Sealed with a Kiss
Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. pertaining to Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. All I own is the story.
Harry Potter stared down at the piece of parchment in front of him. Approximately half of it was filled with words. Around Harry in the cramped tent lay numerous balls of crushed parchment. He put his head in his hands, ready to declare defeat. All of the words on his current piece of parchment were no better than those on the ones lying around him on the ground. The words were odd and disjointed. Harry felt as though the message he wished to convey was muddled and had been lost in translation. Harry felt as though he were attempting to write in a foreign language that he had never learned. Harry was desperate. It was a lost cause. It was hopeless. Harry wondered what would happen if he merely gave up and refused to write anything. It would be so easy to snap his quill in half, to tear up the parchment until the blank space mocking him was no more than thousands of tiny scraps littering the ground of his tent.
Pushing himself away from the tiny table that he had crammed into the tent, Harry viciously wondered why the tent had not been modified much. An image of Hermione immediately rushed into his mind, saying "This tent was not modified for your comfort, Harry Potter! It is the property of the Ministry of Magic and its only purpose is to keep you safe and dry while out on the battlefield!" Harry chuckled to himself but could not help himself from longing for one of the tents the Weasley's had taken with them to the Quidditch World Cup in his fourth year. At least then Harry would have been able to have a decent bed and desk, as well as sufficient room to pace. It had been a long time since Harry had room to pace. The Second War had dragged on and on since its start at the end of his fifth year. Here he was, twenty-three years old, and the war was still raging around them. It had reached a critical point. Harry expected he would be coming face to face with Voldemort within the next month, if not within the week. This was what made his current task so important. Harry was trying to write a letter to Ginny.
Ginny, Harry thought, closing his eyes as a rush of color invaded his senses. Ginny was soft curves and red hair. Ginny was too many freckles to count. Ginny was laughter and kindness and temper all rolled into one. Running a hand through his unkempt black hair, Harry sighed. He knew how he felt about Ginny. The problem was that he needed to tell her, just once more, before anything else happened. Harry groaned in frustration. He was just no good at writing anything, especially at writing this. How was he supposed to catalog Ginny's scent for her? How was he supposed to tell her how she made him feel those few times he had been able to wake up next to her? How was Harry supposed to be able to explain the millions of things that made him love her? Harry's thoughts took him back in time to when he was at Hogwarts and had stood on the Quidditch pitch, awkwardly kissing a girl named Ginny Weasley. How was Harry supposed to tell Ginny how he felt every time he kissed her, every time he looked at her? There was not enough paper, ink, or time in the world for Harry to tell Ginny everything he needed her to know. Frustrated, Harry stood, staring wildly around the bare walls of the tent, desperate for inspiration. Instead of inspiration, Harry received interruption.
"It's bloody miserable out there, mate," Ron Weasley grumbled by way of greeting as he entered the tent he and Harry shared, shaking water off of his cloak as he closed the flap.
"Thanks for the update, I couldn't quite make out the howling wind and the pounding rain from in here," came Harry's sarcastic reply as he glared at his best mate.
Ron stopped in his tracks and glanced at Harry. Then he carefully set his drenched cloak on the table beside his bed. Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head so that he could stare at the ceiling.
"Not going well for you?" Ron asked, letting his eyes slide to observe Harry before quickly pulling his gaze back to the top of the tent.
"You could say that," growled Harry.
"It doesn't have to be a bloody work of art, you know," Ron replied.
"And what the bloody hell did you write in yours?" Harry demanded. All of the Aurors and the others who were fighting Voldemort had recently been encouraged to write final letters to their families, just in case anything happened. The fact that there was a just in case scared Harry more than he wanted to admit.
"I told Hermione that I loved her," Ron said simply.
"That's it?" Harry asked suspiciously. "I swear I saw your bloody quill scratching at two o'clock this morning."
"Well, there was a bit more to it than just that," admitted Ron. "But the point is it's not as if it's perfect. Ginny's not going to care if it's perfect or not, mate. She'll just want to know that you love her."
"How the hell do you know that?" grumbled Harry.
"Ginny is my sister," Ron reasoned.
Harry barely acknowledged that Ron had said anything.
"Look," Ron finally said, "I'm going to turn in. Good luck with that letter."
"Right," Harry replied, sitting down at the table once again and pulling the piece of parchment before him.
Harry thought of Ginny one more time and this time he pulled a new piece of parchment towards him, scribbling madly across it.
Harry did not know how much time had passed when he finally set down his quill and read what he had written, but he did know that while his letter was not at all eloquent, it was the best he could do. He reviewed his work and then wiped two tears out of his eyes. Harry then took out his wand, sealed the parchment and put a few quick spells on it. One of those spells would take the parchment to Ginny should anything happen to Harry. Taking his quill up one last time Harry scrawled a name across the front.
Two weeks later Ginny woke up to the feel of something lying in her right hand. She opened her eyes and finally saw what it was. The piece of parchment lying on top of her right hand bore her name on it in a very familiar scrawl. Her heart pounding, Ginny took out her wand and opened the parchment.
Ginny,
I wish that I did not have to write this letter. I wish that I could be home with you right now, holding you in my arms and whispering these words in your ear. There are so many things I need to tell you Ginny. There are so many things I want to say. You are my life, Ginny. You are the reason that I am happy. Before you I didn't believe that I deserved happiness. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I know I've told you that about fifty million times already, but I know that you need to hear it again since you never seem to quite believe me. To me you are the most beautiful thing in this world.
There are so many things to say but I do not know how to say them. I suppose the most important thing for you to know is that I love you. I love you so much that I can hardly breathe around you. I love you so much that you make me speechless. You are my life, Ginny. But I also have a request. Don't let yourself be miserable. Find someone else. It hurts so much to write those words. I wanted to be the one waiting for you at the altar of a tiny church in Ottery St. Catchpole. I wanted to be the one slipping some outrageous diamond on your finger and asking you to marry me and telling you not to worry about what the diamond cost. I wanted to be the one to wake up with you every morning until your hair turns white and your skin is so wrinkled it looks like you've stayed in the bath too long. I wanted to be the one to see you growing bigger and bigger with my baby. I wanted to be the one you made a family with. But it hurts more to think that you would never have any of those things. It hurts more to think of you old and alone without a husband, without children all because you loved a stupid boy named Harry Potter who had to go and die too early. It's very arrogant of me to think that I mean that much to you, Ginny, but I can't help it. You will always be mine and I will always love you, but don't wait for me, Ginny. I wouldn't be able to bear it if you were unhappy.
Love forever,
Harry
Ginny started to cry as the final spell Harry had put on the piece of parchment revealed itself to her. An image of Harry curled itself out of the parchment and leaned forward to brush its insubstantial lips across Ginny's. As it dissolved Ginny collapsed across the parchment and began to cry over the letter the Boy Who Lived had sealed with a final kiss.
Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. pertaining to Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. All I own is the story.
Harry Potter stared down at the piece of parchment in front of him. Approximately half of it was filled with words. Around Harry in the cramped tent lay numerous balls of crushed parchment. He put his head in his hands, ready to declare defeat. All of the words on his current piece of parchment were no better than those on the ones lying around him on the ground. The words were odd and disjointed. Harry felt as though the message he wished to convey was muddled and had been lost in translation. Harry felt as though he were attempting to write in a foreign language that he had never learned. Harry was desperate. It was a lost cause. It was hopeless. Harry wondered what would happen if he merely gave up and refused to write anything. It would be so easy to snap his quill in half, to tear up the parchment until the blank space mocking him was no more than thousands of tiny scraps littering the ground of his tent.
Pushing himself away from the tiny table that he had crammed into the tent, Harry viciously wondered why the tent had not been modified much. An image of Hermione immediately rushed into his mind, saying "This tent was not modified for your comfort, Harry Potter! It is the property of the Ministry of Magic and its only purpose is to keep you safe and dry while out on the battlefield!" Harry chuckled to himself but could not help himself from longing for one of the tents the Weasley's had taken with them to the Quidditch World Cup in his fourth year. At least then Harry would have been able to have a decent bed and desk, as well as sufficient room to pace. It had been a long time since Harry had room to pace. The Second War had dragged on and on since its start at the end of his fifth year. Here he was, twenty-three years old, and the war was still raging around them. It had reached a critical point. Harry expected he would be coming face to face with Voldemort within the next month, if not within the week. This was what made his current task so important. Harry was trying to write a letter to Ginny.
Ginny, Harry thought, closing his eyes as a rush of color invaded his senses. Ginny was soft curves and red hair. Ginny was too many freckles to count. Ginny was laughter and kindness and temper all rolled into one. Running a hand through his unkempt black hair, Harry sighed. He knew how he felt about Ginny. The problem was that he needed to tell her, just once more, before anything else happened. Harry groaned in frustration. He was just no good at writing anything, especially at writing this. How was he supposed to catalog Ginny's scent for her? How was he supposed to tell her how she made him feel those few times he had been able to wake up next to her? How was Harry supposed to be able to explain the millions of things that made him love her? Harry's thoughts took him back in time to when he was at Hogwarts and had stood on the Quidditch pitch, awkwardly kissing a girl named Ginny Weasley. How was Harry supposed to tell Ginny how he felt every time he kissed her, every time he looked at her? There was not enough paper, ink, or time in the world for Harry to tell Ginny everything he needed her to know. Frustrated, Harry stood, staring wildly around the bare walls of the tent, desperate for inspiration. Instead of inspiration, Harry received interruption.
"It's bloody miserable out there, mate," Ron Weasley grumbled by way of greeting as he entered the tent he and Harry shared, shaking water off of his cloak as he closed the flap.
"Thanks for the update, I couldn't quite make out the howling wind and the pounding rain from in here," came Harry's sarcastic reply as he glared at his best mate.
Ron stopped in his tracks and glanced at Harry. Then he carefully set his drenched cloak on the table beside his bed. Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head so that he could stare at the ceiling.
"Not going well for you?" Ron asked, letting his eyes slide to observe Harry before quickly pulling his gaze back to the top of the tent.
"You could say that," growled Harry.
"It doesn't have to be a bloody work of art, you know," Ron replied.
"And what the bloody hell did you write in yours?" Harry demanded. All of the Aurors and the others who were fighting Voldemort had recently been encouraged to write final letters to their families, just in case anything happened. The fact that there was a just in case scared Harry more than he wanted to admit.
"I told Hermione that I loved her," Ron said simply.
"That's it?" Harry asked suspiciously. "I swear I saw your bloody quill scratching at two o'clock this morning."
"Well, there was a bit more to it than just that," admitted Ron. "But the point is it's not as if it's perfect. Ginny's not going to care if it's perfect or not, mate. She'll just want to know that you love her."
"How the hell do you know that?" grumbled Harry.
"Ginny is my sister," Ron reasoned.
Harry barely acknowledged that Ron had said anything.
"Look," Ron finally said, "I'm going to turn in. Good luck with that letter."
"Right," Harry replied, sitting down at the table once again and pulling the piece of parchment before him.
Harry thought of Ginny one more time and this time he pulled a new piece of parchment towards him, scribbling madly across it.
Harry did not know how much time had passed when he finally set down his quill and read what he had written, but he did know that while his letter was not at all eloquent, it was the best he could do. He reviewed his work and then wiped two tears out of his eyes. Harry then took out his wand, sealed the parchment and put a few quick spells on it. One of those spells would take the parchment to Ginny should anything happen to Harry. Taking his quill up one last time Harry scrawled a name across the front.
Two weeks later Ginny woke up to the feel of something lying in her right hand. She opened her eyes and finally saw what it was. The piece of parchment lying on top of her right hand bore her name on it in a very familiar scrawl. Her heart pounding, Ginny took out her wand and opened the parchment.
Ginny,
I wish that I did not have to write this letter. I wish that I could be home with you right now, holding you in my arms and whispering these words in your ear. There are so many things I need to tell you Ginny. There are so many things I want to say. You are my life, Ginny. You are the reason that I am happy. Before you I didn't believe that I deserved happiness. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I know I've told you that about fifty million times already, but I know that you need to hear it again since you never seem to quite believe me. To me you are the most beautiful thing in this world.
There are so many things to say but I do not know how to say them. I suppose the most important thing for you to know is that I love you. I love you so much that I can hardly breathe around you. I love you so much that you make me speechless. You are my life, Ginny. But I also have a request. Don't let yourself be miserable. Find someone else. It hurts so much to write those words. I wanted to be the one waiting for you at the altar of a tiny church in Ottery St. Catchpole. I wanted to be the one slipping some outrageous diamond on your finger and asking you to marry me and telling you not to worry about what the diamond cost. I wanted to be the one to wake up with you every morning until your hair turns white and your skin is so wrinkled it looks like you've stayed in the bath too long. I wanted to be the one to see you growing bigger and bigger with my baby. I wanted to be the one you made a family with. But it hurts more to think that you would never have any of those things. It hurts more to think of you old and alone without a husband, without children all because you loved a stupid boy named Harry Potter who had to go and die too early. It's very arrogant of me to think that I mean that much to you, Ginny, but I can't help it. You will always be mine and I will always love you, but don't wait for me, Ginny. I wouldn't be able to bear it if you were unhappy.
Love forever,
Harry
Ginny started to cry as the final spell Harry had put on the piece of parchment revealed itself to her. An image of Harry curled itself out of the parchment and leaned forward to brush its insubstantial lips across Ginny's. As it dissolved Ginny collapsed across the parchment and began to cry over the letter the Boy Who Lived had sealed with a final kiss.