Sad The Goodbye
It's early; just past dawn, actually and you're awake. It's not typical for you but ever since you were injured you've spent far more time sleeping than awake and it's completely thrown off your sleeping habits. And though you're loath to admit it, even to yourself, you are worried about your lover. He is twenty four and you still, occasionally, find yourself thinking of him as young and fragile; someone in need of protection. You know better. He is not fragile and you don't think he was ever truly young but you remember him at sixteen; staring at the bloody corpses of his best friends with devastation and mindless rage in his eyes. You distinctly remember thinking as you watched him help with the post battle cleanup that he wouldn't survive the year.
He is curled up against your side and much to your own surprise you find yourself absently tracing patterns on his bare back while you allow yourself the luxury of reminiscing. You recall the details of that first night vividly. He arrived at your rooms unannounced and, tasting faintly like fire whiskey, kissed you. You were well and truly shocked by the fact that he'd come to you, of all people, for comfort. You should have sent him away, of course, but there is a limit to even your cruelty. You think the only thing that kept you from being discovered during his last year and a half of school was that no one could imagine the Boy Who Lived deigning to let the greasy potions master touch him. He begins to shift and you instinctively close your eyes and still your hand.
You, quite simply, aren't eager to see him leave. It's different from all the other times; all the other missions. You know you likely won't see him alive again and you don't think you'll be able to bear to watch him go without loosing your hard-won composure. You don't want to subject him to that, not today, not with what he'll be facing in a matter of hours.
He attempts to crawl out of bed without waking you. It takes a considerable amount of willpower not to smirk; even if you hadn't been awake for an hour his clumsy attempt at stealth would surely have woken you. It's a typical Gryffindor gesture; something none of your other lovers would have thought to do, something you'll miss despite yourself if you never experience it again.
He manages to move very nearly noiselessly about the room but you're familiar with his routine. Put food down on the sideboard for Hedwig and Copernicus. Open the window to let both owls in. Pet them affectionately. (He pays far too much attention to them; they're postal owls not pets, but you've never scolded him about it. His warmth is one of the many things that make him attractive to you.) Start the coffee. (He doesn't drink it, can't stand the taste, but he brews it for you every morning. Another sentimental, foolish, Gryffindor gesture that you don't want to imagine living without.) Put food down for Crookshanks. Go over to the ridiculous bed he insisted on purchasing and nudge the ginger monstrosity awake. Gather his clothes and shoes from the closet and step into the bathroom.
You hear the bathroom door close softly but you wait until the shower starts to open your eyes. You stare at the ceiling and wish, devoutly, that you'd been smarter or quicker or luckier; that you weren't confined to this damnable bed for at least another week. You know, intellectually, that he won't be alone, that he'll have plenty of people positively eager to sacrifice themselves to help him defeat Voldemort but it still feels like something of a betrayal to let him go through this without you. He would tell you you're being a bloody stupid git and you are but, as usual, your emotions aren't obeying orders when it comes to him. You flinch slightly and close your eyes when the shower shuts off suddenly.
He dresses quickly and all too soon the bathroom door opens and he emerges along with a gust of steam. You've never quite understood why he enjoys showers that are nearly scalding but you don't question it since he's put up with everything from the dark mark to your utter distraction for days when you're making certain potions. He walks slowly toward the bed and when he stops you know he is watching you. You wonder, idly, what he is thinking. You know him well now but what goes on is his mind is often a mystery. He touches your cheek, softly, tenderly in a familiar gesture of affection and a wave of sadness hits you. Probably the last time I'll endure that foolishness, you think.
His hand withdraws and you retain just enough self-control not to snatch it back. He sighs and you're vaguely aware of him grabbing his wand from the nightstand and moving to the door. You hear the creak as the door opens but you don't hear it close and you find yourself holding your breath. It's bloody stupid; you well know that no matter how much you want him to he won't abandon what he sees as his duty.
Loosing him will be painful but how much worse will it be if you don't say goodbye? You open your eyes but its several seconds before you can bring yourself to turn your head. He is standing in the doorway, watching you and smiling slightly. You meet his eyes and as he looks at you he seems to be trying to tell you everything will be all right without any of the trite words you so despise. You take a deep breath and nod. He nods in return and with a small wave he leaves, closing the door gently behind him.
You wonder if you'll ever see him again.