Title: One Down
Author: Cantinera
Rating: PG-13
Content: Harry/Hermione
Setting: Year Seven.
Warning: Character death. And I milk it for angst like the cliched bitch it is.
Disclaimer: Totally not mine in any way. Definitely JK's. No profit made.
Summary: Seek comfort where you can.
Distribution: Ask, and you can have.
A/N: Short ficlet (not likely to be anything else since I have the attention-span of a goldfish) I wrote last night.
Kinda came out of nowhere. First attempt at this pairing.
Feedback: It's crack.
He walked into the room, slowly moving, one foot at a time. His steps were heavy, each movement like lead, a thud as his mass connected the ground, the sorry overtaking his body, weighing him down.
He was still shocked, still not sure of what he saw. At seventeen, Harry thought he had seen everything a wizard could, everything a boy could. He had so much happen to him, so much he thought he would burst if one more thing happened…
He knew there would always be that time. Deep inside, hidden in his mind, he knew. That time always came for Harry. Push, push, push - they'll find his limits. They - always -do.
Harry's legs finally gave as he reached the middle of the room, no longer able to stand, exhaustion taking over his body, causing him to slink to the floor until he crumpled into a ball, head over his knees. Numb, his mind started to wake and wander.
There was always that place, but he never thought it would be reached. It could not be reached. He wouldn't allow it. Not that. Not… this.
Not after he grew up, not knowing his parents, their deaths haunting his life.
Not after having dwelled in a place called home completely devoid of love and affection.
Not after having nobody to talk to, to call his own as he waited out one lonely night after another.
Not after losing the closest thing to a real family he had.
Not after all the pain of seeing each person he loved knocked off like toy soldiers, one by one, just because they were close to him. The common thread it in all - you.
Not after being unable to save anyone-those who mattered most-as he tried to save everyone.
But nothing prepared him for this. Even the fear in the back of his mind did not prepare him.
Harry sobbed into his knees, quietly heaving as hot tears burned down his face. He was too tired to be angry. Anger had been tried already. He had screamed out there. He told the world he was angry. He was tired now. So very, very tired…
He was tired of losing it all. Especially when they've taken what he would most sorely miss. It was the last straw.
In his grief, a pile of sadness on the floor, he didn't hear the footsteps. He didn't hear the stifled sobs echoing his. He even barely noticed the warm arms wrapping around him, reaching from behind to embrace him, head coming down to rest on his back.
He was now aware of the comfort of the touch, holding him, inviting him to share her grief - their grief. These arms knew exactly how he felt. They knew exactly what he needed.
He turned his head, slightly, allowing the bushy brown hair to brush his face. He peered out the side of his wet, foggy glasses, looking at the girl he knew for so long, gripping him, her face buried. She knew.
"He's gone, Harry. He's really gone," she said, her voice shaking.
He didn't want to believe it, but it was true; he had lost a best friend - Ron Weasley was dead.
"He's gone, Harry," she said again, her voice breaking as she choked on the words, sobs forming with every breath. "Dead."
No he's not, thought Harry, the voice within screaming. He will be back. He has to come back. With him gone, everything dangerous, all the warnings, would be true. He was Harry's first real friend. If he's gone, it would be real. What would he have left?
As if answering that silent question, Hermione shifted, moving around to face Harry. She stared at him, so lost, so confused - so like him. Death happened all the time, and being who he was, he got quite used to it. But not this. It didn't always feel like this.
He looked at Hermione, bringing her into his arms, almost like an instinct, knowing exactly what to do. He brought her into his embrace, trying to comfort her any way he could - comfort himself any way he could.
"You're all I have left, Hermione."
It was true. With Ron gone - dead - she was all he had now.
No other friend, no other family, no other love.
"You're all I have," Harry repeated, this time the words barely registering as a whisper.
Hermione shook in his arms, shuddering with every cry that managed to force its way out of her body, escaping with each jerk. With each violent jolt, Harry held on tighter, finding and giving the comfort they both need so badly.
Harry was aware that she was in his arms, his only connection to this world that had taken everything else. Hermione: a girl, a friend. His need to latch on to the only anchor to this life started to engulf him. He needed her now, more than ever. Without her, he'd run from life, not caring anymore. But she was still here, loving him, giving him a reason to stay. She was his.
Harry felt confused, his need for love, for holding on, combined with a stir within, a reaction he should not be feeling at this time. Not when the closest person to him had just died. Guilt overwhelmed him, the pain of this feeling coming when all she should be feeling was the sorrow. But she was all he had. She was all that was left.
She was his.
He looked down at her face, full of grief and confusion, a mirror to his.
Once there was three.
Now there was two.
He looked into her eyes, the brown streaked with red, glistening from a never-ending stream of tears. Not his green, but the look was his. She knew what he felt. For the first time, Harry could share.
He was open.
"He's gone," Harry said. "You're all I have left."
He leaned forward, pressing his lips on hers gently, fresh tears coming forth from both of them as they sought desperate solace. Shock. Confusion. Hormones. Love, friendship, desperation, fear, sadness, disgust, pain, guilt and warmth in the cold. It was all there, gushing forward.
Gone. Each year, gone. Like him. It never got easier.
One down.
Two to go.
Salt from the tears crept into his mouth, the taste of their mourning mixing in Harry's mouth.
Comfort he sought, guilt he got. He's dead now, so Harry kisses her. He's gone, so she's here, his only comfort. She was all that was available to him.
She's all he has left.
And he was never letting go.