Hello, friends. It's been a long time. But as my final semester of undergrad (!) is drawing to a close, here is a little 500 word drabble. Loosely inspired by "Closure" by Maroon 5. Give it a listen.

As always, I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money off of it.

Closure

She sees it in his eyes when he comes through the Floo, that he's finally set his mind on the task that he's been thinking about for weeks. She's seen it coming. Two lovers dancing around the same inevitable end, but neither one wanting to admit that it's there.

It started with the little things. When they had first started dating, he had found any reason to touch her. His fingers lingered on hers when he handed her a cup of tea. He hugged her from behind when she was making dinner, resting his head on her shoulder, kissing her neck. Yet now they sat on opposite sides of the couch when they read together at night. He didn't offer to rub her feet after long meetings with the centaurs.

She knew that the end was inevitable when he stopped laughing at her jokes. At first, it was subtle. When he smiled, his eyes were the same cold black pits that she remembered from the war. And recently, he rarely even graced her with an amused grunt.

She stays silent as he dusts himself off from the Floo, for breaking the silence only brings her closer to the words that she doesn't want to hear. But finally, he meets her eyes, and she has to speak.

"Tea?" Her voice is steadier than she expects, and she silently thanks Merlin for the small mercies in life.

"Perhaps whiskey," he counters in a smooth, deep voice. Dread pools deeper in her stomach.

She moves to the kitchen and pours two drinks, diluting hers with a bit of water so that she can stomach the taste. She's never been one for Firewhiskey, but she feels that she might need it tonight.

She seats herself on the opposite end of the couch from him and hands him the glass. The bottle has been placed on the coffee table, within reach of both of them. Once again, she feels that they might need it tonight.

He takes a sip with an appreciative nod. When he finally opens his mouth to speak, the words that she's been dreading come tumbling out. "We need to talk."

Finally – finally – the resignation hits. Maybe it's the confirmation of her dread, the bittersweet relief of the end. Maybe it's the acknowledgement that this is actually happening.

And then it doesn't.

For as he pours out more of his heart than he ever has before, her 'I love you' is sudden and quick and cutting. And it's a phrase that neither of them has said to each other.

His lips are quick to cover hers, his body soon to follow. But their lovemaking – if it is even that – feels more like a goodbye. And when they are finished, they fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed, painfully alone.

Perhaps it hurts more this way. For when they wake up, everything will go back to the way that it was before. Two hearts waiting for heartbreak. Two souls waiting for closure.

Bite-sized heartbreak. Let me know what you thought.