Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Just these somewhat plot-less musings...
All those years ago I thought I knew everything or that what I didn't know I could find in a book. For years I studied all the aspects of every subject my professors put in front of me. I should have known that it was not enough. Not enough to save the world and not enough to live a life worth saving.
Before the end of two months at school I know that the books I carried from class to class would be my only friends. I knew that. It would be no different from my Muggle school. Then came the day when my feelings were hurt more than I thought imaginable. The day came when my life was first threatened. The day came when I found something outside of a book. A Halloween where a troll, a bathroom, and two little boys changed my life.
Somewhere between the classes, the studying, the books, these two boys taught me what life is. Not that we were particularly good at preserving our lives. Even now, on the eve of what could end our lives these boys, now young men, teach me so much. Harry is lost in thought, I know he is thinking of Ginny. He denied it when we would ask him, but we know. We stopped asking the obvious and what obviously gives him pain.
Then there is Ron. From the first day we met, I was ordering him around and assuming my superior air. Like most people, he ignored me at first. However, a troll on Halloween can change many things. From that point we evolved. I studied, read, and revised. He pestered, copied, and talked about Quidditch.
There were moments, between the books and the Quidditch where something inexplicable grew. The insecure, lanky glory-seeker and the know-it-all bookworm found something. Somewhere between classes I learned what it was to live. I learned what it was to have something to live for, even when hope seemed lost.
Now, we sit silently knowing within a short time our lives will change, perhaps even end. My hand shakes though my resolve is firm and I try to must all my Gryffindor courage. A cold hand clasps mine in the silence of the blackest of nights.
Between books and quaffles, between bickering children and scared warriors, love happened.
A fog, whether from spells or the ever natural fog of the Isles, I do not know, seeps into my bones. I do not know where Harry and Ron are and there is a moment where my heart forgets to beat. Between that last heartbeat and the first, faint light a hand finds mine through the dense fog. I know that hand. Between our intertwined fingers a cold metal band is slipped on my finger. I know this hand. Between victorious warriors a love is sealed.