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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst Warnings: Extreme Language Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 5 Summary: A short one-shot on what Ginny is doing and feeling whilst the trio are gone. "She wished she could find something to engross her constant, worrying, imagination. She’d had more detentions in this last year than she could count- Fred and George would have been proud." Hitcount: Story Total: 4138 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: There's one naughty word in here, so that's where the "extreme language" warning comes from. But, in my opinion, it's needed. So there. Real life often turns out how we don't expect it to...I imagine that's what this little blurb is all about. |
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It just wasn’t fair. And there was nothing she could do about it. The world —and every small, insignificant part of it- was uncontrollable. It felt as though some cruel hand had placed her world upside down and had set back to watch her scramble to put things to rights. She grimaced and stared out the window. The dark and swirling sky, the clouds like an angry wave, moved ever closer to the dormitory. The celebratory party from the quidditch pitch had quickly moved indoors, sounds of their laughter penetrating up through the heavy stone stairwell. Ginny wiped her brow with the back of her sticky hand. She’d played horribly; she’d completely mucked it up, actually. If it hadn’t been for the Ravenclaw team’s Seeker getting hit by that bludger, she’d have never found the snitch. She couldn’t even play like she used to. Bloody worthless…. The spring’s unnatural fevered heat clung to her uncomfortably. She pulled, annoyed, at her arm guard, wanting to be rid of the sickly sweat pooling against it and her skin. She tugged hysterically at it until a few threads popped free, the sound satisfying her somehow. The hale of the party downstairs added to her unjust irritation. She couldn’t seem to find any reason to make quidditch worth anything substantial lately. It was just a stupid, distracting game. She’d thrown herself into it months before, hoping for it to do just that, divert her mind from…other things. But it hadn’t and she was angry. And then there were the people downstairs, her ignorant classmates. They were laughing and celebrating. It disgusted her because they had found something to be happy about in these dark times. It bothered her that she couldn’t join in. She glared at her reflection in the window. Her hair was wet with perspiration and her face pale. She needed a bath. She needed answers. She wished she could find something to engross her constant, worrying, imagination. She’d had more detentions in this last year than she could count- Fred and George would have been proud. She smirked at that thought and moved to the bathroom, eager to wash the humidity off her flushed skin. The room was magically cooler and rather dark and it suited her mood perfectly. But nothing —not even hexing the nose off that prat, Zachariahs Smith- had made her forget what was sure to come. She’d received a few cryptic letters from a nameless someone —she’d known immediately it had been from Hermione- detailing that the girl was “well.” Ginny had never known if that had meant they were on the right track or if they were just alive. Of course Hermione could in no way let on about where they were or what was going on, but the letters always comforted her. Especially one she’d received with a bit of Ron’s handwriting on the bottom. It had only said, “drink a butterbeer for me, Ginny”, but it had made her smile tearfully. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him. Funny, hungry Ron. She had yet to see Harry print anything, however small, which twisted her heart painfully. She tried not to think about that much. Ginny turned on the taps to the bath and waited for the water to warm before stopping the drain. She peeled the layers from her skin, dropping them to the cool floor with a soft thwump. Her suddenly free skin welcomed the cooler air in the bathroom and she stood there, naked, for a long moment, waiting for her bath to fill. The letters, however short and veiled, had grown fewer as time had progressed. Months would pass and, Ginny, sick with fear for her friends and brother, would painfully wait for the announcement of their failure in the papers. She knew that one day she’d read about how one of their bodies —or all- had been found. She was afraid that the whispers, the rumors circulating in the halls, were true. What if Ron had really been in St. Mungos for a broken collar bone? What if Harry had actually been seen leaving The Leaky Cauldron with a heavy limp? It had been four months since her last letter. Ginny hadn’t seen anything telling in the papers, but that hadn’t been any sort of comfort to her. So, everyday, she awoke in the morning and went through the motions; she ate in the Great Hall with what was left of the students and sat quietly through her classes. Ginny played Quidditch and pretended to care about things a 17 year old should. She worried about Harry and she wondered if he thought of her at all. She didn’t cry anymore when she was alone; it was almost as though she’d shed all she was able. She was dry inside. Ginny sat down in the clear bath water, trying to ignore the fact that that particular comfort standby was no longer working. Distantly, she heard the thunder drum its beat against the mountains and she wondered if her loved ones had had to stumble through similar storms. Sending a letter through this kind of weather would be mad; but still she hoped that, perhaps tomorrow, she would get news. * * * The next day was no different. No letter; no news, good or bad. Ginny bit the end of her quill, bored. Headmistress McGonagall’s voice seemed to pass through her with no effort. With the shortage of teachers, McGonagall had kept her teaching post as well as taking on the difficult and time consuming task of headmistress. And although Ginny had only utmost respect for the woman, she didn’t want to listen to a lecture on how to turn a Boxelder into an Imp. Emmaline was twirling her black hair in her fingers while Colin was taking frantic notes. The scratch scratch of his quill was hypnotic, making Ginny’s eyes droop. She’d have to ask for his notes later. The sudden scrapping of chairs awoke her with a start. Class was over and the students were filing out. Avoiding her teacher’s stare, Ginny ducked her head and gathered her things, quickly following her peers. Lunch was unappealing and quiet. The tables were barely half full as most parents had decided to keep their children home and close. Mrs. Weasley had even considered it but then had thought better, determining that Ginny would be safer at Hogwarts. Ginny knew it was more for the fact that she’d have a difficult time running away at school; she’d be unable to chase after Harry, Ron and Hermione if she was holed up in the north of Scotland. Her mum was a clever witch. Ginny sometimes fanaticized about leaving school altogether and joining them. Of course she had no idea where they were or what they were about. But still, she imagined that she was with them in dark caves or dilapidated houses, hiding out or throwing curses at Death Eaters. She hated that she was so...useless. Here she was, safe and warm and bored when her friends and brother were…she wasn’t quite sure what they were. Were they fed? Did they sleep comfortably? Were they being chased? She had no clue. It ate at her that she was here and they were…there. They were out, fighting against the Dark Lord. Against Tom. * * * She noticed that the common room was nearly empty. The fireplace was bare and void of cheerful, bouncing flames. Even with the spring warmth, she wanted to see a fire there. She could see someone’s feet sticking out between the chairs on the hearth rug and she remembered a time when she’d made good use of that carpet. Something tugged painfully in her chest at the thought so she pushed it aside. It was altogether too difficult to dream of those things. She’d found that out the hard way. Sometimes she’d half-wished that she’d remained ignorant, that Harry had never whispered in her ear or held her hand. The thought of him —of the way he’d rub his thumb over the sensitive skin on her wrist or the way he’d smile crookedly before kissing her- cut and burned her. Thinking of him only seemed to make the bruise within her grow, so she’d learnt to curb her thoughts. She’d think of Charlie or Bill. She’d focus on school work or quidditch. But those things were becoming less and less of a distraction. Not thinking of Harry was tedious and she had long since grown weary. She yawned hugely and shut her potions book. Her essay was complete and she was eagerly anticipating her four poster. The day had seemed to drag on and she was ready for sleep. Wishing the few stragglers left good night, she gathered her things and made her way up the stairs. Maybe tomorrow she’d get a letter. * * * Ginny was having the most marvelous dream. She’d been swimming in the small fishing hole near the Burrow with Ron and the twins, just as they’d done so many times during the heated summers. Soon Hermione had materialized out of thin air, which had turned into Harry at some point. He had employed himself in the most tantalizing fashion. She had no real idea if her ears were that sensitive outside of dreams, but she was now certain she had to find out. But soon his ministrations had turned rather rude: he began to repeatedly poke her in the bum, which she knew she didn’t like, in or out of sleep. “Gerroff, ‘Arry. Don’ poke…” “Ginny, wake up; it’s me.” Ginny rolled over blearily, not certain who “me” was. Her eyes took a moment to adjust but soon she could make out wildly bushy hair, highlighted by the moonlight. “Hermione!” she hissed, surprised. “Shush!” she hissed back. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.” She immediately waved her wand silently, which Ginny knew was to silence their conversation. “Harry won’t be happy I’m up here,” she continued. Ginny’s heart seemed to physically constrict. “Harry’s here?” She felt suddenly scared, like she’d break into pieces if she didn’t see him. But then she was afraid she just might shatter if she did. Hermione nodded. “We got here a few hours ago. Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be fine but–” Ginny clutched her friend’s hand, hard, her breath stolen. She was afraid to ask. If they were here to see Madam Pomfrey, then it couldn’t be that things were going well. Hermione pulled away gently and patted Ginny’s arm. “Ron’s fine. Just a little tired and hungry. Harry will be fine, but I think you need to see him. Or rather, he needs to see you.” Ginny sat, breathless, her hands wadded with crumpled sheets. She searched her friend’s face, her shadowed eyes. “You’ve been taking care of him, haven’t you?” Hermione smiled humorlessly and shifted her weight on the bed. “We all take care of each other. We always have.” Ginny knew it was the truth and she was instantly glad that her brother and Hermione had forced themselves along with Harry. She wished she could have been a part of it all, but somehow, right at that instant, she wasn’t disappointed that she hadn’t gone off with them. It was enough to know that they were alive. It was bearable knowing they had each other. “Thank you, Hermione. Thank you for looking after them.” Hermione’s lips tightened and she embraced Ginny tightly. “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed having a girl around to talk some sense.” Ginny let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I’ve missed you too. I’ve thought about you nonstop. How can I not?” Hermione smelt of wood smoke and rain. She could feel the dampness of her friend’s clothes and immediately felt ashamed for having felt sorry for herself all these months. Of course Ginny had worried about her friends’ well being, but those feelings had always been laced with bitterness at having been left out. Something she’d had to battle against her entire life, being the youngest and the only girl. Hermione had obviously been battling elements and magic that Ginny had no clue about. I’m so selfish. Hermione nodded against her shoulder and sniffed. “I know. It’s difficult not to think and worry about you too.” After a few short moments of clutching at each other, they pulled away. Hermione looked around the dark room and smiled a bit sadly. “I miss my bed…and clean clothes.” “Do you need a change? You can have anything of mine that’ll fit you.” Hermione seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding. “That would be wonderful.” * * * The door to the hospital wing creaked loudly, making Ginny pause and cringe. So much for sneaking in, she thought. She was nervous and could feel her clammy hands stick to the metal of the door handle as she pushed herself through. He was sitting up, that much was a comfort. At least he wasn’t in a coma or near death. Sitting was good. Sitting meant minor trouble. He didn’t turn his head to look at her, not even when her slippers made little shuffling noises on the cold floor. His messy hair was longer, wilder; it fell over his face like a curtain as he bowed his head. “Did you tell Ron not to stuff himself? He won’t want to make himself sick,” he said, looking out the window now. Half of his handsome face was revealed to her view, the moonlight resting on his high cheekbones. She didn’t respond, her feet pulling her forward without thought. He didn’t seem real. It was just a dream. “We’ll need to leave tomorrow morning and I don’t want to hear him complain of a belly ache.” She reached the end of his bed and he finally looked at her. They stared, motionless, for a few tense seconds. Their gazes locked; he seemed shocked, but only for a moment. Ginny found it hard to breathe. His eyes were just as beautiful as she’d remembered but his face seemed thinner, paler and far too worn for an eighteen year old boy. She bit her lip and her eyes stung uncontrollably. He was alive. He was here and she had to touch him. “Harry….” It came out in a whisper but she hadn’t meant to say anything at all. His eyes softened and she looked away, noticing for the first time that his arm was bandaged and in a sling, the tips of his fingers poking out. “You alright?” she said, nodding to his arm. “Yeah…broke it yesterday,” he said a bit hoarsely, shrugging. “Got here about an hour ago. Hermione tell you I was here?” She nodded. “Figured as much.” He looked out the window, the rain clinging to the glass, slipping down like teardrops. “I told her not to go up there. I mean…that is, to wake you up.” His voice was quiet and she knew he hadn’t meant the words to sting her, but they made the fixed vice around her heart squeeze tighter. He had planned on slipping away without so much as a “hello”. Why did he have to make her feel like she was an uninvited nag? She swallowed and blinked rapidly, trying to keep her emotions tightly within her. She was glad he wasn’t looking at her, he’d be able to see her struggle. They rumbled and fought to break free, to lash out just like the storm outside. “I’m glad you’re ok,” she managed finally. Harry nodded and smiled slightly, toying with a loose thread on his cuff. “I’m glad you’re ok, too.” “Wha- when are you leaving?” “First thing in the morning. We’ve got a lead and were on our way there when this happened,” he said, lifting his arm. “That is if I can get Ron out of bed on time.” Ginny knew that last remark was to lift the heaviness that was nearly suffocating their conversation, but she didn’t want to take the bait and try and be funny. She didn’t want to be witty; she wanted to hear that he was just as miserable as she was without him. She wanted to hit and kiss him at the same moment. She took an unsteady breath and decided to jump in: “Why don’t you ever write? Ron even wrote me something and he’s famous for being a prat. Not you, though.” His jaw tightened slightly and she knew he was biting his tongue. She wished he wouldn’t. He sighed and looked out the window again. “You know, Ginny,” he started. She grasped onto the bed post, willing it to keep her steady. She felt like she’d soon explode. Though she was afraid of his tone and the possibly hurtful words, she wanted to hear them. “I don’t write anyone. Especially not to you; I’ve got to focus all my attention onto our search.” He looked uncomfortable, not letting his eyes rest on her. Ginny’s stomach dropped. So that’s how it was. Stupid Ginny Weasley and her embarrassing, stupid crush on Harry Potter had reached an all time low. Suddenly she was no longer a seventeen year old girl with average marks and a temper, she was a senseless, awkward little girl being kindly told to leave him be. He had work to do; he didn’t have time to write or think of her. He was Harry Potter, after all, and she was a ridiculous teenager who couldn’t take the hint. He’d broken up with her; he’d been the one to sever all ties. She was simply humiliating herself. “Right. Well, er…I’m glad you’re ok. Thought I’d say hello.” She knew she was blushing, knew she looked just as awkward as she felt. She hadn’t wanted to leave a place so badly in all her life. The room, the situation, was sucking the very breath from her. “I’ll let you be, then. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Good luck-” She could hear the emotion in her voice and hated herself for it. She’d turned and had taken three steps before he’d stopped her. “Ginny, don’t go. Look, I’m sorry.” Ginny wanted to be angry with him; she knew that in any other situation she would have given him a sound tongue lashing —if not a good hex, too- for how he’d brushed her off. But at this moment, all she could do was try and catch her breath. Surreptitiously wiping her tear-welled eyes, she turned and faced him. He really did look sorry. He was beautiful. “It’s hard for me to not write to you, you know,” he said, his eyes searching hers. She stood motionless, not trusting her voice. “At first I told myself that it was best to protect you; I told myself —made myself believe- that it was better for you…and me, this way.” Ginny nodded slightly, though she didn’t know why. Maybe because she wanted him to know she understood or maybe that she was listening? She wasn’t sure, but just hearing his voice was like a soothing balm. He was alive and she was standing not but three feet from him. “I’m sorry if that hurts you in any way,” he continued, looking uncomfortable at the thought. “I only want you to be happy, Ginny.” He held out his hand to her, indicating that she should come closer. Like a magnet, she immediately went to him and took his hand. He smiled, staring at their joined fingers. “I’ve always loved how your hand fits mine.” Upon hearing those words and feeling his rough, large hand against hers, she could no longer dam the tears. They traced salty tracks down her cheeks, which she ignored. His hands were larger and a few of his fingernails were purple from damage. “I’ve missed you, Harry.” “I’ve missed you more,” he said, pulling her onto the bed next to him. He held her silently for a few moments before speaking again. “I’ve thought about you every moment I’ve been away, but I’ve-” he paused and stroked her hair. “-I’ve got a very important job to fulfill and I’m not sure if I’m coming back.” “You’ll come back,” she said through the lump in her throat. She had to believe that; he would return to her. The good side always won in the end, it was how it was meant to be. Harry would fight Voldemort and he would return, battered and broken, perhaps, but she would see him again. Wouldn’t she? Harry didn’t respond. “I know it sounds silly, Harry, but I don’t really know what you’re doing out there. Are you safe? Do you have places to stay? Are you happy?” Harry let out a small laugh. “Happy? I wouldn’t say that, no.” He shifted and Ginny moved away from him, sitting so she could face him. “Then what are you?” Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he looked at her squarely. “I’m doing what has to be done, Ginny. It’s dangerous, yes, difficult to be away, yes, but there are small moments of relief -like this…being here with you- that make it so I’m able to continue on.” She could see the blush creeping up on his face and it caused her heart to warm. He was still her Harry: sweet and shy yet bold and determined. And although he was away and not hers any longer, she was still comforted in the thought that he was happy to see her. “I’m glad I was able to see you.” Smiling, he took her hand once more, “I hope I can come back, Ginny. I hope I make it so we can continue us. I like us.” Before she could answer, Madam Pomfrey entered the room, eyeing Ginny. She was carrying a steaming goblet on a tray and looking very stern. “Miss Weasley, you should be in bed. Please return to your dormitories” “But-” “I assure you, Mr. Potter will still be here in the morning to tell you all about how he broke his arm.” “Madam Pom-” “No, Mr. Potter. The hospital is closed to visitors at this late hour.” Ginny’s heart fell. She had waited so long to see him. There was so much left unsaid and she was sure Harry would leave without saying a proper goodbye. She leaned forward, ignoring Madam Promfry’s “tst” and kissed him solidly on the mouth. It was awkward and not at all how she’d dreamt of it happening, but it was all she had. Any ideas of a romantic reunion dashed, she slid off the bed, wiped her eyes, and did as she was told. She didn’t look back on her way out the door. *** The next day, the sky was just as overcast as it had been the day before. The rain had finally stopped sometime during the night and had left the spring flowers beaten and bent. Owls delivered their mail; students ate their breakfasts and chattered away; classes continued. Maybe I’ll get a letter tomorrow, she thought as she gathered her books for her next class. |
| Reviews 5 |
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