A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters
Word count: 481
Warning: Major character death, accidental pregnancy
The memories haunted her,
things she couldn't change,
people she couldn't save.
She hadn't been able to save him,
hadn't been able to save herself the heartbreak of finding his lifeless body.
She couldn't confront her fears that night,
the feelings that filled her chest.
She knew the truth, even if she couldn't,
wouldn't, admit it to herself.
Late, she was late.
It could have been because of the war,
she'd been tortured,
she'd been starved,
stressed to the breaking point.
Those times had led to finding comfort in his arms,
a golden ring,
a secret portkey to him,
she'd found comfort in his arms and his bed.
She'd made promises she couldn't keep,
that it was going to be alright,
that they'd find a way through this,
whispered promises in the dead of night,
whispered promises that had led to this,
led to the biggest secret she'd ever kept.
She needed to hold things together,
needed to hide this,
but how?
She could lie to everyone,
but she couldn't lie to herself.
Even if she were to pretend,
to say this child wasn't his,
she couldn't...
She'd promised him.
She'd promised him,
she'd promised him she'd never tell about their love,
about their relationship until it was safe,
Lord Voldemort defeated and
his name cleared.
Now, he was dead.
She had let him down,
she'd walked away, she'd left.
She'd thought it was the right thing to do,
thought leaving was the right thing to do,
but it wasn't, was it?
She wasn't even sure about that anymore,
she'd been needed in too many places,
by too many people.
They'd won the war, but at what price?
She felt the tears running down her face,
felt the wetness on her cheeks,
tears mixing with blood.
Everything was spinning.
Everything was hitting her now,
full force.
She looked at the ground,
at the blood on her hands,
his blood,
her blood,
she'd known,
she'd known,
hadn't wanted to admit it out of fear,
out of... she didn't know anymore.
She hadn't told him,
hadn't been able to tell him.
He'd been gone before she'd gotten there,
gone before she'd had a chance to even say good-bye.
He wasn't gone,
not entirely.
There were parts of him that lived on.
His memories, his teachings,
the part of him that lived on in her,
the part of him she couldn't deny forever.
She knew the truth would come out,
knew eventually someone would
put two and two together and realize.
The lie would be exposed,
their relationship would be exposed.
Months after the war,
months of hiding,
of rebuilding as she pretended
not to be grieving.
The night air was pierced by the screams
of a newborn,
a newborn with curly brown hair
and eyes the color of the blackest night,
her secret finally exposed and loved
regardless of everything that had happened.