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SIYE Time:17:23 on 28th 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: 118176; Chapter Total: 9431
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Nothing to see here .. move on, move on ... story to read!




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Ginny stared at her hand, covered in white bandages while Doctor Swenson told her all the things she must not do for a week. Don’t get it wet. Don’t lift anything. Don’t lean on it. Don’t get it dirty. Don’t touch things. Don’t scratch things. Don’t do anything. She didn’t tell him how impossible that was going to be. He couldn’t do anything about it. She just nodded. It didn’t hurt now. It felt sort of numb. Ginny flexed her fingers experimentally.

It was good to feel numb.

It was odd. Because usually feeling numb left her with a sort of ache in her chest. Which probably meant she wasn’t really numb. Ginny rubbed her eyes tiredly. She forgot she wasn’t supposed to use her right hand yet. To keep it still. Gentle fingers pulled her hand away from her face. She could feel them on her wrist. Warm. Slightly calloused. Strong.

“No problem,” Albert said.

He must have been talking to the doctor. He really shouldn’t lie to the doctor. Of course this was going to be a problem. Ginny concentrated on the feel of his fingers on her wrist. His thumb moved back and forth across the delicate bones in her wrist. Ghosting over her pulse. Making it speed up. There was an odd shaped callous on his thumb. She used to have one just like it.

From riding her broomstick.

Ginny stilled. Watching as Albert nodded at Doctor Swenson and took a piece of white paper from his outstretched hand. She didn’t recognise him. And he was wearing Muggle contact lenses. And the sexiest Muggle jeans. Ginny blinked. And clutched her buckled, brown bag tighter. She watched Albert’s feet as they shifted when he stood up. He tugged at her hand again. Gently.

Ginny had the absurd thought that her father would be fascinated by her stitches and she should go and show him. And crawl into her mother’s lap and beg her to take care of her. But she didn’t have a wand. Or a Floo. Or a Portkey anymore. She couldn’t get home anyway.

“Let’s get you home,” Albert said.

“Okay,” Ginny said.

She knew he meant the little cottage she rented. He didn’t know where she had lived before. In the crooked house with the loud family. Albert took her elbow and steered her out of the tiny, white room and into the crowded, noisy waiting room. He spoke to the receptionist. Ginny didn’t know what he said but then he handed the receptionist some money. Ginny fumbled with her buckled, brown handbag.

“I have money.”

“It’s okay,” Albert said.

He put his hand over hers. He stopped her trying to open her bag with one hand (which was not successful anyway). He shook his head slightly. Squeezed her hand. Ginny cursed the fact that her pulse sped up every time he touched her. There was another callous on his hand. His right hand. Ginny used to have one just like it.

From holding her wand.

Maybe it was some sort of Muggle callous that Ginny didn’t know about. Like from riding a bike. Or driving a car. Or flying an airyplane. Ginny followed Albert blindly as he led the way out of the tiny surgery and onto the street. And turned the corner into her street. And walked all the way to her gate. And the whole time she could feel Albert’s hand on her elbow. Guiding her. Protecting her. Ginny watched him. Wondered who he was. They stopped outside the gate. On the edge of the mud puddle. Albert pushed open the gate and helped her over the mud puddle.

“Have you got your key?”

Ginny knew her key was somewhere. In her handbag maybe. Or there was a spare one under the pot plant on the corner of her porch. Neville gave it to her. She tried to remember to water it. It looked a bit sad. She wished Neville would come and water it for her. But he didn’t know where she lived. Hermione had delivered it. A long time ago now.

It was probably only still alive by magic.

Albert asked for her key again. Ginny blinked at him. Key. Muggles had keys. They didn’t use their wand to open anything. She waved her buckled, brown bag at him. He seemed to understand what she was saying and plucked it from her grasp, searching through it until he produced her shiny, silver key.

“You don’t have a lot of keys,” Albert said.

“I don’t have a lot of things to lock,” Ginny said.

It was true. She kept a lot of things locked away. But they weren’t the sort of things you kept behind locked doors. She kept her feelings locked away. Feelings about losing her magic. Feelings about trying to be a Muggle. Feelings about Harry Potter. She kept her heart locked away too. Albert smiled at her and unlocked the door to the cottage with a click.

Ginny thought she might have felt him unlock her heart.

She stepped over the threshold, clutching her chest. Looking for a seat. She needed to sit down. Or hyperventilate. Or both. The little cottage looked just like she left it. Like it belonged to a Muggle. Ginny fumbled for a chair and sat down heavily. Albert hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Ginny tried to steady her breathing and her eyes fell on her coffee table. On George’s incredibly large black owl, Orestis. Who was sitting on her coffee table. Blinking at her. With an assortment of rubbish attached to him.

Portkeys.

George had sent her Portkeys. In front of a Muggle. Who had odd calluses on his hands which might be from riding a bike (or a broomstick). Albert blinked and shut the door. Orestis hooted softly. Albert shook his head. He was probably trying to get rid of the image of an owl tied to bits of rubbish. And sitting on her coffee table. Orestis hopped along the coffee table towards Albert who shook his head some more and backed into the front door.

“I — I — I should … I should explain,” Ginny said.

She frowned. She wondered how to explain it. Orestis hooted again and blinked at Albert. The owl took off, flapping his overly large wings in her tiny sitting room and colliding with her net curtains as the boot on his left leg tipped him off balance. And then Albert held out his arm and Orestis flapped awkwardly over to him. And landed on his arm. Albert scratched the bird on the head. Orestis bobbed his head a little and Albert took a step into the room. He looked at Ginny uncertainly and gently transferred the owl to the back of Ginny’s couch.

“I — I — guess birds like me.”

He shrugged. Ginny tilted her head. Owls usually only did that to magic people. Wizards. They were smart enough to stay away from Muggles. Albert began untying the Portkeys from Orestis’s legs. One boot. An old soft drink bottle (it was creaming soda, Ginny’s favourite). An empty crisp packet. A little plastic … thing. Albert laid them out methodically. On the coffee table. Next to the big parchment envelope Orestis must have had in his talons (or his beak). He wasn’t unnerved by the array of strange things. He didn’t look twice at the massive orange parchment envelope.

Albert was a wizard.

He had to be. No one could look at this ridiculous assortment of things (calmly) and not know that Orestis was a post owl. Bringing Portkeys. And a letter. That had started to talk. Ginny froze. Albert froze. George’s voice was magnified. Booming.

Giving away all her secrets.

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

Harry listened as George’s letter started talking to Ginny. Saying how it had been great to see her. That she should come home to the Burrow more often. That he knew she didn’t want visitors but he hoped she’d come and see them sometimes. That Ron and Hermione had probably been shagging when she arrived but they interrupted it just for her. That’s how special she was because Ron and Hermione didn’t interrupt that for just anyone (which Harry knew all too well). That their Mum was feeling so much better after her visit. That her Dad was humming a lot. That Bill whistled. That Percy laughed at a joke. That Harry Potter might have even cracked a smile.

Harry felt numb.

This bird was about to give away all his secrets. Orestis didn’t deliver post to Harry a lot but he knew him. Harry had been terrified when Orestis flew straight to him. The bird had huge talons. Harry couldn’t risk offending the bird. He held his arm out instead. Orestis was asking to be relived of his burden. Ginny was simply staring in horror. So Harry put the owl on the couch, sank onto it and took off the Portkeys. And then the letter started talking.

It begged her to come home more often.

Harry rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Contacts made his eyes itchy after a while. A small, soft hand landed on his knee. It was warm. She started to take her hand away. Harry dropped his hand over hers, keeping it there. He felt his pulse race. He dragged his other hand through his hair as he looked up at her.

“Are you a wizard?”

He couldn’t lie to her. But he already had. He couldn’t keep doing it. But he couldn’t start telling her the truth. She turned her hand over and her fingers stroked his palm gently. She didn’t seem in a hurry to get rid of him (but neither had Samantha Jenkins when handed him the Floo powder and ushered him out). Ginny’s hand was soft. It wasn’t calloused like his own. Like the bump on his finger from filling out paperwork.

Or the callous on his left thumb from riding his broomstick.

Harry wondered if she’d noticed. She didn’t have them anymore. Because she wasn’t magic anymore. And didn’t want to be with wizards anymore. She was wearing a Muggle work uniform. And Muggle stockings (that made her legs look bloody fantastic). Harry clutched compulsively at the couch he was sitting on. He watched Ginny’s feet shift as she leaned closer. She tugged at his hand. Gently.

Harry had the absurd feeling that she wanted him to stay. Which was obviously his feverish imagination working overtime. Ginny hated anything magical now. And she’d never liked him. Not enough to let him stay. Not now. But he couldn’t leave. She still had his hand. Was stroking it with her own.

“I should go home,” Harry said instead.

“No. Stay.”

She squeezed his hand and he looked up at her. She shook her head slightly. Harry felt her smooth, soft hand, still under his own. His thumb brushed her wrist again. Her pulse sped up.

His matched it.

Maybe she didn’t notice his calluses. She’d never held Harry’s hand before. So she couldn’t know. Harry watched her as she took a deep breath. As she shook the blonde hair out of her face. As she looked at him intently. Harry didn’t say anything. He still hadn’t answered her question. She hadn’t asked it again. But she was watching him, to see if he would tell her (probably so she could throw him out). Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and she took a breath.

“Those are Portkeys,” she said.

Harry knew they were Portkeys. She must have decided he was a wizard. Harry nodded. Answering her question. Confirming her statement. Giving up his secret. Neville told him to tell her that he was Harry. But he couldn’t do it. Would Neville be disappointed in him? Harry didn’t know. There were a lot of things about Neville that Harry didn’t know. He thought maybe Neville knew more about him. Neville knew how to unlock things. Not doors. Feelings. Neville knew how Harry felt. And Harry hadn’t had to tell him.

“So I can go home,” Ginny said.

She was talking about the Portkeys. She told him that she didn’t really belong here in this little cottage. In this world. That she didn’t belong in the crooked house anymore. That she didn’t belong in this world either. But she couldn’t stay in that world and she couldn’t stay in this world but she had nowhere else to be. And no one who loved her the way she was. Without her magic.

Harry thought she might have broken his heart.

She thought no one loved her. When her family loved her so much they were hurting because she was gone. When he loved her more than anything in the world. When he would do absolutely anything for her, even stay away from her. He had never understood why Ginny wanted to leave. He had never understood what she was thinking when she left. Harry always thought she just wanted to get away from them. Because people with magic were freaks. Because she could have such a better life with normal people. Away from him. She would be happier.

But Ginny didn’t seem at all happy.

Harry closed his hand around hers. If he let her go, he would never get her back. He knew that somehow. Orestis hooted at him again and hopped impatiently. Harry conjured an owl treat wordlessly. It was oddly shaped (his left hand produced wonky magic sometimes). And offered it to Orestis. The owl snatched it from his outstretched hand and flew out of the window above the kitchen sink.

“I —I — I should explain …”

Harry frowned. He wondered how much to tell her. And then his mouth opened and he told her. That he didn’t know where he belonged either. That he didn’t belong in this world and he didn’t belong in that world. And no one loved him the way he was. Except Neville, he thought. But he didn’t tell her about Neville, because then she would know and she would make him leave. And he couldn’t bear it if she made him walk away from her the way she had walked away from him.

He couldn’t give away all his secrets.
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