Disclaimer: Harry Potter's not mine. It's J.K. Rowling's. Why would you honestly think it would be mine? *huffs*
Author's Note: A plot bunny gone mad. Mix in some random thoughts of mine about Harry and Hermione and you've got this drabble. My apologies for a certain thing mentioned in here. It had to happen.
Much thanks to Kalie (as always, for blackmailing me to post things or else :p) and Romy (for being supportive and a loffly writer who denies her own talents, and then disproves to herself and everyone that her writing is not beautiful). This goes out to you.
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She was his life, Harry realized.
Just suddenly out of the blue, it went and hit him right in the face, leaving him dumbstruck and at a loss for words. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. This was a profound revelation that left him speechless.
She was the one who kept him alive, who took care of him. The very breath of his life, every beat of his heart came straight from her. She was the source of his being, his life for him. Everything he had, she provided. His breath, his strength, his belief, his willpower, his mind . . everything. All that made him who he was, she gave.
Selflessly, bravely . . he was honestly astounded at her. She gave up everything freely, just so her friends and family would stay alive. She sacrificed all she had for him and countless other people. He was so amazed by that, by her willingness to let go of everything she possessed for her family and friends' sake. To save their lives, at the possible price of her own.
She took risks - "everything comes at a price, no matter how hard you try to stop it," she told him once - and wasn't afraid of anything. She fought bravely, defending his life until the very end - it was a bittersweet thought to think of now.
How he had depended on her so much; and now his life was the cost of her death. She wasn't alive, wasn't living and breathing anymore. She was dead; and he was dead.
He laughed bitterly. Why did she have to dead? Why did she have to die? And because of him? Maybe she wanted him to be alive, but at the cost of her own life? Her nobility went beyond all limits, he thought, tracing his fingers over her tombstone. The medieval knights had no comparison to her.
Resolutely he got up and exhaled deeply, looking at the deepening sunset that graced the heavens. What a time for him to get all poetic, he smirked.
"You've been my life, Hermione," he said aloud before he could stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, "and always will be. Even if you're not alive on this earth anymore - you'll always be my life. My source of strength, my guidance, my comfort, my soulmate." He breathed deeply.
"Nothing will change that. And I'll never let it, because disgracing your memory is one thing I won't ever do. You were my life, and will always be the one person who'll keep me going, to have me keep breathing."
With his resolve slowly fading away, he left, ignoring the empty painful ache inside him.
She had died for him - now he might as well live for her. She was his life, after all.
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