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Waiting for Tomorrow to Come | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Romance Warnings: Dark Fiction Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 6 Summary: The prequel to Glow of Sunrise and The Wound Dresser, this story tells of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley's tumultuous reunion at the Burrow a week before Bill's wedding - a week before Harry, Ron and Hermione disappear. Hitcount: Story Total: 3719 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: At long last! The prequel you've all been waiting for. I'd like to thank Bruce for his brutal honesty, which helped shape this story into what it is today. As always, reviews = love. |
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Waiting for Tomorrow to Come “Ginny, up!” With a groan, Ginny buried her face into her pillow, not ready to face another hectic and empty day at the Burrow. “Don’t wanna,” she whimpered. “Ginevra Molly Weasley, don’t make me come in there!” her mother called through the door. “I’m up,” Ginny moaned, cracking her eyes slowly and wincing at the brilliant sunlight pouring through her window. With a satisfying stretch, she yawned and glanced at the clock next to her bed. “Too early!” she whined quietly to herself, not wanting to incur her mother’s wrath. “I need you to help me with breakfast,” Molly said through the door. “We’ve got a busy day, so please hurry down.” Ginny yawned again, feeling her cheeks stretch and her jaw pop. “Fine!” Ginny said petulantly. “Can I take a shower first?” “Of course you’ll shower first,” Molly said exasperatedly. Ginny smirked, picturing her annoyed mother standing on the landing, having a conversation with the door. “But hurry, please, dear. Your brother is coming home with Harry and Hermione today.” Ginny bolted up in bed. “What?” she gasped breathlessly. “Ginny…” She heard the warning tone in her mother’s voice and quickly jumped out of bed, wide awake. “I’m up!” she called. “I’ll be down soon!” “See that you are,” Molly sniffed. Ginny heard the stairs creaking as her mother made her way back down to the kitchen. Her heart pounding painfully in her chest, Ginny rushed to her wardrobe and yanked it open, selecting and discarding articles of clothing. She needed to look her best. She hadn’t seen Harry in nearly a month, not since they’d parted ways at Platform 9 ¾. There had been so much she’d wanted to say to him as they’d stood there, just feet apart, looking at each other. At the time, she didn’t know exactly what it was she wanted to say; she knew she’d wanted to tell him she’d wait until the end of time if she needed to, that she’d respect his decision. But at the same time, as she’d stood there, sinking into his green eyes, she’d wanted to cry and rage and beat her fists against his chest and tell him not to be a stupid noble prat, and no, he couldn’t break up with her; he needed her, didn’t he understand that? But as she opened her mouth, all that had come out had been a desperate, “Be safe, Harry.” He’d closed the distance between them and pulled her into one last embrace, his arms holding her firmly to him. She’d tried to memorize the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the smell of wind in his hair, the feel of his lips as they moved against her ear, whispering, “You too, Ginny.” The tears she’d managed to hold in since Harry had left her at the funeral finally overwhelmed her as she heard him sniffle gently in her hair. “I’ve got to go,” he choked out, and before Ginny could say anything, he’d gone. He didn’t say goodbye, he just looked at her for a moment and disappeared into the crowd. At the time, Ginny had not known when she would see him again. It had taken every ounce of self-respect she possessed not to chase after him. Now, she threw her clothes back into the wardrobe, suddenly annoyed with herself. What did it matter how she looked? It wasn’t going to change anything. He was still Harry Potter; he was still going to be a prat and be noble and try to protect her. With a sigh, she rubbed her face and tried to get herself back under control. A short while later, she trotted down the stairs in her rattiest Chudley Cannons t-shirt and jeans, her wet hair pulled back in a sloppy bun. The kitchen was still empty, save for her mother and Bill, who looked rather groggy. He peered up at her, bleary eyed. “Good God, Gin,” he grumbled. “How old is that shirt?” Ginny tugged at the hem of the worn cotton shirt and shrugged. “I dunno,” she lied. Without turning away from the stove, Molly said, “Ginny, be a dear and start some tea.” “Fine,” Ginny sighed, retrieving the kettle and filling it with water. As she set the kettle to boil on the stove, her mother glanced over at her. “What are you wearing?” she asked incredulously. “What?” Ginny said defensively. “Is that — Ginny, that shirt is older than you are!” Bill rubbed his eyes gingerly, wincing a bit as he touched his still pink scars. “That’s Dad’s old shirt,” Bill yawned. “So?” Ginny said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t you want to look nice for Harry?” Molly asked, a hopeful smile on her face. “No,” Ginny replied shortly. “What else do you need me to do?” ********** Harry nervously tried to flatten his messy hair and pointedly ignored Hermione, who was grinning at him knowingly. “You look fine, Harry,” Tonks said lowly, smiling at him as he flushed. “That green shirt really brings out your eyes.” Harry tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, the one he knew was Ginny’s favorite, and attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. Ron pulled ahead as they rounded the curve, dragging Hermione along with him. She threw an apologetic grin at Harry over her shoulder before disappearing around the bend. Harry trudged on, his pace slowing as the Burrow came into view. He stopped at the end of the drive and gazed up at the crooked house, a bemused smile on his face. Even more so than Hogwarts, this place was his home. Things were always constant at the Burrow, never changing, right down to the chickens in the yard and the rusty cauldrons littering the front steps. Ron, who had disappeared into the house with Hermione, said that his mum was going to do over Fred and George’s old room so that Harry could have his own space at the Burrow, a fact that had rendered Harry speechless, considering he was planning on all but running away after the wedding, taking his friends with him. He heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, “Ronnie! Look at you! You’re so big!” Harry grinned, imagining Ron blushing furiously. He shot another look at Tonks, who gave him a gentle shove. “What are you waiting for, Harry? Get going!” Harry nodded and hurried into the house, anxious to be home at last. When he entered the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley had Hermione wrapped in a bone-crushing hug. When she saw Harry, she burst into tears and made a bee-line for him, and moments later, Harry found himself unable to breathe as Mrs. Weasley pulled him into a tight, motherly embrace. “Welcome home, Harry,” she sobbed. “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry gasped, quite certain he felt a few ribs pop out of place. “Mum, he’s turning blue,” Ron interjected, trying to pull his mother off Harry. Mrs. Weasley released him at once. “Oh, sorry, dear. You look famished! Didn’t the Muggles feed you at all?” she said with a sniff, holding him by his shoulders at arms length. “Er, yeah. Well, we cooked for ourselves,” Harry said uncertainly. “That explains it, then. No matter, you sit down here and have some lunch. I daresay you’re later than I expected you to be. No troubles, I hope?” she said as she bustled around the kitchen, sending carrots, tomatoes, and assorted cooking utensils flying about. Ron sat down at once, but Harry paused, and looked around the kitchen. “Where is — um — everyone else?” he said as casually as he could. He ignored Ron, who rolled his eyes, and Hermione, who beamed at him. Mrs. Weasley paused and turned around, a thoughtful look on her face. “Arthur and Charlie are at work, of course. Bill is upstairs with Fleur, and Ginny went to her room to read for a bit.” “Actually,” Bill said, entering the kitchen with a warm smile on his face, “I saw Ginny hightailing it into the woods just before you all got here.” He glanced at Harry and raised an eyebrow. “And now I understand why.” Harry looked down at his feet, feeling his face flush. Bill grabbed his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, Harry.” He leaned closer and whispered in Harry’s ear, “If you follow the path back, there’s a place where the stream splits, and there’s a spot there that Ginny favors when she needs to think. If you hurt her again, I’ll hurt you.” At that last bit, Harry looked up at Bill’s half-healed face, his eyes widening in shock. He hoped to find a joking smile, or find a laugh in Bill’s eyes, but was rewarded with a grim smile. He nodded and stepped back. “I’m…um…going out,” he finished lamely, his eyes still fixed on Bill. As he fled out the back door, letting it slam behind him, he heard Mrs. Weasley say, “Bill, what did you say to that poor boy?” Harry knew exactly which spot Bill meant; he’d stumbled across Ginny there one day last summer, and passed a pleasant afternoon with her there, talking about things of very little importance. As he entered the growth of trees, he wiped his palms on his jeans and ran his hands through his hair. The monster in his chest had curled up and was hiding beneath a firm layer of butterflies in his stomach. There were so many things he wanted to talk to Ginny about; somehow, when he talked to her, things just made sense. He’d known when he broke it off with her that it would be hard, but he hadn’t realized just how difficult it would be to not be able to talk to her, or sit with her at meals, or hide behind the large boulder by the lake with her. The three weeks he’d spent at Privet Drive with Ron and Hermione had not made things any easier, as he’d hoped it might. And though he’d made good use of his time with his friends, at night as he lay in bed listening to Ron snore in one of the camp beds crowded into Harry’s little room, his mind would not shut off. Not wanting to wake his friends with the noise of getting out of bed, instead he had spent several nights watching the streetlamp outside his bedroom window flick on and off, and stared at the ceiling as the room began to lighten with dawn. Over and over again, he replayed the scene at the top of the Astronomy Tower. In slow motion, he saw Dumbledore’s face as he pleaded with Snape for his life, the look on his face as Snape began to cast the Killing Curse; he’d closed his eyes like he’d known it was coming. He imagined what could have happened if they’d flown to the main entrance of the school instead of going directly to the tower, and gathered reinforcements before heading up. Other nights, Harry heard Dumbledore’s screams of pain in the cave, and he wondered what would have happened if, instead of drinking the potion, they’d just poured it out onto the rocky ground. Or if, instead of trying to cast the Aguamenti Charm on the goblet, he’d sent the spell directly into Dumbledore’s mouth. What if he’d refused to go along with Dumbledore all together? Obviously, the old wizard had known in advance that two people were required to fulfill the task… Harry ended up having a lot of sleepless nights, wishing that he could just talk to Ginny about his worries. But during the days, he, Ron and Hermione had been busy preparing for battle. The morning after their arrival at Privet Drive, Hermione had rousted the boys out of bed and dragged them to the Wizard’s Library in London, which according to Hermione, was the largest of all wizarding libraries in the world. After two weeks of fruitless searching for information on relics of the four Founders or Horcruxes and how to destroy them, Harry and Ron left Hermione to it and instead began to memorize defensive and offensive spells for battling the Dark arts. Harry had counted the days until he could be shot of the Dursleys for good, marking each day on the calendar. At first, Hermione had tried to be friendly, but after the first meal the evening of their arrival, Harry thought it was lucky for the Dursleys that there were laws against hexing Muggles, as Hermione had been ready to spit nails. He was just glad that Aunt Petunia had long since restored the cupboard under the stairs to a storage room; he imagined Ron and Hermione would have done considerable damage to his relatives had they discovered Harry had spent ten years sharing the space with spiders. As it was, he was certain that Ron, at least, had left some ‘surprises’ for the Dursleys to discover as time went by. At last, Harry marked off the final day, knowing when he woke up in the morning, Tonks would come to take them to the Burrow. After another nearly sleepless night, Harry came downstairs and waited by the front door, watching out the front window for some signs of the witch’s approach. Once she arrived, much later than expected, she escorted the three of them to the back garden and, without preamble, placed a moth-eaten, ripped sock on the ground, instructing each of them to grab hold. Harry had not once looked back at the house as he grabbed the toe of the sock, waiting for the familiar pull at his navel. Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely realized he’d made it to where the stream diverged. He stopped at the last moment, nearly stepping into the shallow water. He looked across the quiet, meandering water, and saw Ginny seated underneath a huge oak tree, a book propped up on her knees. Resolutely, he squared his shoulders. ********** Ginny saw Harry stumble to a halt on the other side of the stream, but she kept her face hidden behind the book, hoping that maybe he would just go away. She didn’t think she was quite ready to face him, which was why she had fled the Burrow as soon as she’d seen them coming around the bend as she’d stood vigil at her window. But Harry seemed to be determined to come across, and she watched just over the top of her book as he kicked off his trainers and rolled his jeans, his face flushed slightly. He looked up and she averted her eyes back to the page, not seeing the words at all. She heard the quiet splash as he waded through the water, and then the crunch as he stepped onto the gravelly ground on the near side. There was a long pause where she was certain he was just standing there looking at her, and then she heard him move closer. He stood, just out of her line of sight, not saying anything. It was slightly unnerving, and at last, Ginny couldn’t stand it any longer. She looked at him over the top of her book again. “Hello, Harry,” she said quietly. Harry gave her an uncertain smile and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hello,” he said at last, shifting from one foot to the other. The silence stretched awkwardly between them. Ginny continued to look at him, waiting for him to state his purpose. “What’re you reading?” he asked, nodding to her book. Ginny looked down at the book and back up at Harry. “It’s about healing.” “Oh.” “After Bill was — injured, I figured it would be good to know how to help heal people, seeing as how the majority of the people I know keep getting themselves hurt,” Ginny said pointedly. “Oh,” Harry said again quietly. “Did you come all the way out here to discuss my reading choices?” Ginny asked innocently. Harry blushed and slowly came closer, rubbing his hands on his trousers nervously. “No, I — er… I’m…” he trailed off miserably. “I guess I’ll leave you alone.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away. “It’s hard, isn’t it,” Ginny said softly. “It is,” he answered, his back still to her. “How’ve you been?” she asked, closing the book and setting it aside. With a gusty exhale, he turned and made his way over to her. He sat down next to her and drew his knees up, leaning against the massive tree. He didn’t answer; instead he asked, “How have you been?” Ginny hesitated for a moment and examined his pale face, the dark circles under his green eyes which lacked their usual brilliance, the weariness. “I don’t know which of us has had it worse,” she said wryly. “You trapped with those Muggle relatives of yours and Ron and Hermione, or me trapped with my mother and Fleur.” Harry’s face cracked with a grin. “You should have seen Ron…he was as bad as your dad…wanting to know what the toaster was for, or how the light knew to come on in the refrigerator…” he trailed off again as he took in the blank look on Ginny’s face. “Which, of course, doesn’t mean anything to you since you don’t know what a toaster is or a refrigerator is for.” “No,” Ginny agreed slowly, smiling slightly. “How was it with your mum and Fleur?” “Wretched.” Ginny gave a massive sigh, staring off into the distance. “They know,” she continued, her voice sounding flat to her ears. Harry leaned away from the tree and studied the blades of grass between his feet with sudden, intense interest. Ginny watched the flush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. “Know what?” he asked, clearly trying to sound indifferent. He pulled out a strand of grass and began to loop it around his finger. With another sigh, Ginny picked up her book and stood. “Nothing, Harry.” He looked up from his ring of grass, his face a mixture of guilt and hurt. “Never mind.” “Ginny — ” Without looking back, she called stiffly over her shoulder, “See you at dinner, Harry.” Then she picked her way across the stream quickly, trying to put as much distance between herself and Harry as she could before the tears started to fall. But Harry didn’t come after her. When she glanced back, he was still sitting beneath the tree, his head hanging between his knees. ********** After his rather miserable failure at talking to Ginny, Harry spent the afternoon alone by the stream. Part of him wanted to go after Ginny and just explain everything to her so she’d finally understand just how dangerous being with him was to her. But another part of him remembered what Bill had said, and he decided that perhaps it would better if he just stayed under this tree forever, rather than go back to the Burrow. But at last, he trudged back, and quietly eased into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was hovering over a pot of something that smelled delicious. “Oh, there you are, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said when she noticed him. She motioned him over and Harry stepped forward. She gave him a warm hug. “Don’t worry about Bill, Harry. We’re all glad you’re here, and we’ll have your room fixed up for you just as soon as this wedding is over.” Harry nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. For a moment, he wanted to confess that he wouldn’t be around after the wedding, and that he was taking her youngest son with him, but quickly squashed the urge. “It’s alright, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley soothed, patting him on the back and letting him go. “Why don’t you go get changed? We’re having a bit of a welcome home party for the lot of you.” “You don’t have to do that, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry protested. “Yes, we do,” she said firmly. “Go change into something nice, and dinner will be ready in about an hour.” Without another word, Harry ascended the stairs, and hurried past Ginny’s closed door, not ready for another awkward conversation. He was relieved to discover that the room he shared with Ron was empty, and while he wondered for a moment where Ron might be, he sank onto his camp bed, grateful not to have to talk to anyone just now, especially Ron. While Hermione firmly supported Harry’s resolve to make everything right with Ginny, Ron remained adamant that Harry had made the right choice at the funeral. He was opposed to Harry’s change of heart, and thought that Harry should just let things be, for the time being. And now, after that conversation in the woods, Harry began to wonder if maybe Ron was right. With a sigh, Harry dug into his trunk and chose an outfit. He ripped off the green shirt he’d worn specifically for Ginny, suddenly annoyed. Why was he trying to second guess himself? He couldn’t be selfish here. No matter how much he wanted to be with Ginny, and have her comfort, he would just be putting her into deeper danger if he asked her to take him back. Not that she would, anyway. Just as he finished changing, loud laughter outside drew his attention, and he leaned out the window, looking down into the back garden. Fred and George had arrived, and were once again dueling with tables. “Boys!” Mrs. Weasley shrieked from somewhere beneath him, and the twins quickly arranged the tables on the lawn, adopting looks of innocence on their faces. Harry grinned. A tap on his shoulder startled him, and he jumped, knocking his head on the window sash as he pulled himself back into the room. “Bugger it all!” he swore, rubbing the back of his head. The stars cleared from his eyes and he saw Ginny as she tried not to laugh. “Sorry, Harry,” she said, stifling a grin. “Mum sent me to tell you that dinner is ready.” “Thanks,” Harry mumbled, wincing slightly. He blinked again and realized Ginny was wearing a dress. He swallowed as she stepped back and he caught a glimpse of her toned thighs below the hem of the pale green dress. She had pulled her long hair back, and as she turned to look out the window, Harry saw that she’d twisted it up somehow into a knot on the back of her head. He smiled in spite of himself. She was really quite lovely. “What?” she asked, turning back to him with a smile, catching him in his scrutiny. Harry tore his eyes away from the delicate curve of where her neck met her shoulder and looked at his shoes. “Er…” he fumbled. “You just look really nice,” he finished weakly. “You look nice too, Harry,” Ginny said quietly, her face suddenly somber. She quickly turned and made for the door, her sundress swirling in her wake. Harry grabbed her arm and spun her around, and was concerned when he saw tears brimming in her eyes. “Ginny, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know!” she choked. “Just… don’t, Harry. Not today.” She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes up, trying to hold back the tears. “Let’s just forget, for today.” “I’m just trying to keep you safe!” Harry blurted, pulling her closer. With a quiet wail, Ginny sagged, losing her battle with her tears. “Please, Harry —” Before he knew what he was doing, Harry stepped forward and wrapped Ginny tightly in his arms. She let out a choked gasp and burrowed her face into his shoulder. “I couldn’t bear it if you were — hurt — because you were my girlfriend.” Harry sighed, inhaling the flowery scent of Ginny’s shampoo. “I’ve got to keep you safe; I’ve got to keep you at a distance.” Ginny tensed in his arms. “And just what do you call this?” she asked stiffly, pulling away. Harry frowned and let her go. She angrily swiped at her tear-streaked cheeks and crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. “You can’t have it both ways, Harry. You can’t keep me at a distance and then have me close when you want.” Harry opened his mouth in disagreement but Ginny ranted on, “I don’t know who you’re trying to fool with this. I know you have things you have to do and I know that you think that if you stay away from me, I’ll be safe, but my family is the worst sort to Voldemort: we’re blood traitors. With you or without you, I’m in danger.” She spun and rushed to the door and was halfway through it before Harry found his voice. “Ginny, I…” She paused at the doorway without turning around, one hand clutching the worn wooden frame. Harry gazed at her bare back above the low lines of her dress, the large knot of red hair piled at the back of her head. The silence stretched between them, and Harry, at a loss for what to say, swept his eyes across her pale shoulders, which were dotted with freckles. At last, Ginny took a deep breath; her shoulders rose and fell with it, and she looked over her shoulder at him, her face set in a hard expression. “I thought I could do this; when you broke up with me at the funeral, I didn’t like it, but it made sense to me. But now… now that you’re here… it’s just stupid, Harry. Voldemort didn’t come after me because I was your best mate’s little sister. He came after me because Lucius Malfoy gave me the diary, and he would have done that whether I knew you or not. He would have used me to come back even if I hadn’t known you.” Ginny closed her eyes for a moment and shuddered. “Don’t you remember, Harry?” she opened her eyes and gave Harry a mournful look before turning her face away. “Don’t you remember what Professor McGonagall said to Lupin? How Dumbledore would have been pleased to know that there was a little more love in the world?” Harry sucked in a breath and shut his eyes. It was still like being punched in the gut; every time someone said Dumbledore’s name, or mentioned the night the Death Eaters had raided Hogwarts, Harry thought he might be ill. “It’s not the same,” he ground out. He heard the soft whisper of fabric and when he opened his eyes, Ginny was gone. He slumped onto his camp bed and rubbed his face wearily. He began to wonder if coming here had been a mistake, altogether. ********** Dinner turned out to be a rather tense affair, in which Fleur dominated the conversation with inanities about the wedding in seven days time, and Harry, Ron and Hermione communicated silently through a series of looks that left Ginny feeling bewildered and worried. Even Fred and George seemed subdued. Her parents just looked worn down, and Bill picked at his food unenthusiastically. It was one of the most depressing dinners Ginny remembered having with her family. Afterward, she carried the few leftovers into the house for her mother, who went into the other room with Fleur to make preparations for the arrival of the young woman’s family, three days hence. When Ginny popped back outside to gather the remnants of the bread pudding, she spotted Ron with Harry and Hermione, having a quiet, yet apparently tense conversation which ground to a halt as she approached the table. “Oh, don’t let me stop you,” she gritted out dryly. She grabbed the dish and stalked back into the house, but not before she caught the angry look on Ron’s face, or the contrite expression on Harry’s. Annoyed with the lot of them, Ginny slammed the dish onto the counter, spraying pudding down the front of her dress. “Bloody perfect,” Ginny grumbled, grabbing a towel and dabbing at the mess on her front. A spate of yelling broke out in the garden and a moment later, Ron barged into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. He glanced at her as he made his way to the stairs and shook his head in disgust. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but Hermione burst into the kitchen and Ron took off up the stairs. Hermione, too, shot Ginny a look, but it was full of sympathy and apologetic. She headed up the stairs, calling after Ron. The door to the back garden squealed open again and Harry stormed into the kitchen, looking furious. He pulled up short when he saw Ginny, who froze with the towel still in her hand. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, and abruptly turned and slammed his way back out into the back garden. “What in the bloody hell — ?” Ginny asked the empty kitchen, bewildered. She darted forward and caught the door as it rebounded open. She followed Harry out into the twilight. “Harry!” she called, almost jogging as she tried to catch up to him. He didn’t stop; instead, he headed for the dark woods. Having no desire to have a dramatic chase through the woods after Harry, Ginny drew up short and yelled at his retreating back, “Harry James Potter, quit acting like an infant and talk to me!” Harry didn’t turn around, but he did stop. In the growing darkness, Ginny could just make out his hands held stiffly at his sides, clenching and unclenching. “I don’t really feel like talking right now, Ginny,” he said tightly. Ginny stood her ground, and placed her hands on her hips. Belatedly, she realized she was still holding the pudding-covered towel. “What is going on with the three of you?” Ginny demanded. Harry kept his back to her and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered hollowly. Ginny rolled her eyes. “Quit playing dumb, Harry. It doesn’t suit you.” Harry turned to her then, and he stared at her, a determined, blazing look in his eyes. “Maybe it’s none of your business,” he said shortly. Ginny sucked in a hurt breath. She shook her head, smiling grimly. “No, it never is, is it? Not even when I was your girlfriend.” Harry winced. “You and Ron and Hermione had all of your important little secrets, and you never trusted me enough to let me in on them, right?” Harry took a step toward her, consternation written all over his face. Ginny took a step back. “So why should that change now that you’ve broken up with me?” Harry took another step forward. “Ginny — ” he began. “Why trust helpless little Ginny with your deepest secrets? You obviously don’t even trust me to take care of myself.” Ginny forced herself to lower her voice, which had grown louder throughout her rant. “I’m sorry I asked. Go ahead and keep your little secrets. I don’t care anymore.” She whirled around and began to walk back to the Burrow. “We were arguing,” Harry called from behind her. She stopped and glanced condescendingly over her shoulder. “I’d worked that one out on my own, thanks.” “Because I want to leave,” Harry supplied, looking a bit guilty. “Leave?” Ginny shouted incredulously, whipping around to face Harry again. “Why in the bloody hell would you want to leave? This is your home now, Harry!” “I don’t feel right here!” Harry exploded, sounding frustrated. “Don’t feel right?” Ginny repeated. “Why not? My parents treat you like a son! They love you! They’re going to redo a room for you! You’re Ron’s best mate, and you’re my boy — Oh…” she stumbled to a halt, the realization slapping her across the face. “It’s me, then, right? You want to leave because you don’t want to be around me?” Harry swallowed heavily. “No!” he denied vehemently. “All I want is to — ” he stopped abruptly, and looked to the ground. “Or you’re trying to keep all of us safe, right? You figure if you go away, the Death Eaters will ignore us.” “No!” Harry protested, his voice rising. “I know that — ” “So why do you want to leave me again, Harry?” Ginny shouted, feeling hot tears slip down her face. “Don’t you understand?” Harry screamed back, tears quivering at the corners of his eyes. “I’m trying to save you! Everyone that gets near me ends up dying!” “Harry —” “I’m like poison, Ginny! Everyone that loves me — that I love — they end up dead! I will not let that happen to you!” he gasped raggedly, all his fight seeming to leave him as quickly as it had come. He stared down at the ground, a shocked expression of realization on his face. “I love you,” he whispered wonderingly, his voice cracking. Ginny thought she might pass out. Her breaking heart could not stand the strain of hearing those three words for the first time, like this. She flung her arms around him, pulling his face down to hers. His lips tasted of salty tears and moved softly against hers. She felt his tears dropping onto her cheeks, mingling with her own. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Ginny, sobbing and kissing her between gasps of ragged breathing. “I can’t, I can’t,” he choked between kisses. “You can…” Ginny murmured quietly against his lips, her fingers in his hair. He gave an inarticulate cry and pulled himself away sharply. Ginny suddenly felt very cold, the warm breeze chilling her tear-streaked cheeks. “I can’t!” he yelled, looking to the sky. “I can’t do this! It’s too big!” He stopped, his chest heaving, and gave another roar of rage. “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? Why me?” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she realized he wasn’t talking about being with her anymore. She stepped forward to close the distance between them, but Harry stepped back and held up his hands, warding her off. “Don’t. Just stop. I can’t do this — I have to keep you safe... I —” Ginny took another step forward. “Harry, I love you,” she said calmly. He froze, something that looked like hope flickering across his desolate face. “What?” he breathed, allowing her to take his outstretched hands in hers. She pressed them to her heart and looked into his bright eyes. “I love you, Harry. I have, for some time now.” “You…love me?” he whispered, his eyes searching her face. She nodded, freeing one hand and gently wiping a teardrop from the end of his nose. “Say it again,” Harry demanded, sounding younger than his years. “I love you, Harry Potter,” Ginny declared, feeling herself begin to tremble. Harry laughed raggedly and leaned in, giving her a long, passionate kiss. Ginny met him halfway, wrapping her hands around his back. “Nobody has ever said that to me before,” he murmured, touching her face wonderingly. “Nobody?” Ginny asked, aghast. “No.” “Never?” she confirmed in disbelief. “Not even Sirius?” Harry looked at the ground and shook his head. “I know… Sirius… loved me, but he never said it.” He looked at her wistfully. “You’re the first.” Ginny thought back suddenly to an eleven-year-old Harry Potter standing alone in front of the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, asking so politely how to get through, asking so politely in spite of what his life must have been like up until then. Ten years of life leading up to that day, nobody since his parents had shown him any sort of love at all. And though he surely must have known that he was loved all during the last six years of his life… Ginny exhaled slowly… Sixteen years of never hearing, ‘I love you, Harry’… and yet here he was, an amazing boy with a huge heart, so full of love, and so full of secrets that tormented him into feeling like he needed to be the savior of the wizarding world, even at his own expense. Ginny felt fresh tears well in her eyes. “I love you, Harry,” she told him, taking his face in her hands. Harry smiled. “I love you,” she repeated. He leaned forward and kissed her again, and Ginny felt his heart thrumming wildly against her chest. She decided if she needed to tell him she loved him a hundred times a day to make up for the last sixteen years… well, she was fine with that. ********** All too quickly, the day of the wedding was upon them. Early in the morning, Mrs. Weasley rousted them from their beds and set her younger sons, and Harry, with the task of arranging the tables and chairs. It was nearly noon before she was satisfied, and she sent them back inside to clean up and get ready. By the time Harry got into the shower, the water had gone cold, but the chill helped clear his increasingly panicked mind. The following morning, before the rest of the house roused, he’d be gone, and the gravity of the situation had finally hit him. Once he was clean and dressed, Harry glanced despairingly at his reflection in the mirror. He’d bought new dress robes for the wedding; he’d even bought new glasses that weren’t so noticeable on his face. No matter what he did, though, his hair refused to lie flat. He combed his fingers through it, which only succeeded in making it stand up more. “It’s no use, you know.” Harry looked over his reflection’s shoulder and saw Ginny standing in the doorway. She gave him a smile as he turned and gaped at her. Though he’d seen the golden dress hanging up, it hadn’t looked nearly as good then as it looked on Ginny now. After a moment of hesitation, Ginny stepped into the room and crossed to where Harry stood in front of the mirror. Harry turned and regarded his reflection again. “You’re right. I’m a mess,” he sighed. Ginny stood beside him and gazed into the mirror at the pair of them. Harry watched her square her face, but her eyes seemed to shift through a myriad of emotions, too quickly for Harry to even decipher. He ran his hands over his hair again, pulling at the ends. Ginny smiled over at Harry as he tried to smooth his hair in the mirror. She tugged lightly on his tie. “It’s crooked,” she announced, tweaking it carefully. Harry glanced over at her and reached for his tie. She smacked his hands gently and turned him away from the mirror. “Let me do it,” she said with a tone of mock exasperation. With a weak smile of his own, Harry complied and instead observed her face, which was still set with a blank expression. So focused was she on his tie that she didn’t appear to notice his scrutiny. “Do I have something on my face?” she asked with a wry smile, not looking up from his tie. Harry looked away quickly and felt his cheeks heat. “Sorry, just sort of spaced out for a bit, there,” he lied. He cleared his throat. “You’d think I’d be better at tying those by now.” Ginny looked up from the tie and smirked. “Harry, your ties are always crooked.” She gave it final tug and patted his chest. “All better now.” She took a step back and looked him up and down. Harry glanced down at his bottle green dress robes and brushed away some imaginary lint. “I like your new robes,” Ginny observed, straightening his sleeves. “You look very handsome.” “You’re only saying that because you’re my girlfriend,” Harry said playfully, pleased nonetheless with the compliment. He reached for her and she stepped into his arms. He leaned closer to her, pausing when he was mere inches away from her face. “You look lovely, whether you’re my girlfriend or not.” He paused and touched her cheek lightly. “But I’m glad that you are.” Ginny bit her lip and turned her eyes down, a soft blush creeping across her cheeks. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered. She leaned against him, her soft breath brushing across his face, and Harry tipped his head down. Ginny’s eyes fluttered closed and Harry closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers. “My robes are just fine, thank you!” Ron bellowed in the hallway. “Damnit,” Ginny sighed, pulling away. Harry protested and tightened his grip on her. She giggled and stopped struggling at once. “You’ll wrinkle my dress,” she protested. Moments later, Ron bounded into the room, grinning. He stumbled to a halt and yelped, “Oi! Get a room!” “We had a room, until you showed up,” Ginny grumbled. Reluctantly, Harry released her. “No, this is my room. Snog anywhere else you like, but not in my room,” Ron said haughtily. “It’s Harry’s room, too, at least for now,” Ginny flared up, her face flushing. “But it’s still my room,” Ron argued. Ginny rolled her eyes and gave Harry a quick kiss. Ron made a gagging noise. “Honestly, Ron. After you forced us to watch you and Lavender thrash around in the common room, I think you can deal with a little kiss,” Ginny snapped. Ron huffed. Ginny shook her head. “I’ll see you downstairs in a bit,” she told Harry. As she walked out the door, she pulled out her wand and sent a Stinging Hex at Ron. “Hey!” Ron shouted at her retreating back, but she was already gone. “What about your robes?” Harry said, trying to avert disaster. “Those gits,” Ron laughed, his excitement returning full force. “The twins at it again?” Harry asked, straightening his robes one last time. “Yeah, trying to charm my robes with purple polka dots,” Ron snorted. He strode to the mirror and rumpled his slightly damp hair. “What’s got Ginny’s knickers in a twist?” he asked casually. Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. “You, I think,” he answered honestly. He bent down and slipped on his shoes. “Isn’t it about time?” Just then, Mrs. Weasley’s anxious voice echoed up the stairs, “Boys, come down! The guests are arriving.” Ron grinned at Harry and bounced out of the room again. Harry trailed behind, considerably less excited. In the wake of the attack on Hogwarts, Bill and Fleur had scaled back the guest list, but it still comprised a great number of people: family, friends, and Order members. Harry had managed to avoid everyone after the funeral, but there would be no escaping the stares and questions now. He squared his shoulders, determined to enjoy this one last golden day of peace, and thundered down the stairs after his best mate. ********** Swallowing hard, Ginny fought against the surge of butterflies in her stomach. She was struck with a sudden attack of anxiety as she stood in the kitchen with Fleur and Gabrielle, and waited for her cue. Fleur was the picture of serenity; she looked completely unbothered and relaxed, and Gabrielle’s cheeks were flushed with excitement as she smoothed her skirt carefully. Ginny watched through the open doorway, and when Gabrielle reached the back row of seats, Ginny tightened her grip on her bouquet and stepped through the door. Ron and Charlie waited for her behind the last row of chairs. Dozens of rows of faces turned to watch her as she walked slowly and deliberately down the aisle with her brothers flanking her. She felt Harry’s eyes before she found him; he was sitting in the front row with her mother and father, and Hermione. His penetrating gaze followed her all the way up to the altar, where she forced herself to smile at him even as the butterflies in her stomach gave way to nausea. The ceremony was a blur. Fleur was radiant and Bill’s scarred face shined with joy as they recited their vows and joined their magical essences. Ginny’s throat grew tight and she knew without looking that Harry’s gaze had not wavered. Suddenly, it struck her how dangerous things were, especially for Harry. She’d gathered that Dumbledore had given him a mission, and all at once, it occurred to her that he might not come back from it. Furthermore, her entire family was in danger; according to her mother’s clock, they were all in mortal peril. She realized this might be the last time she would stand in the back garden with all of her family, enjoying a happy, peaceful day. Her breath caught in her throat and Gabrielle looked sideways at her. She shook her head slightly and swallowed. Like phantoms of another life, she saw herself and Harry standing at this altar, the same altar that her parents had married under. Ron stood by Harry’s side and Hermione at hers, and she saw the shining, happy faces of her family sitting in the front row. Shimmering like a mirage in mid-afternoon sun, she saw the image waver and fade. Ginny blinked rapidly, wanting that future with a want that was nearly painful. At once breathless, Ginny fought the urge to turn her head and look at Harry. “You are one!” cried to officiate, and thunderous applause erupted in the back garden as Bill and Fleur shared a kiss. Ginny raised her wand and added to the shower of sparks and stars lighting up the dusky sky. Then she quietly stepped back as a horde of Fleur’s relatives rushed forward to offer their congratulations. Harry found his way to her side, and without a word, he twined his fingers with hers and squeezed. Ginny held on with everything that was in her. ********** Ginny was radiant, almost glowing in the soft candlelight illuminating the garden. Harry sighed, following her every fluid motion as she danced with her brother. Bill leaned forward and whispered something into her ear, and she laughed, throwing her head back gaily. The song ended, and Ginny stepped back as Fleur rejoined her new husband. Ginny made for the edge of the dance floor, but was stopped along the way by one of Bill’s curse-breaker friends, who extended his hand to her. She smiled but shook her head politely, and threaded her way through the crowd. Harry smiled proudly as one of Fleur’s cousins approached her for a dance, and again, Ginny declined. She was stopped once more by Neville, who gestured to the dance floor, and Ginny smiled kindly, patting him on the arm. Then she slipped through the crowd, looking around. She spotted Harry sitting rather conspicuously by himself, and made her way over to him. “Dance with me, Harry,” Ginny said softly, holding out her hand. Harry opened his mouth to protest that he didn’t dance, but instead found himself taking her hand and standing. He led her to the edge of the dance floor just as a slow song began to play. Harry smiled in relief. He knew how to dance to slow music. It was simply a matter of swaying back and forth. Ginny burrowed into his embrace and clung to him. She rested her face against his shoulder and they began to sway slowly. He tightened his hold on her and felt his throat grow tight. In the morning, when it was discovered that they’d gone in the night, she would be heartbroken all over again. Would she hate him when she realized he had gone, and hadn’t told her he was leaving? Harry rested his chin on the top of her head and hoped she’d be able to forgive him one day. Harry opened his mouth twice, ready to tell her everything, but clamped his jaw shut each time, knowing that more than anything, he had to protect her, even if she didn’t think she needed it, even if she hated him for it, because he needed her to live. Without her in the world, he had no hope, and so she needed to live. Ginny refused to let him leave the dance floor the rest of the evening, even when Harry protested he didn’t know how to dance to faster music, and in the end, he was laughing along with her as they spun and twisted and danced until they were hot and sweating. And when Harry walked her to her room at the end of the night, he did so with a smile on his face, happier than he could remember being in over a month. “Goodnight, Harry,” Ginny said, giving him a kiss that sent tingles throughout his body. “Goodnight, Ginny,” he answered, feeling this throat tighten again. He smiled at her as she slowly closed her door. Goodbye, Ginny. Then he went to his room and tried to write her a note saying goodbye, but the words just wouldn’t come. In the end, he spent the night staring at the ceiling, waiting for tomorrow to come. |
| Reviews 6 |
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