Chapter V: Comforts Unexpected
The setting sun is still barely tinting the sky a brilliant blue, but your eyes are brighter. That's all I can think about as I lie outside on the hot grass, eyes scratchy and hands clammy. You're not here—and I hate myself for this Ron. You'll barely be gone five minutes, but I'm shaking and I feel like something's been ripped away from me. I can't even let you out of my sight to escort your mum without panicking!
I draw in a shuddery breath. The sun should do a better job with the sky. None of the dawns I've ever seen can compare to you one whit and oh god it's been five minutes and you were just accompanying her to a friend's house and . . .
Breathe, Harry, breathe . . .
The grass is cold now, and I'm getting there: the sun's set now and even though the sky is still glowing I feel like something's missing from the sky.
I stay for another minute, then I can't help it. I stumble up off the grass and into the house. I'm sorry, Ron, but I keep getting these flashes of my dream, and I . . . I just want to make sure.
It's cold inside the house, too, which strikes me as odd. I can't bring myself to dwell on it; instead I hurry to the couch and worm my way into the cushions, staring anxiously at the fireplace. I can't even begin to feel embarassed about this, because my worry is taking up far too much space. I can't---I break off that thought with an odd muffled choking sound. I'm horrified when I realize it's a kind of sob.
To distract myself, I reach out my violently shaking hand and pick up Magic's Pawn. It's good—I've read the first few pages in the days I've been here—and for awhile it almost calms me. Even if I keep looking up at the fireplace every few minutes.
Next thing I know the words are blurring on the page and god, I don't want to fall asleep, Ron what if my dream comes true while I'm asleep; I'll never forgive myself . . .
Oh no. No. The bodies; the sky; where are you oh please. Please don't let Voldemort have you, please I'm running as fast as I can. Don't die on me. Don't. Oh god oh god where are you NO! He's there, he's there and he's holding you your eyes all red god no where are my beautiful blue eyes oh god no NO NO STOP! RON!
Harry! Harry!
"Harry!"
With a horrible shuddering gasp I lurch off the couch oh god it was just a dream wasn't it? Oh, where are you, no, please . . . !
"Harry!" Your voice high and urgent and oh god. Oh god you're here. You're safe. Safe.
"Ron!" I gulp, eyes burning to search for you. You're here; safe; you're right there in front of me, red hair and beautiful blue eyes and alive. I couldn't stop my tears if I tried, and I'm sure my hand is reaching out for all on its own—
You take me in your arms and I sob desperately into your shoulder. I'll never be able to explain to you how relieved I am that you're here. Alive.
I cry and cry until I can't any more. The world is so quiet now—all I can hear is my reflexive half-sobs and your wonderful soft breaths. I can feel you breathing and it helps, because I'm sure you're alive. And I love you; how I love you for being alive.
"Harry?" you ask, gently. I nod lightly in the haven of your arms—I'll have to pull back soon, even thought it might kill me. Because if I stay . . .
"What were you dreaming of?" you ask. Your voice is perfect. Smooth. Loving. I stop that thought before it can hurt me. I don't want to tell you, I just want to stay here forever.
"Harry."
I sob. "Ev'ry-one's dead. I-I-I'm look-look-ing for y-you. He's go-got you. He-He-He ki—he ki-kills you and you're de-dead and I can't sta-sta-sta-stand it and-and-and—"
"Shh, Harry," you break in softly. You pull me closer and I shudder. You're so warm and perfect and I can't stay in your arms or I'll never leave, Ron.
"Le-let me—go," I manage, pushing back from you weakly. This is killing me—it's been so hard to sit across the room from you and pretend my heart isn't forcing itself into tiny pieces of glass because I can't touch you. It's been so hard to pretend I don't feel a torturous wrench every time you smile and I know you'll never love me. It's been too hard to pretend this isn't killing me, even to myself—I love you—
You're frowning. Please stop frowning.
"Why?"
Oh god. "I can't—I can't—" I whisper, quaking. I'm trying to tell you more, trying to come up with something to tell you but I'm drawing a blank. You look hurt—please stop. Please, Ron. Smile.
I love you, I love you, I love you, I wish I could say that instead, "I love you."
Pain and terror rush through me the instant the words leave my mouth and scrambling hurriedly I push myself off the couch and as far away from you as I can because if I don't I'll die and what have I done what have I done!
The stillness hurts me, like a horrible crushing wall and oh god. Ron. I love you but I think I'm dying and I could just about kill myself now and—
Suddenly you're next to me, a ballast of warmth pressed up against my side and fingers laced firmly in mine. I'm confused and shivering and oh I love you more than ever but why? Why are you not running?
"Harry," you say firmly. "Look at me."
My heart aches at the thought, but face pinched, I look at you anyway. Your clear blue eyes stare into my own intently. I can feel your breath on my face.
"I love you, too."
You're so close and you lean in to press a soft, dry kiss to the corner of my mouth. Fire blooms beneath my lips and I—
I'm wordless.
You reach up a hand to fumblingly stroke the side of my face. Your fingers are lightly callused and they send tendrils of heat through me. I don't dare try to ask any of the questions racing through my mind, because if I speak I might shatter this perfection. I'm trying to breathe, and my heart must be beating a million meters per minute, and I feel like something's unfurled wings inside me—
Suddenly you kiss me again, and I can breathe. I gasp, taking you in—your hair, your skin, your voice, your eyes—you are so intoxicating, you're breathing hotly on my skin. And I'm finally alive again.
But, "Why?" I almost don't believe it, but I've hoped too much to let it go. I don't doubt your words too much; I don't doubt that you . . . love me. Love me in some way. . . I just don't understand how you could.
Silently—I'm sure I'm gripping your hand too hard but you don't say a word, and I can't bare to let go—you pull Magic's Pawn off the table and flip to end. You pull a crumpled piece of paper from the very back and slowly press it into my hand.
Harry-
I've been trying to figure out how to say this for ages, but it's—well, this is the best you are going to get. After all the ripped up drafts in my dustbin, I think I know the best way to start is directly and I'm only stalling . . .
Harry I love you.
Yeah, I love you. I love everything about you, like how strong you are. I don't mean physically. You . . . you can survive just about anything Harry. You've been buffeted around too much, and I think if I were you I would have died by now, but you—you keep on going, pulling through every challenge you're given.
I love how brilliant you are. It's not the same as Hermione's cleverness, but you're brilliant none-the-less. It only takes you a second to figure something out if we don't have Hermione there with us, and you've got a talent for explaining things that she doesn't.
I love your compassion—how you care about everybody unless they prove over and over you shouldn't. You never pick fights like I do; you're so levelhead.
That barely covers it all, Harry. The truth is, I could spend pages and pages describing how and why I love you.
Harry, you are my anchor. Every time something goes wrong, you're right there with me, calm and pushing me through my fears and just being there for me.
I'm sorry, I've never been very good with words, so this sounds pretty stupid. But I have to say it anyway. If I had to pick one person to spend the rest of my life with, it would be you. You make me laugh, you make me think, you make me feel alive. I couldn't live without you, and I can't stand skulking around like this—so I wrote this. I really . . . I love you, and I really, really hope you love me too. Because I think I could die happy if you did.
If you . . . feel the same, come to the orchard I showed you on Friday.
Love,
Ron
Tremulously, I raise my head. I'm sure you can see this—wordless joy, amazement, breatheless wonder—in my eyes.
"I was going to wait until you finished," you tell me, eyes filled with nervousness and concern and love. "Then I thought now might be better."
What about Hermione, and the rest of your life, and everything else, and what people will say? I think. I can't help but wonder if (and hope so much I nearly burst) you'd really go through it all for me. And the word trecherously stumbles from my mouth; "But . . . "
You grasp my hand in yours and smile warmly. As if somehow reading my thoughts, you say, "Don't worry about it. Those are just little things—technicalities. None of that matters."
My stomach flips, and my shoulders lighten, and though it still seems so unreal, I relax. Tentatively, I lean forward into you, and say, "I love you."
"I love you, too," you reply softly, as the last fading sunlight illuminates our clasped hands.