Your Guardian Angel
Oneshot.
Harry Potter laid perfectly still on his bunk.
His emerald eyes—just like his mother's, as he's heard countless of times—were wide open behind his spectacles. He laid there, staring up at the meeting points of the tent and listened to the sound that every drop of rain made. Listening how those drops fell from the thunderous sky from above and hit the material of the tent, and then they dragged their way down to the grassy floor outside.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Thunder," he muttered to himself, hearing that blot of electricity sound somewhere through the forest.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Thunder," he said to himself again in a tiny whisper.
But before the next drip, drip, drip on that tent that was consistent could reach his ears, it was drowned out by the cries of, "Ron...Ron, please."
Harry closed his eyes, cursing to himself as he head Hermione's consistent sobs that she formed and let out when she was asleep on her bunk.
"Ron, please... Please, please," she begged again and again, like she always did for the past week or two. She begged him to come back, that redhead that was supposed to be their best friend; that left them. It was the same thing over and over again since he left, and Harry really wished they would stop.
But, he had to be honest with himself, they weren't. Those cries weren't going to stop. And even when daylight would hit, him and Hermione would continue on in silence, not speaking unless necessary with the lack of Ron's presence pressuring down on them. Tearing them, separating them, making them strangers to one another.
"Come back, Ron...Come back." She stirred in her bed, her hands clutching her blankets with desperation, but Harry reopened his eyes.
That would be the last time for the night that Hermione would cry over Ron Weasley. Yes, after a minute or so of an internal-breakdown, she would proceed to a soundless sleep. It was something Harry had already mentally-recorded, seeing as he could never just sleep nowadays—or ever, actually. He just knew when to shut his eyes and wish he were a better friend, wish that he'd never dragged Hermione into this as she stirred in her blankets, sobbing with a heartbreak that he'd caused.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Ron's a prat," Harry hissed under his breath as the thunder roared. He glared at the roof of the tent, picturing that he was scowling at Ron Weasley himself; glaring into his blue eyes and mouthing to him that he was the greatest imbecile there was right before Crabbe and Goyle.
How could he possibly think that Hermione was in love with Harry? Or better yet—since he was allegedly his best friend—how could he think that Harry was in love with Hermione? It was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard and Harry grew up with Dudley Dursley.
Because, honestly, Harry was in love, but it wasn't with his best friend.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Ginny," he exhaled, feeling a tightness behind his throat.
When I see your smile
Tears run down my face I can't replace
And now that I'm stronger I've figured out
How this world turns cold and breaks through my soul
And I know I'll find deep inside me I can be the one
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain drops continued falling from the skies, but they weren't the only thing that was agonizing Harry Potter. No, because as he laid there, clutching on to his sheets, a pressure was growing behind his throat, behind his eyes, and threatening to explode in a fit of rage.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." With three taps of his wand, Harry opened the Marauders Map and watched carefully as the castle of Hogwarts appeared on the old parchment. He watched intently as every dot began to formulate and develop in front of his eyes, and some began to move. His eyes quickly scanned for Gryffindor Tower, not finding it important to look for anyone else. (Although, he had to remind himself to see if Luna Lovegood was still attending the school later.)
Dots, dots, dots—then there she was.
"Ginny," Harry breathed, reading the name of the dot that was currently by the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room. "Ginny," he repeated again, swallowing the lump that had formed inside of his throat.
And as he watched her dot, he imagined he was looking at her.
He imagined her fiery red hair tied up into a messy pony-tail, strands decorating that pale face of hers. He could see her with her knees brought up to her chest, trying to keep herself warm as she hugged herself. Her hazel eyes, so bright and big, full of something magical, looking at the flames of the fireplace, thinking silently to herself. He imagined how the light from the fire made her pale face glow, highlighting every freckle.
"Mischief Managed—" He closed the parchment abruptly, tears already splashing onto the frames of glasses and dripping down his cheeks. He shook his head, shoving the map underneath his pillow.
He couldn't think of Ginny Weasley without having the need to breakdown. He couldn't resort to being nostalgic, not now, anyway. There was a war going on and he was the one who needed to end it. He couldn't be the weak one, couldn't let the love that pumped in his heart for Ginny to come in between what he needed to complete.
There would come a day, if he made it out alive, when he could waste the day away, neglecting his sleep, staring at Ginny. But now was not the moment; now was the moment for battle.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Thunder..." As for right now, all he could do was wait until sleep washed over him or for the sun to rise over the trees of Forest of Dean.
I will never let you fall
I'll stand up with you forever
I'll be there for you through it all
Even if saving you sends me to heaven
"Ginny?" He asked himself, feeling the freezing water soak in through his mouth, taking over the space he'd kept for air. He blinked twenty times, trying to adjust an image that had formed beside him deep in the frozen waters of the lake.
Ginny, he thought to himself, splashing over towards the person in the lake with him. He let the chunks of ice drift him closer to the figure of a redhead, his body tensing up.
"Are you mental?" Bright, angry, hazel eyes pierced right through Harry. Giving him a nudge in the shoulder as the chunks of ice hit him on the back. "Harry Potter, how the bloody hell could you jump inside this ruddy lake! Have you not noticed the weather conditions!"
Ginny, he thought again, his eyes open wide behind his glasses as he watched her point an angry finger at him. Her eyes looking as furious as he's seen on her so many times before. Why are you in the water?
"Why am I in the water?" She scoffed, water bubbles coming out of her nose. "You better have a good reason for jumping in here!"
Gryffindor's sword, it was here, Ginny. I saw it...It was gleaming in the water. I need it...It'll help defeat Voldemort. I know it will, he explained himself, still not moving his lips and only communicating with her through his thoughts.
"For Godric's sake, Harry." Ginny shook her head. "You better make it out alive from this, you understand me? Don't you dare ever give up!" She nudged him again.
Ginny, I—Before Harry could continue, the redhead vanished from the water and someone had began dragging him upward. He felt the water try to push him back down, but someone held on to him, refusing to let go as a blackness wanted to drown him.
I'd die for you...
It's okay, it's okay.
Seasons are changing and waves are crashing
And stars are falling all for us
Days grow longer and nights grow shorter
I can show you I'll be the one
"Are you sure this is the place?" Hermione whispered, still aggravated towards Ron Weasley and his entire being.
"Positive, 'Mione." He grinned at her, still trying to get her to ease up.
He had come back, hadn't he? He was present and still on the run with them. Ron had paid for his mistakes, hadn't he? He'd almost been caught by Snatchers and splinched again right after he left them. Not to mention he had seen her kissing furiously with Harry—even if it was an illusion from the bloody locket, but it still had made him suffer and cry. Now he was just trying to amend himself, and she needed to let it go.
"Mum used to point it out loads of times. This definitely is the Lovegoods place."
Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. "What'd you think Harry?" She walked away from Ron and headed towards her best friend. "Do you think we should go in now or give it a moment?"
"It's the Easter Holidays, right?" Harry Potter asked in a murmur, his eyes kept focused towards another hill ahead where a house he'd considered home most of his summers, sat silently away. It called him, wanting to drag him their like they were both magnets.
"Yes, I believe it is," Hermione said uneasily, noticing the longing in Harry's eyes as he stared at the house ahead. "Look, Harry—"
"It feels a bit weird," Ron interrupted Hermione, taking in a huge breath of air, "being so close to home, but not actually going." He too looked longingly at the Burrow. His family was probably inside, huddled up together and trying to enjoy as much time together as possible, given the current situations, that is. He hated it before, the family-bonding rubbish his mother always wanted it, now he just wished he was there.
"Bet mum has baked loads of pies," Ron added in a depressing mumble, his stomach giving a rumble.
Frowning at Ron, because she was taking his comment as an indirect insult at her cooking, Hermione turned back to her dark-haired friend; her palm on his shoulder. "Harry," she said sternly, "you know you can't. None of us can."
"I know," Harry replied in a murmur, his eyes still fixed on the Weasley home. "I just...I just wish I could, you know? All of us, just for a moment."
Knowing perfectly well who exactly Harry was referring to, Hermione squeezed his shoulder's in a sympathizing manner. "...She misses you too, Harry. There's no doubt about that. But, she knows what we're doing is so much more important than that twinge you two feel inside your chests." She frowned a little to herself, her words echoing back at her. "I know that sounds cruel, Harry, but...the truth just is sometimes."
"—Look!" Now a few feet further into the Lovegoods' garden, Ron was tossing pans up in the air that used to be on the grass. "I wonder if Luna hides her Nargles in here."
Taking the opportunity of Ron's distraction, Harry glanced at the brunette beside him. "Is that the same thing you said to yourself when Ron left?" His tone was cold. "Did you ignore that twinge to stay with me? Because what we're doing was greater than your feelings for Ron?"
Not taking offense to his tone—she knew he didn't mean it in a way to hurt her—Hermione let out a giant puff of air. "Yes," she confided, "I did, Harry. And believe me, I know how hard it is. It's maddening. But Ginny's strong, Harry. She knows you'll come back for her, and so do you."
Harry reached for Hermione's hand on his shoulder, holding it tightly. "I'm sorry," he said to her, and the apology was not for his previous statement, but because of the heartbreak she went into because of her loyalty to him.
Hermione smiled at him, there was nothing to forgive.
"So much time's passed," Harry spoke once again, eyes blinking back to the Burrow. "Last time I saw her summer was here. Now, it's just stopped raining."
"Seasons and time don't mean a thing, Harry. She'll never forget you," Hermione whispered. And with one last squeeze to his shoulder, she let go. "Come now. It's time we have a word with Mister Lovegood. And for our sake, I hope he can help us."
Sparing the Burrow one final look, Harry murmured, "I'll be back for you, Ginny," and then headed towards the next task.
Cuz you're my, my true love, my whole heart
Please don't throw that away
Cuz I'm here for you
Please don't walk away,
Please tell me you'll stay, stay
Use me as you will
Pull my strings just for a thrill
And I know I'll be OK
Though my skies are turning gray
"Harry?" Bill Weasley, still looking as scarred as the last time he saw him but with a glow on his face that Fleur Delacour could only give him, peered up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. "Where are you going?"
"Just going to get a bit of air," Harry responded simply as he headed towards the doors of Shell Cottage.
Still looking at him, but this time a little sure with a skeptical brow raised, Bill pressed, "I don't think that's a good idea, Harry." He closed his newspaper. "Maybe you should stay indoors until Hermione feels better so she and Ron can accompany you."
Harry stared blankly at the eldest of the Weasley siblings. "I'm not going anywhere, Bill, if that's what you're worried about. I just want air."
"Then perhaps you'd enjoy some company," Bill said, still not convinced. "I'm sure Dean or Luna would be happy to join you."
"—Nice try, mon amour." Coming into her kitchen with an empty tray of food she'd once taken to Mister Ollivander, Fleur clucked her tongue teasingly at her husband. "'Arry 'as set 'is mind. You know zat boy won't listen," Fleur threw Harry a wink and continued her way to the sink. "'Arry will be alright, darling."
Like a man who trusts the judgement of his wife, Bill said in defeat. "Fine then," he snapped, opening his newspaper again. "Go on, Harry. But make sure not to stray too far."
Nodding once at the order, Harry turned on his heels and whispered a, "thanks, Fleur," to the French woman as he passed her.
After the backdoor of Shell Cottage closed behind him, Harry made his was steadily towards the edge of the cliff where the cottage sat. He left the wind push past him, the clouds that were turning grey and dangerous not bothering him as he continued on his path.
"...I can't believe we made it out," he whispered to himself. But before he could lose himself in mumbles, as he headed towards his destination that was not far now, he caught a glimpse of a small grave. His heart instantly hurt. "Dobby..."
No, they hadn't made it out—not all of them, at least. Because in the moment that hope and help had come to him, that house-self, the one that had made it his duty to save his life so many times, died from a dagger thrown by Bellatrix Lestrange when freedom and escape had been so close from his old master's home.
Groaning in agony as he dangled his feet over the edge, Harry damned himself more as the sea below him raged into waves.
It's almost over, he thought as he inhaled the scent of the mist.
They knew what they were after, Horcruxes. They knew how many they were, and now it was all about figuring out what Voldemort had turned into dark objects. Sure, it seemed like it was still complicated, but Harry felt it end his bones that the end was approaching. The battle was half done now.
And once that final, raging moment came that decided who lived and who died, his part in the war would be over.
Removing his glasses as he concentrated on the mist from the sea bellow him, Harry enjoyed the soothing sounds of the waves crashing into the rocks of the cliff. It cleared his mind, like a mediation or form of Yoga his Aunt Petunia had attempted one year.
Instantly as his mind calmed, Harry saw one loving face behind his closed eyelids. "...It'll be over soon, Ginny," he whispered to the face, imaging he was speaking directly to it. "And, you'd be happy to know I still only love you."
He paused for a moment, a sudden wave of nostalgia threatening to wipe away Ginny Weasley's face from his mind.
"It'll be over soon, and I'll bring your brother back to you," he spoke again gently. "I'll make sure you've your entire family again, Ginny. I promise." And at that, his heart skipped a beat as he could see the Ginny in his mind throw him a brilliant, glittering smile. "...I'm fighting for you, for your survival."
Tap. "Harry?"
Ginny threw him one last smile, and then she was gone when there was another tap on his shoulder; making him open his eyes and cast her away.
"Harry, Bill says you should get inside now."
Making out only faint lines of flowing blonde hair, Harry squinted. "Luna?"
With a soft chuckle, Luna handed Harry his glasses. "It's going to rain, Harry. And as we all know, we can't risk the Chosen One to get a fever." Her blue eyes were gentle and clear—and in their reflection, Harry could see those dangerous clouds approaching faster.
Standing from the edge of the cliff, Harry dusted his jeans and pocketed his wand. "Thanks, Luna," he gave her a smile. And right as he'd take a few steps to head back, he saw her remain still. "Aren't you coming?"
"No," she shook her head, sitting on the spot he'd left open, "I actually enjoy the rain. It helps clear my head sometimes. Like right now, for instance. All I can think about is Dean's drawings and I really need to review my defensive spells. Can't fight if I've forgotten how to stun, right?"
Harry held on to the smile he'd made his lips give the Ravenclaw.
"Hey, Harry?"
"Yes, Luna?"
Swinging her feet back and forth, forth and back, Luna blinked her whimsical eyes back at the Boy Who Lived. "When you and Ginny get married a few years from now, would you mind if I wear yellow to the ceremony? I've just discovered a vibrant shade of buttercup yellow that I'd really love to dye a dress in."
Tugging on a grander smile, something more like a grin, Harry appreciated Luna's oddness a whole lot more at that moment. "I'll let you wear the Gryffindor Lion on your head if I ever get to see her again," he said with a laugh. "And if I do get to marry her—"
"Which you will,"
"—then I promise you, Luna, I'll name our first daughter after you."
Liking the sound of that, Luna said, "deal!" and laughed loudly.
Feeling like there was a spring to his step, raindrops now falling as he headed back to Shell Cottage, Harry couldn't help but to feel a little more motivation for the war to end. He'd really give anything to one day be able to marry Ginny.
I will never let you fall
I'll stand up with you forever
I'll be there for you through it all
Even if saving you sends me to heaven
"And what?" Neville Longbottom raised an eyebrow at the Boy Who Lived. "Kill the snake?"
"Kill the snake." Harry Potter nodded.
"Look, Harry, we're all still in this," Neville whispered to the teenager who he'd shared a dormitory for the past seven years with, a fellow Gryffindor, a friend. "We are all going to keep on fighting. We are not giving up."
Trying not to let Neville's optimism stir up the defeat inside of his chest, Harry repeated, "kill the snake, Neville." And with one final pat on the back, Harry began to descend forward; walking past students helping other students. He walked past countless of blank faces that stared at the stars, no longer being able to see them shine or twinkle.
And as he did so, he had to fight the urge to scream bloody murder—everyone was dead now, it seemed. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad-eye, Lupin and Tonks, Fred, and even Snape.
All dead. All gone. All his fault.
"...I want to go home." Harry's heart seemed to fail to beat as he saw Ginny Weasley, in all her glory, kneeling beside a girl; cradling her head and patting the student's messy hair. "I don't want to fight anymore...I want to go home," the girl continued to cry.
"Shh, it's going to be fine," Ginny whispered encouraging words though her brown eyes filled with sympathizing tears. "It'll be fine, I promise. You're not going to hurt anymore."
And as Harry placed the invisibility cloak over himself, he had to fight the urge to run to Ginny and embrace her until his bones were powder. He couldn't even begin to describe what he felt when he saw her climb down the hole in the Room of Requirement. He couldn't explain what his heart felt when her eyes—no longer his imagination—looked right into his. A thousand words and emotions expressing themselves in that simple stare.
"I want to go home..."
And as the girl cried and cried again, Ginny looked up to where Harry stood invisible as she soothed the girl. And as she did so, for a second, she thought she could see the outline of someone there.
"...Ginny," Harry whispered so low that he barely heard it. He wanted nothing more than to shout her name from the top of his lungs, from the bloody Astronomy Tower if he could. He wanted to show her that he was there, that he loved her, that needed her.
Instead, however, he continued on to a path that had been destined to be his from day one.
He walked to the Forbidden Forest, his golden snitch in hand. Every step taking her away from everything; away from Ginny and the life he once dreamed he could've have with her.
This is for her, for everyone, he thought as he kept walking. He found that his feet were quite heavy with every step he took, with the distance he put behind him. It's so you could live, Ginny. So everyone could live. I'm destined to die. And, honestly,I don't mind anymore as long as no one ever has to die for me again...
Taking in a deep breath, Harry squeezed the cold metal in his palm and then opened it. Looking at the snitch that he'd one in his very first match, Harry stared at the fluttering wings with a mixture of hatred, relief, and defeat.
Lifting the golden ball to his lips, he whispered, "I'm about to die."
I'm going to die for you, Ginny Weasley.