I knew a man who lived in fear
It was huge, it was angry,
It was drawing near.
Behind his house, a secret place,
Was the shadow of the demon
He could never face.
Summary: Harry Potter and fear.
Night was always the worst. The ghosts would return and grab him by the robes, pulling him into a world of terror and grief until he ran into consciousness, drenched in sweat and screaming.
So he stopped sleeping.
The shadows were almost as bad; whispering memories and doubts, tugging on his hair until he wretched away and turned on all the lights. The TV joined, for white noise, and then the radio. He would pull out old case files and sit with coffee until the sun peeked up and he would pass out, exhausted, only to wake up a few hours later with his alarm.
Work didn't help. Everyone was an enemy, everyone had alterior motives. The increased senses he gained from the battle never went away. He was always on edge. There was always a threat.
His boss was getting tired of sending apology letters, but he was Harry fucking Potter, and he ended up being right just enough to discard the times he was wrong.
Ginny was always there, even when he didn't want her to be. He knew how much worse it would be without her.
She had been a cool relief in his fevered dreams, a strong hand when he was drowning in loneliness and despair. She catered to his weird routine, held him while he weeped for Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Colin, Snape, Dumbledore, Fred -
She deserved much better than to be awoken by screaming every night. She deserved better than someone too unstable to start a family. She deserved better than a man she had to talk down from sleep-induced hallucinations and hysteria. She deserved better than someone who was wired to attack whenever she touched him.
She deserved better than him. But how could he ask her to leave when he needed her so?
.
He awoke to crying, in the quiet hollow between dusk and dawn.
She was on the bathroom floor with a pregnancy test.
"Oh, Harry," she sobbed. "What are we going to do?"
He pulled her onto his lap and hugged her to his chest and let her cry on his neck.
She leaned away after a bit, looking into his eyes and touching his face, his hair, his chest, while he allowed it.
"Aren't you scared?" she whispered, her voice tiny and shaking.
"No," he lied, and kissed her.
He cried into her hair while she slept.
It doesn't matter now, it's over anyhow
He tells the world that it's sleeping
But as the night came round
I heard its lonely sound
It wasn't roaring, it was weeping
It wasn't roaring, it was weeping.