A/N: Written for the Secret Santa event on the Harry/Ginny discord. To Beam, with love. This story has been translated into Polish by the amazing Stripkovsky.
The meadow is a riot of colour. Orange butterfly weeds stand proud amongst grasses and burnt yellow sunflowers. Purple liatrises show off their fuzzy cat's tail-like blossoms. Out in the distance, a herd of goats grazes on the fresh spring grass. A river lies across the land, soft and clear. Little red birds skim its surface, leaving a trail of ripples in their wake, before taking off and flying high into the blue sky. The sun shines brightly today, a blessing after so many dark hours. The air becomes sweeter, rustling the leaves of majestic oak trees. They dance, choreographed by the wind, in perfect time with one another. There are no mountains, no hills, nothing to block the view of this beautiful horizon.
Padfoot would like it here, Harry muses. He can perfectly picture the old dog running through the wildflowers, chasing honey bees. The thought of his late godfather brings a smile to his face. "We'll get you pissed for your seventeenth birthday," Sirius had promised him once. When Harry had merely smiled, the man had given him a wicked smile, and added, "And after that, we'll get your wick dipped at Madam Fanny's."
They'd never gotten to do either one.
"A knut for your thoughts?" A voice interrupts his reverie.
Harry looks to his right. His heart skips a beat. There she is, her bright brown eyes staring back at him. It always surprises him how beautiful she is.
Her flaming red hair falls long and loose around her shoulders. He has always loved her hair. It is, according to him, her best feature. Tousled by the wind, her locks reminds him of warm curls of lava. It gives her a wild look, like her soul is untamed, and he thinks it fits her perfectly. He remembers how she used to blush around him when they were kids. Her cheeks would match her vivid red hair, making it look like her whole face was on fire.
A sweet smile spreads across her face. As though reading his mind, she whispers, "I'm not that little girl anymore."
No, she is not. She is stronger now, a fierce warrior who fought darkness and is leading a rebellion at Hogwarts. There is no one like her. His Ginny.
"I'm glad you came," Harry says before he can stop himself.
"I told you I would." She raises a brow. "You were worried?"
"No. Not really."
His eyes travel over her face, lingering on her mouth. It has been so long since he kissed her. Ginny licks her lips, her pink tongue darting out, and Harry would be lying if he said this simple gesture doesn't have an effect on him.
"So… How are you doing?"
His eyes snap back to hers. He swallows hard; this is dangerous territory. "I'm fine."
Judging by the crease of concern that appears on her forehead, Ginny can see right through his lie. She's always been able to read him like an open book, even before they were dating. It is simultaneously annoying and reassuring. Still. There are some things he wishes he could keep from her.
Such as the fact that he has no clue what he is doing or where he should look to find the remaining Horcruxes. Or the fact that he needs Ron by his side now more than ever. Or maybe the fact that he fears Hermione is also going to leave him soon, and quite frankly, he wouldn't blame her if she did.
His stomach heaves painfully. How is he going to fulfil this momentous and seemingly impossible task that Dumbledore left him? The burden of this bloody prophecy is eating him alive. It feels like he is trapped in a huge Devil's Snare. The more he strains against it, the tighter the plant seems to curl around his neck.
Clutching his knees to his chest, Harry drops his head onto them. How could a freak like him stand a chance against the most powerful dark wizard of all time? His breathing becomes more rapid, more shallow. There is not enough oxygen in the air. Black clouds sprawl across the sky and within seconds, the rolling boom of thunder reverberates in the meadow. Maybe Uncle Vernon is right? Maybe he is a fraud, a failure, a waste of space…
"You're not a waste of space!" Ginny says fiercely.
Harry lifts his head and meets her gaze. The inner corners of his eyes are burning. His lower lip quivers. God! He can't break down in front of her!
Ginny stares at him with the same hard, blazing look she wore when they shared their first kiss in the Gryffindor Common Room. Those blissful days seem so far away.
The burning feeling is in his throat now. Harry blinks and looks up at the sky.
In one swift move, Ginny wraps her arms around him. He is instantly surrounded by her sweet flowery scent. The full weight of everything he has endured since he fled Bill and Fleur's wedding seems to fall in upon him as she holds him to her. The uncertainty, the starvation, the exhaustion, the fear, and Slytherin's bloody locket, all start spinning in his head. He clutches her waist, his face buried in her hair.
"I'm not fine," Harry whispers shakily against her neck.
Ginny's arms tighten around him. "It's okay. You're safe here," she soothes.
He looks at her, eyes wet with unshed tears. He wants to believe her, he really does, but there is a war outside and it keeps raging on. People are going into hiding, some are getting killed. No one is safe anymore.
"Harry." Ginny smiles at him. "You're in the meadow. Nothing can hurt you here."
Oh, lot of things could hurt him! Even here. Especially here.
His Adam's apple bobs up and down. He hates that he has to ask for reassurance even after all these months.
"Voldemort can't come here, right?"
Ginny's brows snap together. "I'd never let him in."
She pulls his head down to her breast and strokes her fingers through his hair, her nails combing against his scalp, as she rocks him slightly. A fresh wind caresses his skin and Harry feels himself relax. He closes his eyes, savouring the moment.
As he holds her, listens to the soft tha-thump of her heart, inhales her floral fragrance, he realises that the emptiness from the days before is now gone. He feels as though he has come back home after a long journey.
He loses track of time as they cling to each other and thus is startled when Ginny murmurs, "Look who finally decided to show up."
Harry follows her gaze. He sits up so quickly he nearly collides with Ginny's face. Excitement explodes in the pit of his stomach. There, sitting down on the grass near the river, is his father.
James looks to be around Harry's own age. With a sort of casual elegance, he rumples his hair, making it even messier than it has been. He does not seem to notice Harry or Ginny's presence, though. His focus is on a tall auburn-haired girl.
Harry's stomach gives another pleasurable squirm. It's his mother.
Lily has taken her shoes off and is cooling her feet in the river. Hands on her hips, she looks at James with a challenging glint in her green eyes. "What a show off!"
James gives her a lopsided grin. "Don't pretend my messy hair doesn't do things to you, Evans."
Lily throws back her head and roars with laughter.
Just then, a huge black dog emerges from behind the oak trees. Harry's heart skips several beats. Padfoot.
The old dog gives a joyful bark then runs through the meadow, wagging its tail. Harry can't help laughing as he watches Padfoot gambol around the herd of goats excitedly. If the way the goats are hollering is any indication, they don't enjoy this little game as much as the black dog does.
"I invited them," Ginny says.
Harry's eyes flash toward her again. "You did?"
She turns slightly pink. "I thought you'd like to see them."
And with this simple confession, the world seems to fade around them. All Harry can see is Ginny, her bright eyes, her shiny hair, and her sweet smile. She's never looked more beautiful. Something tightens in his chest, but it's not painful. He feels warm and - Harry realises with a jolt- whole, as though Ginny has been keeping a piece of his heart with her during all this time.
He stares at her for a long moment before he finally admits to himself what he knew all along, but was too afraid to say aloud. He has fallen in love with Ginny Weasley. And he wants all of her. Her bravery, her dry humour, her empathy, and even her stubbornness.
Harry reaches over and gently strokes Ginny's cheek. Her eyes flutter shut as she leans into his touch. Understanding her silent approval, he leans in and captures her lips. And God! This kiss feels different. They kiss as though they have just discovered what it all really means.
Harry tangles his fingers through Ginny's hair, savouring the taste of her lips. He seems to pour his soul into them. His heart swells with love. Have I shown you what you mean to me? He is demanding. You are my world. In answer, Ginny clutches his shoulders and kisses him back with the same enthusiasm.
In one neat move, she straddles his lap. This new arrangement makes each kiss deeper, more frantic. With a low groan, Harry tears himself from her lips. His mouth trails down as he begins to explore the junction of her neck and jaw, sucking and lightly grazing. His tongue darts out to taste her skin. How is it possible for a neck to taste so good? A moan escapes Ginny's mouth and Harry's mind seems to turn off.
On their own accord, his hands venture over the curves of her body, sliding up under her shirt and pushing her closer to his chest. Ginny runs her hands through his hair and tugs lightly to meet his lips again, kissing him frantically. Desire explodes in his gut. He loses himself in the glorious feel of her fingers in his hair, of her body melting into his, of her intoxicating scent. His body starts to heat to an almost unbearable degree. And suddenly, kissing her is not enough. He wants more, needs more.
Harry!
Ginny pulls back, panting, and rests her forehead against his. Harry feels a pang in his heart. She gives him a look he has come to hate, and it feels like a cold shower. He knows what's coming.
"It's time," she says.
Harry tightens his grip around her waist. "Stay, please." He guesses he should be embarrassed at how desperate he sounds, but appearances be damned. He needs this girl and he is not ready to let her go.
"You know I can't."
Yes, he knows. Of course, he knows, but it still hurts just the same.
"I'm sorry," she says and disentangles herself.
Harry!
Ginny gives him a sad smile as she cups his face, her eyes wet. Harry can feel his own eyes flood with tears.
"Please," he begs, voice quivering.
"I'll be here when you come back." She leans in for one last far too short kiss. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she whispers against his lips.
"Is it Christmas yet?"
She shakes her head and looks at him as though he has just asked the most ridiculous question.
Harry, please!
Helplessly, Harry watches her go. With one last look, Ginny joins his parents by the river. Sirius is also there. He has turned himself back into his human form. He says a silly joke that makes the gang burst out laughing.
Something icy floods the pit of Harry's stomach. What the hell is he doing here? He should be over there with them, with his family.
He tries to move, to run towards them, but the freezing sensation spreads through him, paralysing his legs and pinning him to the ground. He shivers violently. He is cold, too cold. It shouldn't be so cold under this burning sun. Something is wrong. His heart is hammering in his chest. He struggles to breath.
"Let me stay with you!" He shouts, but it seems like no one can hear him.
With a brilliant smile on his face, Sirius waves at him. "Good luck, Cub!"
Harry wants to answer him, but the meadow becomes blurry. The world is spinning around him. His feet leave the ground and he is speeding forwards in a howl of swirling colour.
Wake up, Harry! Please!
Harry's eyes fly open. Heart pounding against his ribs, it takes him some time to recognise his surroundings.
Cold. No daylight. Aching body. He is back in the tent.
Hermione is watching him with a look of concern, her face swollen and blotchy. "You fell asleep," she simply says.
Harry doesn't answer, partly because he is annoyed that she interrupted his dream, but also because he is embarrassed to have fallen asleep, the Marauder's Map on his lap.
"Are you okay?"
Again, a simple question, but he can't bring himself to answer her. What is the use, anyways? She wouldn't understand, wouldn't know what to do.
Hermione takes a shuddering breath. "Harry, please. Talk to me."
The despair in her voice breaks his heart. He looks down at his feet. He supposes he owns her that much. Isn't she his best friend? After all, they are in this together.
"I'm fine," Harry finally answers, and he is glad Hermione can't read him like an open book.