Breathe

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and other related companies. It’s not mine. Only the ficlet is.

Author’s Note: Weird. (As usual.) “He” is Harry; “she” is Hermione. And “they” is self explanatory. And the credit all goes to Facade for giving me this plot bunny :D

He knows that she’s there, subtly watching him as always. Being his friend; his support. Whenever he needed her, she was there. Whenever she needed him, he was there. Always. That word echoed in their minds, haunting them. Never to be forgotten – never to be remembered, either.

Listening to their breathing only seemed to tie them even closer to each other. Not in distance and closeness, no. They can’t really explain it, for it’s indescribable for the both of them – but just to hear and know their hearts beating in rhythm, at the same time; their thoughts interlocking with one another’s; something making them breathe whenever they were near each other. To be close – that’s what they were; not in the physical sense, no; in the emotional sense. With each other. Just breathing. As if they’re never apart; never separated from one another. Never alone. Just with each other. Breathing.

She knows that he’s there, subtly watching her as always. Being her friend; her support. Whenever she needed him, he was there. Whenever he needed her, she was there. Always. It would make perfect sense though, wouldn’t it? They were each other’s moral support, always cheering one another on in the sidelines. Always there for each other. What an ideal, perfect relationship. Two friends becoming more. Friends. That word mocked her to no end – it teased her until she could barely stand it and covered herself in denial; wishing fervently that they weren’t. It teased her until finally she could no longer stand it and went out in search of him, hoping to get some sense of normalcy in herself; her life. For the both of them. It never worked, though. It never did. No matter how much she tried, how much she fervently hoped – it never did. A hope was blind, anyway.

Now, they both think – it’s all they can do is not run into each other’s arms and breathe. Just breathe.

Always being with one another. Was this the purpose of breathing? He wondered. Was this it? To be with her?

That was all it took – just one breath. In the end, that was all it took. Just one breath.

Now they can’t stand it any longer and run to each other, wrapping themselves in each other’s embrace – hearing their hearts beat and their thoughts in time with the other’s.

They can barely hear their own breathing; only each other’s. His harsh and cold; hers the same. Yet so tune with the others. Like a jarring yet strangely wonderful, beautiful music. They can barely stop themselves from doing what’s right yet so wrong. In their eyes, they knew it was wrong but yet it was the right kind of wrong. In other people’s eyes, it was wrong altogether.

It’s all they can do to stop it. But they can’t; nor do they want to. They can’t force themselves to do it.

They look at each other and remind themselves to breathe.