Description: I had plot bunnies attacking my shoes yesterday so I wrote this. It is set after book 7. Harry's been missing for months; Ginny is now in her seventh year. Harry's been hiding out in the Caves that Sirius hid in, even through his amnesia doesn't tell him that. He's been missing since Voldemort was killed.
Dedication: Rentheads + Potterheads, my new fav. Shipping
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (if I did book 4-6 would've been different) or Rent. This was once 'Light my Candle'.
Light the Fire
Ginny sat at a table near the back drinking her new butterbeer and remembered back to her sixth year. A chair scooted back and caused her to look up, thinking it was one of her friends. "What'd you forget?"
"Got any heat?" He asked weakly.
Ginny was taken back by his sudden appearance. The man took the seat across from her.
"I know you?" She looked him over: dark black hair, bright green eyes, a shadow that looked like a lightening bolt was on his forehead. He shivered slightly. "You're shivering."
"It's nothing, I have no heat and I'm a little weak on my feet. Would you light that fire?" He paused and looked her over: fire red hair, freckles, slightly used clothes. She stared. "What are you staring at?"
Ginny turned her gaze quickly to her butterbeer. "Nothing, your eyes in the moonlight. You look familiar." The man got up to light the fire himself and stumbled. "Can you make it?"
He smiled at her. "Just haven't eaten much today. At least the room stopped spinning, anyway." He noticed Ginny's stare. He smiled as he said, "What?"
Ginny smiled back, "Nothing, your smile reminded me of--"
He sighed, sitting back down. "I always reminded people of--who is he?"
Ginny turned her look toward the dieing fire, "He died. His name was Harry."
"It's out. Sorry, 'bout your friend." The man got up to light it again.
"Well--." Ginny said standing.
"Yeah." The man went back to her.
Ginny stood there, inches from the stranger, the heat rushing to her face. "Oh, well goodnight." She started to leave. The man's mumbling stopped her.
"No--I think I remember that crash."
She turned to face him. "I know I've seen you out and about, when did you last go out?"
He put a hand over the shadow that just wouldn't disappear, "I'm illin'. I didn't have this before. Is it pure?"
"What?" Ginny asked, trying to understand his ramblings. The man looked up at her and smiled.
"You're staring again."
Ginny knew that the blush in her cheeks and the purple on her ear tips was obvious now. "Oh no--I mean--You look familiar."
His smile turned into something of a smirk, "Like your dead boyfriend?"
"But I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else--"
He noticed the butterbeer was still in her hand. "Why don't you forget that stuff? You look like you're thirteen."
"I'm seventeen." Ginny was used to people thinking she was younger than she was, but it still annoyed her. "But I'm old for my age."
The man reached out to take the mug and brushed his fingers against hers. He took it from her and set it down.
"Cold hands." Ginny said simply, smiling.
"Yours too." He smiled down at her and took her hand. "Small. Like my mother's. Care to dance?"
"With you?" Ginny asked. He spun her close to him and then back to where she was before.
"No." He laughed. "With my mother."
"I'm Ginny." She introduced herself.
The man suddenly dropped her hand and looked sad. "They call me," He stopped, as if he was forcing himself to say it. He looked her in the eyes, "They call me Harry."
