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Date with the Night | ||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Drama Warnings: Death Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 4 Summary: He tries not to think about it. But it's there and he can't ignore it. Harry mourns Sirius' death each year. He refuses to let anyone come with him to the grave. Finally, after much deliberated persuasion, Harry lets Ginny tag along. It means something... something important, and they both know it. Post-Hogwarts- one-shot. Hitcount: Story Total: 5008 |
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Disclaimer: I’m sure it’s obvious, but just in case… I don’t own Harry Potter. The title of the story belongs to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. A/N: It’s a post-hogwarts fic. I think the rest is quite self-explanatory. One-shot. -- Date with the Night The air was crisp and the leaves crunched beneath their shoes as they walked through the wooded forest. He didn’t look at her and she had to jog slightly to keep up. The sun was dying and the night didn’t seem as inviting. She kept her mouth shut and didn’t complain. He stopped suddenly, and looked around, eyes bright and searching. This way, he muttered. She followed and smiled slightly when he waited for her to catch up. At the edge of the forest, the land rose and became rather rocky. She could now hear the sound of the crashing waves, and wondered how far they had trekked. They had camped overnight in the forest, as it took almost two days to walk. Why don’t we apparate? No. She didn’t argue and instead turned away. His eyes burned from behind, but she bit down on her lip, and counted to three. His gaze finally subsided, and she breathed. When they arrived at the cliffs, she gasped at the magnificent sight and reached out for his hand. He moved away and she instead clutched onto the passing air. The waves were violent and monstrous. She loved it. He stalked away and she paused before following. The gravestone was weathered and she could barely make out the name. It sat precariously on the cliff’s edge, and she wondered who had chosen the spot. The name was barely readable and she couldn’t help but frown at the rather tiny stone. Harry, she said. Do you come here every year? He nodded and looked away towards the horizon. When he had first agreed to let her come, she was touched and rather honoured. She was so positive that it somehow proved that they had a distinguishable relationship apart from a mere friendship, that she had completely disregarded the entire point of the trip. Now, as she stared at the beaten gravestone, the guilt seemed to engulf all of her senses. She felt desperate and needed to explain herself. I didn’t know, she finally replied. It was inadequate, and she struggled to produce something else. He moved forward, and conjured from his side a bouquet of blue flowers. It seemed strange and when he bent down to place them by the grave, they blew away. He didn’t move from the perched position. Her fists clenched in anticipation as she could only guess his expression. -- He never lets anyone come, Hermione had said in a light tone. They sipped coffee in a small café two days before the trip. Although hesitant, she finally added, it means something, you know? Harry has never invited Ron– or me. He didn’t invite me. I asked him. Nevertheless, he is still letting you come. In fact, I’m rather positive that he wants you to come. The words hung in the cool air with an alarming amount of clarity. She didn’t answer, and the two friends simply remained quiet, and sipped their coffee. -- His face was blank. However, as she moved closer, she noticed that his eyes were glazed and a tear seemed to fall gently down his cheek. It seemed terribly wrong and for a moment, her mind was unable to form a coherent thought. He was grown man. The death of his godfather was years ago. No. She was wrong. It seemed quite obvious now. He relieved the death every night. It haunted him. He sat only a few metres away, but somehow it seemed like miles. She stood, motionless, and then dropped suddenly onto the wet rock. He didn’t move and this surprised her. She was so close. His breath was hot on her shoulder. She turned and faced him, her knees burned against the rough stone. The pain you feel every night, she said, it doesn’t go away. The wind carried her voice and she had to shout the next part. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I forgot about him. I should have realized… you loved him, didn’t you? I mean, of course you did, b-but you… you still do, and it must hurt. I just wish that I could help. -- She vaguely remembers the conversation. It was years ago, at the beginning of her fifth year at Hogwarts. Until then, they hadn’t spoken about anything important. It was always frivolous topics, simply trivialities. He wouldn’t let anyone in. Sirius’ death had left him bitter and ill-tempered. Won’t you go look for him? Ron asked. He was done arguing. It was someone else’s turn. I don’t if I should… Ginny– he might listen to you, he added, while stifling a yawn. She sighed but finally agreed. The search for Harry took hours. She had presumed that he would be on the quidditch pitch. Instead, she found him sitting on the window ledge in the owlery. She didn’t breathe for a moment, and had to force herself to speak. Harry. He turned and stared. He was obviously confused and perhaps, a bit annoyed. She moved slowly towards the window and leaned against the stone wall. He gazed at the fading sunset. The light scattered and created shadows upon his face. Why are you here? He finally asked. I wanted to talk to you. Did Ron send you? At her look, he muttered, prick. She hoped the comment was directed towards Ron, and not her. You can leave. No. No? I can’t stand it! She yelled, and his eyes shot upwards, as he was clearly shocked. Slightly more subdued, she added, I know it must be hard, but… but you mustn’t shut us out. We’re your friends Harry. We love you. A-And perhaps we don’t understand, but we want to. We? I… I want to. I think you know that, she remarked pointedly. Ginny slid down the wall onto the cool floor. They sat in the thick silence and waited for it to be night. -- There was a small amount space between them. Her knees almost brushed against his. But it was there, that tiny gap that somehow forced an even larger chasm between them. After a moment of silence, he answered. You do help. I don’t know how, but you do. Every time I hear your voice… or see your smile. It all helps, Ginny. His hand was cold. He touched her lightly on the arm. It was barely there, but she recognized it, and reached out for him. She traced along his cheek with the pads of her fingertips, and felt the tears. Their hands entwined, and suddenly, the space between them didn’t seem as large. His kiss was sudden. The salt tinged her lips and left a lasting impression. Harry held onto her shoulders, tugging slightly on her wild hair. It was completely dishevelled from the raging wind. It was the first time that he really looked at her. The sunset bled orange and purple, but she couldn’t see any of it. She could only see green. [end] |
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