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Is this the end of the Golden Trio?

The trio we all know and love, the Saviours of the Wizarding World, may be coming to the end of their famous friendship. Whispers are that training Auror Harry Potter and his two ex-schoolmates and companions in the defeat of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, are seeing less and less of each other, and we suspect that an irreparable rift may be creating between the Boy Who Lived and his two mates. What could be driving them apart? A trusted source tells us that something is going on between training Auror Weasley and Ministry Employee Granger. Maybe a new budding love is blooming between the two of them? This could explain why Potter is isolating himself from them, feeling excluded from what they have. So soon after the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Golden Boy may be once again left alone by all his friend. Will he ever find the love he deserves?

Harry flipped the copy of the Prophet upside down on his coffee table, trying to hide the magical photo on the front page. In it, slightly younger versions of Ron, Hermione and himself were waving at the camera, an arm over each other’s shoulders and happy smiles on their faces. It had been taken at the inauguration of a children’s home, where all the Hogwarts students orphaned by the war could live during the holidays, and feel safe. The idea had been Hermione’s, of course, but Harry had been more than thankful to have the opportunity of realizing it. He cared deeply that no one else would ever have to go through what he had to endure with the Dursleys, and even in a time of grief that day had been a happy day. A happy memory.

Today, that happy memory was burning a hole through his soul, together with the words of the article underneath it. Harry had always thought that the Prophet published a lot of lies, so it hurt a little more when today, apparently, it managed to be right. He needn’t turn the paper around to remember the words. “...something is going on between Auror Weasley and Ministry Employee Granger…”. He had known since sixth year that something had been going on between Ron and Hermione. It wasn’t that hard to see, and besides, Harry had been completely fine with it. Still was, he reminded himself. It had been a time of war and grief, they lost Dumbledore, he was planning on going away on a self-destructive quest for the Horcruxes, and he had been kind of comforted that Hermione and Ron had found each other. They would have someone to lean on, when he was gone. Then his plans had changed, or better, had been changed by those two: his best friends, refusing to let him go on his mission alone. There had been no time for romance until the war was over, and the world saved. In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, he had turned to Ginny for comfort, thinking he was doing the right thing, feeling he should let Ron and Hermione have this at least, after all that they had sacrificed, and all they had lost.

“This could explain why Potter is isolating himself from them, feeling excluded from what they have…”.  Never had the Prophet been this right. As civilian life started again, and the world slowly went back to normal, he had found out that he had chosen Ginny not out of love, but out of a desperate desire to keep close to Ron and Hermione. The Weasleys had always been family to him, but he wasn’t a kid anymore, and adulthood changes a lot of things, even when everyone says it won’t. Ron and Hermione were an item now, had moved in together recently, and he just had to accept the fact that there wasn’t space for him in their new relationship, not in the way there had been before. Not in the way he wished there could be. Of course they still wanted him to be their friend, kept inviting him over to the new flat, sending him owls to know how he was doing. But being with them that way hurt just a little bit too much, so he always sent a polite reply, and never went. He had broken up with Ginny, because it was the honest thing to do, and if feeling a bit lonely was the price, it was a price he had to pay. After all, he was a busy man, and so were his friends. He told himself that he wouldn’t have had time to see them anyway; and if he overworked himself to death to ignore the pain and emptiness inside his chest, it was none of anyone’s fucking business. ESPECIALLY not the Prophet’s...

He slowly rubbed a hand over his eyes, shifting his glasses in the process. His life was a fucking mess, he was a fucking mess, and while this wasn’t exactly news, he had never been alone before.

With the corner of his eye he saw a small flame lightning up in the fireplace, the signal of an incoming house call. Thinking it was Shacklebolt – again! – he made a gesture with his wand in the direction of the fireplace.

- Come on through! – he called.

The flame roared up, bright emerald, and two figures jumped out of it, coughing and dusting soot from their robes. None of them were Minister Shacklebolt.

- Ron! Hermione! What the… You could have warned me! -  Harry squeaked jumping up, equal parts surprised and indignant. He subtly tried to straighten his clothes while the two of them were still recovering from the Floo journey.

- And if we had, would you have let us through? – asked Hermione, eyeing him suspiciously. He could never lie to her, so he kept quiet.

- Besides, since when do we need to warn you before coming to visit? – asked Ron, massaging his elbow. He could never Floo-travel without bumping into something, he was simply too tall.

Harry sighed, and turned toward the kitchen. – Cup of tea? – he asked over his shoulder. At least that would give him time to think about what to say. What do you say to someone you saved the world with?

- Harry. – Hermione’s voice was serious, and he turned around without even thinking. She had a worried but gentle smile on her face. – I’ll do it. I know where everything is. – She walked decisively past him, so Harry could do nothing but sit again on the sofa. Ron sat on the other end, staring at him with a mix of worry and confusion. When would people stop looking at him like he had a rare and puzzling disease? This was getting old.

- Well? –

- What? – Ron seemed possibly even more confused.

- What happened? You spring out of my fireplace unannounced, I suppose something big has come up – he replied, a little stiff. He didn’t want to fight, but it really wasn’t the best of days for them to be around, if he had to be frank.

- Wow, mate, sorry! Anyway, don’t you read the news? – In that moment he noticed Harry’s copy of the Prophet lying upside down on the table. His face darkened. – So you’ve read. – he said, searching for Harry’s eyes. Harry kept staring at the ad on the back of the newspaper.

- Yes - he confirmed.

- Hey mate, I’m sorry. I know they printed a lot of bullshit before, put you through worse, but they really overstepped a line here! – He was getting more and more excited, and Harry felt a smile growing on his face despite everything. - I mean, to go trashing all over our private lives while you’re still grieving for Ginny and –

- Thanks Ron, but you can’t really blame them for printing the truth for once –

They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other in disbelief.

- Grieving Ginny? –

- The truth? –

Hermione chose that exact moment to come back from the kitchen, levitating three cups of tea in front of her. She shot them an odd look.

- You two look quite stupid with your mouths hanging open like that. –

They both closed their mouths.

- Now, would you care to explain to me what’s happening? –

They both started to talk at the same time, covering each other’s sentences. Hermione raised a hand, and they both fell silent.

- One at a time, please, - she said, sitting down in the chair in front of them and landing the tea on the coffee table. - Harry, you go first. -

Ron looked restless, but he kept quiet.

- What is this about me grieving Ginny? - Harry asked.

- Well… - Ron looked embarrassed, like always when he had to talk about his sister’s relationship with Harry. - You have been turning us down a lot lately, and everyone in your team at training says that you look a bit depressed, so when Ginny said the two of you broke up we thought… - He glanced toward Hermione, looking for support.

- We thought you were sad about the break-up and that maybe you needed space to elaborate it on your own - she concluded. -We were hoping you would start coming around again soon, then we saw the Prophet today and, well, that was pretty mean of them. What right do they have to go poking around our lives, throwing lies around and -

- Wait a minute, - Ron interrupted her, staring at Harry with a suspicious look on his face. - You said it wasn’t a lie? - Hermione looked surprised at Harry, who was starting to feel a bit like a cornered animal now. He tried to change the subject.

- I… uhm… I broke up with Ginny, not the other way around. - That probably wasn’t the right thing to say, because now Ron looked like he couldn’t decide between defending his sister’s honour or satisfying his curiosity for more details, while Hermione looked actually confused.

- You broke up with her? Why? - she asked. Harry had picked up his cup of tea and was staring into it like it contained the secret of the universe.

- It was unfair to her, because I don’t love her. So I let her go. - He paused, never looking up. - She’ll find someone better than me. - he added, almost to himself.

He raised his eyes to find Ron watching him shocked. Hermione had a little smile on her lips and a warm expression, almost like he had made her proud. It didn’t last long.

- That still doesn’t explain why you are avoiding us, or what did you mean by saying the article isn’t a lie. - She narrowed her eyes, frowning a little. Harry knew better than lying to her.

He sighed, then recruited all the courage he could find in himself, and decided he was going to give them just enough truth so that they would feel at peace. Done their bit, put their friendly conscience to rest. They would reason, try to find a solution, but time would force open the crack between them, and they would eventually give it up as a lost cause. They would concentrate on their careers and their kids and it would be no one’s fault. Just the way old friends grow apart.

- Harry? Harry! Please Harry talk to us! - Hermione was calling him, all her suspiciousness gone, her face only conveying worry and agitation. He opened his mouth and….

…and words started pouring out, a free fall, a cascade, and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop them if he tried, all his heart pouring out of his mouth like had gotten drunk on Veritaserum. He told them about how he had been alone before meeting them, how that felt like, how they had always been the first thing he could name friends, a family.  How they were the only ones he had ever cared about more that the greater good itself, a life of sacrifice and still he had died for them, not for his parents’ battle, not for the salvation of an ungrateful and cruel world, who had tortured him and worshipped him but never really loved him. He had done it for them, he had died because they deserved a future, deserved to be happy, deserved each other, and what if their happiness carved his heart out of his chest? What if he had to be alone for them to live a normal, happy life, he could do that, he would do that. And he told them about his fears, about his shame for using Ginny to stay close, even if he didn’t know, he should have known, he should have left before, left them walking towards the sunset after the war, and even if they thought they could still be friends, that nothing had to change, he knew, feared it because he knew, that things would change, marriage and children and a normal life change people, change friendships, and he was going to be destroyed anyway, because there was no place and no person in the world he could be happy with ever again but them, but he could not, would not, stay around to watch the death of their friendship destroy them too. He could bear to be miserable only if he knew they were happy together.

He didn’t really realize the situation while he spoke, it felt kind of dream-like, but as the flow of words came to an end he became aware of the tears running down his cheeks, and the soreness in his throat, and he knew he had to get out, as far as he could and maybe even further. He stood up and in three strides was stepping out of the door, out of the wards and apparating.

It was cold. It was raining. It was raining all over him, and he had only a shirt and a pair of jeans on, and he really didn’t care. The only thing he wanted to do right now was to curl up and cry, but the ground of the graveyard was soaked and muddy and he may be miserable but he wasn’t that miserable, so he sat on his heels instead. It was a good thing it was raining, he thought, that way his face had a good reason to be wet other than him crying over his own misery and ineptitude. As with almost everything in his life, he had blown this one up too. Made a right mess out of it. He was only supposed to carry on a bit more, lie by omission, be around another couple of years. Then after the wedding he could have faded away, seeing them less and less and finally disappearing peacefully. Ensuring their happiness. Instead he had gone and made a scene, and now they were going to remember him like a jealous self-absorbed prick who couldn’t even be happy for his best friends’ love story. And that was what hurt the most, because it wasn’t even true. He cared about Ron and Hermione, and he was truly happy they were in love. It was beautiful, and he wasn’t jealous of them having each other. Harry just wished he was allowed to love them that way too. He just wished they loved him too that way.

Through the tears - no, raindrops - he could see the old grey stone in front of him, the names carved, enchanted to never fade. The flower crown, though, had lost most of its magic, the flowers withering, the colours fading. He pulled out his wand and fixed it, renovating the preservation spell, propping it better against the stone, adding a waterproof charm to shield it from the rain. By the time he was done he was drenched, but he didn’t even notice.

It had been a long time since Harry had been to Godric’s Hollow. After the war things got busy, and he never really got the time to come back to visit more than once. Actually, he didn’t even know why he had come here now. He didn’t feel safe or at home here, and if he had been upset and looking for comfort there were a thousand other places where he would have felt safer, first of all Hogwarts, and Hagrid’s hut. But he wasn’t looking for love or consolation. When he had apparated he hadn’t consciously thought of any place, but if he had ended up here, a couple of feet from his parent’s grave, he must have been wishing for a place to grieve. For that was Godric’s Hollow to him: a place of peace, a place of death, a quiet place to grieve. A cemetery. The only other time he had been here after Voldemort’s death, it had been right after the funerals. Ron and Hermione had gone with the Weasleys, to mourn Fred, but he had had his own deaths to mourn, and his own mistakes. That time too, he had felt like he had failed, like he had done it wrong. He had waited, and he had wandered, and he had wasted precious time, while he could have died immediately, should have died immediately. He hadn’t known it at the time, but somehow it felt like that didn’t matter. If he had been better, if he hadn’t made so many mistakes, so many people wouldn’t have had to die. Fred would still be alive, and Lupin, and Tonks. And Colin. And Sirius. And Cedric. All his fault. His mistakes always hurt people, hurt them badly, and for every right thing he did, he did two wrong. So he had come here to grieve, to grieve for lost occasions, for lost friends, for lost happiness, in the place where it all started, where the first two people to die because of him lay. The only ones that he truly couldn’t have saved, and the ones he’d wished to save the most.

- Harry! Merlin, there he is, you were right! -

Harry turned around and saw two figures huddled in raincoats standing at the entrance of the graveyard. Each of them carried an open umbrella, and even from where he was crouching he could catch a glimpse of the fiery red hair under one of them.

- Of course I was right, Ron - ouch! - Ron had grabbed her arm and was trying to drag her onto the little path winding through the headstones.

- Look! He is standing in the rain without even a charm, the moron! Come on, Hermione, let’s go get him! -

- Wait, you idiot, you’re going to scare him away! - Hermione protested, trying to hold six feet two of Ronald Weasley back, who was having none of it.

- Scare him? I’m scared! I’ve never been so scared in my life! And if he catches one of those muggle diseases just because he didn’t care enough, I swear… - Harry never knew what, because Hermione seemed to win the fight and managed to get Ron close enough to whisper in his ear.

Harry was surprised to find out that seeing those two bicker and plot had managed to make him smile a bit. He decided to get up and go nearer the gate. He couldn’t drown in self-pity forever anyway, at least not here. And Hermione was right, he was scared. He was scared of the consequences of his words, he was scared of seeing repulsion and rejection on the faces of his friends, or pity and disapproval. He was scared he might not be brave enough to listen to a proper goodbye from the people he loved. But they had found him, and had come all the way out there in that godforsaken weather to say something, so he owed them at least to hear them out. He could be that brave, he was a Gryffindor after all.

He stopped a handful of steps away from the gate, finally aware of exactly how soaked he was, water running in rivulets over his temples, clothes plastered to his body.

- Hi - he said, a little unsure.

Ron turned around and made as if to say something, but Hermione squeezed his arm as a warning, and he relaxed a bit. He was still looking at Harry as if he may die soon, and Harry could see every muscle in his body tense in the effort not to move toward him. He appreciated the thought.

- Harry, listen, Hermione here says we need to “talk” - he said the word like it was some disgusting flavour of Bertie Bott’s beans - and while I’m not the biggest fan of this “talking” thing, I have to concede she has a point. -

- Thank you - commented Hermione.

- However - he went on, turning to glare at her, - I would also like to point out that you are standing in the middle of a graveyard, under the worst bloody downpour of the century, in nothing but your soggy clothes. And I don’t even know how you still manage to see anything through those glasses. - Actually, Harry was surprised too he could see anything at all. His waterproof spell had been wearing thin in the last few days. - So, will you please come home? When you are dry and have had something to eat, then we can talk all you want. -

Harry smiled a bit inside at Ron’s last sentence. Leave it to him to think about food. And he actually started sounding a bit like Mrs. Weasley, all this fussing about staying dry and warm and not getting ill. He would make a wonderful father one day. The thought of Ron as a father sparked something, an ache from his chest to his stomach, a sort of longing that made him feel sick. He needed to get away, now.

- As soon as we are done talking I’ll go somewhere warm and dry up, promise. But do you mind if we do this here? I… don’t think I can manage going back one last night. - Harry said, hoping that his friends could still understand the hidden meaning in his words, in his gestures. That he was tired of fighting himself on their behalf. That they should just go and leave him to deal with this alone.

- All right, Ronald Weasley, you had your chance. Now is my turn, we do it my way. - intervened Hermione. Ron huffed and rolled his eyes, but nodded. - Fine - he said.

Hermione turned to Harry, looked at him in the eyes. - Now you, Harry James Potter, listen to me very carefully, because what I’m going to tell you, I am prepared to repeat each and every day for the rest of your life, if needed, and you know how annoying that is. So listen this one time, and remember it forever, are we clear? -

Harry nodded, and his internal smile was back in full force. Bossy, impossibly brilliant, infuriatingly caring Hermione. She always had a plan, and it always worked. It didn’t matter if she was their boss, their wife or their friend, everyone was lucky to have her. Ron would have her as a wife, white veil, ring and all, and he was a damn lucky man. The image of Hermione in a white veil made the pain in his chest and stomach raise again its ugly head, and he really should be saying goodbye any minute now, it was for his own good.

- As Ron says, we will have time for the serious part later. And the scolding, because don’t think you’re getting out of this one, keeping all this bottled up for years, you and your idiotic hero complex. Anyway, - she took a breath, as to steel herself for something - here it is. You have been part of our lives since day one, the first day that counts, on that train. You were always a part of us, because without you we didn’t even exist. There has never been a “us” without you Harry, never. When Ron and I got together, you were there. Every step, you were there. When you started retreating from us, we left you alone because we thought it was a Ginny thing, and you didn’t want help. But every day without you we were less… us. We are only two thirds of something without you, Harry, and if you left, we would never be a whole again, we would never be happy. You make me so mad when you think you can decide for us two - that you can leave us behind and fight a war alone, that you can disappear from our lives and leave us into a marriage alone. We are nothing without each other, and how you don’t know that yet, is beyond me. Whatever we do, we do it together, or not at all, do you hear me? You fight, we fight with you, we marry, you marry… us. - She stopped to take a breath, and judging by her face, it looked like the hardest part was coming now. She took Ron’s hand, who was looking her not with the stunned face Harry had (and he wouldn’t have been able to talk if he knew what to say) but with a smile in between proud and awed. He nodded her on. - That’s the thing. You never asked, so we never offered. And when we thought we maybe could, right after the Battle, you were gone with Ginny, so we assumed that was what you wanted. As you said… it didn’t matter if we liked it or not, as long as it made you happy. We are both sorry we didn’t realise that it didn’t. So, we are proposing this now. We always shared everything, did everything together, were inseparable almost all our lives. And this… relationship thing isn’t different, it still takes three to make one, for us. Ron and I, we are ok, but we are not enough. We are living two thirds of a life, and we need you to fix that. We are asking you, come and share our flat. Our meals, our days, our nights. Our bed. And whatever is to come. - she paused, worried her lip with her teeth, looked at him expectantly. - What do you say? -

Harry felt again like he had stumbled into a dream, a very wet, very cold, very strange dream where he could have everything he wanted. The chances of it corresponding to reality, or not being a huge, huge mistake were probably down to none. But the day’s emotional rollercoaster was starting to take its toll, so he decided to do the thing he really wanted, instead of the right thing. If this was a mistake, he was going to make it knowing perfectly well it was, and aware of the consequences. No more playing hero. He had never felt like one anyway.

- Well mate? What do you say? - Ron prompted, looking a bit nervous himself. Harry smiled, a full on, external smile.

- I… I aaaaaaaachooo!!!!! - he sneezed loudly. - I’d very, very much like that. I missed you. - he finally said.

Ron e Hermione both smiled back at him, coming around to hug him like they did in school, Harry almost disappearing in the mass of bushy brown hair surrounding his face. He just hugged them closer, while all three got wet.

- But umbrellas! - exclaimed Harry again, delighted. - It has been years! -

Ron appeared quite amused by Harry’s emotional reunion with umbrellas. - Are these umbrella things so popular with Muggles? - he asked interested.

- They are very useful, of course, but I don’t know if umbrellas would be the thing I miss the most from the Muggle world - Hermione answered, thoughtful. Then she cast a glance at Harry, whose face had taken a strange flushed-and-pale shade, and added - Although that might be the fever talking. We’d better hurry up home. -

They had taken shelter near the entrance of a pub, right around the corner from their favourite apparition point. Ever since the war there had been no peace in the magic world for the Golden Trio, and as none of them liked the spotlight, hiding from the press had almost become a full time job. At least at home, said Hermione, they were entitled to their privacy; so she and Ron bought their flat in a strictly Muggle area of London. The unwritten rules of the neighbourhood were “no magic in the streets”, none of it, so they had to walk a couple of blocks to get to the nearest apparition zone. As it were, the downpour hadn’t spared the capital, whose streets were quite literally transforming into small rivers, so after apparating back from Godric’s Hollow the trio had taken cover, hoping for a break in the rain. No such luck, apparently, and if Harry was coming up with a cold, which he was, then they just would have to defy the weather and try to go back inside as soon as possible.

- Come on, let’s go, we can’t stay here all night! - said Hermione, opening her umbrella and stepping out into the street.

- I haven’t got one of those! - protested Harry, whose vision and senses were becoming more and more dreamlike as the time passed. Something inside him told him this was not good, but he was too lightheaded to figure out why.

- Come on, Harry! You’re drenched anyway, but you can stay under my umbrella if you like. Now let’s go! - Harry hugged Ron’s arm, and together they launched themselves into the streets following Hermione.

The walk was a short one, and they were sort of half running anyway. When they got to the door, Harry had become so weak they had to help him up the stairs and through the wards, keying him in. It was so much easier to move in when you were a wizard, Hermione thought. Ron started to make some tea while Hermione went around changing sheets and looking for pyjamas, the hot water bottle, and Muggle medicines for some unfathomable reason. She gave Ron a short glass stick with a scale on the side and a strange blue-greyish line inside.

- What is this for? - he asked perplexed.

- Don’t do anything with it, just give it to Harry. He knows how to use it - she answered in a hurry.

When Ron went back to the kitchen, Harry was… singing? He tried to catch the tune, but it must have been something Muggle because he didn’t recognise it.

- Hey mate, ‘Mione says you have to use this… whatever it is. - he said, giving him the glass rod.

- It’s a thermometer. It’s used to measure body temperature. - Harry said, distracted. He didn’t take the thing from Ron’s hand, though.

- Can’t you measure it with a spell? - he asked, dubious.

- You could, if you were a Healer, which you are not, nor am I. Now give him the thermometer so he can take his medicine and we can all go to bed. - answered Hermione entering the kitchen. She handed Harry a pair of pyjamas and a towel, then took the thermometer from Ron and added it to the pile.

- Bathroom is the second door on the right - she said.

- Thanks Hermione. Hey, I remembered why I like umbrellas so much - Harry said, suddenly a little more awake.

- Let’s see, why? - replied Hermione in between amused and exasperated. Maybe - maybe - they’d all manage to go to bed sooner or later.

 - There’s a Muggle song I used to like. The one that goes umbrella-ella-ella…- Harry tried to sing, but his throat was raw and his voice wouldn’t come. And the room was spinning a bit. Oh, he supposed he was ill after all.

Hermione laughed a bit at Harry’s attempt at singing, and at the perplexed faces Ron was pulling. It was like the world was right again, after too much heartbreak, she had the people she loved with her again, safe and sound. Minus some cold, but that was a temporary problem. It would give them a very good excuse to snuggle a lot, which was a positive side to the whole affair.

- Yeah, I know the song. Ok, you have the thermometer, I’m leaving the paracetamol on the table, you’ll sort yourself out Harry, right? I’ll go change and then to bed, if you want me you’ll find me there. - she said, moving in the direction of the bedroom and hoping to move things along.

After half an hour or so, they were all three in bed, engorged especially for the occasion. - We’ll still need a bigger bed, - Hermione had said while they were waiting for Harry to come to bed. - We’ll need a bigger everything, - Ron had replied with a smile. Hermione had smacked him with a pillow. Now the lights were out, and everyone was hugging the others tight, chasing sleep.

Ron, on Harry’s left, was thinking about how much newspapers can be wrong, until the one time they’re right. And then of course they’ll be wrong again. That’s what gossip does. But he was finally ok with the world, sharing a life with his best friends and lovers, being there for them. That was enough for him. So let them talk.

You have my heart

And we'll never be worlds apart

Maybe in magazines

But you'll still be my star

Baby, 'cause in the dark

You can't see shiny cars

And that's when you need me there

With you I'll always share

Because

When the sun shines, we'll shine together

Told you I'd be here forever

Said I'll always be your friend

Took an oath I'ma stick it out 'til the end

Now that it's raining more than ever

Know that we'll still have each other

You can stand under my umbrella

You can stand under my umbrella

Hermione, on Harry’s right, was thinking about how all the medals, the titles, the fame they got after the war were never actually of help to any of them. They all got broken during the war, they saw things they could never forget, experienced things they’ll always relive. They had nightmares, and PTSD, and traumas beyond anyone’s imagination. They saved the world, and they paid the price, never being able to settle in a peaceful world, because they carried the war inside, and all of its suffering and pain. But she also thought about those who fought side by side with her, her friends, her lovers, and maybe she was one of the lucky ones, because she had got someone who understood, someone who’d gone through the same nightmares, who carried the same weight inside. If they couldn’t heal themselves, maybe they could heal each other. And that was more to her than any medals.

These fancy things, will never come in between

You're part of my entity, here for infinity

When the war has took its part

When the world has dealt its cards

If the hand is hard, together we'll mend your heart

Because

When the sun shines, we'll shine together

Told you I'd be here forever

Said I'll always be your friend

Took an oath I'ma stick it out 'til the end

Now that it's raining more than ever

Know that we'll still have each other

You can stand under my umbrella

You can stand under my umbrella

Harry, in the middle, wasn’t thinking at all. The combination of paracetamol and fever had knocked him out cold, and he would be resting most of the day after, missing an appointment with Shacklebolt and for once in his shining career not giving a flying fuck. He was happy. He was happy even now, sleeping deeply a drug induced sleep, in the arms of his best friends, his lovers. If he was dreaming, and maybe he was, but maybe not, he would be dreaming of Hermione’s speech, and Ron’s arms, and lots and lots of rain, and two umbrellas. Or three.

You can run into our arms

It's OK, don't be alarmed

Come here to us

There's no distance in between our love

So go on and let the rain pour

We'll be all you need and more

Because

When the sun shines, we'll shine together

Told you I'll be here forever

Said I'll always be your friend

Took an oath I'ma stick it out 'til the end

Now that it's raining more than ever

Know that we'll still have each other

You can stand under my umbrella