A/N: Sorry if some of the information based on the book that placed here
are incorrect. I don't have my books to check them. Please R+R! Thank you!
Disclaimers: Everything not mine, but the property of JK Rowling. Except for the fanfic seen down there. All mine! Heehee.
She always calls out to him.
It has always been that every night she would sleep, she would suddenly wake up startled and gasping, cold sweat trickling down her cheek. The vivid images that her dreams provided her were always too much to bear, that it would leave her heart pounding and her throat wanting to scream. It was haunting, causing her to break down each night, crying under the lonely gaze of the moon's light. Softly she whimpered, hiding herself under a thin white blanket that provided her no comfort.
In her dreams, he would look lovingly at her. He would gaze at her with soft, endearing eyes, and hold her hands tenderly and massage the back of her hand slightly with his thumb. It was always his subconscious act to do that with his thumb, and she always liked it. They would sit there in front of each other, mouths only inches away from locking each to a moment's kiss. But in the dreams, he would never kiss her. He would just gaze and touch her, trace his fingers from her head to her cheek and down to her arms, then grab her into a lover's embrace. She felt it, felt it so well; the heat of his body against hers, his hands on her back, drawing her nearer to him, as she herself forced him nearer to her. And when she leaned her head on his chest she would suddenly feel cool droplets of water on her shoulder. She would look up at the man she loved and see him crying. She would start to cry to, feeling his pain. And when she hugged him again, as tight as she could, the man she loved would become a pool of blood, flowing continuously, drenching her hands. She would be surrounded by blood everywhere and nothing else. He was gone, and now she would never have him again.
It took her quite some time to understand what the dreams meant. When he was still with her, she never spoke of it to him, thinking it was just nothing. The last night he had been with her in the Astronomy Tower, she reassured herself that her dreams were nothing but illusions to scare the mind. Nothing happened to him then that night. But many months later would she understand.
Coming down for lunch in the Great Hall from a prolonged stay at the library, what greeted her were sympathetic faces and hushed voices. Nobody would tell her what was wrong, and certainly no one could stand to look her in the face. They knew she had been holding up well these past months, optimistically thinking that she did not receive any news or letters from him because there was a delay of Owl Post due to the ongoing war. In fact, nobody received letters from anybody. If there was anybody who knew anything about the war fought at the other end of the country, it was either someone who had direct sources to the truth, or direct sources to the speculations. So she always thought that he was keeping up well, fighting the fight. But as she entered the Great Hall and saw the even more sorrowful faces of her friends, and Dumbledore slowly approaching her holding a bundle of letters, she was stricken. Her knees began to fail her, her cold hands dying to grab onto something, anything so she could stand up straight.
"No. No. It can't be."
The words tumbled out of her mind to her mouth, mindless of all the faces that looked down to the floor. She panted hard, her heart not wanting to give her another breath to live. She could not think. The first thing she did was run out of the Great Hall. She headed straight for the dormitories, said the password, and entered the common room and then the girls' sleeping quarters. She locked the door and ran to her four-poster. Under it she pulled out a huge trunk, one that filled her 'for-everyday' casual clothes, some books and all her memorabilia. She pushed the trunk open with so much might that the opening hit the back side of the trunk. From the trunk she quickly took out a slightly big box, simply brown with no writings or designs on it. When she opened it she took all the contents out. A piece of cloth from his old Quidditch robes, a singing birthday card, a worn-out quill, How To Appreciate Quidditch - all either from him or originally his. All this she did in a quick motion, not stopping to take a breath. But when she finally found the last thing in the box, the one dug under all the other things that were preciously kept inside it, she slowed down. When she took the thing out of the box and got hold of it in her two trembling hands she began to cry profusely, her eyes not wanting to stop the rain of tears that have been kept pent up inside for so long. It was a wizarding picture where his hands were lovingly embraced around her waist, them standing behind a large oak tree beside the lake outside the school castle, right after they took their test for the O.W.L.S., and the last day of school. Why had it been so special to her? It was the last time she saw him genuinely happy and energetic, the last time she saw him strong and full of power, hugging her with all his might. It was the final time she saw him sincerely smile, with no cares and no hidden worries bothering him in his head. He was peaceful then, and contented, and happy. She missed him happy.
Sweet memories then began to fill her mind. The first time she met him on the train, knowing who he was by name but not really knowing who he was under all the fame. She thought he was handsome, but kept it only to herself. The nicest memory of first year was when she and him stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, drinking snagged Butterbeer from the Kitchens and eating very delicious custard cakes while they finished a very, very long report for Snape about the Effects of Mixing Wrong Potions and Their Role in History. Their other best friend had fallen asleep. They tried to wake him up but he just wouldn't. In second year, it was his face she first saw when she was petrified. She could not describe the elation she felt when she woke up to see him, not because she liked him then but because he was really one of the dearest friends she has ever had. In third year, though their adventure on the Hipogriff was mixed with nervousness and fear, the feelings they both shared of that happiness and victory that they were able to get Sirius Black out of Dumbledore's office made it one of the most special to her. In her fourth year he gave her a very expensive quill for her birthday that she had being saving up for ever since their vacation. She could not forget that she hugged him so tightly in thanks for the gift. It was in their fifth year that she developed feelings for him. But there was this one night when she, again with him were up until the wee hours of the night, saying jokes and teasing each other. For the whole night they just talked, and talked about a lot of things none of them would dare tell anyone. It was then that her bond with him grew even stronger. It was one of her most memorable experiences. Sixth year, she told him what she felt one night they were alone at the near-start of the year. Tears fell from her eyes, and she was about to dash out of the common room in humiliation when he suddenly grabbed her arm, spun her around and kissed her. Unfortunately they had already awakened half of all the students sleeping then. Clapping and whistling ensued. Seventh year was the year he went away. He was called to the war at the middle of the year, because he played one of the most vital roles in it. The night before he left she and him became one, under the gaze of the moonlight at the Astronomy Tower.
Memories she could not forget, that would not escape her mind. She went to her four-poster, and was about to lay her head screaming with pain down when she noticed two bundles of letters, and a single letter separated from to two on her bed. Who could have brought it there? She would have noticed, wouldn't she? Nevertheless, she took the two the two bundles and looked at them.
One bundle was a collection of all the letters she ever sent to him, neatly tied with a gold ribbon. The second bundle was a collection of all the letters he ever sent to her from the war, also tied with a gold ribbon. The last letter only had her first name on the front and nothing else. She slowly rolled open the dirtied piece of parchment and began to read.
Dearest Hermione,
Well, if you will notice this letter is different from the others I've sent you. It is because I used Hedwig to send it and not the camp owls, and I was more than sure that it would reach you (personal, so I just had to write your name in the front and Hedwig would know who to give it to). The camp owls might not be reaching you, and that might be the reason why you are not replying to my letters. That is why I sent Hedwig now to ensure that you will receive this letter. The men here advised me to use the camp owls and not Hedwig because they say it might be bad for him. I feel stupid for listening to them. With Hedwig, you could have received my letters long ago, and I could have received yours.
Anyway, I am still fighting, though not much action has been going on. Voldemort might be surrendering, I don't really know. But reports say that after we successfully destroyed all his headquarters in one day Voldemort's power started to weaken. I really do hope so. I want to come back to you. I've missed you so much.
There was this man here, Rufus Delailey, another soldier who was telling us a story about how his great great grandfather had died in a war ages ago, leaving his great great grandmother with nothing but ten kids to care for and little hope. He said that even though he is always reminded of the story he still chose to fight, because he thinks he is fighting for a better future for his family. I thought of you when he said that. I'm fighting for you, and fighting for us, that after all this war we will have nothing else to dread, and we will be able to live a peaceful life. And I promise you that I will not die before the end of this war. For you, I will continue on living and fighting. Be assured of that.
I stayed up again looking at your picture. I really do miss you a lot. Remember when we talked about what we would do after school? The house we would build by the sea? I dreamed it, you know. It was blue, the color of the sky, and white in some parts. Ron and Ginny and everybody else would visit us regularly, and we would have big guestrooms for them. There would be large windows, so that the light of the sun would always enter the house and give it life. It would be so peaceful. And I also dreamed of three kids. Three kids, ha! I dreamed three but you wanted five. Maybe we will have three kids. Well, it is always up to us when the time comes.
I love you Hermione, don't you ever forget that. I will come back to you, and soon. Sooner than you think! I love you so much. Take care of yourself!
Love Always, Harry
It was such a simple letter. So simple that it made her cry. She held it to her chest and lay down the bed. And softly she whispered to no one, no one but the air: "I love you too Harry, more than anything else in the world."
Disclaimers: Everything not mine, but the property of JK Rowling. Except for the fanfic seen down there. All mine! Heehee.
She always calls out to him.
It has always been that every night she would sleep, she would suddenly wake up startled and gasping, cold sweat trickling down her cheek. The vivid images that her dreams provided her were always too much to bear, that it would leave her heart pounding and her throat wanting to scream. It was haunting, causing her to break down each night, crying under the lonely gaze of the moon's light. Softly she whimpered, hiding herself under a thin white blanket that provided her no comfort.
In her dreams, he would look lovingly at her. He would gaze at her with soft, endearing eyes, and hold her hands tenderly and massage the back of her hand slightly with his thumb. It was always his subconscious act to do that with his thumb, and she always liked it. They would sit there in front of each other, mouths only inches away from locking each to a moment's kiss. But in the dreams, he would never kiss her. He would just gaze and touch her, trace his fingers from her head to her cheek and down to her arms, then grab her into a lover's embrace. She felt it, felt it so well; the heat of his body against hers, his hands on her back, drawing her nearer to him, as she herself forced him nearer to her. And when she leaned her head on his chest she would suddenly feel cool droplets of water on her shoulder. She would look up at the man she loved and see him crying. She would start to cry to, feeling his pain. And when she hugged him again, as tight as she could, the man she loved would become a pool of blood, flowing continuously, drenching her hands. She would be surrounded by blood everywhere and nothing else. He was gone, and now she would never have him again.
It took her quite some time to understand what the dreams meant. When he was still with her, she never spoke of it to him, thinking it was just nothing. The last night he had been with her in the Astronomy Tower, she reassured herself that her dreams were nothing but illusions to scare the mind. Nothing happened to him then that night. But many months later would she understand.
Coming down for lunch in the Great Hall from a prolonged stay at the library, what greeted her were sympathetic faces and hushed voices. Nobody would tell her what was wrong, and certainly no one could stand to look her in the face. They knew she had been holding up well these past months, optimistically thinking that she did not receive any news or letters from him because there was a delay of Owl Post due to the ongoing war. In fact, nobody received letters from anybody. If there was anybody who knew anything about the war fought at the other end of the country, it was either someone who had direct sources to the truth, or direct sources to the speculations. So she always thought that he was keeping up well, fighting the fight. But as she entered the Great Hall and saw the even more sorrowful faces of her friends, and Dumbledore slowly approaching her holding a bundle of letters, she was stricken. Her knees began to fail her, her cold hands dying to grab onto something, anything so she could stand up straight.
"No. No. It can't be."
The words tumbled out of her mind to her mouth, mindless of all the faces that looked down to the floor. She panted hard, her heart not wanting to give her another breath to live. She could not think. The first thing she did was run out of the Great Hall. She headed straight for the dormitories, said the password, and entered the common room and then the girls' sleeping quarters. She locked the door and ran to her four-poster. Under it she pulled out a huge trunk, one that filled her 'for-everyday' casual clothes, some books and all her memorabilia. She pushed the trunk open with so much might that the opening hit the back side of the trunk. From the trunk she quickly took out a slightly big box, simply brown with no writings or designs on it. When she opened it she took all the contents out. A piece of cloth from his old Quidditch robes, a singing birthday card, a worn-out quill, How To Appreciate Quidditch - all either from him or originally his. All this she did in a quick motion, not stopping to take a breath. But when she finally found the last thing in the box, the one dug under all the other things that were preciously kept inside it, she slowed down. When she took the thing out of the box and got hold of it in her two trembling hands she began to cry profusely, her eyes not wanting to stop the rain of tears that have been kept pent up inside for so long. It was a wizarding picture where his hands were lovingly embraced around her waist, them standing behind a large oak tree beside the lake outside the school castle, right after they took their test for the O.W.L.S., and the last day of school. Why had it been so special to her? It was the last time she saw him genuinely happy and energetic, the last time she saw him strong and full of power, hugging her with all his might. It was the final time she saw him sincerely smile, with no cares and no hidden worries bothering him in his head. He was peaceful then, and contented, and happy. She missed him happy.
Sweet memories then began to fill her mind. The first time she met him on the train, knowing who he was by name but not really knowing who he was under all the fame. She thought he was handsome, but kept it only to herself. The nicest memory of first year was when she and him stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, drinking snagged Butterbeer from the Kitchens and eating very delicious custard cakes while they finished a very, very long report for Snape about the Effects of Mixing Wrong Potions and Their Role in History. Their other best friend had fallen asleep. They tried to wake him up but he just wouldn't. In second year, it was his face she first saw when she was petrified. She could not describe the elation she felt when she woke up to see him, not because she liked him then but because he was really one of the dearest friends she has ever had. In third year, though their adventure on the Hipogriff was mixed with nervousness and fear, the feelings they both shared of that happiness and victory that they were able to get Sirius Black out of Dumbledore's office made it one of the most special to her. In her fourth year he gave her a very expensive quill for her birthday that she had being saving up for ever since their vacation. She could not forget that she hugged him so tightly in thanks for the gift. It was in their fifth year that she developed feelings for him. But there was this one night when she, again with him were up until the wee hours of the night, saying jokes and teasing each other. For the whole night they just talked, and talked about a lot of things none of them would dare tell anyone. It was then that her bond with him grew even stronger. It was one of her most memorable experiences. Sixth year, she told him what she felt one night they were alone at the near-start of the year. Tears fell from her eyes, and she was about to dash out of the common room in humiliation when he suddenly grabbed her arm, spun her around and kissed her. Unfortunately they had already awakened half of all the students sleeping then. Clapping and whistling ensued. Seventh year was the year he went away. He was called to the war at the middle of the year, because he played one of the most vital roles in it. The night before he left she and him became one, under the gaze of the moonlight at the Astronomy Tower.
Memories she could not forget, that would not escape her mind. She went to her four-poster, and was about to lay her head screaming with pain down when she noticed two bundles of letters, and a single letter separated from to two on her bed. Who could have brought it there? She would have noticed, wouldn't she? Nevertheless, she took the two the two bundles and looked at them.
One bundle was a collection of all the letters she ever sent to him, neatly tied with a gold ribbon. The second bundle was a collection of all the letters he ever sent to her from the war, also tied with a gold ribbon. The last letter only had her first name on the front and nothing else. She slowly rolled open the dirtied piece of parchment and began to read.
Dearest Hermione,
Well, if you will notice this letter is different from the others I've sent you. It is because I used Hedwig to send it and not the camp owls, and I was more than sure that it would reach you (personal, so I just had to write your name in the front and Hedwig would know who to give it to). The camp owls might not be reaching you, and that might be the reason why you are not replying to my letters. That is why I sent Hedwig now to ensure that you will receive this letter. The men here advised me to use the camp owls and not Hedwig because they say it might be bad for him. I feel stupid for listening to them. With Hedwig, you could have received my letters long ago, and I could have received yours.
Anyway, I am still fighting, though not much action has been going on. Voldemort might be surrendering, I don't really know. But reports say that after we successfully destroyed all his headquarters in one day Voldemort's power started to weaken. I really do hope so. I want to come back to you. I've missed you so much.
There was this man here, Rufus Delailey, another soldier who was telling us a story about how his great great grandfather had died in a war ages ago, leaving his great great grandmother with nothing but ten kids to care for and little hope. He said that even though he is always reminded of the story he still chose to fight, because he thinks he is fighting for a better future for his family. I thought of you when he said that. I'm fighting for you, and fighting for us, that after all this war we will have nothing else to dread, and we will be able to live a peaceful life. And I promise you that I will not die before the end of this war. For you, I will continue on living and fighting. Be assured of that.
I stayed up again looking at your picture. I really do miss you a lot. Remember when we talked about what we would do after school? The house we would build by the sea? I dreamed it, you know. It was blue, the color of the sky, and white in some parts. Ron and Ginny and everybody else would visit us regularly, and we would have big guestrooms for them. There would be large windows, so that the light of the sun would always enter the house and give it life. It would be so peaceful. And I also dreamed of three kids. Three kids, ha! I dreamed three but you wanted five. Maybe we will have three kids. Well, it is always up to us when the time comes.
I love you Hermione, don't you ever forget that. I will come back to you, and soon. Sooner than you think! I love you so much. Take care of yourself!
Love Always, Harry
It was such a simple letter. So simple that it made her cry. She held it to her chest and lay down the bed. And softly she whispered to no one, no one but the air: "I love you too Harry, more than anything else in the world."