A/N: Just a short interlude to see what Ginny/Harry have been up to all this time.
Cambridge
November 5, 2006
Harry huffed, out of breath and lying on the floor. He tried to remember the last time he'd felt so utterly exhausted, but other than the occasional game of football, he wasn't exactly one for working out.
"Are you sure you want to keep doing this?" Ginny loomed above him, her head tilted to the side. He narrowed his eyes at her, straightening his glasses and carefully watching the witch.
She offered him her hand, which he accepted, noticing the concern in her eyes.
"Yes," he breathed. "I think - my lack of - skill - is reason - to keep going." It took him a few tries to get the sentence out. He grabbed a glass of water, chugging down the cool drink in a single gulp.
"There's no shame in it; you're a politician not a soldier," she pointed out.
Harry huffed and she cast a quick Augamenti on the empty glass. They had started a workout regimen two days earlier, when boredom had started to rear its ugly head. Harry thought working out and practicing combat skills was a great idea. Beyond a few basic Magical Defense classes in Secondary, he had no experience in combat, either with or without magic.
"I don't want to be helpless," he told her, shaking off the aches in his muscles and drinking another glass of water.
"You're not; you have me." She eyed him carefully.
"Yeah, but what if something happens, and you're not around? Or if you get incapacitated somehow?" he argued.
He caught her slight eye roll. "Harry, if someone gets past me, is there any chance you'll be able to stop them?"
He shrugged. "You never know; maybe this hypothetical perpetrator will underestimate me, and your training will save my life." He smiled as she exhaled in defeat.
"Alright. But no more for today. You look –" she scrunched her nose "–terrible."
He approached her, wiggling his eyebrows. "Really, Ms. Weasley." He invaded her space, sweat dripping from his hair.
She shook her head but appeared amused.
He kissed her, though it took a moment for her to respond.
She grunted, expressing her disapproval for his sweaty state, but was nonetheless unwilling to separate. "Harry," she breathed, pressing her hands against his chest and pushing him off. "Do you really feel helpless?"
He frowned, their conversation replaying once more in his head. "I guess after almost getting blown up - twice - I feel more mortal than I have in the past."
"Really?" she said incredulously.
"Is that surprising?" he questioned.
She shrugged, her cheeks reddening slightly. "I mean, it's just – I assumed based on what happened with you and your mum... Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything." She bit her lower lip, her eyes apologetic.
He grabbed Ginny's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I was so young back then. I mean, my memories of those first few years after the Event are a strange blur, like that part of my life is tainted by static. My parents were doing everything they could to keep the peace with non-magicals, which is probably what drew the attention of the Isolationists in the first place."
He paused, looking at a point on the other side of the room. "When the Isolationists came to Godric's Hollow to threaten the non-magicals, they had effectively found a way to control the television broadcasts. I'm not sure if you knew this, but their plan was to threaten the non-magicals on television – to basically say that unless the non-magicals left England, the Isolationists would kill all the ones in Godric's Hollow."
Ginny furrowed her brow, but nodded in understanding.
Harry continued, "So, when the isolationists came, my mum threw herself in the crossfire. Rather than broadcasting a threatening message, they aired my mum trying to protect the non-magicals and getting killed instead. And then... well, then there was me." He left the words 'crying over her dead body' hanging between them.
They were silent for a moment, and Harry felt particularly exposed. It wasn't often he spoke about his mother – particularly those moments. But he wanted Ginny to get to know him as more than simply a politician.
"But that doesn't really answer the question, about why you feel so helpless now," Ginny said softly.
Harry nodded. "I guess the point is, we always expected terrible things to happen back then. It was how we lived: we didn't answer the door, didn't trust many people...That was our life. But now? I guess it was the sheer - unexpectedness of the bombings that threw me."
"Do you want to know one of the key elements of not feeling helpless?" Ginny asked him, urging him to stand up.
"What?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Confidence," she suggested.
"Don't I need to know what I'm doing to have confidence?" he frowned.
"You do know what you're doing: you have a basic knowledge of spells and some basic self defense. But you don't believe in your own abilities. You need to be sure of yourself; when you cast an Expelliarmus, don't hesitate – just cast it."
"But," he countered, "what if I choose the wrong spell? Like, if they cast something, and it would be best to use a shield spell, but instead I disarm them? Doesn't it make more sense to be thoughtful?"
She laughed. "This isn't politics or chess. This is life and death. You trust your instincts, and you make a gut decision. It may be wrong, but in combat, you don't have time to be thoughtful. So the key to training is to help hone your reflexes. But Harry," she gave him a kind smile, "you're not helpless. Alright?"
"Thank you," he whispered.
"You're welcome. I'll tell you what — we can have one more go at practicing before supper, yeah?" she asked.
He nodded, readying his stance and grinning at the witch.