Title: Never Gone
Genre: Romance
Rating: K+
Couple: Harry/Hermione
Set: During The Deathly Hallows

What makes a man hide? Shadows crawl across his flesh, squeeze his lungs and pull at his heart. They rip and tear, feed and grin. Cackles and whispers plague his mind, his eyes sting with tears, and fear controls him completely. The darkness grows, flooding the atmosphere, and he struggles to stay on his feet, to keep walking forwards.

Always, the boy's balance has been perfect. His skill with a broomstick relies on his confidence with gravity, the fact he can push aside such a fierce force just shows what sort of power he possesses. Not even the earth can drag him to the ground and break him.

... when he collapses, the world shakes, and ghosts scream.

Forehead throbbing, legs trembling, arms heavy, the boy tries to stand. His feet slip, and his stomach meets the ground again. The ground is moist, grass, and it tickles his dirty cheeks. He has to find his feet again. The boy swallows, and when he pulls himself up, it feels as if there are weights keeping him down, trapped.

A girl, dressed in soft, white material, kneels before him, claims his face in her hands. Harry breathes, and looks at her. A face so gentle and pure, he will always wonder why they call her scum. As soon as his eyes meet hers, he calms, his lungs break free and he can inhale, exhale, he can live. She is a dove, offering him peace and love. And he greedily has it all to himself.

He reaches over and trails the back of his hand across her cheek, and then he's smiling, softly. The disease and grins escape his mind and he watches her, because she is the only being who keeps him steady, who keeps him sane. And he knows there will never be a day when he he has the strength to abandon her.

Somehow, she has become his very soul. The Patronus. His shield, his weapon, his heart.

The man will happily lay down his life for her.

She doesn't pry her gaze from him. They watch each other, and she remedies his bruising mind, and soon he is revived and able to stand. But he waits, watching, her slightly pink nose, white, stained cheeks, and warm eyes. It's cold, and she's wearing a white scarf, but the gloves have been removed so he can feel her against his cheeks, make sure she is still alive.

Harry wonders what she's thinking. A sigh escapes his lips, and he breathes her name –– 'Hermione' –– and kisses her cold, slightly chapped lips.

She tastes like rain.