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SIYE Time:12:24 on 29th March 2024
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Breaking Point
By Peskipiksi

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Angst, Fluff, Drama
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 24
Summary: Ginny gives Harry some desperately needed TLC. (Formerly the first chapter of my fic "Understanding.")
Hitcount: Story Total: 5673







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A/N: I originally wrote this story as a one-shot, but after writing it I tried to expand it into a mult-chaptered fic called "Understanding." Turns out I should have left it as a one-shot, as I find myself unable to finish "Understanding." I'm re-submitting it (along with another chapter that I felt could stand alone) so that people who are interested in reading my stories won't miss them if they're not up to reading a permanently unfinished story. (I know I personally almost never read a story unless it is already finished.)

I'm honestly not re-submitting in a desperate plea for more reviews. :-> (Although if you'd like to leave one, feel free! I'll never turn away a review!) I just wanted this in my library as a separate item, as that is how it was originally intended.

Okay, enough rambling from me. Here's the story:

*************
The cold, high-pitched laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange rang throughout the cold chamber as the flash of green light from her wand hit Sirius directly in the chest, pushing him backwards towards the fluttering veil.

Harry saw his godfather’s face in that moment. Scared. Sirius was so scared. He knew his death was coming, and he didn’t want to go.

Harry wanted to help him–wanted to run up on the platform and pull Sirius back. If he could just raise his arm...point his wand...

But he couldn’t. His body was frozen in place, his arms plastered to his sides, his feet as heavy as lead. All he could do as his godfather disappeared through the archway was scream.

“SIRIUS!!!”


Harry sat bolt upright in his bed, panting, sweat pouring down his face and making his t-shirt stick uncomfortably to his back. He knew immediately where he was–in his bed at Hogwarts, in the sixth-year boys’ dorm.

Had he screamed out loud again? Harry sat quietly, holding his breath, listening.

“Harry? You okay, mate?” came a whisper.

That was Ron. Anybody else? A few beats passed, and Harry heard Neville snoring. Apparently not.

“I’m fine, Ron,” Harry finally whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Ron’s voice was tentative.

“Yes, just another bad dream. It’s nothing.”

“Well, okay, then. But promise me you’ll wake me up if you can’t get back to sleep, okay? We’ll go downstairs and play chess or something.”

Harry smiled ruefully. He knew Ron was just trying to help–“Distracting Harry” was Ron’s favorite pastime this year. At least it was better than Hermione’s new hobby, “Psychoanalyzing Harry,” but Harry didn’t think another round of chess was what he needed just then. He wasn’t sure exactly what he did need, he just knew chess wasn’t it.

“’Night, Ron.” He said.

“’Night.”

Harry lay quietly on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to Ron’s breathing. Two minutes later he could tell that his best friend had already fallen back to sleep. He reached for his glasses on his beside table, then threw back his covers and swung his feet onto the hard, cold, stone floor. Grabbing his bathrobe off his trunk, he padded his way towards the door and headed down the spiral staircase to the empty Gryffindor Common Room.

With a sigh, Harry plopped down on the couch in front of the fireplace. He stared at the glowing coals and knew that sleep would not come again that night–he had been here before.

It was late October, and Sirius had been dead for four months. Harry had known about the prophecy for four months. And still, the ache in his heart had not faded at all. The world still felt unreal and separate.

Harry spent his days just going through the motions. He went to class, he forced down his food, he even played Quidditch and hung out with Ron and Hermione. But none of it meant anything. It was as though he was lost in a fog he couldn’t find his way out of, but it was okay because that fog made him numb. Harry embraced the numbness, much to Hermione’s dismay. She wanted him to talk, to work things out logically. But Harry didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to feel.

But then the nights would come, bringing with it the nightmares, and then the fog would lift. His own thoughts and memories would haunt him, forcing him to face what had happened and what would–what must–come.

Sirius was dead. He was dead, and he would never come back. Harry would never hear his harsh bark-like laugh again, he would never give Harry advice again, he would never be free.

And it was all Harry’s fault. If only he had used the mirror. If only he had listened to Hermione. If only he had trusted Snape. If only...

If it weren’t for the prophecy...that damned prophecy...that had been the start of everything...it had killed his parents, and Sirius, and...

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out these thoughts. Tried to go numb again, but to no avail. Words and images pounded his brain.

Born to those who have thrice defied him...use it if you need me, all right?...I cared about you too much...neither can live while the other survives...he’s gone...kill the spare…greater and more terrible than ever he was....SHE KILLED HIM–I’LL KILL HER!

Harry leaned forward and held his head in his hands, rocking back and forth slightly. He removed his glasses and pressed his fingers against his closed eyes and fought with every ounce of his being against the emotions that were fighting to come out. His throat ached and his eyes stung, but he would not cry. He mustn’t cry...because if he did he would totally lose control.

Suddenly, he felt a tentative touch on his back.

“Harry?” came a soft voice.

Harry, startled, turned to look into the face of Ginny Weasley, who somehow had come to sit on the couch beside him without him even realizing it.

Just one look at Ginny’s face, full of sympathy and understanding, was enough to break the dam. He felt his face crumple with pain. He tried to look away as the first tears fell, but Ginny pulled him closer, and the next thing Harry knew he was clinging to her, his face buried in her bathrobe, his entire body wracked with sobs.

He tried to quit–quit this shameful crying, this disgusting outpouring of weakness. But he just couldn’t. He had been right; once he had allowed himself cry he had totally lost control, and now he was powerless to make it stop.

Harry knew Ginny must be disgusted, but she was kind enough not to let it show. Instead she just held him tightly, rocking him and rubbing her hand gently up and down his back while whispering soothing noises in his ear.

The storm of his tears raged for quite some time, as Harry cried for Sirius, for his own lost innocence, for his guilt, for his despair in the face of the prophecy. Everything that had been plaguing him for the past months came pouring out.

Eventually, Harry’s sobs started to abate. He kept his face hidden in Ginny’s bathrobe as he tried to catch his breath. She kept her arms wrapped around him, and the two of them sat in silence interrupted only by an occasional hiccup from Harry.

Harry was extremely grateful that Ginny didn’t try to talk to him. She did not say, “What’s wrong, Harry?” or “Let’s talk about it, Harry.” She just held him quietly, no questions asked.

After a few minutes, he finally worked up the nerve to say something. He pulled away from her, but he still couldn’t quite look her in the face.

“Ginny, I’m sorry...”

“Shhh,” she interrupted him. “Don’t say anything yet, Harry. Here, just lay your head down for a minute.”

She patted her hand on her lap, and Harry couldn’t find the strength of will to fight her. He stretched out on his side along the couch, and rested his head in her lap, his face towards the glowing coals in the grate.

She started to run her fingers through his hair.

“Try to relax, Harry, okay? Just close your eyes and rest for a few minutes.”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded his assent. He decided to stop fighting his feelings of embarrassment for now...it was much too late to salvage any dignity tonight, and her fingers felt wonderful running through his hair like that. He felt his body start to loosen up, his muscles relaxing, the ache in his head fading away. He was feeling strangely peaceful, as though he had been carrying a very heavy load for a very long time and had finally been allowed to lay it down, even if it was only for a short time. He felt like he was sinking into a very soft, very warm feather bed.

Harry could feel the soft heat from the dying fire, his mind blissfully blank. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were just too heavy. Instead he concentrated on Ginny’s hands, playing with and gently tugging on his hair. He wondered what time it was.

“I should probably go back upstairs, now,” he thought.

And then he fell asleep.




Ginny sat with Harry until the first tinges of pink marking the sky signaled that dawn was near. Then, very carefully, she moved out from under him and slipped a small pillow underneath his head in her place. She took a blanket from a nearby chair and covered him up, and took the glasses gripped in his hand and placed them quietly on the table where he would find them when he woke up.

Then she stood there, just watching him sleep, for one last precious minute. She was gratified to see a small smile just barely turning up the corners of his mouth–his sleep was peaceful, thank Merlin.

Quietly, she bent over and gave his forehead a small, gentle kiss.

“Sweet dreams, Harry,” she breathed. “I love you.”

And she then turned and disappeared upstairs.


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Reviews 24
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