"I love you. Real or not Real?"
"Real."
She had a hard time these days, trying to figure out what's real.
Trying to figure out what's not.
Today, for example, she was trying to drown out the cries. Somebody in the village had lost their son. Someone had lost both son and husband. And yet somebody else had lost their life and everything they held dear to them.
She'd go back home to more crying. Today, instead of her mum crying over Fred, she'd be crying over George, who had been missing for over a week. No one ever said it out loud, but everyone had started suspecting the worst. And everyone was hoping for everything but.
The rest of her brothers were rarely at home. Percy was out looking for George, coming home late at night, disappearing without dinner. She'd seen Bill and Charlie last at Fred's funeral. Ron was no different. Her dad on the other hand, had made Hogwarts his home, coming back to the Burrow in the early hours of the morning after going without food or even water for most of the day.
She, well, she was at the village now because they were out of whatever food they had left.
After Fred's funeral, Ginny felt that her mum had given up on whatever strength she had had left inside of her. Like she had started accepting something that threatened to tear her apart.
The only difference between her mum and her was the fact that Ginny didn't think about it. Because if she thought about it, then that hollow feeling in her heart would seem to cave in around her, and right now, her mum couldn't afford that.
She couldn't afford that.
That's why she had stopped. Her actions, which had been a week before, cries for help, had become instead what seemed to help at the moment.
That's why when she returned to the Burrow, weighed down by whatever supplies she could find, and heard his voice, she didn't cry out. She didn't drop her bags and run to him, like she'd thought she would. Instead, she simply looked at him, simply took in the fact that he was alive and in front of her.
Even being able to think that seemed like a blessing these days.
And then she saw her Dad. Like a jolt in her reverie. His leg bandaged up, blood stains on his torn trousers. Her eyes went up to Harry, who had simply been looking at her, without a sound, a word.
"What happened to him?"
"Boulder crushed his leg. Probably broken by one of the giants."
"And I suppose my dad's leg was the lucky giveaway," she snapped. It came out harsher than she'd meant for it to sound, but she wasn't in the mood for jokes. Already, she could feel that panic bubbling in her throat. Knowing fully well that if it wasn't her dad's leg, it could essentially have been him.
And if her dad died, then….then she couldn't even begin to start thinking about it.
Harry remained silent, and almost immediately, Ginny regretted her words. She had spoken without tact, her months of frustration struggling to be let out. Mostly, she couldn't believe that the first time they were talking to each other, really talking to each other, it was like this.
"I should go," Harry muttered, shuffling backward without an answer. Ginny didn't think she could give him one.
And before she could find in herself the courage to stop him, he had already disappeared into thin air.
Ginny sighed, and then glared at the pain-riddled face of her father.
…
She remembered the last time she'd seen him. The day it had ended. She remembered his haggard face, his tear-laden eyes as she had pulled him into her arms. They had both broken in front of each other that day. Neither had been able to comfort the other.
Beside her, she heard her dad slowly getting up from the couch. Ginny turned and then gently pushed him back.
"Ginny dear, it was my fault," her dad wheezed out, and her eyes flicked back to him, all hopes of containing her anger lost to the world.
"I never said anything about anyone's fault," she gritted out. "Just happy to remind you that you have a crying wife at home, who's passed out now upstairs after crying herself to sleep. Without having anything to eat. Because apparently, eating something would be absolutely abominable to the thought of my dead brother."
Her father winced, and Ginny blinked back tears, furious at herself for letting those words out of her mouth. Already, the pain at the back of her throat was back, and her gaze shifted from her father's eyes to the floor, where it remained fixed.
"Darling, I get that you're angry-"
"I'm not angry, Dad. I'm just…I'm tired," she sighed, her voice slightly shaking from exhaustion. "I'm trying to keep mum together, but I'm not the one she needs right now. She needs you, and you're never at home, while I'm here all the time when I don't even want to be. And now, you've gone and broken your leg, and I am struggling here Dad, because I don't know what to do," she said, and she couldn't help her throat from clogging in the end, her words coming out heavy and warped.
"Oh, Ginny, I'm terribly sorry. I'm so sorry -"
"Don't," she cried, "don't be sorry, Dad. You have nothing to be sorry about. Just…just take care of Mum, and stay. Because I don't want to anymore."
She turned away, blinked back her tears, trying her hardest to keep the sobs at bay. When she finally looked back at him, she met with his concerned eyes. They did nothing but remind her of the words she had said to him.
"You know," her father began, "he came here to see you. To see how you were doing."
"That's evident," she snapped, her anger flaring up. "He barely said two words to me."
"That's because he's-"
"I know Dad. I know. Just," she sighed. "I'll help you up."
And when she finally let her head touch her pillow, completely prepared to let a few of her tears out, Ginny realised that as hard as she tried, the tears just….wouldn't come.
They just wouldn't.
The next day, she made sure the house was in order, kissed her mum goodbye, and left for Hogwarts.
….
Like history repeating itself, they stood, once again, in the middle of the dust and rubble. Where the dust settled in a quiet haze over all the pain underneath.
"There wasn't much to do at the Burrow," she said. She couldn't bring herself to call it a home. It didn't feel like one anymore. It hadn't for a year now.
Harry remained silent. Weirdly, Ginny felt a pang of annoyance at that. They'd not seen each other for weeks, no, he'd not let her see him for weeks, hadn't let her talk to him, touch him, fucking kiss him, and he didn't have a thing to say? While she could barely sleep at night without thinking of him and whether he was alive or dead, or whether he had finally given up and got done with it. It wasn't like she hadn't had the thought surface once in a while herself. Ginny had just gotten better at suppressing it every time it came up. But right now, after weeks of not seeing each other, all he could do was remain silent?
"Are you okay?" And it was the first time in a while she had heard any feeling in his voice whatsoever.
Ginny fixed her gaze at him, unflinchingly, then asked, "Are you?"
He looked at her then, fully looked at her, the way Ginny had been wanting him to look at her since the day she'd seen him again over a month ago. But it wasn't how she had imagined it to be. For his eyes were not the same green that they were when she'd last let herself look into them. No, these eyes held pain that mirrored hers. Somehow, she felt she'd seen them again for the first time.
Slowly, he shook his head. And then, lowered his gaze. As if admitting to a fault was worse than enduring it.
"Then why don't you say it?" she whispered, her words only for him and him alone.
He didn't look up, but Ginny knew.
…
She had a hard time these days, trying to figure out what's real.
Trying to figure out what's not.
That's why, when she heard that they had uncovered the bodies of stwo fifth years from the rubble, her heart clenched in a way that she felt she couldn't breathe.
"Who were they?" she asked Oliver Wood, who'd brought in the news.
"Matilde Fairfeather and Sean Curnell. They'd snuck in, I suppose. Their bodies…." he trailed off, "they aren't in very good shape. Werewolves."
Just the thought of it made her want to empty her guts out. This, this wasn't fair. They were just children.
So were we, she thought. Once.
Somehow, she felt that their deaths were on her. That they were her fault. Because she had been in charge of taking care of them for the past year, because she had been the one to make sure that they had got back home safe, just for them to return back and do the one thing she had told them not to do.
She remembered Matilde. Her long blonde hair and dimpled chin. Sean and her were always joined to the hip.
Ginny stood up to leave when Oliver stopped her.
"Ginny," he called, then hesitated. "It-it was Harry who found them. He….he, well, I don't think he is in a very good shape now."
"Where is he?"
"Last, I saw him, he was in the Common Room…"
Ginny didn't hesitate. She ran, the shortcuts practically burnt to her memory now, with the amount of times she had taken them to save herself and everyone else from the Carrows.
When she reached the common room, Ginny paused, debating whether she should go up, the voice inside of her doubting her intentions. Whether they were valid. Whether she should.
Before she could stop though, she began climbing the stairs to the boys dormitory. While the girls' had been completely destroyed in the rubble, the boys' had still somehow stayed intact.
She stopped when she saw his figure. His back towards her, hands clenched around the wood of the bed. Ginny stepped forward, then hesitated when she saw a tremor pass through him.
"Harry," she whispered. "Harry, it's-it's me."
She didn't know how that would help. How her being there would help. She hadn't been able to help her mother, what help would she be to him?
"Gin-" his voice broke, and Ginny felt a tear slipping out of her own eye. "Gin, I can't breathe."
His back tensed when she touched him, and she snatched it away, scared to make it worse.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice quivering. She had no idea what to do. She had not one fucking idea whether she should stay away from him, or touch him, or hug him, or fucking wipe his tears for him, because he hadn't let her near him for weeks. He hadn't let her touch him or wait one moment to speak to him, let alone let her comfort him or let her be comforted.
It had destroyed her.
"Harry," she choked, "I don't know what to do. I don't-I-I've-I have no idea what to do Harry."
"Gin," his voice came out, begging. "I'm sorry," he gasped.
He had nothing to be sorry for.
And then she was turning him around, forcing him to look into her eyes, as he struggled to catch his breath, while she struggled to keep him from tipping over the edge.
"Look at me," she urged.
It was all she could do to hold herself together.
"Stay with me."
His hands wrapped around her forearms and for a second, they were both holding each other steady but Ginny could feel his breathing become worse.
For a split second, she was frozen in time. Then she let his hands fall around her waist, as she gently caressed his face with her fingers and pushed herself on her tiptoes to kiss him.
It was all she could do to keep them from sinking.
It was all she could do to keep him afloat.
His lips were rough against hers, and she could taste the stinging taste of blood on them, but even amidst the pain, it was as if she was back in the Common Room again, kissing amongst hundreds but knowing it was just them. Even amidst the pain, it was magical.
And just as she felt him give in completely to the kiss, his arms tightening around her, she let go. Though his lips were the last thing she wanted to stay away from.
She didn't realise she was crying. But Harry's haggard breathing and his thumbs against her cheeks, wiping the tears away, brought her back from the dream she had let herself get immersed in.
Harry rested his head on her shoulder, and Ginny held him, burying her face in his shirt, letting the tears fall more freely now. But she waited, waited until his breathing slowed down.
"Is it better?" she choked out, when she could hear his gasps no longer.
"It is," he replied, and this time, Ginny could see it was genuine.
But that didn't change the pain they were in.
That didn't change the words she wanted to say to him.
Ginny looked up at Harry, her throat burning from the weight of what she wanted to say to him. This time, she didn't wait. She didn't let that voice inside overcome her.
"I love you," she breathed out, "I love you, Harry."
There were few things that seemed real to her these days, and this was one of them. It was only right that he knew it too.
Harry looked at her then, stormy green eyes to her own burnt brown ones, and even after so many days apart, she clearly knew what he was feeling inside. What he would say next.
But Ginny didn't want it that way.
"Don't," she rasped out. She could feel her throat choking again, her words getting stuck in her throat, but she wanted them out before they could suffocate her. "Don't say it," she cried. "Wait. Please." She looked at him, her tears straining to fall. "Say it when it feels real."
"It is real Gin," he said, holding her tightly as if he was afraid to let go. "It is real to me."
"Wait," she said again, begging him to understand what she was trying to say through her eyes. He was the only one who could. He was the only one who looked at her that way.
Then he nodded, kissing her as if she was the only thing that mattered.
And as if momentarily, Ginny realised that in a way, they were the only thing that mattered.
And amongst the pain and the rubble, with his strong body pressed against hers, Ginny realised that she wanted this. This love. All of this love. With every fibre and bone in her body.
And she was never going to let go.
…
…
…
Months later, when they stand together, it's him who looks at her.
The storm in his eyes was a gentler wind now, the green that had threatened to destroy anything and everything around him had turned back to the green that promised rebirth instead of destruction. Hers had remained that burning brown, but the raging fire had kindled into the warm ones by the coal.
She didn't mind them that way.
With his hands entwined in hers, the wave that had threatened to drown them had peaked instead of swallowing them entirely.
Now he looked at her, smiling, and his hands brushed away the few stray hairs on her face, before tilting her chin to meet his gaze.
"I love you."
And the whole world seemed to stop.
She had a hard time these days, trying to figure out what's real.
Trying to figure out what's not.
This, she figured, was as real as could be.
"I love you too."
Months later, when they stand together, it's green to brown.
It's everything as it should be.
A/N: Just something angsty I wrote while I was completely burnt out and frustrated. Wasn't even planning on publishing it, but then split-second decision, I did. Unedited :)
Please leave reviews and any constructive criticism :) I love reading them!
