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SIYE Time:10:12 on 29th March 2024
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His Best Comfort
By EvieMarie

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Category: Post-DH/AB
Characters:None
Genres: Drama, Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 9
Summary: Harry and Ginny find a moment together.
Hitcount: Story Total: 7660



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:
This is obviously meant to take place before the epilogue. I hope you enjoy it!




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Sunset.

Harry considers the word absentmindedly. It is there, the sun, setting against the earth; the fields in front of the Burrow glow in its warm light. Every shadow is stretched. Dragonflies flit across the gleaming pond, as Harry's hair ripples slightly in a gentle breeze. The endless chill of dementors is absent this summer and Harry finds himself immensely grateful for the suddenly hot and clear days.

His mind becomes a blank buzz of white. He leans against a tree and closes his eyes. In the unexpected absence of memory, Harry wants only one thing: Ginny.

As if beckoned by the very thought alone, Harry opens his eyes and sees her traipsing across the yard, two brooms in hand.

She reaches him wordlessly, and Harry can see her eyes are red and swollen. This is hardly uncharacteristic of her as of late; the loss of Fred has taken a monumental toll on the family. Harry silently takes a broom and together they mount, spinning up into lightening-bug air. They loop around each other; Harry sees Ginny give him a small smile before she takes off, skimming the tree-tops with her toes. Time seems to overlap on itself. Harry tries almost desperately to feel everything he can at once, not wanting to take it for granted - the flickering forest below him, the air that smells like grass and Ginny's hair, the wind that is whipping his hair back, exposing his lightening bolt scar...

Ginny lands on a near-by hill and Harry follows her. They stand in the weedy grass, admiring the rolling fields that continue ahead of them. Harry is a few feet from Ginny and as he turns to speak, he finds himself instead staring at her face. She is squinting into the distance, her lips pressed together, her eyebrows knitted. The setting sun is hitting her hair in all the right places. Harry is reminded forcibly of Mrs. Weasley in the heights of a temper, for Ginny Weasley looks absolutely fierce, and alive, in the golden glow.

She turns to him, her eyes blazing. Harry steps forward and takes her hand. She is stiff for a moment, and then like a puppet who's strings have been cut, she pushes herself against him, seeming hardly able to stand up.

Her face is against his chest, her hair spilling across his arms that pull her closer, she is heaving, making awful little moans, as though physically hurt. Harry shuts his eyes, to feel her against him. He murmurs whatever comes to him, he is hardly aware that he is really saying anything.

"It's strange," she whispers into his shirt. Harry doesn't feel the need to ask her to elaborate; he can guess what would be strange - losing a brother, winning a war, the continued sadness...

"He's really - he's really gone." Ginny's voice is almost inaudible. She is gripping his arms, her nails digging into his skin. She still isn't looking at him.

Harry doesn't want to think about this, but not wanting to is working about as much as trying to get Hermione to play Quidditch. The inevitable images of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks laid out on the table in the Great Hall, lost in a sleep they would never wake from, burns in Harry's mind.

They stand there for what seems like hours before Ginny finally turns her face to look at him, her eyes overlarge.

Harry looks at her and then stares over her shoulder, into the sunset. "It shouldn't be like this."

"Harry... " Ginny mutters, her hand finding his cheek.

He looks back at her. She has a strange look in her eyes, something Harry can't quite place. It's sadness, but also... fear.

"I'm... I'm so glad you're still here." Her face is more genuine than Harry's ever seen it.

He stares at her, forgetting that he should reply to this, forgetting there is a world around them. There is only Ginny here, in front of him, solid and breathing and real...

"When I went to Voldemort," he starts, speaking low, "Right before he... in a sense, killed me, I thought of you."

There is a pause in the air around them, after he says this. And then Ginny is kissing him and it is different from any kiss they've shared, it's slow and sad and then hopeful and loving, it shakes the earth with quiet tremors, it builds castles in Harry's heart.

They break apart. The sun has gone down and twilight's deep blues are descending, casting them in moonlight.

"We've lost so much," states Harry, gazing at the shadow of the Burrow.

He thinks of the little girl crying for her mother, the one Ginny sat beside before he entered the forest... the forest, he remembers dying, he remembers the shriveled baby under the bench, in the place between death and life. He sees George in his mind's eye, collapsing at the funeral for Fred. Percy scooping up his seemingly lifeless body, shaking with sobs. He remembers the words Lupin spoke about his own death, how he died to give Teddy a better world. Harry feels there is everything in the world weighing down on his heart in this moment and he would give almost anything for a bit of lightness, a bit of relief...

"There's so much left," whispers Ginny, putting her head on his shoulder, watching her home, too.

Harry holds her hand and considers this. It's true. A painful but bright truth. He is alive, he knows what it is like to want to live, to hold on to what's left, to count the remaining heart beats... He is alive and so is Ginny, and so are Ron and Hermione. There was so much left to be mended and rebuilt. Hogwarts would take a while, but if they worked together, it could be done... They would piece their lives together because they deserve it, because happiness is really closer than Harry ever imagined it could be.

Brooms in hand, Harry and Ginny set off back to the house, towards hope and warm fire light.
Reviews 9
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