A/N: With all the decisions being made in America at the moment, it made me think about this story once again. I realized the power of this story and the power that my writing can bring.
I am sadden over the recent developments in the US. Every decision is personal and every decision is up to the woman, whoever she wishes to be there for support, and the health care system.
So, I have returned back to this story.
Chapter 8
19 June 2003 (13 Weeks)
6:03am
His head pounded. It must've grown and tripled in weight overnight. Trying to lift is caused a strain in his beck and he groaned, choosing to roll over instead. Stretching out, his toes brushed against someone's legs. They were smooth and soft, and it took him a minute to realize what was happening.
What had happened?
Foggy flashes of the previous night reeled in a distorted timeline. He knew that he had gone out with the Weasleys. He remembered fragments of assumptions and many pints – too many pints. Had he really hit Ron? And what had been so funny? Then, everything really became fuzzy: stinging rain, Ron yelling, walking – lots of walking, and a bus stop. His stomach churned as he swallowed a lump or bile down his throat. There had been a woman – not that he could recall what she looked like, just that she had been there. An offer purred in his ear.
He didn't. He couldn't have.
What had happened?
His heart raced as he tried to desperately to remember something – anything more- but that was it. That was all he had, and he wouldn't get answers until he opened his eyes.
Or maybe, he could keep them shut, roll out of bed, and stumble blindly until he reached the door. He'd let himself out and he'd never have to know. He could make it up to all be some sort of nightmare and bury it deep inside to never think of again. Bury it deep and move on – a specialty he developed after the war. No one needed to know. He could keep it with him until it finally broke him down into insanity. It was bound to happen eventually anyway. What was one more thing?
But how could he face Ginny again? How could things ever get better if he drowned beneath this reality? She'd never forgive him. Yeah, she had broken things off, but Harry knew that she'd meant for this to happen. If she found out, any hope of them being a complete family would be gone – all those dreams murdered before even a chance to sprout. Their poor child left to linger in his mistake. No. Ginny wouldn't come back. And Harry wouldn't blame her.
"Mhm." The woman next to him stretched. She rolled over to face him gracefully and gently caressed the side of his face. "Last night was wild, wasn't it?" She giggled, tracing her fingers tenderly down his jaw and on to his chest.
Harry stiffened, retreating. He fought to keep his expression neutral. He was still sleeping, after all. This was just one horrible nightmare.
She laughed deeply, patting his chest. "Ah, don't be like that, Harry. We know you're awake."
We?
Suddenly, he heard at least one other girl trying to stifle her laughter. He imagined her hands clamped over her mouth, but it wasn't doing much besides adding a breathless spitting sound.
Now, he really tried to remember what had happened. When did another girl come into the picture at all last night? He didn't even remember leaving the bus stop.
In the back of his mind, something about a dusting of freckles like the stars in the nighttime sky fluttered vaguely. He had his hands on both sides of her face, as his thumbs tapped against the freckles splattered across her creamy skin. There was laughter – familiar and bemused.
She had swatted his hands away playfully. "Merlin, you're drunk."
"At least, he's not yelling now," someone answered from behind. It was the same stifled laughter as now.
"No. Never yell," he mumbled, trying to rest his forehead against the girl's but landing more on her nose.
She laughed harder, pushing him back on to the bed. "Alright. I think it's sleepy time now."
"No. Don't wanna," he argued, almost incoherently.
Everything fell blurry and his eyes became heavy. The room smelled flowery, reminding him of any sense he had of a home.
"Be careful. He might start crying," the third voice added; the same one talking pressed against him now. "Again."
He remembered.
"Bloody hell!" Snapping his eyes open, he nearly jumped off the bed. He reached over to the nightstand and shoved his glasses on to his face.
Lying next to him, Beatrice Brunette laughed uncontrollable, clutching her stomach. Sliding down the wall for support, Valmai Morgan curled into a ball, joining Brunette in a fit of giggles.
"What're you doing?" Harry yelled and instantly regretted it. The walls rocked back and forth, and he found himself leaning against the headboard for support. His stomach felt like it was rolling in on itself.
"You should've… oh Merlin… your face… can't breathe," Brunette gasped in between fits of laughter.
"This was perfect," Morgan commented.
"What the hell was that? Sod off." Harry growled. He rubbed his head with his hands, groaning. "And shut up while you're at it."
They only laughed harder.
6:15am
Ginny rested upon her dresser, swinging her legs lightly, as she watched the others. She was wearing an old shirt of Harry's, which she'd be lying if she said she hadn't worn nightly the past week. There had been so many times that she wanted to write, or floo, or apparate right over to Grimmauld Place to see him, but she had meant what she said. She couldn't depend on him forever; she needed to balance on her own feet – no matter how cute he looked with bedhead, sleep in his groggy eyes, and beyond pissed. It was charming, really.
"Told you, he's as crummy hungover as he's a drunk," Ginny stated. She shook the bottle of Pepper-Up Potion in his direction. "Bit of a baby, really."
Harry's head jerked in her direction. His eyes widened as he finally noticed her.
She watched the flashes of emotion fire across his face: the intensity of anger, the complexity of confusion, another muscle tightening wave of anger, and finally a fizzled out look of relief. Rubbing his eyes, he opened his mouth and then closed it again, yet he perked up in his spot.
A ghost of a smile flickered on to his face. "Oh, hey."
"Hey?" Ginny scoffed. She hopped down off of her dresser. "You show up in the middle of the bloody night completely mad, and all you've got is hey?"
He knitted his eyebrows together in a deep frown. "Uh, yeah? I don't… I don't actually remember all too well."
"Well, the entire Harpy's team now knows you've got some weird freckle kink, if that helps," Brunette informed. She glanced back over at Morgan and the two began laughing again.
"It doesn't. Thanks." He winced, paling.
"Oh, Ginny, I saw some random bird on the streets, and she had freckles as wonderful as thee. How I yearned for thy touch, so I apparated here in the middle of a Harpy's victory party drunk," Morgan reenacted. She grabbed a hold of Brunette's face dramatically with both hands and tapped her nose with her thumbs.
Harry's face fell in horror to Ginny's delight.
Brunette grimaced, taking over the role of Ginny the previous night, and desperately tried to pry his hands off her face.
Morgan fought back.
"What the hell happened, Harry?" Brunette asked, overly dramatic.
Scowling, Morgan yanked her hands away and threw them into the air. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm fucking great. Perfect. Wonderful. Fantastic. Magnificent. Lovely." Her façade faltered, and she laughed. "Ah, whatever you said. All one thousand synonyms for great, I think."
Brunette guffawed too boisterously for Harry's hangover. "The Boy Who Lived – more like The Boy Thesaurus."
"That didn't happen," Harry retorted.
"Oh, trust us, it did," Brunette argued. "Lasted a solid five minutes."
"Before you started rampaging," Morgan added.
"Which was before you started crying."
"Which was after we had you doing shots with us."
"Which was before you threw up on our rug."
"Really, though. I liked that rug –"
"Damn, Potter, like I said, wild night."
"Will you shut it and give me the damn potion," Harry hollered. He banged his head back against the headboard, which wasn't his wisest choice. It was like his stomach was being ran over with a rolling pin. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he focused on the floral, purple design of Ginny's bedspread.
"Don't you dare," Ginny warned, recognizing the look on his face. "If I can make it to the loo when morning sickness hits, you can stumble your way there hungover."
"I'm not going to –" Harry's stomach lurched. He jump out of the bed. Bouncing between the foot of the bed and the dresser, Ginny had to dodge him as he stumbled haphazardly into her en suite and slammed the door behind him.
"Gross," Morgan commented. She eyed the door uncomfortably.
Brunette laughed again. "He really can't handle his alcohol."
"No, he can't." Ginny sighed. Many incidents popped up in her memory – honestly, too many to even count. "I'm going to kill my bloody brothers."
"Can I please have the potion now? I'm sorry," Harry begged from inside the bottom. There was a pregnant pause. "I really, really am."
Swishing the liquid around in the vial, Ginny watched as it shimmered in the light. She wasn't mad, per say, but she wasn't happy. Perhaps, more worried than anything else. She really thought that they had passed this part: Harry using alcohol to deal, or not deal, with his feelings. It always ended badly.
How could it possibly not?
When one person was coiled so tightly in order to stay functioning and was given a relaxer, the lines would always begin to fray. Loosening and snapping until everything buried inside came exploding out in an absolutely mess.
Which in typical Harry fashion, he'd deny every happening in the morning - the coils bouncing back in place.
With a baby on the way, she really needed to believe that one of them was doing alright.
But that was obviously a lie.
1 January 1999
3:15am
"Get your arse back inside. Have you gone mental?"
Ron and Bill were trying to pull Harry out of the snow. Harry wiggled out of their grasps, plopping back down and burying himself again.
"Get your hands off me," Harry slurred. He swatted at them with no aim. It looked more like he was in a fight with the wind, which was steadily dropping in temperature.
Ginny felt it sting her nose. Her eyes burned dry. Of course, this would be the one time it wasn't a slushy mess in England for the holidays. Wrapping her arms across herself to keep warm, she stepped forward slowly. She held Harry's jacket tightly in her arms. "Need help?"
Ron sighed, kicking at the snow. The white powder clouded into the darkness and then floated back down.
"He's being a stupid git," Ron shouted. He clenched his hands into fists.
"Oh, sod off." Harry flipped them off, before dramatically collapsing back into the snow.
In the moonlight, Ginny could see how red his skin was becoming. He only had on one of Ron's old Chudley Cannons t-shirts and jeans – he even forgot his shoes. The jeans darkened from melted snow, hardening with ice. It was pitiful, really, to see Harry like this… again.
"C'mon," Bill tried to coax Harry more gently. He knelt down and shook his shoulder. "Mum doesn't need to wake up to this right now." His voice broke.
Ginny swallowed down a lump in her throat. She hated hear Bill – the one who always was stoic and strong – like this. Ever since she came home from Hogwarts for the holidays, she couldn't forget anymore. She had to remember. It was everywhere – the quiet stillness to meals, the hallowed and forced smiles, and the strained conversations. The dark bags under George's eyes. The sullen color to Ron's overworked face. The tears that never quite left her mother's eyes. In every millisecond, Ginny remembered that Fred was gone. Dead. And three hours ago marked the New Year – a year where Fred would never be a part of. A year that held no new memories of anything he'd become. \
"Go away!" Harry yelled. His voice echoing out across the Orchard.
"Blimey! He'll wake up the whole village." Bill swore, standing up and walking a few steps away.
Ron bent town and forcefully started dragging Harry across the snow. "Get your barmy arse back inside the bloody house or I swear to Merlin –"
Twisting in his grip, Harry shoved Ron away and stubbornly crawled back to his original spot and laid face down. "No!"
Ginny sighed. "Obviously, that isn't working. Why don't you guys go back inside?"
"He's going to freeze out here alone," Ron retorted.
"I know. I said you guys. You tried. Now, let me," she reasoned.
"Yeah? What do you know how to help him?" Ron asked. He narrowed his eyes and staggered a little bit from the alcohol.
Ginny wondered if it was always going to be like this. For as long as she was with Harry, would Ron constantly question her ability to be there for him? She saw Hermione's looks of disapproval – the two of them whispering about her anytime she tried to help. It was constant belittlement like no matter what she did, she'd never be good enough to be trusted with him.
"I'm his girlfriend, and I love him, and you need to leave before I hex you clear into 2000," Ginny snapped. Her hand found her wand in her pocket.
"Yeah? Well –" Ron didn't back down. His face hardened, but he didn't step closer or away.
"She's got a point," Bill suggested. He looked exhausted and somehow his scars looked worse. He clapped Ron on the back. "He chose her for reason, yeah?"
Chose her. Ginny liked the sound of that. Harry had chosen her out of everyone else. She was who he came to after the funerals and the one he begged to spontaneously go away for the weekend that past summer. He brought her first to see Teddy. He chose her when he had a bad day at Auror Training, or when he finally returned to Godric's Hallow. It wasn't Hermione. It wasn't Ron. Harry chose her.
Ron didn't move for another second. Then, Harry made some type of groaning noise into the snow. Ron quickly looked down at his best friend and up at his little sister again. The muscles in his jaw twitched. "Fine. Don't mess it up."
"I don't plan to," Ginny replied, confidently. She stood straighter, replaying what Bill had said all over again. She needed to hold on to anything to convince her that she could do the impossible – convince a ridiculously drunk Harry to do anything that he didn't want.
With that, Ron let Bill pull him back toward the Burrow and Ginny knelt down in the snow beside of him. Gently, she placed his coat beside of him and rubbed his back.
"Hey."
"Go 'way," Harry grumbled. He let out a deep breath between clattering teeth.
"At least, put on your damn coat before you catch hypothermia." She tossed the coat on to him.
It landed on his chest with a sleeve flopping against his head. Unsteadily, he rolled over on to his back and threw the coat off to the side. His muscles in his jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed up at the sky.
"Bloody git. Guess I'll be here a while then," Ginny argued. She reached over him to grab the coat once more and then sat beside him again. "Can I at least put a warming charm on you, yeah?"
"Why does it bloody matter?" Harry exploded, yelling out more towards the sky than her.
It was little signs that let Ginny know that the anger wasn't directed at her but at something else – the world, perhaps, or himself. She'd noticed the trend shortly after the battle. The sunken, dull eyes fixated at nothing. The inability to look at her. The heavy darkness to his voice that reminded her just how powerful he was – how dark he could go if he let himself. And the anger wasn't the typical anger – the type that Ginny was used to of quick explosions that dissolved in minutes after an outburst. No. It was a deep, consuming anger that even made Ginny frightened, because it was the type of anger that existed just before hate – the level of intensity that she recognized in fuzzy bits of her eleven-year-old memory.
The anger that came from the absence of love.
For as love-filled Harry was, it was easy to forget that for his first years of life he didn't know what love was. It was a vague dream – a fairytale to him – and one that he still refused to talk anything about. Every once in a while, he'd jokingly reveal another new messed up piece of his reality and they'd all remember again just how horrible the Dursley's truly were.
Just how alone Harry had been.
Ginny wasn't daft. She knew scars like those clung to the very foundation of the person – threatening everything that they were and could be.
"Because I love you and I want you to be alright," she replied calmly. She slowly laid down next to him, close enough for him to feel her presence but not enough to threaten his desired personal space.
Harry was like a trick wire. The right combination with caution and he'd open up, but the wrong move and he'd erupt.
"I know," he said after a long silence. His misty eyes flickered over to her momentarily and then back to the sky. He let out a shaky breath. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have and I know today sucks for your family and… and I'm just a bloody prat."
"Mhm… keep going. I'm not going to disagree with that," Ginny hummed. She smiled softly.
He laughed nervously but didn't continue.
Still, it was something and Ginny judged it to be a step in the right direction. Gingerly, she reached out and interlocked her fingers in his. She prayed that she had interpreted correctly.
Closing his own hand around hers, he squeezed gently, and Ginny let out the breath she was holding. His fingers were ice and stiff, but they were intertwined with hers and that had to be enough for now.
"Please don't be mad at me," Harry began, breaking the silence. He was shaking slightly, and Ginny didn't know if it had only to do with the cold.
"Why would I be mad?"
He looked over again. His eyebrows knitted together tightly and there was something vacant in his eyes. They were devoid of emotion yet misted in trapped tears. "It's stupid really."
"What is?" She rolled over to face him. Her chin rested on his shoulder.
He laughed again – hollow this time. His focused returned to above, or anything that wasn't her.
"Harry?"
"I don't want to be here," he whispered as quiet as the wind.
Ginny shivered. "Here? What do you mean?"
"Here," he repeated, shrugging. "I'm tired. So bloody tired. All the damn time. I should've died –"
"Don't do this again," Ginny begged. She kissed his shoulder lightly, then nuzzled into his neck. "Please, don't. None of this –"
"No," Harry cut her off firmly. He licked his lips in thought. Rolling over in the snow, he turned toward her. He brushed a strand of her hair out of her face, just staring at her for what felt like forever.
There was something timid to his touch. Or was it savoring? Like he was taking in every feeling in the moment. It was a heavy weight crushing down on them and Ginny found herself unable to think of what to say. What was he about to say?
"When we were drinking tonight. Fireworks going off. Everyone was laughing – for the most part. Waves of up and down. But I saw Ron laughing with your brothers – Bill and George, I think – and I realized that… that…" He licked his lips again. He began to retreat away, gazing frantically in different directions.
Placing a firm hand against his face, she made him look at her again. She held his gaze, refusing him to run away. Her heart pounded in her chest; her own teeth clattered together now. Something about it all terrified her, and she didn't know what else to do.
"Ginny…" He whispered finally. "I don't want to be alive. I just wish that maybe I had died… last May… last year… when I was a baby with my parents…"
His words swarmed in her mind. Dead? He wanted to be dead. After everything he'd done and after all of this time, he wanted to be dead. After the loss, the grief, the love, and rediscovering life. That was the matter?
He wanted to die.
How selfish could he be? Didn't he know that her world shattered when she saw him being carried lifelessly by Hagrid? Didn't he see how hard mourning the loss of Lupin, Tonks, Collin Creevey, Fred, and so many more, had been for them the last year. Yet he wanted it to be him.
All those nights they spent convincing him it wasn't his fault and he was jealous of the fact that 1999 would never contain another memory of them. Not a single smile, or wave, or fleeting look. The world kept moving and they were gone.
And he wanted that for himself?
"Stop." She pushed him away, blinking back her tears. If he wanted to talk like that, then he didn't get to see her cry.
"I said please don't be mad. Please," he begged. His voice cracked as he tried to pull her back against him.
"No. I don't want to hear it. Fred's never going to be in a new memory – a new story for me to tell – and you're telling me you want that? What about me? What about everyone else?" She shouted louder than she meant, swatting away his hands.
"Please, don't go! I don't want this. I don't want to be like it, or think it, or feel it, but I can't help it. Please, listen. Please. I can't tell anyone else. I need you." He grabbed her hand, desperately, and spoke frantically.
Ginny froze. She didn't need to look at him to know he was crying. His voice was rough and scratchy like when he tried to swallow down his tears. There was an urgency that strangled her.
"I don't want to hurt you or anyone else, but I can't stop it. I feel numb all the bloody time, and I'm tired. I can't handle it. It's driving me barmy," he continued on.
"Harry…" She turned to him.
"Tell me what to do." He was sitting up now. He had a purple tint to his lips. Every part of him was shaking and his tears smudged up his glasses. The way he swayed and slurred his words reminded her of how drunk he was.
"Come with me, please. Let's go inside and sleep. I promise we'll talk about it more in the morning when we've had time to clear our heads. Maybe, you can go see someone. A specialist," Ginny suggested. She slowly led him into a standing position. "But we need to sleep first. Inside. Where it's warm and safe."
Harry stumbled as he stood. Glancing towards the Burrow, he hesitated. The light in Ron's and his bedroom was still on. Ginny bet Ron and Hermione were both waiting for him to talk.
She smiled. "Come. You can stay with me tonight. Think we both need it."
"But your family and Ron –"
"Will deal with it," Ginny finished. She walked over to him and ran a hand gently over his cheek. "I need you with me."
He swallowed, as his breaths evened out. "I love you."
"I know." She smiled softly. "I love you too."
But the morning talk never happened or anything close to it. When Harry woke, he claimed to have no memory of the conversation. He argued he had no idea what she was talking about and eagerly went to work on his day off, on a holiday, and with a massive hangover. He fell asleep when he came home.
For the following week and anytime Ginny tried to bring it up, he found a way to avoid her.
He even gave up binge drinking, claiming to prefer to be the chaperone. Someone had to make sure all the Weasleys made it back safely.
Ginny wanted to know who made sure Harry came home safely. He laughed.
He always made it home safely.
A/N: I just found this Chapter on my computer for almost a year ago. It wasn't finished, but I am going to finish it and post the rest. I decided you have all waited long enough to at least enjoy what I have here of about 4,000 words.
Sorry again for my absence. There is no excuse, but some good news:
I have focused on my own original work lately and trying to publish it. I may start finding a forum to post my original work, if any one has ideas or is interested in me doing so. My originals fall mostly in the category of YA and Middle Grade fantasy, which is quite difficult to publish now a days. My work and my account is a LGTBQ+ safe place, as well.
