Everything – Harry & Ginny
A/N: Originally written for the first week of HP Ship Weeks - starring Harry and Ginny. It was nice to write something sweet about them instead of my normal dramatic angst.
A/N2: Amended disclaimer about not owning copyright to Harry, Ginny, the HP world or even a bench under an oak tree. See store for further details. Ask your Barrister or other Queen's Counsel for further instructions. Plant in moist soil. - DG
Harry sat on the bench under the Oak tree. It was the one place that he knew he wouldn't be bothered. It was still early – maybe a half-hour before sunrise – and he needed to think. Lately, it was too noisy around him. Too many tears and too many destroyed rooms to cope with.
A month had passed since Voldemort perished. It was a month since the Weasleys were broken irreparably. A month since he lost the last connection to his parents with the death of Remus and Tonks. And yet, he was still alive, whether due to Providence, Karma, Fate, or the impossible courage of Ron Weasley or the prodigious brain of Hermione Jean Granger.
Maybe someday, when he was as old as Dumbledore and lived another few lifetimes worth would he understand why he lived and others died in his stead.
What niggled at his conscience was what to do now? The driving force in his life was now gone. Voldemort was dead. His followers were scattered after the Battle of Hogwarts. What options were available now for a seventeen year old savior? Could he finally have the normal life that he always wanted?
And yet what was normal? Normal was what Harry had the day he stepped into the Burrow – and the Weasley's love for him. But normal died on the 2nd of May. Fred.
Fate took away your choice and gave it to me. Harry sat on the bench under the Oak tree and realized the irony of asking such a question in such a location. How could he truly have a normal life when this was now Fred's resting place. It should have been me and not you. How can I have a life when yours was ripped away?
Harry put his hands on his head and attempted to push back the frustrated tears from forming. A soft hand on his shoulder interrupted his frustration. The cotton in his ears distorted what she was saying. Just the delicate smell of Ginny – apple blossoms, fresh baked bread, and broom oil – is intoxicating.
Harry looked up at Ginny and saw the grief in her eyes. Words won't form in his mind. And yet, she leaned over and put a kiss upon his head and a hand upon his shoulder, squeezing it.
I need.
Harry grasped her wrist before she removed her hand from his shoulder. No words were shared yet his eyes begged her to stay.
"Ginny?"
Ginny raised an eyebrow and he budged over on the bench. She sat down, touching from hip to knee. Intense looks were traded, forest green and amber.
"I saw them. I saw them all."
Profound words crashed upon the couple. Wands could cut less painfully. And yet, she waited like a priest in a confessional.
"You're everything to me."
He leaned over and sobbed. Ginny cradled his head in her lap, letting years of grief pour out. He didn't see the tears on her face, dripping into his tussled hair.