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Don't Give Up On Me | ||||||
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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: 50416; Chapter Total: 1840 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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“This place is a disaster.” “I know. You should have seen it before,” Harry said. “When I first moved in, there was this...smell. I have no idea what it was. Sirius told me that there used to be a House Elf, but that he’d died during the time Sirius was in Azkaban. Sirius found him dead when he came back here.” Ginny’s nose scrunched in distaste. “That’s just…” “I know.” Harry pushed open the drawing room doors, coughing at the dusty, cobweb-laden space. “Obviously, he was dead for a while. None of this has been cleaned in...forever. Sirius and I did the necessary rooms but haven’t had time for much more.” Ginny joined him, her face twisting in horror at the cluttered, dirty room that lay before them. “Well, it’s a good thing I stuck around when Mum got into her cleaning moods. The boys used to feign illness, or homework, or anything else to get out of helping. Fred and George even convinced themselves that they were invisible once, so they didn’t have to organize the linen closets.” Harry smiled and turned on the gas lamps, surprised that they worked in the abandoned room. “Were they?” “No,” Ginny said with a snort. “Mum sent stinging hexes that followed them around all day until they got their work done.” “My Aunt used to make me clean until my fingers bled.” The moment it registered what Harry’d said, he cleared his throat and continued. “I figure between the two of us we can sort this place out.” “Harry--” He looked at her, hating the way her eyes narrowed, her mouth turned down into a frown. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to make light of it. “Let’s get started.” “Don’t think I’m done discussing that statement, Harry Potter,” Ginny scolded. She raised her wand and voiced a spell that made the cobwebs in the doorway twist and turn until they balled up and finally disappeared. “Later,” Harry said, even though he had no intention of talking about growing up at the Dursley home anytime in the future. They attacked the room best they could, enchanting brooms to sweep and feather dusters to reach the high places. Both of them had to leave when the dusters kicked up enough mess that they broke out in sneezing attacks. “Blimey,” Ginny said as she bent over at the waist and caught her breath. “We may need an army.” “Or a good charm to set it all on fire.” They shared a chuckle before going back inside. “I’ll let some fresh air in.” Harry moved toward the tall windows, shrouded with heavy green draperies. He grabbed the edges and gave a hard tug outward. The light that came in the dirty windows almost blinded him, but he was soon covered in a cloud of black that bit every inch of skin he had showing. “Geroff! Geroff!” “Harry! Oh, no! It’s doxies!” Needle-sharp teeth punctured his arms, neck, and face over and over again, and Harry’s head began to spin. “Get them off!” One by one, Ginny plucked the nasty creatures from him, getting a few bites herself, and cursing at them the entire time. When she ran out of patience, Ginny cast a spell that immobilized the pests--and Harry in the process. Ginny levitated Harry out to the hallway and slammed the doors to the room closed. “I’m so sorry, Harry!” She unfroze him and Harry winced at the spots of blood that burned all over his arms, neck, and face. “Do you have any doxy antidote here?” “I don’t even know what they are, how would I know if there is antidote?” He gritted his teeth against the pain and the idea that he might pass out. Harry imagined it was like being stung by a hive of bees, or a massive swarm of mosquitoes. Ginny tried summoning some and an old bottle came zooming down from upstairs somewhere. “There’s not much left,” Ginny said as she poured it on the worst areas. Mum has some, I know. I can floo--” “My face,” Harry gritted out. Ginny switched directions and poured the last of the potion onto her fingers, rubbing it onto the swelling spots on his cheeks and forehead. Harry felt himself melt into the floor and tried to slow his breathing. Before Ginny could dart away to floo her mother, Harry grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Ginny’s eyes were full of tears. “Oh, Harry, I understand. I’m not mad at you--” “Still.” Her shoulders slumped and she sat on the floor next to him, her hand still clasped tightly in his. “Any better?” “Loads.” And it was. The antidote was working, numbing the areas where the bites were and taking most of the sting out of them. His head felt light and full of cotton. “We still need more,” Ginny said. “I think you’re supposed to drink it, not pour it on. The stinging will be back soon, but it was the only thing I could think of.” “S’fine,” Harry said. He got up and they went down to the kitchen after Ginny, wondering how horrible he looked. Was his face all swollen, or covered with welts? With the potion working, making him feel tingly and numb all over, Harry couldn’t tell. “Sit down, Harry. I’ll floo Mum.” She pushed him into one of the chairs and knelt on the hearth before starting a fire. Harry watched, his head wobbling a bit, as Ginny threw floo powder in and called out to the Burrow. “Oh, Ginny dear! How good to--” “Mum! Do you have any doxy antidote? We were cleaning and Harry got bit all over.” Harry couldn’t see Mrs. Weasley properly in the flames from the angle he was sitting at, but he smiled and hoped that he didn’t look hideous. He wondered if she had any leftovers from breakfast; he’d burned the last of their eggs this morning and they’d made do with toast. He almost asked but the thought left his mind when he saw Ginny leaning into the fire, her bum toward him. “Goodness! How many times did he get bit?” Ginny sighed. “Quite a few, I’m afraid.” “I’ll get some, Ginny. Give me a moment!” Ginny sat back on her knees and glanced at Harry. He smiled and mused to himself how pretty she was, how her hair looked like the fire, and how much he liked looking at her bum. He also wondered if she would let him kiss her again. Vaguely, he heard Mrs. Weasley speaking again and what sounded like an argument between she and Ginny before Ginny was back in front of him, telling him to tip his head back and pouring something cool down his throat. It tasted of mint toothpaste and Harry fought the urge to gag on it. “A bit more, Harry.” Clarity came to him and Harry shook his head, trying to focus on what had happened. Ginny’s face hovered above him, concern there. “Better?” “Yeah,” he said. And it was. The stinging from the bites was receding and Harry didn’t feel as disconnected. “Better.” “Well, you’re lucky. Mum was demanding to come through. She said the old potion made you loopy, and it was a good thing that I didn’t make you drink it. Who knows when it was made! She also sent over some doxycide that will take care of those nasty buggers.” “We can do it another day,” he said. “Let’s get it done, Harry,” Ginny sighed. She looked tired and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Harry wiped it off with his hand, smearing some of the sticky blue-green doxy potion there instead. “Mum said the doxycide will paralyze them and we can gather them up and toss them outside. Once they’re out there, they won’t harm anyone. They’re only aggressive when they think their home is being attacked.” “Won’t the doxycide make them even madder?” Ginny stood up straight and brushed her hands on her jeans. “Nah. Mum says we should be fine now. Oh, she also said you might itch for a while after the potion gets into your system. The doxy venom takes a bit to work its way out.” “Perfect.” “Hurry up,” Ginny said as she started walking up the steps toward the first floor, “and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to stare at my bum some more.” Harry’s mouth went dry and he scowled, trying to figure out how she’d read his mind. In the end, it took them over an hour with the doxycide to rid the drawing room of the pests. Harry kept having to stop and scratch in strange places. After Ginny began laughing at his contortions, Harry started trying to hide it from her. He would rub up against the corner of a piece of furniture or wait until she turned the other way to scratch like mad. “I’m sure there are more in some of the other rooms,” Ginny said as she leaned against one of the ornate sofas. “We’ll worry about those another day.” Harry had finished wiping down the surface of the writing desk and turned to watch her. “It does look loads better in here.” “Yes, it does.” “But I still don’t like it,” Ginny said. She scrunched up her face and looked at the decorations. “It feels so...dark.” Harry knew what she meant. Despite getting the majority of it clean, there was a dark, sinister feel to it all. He lifted his hand and began to scratch at a spot on his neck but froze when Ginny glared at him. “You’re going to make yourself bleed again,” she scolded. “It’s all the snakes that make it seem so bad,” he said. He tucked his hands behind him and gritted his teeth against the urge to dig his fingers into another itchy spot. “Probably.” Ginny pushed off the sofa and moved toward one of the cabinets on the side of the fireplace. “Let’s do this one now, and we can do the other after lunch. Then, we can finish with this room completely.” “Okay.” Harry moved toward her and stood back as she opened the glass doors, prepared if any other creatures came flying at them. Nothing moved and they inspected the items together, making caustic comments and grimacing at how horrible Sirius’ family must have been. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” Ginny suddenly said. She stopped pulling things off the shelves and turned, as if she might leave the room. “I thought you said--” “I know what I said, Harry!” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “I’m tired of this. I didn’t come here to be your maid, you know.” Harry blinked at her and scratched his arm. “I didn’t ask you to,” he said. “In fact, I don’t know why you’re here. You don’t seem too keen on telling me much of anything.” “You invited me to stay. You said I was welcome.” “I did.” Harry scowled and tried to remember what they were fighting about, again. “And you are.” He began scratching and gave a low growl, feeling desperate to stop the annoyance of the burning itch. This seemed to drain some of the fight out of Ginny and she moved closer. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “We’ve had enough today. I’ll give you some more potion.” After one last dose, Harry watched Ginny making them lunch from the meager supply of food they had left. The entire day seemed to have been one big mess, even though it had started out well enough. “Ginny.” She looked at him over her shoulder and he could see that familiar anxiety and insecurity in her eyes. “Come here.” Wiping her hands on a towel, Ginny drew closer. Harry reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said. “I do want you here, more than I want anything.” Ginny clung to him, burying her face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why--” “This is pretty stressful. I think we need to get out of this house for a bit. We could use some groceries.” “Okay.” “I’ll even buy you some Wizard Puffs.” Harry remembered how she would sometimes pour a huge bowl of breakfast cereal at times and sit on her mother’s counter to eat it. “Can we get the ones with the sparkle wand?” she asked with a tearful sniff. Harry chuckled and nodded, even though he had no idea what a sparkle wand was. “Yeah. I’ll buy you a sparkle wand.” Xxxxx Harry half woke when Ginny crawled into bed with him. It wasn’t the first time, but she also didn’t do it often, only when the nightmare was an overwhelming one. He’d never gone across the hall and climbed into bed with her when his night visions became too much, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. More and more, his words to Mr. Weasley kept coming back to him, reminding him that he needed to keep himself in check. Ginny seemed to be so affectionate lately--holding his hand, leaning on him, finding ways to touch him in some way--and it was driving him crazy. He didn’t know exactly what each touch meant, and he found that it was distracting in a horribly wonderful way. When she would appear in his dark bedroom and put her hand on his shoulder, telling him to budge over, Harry didn’t argue. He would slide backward in the bed and open the covers for her. She would nuzzle in for a while before falling back to sleep. Occasionally, the dream wouldn’t let go and she would talk to him; Harry would listen in his half-awake state, smooth her hair, press his lips to her temple, and whisper nonsense words that seemed to soothe her. They were exhausted after cleaning another room in the house--neither had been back into the drawing room yet--and had fallen asleep early. It shouldn’t have surprised Harry to find Ginny in his bed, but it did. He reached out in the half-light of morning and found her tucked between him and the wall. He made sure she had enough blanket, glanced with blurry vision at the clock, and then went back to sleep. He woke several hours later at the sound of his door closing. Ginny was still asleep next to him, her hair tangled around her head. Harry extracted his arm, careful not to wake her. She needed the sleep. His mind darted to who it could have been; only a few people could get into the house. If it was Ron who’d seen Harry and Ginny sharing the bed, Harry might need to defend himself, either from a spell or a punch. Pulling his jeans on, Harry tucked his wand into his pocket, put his glasses on, and crept out. Ginny rolled in the bed and pulled his pillow toward her but didn’t wake. It was Sirius who’d come in. Harry found him sitting at the kitchen table, the low light of a single candle flickering against the walls and casting long shadows. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Sirius gestured toward the stairs. “I didn’t realize--” “It’s not like that,” Harry said. He got a drink of water, drained it and then sat across from his godfather. “Ginny gets nightmares and sometimes--” But Sirius held up his hands in front of him. “Harry, you’re both of age. I know that things happen--” Harry groaned. “Nothing’s happened. Not like that, I mean. She gets scared and last night she came in to lay with me. I didn’t even realize it until I woke up earlier. Ginny barely sleeps, Sirius. If she needs me there to help her, then...then I’ll do it.” “Okay.” It looked as if Sirius might say more, but he seemed to brush it aside as his dark eyes became less clouded with thoughts. His hair was longer, sort of ragged and choppy, as if he’d cut it himself, hacking at the ends with a knife. The shadow of several days’ worth of beard growth was there, hints of grey poking through. “You usually send an owl when you’re going to be home.” “Didn’t plan on being home,” Sirius said. “Just here for a couple of days, actually. Remus had something he needed to do.” “Is he here?” Harry looked around, is if his old professor might be hiding somewhere in the kitchen. “Full moon tomorrow. He’s in a safe place.” Sirius rubbed his face, running his hands up and down. He looked old, much older and worn than Harry remembered him being at the end of summer, when they’d last seen each other. “Thank you,” Harry said, “for letting Ginny stay. It’s...it’s been good, for both of us.” Sirius studied him for a long time before giving a single nod. “She’s always welcome. I’m surprised the Weasleys allowed it.” “Ginny can be...persuasive,” Harry said, a smile tugging at his lips. “And stubborn as hell.” “Usually a dangerous combination,” teased Sirius. “Harry, I know it’s not my business, but…” Harry sighed, waiting for the lecture about Ginny’s reputation, or some other such thing. He readied the same response that he’d given to Mr. Weasley about respecting Ginny. “You do know about…” Sirius gestured with his hands and Harry felt his face heat. “Sex? Yeah, I know.” Sirius seemed to deflate in relief and nodded. “Okay. Good.” “Uncle Vernon made it quite clear that I was not to bring home some girl, or worse, some bastard kid like me for him to have to raise, too. He was quite...graphic about it.” The memory made his whole body burn with shame and anger. “Harry, you know that’s not--” Harry didn’t want to think about that, so he continued on. “But Mr. Weasley took me and Ron aside before fourth year and talked to us, too.” “That had to be...uncomfortable,” Sirius said with a smirk. “Well, Ginny and I weren’t...I mean...he didn’t--” “It’s probably more awkward for him now,” said Sirius, “knowing that it’s his daughter that you--” “We haven’t--” “--might put that information to use with.” “Yeah, well…” “If you have any questions...ask Ron.” They stared at each other for a long minute before chuckling. Harry felt a strange fondness roll over him. He’d been mortified when Mr. Weasley had stammered through an awkward explanation involving plugs and sockets, but there was a sort of endearing respect bred for the man out of that moment. He was under no obligation to speak with Harry about such a sensitive subject, but he had anyway, and he’d done so out of love for Harry. And Sirius, in his own bumbling way had tried, also. “Want some coffee?” Harry asked. Sirius relaxed into the seat. “Please.” Harry stood and began summoning things from the cupboards. “I’ll get some breakfast going. Ginny should be up soon.” He froze. “Don’t...don’t mention seeing her in the bed, yeah? I don’t want her to feel--” “No, no! Merlin, no,” Sirius spluttered and turned red beneath his whiskers. “Eggs and bacon alright?” “Perfect.” Xxxxx Siri us’ visit helped bring a little levity to the house and Harry found himself sitting back, appreciating the fact that Ginny relaxed more as the day went on. It was Ginny, in fact, who had asked where Sirius had been and what he’d been doing. The questions had been in Harry’s mind from the beginning, rolling around like a loose gobstone, but he hadn’t wanted to upset the delicate balance of his and Sirius’ relationship. There always seemed to be an edge there, a sort of precipice that they sometimes approached, but never crossed. “Well, I’ve been all over,” Sirius answered vaguely. His expression darkened when Ginny pressed, a single look from her with raised eyebrows and expectations. “Mostly Eastern Europe. Remus wants to write a book, so he’s doing research. Plus, it’s easier to move around over there.” “What’s it like?” Ginny asked. “Is it...like here?” Sirius’ brow furrowed. “I don’t understand your question.” Ginny glanced at Harry, who was sitting next to her, his arm draped over the back of her chair. “I’ve told you about how Ginny and I feel,” Harry said. “Like everything is...wrong. Like it’s all clouded in this mist of...deception, but not everyone feels it. In fact, most people feel--” “Happy,” Ginny said. “They feel content and happy with how things are going. But even that’s not real. Take Ron, for instance. Most of the time he’s just happy to be where he is, content, I guess you could say. But then sometimes he’ll see something, or something will give him the feeling that it’s not right. He asks me questions sometimes, but then it’s like the next day it’s all gone again, covered in a sort of… Mist, is a good way to explain it, Harry. Like a fog that’s clouding everyone’s brains.” “But not the two of you,” Sirius said. He leaned forward, intent on understanding. “Well, no, most of the time we’re dealing with the misty feeling, too,’ Harry said. “But for some reason, the two of us are either growing more immune to it, or something isn’t working right in our brains and we can see it for what it is--or at least see the effects of it. We have no idea what it is.” “It’s not like that in other places,” Sirius said after a long minute of thought. “There it’s...normal, I guess you might say. Now that you point it out, I can feel a difference when I’m here. I thought that it was the feeling of home.” “So, you can feel something?” “Something,” Sirius agreed. His brow furrowed, his eyes not focused on them, as he thought about it. “It’s...lighter here, which shouldn’t be the case since I’m essentially still a wanted man. But when I’m here, I don’t really think about that.” Ginny looked at Harry, emphasizing some point that she must have been trying to make. Harry didn’t quite connect but made a mental note to ask her about it later. “It feels good to be home.” He stood and stretched. They’d been sitting in the kitchen for hours, so long that Harry’s bum had gone numb on the seat. This was the precipice that Harry had been pondering earlier. Sirius could talk with him about what Harry was feeling, what was going through Harry’s mind, but anytime they approached anything that Sirius was feeling, it was like curtains drawn on the conversation and Sirius would shift it to something else. “You should stay, then.” Ginny’s words breached that chasm. “I know that Harry would like it.” “Stay?” Sirius barked. “And spend my days cooped up, like the two of you?” Harry scowled at him. “We get out.” “To get food,” Sirius said. “When was the last time the two of you did something fun?” Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. They didn’t do things for fun and Harry felt guilty. He’d been thinking about asking Ginny to go flying with him, but they seemed to get sidetracked by the moodiness that would strike either of them one day or another. Now that Sirius mentioned it, Harry realized that he felt...bored. It’d only been a few weeks since Ginny had moved in, but they hadn’t gone anywhere. “We’ll work on that.” It was Ginny who ended that leg of the conversation. They passed the day with Sirius telling old stories of Harry’s parents when they were in school and the antics that the friends used to get up to. It sort of made Harry uncomfortable to talk about his parents because he had no framework to put them into in his head. He had no memory of them--they’d died when he was one--but he also had little to no information about them from other sources. Aunt Petunia refused to speak of her dead sister and all Uncle Vernon had done was hurl insults and talk about how no-good they both were. To hear about them as teenagers made Harry wonder how much of Sirius’ stories he could trust. He didn't think Sirius was lying, more that Harry had no way of knowing what was true and what was embellishment for the sake of storytelling and entertainment. Ginny must have sensed his unease with the topic because she sat back in her chair, resting her head against his arm and winding their hands together beneath the table, giving him little looks now and again. And then she’d interrupt Sirius’ story to question what they were like as parents, or how they’d come to fall in love with each other. Harry appreciated that she was trying to build a foundation of a past for Harry out of nothingness; it might not work, but she was the first to try. When Harry mentioned that the earliest memory he had was a bright green light that faded into darkness, Sirius thought about it for a while before suggesting that it might be a part of the car crash that he had survived when his parents perished. Something about that felt...wrong, and Harry grew agitated and almost...angry. “I have no way of knowing, do I?” he growled. “It’s not like my dreams tell me anything helpful. They’re...horrible.” Ginny’s fingers tightened down on his, in either support or warning. Harry wasn’t sure which, but he was tired of holding back. “All?” Sirius asked. “Surely there must be some good ones. I mean--” “Almost all,” Harry interrupted, wanting to steer the conversation away from whatever salacious thing that Sirius might slip in. He’d been true to his word and hadn’t teased Ginny about being in Harry’s bed, but that might change if the sly expression on Sirius’ face was any measure. And nobody needed to know the few pleasant dreams that Harry had because they were not safe enough to air in company and centered around his feelings for Ginny. “The dreams are different for us,” Ginny said. “They’re almost like secret messages, but they’re so coded, so veiled, that it’s impossible to see what they mean.” “Like divination, you think?” Ginny tilted her head to the side. “Maybe? Is that how divination works, Harry? I didn’t take that barmy class.” Harry shook his head. Professor Trelawney had talked about dreams, even had the students keep a dream journal. Harry and Ron had filled theirs with nothing but nonsense, because at that time Harry didn’t remember much about his dreams. He hadn’t really paid much attention to them until he and Ginny had begun talking more during his fifth year. A thought occurred to him and he turned to look at Ginny. “Do you think it’s because of the accident that we started having these dreams?” “Accident? What accident?” Sirius asked, but they were both ignoring him now, intent on each other. “Possibly,” Ginny said. “But it was before that for me. I don’t know, it’s all so hazy.” She rubbed at her forehead and let out a sound like a low growl. “It was then for me,” Harry said, even though he wasn’t completely sure. “At least, that’s when I started paying them any mind.” “What accident?” Sirius said, his voice raised. Harry looked back at him. “In my fifth year, Ginny’s fourth, we crashed into each other on the Quidditch Pitch during practice. Neither of us remember much about it, but we were both hurt.” “It wasn’t an accident,” Ginny said, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. Harry looked down at her. “You think I crashed into you on purpose?” “No, that’s not what I meant--” “Because I wouldn’t do that!” Ginny gave him a little warning look for interrupting her. “I meant, Harry, that it wasn’t a Quidditch accident at all. It was...something else that happened to us, something...something bad.” They hadn't discussed this before and Harry blinked at her, unsure where this was coming from. “What do you mean bad?” he asked. “Like…” “I don’t know, Harry,” GInny snapped. “It's just a feeling I get. I don’t remember playing Quidditch at all that day. In fact, the entire year is a bit of a haze, if I’m honest. The memories of that time are all foggy, indistinct and sort of...like I read about them in a book, but they didn’t happen to me.” “You had your nose stuck in that damned diary all year,” Harry pointed out. “I remember seeing you write in it, and I’m not crazy, even though nobody else remembers it. I talked to you once, but you were sitting there writing in that book. It was like you didn’t even notice me.” Tears filled Ginny’s eyes and she leaned into him. “I don’t remember a diary, I’m sorry.” Harry felt bad for losing his temper. He seemed to be doing that more and more lately. “I know. I’m sorry. That wasn’t...a good time for either of us.” “Why don’t you write down these dreams and feelings that you’re having?” Sirius suggested. “That way you can remember more and talk about them more. Remus suggested that I do the same thing, actually, but not about dreams. I don’t remember much before Azkaban,” he admitted. “I remember parts of my childhood, enough to remember it wasn’t happy. Granted, you can guess that much from this ruddy place,” he said as he gestured at the house surrounding them. “I don’t want to keep a diary,” Ginny said crisply. “I hate them.” “Not a diary, then. What about… a letter? Write them in a letter to..to…” “To me,” Harry said. “And I’ll write mine in a letter back.” Maybe they could see some sort of pattern to their dreams and thoughts, or maybe it would open communication between them a little more and Harry could gain insight into what Ginny was feeling more than a glimpse here or there. “That might work.” “Get some paper,” Harry urged. “We can start tonight.” “I’m tired, Harry,” Ginny said. A little whine had crept into her voice and Harry recognized the signs of her beginning to shut down completely. There had been enough emotion for today, he decided. “Then tomorrow.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, hoping it would help her center. “No, I’ll get started tonight,” she said, determination filling her tone. “I want...want to figure this out.” “Okay. There’s parchment in the desk in the entryway.” “No,” said Ginny. “I used the last of it the other day to send an owl to Mum.” “My mother used to keep loads of it in the drawing room, in that desk in the corner.” “I hate that room,” Ginny said as she stood to go. “It was good seeing you, Sirius. Don’t...don’t be a stranger, yeah?” Sirius smiled and slapped his hands on the table. “Will do, Miss Weasley. Sleep well.” They watched her go and Sirius turned to look at Harry. “I like her, Harry. I also like her for you. But she can also be a little…” “Don’t say crazy,” Harry warned, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Because she’s not.” Sirius held his hands up in front of him. “I was going to say intense. I don’t think either of you is crazy. There’s something there, but it’s not something I can…” He stopped talking and shook his head, as if the words had simply disappeared from his mind. “I know the feeling,” Harry told him. “Happens to me all the time.” He yawned and although he wanted to spend more time with Sirius, he was exhausted. He wondered if Ginny climbing into his bed last night had woken him more than he realized. “Go to bed, Harry.” Sirius chuckled as Harry yawned again. “I’ll be here tomorrow for a bit. We can talk more then. I do think writing things down will help.” “We’ll see.” Harry climbed the stone steps as he thought about what he would write to Ginny. Maybe writing it would be easier than trying to say it? Sirius followed him, turning out lights and blowing out candles, bathing the house in darkness. As Harry passed the dark drawing room, he heard his own voice hissing low and a whimper from the blackness. “...stupid little girl.” “No. It’s not true.” “It’s no wonder no one believes you. You’re crazy, Ginny. No one will ever believe you.” Harry lit his wand and walked into the room only to see himself standing over Ginny as she huddled on the floor, wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth, and shuddering with sobs. “What…?” “Please don’t say that, Harry.” The Harry standing over Ginny sneered at her. “I could never love someone as crazy as you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry understood what was happening. “It’s a boggart. Ginny, don’t believe it.” He stepped forward and the boggart was distracted by the movement. It looked up at Harry and morphed, turning into Ginny’s lifeless body lying on the floor, pale and motionless. Harry stared at the image of Ginny ripped straight from his nightmares. Inside, he knew that he needed to get to Ginny--the real Ginny--but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. “Harry? Harry!” Before his eyes the Ginny lying dead on the floor transformed into an iron cage as Sirius pushed past him. “Get Ginny out of here. I’ll take care of the boggart.” Harry nodded and swallowed past the panic. He moved toward Ginny and gathered her into his arms. “Come on, Ginny. You’re safe.” She cried against his shoulder, her fingers twisting painfully into his t-shirt, but allowed him to help her stand. Harry shuffled them toward the door and glanced back over his shoulder to see the cage shrink small enough that Sirius was able to step on it. “Harry.” They’d reached the stairs and Harry could feel Ginny shaking all over. He helped her to the first step before sliding his arm under her knees and lifting her. She wasn’t heavy, and despite his own shaking knees, Harry knew she wouldn’t make it up the stairs alone; he’d be able to carry her. He didn’t even try for Ginny’s bedroom when they made the second-floor landing, but went straight to his own room, placing Ginny on the bed. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, swiping at her tears. “I tried to make it go away.” “S’okay,” he replied. He hadn’t even made it that far. What would he have done if Sirius hadn’t stepped in? He wasn’t sure he could get the image of a dead Ginny out of his head, let alone try to make it funny. “I can’t believe you saw that.” “Ginny…” Harry sat on the edge of the bed next to her and put his arm around her. “I don’t...don’t care. I mean, we both know it’s not real. That doesn’t mean it’s not…” “You’re scared of me dying?” she asked. He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I’m terrified of not being able to save you.” “Harry, I…” “Let’s try to sleep,” he said. “We can talk about it in the morning.” She resisted lying down into the bed and looked at the door that Harry had kicked closed. “Okay.” Instead of protesting that she really should be in her own room, Ginny lay down next to him, pulling the blankets over them both. She curled into Harry’s side and he buried his face into her hair. “Ginny...I would never say that to you.” “I know.” “You’re not crazy, or stupid,” he said after a huge yawn that made his jaw pop. “And...and I do love you.” She might have responded, but Harry was so exhausted that he didn’t hear it. |
| Reviews 173 |
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