wreck ; a harry/ginny drabble.
Wreck
RATING: PG-13.
PAIRING: Harry/Ginny.
WARNINGS: Hints at depression, post-war.
SUMMARY: Hermione once called it an episode, but Ginny hates the overly logical, scientific label for it.
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them.
There's a crash from the back room in their flat and she rushes to see what's the matter.
She dreads the possibilities, images of death and destruction lurking at every small motion they make toward happiness. It seems like for every two steps taken foward, three are taken back and she doesn't know if they'll ever grow out of it. It hurts almost as much as the war did but they're determined--she's determined, especially when he loses all faith.
He stands over a shattered vase, his hands balled into fists at his sides. She mutters a quick reparo under her breath, the ceramic shards mending themselves back into the lurid but loveable pattern of her mum's, and she grabs it to haphazardly place it on a table before letting her hands quickly wrap around his. Hermione once called it an episode, but Ginny hates the overly logical, scientific label for it. She has seen him fall into a seat without pause, a brief blip on the radar and it's not even an interruption in routine--she knows that it isn't something to be overlooked, though. She sees the terror in his eyes when everyone else sees strength because she can read him like an open book. The two of them can't escape each other.
She watches as his pupils dilate in fear, his gaze distant and the moment hardly abrupt like it usually was. She steps in front of him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his shoulder, silent as she waits for him to recover. There's a brief moment where his muscles tighten and she wonders if he'll lash out again, but she only holds on tighter and waits for him to respond.
Seconds, minutes, perhaps hours later she feels his arms lift, his shaky hands pressed against her back as he holds her, nearly crushing the air from her lungs but she doesn't budge, doesn't pull back as she feels his tears against her neck. She almost misses his whisper, voice hoarse from disuse. "I don't know why you stay with a wreck like me." The disbelief in his words makes her want to cry, too.
"Because no one else would put up with you," she jokes half-heartedly. "Because we were meant for each other and I'll die before I leave you again."
He sighs heavily and the sound reverberates in her soul, rattling around like a caged bird. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve the world," she says in a voice so low she thinks he might not catch the words. "The least it can give you is me."
RATING: PG-13.
PAIRING: Harry/Ginny.
WARNINGS: Hints at depression, post-war.
SUMMARY: Hermione once called it an episode, but Ginny hates the overly logical, scientific label for it.
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them.
There's a crash from the back room in their flat and she rushes to see what's the matter.
She dreads the possibilities, images of death and destruction lurking at every small motion they make toward happiness. It seems like for every two steps taken foward, three are taken back and she doesn't know if they'll ever grow out of it. It hurts almost as much as the war did but they're determined--she's determined, especially when he loses all faith.
He stands over a shattered vase, his hands balled into fists at his sides. She mutters a quick reparo under her breath, the ceramic shards mending themselves back into the lurid but loveable pattern of her mum's, and she grabs it to haphazardly place it on a table before letting her hands quickly wrap around his. Hermione once called it an episode, but Ginny hates the overly logical, scientific label for it. She has seen him fall into a seat without pause, a brief blip on the radar and it's not even an interruption in routine--she knows that it isn't something to be overlooked, though. She sees the terror in his eyes when everyone else sees strength because she can read him like an open book. The two of them can't escape each other.
She watches as his pupils dilate in fear, his gaze distant and the moment hardly abrupt like it usually was. She steps in front of him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his shoulder, silent as she waits for him to recover. There's a brief moment where his muscles tighten and she wonders if he'll lash out again, but she only holds on tighter and waits for him to respond.
Seconds, minutes, perhaps hours later she feels his arms lift, his shaky hands pressed against her back as he holds her, nearly crushing the air from her lungs but she doesn't budge, doesn't pull back as she feels his tears against her neck. She almost misses his whisper, voice hoarse from disuse. "I don't know why you stay with a wreck like me." The disbelief in his words makes her want to cry, too.
"Because no one else would put up with you," she jokes half-heartedly. "Because we were meant for each other and I'll die before I leave you again."
He sighs heavily and the sound reverberates in her soul, rattling around like a caged bird. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve the world," she says in a voice so low she thinks he might not catch the words. "The least it can give you is me."