Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to J.K. Rowling
A.N.: This is the first work done by me, Withered Quill. I was previously Bottled-Message-Inc., (see my bio for that story) if you recognize my writing style. This is the darkest, angstiest thing I've created, and am not sure if it is effectual. Reviews are greatly appreciated.
Ginny Weasley sighed again at her desk, softly gathering her crimson locks in between her fingers. She knotted up the strands, deftly massaging the fiery tresses against her scalp. It was past midnight, ministry closing long ago. Yet she remained poised over a jumbled mess of paperwork.
Night is the time for rest. For the body to regain it's strength to meet the next day. Yet the woman found no respite in darkness. She stayed endless hours bent over her desk, burning into the ashes of her private hell. Prison wasn't the cubicle she lived in. It wasn't the faded sofa that Ginny fitfully slept on when her father demanded she get some rest.
No, prison is what held her mind under lock and key. Prison is the nauseating, ever-consuming, weight of darkness that consumes you and never sleeps. Dreams are filled with terror, and in the morning, the prison guard reminds you of your sins. Prison is the hell from which you cannot run from, for it is a shadow born in the past, and destined to mar the future.
For a decade, Ginny Weasley had been left fighting the demons of her mind. She had no sword, or war banner. She had no cavalry willing to ward off the echoes of her past. Ginny Weasley was abandoned to solitude.
Worst, her battle was forgotten, brushed aside as a thing of the past. A silly girl made a mistake. End of story. There were more important things concerning more important people to worry about.
She was relied upon to heal the victor; to give him the vigor and understanding of her hell, so that he could manipulate her weakness into his strength. The woman who had not yet vanquished her pain was called upon to save another.
Even now, silently dying inside the icy cold of her mind, Ginny bitterly remembered the summer she spent with him. Teaching him how to find peace, to heal from those scars. Irony is sour in the mouth, and even ten years later, it remained acidic.
She took it upon herself to raise him from the smoldering ashes of death. Ginny knew that no matter how ineffectual she was at changing her own dark fate, Harry Potter had a destiny to fulfill. She understood him like no being could ever fathom.
Ginny knew every layer of emotion, every vestige of rage, shame, hatred, guilt, revenge, helplessness, and sorrow in his heart. She knew him like they were kindred spirits.
And if one spirit can survive from the fire, then it's time to swallow the searing hurt you feel and let him move on . . .
Tears were now dripping slowly from her eyelashes, gossamer echoes that found their way down her pale face, tracing the same lines as they did every night. She made no effort to stop them. No tissue could heal her broken soul.
Ginny had been hurt so deeply that the blood could never clot, and the deep hole in her heart still hurt whenever the wind blew through.
Over the years she smiled again — hollow inside, a marionette for one purpose.
Harry climbed over his fears, was able to sail past the clinging pain like a bird, finally set free. Ginny watched day after day as her own lessons helped him, all the while still caged.
The woman idly wandered back through time, taking a moment to feel each whisper of desperation that surfaced in the dark. Her eyes wavered out of focus, seeing the expanse of her youth.
Youth, she spent on Harry. Her youth, and beauty, her hope, she traded for his future. They both could not survive. He required so much to keep going. He needed every bit of energy she had in reserve to rebuild her fortress.
Maybe if she weren't in love with him . . . Maybe, she could have chosen differently. But love demanded self-sacrifice. And as a woman now bitterly wept at the idea, the girl she was gave everything to help Harry.
Love. It seemed like such a foreign word. Ginny had only ever loved one person, and it had ultimately ruined her.
It wasn't his fault. No. A naïve girl, convinced history was finished with her, had so much more to learn . . .
She was a teenager, so in love with Harry it almost replaced the hurt that consumed her. They weren't friends, but instead related by long nights of sharing, of sleeping curled up on the Gryffindor chair at night — she, stroking his charcoal hair and whispering him the strength that she needed. She filled a position in his life that no one else touched. His breath on her cheek, the swell of a mother's breast comforting him.
As a phoenix, he rose from the ashes, yet she remained standing in the cinders.
Then, the worst happened. He came again for her. He stole into her mind, easily penetrating the tenuous barracks she established. He razed her mind, violating her heart and spirit.
Voldemort could not touch Harry, he was too well protected. But the weak girl that loved him and knew him intimately was a key. She should have been prepared. She should have cried out for help; cried for his strong arms to lift her up. But Ginny had given it away.
She housed Hisdemons, playing host to the vile intentions of the Dark Lord. And with her, he almost won . . .
She cried at her desk, remembering the fated curse meant for him. No one suspected her. No one knew she would be His stronghold. Voldemort manipulated her mind, tricking the band of warriors into His den. She almost killed Harry. He was a hair away from death when Ginny saw the liquid fire of his eyes ignite. She knew the war was over, Harry had proven the savior, yet her battle waged deeper still.
The weight of her sins crushed the woman's heart, piercing her breast with a dagger. She closed her eyes, willing away the hurt, to no avail. Every night, the memories danced cruelly across her eyes, filling her with ice that froze every vein. Ginny crumpled a piece of paper, feeling the cold set in her heart. Her fingers clenched together in the parchment, fingernails drawing blood with their grip. The stain spread onto her desk.
Ginny Weasley was irrevocably stained in remembrance of unforgiven sins. They burned every hope from her soul, scorching the carefree memories of a golden childhood, dancing in the sun shine.
She sobbed, coughing on the lump in her throat. Ginny choked on her own breath, gasping for air. Red hot dreams and visions chased each other in a bizarre dance.
Am I losing my mind?
She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. The taste of her blood was now familiar in her mouth. I'm going to die . . .
Ginny slid off her chair, floating high above the charred remains of her body. It's so cold; she shivered on the arctic wasteland of the floor. The witch closed her eyes, her lashes meshing with the salty tears that have yet to fall.
But death never came.
Warmth enveloped her body, breathing life back into her veins. She sucked in the air, hardly daring to believe heaven could give her rest. Strong arms carried her away, spreading an elixir of heat where they touched, filling her soul with light. She was ready to face the angels. The pain was over.
Ginny blinked her eyes open, gasping in confusion when darkness, not glory, filled them. Her office was a far cry from the graces of eternal respite. The woman burst into tears, her dark fate even more dismal after the dream. She rocked back and forth, clamping her eyes shut and willing the sun to come back from where it hid ten years ago.
Strong arms cuddled her, stroking her side as she hiccoughed back into reality, wrapping her arms around herself. She heard sweet soothings in the distance, like her father used to do after Ron teased her. Ginny willed her father to come back, to see his daughter crying into darkness.
Instead, the arms tightened around her, warming her like the dream. She jerked away, trembling as the warmth drained away. I'm not worth light . . .
"Shhhh, Gin. It's all right. You're safe." Ginny's breath hitched. She didn't dare to hope. Slowly, slowly, she turned back to the source of her comfort, wanting like an infant.
Harry Potter had tears in his eyes, sitting on her couch, his arms still reaching for her.
Ginny teared up, blurring the vision of him into blurs of black and grey. "Oh, Gin. My Gin. C'm here." Ginny found herself caught up in his embrace again, crying into the folds of his shirt.
She knew it was another dream. One that she couldn't bear to wake from, for then the bitterness and pain would surely have their last. "Ginny." Harry's voice choked at her name, his fingers smoothing her tangled hair, brushing against her jaw. "Oh, Ginny . . ."
She stiffened, daring to look at him. Ginny found herself burning in his gaze. His eyes were liquid iron, brighter than the full moon, and shining a brilliant jade that melted the tundra in her spirit. She shivered from his eyes, wanting to break away, yet unable to give up the heat she found. Harry was so solid, and real, and . . . warm.
Tears came to her eyes unbidden as she saw the man her folly had nearly destroyed. How can he possibly hold me knowing I have nothing? "Oh, Ginny," he purred, cupping her cheek. "What's happened to you?"
She sniffed, wiping the tears from her cheeks for the first time in years. "I —" her voice was thin and raspy. "I . . . you're here. Here." He pulled her closer, cradling her body in his lap.
"Ginny . . ." Harry licked his lips. "I've been with you since . . ." his voice trailed off. "Since the war."
Ginny gasped a breath, shocked. "You— what?"
"I — I came back after a bit and worked here, disguised, for a time." Harry spoke slowly, pausing often, his voice thick with emotion. "One day, I . . . saw you here and just had to watch you. You're so different, Gin. I watched you for six hours that day, memorizing every detail of your face and comparing that to the mental picture I had already known. I was scared, scared of what you were doing to yourself. What you let this war do."
Ginny slipped back against his form, letting the stirring heat he possessed warm her senses. The idea of it all was so . . .redeeming, she didn't know if she could withstand the change in emotion.
"You're broken, Gin. And I know it's been that way a long time. In sixth year I caught you once in the common room, tearstained and bloodshot at four in the morning. I knew you weren't okay, but I was too selfish to do anything about it. I should have made you rest. I should have done so many things, but I couldn't think about it because of . . . well, everything. I was so selfish, and it hurt you.
"What I've been trying to say is sorry. I forgot about the Chamber a billion times, I brushed you off, I wasn't a good person to you, and you deserve better. So much better. I know I screwed you over. Merlin, if I could go back in time and fix everything I would."
He pressed his lips to her temple, sending a rush of heat into her. Does he know how hot he is? Harry was on fire, burning her at the touch, yet healing her at the same time. The mix of pleasure and pain triggered her mind into hyper-sensitivity. She felt Harry's pain. She felt his need and urgency through his chest. Ginny could sense all of it through his heartbeat.
Keep talking. Please, don't stop.
"Oh, Gin. I can't stop saying your name. You saved my life. I don't know how many times you saved me and I repaid you with nothing."
Ginny choked at his tone of self-loathing, the confession a contradiction to herself. "Harry," she sobbed into his shirt. "You're — you're wrong. I almost killed you. Twice." She broke off, throwing her arms around his neck.
"Ginny. Shhhh, Ginny." He stroked her back, tracing small designs with a fingertip. "Ginny, you saved me. I never properly thanked you for it, but you are the reason I'm alive. I don't know how you did it, all by yourself, but I wanted you to know, that to me, you're . . . you're perfect."
"Oh, Harry. I didn't do it. I didn't do anything. It's so hard. It d-didn't heal with time. I spent everything on you. Every reserve I gave for you. I only survived b-because you needed me. I th-thought you hated me. When you left after the war, I knew it was because I lead V-voldemort to you. Harry, I'm damned. Damned. Do you hear? I don't deserve a thanks. I don't deserve to be w-warm."
And then she heard him sniffle. Harry Potter was crying with her. For minutes ticking by into eternity, they just . . . held each other like it was the summer after Sirius died, and he was a lot more gangly.
"Merlin, Gin." He whispered, at last. Harry's voice was low, husky with emotion. "You — you think I hated you? Gin, I never . . . I couldn't possibly . . ." he held her tighter, trying to find the words. "I — none of it was your fault. In seventh year, when He came for the last time, I should have known better than I did. I shouldn't have let him take you. If only I'd seen the signs . . ."
Ginny nodded mutely against him. Those same regrets bound her to the ashes.
"Gin, look at you. You're, well . . . you're dying. And for months I thought it was just grief; that you would be all right. My Gin. But you never were, were you?" He kissed the top of her head, gently brushing his lips against her hairline.
"Ginny, if I can't save you from this, then . . . then I'm no use. If I can't save the one person that kept me from ruin, then my life's forfeit."
"Harry, I'm not worth it. I choose this a long time ago. Just, go." No! Please stay . . .
"I'll never leave you," he whispered fiercely.
"You already have."
She felt his hot tears drip off of his chin onto the curve of her jaw. "Gin," his voice was breaking. "Gin. I was so stupid. I should be the one here, withering into nothingness. Every night, I see your pain, and I want to curse myself a hundred times for not noticing it years ago. Please, Gin. It's my turn to save you. It's my turn to heal your broken soul. Let me."
"I c-can't be fixed." Yet at the same time, the woman felt his passion and heat warm her soul. The knowledge that he did care, and was there, almost gave her peace. Almost, for the idea of Harry Potter giving to her had been lost to the wind ages ago.
"Yes. Yes you can. I know it. You're spinning out of control . . . but I know I can save you from the darkness. Please, Gin. Please. Come back."
She looked up at him, the light of deliverance reflected in his eyes. She could feel his saving grace knocking at the door; she knew he was sincere.
"I —" Harry caught his breath, staring steadily back at her. He felt so alive. "I love you, Gin," he whispered, looking away.
"I don't know how long. You — you were always there, waiting for me to take advantage. To heal from you. I took like a selfish boy, but in the end, somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you.
"When I saw you here after the war . . . I — I cursed myself for allowing the bright, beautiful, wonderful woman I loved to fall. I used a disillusion charm every night, so that I could silently protect you here. Gin, I want to save you from the shadows of your mind. Every night, I wanted to brush away your tears and silence your terrors.
"I couldn't make myself speak, though. I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to whisper in your ear, and tell you it would be all right. But I didn't know how to say those things and not be damned for neglecting you when you needed it most. I just — if you leave, then . . . oh, let me save you."
Ginny shook her head. "You don't love me, Harry. You love that I was able to protect you. You loved the things I did for you. N-not me."
"That's not true," he shot back fiercely. "I — well, yes. For a long time I didn't see you. For years I was blind to everything except my own damn problems. But then . . . seventh year, I think. You burst into my heart with shades of Technicolor red. All I could see was you. All I knew was what you wore, and when you smiled, and your sprite laugh. All I wanted, from the time I was seventeen, was to hold you, and love you like you had done for me.
Harry's eyes had gone glassy, lost to memory. He began to speak faster, building up courage and volume.
"I compared everyone to you. They all came up short. I found your class schedule and followed you, drinking in your subtle perfume and sway of your hips. Remember that quidditch game where I got busted in the nose with a bludger? You smiled at something Ron did and I couldn't look away.
"Merlin, I look at you now, and I know you're locked away somewhere inside that shell." He traced his thumb across her cheekbone, brushing away a matted lock of hair. "I've become slightly stalkerish. It got to be where I couldn't focus if I didn't know where you were and if you were safe. Before the war, Voldemort must have known what was in my heart. He knew how much I loved you. None of that was your fault, Gin.
"I should have been wiser about it. I thought by not telling you — you could be safe. But I was wrong. I wanted so much to protect you, that I allowed Voldemort to take you. He used you because of how I felt. None of that was your doing."
Ginny blinked, overwhelmed by how right it seemed. If Harry was telling the truth, if he actually . . . loved her, she could learn to laugh again.
"Please. Let me save you from this nightmare." She caught his gaze again, knowing somewhere that he meant it. She couldn't think of how yet, and there was so much to talk about. But one look at Harry's smoldering eyes spoke of infinite love and compassion.
And when he softly kissed her on the lips, a warm breeze flowed down her body, filling her chasms of despair with sunlight. Ginny was still crying, her tears caught on his cheeks. She surrendered to him, letting his embrace carry her far away from the ruin her self-loathing had charred.
For an eternity, it seemed, Harry had her lips; working new life and hope back into her soul. His touch, his caress eased away her pain. Somewhere in the distance, Ginny thought she heard a bird whistle.
As if on cue, the first light of sunrise timidly crept in her room.
The witch lay spent, exhausted from the holy purge Harry had given her. She lay curled up against his strong body, letting his voice build up her spirit.
"I am in love with you, Harry." He kissed her again, lingering over her mouth. "It's always been you."
"I love you, Gin. And I'll always be here."
She nodded, closing her eyes and dreamed of sweet dancing in the glorious daybreak.
This fic was inspired by three songs. Unfortunately, I cannot print their lyrics here for your use. I won't tell you what they were, either. However, if you think you know one of them based on the story, feel free to leave your guess in a review.