It is in the stillness between the moment you are wide awake with my mind running through the day's events and the moment when my eyes close into slumber that I think of him most often. It is during that time that I wonder where he is. I wonder what he did that day. I wonder if he will live to see another day.
In those moments when I am caught half awake, half asleep that I let myself think of the boy I love. I think of the times we spent in school, even before that short period we were dating. I think of quills, Honeydukes, snow in the court yard, pumpkin juice in the Great Hall. All these have some memory for me of the boy I love.
I was the only Weasley born during a time of peace. Yet, since age eleven I have been in the midst of this new war as few others can claim. I know who it is my brother, Hermione, and my love are seeking to kill. He inhabited me and I did his deeds. I know it was not my fault, but I bear a guilt and a darkness no child should hold. Perhaps that is why we fit together so well. He is haunted by the effects of evil just as I am. Where I have light and wholeness, he has gaps and darkness. I have a loving family and a history of knowing who I am and from where I came. He is a veritable orphan from a home without love not knowing his heritage or his birthright. Yet we both have survived evil and intend to do so in the future.
I know my mother worries. I see her glances as I walk out the room or the sigh that escapes her as I sit in the dimming sitting room after supper. I know she questions how we all will survive. How those that do survive will survive the inevitable grief from the losses. I am born of a woman suspended between two wars, a daughter born in the dawn of peace yet a woman made in night of war. We both stand stretched between what was and all that might be.
Perhaps it is that pragmatism born of the time between innocent hope and dark fears that binds us. Perhaps it is a yearning for a time when we will not be haunted by a man determined to extinguish all that we hold dear. In the time between dusk and dreams the perhaps fill my mind. In the time between dusk and dreams fears blend with hopes. In the time between dusk and dreams I think of him. In the time between dreams and dusk I wonder whether my dreams will fade like the light.
It was in the moment between my dreams and the dawn that I saw him. In the warm, golden glow of the morning light streaming through my window I saw him. In the chair, in the corner he sat. It was in that moment before first light that I no longer wondered, but knew. I knew that he was home and life was going to begin anew. In that moment before dawn I saw my future.