Ginny flung a sidelong glance towards Harry, who had fallen asleep on
the couch hours ago. To everyone's excitement, he had rented a movie
for the Weasley clan to watch on "Dad's muggle picture-box". She
didn't quite remember what it was called, but she could recall that it
involved what Hermione called "cops" and some modeling competition.
She picked at her nail polish and let her eyes travel unabashed down
Harry's unconscious body, which sported red plaid pajama pants and an
oversized t-shirt. Puberty had been unseasonably kind to him, and
instead of acne he received height and musculature for his fifteenth
birthday. Finally her eyes fell on his wrists, which as per usual were
streaked with thin red cuts. He had done an excellent job of hiding
them during early June, but by July he could no longer suffer long
sleeves and gave up trying to keep his nasty habit a secret. Of course
the Weasleys weren't at all disgusted; they felt horrible pity for
him. Frequently he would cry out at night, a sign of his terrible
nightmares. However at that moment Harry looked strangely peaceful
lying there on the sofa: his haunting emerald eyes were softly shut,
and their thick black lashes brushed quietly against the blushing
apples of his cheeks. Trailing her eyes down the pencil-straight slope
of his nose, Ginny noticed that his full pink lips were slightly
parted, revealing the tips of ivory-white teeth. 'He looks like an
angel.', thought Ginny with smiling adoration. She glanced at the fat
wall-clock. "Really really late. Go to bed!" read the perfect black
type on the clock's white face. She decided not to leave Harry
stranded downstairs all night, and silently crept towards him. She
shook his arm gently, arousing a low, protesting rumble from deep in
his chest.
"Harry! Wake up," she whispered hoarsely.
Harry shifted awake and fixed his sleepy gaze on the girl staring down at him. "Ginny."
"Hi. It's really late, and everyone's gone to bed."
Harry sat up suddenly and noticed his glasses had been folded neatly on the coffee table. "Was I asleep?" He rubbed his cheek and looked around, taking note of the desolate living area.
"Yes, you were. But you can stay down here if you want, I can get you a blanket." Ginny started towards the hall closet. Immediately Harry leapt up and dashed before her, sliding his glasses up his nose.
"It's okay, I can get it. I don't want to be a bother to anybody." He reached up into the high shelves and pulled out a heavy tan quilt. "Do you want to use this, too?"
Ginny accompanied him back towards the sagging pink sofa. "What do you mean?"
"Do you want to share my blanket? I mean, if you're still down here I'm sure you were sleeping, too." He sat comfortably in one corner of the couch and motioned for her to sit opposite of him. Not wanting to admit that she had been staring at him instead of sleeping, she gratefully accepted his invitation and plunked herself onto the old, soft fabric. Instead of sinking back into his previous sweet slumber, Harry folded his hands and stared at her expectantly. After what seemed to Ginny like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke. "Well.do you want to talk? Or do you just want to go back to sleep?"
"Let's talk," replied Ginny.
Harry shrugged. "Erm.how are you? What did you do today?"
"I baked a mulberry pie, played Quidditch with the boys, and, of course, I watched that movie you got us."
For a moment, Harry seemed to be deep in thought. "Do you ever wish you had sisters instead of brothers?"
"I used to. But then after hearing all the stories my friends tell me about their evil older sisters, I decided that brothers can be good."
"I wish I had brothers and sisters. That would be so much fun."
"You'll have a big family some day, Harry. After you get married and have dozens of children."
Harry smiled faintly. Ever since he had arrived at the Weasley's, he just didn't seem like his normally cheery self. He wasn't depressed, just not as happy. "I plan to do just that. Now all I have to do is find a wife."
Ginny returned his smile. "That won't be hard. Next year you'll have girls falling all over themselves just to tread in your footprints."
The spontaneous compliment surprised Harry. "You're so nice to me.why aren't we friends?"
Ginny blushed. "I don't know.you're friends with Ron, and he hates sharing friends with me."
"Then he'll just have to live with it."
An hour passed by, and Ginny and Harry began talking like they had known each other for years. As the conversation developed, it grew deeper and more serious, as do most midnight conversations between friends. Harry found it easier to open up to Ginny than Hermione or Ron because she seemed to automatically accept him and not comment on his speech pattern or mock his statements. Ginny forgot about the towering pedestal she had built for Harry in her mind, and treated him like a normal person. She lost her timid nature and acted like she usually did around her close friends.
".so then we found out that they weren't even HIS goldfish. Plus, we had to run all the way back home in the pouring rain wearing only our bras and panties."
Harry laughed heartily, much to Ginny's amusement. "I can't believe the vacuum cleaner exploded like that."
"We felt terrible when the ceiling caved in! I wish I could see the look on his face when he came home."
Harry's laughter winded down, and once again the weary, morose expression had dominated his handsome face. He never explained his suddenly subdued personality; whenever somebody would ask him about it he'd snap at them angrily. Ever since he temporarily moved in with the Weasleys, it seemed like he had no emotions whatsoever. Ron had grown quite frustrated with this, because he had heard of the horrors of the now ominous "Third Task" and he felt that for Harry not to feel anything about it was completely abnormal. Ginny quickly fell asleep; she didn't usually stay up past eleven. Harry, however, frequently wandered around his living quarters at all hours of the night, and so now he lay awake, staring blindly at his female counterpart. He wasn't thinking of her, nor anything at that matter. nowadays he just liked to stare off quietly and block off any train of thought from passing through. Recently he had learned that thinking too much without concentrating on a certain subject would lead to thoughts of Voldemort and the appalling events of the past few months. Harry didn't like to deal with emotions; living with the uncaring Dursleys had left him incapable of doing so. Instead he just kept them inside of him, leaving his exterior icy and numb. Harry stood up and carefully tucked the blanket warmly around Ginny. He paused to inspect his wrists: the cuts were at least two days old. He yearned to release his inner pain by inflicting it on himself, and so hurried to the nearest bathroom to find a razor. This time he went deeper than he had ever gone before. It wasn't enough for a serious injury, but it was enough to hold him over for a few days. It was hard for him to sneak around in a house of eleven other people, so he had to go further each occasion just to keep the strange addiction in check. He rinsed the oddly thick, seeping blood in the slow flowing water of the sink. He watched numbly as the fresh wounds finally clotted, and he dried off his hands on a towel. He tiptoed out of the bathroom and, in the choking darkness, was unable to see the object he had just ran into. An unhappy female grumble sounded from the floor. Harry flicked on a light, and Hermione was sprawled out on the carpet. She squinted against the sudden flash of brightness and groggily noticed Harry.
"Harry.you've got to stop wandering around at night." moaned Hermione from the floor. She had just arrived at the Weasley household yesterday afternoon.
Harry knelt down and pulled her to her feet. "Sorry."
Hermione looked up curiously. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," came his icy response.
Hermione knitted her brow worriedly. "Why are you acting like that?"
"Like what?" His face showed no emotion.
Hermione stared at him for a moment, then decided to change the subject. "What were you up for?"
"I had to use the restroom."
"Well, that's where I'm heading. Now.get some rest, you look like you need it." With that, Hermione shuffled down the hallway and into the restroom.
Harry sighed, and walked slowly back into the living room. Almost as soon as he sunk back into the worn sofa, Hermione exploded into the room with a gush of wind. On the verge of tears, she held a bloody razor between her fingers. Harry watched numbly as she approached him in a flurry of emotions.
"Harry, why does this have blood on it?" She clenched her teeth, and blinked back tears.
Harry stared at her coldly. "I forgot to wash it off. He allowed her to shakily inspect his wrists, but covered her mouth when she was about to cry out. "You're going to wake up Ginny," he said, motioning to the sleeping redhead on the couch behind him. Hermione released a muffled whimper behind his large palm, and Harry removed his hand. She immediately clung to him like a magnet, sobbing into his shirt. "You were always a crier. I remember in first year when your crying got us mixed up with a mountain troll. And then in third year when you would go sobbing off to Hagrid's house." She continued to heave into his chest. "Stop. Stop crying, it isn't that big of a deal. 'Mione, please." Harry picked her off of his shirt and set her about a foot away. "You're so emotional," he complained. She broke off and glared up at him.
"Why?"
"Why WHAT?"
"Why are you so cold? Don't you even care?"
"That you're crying your eyes out?"
"That- that." For once, Hermione was lost for words.
"Whatsamatter? Cat got your tongue?" Harry walked cooly to the door, but just as he was leaving he called, "Don't forget to turn off the light."
Harry shifted awake and fixed his sleepy gaze on the girl staring down at him. "Ginny."
"Hi. It's really late, and everyone's gone to bed."
Harry sat up suddenly and noticed his glasses had been folded neatly on the coffee table. "Was I asleep?" He rubbed his cheek and looked around, taking note of the desolate living area.
"Yes, you were. But you can stay down here if you want, I can get you a blanket." Ginny started towards the hall closet. Immediately Harry leapt up and dashed before her, sliding his glasses up his nose.
"It's okay, I can get it. I don't want to be a bother to anybody." He reached up into the high shelves and pulled out a heavy tan quilt. "Do you want to use this, too?"
Ginny accompanied him back towards the sagging pink sofa. "What do you mean?"
"Do you want to share my blanket? I mean, if you're still down here I'm sure you were sleeping, too." He sat comfortably in one corner of the couch and motioned for her to sit opposite of him. Not wanting to admit that she had been staring at him instead of sleeping, she gratefully accepted his invitation and plunked herself onto the old, soft fabric. Instead of sinking back into his previous sweet slumber, Harry folded his hands and stared at her expectantly. After what seemed to Ginny like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke. "Well.do you want to talk? Or do you just want to go back to sleep?"
"Let's talk," replied Ginny.
Harry shrugged. "Erm.how are you? What did you do today?"
"I baked a mulberry pie, played Quidditch with the boys, and, of course, I watched that movie you got us."
For a moment, Harry seemed to be deep in thought. "Do you ever wish you had sisters instead of brothers?"
"I used to. But then after hearing all the stories my friends tell me about their evil older sisters, I decided that brothers can be good."
"I wish I had brothers and sisters. That would be so much fun."
"You'll have a big family some day, Harry. After you get married and have dozens of children."
Harry smiled faintly. Ever since he had arrived at the Weasley's, he just didn't seem like his normally cheery self. He wasn't depressed, just not as happy. "I plan to do just that. Now all I have to do is find a wife."
Ginny returned his smile. "That won't be hard. Next year you'll have girls falling all over themselves just to tread in your footprints."
The spontaneous compliment surprised Harry. "You're so nice to me.why aren't we friends?"
Ginny blushed. "I don't know.you're friends with Ron, and he hates sharing friends with me."
"Then he'll just have to live with it."
An hour passed by, and Ginny and Harry began talking like they had known each other for years. As the conversation developed, it grew deeper and more serious, as do most midnight conversations between friends. Harry found it easier to open up to Ginny than Hermione or Ron because she seemed to automatically accept him and not comment on his speech pattern or mock his statements. Ginny forgot about the towering pedestal she had built for Harry in her mind, and treated him like a normal person. She lost her timid nature and acted like she usually did around her close friends.
".so then we found out that they weren't even HIS goldfish. Plus, we had to run all the way back home in the pouring rain wearing only our bras and panties."
Harry laughed heartily, much to Ginny's amusement. "I can't believe the vacuum cleaner exploded like that."
"We felt terrible when the ceiling caved in! I wish I could see the look on his face when he came home."
Harry's laughter winded down, and once again the weary, morose expression had dominated his handsome face. He never explained his suddenly subdued personality; whenever somebody would ask him about it he'd snap at them angrily. Ever since he temporarily moved in with the Weasleys, it seemed like he had no emotions whatsoever. Ron had grown quite frustrated with this, because he had heard of the horrors of the now ominous "Third Task" and he felt that for Harry not to feel anything about it was completely abnormal. Ginny quickly fell asleep; she didn't usually stay up past eleven. Harry, however, frequently wandered around his living quarters at all hours of the night, and so now he lay awake, staring blindly at his female counterpart. He wasn't thinking of her, nor anything at that matter. nowadays he just liked to stare off quietly and block off any train of thought from passing through. Recently he had learned that thinking too much without concentrating on a certain subject would lead to thoughts of Voldemort and the appalling events of the past few months. Harry didn't like to deal with emotions; living with the uncaring Dursleys had left him incapable of doing so. Instead he just kept them inside of him, leaving his exterior icy and numb. Harry stood up and carefully tucked the blanket warmly around Ginny. He paused to inspect his wrists: the cuts were at least two days old. He yearned to release his inner pain by inflicting it on himself, and so hurried to the nearest bathroom to find a razor. This time he went deeper than he had ever gone before. It wasn't enough for a serious injury, but it was enough to hold him over for a few days. It was hard for him to sneak around in a house of eleven other people, so he had to go further each occasion just to keep the strange addiction in check. He rinsed the oddly thick, seeping blood in the slow flowing water of the sink. He watched numbly as the fresh wounds finally clotted, and he dried off his hands on a towel. He tiptoed out of the bathroom and, in the choking darkness, was unable to see the object he had just ran into. An unhappy female grumble sounded from the floor. Harry flicked on a light, and Hermione was sprawled out on the carpet. She squinted against the sudden flash of brightness and groggily noticed Harry.
"Harry.you've got to stop wandering around at night." moaned Hermione from the floor. She had just arrived at the Weasley household yesterday afternoon.
Harry knelt down and pulled her to her feet. "Sorry."
Hermione looked up curiously. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," came his icy response.
Hermione knitted her brow worriedly. "Why are you acting like that?"
"Like what?" His face showed no emotion.
Hermione stared at him for a moment, then decided to change the subject. "What were you up for?"
"I had to use the restroom."
"Well, that's where I'm heading. Now.get some rest, you look like you need it." With that, Hermione shuffled down the hallway and into the restroom.
Harry sighed, and walked slowly back into the living room. Almost as soon as he sunk back into the worn sofa, Hermione exploded into the room with a gush of wind. On the verge of tears, she held a bloody razor between her fingers. Harry watched numbly as she approached him in a flurry of emotions.
"Harry, why does this have blood on it?" She clenched her teeth, and blinked back tears.
Harry stared at her coldly. "I forgot to wash it off. He allowed her to shakily inspect his wrists, but covered her mouth when she was about to cry out. "You're going to wake up Ginny," he said, motioning to the sleeping redhead on the couch behind him. Hermione released a muffled whimper behind his large palm, and Harry removed his hand. She immediately clung to him like a magnet, sobbing into his shirt. "You were always a crier. I remember in first year when your crying got us mixed up with a mountain troll. And then in third year when you would go sobbing off to Hagrid's house." She continued to heave into his chest. "Stop. Stop crying, it isn't that big of a deal. 'Mione, please." Harry picked her off of his shirt and set her about a foot away. "You're so emotional," he complained. She broke off and glared up at him.
"Why?"
"Why WHAT?"
"Why are you so cold? Don't you even care?"
"That you're crying your eyes out?"
"That- that." For once, Hermione was lost for words.
"Whatsamatter? Cat got your tongue?" Harry walked cooly to the door, but just as he was leaving he called, "Don't forget to turn off the light."
