Category: Harry Potter, JKRowling owns it.
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Every day is like Sunday
His eyes were green. The prettiest pair of green eyes she's ever seen. It didn't take her long to fall in love, really. How could a young girl at such a young age really feel anything more than just a mere crush? She was ostracized for it, blamed for it, and laughed at for many years and why?
Because she fell in love with him.
She would die for him.
She would cry and die all over again.
Every day she'd wake up, feeling the bright sun on her face, kissing them with heat and power.
Every day she'd find him next to her - sleeping peacefully, his light breath on her pillow, and the dark lashes that lay on his skin, contrasted starkly against the light from the window.
And she could feel her heart burst in a thousand pieces.
Her breath caught, the fluttering feelings she felt when she was a mere child was still there, but now, burning bright – as the phoenix.
Every day she'd find him kissing her, waking her like the moon light kisses the water, causing waves of emotion.
His tousled dark hair tickled her nose as she kissed his forehead, kissed him in all the places she's been dreaming of, and finding to her satisfaction that they felt fabulous.
And when he looked at her, really looked at her, he was amazed to find the fiery woman gazing back at him with the same heated gaze. When he touched his lips to hers, she responded with equal ardor, and their touches crackled in the air.
He would kiss her soft skin, revel in the smell of her, from her red bright hair, touching his lips to her collar bone, and causing her to gasp.
When he found her on top, her body holding him down, she would laugh – her eyes bright brown and reflecting her love. She had pinned him down that Sunday morning, kissing him till he couldn't contain it anymore and pushed her back among the cotton sheets.
The shadows caused vertical lines along their bodies, alternating dark and light with the beauty of the morning sun and the half closed shades.
Ginny giggled, feeling like a little girl, but she wasn't a little girl – no – not anymore. She was a full blown beauty with the sunset in her hair flowing all around her. Her legs lifted to wrap them around his strong waist.
And she was so happy.
She would die for him.
She would kiss all his hurts away and never let him go.
Every day she'd find him pushing himself in her, and she'd push back, their groans mingled with their heated kiss, touch for touch – breath for dying breath.
He couldn't get enough of her.
He couldn't find heaven enough when he was inside her and he all but groaned at the sensation she'd give him.
All for him.
When she was out of breath, her body sore from love, from the plummeting thrusts of his strong body, she'd fall into his arms and sigh.
She'd find him content and filled with so many promises. The dark edges of his tortured mind from the past would go away, just for that day.
Just for that Sunday.
And every Sunday thereafter.
He'd find her making breakfast for him. Diffident and uninhibited, her attire would raise eyes, and indeed his green eyes would light up at the vision of her handing him his morning coffee.
She would move with such grace, it's a wonder how she could act like a tomboy – tough and strong – fierce and powerful against her enemies and still walked around him like a poised courtesan.
"Harry, love me always." She begged, her swollen lips pressed against his. She wanted to feel his breath, taste his tongue in hers and take in everything he had to give.
She would give him back so much.
She would die for him.
She would, she really would, that's what she told herself everyday.
When the sun was high, and the silence of the war had reached a pause, their friends separated and scattered all over the world, that she'd remind herself, she'd remember this.
She'd make sure.
One day she'd find herself in front of the Mirror of Erised, her fears were as expected, and she saw all her dreams.
Wasn't there a way to find peace in herself when the war came?
Her red hair fell around her and she saw what she feared, what she desired. She walked up to the mirror with her hands, trembling; her fingers tentatively touched the glass.
She couldn't tear herself away.
"Ginny!" He'd call out to her, trying to break the spell, had tried to find her during the prelude of the war. Harry found that she was crying hysterically – so unlike her. She stopped crying long ago. Tom Riddle showed her that.
But she couldn't be torn away, her mind reeled and she tried to get a hold of her senses.
He'd hold her tight, told her not to worry, that in the end, all will be fine.
She would die for him you see.
Even when the days had passed, and the silence was unbearable, she would, really she would.
The war had proved too much, and there was so much loss, so much pain.
He'd find himself hollow and dry, silent and grave.
But she waited for him, waited for him at the end of the dark day.
His eyes had been swollen shut from the pain, the scar on his forehead throbbed, and his lips felt the blood drying.
She was more powerful than he'd ever dream.
This woman had died for him, all over again.
No other woman gave him reason to live again, sharing Sundays and kisses, laughter and sunshine.
For you see, she had died for him.
Every Sunday she'd wake to find him breathing next to her, among the white sheets.
He couldn't have known when he saw the dying embers of her eyes.
The red flare of each strand, bursting out in a fire light of feathers, fell around him slowly.
Every Sunday he'd find these strange occurrences.
To find her waiting, her blazing hair a halo around her, and he'd walk into those arms.
He would find her tears healing his scarred heart, reminding him that the future would bring a promised love.