Authors Notes: Merry Christmas Eve! I have not forgotten my other story, forgive me. But I thought i'd just post this little one-shot that has been in My Documents for a year and a half. Not the best work I've ever done, admittedly. But I hope you enjoy it all the same. Happy Christmas.
The Second Loneliest Night of the Year
It was the Second lonliest night of the year.
Number Four, Grimuald Place was as it had always been in his memory. The building was run down, the shingles were falling off the roof, wind whistled through a crack in the front door. If not for the use of magic the building would have surely fallen down half a century ago. Yet here it still was.
The front door creaked open enough to allow a boy, newly a man, to enter quietly. He looked around and he listened. The Entrance hall was deserted in the after dinner hours of its temporary inhabitants, though their cloaks and boots lined the walls.
A great picture hung on the opposite wall, its black curtain rippling lightly from the breeze created by closing the door. There were tracks of dust on the ancient wooden floor, an indication that there had not been a house elf in this dwelling in a very long time.
Not long enough, Harry thought bitterly.
An eerie quiet stilled his movements. He had not been in this house since its' owner died.
Harry took a shaky breathe. He shouldn't have come at all, but it was Christmas Eve, the second loneliest night of the year. His shoulders and neck ached with tension, and though it was warm inside, a terrible chill held him. He could only imagine who was here. Hermione? Ron? Tonks?
To be honest he did not think that anyone would be here. Or maybe he hoped. He was unsure if he could handle the questions or the speculation at his sudden arrival. He knew that he was being selfish on so many levels. But he was so close to finding what he needed, the thing that would end it all.
He shook his cloak off and hung it on a hook near the door. Large clumps of snow fell from it and onto the floor with a splat.
He felt fatigued. He took his glasses off and cleaned them on his sweater, the one that Mrs. Weasely gave him two years ago. A small lifetime it seemed like. He wondered distantly if she had made him a sweater this year, even though no had heard from him in months.
Harry, though he loved Mrs. Weasley dearly, hoped that she would not be there. He hoped that she was spending tonight with Mr. Weasley at the burrow. He hoped that Ron, Hermione, Bill, and Fluer were doing likewise.
He could not face them tonight. Maybe tomorrow, or next week he would have a better grip on his emotions. Maybe he would visit when he wasn't thinking of what could have been on a night like tonight.
Harry rubbed his neck gingerly as he approached the drawing room. He would sleep on the couch and leave before dawn. He gently pushed open the door.
There was already a fire in the grate, but it was burning low, and Harry was sure whoever had started it was long asleep.
Or maybe he hoped.
But as he entered he saw the back of a head propped up against the couch cushions. A book was balanced on their knee.
"Hermione?" he whispered.
She turned suddenly, the book falling to the floor in her surprise. A girl with fiery red hair and brown eyes whipped around, keeling up on the couch for a better look.
"Harry," she breathed.
The relief was audible in her voice.
Harry's throat went dry and his stomach clenched horribly.
"Ginny."
This was not who he was expecting to see. This was the last person with whom he could keep his emotions in check.
"We haven't heard anything, we've all been worried."
Harry's heart ached suddenly; he had thought maybe Ginny would not have still cared.
Or maybe he had hoped.
Because Ginny was last person he could let be harmed by his own selfishness, by his own need for something that he couldn't have.
"I-" He wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry I haven't written anybody, but I've er, had a lot on my plate."
"I'm sorry," she said, her face full of concern. "Do you want some hot chocolate?"
He nodded mutely and sat down beside her on the couch.
Harry looked around for a moment. Nothing in this room had changed either, the Black family tree leered down at him.
Ginny waved her wand and a steaming mug appeared in front of him. He took a grateful sip and instantly felt the warmth of the coco and something else spread through him. He eyed the mug suspiciously.
"Ginny," he exclaimed. "This has brandy in it!"
Ginny smiled mischievously and took a sip from her own mug. Harry's heart skipped a beat.
"Dad's favorite," she said. "Though the charm is compliments of Fed and George."
Harry grinned at her and drank. Coming here was almost worth it.
Several moments of silence elapsed. They were full of unspoken things, they were full of sacrifice.
"Are," Ginny cleared her throat. "Are you staying long?"
"No. Only tonight. I didn't think I'd see anyone. Who is here?"
"Dad and Charlie." She sipped her coco. "Have you talked to Ron or Hermione? They're beside themselves."
Harry felt a stirring of guilt. No, he hadn't spoken to Hermione or Ron since Bill and Fleur's wedding.
"No, but I will."
Ginny tucked a strand of her own hair behind her left ear. Harry could not remember ever seeing her look more beautiful. The soft glow of the fire was highlighting her silhouette, making her look more still like some earthly angel. There was a piece of tinsel in her hair.
Harry knew that he should leave, but he couldn't. Something seemed to be wrong with his legs. But he knew he should not be here. Ginny's kindness was too much.
"Have you thought about me?" Harry snapped to attention, Ginny's eyes were brimmed with tears. "I've thought about you every day."
"I…"
Harry did not know what to say. He wanted to tell her that his life with out her was hell, that he thought of her every second of every day, and that every battle, every time he was bordering on the edge of something so deep, so dark, it was the memory of her that saved him.
Tears were streaming down Ginny's cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, hastily wiping away her tears. "I shouldn't have said those things."
She stood from the couch, tripping over her own dressing gown as she did so. She held out a hand and steadied herself on Harry's knee.
Harry grabbed her hand, and Ginny looked at him miserably.
"I've thought about you." He said tightly. "Every day."
Ginny's face contorted and she began to sob with great gulps.
"Shh, shh," Harry whispered. "Don't cry Ginny, please. It's Christmas." But the truth was, he thought that he might break down himself.
He pulled her gently back down to the sofa and wrapped his arms around her. He knew that this was exactly what he should be trying to avoid, but for the life of him he could not remember why.
Ginny looked at him, her face very close to his.
Harry gulped, and without thinking removed his glasses.
"Harry…." she whispered.
Harry felt their lips connect and the world around him went fuzzy. His mind went wonderfully blank. The void within him suddenly filled.
He felt Ginny climb on top of him and he was no longer worried about doing the wrong thing. How could he have thought this wasn't what he needed? This was everything he needed.
He heard the soft sound of material land on the floor next to the couch as Ginny removed her robe.
He looked at her, straddling his waist in her short nightgown. He let his fingers slide up one of her lean legs and up her side to her breast. Her breaths were short and breathy.
Harry grabbed it gently, he had always dreamed of doing this. His heart was pounding loudly, so loudly that it might, at any second, wake the other inhabitants of the house. But he didn't care; if to love is to burn then they were on fire.
He felt her small hands slide to his jeans and unbutton them. He kicked off his own shoes. And when Ginny raised both of her arms above her head, he pulled her nightgown off of her and tossed it across the floor.
Ginny was laying on top of him again, and Harry numbly felt his own hands go to the elastic of her knickers and shimmy them down.
Slowly, they came off and they both shifted on the small, uncomfortable sofa, until it was Harry laying on top of Ginny.
Harry divested himself of the rest of his clothing and looked at Ginny questioningly.
He knew that the drawing room door had no lock, and that anyone who was asleep upstairs could come down and find them. Including Mr. Weasley.
Ginny nodded and kissed his jaw line urgently.
She positioned her knees on either side of his hips and Harry panted in pleasure as he felt her, wet and warm beneath him.
Her hands were caressing the back of his neck, running through his hair. They were kissing with a rushed need that Harry had never known.
"Oh, Harry…" she sighed.
He made a slow continuous motion and heard Ginny hiss. Tears were leaking out of her eyes.
"Ginny," he panted, stopping mid thrust. "Are you hurt? Did I…"
"No," she said tightly. "Don't stop."
He pushed again, and again.
Harry felt himself tighten in all of the right areas and the feeling of Ginny's small breasts pressing against his bare chest drove him to further heights of pleasure. Pleasure that he could never have fabricated in his fantasies of Ginny, on cold, rainy nights alone.
They were both panting and Ginny wrapped her legs around his waist. Harry groaned softly and Ginny made a sweet little moan in his ear.
He sucked at her neck, at her ears, anywhere he could. They were both frantic in their explorations of one another. He bit her shoulder and she mewled desperately.
They both knew that they ought to keep it down. Ginny had once told him that Charlie was a light sleeper.
Ginny's face looked beautifully flushed in the dim light.
When they were done Ginny tip-toed quietly up to her room, Harry followed, careful to avoid the step that creaks.
"Shh," she said, closing her bedroom door behind them.
Harry climbed on the bed after her and settled in.
"Merry Christmas Harry," was the last thing he remembered hearing before he drifted to sleep.
That night Harry slept well and the next afternoon he found the last horcrux.