Rain pounds onto the glass window as he contemplates how much it is he loves the rain. A drenching downpour to satiate the planets and douse the heated lands falls outside, thunder and lightning-free. He likes to walk out in it to have it run down over him, believing the natural weather is the only thing to cleanse his sins, his thoughts and confusion; rid him of who he is long enough for him to recieve clarity.
For he is Harry Potter, and however he can relieve the load on his shoulders is to him his own. But rather than take a stroll and have his muggle neighbours have more evidence he's mentally unhinged, and have the old Mrs. Jennens down the road tell him he's going to catch pneumonia, despite the fact it's mid-June, he lays on his bed.
He lives in a Muggle apartment building, a dingy flat consisting on a small bedroom, bath, kitchen and pint-sized living room. It's all very cozy, though, and he rather likes the antique furniture and homey feel it has to accompany it. Ron was skeptical, but Hermione told him it was charming.
The bed has a rather haggard looking cover folded at the foot of it that his feet brush across now. Hermione had continued in her futile attempts of creating what she thought were knitting by-products until Ron made his mum teach her how to properly sew, and now she made mittens and other oddities around the holidays. But what adorned the foor of his bed was a rough, scarlet coloured blanket, from her pre-lessoned days. His pillow smelled of his shampoo, hinting mint, and there was a simple bedside table that was overflowing with photographs.
The Dark times were over, the Second War over, the outcome favouring the light side. The wizarding world spent about a year picking up the scattered pieces the war had thrown askew, but now was back in sync with as much normalcy as it could achieve. But, though he'd searched wide and far, he wasn't too sure that he'd gathered all he lost from the war. Gaping holes that had once ripped apart his stomach were filled with his haphazard family that he had found in the Order of Phoenix; aches that had once torn at his heart repaired by warm memories.
There was still a missing piece, a lingering feeling of emptiness, but his whole life it seemed there was always something not quite there. And then he turned on his side and caught sight of her in the doorway.
And in that moment the breath he'd taken stopped, and he froze, his eyes locked on hers. She was wearing a dress, knee-length, blue-silk, revealing her shoulders dotted with freckles. Her lips were crimson and her honey-gold eyes sparkling. Her hair was tied in a knot at the the top of her head, which was tilted against the doorframe.
"I was sitting there, at Lavender's fancy bride-shower," she began, walking in from the threshold two steps, "and she was opening a present, and the only thing I could think about as the ladies cooed and squealed about her engagement was you. Everything you've said, especially in the last few days, not only that - about how much of a great listener I've been. Haven't responded over monosyllables, just allowed you to speak your mind and make up mine for me.
"And I'm quite sick of it, you see, I don't want to find someone else, no matter how much you think I deserve it, I've had everyone else and they just pale in comparison. And I know that you will always be Harry Potter, and you'll always have enemies and that there will be dangers. But I want to face them with you. So here I am, standing in your doorway. I've always been standing in your doorway."
She stopped, taking a deep breath, and somewhere in the middle of the speech he'd risen to his feet. She smiled slightly, and his face held an unreadable expression.
"Do you have anything to say?" She questioned, half nervous in the expectation.
"Thank you, Ginevra." He sighed, finally, and smiles broke onto their faces as she matched her lips to his.
Outside, the clouds began to clear and steam to rise from the pavement. Harry didn't only feel cleaner now that she was in his arms, but more content as the emptiness he'd always known dissapeared for awhile.
Author's note: I cross-shipped! It's blasphemy! Must-wash-it-off! Haha, well, for my fiftieth story (squee!!) I figured I'd give in to the plot bunny of Ginny/Harry that plauged my totally Draco/Ginny mind. This was inspired by Spiderman Two, the final scene, and some of the diolauge is from there -- the 'always in your doorway' and 'thank you, mary jane watson' are totally not mine. Don't claim them, please don't sue me? ::crosses fingers:: Well, I don't like Harry as a character (he and Sirius are tied) and I really dislike the ship, but... this was fun, shall we do it again some time? Perhaps story numer 100, or 150, or something... ::runs back to safe depth of D/G world::
Review, please?