Written for Hinny Discord's 2022 Incognito Elf Exchange.
As always, please review if you have the chance :)
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Coming Up for Air | ||||
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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Fluff Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence/Physical Abuse Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 4 Summary: It was easier to talk at night, when she couldn't sleep and his guard was down. Harry learns details about Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts. Hitcount: Story Total: 1747 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights ? J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: |
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It quickly became a commodity in the house, the potion for dreamless sleep. They’d all been back at the Burrow for two weeks, and the routine was for her mum to send someone into the village every few days for more peppermint or lavender while the newest batch stewed. It had all started with Mum, too; she’d been such a wreck after Fred’s funeral that Ginny’s dad had fetched the purple bottle from the medicine cabinet where it had been gathering dust. The rest of them adopted the bedtime ritual, too. Those first few nights were so bad“ time seemed not to matter at all and Ron shouted in his sleep and Harry hexed Arthur from the sofa when he was startled awake“ that it became the most selfless option in such a crowded house. Ginny couldn’t bring herself to take the potion. And no one offered it to her, not after the first time, when she’d woken in a blind panic with no memory of the night. All of that time, missing. Just like when her diary had been in control all those years ago. It was easier to sleep during the day, and they’d all done a lot of that. The Burrow felt transient; friends and family stopped by to share Ministry news and offer condolences as the hours stretched sporadically into days. Meanwhile, the first tendrils of summer air unfurled across the English countryside, mocking them, and no one could find the energy to take advantage. A pit formed in Ginny’s stomach whenever she thought back to the last time the days had sprawled out longer and sunnier. It was the same choked feeling she’d get thinking about what future Christmases might be like, or whether George would ever go into the shop again, and when the thoughts threatened to overwhelm her she napped instead. Or else she would lay, sideways and listless on her bed, waiting for sleep to come. Quieting her thoughts was more difficult after dark. Ginny would sit up in bed to a backdrop of Hermione’s quiet, even breathing, fighting the pull of exhaustion while she looped yarn around her needles and counted rows in the pale shafts of moonlight. She’d started knitting over that dark Christmas holiday, after finding Hermione’s canvas bag of yarn in Ron’s abandoned room. It had occupied her while she listened for Potterwatch passwords, drowning out the ringing echoes of absence through the house as best she could. These days, her progress was hampered by darkness, but she reckoned her scarf was nearly long enough to finish, and then she would get Hermione to teach her to make a hat. Most mornings she woke with the needles in her lap or on the floor, reeling from the terrors of That Night that danced behind her eyelids like elusive ghosts. Tonight, she didn’t get far with her knitting. Colin’s wake that morning had been exhausting and disorienting; Harry had withdrawn and brooded with guilt; and the Evening Prophet had only brought more news of supply shortages and still-missing persons. Ginny had called it an early night, and barely finished one row before she was drifting into the gray place between sleeping and waking. And sleep seductively awaited, lapping at the edges of half-formed thoughts, tugging like a gentle breeze, an easy choice… she wondered why she’d ever been fighting it, anyway. The figures were vague at first, lurking behind shadows and between the trees in forests transformed and forgotten. But the shapes twisted and warped, sharpening into people. Figments and true memories. Flashes and screams… choking panic, and spaces too small to hide… empty stares from bodies on the ground, heavy and lifeless as she searched among them… someone’s hot breath in her face, a claw-like hand on her knee and an unintelligible screech, a wand poised with the next Crucio crackling through the air… A gasp ripped through Ginny’s chest as she was startled awake. Something touched her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, Harry’s face was there. His voice came in a rumble, thick with sleep. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe.” She blinked at him, tears drying on her cheeks while her throat ached. The silence pressed on her ears as she pushed the hair off her face, adjusting to the dark. His eyes were wide and bright with concern. His hand lingered on her shoulder as her confusion ebbed, giving away to a flush of humiliation. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you all the way from Ron’s room? Even on the draught? Is Hermione-?” she glanced across the room toward an empty camp bed. “No, she’s been in Ron’s room. It’s late; I was just going down for water. I didn’t take potion.” His fingers brushed her cheek before he withdrew his hand, dropping his gaze to the floor. She swallowed. “Oh. Sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.” He sat carefully on the edge of the bed and considered her for a moment. “Budge over.” Blinking in surprise, Ginny moved so he could sit beside her against the headboard. He shifted as though to put an arm around her, then seemed to decide against it. “Why didn’t you take anything?” He shrugged, contemplating his hands. “I knew you haven’t been, and it seems like you’re not sleeping. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, I guess.” Ginny frowned. Her eyes prickled irritatingly again. “You didn’t have to do that… I am fine. Honestly.” He looked at her disbelievingly for a long moment before ignoring her comment. “Well, plus the potion doesn’t feel as effective as when I first took it. I’ve been getting these weird flashes and glimpses again. And I don’t want to take a bigger dose.” Ginny rested her head back to gaze at the ceiling. “Yeah, I’ve heard that’s how you get addicted. My old Uncle Albert was up to a bottle a night by the time he died. That’s why Mum brews such small batches.” “Mhm,” was his reply. His hand slid carefully closer to hers across the quilt, and he began rubbing slow, soothing circles against her arm. “I’m sorry it’s not working, though. I hope those dreams don’t come back,” she whispered. “Me too,” he replied with a dark look, and his voice was lower than before. Was he feeling the same heat, rippling across his skin from where they touched? Their time together in the last weeks had been fleeting conversations and comforting touch, or silences filled with guilt and solace, anger and respite. This was… different. The moment stretched, growing heavy, fizzling with something other than relief. And then he lowered his lips to her hair behind her ear, his hand trailing down her arm to entwine their fingers as he nuzzled her jaw, his cheek rough against her skin. Ginny faced him and traced his cheek. His eyes closed at her touch, and she stretched up to kiss him softly. He responded languidly at first, and then with more urgency as she reached for him, caressing his chest, her hand curling into his shirt. He took her wrist in his hand when they broke apart. “You should sleep. You look exhausted.” She pulled back, feeling a warm prickle descending down the back of her neck. “Erm, okay, yeah. You too. Hopefully Ron’s asleep when you go back up there.” Harry gave her an odd look, and then his eyes seemed to plead with her. “Are you okay, Ginny?” The automatic 'yes' that rose to her lips died beneath his piercing gaze, the question leaving her exposed and raw. “As alright as any of us, I guess.” He frowned, avoiding her eyes. “I can, er… stay, if you’d like. I was just thinking… There were a lot of nights when I felt like having someone there would have made it easier. But I’ll go if you want,” he added quickly. Ginny’s voice caught in her throat. It hurt, hearing him drop those details so casually about their time away. At the same time, his offer sent her stomach swooping; it was certainly a departure from the detached moodiness, the quiet isolation he seemed to crave since he’d been home. “No, you should stay,” she breathed. She shifted over further as he grabbed a throw pillow from the floor and slipped under the quilt. It was strange, having him beneath the covers with her, his body so close on the small bed. She was suddenly too mindful of her ensemble of Bill’s ten-year-old flannel bottoms and Ron’s threadbare Cannons t-shirt. She felt his gaze; he was giving her that same look as before. “Do you want to talk about it?” “Talk about what?” “What you were dreaming about?” “I thought you said I should sleep.” His lip quirked. “Can we just try this first?” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I dunno. It wasn’t really one thing in particular. I suppose it’s what you’d expect… all things considered.” “Most of us aren’t having dreams right now, Gin,” he said quietly. “Look I know I’m bollocks at this, but I think it helps. Dumbledore-” he cut off swiftly. “Well, it’s what he always said.” Ginny softened, recognizing his beseechment. He was trying. She was quiet as she tried to recall the images, sorting dreams from real memories in a tired, confused haze. The pipes above them groaned softly. “You can tell me,” he urged gently. She met his eyes, so open and tender, so different from the haunted, hollow look she’d grown used to. In the dark, he was less guarded than she’d seen since last spring. “I usually just dream about people dying. You know, Fred. My mum.” You, she added silently. “And Tom just watches it all. The Tom from my diary.” Harry took a steadying breath, waiting for her to continue. “Usually I’m trying to… to find everyone’s body. Bring them home. And I get a lot of flashes from detentions with Carrow and Nott.” “Nott?” His voice was curious, but she detected a slight edge. “Yeah, he was Alecto’s favorite. He got really good at the curses. She tried using Zabini at first, probably because she just liked looking at him.” Harry’s voice was measured. “She made him torture you?” Ginny nodded. “I didn’t exactly behave myself. And coming from this family, with ties to you and Dumbledore, she knew what I was about.” “Ties to me.” She let out a breath. She’d wanted to avoid it; it had been easy to circumvent thus far. But he must have known that his plan hadn’t worked. That no one had believed they’d split. That even if they had, it wouldn’t have mattered. “Yeah, you know. Being Ron’s sister and everything. And rumors spread from… from last year. It was hard to convince people we weren’t… Anyway, they thought I knew where you were. Thought I had a lot of information, actually.” She noticed a hitch in his breath, but his face remained impassive. “This happened a lot,” he guessed. “Especially after we tried to steal the sword, yeah. They’d find any reason. And Nott…” she trailed off, overcome suddenly by images of his manic gleam as he’d cast the curse. Of him pulling her up by her hair, forcing her head back to whisper promises of more pain, more punishment for being a filthy blood traitor. For resisting. “Ginny?” Harry pressed. She hesitated. She couldn’t exactly describe the way she was thrown around, humiliated… the way he had slowly detailed exactly how he was going to make it worse for her while Alecto’s shrill jeers echoed off the walls. Harry didn’t need to hear that; she’d been on the other side enough to know how it felt. But she was too far in to say nothing. “He… well, he was just like any of them.” Her forced casualness was betrayed by a shiver that he was too close not to feel. “Eager to make the Carrows proud. Obviously, I didn’t know anything about where you lot were, but I’m not even sure that’s what they were really after. He was just in it… for the fun, I think.” Harry’s breath sounded sort of like he’d been hit in the stomach. “I’m sorry,” she whispered when his carefully stoic mask slipped. He looked at her sharply. “Why are you sorry?” I don’t want to keep hurting you, she thought. “I know you think it’s your fault Hogwarts was like this, but it isn’t.” The breath he let out was halfway between a humorless laugh and a groan, and he rolled onto his back, staring agitatedly at the ceiling. “I’m not thinking about whether or not it was my fault. I… I’m mostly trying not to blow up a lamp or something by mistake right now. Wouldn’t want to wake anyone.” “You’re angry.” “Not at you.” “I know.” Ginny twisted the hem of the sheet around her finger. “We should talk about something else.” He was quiet for a moment, but she felt a fissure spreading silently between them. His outrage had pierced their little bubble, and she sensed his brooding silence slinking back into the room. “I’m sorry,” he surprised her by saying suddenly. His voice was rough. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. And…” he took a shuddering breath. “Fuck, you’re right, it just hurts, imagining… But you put up with this shit too, talking about Horcruxes, and… I’m sorry.” Ginny grinned wryly despite them both, thinking she must be mad. “Wanna talk about it? Someone told me it’s supposed to help.” The corner of his lip turned up, at odds with the agonized look he gave her. “This isn’t about me, Gin. I just…” the way he sighed made her think he might cry, which terrified her. “All I can think of is when Bellatrix had Hermione. We were at Malfoy Manor, and we couldn’t get to her, and all we could do was listen to her screaming. I still hear it sometimes. It was one of the worst things I could… And Ron, he was shouting too, and…” he swallowed, blinking hard, and his green eyes burned when he opened them. “I’ve imagined what it would feel like, what I’d do, if it had been you. And I knew the Carrows were bad. I just… I never thought… Stupid of me, I guess.” His voice broke. Ginny glanced numbly toward Hermione’s bed. A year ago, she wouldn’t have been able to fathom her friend’s body arching off the floor, writhing in pain as she screamed. But now the picture was too clear, the sounds the same ones that had been torn from Ginny’s own lips. “You know,” he continued with a scowl. “If I thought it would be safer… if I’d known we’d be better off out there than you lot were at school, I would have tried to… I dunno, maybe you could have…” he trailed off helplessly, desperate to fix it all. She moved a trembling finger to his jaw, stroking his cheek. “Stop that. You weren’t safer out there… listen to what you just said about Hermione. And I still have the Trace. Besides, Snape didn’t want students to die.” “Sounds like you and Neville nearly did, from what I’ve heard,” he bit back savagely. She forced a shrug. The memories of tortured wails rang in her ears through the pressing silence, and Hermione lingered behind her eyes. “All they were allowed to do was torture us. He was very clear and strict with the Carrows about that. He probably didn’t want to deal with the logistics, the wanker.” Harry fell into a pensive silence. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, sending pleasant tingles down her back, and as he stroked her hair his breath evened and slowed. It reminded her of her mother. She had lay here, too, that summer after Ginny’s first year, combing with her fingers until long after Ginny had fallen asleep. It had given Molly an excuse to stay by her bedside, reassuring herself that her daughter was alive. Ginny had been so much smaller then. Her mother had slept comfortably beside her on the bed. Now, with her body curled against Harry’s so they could both fit, she was aware of every place they touched. She took a breath and decided it was time for a change in subject. “Speaking of Neville, by the way, he and Luna have been writing back and forth a lot… I wonder if they’ll make a go of things. He’s so patient with her, and he was so worried when she was missing… I think they’d be good together, don’t you?” Harry stared at her for a long moment before he sighed, his face anguished again. Clearly, he wouldn’t be distracted so easily. “Gin, I’m-” “Let’s not,” she interrupted. Now she was the one with tears stinging her eyes. She wouldn’t keep letting him cut himself up with the details, not when his pain swelled with hers and threatened to crush her. “No more tonight. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m fine. We’re all fine.” “Okay.” His hand fell to her waist, caressing her side. He’d taken on a moody, faraway look, and she knew that he still wouldn’t let it go, that nothing she could say would pull him from his thoughts. So she kissed him instead. He was hesitant for a moment, surprised, but then he was kissing her deeper than before, his grip tightening and pulling her closer. His lips moved to her jaw, her temple, back to her mouth. Ginny’s hands slid up his chest, lingering before she cupped his face and tangled them in his hair. She realized he hadn’t kissed her like this since all those months ago, not since she’d tried to carve out a moment for him, a gift before he left, even while it tore her apart. They’d been in this room then, too, and she’d been terrified of the Trace being lifted, of the real possibility of waking up one morning and realizing they were gone. Standing in front of him then had brought back every feeling she’d staved off all summer and made them all so tangible, so gripping, that she’d tried to stamp all of it down again and just kiss him, just feel him against her. Now, though, she felt clearer. She could let it consume her, let it be about them… and instead of suppressing it, she allowed the pain from those months to seep in. To strengthen her grip, to let her lips and skin yield to him. To let him heal her. The darkness shrouded them as he swept her hair aside, casting his glasses onto the table and pressing open-mouthed kisses against her shoulder. His hand traveled up her side and she arched against him, pulling his face back to hers. Their teeth clashed as he reclaimed her mouth. “Ginny…” he mumbled reverently against her lips. His fingers grazed back down, past her waist and wrapping around her thigh“ she ached for how much she’d missed his touch“ and he drew her knee across his legs. They both froze when they heard a loud creak from the hall. They met each other’s wide eyes as light flooded the space beneath the door. When they heard the washroom door close with a clumsy thud, his eyes fell closed in relief. “It’s fine,” she breathed, but Harry’s face reflected a discomfort that Ginny felt too, as though someone had poured cold water on them both. There was no reason Hermione couldn’t come back in at any moment; she was never in the attic for longer than a few hours with Harry there. “Maybe we should…” she murmured at the same time as he said, “I think it’d be best if…” and she nodded in agreement. But his eyes held hers with the same burning intensity as before. The hand on her thigh shifted to the small of her back, and she was made aware of how entangled they’d become. “We need to sleep,” he whispered, making no effort to move. “I know.” She was realizing with a giddy thrill how elusive sleep would be with him beside her. He searched her face, his fingers smoothing her hair back again, and then his features clouded over. “What’s wrong?” He shook his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Nothing. I’m just“” he sighed. “I missed you.” “Me too.” He dipped his head to kiss her softly, but within a moment they’d deepened it again and he was holding her closer. He sucked in a breath when her leg slid against his, creating a familiar friction that had been nothing but a memory for far too long. “This isn’t why I asked to stay, for the record,” he admonished into her neck, but she felt him smile against her skin. “I know.” She pulled him closer against her. The soft groan in the back of his throat was almost inaudible, but sent a shiver down her back nonetheless. His lips sought hers again, and his hand slipped beneath her top to her waist. Her hips rolled against his as her hands drifted beneath his shirt, sliding it up his stomach. “Hang on,” Harry stopped abruptly, intertwining his fingers with hers to pull them away. His eyes were dark and reproachful. “Sorry,” she murmured at once as humiliation and disappointment quickly settled in her stomach. “We can stop.” He studied her carefully through the moonlight, his face uneasy. “No, it’s just that… you should know…” his brow furrowed as he sighed in frustration. “There’s still a lot I need to explain to you.” Her heavy disappointment turned to fear that bubbled through her chest as his words sank in. “Finally get that Horntail tattoo?” she breathed weakly. He gave a shaky laugh. “Not exactly. Maybe… maybe just another time, yeah?” He cast a glance toward the door again. The light in the hall had gone out. “We should really try to sleep.” Something had shifted between them; she’d touched a nerve and could tell that this time he meant it. She withdrew her leg from around him, but they were still touching from shoulder to hip. Did he know they were kidding themselves about sleeping? Ginny couldn’t help imagining the new scars he didn’t want to show her, the stories behind them. She wasn’t sure what her face looked like, but a moment later his fingers were lacing through hers again as he smiled weakly. “I’m sorry. It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, I promise.” She contented herself with placing a hand on his chest. The weight in her heart didn’t recede. “Okay.” Harry stroked the back of her palm, holding her gaze across the pillow. “Thanks for letting me stay,” he finally murmured. “Of course,” she mumbled, tracing circles against him. Her mouth tightened. “We’re pretty fucked up, aren’t we?” His eyes closed for a moment, but then he snorted. “Yeah, I guess we are.” And he held her closer while she shifted to fit against him. “But I think we’ll be okay.” As she predicted, they didn’t get much sleep at all. Time stretched out before them in a way it never had before. Harry’s eyes were intense and searching, and between their whispered conversations he breathed her name and kissed her as though trying to make up for what they’d lost, for everything that had happened. And in the brief moments when he did sleep, the tension and guilt receded from his features completely, affording her stolen glimpses of the boy she’d fallen so hard for by a lake under the sun. The darkness out the window had started to lift into a dim gray light by the time he reluctantly rose from the bed and slipped back upstairs. With heavy limbs and eyelids, Ginny felt herself dozing off toward a place more peaceful than she could remember. She knew they were both still hurting, that when she woke up everything would still be broken and raw and Harry would be just as guarded as always. But for the moment she let herself think that it could be like this again, at least when they were alone. His earnest gaze, his tender touches… tonight they had parted the clouds, pierced through the fog that morphed each day into the next with no relief, no light, no end in sight. And maybe he had a point. Maybe they weren’t inflicting new wounds, but healing open ones. Maybe Harry was right: they would be okay. |
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