Memories. That’s all they were. As he tossed and turned, his mind was bloating up with thought of the past. Of what had been. What could have been. Eyes clamped shut, creases in forehead damped with sweat, the young man looked stricken with sheer grief and recurrence. Hairs astray on the top of his head, a few wisps were straining to put a cover to the mark embedded in the center of his forehead. In the shape of a lightning bolt.
Suddenly, his eyes shot open, and his hand flew out to his side to take hold of his glasses. Once he grabbed them from the nightstand, he made a move to sit up, leaning his back against the headboard. Swallowing thickly, he situated his glasses right over his ears, and was relieved to finally see through the blurry scenes.
It had all been a dream. The whispers, the sighs, the kisses. They had all been another trick of his mind; nothing but an illusion. He was disappointed. His brows were furrowed in anger, and he pursed his lips in preparation to prevent a harsh growl. Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms against his chest for a moment. Thinking back, he found himself growing even more upset with each passing second. He might as well obliviate himself. For the thought of her would never go away.
Muttering under his breath, he made a move to take his glasses off, but yet again another thought stopped him. Well, more of an alarm really, since he began to hear the startling rush of music. Ringing in his ears, the familiar hymn was the least bit odd. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he would have accused Cupid to be mocking him. But he wasn’t. No, Harry Potter was ridiculing himself.
But you don’t succeed
When you get what you want
But not what you need
When you feel so tired
But you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse
She’d just been lying in this bed. Just a few days ago. So it seemed. It had been months, actually. Years. Impossible. He couldn’t even do anything about the whole ordeal. He had banished himself from the real world, all in one commitment, and it was the end of that. Yet, there was so much more to the mind. The memories displayed in illusions, and the voices played over and over again; they are all a curse, of what you hold onto in guilt. What you wish could have gone well. But it did not.
Yes, Harry Potter was in mourning. Over what? Dearly beloved. His beloved; Hermione Granger. It had been too late for her. He couldn’t save her. He had watched her life waste away. He had let her slip through his fingers. And he had listened to her on her deathbed, pleading for nothing more than for him to move on. He’d promise her anything. Anything but that.
She’d only recovered from Leukemia. It was a muggle disease. Harry knew this much, but he never thought Hermione would catch on with it. Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined Hermione to be deceased, before him, and all because of some disease that could never been cured. You’d think magic could do wonders, but even some have their problematic areas. This had been one of them. And Harry had never been able to live it down.
Hermione had always dreamed of her future. Her life with him, that they would share together. He’d listened with all his heart, eyes discreet with passion, and heart open with concern and forgiveness. She had explained her wishes, hopes, all throughout her imagination. He could recall every single word. Every one of those murmurs were unmistakable. He could tell her apart best. He enjoyed taking her apart. If only he still could.
But life wasn’t so kind. He didn’t have the strength to relive his past. He was barely making through the present tense. It would kill him to remember her. It would stain all hope for his future. But her words were quite clear. And they were replaying inside the vessels of his brain, over and over and over again. Endlessly.
“I would like a white house…” she had said, smiling faintly at the wall right in front of her. Seated on the comfortable bed, she was holding her hands together in her lap. Eyes cast down then, she blushed slowly. “With red shutters…and a red door.”
Harry had only laughed back then. He had taken her hopes to mistake, and confused them with amusement, comedy. She was anything just. Hermione knew what she was talking about. She was not some girl infatuated with the idea of having a home with Harry Potter. No, she was in love with the very fantasy.
When you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
He could just kill himself. Why did he overlook the prospect of a not so happily ever after? Why was he so big headed for the future? He’d assumed there was nothing bad out there, once the Dark Lord was finished off. That the only horrid things that came to be were a result of good and evil. How wrong he had been. Not everything revolved around the Wizarding World. Muggles had quite the responsibility as well. It was all in due time Harry came to realize all this. Yet, it had been past her expiration date. He’d been too late.
Unfortunately, even a time turner came to no use in his time of need. He couldn’t even bear it. He once wanted to get a hold of one, and then use to object to his advantage. He wanted to put a stop to time, an end to it. He wanted to stop Hermione from dying. Harry had wanted to hold off death. Although it was impossible not to have that happen to you.
“Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry.”
That’s exactly what she had told him long ago, and he could still remember it as if it were yesterday. Not ages ago, but only yesterday. Jolts of recovery formed in his mind, and he could fall back in time to take another glimpse at Hermione’s face. Her eyes twinkling in mirth, and her mouth twisted in a joyous smile. His Hermione. For him. Only.
When you’re too in love to let it go
If you never try, then you’ll never know
Just what you’re worth
“Harry? Do you love me?”
Her eyes had been tearful when he had asked her this. They were glazed in wonder and confusion, when his were upturned with questioning and retaliation in return. Harry had licked his lips, and quietly reached over to her. Putting his hand right above her neck, he used his fingers to coax the bottom of her chin, before leaning closer. Mere inches were left open before them both, only in time for Harry to press his lips against her own. But only after he gave a silent nod, in response to her earlier question.
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
He snored himself awake. Scrunching up his nose, he used his hand to fish out at his side, trying to engulf someone he knew to be there. Eyes still shut, he used his hand to search them out, but eventually had to sigh in aggravation when it came out to no use.
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears tream down your face
Eyes fluttering open, he brought his hand back to brush away locks of his dark hair, in order to get a better view through his dark, hazed green eyes. However, they were anything just. They contorted shock and realization, comprehension and understanding, anger and depression. And with that, a salty trail decorated his left cheek. But he made no move to wipe it away.
I promise you that I’ll learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
They weren’t there. The person he had been seeking for, was not there. He lay on his side for quite some time, falling back into the hole of present time. And creases formed in his forehead, bringing out the outline of his scar, having taken form over twenty years ago. The one mark that had been gawked at. Had always been stared at when in the crowd. The one that had been fondled with when in light situations. And the one that had been kissed with the sweet, merciful lips of Hermione Granger. But she wasn’t there. She wasn’t by his side. Harry was alone. She was not there, to put a rest to his nightmares. She was the one causing them. She was the target of his desire, yet he would never be able to get his hands back on her, again.
And ignites the bones
And I will try to fix you
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