003.
Summer
The harvest time had passed for muggles; summer is nearly over and they are still not saved. It seems as though so much time had been wasted lingering, spending endless nights trying to find answers that proved nothing more than elusive. The days are dry with heat and the nights are suffocating with humidity. He found himself too hot and agitated at best during daylight, and at night he found himself too hot and restless. He can barely sleep for more than minutes at a time. He stares up at the ceiling listening to her breathe softly; a look over at her shows she's as uncomfortable as he, stripped down to nothing but a tank top and a pair of panties, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her hairline damp with sweat. He remembered someone telling him, one time or another, that summer was a time for friendships, maybe romance, but he hadn't really been listening. It had proved less than true all these years. During his school years his summers were the one thing he dreaded, living in constant unhappiness with the Dursley's until someone came to rescue him. And even now, with school behind them, summers still were not pleasant; now they spent summer hiding, looking and looking and looking for answers, trying to find solutions that never seemed right. He sits up, wiping sweat from his forehead; he leans over and kissed her head softly, sliding carefully out of bed.
[What happened to the days, the nights even, which were more than this?]
He finds himself, as it always seemed, in the kitchen. There were so many memories in this place, of all places, that he often found himself just standing, looking at everything and replaying it all in his head. Sometimes, he thought if he wished hard enough it would all come back and this nightmare might disappear. It never did. He knows it never will. On the counter is a plate of treacle tarts that Mrs. Weasley made with dinner, and without thinking he takes one and sits down at the table.
"I see that you can't sleep either, Harry." He looks up at the source of the familiar voice and finds that Lupin is looking worse for wear. Harry watches him, too, take a treacle tart and sit down next to him. "I wonder though, if it's because of the heat, or because of the things that weigh on your mind."
"Both, actually," he says, and he thinks of Hermione asleep in their room; of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, safe for now; of Ron, the twins, Ginny. He wonders how long he can keep them safe.
"You look like you're trying to carry the weight of the entire world, Harry," Remus says. "That's not how it's meant to be."
"Isn't it?" Harry replies. "I'm the only one who can stop Voldemort, and in the process everyone here, everyone I care about is in danger, and millions of other innocent people. I have to keep them safe." Remus can see the desperation in his eyes, and he wishes once more, the he could do something, anything more to help him.
"You aren't meant to save the world, Harry. All of us, we're here to help you, not because you're meant to protect us."
"I have to," he replies quietly. "If… If something happened…" He looks up at his former professor, fighting against the knot in his throat. "None of it would be worth it if I stop Voldemort and he kills the only people that matter to me in the process."
"You mustn't always carry the guilt of the dead, Harry," he says softly and Harry has to look away. The knot in his throat seems to grow impossibly bigger, tighter. "Your parents were not your fault. Cedric Diggory was a victim of Voldemort, not of you. Sirius died in honor, Harry; that isn't your fault either. And Professor Dumbledore… he did what he thought was necessary, and I'm sure if he were here now and had to make that choice again, he wouldn't change a thing."
The silence between them seemed to last longer than intended, but Harry was having difficulty finding his voice. "Remus," he says quietly. "You know I love her. I love her so much it hurts sometimes. We know he would do anything to get to me, to make my life not worth living - because if he does that, even if I destroy him he wins."
"Harry-"
"I can't lose her," he cuts him off. Harry looks up at Remus and sees the sincerity in his eyes. He knows he's lucky to still have him, and it hurts to wonder if he'll still be here when this is over. "I need Hermione as much as I need to breathe."
"I know how it feels to love someone that much," Remus replies softly, looking down at his untouched tart. "I know that feeling all too well, Harry. And I know how it feels to lose that person." When he looked up at Harry there was something unspoken but understood between them. Harry didn't need to ask who because he knew, he had known somehow for some time. "I would give my life, Harry, to make sure you never know that kind of pain. I would die to protect Hermione as much as you."
In that moment looking at Remus, sitting there with so much unsaid but recognized between them, Harry couldn't remember a time he felt so thankful. He only wished that he could protect Remus, too; but he knew this man well, and he wouldn't let Harry protect him. "I don't know how to tell you how much that means to me, Remus," Harry says softly. "I don't know how to thank you for that." He too, stares down at the tart he had been unconsciously picking apart. He looked up as Remus stood, looking too tired and too old.
He said softly: "Live."
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