Watching Shadows

She watches, silent, hidden. He paces, back and forth, back and forth. His fingernails bite the Mark bloody.

She leaves healing salve and chamomile tisane for him to find.

He's crying— wretched, ugly sobs. She's listening. He begs forgiveness for his sins.

She isn't Lily. Nor Dumbledore. But she pins a note to a hand-knitted blanket.

I forgive you.

She grieves, huddling by the marble slab. He watches, mystified, invisible.

He approaches, one step.

The blanket is heavy and smells of sage, smoke, and copper. She looks up, all hope and disbelief.

She stands. His hands are warm. Solid.

Alive.