"Were you even going to tell me?"
Her words broke through the silence in the room like shattered glass. Harry froze, hangs clenching tight on the handle of his suitcase.
He didn't have to turn around to know what Hermione would look like. Stark white in contrast to the dark bleakness of the moonless night, leaning against the wooden frame of the doorway for support. Her hands would shake. Skin transparent and pale like tissue paper. Dark eyes.
He'd memorized her. She'd been tattooed against the back of his eyelids, memory absorbed into the skin of his palms.
Her skin. Her breath irregular and coming in short gasps against his neck.
"A note? That's it?"
He didn't answer. Her voice was wavering; stumbling in between anger, disappointment, and the kind of staining sadness that erases the brightness from one's eyes.
Harry closed his eyes against the sting of keeping them open too long. He almost had to remind himself to do anything and everything now. Forgot to eat, forgot to breathe, forgot to sleep.
His fingers brushing against burgundy lace. Chestnut-colored hair woven around his hands. Pink lips against his. "You'd follow," he said, finally, his eyes still closed.
He could hear her breathing: shallow and quick. He knew she was crying.
He remembered her face when she peered into her best friend's coffin. The way her hands shook. The way she turned from his family: they looked too much like him to bear.
They'd kissed for the first time in the lobby that day. She'd tasted like sadness.
Like heartbreak.
"You can't go alone, Harry…" It wasn't strong. Her voice broke on his name.
He swallowed hard.
"It's my destiny."
He finally turned to look at her. She was shaking from head to foot.
He brushed his lips against hers; Hermione's hands were tangled up in the material of his shirt, trying to anchor him.
She smelled like paper and salt. Cinnamon and breakdown.
"Always," Harry brushed his lips against her pulse and untangled her hands.
He heard the note flutter from her hand and Hermione slide to the ground as he walked from her.
"Don't leave me…"
His hands were so tight on the suitcase his fingernails were cutting into his palms. Harry closed the door behind him and stepped into the empty night.
Her words broke through the silence in the room like shattered glass. Harry froze, hangs clenching tight on the handle of his suitcase.
He didn't have to turn around to know what Hermione would look like. Stark white in contrast to the dark bleakness of the moonless night, leaning against the wooden frame of the doorway for support. Her hands would shake. Skin transparent and pale like tissue paper. Dark eyes.
He'd memorized her. She'd been tattooed against the back of his eyelids, memory absorbed into the skin of his palms.
Her skin. Her breath irregular and coming in short gasps against his neck.
"A note? That's it?"
He didn't answer. Her voice was wavering; stumbling in between anger, disappointment, and the kind of staining sadness that erases the brightness from one's eyes.
Harry closed his eyes against the sting of keeping them open too long. He almost had to remind himself to do anything and everything now. Forgot to eat, forgot to breathe, forgot to sleep.
His fingers brushing against burgundy lace. Chestnut-colored hair woven around his hands. Pink lips against his. "You'd follow," he said, finally, his eyes still closed.
He could hear her breathing: shallow and quick. He knew she was crying.
He remembered her face when she peered into her best friend's coffin. The way her hands shook. The way she turned from his family: they looked too much like him to bear.
They'd kissed for the first time in the lobby that day. She'd tasted like sadness.
Like heartbreak.
"You can't go alone, Harry…" It wasn't strong. Her voice broke on his name.
He swallowed hard.
"It's my destiny."
He finally turned to look at her. She was shaking from head to foot.
He brushed his lips against hers; Hermione's hands were tangled up in the material of his shirt, trying to anchor him.
She smelled like paper and salt. Cinnamon and breakdown.
"Always," Harry brushed his lips against her pulse and untangled her hands.
He heard the note flutter from her hand and Hermione slide to the ground as he walked from her.
"Don't leave me…"
His hands were so tight on the suitcase his fingernails were cutting into his palms. Harry closed the door behind him and stepped into the empty night.