build it better (the second time around)
Note: Can be considered set in the will you stay universe.
The familiar creaks gave him away as Harry crept down the stairs. There was a pause before the slow groan of the door and his light swearing made Ginny open her eyes.
"Sorry," he said, clearly thinking he woke her. "I just—" He made an abortive gesture.
"Come here," she said, motioning to him.
"I really shouldn't," he hesitated, looking over his shoulder.
"Harry," she said, her voice brokering no argument. He flushed slightly but shut the door behind him and joined her, even as he continued to protest.
"Anyone could come in," he pointed out as his weight tipped the bed so that gravity lured her closer. It was always felt like that with Harry. When their bodies were curled around one another, awkward on her small twin bed, the sorrow and rage quieted for a moment.
"They won't," Ginny breathed against him. They were all busy dealing with their grief in their own way. All the funerals, and most of all, today's.
It was probably why Harry was here, giving Ron and Hermione some space. Or maybe...
"I'm sorry," he said, full of self-recrimination. His fingers tightened around her waist. "If I could bring him back..."
Ginny shook her head, several more tears falling from her squeezed eyes. Just when she thought there were no more tears to cry.
"I don't want to talk about Fred," she said, her voice breaking over his name, the ache in her chest too much to bear.
He nodded, tucking his chin against the top of her head. His throat bobbed several times, and he shuffled his arm, making her wonder if he was crying too. "Yeah, okay," he said finally.
They laid there, holding each other until the storm passed.
"Your shirt's wet," Ginny eventually said, her voice light and normal again.
"Wonder how that happened," Harry said mildly.
She stifled her laugh into his shoulder. Her hands, which had slipped under his shirt, could feel the quick rise and fall of his own laughter, mixed in there with the beat of his heart.
Something painfully grateful clenched inside her. He was alive, he was here, he was warm, he was alive.
Her fingers traveled upward over his chest. His breath hitched.
"Ginny," Harry said, his hand catching one of hers. She could hear his reluctant longing but also that this wasn't the right time.
She shook her head, trying to let him know it wasn't like that. It was just... His grip loosened and her hands settled over the raised skin on his chest. Her fingers traced over what felt like an oval and a serrated line, and always, always searching for that reaffirming pulse.
Ginny looked up to see his green eyes watching her.
They were so used to doing things on their own, in their own way. All this time aside from those few golden weeks her fifth year, which only made her feel more alone than ever last year. Yet, here they were, a little and broken and fragile, but here. They still fell together, slotted almost as if they could pick things up and build it back again. Could they?
If they did, it they had to be better this time.
"Will you show me?" she asked.
Will you tell me? was left unsaid. No more secrets, no more running off with no word, no explanation.
His eyes watched hers for several moments, something raw and vulnerable hidden in those depths. She wondered what he saw in hers, if he understood what she was really asking for.
"Yeah, okay." Harry released an uneven breath before pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the scars underneath. He watched her, seeming self-conscious and uncertain, and a twisted anger surged in her for a moment—that Tom had done this to him, the way his ribs stood out from malnutrition, the way Tom had carved into him over and over, and worse, that it made Harry feel unsettled in his own skin.
She pressed down on the anger, needing to make Harry at ease first.
"No Hungarian Horntail," she said, making his lips twitch.
"Disappointed?" Harry joked, amused.
"Mmmm, scars that show the defeat of the darkest wizard of our times? Much more macho." The tension slowly eased as he laughed that glorious laugh of his.
She pressed her lips against his chest, against the jagged skin. You're beautiful, she wanted to say.
Ginny watched the steady rising and falling on his chest, waiting. Then he took her hand in his.
"It all started with the diary..."