Artwork [h.s]

sixty-four

That night wasn't easy for Harry. It started with a sudden jolt on the bed as he quickly came to his senses, roughly waking me up. After that, he didn't move, his inaudible breathing telling me that he most certainly wasn't asleep.

I scooted closer to him, propping myself up on one elbow and glancing down at him. His eyes were open, I could see it in the faint light coming from the street, the curtain forgotten open the evening before. "Hey" I murmured putting my hand on his hand, wanting him to know that, despite the late hour, he wasn't the only one awake. "You can talk about it, if you want" I suggested quietly, but he shook his head.

"Talking about it would make it real" he whispered faintly. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

I shook my head, even though I knew he wasn't looking at me. "It's okay" I told him gently. "You can talk about something else, if you want."

He sighed, but still didn't dare to change his position. "I remember my mother's last birthday" he murmured after a while. "It was a month before she..." he added, letting his voice fade away while a frown took over his features.

I hummed, removing my hand from his arm and brushing his hair back before putting it back in its previous place. I ran my hand up and down his arm before finally resting my head on his shoulder, his back against me.

"My dad didn't want to take me in town to get her something, so I wrote her a note instead" he shared quietly, shaking his head, his voice trembling slightly, a little chuckle leaving his lips at the memory. "I felt so guilty because I didn't have a present for her. I should've just taken my bike and gone alone, but it would've taken an hour to get there and I was eleven, and scared of getting lost." He paused, but I didn't dare to say a word, not wanting to discourage him from sharing. "She liked the note."

I smiled at his words, hearing his own smile in his voice even though I couldn't see it. It was nice to listen to him talking like that, it didn't happen often. I wished it did though, because good memories should be cherished just as much as bad ones should be accepted in order to move on.

He sighed. "I wish I'd made it longer now, made sure she knew how important she's to me" he said, and I perked my head up at his words, studying his face in the mild darkness. He didn't notice my gaze on him, his eyes closed as he spoke. "My dad got her flowers and woke up early to make her breakfast, which was quite nice because she was usually the one that made it. She drove me to school and I said bye. That night, we ate at a restaurant to celebrate."

The corner of his lips turned up slightly as he remembered the event and it made me want to hug him, but I didn't, fearing that my slightest reaction would've shattered that moment. I stayed there, in silence, waiting for him to continue, surprising myself with how interested I was in what he was saying. It mattered to me, and it was weird because nothing someone else had shared had ever been that important to me. But it was Harry, and I always cared about what he was saying, so maybe I shouldn't have been that surprised at all.

"She took the paper tissue in the bread basket and a pen and drew on it as a thank you. We left it there, because she did it so often and it was just normal to us" he whispered, furrowing his eyebrows and opening his eyes as he came to the last sentence. "My dad and I went back there a year later for her birthday, and we discovered they'd kept the drawing. It was hanging on the wall behind the till. I heard him cry that night." He stopped, staring at the wall in silence for a couple of seconds. "I think about it a lot."

I nodded, finally wrapping my arm around his middle and putting my head back down on the pillow, listening to his even breathing for a few seconds. "Thank you for sharing it with me" I murmured after a while, but he didn't reply.