Unbirthday Party
First of all, a very happy belated birthday to eslyssa! I haven't talked to you much recently, but if you want something for your birthday...a fic, say...then just say the word. *glomps*
Secondly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACKIE!
Title: Take this Love
Author: waxrose
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Length: 906 words
Disclaimer: The product of JKR’s clever imagination, not mine.
Notes: A birthday fic for the marvelous and talented quiestence. This is unbetaed, so let me know if you spot any errors.
i.
In summer, the crab apple tree in the yard of The Burrow burst into full bloom, raining down little sour apples as the season waned. Ginny had always retreated to the cool shade provided by the swaying branches on many long, sunny days, reading a book or, as teenage girls are often wont to do, letting the heady summer sunshine fill her head with daydreams.
It should have been a good summer, even with the war raging in Hogsmeade and London, close enough to be real, yet distant enough to maintain a hopeful sort of denial. But denial was a luxury these days - Ginny could barely sleep at night, haunted by the images of Hermione’s burning house, knowing that Hermione herself would never receive her OWL results or graduate with Harry and Ron. Less than a week after all of the Hogwarts students had been sent home for the holidays, Voldemort had sent a clear message in the form of the Dark Mark hovering high over the Granger's house.
Ginny knew nothing except what she had heard the night after - holding her breath in the darkness as she eavesdropped on Bill and Charlie talking in hushed voices.
She threw up afterwards.
Their bodies had been mangled beyond recognition, eyes staring straight ahead with expressions of horror on their still features. Unwilling canvasses marked with You-Know-Who's rage.
Yes, the message was painfully clear:
You may have escaped for now, but you have paid a price.
ii.
Ron walked about like a ghost these days - There was no finality about it, no closure. There had always been the possibility - no, the probability that one of them would not survive this war - yet Ron was still a child in so many ways - a child who had thumbed his nose at Voldemort and lived, no less. Feeling young and immortal was one thing, but narrowly escaping death only to find the charred body one of your best friends on a hot July afternoon mere weeks later was a blow that, Ginny suspected, Ron would not come to terms with for a long time.
Harry’s reaction was cold, but unexpected. Now grieving for not one, but two of those closest to him, he distanced himself from everyone and everything. Ginny couldn’t even begin to imagine the guilt he must feel - it was not his fault, but, well, Harry was Harry and he would believe it; that this was the price he had to pay for escaping with his life. He sat under the apple tree in the yard, often for hours - doing nothing but staring off into the distance and absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks’s fur - dear, clever Crookshanks who had been unearthed from the rubble of the Granger’s house, barely alive and pitifully mewing.
Ginny wanted to talk to him sometimes. Like everything else, that should have been easier now. She could look at him without blushing like some lovesick child. There was immense relief in that fact - and if she still felt a shiver of sweet electricity when he looked at her, just so, then, well - she could ignore it. Ignore it and go read the latest owl from Dean, full of good-natured complaining about the lack of privacy from his siblings and hastily-drawn doodles on the sides of the parchment.
He sent one almost every day now, as though he thought he could make sure she was - what, alive? - just by sending long, rambling letters full of solemn teenage boy declarations of love and ignoring the war, the massacres and every thing that shadowed their once bright world.
iii.
Harry watches her sometimes. She sees him out of the corner of her eye, while reading curled upon the couch. He stares intensely, almost unashamedly. There’s something in his eyes that Ginny can’t even begin to catagorize - need, grief - surely not love.
Yes, that would be ironic, after she had finally gotten over him.
Dean’s letters begin to go by unread.
iv.
One day, Ginny decides to talk him - beyond “Pass the toast, Harry” or a mumbled “Sorry” while brushing awkwardly past each other in the narrow upstairs hallway. He’s growing more distant every day, and fear is starting to gnaw inside Ginny, almost physically painful.
So she sits under his tree.
He doesn’t look away from the sunset, glasses reflecting hot orange light, shielding his eyes from the world’s gaze.
It’s not like she loves him or wants to marry him (as her mother sometimes hints loudly in conversation). He’s not her hero, not her boyfriend - but he is her friend. She doesn’t want to be anything but to lift the burden the causes his shoulders to slump and his posture to radiate defeat - even if only for a minute.
She’ll do anything to bring a smile to his face again.
Take this love and take this heart. I’ll be fine with whatever you choose to leave me, if it will help you - if it will save you.
She covers his hand with hers and watches the sun set slowly.
The world is quiet, for now.
Secondly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACKIE!
Title: Take this Love
Author: waxrose
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Length: 906 words
Disclaimer: The product of JKR’s clever imagination, not mine.
Notes: A birthday fic for the marvelous and talented quiestence. This is unbetaed, so let me know if you spot any errors.
i.
In summer, the crab apple tree in the yard of The Burrow burst into full bloom, raining down little sour apples as the season waned. Ginny had always retreated to the cool shade provided by the swaying branches on many long, sunny days, reading a book or, as teenage girls are often wont to do, letting the heady summer sunshine fill her head with daydreams.
It should have been a good summer, even with the war raging in Hogsmeade and London, close enough to be real, yet distant enough to maintain a hopeful sort of denial. But denial was a luxury these days - Ginny could barely sleep at night, haunted by the images of Hermione’s burning house, knowing that Hermione herself would never receive her OWL results or graduate with Harry and Ron. Less than a week after all of the Hogwarts students had been sent home for the holidays, Voldemort had sent a clear message in the form of the Dark Mark hovering high over the Granger's house.
Ginny knew nothing except what she had heard the night after - holding her breath in the darkness as she eavesdropped on Bill and Charlie talking in hushed voices.
She threw up afterwards.
Their bodies had been mangled beyond recognition, eyes staring straight ahead with expressions of horror on their still features. Unwilling canvasses marked with You-Know-Who's rage.
Yes, the message was painfully clear:
You may have escaped for now, but you have paid a price.
ii.
Ron walked about like a ghost these days - There was no finality about it, no closure. There had always been the possibility - no, the probability that one of them would not survive this war - yet Ron was still a child in so many ways - a child who had thumbed his nose at Voldemort and lived, no less. Feeling young and immortal was one thing, but narrowly escaping death only to find the charred body one of your best friends on a hot July afternoon mere weeks later was a blow that, Ginny suspected, Ron would not come to terms with for a long time.
Harry’s reaction was cold, but unexpected. Now grieving for not one, but two of those closest to him, he distanced himself from everyone and everything. Ginny couldn’t even begin to imagine the guilt he must feel - it was not his fault, but, well, Harry was Harry and he would believe it; that this was the price he had to pay for escaping with his life. He sat under the apple tree in the yard, often for hours - doing nothing but staring off into the distance and absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks’s fur - dear, clever Crookshanks who had been unearthed from the rubble of the Granger’s house, barely alive and pitifully mewing.
Ginny wanted to talk to him sometimes. Like everything else, that should have been easier now. She could look at him without blushing like some lovesick child. There was immense relief in that fact - and if she still felt a shiver of sweet electricity when he looked at her, just so, then, well - she could ignore it. Ignore it and go read the latest owl from Dean, full of good-natured complaining about the lack of privacy from his siblings and hastily-drawn doodles on the sides of the parchment.
He sent one almost every day now, as though he thought he could make sure she was - what, alive? - just by sending long, rambling letters full of solemn teenage boy declarations of love and ignoring the war, the massacres and every thing that shadowed their once bright world.
iii.
Harry watches her sometimes. She sees him out of the corner of her eye, while reading curled upon the couch. He stares intensely, almost unashamedly. There’s something in his eyes that Ginny can’t even begin to catagorize - need, grief - surely not love.
Yes, that would be ironic, after she had finally gotten over him.
Dean’s letters begin to go by unread.
iv.
One day, Ginny decides to talk him - beyond “Pass the toast, Harry” or a mumbled “Sorry” while brushing awkwardly past each other in the narrow upstairs hallway. He’s growing more distant every day, and fear is starting to gnaw inside Ginny, almost physically painful.
So she sits under his tree.
He doesn’t look away from the sunset, glasses reflecting hot orange light, shielding his eyes from the world’s gaze.
It’s not like she loves him or wants to marry him (as her mother sometimes hints loudly in conversation). He’s not her hero, not her boyfriend - but he is her friend. She doesn’t want to be anything but to lift the burden the causes his shoulders to slump and his posture to radiate defeat - even if only for a minute.
She’ll do anything to bring a smile to his face again.
Take this love and take this heart. I’ll be fine with whatever you choose to leave me, if it will help you - if it will save you.
She covers his hand with hers and watches the sun set slowly.
The world is quiet, for now.