as
it ends
harry potter, ron/hermione, pg-13, vignette-ish,
Rowling owns.
--
Harry is inside because Harry has to do this alone and they'll just have to wait for him to come out. If he comes out. If he makes it. If.
They realize this and always have, and accept it, but it isn't easy to wait and it isn't to not do anything.
And yet, it's not a time for conversation and it's not a time for sorrow, or happiness, or any emotion, and it's not the time to be close and intimate, hold each other and kiss, it's just not the time.
The building is burnt but not wholly, just around the edges and its entrance covered in ash and dark from smoke. They don't wonder who used to live here because it doesn't feel significant. It's just a stage out of all the other places they could've seen this play happen.
Ron is tense, she can see his muscles quiver under the fabric of his shirt and it reminds her of moments so much better than this, moments shared with his mouth against her skin and her hands holding onto him. It makes her feel ill to think about it now; to think about it at all. So trivial in the grand scale of things and still so important for her to hold onto, recall.
She feels selfish, bad, useless, focuses her thoughts on Harry, Harry's words to them, so ordinary but dramatic when she thinks of the possibility they might be his last ones that she and Ron ever hear.
She reaches over to touch Ron's back and Ron shivers, turns his head towards her. "What it is?"
"You're shaking."
His eyes return to watching the door, the dark entrance. "I'm nervous."
"I know." But what she really wants to say is Stop. It won't help Harry that they're losing their heads waiting for him, just waiting.
It's so silent it feels like nothing is happening, like all time has stopped and they're stuck here, waiting a forever.
She touches him now, tries to make him relax, just the tiniest bit. He does, but his eyes stay on the door.
"He's going to come out, right?"
"Yes," she replies but doesn't know.
"He has to come out, right?"
She doesn't answer this time, just presses her lips against the back of his neck. He turns to look at her and their lips meet briefly, his dry and hers wet and that's fine. Because as much as they love each other, there's always a but.
So she sits down beside him, and holds his hand, watching the door. They watch it, and hope that they don't have to walk through it themselves.
That Harry will appear, even though he never promised he would.