Fic Request Fulfilled for forgetablelove
Title: Time For His Own Life
Author: _seratonin
Beta: lire_casander
Rating: PG13 (for angst)
Word count: 2288
Summary: Harry goes back to the Burrow for a Christmas night for the first since Voldemort’s downfall. Ginny is there to greet him. She always is.
Warnings: Totally angst.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Not even Harry’s arm …
Author's Notes: Alrightie so I hadn’t realized just how angsty I was making this until half way through and then I went up to check if one of the deal breakers was angst and I was thrilled to be reminded that angst was okay! So there’s a giant serving of angsty Harry in this one. But I hope you like!
Time had come and gone, years had drifted past in an empty attempt at normality, as he had spent such a large part of his life away from humanity, alone with only his two best friends for company as he trudged forward in his attempt at vanquishing the Dark Lord. A fate which he alone belonged to.
Since he had left for his search of the fragmented pieces of Lord Voldemort's soul many Christmas' had come and gone, completely unnoticed to him. He liked it best that way. If he forgot about the small part of his life which used to seem human he would be able to concentrate wholly on the bits of the life he had left. Years spent searching for Horcruxes until finally becoming obsessed with each of them had somehow made him forget about the normality he'd left behind - if you could even call it that.
Now, though, the Dark Lord had been destroyed (for good, this time. He'd made sure of it). He sat empty and alone once more, wondering what life would have been like had he been born just an ordinary boy.
Christmas Eve, and he was alone. Hermione had already called twice, a desperate plea in her voice; begging him to come to the Burrow for the holidays. She was there, of course, though Ron wasn't and he could always sense the difference between the girl he'd met in his first year, the one who used to argue with Ron because it was either fight or fall in love (and that was always a dangerous thing) and the girl he'd brought back from the war with him. This girl was empty and hollow, she'd lost Ron (just as he had) before they'd ever had the chance to attempt a normal life together. And for that he blamed himself.
She called, though, and he could tell she was trying to be cheerful, though it was lost on him, for he could tell that the smile she wore never truly touched her eyes anymore.
But she continued to call, despite what he'd done to her, despite knowing he was the reason she'd never have a chance at happiness (it was his fault Ron was gone. His fault). And on Christmas Eve, after her fourth call, he finally sighed and lifted himself away from the couch, away from his whiskey, and allowed himself one last attempt at normality, heading over to the Burrow, despite the burning sensation he knew would rise within him when he saw Mrs. Weasley (she had been so kind. She had treated him like a son, and what's more, she gave him the mother he'd never known. And how had he repayed her? By killing her true son.)
He heard the echoes of his knock on the wooden door as he stood beneath the terrace by the door. The bitter taste of remembrance (he tried so hard to drown those memories) stung the inside of his eyelids.
Four years had passed since he'd set out on his search. Twenty years old and he wanted nothing more than to be eleven again. No, he'd rather stay sixteen forever. He'd be able to have the life he'd never had. The life he'd wanted with-
‘Ginny, hi,’ he mumbled, looking past her shoulder and never into her eyes.
He had always been frightened at what he would see if he ever looked at her, looked straight into her eyes, afraid he might see sadness or pity. Scared to death that he might see a glimmer of happiness. And he hated himself most for that because he knew he should have wanted her to be happy but a part of him couldn't stand the idea of seeing her happy without him.
‘Harry. Wow. Hello,’ she said and he could hear the amazement in her voice.
They were rare, his visits. He barely ever stopped by, never more than twice a year since he'd been back. He knew Hermione had been living there since they returned and he always sort of envied her; she had gotten the family he'd always wanted. But he couldn't bare to be around the Weasleys' for long because his conscience would begin to torture him.
‘Hermione called me,’ he offered as explanation.
He knew she was smiling (sadly?) as she stepped aside, allowing him entrance into her home.
‘Everyone's in the kitchen, we were just about to sit down for dinner. You'll join us, won't you? Mum will be pleased,’ she was nervous, awkward around him. He didn't blame her. The way they'd left thing off…
He followed behind her, only a few steps because he craved her presence though he punished himself by keeping away. When they stepped into the small kitchen (nothing had changed since he'd left years ago) the room seemed to freeze.
Mrs. Weasley was the first to break the silence, letting out a happy laugh, ‘Harry! You made it,’ she said, rushing around the table (she was serving everyone some potatoes) and crushing him in a hug.
His heart felt like it would burst and he pushed away from her, doing his best to keep those unshed tears away.
Hermione came up next, kissing his cheek and whispering ‘I'm glad you came,’ to him quietly.
He could tell she hated how little she saw of him. After losing Ron it must have felt like she'd lost him too.
Bill came up to him and clapped him on the back, mumbling something about what a git he was, he'd better make an appearance around here more often, with a laugh. But Harry couldn't help noticing that Charlie wasn't around and a pang hit him as he remembered (he'd tried so hard to forget) that he'd been killed by Lucius (who he had killed) in the war.
Mrs. Weasley bustled around, bringing up an extra place setting as Fred (but not George) pulled up an extra chair, a grin (just like his brother's) plastered to his face.
Mr. Weasley sat down beside him and put an arm on his shoulder, muttering something kind under her breath, though he wasn't listening.
It hurt him to be around these people, people who loved and cared for him despite the terrible things he was responsible for. But Ginny - where was Ginny? He searched the room for her and caught her eye at the other end of the table.
She looked beautiful, and he almost hated her for it. (But he could never hate her, could he?) She was serving Fleur something from a pot (Phlegm - he nearly laughed. Nearly.), who was pregnant now and he couldn't help but wonder how new life could possibly be entering the world when so many old ones had been take.
She held his gaze for a moment, her long lashes framing her beautiful brown eyes and he couldn't seem to keep himself from fidgeting in his seat. He looked away first.
Mrs. Weasley was fussing over his plate, mumbling something about how skinny he'd gotten (he hadn't had a home-cooked meal in years) as she piled his plate with everything in her reach. Hermione was on his other side, watching him with worried eyes.
He felt suffocated by everyone’s worried gazes and he ate dinner in silence, allowing everyone else to converse among each other as he listened wildly, amazed by the normality of everything. (Normality was all he ever wanted.)
After he'd gobbled down Mrs. Weasley’s (delicious) dinner he managed to escape the throng of red-heads (there were so many, and yet not enough) and crept past the back door out into the biting cold of December. The cold hit him, stung him, forcing him to feel something (he was so empty).
When the door opened again he couldn't help but sigh, hoping it wasn't Hermione just then (he didn't know what to say to her. "Sorry" didn't seem to be enough). He didn't bother turning around, hoping (in vain) that the intruder upon his solitude would leave without a word.
He was surprised, though, when Ginny (she was so small) came up beside him, propping her hands on the cement fence (when had this been built?) in front of them.
He didn't say anything (she didn't expect him to) and they just stared out at the darkened grounds that had once been so familiar to him. Finally, though, she broke the silence.
‘Everyone is glad you came back. You'll stay for Christmas tomorrow, won't you?’ she asked and he turned to face her, staring at her lips (never her eyes) as she spoke.
Her soft red hair (God, he wanted to run his fingers through it) blew gently in the breeze, surrounding her face as she brushed it away.
He didn't answer her, just watched her lips as she chewed on her lower one (the taste of her hit him, suddenly. Hard and fast and he was surprised when he wasn't knocked back by the force). He could tell she was at ease around him, and yet he could sense that she wanted to feel comfortable. He wouldn't let her.
His eyes crept slowly up her face (her freckles were still adorable, he noticed) and up to her eyes. She was fidgeting and he couldn't breathe any longer.
She was the first to look away, this time (he wished she hadn't, he was thankful she had) and she swallowed before pretending they were having a conversation (they weren't because he couldn't).
‘We've missed you, Harry. None of us blame you for -’ she couldn't seem to bring herself to say it aloud (he was thankful) and instead veered off into another direction. ‘We all wish you'd come home sooner.’
We. We. We. (He longed to hear an I).
She placed a warm hand on his arm and an electric current shot through him - jolted him. And something (almost) came alive within him. A shock of something he used to know but had forgotten over the years. So many years.
She pulled her hand away, quickly, as if she'd been shocked, disappointment creeping under his skin.
A soft sigh escaped her lips and he forced himself to keep from looking at her. Again she fidgeted and again he wondered what could have been, if only…
If only. If only. If only. (He would never know).
‘Harry,’ more shifting and another sigh.
Finally he couldn't keep his gaze from shifting on her (he wished he could) and he met her gaze again.
Mixed feelings were evident on her fare complexion. A glimmer of sadness, hope, confusion, and so much more, though he wouldn't allow himself to read any further. And he could only imagine what his eyes were telling her (dark things).
‘Maybe I should just go inside?’ she murmured to herself, pushing away from the fence she was leaning on.
He didn't bother to look up but he waited until he thought she'd left (she would never really leave) before mumbling, ‘Damn it.’
A pause. And then, ‘Harry?’ she whispered, her voice tight. ‘Talk to me,’ and he could hear the tears in her voice.
And suddenly he was remembering everything he'd promised himself he wouldn't. He knew she was better off without him. He knew she would someday find someone who could love her (God, he hoped not) and have a family in the world he'd made safe (he sacrificed his life for it).
He remembered the day he'd took her aside (at the funeral. Life seemed so much more difficult after the funeral). He'd told her he couldn't put her in danger any longer (he wished he could have. Wished he could have been selfish for just a moment. Kept her to himself) and she had told him she understood. He knew she did.
And he had left her behind after the wedding, left for three years (for the war) and stayed away for one more (he couldn't let himself see her) and now, there he was, standing in her backyard on Christmas Eve, after staying away for four years, abandoning her and everyone he'd loved so much (they had loved him back. His sergeant family) and he wished he could have a different life. Any life.
But he couldn't and suddenly it was all he wanted.
She was back beside him, again, and he could feel her hand on his arm again. He let himself look up at her, capturing her eyes in his (memorizing her face. It had been too long since he'd seen her last) as he turned to face her.
Silently (he'd forgotten how to speak) he bent lower (she was still so small) and placed his lips against hers. Shocked by the taste of her which never changed, caught, knocked, breathless at the glimpse into his life if it had had the chance to carry on (instead of being interrupted by the war).
And when he pulled back her eyes were fierce and she was shaking.
‘Harry Potter, if you ever leave me again - I don't care how noble the reasons are - I will have my brothers kill you,’ she told him and he could hear the tears in her voice and all he wanted to do was protect her (from himself?).
He leaned over again and captured her lips in his as her arms slid around his neck, holding him close (it would take time before she believed - he believed - that he wouldn't leave her again) but after all, they had all the time in the world. Because he had ended the war and he had made the world safe for every wizard alive - now it was time he went back to his own life.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: Harry attends a Weasley holiday... old feelings surface and UST and angst.
Preferred Rating: under NC-17 (not smut, but sex okay!)
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): Either/Both
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? Doesn’t matter
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): Any or none
One to three specifics you want (optional): UST, a resolution to that UST, angst.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): smut. anything but smut (as I said, sex okay, but nothing kinky or PWP)
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!
Author: _seratonin
Beta: lire_casander
Rating: PG13 (for angst)
Word count: 2288
Summary: Harry goes back to the Burrow for a Christmas night for the first since Voldemort’s downfall. Ginny is there to greet him. She always is.
Warnings: Totally angst.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Not even Harry’s arm …
Author's Notes: Alrightie so I hadn’t realized just how angsty I was making this until half way through and then I went up to check if one of the deal breakers was angst and I was thrilled to be reminded that angst was okay! So there’s a giant serving of angsty Harry in this one. But I hope you like!
Time had come and gone, years had drifted past in an empty attempt at normality, as he had spent such a large part of his life away from humanity, alone with only his two best friends for company as he trudged forward in his attempt at vanquishing the Dark Lord. A fate which he alone belonged to.
Since he had left for his search of the fragmented pieces of Lord Voldemort's soul many Christmas' had come and gone, completely unnoticed to him. He liked it best that way. If he forgot about the small part of his life which used to seem human he would be able to concentrate wholly on the bits of the life he had left. Years spent searching for Horcruxes until finally becoming obsessed with each of them had somehow made him forget about the normality he'd left behind - if you could even call it that.
Now, though, the Dark Lord had been destroyed (for good, this time. He'd made sure of it). He sat empty and alone once more, wondering what life would have been like had he been born just an ordinary boy.
Christmas Eve, and he was alone. Hermione had already called twice, a desperate plea in her voice; begging him to come to the Burrow for the holidays. She was there, of course, though Ron wasn't and he could always sense the difference between the girl he'd met in his first year, the one who used to argue with Ron because it was either fight or fall in love (and that was always a dangerous thing) and the girl he'd brought back from the war with him. This girl was empty and hollow, she'd lost Ron (just as he had) before they'd ever had the chance to attempt a normal life together. And for that he blamed himself.
She called, though, and he could tell she was trying to be cheerful, though it was lost on him, for he could tell that the smile she wore never truly touched her eyes anymore.
But she continued to call, despite what he'd done to her, despite knowing he was the reason she'd never have a chance at happiness (it was his fault Ron was gone. His fault). And on Christmas Eve, after her fourth call, he finally sighed and lifted himself away from the couch, away from his whiskey, and allowed himself one last attempt at normality, heading over to the Burrow, despite the burning sensation he knew would rise within him when he saw Mrs. Weasley (she had been so kind. She had treated him like a son, and what's more, she gave him the mother he'd never known. And how had he repayed her? By killing her true son.)
He heard the echoes of his knock on the wooden door as he stood beneath the terrace by the door. The bitter taste of remembrance (he tried so hard to drown those memories) stung the inside of his eyelids.
Four years had passed since he'd set out on his search. Twenty years old and he wanted nothing more than to be eleven again. No, he'd rather stay sixteen forever. He'd be able to have the life he'd never had. The life he'd wanted with-
‘Ginny, hi,’ he mumbled, looking past her shoulder and never into her eyes.
He had always been frightened at what he would see if he ever looked at her, looked straight into her eyes, afraid he might see sadness or pity. Scared to death that he might see a glimmer of happiness. And he hated himself most for that because he knew he should have wanted her to be happy but a part of him couldn't stand the idea of seeing her happy without him.
‘Harry. Wow. Hello,’ she said and he could hear the amazement in her voice.
They were rare, his visits. He barely ever stopped by, never more than twice a year since he'd been back. He knew Hermione had been living there since they returned and he always sort of envied her; she had gotten the family he'd always wanted. But he couldn't bare to be around the Weasleys' for long because his conscience would begin to torture him.
‘Hermione called me,’ he offered as explanation.
He knew she was smiling (sadly?) as she stepped aside, allowing him entrance into her home.
‘Everyone's in the kitchen, we were just about to sit down for dinner. You'll join us, won't you? Mum will be pleased,’ she was nervous, awkward around him. He didn't blame her. The way they'd left thing off…
He followed behind her, only a few steps because he craved her presence though he punished himself by keeping away. When they stepped into the small kitchen (nothing had changed since he'd left years ago) the room seemed to freeze.
Mrs. Weasley was the first to break the silence, letting out a happy laugh, ‘Harry! You made it,’ she said, rushing around the table (she was serving everyone some potatoes) and crushing him in a hug.
His heart felt like it would burst and he pushed away from her, doing his best to keep those unshed tears away.
Hermione came up next, kissing his cheek and whispering ‘I'm glad you came,’ to him quietly.
He could tell she hated how little she saw of him. After losing Ron it must have felt like she'd lost him too.
Bill came up to him and clapped him on the back, mumbling something about what a git he was, he'd better make an appearance around here more often, with a laugh. But Harry couldn't help noticing that Charlie wasn't around and a pang hit him as he remembered (he'd tried so hard to forget) that he'd been killed by Lucius (who he had killed) in the war.
Mrs. Weasley bustled around, bringing up an extra place setting as Fred (but not George) pulled up an extra chair, a grin (just like his brother's) plastered to his face.
Mr. Weasley sat down beside him and put an arm on his shoulder, muttering something kind under her breath, though he wasn't listening.
It hurt him to be around these people, people who loved and cared for him despite the terrible things he was responsible for. But Ginny - where was Ginny? He searched the room for her and caught her eye at the other end of the table.
She looked beautiful, and he almost hated her for it. (But he could never hate her, could he?) She was serving Fleur something from a pot (Phlegm - he nearly laughed. Nearly.), who was pregnant now and he couldn't help but wonder how new life could possibly be entering the world when so many old ones had been take.
She held his gaze for a moment, her long lashes framing her beautiful brown eyes and he couldn't seem to keep himself from fidgeting in his seat. He looked away first.
Mrs. Weasley was fussing over his plate, mumbling something about how skinny he'd gotten (he hadn't had a home-cooked meal in years) as she piled his plate with everything in her reach. Hermione was on his other side, watching him with worried eyes.
He felt suffocated by everyone’s worried gazes and he ate dinner in silence, allowing everyone else to converse among each other as he listened wildly, amazed by the normality of everything. (Normality was all he ever wanted.)
After he'd gobbled down Mrs. Weasley’s (delicious) dinner he managed to escape the throng of red-heads (there were so many, and yet not enough) and crept past the back door out into the biting cold of December. The cold hit him, stung him, forcing him to feel something (he was so empty).
When the door opened again he couldn't help but sigh, hoping it wasn't Hermione just then (he didn't know what to say to her. "Sorry" didn't seem to be enough). He didn't bother turning around, hoping (in vain) that the intruder upon his solitude would leave without a word.
He was surprised, though, when Ginny (she was so small) came up beside him, propping her hands on the cement fence (when had this been built?) in front of them.
He didn't say anything (she didn't expect him to) and they just stared out at the darkened grounds that had once been so familiar to him. Finally, though, she broke the silence.
‘Everyone is glad you came back. You'll stay for Christmas tomorrow, won't you?’ she asked and he turned to face her, staring at her lips (never her eyes) as she spoke.
Her soft red hair (God, he wanted to run his fingers through it) blew gently in the breeze, surrounding her face as she brushed it away.
He didn't answer her, just watched her lips as she chewed on her lower one (the taste of her hit him, suddenly. Hard and fast and he was surprised when he wasn't knocked back by the force). He could tell she was at ease around him, and yet he could sense that she wanted to feel comfortable. He wouldn't let her.
His eyes crept slowly up her face (her freckles were still adorable, he noticed) and up to her eyes. She was fidgeting and he couldn't breathe any longer.
She was the first to look away, this time (he wished she hadn't, he was thankful she had) and she swallowed before pretending they were having a conversation (they weren't because he couldn't).
‘We've missed you, Harry. None of us blame you for -’ she couldn't seem to bring herself to say it aloud (he was thankful) and instead veered off into another direction. ‘We all wish you'd come home sooner.’
We. We. We. (He longed to hear an I).
She placed a warm hand on his arm and an electric current shot through him - jolted him. And something (almost) came alive within him. A shock of something he used to know but had forgotten over the years. So many years.
She pulled her hand away, quickly, as if she'd been shocked, disappointment creeping under his skin.
A soft sigh escaped her lips and he forced himself to keep from looking at her. Again she fidgeted and again he wondered what could have been, if only…
If only. If only. If only. (He would never know).
‘Harry,’ more shifting and another sigh.
Finally he couldn't keep his gaze from shifting on her (he wished he could) and he met her gaze again.
Mixed feelings were evident on her fare complexion. A glimmer of sadness, hope, confusion, and so much more, though he wouldn't allow himself to read any further. And he could only imagine what his eyes were telling her (dark things).
‘Maybe I should just go inside?’ she murmured to herself, pushing away from the fence she was leaning on.
He didn't bother to look up but he waited until he thought she'd left (she would never really leave) before mumbling, ‘Damn it.’
A pause. And then, ‘Harry?’ she whispered, her voice tight. ‘Talk to me,’ and he could hear the tears in her voice.
And suddenly he was remembering everything he'd promised himself he wouldn't. He knew she was better off without him. He knew she would someday find someone who could love her (God, he hoped not) and have a family in the world he'd made safe (he sacrificed his life for it).
He remembered the day he'd took her aside (at the funeral. Life seemed so much more difficult after the funeral). He'd told her he couldn't put her in danger any longer (he wished he could have. Wished he could have been selfish for just a moment. Kept her to himself) and she had told him she understood. He knew she did.
And he had left her behind after the wedding, left for three years (for the war) and stayed away for one more (he couldn't let himself see her) and now, there he was, standing in her backyard on Christmas Eve, after staying away for four years, abandoning her and everyone he'd loved so much (they had loved him back. His sergeant family) and he wished he could have a different life. Any life.
But he couldn't and suddenly it was all he wanted.
She was back beside him, again, and he could feel her hand on his arm again. He let himself look up at her, capturing her eyes in his (memorizing her face. It had been too long since he'd seen her last) as he turned to face her.
Silently (he'd forgotten how to speak) he bent lower (she was still so small) and placed his lips against hers. Shocked by the taste of her which never changed, caught, knocked, breathless at the glimpse into his life if it had had the chance to carry on (instead of being interrupted by the war).
And when he pulled back her eyes were fierce and she was shaking.
‘Harry Potter, if you ever leave me again - I don't care how noble the reasons are - I will have my brothers kill you,’ she told him and he could hear the tears in her voice and all he wanted to do was protect her (from himself?).
He leaned over again and captured her lips in his as her arms slid around his neck, holding him close (it would take time before she believed - he believed - that he wouldn't leave her again) but after all, they had all the time in the world. Because he had ended the war and he had made the world safe for every wizard alive - now it was time he went back to his own life.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: Harry attends a Weasley holiday... old feelings surface and UST and angst.
Preferred Rating: under NC-17 (not smut, but sex okay!)
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): Either/Both
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? Doesn’t matter
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): Any or none
One to three specifics you want (optional): UST, a resolution to that UST, angst.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): smut. anything but smut (as I said, sex okay, but nothing kinky or PWP)
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!