FIC - "This Space is a Gallery of You and Me" by Pocketfullof
To: R_becca
Title: This Space is a Gallery of You and Me
Author/Artist: pocketfullof
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2800
Summary: Harry gets a hobby.
Author/Artist's Notes: Sorry this is late. I blame the pressure of writing for our lovely mod, who deserves only the best. Ahaha, um, this isn’t that, but I hope it's at least enjoyable. I <3 you, Rebecca. (As you know, I'm sure, what with the constant gushing in your general direction.) Thanks to lyras for the beta/brit-pick, and for being generally awesome.
Enjoy!
i.
It's the kind of hot that sizzles on the air, stifling and unwelcome, if most of the disgruntled expressions around him are to be believed. The green has long ago burnt out of the grass. What’s left is a brown and dry crunch that most people skirt on their way here or there. The park is a mostly deserted playground, lonely swings and wilted trees nobly hanging onto their branches, waiting for someone to take comfort in their shade. The sun snaps and sizzles on the air.
There's a woman there, standing alone in the park. She looks untouched by the world around her. She smiles at Harry, waiting.
Harry wants to capture this - this heat and that smile. He lifts up his camera, points it toward the desolate land, and frames his shot.
He'll put this one by the bed, so he can see it every night before he shuts his eyes.
The camera was a gift, a Muggle contraption that Mr Weasley found, disenchanted, and then wrapped up and parted with almost comically on Harry's eighteenth birthday. When Harry put it up to his eye and squinted so that everything beyond the lens came into focus, the world was… different. It wasn't big and gloomy and grey anymore. It was a series of shapes and swaths of colors, and depending on how you framed it, you could make the world anything you wanted it to be.
ii.
There's a photograph hanging in the kitchen. It's of this:
"Hey!"
Harry looked up to see Ron float a battered wooden table to the other side of the room.
"Do you think this should go there?" Ron pointed to table, situated directly under a high window. "Or there?" He gestured to the left.
Harry shrugged, unconcerned. "Wherever you want is fine." He bowed his head back down, fitting another roll of film into the camera.
"Harry," Ron said, and Harry lifted the camera quickly, light flashing on Ron's disgruntled face. He laughed openly at Ron's expression.
"What?"
"Would you put that thing away and help. This is your flat too, you know."
"Oh, I thought I was paying half of the rent so you and Hermione could have a place to snog," Harry answered, still laughing.
"Very funny."
There were other voices just beyond the door. Female voices.
Harry heard Ron mutter, "Speaking of snogging," under his breath, just as Ginny's head appeared in the doorway.
"Ron, which room is yours? Oh." Ginny's eyes drifted to Harry. She was carrying a box in her hands, and it was the first time Harry'd seen her since July. "Hi."
For a second, Harry just stared at her.
Her eyes were wide and dark, and her mouth a perfect 'o'. Her hair was swept up into a messy pile, and she had dust smeared across her freckled cheek. The light was gathered all around her, spilling in from the doorway. Harry lifted his camera without thinking and clicked a shot.
Ginny blinked.
Harry smiled sheepishly. "Hi." He couldn't stop staring at her, at the way the flush of red crept along her cheeks beneath his gaze.
From the other side of the room, Ron coughed loudly. Harry lifted his camera and took another picture of Ron's face. Ron scowled at him and pointed, a mutinous expression on his face as he led Ginny down the hall.
Ginny, for her part, turned to glance over her shoulder at Harry once more before following. Harry watched the sway of her hips as she went.
iii.
It had been raining the day Mr Weasley gave him the camera. A rainy day in July was something uncommon, but it fit everyone's mood, so it was almost welcome. There was going to be a party, a large one in the backyard of The Burrow, and in theory, Harry guesses, that's what it was.
Ginny had left that morning. She crowded him into a corner to give him his present and when she'd told him happy birthday, her eyes had been warm and sad. She mentioned needing to take some time, to figure things out, and that she was going to spend a month or so with Bill and Fleur in Egypt. Harry needed time, too; he'd just always imagined they'd take it together.
For a lack of anything better to do, Harry had loaded a roll of film into the camera and stood on the outer edges of the gathering, pretending that he was searching for the perfect shot, but really just watching. The party had been moved inside once the humidity gave way to dark clouds and lightning, and it was cramped and hot and wet in the front room.
Because it was in his hands, and because it felt like the thing to do, Harry lifted the camera and snapped a shot. It wasn't like wizarding cameras, which were disturbing and annoying, casting big plumes of colored smoke every time a shot was taken. This was far more innocuous; just a small flash of light that lasted for only a second.
After a while, no one paid attention to Harry on the sidelines.
His first subject was the world around him. It was easy enough. Trees stand still and the sky is ever-present. He'd never thought of England as beautiful before. He'd never thought of much as beautiful before.
Harry snapped all that he saw: a three-legged dog who later licked his fingers; a flower that had wilted in the afternoon heat (when he surreptitiously touched it with the tip of his wand, it grew bright and colorful and seemed to shimmer in thanks); the yellow circle of the sun, so bright it blinded him even behind the protective lens of the camera.
When he took his film to get it developed, the girl behind the counter told him his pictures were lovely, and when she smiled, Harry thought: I want to capture that.
iv.
They're scattered all over the flat now.
The one propped up against his lamp is two pairs of bare feet, one with brightly painted toenails, and the other plain and ordinary.
It went like this:
It was a week before he and Ron were really settled into their new flat. The place was small and organized (courtesy of Hermione and Mrs Weasley) and Ron's work schedule left Harry spending a lot of time in it alone.
There was a knock on the door, and Harry - just back from his a day of training - rushed to answer it.
Ginny stood in the doorway holding a canvas bag.
"Harry," she said. "Hi."
Harry swallowed. "Hey, Ginny."
Ginny gestured. "My mum sent me over."
"Oh, right. Right. Come in."
Slowly, Ginny followed him into the flat. They stood crowded in the doorway, while Harry shut the door around her, his breath caught queerly in his throat.
Harry looked down at her. "How'd you get here?"
"My dad," Ginny explained. "We were at Diagon Alley buying my school books."
"Oh." The air around Harry felt heavy. "Right."
"Mum sent over a few dishes," Ginny said, holding the bag up.
"Right."
"You said that already."
"Right," Harry said again, and then he snorted a laugh. "You can put the bag in the kitchen."
"Where's Ron?"
"The shop."
"Oh, so…"
"All alone," Harry said.
"Right," Ginny said. She met his eyes. "Um, is it okay if I use your Floo to get home?"
"Course."
"Thanks."
Harry hesitated. "Do you have to go right now?"
Ginny shook her head.
Harry continued, "Do you want some tea, or… something?"
"Tea would be great."
"Great," Harry said. "I just have to, um, go take a shower first. If you can wait?"
"Sure. Take your time."
"I'll be right back," Harry assured. He rushed through his shower, and his skin felt strangely alive. It was the first he'd been alone with Ginny in longer than he could remember, and her presence made him feel clumsy and drugged. But good.
After his shower, he walked into his room to see Ginny staring down at his nightstand.
"What are you doing?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and then turned around, a handful of photographs in her grasp. They had been taken last week, when Harry and Ron moved into their flat and Ginny was there to help. Half the time Harry had stood behind the lens, feeling like a voyeur but unable to stop taking photographs.
"These are of me," she said.
Harry shrugged. He studied the wall just beyond her shoulder. "Yeah, well…"
"Harry," Ginny murmured. "Look at me, please."
Swallowing, Harry met her eyes.
"Why do you have these?"
He shrugged again. "It's not a big deal," he began. "I just like… taking photographs."
Her eyebrows went up. "Of me."
"Of everything," Harry said.
"You have more?"
Harry hesitated for a second before moving forward. Ginny didn't move as he brushed past her and bent to the bottom drawer. Her whole body stayed still, and he could feel her eyes on him as pulled out a box full of photographs, taken over the last month. She smelled familiar, the same flowering shampoo she's used since Hogwarts, and Harry shut his eyes and breathed in for a moment.
When he stood back up, he handed the box to her and turned away. They were all in there. He hadn't known what to do with them once he took them, so he'd thrown them in a shoebox before moving on to the next roll of film.
Ginny sat on his unmade bed and lifted the box top while Harry stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and studied the crown of her head. She was careful with the pictures, like they were precious.
She examined the pictures of herself the longest. After a moment, she said, "You make me look beautiful."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You are beautiful," he told her.
Ginny shook her head. "No, I -" She looked up to meet his eyes. "Thank you."
Harry allowed a small smile. After a second, Ginny looked back down at the pile. She pulled out a picture. "Tell me about this one," she commanded softly.
Harry squinted his eyes at it. "Um, that was from last week," he began, "first day of training."
"Were you nervous?"
Harry sat down on the bed, remembering how difficult it had been and how tired and good he'd felt afterward. "Yeah," he admitted. "But also, you know, ready."
"You're really good," Ginny said eventually, after she's held up a dozen different snapshots and had him recall exactly what he'd been doing.
Harry shook his head. "No."
"Yes, Harry," Ginny said. "You are."
The thing was, looking at the photographs through her eyes, made him feel it.
Later, Harry had made tea that went cold, and Ginny had propped her feet on his lap and told him about Egypt, about the stretches of sand and people and shops and sights and smells. She said she wished she'd had a camera, and laughed open-mouthed when he eventually conjured a bottle of nail polish. She gave a fond smile when he said it reminded him of old times, back at Hogwarts when he painted her toenails - any excuse to touch her.
He did the same this time, steadying her feet against his thigh and feeling their warmth seep past his trousers to his flesh. Her ankle was smooth beneath his fingers, and he managed to keep his hands mostly steady. When he looked back up at her, her eyes were fixed on his face, dark against her pale skin.
Harry swallowed. "Now we take a picture," he said, voice hearty.
"What? Why?"
Harry shrugged. "We have to capture every moment."
"But they're feet."
"They're your feet."
Ginny's nose crinkled. "But they're my ugly feet," she protested again.
"Okay then," Harry cajoled. "We'll take one of both of our feet."
Ginny laughed at him, but she lined her feet up with his regardless. Hers were small and freckled; his larger and pale. Ginny was practically sitting on his lap for the picture, and it was almost no trouble at all to guide her face into his to capture the moment in a different way.
v.
The shoebox turned into two and then three, and before long it was easier to just throw the photographs into a drawer instead of worrying about the boxes at all.
He keeps one in his bathroom, of their smiling faces crammed into the camera's frame, even though Harry hadn't really wanted to smile at all.
It was September the first, just another two weeks after that night alone in the flat, and Ginny was once again boarding the train for Hogwarts, this time - as last time - alone.
Harry stood beside her, watching as small children boarded the train, a menagarie of animals squawking all around him.
Ginny touched a hand to his camera. "Don't you go anywhere without this thing?" she asked, a teasing smile lighting her face.
"Nope," Harry said. "Have to make memories."
Ginny frowned. "Standing behind a camera isn't making memories, Harry."
"Have to capture them, though."
"What are you going to capture here?" Ginny said.
Harry looked at her. "You," he said.
"Harry," Ginny whispered, standing on the tips of toes to peer in this face. "You already have me."
"But you're leaving again."
Ginny laughed. "To go to school!"
"But I like having you here."
"Would you prefer I skip my final year?"
"I did."
"To fight Voldemort," Ginny said. "You want me to skip mine so we can snog!"
"Which is very important," Harry said solemnly, though he was unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Give me your camera," Ginny said suddenly.
"Why?"
"I want to capture you."
Harry shook his head. "No way."
"What about both of us?" she asked.
"At the same time?" Harry said.
"Yeah, c'mon." Ginny swung around so their shoulders were touching, and yanked on his arm so Harry could smoosh his face against hers. He held the camera out at arm's length, and when he said, "Smile," he could feel her cheek press against his.
"Will you send me a copy?" Ginny asked.
Harry promised, "Of course."
vi.
What Harry likes about Muggle pictures is that they freeze moments in time, but they're also mysteries. Wizard photographs show movement and the passage of time, but in a Muggle photograph, you only capture one brief moment, full of possibilities.
Harry spends a lot of time recording those moments for Ginny. She writes him long letters filled with stories: of Peeves and Madame Pince and the endless frustration and joys of school; of how empty the corridors feel and how comforting Gryffindor tower is; of how Dumbledore's picture says hi.
Harry isn't as good with words. But nearly everything he shoots, he sends to her: photographs of his days and of his flat and his training; he snaps pictures of his meals to show her what a bad cook he is; and one of Ron in an apron pulling muffins out of the oven; he sends her photos of her parents and of Teddy's brightly-coloured hair, and Ron and Hermione holding hands.
It's like a chess match; her words and his pictures. Only neither of them will lose. It's an endless cycle of mundane details and the little moments, but for Harry, all of them say: I miss you.
i.
The day is uncharacteristically hot, even for June. All around Harry, people are unhappy and frustrated, boiling in the heat.
He was on a mock assignment when Ginny's train chugged its way into London, and now - a day later - this is the first he's seen of her. Summer always feels like the end of something for him. This is first time in a long time he's welcomed it. Ginny stands in the middle of the park; the grass around her is brown, but it just makes her shine that much brighter.
She smiles as she waits for him. He has his camera, of course, and he wants to capture that smile like he's captured so many other moments, but instead he walks up to her, letting the camera fall to his side.
Ginny smiles even more brightly then. She lifts on her toes and presses a kiss to mouth. She tastes like cinnamon chewing gum and heat. Against his mouth, she mumbles, "Have you decided to come out from behind the camera, Harry?"
He pulls away and looks into her face. Her eyes are bright and brown, with flecks of colour no photograph could capture. They shine.
Harry smiles and thinks maybe it's time to start making memories.
(And they lived happily ever after!)
Title: This Space is a Gallery of You and Me
Author/Artist: pocketfullof
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2800
Summary: Harry gets a hobby.
Author/Artist's Notes: Sorry this is late. I blame the pressure of writing for our lovely mod, who deserves only the best. Ahaha, um, this isn’t that, but I hope it's at least enjoyable. I <3 you, Rebecca. (As you know, I'm sure, what with the constant gushing in your general direction.) Thanks to lyras for the beta/brit-pick, and for being generally awesome.
Enjoy!
i.
It's the kind of hot that sizzles on the air, stifling and unwelcome, if most of the disgruntled expressions around him are to be believed. The green has long ago burnt out of the grass. What’s left is a brown and dry crunch that most people skirt on their way here or there. The park is a mostly deserted playground, lonely swings and wilted trees nobly hanging onto their branches, waiting for someone to take comfort in their shade. The sun snaps and sizzles on the air.
There's a woman there, standing alone in the park. She looks untouched by the world around her. She smiles at Harry, waiting.
Harry wants to capture this - this heat and that smile. He lifts up his camera, points it toward the desolate land, and frames his shot.
He'll put this one by the bed, so he can see it every night before he shuts his eyes.
The camera was a gift, a Muggle contraption that Mr Weasley found, disenchanted, and then wrapped up and parted with almost comically on Harry's eighteenth birthday. When Harry put it up to his eye and squinted so that everything beyond the lens came into focus, the world was… different. It wasn't big and gloomy and grey anymore. It was a series of shapes and swaths of colors, and depending on how you framed it, you could make the world anything you wanted it to be.
ii.
There's a photograph hanging in the kitchen. It's of this:
"Hey!"
Harry looked up to see Ron float a battered wooden table to the other side of the room.
"Do you think this should go there?" Ron pointed to table, situated directly under a high window. "Or there?" He gestured to the left.
Harry shrugged, unconcerned. "Wherever you want is fine." He bowed his head back down, fitting another roll of film into the camera.
"Harry," Ron said, and Harry lifted the camera quickly, light flashing on Ron's disgruntled face. He laughed openly at Ron's expression.
"What?"
"Would you put that thing away and help. This is your flat too, you know."
"Oh, I thought I was paying half of the rent so you and Hermione could have a place to snog," Harry answered, still laughing.
"Very funny."
There were other voices just beyond the door. Female voices.
Harry heard Ron mutter, "Speaking of snogging," under his breath, just as Ginny's head appeared in the doorway.
"Ron, which room is yours? Oh." Ginny's eyes drifted to Harry. She was carrying a box in her hands, and it was the first time Harry'd seen her since July. "Hi."
For a second, Harry just stared at her.
Her eyes were wide and dark, and her mouth a perfect 'o'. Her hair was swept up into a messy pile, and she had dust smeared across her freckled cheek. The light was gathered all around her, spilling in from the doorway. Harry lifted his camera without thinking and clicked a shot.
Ginny blinked.
Harry smiled sheepishly. "Hi." He couldn't stop staring at her, at the way the flush of red crept along her cheeks beneath his gaze.
From the other side of the room, Ron coughed loudly. Harry lifted his camera and took another picture of Ron's face. Ron scowled at him and pointed, a mutinous expression on his face as he led Ginny down the hall.
Ginny, for her part, turned to glance over her shoulder at Harry once more before following. Harry watched the sway of her hips as she went.
iii.
It had been raining the day Mr Weasley gave him the camera. A rainy day in July was something uncommon, but it fit everyone's mood, so it was almost welcome. There was going to be a party, a large one in the backyard of The Burrow, and in theory, Harry guesses, that's what it was.
Ginny had left that morning. She crowded him into a corner to give him his present and when she'd told him happy birthday, her eyes had been warm and sad. She mentioned needing to take some time, to figure things out, and that she was going to spend a month or so with Bill and Fleur in Egypt. Harry needed time, too; he'd just always imagined they'd take it together.
For a lack of anything better to do, Harry had loaded a roll of film into the camera and stood on the outer edges of the gathering, pretending that he was searching for the perfect shot, but really just watching. The party had been moved inside once the humidity gave way to dark clouds and lightning, and it was cramped and hot and wet in the front room.
Because it was in his hands, and because it felt like the thing to do, Harry lifted the camera and snapped a shot. It wasn't like wizarding cameras, which were disturbing and annoying, casting big plumes of colored smoke every time a shot was taken. This was far more innocuous; just a small flash of light that lasted for only a second.
After a while, no one paid attention to Harry on the sidelines.
His first subject was the world around him. It was easy enough. Trees stand still and the sky is ever-present. He'd never thought of England as beautiful before. He'd never thought of much as beautiful before.
Harry snapped all that he saw: a three-legged dog who later licked his fingers; a flower that had wilted in the afternoon heat (when he surreptitiously touched it with the tip of his wand, it grew bright and colorful and seemed to shimmer in thanks); the yellow circle of the sun, so bright it blinded him even behind the protective lens of the camera.
When he took his film to get it developed, the girl behind the counter told him his pictures were lovely, and when she smiled, Harry thought: I want to capture that.
iv.
They're scattered all over the flat now.
The one propped up against his lamp is two pairs of bare feet, one with brightly painted toenails, and the other plain and ordinary.
It went like this:
It was a week before he and Ron were really settled into their new flat. The place was small and organized (courtesy of Hermione and Mrs Weasley) and Ron's work schedule left Harry spending a lot of time in it alone.
There was a knock on the door, and Harry - just back from his a day of training - rushed to answer it.
Ginny stood in the doorway holding a canvas bag.
"Harry," she said. "Hi."
Harry swallowed. "Hey, Ginny."
Ginny gestured. "My mum sent me over."
"Oh, right. Right. Come in."
Slowly, Ginny followed him into the flat. They stood crowded in the doorway, while Harry shut the door around her, his breath caught queerly in his throat.
Harry looked down at her. "How'd you get here?"
"My dad," Ginny explained. "We were at Diagon Alley buying my school books."
"Oh." The air around Harry felt heavy. "Right."
"Mum sent over a few dishes," Ginny said, holding the bag up.
"Right."
"You said that already."
"Right," Harry said again, and then he snorted a laugh. "You can put the bag in the kitchen."
"Where's Ron?"
"The shop."
"Oh, so…"
"All alone," Harry said.
"Right," Ginny said. She met his eyes. "Um, is it okay if I use your Floo to get home?"
"Course."
"Thanks."
Harry hesitated. "Do you have to go right now?"
Ginny shook her head.
Harry continued, "Do you want some tea, or… something?"
"Tea would be great."
"Great," Harry said. "I just have to, um, go take a shower first. If you can wait?"
"Sure. Take your time."
"I'll be right back," Harry assured. He rushed through his shower, and his skin felt strangely alive. It was the first he'd been alone with Ginny in longer than he could remember, and her presence made him feel clumsy and drugged. But good.
After his shower, he walked into his room to see Ginny staring down at his nightstand.
"What are you doing?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and then turned around, a handful of photographs in her grasp. They had been taken last week, when Harry and Ron moved into their flat and Ginny was there to help. Half the time Harry had stood behind the lens, feeling like a voyeur but unable to stop taking photographs.
"These are of me," she said.
Harry shrugged. He studied the wall just beyond her shoulder. "Yeah, well…"
"Harry," Ginny murmured. "Look at me, please."
Swallowing, Harry met her eyes.
"Why do you have these?"
He shrugged again. "It's not a big deal," he began. "I just like… taking photographs."
Her eyebrows went up. "Of me."
"Of everything," Harry said.
"You have more?"
Harry hesitated for a second before moving forward. Ginny didn't move as he brushed past her and bent to the bottom drawer. Her whole body stayed still, and he could feel her eyes on him as pulled out a box full of photographs, taken over the last month. She smelled familiar, the same flowering shampoo she's used since Hogwarts, and Harry shut his eyes and breathed in for a moment.
When he stood back up, he handed the box to her and turned away. They were all in there. He hadn't known what to do with them once he took them, so he'd thrown them in a shoebox before moving on to the next roll of film.
Ginny sat on his unmade bed and lifted the box top while Harry stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and studied the crown of her head. She was careful with the pictures, like they were precious.
She examined the pictures of herself the longest. After a moment, she said, "You make me look beautiful."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You are beautiful," he told her.
Ginny shook her head. "No, I -" She looked up to meet his eyes. "Thank you."
Harry allowed a small smile. After a second, Ginny looked back down at the pile. She pulled out a picture. "Tell me about this one," she commanded softly.
Harry squinted his eyes at it. "Um, that was from last week," he began, "first day of training."
"Were you nervous?"
Harry sat down on the bed, remembering how difficult it had been and how tired and good he'd felt afterward. "Yeah," he admitted. "But also, you know, ready."
"You're really good," Ginny said eventually, after she's held up a dozen different snapshots and had him recall exactly what he'd been doing.
Harry shook his head. "No."
"Yes, Harry," Ginny said. "You are."
The thing was, looking at the photographs through her eyes, made him feel it.
Later, Harry had made tea that went cold, and Ginny had propped her feet on his lap and told him about Egypt, about the stretches of sand and people and shops and sights and smells. She said she wished she'd had a camera, and laughed open-mouthed when he eventually conjured a bottle of nail polish. She gave a fond smile when he said it reminded him of old times, back at Hogwarts when he painted her toenails - any excuse to touch her.
He did the same this time, steadying her feet against his thigh and feeling their warmth seep past his trousers to his flesh. Her ankle was smooth beneath his fingers, and he managed to keep his hands mostly steady. When he looked back up at her, her eyes were fixed on his face, dark against her pale skin.
Harry swallowed. "Now we take a picture," he said, voice hearty.
"What? Why?"
Harry shrugged. "We have to capture every moment."
"But they're feet."
"They're your feet."
Ginny's nose crinkled. "But they're my ugly feet," she protested again.
"Okay then," Harry cajoled. "We'll take one of both of our feet."
Ginny laughed at him, but she lined her feet up with his regardless. Hers were small and freckled; his larger and pale. Ginny was practically sitting on his lap for the picture, and it was almost no trouble at all to guide her face into his to capture the moment in a different way.
v.
The shoebox turned into two and then three, and before long it was easier to just throw the photographs into a drawer instead of worrying about the boxes at all.
He keeps one in his bathroom, of their smiling faces crammed into the camera's frame, even though Harry hadn't really wanted to smile at all.
It was September the first, just another two weeks after that night alone in the flat, and Ginny was once again boarding the train for Hogwarts, this time - as last time - alone.
Harry stood beside her, watching as small children boarded the train, a menagarie of animals squawking all around him.
Ginny touched a hand to his camera. "Don't you go anywhere without this thing?" she asked, a teasing smile lighting her face.
"Nope," Harry said. "Have to make memories."
Ginny frowned. "Standing behind a camera isn't making memories, Harry."
"Have to capture them, though."
"What are you going to capture here?" Ginny said.
Harry looked at her. "You," he said.
"Harry," Ginny whispered, standing on the tips of toes to peer in this face. "You already have me."
"But you're leaving again."
Ginny laughed. "To go to school!"
"But I like having you here."
"Would you prefer I skip my final year?"
"I did."
"To fight Voldemort," Ginny said. "You want me to skip mine so we can snog!"
"Which is very important," Harry said solemnly, though he was unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Give me your camera," Ginny said suddenly.
"Why?"
"I want to capture you."
Harry shook his head. "No way."
"What about both of us?" she asked.
"At the same time?" Harry said.
"Yeah, c'mon." Ginny swung around so their shoulders were touching, and yanked on his arm so Harry could smoosh his face against hers. He held the camera out at arm's length, and when he said, "Smile," he could feel her cheek press against his.
"Will you send me a copy?" Ginny asked.
Harry promised, "Of course."
vi.
What Harry likes about Muggle pictures is that they freeze moments in time, but they're also mysteries. Wizard photographs show movement and the passage of time, but in a Muggle photograph, you only capture one brief moment, full of possibilities.
Harry spends a lot of time recording those moments for Ginny. She writes him long letters filled with stories: of Peeves and Madame Pince and the endless frustration and joys of school; of how empty the corridors feel and how comforting Gryffindor tower is; of how Dumbledore's picture says hi.
Harry isn't as good with words. But nearly everything he shoots, he sends to her: photographs of his days and of his flat and his training; he snaps pictures of his meals to show her what a bad cook he is; and one of Ron in an apron pulling muffins out of the oven; he sends her photos of her parents and of Teddy's brightly-coloured hair, and Ron and Hermione holding hands.
It's like a chess match; her words and his pictures. Only neither of them will lose. It's an endless cycle of mundane details and the little moments, but for Harry, all of them say: I miss you.
i.
The day is uncharacteristically hot, even for June. All around Harry, people are unhappy and frustrated, boiling in the heat.
He was on a mock assignment when Ginny's train chugged its way into London, and now - a day later - this is the first he's seen of her. Summer always feels like the end of something for him. This is first time in a long time he's welcomed it. Ginny stands in the middle of the park; the grass around her is brown, but it just makes her shine that much brighter.
She smiles as she waits for him. He has his camera, of course, and he wants to capture that smile like he's captured so many other moments, but instead he walks up to her, letting the camera fall to his side.
Ginny smiles even more brightly then. She lifts on her toes and presses a kiss to mouth. She tastes like cinnamon chewing gum and heat. Against his mouth, she mumbles, "Have you decided to come out from behind the camera, Harry?"
He pulls away and looks into her face. Her eyes are bright and brown, with flecks of colour no photograph could capture. They shine.
Harry smiles and thinks maybe it's time to start making memories.
(And they lived happily ever after!)