A/N: This song nor these characters belong to me. They have been captured. I just do terrible things to them. A bit of fluff won't hurt them, honestly!

But touch my tears with your lips
Touch my world with your fingertips
And we can have forever
And we can love forever
Forever is our today.

Who wants to live forever?- Queen.

I lay beside you. You are still such a handsome bugger, you know that? You've still got that gleam of mischief in your eyes and that devious twitch to the corner of your mouth when you hear a joke, of pranks, of the happier parts to our past. Your hair still falls in waves over your eyes, the exact way that used to make the female population of Hogwarts swoon. You still keep it long because if it's too short, it curls devishly, which you hate. Why, you silly mutt?

Azkaban has made you skinny, almost as thin as I, but I learnt to cook over twelve years. I get jealous when Mrs Weasly brings round casseroles and stew for us, although I think it's begun to help, seeing as Dumbledore wants me away on Order missions, like before, only this time we won't be making the mistake of not trusting each other. We'll never make that mistake again. That's why this moment here, being with you, is all the more special. Making up for lost time, eh?

I really thought I'd lost you, and that made me lose myself. Twelve years is a lot of time to make up for, Pads. Twelve years of trying to make myself forget about the best in our lives, you, me, James and Peter. He was there, Padfoot, he can't be erased. Believe me, I've tried. But maybe it's easier for me to forget about him seeing as I've had so much practise trying to block you from my mind. Your smile, your laugh, your every expression was locked up in a huge part at the back of my mind, there to be taken out and just looked at. I often wondered what had gone wrong. But that doesn't matter anymore.

Gosh, you really do need those casseroles. I could wrap my entire arm around you twice, if I were that flexible (I wish).

I am amazed at myself at how much I had forgotten. Truly astounded at myself for forgetting everything I had learnt at the age of sixteen. When you came to me, that serene yet strange evening when my life began again, I restarted learning about what and why. Two very important questions that I didn't realise you had already answered it long ago.

Why did everything seem so different now you were here than from before? It's only partially our fault, for letting one another go, but we found that of course it's going to be different finding those steps to get us to where we are.

What was the point in letting you go? Disbelief, you said. Lack of trust, I said. Arguing, we agreed.

What was it like having you back? A bit incredible.

Why won't they see that you're innocent?! Because, sometimes, life really is not fair. We've sort of learnt to take all the good things as they come, and hold on furiously.

You are so solid; so real. You care openly and only about the things that really matter the most, and I'm still, even to this day, flattered that you think so much of me. You'd tell me off for thinking that.

I hope you don't mind my chin digging into your shoulder like that.

You know, as much as I could talk about your wonderful existence all day, I could also go on for twice as much about the things you do that I hate. The teabags, for example, the teabags are just dumped everywhere. You have such a morbid fascination for Divination; I'm surprised you didn't take it up as a hobby or wrote a (probably useless and untrue) book on What Your Tealeaves Say About You.

My hands are cold. Your stomach is nice and warm.

You've made a little pawprint on my heart. It's always been there, and it will always be there. It's more permanent than a tattoo (it was still a nice touch, though) and just as lasting as you are to me.

Every moment I have with you counts as forever. In a way, we do have forever, but because I'm with you; then, time flies. I've been awake for quite a while now, and you're still snoozing. All I wish is that I could rewind time and live this moment all over again. Is it awful to say that I like you when you're sleeping a small bit more than when you're awake and grouching about cold floors? How may times have I told you to wear socks? Honestly.

I must be crazy, nattering on to you inside my head, but it's actually been quite peaceful without the interruptions.

So I can say this without regurgitating any painful soppiness or keen-to-forget embarrassment: I love you and I am never letting you go ever again for as long as forever is.