Summary: The day after the final battle, when every one was still high on victory, a rogue demontor kiss several magical citizens, one of which is Ginny Weasley. Follow Harry Potter as he wields even the darkest of arts, in the name of love, all to return her soul to her body and back in his arms.
Spoilers: All except the epilogue of DH.
Harry sat behind the desk in his study, so deeply engrossed in his work that he didn't even hear her enter.
"You're nothing if not determined," Ginny noted from inside the doorway. He could feel the lack of emotion in her voice.
With a small flick of his finger, Harry turned the page of the brittle tome before him, carefully not to touch or even leave oil from his fingers on it. It'd taken him years to acquire this delicate memoir, and though he'd placed every protective charm and jinx he knew on it, he still was leaving nothing to chance. It was the key – his key. He wouldn't see it damaged.
He'd forbid Keatcher from touching the journal under grounds of death.
He replied without looking up at her.
"I rather think determination is one of my more redeeming qualities."
"I used to think so too," she said softly. "Not that you needed redeeming then." The jab was subtle, but Harry caught it. He kept silent, trying to concentrate on his reading. He refused to be baited into the argument again.
She began to move slowly around the room, her fingers ghosting over the spines of the books that lined the walls in their deep oak shelves. As Harry looked up, he could tell she wasn't actually paying any attention to what she was reading, though he could see her grimace slightly at some of the titles that caught her eye. After a minute of silence, she finally looked over at him.
"It seems more of a curse these days." It was said with a causal air, but Harry knew where she was trying to lead the conversation. He tried to put a stop to it.
"Yes, well, it's my curse isn't it? And I'm not complaining," came his reply. His voice was tart, and he'd hopped she'd drop it, not wanting to anger him. They'd been over this plenty of times before. They'd never agree, Harry knew.
She couldn't understand…or rather, she wouldn't. Harry didn't know which. When she next spoke, her voice was laced with pain,
"Harry-," but he cut her off.
"We've been through this-,"
"Yes, and I've never condoned-,"
"I don't believe I asked for your permission," he bit out harshly. His voice was cold as ice, and he saw her blush angrily against the cruel remark. It was the Weasley blush, and the sight of it thawed his demeanor instantly. He longed to see that defiance in her again – yearned for it actually. It'd been so long since he'd had that Ginny, and the red tinge made her look so lively and radiant. In that instant she actually glowed a bit. However, in the next, she closed her eyes and the angry blush receded with a resigned sigh. In but a blink-of-an-eye, Harry's hope was dashed away. He felt slightly let-down.
She opened her eyes and glanced at his hand where he had begun fiddling with a ring he never removed. She turned away and moved towards the door, but stopped before it.
"I didn't disrupt you to argue," she explained softly. She didn't look at him.
"You never do," he said reassuringly, wanting her to know that he wasn't still irritated with her. She gave a small nod, but still didn't meet his eye. Because of this, Harry knew why she was here.
"Keatcher," he called, and with a pop of displaced air, the small house-elf appeared before the desk.
"Master?"
"Please tend to Mistress Ginny. I believe she may need to be sorted out," he instructed. His voice was soft as it often was while giving the elf instructions having to do with Ginny. Anyone would be able to hear the care it contained.
"Of course, Master Harry, sir." And with another pop, he was off to complete his task. Turning back to Ginny, who was now facing to door and looking extremely uncomfortable he gestured vaguely.
"You're welcome to hang…er…stay around it you like." He grimaced with his choice of words.
"That's sweet of you, but I'll leave you to your…work." Without another word, she floated through the door.
Work, he thought. How he wished she could understand his intense desire to have her wholly back. Perhaps then she'd realize that this wasn't work, but his life. A life that he'd willingly sacrificed to some of the darkest arts known, a life that he led in isolated seclusion, a life that he suffered through day in and day out - all just to have her back in his arms once again.
The husk of flesh Keatcher currently tended to was simply not enough for his heart. He wanted her back, body and soul – not one and the other - separated.
But you're close, he reminded himself, and even if you have to haggle with the very devil, you'll have her back, as she once was.
A/N: So, if you like what you've read so far let me know. This is something that's been running through my head for a while now and I've finally decided to get it out. I'm not sure how frequent updates will be, but if you like it, I'll see if I can continue.
Oh, and a beta would be nice….I hate that part, by the time I'm done doing my own betaing, I ready to chuck the whole thing.
Ryanaven