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Love Is Us | ||||
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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Romance Warnings: Mild Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 9 Summary: Being a father was not like Harry had imagined. EDIT: this fic is betated now. Hitcount: Story Total: 4988 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: A big thanks to Aggiebell for her great beta work |
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If Harry hadn't already known the state in which he'd find his home, he would have pulled out his wand as soon as he'd entered it. Everything was a mess; toys scattered everywhere, dirty dishes still in the sink. A hurricane couldn't have done a better job. So he just sighed and waved his wand to try to make it look like a liveable place. Enchanted dishes began to buzz and soap themselves, toys returned to the appropriate places and - was that blood? Concerned, he went up the stairs in search of Ginny and his son. Surely James had only fallen and scraped his knee again. Once he was on the stairs, he began to hear his son crying. Harry sighed again: it was one of those days. As expected, he found James whimpering on the edge of the bathtub and Ginny on her knees while she disinfected his wound. "Everything okay?" he asked. Hearing the voice of his father, James cried louder. He had learned long ago that between the two parents, his father had the most tender heart, the one that yielded most easily to his every whim. Ginny snorted. She was in her dressing gown, her hair tousled and traces of melted makeup stained her face. "He fell from the swing in the garden. I told you we shouldn't have bought it. I've told him not to swing too high a thousand times, but did he listen to me? Nooo." Her voice was tense. Harry straightened his back; it was really one of those days. He approached his son and picked him up to comfort him. James hid his little face in his neck and sobbed. "I'm hu-hurt," he groaned. "James," replied Harry, "how many times I told you to listen to your mother? Don't cry. The pain will go away. Love," he added to Ginny, "I have to take a shower, and I'm tired. Can you put him to bed?" Ginny stood up, gave him an angry look, took James in her arms and left the bathroom. Harry watched them go. A voice in his head told him to help Ginny, but a headache and exhaustion took over. Hungry and tired, Harry came into the kitchen after showering. A hot meal was waiting for him on the table; the kitchen was spotless, now. Ginny was in a corner, a pile of freshly washed clothes around her. Idly, she waved her wand, folding them neatly stacked on each other. Her eyes were haggard and empty. Harry came over to give her a kiss of late greeting, and she turned her head so that his lips found her cheek instead. "What’s wrong?" he asked. "Tired," she replied concisely. "It's been a rough day. We're as close to solving the case as we are to inventing self-enchanting wands". Ginny uttered an indistinct sound. Succumbing to hunger, Harry sat down at the table and began to eat. "It's a little salty," he said, just to break the silence. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Potter, if your dinner is not perfect. You've barely returned from your hard day at work, and your ungrateful wife offers you a salty meal. It must not happen ever again!" she said, with a highly sarcastic tone. "I just made an observation, I didn't mean-", but his wife interrupted him, her voice no longer sarcastic. "I know what you mean. You wanted to say you're tired and came home from work to find your house a pigsty, a crying baby, who, by the way, you have spoiled, food that you don't like because I'm not as good as my mother. Well, my dear, you aren't the only one who works. I didn't sleep last night because your son decided to stay awake all night, and I haven't had time to do laundry because your son hasn't stopped a moment and dinner is salty because I don't have the capacity to think about that many things at once", she said, her voice rising with each syllable. "Don't scream," replied Harry, having no wish to fight, too tired to even listen to her, "You'll wake James and-" Again, Ginny didn't let him finish "And what? So I'll stay awake one more night, because the gentleman has to work tomorrow and needs his rest. Not me, though, because I don't work. I'm just a slave-" "Enough! You're only saying this because you still can't accept the fact that you had to leave Quidditch earlier than expected. I just made an observation. Don't make a fuss like you usually do. And I never said that you don't do anything. I know-" "Like I usually do? Now I'm a fussy wife, one who is never satisfied-" "I didn't say that-" "Tell me, Harry, when was the last time you spent time with me and James?" she asked, her voice icy. Harry had no answer for this question. "Prepare dinner by yourself, tomorrow, and if you can find clean sheets, prepare the sofa. Because that's where you'll sleep tonight. I'm going to bed" And she marched out of the kitchen, leaving Harry angry and disconsolate with a salty and now cold dish that he didn't feel like eating. ---------- When Harry awoke the next morning, in a bad mood and with his back numb from having slept on the uncomfortable sofa, the house was silent. He got into his room to collect some clean clothes and found Ginny and James sleeping in bed, hugging . It was always like this lately. James had now taken his place. The room was in a terrible mess. Ginny must have spent another sleepless night and, judging by the toys scattered on the bed and on the floor, had to entertain James. He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. What right did he have to complain about back pain, when Ginny could never sleep? But he immediately set aside the feeling. He could not help it if he came back from work tired. What he did was important. There were children involved. Sighing, he prepared for a new workday. If the argument with his wife and the back pain had not contributed enough to his discontent, surely the lecture received from his boss had completed his day. It was not his fault that the slowness of the protocol had forced him into action, causing him to disobey orders for the umpteenth time. He had found the dark wizard who liked to experiment on children and had had no intention to let him escape while waiting for a parchment. And it wasn't true that he had no respect for authority. Sometimes Robards reminded him Snape. What's more, he'd had an argument with Ron. And good things never happen when Harry fought with Ron. It was no wonder, then, that when Harry came home that evening, he'd hoped to find the scene he had dreamed on the day that Ginny told him that she was expecting a child: his wife smiling, welcoming him with a kiss and a warm dinner on the table and his son who ran to meet him, happy but tired enough to sleep within an hour. Instead, he found something unexpected. Not that the house was in order, but it was too quiet. A note on the table informed him that James was sick, that they were at the grandparents and that the dinner was in the fridge. Harry paused, unsettled. He really wanted to make sure that his son didn't have anything serious, but he was tired and irritable, and seriously, what difference would his presence make? So, after a fast heating spell, he ate and not even an hour later, slept. Muffled sound woke him a few hours later. Turning, he saw Ginny sitting on the bed, rocking James. They had to have returned while he slept. He felt a twinge of irritation. He had to sleep. Tomorrow he would be questioning the dark wizard to find out where he had hidden the children and to do this he must be vigilant. Constantly. Why couldn't they have a child like Teddy, who fall asleep anywhere, or like Victoire, always sweet and quiet? He turned away and squinted. No, being a father was not like he had imagined. ---------- Like every morning, when Harry woke up, Ginny and James slept. And, like every morning, he had a hard on. How he missed the days when he and Ginny could make love slowly and gently before they said goodbye. It must have been at least two months since their last shag, if you didn't count the quickie in the garden of the Burrow while James was busy playing with Victoire. Sighing, he resigned himself to yet another wank in the shower. Wet and cold, after a quick and not at all satisfactory shower, Harry began looking for his missing sock. He searched everywhere, in every drawer, closet, under the bed ... where the hell was that sock? He sighed for the second time, and wondering how many sighs he would have breathed before the end of the day, decided that if he didn't wake Ginny up, he would never get to work on time. "Ginny," he said softly, careful not to wake James, "Ginny, I can't find my sock", he gently shook her shoulder and Ginny sat up suddenly. "Wha ..." she said, her eyes snapped instantly on the dormant form of James. "Shh, quiet, but I can't find its mate," he said, raising his lonely sock. Ginny rubbed her eyes, still stunned and said, "It's in the drawer," and fell back on the bed. "I've looked but it isn't there", he replied. "Wear another pair", she drawled. "There isn't even a clean pair", said Harry impatiently. Ginny snorted, turned and looked at him with bloodshot eyes, her hair disheveled. Her expression seemed more desperate than angry. "Then wash some and let us sleep," she said. Harry said nothing because, even though it wasn't her habit, it looked like Ginny was going to cry. ---------- Under the overcast sky, the wilderness was a bleak and lonely place, with miles and miles of barren land, not a tree in sight, and clumps of weeds growing here and there. It was creepy. It 's perfect, Harry thought. Perfect for the mood and the scene he had just witnessed. He was standing a few meters from the abandoned hut, staring at the horizon of this sandy terrain, wide-eyed. If he closed his eyes, he would see the mangled body of a woman, her mouth wide open for a last scream, her arms stretched out like a mother whose last act was to protect her son. Like his mother ... only this time, not even the motherly love had managed to save the child. Blond hair stained with blood, the same eyes as his mother... A man was sitting on the front steps. Harry could still hear his desperate cry, the agony of a man who had lost everything. Harry pursed his lips to keep from throwing up. When Davis had confessed that he had killed the five missing children, revealing where he'd hidden the bodies, Harry had known immediately that it would be a difficult situation. What Harry had not expected was to learn that little Evan had been alive until an hour ago, that he had suffered a slow and painful death in the arms of his dead mother. While Harry was questioning the bastard, Evan was probably lying in a pool of blood, crying for his mother and wondering why his father didn't return home to save them. While Harry waited for the bureaucracy to take its course and to receive orders to go into action, Evan had died. He lost the battle with his stomach and vomited. A hand on his shoulder roused him. "You all right, Harry?" Ron looked at him with sympathetic eyes. After years of friendship, Ron didn't need to ask what troubled him. He was a bit ashy, too, but apparently he was stronger than Harry in these cases. "You need something?" "I just want to go back to my family," he said, and discovered it was true. Ron nodded, understanding. "I'll gather the men right away, and we'll go looking for other children". They looked at each other for a long moment, then shifted their eyes at the same time, embarrassed. "Good. Tell the team that I'll see them in a month. I'm going on holiday," said Harry. Ron nodded and without another word, walked away. ---------- A couple of hours later, Harry could say that it had felt good to tell Robards where he could stick his protocol. Entering his house, his only desire was to see his wife and son. And It didn't matter if the house was a disaster, if James was whinging, or if Ginny was in a bad mood. He just wanted to see their faces. The usual storm must have passed through the kitchen and Harry looked around, enthralled, in spite of everything. The presence of Ginny and James was everywhere, in the Quidditch magazines, in the toy wand, in the empty cup of tea, in the spots of a child's meals on the table and floor. He went into the living room, his fingers twitched with the desire to touch them, his eyes darted to every corner with the craving to see them. They were both on the couch, a book between them. "-and no witch or wizard was ever persecuted in the kingdom again" James let out a delighted laugh, " 'gain, 'gain," he said. Ginny sighed, exhausted, but smiled sweetly to the expression of the child. "Alright, but only one," she granted. Harry came into their field of vision, stopped and stood motionless; he just wanted to watch. "Daddy," James broke free easily from his mother's arms and reached Harry. He clung to his father's leg, hopping and not at all tired. Harry was grateful for it. His fingers were ink-stained and - when he had become so tall? "How was your day?" asked Ginny. He looked up and met her eyes. Her red hair was tied in disorder, cowlick falling on her face, dark circles framed her tired eyes - when she had become so beautiful? It was not much different, really. But there was something, something that was not there this morning. Or maybe Harry's eyes were changed? "How was yours?" he asked, not wanting to talk about dead children and blood and finding himself truly interested in the answer. "How is James?" When was the last time he'd asked? When was the last time he'd played with James and embraced Ginny with affection and not with the intention of having sex? Would it happen to them, too? Would he sit on the front steps one day, crying and cursing the time he had lost? "Oh, all right; it was just a bit fever," replied Ginny. "We spent the day like any other." Harry bent down and picked up his son. "Why don't you go take a hot bath? I'll tell him the story and put him to bed " Ginny looked at him questioningly, opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to have second thoughts. She nodded and walked into the bathroom. "Daddy, Daddy, temmi 'abbity 'abbity an' hel cakkin 'schtupp" James seemed beside himself with excitement. No wonder, thought Harry, when was the last time I read him a story? "Quiet, brat," he said affectionately. "First we need go to your room and put on some pajamas". While he read, among the many interruptions and questions of James, Harry realized how he'd missed these moments, and while they threw pillows and laughed, Harry remembered that the day of his birth, he promised himself that he would be the father he'd never had. When James closed his eyes and fell asleep, Harry discovered that no, being a father was not as he imagined. It was much better. ---------- "Is he asleep?" Ginny asked as he entered the bedroom. She was in bed, a Quidditch magazine on her lap, her hair spread on the bed like many tongues of fire. "Like a little angel. The battle with pillows tired him out." He lay on the bed beside Ginny and stuck his hands in her hair. He had always loved doing it. He threw the magazine across the room and kissed her gently, his hand slipping to her hip. They had become more rounded with pregnancy. Ginny complained about them, but Harry found them incredibly sexy. He pulled back and looked at her. "I love you," he said. "Yes, I know," said Ginny. "No, I love you," he emphasized. Ginny giggled, "I understood you." "No. You don't understand. I love you." "Harry," Ginny said, looking at him with that hard, blazing look that always seemed to read him. "What happened?" He took a deep breath, desperate, she had to understand. "I love you! And I - you and James are my life and I'm sorry - I'm sorry that I haven't been around, I'm sorry that I missed some of James's progress, I’m sorry that- " "Harry," Ginny said and now she seemed desperate, too. "I know." She turned her face away to hide her tears. But Harry put pressure on her jaw so that their eyes met, he wanted to watch her; even her tears were precious. "I'm sorry, too. I behaved like a shrew and I haven't tried to understand you. I know you're working on a case of missing children and I know how much this subject bothers you and–" Harry kissed her. They didn't need other words. "Remind me," he said. "Remind me of this moment when I behave like a jerk and neglect you and James." "I'll do it. And you remind me of this moment when I forget why I sacrificed my career. I love you, Harry." The love that night was slow and passionate, frenzied and aggressive, it was caresses and words, tears and laughter. The love that night, was just Harry and Ginny. |
| Reviews 9 |
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