Flower Petals

-40-

"I love you." She whispered.  The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he smiled under the blanket of sleep that still shrouded them. Her fingers traced the veins of his arms and made goosebumps a common occurrence. They created magic wherever they went without wands or spells or charms, because the love that they shared was so deep that it seemed carved into their bones.

"You'd be so lucky." He hummed. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and threw his hair back in sleep sweat. Light flooded in through the windows and placed a sheet of warmth over the two, tangled in each other's arms.

She pushed his glasses up and through them he saw the quickness and cleverness of her face which manifested in her pointed nose and high brows. Her enthusiasm and bravery in her curls that bounced around her heart shaped-freckled face.

"My love..." he said "you know we ought to go find him." Smoothing out her skin and grabbing her jaw, he viewed her as the most precious medal or trophy he'd ever earned, one he'd most definitely have to polish, and prove everyday that he deserved. Golden and saturated with confidence and pride.

"Sirius can fend for himself James. He always does."

Harry and Hermione were asleep in the tent. The back end of it grew freezing at night so it was only logical (and truth be told wanted) that they slept together in the front end.

The ending of stories mirrors the beginning, and the same was true in this instance.

Hermione kicked when she slept, she was a blanket hog and often left Harry bare in the freezing cold with nothing but the mattress. Harry would grab her and drag her back to him, sometimes pulling her on top of him so that they became a knot of warm air and mumbles. Harry's hands would tangle in her hair and pull her into his chest in an unconscious effort to protect the last person who seemed defensable.

When they had nightmares the other held their hand and scratched their back, they squeezed the patches of skin and fat above the others hips and kissed below their ears until nightmares turned into easy breaths and fear into acceptance.

They never uttered a word in each other's presence, the words scarcely mattered. The substance of their relationship came in the silence.

Like every move was choreographed they danced through nights and mornings. Smoothly drifting against and away from each other. Each taking part in the undressing, dressing, the grinding of the coffee, the running of the water to bathe, in Hermione's reading and Harry's worrying.

The worst of each other was ignored, the best was ignored, they were not a pros and cons list, but a realistic capturing of what in all actuality they were.

Stubborn, rotted, hopeless and starving for life and validation. Craving the warmth of a childhood gaze and a innocent hug, the happiness of picking out a dress for the Yule ball, and the drawing of having to ask a girl to go. The need to be a child, to be wanted for nothing but potential to be an adult, and they fell just short of that.

Ron was missing, but neither of them grew worried. Ron was far more resourceful and strong then the rest of the world had made him I to be, the greatest worry was that he'd gotten lost, and now humbled through the jungle angry at himself, kicking himself in the head because he'd walked away in a fit only to turn back before realizing he didn't know if the sun set in the west or the east.

They waited patiently, everywhere they went setting clues for him in underbrush and sending owls to scout for his position, but no messages ever came back.