Harry Potter 1. Twists and Turns of Fate

**It's the Heart that Matters**

_ let it go,  
let it roll right off your shoulder  
don't you know  
the hardest part is over  
let it in,  
let your clarity define you  
in the end  
we will only just remember how it feels_

_-_ Rob Thomas, Little Wonders**  
**

Harry had a habit of falling asleep in the orchard.

Once, coyly, Ginny had asked him if he would rather prefer her company in her bedroom. She remembered watching as the pink kiss the sun had lent to his cheeks had deepened. His head had ducked and sooty lashes had fallen; the contours of lips, however, had curved into her favorite lopsided grin. Grabbing Ginny by her hips, he had then pulled her back with him into the scattered leaves, pried loose by the wind from the shading apple trees.

Soft as the tickling grass beneath her, warm as the weight of his arm around her, Harry had breathed, _"I feel safe underneath all the trees… knowing someone I love is just above, watching over me..." _His eyes had never left the window directly above, flaming a golden claret in the sun: Ginny's.

Words were unneeded. Ginny had understood. After all, there was nothing between them now. She had only pressed her cheek to the warmth of his chest; the faithful pulse the only thing which had kept the tears at bay.

…the only thing that still does.

* * *

Note: Quite the departure from my usual writing, that's for certain. I'm trying to experiment with my style, so that's my excuse :) Before I get comments saying it's 'too short' or what have you, it's supposed to be short, though still not quite a drabble. If all goes well, I hope to make this a series where the following chapters will be in a similar drabble-style, only from Ron and Hermione's points of view. Perhaps Neville, too. I don't know just yet. Multi-chaptered fics are still a new endeavor, so please bear with me :)) 


	2. Faith in the Unknown

**It's the Heart that Matters**

_ I am falling into grace  
To the unknown to where you are  
And faith makes everybody scared  
It's the unknown, the don't-know  
That keeps me hanging on and on and on to you_

- Unknown, Lifehouse

There were just certain things that Harry would never talk about. The future was one.

Ron remembered in the late days of that summer-- before the Ministry, before the months of forests, when they were snuggly hidden from the world that threatened to fall without so much as a sound… he remembered late nights around the fire, trying so hard to pretend that You Know Who was not out there. To pretend that they were only first years, curled up in oversized armchairs awaiting the horrors of potions class and regretting that sixth and final treacle tart.

He remembered closing his eyes, feeling the scented tickle of Hermione's hair against his cheek, hearing Harry's snort of laughter as she went off about something involving Umbridge and mating Catherine wheels.

The past was safe. Innocent. Untouched by You Know Who and his war.

It was a place to hide.

The_'When this is all over…'_s would die in their throats before their jaws could even unclench. Ron and Hermione had sacrificed the promise of a future the moment they had both jumped through the trapdoor so long ago.

They all faced the same unknown now.

But Ron knew, as he grasped his best friend in a sopping hug… as he felt the strong thrashing of Harry's heart reassure him that his anchor was still there to pull him back time and time again… Ron knew that it didn't matter. They were all alive. All fighting. And that was that.

* * *


	3. Follow the Light

**It's the Heart that Matters**

_pick a star on the dark horizon  
and follow the light  
you'll come back when it's over  
no need to say goodbye_

-The Call, Regina Spektor

Hermione was afraid for Harry. She would never admit it to him, though. It was hard enough to admit to herself. But as she stared into the cold skies, she knew… she knew she was afraid for the boy who had taken her by the hand and led her to the second star on the right.

It wasn't that she wanted to think about ending… but she was losing so much all so fast. Her parents, Ron… even Hogwarts seemed so distant; a mere figment of a far flung fairy tale that she had closed the page on years before and was slowly forgetting. She fell apart whenever she thought of… of having to say goodbye to Harry, too.

Before this war, she had never appreciated how much she had to lose.

She had never appreciated how much she didn't ever want to be alone.

So when the night is cold and dark, in the forgotten hollow of Hermione's mind, she speaks the unspeakable: _she does not want to be the first to die_. She hopes that when she dies, Ron, or Harry, or someone will be there, waiting... just waiting to take her hand and lead her into the stars. But they would never have to wait long. So soon would she follow, she would be sure of that. They would never have to be alone again.

But when the skies are not so cold, and the night is not so dark, Hermione wraps her arms around her first friend and remembers how it felt when Dumbledore carried him out of the trapdoor, small but alive…

And in that moment, it is that same hope that she clings to, the hope that is as loud and strong as the heart beneath Harry's skin…

It is in that moment, that Hermione prays that Harry will be there to lead them all straight on 'til morning.


	4. A Lonely Soul

**It's the Heart that Matters**

_Well, bless my soul  
You're a lonely soul  
Cause you won't let go  
Of anything you hold_

- Say (All I Need), OneRepublic

Neville swore it was an accident. Honestly, he hadn't _meant_ to find them.

He had woken early that Sunday with the intentions of studying for his Charm's exam that coming week. Encouraged by the glare of sunlight passing through his curtains, he had woken and dressed before the other boys. But when he dug through the chaos of his trunk, he just _couldn't_ find his Charm's book. He looked under his bed, on his side table, everywhere he could think of before conceding defeat.

So it was with reluctance but without choice that he had approached a sleeping Harry Potter to ask to borrow his book.

"Sure, Nev, s'in my trunk," he had muttered before rolling over with the scarlet duvet over his head.

Neville had no trouble in finding the book, stacked as it was neatly on top of Harry's school things. He just didn't intended to find the box beneath it.

It was made of cardboard and looked much like a Muggle shoe box. It was quite an innocuous item to find in Harry's trunk and that wasn't what had drawn Neville's attention. Rather, it was the scrap of parchment poking out from under the lid that Neville immediately recognized as a birthday card he had once sent Harry.

Curious, he gently lifted it from the trunk, looking over his shoulder to make certain that the other boys still had their curtains drawn. Prompted by their sleepy silence, Neville gingerly placed the box in his lap and took off the worn top.

Inside there was a clutter of parchment and cards. Tentatively, he pulled a worn letter from the top and unfolded it:

_Dear Harry, _

_Happy birthday! _

_Look, I'm really sorry about that telephone call. I hope the Muggle's didn't give you a hard time. I asked Dad, and he reckons I shouldn't have shouted… _

With a bit of hysteria growing in his chest, Neville searched the bottom of the letter and nearly laughed out loud at the thought of Ron shouting into a Muggle telephone. Shaking his head, he rifled through the other letters and found similar birthday wishes and letters from Harry's friends. Before he reached the bottom of the box, Neville realized that Harry must have saved every letter he had received in his years at Hogwarts.

Instantly sobered, he felt a surge of fondness for the sleeping boy whose bed he knelt at. Quiet and humbled, he bit his lip and placed everything back into the box, setting it gently as it was beneath the stack of books.

With the borrowed book beneath his arm, he took a long look at the boy whose breath was deep and even, and imagined the strong rhythmic pulse of the heart that drummed faithfully within.

The heart that steadied Neville's shaking hands and willed his own to beat a little bit stronger.

* * *

Note: The letter excerpt was taken from page nine of Prisoner of Azkaban and, as such, belongs to J.K. Rowling.


End file.

Harry Potter, Friendship, Hurt-Comfort