Life with Ginny is amazing. He couldn't be happier to wake up beside her every day. Sure Grimmauld Place is a little gloomy, but they're going to be moving out soon. They've already picked out a cozy little cottage. If he can survive Voldemort for years, he can survive a house for a few months.
This is what he tells everyone.
In truth, the walls seem to be caving in slowly, day by day. Not even Kreacher's spirited cleaning and removal of house elf heads make his stay there any better.
He wonders how Ginny can pretend there's nothing wrong with living in the Black's house, temporary or not. Wonders if he's the only one who can hear the screams coming from the top floor and the laughter from the drawing room.
Kreacher, scowling and sneering, tells him there's nothing left in the house to drive someone insane. The Order removed every curse and dark object. The only thing left that could make those noises are—
"Blood traitors and filith!" Walburga screams, having been woken up by dropped groceries.
"Ah, shut it you old hag!" Ginny screams back, scrambling to pick up the milk.
—the paintings.
While the paintings in the drawing room could be lying to him about the laughter, there aren't any paintings on the top level. There are no explanations for the screams.
Is he going insane? Or is there someone else in this house?
"Reckon there's a ghost here?" He asks casually over dinner one day. "The Blacks had this house for years."
"You'd know if there was a ghost, Harry," Ginny tells him with a roll of her eyes. "You'd see them."
He doesn't bother telling her about the sounds, choosing instead to stuff a piece of bread into his mouth. It tastes like ashes on his tongue, but as Ginny made it from scratch, he compliments her. He tells himself that her face lighting up is worth the hassle of eating another piece.
His mouth still tastes like ashes even when he eats Kreacher's amazing pot roast.
Two more months, he tells himself as laughter echoes from the hallway, two more months and then he can put this behind him. He tries to focus on the book in front of him while waiting for Ginny to get back from Quidditch practice. It's a Defence Against the Dark Arts book; he needs to brush up on it if he wants to become an Auror.
"Stop lying."
It's a whisper spoken so closely to his ear that makes him jump and flick out his wand. A destructive spell is on the tip of his tongue, but there's no one there. He spins around the dining room, wild eyed and ready to fight.
A concerned Kreacher pops in, head bowed and hands held out in nonthreatening deference.
"Do you sense anyone? Anyone at all?" He snarls, short on patience.
"No one, Master," Kreacher replies.
He slumps back into the chair, trusting the house elf over his own instincts. There's no need to make a bigger fool out of himself. Kreacher watches him with wary but trusting eyes, and he feels guilty.
"You don't need to bow," he says, gesturing for the house elf to stand. "Really, don't."
He rubs his face tiredly. He could be going crazy, or this could be a repeat of the basilisk. Either way, he can't bother Ginny with this—he can't destroy her fragile happiness, he tells himself—but there's no reason to hide this from the house elf.
"Kreacher, you've probably guessed, but there's something wrong," he begins, one hand over his face to keep from seeing Kreacher's reaction. "It began when we moved in to Grimmauld."
He has to pause because no, that's not right is it?
"Actually," he says, shifting his story, "it began when Sirius died."
He tells Kreacher everything. Everything he couldn't tell Ginny or Hermione and Ron comes flowing out as if bursting from a dam. He orders Kreacher to remain silent about what he says, and it's a relief to know that his secret remains. He feels only a little guilty about it.
"You're at a crossroads. The fire is burning you to ash. You will either blow away in the wind or turn into glass."
"Fire, fire, fire," Kreacher mutters upon hearing Luna's cryptic advice.
He doesn't think much about it at the time; he's too busy stewing in his own self-pity over marrying Ginny too early. She deserves better than his broken mess, and he should have never tried to use their marriage to fix himself.
"That's it," he finishes telling the house elf. "I don't know what's happening, but it's never a good thing."
Kreacher disappears with a promise to find something. He shakes his head, knowing that there's nothing the house elf can do. Fondness courses through him, and his lips twist into the first real smile he's had in a long time.
"I'm home!" Ginny's Patronus emerges through the wall to announce
His smile falls as the numbness returns.
The days pass by, and the whisper doesn't come back. Kreacher keeps busy, leaving him mostly alone in the house every day. His daily walks and visit to friends become fewer, and he takes to his defense books with increased fervor.
"Harry, they're not going to stop you from being an Auror just because you don't know a spell from the Seventeenth century," Ginny tells him in exasperation.
He pointedly ignores her to turn the next page. He misses the strange look on her face entirely, too wrapped up in reading about mind manipulation. It doesn't end up being what he's looking for, but it's interesting nonetheless.
There has to be something written about what's happening to him, he thinks. Reading always works for Hermione. Surely there's something that can point him in the right direction.
"It's in the basement."
His head snaps up quickly followed by his wand. He looks around, but there's nothing. A feeling of fear strikes his heart before fading away. Wand held in a tight grip, he bites back the cry for Kreacher and heads towards the back of the house.
He opens the door to the basement with a grim determination. A pristine kitchen meets his eyes, and he looks for something out of place. Something shines from the shelf at the back of the room. He cautiously approaches, ready to curse and flee.
There on the shelf is a note and a—
"Gun," he breathes out in shock.
He stares at the muggle weapon before hesitantly reaching for the note. Having only ever seen a gun on the telly, he moves slowly and carefully as to not touch the weapon.
He experiences a shock greater than the one before it.
"This," he sputters, "this is my handwriting."
"Stop lying to yourself and find the sky. Cut your ties while you still can before it's too late," the note reads.
He doesn't know what to do, what to say.
"Kreacher!" He calls out desperately.
The house elf has no idea how the note and gun got there, and he's left staring at the two items for the rest of the day. He ends up hiding them in Sirius' room before Ginny comes home; it's the only room she never goes in.
He gets a new message each day from then on. It's never in the same place, and each note reads as either a warning or an instruction on gun use.
The notes are in his handwriting, but he's never used a gun in his life. Kreacher tries but can never find out how they keep appearing. He's at the end of his rope.
One day, he wakes up to a message lying on his bathroom sink. The gun that's supposed to be in Sirius' old dresser rests next to it.
"Watch her when she sends Kreacher out. Keep this on you," the note says.
An odd feeling drops to the pit of his stomach. He dresses for the chilly morning; against common sense, he places the gun into his coat pocket. He stuffs the invisibility cloak into the coat's extended pocket.
"I'm going out for a walk," he tells Ginny who's in the middle of reading the newspaper.
"Oh, that's good," Ginny tells him far too happily. "I'm going to send Kreacher out for some stuff for lunch. It's a surprise!"
He smiles stiffly and kisses her lightly on the cheek.
"Looking forward to it," he lies.
He pretends to leave. He slips silently back into the house, keeping the invisibility cloak over him the entire time. At first, nothing really suspicious happens, and the painful knot in his chest begins loosening.
Then he watches Ginny go up to their bedroom to grab a vial from her bottom drawer. She marches to the basement, and he follows her with a held breath. He stops at the door and thinks about running away.
He can't though; he'll never run if given the choice. He stuffs the cloak back into the extended pocket, and pushes the basement door open, heart beating in his throat.
Going down the stairs feels like walking to the gallows. His feet stop at the kitchen and the sight that greets him is unbelievable.
"Ginny," he says quietly.
Startled, his wife drops the vial, glass shattering against the floor. The liquid rushes out, missing its intended target—the pot of soup only he eats.
"Harry, it's not what it looks like—" Ginny gasps out.
Betrayal, his mind screams. He looks from the vial to his wife and laughs. He reaches into his pocket intending to grab his wand to apparate. His hand bumps into something metal.
His hand wraps around the handle. He closes his eyes and stops thinking.
She never screamed.
"Italy," Kreacher tells him while snapping the blood out of his clothes, "Italy, Master."
He nods dazedly, and holds an arm out. Kreacher grabs him and they disappear with a snap. He never lets go of the gun.
("Where's Harry? Where is he?" Hermione screams over Ron's wails.
"We don't," the Auror chokes as Hermione's wand makes threatening movements, "we don't know. Whoever did this probably took him."
"Are there any clues?" George asks lowly, arms hooked around Ron in a vice grip.
"Only the bullets and a broken vial of Calming Draught," the Auror says, shrinking under George's unwavering stare.
"I'll find him," George says darkly, "and then I'll make them pay."
Luna looks up at the sky, pale-faced and with wet eyes. Wilting flowers shake in her trembling grip.
"Maria gratia plena. Ave ave dominus, dominus tecum," Luna sings quietly.)
Note: this is not a Ginny-bashing fic. I don't do bashing in any of my stories. That said, hoped you enjoyed reading!