Chapter 3 - Scars and Soliloquies
The first nightmare came out of nowhere. He'd had days of dreamless sleep, of sheer exhaustion. And then…he couldn't even remember it once he'd woken up. All that was left of it was the tightness in his jaw and soreness in his throat like he'd been screaming. Then he was out of bed, standing with his wand drawn in the darkness of the shared room at Shell Cottage, drenched in an icy sweat, and shaking.
"Harry, what?!" Ron gasped, fighting his way out of the covers to his wand. He glanced around wildly. "What is it?"
Hermione was on her feet a moment later.
"I—I don't…" Harry didn't trust his voice. The nightmare itself had slipped away by then, all that was left was the sense of dread. He stared at the empty spot on the floor, fighting to control his breathing. "We lost."
"Harry," Hermione whispered. Her eyes were wide and wild. Her wand shook, casting their room in a vibrating Lumos.
"You won, mate," Ron said, though his voice trembled. "He's gone. It's over."
Harry swallowed hard, a feeling like jagged rocks sliding down his throat. He nodded, forcing himself to remember, to believe. But the pit in his stomach screamed that Ron was wrong.
The second nightmare wasn't any clearer. Flashes of red and gold. And he shot awake with the feeling that he'd utterly failed. Before he even registered the feeling of being awake, he was already racing to the bedroom door. Ron grabbed him before he could throw it open and dragged him back to the bed.
"Harry," he whispered sharply. "Stop. You're okay. It was a dream."
Harry didn't trust his voice to form words, so he shook his head fiercely.
"You're going to wake the whole bloody house if you run out there, mate," Ron said, tightening his grip on Harry's shoulders.
Harry gasped in pain and Ron let go like he'd been burned. Harry tried to control his breathing, tried to force himself to remember the battle; to remember the feeling of elation that had come when Voldemort fell. But it wouldn't come.
"You're okay," Ron said.
But Harry could tell Ron didn't believe those words.
The third nightmare never came. Harry fought sleep that last night at Shell Cottage, sitting on the camp bed with the blanket wrapped over his shoulders and his wand tight between his fingers. It had been days since Voldemort fell, days since the cries and screams of the battle gave way to the raucous chorus of victory, but his body still refused to believe it was over. His muscles remained tense, his body primed for an attack that never came. Even in the safety of Bill and Fleur's cottage, with Voldemort lying dead in some Ministry vault, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that peace was some elaborate trick.
Ron sat slouched in an armchair, his legs stretched out and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was shadowed in the darkness, but Harry could see the faint furrow of his brow. Ron wasn't asleep—Harry could feel the occasional flicker of his gaze. He knew Ron was worrying, likely about him, though the silence between them was thick and impenetrable. Harry didn't have the words to bridge it, and judging by Ron's stiff posture, neither did he. Every so often, Ron shifted as though about to speak, but each time he seemed to think better of it and sank back into his chair with a glance over to Hermione.
Hermione lay curled on the other bed nearby. She wasn't asleep either; her shallow breaths and slight movements gave her away. Every now and then, her hand would twitch as though reaching for her wand. Her gaze occasionally darted toward Harry. He could feel her concern pressing at him, but like Ron, she didn't say anything. Maybe she didn't know what to say. Maybe she was as exhausted as he was, every word feeling too heavy to lift.
Harry didn't remember when his eyes closed. One moment he was staring at the flickering lamp, his mind racing, trying to ward off memories of the battle, of Voldemort's twisted face, and of the faces they'd lost. The next, his head dropped forward, as the sheer weight of exhaustion finally dragged him under.
May 10, 1998
It was a tremendous relief when Dad and Bill announced that the Burrow was safe to return to the following Sunday.
"It's a bit rough around the edges," her father had announced to the family as they prepared to leave Shell Cottage. There was a look of exhaustion in his eyes. "But when has that ever stopped us before?"
But the Burrow didn't feel quite the same. There wasn't anything really missing from the crooked chimneys, the slightly lopsided roof, or the familiar patchwork of mismatched additions that had always given the house its charm. Those were still there, painstakingly restored by Dad and Bill over the last several days, and Mum would fix anything they'd missed. But Ginny felt the disquiet of the place all the same.
She paused at the edge of the garden, her fingers brushing the rough wood of the gate. The gnomes were back, of course, scurrying through the overgrown bushes and grumbling at her intrusion. The garden itself was bare; that was going to drive her mum mad until they could get that fixed.
As she walked toward the house, Ginny couldn't help but notice all the little things that weren't quite right. The outer walls were smoother than they used to be, the cracks and dents that had marked years of chaos and laughter now missing. The front door, once so stubborn it always needed a firm shove to open, now swung easily on new hinges. Even the garden shed, with her father's workshop, looked sturdier than before, its roof newly thatched and its walls no longer scorched.
Inside, it was the same story. The furniture was familiar, the patched-up armchairs and well-worn sofas exactly as she remembered them—most of them, at least. Some had clearly been too damaged to remain. But the floor didn't creak in the same places, and the faint scent of burning from Fred and George's failed inventions no longer lingered outside their room.
The space on the wall where the clock had once indicated the whereabouts of her family was empty.
Ginny's chest tightened at the sight, and she looked away quickly, focusing instead on the feeling of Harry's hand in hers, gripping it tightly, as if he could feel the same wave tearing through him, too.
Her dad had done his best to make it the same, she could tell. Every familiar charm and quirk had been replicated as closely as possible. But no spell could truly recreate what the house had been before. The Burrow had always been more than just a house; it had been a living, breathing thing, filled with the chaos and love of the family that had made it a home.
Every nicked banister, every scratch in the wood that told the history of their family; those were things that no magic could truly replicate or repair on its own.
Ginny ran her fingers along the back of a chair as she walked to the kitchen. Before, her mum would have been at the stove, humming softly to herself as she stirred a pot and fussed over feeding someone. For a moment, Ginny let herself pretend that everything was normal. That nothing had changed.
But when she turned back to the rest of her family, walking listlessly into the house, she felt it again—that absence. The quiet was different now. The laughter that used to echo through the walls was muted, and the space around her felt larger, emptier.
Ginny clenched her hands in her lap, forcing herself to focus on the warmth of Harry's hand in hers; trying to meet the eyes of her parents and brothers. But it was as if they all were feeling the exact same thing.
It was still the Burrow, she reminded herself. It was still home. It was just...different.
"Well, let's get our things upstairs, yeah?" her dad urged through a tight-lipped smile. Ginny saw him watching carefully as her mum wandered listlessly into the kitchen. Charlie and Percy levitated three large trunks up the stairs and into the Burrow's tower. "Bill and I tried to salvage what we could, but a lot of what we left behind was destroyed." Her dad sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I suppose we're due for a trip into Diagon Alley sooner than later."
An uncomfortable silence fell over them. That trip would not come cheap.
"I'll go with you Mr. Weasley," Harry volunteered. He stood straighter and met her dad's eyes without flinching.
"Oh, thank you, Harry, but—"
"Please," Harry insisted. He swallowed hard. "I have everything from Sirius, and I—I'd really like to help."
Ginny watched the war of wills unfold between the two of them; between her father who would never once think of accepting money from someone else, and Harry who would give away everything he owned if someone he cared about needed him to.
Her dad's response was quiet but firm. "Harry, the war took much from all of us. But we're managing. The Burrow's stood through worse than this." She wasn't entirely sure if that was true. "And we Weasleys...we take care of our own."
Harry straightened slightly in his chair, his green eyes locked on her dad. "Then let me help," he replied, his words careful but edged with determination. "You and Mrs. Weasley have done so much for me. I owe you more than I could ever repay."
"You owe us nothing, Harry," he dad said, his voice tight. "You're as much a part of this family as any of our children. And I would never ask my children to…" He gestured softly.
Ginny's eyes flicked between them, her father's quiet pride meeting Harry's iron resolve. She could see Harry's frustration simmering just beneath the surface—not anger, but a deep-seated need to give back. He would give away everything he owned if it meant helping someone, Ginny knew this as surely as she knew her own mind. Her dad, meanwhile, clung stubbornly to the principles he'd lived by his entire life. His pride in his ability to provide for his family, even if it was not a life of luxury. His expression was a mask of gentle but unyielding resolve.
The silence stretched, heavy and palpable, as though the very air in the room was caught in the tension between them. Hermione seemed to be deep in thought, chewing her bottom lip. Ron was looking everywhere except at his best friend or father. George looked a million miles away; as if he barely registered what was going on around him. Bill was watching Harry intently with the same puzzling gaze he always seemed to save for particularly tricky curse-breaking assignments. Even her mother had stopped bustling aimlessly through the kitchen, though she did not turn from the kitchen window.
Harry broke the silence first, his voice softening but losing none of its intent. "It's not—it's...what family does for each other, right? And this isn't—I'm not asking permission, Mr. Weasley. I'm going to help." He shook his head. "But I want to do it right, and I…"
Her father's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze boring into Harry's as though trying to test the depths of his resolve.
"You are stubborn," her dad finally said, his voice quiet and with just the barest hint of reluctant amusement.
"So I'm told," Harry replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Her dad exhaled sharply, more of a sigh than a laugh, and dropped to a seat at the kitchen table, removing his glasses to rub his temple. "You know, after seeing you fight You-Know-Who," he said, his tone resigned but warm, "I suppose there's no stopping you now."
Harry nodded, respectful but undeniably victorious. "Thank you."
"Harry," Hermione began tentatively. "I don't know if it's going to be that easy."
"What do you mean," Harry asked quickly.
Hermione shifted, glancing around anxiously. "Well. I think Gringotts might have some issue with leaving you access to your account."
"Bloody hell, we did leave a mess, didn't we?" Ron muttered.
"What exactly did you do?" Bill asked. He pulled up another seat at the table. "You were with us for a few weeks planning…something. Then we get word you're back at Hogwarts and I start hearing some rumors. And then the Prophet says…"
Harry shared a long look with Ron and Hermione. Ginny tried not to feel left out, but at least they were beginning to open up.
"We broke into Bellatrix's vault," said Ron with a grumble as he dropped into a sofa.
"You broke into Gringotts!?" her mum shouted.
"Reckon they're sure it was us?" Ron asked, grasping for hope.
"Wouldn't be hard to put together. Especially if rumors had reached Hogwarts, too," Hermione admitted. She sat down beside him and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "And we weren't exactly subtle when we left."
"Was the dragon thing true?" Bill asked, his eyebrow raised.
Harry nodded sheepishly. Ginny's dad sputtered, mouth agape.
"Ronald!" her mother gasped.
"What dragon thing?" Charlie asked as he and Percy came down the stairs.
"We broke into the Lestrange vault to steal something from Bellatrix and escaped on a dragon," Ron said.
"Ron!" Percy goggled.
"Wicked," Charlie grinned. Even George had perked up and was paying attention now. "What species? How big was it? Where did you leave it?"
"Jumped off its back," Ron said with a shrug. "Didn't feel like sticking around until it got hungry."
Bill groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "That…complicates things a little bit, Harry," he said. "Might be best to hold off on the charitable gestures until you can talk with Kingsley when he comes by tomorrow."
Harry nodded, his eyes cast down. The complication with Gringotts and impending conversation clearly souring his gesture. "I think I'm going to take a walk for a bit. Clear my head."
"Don't go off too far," her dad said gently. "Bill and I raised the wards but…" he trailed off. "Just be cautious, yeah?" Harry nodded and set off briskly.
Ron almost got up to follow him but Hermione grabbed his hand and stopped him. They exchanged pointed looks, a conversation between them without words. Ginny was jealous again; that even after only a few days of really being together they had such a closeness. The three of them with her as their tag-a-long fourth.
Finally, Ron shook his head in resignation and sat back down. Ginny gave him a tight-lipped smile. Despite her jealousy she did appreciate his loyalty.
Ron caught her gaze and nodded after Harry.
Ginny shook her head, her smile holding despite herself.
Ron rolled his eyes and gestured more forcefully. The corners of Hermione's lips twitched upward and she nodded once as well.
Ginny could have hugged her brother.
Ginny joined Harry in the orchard and she nudged his arm with her elbow. "You don't really think Gringotts is going to lock you out after you just saved all of Wizarding Britain, do you, Mr. Chosen One?" she teased. "Or do you go by 'The Man Who Won now?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Bill warned us about what we were doing," Harry admitted, ignoring her teasing. He kicked at a loose stone before dropping to sit against one of the trees. Ginny noticed again that he was favoring his left side. "I don't suppose Mr. Weasley will let me help out now even if we do get it straightened."
"I'm not so sure," Ginny said. She dropped down next to him and leaned against his right side. She resisted the urge to ask about his injuries again, deciding again to try and follow Bill's lead and meet Harry where he was willing to go. "He'll never admit it, but I think he's secretly relieved you didn't back down."
"You think so?" Harry asked.
She nodded, and took his hand gently in hers. "Dad doesn't usually give up that easy."
"I haven't met a single Weasley that does," he said fondly. His fingers entwined more firmly with hers.
"Well it's not like you didn't know what you were getting into then, is it?" she dared to tease.
"I think I was counting on it," he whispered.
They sat together for a while longer. Ginny let herself lean into Harry's side, pushing aside the doubts and uncertainties that still nipped at her. His thumb moved in slow, steady circles over the back of her hand. She could almost see the two of them sitting under the trees by the Black Lake, stealing moments together during her fifth year before everything had fallen apart.
Things had been so easy then. They'd fallen into step with one another without hesitation, figured out how to be together without even needing to try. There was no second-guessing, no barriers, no awkward dance of trying to reveal just enough but not too much.
It hadn't been like that with Michael or Dean. With them, there'd been a careful feeling-out process, a slow and deliberate testing of boundaries. She'd had to work out how much of herself she was willing to show, how much of her life and her thoughts she wanted to share for fear of judgment before they really knew her.
With Harry it had been damn near instantaneous. There'd been no holding back. She hadn't wanted to hold back. From the start, she'd wanted to know everything about him and to let him know everything about her. And he'd let her in. She'd met the Harry who let his smile fully reach his eyes, who wore his heart so openly when he was with her.
It had made even the "super-secret Dumbledore meetings" easier to stomach, because she knew he'd wanted to tell her about it. He wasn't holding it over her. He was holding it away from her and it hurt him just as much. He'd become so obvious to her so easily and in such a short time.
"So a dragon, huh?" His eyes snapped to hers so quickly she almost heard them. "Where should I say the tattoo of this one is? You know they'll ask." She raised an eyebrow and gestured at his chest. "Maybe right here so it can be fighting the Horntail."
Harry laughed, a real one.
"Charlie's really jealous," Ginny said with a grin. He pulled her close and she was again brought back to her fifth year. "You seem worried about telling Kingsley."
"It shouldn't be as hard as it is," Harry said. His hand at her waist played with the hem of her shirt. "I think I'm worried that you'll all see me differently."
"Do Ron and Hermione?"
"They do now. A little," Harry said softly.
"'Now'?" Ginny said. "So it's because of what happened…that night?"
Harry nodded slowly.
"Are you sure Kingsley needs to know?" she asked.
"I think he should. He can figure out what to do with it now; who else to tell; what to tell them," Harry said with a pained expression. "Just to really understand that it's over. For good. Not like before."
Something tight in her chest loosened at those words. Part of her had wondered if this would just be more of the same. But Harry would not have said it if he was not absolutely certain.
"Do you…want to tell me? As practice, I mean?" she offered tentatively. She placed a hand over his heart. He flinched, and his hand sprang up to catch hers. She didn't shy away, but she turned her hand to take hold of his.
"I'm really worried you'll see me differently," Harry said quietly, his voice strained and raw.
Ginny tightened her grip on his hand, grounding them both. "Harry," she said softly, her voice steady. "Look at me."
He hesitated, but when he finally raised his eyes to hers, she reached out, cupping his cheek with her free hand. His skin was warm beneath her touch, and she could feel the tension in his jaw.
"Kiss me," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Harry's brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his brilliant green eyes, but he leaned in all the same. The kiss was soft, hesitant, as though he were afraid to push too far. When he started to pull away, Ginny tightened her hold on him, refusing to let him retreat.
"I'm not going to break, Harry," she whispered against his lips, her voice fierce and unyielding. She met his gaze. And neither are you. And neither will this."
Something shifted then. The doubt and hesitation in his expression melted away, replaced by something raw and desperate. He kissed her again, hard and unrelenting, as though she were his lifeline. Ginny matched him, pouring every ounce of her strength into the kiss, determined to prove to him—and to herself—that she was alive and real.
He pulled back with a gasp, his eyes lidded, his face softer.
"It's me, Harry." His fingers tightened on hers. "I don't think there's anything you can tell me that would change how I feel."
He nodded, then closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers.
"There's so much to tell you," he said.
"We've got time."
Harry sighed and pulled back. He let out a rough breath. His hands were clammy and shaking, but his eyes were clear.
"There was a prophecy…"
Harry talked with Ginny throughout the rest of the afternoon, sitting in the shade of the orchard. He held nothing back; he told her about the prophecy, about his lessons with Professor Dumbledore, about Horcruxes and Hallows, and that night in the forest. He'd left out the part about her being the last thing he'd thought about before taking the killing curse. And after everything Ginny and her family had gone through it felt like too much to put on her.
"You really went to die," she said softly. She held onto him tighter than anyone ever had in his entire life. "We really almost lost you, too. No wonder Ron and Hermione look so worried about you."
"I told you," he said. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He hadn't shown her the bruise and wound on his chest yet. He wanted to see if it healed any first before letting anyone know.
"I'm glad you came back," she said. There was a relief in her voice that he could feel in the air between them. Her eyes had snapped to his and she fixed him with that blazing look. It gave him the courage to continue.
"It was you," he said, suddenly, before he could convince himself not to. "When I stood there. After I'd dropped the stone and it was just me and him. I thought about you. I wanted—I thought if I could have only one last thought, I'd want it to be of you."
There was a beat of silence, and he wondered if he'd said too much, revealed too much of himself that was still raw and unspoken. It was a lot to put on one person.
"Oh," came Ginny's whispered reply. Her eyes were wide and shining. "Harry. I've never—no one's ever—"
"Sorry," he said quickly, mentally kicking himself. He'd pushed too far. It was too much to put on her plate right then and was going to scare her away. "That's not—I mean—I'm sorry. It's too much right now. I didn't—"
"Harry," she said, her voice low and half-gasping. His jaw clicked shut with an audible snap. There was a teasing look in her glistening eyes. "I'll let it go this time because no one has ever told me anything so beautiful. But I will hex you if you ever apologize for that again."
Harry let out a weary, hollow laugh, but it caught in his throat, breaking into a sob he couldn't contain. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he pulled Ginny into his arms, clutching her as though she were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. His face found the curve of her neck, and the tears came hard, shaking his whole body.
It took him a moment to realize that Ginny was crying too, her shoulders trembling against his. But neither of them let go. They stayed there, locked together in the shadow of the Burrow, her fiery hair wrapped around his every awareness, filling his senses with that same warm, flowery scent he'd smelled in the Amortentia nearly two years ago.
It was late afternoon by the time they'd finished. When they'd finally stopped crying he'd asked her to tell her about Hogwarts while he was away. She hadn't hesitated; she was braver and more open than he was—but he'd never doubted that. He'd held his tongue and his temper when she told him about Hogwarts under Snape and the Carrows, but his grip tightened around her all the same.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed, and he looked at her with what he hoped she could tell was awe. The tears had come easier that time. "I should have known. I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. And I just—"
"Stop, Harry," she insisted, wiping away tears of her own. "If the roles were reversed would you want me apologizing to you?"
He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.
"I should have come for you the moment I knew something was wrong there," Harry insisted. He shook his head in frustration. "I should have come back for you."
"We both had things we needed to do," she said firmly. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd done anything less." She smiled faintly. "I wonder where I picked that up from."
"Your family is brilliant," he said.
She nudged him with her elbow and gave him a look that let him know that was not at all what she meant.
"You're brilliant," he said.
"You're never going to take credit for what you've done, are you?" Ginny asked, leaning heavily against his chest. He shrugged helplessly. "Noble git."
They remained in the orchard for a while longer, saying very little, but closer than they'd been since the end of his sixth year. A cool breeze blew across the pond as the sun began to set, and they rose silently to return to the Burrow.
Without the secrets between them, and with Ginny's hand grasped firmly in his, Harry was surprised to find himself feeling lighter than he had in days. Like the bruise on his chest hurt less; like he could breathe again.
"All good, mate?" Ron asked as they walked inside. He'd been watching them walk from the orchard.
Before Harry could respond, Ginny had flung her arms around Ron, pressing her face into his chest. Ron froze, looking thoroughly bewildered, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. Harry thought he heard Ginny murmur a soft, "Thank you."
For a moment, Ron simply stood there, his ears reddening in confusion. Then his expression softened and he wrapped his arms around his little sister, holding her close.
"You, too," he whispered back.
Ron's room was dark except for the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the gaps in the curtains. Harry lay on his camp bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Ron's uneven breathing. His best friend had been shifting and muttering in his sleep more than usual, and it was clear he wasn't getting any real rest. Harry sighed quietly, his mind too restless to find peace either.
The soft creak of the door broke through the stillness, and Harry turned his head as Hermione slipped into the room. She was careful not to make too much noise, tiptoeing to Ron's bed to check on him before glancing toward Harry.
"Everything okay?" Harry whispered, sitting up.
Hermione nodded but motioned for him to join her in the hallway. Harry hesitated, he glanced at Ron's sleeping form before he got up and followed her out, wand in hand, closing the door softly behind him.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice low.
"No, nothing urgent," Hermione replied. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She looked nervous.
"What is it?"
Hermione sighed and shifted anxiously. "It's Ginny. She hasn't been sleeping well either. She didn't say much, but…she's struggling, Harry."
Harry felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He had noticed Ginny's exhaustion earlier in the day but hadn't thought much of it, assuming it was just the emotional toll of the week. Hearing this made him feel guilty for not checking on her sooner.
"Ron is, too," he admitted. He nodded over his shoulder to the room behind him. "I think…I know they're all hurting."
Hermione glanced at the closed door, then back to Harry. "We could…stay with them tonight. Just to help them sleep. Nothing more, of course," she added quickly, her cheeks coloring slightly.
"What about—" Harry wrestled with the words. "Propriety and whatnot." He wasn't sure why he was arguing against her idea. The idea of betraying the trust Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had placed in him loomed large in his mind. He hated the idea of betraying their trust.
But the idea of Ginny struggling to sleep, fighting nightmares, made his heart ache. This wasn't about breaking rules for selfish reasons—it was about being there for her, giving her the comfort she clearly needed. Yet, the thought of lying beside her, even just to help her sleep, made his pulse quicken with a thrill he couldn't deny. Would they understand? Would she? Or was he just justifying something he'd been wanting all along?
"I think it would help them, Harry," Hermione said. "And…well…" she shifted uncomfortably, "so long as we're doing this for the right reasons…"
Her voice trailed off, but Harry caught the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She believed in what they were doing—even if it skirted the edges of what might be considered proper. Harry's heart skipped a beat. If Hermione of all people in the world was advocating bending the rules… "You really think that's a good idea?"
Hermione smiled softly. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't. I'll stay here—with Ron. He'll sleep better with someone nearby, too."
Harry felt the weight of her words settle on him. This wasn't just about him or Ginny. It was about being there for the people they loved in the ways they needed most. "Okay," he said finally, his voice steadier than he felt. "I'll go check on her."
Hermione gave him an encouraging nod before they quietly exchanged places. Harry made his way down toward Ginny's room, his nerves buzzing. He gave a gentle knock on the door before entering. A lamp was lit low. Ginny was sitting at the top of her bed, legs drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Harry thought back to the last time they were alone in her room the past summer and that kiss. Somehow this felt so much…more than that.
He sat down in her desk chair and turned to face her swallowing hard. In the lamplight he could see the tear tracks on her face. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. He understood it, as far as he was able to; the feeling of the days of funerals catching up to them at night and so much still ahead of them.
"Hey, Gin," he offered softly.
"I didn't think she'd actually do it," Ginny muttered. Her eyes were still fixed ahead of her, looking past him into the dark. "Is she really staying up there?"
"I knew it was your idea," Harry said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "No way would Hermione think of sneaking out past your mum and dad without some serious Weasley influence."
Ginny huffed a humorless laugh, her shoulders shrugging. "I guess it was. Neither of us could sleep. We were talking about this past year…She said that even though everything could go wrong at any second, there was something comforting about being close to you and Ron. Knowing you were safe."
Harry nodded slowly. He'd worried constantly about Ginny, but the truth was, having Ron and Hermione with him had been his anchor through it all. Hermione's parents were far away, hidden and safe—or so they hoped—but Ron's family had been in the thick of it. Only now, Harry was beginning to understand how hard that must have been for Ron. He'd taken the Weasleys' safety for granted because he'd wanted to believe they'd be okay.
"So I might have suggested she go up to Ron's room," Ginny said, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "I just didn't think she'd kick you out."
"She actually said I should come down here," Harry said with a soft laugh.
"Oh." Ginny's voice dropped to a whisper, and Harry thought he could see the faintest flush creeping across her cheeks in the dim lamplight
A spike of fear coursed through him where he worried Ginny thought he was expecting something of her—physical or emotional, he wasn't sure. But he reached over and took her hand in his to let her know that what he wanted—all he wanted—was to be there for her. To show her that he could be there for her the same way she'd been there for him. That it wasn't a one-way street.
He took a steadying breath. "Today was hard," he said.
Her fingers tightened around his. "They're all hard," she muttered. "I thought the hardest part would be…losing everyone. It was supposed to get easier now. Why isn't it getting easier, Harry?"
Harry slid onto the edge of her bed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Her head rested against his chest, and he pressed his cheek lightly to her hair. He'd asked himself the same question every single day since the battle had ended. He mulled over the words in his head, chewing over whether to say them aloud or not. Whether they would help at all.
"I think…living is harder than surviving," he said, finally working up the nerve. "When I woke up that morning, after everything, all I could think was, 'It's over.' Voldemort, the prophecy, the Horcruxes—it felt like it would never end. And then suddenly, just like that—" He snapped his fingers, "—it was. But I didn't feel better. I felt…broken. Like everything would always be broken.
He paused, the memory sharp and painful. "And then I saw you," he said, his voice softening. "Ron, Hermione, your family—I was glad to see them too. But you…I heard your voice, I held you in my arms, and for the first time, I didn't feel completely lost. And when your parents said we were going home, and I realized I was included…" He trailed off, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'd never…" He swallowed hard and trailed off as the courage left him.
"I—I knew how much you were all hurting. I saw how much you were hurting and as awful as it sounds it felt like I finally wasn't alone. We were all there hurting together and it felt a little easier. And, Ginny," he took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. "Every minute of every day since then, being with you has made everything…worth it. So whatever you need, Gin. I'm here."
Her lip quivered, but she managed a small, teary smile before burying her face against him again. Harry held her close, their breathing eventually falling into a slow, shared rhythm. The weight of the day lingered, heavy but less suffocating in the quiet of the room. As exhaustion took hold, Ginny curled into him. Her hand clutched his shirt, and Harry rested his cheek against her hair. Slowly, they drifted into sleep.
Next: Chapter 4: Secrets and Sleeping Arrangements