I haven't written in quite some time, around eight months now. Yet recently I've been reading more and it kinda motivated me to get some words down on digital paper again. Will something come of it? I am not sure yet. It has a lot of rambling and yapping, and is quite "all over the place", yet I feel it has some soul. Maybe I am blinded, maybe not.

Either way, I've decided to share it, and I will continue to write and update it, it might take some while though, as inspiration tends to strike whenever it feels like it.

I hope you enjoy!

~Leo

-
What a World

Chapter One
A cold breeze caught Harry's gelled-back hair as he stepped off the warm train at Nottingham station. A sea of strange faces surrounding him as he pushed through the departing crowds of people. What a queer sensation, he'd never been to Nottingham, and if he was perfectly honest with himself, he had no idea what brought him here in the first place. Or did he?

He brushed by an older portly Lady as he swiftly made his way down into the heart of the train station.
His green eyes roaming over the eerily familiar architecture, well, was it really eerie, when it looked very much like all other English train stations, nothing surprising here he thought. But still, there it was, the kindling flutter in his stomach, the excitement of being in such a new place mixing with the overwhelming impressions of the strangeness that surrounded him now.
So familiar yet so different. Isn't it like that everywhere one goes to in this blasted grey country?

He contemplated stopping at the typical train station bakery, so typical indeed that he might have just gotten off at St. Pancreas.
His lingering gaze fell on the gruff-looking fellow with salt and pepper hair who was currently serving what seemed like a group of Chinese tourists, in their struggle to articulate to him what exactly their order may entail.

The dark eyes of the smallest fell on him and with a jolt, Harry was made aware that he had indeed been caught staring. Lost in your own mind again Potter, he scolded himself, the idea of a fresh egg and cress sandwich now seeming wildly unattractive, wanting to spare himself the awkward interaction of standing next to the group he had just been caught gazing at.

A few moments later he was standing outside, breathing in the cold winter air once again. What a day it was, it may even snow later on.
The smell of cold lingering in his nostrils, the one that always tells of snow, icy weather, and a dawning Christmas just around the corner.
He shuddered, and not due to the frozen gust that seemed to slap him in the face with such a force he could've sworn to feel his lips freeze shut.

Move on Potter, he mumbled to himself, this is not the moment for false melancholy.
rose-tinted glasses, what a thing that was, how our brain tells us of our past in such distorted ways, what was it about being miserable and lonely, that was not worth the precious synapses of our memory, simply overwritten by a looney-drunk kind of haze that reeks terribly of pretty flowers and honey tasting evenings full of golden sunsets. He shook his head.

Tears turned to drops of red wine, and this deep set emptiness you felt, that followed- no- haunted us, for months on end, now suddenly yields for a feeling of loss.
Looking back, you might even think that you had everything. And now you have nothing. As if it was possible to lose having nothing. Queer, what the brain does.

Harry stepped out onto the busy street, it was not dark yet but he knew by the time he would have reached his supposed goal, the gloomy early winter darkness would've laid its black sheet over the bustling city.

His goal. He thought. What was his goal, he knew there was one, as much as he tried telling himself differently. As much as he tried to lie to himself. This can't be possible. It must be a dream.

When he woke up this morning, he wouldn't have actually thought of doing it. It was all a long line of pure happenstances, or maybe mishaps. Potentially both.
No, he was here for no particular reason, there doesn't have to be a reason for a fully grown adult to visit a new place, curiosity justifies the means he thought.

He desperately clung to that for the next 30 minutes up until the very moment he stood before the small semi-detached house in a pretty large Nottingham district called St. Ann's.
He remembered what it meant to be here, his eyes roaming over the number 51 next to the grey Victorian-style door. What was he doing? Was this truly his reason for coming here? It couldn't… no, it can't be.
And then he knocked, three times.

Whatever had just happened he knew it wasn't real, his mind wouldn't play tricks on him like that, not anymore.

Someone pushed down on the handle and the door was opened from the inside, making him flinch. He scolded his own jumpiness, from where else would it be opened? Doors tend to be opened after you knock on them, truly no reason to be surprised.

The set of brown eyes that greeted him were no surprise either, they looked just like when he last dreamt of them. From the long lashes down to the rings and little crypts that scattered her irises.

"Harry?"

"Yes."

…

"What- What are you doing here?"

"I needed to see you."

…

"You-
-You needed to see me? We haven't spoken in months."

"I know."

…

"Harry, I-
-I am confused."

"Me too."

Queer, isn't it, reuniting with someone after a gravely long time. With someone that you ought to spend day and night with at times, someone so important yet so distant. You don't see them for months, maybe years, but when you do, something happens. Reality sets in, you see the real them, not this fake creation your brain has built over the months. Built according to your vast memories of them. That moment is important, as it either destroys that creation as a matter of fantasy, maybe they weren't that great after all-

-Or-
-Or your mind's creation doesn't even dare to reach what you now see standing before you. What would you call it these days, underselling expectations, downplaying it?
You never know. Can you truly ever?

"Do- Do you want to come in, for a cup of tea?"

"I'd like to, yes."

Two minutes later he was comfortably seated in a small living room, away from the bitter cold. He felt warm, hot even, and it was neither from the radiator to his right which was surely firing on full power, nor from the warm cup of Earl Grey in his right hand. The cup had the picture of a rather adorable orange kitten printed on it, the similarities with the person sitting across him right now, amused him.

"I am still slightly confused, so you needed to see me, but why?"
Ginny's wide eyes were staring at him in carefully put-on uncertainty. Her true emotions seemingly guarded, but Harry knew her too well.
She was wearing a green Christmas sweater that most certainly was a creation of her mother's wonderful mind, her hair in a long messy but fiery braid.

Suddenly it dawned on him, he was sitting in Ginny's living room, having shown up seemingly out of nowhere, knocking on her door. He hadn't spoken to her in months, she was right.
Did he just make a total fool out of himself, what was he even supposed to tell her for why he had come here in the first place? Like so often, he had acted before he had thought.

But he knew that something had driven him here, was it conscious or subconscious, he wasn't entirely sure. Ginny's flame had drawn him in, for a reason he couldn't fully explain yet he was drawn to her, was it her mercurial nature, he burning passion, or those stunning looks?

Yes, those looks indeed, he had forgotten the blinding beauty that was Ginny Weasley. He always prided himself on having something akin to a photographic memory when it came to faces and their defining features, but either that was total self-overestimation or Ginny had blossomed even more so into a sight to behold, to say her dazzling beauty had almost sent his mind into a positive conniption was an understatement, if something like that even existed.

Yet Harry knew it wasn't her beauty that really drew him in. Partly, of course, but also, not really.
What had truly drawn him was her shining personality, her kindness, the rich laughter, the sparkle in those chocolate eyes which just lit up in happiness when someone cracked a particularly good joke.
The way she stood up for those she loved, her fierce temper, like a force of nature, unyielding, she could rip you to pieces in an instant if deserved so. A personality to behold.

It was all wildly attractive to him, attractive in a way that had him traveling three hours by train on some wild goose chase across the country.
Even though he was probably chasing himself more than Ginny at that point.
Deep down, he was chasing his own cause for initiative, maybe he had to prove it to himself, that he still had it in him, old Harry could still make his move, dormancy be forsaken.

"I've missed you, it's been like months, it must've been what? March? April? The Burrow, Ron's birthday! Yes, then it was March."

It had truly been a while, which he knew he was entirely to blame for.

"Yes, I think so." Ginny looked pensive, seemingly still unsure what to make of the whole situation of him just showing up at her doorstep unannounced, after months of no contact not to mention. He truly couldn't blame her for that.

"But either way I am happy to see you, I've missed you too, at least having someone in my corner who trusts me to take care of myself, with the endless lines of brothers that check up on me as if couldn't take care of myself just because I don't have a penis between my legs."

Harry snorted at that, maybe only to mask the feeling of searing heat that swiftly spread through his body at her declaration of conviction. Was it normal to be this turned on by sheer confidence in oneself?
Either way, he was touched by her words, he knew that she knew that he would never doubt her strength. Not many people were as durable, as robust, or simply as powerful as Ginny Weasley was.

"I'd never doubt you'd keep that lot on their feet, matter of factly I always thought they simply respected you too much, which might've been the conduit for their brotherly over protection."
He gave her a quick smile, which she reciprocated.

"Oh, they did! Respected- or more like -feared."
She smirked, making those rosy lips look way more kissable than they had any right to be.

"You know, Mum always tried to shield me from their roughness, as she liked to call it. When in reality she should've looked out for them instead. Have I told you about the time I hid all of Ron's socks in the broom shed after he had told me that had seen snakes in the living room?"
Her eyes were glinting in mischief, as another smile crossed those shining features.

"The one broom shed that was full of big brown spiders and old cobwebs?"

"Naturally."

He couldn't but laugh at her declaration. "Oh ickle Ronnikins must've been thrilled by that, we all know his innate love of spiders. How old were you then?"

She took a sip of her earl grey, before continuing to slowly stir it.
"Oh, I must've been around six, which would make him seven. He knew not to mess with me by then."

Harry sat up in the comfy wooden armchair, almost losing himself in her chocolate eyes.
"Ron always was a fast learner."

Ginny smirked. "They all were, when it came to me."