Black and Potter | H. Potter

43 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆ intertwined.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

| INTERTWINED |
song: train wreck by james arthur.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

ARA AND HARRY FELT THEMSELVES SLAM FLAT INTO THE GROUND; Harry's face was pressed into grass; the smell of it filled his nostrils, while Ara lay on her back, panting uncontrollably.

She didn't dare to open her eyes, she had them shut so firmly that she was starting to see shapes. Her eyelids felt heavy as they fought the urge to stare at the scene that was with no doubt unfolding around her and Harry. She could feel her limbs trembling as well as Harry's hand shaking in her grip, her fingers were starting to go numb from how tight he was holding them.

Neither of them wanted to move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of them. Exhaustion kept Ara on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting . . . waiting for someone to do something . . . something to happen . . . and all the while her body ached horribly. . . .

She didn't know if it was because she had used her unusual magic involuntarily or because of the Cruciatus Curse that she felt this tired. . .Ara just wanted to sleep. She wanted to drink the special tea that Molly Weasley always made her when she was feeling down, she wanted to annoy Ron into oblivion, she wanted to have study a session with Hermione, she wanted to talk to Atlas, she wanted to hug her Dad, she wanted to just be with Harry. . . .

"Harry. . ." she faintly mumbled. Holding his hand wasn't enough for her to confirm that he was there beside her, that he'd made it out as well. She needed to hear him say something.

"Ara—" she heard him acknowledge in a strangled whisper as his voice broke, either from relief or devastation, she wasn't sure.

It seemed that the only thing they could get past their lips was each other's names, whispering them as if they were a sacred prayer that kept them from tumbling over the edge.

A torrent of sound deafened and confused Harry and Ara; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams. . . . They remained where they were, Harry's face screwed up against the noise as Ara's eyes shut even more tightly, as though it were a nightmare that would pass. . . .

Then a pair of hands seized Harry roughly and turned him over while Ara just lay there, too drowsy to move.

"Harry! Ara!"

Harry opened his eyes.

He was looking up at Albus Dumbledore was crouched over them. Ara's eyes fluttered open and they stared at the starry sky. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Ara felt the ground beneath her head reverberating with their footsteps.

They had come back to the edge of the maze. They could see the stands rising above them, the shapes of people moving in them, the stars above.

Harry didn't let go of Ara's hand. Harry raised his other hand — which had been clinging onto Cedric — and seized Dumbledore's wrist, while Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus.

"He's back," Harry whispered. "He's back. Voldemort."

"What's going on? What's happened?"

The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over Harry and Ara; it looked white, appalled. "My God — Diggory!" it whispered. "Dumbledore — he's dead!"

The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to those around them . . . and then others shouted it — screeched it — into the night — "He's dead!"