I don't even know where this came from. I hope you enjoy it.

She'd trade Colorado if he'd take her with him.
Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in,
And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay,
She's answered by the tail lights
Shining through the window pane.

"Colder Weather," by the Zac Brown Band

Hermione sat on the sofa in the sitting room, tapping her fingers against the arm of her chair and thinking about the way he was, the way she was. Wondering if loving her would ever be enough to make him stay still. She couldn't live with his infrequency, his on-again off-again idea of love, the way he could be distracted from her for months at a time, and not even realize he hadn't kissed her in weeks. When she pointed it out, he got angry, he railed against her and fought the tethers keeping him in her home, in her bed. He hated nothing more than being tied down.

And the worst part of it all was that she knew the answer. She would never be enough, she could never be enough, to hold him. He was like a wild horse—locked in a pasture, he could never be happy. He would fight the gates with all of his strength and never remember why he was trapped here to begin with. They might have their weeks, their months, of peace and happiness. But he would always realize he was trapped, always itch to leave, and nothing in the whole world could keep him still.

She knew she'd been correct in her assumption when he descended the stairs a few moments later. It'd been the end of a long six months, the first three beautiful and the last three the most painful thing she'd ever experienced. He'd never stayed for so long before. He would come be with her for one month, two, occasionally three—but then he would have to go, have to have an adventure that didn't involve her, sometimes lasting weeks, sometimes months. This had been happening for the past four years, ever since the his acquittal at the end of the war. He loved her, she knew. She wasn't surprised he was leaving again. It was what he did best—leave.

He walked over to her chair, kissed her hard on the forehead, then the mouth. She started to cry, silently. He stood.

"I'll be back soon," he murmured, awkward suddenly, and she could feel the room clench around them. She said nothing. He hesitated for another moment, and she could see the desperate longing flash across his face—he wanted to stay, and she wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

He wanted to stay—but he couldn't.