Don't Leave

There are some things you just can't go through without being affected; a death in the family, a life threatening experience, war. It is almost as hard to watch someone go through these things, but having to experience them yourself and all the while supporting those around you – that can be exhausting. Harry Potter, war hero and celebrity at the young age of 18, already feels the weight of this difficult task.

The room had the stench of extended inactivity and the air stunk of smoke. Ginny scrunched her nose at the smell and toed dirty clothes out of the way as she made her way across the lounge room of Grimmauld place.
"Harry?" the call echoed down the hall as Ginny made her way into the kitchen. The first thing she noticed was the dishes that seemed to litter the benches and tables.
"Kreacher?" She had become worried – Harry's messy habits were known to her, but Kreacher never seemed the kind to leave without cleaning up a mess. Unless he was asked not to. Ginny sighed deeply as she finally laid eyes on Harry, who sat slouched at the end of the long kitchen table that covered the expanse of the stone floor.
"Harry, what's going on?" She questioned, her concern clearly discernable through her tone. "No one has seen you for days?" Without a sound, Harry waved her comment away with a flick of his hand, letting it fall back to where it had been laying – clutching the crystal glass of a goblet. What it held, Ginny had no difficulty guessing.

"Harry, you have to listen to me! This is not healthy!" Her eyes were wide as she kneeled before him. Her hand was brushed off his shoulder before she could barely lay it on him.
"Ginny, not now." He murmured, pouring himself another glass of Firewhiskey from the almost empty bottle that stood before him.
"If not now, Harry, when? Going on like this… it could kill you."
The glare Ginny received was one she wasn't expecting. Harry's eyes were glassy and red and he smelled worse than anything she had smelt for a long time.
"Lots of people have tried, Gin. I don't think it's actually possible."
"Harry, don't say things like that!" Ginny could barely believe what she was hearing. She took another look around the room. "Where's Kreacher?" She asked softly, her mind still rattling with questions.
"I sent him away."
"Away where?"
"I don't know, wherever he decided I meant? I was very vague, he could be at Malfoys for all I know." His speech was slurred as he tried to get the sentence out and he looked at her like he had trouble focusing on anything – including her.
"Harry, maybe you should get help –"

The bottle shattered against the wall, the liquid sizzling the paint as it dripped. Ginny jumped back, her breathing quickening.
"Harry," she cautioned, her hands extended in front of her.
"No, Ginny!" He breathed. "You don't understand!"
"Understand?! How could I not understand?"
"I don't need HELP! I need for this all to go away," his voice was harsh as he spat the words out, his hands gesturing around the room. Ginny noticed now all the papers that made up eighty percent of the mess in the kitchen. Littering the front pages of all of them was his face, accompanied by various titles and articles that held very little truth.

He clenched his hands in front of him.
"I can't stop seeing them – all of them… lying there… dead." Harry shook his head, falling back into the chair and lifting the glass to his lips. He winced as the liquid ran down his throat.
"Fine, I understand that you want me to leave!" Ginny sighed and swept from the room, taking one last chance to look back and see the expressionless eyes of Harry Potter staring at the glimmering liquid of his goblet with no acknowledgement of her departure.

The air was brisk as Ginny walked down the lane and back to the Burrow. She held her coat closer to her chest, the wind somehow making it through her clothes and chilling her to her bones. The day was grey and the clouds covered every inch of the sky as she walked. She carried bags of shopping with her and hummed a small tune as she went, but suddenly she saw something that made her stop.

There, leaning against the fence, was a slightly scruffy Harry Potter – his hair was a mess and his face needed shaving, but his clothes were at least clean.
"Harry?"
"Ginny, I –"
She stopped dead, their eyes connected in a silent conversation that had been in making for weeks. The space between them seemed to stretch as the silence engulfed them. The wind stilled around them, as if it understood.

"Gin –" His voice was strained, as though he hadn't used it since they last spoke. With a few quick steps she was in his arms, her own wrapped around his neck – shopping lying forgotten on the ground.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, "I never want you to leave."

A/N: Written for the Flying Lessons - A Good Landing.

I do not own anything.