|
A Metaphor for Love | ||||
|
Category: Alternate Universe Characters:None Genres: Angst, Drama, Fluff, Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 18 Summary: She nestled her head more comfortably into his chest and heard him sigh, felt his breath as it blew through her hair. His heart was beating just as fast as hers was, perhaps faster, and she listened, eyes open as it hummed into her ear; it was her favorite noise in the world. She listened to it often, finding that no sound in the world brought her more peace than the rhythmic proof of life beneath her. *A missing moment in HBP. One of those hours stolen by Harry and Ginny Hitcount: Story Total: 6812 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. |
|
|||
|
She couldn’t ignore it, really. The loud ticking of the grandfather clock only proved to encourage her fears. Time was thin. Time was most unkind. Her heart was still thumping hard against her chest, but not nearly as fast as it had been beating moments before; she could swear, maybe because fate was cruel, or perhaps because she was so mesmerized by the moving hands, that her heart was thumping in time with each tick. She knew that she should be embracing the time that she had rather than obsessing over the lack of it, but how when she felt so warm, so comforted by the man’s arms around her, could she not fear their inevitable separation? She had only just grown used to the idea of him, only just admitted to herself that a life without him was no life at all, and she could see it all slipping away; no matter how tight he held her, she could feel the distance there, she knew that it was only a matter of time before he let go. She nestled her head more comfortably into his chest and heard him sigh, felt his breath as it blew through her hair. His heart was beating just as fast as hers was, perhaps faster, and she listened, eyes open as it hummed into her ear; it was her favorite noise in the world. She listened to it often, finding that no sound in the world brought her more peace than the rhythmic proof of life beneath her. She lifted her head slightly, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at his face. Sensing her gaze, he opened his eyes and gazed down at her. Without speaking, he lifted his hand and pushed a lock of hair from her face. He studied her for a second, and then smiled. “What?” She shook her head. “Nothing.” His smile widened. “Nothing,” he repeated doubtfully. His fingers continued their brush through her hair, taming the tousled locks had resulted from an hour of passionate snogging. She closed her eyes and sighed, loving the gentle massage of his fingertips against her skull. When he dropped his hand, she opened her eyes and looked at him. He watched her closely. “You are beautiful, you know that?” Heat filled her cheeks and she hid her face in his chest, giggling. “Harry…” she mumbled against his shirt. He laughed. “What? You are.” She lifted her head and smiled. “Thank you.” He nodded. She lifted a hand to brush the hair from his forehead. “So are you,” she whispered. He reached up, pulling her hand down to his lips and kissing her fingertips. She watched him, feeling vulnerable, powerless under the strength of his gaze. He was so perfect at everything, so good at just being… it scared her how perfect they fit together, how nothing ever seemed forced between them. It was as if they were meant to lay together forever. And she wished they could. “This definitely beats detention with Snape.” She giggled. “Yes, I reckon it would. Does he still have you sorting those cards?” He let out a frustrated huff. “Yeah, and I’m starting to suspect he knows how little time we get to spend together. He’s been keeping me later every time.” Ginny glared at nothing in particular. “Grease ball! Harry nodded. “I’m just glad that he’s close by when I’m in detention. I can keep somewhat of a close eye on him. Whatever Malfoy’s up to, he’s in on it. I just wish I could figure it out.” “I caught a glimpse of Malfoy at Dinner tonight. He looks like a ghost . . . he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.” “Yeah, well, any task that a Death Eater has to follow through on is likely to keep them awake. I know he’s planning something . . . doing something.” Ginny nodded, but said nothing. He shook his head. “But I don’t want to think about that now,” he said, kissing her forehead and leaning back against the armrest of the common room sofa. Silence fell over the room for a long time and they just laid there. Ginny was trying not to feel so depressed about what the future held, but she was failing miserably. “What are you thinking about?” She started, surprised by his question. “Lots of things,” she admitted. “Mm,” he murmured. “Yeah? Like what?” She hesitated, not sure if she should say what was really on her mind. Did she want to share her deepest fears with him? Didn’t he already have enough to worry about without her fears of losing him, of needing him so badly? She was supposed to be a comfort to him in times like this, she had to be strong. But saying nothing was just as bad; she always prided herself in being the girl who spoke her mind, who never held back. She couldn’t pretend that she was okay. But how was she to tell him? “Gin?” he said, rousing her from her thoughts. “Oh, um… I was just thinking,” she said, pausing momentarily to find the words. “Just thinking about quidditch.” He chuckled. “Quidditch, really?” She breathed a laugh. “Yes, well, I was just thinking about how much I enjoyed playing seeker.” He said nothing, and so she continued. “I mean, it’s great, the chase, you know . . . when you spot the snitch, and your heart starts beating extra fast and you know that its yours. You know, and you feel like nothing can touch you and nobody, nothing matters more than that snitch. It’s the only thing you see. It’s everything. It’s like your body has a mind of its own, and your thoughts . . . they’re so clear. You feel this power that’s so overwhelming, and as you’re flying through the air, the world is whipping past you but you take no notice.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “You just continue to move, chase after the one thing that means absolutely everything, and you think nothing could ever feel better than that, until you catch it and you wrap your hand around it. It’s like nothing you’ve ever known . . . and you don’t want to let go. You can’t let go. You’re afraid if you move your fingers just the slightest bit, it might fly out of your hand . . . disappear.” Silence followed, but Ginny did not meet his eyes. She could feel him studying her. And then she felt his hand on her cheek, and she could not resist him. He pulled her gaze back to his, and she saw the sadness, the understanding in his eyes. She pulled her chin from his grasp, tearing her eyes away from his; she could not bear to see him stare at her that way. “Ginny,” he whispered. When he said nothing, she chanced a glance at him. For many long seconds they were caught in a staring contest, his dark, hard gaze making it impossible for her to look away. And then his lips were on hers like they never had been before. It was more desperate than any kiss they had ever shared. He held her lips to his, and there was such earnestness in his movements, in the way his lips brushed, suckled and grasped hers that a new fear was arisen inside of her. It felt like he was saying goodbye. She answered his kisses with just as much intensity, grasping the cotton of his shirt tightly in her hand, while holding his face to hers with the other. Even when she felt the breath leaving her she continued to brand him with her lips. His hands were moving all over her, memorizing her, grasping and squeezing before resting on either side of her face. His thumbs rubbed against her temples, and she felt his lips pulling back from her, but she whimpered, holding him in place. He did not resist. Their cheeks were wet, partly from sweat, party from the tears that had leaked from her eyes and maybe from his as well. And then with a few hard, chaste kisses he pulled back. Their breathing was frantic, their hearts pounding hard and fast. She was half frightened, half amazed by how her emotions were engulfing her that she laughed without humor. She found his eyes, waiting for him to speak. “I am here, Gin,” he whispered. His words were not an answer to her fears, nor were they a reassurance, but she knew that it was as close to anything that she would get. “I–“ he started, swallowing back his words. He looked as if he was having a silent argument with himself. “Ginny, I–you are everything. You are like nobody I have ever met. . . I wish…” “I know,” she said, nodding. “Harry, I do. You don’t have to explain . . . I know.” His face was screwed up as if he was in pain. He looked as if there was more he wanted to say, but he could not find the words, could not find the selfishness within him to speak the word she so desperately wanted to hear. She knew. She could see it in his eyes as he stared at her. She could feel it in his heartbeat as it drummed against her fingertips. She gave him a reassuring smile. He ran his hand down the side of her face, and returned her smile halfheartedly. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, holding his hand to her face. “Thank you.” She opened her eyes, and stared down at him. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “What for?” “Everything,” he whispered, his eyes dancing over her face. “You’ve given me so much. I feel like someone else, someone normal when I’m with you. I don’t feel like Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived . . . I feel like Harry . . . just Harry. You have no idea what that means to me.” Her lips tugged upwards and she squeezed his arm. “You’re welcome, then.” He stared at her for a few more moments, and then pulled her into his arms. She snuggled into him, feeling content. His fingers brushed against her arm, back and forth . . . back and forth. “What are you thinking about?” she asked. He didn’t answer for a second, and then tightening his hold on her. “Quidditch,” he said. “I was thinking about how much I love holding the snitch.” She smiled into his chest and for the first time in a long time the ticking of the clock was hardly a whisper, and the only thing that existed was the two of them. And the only thing that mattered was this moment. This moment was everything. This moment was now. |
| Reviews 18 |
|
