Harry had to get out of the damn library or he was going to lose his mind.
The armchair he sat in was the most comfortable thing he had sat on in months. The cushions below him were soft, sinking under his weight, and making him feel like he was floating on a cloud. It was certainly better than camping on the dirty floor of another overgrown forest. The library fireplace on his right was filled with warm embers and soft flames that casted shadows along the stone walls.
The air was heated and peaceful. Through the tall narrow windows, Harry could even make out the moon and stars peppering the blackness of the night sky. A soft rain had started to drizzle down from the wisps of storm clouds that were beginning to sweep in.
Harry should have been relishing in the feeling of pure comfort. Of contentment. But, it was beyond anything he could take anymore. Because despite how much he enjoyed the comfort that surrounded him, Harry hardly cared for it.
It was torture; a torture unlike anything he felt before.
The words were starting to blur on the page before him. Not from fatigue, no, it was more annoyance than exhaustion. Harry was restless, on the edge of what was beyond these stone walls: his mission. And he couldn't sit here reading anymore. The stir of instinct to keep moving stung at his skin, raising the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck with anxiety.
It was a humming, something that warned him of impending doom.
And Harry itched to get out of it of the peace that now surrounded him. Itched to stand, to fight, to lay on the hard, cold, stone floor and relish in the discomfort. Because discomfort also brought alertness. Right now, comfort was a curse. One that dulled his senses. One that would kill him. One that would kill everyone.
Harry's fingers twitched against the edge of the book he was reading. The pages were tattered and worn, the spine creased and well-loved. And despite what others in the library might think, reading was not the right word for what he was doing. Harry wasn't really reading. He was re-reading. Re-reading the same sentence over and over again.
For the last forty-minutes.
Harry had not progressed beyond page twenty-two of Ancient Magic and Forgotten Practises.
It was clear that not only was comfort impacting his reflexes, but it was also impacting his work. Harry's lack of progress made him feel disgusted. He had a job to do. All of them had a job to do tonight, and Harry knew they were not moving fast enough. If they had been, Harry wouldn't still be here. In this castle. Re-reading.
Looking up from the page, Harry glanced at Hermione and Fred. The two of them were so focused, so determined. Hermione was moving with precision and speed; flipping through pages, making notes, collecting ingredients. She was a hummingbird, fluttering from one task to the next. Her naturally frizzy hair breaking free from the confides of her braid as she continued to work tirelessly.
In contrast, Fred was just as precise in his movements, but more fluid. His fingers uncorked one of the vials Hermione handed him before he dropped exactly three drops of what looked to be mercury in a steaming cauldron, his eyes watching carefully as he concentrated on the simmering potion below him.
There was a soft hiss of steam that bubbled up to the surface, misting Fred's face as he smirked.
Something in Harry boiled at the sight of that triumphant grin; the urgency in Harry's stomach mimicked the brewing potion before Fred.
Those two were going to kill him. With research.
"We aren't moving fast enough," Harry thought, knowing that the longer this plan took, the longer he sat there re-reading page twenty-two, the quicker death would come.
Getting this blood bond done was important. It was part of the long game of their strategy, and yes, they needed strategy now more than ever. That's why George and Ron were busy figuring out the rest of the pieces and how they would move. And this bond was a part of that picture, which is why Fred and Hermione were busy getting through the prep for the casting.
And then there was Harry, the chosen one, the one that could only sit here and try to help. He felt useless. He excelled at a lot of things, but right now was not his time to shine. No, it was time to delegate to the experts.
Still, Harry refocused on the page, determined to offer some aid.
"Ancient rituals of the wizard kings often started with a feast and sacrifice of blood and purity. Blood was a core ingredient in medieval practises, but since the properties of each one's blood vary so greatly, so did the result of these rituals. Some castings went terribly purely because the blood sacrifice's heart pulled to a darker side of power, while other castings were controlled and considered pure light.
It is said that Merlin performed the first entanglement bonding by using ash and…"
Harry's mind trailed off again as he glanced at the large grand-father clock which was positioned between two large floor-to-ceiling shelves opposite his armchair.
Forty-five minutes, Harry thought bitterly before letting his head fall back to rest against the back cushion of his chair. Forty-five minutes just to read one paragraph on page twenty-two. He closed his eyes for a moment to breathe. How was he helping?
Kingsley's manor was surprisingly quiet. Many of the order members were on missions, and headquarters was feeling sparse. Dull almost. And for that Harry was grateful.
Yes, he wanted to see everyone, but Harry did not want to be asked questions. He couldn't deal with questions. Not now. So, it was really the perfect time for them to be there when he thought about it. If he allowed himself to admit it. No one would even know he had been there, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.
No one except her, he thought; her face filling his thoughts. Her smile, filled with mirth and wit. He could picture her looking up at him, her fiery ginger strands coming to fall just before those mischievous lips as she beamed at him.
Ginny, he hummed inwardly to himself before his eyes opened with a snap. No, no, he had to focus. He had to do his part in this war. So, he refocused on the page before him, but again he failed miserably to read past page twenty-two.
Merlin what was wrong with him? Yes, he was seventeen years old, but he was also fighting a war. He should be able to control himself and read a damn book without thinking about tossing it aside, finding Ginny, and spending the last precious moments he had in this castle making her come undone beneath him.
Of course, Harry wanted to do just that, to storm through the halls to find her. He fantasized about finding her every night he was away. That she was thinking of him with the same amount of passion he thought of her. Harry was dying to kiss Ginny senseless until he had to be parted from her again. Her soft lips moaning out his name. It made his jeans tight with wanting.
But, Harry was not just any seventeen year old. No, he was chosen. So, no matter how badly he craved her touch, he had to keep her safe. Safe from him.
It's why he had he had ended it before he left and before she went back to Hogwarts, and clearly it still wasn't enough. Why else would she be back home during term? Something had to have happened at Hogwarts to send her running here, something dangerous, and it only solidified in his heart why he had to keep a distance.
The weight of the forgotten book shifted in his hand as they went slack and suddenly he was brought back to the library.
With a sigh, Harry shut the text he was reading. Another book on ancient magic and they all said the same thing; they could die. The blood was unstable, and they could die. It had to be pure light, and they could die. It had to be a real connection and a family connection was always stronger. And, of course, they could die.
Although re-reading might kill him first.
Looking back at his two friends, he scowled. Harry didn't understand how Hermione and Fred were both so focused.
"It's all about calculated risks," Hermione muttered to herself while she read through another book and handed Fred another vial. Fred hummed in agreement.
"Ugh, calculated risks." Harry wanted to roll his eyes but scoffed out loud instead. He was sick of calculated risks. Everything was a risk, calculated or not, and people were getting hurt regardless of how calculated they were. So, what the hell did it matter anymore.
They could die out in the fight, or they could die from the casting. Let's just get this bond over with so he could get back out there. That was his goal. That needed to happen so he could leave. So he could protect Ginny, everyone, from his very existence.
"She's right, mate," Fred said, his face still hunched over the potion he was brewing, clearly having heard Harry's visceral reaction. Fred had hardly spoken since they started working in the library. So, his voice was a sudden jolt in the room, radiating off the walls of books, mixing with the written words of the pages, and adding to the literature.
Fred agreed with Hermione. That took Harry by surprise and added to the impatience boiling in him.
"Really Fred?" Harry asked aghast, annoyance slowing overcoming him and morphing into real anger, "you too? Surely, you of all people are for taking risks."
Harry never expected Fred to want to be calculated. Not with new magic. Well, old magic. Ancient magic.
"You think all our inventions just happen?" Fred said, not once looking up to meet Harry's stare. Oh, that lit Harry up. Made him more furious. "There was always planning involved." Fred added with ease as he reach over the cauldron to grab the paper Hermione was handing him.
Harry was silent, his impatience turned into annoyance and was threatening to build up into indignation.
Fred was ignoring him.
Harry watched as Fred read through the notes Hermione made, giving a quick nod, before saying, "this all checks out. Do we have lavender seeds?"
"No, I can go grab some from the cupboard before we start," Hermione replied.
"Oh, now she's ignoring me too?" Harry thought bitterly.
"Great. We don't need it quite yet though," Fred's voice was measured. Planned. Calm, "I'd say in about 30 minutes we start the stabilizing potion."
And Harry was blown away by the hypocrisy of it all. Yes, he expected this from Hermione, a measured and practical side to magical experimentation, but the prankster king of Hogwarts? The careless, wild and reckless half of the Weasley twins was preaching to him about calculated risks and taking his time.
What was the world coming to?
"You tested on first years!" Harry abruptly bolted out of the armchair. The book which was in his lap fell to the floor with a loud thud that caused a wince on Hermione's face. But Harry did not care, no Harry was all of his emotions in one right now, and he shouted them out.
Both Hermione and Fred jumped at the loud echo of Harry's voice, snapping their eyes to him.
"Yes," Fred blinked a few times, his hands still for just a moment before he looked back to the potion and then calmly added, "and we made that decision deliberately."
Hermione cleared her throat, fixing Fred with a pointed death stare. Fred on his part grinned sheepishly and hastily said, "a-and very carefully."
Hermione smiled before resuming her reading, clearly unfazed by Harry's outburst.
For Merlin's sake, he was chosen one. Even if he wasn't an expert here, he was an expert of fighting Voldemort. And that was enough to garner just a little bit of respect, so he should be their only concern right now.
Voldemort would cut them all down to get to him. Voldemort would kill her to get to him.
"Alright, so let's carefully make the decision to get going on this already," Harry started. He was irate. He couldn't stay here a second longer. No, he needed out.
Out of this bloody manor. Out into the war. Out on the hunt.
The manor was stifling with comfort. Love. affection. It was causing him to drown within the stone walls of this great house. It was drowning him in guilt.
He longed to be with his family, because this is what they all were, they were his family. Blood or not, it did not matter. Hermione was his sister, and George, the man she had chosen, was his brother-in-law. As was Ron and Fred. They were his brothers. The Weasleys were his kin. Just like Sirius and Remus.
And Ginny, god, Ginny. She was his everything. His love. His future. His, dare he say it, wife. Though they were too young for that yet.
Harry had already seen his sister taken because of him. He had seen the effects of their torture, their attempts to break Hermione, because of him. No, no, he couldn't see that happen to anyone else.
He could not let that happen to Ginny.
This blood bond wasn't a bigger risk than his presence here. He felt the constant vibration of it. He couldn't put them in danger. He couldn't put Ginny in danger.
So when Harry spoke again, it was pure, restless desperation.
"Let's stop messing about then. We get this casting done. Tonight." His words were steel and harsh. They were gritted and urgent. And unfair. So very unfair to the people who loved him and were tirelessly working, for him, for the war.
"Oi! Shut it will you," Fred snapped with just as much force as Harry's demand. In an instant, Harry felt a crash out of him, like a bucket of ice water was tossed in his face. Dripping down him like a wave of reality. Something in him shifted.
It felt like he was five years old being scolded, and that's the moment Harry knew, he was letting his emotions get the better of him. Some darkness in his chest had urged him into an evil restlessness. It felt sinister but Harry ignored it. Fearing what it meant.
"We're working as hard and fast as we can. This shite doesn't just happen. This isn't a fever fudge, it's a blood bond." Harry's face flushed as Fred continued,"we're about to start working on the last potion, so either sit your ass back in that chair and pipe down or get out."
Harry was stunned. More like gobsmacked. He never heard Fred yell at him. Ron snapping at him, yes. Fred snapping at a situation, sure. But, at Harry directly? No. Never. Harry was never the brunt of it before.
It may have been only a few words, but it was certainly humbling.
"Harry," Hermione said gently, trying to soothe the sting and defuse the tension that now filled the room, "maybe you should take a walk? Let Fred and I work, and we will come get you when we're finished?"
Harry's shoulders deflated with acceptance. She was right. He knew she was right. But something kept him rooted in this room. Maybe it was the urgency in him to finish this casting. Maybe it was the hope that he could motivate them to work faster. He could become cheerleader Harry, with imaginary pom-poms and the positive attitude he could become famous for. More famous that his lightning scar if he tried hard enough.
The brown shaggy hair fell before his eyes as he dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. No, this wasn't urgency. It was avoidance.
Harry knew this wasn't about the war anymore. He was using this moment, this focus, their focus, to avoid Ginny. He knew if he kept pushing them, he could keep pushing Ginny away. And push away the gutting feeling of another painful good-bye.
"Oh, for merlin's sake," Fred said, and Harry feared it would be another lecture but did not expect what came next, "just go see her!"
His fingers fiddled with the hem of his sweater before he looked up at Fred and Hermione. There was a warmth to both of their expressions. Hermione's face was soft and warm, her eyes filled with understanding and compassion. Fred was kind as well, but there was also a little bit of reservation.
Harry let out a soft chuckle before running a hand through his hair, pulling the unruly strands away from his face. "Mate, you can't keep avoiding her forever." Fred added, his tone had softened considerably and there was mirth mingling with the glyphs of his words, "not to mention, you're driving us both crazy. Hermione's just too nice to say anything."
"He's right," Hermione said with a laugh and Fred nudged her gently with his elbow in jest, "I am too nice. You're driving us nuts."
So, Harry did the only thing he could do. He swallowed the avoidance, and guilt, and urgency, and fear, and seriousness he had been feeling, and finally just let himself enjoy where he was. And he laughed along with his two friends. The darkness that clouded over him until now was lifting away like the smoke from the fireplace. It twisted with the ash and embers and floated up the chimney and into the night sky.
This time, when Harry thought of her, it wasn't fear, it was longing. It was desperation. Raw and burning his very soul.
His heart ached every day to see her. Just for a moment, and now here he was denying himself the chance to see that perfect smile. Hear her perfect laugh. Feel her skin under his fingertips as he pulled her close to him.
Fuck, he was a right idiot.
"Alright," Harry felt lighter as he spoke, "yeah, okay. yes. You're right."
Harry needed to find her. He needed to find her right this instant. But his feet were still rooted to the floor
"So, what you are waiting for then?" Hermione said, and it was like he was freed from the shackles of an invisible and unspoken body bind. It spurred Harry into action.
They were right, he needed to see her. He would regret not seeing her. Not holding her. Telling her how much he loved, cherished, and adored her. She was his everything, fire and wit, water and calm, air and heart. That's what she was to him.
All the elements, all the magic, and all the love in the world.
He would be worthy of her, not a coward hiding from the heartbreak of another goodbye.
Picking the book that he dropped before up from his feet, he placed it gently on the table next to his armchair. He nodded at Hermione once before walking to the library door with purpose. Ginny was his purpose.
Harry's fingers gripped the gold knob of the door, tugging the heavy oak door open and, as he stepped through the doorway, he paused before saying over his shoulder, "Sorry for being a prat."
"Yeah, yeah," Fred said with an absent wave of his hand, "just go already."
The door had almost shut behind Harry when he heard Fred call out, "don't forget, that's my sister so you keep your hands to yourself!"