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SIYE Time:12:48 on 28th March 2024
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Don't Give Up On Me
By HappyHouriFanfic

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:All
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Death, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 173
Summary: Harry Potter has a destiny to defeat Voldemort and save the Wizarding World, but it’s hard to do when he’s the only one who knows that the Dark Lord has returned.
Hitcount: Story Total: 50263; Chapter Total: 2426
Awards: View Trophy Room






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He stared at the heavy oak door, his eyes tracing the patterns of the lines and grooves of centuries’ worth of wear on the ancient wood. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to come here now, and he had no idea why he couldn't seem to bring his feet to take him any further, either.

Maybe it was guilt. The accident might have been his fault, after all. He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. They’d been out on the pitch, flying drills when the storm came up. Angelina Johnson had been shouting at them to finish up so they could go in and be warm. The snow had been so thick that he hadn’t been able to see Ginny come streaking toward him, chasing the quaffle.

It was all still a bit fuzzy in his head, really. Harry shook the memory away and placed his hand on the door, finally giving it a push. It creaked, a familiar sound that echoed through the empty hospital wing.

Empty except the one bed where Ginny Weasley lay curled around a pillow, the stiff white blanket pulled up over her.

A stray beam of moonlight danced through the window and rested on the end of the bed, near where Ginny’s toes peeked out of the blanket. Harry walked forward, glancing up to see if Madam Pomfrey had heard him come in. No movement from the back of the infirmary meant he was safe for at least a few minutes.

He focused on those toes that he could see, decorated by chipped blue nail polish. He’d never considered that Ginny might paint her toenails. He remembered Ron complaining about the smell when Hermione would paint hers in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room, but Ron’d never said anything about Ginny doing it.

Closer and closer he walked until he was looking down at those toes, lit by the moonlight. He followed it up to her knee, her hip, her arms curled around a pillow, and finally, her face resting peaceful against the white of the linens. Her hair twisted into a long rope of dark hair. Harry remembered seeing it whip in the wind behind her when she flew, like it was doing everything it could to try and keep up with the girl.

He lowered into the chair that was next to the bed. Mrs. Weasley had been here hours ago, watching over Ginny. Harry had tried not to stare from across the room, where Madam Pomfrey had been tutting over the perils of teenagers playing Quidditch during a snowstorm and pushing potions down his throat to heal a nasty cut on his arm and bruised body.

The chair sighed when he sat and Ginny stirred, rustling the blanket around her.

Harry looked away, baffled about why he felt so drawn to be sitting next to her. There was a connection there that he couldn’t define, even in his own head. He and Ginny were friends; they often laughed together at Quidditch practice or at mealtimes, but they didn’t hang around outside of that. Ginny had her own friends. She was quite popular, actually.

Except that this year had been a little different, Harry noticed. Ginny had seemed more...reserved, less fiery. She spent more time alone, more time wandering the grounds of Hogwarts and writing in her diary. Ron teased her mercilessly about it, but Ginny had called him a nasty name--surprising the hell out of Harry--and walked away.

He reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of Ginny’s blanket, knowing exactly what it would feel like. It was scratchy, catching on the calluses and rough skin of his fingertips. There was an antiseptic smell--Mrs. Scower’s Cleaning Powder mixed with the smell of some of the potions, if Harry guessed--that permeated everything.

She looked fine--no bruises or noticeable marks on her. He wasn’t sure why Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping her overnight when she’d scooted Harry out the door, still nursing his sore arm. But the Hogwarts nurse had informed him that Ginny would be staying, and since Harry wasn’t her mother or father, Madam Pomfrey had no need to disclose Ginny’s condition to him. She’d nudged him out the door and closed it soundly behind him.

“You should be asleep.”

Harry startled when Ginny spoke to him, her voice as scratchy as the blankets. He’d been so focused on remembering the confrontation earlier that he hadn’t realized he’d woken her.

“Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to wake you.”

He could see one eye shining in the dark. The other obscured by the edge of the pillow she was lying on.

“Then you shouldn’t have come.” She shifted and stared up at the high ceiling, scowling at the darkness.

Harry huffed and thought about getting up to leave, but something inside him wanted to get angry instead.

“I was checking on you.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, but didn’t turn toward him. “You’ve seen me. I’m fine.”

“Ginny...I….” He wanted to tell her why he’d come, why he felt drawn from Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night, even though, logically, Harry knew she was fine, knew that whatever injuries she had would heal and she’d be back to normal again by breakfast. He even opened his mouth, but there were no words that would come out, because he still didn’t know why he was there.

“I didn’t want you to be alone.”

The truth slipped out, even though Harry didn’t know what it meant.

Ginny turned her head and looked at him, their eyes connecting in the darkness. Whatever she was feeling melted away and she looked...contrite, almost sad.

“Thanks.”

They watched each other for long minutes--Harry started counting at one point, but lost track as he watched her dark eyes watch him.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“I know.” It might have been. Harry couldn’t remember much about the mid air collision. He remembered repeating over and over that he was sorry--was that only in his head, or had he said it aloud?--and then he remembered watching her from across the hospital wing. The rest was...lost in the jumble of his mind.

“Harry, I…” But whatever it was she was going to say got buried when her eyes filled with tears, shining as they caught the moonlight. One slipped out and her face crumbled. She curled on her side, wrapping around the pillow. Harry reached for her, unable to let her cry alone, even though he had no idea what to do.

Was she in pain? Was there some invisible wound that he didn’t know about?

His hand found hers, their fingers winding together. He held on as she cried, silently, into the pillow. The longer Ginny cried, the longer Harry wanted to hold onto her. A deep emotional swell grew inside him and the back of his eyes burned, as if he might start crying too, even though he had no idea why.

Knowing it wouldn’t help, Harry swallowed past his thick throat and blinked, looking away for a moment until he could control the feeling, wrangle it into place. Crying wouldn’t help Ginny now, and he wanted to stay strong for her, to be a strength, rather than someone who made things worse.

“Sorry,” she finally said. Her nose was running and she reached for a tissue near the top of the bed. Harry got there first and handed it to her. She wiped her nose and eyes with one hand, her other still clasped in Harry’s.

“Don’t know why I’m crying,” she said, a weak sort of laugh leaking out, also.

“S’okay,” Harry said. He tried to smile, but was afraid it didn’t work when Ginny averted her eyes from him. She let go of his hand and they both sheepishly laughed and shook their sore fingers.

“I should go,” Harry said, but he didn’t make a move to get up.

“Get some sleep.”

Harry thought about going back to the tower and climbing the stairs to the dormitory where his bed was waiting. It was warm and familiar, but he still couldn’t move.

“Can’t sleep,” he admitted.

“Bad dreams?”

“I...I’m not sure why,” he said. He thought it would be weird to say, but Ginny only nodded.

“Me either.”

“You were sleeping when I came in.”

“Not really,” she said. She looked up at the ceiling again and Harry tried not to stare at the way her eyes were red and puffy. She still looked pretty to him, he realized. “I was trying, but...I keep waking up. Bad dreams. And then I don’t want to have them, so I make myself stay awake.”

He nodded, no stranger to the phenomenon. “Yeah.”

“Mr. Potter.”

They both jumped when Madam Pomfrey came bustling across the hospital wing, a tattered robe wrapped over her night dress.

“I’m sure I discharged you earlier today. Unless you are back because of another injury--”
“No, Ma’am,” Harry stammered. He stood, nearly tripped over his chair to escape getting corralled into a bed.

“--then get yourself back to your dormitory before I find a permanent place for you here.”

Ginny smirked at him and Harry skirted around the end of the bed, headed toward the door. The nurse watched him until he reached it, and then turned to go. Harry paused, waited until she was out of sight before looking back over his shoulder.

“Do you need anything?” he whispered.

“Like what?”

Harry blinked at her, unsure what he thought he could bring her that would help. “I don’t...maybe your diary? You are always writing in it… I thought--”

But Ginny’s forehead creased in confusion. “Harry, I don’t have a diary. I’ve never written in one.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Madam Pomfrey stuck her head out of the door at the far end of the room again.

“Mr. Potter--”

“I’m going!”

The door closed heavily, echoing down the hallway and Harry found himself staring at the wood grain again, unsure what Ginny had meant.

Xxxxx

Harry finally did fall asleep and was late getting up the next morning. Bleary, he sat down at the table across from Ron and Hermione as they finished off their breakfast.

“Morning, sunshine,” Ron said with a smirk.

Harry waved him off, tempted to make a rude gesture, but unwilling to fight with Hermione about it if he did.

“Are you feeling alright, Harry?”

“Fine,” Harry grumbled through a yawn. He began to pull platters of food toward him, uncaring about what he was eating, and piled food on his plate. “Just...didn’t sleep well.”

“You should have had Pomfrey give you a Dreamless Sleep potion,” Ron said. “I was surprised she didn’t keep you overnight, like she did Ginny.”

The memory of talking with Ginny last night rose to the top of his mind. “Me too.”

He glanced down the table, hoping to see Ginny sitting there. He had meant to ask when she would be released. Disappointed to not see her, Harry turned back to his breakfast, picking at the food. He needed to ask her about the diary again. He was certain he’d seen her writing in one only weeks ago, but the memory was indistinct, hazy. Perhaps he had dreamed it?

“...the Ministry donated the statue to the British Museum, where it will stand as a monument to a time when the Magical and Muggle communities--”

“What statue?” Ron asked Hermione, through a mouthful of food.

Hermione looked up from The Daily Prophet she’d been reading and blinked owlishly at him. “Ron, don’t you ever listen?!”

“I didn’t hear the first part,” he grumbled. “I was talking to Harry.”

Harry wanted to protest being pulled into their argument, but he hadn’t been listening to Hermione either.

Hermione huffed, pushed her hair back behind her ears and began speaking again.

“The Ministry of Magic donated a statue of Merlin to the British Museum.”

“Why would they want that?”

“As an act of goodwill between the two communities, Ron,” Hermione explained. “And as a reminder of the time when the two were closely intertwined and magic was not restricted to hidden use.”

“Yeah, I remember my Gran telling us stories about Merlin,” Ron said. “She knew loads of them. We used to tease her that it’s because she was old enough to have known Merlin herself. She’d laugh and tell us that they dated before she met Grandpa Weasley, but that she chose Grandpa to marry.”

Harry smirked and shoveled another bite in his mouth, suddenly ravenous. His mind was still tracing over the events of last night’s visit to the hospital wing, trying to piece together why he felt more lost now than he had before he’d gone.

“I think it’s a lovely gesture,” Hermione said.

“What? Gran making up stories?”

“No, the statue. It’s a way to tie the two communities together and remind us all that we are all the same, despite some differences.”

Ron rolled his eyes and helped himself to the last rasher of bacon on the plate. “We are different.”

“Yes, Ronald,” she scolded, “but that doesn’t make us superior, or inferior. And we need to remember that we can live in harmony, like we have been for the last few decades. No magical wars or battles, no upheavals or dark lords, like there once were. I’d say that’s a big step forward.”

Rather than argue, Ron conceded the point and Harry thought about it as he finished his breakfast. Since Grindelwald, back in the 1940’s, the Wizarding world had been at peace, with nothing notable to learn about in Professor Binn’s History of Magic class. They’d reviewed every Goblin revolution known to wizard-kind, but Fred and George told them that they wouldn’t cover Grindelwald’s reign until 6th or 7th year, still at least a year away.

A round of laughter further down the table broke Harry’s train of thought and he glanced down to see Ginny seated, sandwiched between the Weasley Twins as they heaped great piles of food on a plate for her.

Harry smiled as Ginny laughed and his chest felt a bit lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Ginny’s out!” Ron said. He waved down the table, causing Ginny to grin at him.

“Oh, good!” Hermione sighed and waved, also. “I was worried about her. She’s seemed so...down lately. It seems only Quidditch makes her happy.”

Harry thought about that and decided that Hermione might be right. “Has she been writing in a diary?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Hermione blinked at him. “Diary? Not that I’ve seen.”

“Nah, Ginny hates to write,” Ron said. “Mum bought her one once, Ginny ripped out all the pages and wrote nasty notes to Fred and George with them. I’m going to go down and bother her. Meet you in the Common Room later.” He excused himself and Harry watched as he went down to join his siblings.

“I could swear I remember her writing in a diary,” Harry said. He rubbed his head and winced at a lingering pain in his arm when he lifted it. It was the one that was hurt in the collision yesterday, but hadn’t seemed to bother him before now. The pain was sharp, like a stabbing. He wrapped his hand over the spot and tried to remember what exactly had happened.

“Are you alright, Harry?” He looked up to see Hermione peering at him. “Does your arm still hurt?”

“No,” he said. “Just...a phantom pain, I guess. I was remembering...the accident...yesterday. Wondered how Ginny is feeling.”

“She seems to be fine today,” Hermione said. “But you both gave us quite the fright, Harry. We were so worried.”

Harry felt a sudden irritation overtake him. “I’m fine,” he said. “You should go see Ginny before class starts.”

“It’s Sunday, Harry,” Hermione said. “Honestly, between you and Ron…”

But she didn’t finish her thought, only shook her head and got up to walk down where the Weasleys were being extra loud.

Harry glanced at the image of the statue of Merlin that went along with the article in The Daily Prophet. It seemed rather strange that the Ministry would gift something like that to a Muggle museum, but Harry wasn’t sure why. He shook his head and finished the last of his breakfast.

The Great Hall was still rather full for a Sunday, but Harry decided that was probably because the snow had kept up yesterday, shrouding the castle in a sort of blanket. People slept in on mornings like this before they headed outside to have snowball fights or sled down the hills. A few professors remained at the front of the room, but they were busy chatting amongst themselves, paying the students no mind.

Harry looked back, hoping to gauge from her expression how Ginny was feeling this morning. It must be good news if she had been released. The memory of her crying, clinging to his hand last night was fresh and poignant. He wanted to try and get her alone today, at some point, to ask if she was alright, but knew it would be a hard task. Her brothers would likely stay close all day.

Her smile was as brilliant as he remembered from the past few years they’d been at Hogwarts together. There was something about Ginny Weasley that almost...glowed. She was so full of life, but Harry had missed seeing it this year. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but she’d been much more sullen, almost reclusive at the beginning of her fourth year. Harry had noticed but hadn’t really thought much about it until yesterday after the accident on the Quidditch pitch. Now, he felt bad for not paying enough attention.

He seemed rather...drawn to her right now, as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The bright smile that decorated her face lit her up. Her eyes flashed as she quipped something pithy at George, and she laughed, full and free.

Her eyes caught Harry’s from down the table and Harry felt himself trapped, unable to look away.

It was just a moment, a hint of a moment, even, but Harry felt an overwhelming sadness seep through those eyes, a desperate need for something that he didn’t know how to fill.

Ginny was the first to look away, turning back to her family, mask back in place.

It stole Harry’s breath and he felt a wave of emotion, much like he had last night when he’d held her hand: helplessness, sadness, despair, and sorrow. It was so out of place, so unexpected that Harry had to gulp in great gasps of air to force it away.

Xxxxx

They didn’t speak of the accident, Harry’s visit to the hospital wing, or even Ginny’s strange behavior again. In fact, Ginny seemed to bounce back extraordinarily and was again the lively, popular girl she’d once been. She began dating Michael Corner, much to Ron’s consternation, and was rarely seen without a smile.

It struck Harry as rather...off, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. He found himself watching her much closer than he ever had. So much so, in fact, that Fred and George took him aside and asked if he fancied their little sister.

“Ginny? She’s great,” he’d fumbled. “I mean, sure, I like her, but not… I mean…”

They’d grinned identical grins, nodded to each other and offered to let it slip to Ginny that Harry had a bit of a crush on her. Harry’d glared at them and swore, shaking his head. When he realized that they’d been taking the piss, he finally relaxed and tried to keep his Ginny-watching to a minimum.

The ride home on the Hogwarts Express was more somber than any Harry remembered. He, Ron and Hermione were sharing a carriage and had finished reading the special edition Daily Prophet that from this morning proclaiming a mass outbreak at Azkaban. Hermione was rereading the article to herself and Harry watched the portraits on the front page from across the carriage. At first, Hogwarts was shaken by the news, but as the morning went on and they filed out of the school toward Hogsmeade Station, it was as if they began to forget the seriousness of the situation. More and more laughter rose from the students. Harry got the impression that by the time the train pulled into King’s Cross, it would all be forgotten.

“Still,” Ron said after staring out the window for a time, “the Ministry will get them. I’m sure of it. We’ll get to London and Dad will tell us that everything is fine, that they’ve captured them already.”

“That’s a bit optimistic,” Harry said. He couldn’t help but feel a deep swelling inside him, almost a panic that seemed to be rising and filling him, despite the competing desire to believe in the Ministry and their capabilities. It wasn’t as if the breakouts affected him directly, but they did affect the world that he loved and lived in for most of the year.

The compartment door slammed open and Ginny appeared. “Sorry,” she muttered as she closed it behind her. She slumped into the open seat next to Harry and rested her head against the back of the cushion.

“Alright?” Ron asked.

Ginny glanced at him and nodded. “Everyone’s being...stupid.”

“And you couldn’t go sit with Fred and George?” Ron asked. “Or your boyfriend?”

Ginny’s glare made Harry flinch. He was glad it wasn’t directed toward him. “Fred and George aren’t coming back next year.”

Harry wasn’t surprised, but he wondered how Mrs. Weasley would take the news. He knew that Charlie had left school early, too, but he’d never considered that Fred and George might take the same route. Yet, they’d been very focused on their joke ideas lately and he’d overheard them talking about starting their own business.

“But...their N.E.W.T.’s!” Hermione looked aghast at the idea.

“I figured they might,” admitted Ron. “They’ve been mucking around with the idea of that store forever. Now they’ve finally got enough money…”

Hermione looked like she might argue, but then glanced at the door. “Ron, we need to patrol the last half of the ride.” Ron made a sound in the back of his throat and begrudgingly stood.

“You’ll be alright?”

Harry startled when he realized that Ron’s question had been to him, not Ginny. He blinked up at his friend.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ron glanced at his sister. “Don’t let Ginny drag you down. She’s in a pissy mood.”

“Ron!” He closed the door quickly, blocking out Hermione’s tirade.

Ginny wore the hint of a smile. She sighed and closed her eyes, her head rocking against the seat back as the train rocked.

“You look tired.”

Ginny didn’t answer for the longest time and then opened her eyes. That same depth of emotion that he often saw in her expression was there. He got the feeling that he was the only one to see it.

“It’s exhausting.”

“What is?”

“Trying to be happy.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought about it before, but he saw what she meant. Had he been doing that? He could see how Ginny had been for most of the year. Was it always like that, or just this year?

When he asked her, she blinked at him and then looked away. “This year. I don’t...I don’t understand. It’s like, I can’t seem to find things to be happy about. And everyone...everyone is…” She gestured toward the door of the compartment and Harry nodded. He had been noticing more and more how carefree everyone was.

“It’s like this,” Ginny said as she snatched Hermione’s discarded Daily Prophet from the seat across from them and held it up. “This morning people were so worried, so concerned. And I’ll bet you five galleons that by the time we reach London nobody will even remember that they felt that way, let alone why. I can’t even explain it.” She slumped against the seat and Harry fought the urge to slide his fingers under hers on the bench and squeeze them to give her some small bit of comfort. He’d been struggling with the desire to touch her in small ways since their time in the hospital wing months ago.

“I know,” he said. He flattened his hands along the legs of his jeans, instead, feeling the rough fabric there. “And Ron and Hermione don’t see it, either. I tried to explain--”

Ginny’s eyes flashed and she narrowed them. “So you do see it?”

“I do.”

“I wondered.” She seemed to relax, leaning into him a bit, their shoulders touching. “I thought it was just me. All this time I’ve been wondering...what’s wrong with me that I can’t be like them? Why can’t I be happy? Why do I wake up every night with these dreams that I can’t explain?”

“And you can’t tell them because...because they just look at you.” He whispered and Ginny nodded. He moved his hand down to the bench again, intending to touch her fingers, but Ginny moved forward and wound their hands together tightly.

“I know.”

They sat like that for a long minute, Harry reveling in the calming, warmth of her hand and in the strangeness of whatever this was they were sharing.

“I better go,” she finally grumbled, letting go of his hand. “I need to break up with Michael.”

Harry blinked at her. “Er…”

“He’s a prat, and I’m tired of pretending that I like him anymore.”

She was gone before he could process what she meant, or what any of it meant.

He spent the rest of the ride alone, the hand that Ginny had been holding clutched into a fist, trying to retain the warmth and feel of her against him.
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