Rebeccaseal

His fingers tighten against hers, like the vice in which he holds her heart.

She gasps. Begs. Pleads.

A year ago, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind him, out of the way of a curse aimed at her back. After, she stumbled back to her dorm and stared down at the phantom cuff, sweet and aching.

Six months ago, he snatched her hand away from a cauldron she didn’t realize was hot. His hand was strong. Dwarfing. He clutched her hand to his chest like a heart beat, and hers echoed.

One month ago, he wrenched McNair away from where he cornered her in the dungeons, wrists pinned over her head, his breath on her neck repugnant. Her hands shook; his comforted. McNair never touched her again.

Now, she breathes, “James,” flexing her fingers against his. “James.” She’s small, safe, ensconced. “James.”

He finds her other hand and twines his around it, holding her very soul, warm and miraculously hers.

“Lily Lily Lily,” he whispers, desperate and destroyed.

All that she is he contains in his palms. The rest of her disintegrates from his body moving over hers, into hers, with hers, a dance they’ve already done with their hands.

James James James. Lily Lily Lily. Their hands say it over and over until she’s sure he knows she’ll hold him, too.

Letters from Bulgaria

Please stay safe. I will keep writing even if you do not or cannot answer. I must. Yours, Viktor

Five years of letters from Viktor to Hermione, because he never stopped thinking of her.

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Dear Hermione,

I hope you are well. I am sorry I could not say goodbye; they took us home so quickly that I had no time to tell you we were going.

What are you doing for summer? I wanted to ask you this in person. I am joining the Bulgarian national team, as you know, and I am looking forward to it greatly. I will not bore you with the details, but I hope that you have a pleasant and relaxing summer, as much as possible.

I miss our conversations. I miss walking along the lake with you. I miss seeing you in that dress, a vision of periwinkle in fresh morning dew. That is corny, no? But I hope you will smile reading it.

I miss you very much, but I understand that you are young, with much ahead of you. If friendship is all you have to offer me, I will consider myself very lucky. I do not want you to wait for whenever we can reunite if there is someone in front of you.

If you are ever on the continent, please visit. You can stay with my family, and we will show you the beautiful sights of Sofia. You will love garash cake. And I still think you can be convinced to like chess.

Please stay safe. I will always write back.

Yours,