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Unspoken by MinnieMcG
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Unspoken

MinnieMcG

Summary: He wakes to find her in his room in the middle of the night. Will he tell her everything or continue to keep his feelings hidden?

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe, nor am I making a profit from them. Unfortunately for me, Harry and everything related to him belongs to J. K. Rowling and associated publishers.

*Her*

He wakes slowly, hearing the soft rustle of fabric against fabric before he sees her. Without his glasses, she seems to glow, surrounded by a white aura of gentle moonlight. The slightest hint of vanilla and roses floats on the air and fills the room, a scent full of safety and warmth, of her.

He sits up and puts on his glasses, gleaning his surroundings bit by bit. She comes into focus, standing by the window, face pointed upwards, eyes closed, a soft summer breeze blowing gently through the open window. The transparent curtains billow around her, nightgown flapping against long legs. Her long hair has been tamed into a tight plait; only a few curly wisps lay against her smooth neck and pale cheeks. Not for the first time, he inwardly marvels over how beautiful she is, how soft her skin looks, milky and flawless. He wonders not why she is in his bedroom staring up at the night sky, wonders not why she has not tried to wake him. No answers are needed to either question; he cares not about the whys or hows. She is here, with him, and that is enough. Pulling the blanket back so he can go to her, he stops suddenly. Hearing him, she opens her eyes and looks towards the bed, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

She's crying, silver steaks marring her cheeks; her once dancing eyes sparkle in the moon's reflection, but not in joy as they used to. She starts towards him, not bothering to wipe the tears away. Reaching the bed, she crumples into him, clinging to his chest. He gathers her in his strong arms and comforts her as best he knows how. He wipes her cheeks with steady hands and trails his fingers up and down her arms while she continues to sob. Finally, the tears subside and her quick, gasping breaths slow into the rhythmic breathing of someone in the clutches of slumber. He traces his fingertips along her back in slow, lazy circles, still holding her tight against him.

He has done this before, numerous times, her grief being insatiable the first few months. Just when he had begun to hope that she had started to heal, to move on, to seeā€¦but, no. It was unfair to expect her to realize, to want the same thing. He didn't even have the right to want what he did. His life had become nothing but grief, guilt, and endless longing, each emotion hidden carefully away from her. He would be strong for her, care for her. She needed him to be her hero this time, not the world's, just hers. He alone understood the void left by his death, knew the pain and unending sorrow she felt. A part of both of them had been lost forever that night, but he would be damn sure that she wouldn't be lost too. He would help her find solace in friendship, even if only in friendship.

Gazing down on her sleeping form, he softly wipes away the remaining moisture that clings to her dark lashes. A soft flush has come to her cheeks, her lips curled into a slight smile. He wonders what she is dreaming of. Is she playing chess with him? Repeating the good times they shared together? He lies down next to her and breathes her in, always vanilla and a slight trace of roses, a scent she wears in remembrance of him, her first love. Brushing her lips lightly, he leans over her to place his glasses on the table and whispers in her ear. "Sweet dreams, Mione. I love you." She snuggles into his neck and winds her fingers through his in her sleep, silent tears flowing down his cheeks as he sinks back into sleep's comforting embrace.