HP - You are only just (the beginning)
Title: You are only just (the beginning)
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG
Word Count: 225
Disclaimer: HP isn't mine. Title from Nick Cave.
His fingers linger on her skin too long, he knows, he can't stop knowing, and he can't think of anything but how much he wants to hold them there, and how much he shouldn't. It's his fault that when he sleeps he can't dream for nightmares. It's his fault that Ron's lost to the the endless list of names trapped in radio static, or as good as.
It's not his fault that when he closes his eyes he can't see anything but the curve of her neck. Of course it isn't. Of course it is.
It's his fault she's unhappy. It's his fault she turned away.
"I don't want us to change," Harry ventures the next morning, knowing every word is a lie. Saying it because he'd be mad to say anything else.
"I know," she says, a note in her voice like surprise. She leans forwards, brushes the hair from his eyes with fingers that are warm and soft and questioning. The locket's burning a hot hard unforgiving mark into his flesh, trapped beneath too many sweaters, and suddenly he can't breathe. He rips the chain from his neck, leaves it on the table between them. The tent is cold and he can't feel his fingers. The radio's too loud and he can't hear her voice.
She says, "it'll be alright," and he nods, because he knows it will. He knows she's never let him down.
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG
Word Count: 225
Disclaimer: HP isn't mine. Title from Nick Cave.
His fingers linger on her skin too long, he knows, he can't stop knowing, and he can't think of anything but how much he wants to hold them there, and how much he shouldn't. It's his fault that when he sleeps he can't dream for nightmares. It's his fault that Ron's lost to the the endless list of names trapped in radio static, or as good as.
It's not his fault that when he closes his eyes he can't see anything but the curve of her neck. Of course it isn't. Of course it is.
It's his fault she's unhappy. It's his fault she turned away.
"I don't want us to change," Harry ventures the next morning, knowing every word is a lie. Saying it because he'd be mad to say anything else.
"I know," she says, a note in her voice like surprise. She leans forwards, brushes the hair from his eyes with fingers that are warm and soft and questioning. The locket's burning a hot hard unforgiving mark into his flesh, trapped beneath too many sweaters, and suddenly he can't breathe. He rips the chain from his neck, leaves it on the table between them. The tent is cold and he can't feel his fingers. The radio's too loud and he can't hear her voice.
She says, "it'll be alright," and he nods, because he knows it will. He knows she's never let him down.