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Forest | ||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Drama Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 14 Summary: Funny how you don't notice the little things until you come to regret missing out on them. Hitcount: Story Total: 4669 |
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Forests * Harry watches her hair often, the way it shines subtly in sunlight, falls down past her shoulders and sweeps his arm whenever they walk side-by-side. There's something about the motion of it that entrances him, not just the colour. Ron has the colour, so do the twins, but he's never watched Ron or the twins this way. The colour is a precursor to the grace of the hair, the head it falls from, the face that it sometimes frames when it's not tied up. It's sweeping his arm right now, as they walk to the little grove behind the Burrow together, Ginny talking and laughing and smiling at him. She's leading the way, like she always does, and Harry is struck by the willingness of his obedience. I would follow such beauty, he thinks. I would follow her into these woods every night if I could, if she would lead. Its hard to imagine that the youngest of the Weasley's could ever be described as "beautiful" but Ginny really is. She's not beautiful the way Cho is, not sparkling and perfect. Her eyes are too far apart for that sort of beauty, her smile too crooked. She's not as upright and dignified as Hermione, with stature that freezes your being and captivates. She's flawed, like every semi-precious stone, not hard or shiny enough to be a diamond but still worthy of it's own accord. She's like a chipped emerald, one that appeals to my eyes, as green as they are she still outweighs them. You can feel her lips on yours, sweetly pressing, eyes closed. But Harry doesn't close his own, he watches, observes, incapable of letting any moment pass without indulging himself in her. He stares, fascinated, at her hands, like dusty ivory, resting lightly on his shoulder, on his cheek. Funny how you don't notice the little things until you come to regret missing out on them. I would follow you, he says silently into her hair, falling sleekly over his ear. I would walk into this forest, and the next, and the one after that, only to be behind you forever. But you don't seem to understand that. The kiss ends, as briefly as it began. They never kiss for long, Ginny floats in and out of his reality like a butterfly, passing and dropping fleeting whispers on his lips, only to withdraw and lure him away. She plays a game with him, a game where they chase themselves in and out of each other, switching roles, taking demands and following orders. When I was eleven I was the commander, he thinks, taking her hand and pulling her close to him. She laughs and breathes deeply the scent of his strawberry stained collar. The sleeve of her fuzzy sweater, circling the arm slung over his shoulder, nuzzles his neck. She makes a noise between a sigh and the purring of a contented cat and around them crumpled leaves fall. Now I am no longer the one in control. "Close your eyes," she commands, as if proof of his thoughts. "I'm not a dream, I won't fly away." Aren't you? If I close my eyes, will you evaporate, taking every last strand of your hair with you? Do you belong here? To me? Do I belong to you? "We're on the end of the path," she says softly. "Stop here, Harry." Harry finds it difficult to ascertain where he ends, and she begins, regardless of where the path ends. But he stops anyway, even though his feet itch to go on. She pulls him down to the soft ground, padded with dirt and broken twigs and stray leaves. The sun shines steadily above them, adamantly refusing to set, as though it is envious of them and cares not to provide a glorious view. He wraps his arms around her, feeling uncontrollably possessive. Do you remember when you loved me so much it hurt to look at me? I understand how that feels now. I understand what it's like to think, follow, dream endlessly. It's a power that I couldn't fathom before, a power that I know I abused by neglecting it. But you aren't doing the same. He kisses her cheek, trying to convey with simple gestures a portion of the overwhelming desire that fills his being. Ginny suddenly shivers in his arms, but it is not cold. "Let's go back," she whispers, breaking his hold. He lets go. Are you afraid? He wonders. Is that why you shy away from me? You tease me with little kisses, but you never fulfill the promises they make. Do you worry that I don't love you the way I am supposed to? Harry follows Ginny out of the forest, feeling the whispers of the tree branches mock him with their cracked autumn voices. I could ask her now, he thinks, I could ask her if she loves me if she cares if she could ever release the past like dried, fallen leaves. I could ask her, but I fear the answer. * |
| Reviews 14 |
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