A/N: just something that wouldn't leave me alone...it probably doesn't make sense, and i dont expect it to (it was 3 in the morning when i wrote this, so i dont expect it to make sense and i sort of uploaded without thinking), but here we go :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I can dream. All characters belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling
She knows, even as she pulls on her pyjamas, that she will not sleep well that night. The memories are too vivid; the flashing lights are too bright in her mind's eye; the moments that happened in the hours after the battle are still too fresh. Her attempts will be futile, and in the morning, she knows she'll have been right.
And if she thinks she will get no sleep, she can't even imagine what he is going through.
No, scratch that. She can imagine what he is going through, seeing as she's gone through a similar feeling before.
She climbs shakily out of bed when she wakes up for the third time that night: trembling, cold, drenched in sweat and tears and, no doubt, looking like hell. Everyone else is probably too plagued by their own nightmares to hear her pitiful cries, so she slips downstairs into the dark and empty kitchen, expecting it to be as empty and as dark as it normally is at 2 in the morning.
The only problem was that it isn't dark or empty. Someone is sitting in a chair at the table already, clutching something in their hands and hunching over. She turns to leave this figure alone to wallow in their own self-pity when she hears it call her name.
"Ginny."
She stops, her hand on the doorframe, and turns around. Her heart would recognise that voice anywhere it was; every fibre in her being would react to him. She has never loved anyone quite the same as him. Even looking at him now, broken and vulnerable, she feels her heart throbbing with pride and love.
"Harry?"
She knew guilt well; she knew the consequences of feeling guilty over something that was not under your control. She knew the dead feeling, the numbing pain, the heartache that came and went; she knew the nightmares, and the exhaustion, and the internal struggle; she knew that it was a fight to get up out of bed, and more of a fight to be in the presence of people who just radiated happiness like they were trying to kill you; she knew the hours he would spend awake – but then again, so did he – and the hours he would wish he was dead.
She also knew that, if he didn't talk about it, it would kill him.
For Harry Potter has a haunted look on his face, pained and terrified. The usual sparks in his eyes are gone; they are, instead, dull and lifeless. Her heart goes out to him, for in her mind's eye she can still see the frightened little boy who had asked her mother how to get on the train platform. She still sees the slimy, bloody and dirty twelve-year-old who had saved her life and killed the Basilisk. She can still see the mourning fourteen- and fifteen-year-old, fighting an internal battle. She still sees the sixteen-year-old boy she knew as her boyfriend for one glorious month, with his eyes shining almost everyday and his smile wide and happy.
And, unfortunately, she still sees the seventeen-year-old who had lain dead in Hagrid's shaking arms not a fortnight ago. Her eyes almost fill with tears, but she manages to stop herself before they overflow.
He looks at her with something that almost looked like hope, but has a little extra push. Like he is trying to reach out to her with his eyes. She can't very well walk away when he is so obviously begging her like that to stay with him.
She turns around fully and sits down at the table, directly across from him, her hands resting on the table. They both say nothing – for what can they say to each other? She is mourning the death of her brother and her friends: Lupin, Tonks, Colin, the girl who died in her arms, Grace, Ashleigh...and he is still mourning the death of everyone who was there. It is not unlike him to be more concerned for the suffering of others, then have his needs attended to, if his needs are attended to at all. Many a time has she found him like this, awake and haunted.
But she hasn't spoken to him since the rush of the Battle of Hogwarts. She hates how she can hear the obvious capitalisation when people speak of it. It has become painful, but bearable, when people mention the sacrifice that was made at Hogwarts, and how the wizarding world is now safe.
She scoffs at these people. They were not there, she tells herself. They don't know. They don't understand.
She looks up at him to see he is staring deeply into his empty, and she has to hold back a sigh as she looks back down at her hands. She wants to tell him hot much she loves him, that she would die for him, that she would travel to the ends of the world for him, but she won't. She is too pathetic, she knows, and too afraid of rejection to say anything unless he says something first. Unless he, too, is afraid of rejection...that would make their situation horribly awkward. There is still so much that needs to be done and mourned before they can progress beyond small talk. Small talk is all they have at the moment.
She hates small talk. It is an escape for people who are not really interested in any form of conversation. If people are not interested in conversation, they shouldn't be talking – but not everybody takes her perspective.
Small talk is also an excuse for people to sweep everything under the rug and hope it never comes out. She truly hates it when people take this alternative – it is better to talk about things like this, as she knows very well.
There is a dull and awkward silence, which is only partially filled by the sounds of the owl hooting outside; the crickets singing to each other; the wind blowing the grass and the trees; the snores coming from members in her family; the stifled sobs that are escaping through the cracks and the gaps under the door.
She notices for the first time that he is staring at her. Intensely. She has never had anyone stare at her so intensely before. It scares her a little, but she feels slightly comfortable knowing that he, obviously, alive. Not completely healthy, of course, but she can take care of him later...
"Harry," she goes to say before he cuts her off.
"Ginny, I...I've never said this to anyone before...I'm not sure I've ever told Ron or Hermione this..."
When he pauses for the second time – which is noticeably longer – she reaches for his hand as an automatic response. "What's wrong?"
He is suddenly looking down, avoiding her gaze, looking at their entwined hands. She looks down briefly, as if to check their hands are still there, before her eyes return to stare into his eyes.
Which are still looking down.
"I know I shouldn't be saying this now, but no-one's around and...I just...kinda...want to let you know."
"You don't have some horrid, terminal illness, do you?" she asks, trying to humour him. It works, to a small degree. The corner of his mouth lifts as if he cannot help himself from smiling at her lame joke.
"In a way, yes," he says, before looking at her. Hard. Intensely.
"Ginny, I...I'm in love."
She cannot stop herself from breathing in sharply, nor can she stop her eyes from widening and her jaw from dropping slightly. She sits a little straighter, and withdraws her hand slightly in the process.
"Well, I'm not in love...I probably am, actually...but someone's in love with me."
She is not surprised that someone loves him, but surprised he is telling her, and she knows it shows, but not for the reason he thinks: she is surprised because she is in love, too, with him.
This next declaration could make or break her feelings for him. Well, no, she thinks, it could not break how much I love him. It could just change things around.
He is giving her that hard and intense look again. He is waiting for her to say something, she knows it.
"I...I'm happy for you," she says after a while. It kills her to say it, but she says it. What else can she do?
He gives a slight cough, as if he doesn't believe she is happy for him. He is right, though. She is not happy, at all. She wants to hear he is in love with her, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, but she doesn't hear that.
For what seems like the millionth time, Ginny Weasley is let down by Harry Potter. She is not surprised by this...merely disappointed.
"And I want you to meet her."
She sits fully upright this time, her back straighter than she ever remembers it has been before.
"And...well, she's an amazing person. I need you to help me love her."
This time, she stands up, not even bothering to hide her shock as his appalling request. Who was he, to demand things like that from her? Who on Earth did he think he was, to order her around like she was a slave? What made him think he was superior enough to go bossing her around, telling her what to do, when she was perfectly capable of doing whatever she wanted?
She freezes. There is nothing she can say to him. For what can she say? She had been seconds away from telling him how much she loved him and he drops this on her. He had no right to do such a thing to her. She was Ginny bleeding Weasley, for Merlin's sake – nobody had a right to tell her what to do.
"I...I can't help you," she says quietly, despite her mind raging at him on the inside.
She knows this is not what he wanted to hear the second after she says it. His smile drops, his head sinks down, his shoulders shrug just a little bit more. She has an extreme urge to tell him she was only joking, how she would be perfectly happy to help him make the girl if his dreams fall in love with him.
But didn't he tell her, not 10 minutes ago, something she did not want to hear? Wouldn't she have to lie through her teeth, lie with all her being, if she was to say that she would love to help him do something that went against everything she had ever believed? When did he ever tell her something she wanted to hear? She does not recall a single incident where Harry told her something she was happy about.
She does not recall a single incident where Harry told her something he was not forced to, when she thinks about it.
"I can't help you," she says more firmly, as she watches his face fall again. And, again, she feels bad.
"Ask Ron or Hermione, or someone who will help you," she says. She knows it will not be the same to Harry, but she says it anyway.
Although it sounds selfish, she is putting herself first, and nobody can blame her for doing that.
"They wouldn't help me even if they tried," he says softly. "They're too wound up in each other to do anything."
"So ask someone else."
"That's what I'm doing."
She sighs. Fighting is not good for either of them, but she has to make him see why she will not help him.
"Someone who's not me."
"Why won't you do it, Ginny? I thought you, of all people, would help me with this..." he trails off, like he has said something he didn't want to.
The full realisation of what his words mean hits her. He knows she loves him. She hasn't done as good a job of keeping it a secret as she thinks.
And he knows that.
And he thinks that, because she loves him, she will do this for him to make him happy.
He thinks she will put her love and heartache aside to assist him mend his own.
Well, she has news for him. She is proud, keen on helping friends, brave and courageous, but she is only human, and she is, for now, incredibly selfish.
He is more of an idiot than she originally thought.
"I'm sorry?" she says, her voice rising. He shrinks in his chair, and it makes her all the more angry. "You thought that because of – well, you know – that I'd just drop everything and come running to your side? I have some information for you, Mister Potter: I will not be subject to helping anyone but myself for another month or so. Call me selfish, but I'm only human, Harry, something you keep forgetting!"
She turns to leave. She cannot stand watching his face fall as she continues to disappoint him. She stops in the doorframe before disappearing up the stairs. She will not hide from this anymore; she will not be afraid of this feeling anymore.
"There's a lot I'd do for you, Harry...but don't ask me to help you love someone else. I love you too much."
She is guilt- and bed-ridden throughout the rest of the week. She refuses to leave her room, and speaks only when spoken to. She cannot face Harry without feeling so immensely sorry that she bursts into tears. The only one who has even a slight of an inkling is Hermione, and she will not tell even Hermione the whole story. This, like the Chamber, is something she must keep entirely to herself. Nobody but her knows the entirety of what happened to her during her first year. Oh yes, people saw the pre-Ginny and the post-Ginny, and the during-Ginny was someone all of Hogwarts was open to, but no-one really saw her.
This hurts her more than most things do. She can withstand the physical pain, because it is only temporary, but emotional pain is something you can hold on to forever without realising it. It shapes your morals and your boundaries, and how far you are willing to push those boundaries. She likes to think she has pushed her boundaries far enough, thank you very much, and will not push them further when it comes to Harry Potter.
There is a knock at her door, and she ignores it. It has become easier for her to ignore her family. She thinks she has become professional at ignoring the Weasley family, something others have only dreamed of. She is proud of herself, and smiles smugly to herself.
The door opens and closes, and she is suddenly hyper-aware that she is lying down in her bed in only her pyjamas that cover almost nothing. She is hyper-aware she has all but locked herself in her room for the better part of 4 days. She is hyper-aware she is proud of herself for ignoring her family.
She groans mentally. There is only one person who brings out those feelings.
Her family has unleashed Harry Potter on her.
She says nothing, and continues staring at the ceiling. She has never noticed before that her ceiling is black with flecks of green. She remembers demanding a paint job when she was 10 after they dropped Ron off at the station. Harry Potter's eyes are green, she remembers herself saying, and his hair is blacker than anything.
Her smile falls a little bit as she remembers her idiotic, younger self.
Through her peripheral vision, she can see Harry standing there, as bold as brass, waiting for her to speak. She will not bow down to anyone, though, and he must speak first if he wants a conversation from her.
She hears him breathing in and out, as if steadying himself, and she prepares herself for the onslaught she is sure will come.
"I'm sorry, Ginny."
She was not expecting that.
She sits up abruptly and looks at him incredulously. She sees, for the first time, he has a perfectly neutral look on his face. His feet are shoulder-width apart, firmly grounded like he has no intention of leaving. She looks into his eyes, expecting them to betray his inner thoughts. They do no such thing, and she looks at his face. He looks stronger than he did before. She hopes he has thought over his ridiculous plan that he needed her to help in, and altered it so that no help whatsoever is required on her part.
"I'm not sorry for what I asked you – "
There goes that hope.
" – but I am sorry about why I asked you. It was wrong."
She can do nothing but stare at him. She does not believe what he is saying.
"So you're not sorry that you asked me to help you fall in love with some girl none of us knew about, but you're sorry that you assumed I'd help you because of some stupid crush?"
"I didn't say that," he insists. She is shocked. Does he take her for an idiot? He definitely did say that.
"You most certainly did," she retorts.
"I never mentioned not being sorry for asking you to help me fall in love with a girl none of you knew," he says, taking a step towards her. "And I never said anything about being sorry I'd assumed you'd do something because of a crush."
Realisation hits her, and she feels like a prize idiot.
He's not sorry he wants her help in getting him to fall in love with someone she knows. He's sorry he asked her because she's in love with him.
She can still see a flaw in this, though: she refuses to help him fall in love with some girl who is not her. She will not tell it to him like that, however; she will word it differently.
"I'm not going to help you fall in love with someone I hate," she says defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You don't hate her. Usually," he replies, smiling.
She is, on the other hand, confused.
"Not Hermione? Ron would kill you before you even try – "
"You're so stubborn," he says softly, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to hers.
As she wraps her hands around his neck, she wonders how she was so blind. She pours herself into a kiss – not for the first or last time – she has shared with Harry. His touch sends her nerves on fire, makes her so giddy she feels like flying. His close proximity to her makes her heart race a million miles an hour. His kiss takes her to another world where they are the only two people there.
He makes her alive, and if she is to be quite frank, she loves it.
She doesn't know how she could have ever doubted him before.
reviews welcome :)