godsent | h. potter

nineteen.

HALF A HEART

The night before the third and final task, Patricia had escaped to the empty Gryffindor Common Room, too afraid to sleep, and too unstable to reach the Astronomy Tower alone.

Earlier that evening, Patricia had been informed that her escort would be arriving the on or before the day after the last task. If they arrive tomorrow, it meant she had to leave without saying goodbye, and she didn't really want that. She had already written a letter (with the help of magic, of course, Styx knows what gibberish she'd write with her dyslexia) explaining her sudden disappearance just in case she leaves then, and she hoped that it was enough to make them understand why she had to leave.

The walk down the staircase of the girl's dormitory felt like forever. Her feet dragged with ever step, weighing her and her heart down like lead. It was only when she was on the last steps that she noticed a familiar figure sitting by the fire. Feeling like fire was engulfing her whole, like her soul was being mutilated and torturously stitched together, Patricia made a move to leave, to stop her heart from collapsing at that very moment.

"We need to talk," spoke Harry, his back still facing her. After a minute, he stands up and walks toward her, painstakingly slow. Patricia feels her heart thundering in her chest with every diminishing distance. It took all her might too look him in the eyes, the weak flames of the fireplace dancing in brilliant emerald green. And all of a sudden, she feels her breath constrict in her throat, tongue-tied and defenseless at the feeling of his breath lightly fanning her cheeks. 

There was silence. Both teens drank in each other's appearances. Both looking battle-worn, the torment of being apart apparent in their heavy bags and haggard cheeks ㅡ like one soul ripped forcefully ripped into two, like two people starved of sustenance. 

Harry finds himself unable to look away, especially when Patricia's eyes seemed to beg him not to. He finds it difficult to recall what he had previously wanted to say, hopelessly ensnared in the bliss of finally being in Patricia's presence once more, with little to no distance, with her eyes staring into his soul and her lips, red and plump, and so deliciously luring him in, inviting him to dive in like a thirsty man chancing upon water. All reason leaves him and Harry loses himself to desire, leaning in at the same time Patricia does the same. Their lips meet in a searing kiss, simultaneously desperate and relieved. No words were needed, everything that was needed to say was felt with every kiss, pulling the other impossibly closer. 

Pulling away to breathe felt like a huge shame, but unfortunately, Oxygen wasn't something they could live without. Both were obviously breathless, heaving and panting, but ironically, both felt like it was the first time they could breathe properly again.

"Let's forget what happened that night, even if it's just for tonight," whispered Harry, leaning his forehead on Patricia's. "Please." 

Patricia responded by pulling him into a tight hug, and, remembering how this would probably the last night she'd have with Harry, Patricia huddles closer, basking in her lover's warmth. Harry notices and pulls her closer, tightening his grip around her waist, afraid that if he let go, she'd slip away from his grasp like sand.

"What's wrong, Pat?" murmured Harry, pulling away just enough to see her face. Patricia closes her eyes to stop the tears from falling, feeling her heart clench at the thought of saying goodbye. She loves Harry, truly, and had wished and hoped with all her heart that they had just met under different circumstances, where no one had to leave, where goodbye's weren't an option and that sacrifices were not in either's day-to-day agenda.