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SIYE Time:8:32 on 29th March 2024
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Finding Us
By Kezzabear

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: General
Warnings: Sexual Situations
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 377
Summary: Ginny Weasley did not bring her wand anywhere anymore. There wasn’t any point ... Harry Potter didn’t really live anywhere. He hadn’t really lived since Ginny Weasley walked out of his life.
Hitcount: Story Total: 118183; Chapter Total: 10566
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Hi there! Sorry it's been a while for this update - been distracted by the challenge fic, and my other fic (the really long one) and uni work and kids' stuff.

Yeah no more excuses so here's chapter 6 ...




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The edge of the glass shelves were all smudged. Ginny looked at them and frowned. She couldn’t blame that on anyone’s little darling. Or the smashed bottles of perfume on the floor near her feet. Ginny sighed because that would come out of her wages. Old Mr Williams grumbled at her to clean it up. Ginny looked out of the window again. Albert was standing closer to the window, a crease between his brows. Ginny just shrugged and turned to get the cleaning supplies.

And wished she had her wand.

When she got back Albert was standing inside the doorway, shifting uneasily. Carefully, slowly, Ginny picked up the large pieces of glass. Six bottles. Costly. And now the pharmacy smelt like an old ladies’ hanky drawer. Old Mr Williams sold the worst perfume. No wonder she was always bloody dusting it. No one ever bought it. Maybe Albert did them all a favour, staring at her like that and making her knock it to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Albert said.

Ginny jumped because she didn’t realise he’d come up behind her. She dropped all the pieces of glass she’d picked up.

“Really sorry,” Albert said.

“That’s okay,” Ginny said.

She bent down to pick up the pieces of glass again. Albert crouched down beside her and picked up the biggest piece of glass. Together they put the pieces on the newspaper Ginny had spread out. Albert didn’t say anything.

Neither did Ginny.

Albert smelt good. Well, he probably did. Ginny couldn’t smell much but the perfume. But she knew he would. Everything else about him was undeniably enticing. Ginny found it odd. She hadn’t thought of anyone as enticing for years (not even Everard King, no matter how hard he tried). No one Ginny knew anymore was enticing at all. Because she didn’t know Harry Potter anymore.

Although she had always found him incredibly enticing.

But she didn’t know Harry. Not anymore. But Albert was here. She looked up at him. He had nice shoulders. But there was something odd about his hair. Ginny leaned forward a little. Albert looked up. It was like staring into his soul.

He had a very troubled soul.

“You’re wearing contacts,” Ginny blurted.

“I have bad eyesight.”

“I’m sorry.”

Albert smiled a little and shrugged. He looked down and began picking up the pieces of broken glass, dropping them on the newspaper. They made a little plinking sound as they fell from his fingertips. Ginny picked up a large piece of glass.

“I didn’t mean to make you break them,” Albert said.

“Well, now I don’t have to try and sell them,” Ginny said.

She looked up at Albert, trying to smile. He smiled back and Ginny’s hand convulsed when she saw Harry’s smile on Albert’s face. A piece of glass clinked as it fell onto the others on the newspaper. Ginny looked down. A red stain was spreading on the paper where the blood was dripping from her palm. Albert grabbed her wrist.

Ginny gasped.

She didn’t know if it was because of the blood pouring from her palm or because Albert’s hand was warm. Slightly calloused. She watched the blood as it dripped from her hand. Albert fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief. He didn’t look at all like Harry. She was imagining things.

“It’s clean,” Albert said.

He pressed the hanky to her hand and tugged her up until she was standing. Old Mr Williams waddled over. He peered at the stain spreading on the white fabric.

“Looks bad,” Old Mr Williams said.

“Do you have a doctor here?” Albert said.

“A doctor?”

Ginny stared at Albert in alarm. She hadn’t ever been to a doctor. She got quite close enough to them at the pharmacy. She had no intention of going near one. She was willing to press elecktrickery buttons and write with ballpoint pens. She could even ignore the strange tellingvision that winked at her from the shop on the corner when she walked home at night. But not a doctor.

“It probably needs stitches,” Albert said.

Old Mr Williams grunted. Ginny looked at them both in horror. That Healer had stitched her dad once. It hadn’t ended well. She tried to jerk her hand away but Albert held it firmly in his grasp. And Old Mr Williams told Albert where the doctor was. And then Albert was leading her to the door, Ginny’s buckled, brown handbag tucked under one arm. He might have told Old Mr Williams he would see her home safely. Ginny wasn’t sure, all she could hear was the blood rushing in her head. All she could feel was her hand lying in Albert’s. All she could see was the grey footpath rushing up to meet her.

And then Albert scooped her up and whispered in her ear.

***********************

The jagged edge of the bottle was smeared with blood. Ginny’s blood. Harry frowned at the dark stain spreading on the newspaper. Ginny was just staring at her hand. Harry reached out and grasped her wrist. She gasped and Harry felt her pulse start beating really fast.

He wondered if she was going into shock.

She still stared at her palm. The blood kept dripping. Harry could smell her blood. It was sort of rusty, mixed with the smell of the perfume she’d broken. And the same flowery scent that always smelled like Ginny. Her eyes were the same too. The warm brown he saw in Molly’s face that made his heart ache every Sunday. Her hair was growing out and he could see the faintest tinge of red at the roots. Red like her blood. That was dripping all over the broken shards of glass. Harry fumbled for a handkerchief.

He didn’t have one.

Wordlessly, wandlessly, he conjured a clean, white handkerchief and pressed it to her palm. Ginny swayed a little on her feet as he pulled her up. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the stain spreading on the white cloth. Harry didn’t like the look of it at all. The blood was spreading fast. It might need stitches. She should see a doctor.

Ginny definitely did not want to see a doctor.

Harry watched her eyes cloud over and he heard himself say ‘stitches’. Ginny’s hand jerked in his, but he held onto it firmly. Harry kicked himself mentally, remembering Ginny’s other encounter with stitches, when he father had been attacked by Nagini. But there was nothing he could do. Pulling out his wand and healing her would tip her off that he wasn’t a Muggle.

And Ginny wanted to be a Muggle.

Ginny’s boss agreed that she’d need stitches. And that she’d need the rest of the day off. And pressed her buckled brown bag into Harry’s free hand and gave him directions to the doctor.

“She looks a bit pale, you going to be all right, son?”

“I’ll see her home,” Harry said.

“Well, if it’s no trouble …”

The old man shuffled back to his counter. Harry pulled Ginny to the door. She swayed again and Harry peered at her. Ginny’s eyelids fluttered a little and he could feel her hand resting in his as he pressed the hanky more tightly to her palm. His own pulse raced so fast he could hear it beating in his ears. Ginny swayed again. Harry gripped her hand tighter. And when she started to fall gracefully to the ground, he caught her.

“I’ll stay with you.”

Harry didn’t know why he whispered that in her ear. Ginny wouldn’t care if he stayed with her. She never had before. He wondered if she would care if Albert stayed with her. The blood dripped slowly from her palm and onto his shirt. Her hair tickled his nose as she laid her head on his shoulder. His steps never faltered as he strode towards the tiny surgery. Her breath was hot on his neck and her skirt had ridden up past her knees.

“Don’t let them stitch me,” Ginny murmured.

“I’ll stay with you,” Harry said.

Doctor Swenson tried to make Harry wait outside. Harry refused. Doctor Swenson tried to make Ginny show him her hand. Ginny refused. Harry pulled her hand into both of his and cradled it on his lap while the doctor looked.

Her hand trembled.

So Harry caressed her hand as he held it in his own. Stroking her fingers and her wrist as Doctor Swenson peered at it. Ginny’s hand stopped trembling. Doctor Swenson started nodding. Harry kept caressing her hand, watching the blood slowly drip onto his hands. He was covered in Ginny’s blood now.

It was a hell of a way to hold her hand.

Doctor Swenson said she needed stitches. Ginny swayed. Harry looked into her eyes. It was like looking into a mirror. A beautiful, tortured mirror. She looked unsure. Uncertain. As if she didn’t think this was going to be the answer. As if nothing could be the answer.

“I’ve never had stitches before,” Ginny said.

“There’s nothing to it,” Harry said.

He was lying. He’d had stitches before. When he was about six. After Dudley pushed him off the steps at school. He’d been lucky really. They took him to the doctor. Harry remembered being stretched out on a massive clinical bed. Pinned down by a massive nurse in a starchy uniform while the doctor plunged a massive needle into his cut leg. Every stitch had been agony. And he was all alone.

“Stay with me?”

“I’ll stay with you,” Harry whispered.

Ginny clutched his hand tightly as Doctor Swenson strapped her arm down. Harry clutched it back. She scrunched her eyes shut as Doctor Swenson plunged the needle into her hand. Harry watched as a tear slid down her cheek and dripped onto the pillow under her head. He raised one shaky hand and brushed away the next one with his thumb. He caressed her cheek softly. Ginny opened her eyes and looked into his. And the whole time as he stroked her cheek softly. It felt wonderful. He had wanted to touch her like this for ages. Months. Years. Ginny whimpered as the needle began to sew.

And Harry stroked her cheek softly.
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