Chapter Fourteen

The snow started falling the day after Christmas. The thin layer of white dusted the ground and shimmered under the morning sun. The air felt cool and crisp, with the scent of pine lingering on the breeze. While everyone else took to staying indoors, huddled around the fireplace and drinking hot cocoa, Harry wandered out into the snow.

Sticking his hands out, he started catching snowflakes in his palms. They were soft and delicate - only lasting a second or two before melting against his skin. Kneeling down, he gathered up as much snow as he could off the ground. When he stood again, he merely tossed the snow up into the air and tilted his head back so he could watch it fall. It went everywhere, landing on his cheeks, in his hair and even sticking to his eyelashes. Feeling some on his lips, Harry licked it away and then stuck his tongue out to catch more. His breath fogged up like little clouds as he continued to stare up into the steely grey sky. Most would probably describe it as bleak and dreary, but to Harry it looked beautiful.

"Harry, what are you doing outside?"

Harry looked over his shoulder to see Hermione standing directly behind him. She was also accompanied by Ron, Ginny, and George. He almost laughed. He should have known they'd notice him missing and send out a search party. Amused, Harry just shrugged his shoulders at Hermione's question.

"Watching the snow."

Ginny frowned. "You're going to freeze to death out here," she said, taking off her scarf and wrapping it around Harry instead.

Harry chuckled but allowed her to do it. "I'm alright, I promise."

"Want to come inside and play Exploding Snaps with us?" Ron offered. "We were just about to start a game."

Turning his eyes up towards the sky again, Harry got a different idea. "How about a game of Quidditch?"

"Oh, I don't know, Harry," Hermione said worriedly. "Remember what happened last time?"

"I'll take it easy, I promise," Harry said, looking to her. "I just want to fly again."

For the past couple of weeks, Harry had been feeling a strong ache to fly again. He hadn't been on a broom since the Quidditch match, and he missed it. The exhilaration. The freedom. Without flying, it felt like a part of him was missing.

"We'll be there too," George said. "We won't let anything happen to Harry."

Hermione sighed, though she did seem less worried. "Alright, just don't fly too high."

"Yes, mum," they all chorused together.

While they headed over to the broomshed to gather up the Quidditch supplies, Ginny ran inside the house to get the rest of the Weasley brothers to join in. Even Hermione had decided to play, despite her abysmal flying skills. Harry and Ron had laughed themselves silly when her first attempt only got her three feet off the ground before she dropped right back down. She did eventually manage to get a decent amount of height, even if her movements were a bit slow and jerky. Hermione had always lacked confidence on broomsticks.

"Just go slow, alright?" she said, clutching the broom handle tightly.

"Of course, 'Mione," Harry grinned as he and Ron flew gracefully around her.

"Show offs," Hermione glowered.

"She's just annoyed that we're actually better than her at something," Ron snickered as he tossed the Quaffle over to Harry.

"Give her time," Harry responded, catching the Quaffle effortlessly. "Knowing Hermione, she'll be better than us in no time."

"Don't give her ideas!" Ron said, eyes wide. "I need this one thing!"

"Sorry, mate," Harry snickered. "Now, let's get this game started."

Tossing the Quaffle over to Ginny, Harry took off flying. The game was a very casual, loose affair, considering they didn't have enough players to play a real match. No one was trying all that hard to score and half the time everyone kept forgetting whose team they were on. None of that mattered, though. They were having fun. George and Bill had gotten involved in a hilarious game of 'keep away' with Ron and Hermione had actually managed to catch the Quaffle once - even if she did end up dropping it not five seconds later.

The entire time, Harry was aware that everyone was keeping a rather close eye on him. Ron and Hermione tended to hover around him more than necessary, while Bill and Charlie avoided tossing the Quaffle too hard when making passes to him. Perhaps a month ago, such behavior would have angered Harry, but he'd learned to appreciate concern over him. It meant that he had people who cared about him, and that meant more than anything to him.

Smiling, Harry took off into the air, his heart soaring along with him. The cancer, the pain, the sadness, were all picked up by the cold wind and carried off high into the sky, where it couldn't be reached. In that moment, he no longer felt heavy and grounded to the earth.

Today, he was lighter than air.

xxxx

Harry was woken later that night by whimpering and muttering. It sounded like someone in distress. Furrowing his brows, Harry grabbed his glasses and put them on. He could just barely make out the sleeping forms of his two friends next to him through the darkness. Their beds were pushed up next to his, forming one large bed for them to sleep close to one another. It was a habit they'd gotten into over the past few weeks.

Noticing Hermione moving around under the blankets, Harry realized that the noises were coming from her. He could hear her loud breathing and the occasional sobbing. He immediately knew what was happening, having gone through it hundreds of times himself. Reaching a hand out, Harry gently placed it on Hermione's shoulder and shook her awake. She inhaled a sharp intake of breath and sat bolt right. Her breathing was still erratic and Harry could tell that she wasn't 100% aware of her surroundings.

"Hermione?" Harry said carefully.

Her eyes turned on him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "H-Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me," Harry said reassuringly "It's alright, Hermione. It was just a nightmare."

"It was so awful," Hermione choked out, wrapping her arms around herself. "There were dead bodies everywhere."

When he noticed that she seemed on the verge of freaking out, Harry scooted closer to her and gently took one of her hands. He proceeded to do the only thing he could think of. He pressed a finger to the palm of her hand and began gently tracing patterns along her skin.

"Just focus on how that feels," Harry encouraged softly. "Nothing else. Just my finger against your palm."

Harry had discovered that focusing on the feel of something always helped ground him when he was having a panic attack. It drew the focus away from the fear, the irrational emotions and placed it all onto something tangible, something real. It helped bring him back to the present moment.

Seeing that she was starting to calm down, Harry continued tracing his finger along her palm, this time drawing little invisible circles.

"Do you know what shape this is?"

It took her a moment to answer, as if she was struggling to stay focused. "Circle," she finally said, her voice hoarse.

"How about this?"

"Triangle."

Harry nodded encouragingly. "Good. And this one?"

Hermione smiled faintly. "A heart?"

"Exactly," Harry said, "and do you know why I drew a heart?"

"Why?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Because I heart you," Harry replied with a cheesy grin.

Hermione made a sound that was crossed between a sob and a laugh. "You're such a dork sometimes, Harry."

"Not as much as Ron," Harry laughed.

At that, they both turned their gaze towards the figure lying next to them. Ron was sprawled out on the bed in a very immodest pose. His mouth was hanging open as he snored softly. He hadn't stirred in the slightest despite the commotion that'd been going on right beside him.

"He's one of a kind, that's for sure," Hermione shook her head.

Seeing that Hermione was a lot calmer than before, Harry intertwined his fingers with her and locked their hands together. The moon cast a dim glow through the window, allowing Harry to just barely make out Hermione's features. Even in the darkness, he saw the weight of the world on her face. He understood that feeling completely. He'd carried it around with him practically his entire life. Sometimes he wondered if they'd ever heal from the wounds the world had inflicted upon them.

Still holding her hand tightly, Harry guided Hermione to lie back down with him. They remained silent for a few minutes, just staring up at the shadows that played across the dark ceiling. The quiet was occasionally broken by Ron's snoring, but they found the sound somehow reassuring.

"Do you think it'll ever get better?" Hermione asked in a soft voice.

Harry didn't need clarification to know what she was talking about.

"I'd like to think so," he responded, squeezing her hand. "Some day."

There were probably a million better things Harry could have said in that moment. A wiser person would have said something profound. A smarter person could have given a dozen reasons why everything would be okay. But Harry had never been a wise or smart person - he'd always been Just Harry.

And that seemed to be enough for Hermione, because she laid her head against his shoulder and tightened her hand around his. It was a secret promise to never let go.

That was all that was needed.

"By the way, Harry," Hermione whispered through the darkness. "I heart you too."

Author's Note: And we're coming down to the end here, people. I'm kind of sad that this story is almost over. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you've all enjoyed reading it. I'll have the last chapter up soon.