Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. The title is
also not mine and taken from the song by Audioslave. What? So sue me. No
wait don't.
If it had been anyone else she wouldn't be there, sitting motionlessly (Aside from the relentless tugging at her hair.) and breathing only when she remembered.
Anyone else and not him. But it was him therefore a few more years of this and she'd have patches of hair missing near her left and right temples.
The first few nights when he'd started the Auror business she tried delving into books on Quantum physics and the latest discoveries in the mediwizarding world.
She gave that up quickly when she realized the words weren't being grasped. They'd turned into formless masses of black ink that slid down the page causing her to shut the book and fasten her eyes on the door.
Then began the counting. She counted the seconds, the tiles on the kitchen floor, the number of times the snitch darted out of Ron's reach in the blue lacquer framed picture on the wall. The counting was before she discovered the utility of the popular witch magazines.
Ginny would leave issues lying on the kitchen table. She liked reading them from cover to cover. The words got through and didn't form obtuse patterns as soon as her eyes met them. She took pleasure in the unthinking and the devouring of time that came from reading them.
She read the latest issue the night before and she was wearing pink this night, the color that according to the May issue brought out the light brown highlights in her hair.
Tonight she was mid-tug when Ron walked through the door. Following the initial annoyance that he wasn't who she'd been watching for she smiled warmly. Not wasting time to even grunt or wave a hand in greeting, Ron headed for the fridge and began drinking from the milk carton. Ron, she noticed, looked rather nice. He was wearing stylish robes that suited his hair and skin tone and it bothered her only a little that she knew now which colors went well with his hair and skin tone.
"Ron?" she asked softly. "Mm?" He answered, looking up momentarily from a pan of unidentifiable leftovers. "Mind in helping me pass the time?" "He'll be fine. I don't know why you worry. Anyway doing what? I don't want to play that stupid muggle game scrabble with you again." "No, not that." And she told him.
Using a sleeve he wiped clean the milk running down his chin with a look of shock on his face.
And soon they were both pretending fervently Ron was who it was she stopped biting her lip to scream out for.
This new past-time activity, to her, was not distinguishable from counting and reading about makeovers. They distracted equally and indiscriminately and she was grateful to the tiles, magazines and Ron eternally for it.
"A good thing apparating onto the property isn't allowed eh? Or he might have caught us already." "Yes, a good thing. And Ron?" "What?" "When you finish dressing close the window this time. It was freezing when we returned yesterday." "Right, sorry. Oh and have a blast at your watch-post." Ron slipped on his jumper as she closed the door behind her.
A few minutes had gone by after she'd resumed her position in front of the door, in the kitchen seat, when Harry walked in. She jumped up, beaming, and hugged him. Harry smiled wearily into her hair.
She was fine and Hermione again.
If it had been anyone else she wouldn't be there, sitting motionlessly (Aside from the relentless tugging at her hair.) and breathing only when she remembered.
Anyone else and not him. But it was him therefore a few more years of this and she'd have patches of hair missing near her left and right temples.
The first few nights when he'd started the Auror business she tried delving into books on Quantum physics and the latest discoveries in the mediwizarding world.
She gave that up quickly when she realized the words weren't being grasped. They'd turned into formless masses of black ink that slid down the page causing her to shut the book and fasten her eyes on the door.
Then began the counting. She counted the seconds, the tiles on the kitchen floor, the number of times the snitch darted out of Ron's reach in the blue lacquer framed picture on the wall. The counting was before she discovered the utility of the popular witch magazines.
Ginny would leave issues lying on the kitchen table. She liked reading them from cover to cover. The words got through and didn't form obtuse patterns as soon as her eyes met them. She took pleasure in the unthinking and the devouring of time that came from reading them.
She read the latest issue the night before and she was wearing pink this night, the color that according to the May issue brought out the light brown highlights in her hair.
Tonight she was mid-tug when Ron walked through the door. Following the initial annoyance that he wasn't who she'd been watching for she smiled warmly. Not wasting time to even grunt or wave a hand in greeting, Ron headed for the fridge and began drinking from the milk carton. Ron, she noticed, looked rather nice. He was wearing stylish robes that suited his hair and skin tone and it bothered her only a little that she knew now which colors went well with his hair and skin tone.
"Ron?" she asked softly. "Mm?" He answered, looking up momentarily from a pan of unidentifiable leftovers. "Mind in helping me pass the time?" "He'll be fine. I don't know why you worry. Anyway doing what? I don't want to play that stupid muggle game scrabble with you again." "No, not that." And she told him.
Using a sleeve he wiped clean the milk running down his chin with a look of shock on his face.
And soon they were both pretending fervently Ron was who it was she stopped biting her lip to scream out for.
This new past-time activity, to her, was not distinguishable from counting and reading about makeovers. They distracted equally and indiscriminately and she was grateful to the tiles, magazines and Ron eternally for it.
"A good thing apparating onto the property isn't allowed eh? Or he might have caught us already." "Yes, a good thing. And Ron?" "What?" "When you finish dressing close the window this time. It was freezing when we returned yesterday." "Right, sorry. Oh and have a blast at your watch-post." Ron slipped on his jumper as she closed the door behind her.
A few minutes had gone by after she'd resumed her position in front of the door, in the kitchen seat, when Harry walked in. She jumped up, beaming, and hugged him. Harry smiled wearily into her hair.
She was fine and Hermione again.
