A Sweetness I Could Not Even Imagine Giving Name To

Alone on the battlefield we stood there, the three of us, panting and bleeding; knowing that Hermione could not go on, not with an injury that severe, not with what lay ahead of us. She would likely not even survive the journey; let alone what we could face in the coming battle, what we would face in the coming battle. I looked from her to Harry searching for some unattainable answer to this impossible question. We had to go on, Harry and I. That was a surety.

The Dark Lord had attained a fanatical following promising to save the Muggle world from the evils of wizardry. We had been waylaid over and over by attacks of Muggle hordes, which had cult-like devotion to those who would destroy them. Our true enemies were far ahead of us again. We had no time to tarry. Yet, how could we not?

In three steps Harry had Hermione in his arms; he whispered softly in her ear and gently swiped his lips across hers. Then he stepped back resolutely and, giving her a stoic look, turned toward the path forward. He just stood there, back to us, waiting for me to be at his side, certain I would come. I looked to her, knowing that if she asked, I would stay and make sure she got back alive; also knowing that she would never ask.

I made my way slowly over to her, past the fallen heroes that lay dying all around us. It was slow as I had to use my sword as a crutch. I seem to use my sword more than my wand these days as the Demagicatized Zones the Death Eaters had created covered most of the British Isles now. When I reached Hermione, she had her wand out and without a word, began healing the deep gash in my thigh. It took a great deal of energy to generate a bubble of magic inside the Zones. I wanted to stop her; if she was to have any chance to survive, she would need the strength she was giving to me. She wouldn't have let me stop her. I would never ask.

When she finished, we slumped down together on the cold, ashen ground, slipping into an embrace. She slid her cheek along mine as she raised her head to catch my gaze. The dispassion I wore into battle slipped as I saw all that we would never have reflected in her eyes, rapture, a home, children and the comfort of forever. Infinitesimally, her expression changed and I drew strength from her yet again. I would go on. Harry could not do it alone. I slid my hand softly down her cheek and pulled her face to mine.

"Yes," it was a soundless motion of her mouth more than a word. I unexpectedly became an existentialist; only her mouth and her breath and her body existed. I plunged into that warm nirvana hoping to never have to return to the battle. She tasted of blood and sweat and a sweetness I could not even imagine giving name to.