Adventures Without Maeve

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This story is currently being edited to make changes and better the story. If you would like to read the story, I suggest you wait until the updated version comes. Which will hopefully be by the end of this month.

Thank you

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A new update; first few chapters are updated so you can read up until the updated chapters end, I'll leave edit notes so you know which ones are

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Sitting at this funeral was hard, Harry would say the hardest thing in his life. She didn't deserve this, she could never. She, out of all people, should have had longer to live. But here he is, surrounded by family and friends, watching them give nervous looks as if they expect him to burst at any moment. And maybe if his brain weren't so foggy, and if he weren't shocked, he would. Harry would join her on this adventure to another place, gladly lay in ground next to her. But even he knows that isn't the right thing to do here, no matter how much the separation already hurts.

It wasn't right the way it happened. Harry imagines, wherever she is, that she is very upset about this all. She wouldn't have wanted to go the way she did. She would have wanted something huge, something adventurous. But she got this. In some ways, she was cheated.

Maeve Kidd was perfect, hell she was more than perfect. She always wanted an adventure, constantly looking for a new thrill. It was like her way of getting through life. Something she could have complete control over for once. Maeve had say over what adventure and when, it was her choice. Good or bad. It was all hers. Harry supposes that is what first drew her into the adventures. She saw it as a way to get away from all her problems. Something else to focus on for a few hours, or a day. He never asked, though. He just knew that's what she wanted, that's what made her shine. He never tried to stop her. Maeve never would have let him stop her.

It's funny, in that not really funny way, how you can picture your whole life with someone and then have it ripped away from you in just a matter of minutes. A horrible reminder that nothing is ever permanent. Death rips everything away eventually.

Harry thinks of her hair ties scattered across the bathroom sink. Her toothbrush still next to his. Her clothes left in the chair from her last day in the house. Her soap in the shower. Her makeup on the vanity. Memories of her all around the house. Pieces of her in everything. Harry can't bear the thought of boxing everything up. He thinks he is perfectly fine with leaving it all there until his last day on this earth. He doesn't want to erase her. Doesn't want to take her things out of the house. The house they bought together, the house that Maeve picked out all of the furniture for. It's as much hers as it is Harry's.

The worst part of funerals? Hugging people and shaking their hand as they ask you how you're doing. Of course they already know the answer to that question, but funerals are just that way. No one ever knows exactly what to say. And what can you say? Nothing that will fix the ache of death. Talking to that many people is exhausting, Harry thinks. Before he got here he thought he wouldn't do much crying, he was very wrong. It seems that the more people come up to him, the more emotional he gets. And when good friends and family come through the line, the real tears come. People who knew her the best, crying with Harry, and it's exhausting. Harry has never cried this much, never wants to cry this much again.

'Harry, dear, I am so sorry I never got to meet you before all of this. She only ever said great things about you.' It's Maeve's aunt, Jaz, Harry recognizes her from a picture Maeve once showed him. 'How did the two of you meet? I have always been eager to hear that story.'