Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Ok. So, this was only going to be a one shot, but I couldn't help myself and wrote Harry's POV last night…

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The circumstances that make up my existence transform daily and a million times over. But only two things actually change my life.

Finding out I'm a wizard and falling in love with her.

The first happens in the blink of an eye. Hagrid tells me who I am and my entire reality is altered. The second steals upon me like the sunrise… until it is too bright for me to ignore.

All she does is hand me a quill.

It is sixth year and Ron and I come screeching into charms, late of course, and I take my seat beside her. She looks at us, that way she does when she disapproves of something we've done, and watches me search fruitlessly through my bag.

"Extra quill?" I whisper to her.

She shakes her head at me, trying not to smile, and when my fingers graze over hers as I take the quill she's offering, a jolt bursts through me. Real and undeniable.

I know that nothing will ever be the same again. My life… for the second time… irrevocably altered. Is it really that simple?

My head jerks in a double take. Her eyes have turned to whatever she's scribbling onto her parchment and I know all at once that it is that simple and that my entire life was and is meant to be shared with her.

The realization seems sudden, but feels like something I have always known. And I understand in the same instant, that I HAVE always known. I look back and see it has taken me a thousand tiny nothings to realize… well, everything.

I know before she does. I can see it in her eyes, waiting to burst upon her as it has upon me. This makes me laugh.

I tell Ron later that night. He only smiles knowingly, hands behind the head that's resting on his pillow and says, "You're in for a sack full of I told you so's and let me be the first git to say it."

He expects me to tell her immediately.

But I remain silent until I'm sure the weight of it collapses upon her.

It takes another year.

In that time I drink in all the nothings. Waiting.

I see it when it happens.

We've been in the library studying and she emerges from the stacks, arms overloaded.

Transfiguration: A Wizard's Guide To Change drops ceremoniously to the ground and I hear her sputter something under her breath. I move toward her and take the unnecessary volumes from her grasp, making sure she hears me call her a stubborn overachiever. Because she is.

Then I hear her draw a breath. Not one of annoyance or tiredness, one of comprehension.

My back is to her and I smile.

She comes to sit down a few moments later and as I hand her those blasted books, I watch as she recognizes that I know.

And neither of us says a word.

I observe as she fights with herself, unable to pay attention to her notes. I know she's thinking of those thousand nothings. Because I am as well.

An hour later, she's still not concentrating.

"Harry," she says quietly.

"Hmmm?" I murmur, feigning interest in a book whose name I could not recall today for ten thousand galleons.

"I can't focus," she sighs, running a hand through her hair, "Let's go back."

I agree and we pack our bags, walking silently back to the tower.

I take her hand in mine, for this is one of the nothings I have grown to love best. No one mentions it anymore. No one mentions the way I always lean in to tell her secrets because I know her eyes will shine. No one mentions the walks we take together or the constancy of our names on each other's lips. No one brings up the kiss I always receive on my cheek at the end of the night or the way she continually fiddles with my unmanageable hair. And no one mentions the way our eyes linger over one another. They do not ask because they know what answer they'll receive. Only I don't say it anymore. I let her answer for us because how can I tell them "It's nothing," when it's everything?

I think on all these nothings I've known for so long and watch her as they come to her, slowly and one by one.

When I let go of her hand as we enter the common room, I feel the weight of the nothings between us. I am accustomed to relinquishing her touch, but now she knows and it is different.

I know she will stop me and she does.

"Harry?" She grabs my arm. "Stay with me for a bit."

"You still want to study?" I say, hoping the answer is no.

"No."

"You're not tired?" I know the answer. How could she be?

"Not really." She shrugs her shoulders, releasing my arm from her fingers.

I look into her and she looks back. Another of the thousand things. "Alright." I say, dropping my bag and taking hers from her shoulder, before leading her to the couch.

"So, what is it, then?" I ask as we take our places on the sofa. I shift, wanting to be closer to her and smile as she realizes she is doing the same. And so we sit, just a little too close, my arm around her. Her hand on my knee. Nothing.

She looks down, finger scraping at a quill mark on my jeans. "I don't know. There's only two weeks left. I guess I just wanted to… talk."

And so we talk, as we have so many times before. About exams and leaving school and the fact that Ron is dating Luna Lovegood. We laugh and fight over who learned to apparate first. We cry over Sirius and Lupin and Neville and the others the Dark Lord took before we took him.

And then we fall silent.

All that is left to talk about… is us.

Her face is still wet with tears and she's staring off into the fire. I know it is time. The light from the fireplace glows on her skin and I raise my hand, slowly passing my thumb over the dampness of her cheek.

I want her to turn to me, but know she is scared to give herself away.

So I say nothing. I do not ask. Instead I reach for her in a way I haven't before, pushing her hair to the side and gently kissing her neck.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest for I know this gesture will bring her face to mine and I will finally breach the distance we have kept for too long.

I beam a smile I have reserved for this moment and her eyes, wide with questions, only further my resolve. I take her face in my hands and rest my forehead against hers, quite amused at her bewilderment.

She roams my face and when I do not speak, her eyes flame with frustration.

I give no worded answer for once. I am tired of words. And so I kiss her cheek and then the corner of her mouth, desperate inches from her lips. But I want her to know. To understand. And so our eyes find one another and hers whisper into mine that she knows the thousand things. And mine whisper back.

I can no longer resist - I have for too long - and cover her mouth with mine. My insides spiral as I feel her give in and I am lost to her. Her hands trace along my arms and I pull her closer over and over again, because no matter how close we are, it isn't enough.

I want to tell her the nothings and they tumble out as whispers into her mouth when I pull my lips away… "I love you," I say and sigh things about my heart and hers. Other times we laugh when we picture what we must look like, a jumble on the couch, still dressed in our robes.

I'm not sure how long we sit there snogging. By the time it's done, we are laying there. And I marvel at how I've never kissed anyone like that, with my soul inside it.

Her head is nestled in my shoulder and want her to speak. To remind me what has happened.

So I call her name as our fingers intertwine.

She lifts her head and rests her chin on my chest. Had I been standing, my knees would have buckled at the sight of her. "Yes?" She looks fleetingly like the girl who burst into my train car so long ago.

"Was this what you wanted," I grin, "when you asked me to stay?"

"I'm sorry?" Her face blushes before she gives in. "Well, I… can't say I expected exactly what happened, but I guess…"

"I've been waiting on you to figure it out is all…" I say honestly and lift her chin, so I can kiss her once more.

"I love you." She whispers.

And I grin, then whisper it again in her ear and watch her laugh.

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