Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it owns me.
Have you heard? She asks, even though she knows the answer. She's really only making conversation, still straining to stay in control, even when he can see all along that she's breaking. She is drenched, standing in his doorway awkwardly, as if not knowing whether she really wants to go in at all.
Of course, he says in a voice that he hopes isn't too broken, too dry from tears. And, like her question, his answer is redundant, because from her place she can see the broken glass and the whiskey and the card that Lily had made him in third year when he fell off his broom and had to spend two nights in the hospital wing.
They stand there in silence for a few short seconds that seem to stretch over eternity, and when he finally opens his mouth to invite her inside, she cuts him off and says that really, this was stupid, I shouldn't have come, and I should just –
But he grabs her arms and drags her to his kitchen before she can finish, and all but shoves the alcohol down her throat, and he honestly doesn't know why he even opened the door, why he's taking care of her when he's the one who can't breathe, why he didn't just remain on the floor in a fit of drunken tears or yell at her to leave him the fuck alone, because in the instant he heard the news the world seemed much too big, much too empty, and he can't breathe.
They both want to cry but both feel like they aren't nearly drunk enough to go through tears yet, so she stares at his hands for a moment before telling him that she married and had a son and that little Harry is going to live with them now for his safety. He really already knows all of this by now, but his insides are too empty to care and he feels certain that if he attempts to open his mouth, he wouldn't be able to breathe.
She ignores his lack of response, and allows herself to just talk, as if telling him dull details of the flowers she planted in her yard the previous Sunday would somehow fill the hole in her heart. And then she decides that going through flowers in her head really isn't enough anymore, because Lily was the purest flower of them all, and now she is dead. And she says so, and she cries, and she describes how Lily came home from her first year and talked of all the wonders she had experienced and all the teapots she had turned into rats and suddenly her older sister was too boring for her, and her life was so much bigger than their small house, and he cries with her.
She tells him how, the last time they had talked, Lily said that she had missed him, and that she wishes they hadn't gone down such drastically different paths. And she says that she doesn't know what her sister meant, but that telling him might make it easier for him to breathe, because God knows I can't breathe either right now, and I can't think of anything other than her eyes, Sev. Can you?
And he flinches at the name that he hasn't been called in so very long, and she knows, but she doesn't care, not really. And she mourns at how she had fallen out with Lily too, and how neither of them managed to tell Lily everything they wanted to tell her, that they loved her, and he just sits there quietly, trying so very hard to keep breathing but finding that there's really no point anymore, is there?
Because it's his fault, he says, his fault all along, and she just nods because she doesn't really understand, and because in some perverse way she's pretty sure that it's her fault too.
A/N: Excuse my wacky writing style, but I figured fragments and run ons and all that good stuff just fits better than anything else in this situation.
Flame me or love me, but please review.