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"did i live with you in a past life? was i your lifelong partner? is that why the idea of losing you torments me so much?
how long have i been without you?"
[Gabriela Mistral]
xxx
It was a few hours later, and Harry, with his strict instructions from Madame Pomfrey not to move around too much, was bored. There was nothing—literally nothing—he could fiddle with, and conversation had died out with Mia an hour ago. It's rich calling it 'conversation', though, as it was more him talking and her listening, uttering a small response every now and then, until he ran out of things to say for a moment, and didn't want to interrupt her as she picked up a book. So, naturally, after about two minutes of staring at the ceiling, his eyes wandered over to her.
The sun hit the pages of her book, and he could see the glow of its reflection in her eyes that intently moved over each word. She fiddled with a gold ring small enough to hug her pinky finger; pushing it down, moving it up, trying to twist it, and her chest rose and fell rhythmically, as though it was really midnight and she was lost in a dream. After a moment, a long moment, actually, of him studying her without her notice, she sighed, flopping her arm down to her mattress, book in hand, and he forgot to look away as she met his eyes.
"What're you reading?" He asked. She peered at the teal cover to recite the gold title.
"'Herbology one-oh-one, Fundamentals of Flora: Groundwork.'"
"Do you like it?"
"Yeah," She smiled a little, reminiscing; admiring the cover as it glowed in the sun. "It's like a memory—the pictures of the plants are so detailed. I remember flicking through the book and eyeing each drawing so intently in first year before I started reading it."
"I do that," Harry laughed. "I don't end up reading them though."
She giggled in response, and after a second, sat up and handed the book to him. "Find a page and ask anything—I'll be able to answer it."
"Okay," He said, opening to a random page. Clearing his throat, sitting up so they faced each other, he read from the page before asking: "Who first uncovered the properties of the rose?"
"Pliny the Elder. Easy."
"Impressive," He laughed. Opening it again in the middle, readying himself to find what he thought would be a hard one, his face suddenly dropped with his heart: something buried so deep in the back of his mind was now in his hand, staring at him from the page and tearing open the wounds he thought were healed.
