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cloudyskywars · 4 years ago

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Back to December is about Anakin and Obi-Wan and here’s 2,000 words why

So there I was, listening to Back to December, you know, as one does. And then I nearly started crying because this is without a doubt an Anakin and Obi-Wan song. I roped my friend @renegadeontherunn into doing a full song analysis with me. The whole analysis is based from Anakin singing this to Obi-Wan immediately after the events of Return of the Jedi. So everyone’s a Force Ghost, and feelings ensue. Enjoy the angst!

The analysis will be below the cut, because as I said, it’s approximately 2,000 words.

I'm so glad you made time to see me/ How's life? Tell me, how's your family?/ I haven't seen them in a while - Obi-Wan’s family was the Jedi. And Anakin has spent the past twenty five years hunting down the Jedi, eliminating them one by one. And now that he’s one with the Force, he’s gotta be wondering, “Are the other Jedi here too?” because he may not have realized it, but they were his family as well. I’m just imagining Anakin asking Obi-Wan where everyone else is, and Obi-Wan having to tell him that not everyone stayed with the Force the way that he and Yoda did.

Your guard is up and I know why- Obi-Wan’s guard probably wasn’t up, but Anakin would expect it to be. He rightfully feels guilty, and probably expects Obi-Wan to hate him and not trust him anymore.

Because the last time you saw me/ Is still burned in the back of your mind - on Mustafar, Anakin literally burning, the image no doubt haunting Obi-Wan ever since. In Obi-Wan’s 20 years on Tatooine, how many times do you think he replayed that memory in his mind? You were my brother Anakin, I loved you/I hate you. (grouped with previous two lines)

So this is me swallowin' my pride- Anakin as a Force Ghost, standing in front of Obi-Wan. He’s asking, begging for forgiveness, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Anakin was always prideful for a Jedi, and this is him humbling himself and asking for Obi-Wan’s forgiveness (for so many things; Order 66, turning to the dark side, killing the Jedi, killing him)

Standin' in front of you sayin' I'm sorry for that night - the night Anakin fell to the Dark Side, their fight on Mustafar, and also probably the last 20+ years of him as a Sith and causing so much death and destruction. He’s sorry for so much, but especially that night when everything went wrong.

And I go back to December all the time - he revisits that battle in his mind constantly, still hating Obi-Wan as Vader, but feeling deep (deep deep) down, an enormous sense of regret and guilt, and especially at the end when he reunites with Obi-Wan

It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you - We see in Episode 2 that Anakin feels that Obi-Wan is constantly holding him back, preventing him from reaching his full potential (feelings no doubt put there by Palpatine) Once he turns to the Dark Side, he believes he is stronger than ever, (“I’m stronger than the Emperor, I can overthrow him.”)and so most likely feels “free” from Obi-Wan and the duty of being a Jedi. But we know that he learned, eventually, that all the Dark Side brings is loneliness and despair. ��It is in this blazing moment that you finally understand the trap of the dark side, the final cruelty of the Sith — because now yourself is all you will ever have.”

Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine - Anakin spent much of his time as Obi-Wan’s Padawan feeling less than and like he was never good enough for Obi-Wan. Then, when he finally became a Knight, he still felt held back by the Jedi. In reality, he had a substantial support system there waiting for him, ready to help him, that he never realized existed. He had the tools and the people he needed to be a successful Jedi and to have a happy life and to stay in the Light, but he didn’t use them. And now he’s wishing he had. That he’d recognized his and Obi-Wan’s friendship when he’d had it.

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it alright- Can you IMAGINE the regret Anakin is feeling right now? After 25 years of being the terror of the galaxy, Darth Vader, he has finally returned from the dark and knows all the bad things he’s done, and now recognizes that they were bad things. He slaughtered younglings, helped strike down the remaining Jedi, even took away the clones’ free will. Just imagining the pure regret that he must be feeling at this moment.

These days, I haven't been sleepin' - REVENGE OF THE SITH ANYONE??? We know for a fact due to the Matthew Stover novelization of ROTS that Anakin was getting almost no sleep during the events of the movie. I believe when he Fell he had been without sleep for,,,, at least three days? (I think it was five but I’m not sure) Anakin please take a nap. Nightmares!!! But also, as Vader, I’m pretty sure Anakin doesn’t actually need to sleep or at least doesn’t need a ton of it, so again he’s literally not sleeping and only sustaining himself on the Dark Side.

Stayin' up playin' back myself leavin'- Do you think- do you ever think that during his time as Darth Vader, he would constantly replay those days when everything fell apart in his head? I’m specifically thinking about the scene where he marches on the Jedi Temple. Granted, in that scene, he isn’t leaving, per say. He’s returning home, but it is no longer the place he calls home. I imagine that scene playing on repeat in his mind, because that’s the moment that he passed the point of no return. Before that, yes, he had already screwed up, big time. But he hadn’t crossed the line yet, I don't think.

Then I think about summer, all the beautiful times- At this moment I’m sure he’s feeling loads and loads of guilt and regret, as discussed above. But I can’t help but think he’s also thinking about the good times he shared with Obi-Wan and Padme. (Padme specifically because of summer and Naboo for that one good week, where they fell in love and it was beautiful.) And although his relationship with Obi-Wan was strained near the end (and eventually fell apart) there were good times, times that they both cherished. During his time as Darth Vader, he probably looked back on those memories with hate. But now that he’s Anakin again, he is probably remembering those times fondly.

I watched you laughin' from the passenger's side- [insert gif of Obi-Wan smiling in the speeder]

And realized I loved you in the fall - in the Fall. This could be for either Anakin or Obi-Wan. There must’ve been a part of Anakin that knew he was lying when he shouted “I hate you!” and felt happy when Obi-Wan said he loved him. And for Obi-Wan, he knew he loved Anakin, he had just never said it to him before. The only time he did was when Anakin had Fallen and was dying. And he probably regretted that with every piece of himself during his exile on Tatooine.

And then the cold came, the dark days - There are so many instances where Palpatine is connected with the cold, with darkness, with everything that is the opposite of the Jedi and, more importantly, of Obi-Wan. The darkness referred to here is the Dark Side, when it became overwhelming and Anakin fell.

When fear crept into my mind - Anakin’s already-intense fears of never being good enough or Obi-Wan not reciprocating Anakin’s love were intensified and heightened by Palpatine’s influence and him planting even more fear and doubt into Anakin’s head. This fear and this doubt in his friendship with Obi-Wan was ultimately one of the reasons he fell. Yes, it was his fear for Padme’s life that really did him in. Anakin was known as “The Hero With No Fear.” But there at the end, he became a person full of fear, and as we know: “Fear is the path to the dark side … fear leads to anger … anger leads to hate … hate leads to suffering.”

You gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye -Again, this is Anakin finally realizing that Obi-Wan did love him, that he was a good Master for him, and it was Anakin who hadn’t seen it, who had betrayed him. There is a quote from the book Lords of the Sith in which Vader acknowledges his betrayal of everyone he loved. Palpatine: “‘You were a traitor, were you not, Lord Vader?... To the Jedi. To Padme. To Obi-Wan. To all those you loved.’ Vader: Vader did not know the answer his Master wanted to hear, so he simply answered with the truth. ‘Yes.”’

I'd go back to December, turn around and change my own mind- Talking about guilt, again. Without a doubt, Anakin would go back to where it all went wrong if he could. He wouldn’t turn, he’d save Padme, he’d do everything differently if he could.

I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile/ So good to me, so right- Obi-Wan was so good to him. Obviously in a platonic sense. But Obi-Wan was the best Master for Anakin, and you can’t change my mind. Even if they had a rough start and maybe Obi-Wan should have had some time to recover from his Master dying before he took on his Padawan of his own, but I digress. He did the best he could with Anakin, and was most likely far more patient and understanding than other Jedi Masters would have been. Of course at the time, Anakin did realize this and only resented Obi-Wan. Hindsight is 2020, and Anakin would have only realized after everything went down how good Obi-Wan was to him.

And how you held me in your arms that September night/ The first time you ever saw me cry - This one doesn’t exactly fit because apparently Anakin and Obi-Wan never hug in canon and that is a crime (Filoni and Lucas I’m coming for you). But I am pointedly ignoring canon and choosing to believe that when things got really hard or bad, (after Satine died, maybe even after Ahsoka left the Order) they hugged. Maybe it was a sad hug, the kind where one of them breaks down in tears and the other just holds them as they cry. But I am confident that they have hugged, so this line applies to them. Fight me on it, I dare you. (I’m kidding but only partially)

But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right - After realizing how wrong he was in becoming Vader and how his relationship with Obi-Wan wasn’t one-sided, and especially after seeing the pure, selfless love of Luke, which ultimately brings him back to the Light, Anakin is no doubt thinking of the millions of ways he could’ve done better. He wants Obi-Wan to know how sorry he is and that, yes it took him all these years, but he’s learned his lesson. If he could do it all again, which he probably wants to, he would do it right this time. He swears to himself (and to Obi-Wan) that if he just gets this second chance, he’ll do everything right.

I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't- Anakin knows he can’t go back and fix everything, no matter how much he may want to. All he can do is ask, beg, even, for Obi-Wan’s forgiveness

So if the chain is on your door, I understand - the metaphorical chain isn’t on Obi-Wan’s door, of course, he’d always welcome Anakin back. He wanted nothing more than to see Anakin succeed as a Jedi and be happy, and so of course he’s ready to see Anakin again, to forgive him. But still, Anakin doubts Obi-Wan’s love and his own worth and braces himself to be rejected, even though Obi-Wan’s arms are open. (this might be niche but think: doctor who, “You betrayed my trust, you betrayed our friendship, you betrayed everything I ever stood for. Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”)

And, that’s it! If you read this entire thing, Fiona and I love you from the bottom of our hearts. As you can tell, we feel a lot of things about this song, and hope you enjoyed our analysis!

#back to december #song analysis #thank you for inspiring us caroline with your song analysis #taylor swift #how do i tag this?#fiona tag!#this was a lot of fun #but also i nearly cried #so i hope y'all enjoy our rambings!#also we didn't really proofread so i'm sorry for any errors

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secretsantasides · 5 years ago

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Gift #8: My Universe

Gift for @enby-fander

Prompt: Analogical High School AU

My Universe

Characters: Logan, Deceit (called Daniel), Virgil, mentions of Remus, mentions of Patton

Pairings: Romantic Analogical, Platonic Loceit, Brotherly Anxciet, implied Brotherly Logicality

Warnings: Alludes to homelessness and poverty, sad boi Virgil

Summary: Thank you to the two anons who showed up on @enby-fander's account and gave me major inspiration right when I needed it. Here you go, Trans Virgil and Nonbinary Logan that starts as angst and ends as fluff.

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As the rest of Kingston High School's sophomores rushed into the cafeteria, Daniel Hyde instead ducked through an out-of-the-way, yet familiar, pair of dark, wooden, though probably fake wood, double doors. His head was down as he stalked over to the Fiction section, deliberately searching. For what, bystanders had no clue.

They parted, anxious to induce the wrath of Dan, a boy rumoured to be in a gang. None of them would put such a thing past the punk boy. He wasn't someone to mess with.

He walked with such a determination that they knew he was on the hunt. His prey? Another, hidden from all but him.

Logan Jekyll was seated in the middle of the mystery section, shrouded in darkness. The junior knew these shelves well, so much so that they could traverse them without requiring sight. That way, they had no reason to flick the switches at the start of each row to the "on" position, which would illuminate the row of dim fluorescent bulbs dangling above. Logan liked it better in the dark, anyway. It hid the introvert from those pesky freshmen. The ones who liked to taunt Logan for some unknown reason.

"Oh look, it's genius Jekyll. Aren't you the one with the ridiculously high GPA? Highest in your year?"

They gave a quick, curt nod to both questions, not speaking. Instead, they continued to read their book, turning the page after a few seconds of silence.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was most definitely living up to the praise they had heard it received, primarily by the Hyde brothers. Daniel had always pressed them to read it, so they had finally began the novel.

As they read, laughs were heard. The rowdy students had become bored with the junior and had stampeded away towards the computers. Logan never understood what they seemed to find so funny.

"Hey, first chair Jekyll, heard you got the solo for the next concert."

When they nodded, quick and curt, the group started laughing yet again. All the way over to the doors. Probably after they walked out the doors, too.

Logan recognized someone in that mob as the sophomore who liked to raise hell during rehearsal, along with a few trumpet players, a bassoon, and half of percussion. He brought the baritone horn section down considerably, even with Logan there to counterbalance his pure idiocy. And to think, this kid is laughing at him. Sheer stupidity, all of it.

"Jekyll, my man, the reason our debate team isn't shit. You're captain, right? Who's second, in your book?"

At the first question, they nodded. At the second, they scowled and looked back at his book. They did have an opinion on who would fall second, but that opinion was not owed to a group of freshmen who loiter around and taunt others. Seeing the spectacle-wearing one's scowl, the boys laughed. Turning and walking away, they kept on snickering and joking about "perfect Jekyll."

'Our debate team? You mean, my debate team.' Logan recognized none of those dumbasses as members of debate, especially not the one who initiated the conversation. He would be debating things when pigs flew.

"I found Jekyll, man of the hour. Nice speech you gave, didn't realize you could do that. Thought only seniors could."

They shook their head "no" at the statement, causing them to�� big surprise… laugh at them.

At least they're eloquent enough to make a speech. These people could barely string together simple sentences, let alone write with enough skill to compose a speech at the level Logan did so at.

"Hey guys, here's Dr. Jekyll. Heard you finally found your Mr. Hyde, and you're terribly in love."

They scowled, otherwise ignoring all of them. That narrative wasn't even fitting to Robert Louis Stevenson's original story. In the end, it was revealed that Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde were one and the same, a relationship they and their boyfriend do not possess.

"What, don't want to admit that you're gay as f*ck for Hyde?"

The scowl already adorning their features intensified some, but that was the only indicator of how pissed Logan truly was. Lacking a reaction, the group turned and walked away, laughing as they went.

Did they owe them an explanation of their love life? No, they should f*ck off. It's their damn significant other, not theirs. They were thinking of multiple profanities that could describe those idiots, but decidedly did not execute them aloud. Their choices would make probably Remus Kingston proud, a boy who has an alphabet of swear words, an alphabet that only skims the surface of his cursing dictionary.

As Logan sat there, reminiscing about how much of an asshole all of those freshmen were, Dan was slowly honing down his search radius.

He had visited most of Logan's normal rows, besides mystery and parts of nonfiction. As he walked to non-fiction, he stopped abruptly and turned to walk down the row of mystery novels. Logan truly adored the who-dunits covering these shelves, or so he's heard. He may have good luck looking here, as long as his brother knew Jekyll well. Dan was certain he did.

Don't fail me now, nerd, I need you, he thought, breathing deeply.

He strolled casually into the aisle, flicking the switch at the start of the row. The dim fluorescent lining the ceiling flickered on, revealing exactly what he was looking for. Exactly who he was looking for. Logan Jekyll.

Logan hissed at the sudden lights, sparking a chuckle from the sophomore stalking towards him. They looked up, blue-green eyes meeting grey.

There was an amused smirk adorning the boy's features. Logan did not mirror the expression, but they were nonetheless glad to see the sophomore.

"Didn't realize us Hyde's had made an impression on you. Not surprised, though, with how much you see my brother."

The one clad in blue blushed a deep red at the mention of their boyfriend. Daniel laughed at the sight, before offering out his hand. Logan looked down at the palm obscured by black, fingerless gloves, bewildered as to why the other was putting his hand out. Their confusion showed, causing Dan to roll his eyes and huff.

"Take my hand, Calculator Watch, I'm helping you up. That sorry excuse for carpeting is stale as f*ck, so we might as well go sit somewhere more comfortable."

Reliasition flashed before Logan's eyes as they muttered an, "Ah." Their hand took the other's gloved one, allowing the younger boy to hoist the older off of the matted, black carpet. They now were roughly at eye-level with each other, Logan with a solid height of 5'5" and Daniel being just a half or full inch shorter.

Daniel ran one hand through his slicked back black hair, shoving the other in one pocket of his faded leather jacket. The hand brushing the hair joined the other in the pocket opposite.

"Now, Jekyll, we have a pressing matter to discuss."

The two walked in silence for a while, Daniel leading them through the hallways. Suddenly, he took a left into a classroom, Logan following behind.

The classroom was abandoned, obviously having been used as a science room at one point. There were posters adorning two of the walls, saying things like "Eat, sleep, science, repeat."

"We need to talk about my brother."

Panic flashed in the eyes of Logan, who hid the emotion quickly. Dan wouldn't have noticed if Logan had not coughed directly afterwards, drawing attention to their still shell-shocked expression

The older of the two anxiously scuffed one of their NASA-themed Vans across the linoleum tiles, before looking back at the aforementioned boy.

"Go on."

"Well, he has refused to leave his room for the past 5 days, so I wanted to ask you for…"

He hesitated, but Logan pushed him on.

"For what? Spit it out, Hyde."

Daniel coughed, before regaining his composure.

"I need your help, Jeyll. I need your f*cking help. You're the only person I know that can do anything to get my brother out of his hiding space, and that's all I care about. I'm willing to put aside our indifferences if it helps my brother. Now, tell me, will you?"

"So, what am I supposed to do again?"

The two were walking to the apartment the Hyde brothers shared.

Daniel cleared his throat. "You're supposed to get that bastard to emerge from the cave he has made out of his room. This may be a habit of his, but it has gone on longer than normal, which concerns me."

Logan chuckled. "Sounds like him, alright. At least I now know for certain you and I are talking about the same person."

Dan burst out, "Finally! Someone understands how antisocial that motherf*cker can be!"

He gestured dramatically to emphasize the point.

The older's face morphed into a grin and they began to laugh.

"Hey!" they said, through their laughter, "That's my boyfriend you're talking about!"

Daniel snorted.

"He's my brother! I'm allowed to call him an antisocial bastard."

The pair's laughter tapered off as they continued their trek.

"May I ask how far away your apartment is?"

Daniel coughed, shifting a bit awkwardly.

"Um… it's still a few minutes away, but we're heading up on it."

Logan cocked an eyebrow.

"Y'all live in the downtown area?" they asked.

Dan stayed silent, but nodded.

"My apologies for pushing the subject."

The pair had arrived at the place Daniel pointed them towards, a run-down, dirty-looking, crowded apartment building. Dan stopped multiple times before they arrived, obviously completing a routine.

First, he stopped by an older woman, who was walking across the sparsely filled parking lot with a cart. In the cart, canned food resided, all of which had a small message written on them in Sharpie.

As he reached her, Daniel pressed a can of food he procured from the pocket of his black backpack into her hands.

Logan heard her murmur, "God bless you, honey. You and your brother stay safe, alright Danny?"

They saw Dan give a warm smile towards her. "We will. Stay safe, Mrs. Cunningham."

Secondly, he waved to a group of little boys running in the lot, kicking a ball around. The one who had the ball kicked it towards Daniel, grinning brightly.

"Mr. Hyde!" the other boys shouted, having just spotted the teenager.

"Now what have I always told y'all? Call me Dan."

"Okay, Mr. Dan!" the boys chorused.

Daniel rolled his eyes, ruffling the hair of one. "I give up, y'all obviously are gonna be respectful at all times."

He paused, before clearing his throat.

"That's a good thing, boys. Respect everyone, even if it doesn't seem like they deserve it. Just gotta respect everyone."

The last part was murmured.

The boys all nodded vigorously, before one shouted, "First one to the tree over there gets to pick teams!"

They all sprinted, leaving Dan and Logan to chuckle.

"Kids, right?"

Daniel gave a half-moon smile. "Yeah."

The last stop before the Hyde apartment was at the front desk of the lobby. It could barely be considered a lobby, more like a room with a desk shoved in the corner, some assorted furniture in the other, and stairs to the upper floors. Daniel stepped up to the desk, pulling a sheet of folded notebook paper out of his jacket pocket. He set it on the desk before turning around and smoothing the worn-leather of his jacket. He popped the collar, looking Logan in the eyes.

"Let's go, Jekyll."

"Apartment 7C, correct?"

The pair had just arrived at floor 7, both out of breath. Daniel hid it better, though.

"...Yes," he composed himself, looking at the junior with a look of annoyance.

They strolled down the hall, stopping just short of the end.

APARTMENT 7C read a small, dirty plaque mounted just above the doorknob.

Dan proccured an equally rusty key from his back jean pocket. He turned to Logan and said, "Let's go get my bastard of a brother out of his damn slump."

The pair walked into the mess of an apartment, Daniel shouting out a quick, "I'm home!" to ease the other Hyde's anxieties. Though, the shouting may be contradictory, as the older Hyde brother was not a fan of loud noises.

Daniel quickly dropped the key on a rickety table close by to the door. His combat boots were shed, as Logan kicked off his Vans.

Dan turned to Logan, directing him towards his brother.

"Down the hall, first door to the left. It'll be locked, so… here."

He grabbed a penny from the counter and threw it to Logan. They caught it with ease, studying the coin. They looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Our locks are garbage, so this should get it easy. I would've done it myself earlier this week, but I believe in the sanctitiy of one's room. That is, until you're in there for almost a week."

Logan nodded, turning to follow the instructions given.

Dan stopped them.

"I don't think he wants to see me, so I'll stay back. Jekyll, get my brother. Please."

He sounded almost desperate, so Logan obliged.

They found the door indicated easily, as there was a galaxy-patterned poster in blues and purples attached to the door with Scotch tape. It just seemed… right.

They jangled the knob a bit, discovering it was unsurprisingly locked. Logan took the penny, shoved it into the flat indentation on the rusty knob, turning slowly and carefully. It worked. The door was now unlocked.

Logan turned the handle, quickly entering the dark room. They heard a hoarse voice, dull due to lack of use, emitate from the corner.

"L-eave m-e the hell alon-e."

A throat was cleared, a few coughs ringing through the silence of the room.

"I'm fine."

Logan huffed, rumbling for the light switch mounted on the wall next to them.

Their hand knocked the switch up, prompting a hiss from the figure huddled in a corner.

"I thought you would be happier to see me. I assume I was wrong."

The figure looked up, revealing messy purple hair, tired and unfocused eyes, and a miserable expression adorning the features Logan would always find beautiful.

"Stella?"

"It's me, nebulosa."

Logan looked around the room.

It was very… Virgil.

He had a few band posters on the walls, hoodies with patches and stitching and a worn leather-jacket (much like Daniel's) hanging in the closet alongside his school-issued letterman's jacket, a black guitar propped up nicely in a corner, a chair that looked similar to those in the small dining room set with his low-quality music stand, band folder, and the large, bulky case of a euphonium put aside carefully, and a few trophies and certificates earned for track, for musical achievements, or for academic accomplishments were set on the dresser or hung on the wall above it. Everything was in black and deep purple, with subtle hints of navy.

They liked the color scheme a lot, as it was quite pleasing to the eye.

Much better than their brother's mixture of bright and pastel blues, all light in tone. Patton really didn't know how to mix colors.

Logan's attention was diverted, however, from the room surrounding them when they heard sniffles from Virgil's corner.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

Virgil wiped his eyes, acting as though he wasn't just crying.

"I'm just over-emotional, I guess. Damn it, peri-"

He stopped himself, a look of shock adorning his features. Logan looked upon him with a look of pity, sad-smile creeping onto their features.

"Is that why you've been isolating yourself, babe? Hey, hey, come here."

Virgil shook his head. "I'm fine," he said stubbornly.

Logan walked over to him, wrapping their arms around him.

"It's okay, stella. ...I love you."

Virgil gave a weak smile.

"I love you too, Logan."

#fanfic #secretsantasides #analogical #virgil sanders #ts virgil #logan sanders #ts logan #high school au #sanders sides

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tangomango2017 · 5 years ago

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Thoughts on the Chinese DotA Animated Series, The Tower Will Go On, and its two main characters

It’s been five years since this animated series based on Warcraft 3 Dota was made. The fan forum is still alive, and it’s amazing to witness the fan dedication to this work, in the form of essays, debates and even a ridiculously detailed second-by-second analysis of the opening theme.

But I barely got a glimpse of those essays before they were removed, apparently to be scrutinized by their internet police for objectionable content. The series itself has also been taken off all China websites, such that China’s fans themselves can’t watch them even if they wanted to revisit. Which makes me so glad that I have all the episodes in HD.

Anyway, on to the show itself. It’s divided into two parts:

Season One is about Crystal Maiden forming her rag-tag team of Radiant/Sentinel heroes. It’s light-hearted and full of jokes. The heroes die a lot and revive at the fountain every time. Sniper’s death count reaches above 300 at one point.

Season Two (titled Death for the Reborn) is darker as the team clashes with the Dire/Scourge and the war intensifies. The plot gets more complicated with internal factions, spying and conspiracies. The rules change: the river that revives dead heroes gets corrupted, so deaths are permanent.

One’s reaction to this show would likely be: “No! This isn’t Dota. This isn’t Invoker at all! What travesty is this?!”

But first, let’s consider these two things:

Firstly, the story is set in the game map. All hero skills and items stay faithful to the game. There is no ‘lore’ to speak of, as this series came out before Valve took over Dota. During that period, ownership of Dota was attributed to Ice Frog, who’s referenced in episode 2.

Eul’s Scepter in the show

Old Eul’s Scepter in Dota 1

Secondly, it’s fan-made. And as with all fan creations, anything’s possible.

For example,

It’s possible for Bloodseeker to be gay with a jungle creep(centaur) and foster a baby centaur.

Bloodseeker X Jungle Centaur in the show

Old Strygwyr in Dota 1

It’s possible for a carry to be so fed, he’s ten times the size of another:

Daddy Doom and his Little QuoP

Love it or hate it, this fan tribute to Dota is in a class of its own. It’s entertained me for hours, made me laugh, sigh, cringe, think; it was one hell of a nostalgic ride back to Warcraft Dota days. And it will always have a special place in my heart.

And now, on to the main characters…

The protagonist - a tribute to Support Heroes

‘Little Ice’ (China’s pet name for Crystal Maiden) is a fan-service kind of character whose appeal is mostly sexual and emotional. I won’t talk much about her but I won’t write her off completely either.

So Little Ice starts off with a dream to rise above her destiny as a position 5 support. She’s left her team carry (Dragon Knight) as she resents him for being overbearing and overly task-oriented. (It’s unclear what’s the relationship between the two, though they hug a couple of times). She tries to carve a career for herself, forming her own rag-tag team. But reality is a wet blanket, and like her role in the game, her impact on the story is limited and she ends up having her heart broken several times.

Old Crystal Maiden from Warcraft 3 Dota

In the show, she is depicted as a klutz with a bad sense of direction and is sometimes impulsive, casting Freezing Field at the most ridiculous, anti-climactic moment and generally doing stuff that would be considered ‘bad decision making’ in the game.

But despite her limitations, the girl has a mind of her own. She stands firm in her beliefs and is courageous enough to try to protect her male teammates. Even when said teammate is the Dragon Knight being bashed up by Roshan.

She is also fiercely loyal, refusing to abandon the dying Bristleback and instead managing to persuade DK to risk a Roshan fight to get the Aegis.

Overall, I’d say her character serves two purposes here: as a shoutout to under-appreciated Support players, and as a symbol of innocence. This trait of hers is seen as a weakness and is used to comical effect, yet, at the same time it is also something to be prized and guarded. The Queen of Pain (portrayed as a man-hater with lesbian tendencies) mocks her several times for her naivety, yet she admits that CM represents the innocence that she’s lost and that she needs to protect.

From Zero to (Anti) Hero

The central character, Kael (pronounced Ka-er, I’ll refer to him as Carl since it matches the Chinese pronunciation) appears in the second episode and drives the entire story with his zero to anti-hero arc. The title of Season Two refers to him being reborn from the ashes (he was Doomed and almost killed in a fire). He is the only one besides QoP to have a backstory (both underwent the trauma of having their entire homeland and families destroyed).

Invoker from Warcraft 3 Dota

Invoker from Season One of the show

Invoker from Season Two

While this Invoker is as OOC as he can get, there’s no denying the detail that has been put into his design. For example, in Season 2 his orbs are actually faces, perhaps representing the connection of Invoker’s volatile temperament to his elemental powers.

Just as the two parts of the show are divided into a dichotomy of light and dark, there are two different depictions of Invoker in each part.

Season One Invoker

If you’ve ever played this hero, Season One will remind you of how it felt the very first time you tried him in a game. Clueless, powerless, the butt of your teammates’ jokes perhaps.

Carl first appears in episode two quoting that famous line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. It sounds really pretentious (not that surprising for Carl), but considering that Hamlet killed someone by accident in the play, it’s also a kind of foreshadowing of what will happen later on.

So Carl is introduced as a depressed guy trying to hang himself. In a comically tragic manner, he tells his story as a former prince who lost his home, sought refuge with the Dire/Scourge but is constantly scorned for being useless as he hasn’t figured out his spells.

With a background like that, who wouldn’t be damaged for life? But CM sees him as even more vulnerable than her, and he brings out the encouraging and protective side of her. Of course, the naive part of her ignores the fact that he is a defector from the enemy side.

Carl is of course extremely grateful, having found the acceptance he’s always longed for, and one can see the beginning of a pure, somewhat platonic love between the two.

In China, Invoker/CM are almost regarded as canon pairing, with roots going back to Kael’thas/Jaina from Warcraft.

Initially, she brings out the good qualities in him, such as courage and self-sacrifice. Noob Carl is actually quite lovable, even willing to take one for the team by ‘donating’ blood to the Bloodseeker. He forges a strong friendship with the gang and they have a lot of fun fending off their one enemy in Season One.

Although he’s harmless at this point, his uselessness repeatedly emphasized by all characters, there are glimpses of his more complicated self, such as when he uses his knowledge and cunning to get the team out of trouble. More foreshadowing of who he is to become is given by the Queen of Pain, who tries in vain to warn CM about his potential for evil.

Meteoric Rise to Power

Two events serve as catalysts to the awakening of his powers. First there’s the excessively bloody whipping that Queen of Pain gives him, just because she feels like it. This happens in the middle of a team fight and in his state of desperation, it is his thoughts of CM (whose nickname is literally, Little Ice Ice) that unlocks his first skill, Ghostwalk. At the same time, the sinister side of him awakens as he turns the tables on the Queen and blinds her in one eye before burying her alive.

And then he gets punished by Doom, who’s rather high up in the hierarchy here. Doom (whom everyone calls ‘Daddy’) is furious to find out that his beloved god-daughter, his Little QuoP has been hurt. He finds out about this in an interesting manner - by devouring the jungle centaur that witnessed the incident.

Doom: WHO ATE THE COOKIES?

Tiny, CM, etc: (keeps quiet)

Doom: Very well, I shall find out the truth (devours jungle creep).

(everyone watches on nervously)

Doom: …CARL!

Carl: Yes Daddy?

Doom: How dare you eat my cookies!

Carl: I don’t get what you’re talking about, Daddy

Doom: You’ll get THIS, you little shit.

Season Two Invoker

After being doomed and running into the forest in agony, Carl goes missing for a while. A flashback later shows Dazzle’s saved him and bandaged him up like a mummy. By chance, Windranger finds him when her Powershot arrow accidentally hits him. Probably out of guilt, she brings him home and cares for him for three months. When Ogre Magi harasses WR and sets her house on fire, Carl rises from the ashes with a complete makeover, a costume change, full mastery of magic and a marked change in personality. The change feels really abrupt and I’d have preferred something more gradual. But the writers probably wanted a striking contrast between the two seasons.

So he helps her fend off the Ogre and she falls in love with him. But he stays true to CM.

Despite what this shot in the opening theme suggests, WR doesn’t force herself on him. She’s really cool.

In Season Two, Carl’s personality becomes much more conflicted, longing to return to CM yet afraid to endanger her with Doom hot on his heels. While she thinks about him in her quiet moments, he watches over her in invisible form. The next triggering event is when the Dragon Knight beats him to rushing to CM’s rescue. He is consumed by jealousy and the fire element comes to the forefront. From then on, his emotional instability deteriorates further, and with some goading from Dazzle, he forms a plan to destroy DK with Ancient Apparition’s Ice Blast dealing the killing blow.

However that plan goes tragically wrong when his old friend Bristleback walks into the Sunstrike spot. One mistake leads to another, and he ends up killing QuoP as well. That confrontation between the two is one of the most dramatic scenes I’ve ever seen. When the Queen threatens to reveal his bad deeds to CM, he starts grovelling and begging her for forgiveness, but it turns out it’s all an act allowing him to get close to her for a tornado. Despite the cringeyness there is a special kind of satisfaction in seeing one’s favourite video game character display the whole range of emotions, just as it’s satisfying seeing him perform the whole shebang of spells after being abused for the first ten episodes.

Carl’s final move is one that completely breaks CM’s heart. He steals the Aegis meant for saving Bristleback’s life. However, his motivation isn’t very clear and was the topic of much debate and speculation among the Chinese fans at that time. But going by his character’s trajectory, it’s highly likely he’s doing it for self-preservation. After all, Doom’s absolutely livid that he’s killed QuoP and the Aegis is his only chance at standing against Big Daddy Doom. But the ending leaves questions unanswered. Now that he’s pissed off both sides, what’s to become of him? Is his character totally irredeemable? How will the war end? Season Three was supposed to be in the works, but never materialized.

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maraudergirls · 6 years ago

Text

‘7 things i love about us’ ( Harry x Hermione)

For @hermione-who from @wizardingworldwaitforme and @beaubcxton

Hermione can’t believe what she’s seeing.

Maybe it’s because of the shock of her tights colliding with the freezing floor, or the strength the cry provoked by her surprise.

She shakes the white plastic stick. Once. Twice. Thrice. Observes. It’s unchanged.

She rests her back against the wall and stretches her legs forward, until their extension is blocked by the base of the washbasin. The last time such a huge turn in her life had happened, it had been in a similar room, and she remembers it as if it were yesterday…

There was music. A sweet music. Somebody was tickling the tiles of a piano. A huge one.

“Are you ready?”

She looked up at Ginny.

She’s just able to hear the knock on the door, and a deep voice asking if she’s all right, before the whiteness of the bathroom gives place to the pitch blackness of her closed eyelids.

***

There Is music. A sweet music. Somebody is tickling the tiles of a piano. A huge one.

Harry straightens his green tie, anxiety coiling around the pit in his stomach like a vicious snake.

“Alright, mate?”

The groom nods. “Just a little bit nervous s'all.”

Ron claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous of mate. She loves you. You love her. You both make fondue, I become a godfather-”

The word fondue stirs an unforgotten memory from the Burrow in Harry’s brain, and he’s forced to recollect as thoughts about their sixth Christmas together flood him.

A hoarse cough had disrupted his occasional good sleep.

He groaned at first, throwing the comforter over his ears.

The residue of his nightmare burned his scar, and breathing heavily, he tried to shove the screams of his friends away. Cold sweat welcomed him as he opened his eyes, the worst suppositions attacking him from all parts.

When he managed to get a bit more lucid, he recognized the sound of Ron’s rambunctious snoring, which drived any suspicion of horror away, and, with a sigh, Harry cautiously got up.

It was dark enough that the atmosphere felt stifling. He walked ahead as if in a trance, following the beaker of faint light spilling ahead. As his steps got closed to the source of clarity, the sound of a retch disrupted the silence and he willed his heart to still.

Somebody was being very sick in there.

Rapping once on the bathroom door, he called out, “You okay?” and immediately berated himself for asking such a ridiculous question.

The victim of his horrible choice of words didn’t seem to think much of it, and Harry oddly wondered how serious their cause of ailment was for they called out a weak, “Yeah.” Here, they interrupted and contradicted their previous statement by moaning.

Shortly after, the flush of a toilet stained the air. “I’m fine.”

True to his perceptive nature, he recognised that she was Hermione Granger, and she was most definitely not alright.

“Mione? Can I come in?”

“You don't need to.”

A beat of tangible silence, then, “Please?”

The door weakly swung open, creaking as it did so preceded by something clicking and Harry was faced by a very sick crush.

Even with a ghostly pale face, blue-ish lips, and damp hair, he could not recall a time when he hadn’t thought she looked more beautiful.

Against his better judgment, he tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear, and his heart stumbled when he saw red color her skin.

Offering her a glass of tap water, he leaned against the bathroom floor with her, shutting the door.

“What’s happened?” His voice echoed in the room, and he winced at the modulation.

“It’s those damned fondue rolls that Ronald seemed to like.”

She said ‘Ronald’ with such a tone of severity as to make Harry cast a silent wish to spare his friend from his fate.

Interrupted in his thoughts by another retch, he padded over to Hermione, pushing away the hand she hung between them and petted her back.

“Get it all out, Mione.”

Her answer came out weak, “Thanks Harry. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”

A smile carved its way onto his face. “Anything for-”

His romantic proclamation was cut short by another moan, and was altered into a chuckle when she uttered, “I’m going to kill him.”

They sat like this till the early hours of morning, until a very worried Mrs. Weasley accosted them for not waking her up, and shooed him away.

They breezed by the hours. Harry lending a pun here and there and Hermione scoffing at it, stating that he was mad though there was no longer an absence of good humor by the time dawn brushed their eyelids.

It was enough time for Harry to realise, at the moment when he was holding her hair and whispering words of comfort, that he’d had been loving her for an epiphany, that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, and that, if that meant that all his days were going to be vomit scented, then so be it. As long as he had her.

And suddenly, there was this burning feeling in his chest, the type of impulse that one cannot hold, so he just said it, plainly and simply, as if he was making a remark about the weather, “I love you, Mione.”

She didn’t falter for a beat, just smiled weakly at him and, with an assurance that the fondue rendered quite hard, returned the sentiments.

She didn't realise how deep the ardor ran. To her, the feelings she had for Harry were strictly platonic and she was definite it was the same case for him too. They were best friends, of course she loved him too.

This was no occasion for a kiss, Harry thought, to prove that his feelings were much more different than what she understood. So instead, he silently promised himself that, someday, if she’d have him, they’d get married, and love each other until the embers of the past finally fade past.

For now, her friendship was a gift, golden and pure, sent from the Olympians before, and he silently vowed never to make the mistake of being Icarus.

“-did not raise you so you could use fondue as an inappropriate word! And to corrupt poor Harry as well. Why, I never-”

Harry coughs, interrupting the reproach from Mrs.Weasley, a woman almost as dear and symbolic to him as his own dead mother. She’d nourished him with love, care, and affection. And now, here she is, as kind and lovely as she had been decades earlier, when he’d asked her where the platform was. The only change Harry can notice is a new set of wrinkles, but they add to her grandmother look.

Ron, the same as always, silently assures Harry to go on, his right ear still bearing the flush of his mother’s shouts.

“They’re ready for you, Harry.”

***

“Are you ready?”

The knocking on the door intensifies, and Hermione shudders.

How long has she been lying here? Not so long, if the person on the door hasn’t stopped making noise already. It’s starting to annoy her. Her head is throbbing.

“Mione, love, it’s late. We have to be there in fifteen minutes. Ron says we should leave-”

“Ron said we should leave.”

“Really? He doesn’t want to come?”

“He said he’ll catch up on us. Plus, he seems a bit afraid of getting closer than ten feet to you. I reckon he said something about damaging a book...”

Hermione shrugged, and Harry smiled to himself. Ron hadn’t told him anything about any book, or anything at all. He was not even aware that they were going to Hogsmeade together, since Lavender got the most of his attention lately. But Hermione didn’t know that.

Her hands deep in her pockets, she engaged another conversation, and soon the topic that Harry dreaded, the question of why they were going alone, was far away from their minds.

The sky was calm, but the cruel cold was cutting into their skin, and Hermione caught herself longing for a hug.

, she wondered what was wrong with her lately. Why did she keep liking Harry’s company better than Ron’s? Why did she desperately want to sit next to him in every class? Why did she crave the same food he did? But she promptly found rational answers: Ron was being something of a jerk, the classrooms were crammed, and the mashed potatoes were the best dish on the table.

So why was she wishing for a hug now?

Shaking her head slightly, she reassured herself: she just wanted a best friends hug. Nothing more.

Ugh… She’d convince herself of it much more if she listened to what he was saying.

“So Trelawney came in, and I didn’t know she was going to be so angry-”

Harry ruffled his hair more than it already was, and Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling too obviously.

Exasperated at herself, she decided to look elsewhere.

“But you know, she’s always predicting my death, and one day she’ll be the cause of it. I mean, people die from boredom, don’t t-”

“Oh look Harry!” Hermione interrupted him, excitement tangible in her voice. She pointed at Zonko’s, at an object that had caught her interest. “I heard about this new illusion potion they released. Let’s have a look at it!”

Glancing at his expression, she understood that it was not in her friend’s plan to pay a visit to the joke shop, and was ready to resign, but he grabbed her arm and started walking toward the place she had indicated.

“What is it about?” he asked kindly.

Glad that he had accepted her suggestion, she explained, “It imitates the first effects of amortentia, but instead of making you smell odors, it makes you see images related to the person you love.”

Harry, who was opening the door, stumbled slightly at her last word, and she felt her own cheeks light up.

After thinking about it, why did she want to see that potion?

But again, the rational part of her brain protected her: it was an amazing bit of magic. There was no other curiosity in her intentions apart from the scientifical one.

After she cleared that detail, she didn’t feel afraid to approximate herself to one of the purple-colored bottles, and hold it up.

“I wonder what my parents would think about this. They’d laugh a lot, for sure. Oh, I could buy them one, what do you think Harry?” As he didn’t answer, she turned around, but didn’t find him next to her. “Harry?”

Her eyes scanned the colorful crowd, but her friend was nowhere to be seen.

“Come on, we’re not going to play hide and seek,” she mumbled to herself.

It struck her that she wouldn’t mind playing hide and seek with him, but she pushed the thought away.

He was not near the noisy hats, nor next to the nosy books, and the corner of the quivering quills eas empty. She looked over the heads of the third years, and between the bodies of the seventh years, and even checked on-

“Boo!”

Hermione started, and instinctively swung round with her hand ready to slap. Thankfully, Harry was not close enough to be reached.

“Harry James Potter!” she cried, listening to the thumping polka of her heart. “Do not dare to frighten me like this ever again!”

Grinning sheepishly, the boy excused himself, and after a bit of scolding, the incident was quickly closed.

They exited the shop immediately after reconciling, regretting its warmness, and after a simple look of understanding, mutually agreed to head for one of the pubs. As Hermione headed for the Three Broomsticks, Harry stopped her with a call. He first answered to her raised eyebrows with a difficult gulp, but then explained that the weather was so bitter that it made him daydream of hot chocolate.

“But they don’t have hot chocolate at the Three Broomsticks,” Hermione remarked.

She blushed furiously under her scarf when he pointed out that Madam Puddifoot’s were the best.

The door made a loud ringing noise when the boy opened it, and Hermione threw it a dark look. There were about ten people inside, and as soon as she had crossed the entrance, ten smirking mouths had started whispering.

We are here as friends, she wanted to shout at them. Instead, she swallowed, and took a sit.

“Look,” Harry told her, when he noticed she was too uncomfortable. From the inside of his winter cloak, he pulled out a bright red plastic bag, and fidgeted with whatever was inside for a bit.

Under Hermione’s surprised gaze, he laid a little flask on the pastel table.

“The illusion potion!” She cried. He had apparently bought it while she was occupied looking for him.

He winked at her. “Fancy a vision?”

Two drops in each cup were enough, and they drank the steaming beverage promptly, eager to know what its effect would be.

Harry looked at a wall, blinked, colored a bit, but shrugged and smiled, as if he had seen what he had expected to see.

Hermione, however, turned a deep shade of red, and gaped at a window for several seconds. When Harry mocked her for looking like a fish out of water, she frowned.

“I’m disappointed,” she said sternly. “It didn’t work.”

She was sure that the boy would have retorted something, but he limited himself to hum enigmatically and finish his drink.

“Mione?” He said after putting his cup down. She noticed that his cheeks were vividly pink, but implied it must be due to the inside temperature. “What would you call this?” He moved his hands in strange gestures, first pointing at her and himself, and then at their surroundings.

“Oh,” she muttered shyly. “What do you mean?”

Harry looked like he was preparing himself to climb a mountain without shoes.

“Do you consider this a date?”

His question was so abrupt that Hermione didn’t even think about her answer. “Yes, I reckon it’s one.” But when the sense of what she had said reached her conscious, she promptly added, “A friends date, of course.”

Harry’s smile trembled just a bit, and he responded with assurance, “Yeah, of course, because we’re just friends, nothing more.” In the same spirits, he glanced at 13-years-old girl that had been looking at them with great interest since they had stepped in. “We’re just friends.”

Hermione laughed heartily at the kid’s wide eyes, and finished her own chocolate.

“I like our friends’ date,” Harry breathed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

She looked at him, her mind still a bit clouded by the potion’s vision, and grinned. “I like it too.”

***

“I like this, mommy.”

The little girl in front of Harry points to the twinkling stars of the ceiling, and Harry smiles.

He’s getting married.

By tonight, as he will hold Hermione in his arms and trail a line of beautiful kisses below her nose, he shall breathe, “You are mine and I am yours, Hermione Potter.”

The mother kisses her child, and the kid bounces on her parent’s knee.

Very few people cannot complain about their first kiss, and most of them laugh off it as awkward while they stumbled in the dark, wishing they could erase the past. However, some people find beauty in the weirdness, like how their noses bumped against each other and how their glasses bore in the other’s face. And among these people shine Harry and Hermione.

They had a wonderful and legendary first kiss. It was the first time they felt like they were kissing the stars.

It took place at the dusk of frost. It was warm enough for the ice to be melting, but cold enough for them to walk close to each other, inches barely separating them.

It had been an exceptionally cold winter, physically and mentally speaking. So many subtle and burning moments.

Until this moment, if Harry had to choose a word to fit their relationship, he’d like to call it unrequited pining, while Hermione would classify it as an unfortunate series of events.

For what else could she call these feelings eating her and consuming her blood? Everytime she caught herself catching glimpses of his messy hair and green eyes, that reminded her of the tree in backyard that she pleased to admire during class, she berated herself. Didn't he know that she stilled everytime their fingers brushed when they were sitting together?

But nothing about it was unlucky. Not really.

Harry certainly didn’t seem to think so. Why would her hand in his, pulling him forward against the throng of students, against time and war, be called unfortunate? Certainly, he was fortunate to have a bushy haired girl in his life, and idly wondered how people lived without somebody like her. If he had to pine, if every carefully planned look between them drove him flexing-his-fingers-mad, then so be it.

She pulled him outside, laughing and singing her joy, and everything was well. Like it was any other day when she’d make him feel angels were having a party in his head. But suddenly, the perfection left. She left. She released his hand. Before Harry could protest, something cold hit his face, which he instinctively shut, and he spluttered.

“Come on, Harry! Not afraid of the snow, are you?”

Still coughing, he threw a reproachful look toward the sweet voice, though the corners of his lips twitched

. “Imagine that!” Her voice was teasing and light, and Harry could tell by the playful look in her eyes, the love of his life had finally got bizarre. This is why you shouldn't read, he suddenly thought. “The Boy Who Lived scared of the snow!”

Before she could throw another ball, he summoned a fistful of snow and magicked it to shove her. The whiteness paused her rant, and he bit his lip for a second. Had he gone too far? Did it hurt?

His worries were for naught, for, the very next second, a loud laugh tinkled through the air,and he only caught a glimpse of a pink and cute nose before another shovel of snow was pushed into his mouth.

“Not great at this, Harry?” Another laugh. Another mocking tone. Another shovel of snow thrown at her.

She expected it this time, and their childish game soon turned into a frightening and tactical battle, involving several mates from different houses. Thankfully, Hermione was on his side, and he got the lucky opportunity to sit close to her as they traded rumours about who was going to strike next.

“I think McKinley is going to strike from that side,” Hermione said, with a finger to the inclined direction.

Harry just nodded, head spinning partly from the planning but mainly due to the female’s intoxicating smell next to him.

“WAR!!”

The battle cry echoed close to them and on instinct, Harry pulled Hermione up.

“We’ve got to run.”

They smothered their giggles as they run. There’s a thud then and Hermione stumbled as a snowball hits her. Harry caught her, his hands clasping her arm but he loses his balance by doing so and then they’re falling, falling, falling.

And it's so so cold but also so warm.

“Hey,” Harry said, his breath tickling Hermione’s eyelashes but she doesn’t pull away. Not yet.

“Hey.” She swallows and shuts her eyes.

And he wants to hold her so bad and tuck her lips in his. Choosing another dangerous path, he slowly, so slowly brushed something off her cheek and shivers but its not due to the cold.

“You’ve got a bit-” His voice failed him. “Bit of snow.”

Words weren't necessary. Hermione’s eyes pore into Harry’s and his heart squeezed at the chocolate brown doe eyed look. All senses of caution and rationality were thrown out of the window and buried when she slowly, so very slowly leans in. Their lips gently ghosted each other before they collided and their bodies crumble against the weight of a millenia aged love.

Flushed against each other, she weaves a story in his hair and his hands cup her neck.Their breaths are searing scorching hot against each other and their hearts melt lava.

“Finally.” Harry murmured, his gaze locked on Hermione’s soft and shy one, their shared panting only registering in their bliss minds.

***

Bliss… It’s all she feels… There is no coherence…

What she’s doing on the floor, she doesn’t know…

What happened?

Her mind only processes happiness. A drunk happiness.

There is another moment of unsteadiness. And a sense of urge.

Something distressed her, a vague sense of urge.

From outside, Hermione witnessed how the rain pounded down heavily on their tent.

She shivered as a strong gust of wind stung her chest despite the heavy clothing, and tried to calm her nerves by taking a deep and rattling breath.

A quick glance at the sky comforted her: it was time to go back inside. And so, she did.

Immediately, she knew something was wrong, like the times when your throat is hurting the night before you wake up with a fever and surrounded by tissues. Wand in hand, she called out, “Harry?”

She covered her mouth instantly, and blamed herself: raising her voice was stupid. What if she had alerted any intruders about a secondary presence? But surely, there couldn’t be anybody else under the magical roof, right? They had taken precautions.

Her uneasiness nudged her into calling again. And again. And when she was certain that he wouldn’t call back, she hoped against hope that he was in such a deep sleep as to not hear her. The hairs of her neck standing straight, she crept towards the bunk beds.

Once there, her heart stopped: the bed was nicely empty, lacking the body she’d grown accustomed to seeing.

Head pounding, she dropped on the mattress, and tried to analyze the facts rationally, as she had always taught herself to, even though her chest was slowly crumbling like ash.

Had somebody managed to apparate inside? But she had checked the protection spells earlier, and they were perfectly efficient.

She hadn’t seen him getting out. She had guarded the camp. Always, without falling asleep, without leaving the tent from view. Except…

Except when a suspect noise had attracted her farther into the woods. She knew it would have been crazy to leave her place, but she needed to be sure that no threat would have assailed them when leaving tomorrow morning.

And then, during her minute of absence, perhaps, snatchers had gagged him and casted an invisibility shield over him as they snuck out? Even amid her panic, she dismissed the idea, snatchers were often rather unskilled at magic. And probably very stupid.

But she was the stupid one now! She was the one who left Harry unguarded. She was the one who did not didn’t know where he wandless boyfriend was.

But most of all, she was the one who hadn’t told him how she was sure she felt about them. And now she may never have the chance to.

“Harry,” she implored.

Her throat tightened, and worry clouded her mind and vision, making it impossible for her to think about anything, except one word.

Gone.

“Harry!” She cried to the top of her lungs.

Clenching her jaw, she summoned her Gryffindor recklessness and stormed out of the tent, feeling mad in her sorrow. She kept screaming under the buckets of rain, she ran as far as it was safe to run, she splattered herself with mud and wet leaves.

Nowhere, she thought as she pulled the roots of her hair, he’s nowhere.

Her tears and the sky’s were one, her laments and the wind’s were the same, her desperation and the forest’s united.

Feeling like a lion in a cage, broken inside, wrecked outside, her stomach assailed by a wave of nausea, she headed back to their shelter, but hadn’t took two steps before her knees buckled and her hands hit the floor.

The cold that her skin felt was nothing compared to the cold that attacked her heart, and she resigned to remain on the spot where she was, waiting for what had taken Harry away from her to come and finish her off.

She couldn’t live without him.

In her despair, she thought about his smile, his smart remarks, his clumsy gestures, his deep voice… She even seemed to hear him calling her name. If the grey wall of water in front of her hadn’t been so thick, she would have imagined she could see him running toward her.

Her vision was so realistic… Like the one she had had after drinking the illusion potion. The green eyes, the ruffled hair, the messy clothes. Why had she denied the truth back then? They could have had much more time! She could have told him…

She could have told him what she felt…

“Harry!” She shouted to the mirage. “Harry!”

Her mind trickled her in the most cruel of the ways. It made her imagine he was shouting back. It made her feel he was getting closer.

And she must have gone crazy for real, because she felt a collision with a body, two strong arms wrapping her, lips melting with hers, and the world stopped spinning.

“Mione,” His voice reached her ears despite the rain’s chaos. “Mione, I was so afraid! I wanted to check on you, but you were gone! You didn’t answer my calls! I thought they had gotten you!”

“Harry,” she breathed, “You’re not- not a vision? You’re real?”

Through sobs, he kissed her once more, pouring all his feelings in the act. “Does that answer your question?”

She nodded, conscious that he couldn’t see her, but just to feel the relief of acknowledging his presence herself. And she remembered…

She still had something to say properly.

“Harry,” She fought the pandemonium of the weather, to be sure he would hear her every single word. “I never want to leave you, ever in my existence. I was ready to let myself go! You’re the only thing that makes this life worth it! I love you!”

She didn’t know if she was crying or laughing anymore. Maybe it was both. But Hermione was sure of one thing: saying it was much better that keeping it to herself.

She loved him.

***

He loves her.

But now, people are staring.

Lacing his hands together, Harry chews his lower lip. He is wary. The clock strikes ten, as if it too wants to taunt him.

He shuts his eyes. Is she having second thoughts? Does she not want to marry him anymore? And the worse path, has she ran away?

“Harry?”

The groom snaps his eyes open and looks at his best mate. Barely repressing a groan as he grasped the besiege in the other’s eyes.

“Harry, Something’s wrong with Hermione.”

“Fuc-.” Harry swears. “What is it?” and then more firmly, he asks shaking Ron’s shoulders. “Where is she?”

“Bathroom.”

Harry takes off, barely noticing the worried glances thrown his way by the guests. He can only focus on the morose tone delivered to him. Pressure beats on his long and its not long before his throat is clogged.

A horrible assumption screams its way into his brain, like a deadly wraith before he shrugs it off with much effort.

Running to Hermione, he can only think, you promised until the very end.

Harry sighed as he walked up the stairs of the apartment. Truth be told, sometimes, he regretted his choice to become an auror and wondered what life would have become if he had accept McGonagall’s offer. He’d have been called Professor Potter by now.

Instead, he was forced to raise his arm and follow the tiring cycle of stun or kill and capture. Perhaps, it wasn't the wisest choice someone with PTSD could make.

Coping with the screams and the blood usually wasn’t exceptionally hard except for days like this. Days when he was forced to watch as envy and anger flashed before the emotions were squashed and replaced by blankness. Sometimes, triumph shone in those dark eyes and he worried for the posterity.

Shuddering at the memory of the cold hugging him, he looked up as rapid footsteps sounded.

“Harry!” The man in question caught sight of Ron’s face and immediately stills for there was no sign of humor or lightheartedness discernible in those features.

Marching forward, he shook Ron by the shoulders, instant worry weighing down upon him and he oddly wonders how Atlas held the world for such a long time. “What’s wrong? Is Mione okay?”

A twisted expression forms its way on Ron’s face. “Harry-”

“Merlin, what is it, Ron?”

The man sighed and his face scrunched up once again. He looked like he wished he was anywhere else. There’s a brief pause which felt like years to Harry and then, “Hermione left, mate.”

“What?” His voice was faint, almost non-believing. “You’re joking.”

“Bloody hell.” Ron cursed. “She said you guys wanted different things that other people were willing to provide and I’m sorry mate.”

Harry had a sudden urge to sink to the floor and melt. Tears already sparkled in his eye and he seized something to blame; his job, someone else, him. “Different things?”

It’s not really a question. Amending: “Where is she?”

“I dont know.”

The world has become hazy and he can't see straight; everything is a blur. It’s almost like Hermione’s absence has caused the colors from his life to vanish for he walks in the grey stillness of life. He had to make this up to her for her reasoning was flawed; the useless ring bouncing in his pocket lays claim to this fact. Where had she decided to stay? Would a visit to her parents at this time be considered ill mannered? Deciding he doesn't give a shit about manners and only about Hermione, he straightened, a plan taking shape in his mind.

As if reading his thoughts, Ron flexed his fingers together. “I think she left you a note, mate. She asked you not to look for her.”

Harry slumped, shut his eyes and when he speaks, the voice was almost a croak. “Thanks, mate.” The walls were closing in.

The reply was almost strangled and pained. “Anytime, mate. She might have explained why in the note.”

The heartbroken victim nodded but didn’t move, offering a pained smile. Someone once told him that the worst kind of pain is when you smile to stop the tears from slipping out. And, with that prompt, the tears finally spill and he’s drowning in this grief. He should have noticed she was unhappy, noticed he was being a workaholic. This was all his fault.

Ron urges. “Go check it out, mate.”

“I’ll do it when I want to!” Harry sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Each step he took to his apartment, he felt like his whole body slowly disintegrating from the unexpected anguish. Hoping the headache away, he unlocks the door and freezes.

The room is encompassed by a halo of warm light and the scent of candles sting his nostrils. He notices a row of flowers, similar to an aisle and in the middle of this enchanting scene is a woman. His goddess, Hermione. The sight of her is so surprising, he cannot utter a single word but only feel such devastating and sweeping relief, his knees almost buckle.

“You said you wanted it to be a surprise” Hermione says, tears already shining in her eyes like twinkling city lights. And to bewilder him even more, she goes on her knees.

Slowly walking towards her and joining hands, he kneels next to her and kisses her palm, enjoying the sensation of gravity that flows through him.

He doesn't ask her how she knew he was proposing. Why she wasn't with Victor Krum right now? It doesn't matter. She’s with him. Chose him. And that realization ignites the fondness he only reserved for her in his heart.

“Harry,-” Hermione said, her voice already breaking on a sob. “My mom always told me soulmates were real. And I never believed them because I was a seven year old cynic. Perhaps, it was when I entered your compartment that September 1st when I saw you that the prospect of a fated partner didn't sound so frightening. You were there for me when no one was. And I hope, I wish that I can be here for you whenever you need me.”

“I want to give this a go too since I planned it.” Harry started with a watery chuckle. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way. I never thought I would be so lucky to fall in love with my best friend but I have and I don't ever want to let that go. If you’ll have me, I shall be a husband, a partner and an equal to you. I will be yours. Until the very end.” And trying to add some humor, he chuckles. “If we get married, I’ll buy you a thousand books.”

“Sure know how to make a girl say heck yes!”

Harry surged forward and claimed his girlfriend’s, now fiancee lips with his own.

They were going to do it, finally.

***

They were going.

Yes, this is it. They should be headed somewhere. She just got distracted for a second.

Oh Merlin, yes, she got distracted, and by what! Now how to tell him-

“Mione! Why aren’t you answering? Are you okay? Open the door!”

The voice… The man…

Her split second of clarity is gone.

Through the thick fog of her daydream, she sees him… On that spring night…

“Open the door!”

His voice was playful, almost teasing, as if he knew she’d fail to unblock the lock.

“I am trying to, stop pushing me!”

It was dark, very dark, and the flickering light of the naked lightbulb was not helping much.

“Mione,” She managed to make his words out only by miracle: the hard breeze was pushing them away as soon as they were out of his mouth. “It’s freezing here, I’m shaking like Ron’s bedroom in September!”

A smile took over her lips. They had been in Ron’s room enough times now to know its rocking feeling provoked by the fall wind. Living on the last floor of the Burrow reserved many more surprises than just the neighbor above.

“I can’t get the key in the hole!” Was her feeble defense. She was too occupied in succeeding in her mission to look for a smart answer.

“Of course you can’t, you look just like Minnie when we told her that I was Teddy’s Godfather!” Sure, her hands were trembling, though not for the same kind of nervousness. Minnie had been quite stressed, Hermione was just over excited. “Give it to me, won’t you?”

She laughed, and handed the key over.

Harry grabbed it with the assurance of a man full of happiness and, in less than it took him to boast about it, the door was open, and his wife was dragged inside.

With a flicker of his wand, Harry lit up the inside of the place, and when Hermione finally stopped blowing warm air in the palms of her hands and rose her gaze, her exclamation was as quiet as she was breathless.

They were standing in the middle of a cozy entrance hall, with the smell of new wood and fresh paint invading their nostrils. The walls looked at them warmly, their coat of creamy white already covered in pictures and paintings. Under Harry’s eager attention, Hermione stepped closer to them, and what she saw brought tears to her eyes.

In a corner, she recognized Professor Sprout holding a mandrake, and Neville, in black robes and pointed hat, fainting. Next to him, a short-haired Ginny was holding a cup, in the exact way she had done during the engagement party, the sparkles in her eyes glowing like real ones. Farther to the left, between an ashen-faced Seamus and a couple of thestrals, stood Sirius, his smile wider than ever, the words “I am proud of you” readable on his still lips. He was intensely fixing a point on the opposite side of the room, so Hermione turned around.

She saw a tiny Mrs. Weasley winking at her, and a Mr. Weasley, of the same size, holding a rubber duck with great interest, apparently immersed in deep conversation with her own parents. They were surrounded by a Romanian Horntail, a cauldron of polyjuice potion, and a delicate reproduction of Hedwig. Under the bird’s wing, seven people in Quidditch robes, who turned out to be the original Gryffindor team of their first year, looked at a giant ginger cat, who was pursuing a rat.

“Wormtail,” Hermione whispered, as she traced the fine lines with her fingers.

“And here are the others,” Harry reached out for her hand, and directed it to a spot above this one. A werewolf was standing straight, its face illuminated by a silvery moon, and could have appeared to be dancing with a tall black dog. On their left were the faces of two handsome people, James and Lily Potter, framed by a rectangle of miniature diaries, lockets, rings, diadems, and golden cups. Near them, an elevator of the Ministry of Magic carried a mount of books and a white-bearded old man, with a crooked nose and golden spectacles. He was beaming at a stern McGonagall, and offering her a lemon drop.

“He did like them indeed,” Hermione breathed, emotions all over her voice.

Placing two fingers under her chin, Harry made her look up. The ceiling was covered in stars and clouds, and hippogriffs and motorcycles. There were people mounting broomsticks, a castle covered by fog, birds chasing a golden snitch, candles and flying pumpkins. Colin Creevey was holding his camera, Hagrid was caressing the giant squid, and Dean was kicking a black and white football.

“This is- wonderful Harry,” was the only think she managed to repeat, and he grinned and nodded.

“Luna did the entire house, and each one of our friend brought an idea, or a picture.”

Their snowy boots were forming puddles on the wooden floor, but their attention was elsewhere.

Hermione’s thoughts were about the lovely surprise her boyfriend had granted her, and how lucky she was to share her life with this amazing being, her loved one, and her focus was on every detail that her eyes could absorb of the scene.

Harry’s thoughts were about how much better the cottage looked now that he had at last brought her to it, and his focus was on her face, admiring how the corners of her mouth raised in grins he longed to kiss again and again.

Her lips were moving, murmuring words his fascination did not let him grasp, and the only understanding he got was when she let her body talk for her mind, and hugged him with such passion that, had he had to die right then and right there, he would have done it as an overjoyed soul.

As he covered her face in fond pecks, and she cried tears of deep affection, nothing in the world would have seemed more perfect to them, had it not be for a sudden growl that echoed among their adorable confusion.

Her eyes puffy and her nose red -- she appeared more beautiful than ever to Harry -- Hermione raised her face from the crook of his neck, and smirked, “You’re never on break when it comes to this, are you?”

Scratching the back of his neck, which was growing as red as his cheeks, the man shrugged, “I need energy to keep being the best husband in the world.”

To their eyes, her sudden chuckling was matched in faultlessness only by his sheepish smile, and perfection was back, until another cavernous sound rose, this time from Hermione’s stomach.

“Seems like a good plate of pasta would suit you too, darling.” His raised eyebrow was not mocking, but sympathetic, so for once, she didn’t scowl at it.

“Only if we cook it together,” was her answer.

“First dinner in our own house,” sighed Harry, “We ought to cook it together.”

She smiled, and took a deep breath.

***

He takes a deep breath.

Ginny’s in front of the door. Of course, she’d never leave her best friend.

“Is she-?”

The redhead smiles at him. “She’s never been better, Harry.”

He sighs. “Good.”

Ginny approaches him and fixes his tie. “Go back to your place, will you? I’ll take her out of here in no time.”

Harry nods, and the woman bangs on the door.

***

Now, there is banging.

Whoever is waiting for her response tries to open the door, but only struggles with the secured lock.

More people join the panic on the other side of the wall. There is swearing, and the mention of a wand. Concern, also.

“I swear,” cries a desperate voice, “If in three seconds I don’t get an answer-”

“Calm down, mate-”

“What if she hurt herself? Didn’t you hear her c-”

“Harry?” Her croaky voice silences all the others. “Stop hitting the door please.”

The muteness continues, and an irrational fear makes her wonder if she scared the voices away.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” She’s relieved: at least, Harry’s is still here.

She wipes her forehead with a shaky hand, and slowly, very slowly, starts recovering her spirits.

“Yeah- Yeah, I am.”

“What was the cry about, then? Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

Instinctively, she flashes a reassuring smile. Then, she remembers he can’t see her. “No, I’m perfectly fine. I just need a moment.”

She can hear whisper, and another man’s voice, Ron’s she reckons, hissing above the others,

“She’s not okay. Even if we said we’d be leaving now-”

Yes… Yes, indeed, they were about to leave. That’s what she said.

It was late...

“We’re leaving, Harry,” she giggled. “Hannah must want some sleep.”

He did not hear her, or faked not to.

Her hand on the entrance’s doorknob, Hermione chatted some more minutes with her friend, discussing the latest Ministry business or the upcoming wedding of another of their mutual friendships, hoping that her husband would finally listen to reason. But the peeping and laughing didn’t falter even the slightest bit.

“You’d think we’d be the most excited,” Hannah smiled, gesturing toward the hallway.

At these words, Fox, the dog of the house, came to rest his tired body at the feet of his mistress, and both women were sure that, if he could have talked, his speech would have been short and concise: “I come from a place of real madness.”

“You had enough of it for nine months,” Hermione remarked, alluding to her friend’s dark shadows under the eyes with a compassionate expression.

They both nodded and let the sweet atmosphere wrap them gently into oblivion.

Somehow, it felt so comforting to have the chance to listen to a baby’s chirping. It meant the war was over, really over. That they would not have to go through any more serious anguish, nor be in letal peril each time they crossed a door. It meant that they could try to forget the obscure times.

Hermione still remembers -- how not to -- how she had grown used to carry a ball of lead in her stomach, the concentration of guilt, horror, and worry that followed her everywhere. It was the barrier between her and happiness, between her present and a prospect of some desired future. It kept her in the dark, strengthened her afflictions.

Slowly, after everything was done, the heavy ball had turned into a soft bubble, one of brightness, healing, and hope. It still followed her everywhere, and made her life so much more easy. It was a reminder that she could breath in liberty, inhale the permanent scent of love and laughter. It was an invitation to live life.

A wave of squealing and giggling reached the spot where the two friends were standing, and they both reintroduced themselves to the world.

“Maybe,” Hannah yawned, “We should remind the guys that the baby needs some sleep.”

Laughing heartily in agreement, Hermione dropped her coat on the floor, a habit that had been encouraged by the host since her first visit, and followed the stream of cheerfulness that floated in the air.

To her, Dylan was somebody very important. He was the first newborn in their circle of friends and acquaintances with nothing related to the war. He was born on a sunny August day, one year after the fatidical second of May, and received a name that didn’t connect him to anybody they had lost.

He was the first flower in the spring of their new life.

With every step they took toward their destination, the room where Mr. Longbottom junior was supposed to be taken care of by his father and friend, the intensity of delight increased considerably, until the air was so full of it that it became highly contagious.

“Darling,” Hermione called, leaning on the doorframe, with tears on the corners of her eyes. “It’s time for us to leave.”

With a childish disappointment in his eyes, the interpelled agreed to follow his wife toward the exit, but solemnly asked for the pleasure of being accompanied by his fellow men. Smiling motherly, Hannah nodded her consent, and they were all off toward the front of the house.

Congratulations flew back and forth for at least ten more minutes, and Neville, Dylan, and Harry were still laughing when the door of number 28, Begonia Street, closed for the night. The Potters were accompanied to the gate of the garden by Fox, and reluctantly parted from him with a few caresses and biscuits.

When finally alone outside, the lovers hugged each other as they walked, sharing their warmness in silence, until Harry finally spoke,

“Mione?” Her hummed answer was distracted: she still thought about the bubble. “What do you think if- well, if we had one too?”

With some airiness, a characteristic she had recently learnt from Luna, Hermione answered,

“Oh Harry, it would be wonderful. He is so adorable and quiet. It’s true that it would be a little hard to take care of him, with our full schedules and what not, but I guess that if we adopt one that is not too big, he could be friends with Crookshanks.”

But a single glance to her partner let her understand that they did not mean the same thing. She was talking about a dog, while Harry…

“You’re not serious, are you?”

***

“Oh Mione, you can’t be serious.”

Her reflection in the mirror makes her grimace.

With a face pale like this, and a mane of knots that could be declared the biggest nest in the world, she surely doesn’t look like someone who received the best news ever.

Her eyelids descend slowly, and with a clunk, she turns on the tap. The cool and fresh water against her burning skin is welcomed with a sigh.

Grabbing a towel, she lays her back against the door.

“Harry?”

An expecting voice answers from the floor. He must have sat while waiting for her,“Mione?”

He never did leave her, she thinks.

The wooden panel quivers, and now the voice repeats from its habitual height, “Mione?”

“Step back,” she warns him. “I’m going to open the door.” His relief is so strong that she feels it vibrating from the inside of the bathroom. “But be warned, love, I’m horrible to see.”

She hears his disbelief, even if he doesn’t say a word about it.

The lock clicks, the hinges creak, the barrier between them vanishes, and she’s engulfed in a suffocating embrace.

“You scared me so much. Are you sure you’re okay? Why did you scream? What’s- Love, you’re crying!”

She giggles in the crook of his neck at his surprise and he, convinced that she hit her head and went momentaneously crazy, takes her chin in his hands. “Ok listen now, Mione. What happened? Why are you all weird?”

“Your eyes, Harry.”

“Er- what about them?”

“I hope he or she gets them.”

“He or sh?-”

And with shaking hands, she looks up at him and blinds him with her bright grin. “I’m pregnant.”

Several seconds pass but Hermione doesn’t worry. She can see the awe slowly rising in his face, similar to the sun peaking in the countryside.

“I think I’m dreaming.”

Laughing now, she forgets her fainting spell as she pinches him playfully. “I’m convinced you’re just a dolt.”

He doesn’t retort at her attempt of humor. “You’re pregnant?” He whispers, his green eyes so close to her brown ones, his breath ghosting over her lips and she forgets for a second that its her wedding day. Harry always made her feel like the vulnerable teenager that she once was.

And she can't try to diffuse the emotion in his words, so she plays along, her heart beating strongly.

Hearts.

“I am.”

It is another excruciating long moment of silence and then he laughs, the joy on the melody so evident and rare, she almost stumbles back.

And then, they’re kissing. Hands tugging at each other’s hair, arms circling the other’s waist and sigh worthy kissing.

Someone wolf whistles and they break apart.

“I’m so happy, Mione. Thank you.”

She suppresses the expected tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And our baby.”

“Your what?” Ginny’s cries, startled. She’s leaning against the doorframe, Fred and George flanking her sides. The trio have the typical stunned expression: wide eyes, parted lips and the overall what’s happening look.

Harry winces and mutters out a quick sorry but she doesn’t care that they’ve found out.

Merlin, she’s happy. She never was one to keep secrets.

“I’m pregnant!”

And then, she’s aware of the Weasleys pouncing upon her and Harry’s hearty chuckles as he shoos them away.

“I've got to get dressed.”

“You could just wear this.” Harry smirks. “Or rather, something else.”

“Harry!”

Kissing her again, he pulls away from her, still laughing.

“Got any more secrets to tell me, Mione? Or can I waltz back? I think our guests are getting bored at Ron’s terrible singing.”

“We better save them, then.”

Harry pulls her close to his chest once more and kisses the crown of her head. There will be plenty of time to discuss their child. When she’d suspected and how lucky they were. All these conversation starters stirred in his mind as he swept away from her. “See you out there!”

She didn't hear him, too overcome by the flurry of motion surrounding her.

“Where’s the bloody makeup, Ginny?” Harry heard as he shut the door.

Harry tugs at his hair and smiles sheepishly when he noticed Hermione’s lips twitch. She always said he messed up his hair way too much. He supposed he rather did. Maybe it was a Potter thing. And maybe, their child would inherit it too.

Their child.

Resisting the urge to laugh jubilianty, he marvels at the thought that their child was attending their wedding. How weird and amazing!

He shakes his head, warding off the daze and gazes at his bride.

A blush stains Hermione’s cheeky and despite the beautiful gown, he can only focus on how beautiful her nose looks like.

Many colleagues had advised him that he might feel like bolting as his soon to be wife walked down the aisle. Harry thought they were barking mad. Watching her awkwardly smile at the guest and fidget with the flowers draped around her wrist, he felt like they were on one of those dates.

The ring on her hand flashes and he starts to tear up. She is his. And he is hers. After all they’ve been through-fighting and studying -- Harry thought the former was easier --, the lights that twinkle around them make him realise that this would be the happiest moment of his life.

It would be rivaled by the birth of his children a year later, but he still doesn’t know that.

Harry had never felt so jocular in his life as he does as Hermione reaches him. Gently, holding her hand and helping her step up, he tugs her veil down and smiles.

Pure affection radiates in her eyes and tears already glisten their way down her cheeks.

Kissing a one drop away, he ignores the crowd as they aww.

“Hey.”

A smile splits her face as she remembers how it had all started. “Hey, yourself.”

The priest coughs. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are-”

Harry blanks out, the touch of Hermione’s fingers on his skin rendering him illiterate.

“Harry, HARRY, MR POTTER!”

Shook from his reverie, Harry hears Ron’s snort before he sees Hermione hide a giggle.

The priest is anything but amused. “Your vows, Mr. Potter. See to it that you don’t dream while you read them.”

The couple roll their eyes and simultaneously grin at each other.

“I didn’t miss your vows, did I?”

Chuckling faintly, “No. I’d kill you if you did.”

Another grin. “Where do I start, Hermione? Everyone says weddings are stuffy and boring. I don’t want to make you cry in this vow, Mione. Rather not start the rest of our lives together by you crying by something I said. Reserve the tears for after the ceremony. Ow- don't hit me. True love is the most inconvenient kind.” Harry admits, adding a touch of seriousness to his tone. “I vow, Mione to protect and serve you. To make you breakfast in bed. To lull you to sleep with my warmth if you desire it and to wake you up by a trail of kisses but most importantly, I vow to always be there for you.”

“Wow, Harry. Its like, you want me to cry.” Hermione laughs, though it sounds more like a sob. “You’ve said most of it, I think but...Love to me isn't jumping off a plane to prove your undying devotion. It isn't about two broken pieces joining to be one. You and me, Harry, we’ve gone through a lot of shit but we’re not broken. We just look better together. It’s about wanting to live your life with someone, not needing. And my soul wants to co exist with yours throughout the rest of eternity. Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence by Erich Fromm.”

The crowd giggles while the bride flushes.

Of course, she had to quote someone.

It was her intelligence that drove his heart wild, really.

“And now,” she continues, “I’m going to stop even though I want to go on and on about how this was unexpected and read my 18inch essay about the comparison between life and love but you probably know all about that and I might cry any second so-”

The priest smiles faintly, which quickly fades in a flash of light.

“Rings.”

Ron steps forward and Harry takes one, the finest, and places it on her delicate finger, his touch almost caressing. Hermione sniffles as Ginny places the ring on her palm. Barely breathing, she pushes it on him. The crowd is silent and the priest happily asks,

“Do you Harry Potter take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Through sickness and through health?”

Harry swallows. “I do.”

“And do you Hermione Jean Granger take this mean to be your lawfully wedded husband? Through sickness and through health?”

“I do.” Hermione whispers and locks her gaze with Harry’s. In this moment, it is only them. Only their breaths and their soft and fond gazes.

“Then, by the power vested in me, I now proclaim you husband and wife. You may-”

Harry doesn't wait. He leans forward and cups his wife’s -Merlin, his wife- face and presses her lips against his.

As he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers, he’s indifferent to the cheers and clapping from the guests. Only Hermione as she says, “May I cry now?”

They laugh.

Looking at their rings, they can hardly believe what they’re seeing.

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