Disclaimer: Let's see, I'm not rich, I don't own Harry Potter (and/or anything else related to it) and I'm certainly not JK Rowling. I will one day, I'll make sure of that…
Winter Memoirs is a trilogy of separate one-shots, written as Christmas gifts for Harry x Ginny, Ron x Hermione, and Draco x Hermione shippers. Three different stories, told by three different people of their memories during a fateful winter after their sixth year. Taste of Heaven is the first.
A/N: This is my first time writing a story in first person's point of view, as well as present tense. So, constructive criticism is welcome. This is also a treat for fluff-luvin' readers!
Summary: Nightmares don't frighten Harry, when he's sleeping with Ginny lying in his arms.
Pairing: Harry x Ginny
Point of View: Harry
Taste of Heaven
- 18th December 1997 -
All I hear is the thundering sound of the rain pelting heavily outside. I glance over at Weasley clock in the living room: instead of all nine hands facing 'Home', each is pointing at 'Mortal Peril'. A sense of foreshadow sends a chill down my spine.
I study my wristwatch; it's nearly two in the morning. I've been sitting on the middle step of the staircase for twenty minutes without realising it. I dread to return to my bed and return to the nightmares that keep me awake, sweating and breathing heavily. I don't wish to go to the study either, to continue searching for Horcruxes on a map and run through theories. Ron, Hermione and I have just returned from our second search yesterday, I'll bang my head on the wall if I've to go through hormonal-induced tantrums again.
Even if The Burrow is protected with a strong shield, which disallows any Apparation anywhere on this compound, I don't feel safe. The safety of the bed, the company of my friends and people who are like my family, don't comfort me at all. A fear rushes through me whenever I close my eyes, an image of those terrible red eyes and a gory scene flashes through my mind.
I sigh exhaustedly as I lean my head against the railing. While everyone sleeps soundly in their beds, I leave mine cold and unoccupied. I feel my eyelids slowly droop despite my best effort to keep them wide open.
"Harry?"
I nearly jump at that high-pitched voice. It's a very quiet whisper, but enough to surprise me. I spin around only to find Ginny at the top of the staircase, her pink nightgown and her fiery-red hair an evident contrast in the darkness.
"What're you doing here?" She mouthes softly to me, a tone of perplexity in her voice.
"Can't sleep," I merely answer, but a large yawn escapes my mouth.
Ginny chuckles slightly under her breath; she descends the steps and looks at me with a small smile. "Well, since you're here, maybe you'd like some tea," she suggests, as she continues down the staircase.
She spares no look at me as she crosses over to the kitchen, but I somehow feel that she knows I'll follow her. And that is what I do. I get up and trace her steps to the cramped kitchen.
The candles light up the dark kitchen, and I see Ginny's dark figure over the sink, filling a pot with water while she summons two chipped mugs from the cupboard with a wave of her wand.
Since the murder of Dumbledore, the Ministry of Magic has allowed underage wizards and witches to perform magic outside school, as Voldemort stands as a greater danger to anyone. Quite reasonable and convenient, seeing how Ginny's allowed to hex the twins whenever she wants.
I sit down at the table, just as Ginny brings two steaming mugs and a plate of crumpets over. She offers one to me, but I decline, when she stubbornly shoves it into my hand.
"Eat, or I'll tell Mum you don't like her crumpets," Ginny warns me, a smirk plastered on her face. Despite the threat, I smile, and oblige to bite a bit off the crumpet.
A minute of silence passes. As she sips her tea with a pensive expression – extra lemon in it – I leave mine untouched and ask her, "So, why are you awake in the first place?"
Ginny snaps out of her thoughts and looks at me with an expressionless face, as if I'm asking her what her gender is. She jabs her finger at the kitchen window, indicating at the noisy rain outside. "The bloody storm kept me awake, couldn't even wink at the noise."
I can't stifle back laughter erupting from my throat. Ginny Weasley swears just like her brother whenever their mother isn't around. I've grown so accustomed to it, that I've long given up on warning her to mind her language. Fred and George don't hesitate to encourage this vulgar communication at all.
It has also been a long time since I can call Ginny Weasley my girlfriend. I'm still keeping my word, not allowing any attachment between us, because it's for the best. If I am to choose between her safety and her love, I'll go for her safety. If she is safe and protected from all the tragedies, I don't care that she hates me for an eternity. My desire isn't taken into account at all.
"How're you?" Ginny suddenly blurts out.
"Huh?" I ask blurrily, blinking a few times at her.
Ginny sighs apologetically. "Since you came home, you've been so quiet."
My insides churn with a leaping excitement when Ginny mentions the word 'home'. Maybe this is my real home; the Dursleys don't count, and Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place doesn't feel like a home anymore. No, no, that's not the point…
I look up from my untouched tea and see Ginny's concerned eyes burning into mine. Out of nowhere, she puts her hand on mine and holds it gently. "Is something bothering you?"
Yes. But all my attention is on her touch. Her warm, soft palm on my rough, calloused hand is enough to make my heart leap. Suddenly my imagination runs wild; created images appear in my mind, of Ginny and I together, kissing under a sunset, sharing ice-cream together. All of them are unlikely visions.
"I started having dreams," I reveal to her hoarsely. My voice seems stuck in my throat, but still I continue, "dreams of Voldemort torturing, and killing mercilessly."
Ginny's face falls. She squeezes my hand and asks cautiously, "Who is it he kills?"
My eyes jerk to her. She's curious, but too curious to know the truth. My dreams have the knack of becoming some sort of foreboding, and this being the most frightening of all that I don't even want to acknowledge it. It's too painful to have dreams of it, what more if it becomes reality?
I gulp, and murmur softly enough for her to catch, "You."
Ginny looks bewildered, confused even. And at first I think she's going to lean over and give me a hug to console me. That's what I deserve for my suffering; that's how it's supposed to be, but no. She goes into a fit of laughter.
I'm too confused to comprehend what is going through her mind. Has she gone totally mental? Maybe it's the pressure of Mrs Weasley not allowing her out of the house. Something is amiss that I don't know of.
"What?!" I demand, slightly miffed.
The laughter is just a short one, but Ginny still smiles knowingly as she rests her chin on her hand. She catches her breath and assembles herself, and looks straight into my eye. "I'm not going to die, Harry."
"But, you'll never know! At this rate, Voldemort might just come crashing in and -"
Suddenly, Ginny stuffs the whole of a crumpet into my mouth. I choke and cough crumbs of it out, and the red-haired girl ignores me. When she's sure I can't say a word, she remarks nonchalantly, "As much as your dreams always turn to reality, no one in this house will die. Not me, not you. You've saved Dad, and Ron and Bill, why should I feel that I'm in danger?"
After gulping down a mouthful of tea, I gaze at her and note her softened expression, but determined and confident. I'm surprised; she isn't scared at all? Other people in her place will probably faint in shock. But she just sits there as if it's unimportant or holds any significance. Well, it's just like Ginny to fear nothing that harms her. So brave and certain of what she wants, and what will come. I manage a small smile – my throat still hurts – and finish the piece of crumpet.
"Well, now that we've cleared that up, I've the perfect remedy for your nightmares," Ginny suggests cheerfully. She puts the mugs and empty plate into the sink and pulls me onto my feet. With a wave of her wand, the candle lights burn out, and she drags me to the living room.
"Ginny, where…?" I ask feebly.
"Shush, you'll know soon," she tells me, rather gleefully.
She pulls my hand and leads me down the hall and up the staircase. She gestures to me to stay silent as we climb up the steps. On the second landing, we tiptoe down a couple of doors (yeah, I hear a very loud snore, alright) and stop in front of a purple one with the name 'Ginevra's Room' painted on it.
She opens the door and steps in quietly, but I hesitate. My heart starts beating very fast, and a very, very forbidden and perverse thought enters my mind. I bet Ginny knows my eyes are as big as Galleons; I wring my hands nervously.
"What?" she questions softly at my stationary figure.
"It's… your room," I say fearfully, pointing at the sign on the door.
Ginny giggles under her breath, and pulls me inside with such strength that I can't tread my feet. She closes the door as quietly as she can and then grins at me, "I assure you this is nothing scary."
"Scary in what way?" I squeak.
She crosses the room to the double bed in the middle. As she pulls the covers apart; she cocks an eyebrow at me, standing at the corner of the room as if I'm about to face the gallows. "Come here," I hear her say.
Slowly, I walk over and timidly sit on the bed. I face her and warn her dangerously, "If Mrs Weasley finds out, she'll murder me!"
Ginny got into bed and look up at me casually. She giggles at my remark, "It's not what you think, Harry. Just come into bed."
I refuse to, but temptation sinks in, and I lift my legs onto the bed and lay down beside her. Once my head lowers on the pillow, she rolls over so that her belly touches my side, and wraps an arm around me. I suck in my breath when she rests her head on my chest and sighs.
"With me right here, you won't have bad dreams," she murmurs gently.
Well, right now, I might just agree. With Ginny in my arms, I feel… safe. But, as stupid and awkward I look, laying here petrified and not moving a muscle, I can't fathom how she's so relaxed about this. It's not good. Not good at all. People will jump to conclusions about us. Heck, Ron will never forgive me –
She puts her hand behind my head and reaches her face up, and kisses me tenderly.
Oh no no no no, this is even worse. I can't even imagine how it'll look if someone who's on their way to the bathroom opens the door and sees me and Ginny snogging, in bed.
But I can't help but ignore my panicking, inward rambles. I return the gentle kiss, our lips falling into a slow, gentle rhythm. Somehow, I'm running my hand through her smooth hair, pushing her head closer to me.
You know what? To hell with that.
I encircle my arms around her and press the length of her body to mine. Whatever dirty-minded people may jump to a thousand conclusions, my intentions are not even close to that. I want her love, nothing else.
Ginny presses her forehead against my neck; I feel her lips curl up into a smile as she breathes on my skin. She caresses my cheek and whisper into my ear, "Goodnight, Harry."
"G'night," I reply sleepily as I hold her hand and kiss it. I turn my head to my left and look out of the window: the heavy rain has now lessened to a light drizzle. Before my eyes close, I swear I saw the water droplets are in fact pearly white snow. But that's not important, I'm so sleepy I can't think straight…
Tonight, I finally drift into a dreamless sleep.
Not exactly dreamless: I dream of a life till death with a certain fiery red-haired woman, living in a cottage with a satisfying number of children running around the garden. I'm not Harry Potter, The Chosen One; I'm Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley's husband.
A single phrase keeps ringing in my head, sending contented chills under my skin as we sleep through the night: this is my heaven.
A/N: Harry's words say it all - I'm not a big fan of lemon :) Love it or hate it, please leave a review!
NEXT OF THE WINTER MEMOIRS: Cascading Pearls – (Ron x Hermione fluff fic) I'm going to kiss Hermione Granger. I'm not joking; tonight, and I don't need a mistletoe.