Adrift

Snidget_And_Co

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 04/04/2005
Last Updated: 23/06/2009
Status: completed

“How come life passes past me? And, I wonder, as I sit alone in our darkened house, haven’t I noticed it before?” She left him a year ago, without much of a goodbye or farewell. He doesn’t know how to deal with it all, so he writs to tell her… Warning! Contains character death.

Chapters

1. Adrift

1. Adrift

~ Adrift ~

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Nicholas Sparks, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: An old friend, and a reviewer of this story, had recommended Porkey to me a while back. She said this fic might get a more positive response here, seeing as readers in other sites didn't seem to agree with the story's point of view. I have no problem with flamers, but please consider this is how I see things happening if this situation will occur in the books. Happy reading! (:

* * * * * * * * *

Winter had arrived early that year. Standing on the high cliff above the pier, he noted that the cold ocean breezes had grown stronger since he arrived there that morning. Ominous gray clouds rolled overhead, and the waves were starting to rise and crash with greater frequency. He knew the storm was finally getting close, and later in the tide.

He had been here most of the morning, waiting for the right moment. It was near lunch now, and the time had come. Looking down at the deep blue water, wildly roaring and splashing against the pier walls, he drew in a single deep breath. Exhaling, suddenly, a hard fist of coldness hit his face. He stuttered for a moment, taken back from the ocean and the edge. It was getting late, and the time was running out.

With shaking hands he uncorked the simple clear bottle he was holding so tightly and removed the letter that he had written to her yesterday morning. After unrolling it carefully, he held it before him. It was written in his messy handwriting that hardly anyone could understand, well almost hardly anyone, she could. He looked at the words he had read a thousand times that day, that he knew by heart.

His hands were now steadier, but still shook slightly, and he began to read the letter for the last time:

* * *

December 12, 2012.

My love,

I miss you, my darling, like I always do, but today is especially hard because the spring has begun, the first one we are apart. It burns me to think of our last one together, do you remember?

We made so many wonderful memories back then, so wonderful that it stings my heart just to think of them. I long for those memories, for our past… and for you. Even now, one year after, I cannot help but call your name when I come home. Or, as I walk down Diagon Alley, I always go into Flourish & Blotts to search for a book, and then I recall that you are not here to read it. My search for you, an attempt to keep you alive in this world, is a never-ending quest that is doomed to fail.

How come life passes past me? And, I wonder as I sit alone in our darkened house, haven't I noticed it before?

I breathe and eat and sleep as I always did, but there seems to be no great purpose in my life that requires active participation on my part. Instead of moving on with my life, I linger behind, holding on to my memories like a fool.

Till death do us apart, we whispered together on our wedding day. I've come to believe that the words will ring true until the day finally comes when I, too, am taken from this world. And I cannot keep my promise to you, those folly words I spoke a long time ago. I am sorry, love, you are the only one for me, and now that you are gone, there is no desire in me to replace you.

Last night, when I remembered that promise, many memories came flowing back. I called for you, out of the pain and misery that I feel because of them. And when my pain seemed to be the greatest, you slowly found a way back to me.

That night, in my dreams, I saw you standing beneath a tree in Richmond Park near our home. A light breeze was blowing through your brown curls, and you smiled at me with love that I, only, will ever know. You are so beautiful, I think as I see you, a vision I can never find in anyone else.

As we walked alongside each other, you listened intently as I told you how hard it's been for me since your death. You said nothing right away but simply kept walking until finally you turned to me and said, “Don't hold on… let me go”.

“I can't”.

Upon hearing my answer, you smiled at me with sadness. “Oh, Harry,” you said and gently touched my face, “you can. I know how hard it must be for you, but it's been a year.” I laughed bitterly and told you how it reminded me of Ron's coaxing, and you laughed as well. The look of pure joy on your face as you laughed, I couldn't resist touching you. As I raised my hand and touched your cheek, you tilted your head and closed your eyes. My hands were hard against your soft skin; I could smell the familiar vanilla scent of your hair as I bended down to kiss the top of your head. And at that moment, I felt alive again.

But then, as always, the mist started to form as we stood close to one another. It is always a distant fog that rises from the horizon, and every time I find that I grow fearful as it approaches. It slowly creeps in, enveloping the world around us, fencing us in as if to prevent escape. Till there is nothing left but the two of us.

I feel my throat begin to close and my eyes well up with tears because I know it is time for you to go. The look you gave me at that moment haunts me. I feel your sadness and my own loneliness, and the ache in my heart that had been silent for only a short time grows stronger as you release me. And then you stepped back into the fog because it is your place and not mine. I want to go with you, but your only response is to shake your head because we both know that it is impossible. And I watched as you slowly faded away from my life, and left my world once again.

When I woke this morning, I reached out for you. Touching the warm spot that is your side in our bed, I'm fooled to think you may still be near and that the fog did not take you away from me.

I open my eyes slowly, only to discover that the sun was the one to warm our sheets. And I'm alone again.

I hold your pillow close and bury my head inside, trying to catch your scent. My heart is breaking again, and I do not care if someone will hear me as I break down and cry and cry and cry.

Harry.

* * *

Tears had been running freely down his cheeks, and he sniffed a couple of times, trying to hold back the more that were to come. Looking at his letter and his feelings, he rolled it up and sealed it in the bottle. Turning it around a few times he whispered, “I love you, love.”

He held the bottle close to his face and placed one single kiss on it, as if sealing it completely from everything but her. Trying to stay strong at that moment, he fought back every single sob that was threatening to escape his mouth.

The first couple of raindrops were beginning to fall by the time he gathered enough strength to end it all. Finally, when he knew he could wait no longer, he threw it out as far as he could.

It was then that a strong wind picked up and the fog began to part. Harry stood in silence and stared at the bottle as it began to float out to sea. And although he knew it was impossible, he imagined the bottle would never drift ashore. It would travel the world forever, drifting to faraway places he himself would never see.

When the bottle vanished from sight a few minutes later, and into the open sea, he stared back over his shoulder. Ron was standing there, with tears in his eyes. Walking in the rain with the wind howling loudly in his ears, Harry smiled softly. Upon his reaching of his best friend, the two men hugged each other. Two best friends, mourning over a common and personal loss.

Harry did not know when or where or if the bottle would ever turn up, and it didn't really matter. Somehow he knew that Hermione would get the message.

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