someday | h.p.

𝘃𝗶𝗶. halik.

Chapter 7: Kiss. 

Praying to God that one day you'll be mine.

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

May is sitting in their bed, waiting for Harry to return. Next to her is a medium-sized brown box containing all of the items she gave to him years ago.

"May," Harry's voice echoes in her ear as he closes the door beside him. He was dressed in a white button-up long sleeve polo with two top buttons open, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, showing off his veins, and his hair was messy.

"Hi, darling," he said as he walked closer to her and planted a light kiss on the top of her head, but May didn't greet him since she remembered their dispute from earlier. Harry's gaze was drawn to the box next to her; he hadn't seen it in years, and of course, he knows what's inside because the box bears their initials in the center.

May began, "I spotted that at the top of my bed during our fifth year," her gaze never leaving him. "That's when I realized our friendship was over, but I begged, but you pushed me away, and I was so stupid for begging you again."

Harry gulps, his gaze unable to meet hers, and he feels bad for being such a jerk before. He remembers her pleadings, her apologies if she ever did anything to irritate him, her tears welling up in her entrancing eyes—he remembers everything and it continues to haunt him.

"But I never returned this to you," Harry responds. "Believe me, darling, I didn't return or throw this away; I still had it on me, and then one day it vanished; I kept looking for it, but I never saw it again."

His tone was serious, and it almost made her believe—almost, she wanted to believe and rebuild her full trust in him, but he broke it so quickly, as if she hadn't built it for years.

"It arrived with a letter," she responds, and this time his gaze shifts to her, wondering what letter she's referring to. She took the letter she had placed inside the box, which was a crumbled parchment—she had crumbled the parchment after reading it.

Harry picks up the letter and reads it on his own, his heart sinking at the sight of it. He never wrote it, and he has no knowledge of doing so. "It's your handwriting," she said. "I know it was because I recognize your handwriting."

"It's mine, certainly," he admitted, "but I promise I didn't write this."

'May, I returned everything you gave me; everything is in the box. I believe it would be pointless to keep this if we were no longer friends. Don't worry, everything you gave me is intact and undamaged.'

     -Harry. 

That was the phrase written on the parchment, and his eyes couldn't believe it was his handwriting since he hadn't written it. "I didn't write this," Harry clarified. "Perhaps someone wrote it."

"And who could that someone be?" May inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

"I don't know." 

Her hand grabbed for the box and placed it in front of her as she proceeded to open it while he watched. Everything she had given was present—complete and undamaged, just as the letter stated. Those things brought back memories for him and for both of them. Every single object within this box had memories for the both of them, waiting for it to be opened—to reminisce the bittersweet of their past.