Only Regret

It was funny. On second thought, that wasn't even nearly the correct word. His feelings were something more along the line of odd or surprising. Although he wasn't concerned with that.

He was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. The fact that he was moments away from death didn't matter to him. He wasn't concerned with the pain from the countless wounds that covered his body. Hell, he couldn't think of anything other than his only regret. The fact that he had never told her how he felt.

She had been his best friend since he was eleven. But he was eighteen now, and sure, to most people knowing someone for seven years, it wasn't that big of a deal. However, to him, those seven years included all the wonderful things he had experienced. He shared this amazingly deep friendship with her - a friendship unlike any other. He could tell her the things he couldn't even tell Ron, his best friend. Ron wasn't the type to talk to about emotions. Ron would either tease him about it, laugh it off, or change the subject. Nevertheless after the events of his fifth year, Harry was left with more emotions than he knew what to do with.

Hermione had been there for all of the breakdowns those emotions had brought. His fondest memories of her were from his sixth and seventh year. They were memories of the late nights they'd spend in the common room, his head in her lap as she played with his hair. Those were the rare moments when she'd put down her books and he'd pour his heart and soul out to her.

It was one of those nights, when he realized he was in love with her. He couldn't remember which one and it didn't really matter to him. All that mattered was that he knew he was in love with her and he couldn't bring him self to admit it to her.

He remembered the last time he saw her. It was three weeks ago, at the end of their seventh year, as they were getting off the train for the last time. After her tearful goodbye to Ron and her promise to write to him, Ron walked off and she turned to him.

Again, he tried to call up the courage to tell her he loved her, but he failed. All he could do was hold her in a tight hug and try to memorise everything about her at that very moment. The way she felt in his arms, her scent - just every single detail he could notice.

When he parted from their embrace, she handed him a letter. She then quietly said the last thing he ever heard her say.

"This... this is... everything."

While he was processing her words, she had suddenly disappeared into the crowd. She left him with only his trunk, his owl and that letter.

Immediately after seeing her for the last time, he drove to a muggle apartment building. When he got to the apartment he'd decided to make his temporary home the first thing he did was sit on a pile of boxes and read her letter.

In her letter, she confessed how she felt. She told him that she'd been in love with him since the middle of their fourth year. She confessed that all of the other people she had been with were nothing more than attempts to get rid of her feelings for him. She didn't want to ruin their friendship.

During the three weeks, since he read that letter, he hadn't written back. He had made a few attempts to do so, but they had turned into nothing more than fuel for the fire. He had his reasons to get rid of those letters; but foremost, his fear of finding out that what she wrote wasn't true. He thought that if he wrote back, he might find out that she didn't mean to give him that letter or that she meant it as a joke. He didn't want to wake up from this pleasant dream... if it were even considered a dream.

Now he'd die without telling her that her love wasn't unrequited. He had loved her back almost as long as she loved him. He had always thought he'd eventually tell her and now he realized she was never going to know. He took a deep breath which stung his lungs and throat.

He then choked out the words, "I love you Hermione Granger," he gasped out and added in a mere whisper, "and I always will."

His next few breaths were shallow and painful. Only moments later his eyes glazed over and his breathing stopped. Harry Potter was dead, and the only things that had heard his confession of love were the birds and the trees.