Unofficial Portkey Archive

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters except Matthew and the plot.

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Thank you to all the reviewers.

The writing of this chapter took longer than I expected because of various reasons. The two most understandable of the reasons are:

• 1. The writer's block lasted for more time than I expected.

• 2. After my trip to TN, well, on the last two days, I had a very horrible and terrible allergic reaction. To what, I have not a clue, but I was itching and itching like a madman. It's really hard to get anything done when all you want to do is scratch and make the itch go away. The doctor said I had to wait a week, and take Benadryl every six hours…. It really really sucks.

But my trip to Tennessee was very productive; I got to relax and have fun (I stayed inside -- the weather over there is so humid and hot; after about ten minutes of being outside, I had to go back inside to prevent from fainting, or, melting) and well, on the flight back, I brainstormed ideas for the events to happen in the ending chapters. Frankly, I think I was successful. I now have a more vivid and specific event list.

I hope I won't disappoint you, because you might have a very jolly ending in mind, and my work might just come up to just the simply happy bar on the scale. Oh, and I am terribly sorry if I missed you on the email updates; I had a hard time putting it all on one list, so I might have misplaced your email address. Let me know in your review if you still want me to email you when I update for the remainder of this story, and of course, type in your email address in the text.

So, here, folks, is one of the Ending Chapters of Boys Don't Cry. And yes, that is an `S' in Chapters, because this is not the end yet. Oh, and my writing may be a bit rusty, from my long break….

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The Ending Chapters: Resurrection

Harry didn't know how fast his heart was beating, or if his breaths had just ceased at that moment, but it seemed as everything had frozen and halted. His hand on the thin and fragile old page seemed to be tingling with a burning warmth that had risen from his anticipation and determination.

His eyes did not waver from the page, as he read it over and over, his breaths still trapped inside his lungs, but he did not care to notice. His mind was shouting at him, his eyes gliding back and forth across the page, as if he was not sure if this was some hallucination or trick his mind was playing on him.

This was it.

The spell, the incantation, the cure.

His hope and eagerness began to burst through him, coursing through his veins and rushing all of his thoughts.

"I found it," he whispered, his voice shaky and quiet. Beside him, he heard the flipping pages stop as Ron halted and looked over.

"What, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry tore his gaze from the page and looked at his friend with sparkling eyes.

"I found it," he said, this time much louder. Ron's mouth slightly dropped open, forming an O. "I found the spell for the amulet. I found the spell that can break the seal and how to open it and mix it in with the blood." His heart was pounding in his chest, as he heard the footsteps of their Headmaster and Professor approaching him. Their strides were quick and long, as they reached him in a matter of seconds.

Professor McGonagall stood beside him, Dumbledore by her shoulder, as they read over his discovery. Harry watched with eagerness as both their faces a faint smile began to trace their features. Professor McGonagall looked up with him with twinkling eyes, as did Dumbledore.

"Very well done, Mr. Potter," she smiled, delight hinted in her voice. "Very well done, indeed."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice. "Excellent work."

Harry beamed with pride, while Ron, beside him, closed his book silently.

"What does it say, Harry?" Ron asked, hurriedly. "We've got to hurry. It's dark outside and there's not much time until the moon appears."

Harry's smile faded, as he returned his gaze to the book. He quickly glanced back at Ron, and then handed him the thick book with both hands. Ron nodded as his eyes quickly darted across the page, reading the vital information. Ron's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression grave and serious.

"Harry… I think," he said quietly, almost in a whisper. "I think you missed something." Harry's eyebrows furrowed as confusion was etched on his face. Ron was pale, sorrow evident in his expression as he closed his eyes slowly. Harry looked over his shoulder, and tried to search the information he had missed.

Harry's face fell, his heartbeats dying into a sharp and stabbing silence. His eyes burned, as his skin suddenly became sensitive to the cold room and atmosphere.

He swallowed hard, trying to consume the sadness and horror that had mounded in his throat.

He could feel the other two people in the room send curious and concerned glances his way. He felt a warm but gentle hand lay on his shoulder, as he tried to recover from the shock and dread.

"What is it?" he heard his Professor ask. His vision seemed to swirl and flash, his thoughts venomous and filled with a dry sting.

"Its says," Harry read, trying to swallow once again, "if we enact the spell on the amulet and mix it in with the blood, and give it to her…" his fist clenched, his nails digging into the cold skin of his palm. "…If it fails either because she is not strong enough or her energy had been drained just barely to the last drop…. it can be fatal. She'll die an instant death, and the tears and the blood won't be any use anymore." His voice had dropped to a whisper, as he said the last words. Silence engulfed the room, his throat dry and the words chiming inside his head, echoing his worst fears. Inside his mind, the shadows loomed out of their corners and invaded, laughing evilly and draining all of his recently recovered hope.

"Well, it's worth a try," his Professor said. "If we don't, we will lose her in the same way. We must hurry and try the spell before we lose her and all our chances are lost." Her voice was firm and stern, though Harry knew that her voice was just coated, and deep inside she was afraid just like the rest of them. He knew, after all these years, when her sternness was meant, and when she just used it to hide her true feelings.

"Minerva is right," he heard Dumbledore say quietly. "We have little time left, and we must hurry and make do with what we accomplished."

Harry nodded, as he looked at his ginger-haired friend standing beside him. Ron's blue eyes were dim with fear, but there were flecks of hope, as he nodded at Harry.

Harry sighed, a sigh that hinted finality and one that he had tried to summon up all his fears and pessimistic thoughts in. He reached for his wand, trying to steady his shaky and bandaged hand. Ron, Dumbledore and McGonagall each backed away slowly, while Harry looked at the amulet with uncertainty.

"Professor, maybe you should do it, I don't know if I could-"

"Mr. Potter," she said sternly. "I think you know that spells such as this, complicated and with many strings attached, take intense feeling, in fact, the most intense feeling that can be found. You and Ms. Granger were indeed very close, and you are fighting a bigger battle than any of us in the situation, I think it is only necessary that you see to it done by none other than yourself." Harry's hand was shaking, as his gaze was still filled with fear.

"I could destroy the amulet," he said, his voice trembling and faint. "If I say or enact it wrong, I could destroy it and we'd have no chance at all."

"Harry," he heard Ron say from behind him. His voice pleaded for him to think straight and hinted helplessness. "Think about Hermione. Just think about her. Think about how everything's going to be when she wakes up. Just focus, Harry. The only person who can do the spell is you."

Harry nodded, as he raised his wand, the tip pointed directly at the amulet. He closed his eyes and tried to shepherd all of his strewn and lost thoughts, focusing on breaking the protection spell and opening the amulet. Fear had already eaten him whole, but he tried his best not to let it cloud his thoughts. He had to focus, concentrate.

He steadied his hand, as he gazed out in the darkness that resided inside his eyelids. The silence roared and tipped him to distract, but he kept still. Just then, something flashed inside. Like lightning whipping across a dark and stormy sky.

He saw her.

He saw her standing out in the snow as he placed her hat on her head, smiling up at him genuinely and laughing so softly and gracefully.

He saw her.

His eyes bolted open.

"Subverto Inclamidros," he said loudly. Immediately, a ray of glowing white shot out of his wand. He felt energy and the blood rushing through his veins suddenly thrust forward, as he felt it suddenly seep out of his body, out from his fingertips and through the wand, like crackling electricity.

Harry watched, his gaze firm and unmoving, as the bright ray struck the amulet.

At first, the ray did not affect it at all. But as Harry watched, he saw the amulet's pendant start to glow. He heard the splitting fracture as he saw it crack slowly, like rapid growing branches of a tree or reconstructing veins.

He felt his fingertips start tingle, as the ray slowly faded and bleed into the amulet with a forceful impact that shook the desk it lay upon. Just then, the ray vanished.

Harry noticed that he was breathing hard and quick breaths, as his knees suddenly felt weak. His rushing blood seemed sharp and cold, as he staggered forward.

He looked down at the amulet, his breaths slowly returning to their regular pace.

There were shards and tiny broken pieces of shining and translucent glass that almost seemed ghostly, surrounding the amulet. Inside the pendant, he saw the small and swirling pool of crimson, a jagged hole in the center of the glass that had shattered from the ray.

He let out a relieved sigh, running his hand through his untamed hair unconsciously. He felt a bit light-headed, like the world seemed to tilt and lean slightly, and there was that same hollowness at the pit of his stomach. His heart sent out thunderous beats in his chest.

He felt something lay gently on his shoulder, and as he looked beside himself wearily, he saw Ron giving him a faint but encouraging smile. Harry looked back towards the amulet silently, as he saw Professor McGonagall standing above it, observing the ornament. Dumbledore stood beside Harry's opposite side, quiet.

They watched the Witch as she looked over it, in a calm but tense manner. Finally, she looked up at them, and they were all relieved at the slight smile on her aged face.

"You were successful, Mr. Potter," she smiled. Harry felt a fair amount of burden lift off of his heart.

"Now," she went on, taking the other necklace out of her pocket, "we have to mix it in… The blood and the tears." She took out her wand with her other hand and with a flick of her wrist, a dainty silver goblet appeared beside the amulet. It was smaller than a regular goblet and it looked to be quite ancient, but it sparkled and shone like it had just been freshly made.

They did not speak a word as she poured in the contents of the amulet first, the red but slick fluid flowing slowly. Once she had made sure there was not a drop left inside the pendant, she set it down carefully and reached for the other necklace. She unclasped the tiny locks that held the vial to the necklace, as she placed the silver chain on the table. She lifted the cap and tilted the vial into the goblet so that its filling would pour out slowly.

They all watched in interest and sparking hope, as the vial became empty in a matter of seconds. Finally, she set the vial down, looking inside the goblet in curiosity.

Without thinking, Harry walked towards her. He reached her side and wordlessly looked inside the shiny goblet, surprised to see that the contents inside seemed to have taken a life of its own. The silver, thick blood seemed to be mixing with the red tears. The colors swirled together slowly, as he looked down, blending and joining. A few seconds later, he saw the uneven rings of thick silver and islands of smooth crimson.

Finally, he heard her speak.

"It's ready," she said firmly, no uncertainty evident at all in her voice. Harry nodded, as he slowly tore his gaze away from the goblet.

"Albus, you'd better get Poppy," she said to Dumbledore. He nodded and walked towards her office unhurriedly.

Minerva McGonagall silently took the small goblet in her frail hands, as she walked over to Hermione's bedside, Harry and Ron trailing along close behind. She set it down on the table beside her, as Harry heard footsteps approaching them from the back of the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore and a fearful looking Madam Pomfrey appeared at the foot of her bed. Minerva looked at both of them expectedly, before speaking.

"Poppy, if you would please?" Harry backed away as the medi-witch walked over to Hermione and placed one hand firmly but gently on her chin, and the other on her forehead. Her hands aided and propped Hermione's head up, so the Professor could pour in the serum in her mouth without any accidents. Minerva nodded in approval, before turning to her side to retrieve the goblet.

As soon as she held it in her hand, she looked at Harry. Her stern eyes were apologetic and sincere, fearful but hopeful. Harry did not question the thought that she was feeling exactly what he and the rest of the people in the room were evidently feeling. Harry knew that she was a strong Witch, but no one was perfect. Not even Dumbledore, or anyone else. Everyone could fail and mistrust, make mistakes and feel that same biting guilt. It was nature, it was life. No potion or spell or magical amulet could change such a thing.

Everyone in the room was afraid, and maybe there were times they could deny it, but they felt no need to admit it or lie about it now. They kept quiet, the hope they wanted to believe in that will save a loved one keeping them from losing it.

Harry knew there was false hope.

Harry knew how it felt to be let down.

Harry knew the pain, the loss, the guilt and the lack of words that made him incapable of letting all of his frustrations and emotions free. He had seen death millions of times, sometimes before his own feet, sometimes before another.

But somehow, with all his experience and pain, he had a feeling that he was not ready for this. That all he had gone through could never make him ready or could ever match up for this.

He knew, deep inside, that he couldn't bear to lose another person he loved so dearly, though Remus told him that everyone learned to move on though at first they thought they couldn't.

He knew that everything was riding on this.

He wanted to believe, and maybe he did, but he needed something to believe in again. He wanted to believe that his love for her would pull her back into the world and back into his arms. He wanted to believe that his love could save her, restore her.

He wanted to believe that he would see her smile again, to get to hold her in his arms again. He wanted to believe that he would end up spending the rest of his life with her, instead of living without her.

He wanted to believe that he would get another chance to tell her that he loved her and prove it to be true.

He wanted to believe in all these things all at once… and it was all he had left.

Harry nodded at her, his eyes determined and hopeful, as he reached for Hermione's hand by her side. He entwined his fingers with hers, holding her weak hand firmly. He let out a deep and painful sigh as the skin on his palms became chilled from hers.

She hadn't been this cold before.

They were losing her.

He watched with anticipation as Minerva turned back to Hermione. She leaned forward and tilted the goblet to her lips, and the liquid poured into her mouth. Harry could feel his heart calling, shouting, protesting, as his grasp tightened on her hand.

She gave him hope, not too long ago, when he was sure that his world had come crashing down and everything was in irreparable pieces and ruin. She was the one who always told him that he could do anything if he believed in himself enough. She told him that if he believed in himself, no one else mattered.

Harry swallowed hard, his grip tightening, feeling that same painful knot in his throat.

What was he to do without her? What was he to do if he was forced to live without her? Who would be there for him when he pushed everyone away? Who would believe in him when no one else did?

Who else could he love as much as he loved her?

If he lost her, could he even be capable of loving anyone else?

The goblet had been emptied; the last drop had been poured into her mouth. Harry felt anxiety and panic start to build up inside of him, horror and anger ember inside his veins. Moments passed in silence, the stillness and lack of motion and reaction biting into the tender flesh of his heart. He could feel the monstrous jaws of realization and sinister fears confirmed before his very eyes.

He had lost.

They all watched her in fear and worry, praying and wishing that she'd move. They had told themselves that fate had bigger plans for her, that she would suddenly wake and make the day seem worthwhile. They had tried to erase the doubt; they had tried to believe that everything would turn out to be just fine.

But they were wrong. They were wrong.

She wasn't moving.

She was still and lifeless, cold and calm, undisturbed in every manner. The colorless and pale walls of the Hospital Wing seemed to taunt him, shouting their "I told you so"s and laughing at him wickedly.

Harry felt his eyes burn and his heart break with a loud shatter, and then fall to the jagged pit of his hollow stomach.

He didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true.

It was too painful, too raw to believe.

She was gone. No more hope.

But she couldn't be. She couldn't be. She couldn't have left. She couldn't have left him here all alone.

She would never leave him, she had told him so.

Suddenly, he felt his rage tower. A tidal wave of emotions and thoughts crushed his body underneath all the defeating pressure.

He tightened his hand on hers, as Professor McGonagall lowered her gaze and bowed her head in disappointment.

The silence hurt far too much.

His mouth was dry and hot, his throat rough. He felt that same pain that he had prayed he would never feel again. His knees trembled, his bones brittle. He swallowed hard, but he couldn't, for this time it was much more painful. He could feel his chest tighten with such a force that he could not breathe. His lungs were burning for air, but he couldn't bear to breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

The cold pierced his skin, and the silence bellowed so loudly it rang in his ears furiously. In his mind, everything seemed to flashing and scurrying away. He couldn't think straight.

He didn't want to believe this was real.

But it was. Reality bestowed no mercy. Reality was blind and cruel. Reality was fragile but strong and fickle. It served happiness and then once you had taken and embraced it, it stole it right back. It gave you a heart and then broke it with its bare hands.

It gave you someone to love and then snatched her right back.

It gave you everything, everything you could ever want… and then made you lose it.

Though you set out to be a winner, to be victorious, hopes and dreams only led you on. You end up being a failure, a loser, in the end. And then nothing will matter at all. You've lost everything, and you've got no energy left to fight for it back. You're left mourning and feeling that same stinging ache.

That's how he felt.

Harry didn't know what to do.

The tears clouded his vision but he refused to let them leak out. But they were much stronger this time, and he could feel his body weaken. He could feel that same tightening suffocation build up inside his lungs and his blood turn icy coursing through his twisting veins.

Madam Pomfrey checked Hermione's pulse at her wrist and neck. Her face was solemn and pallid. She shook her head slowly.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. Her voice was softer and gentler than all those times before, but they still echoed in his ears. He felt an acidic and bile taste fill in his mouth and tear at the lining of his throat. "She's… her pulse has disappeared completely. She's… she's dead."

"No!" Harry shouted, his voice breaking, as he held on to her hand tighter. The tears fought and his throat was closing up. "No! She can't be dead! She just can't be! She can't be dead!" His shouts were not convincing at all.

He was the only one who tried to deny the truth. He was the only one who refused to believe.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and hold on tightly.

"Harry…" he recognized the voice. It was Ron. His voice was low and solemn, hinted fresh with tears. "Harry, it said in the book that there would be a possibility that it wouldn't work… Harry, just let her go. There's nothing more we can do."

"No!" he shouted again. "She can't be dead, Ron! She just can't be!" he turned to Ron, whose eyes were glossy with tears. "You don't believe that bloody book, do you? It's lying! It's lying!"

His shouts were thunderous. He met everyone's eyes and he could see all of them had lost hope. They did not even try to believe that there was some hope left.

He looked back at her, hastily wiping his eyes. He still kept her hand in his as he walked towards her calm face. He raised his other hand, trembling and shaking, and brought it to her face. He pressed his palm against her cheek, a harsh feeling cutting through him.

"Hermione," he said, his whisper quivering. "Hermione… come back. Please, come back to me. To us. Don't leave me, you can't leave me. Please. I don't know what I'd do without you. I love you so much."

He felt the sobs dominating. His chest was bound tightly, and his breaths were ragged and excruciating.

His jaw was clenched from refusing to let it out, and his fingers were buzzing with a stinging cold.

"She can't be dead," he whispered. "She can't be dead."

Just then, he felt it. He felt it.

He felt a tear escape from his eyes. He felt the pain and the hurt muster in little drops of sadness and brokenness.

He had tried so hard, over the past years, to never let the tears out. He had tried so hard to be strong. He had tried so hard not to be weak.

But now, the emotions and feeling that he had kept bottled up for far too long had finally pushed and broken through the barrier. It was too much. He couldn't hold it in anymore.

But he knew, tears were no substitute. Tears could not bring her back.

He saw everything play before his eyes. He saw the picture, he saw her crying in his arms when she told him that she loved him, he saw her at the ball, he saw her in the snow… he saw her when she was struck with the curse.

But it was too painful.

He would never reminiscence like he did before. He could never look back on their memories and feel that same happy feeling.

He had lost her again. And this time, he could not save her or bring her back.

He would never see her smile and he could never look into her warm brown eyes again. He would never hold her in his arms like he never wanted to let go and he would never hear her graceful and soft laugh chime in his ears like praises from Heaven.

He had thought he had lost everything, once before.

But he didn't know. He couldn't know before.

Now, he knew it was true. He had lost everything.

She was his everything.

"Harry…" Ron tried to soothe and calm his friend but he could not even get himself together. "Harry… she's gone. She's gone. There's nothing we can do."

"No!" Harry shouted again, glaring at Ron. His vision stung with a severity, and became blurred again in a matter of seconds. The room seemed to be fading away, blotted in blurs that he could not recognize. The four figures that stood silently in the Hospital Wing became dark smears and distorted blotches.

His reason, morals and thoughts seemed to be slipping from his fingertips, his hope vanishing into the malicious air that tugged at his heart. There was a deep suffocation that was wringing his neck, forcing him to take his last agonizing breaths though the air was now toxic and filthy.

"You promised me," he said, his body trembling. "You promised me you'd never leave me. You promised me." His head was bowed forward, as his eyes closed. His hands held her limp hand tightly.

He felt something slip from his eyes and slide down his cold cheek.

"You promised me!" he suddenly shouted, his knees buckling. "You bloody promised me! How could you leave me? How could you break your word?"

His world was spinning and swirling into a mysterious vortex, his pain and loss magnified into something he could no longer hold upon his shoulders or bear in his heart. He was not ready for something like this.

He was never ready to lose her.

Just then, he sank down on his knees. He could feel the cold floor chill through the fabric of his robes and clothes and embed into his skin. The floor beneath him was firm and solid, but it was sinking and eating him whole just the same. Everything was unstable, the silence, the lack of reaction, the pale and colorless walls.

He hadn't known.

All his life, he hadn't known pain like this before.

It seemed vaguely alien, yet it seemed so familiar at the same time. Nothing was clear, nothing was distinct. Nothing was believable, nothing was fake. Nothing he wanted to make sense of, nothing he wanted to be ambiguous.

He just wanted her back. That was all he wanted.

It was pain in its most horrible and terrible form. His greatest and worst fear played right before his eyes.

The impact was harsh and brutal because he hadn't expected it. He wasn't ready.

He didn't want to be. He didn't want to consider the fact of having to live on a life that didn't have her in it. He wanted to believe that his hope was enough, that his love was enough. He wanted to believe that all the fairness and good in the world would play out, he wanted to believe that his heart would mend once he saw her warm smile that could melt the sun.

He wanted to believe all these things.

But he was let down. Reality had managed to break through the light and crush his hope.

Harry let it all out. His sobs hurt but they were liberating. His body shook vigorously, his tears raining down his cheeks and falling below. In his mind there was a chant and in his heart there was a dagger that ripped and tore him apart to pieces. He felt as if he was being burned internally, from the inside out.

His hands and palms burned from the coldness of her lifeless hands and fingers. His tears stung harshly and prickled his skin. His lungs were poisoned from the bitter air and his bones felt far too heavy.

He had lost her.

But now it was for forever.

"Harry? Harry…" he felt something gentle and warm set on his shoulder, and even with the roaring in his ears he recognized the voice.

Ron was beside him, tears slipping from his eyes just as easily.

"She promised," Harry said through his tears. "She promised me."

"I know, I know," Ron said, trying to calm him down. "But… Harry, she's gone. She's gone."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "No. I won't believe it."

"Harry, I know it's hard, but you've got to accept it. There's nothing else we can do now."

"No, Ron," he insisted. "She can't be gone. She just can't."

"Harry… Please. Just let her go. Let her go."

"No!" Harry shouted, his voice loud but rough. He jerked Ron's hand away from his shoulder. "No! I'm not going to let her go! She's not dead! She's not dead!"

Suddenly, Harry stood on his feeble and wobbly legs, his head feeling light but far too heavy to carry on his shoulders. He leaned over to Hermione and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Hermione! Hermione! Hermione, you're not dead! Come back!" he shook her lifeless body hard. His yells were thunderous and cut through the bleak silence and shattered the air. "Come back to me!" he cried hysterically. "Come back to me! You promised! Come back! I can't lose you too!"

Just then, he felt someone grab him from behind. He struggled to pry the hands off of him, but he was weak and he was in no condition to fight.

"Harry, no! Don't do this! Let her go! She's gone! You can't bring her back! No one can!" he heard Ron shout from behind him. Ron was holding him back firmly, but Harry resisted.

"No! You're wrong! You're wrong!"

"Please, Harry!"

"She's not dead! She's not!"

Suddenly, he heard a different but familiar voice. It echoed in his ears, as his strength was suddenly drained rapidly. His energy seemed to be flowing out of him, seeping and bleeding out of his fingers at a quick and fluid pace.

"Levisomnus Somnifer." It was a quiet and gentle voice, full of age and wisdom. But as he felt weaker and weaker by the second, his vision became darker and darker. He could no longer make out the three figures standing with them in the Hospital Wing, and the walls seemed to disappear. His struggles became non-existent, as his head was filled with a heavy lullaby. There were voices, but his ears were no longer listening.

Drowsiness overcame him, his limbs far too heavy for him to raise. His eyelids drooped; his heartbeats fading and the lingering pain washing away like a stream from his heart. The voices became unclear and muffled, and his thoughts vanished into a cloudy mist.

Soon, he fell into a deep darkness that welcomed him with its endless and silky arms.

oooooooooooo

He heard a voice. One that haunted and plagued his dreams and thoughts. He saw a figure in the darkness but he was not sure if it was real, some mirage, or a dream.

The voice was gentle and soft and it cradled his heart so carefully like it was so fragile and it might break if held any tighter. The voice was ghostly but it embraced his heart and filled his heart like an alluring lullaby.

He recognized it, and it was so familiar that it was starting to hurt him with a raw ache in his chest, but it was just not clear enough for him to try to make sense and comprehend of it.

It was a feminine voice. One that was graceful, inviting and warm. It was melodious and kind.

It made his heart start to beat and function, and his ears pound with anticipation. It soothed him and made him feel safe.

It gave him faith, and hope.

He recognized it. He recognized it. He longed to hear it again and again, he longed to capture it and drink it in.

Just then, he felt something warm against his skin.

Harry opened his eyes, but only a blurry darkness greeted him. He seemed to be half awake, the drowsiness still calling to him. His eyelids were heavy and drooping, but there was something that had woken him.

He didn't have the strength to try to squint or reach over for his glasses. The sleepiness covered him like a loaded drug.

It was cold in this room. The darkness was darker than he had ever seen, but somehow, there was something different.

Just then, he felt something shift and trace along his hand. His eyes rolled back, his head so heavy and tired. There seemed to be a haze, a misty fog that he was trapped in. He felt something warm and gentle press against his palm, but still he could not see a thing.

Just darkness.

He tried to open his eyes, but they only opened halfway.

That's when he saw it.

A figure, darker than the darkness or a shadow.

It was hovering above him.

The voice became clearer, and he knew. He knew.

He recognized the warmth on his hand and the softness that was laid against it. He loved it too much to ever forget.

But though he wanted to keep his eyes open, his eyelids closed slowly. His thoughts were slow and lagging. His mind was in a dreamy haze that made his body unaware. His thoughts were not strong enough. He was not strong enough.

But he recognized the voice. He knew.

He knew.

He knew who it was.

In the darkness, he could still feel the warmth against his fingers and palm. He was slipping away again, the breeze carrying him away to a silent and peaceful oblivion.

But before he was back into that same inviting and calm state, he managed to whisper his certainty.

"Hermione," he said, almost inaudibly.

But as he had drifted off, there was a voice. It was muffled and it was gentle, but he understood it.

He didn't know if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or if it was something his memory managed to play. Or maybe something that his heart remembered to help soothe his pain. He didn't know at all, but he knew it would do for now.

"I'm here, Harry. I'm right here."

"In the midst of my darkest hour,

you see my tear-stained face

This broken form that no longer feels power

In no apparent place

But even when the world has turned her back on me

When it's cold where it once had burned

When my thoughts are frightening

You will never leave me…."

-- Never Leave, Kendall Payne

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