Flipped by Alethya Devan
Chapter 1 – Thanks for everyone who reviewed, you guys are GREAT! muah
Note: Ginny's full name IS Ginevra Molly Weasley – if in doubt, refer to the Harry Potter Lexicon and the past JKR interviews. So all those out there who used Virginia as the first name... it's Ginevra!
Chapter 2: Circles
:::
I could barely take a step out of my room before dinner.
I couldn't breathe the moment I stepped into the kitchen and saw him there, sitting, his hair adorably sticking up in a cowlick at the back, the end of his lightning bolt scar peeking from behind a loose fringe of black hair.
He didn't see me at first.
I paused momentarily at the bottom of the staircase, taking in my mother at her usual spot, my father at his, Fred and George sitting together, and the empty seat resting between Harry and Hermione.
I felt a pang of sympathy for Harry, a rush of love for his hunched, tense posture as he kept his eyes downcast on his empty plate, not responding to the various conversations around him.
It was Dad who saw me first, his mouth splitting into the grin that I always thought was only for me.
"There you are, Ginny! We've been waiting for you!"
"Blimey, Ginny...."
"...s'bout time you got down here..."
"about to starve, we are!"
I smiled at Dad, glared at Fred and George who had already turned their attention to the steak and kidney pie in front of them, and finally rested my eyes on Harry.
My breath caught halfway down to my lungs.
That expression again, the one I couldn't read, was printed on his face, his emerald eyes locking with mine. I prayed I wouldn't trip over my feet as I slid into the empty seat next to him, absentmindedly turning to greet Ron and Hermione.
I still hadn't said I word to Harry, and he sure hadn't tried to acknowledge my presence.
We didn't speak to each other during dinner, actually.
I occasionally spooned food onto his plate for him, and he did the same for me, and while I always felt the familiar electric current travel up my arm when he brushed against me, he never bothered to speak.
It only heightened my already sensitive nerves. I registered his every movement, the way he ate, how he held his fork and knife, the slight slurping noise he made when eating his stew. I hoped, with all my heart, that the invitation I had made earlier would be accepted.
That maybe he would come and talk with me.
I prayed that he would.
:::::::
After dinner, I went immediately up to my room after helping Mum check on her dishwashing charms and wipe down the table.I read for a while, my mind dragging slowly through Hogwarts, a History, which I had snatched from its usual spot on Hermione's bedside table. I felt drained.
I fell asleep almost instantaneously, my mind filled with daydreams of the various hidden niches in Hogwarts that could serve as a potential Harry- snogging place.
When I woke again, Hermione was already asleep in her bed, her classic occasional snore coming from her side of the room. I sighed, swinging my legs off the side of my bed. I was reaching behind me for my jumper when I sensed movement and looked at the doorway.
Harry.
His hand was still on the doorknob, and although I couldn't see his face, I knew from his stance that he was about to flee any moment.
I grabbed my jumper and ran to the door.
My mind was still groggy from sleep as I pulled the door shut behind me, grabbing his arm and leading him down the staircase, thanking the stars that my room was only on the third floor and not any higher.
The living room was dark, a heavy blanket of silence and night muffling the glowing embers in the fireplace. I let go of Harry's arm and knelt in front of the dying fire, blowing lightly on it and feeling my mind shake the cobwebs off as the fire grew slowly.
When the fire was crackling at its usual enthusiasm, I turned, feeling my pulse pick up immediately as I looked up.
It never failed, my reaction to him.
I moved a little farther back from the fire and turned so I was facing him, pooling my jumper into my lap.
He didn't look at me, staring into the fire, his right hand picking absently at a loose thread on the knee of his pajama pants, his back leaning against the base of the couch.
His profile was not alien to me in that I had never seen it, but it was something new, seeing him in firelight. I felt like a sponge, my eyes absorbing his messy hair, his nose, his lips, his eyelashes on his cheeks as he blinked.
We didn't move for a long time.
When he did speak, his voice cut through the silence like a cleaver.
"If I tell you something, will you promise never to tell anyone?"
My breath caught, but I did not hesitate.
"Yes," I said, my voice hoarse.
He turned his head to face me for a moment, meeting my eyes as if trying to assess my honesty.
"I haven't even told Ron and Hermione yet." He snorted, wiping a thumb along his jawline. "I haven't even told my best friends yet."
I could sense his doubt, his bitterness.
"Harry," I said, as softly as I could, "they still want to be your best friend. They still love you."
"How can they?" he ground out, his teeth clenched. "I don't even understand how you could still stand there at that tree this afternoon and say you loved me when you saw what I did to Hermione."
"No," I protested, my words coming out in a rush, stung by his disbelief. "That wasn't you, I know you, I..."
"No one knows me," he muttered, "you don't understand, Ginny, that WAS me. You don't know who I am, I don't know who I am, all I know is I'm...."
He turned his face away suddenly, so even his profile was hidden from me.
"Go away, Ginny," he said, his voice sounding strangled.
I froze.
"Go away."
The words didn't sink in. I sat, my hands tangled in the sleeve of my jumper, staring at the back of his head, his messy black hair...
"Go away. Stop trying to help me." His voice was choked, and even though he was turned away from me I could see the tenseness in the set of his shoulders.
I couldn't stop my hand from reaching out and tentatively resting it on his upper back, near his left shoulder.
He was facing me suddenly, on his knees, green eyes flashing in the firelight, messy hair accentuated with gold, his hands convulsing into fists.
"Damnit, will you just leave me alone?! Can't you see I don't want your help, can't you see you can never mean anything to me?!"
The words cut into me.
I could feel a rising pain in my throat, in my chest, in my eyes.
I broke his gaze, dropping my jumper as I scrambled to rise and ran out of the living room, a sob choking out of my mouth.
There was so much blood pounding into my ears, so much pain in my chest.
I almost didn't hear the sound of the door slamming.
My legs didn't belong to me. They had a mind of their own, a mind that had not yet been paralysed with emotional hurt.
I ran out the door, hearing it click shut behind me, across the garden, the Quidditch paddock, the orchard, my feet sure on the cool grass and earth, the air sticky and warm, the sky a dark blue.
I stopped short as I broke through the final line of orchard trees, reaching out a hand to steady myself against the trunk of a tree, panting.
He was there. What déja vu.
His face was hidden in the shadow of my sycamore, sitting, leaning against the trunk, but his lower body, his arms, were apparent in the moonlight, his dark blue dressing gown, his white t-shirt underneath, his blue pajama bottoms.
I stood there for a long time, my heart rate calming slowly, half hidden behind a tree, watching him.
I saw his shoulders shake suddenly, shuddering, and amid the slight sound of rustling leaves in the otherwise still night, I could hear him crying.
I moved towards him, my feet padding across the well-known roots, until I was sitting beside him on the low branch, reaching for him, touching his shaking shoulders, his clenched knuckles.
I heard his breath catch, his sobs stop abruptly as he raised his head to look at me, his expression in the dim light one of surprise and fear.
"Ginny," he whispered, choking, his eyes bright with a well of unshed tears. I felt my heart melt for this dark, tortured man.
"Harry..."
"Gin, please don't, you can't love..."
He turned away, as if ashamed that he was crying, and I could see the tension in his neck as he tried to keep the sobs from escaping. I moved closer to him, circling my arms around his neck as I had in the afternoon, willing his emotional walls to come down.
I laid my cheek tentatively across his shoulder, my eyes pressed close into his neck, his arms creeping slowly into place around my waist.
I felt him shudder, shaking as he bit back sobs. A stray tear made its way out from behind my eyelids, spilling onto his neck.
"Cry, Harry."
He did.
::::
"Ginny," he said hoarsely. I had lost track of time, except in the movement of the moon across the navy blue sky."Mhmm?" I said back, picking at the bark below my hands.
"I'm sorry," he said, sounding sheepish.
"I know."
"I've been saying that a lot," he let out a dry chuckle.
"It's okay," I took a deep breath, willing patience, willing for him to tell me.
"I...it's just... I didn't mean to say what I did, I had to, I..."
"What do you mean?"
"He let out an almighty sigh. "D'you...d'you remember how I made you promise not to tell anyone about something?"
I nodded, feeling the anticipation rise.
"Dumbledore called me into his office after what happened..." he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing "after what happened...in the Department of Mysteries. He said, that before I was born, a prophecy was made that a hero would be born on July 31st, and that he alone would have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, that he has a power the Dark Lord knows not of, that..."
He swallowed convulsively again, his hand clenching around mine, his gaze dropping to our intertwined fingers. I felt a blush rise into my face.
"...the prophecy, Gin. It says that either I die or I kill Voldemort. Either he kills me or I kill him. One of us dies, Gin. Or both of us."
The grip around my hand was painful now, but I could barely feel the lack of blood. Shock had frozen my veins, my mind.
He abruptly let go, turning away.
"I should go. I'll see you tomorrow."
He dropped down from the low branch, landing in a slight crouch, before he straightened.
"That's why you're telling me to stay away?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"It's not your problem," he cut back, his voice bitter, his words childish.
"That's a stupid reason, Harry, and you know it."
"You don't understand, Ginny." His tone was angry now, annoyed, frustrated.
"Then tell me. Then explain to me. I'm listening."
"You won't understand."
"Try me."
"I don't deserve you, Gin. I don't deserve your family, I don't deserve this love. You don't need me to live. Go away, Gin."
"No."
"Then I will."
He started walking away, his stride steady.
I was in front of him in an instant, right before the first line of orchard trees. I could see the sycamore behind him, dark, majestic, a black silhouette against a blue velvet background.
I looked at him for a moment, absorbing his annoyed expression, his simple white t-shirt, his half-closed eyes.
"Stop running away, Harry," I said at last.
"I'm not running," he protested, his hands shoved into his pockets, his stance uncaring and oddly...Malfoy-like. I shivered despite the warm night.
I wanted to ask him what happened to him, but I held myself back, biting my lip, and stepped closer to him.
"Stop it. Stop trying to hurt me, stop trying to push me away. It won't work, Harry," I said, my face inches from his. I felt anger boil up in my veins at his lack of understanding. "It's not going to stop me...us... from caring about you, from looking for you, from loving you."
"Why can't you stop, Gin," he whispered, raking a hand through his hair. "Why can't you just give up on me...I'm a murderer, I could die, you could go with anyone else, Ginny, why me? Choose someone..."
"Harry," I said softly, "I already chose, long ago. I chose you."
I don't know what possessed me to say it. I don't know why I chose to speak the truth that I had buried inside for so long.
He closed his eyes tightly, and I held my breath, steeling myself.
When he finally opened his eyes, he had the same unfathomable expression etched on his features as I had seen that afternoon.
"Can you, Ginny?," he said, his voice rough, harsh, "Can you possibly know that I will be a murderer and still choose me? Can you choose me even if you knew that I had nightmares every night, that I hate myself so much sometimes, that I..."
I don't know how it happened, looking back now, but my fingers were pressed against his lips, and I could feel my pulse race erratically as his eyes darkened in intensity.
His green eyes smoldered as I stepped closer, raising my face to meet his gaze.
"I can. I will. Always."
He took my hand gently around the wrist and removed it from his lips, his arms circling around my waist for the third time that day.
I instinctively reached up around his neck, raising myself to meet him, feeling his pounding heart, knowing mine was racing just as fast.
It was a clumsy kiss, our noses bumping together at first, but when he met his lips with mine, I felt the world falling into place, the missing pieces found, a sudden explosion of touch and light and Harry.
::::::
"Ginny! What on...."I looked at Hermione, who looked back at me, horrified.
I blinked, groggily rubbing sleep from my eyes.
I sat down, bewildered, until I saw the food on the table and realized it was lunch, not breakfast.
"Oh."
Fred and George were grinning like Cheshire cats, evidently amused at my lack of orientation, but if looks could kill, Fred and George would have been six feet under decades ago, the way Hermione was glaring.
"Why didn't anyone wake me up?" I asked, taking a glass of pumpkin juice.
Ron rolled his eyes at me, his mouth full of food. I wrinkled my nose at him.
"See, ickle Ginnykins..." Fred said, snickering
"...you were sleeping so soundly..."
"...you wouldn't have heard a blast-ended skrewt at your door..."
"...and so, in the manner of all proper older brothers..."
"...very GOOD older brothers..."
"...we took advantage of the situation."
I looked at them, completely confused.
"Come again?"
"Oh, honestly!" Hermione exclaimed, glaring at Fred and George, who were still grinning widely.
I raised my glass of juice to my lips, mystified, before realizing that I couldn't manoeuvre them to drink.
"FRED! GEORGE!" I shrieked, my pumpkin juice spreading across the table. My hands flew up to my face.
Ron doubled over in laughter, food spraying out of his mouth. Hermione looked disgusted.
George grinned at me.
"Oh come on, a little holiday cheer?"
I snorted.
"Oy!" Fred yelped, my well-aimed slice of toast clipping his ear.
"Let's talk this over reasonably, Gin – there's no need to get shirty, I mean..." George protested.
I scowled at him and ceremoniously dumped the pitcher of pumpkin juice over his head, and then over Fred, and dribbled the remnant onto Ron's neck.
"GINNY WEASLEY!" Mum shouted, at the door. I wouldn't have eardrums by the time I hit forty at this rate. I smiled innocently and received a scowl in return.
Fred and George ducked under the table, their chairs falling over. I gingerly placed the pitcher back onto the table.
Ron sputtered, choking.
"RON! FRED! GEORGE! How many TIMES have I..."
I looked innocently at Mum, and fled up the stairs
And bumped head on into Harry hurtling in the opposite direction.
How cliché.
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, staring at me in horrid fascination.
My jaw dropped.
He suddenly raised his hands to his face, looking at me, realization dawning in his eyes.
"Fred and George?" he asked. I didn't need to answer.
"You didn't look at a mirror either this morning, did you," I asked.
He shook his head.
I sighed, and pulled him into my room.
We burst out laughing.
From the mirror behind the door, we saw two cat's heads where our heads would normally sit.
"Not bad," Harry said, smiling.
Harry had black fur, with green eyes, and I had my trademark red-ginger hair, with brown eyes. I grinned at him, cat like.
"Can't say you don't look cute as a cat," I said, teasing.
"Yeah, and my hair's about ten times less messy too," he chuckled. Even his smile, in cat form, had the unique Harry-ness in it that made my heart flip.
"Naw," I drawled, "always liked your messy hair...dark as a blackboard, was it?"
He turned to me, smiling, reaching his hand out for my face. My heart pounded, and I could feel myself leaning in, my body screaming touch me touch me touch me touch me
He stopped halfway and dropped it to his side, his smile faltering.
"Think it was," he muttered. He turned away from the mirror, facing the window.
"Harry..."
"So d'you know how long it's going to take to get this cat head off?"
I bit back a sigh.
"I think their charms usually last for an hour."
"I see," he said.
I would have bit my lip if I could. Instead, I clenched my hands tight at my sides.
I ached to touch him.
The silence stretched between us, the tension audible in the quiet of my room.
He turned suddenly, and in two steps was out of my room.
I sat down on the floor, trying hard not to cry.
My heart hurt.
::::::
I loved watching Harry fly. I loved flying too.But it was bloody frustrating when he wouldn't talk to Ron and Hermione, and when Ron refused to talk to him.
Ruddy male pride.
It was completely ridiculous, trying to play Quidditch like that.
With Fred and George gone and with them the mirth of pranks and jokes, it was just the three of them and me.
Me sitting on my broom and watching, Ron trying to coax Hermione to move a meter higher on her broom, Harry doing reckless dives on one of Fred and George's new brooms. And me, watching, my heart thudding angrily.
He could be so bloody stubborn sometimes.
When Ron ended up tossing apples to himself and Harry ended up just looping around the field in a wide detour around Hermione and Ron, something in me snapped.
It was all so stupid, the three of them.
Damn Harry.
I grabbed his arm as he flew past, and dragged him after me, barely hearing his exclamation of surprise. I didn't stop until we had landed at the border of the orchard and I had practically hoisted him through to my sycamore.
I turned to him, the anger in me rising.
He looked completely bored, his hands in his pockets, eyes hooded, his stance so not Harry.
I slapped him.
What a perfect slap.
He staggered back, a hand touching his cheek, shocked.
I grabbed his collar, standing so I was eye level to him, so close I could kiss him.
"Apologize," I said venomously, "apologize to Ron and Hermione. To me."
"And what," he said back, his eyes leering, "will you do if I don't?"
There was an unappreciated advantage to having so many older brothers.
I pushed him backwards, pinning him to the ground in a manoeuvre Bill had taught me years ago. I dug my knee into his thigh viciously.
"What," I said, my voice low, "is wrong with you?"
"Nothing," he said back, raising himself up on his elbows. "I told you, I warned you. This is me."
My head whirled.
"Well then go fix yourself," I snarled, "Go apologize."
"What if I don't?"
My breath caught. I wished I had planned this all before.
I hated it. I hated these stupid circles we were running in.
I let go of him, and he stood up, brushing the back of his t-shirt.
I felt drained. And disgusted.
"Why," I asked softly, barely registering that I was speaking aloud, "is it that talking with you now feels like talking with Malfoy?"
He shrugged, his face turned away from me.
I looked down at my sundress, the muddied hem, the slight grass stain showing on the light blue fabric, the tiny patch in the seam.
"You..." my throat was closed, choking past the lump forming in it, the tears prickling. "Do you even like me, Harry? For being someone other than just some available girl?"
He shrugged, turned, and strode steadily away.
Blood pounded in my ears, behind my eyes, in my throat, my chest.
I numbly turned and climbed up my sycamore, my tears spilling silently onto the rough bark, the revolting metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
I felt numb.
::::
By the time it was past midnight, I was making my way down the staircase to the kitchen, in need of something sweet and thick.My heart stopped.
Harry was already there, sitting at the window, looking strangely out of place in the kitchen chair.
He was staring at me, the surprised expression on his face lit by the dim fire in the fireplace.
He was not, I thought stubbornly, going to get between me and a cup of hot chocolate.
I opened the cupboard, feeling his gaze on my back, feeling the blood rush to my neck, my face.
He didn't move or speak as I poured milk into the cauldron sitting over the fireplace, and then the blocks of chocolate a few moments after.
I ladled the hot chocolate into two mugs, and tried to keep my composure as I set a mug for him on the kitchen table, turning and placing a piece of Sudzeazy's Self Wash Scrubbing Soap into the cauldron, taking it off the fireplace and into the sink.
I glanced at Harry, who was still sitting at the table, except he was looking at the mug of hot chocolate, seeming bewildered.
"It's yours," I said, taking my own off the counter.
I wanted to say more, say anything, but my throat closed up, the memories of the afternoon burning in my mind.
I was at the bottom of the stairwell, swallowing my tears, when I heard his voice.
"Gin," he said, his voice hoarse.
I stopped, blinking, and turned around. He swallowed convulsively, hands tightening around the mug of hot chocolate.
He looked terrified.
"I'm so sor....I'm so....I'm..." He bit his lip, trying to force himself past the word.
"Say it," I said.
"I'm so sorry," he said at last. I nodded. He looked expectantly at me.
As if I was going to go and talk to him.
He must have sensed my want to leave.
"Gin, please," he said, desperate. He was up suddenly, and in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. I was strangely calm.
He searched my face, finally resting his gaze on my eyes. My heart flipped again at his darkening emerald eyes.
"Help me," he whispered. "Please."
"How do I help you, Harry, when you won't let yourself be helped?" My voice came out soft, steady.
His grip tightened on my shoulders. I felt a bit of hot chocolate spill onto my hands.
"I don't know," he said, his eyes tortured, "just stay with me, please. Please, Ginny. I don't know, but when you're beside me, when you touch me, I'm not afraid anymore, I'm not lost anymore, I don't want to torture and loathe myself anymore."
I was speechless.
"Please," he said, his voice low, begging. "forgive me."
I moved out of his arms to the counter, setting down my mug.
"Harry," I said, turning to him. He looked at me, the unfathomable expression on his face.
I reached out then, and touched his bare arm, keeping my eyes on his, tracing his tense hand, his tense shoulders.
"Harry," I said softly, "I chose you. I forgive you."
Something collapsed in him, and he was suddenly sagging against me, his arms circling desperately around my waist, stooping so his face was buried in my neck.
"Help me," he whispered. I shivered, feeling his breath, hot against my skin. My hands traced his shoulder blades, his back.
I couldn't stop the question from bubbling to the surface.
"Will you apologize?" I winced at the insensitivity of my question.
He stood straight, looking away, his arms falling to his side.
"I don't know what to say to them," he muttered.
I felt a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth despite myself. He was so cute.
"You'll know, Harry, when you're standing in front of them."
"Gin," he said, the intensity of his gaze burning through me, "if I lose them...if I lose you..."
"You won't," I said, tracing his arm, feeling the need to touch him course through me.
"I don't want you to get hurt," he said, desperate. "I don't want anyone in your family to die because of me, because..."
"No, you can't control that. You can't expect that you will save us all by distancing us. It's our choice, Harry. We'll die for you, because we love you."
"Ginny," he said, his voice hoarse, "do you love me?"
I looked at him, surprised.
"Why..."
"Do you?"
"You know the answer..."
"Please say it," he said, shy, his voice low and deep. "Please."
I shivered under his burning gaze.
"I love you."
I heard his breath catch in his throat, felt him pull me towards him, crushing me flush against his form.
"Gin," he said, against my lips, "no one has ever said that to me."
"Then believe me," I whispered, my heart pounding unsteadily as his emerald eyes smouldered and his lips came tentatively to rest on mine.
:::::