He pauses, standing still and he looks so incredibly sad with his sodden hair sticking up at odd angles where he had ran his fingers through it and raindrops looking like tears on his eyelashes and his eyes that curious shade of green she could swear she's never seen before

(except maybe she has)

(she dimly remembers the way his eyes glowed in that same shade once, when he saw her in her wedding robes and how she knew with absolute certainty that he was imagining her in those robes but it him, not Ron, waiting for her at the alter, except that this was Harry and how could he think that when just a minute later Ginny tugged on his arm and the look passed and she was left wondering if she maybe imagined it)

(and she'll swear that look had nothing to do with leaving Ron at the alter, because of course it didn't.)

"Didn't you ever think that maybe all this had to happen so that we could finally open our eyes and see what was right in front of our faces all this time?"

And of course he'd say that, that, that maybe this was all they ever really wanted, all they needed and maybe---

(maybe he was right)

Hermione bites her lip and she takes those last few steps between them, boots squelching in the mud, coffee-colored hair turned black from the rain (and that's all she ever really has to do to catch up to him, just like always) and throws her arms around him, not noticing the way their bodies are soaked to the bone, not caring that they'll be sick for days afterwards, merely happy with the knowledge that---

"Yes Harry, you're right, of course you're right, this is all worth it."


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