And I'm that little bit of hope when my backs against the ropes
((OOC: Luke is officially dead. If you need your character to have a goodbye with him, I can probably manage that. Either way, he's dead. The italics in the death section are Becky's words in one of Luke's first posts. And Romeo is going to become non-local. This post was made in celebration of Robin's original journal creation. Two years ago as of
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"That's not--" He closes his mouth before the rest of the sentence can come back. They can't do this here. They have to figure out where they are. They have to get back.
It's not what he's actively worried about. It is worrying to know that Ron will have to suffer the loss of them both if he think they're dead. There's something more pressing weighing against him. He can hear all of these voices in his head, from Snape's memories. If he doesn't go to Voldemort, Voldemort will attack again ( ... )
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She refuses to look away, and when he faces her, she offers him her full attention. There's nothing she won't listen to, and she'll try very hard to understand. She'll try hard to make sense of whatever is coming.
Her eyes narrow in confusion as he speaks, and when he says there's more to tell than he realized, she finds herself tearing at a fingernail just to keep silent.
An encouraging smile is given, and then he's telling her. He's telling her 'Ron came back.'
Her eyes slide closed as she takes a moment to absorb this.
Hermione's been so frustrated and angry and hurt, on both of their behalves, but she's never doubted the Ron would come back if he could. ...It was simply the logistics. After they left the campsite they'd been at with Ron, she'd felt any hope of him finding them was lost.
She'd felt that Ron had been lost.
But, this is good; it's amazing to discover. It's wonderful, honestly, and she smiles ( ... )
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He hopes when he says the rest that he doesn't forget all the happiness that this news brought her.
The rest of it is painful. The rest of it fills him with guilt and heaviness to the point that it's almost tangible.
He stands, walking away from the bed. It's not the anger that drives him away this time. It's that heaviness, that tightness in his chest. Harry turns toward her, but he's looking at the wall that's behind the bed. It's difficult to figure out what's most important. There's so much, and she doesn't know it.
In the silence, the words build in his chest and start to pour out.
"I said his name. Voldemort's. Accidentally. They found us. We were taken to the Malfoys. You-- They hurt... you," Harry says, avoiding the details of it ( ... )
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It's different this time, and she can feel that difference. It's all around them.
She knows he needs to tell her as much as she needs to hear this, and as she cannot reach out... she listens.
When he begins, Hermione's eyes close for a moment, then she looks closely at him even as he looks beyond her. 'I said his name. Voldemort's. Accidentally.'
Accidentally.
Hermione doesn't need the details. She's a clever girl, and she hopes she was brave in the face of what happened. She'll never ask him to give her those details. Not ever.
Any guilt is wrong here. It's wrong, and it makes it difficult to breathe. And, hasn't he always carried the world on his shoulders? When has it ever been right or fair?
There's the smallest of smiles on her lips when he says that Dobby helped them to escape. It doesn't surprise her in the least.
Unfortunately, the cruelty and senselessness doesn't surprise her either. Her smile fades away like it had never been there. 'She ( ... )
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She hopes he is.
She always hopes.
She also worries. She's scared for everything he keeps inside of himself, for everything he takes on, takes responsibility for. Hermione knows it's a part of who he is. She knows that. The knowing does little to quell the fear she carries.
There's a readiness built into her this time when he pulls away.
'There's more to tell.'
No manner of steeling herself could possibly have helped.
He speaks of a vision and she winces, knowing how those visions hurt him. She's seen it, and it's always so terrifying. He speaks of Hogwarts, and that hurts, too. There's an ache at just the name. She misses it. She misses what it represented and everything it was to them.
She feels warmth rush over her, welcome and slightly unexpected in this moment, at the names of all of their friends. She can easily picture them, each and every one; she can almost hear their voices.
'You should have ( ... )
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He returns to the middle of the room one last time. What's left to say will be said from this spot. If he can get through it, quickly enough, he can be through with having to say it. It's still so fresh. It's almost good to get it out, but it's painful, too.
Exhaustion weighs against him. He presses his hand against his mouth as he fights to sort the rest out, as if that will stop the wrong words from coming out... as if there are any right words to explain all of it. It seems like there should be, there has to be for moments like this ( ... )
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Her name adds to the pain in his chest. It's fire among all the ice. He knows what's coming. He knows how hard it will be for her take. This is why he walked away without telling them. Because they never would have let him go.
"The last memory was of-- It was Dumbledore speaking to Snape. He-- Nagini isn't the only last Horcrux. There's one more. Voldemort doesn't know, but he-- It's me." Harry shuts his eyes, tightly, against the pain. Intense and unforgiving. He doesn't want to face her reaction, even if he should. "As long as I'm alive, Voldemort can't die so I left."
Harry shoves out the rest of the world for the moment. She knows by now, but the words come anyway. "I didn't tell anyone. I walked to him, to Voldemort. I couldn't fight back. I just had to-- That's why you weren't with me when I landed here. That's why I said that you didn't leave me. It was me-- I had to leave you, and I wanted to say ( ... )
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It's all over him. It's written into his face, and she knows that face so well.
Hermione watches him, waiting. There's a patience that might be strangely absent on any other day, any other moment of the day. Her eyes stay locked onto his face, and she wants so much to just reach out. She wants to tell him it will all be all right.
She can't though, can she? She can't ever say that, because she can't ever lie to him. His honesty is costing him so much, and she sees it. She feels it. A very strong part of her wants to go to him now, to tell him that he doesn't need to say any more. That part of her wants to just let it go, if he'll be able to wipe away that look. Only...she doesn't believe it would. She's not sure anything could.
She's not sure telling her will help. The only thing she's sure of is that ( ... )
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"I can't -"
She doesn't know how to voice what she wants to say, and she makes a strange, foreign noise in the back of her throat. It's frustration and rage and it's the purest love.
"I can't -" Her hands fly up to her face and she shakes her head.
It's in her head now, so clear. She can see him, so damned brave and giving. When has he ever thought of himself first?
It's never, that's when, and it infuriates her as much as she respects him for it. The moment she pictures that...that thing raising his wand, she chokes. There have been so many times over the years that she's been so scared for him, and none of them...none match up to what this knowing is.
She's leaning over and gasping for breath as she sobs. "I'm so sorry." She's sorry for so many things. Stronger, I wish I could be stronger for him, for this."Please." She reaches out to him, her ( ... )
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No. It's not- I can't- Please.Harry wishes that he could take it back. He wishes that he had another truth to give her, something that didn't make her sound so lost and so full of pain. He doesn't. This is the only truth that he has, and he could not bear to give her a lie ( ... )
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It's only when he's holding her that she's flooded with her own sense of self. He's warm and here.
Somewhere inside the iciness this honesty has settled within her chest, there's warmth, too. A voice inside her mind tells her to find hope in that.
She holds onto him so tightly, unable to even conceive of letting go. She buries her face against him, trying desperately to curb the waves of anguish.
He's here. He's alive and he's here.
'There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Hermione. Nothing.'
There's not a doubt in her mind that he means it.
Her eyes remain closed and she can only see his words, everything he's described. It plays out in her mind, over and over, and it's a nightmare. It's everything she's ever feared, and she feels so sore and lacking and lost.
Nothing to be sorry about.
She buries all of those sorries, and there are so manyHermione can't think of them ( ... )
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She's already been through so much having to listen to him and accept what he says, as painful as it is, even though she can't remember it. He knows that she has accepted it as truth, without question.
She has faith in him. The kind of faith that's both terrifying and heartwarming. She wants to stand with him when it comes to the end, but it's senseless. There's no reason for all of his friends to die, because he has to. He won't let another person die in his place. The thought of it is terrifying enough that his hold on her tightens.
"Hermione," he starts. The sound of his voice expresses a certain kind of ache that he feels deep within his chest. He appreciates what she's trying to do, what she's always done, but-- "I know that I'm not alone. I do. You and Ron have shown me that. When I was walking to face Voldemort, I opened the snitch that Dumbledore had ( ... )
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That doesn't mean to she won't.
The sound of his voice gives her pause, however, as does the news of the resurrection stone.
"Oh," she whispers, a broken little smile on her face. His parents. Sirius and Professor Lupin. All there with him.
She glad for that. She's so glad for that.
The thought of him completely alone isn't something she can take.
It isn't until he's leaning forward, until his forehead is against hers, that something in her heart tears free. It's raw and angry and exhausted. How can I say that I'll watch him walk away to die? If they even find their way back, how could she? How could she ever do that? How could she watch someone who's a part of her soul simply walk into that certainty?
I'll never be whole again. You'll be gone.
She'll never lie to him. Never.
He takes so much onto himself, takes so much blame. It isn't right, none of it, and she knows it's almost useless to tell him so...at least now. Hermione has hope that one day he'll see. ...He must make it to ( ... )
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All right.
He would understand if she isn't able to keep it, though he has faith in her strength. He knows how difficult what he's asking her is. Harry tries to imagine himself in her position, and he's not positive that he could keep such a promise if he had to let her walk to her death.
It likely makes him hypocritical.
However, he doesn't have the energy to care. She's said that she won't, and it's enough for this moment when they don't even know if they'll get back.
"Thank you," he says again, but this time for specifically this promise. "I know it's... a lot to ask."
He still doesn't quite grasp how much it means to her to be told that she has to do this. If she lives, she can go on and be with Ron. They can be together like it's meant to be. Harry hopes that Ron and Hermione both live.
So many have had to sacrificed themselves for this cause already. Let his be the last.
Harry hopes for it with no faith that it will necessarily come true.
You're my best friend, Harry. ( ... )
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