Make You Feel My Love

A/Note: When I refer to ‘woollen boots’ I’m actually talking about ugg boots. I didn’t think it very.. Articulate to call them ugg boots though! This is not strictly a romance though, just to warn you.

Make you Feel my Love belongs to Bob Dylan, as far as I know. If someone sang it before him, don't hesitate in telling me!( Adele's version is brilliant, by the way!)

First time posting here, so I’m excited! :D

Very angsty, short one-shot. You've been warned ;)

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Make you Feel my Love

When the rain is blowing in your face,
And the whole world is on your case,

I could offer you a warm embrace,

To Make you Feel my Love.

The snow is falling lightly; delicately coating the streets and houses of London. The night is black, with only the streetlights guiding the way through the darkness. The occasional car drives slowly down the streets, wary of the slippery roads whilst marvelling the beauty of the snow.

A woman walks down the road, bundled in a long, black coat and maroon scarf. Maroon gloves keep her hands warm and woollen boots don her feet. Her head is downcast, causing her chin and mouth to burry in the scarf. She’s a local, and knows her way around the muggle town very well. Taking a left into an alleyway, she disappears.

As she lands outside a graveyard, she sighs. Her brown hair is attracting many flakes, and there are white specks to be seen all over her head. She shakes her head, and looks forlornly towards the graveyard.

A woman as young as she -- about seventeen, maybe eighteen years of age -- was not a common sight in the graveyard, and the sparse onlooker wonders what she is doing there.

With a heavy sigh, she begins walking towards the graveyard. Her steps are onerous and she stumbles more than once. The brunette ambles through tombstones and forgotten relatives until she stops suddenly. She doesn’t seem to be focusing on any of the graves around her, but is looking straight ahead, her head tilted to the side.

She stands like that for a moment, and when one follows her line of sight, they notice she is actually staring at someone. A man, or boy, is standing at a grave, his face the picture of grief. His hands are rooted in his pockets, and he’s simply gazing at the tomb.

His black hair is messy, and one wonders if it is the snow that caused it to be so mussed.

After watching the boy for a minute, the girl moves forward. Her steps are quicker this time, and her expression is one of concern. She is a mere step behind him now, and the only indication he gives that he is aware of her is a slight tilt of his head.

She raises her hand, then brings it back down. It’s clear she’s not sure how to approach him, but there seems to be a familiarity between them that couldn’t be mistaken. The girl eventually settles on stepping up next to him, then reaching for his hand and coiling it around her own. His hand squeezes back, and it’s evident he’s glad for her presence.

There is a silence; not one of awkwardness, but peace. The two are relaxed in each others presence.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and his voice is distinctly hoarse.

She casts him a look, but he continues to stare at the tombstone, “Because you are. You’re hurting, and I’m here for you, Harry. Please, just let me in.”

“I’m fine. You should go back. It’s late.”

“Go back to The Burrow without you? Definitely not. As you have said, it’s late.”

He wrenches his hand from hers, placing the two of his hands on his head. “Why do you do this? Why can’t you just go on with your own life and leave me!”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry. I’ll never leave you. Now, stop playing the pitiful hero and get your act together.” She looks at him again, but he still isn’t meeting her gaze. “When are you going to understand that I’ll do anything to make you happy? Anything to make you feel loved? I’d do anything.”

He doesn’t reply, but laces his hand with hers once more. A ghost of a smile appears on the girls face, but is gone as quickly as it came. He studies the tomb once more, then leans forward; brushing his fingers against the cold marble. “I didn’t want this to happen. He shouldn’t… I should have done it all alone. Voldemort and me. No one else.”

“It’s not your fault.” She counters adamantly, “Voldemort would have never done it alone.” There’s vehemence in her voice that would shock anyone. Upon looking at the girl, she appears to be a normal eighteen year old. It is only until closer inspection that one notices the aura of maturity she has, or the grace and dignity with which she carries herself; the wisdom and experience in her eyes that are far beyond her years.

She’s also looking at the grave now, “It’s a devastating loss -- for anyone. He, like Sirius, Dumbledore and your parents, would want you to remember him with joy though. Not sadness, not with this undue guilty on your shoulders.”

Harry shifts, then waves his free hand over the grave and flowers appear. “People blame me.”

“I know.” Her voice is even, but her expression troubled. “They’re wrong. They need someone to blame their loss on to ease their own pain, and you’re an easy target. Very few people blame you though, Harry. I need you to know that. And those that do will apologise to you someday.”

He leans down, and drops his head. Tears are seen falling from his eyes and he swipes at them, “Teddy’s an orphan now. He’s exactly like me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. My only link to my father is gone. My only mentor left is gone… Hermione, I’ve got nothing.” His voice is high and scratchy as he ends.

When the evening shadows,

And the stars appear,

And there is no one there to dry your tears,

I could hold you for a million years,

To Make you Feel my Love

She pulls him up, wrapping her arms around him and allowing him to sob on her shoulder. “You and Andromeda will take great care of Teddy, and there will never be a more loved child. Now, come on, Harry. Think of all you have.” She reminds him softly, “Ron, Ginny, Mr and Mrs. Weasley, George, Percy, Bill, Charlie, Teddy… And you’ll always --always -- have me.”

They’re both silent again, and she rubs his back in circular motions as he clings to her. There is a love between them felt by anyone watching, and it is both heartfelt and sorrowful. The loss on the boy has obviously affected him greatly, but the affection and love he has for the young woman could not be mistaken.

“Thanks, Hermione.” He croaks quietly.

I could make you happy,

Make your dreams come true.

Nothing that I wouldn’t do,

To Make you Feel my Love

Her smile is fully fledged for the first time that night, “You don’t need to thank me. As I’ve said, I’d do anything to make you realise what you have.”

Harry pulls back, squeezing the girls hands as he holds on to them, “I love you, Hermione.”

The look on his face is one of utmost love, gratitude and genuineness. The honesty shocks the girl, but then tears well in her eyes and she valiantly pushes them back. When she speaks, her voice is no more than a soft whisper, “I love you, too, Harry.”

He gives her a small smile -- one filled with both affection and sadness -- and they both look back at the grave; their hands entwined and their hearts filling with hope for the first time since the war ended six months previously.

Here Lies,

Remus Lupin.

Remarkable mentor, valiant fighter, devoted friend, loving husband and an amazing father.

Reunited with Prongs and Padfoot.

1960 -- 1998.

“Don’t worry, Moony, I’ll look after Teddy. I--I’ll miss you, though.”