Disclaimer: All belongs to Jo, I am merely having fun with it
A/N: Inspired by Pheonix Song's Summer Challenge 2007. This is the first chapter, with more to come.
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Harry Potter lay in bed with his eyes closed. Though he could feel the warm sun streaming though the window, and hear the birds chirping out early-morning songs, he did not want to get up.
Since leaving Hogwarts, and Dumbledore's funeral, Harry had gone back to see the Dursley's (who had been so happy at the news that he was leaving, they even waved goodbye), and was currently residing at the Burrow with the Weasley family. Staying with the Weasley's was like being with the only family he'd ever had. He slept in Ron's room, in the bed opposite his best friend, in which he was currently lying. But there was also a drawback to being at the Burrow…
Ginny.
Ever since he had told her that they couldn't be together anymore at the end of the school year, he dreaded seeing her. It would've been bad if he just had to think about her, but seeing her every day was just too much to bear. She was always there. Taunting him. Whether it was at breakfast, when she licked the crumbs of her hot, buttered toast off her lips, or in the afternoon when she was picking flower in the garden, the wind playing with the hem of her dress, Harry was always infuriated that they weren't together. Even though he was the one that had broken up with her. If only he could've waited until after Bill and Fleur's wedding…
But would that have made it better? Or worse? He really couldn't tell, seeing as he had no way to compare the two. It would surely make him feel better now, to feel her safely wrapped in his arms. But he was afraid that the pain of being without her would be unbearable after being together again.
This is stupid. Harry thought to himself. His stomach growled. Time to get up I guess. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, there was no need to wear wizards' robes on holidays, and walked out of Ron's room slowly downstairs to the kitchen.
"Good morning, dear!" chimed Mrs. Weasley as he meandered, still bleary-eyed from sleep, into the cozy kitchen.
Harry mumbled a, "Morning, Mrs. Weasley," to her, and sat down at the table. Plates left with the dregs of toast and fruit were left upon the table; it seemed that everyone had already eaten.
"What would you like to eat?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
Harry thought a minute. It still took some getting used to, that he had a say in what he wanted, after living with the Dursleys for so long. "Some toast with jam would be nice," he replied.
"That's all?" she asked with a bit of concern on her face. Harry expected that the worried look in her eyes was also inspired by the fact that he was waking up later and later each day, but she hadn't mentioned it. Yet.
"Yes, please. I don't feel too well."
Again, the worried look flitted across her face. "All right then." She busied herself with breakfast.
There was an weighty silence while waiting for the bread to be toasted. He was sure that Mrs. Weasley wanted to ask him questions, but she did not. Mrs. Weasley handed him his toast, raspberry jam (that she had made herself), and a knife. Harry smiled a thanks, and started spreading his toast with jam. The only noise in the room was of the knife grating on the toast. It was a horrible sound, really. Mrs. Weasley pulled out a chair and sat down across from him.
"So Harry, how are you?" Everyone kept asking him this. Even more so lately. He usually just answered "fine," and answer which people accepted rather skeptically. But Mrs. Weasley was watching him intently, and Harry could tell she wanted more than "fine" as an answer. But he didn't have one.
"Erm… well," he let out a breath and waited to see what came next.
Mrs. Weasley looked at him sympathetically. He could tell that she wanted to help him feel better, but really nobody could. Nobody, except…
"Have you talked to Ginny lately?" she asked softly. It was not accusing, or nosy, as one might expect from his girlfriend's (ex-girlfriend's, he corrected himself) mother. She cared for Harry like a son, and he knew this.
Harry knew that they both knew the answer to this question. "No," he said.
Mrs. Weasley had a pained sort of look on her face, "I think you should. You might regret it after you leave. True regrets come from things that didn't do, you soon forget regrets of things that you did."
Harry considered her words. "I'll think about it," he said.
She gave him a small smile, and started clearing the table. Harry finished eating his toast, and set his plate by the sink. She had just taken out her wand and had enchanted the brush to scrub the dishes. "The boys are out back playing Quidditch," she informed him. "It might make you feel better to do something rather than sit and brood."
"Sounds good to me," Harry grinned. Quidditch was his one escape. It could always take his mind off something. He ran up to grab his Firebolt, and then to the backyard, where he already hear from the house the argument that Fred and Ron had gotten into over a penalty goal…
A/N: Good? Bad? Ugly and in need of much concrit? Review and let me know.