just forgot that he was leaving,
So when the fields were dying, she held on to his sleeves,
She held on to his sleeves.
August came too quickly, creeping in on my happiness like a thief, stealing the precious days away from us. Harry and I spent many nights on the hillside, settling our future. He would go to Oxford, I would go to Edinburgh. We both planned to teach, after, and settle down and try to be the kind of family we each wanted so badly. Ron and Hermione made things more formal, a simple pair of rings exchanged at Midsummer and a promise of something more permanent once they were secure. Gram, I know, hoped for our wedding by September, but settled for a second commitment ceremony in early August. We each wore a simple silver band, engraved with thistles and our names.
We created our own little world, there, and ignored the news that trickled in from far-flung places. Reports of increasing Dark activity. Suspicious gatherings in other cities. Deaths. I tried to avoid the newspaper at breakfast, not wanting anything to interfere with our last summer. Harry tried to ignore the news at first, but I could tell that the reports worried him.
We went out one night, to a gathering of magical folk, at the home of one of Gram's friends. There was traditional Scottish music, and dancing, and I reveled in a chance to dance with Harry under the summer stars. I taught him to waltz, and reel, and surprised him by singing several of my favorite old ballads. At midnight, he kissed me under the rose arbor. He suggested that we leave; we gathered our things and were almost to the door when it was flung open by a wild-eyed wizard.
"It's happened!" His voice was panicky, high pitched. The lively music lurched to silence, the musicians laying aside their bows and pipes. He thrust a parchment at Gram and collapsed into a chair. Gram studied the paper, a frown creasing her smooth brow. I felt a fist of fear clutching my gut. I clung to Harry's arm, willing myself to wake up, to not have to hear what I knew was coming next. Gram looked up from the story, her face stricken and suddenly aged. Her fierce blue eyes caught mine. I felt the ground slipping beneath my feet.
"It's true. The war has started." The ground tilted beneath me, and I felt Harry grab for me as I fell off the world.