ginisfreckles

Day 30, Post #2 by @whizzfizz

Title: Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 Author/Artist: whizzfizz Pairing: Harry/Ginny Prompt: Cuddling Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): mentions of canon-typical violence, nightmares and very mild allusion to sex

***

Ginny’s worst fear is having to tell her children that Harry is not coming home. 

  It starts after the war, when Harry is sent off in increasingly dangerous missions and Andromeda is working night shifts. Ginny rocks and soothes little Teddy, whispering words of comfort in the toddler’s ear. As Remus and Dora’s child snuggles into her chest, Ginny contemplates the weight of parenthood. She wonders how she could ever explain to Teddy that he will not be able to see Harry anymore. She wonders if she would ever have the strength for such a task. 

She is aware of the risks. This is Harry, for Merlin’s sake. Not just any Auror. She knows his name is and will forever remain an obvious target. She knew it when they kissed by the Great Lake and when he broke up with her. She knew it as they stole that furtive embrace after the funerals and much later, when he got down on one knee in front of her. Ginny knows the fear of losing him will persist like a shadow. 

Being an Auror’s wife is not easy. The role involves a lot of patience, a lot of waiting, a lot of worry. Rushed goodbyes on Christmas mornings and midnights lost running down the corridors of St. Mungo’s. It also involves promising her children that Dad will be home very soon, safe and sound, even though she does not know if that is true. 

There is softness, a fullness, and sharp intake of breath. There is color - so much that he cannot not see it all - cannot take it in.

Red. Red burning his eyes like a fire but no…this fire is warmth, it is safety, it is a harbor for his torrid heart and his tattered soul. And he gladly buries himself deep within it; within her.

There are moments when he does not move - and he drifts in and out of consciousness but he always knows…feels…that she is near. Just there. Almost too far away, now that he knows how close they can really be.

Later, it starts as an ache, a pin-prick, a small incision into his hardened heart. And it blooms - grows into something so wild he cannot understand why he never noticed before - she encompasses him. Holds him. Keeps him safe. Always…always…always.

When Harry awakes, for good this time, he finds her first thing and there are no words, not pronouncements needed, no declarations - there is just this:

his heart

her soul

their togetherness. A right from a wrong that was created by his own hubris. He pushed her away to protect her but it was really because he needed to protect himself.

Because he knows he would have most certainly faltered if something had happened to her. But he cannot, cannot tell her this but still he thinks -

she knows. Always she has known this about him. His feelings before he himself understood. His need before he needed it. Needed her.

Harry loves her.

and it burns through him like he is made of gasoline and paper and he can hardly understand how there is anything left of him after everything and yet

her smile

so knowing

so bright

so his (he knows she smiles this way just for him, remarkable that)

They hold hands after

just a simple act (after a series of very complex acts of body parts getting in the way)

that nonetheless lets Harry know that this - in his hands - in his heart-

this is what he was fighting for without even knowing it.

Harry loves her.

And for some reason he has yet to fathom, Ginny loves him.

And he will take it. Not because he is due. But because it is what he wants. Finally. To love and to be loved by her is his greatest accomplishment.

But

this. This physical act they have consummated. Oh, but he yearns to comprehend more. And her brown eyes shine down at him as she climbs on top, eager to try again and he thinks -

always, always, always,

Summary: The colour she sees first is the colour of his eyes. Of the boy she singles out in the crowd, just barely eleven, she can tell, yet she doesn't know why she chose him, why when she sees him, she sees the colours.

They were supposed to see the colours together. Instead, she was the one who saw first.

Read it on Fanfiction or AO3 if you prefer!

...

The colour she sees first is the colour of his eyes. Of the boy she singles out in the crowd, just barely eleven, she can tell, yet she doesn't know why she chose him, why when she sees him, she sees the colours.

His eyes are… they're this colour. This colour she's only heard of from her mother. But she doesn't know what it is, but it isn't black, it isn't white. It isn't grey like the trees. Or perhaps, they are and she doesn't know, because it's the first time she's seeing them. The colours.

But it starts with him.

"Mum," she breathes out, and her eyes are burning, she can hear her heart beating painfully fast, and nothing else. She's trying awfully hard not to cry, but it seems so impossible at the moment.

The boy doesn't see her, but she knows it's him.

"Yes, Ginny dear," she hears her mother say, but she knows her mum's not really listening to her.

"I can see them, Mum. I can see the colours."

Ginny doesn't think her mother hears her, but like a firework in the sky, her world suddenly explodes. She blinks once, twice, and when she opens her eyes the third time, she gasps, for she can see them.

She can see the colours.

His name is Harry, like the Harry she's heard stories of, and she's looking at him, taking all of him in, for he's here. He's finally here.

He wants to know how to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

She can't bring herself to say.

Ginny doesn't know why she chose him, if it was his eyes, or because he was handsome - but because, for the first time in her life, Ginny finds herself silenced in his presence. The Ginny Weasley, the girl who had to be told to shut up a thousand times every day, had finally done so. And all because of him.

She wonders if he'd started seeing the colours too. Or maybe he just hadn't seen her yet.

She thinks it's a good time to step forward now. To make her seen.

"That red wall, dear? You need to walk right through it," her mother says. "Right in the middle."

"Um… I'm sorry ma'am," he gulps. "R-red? What wall?"

Ginny's heart sinks at that, but she still keeps on repeating to herself.

He just hadn't seen her yet.

Her mum frowns, and then as if realising something crucial to the story, like she had, she smiles. "You can't see the colours as well, can you, dearie? Our Ginny here too` can't see them."

I can see them now, Mum. I can see the colours.

Her mother pulls her in front, and Harry looks at her, grins, but there's no spark. No glint, no surprise, like she thought she'd see. She'd hoped she'd see. He doesn't see them.

He doesn't see the colours.

"Hello," he says, but she can't bring herself to say it back. She's too busy holding back tears.

His eyes don't seem so magical at the moment.

Why couldn't he see the colours too?

What did she do wrong?

"Can't you," she whispers, "can't you see them?"

"See what?"

"The colours."

He smiles ruefully, shrugs, as if it didn't matter to him. Ginny wants to scream at him, tell him it mattered to her, tell him she was seeing them, for the first time in her life, why wasn't he?

"Maybe I'm not meant to."

Her heart sinks, and she struggles not to cry, slowly slinking behind her mother's back.

After they all go home, her mum and her dad, and only her, she lies on her bed, late at night, and cries her eyes out.

…

The colours were simply hues of grey to lift her from her monochrome existence. Each one was like a subtle sea over the other, noticeable, but submissive to the stone underneath. She'd shown just a glimpse, just a fraction of her inner spirit, and he'd flocked to her like a lost child.

Except he wasn't the one lost. She was. He'd used that. He'd used her.

Once, he'd told her she was stupid. Stupid to be running after someone she couldn't reach.

Ginny agreed with him. She thought he was right.

"When are you going to stop clawing for something that's never going to happen?"

At least Tom had been right about something.

If she thinks about it, he'd been right about everything.

"When are you going to accept that you were the only one meant to?"

Sometimes, she doesn't know if it's his voice in her head or hers. If it's him speaking or her. She'd lost that ability months ago when she'd let him speak for her. When she'd let him be her.

She was never going to let anyone do that to her. Ever again.

And if that meant she'd have to let Harry go, then so be it. If she had to believe that that day, she'd been the only one with colours, then that would have to do.

"Soulmates don't exist, you silly girl."

She'd been stupid to believe they did.

…

Ginny moves on.

It takes time, but it's not just overnight you wake up and finally feel like yourself.

But fifth year, when she makes the Quidditch team, she feels this might be it.

Ginny knows she should have made it her second year. Not three years later. But second year, when her days had gone by with her mostly avoiding the looks of disgust she got in the corridors and the pity she didn't ask for from her professors, her brothers constantly looking over her every second of every day, tryouts had been a mere lingering thought in her mind. And if that hadn't been enough, the team hadn't been holding any that year.

In a way, her second year had been far worse than her first. In a way, it hadn't.

Ginny moves on though.

She moves on.

She can still see the colours. They haven't left yet. She doesn't think they ever will. It's the same with Harry. He's there, but he isn't. Not in the way she'd like him to be, but she figures, maybe it's just her screwed over. Maybe while putting two people together, they did her up wrong. She doesn't mind. Or maybe, she does.

Right now, she feels, the right word is indifferent.

That's why, when she kisses Dean, she does so, because she wants to. They're not soulmates, they could never be, but in all true sense, he's a good kisser, and she likes him.

And in all true sense, when he tells her he loves her, she's guilty because she knows she'll never really say it back. Even though he deserves to hear it. But she won't. She can't.

"Hey." Ginny turns around, grinning at Harry while he jogs over to her. "Sickle for your thoughts?" he says as he comes to a stop, and she tosses him his gloves, while she slipped on hers. All his years playing Quidditch had done him good, clearly, and once when, she had been the one taller than him, had turned into him standing well over a foot above her.

"Oh, you're going to need much more than a sickle," she teases, walking beside him to the castle grounds. She's early for practice, she nearly always is, and she suspects it's partly because she knows he'll be early too.

"I'm sure."

Ginny glances at him through the corner of her eye, wondering if he could see the colours now. It's been years since she'd asked him. She didn't want to now. Now, she never did.

"Lucky for you, I'm in the mood for some chit-chat," she continues, and he shoots her a mirthful glance, and Ginny wiggles her eyebrows.

"Lucky for me."

"Oh, you bet it is." She shoves him, and he laughs, his voice deeper than what it was before. It's more attractive too, she can't help but notice.

"I've a date with Dean today," she announces, beckoning him to set into a run. She easily keeps pace as they jog around the field, her, slightly tense as to his reply.

But he's silent. Ginny frowns. Her dates are usually a good conversation-starter for her brother, and Harry isn't much different from him. She'd expected him to at least balk, like the numerous times Ron had done.

"That usually requires a reply, you know?"

"Do you want to go?" Harry asks, surprising her, and she looks at him, appearing to be amused when she really wasn't.

If she had been in the mood to be truthful, she'd have said no. Ginny didn't want to go. Not with Dean Thomas.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

They're silent then. They're silent after. Ginny can't help the tugging feeling in her gut, that's pushing her to ask that one question, that single piece of information that she's been dying to know since… forever. But she won't, because it's been years since she'd chased something she couldn't reach and she wasn't going to do it again.

But in the end, she wins. Tom loses.

"Can you see them?" she asks finally. "The colours?"

It's like a flash, like a jolt. His expression changes, and he grins at her, his ridiculously handsome boyish grin, and she's almost dreading the answer because she knows what it's going to be. Because she knows this is where she finally learns she's not the one.

"I do," he says, and his grin widens. "I can see all of them."

She nods, smiling at him, when really, she feels crushed, defeated.

She chose him. Evidently, they didn't share the same equation.

"I do want to," she says finally, "go on that date with Dean."

Ginny turns away after, blinks back tears.

...

Ginny wasn't a Seeker.

She was a damn Chaser.

She didn't catch the Snitch.

She caught the Quaffle.

So, the fact that she currently had a bright, golden Quaffle, clasped in her fingers while she lay squat in the middle of the field was something that she should be positively yelling about.

And yet, she sits still, Snitch clasped in her fingers, for really, yelling is the last thing she wants to do now. All she can really do is look at it.

And all she can think is that if this was what it felt, catching the Snitch, holding it taught against her palm, its wings fluttering against her skin, then she finally understood why Harry did it. The thrill he felt. The thrill she feels now. She's felt it before when she beat out Cho for it, but this, this feels different. This feels more real somehow.

And then she hears yelling, and she's laughing, yelling along, as Peakes and Coote lifts her up in the air, as she raises her hand, showing her team the golden snitch.

This, this is where she belongs. Where she's meant to be.

Ginny jumps down, letting Peakes and Coote pull her into a hug, pulling Ron into one herself, and through all of it, every single smile, and every single laugh, part of her is just dying to see Harry. Part of her just wants to tell him that she caught the bloody Snitch.

So, when she sees him, at the bottom of the stairs of the boy's dormitory, she laughs, and sets into a run, and as she launches herself at him, he pulls her close by her waist, and kisses her. In front of fifty watching Gryffindors, he kisses her, his lips like a dream against hers, as she wraps her arms around him.

And after several long moments, when they do finally break apart, she's laughing, startled, of course, but she's laughing. She's happy.

Harry grins down at her, his green eyes like the tinted glass jars her mother kept at home (as if he was already part of her home), and gestures wordlessly at the door.

She's smiling, but when she nods, she allows him to guide her away.

…

"I see the colours," he tells her as the Common Room door closes behind them.

She smiles, walking along beside him, letting the walls guide them to the grounds.

"When did you see them?"

"I don't know. One day, I just did."

She smiles harder, not knowing if she could ever quite stop. Harry's looking at her, as if he's waiting for her to say something, but she doesn't. So he goes on.

"I think… i-it was while I was at the Burrow," he says, "or, I don't know, but I saw you, and then I saw your eyes. I saw brown, this warm chocolate brown and then it sort of, just —"

" - exploded," she said for him.

"Yeah."

He asks her now, for it's his turn. "When did you see them?"

Ginny smiles ruefully, glancing away at that. She isn't so sure if she should reveal it, for revealing that would mean sharing something that had haunted her for as long as she could remember. It was the first time she had felt unwanted, like an extra piece in a puzzle.

For her, finding her soulmate had always meant that one thing in one's life that would make them feel as if they'd found their other someone. It was what her mother had told her when she was young, it was what her mum had felt when she'd met Dad.

But at that time, hers had been anything but.

"I… uh, same," she stammers. "It happened out of nowhere."

"No, it didn't," Harry shoots her a mirthful glance. And then, like clockwork, his smile turns into a frown. "It… wasn't at the train station that day, was it?" he asks. "The day we first met?"

Ginny offers him a weak smile, and she supposes it's answer enough, as he breathes in sharply, eyes holding horror, surprise, she couldn't say.

"All this time?"

She shrugs, looking away. "It wasn't up to me," she says, her eyes prickling with tears. "I saw you," she laughs it off, for it's what she's always done, "and then my whole world turned upside down."

"You never said anything."

"How could I? I saw the colours, but you never did."

Harry stops her, grabs hold of her hand, and holds it tight, his hand warm against her cold ones, and she laughs, because kissing him might have felt like a dream, but being with him, here, with her hand locked in his, was hers.

"I'd have tried," he says, "I'd have done anything," and his eyes hold fire she's rarely seen, but that fire, it doesn't burn. It never has.

"We were eleven, Harry," she smiles, slipping her fingers through his. "I didn't even know what love was when I met you. I still don't."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I still am."

Ginny laughs, and she bends forward, kissing him like he'd kissed her before, and it's a kiss where she feels stirring in her chest, warm and curious, like she had felt back in the common room. It's a kiss that makes her want another.

"I like the way your hand fits in mine," he whispers against her lips, and she smiles, before he kisses her again.

…

A year and a half later, when she kisses him again, it's among dust and grey. It's among pain and anguish. It's when they're trying hard not to cry, it's when they're trying their best to stay together.

"Are you hurt?" he says urgently, between kisses. "Gin, are you hurt?"

"No, Harry, it's okay, I'm fine."

He breathes out in relief, his lips getting tenser as they stay against hers, until Ginny has to pull away, make him look into her eyes.

"It's over, okay?" she says, holding his face gently, her thumb running over the bruises along his jaw. "It's over."

He looks at her then, and his face crumbles, and Ginny has to breathe in, in sharp gasps as his tears break loose, but hers don't. They slide down against the broken remnants of a wall, and she's hiding her face in his shoulder, as he cries into her lap.

"I'm sorry," he says, over and over again, and Ginny feels her heart breaking, everytime he says so. "This isn't what I wanted," he sobs, "I never wanted them to die."

"This isn't your fault," she whispers, but at this point, she can barely say anything without her voice breaking.

"I'm so sorry," he says again, and Ginny wipes away her tears furiously against his shirt, pulling him up by her hands.

"Hey," she says, "hey, hey." Ginny lifts his face, wiping away his tears as hers break loose. "You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me, Harry? This is not your fault."

Her voice cracks, and his face falls, and this time, it's him that pulls her in for a hug, as she rests her face against his chest, lets his shirt soak in her tears, while she feels his own against her head.

A year and a half later, when she kisses him again, among the dust and the grey, she knows it just might be for forever.

...

The life she has, it's the life she chose.

The boy she singled out in the crowd, just eleven years old - she picked him out, not because he was famous, but because he had, in the short span of an infinitely long ten seconds, taught her the art of shutting up. That he had, in the course of her life, made her feel like fireworks and danger.

Ginny marries him, builds a family with him, even though she knows it's a risk, but Harry's well worth the risk.

So, one night, a couple of years later, as Harry sits beside her on the couch, her head resting against her shoulder, while he half-pretends to read something about work, when really, he's doing that weird thing and looking at her, Ginny looks up at him and can't help but ask: why did you suddenly fall in love with me?

And it is a moment of quiet, a moment where really his answer is all she's waiting for, among the crackling fire in front of them, the sweet smell of bacon lingering in their kitchen, the steady beat of his heart against his chest, and them, as Harry drops a kiss into her hair.

"It's because when I saw you, I saw the colours. I saw all of them."

A/N: I was forced into a Teams meeting that had nothing to do with me or my department and this was the result: 

*

Night had fallen whilst Harry had been locked in the windowless interrogation room. It had been hours since he’d last seen anything aside from the charmed mirror, reflecting his own face back at him and allowing his colleagues to witness the interview he’d been conducting.

The only other face he’d seen had been that of Tiberius Travers, the final Death Eater still running free - in Harry’s grasp at long last. Harry had taken his time, forced himself to be patient as he’d extracted all of the information required to bring closure to his victim’s families.

It wasn’t done yet. There was still weeks’ worth of interviews, evidence gathering and witness testimonies before they were ready for trial. But the time was coming, the time when the final Death Eater would be behind bars and all would be well at last.

He smiled to himself as he spun on the spot inside the Ministry’s approved apparition zone, his mind filling with the image of a gravelled country lane, lined on either side with thick hedgerows, concealing the welcoming, old cottage which hid just beyond.

A moment later, he stood in that little lane, the moonlight casting a pale glow upon the small pink and blue buds which were just beginning to bloom as winter turned to spring. The gravel crunched under Harry’s feet as he made his way swiftly down the lane and passed through the old wooden gate which marked the entrance to his front yard.

Light glowed rosily from behind the curtains of the bay window that fronted his sitting room. Harry’s smile widened upon seeing the flickering candlelight. It was late, he’d expected Ginny to be in bed already. There would be no respite for her from early morning training sessions at this point in the season.

The front door opened with a creak and Ginny’s voice echoed in Harry’s mind, reminding him for the dozenth time to oil the hinges. He’d grunted noncommittally as he always did, not quite willing to admit that he liked the sound, that it felt like the house welcoming him home.

Harry toed off his boots and hung his cloak on the peg by the doorway before making the short walk down the hall to the living room, the soft drone of the wireless greeting him as he approached the door.

He hadn’t thought it possible but his smile stretched even further upon taking in the sight which awaited him. Ginny was laid out across their cushioned sofa, her vibrant hair spilling over the light fabric. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell steadily, her breathing perfectly even as she slumbered.

Harry crossed the room in a moment, crouching down beside Ginny. “Hey,” he said softly, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder to rouse her.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, a small smile creeping across Ginny’s face as she took in the sight of Harry in front of her. “Hi,” she sighed.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Harry asked as Ginny stretched, reminding him forcefully of the tabby cat currently curled happily at Ginny’s feet.

“Was waiting for you,” she said through a yawn. “The bed feels too big without you.”

Warmth spread through Harry’s chest at her words. His heart practically set to burst at the thought that the incredible woman in front of him had refused to go to bed without Harry beside her.

“Come on,” he said happily, arranging one arm beneath the crook of Ginny’s knees and the other behind her back and hoisting her from the sofa.

“I can walk,” Ginny protested, but Harry simply tightened his grip around her and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Ginny argued no further and her head came to rest securely in the crook of Harry’s neck, her breath tickling his ear as he walked them both out of the living room and up the stairs towards their bedroom.

Ginny, already changed into one of Harry’s old Quidditch jerseys and a pair of pyjama shorts, immediately collapsed into the bed upon reaching the bedroom. Harry removed his clothes swiftly, eager to join her within the warmth of the covers. 

“Did you have a good day at work?” Ginny murmured sleepily, turning, as soon as Harry’s head hit the pillow to rest her head upon his chest, her arm wrapping firmly around him.

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” Harry replied, his eyelids already drooping closed.

He was so blissfully at peace, the idea of spending another moment fixating on Death Eaters suddenly seemed unthinkable. The last of Voldemort’s followers may have only been caught today but Harry had moved on with his life a long time ago.

Just a little thing inspired by the lovely folks at The Three Broomsticks discord server! Thanks especially to @lazyweekendmornings and @not-steve42 for an awful lot of help, but many others in the server who came up with a bunch of jokes too!

Harry was feeling rather fed up with weddings. He supposed he was now at the age where he had to accept that any weekend during the summer would probably be taken up with one. Dudley’s had been just a week before, and though everyone had found the stories from it hilarious, he still felt a little as though he were recovering from having faced his relatives again. Then, a few weeks prior it had been Alicia Spinnet’s wedding to a muggle, and not long before that, Ernie Macmillain and Susan Bones had tied the knot. He was tired of the small talk, of people staring at him, of his guilt that he might be distracting from the happy couple, of the stiff dress robes and long ceremonies and lengthy speeches. He did often have some fun in the end, once he’d had enough alcohol and Ginny had persuaded him onto the dance floor, but right now he could feel people gazing openly at him, and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping to high heaven that they wouldn’t come and ask him for an autograph. There was also the fact that each and every wedding reminded him that he was still carrying a ring around with him, sure of the question he wanted to ask, unsure about anything else, worrying that Ginny might be wondering when exactly she was going to get all of this.

“There was another noise behind them, and Harry turned. His heart seemed to fail: Ginny was now climbing through the hole in the wall, closely followed by Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Ginny gave Harry a radiant smile: He had forgotten, or had never fully appreciated, how beautiful she was, but he had never been less pleased to see her”

“I can’t go home!” Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes.” “My whole family’s here, I can’t stand waiting there alone and not knowing and — ” Her eyes met Harry’s for the first time. She looked at him beseechingly, but he shook his head and she turned away bitterly.”

“Ginny,” said Harry, “I’m sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in.” Ginny looked simply delighted to leave her sanctuary. “And then you can come back in!” he shouted after her as she ran up the steps after Tonks. “You’ve got to come back in!”

“Ginny turned, helpless, to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.” “They’ll be all right,” said Harry, though he knew they were empty words. “Ginny, we’ll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe — come on!” he said to Ron and Hermione, and they ran back to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.

The battle was still going on all around him. He could hear more screams than those of the retreating ghosts. Panic flared within him. “Where’s Ginny?” he said sharply. “She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement.”

“But Harry knew how Ron felt: Pursuing another Horcrux could not bring the satisfaction of revenge; he too wanted to fight, to punish them, the people who had killed Fred, and he wanted to find the other Weasleys, and above all make sure, make quite sure, that Ginny was not — but he could not permit that idea to form in his mind —”

“Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Voldemort, and like her master she dueled three at once: Hermione, Ginny, and Luna, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them, and Harry’s attention was diverted as a Killing Curse shot so close to Ginny that she missed death by an inch — He changed course, running at Bellatrix rather than Voldemort, but before he had gone a few steps he was knocked sideways.”