The news was raised. Voldemort had amassed his final group of Death Eaters, and was on his way back to Hogwarts. The air was tense, tepid. Everyone knew that this would be the very final confrontation between the Lord of Evil and the Boy Who Lived. Either the world died, or Harry did.
And Harry felt hopeless. The burden of his task lay heavy on his shoulders, the impossibility of it all constricted his breathing and pounded at his head. His ears were deaf to all around him as he sank deeper into despair. Only one voice cut through his own gloom, strong and resolute and still so, so hopeful. Aragorn. The boy who had not stumbled, but strode with intent into his life, and took his place by Harry’s side.
He barely noticed when his friend’s rough hand pulled him into an alcove, carefully hidden behind a tapestry. Aragorn held him by both arms, ice blue eyes wild and gleaming with an emotion Harry had abandoned long ago.
“I got into contact with my family back at my kingdom of Isildur, and they’ve agreed to send their soldiers to fight back the remaining evil!” Aragorn paused, a wild smile spreading across his face. “I’ll fight alongside them, and we’ll help you in your quest, my friend.” His smile splintered and fell as he saw Harry’s face fill with horror.
Harry shook his head mutely. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“No, Aragorn. I’m doing this alone.” He croaked.
“What? No, no, you don’t have to do that! I could be there the whole time, my soldiers could be there. I can get us an army if you’d only let me!” His voice rose in pitch.
“No, I can’t drag anyone else into this. It’s me and him, I can’t risk you dying for me. I can’t lose one more person I love, Aragorn.” He stopped, breathless. The words were spilled from his lips unbidden, giving voice to the feeling Harry had held for years. The slow, simmering love that only came from utmost devotion.
“It’s you and me, Harry. I’d stick my sword into the black heart of a thousand Dark Lords at your word, and be glad of it too. I’d do-” Aragorn’s words stuck in his throat- “anything for you.”
Harry almost choked, emotion welling up in his chest. Unwavering loyalty, from the very beginning. How much had he needed that? Not a manipulative headmaster, or vindictive friends, nor abusive adoptive parents. He needed someone who would be by him, every step of the torturous, aching journey. He needed Aragorn.
Harry watched his own hand raise to the face of the one he loved, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill on his behalf. Aragorn was close, tantalizingly close. He looked into Harry’s eyes of green, the same green of Isildur’s fields, and knew his path. Harry in kind, looked into his and saw only a plea. A desperate plea, born of love and loyalty.
“I’ll follow you to the end. To the very end.” He leans in, pressing a soft, so soft, kiss to Harry’s lips. Harry’s hands come up to tangle in his long, dark hair, and is shocked at his own need for it. Aragorn pulls back, breathless and panting, pupils blown. He crushes his lips to his lover’s once again, rough and calloused hands coming up to cup Harry’s face.
Harry felt, in the beating of his heart and the flush in his cheeks, a glimmer of hope returning to him.