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The Burrow
August 1996
Harry woke suddenly when he felt a palm press over his mouth. He reached instinctively for his wand on the bedside table before he caught the floral scent that told him it was Ginny, and not a rogue Death Eater, who had him pinned in his bed.
“Shh, be quiet,” Ginny said in a whisper, glancing over at Ron’s bed to ensure he was still asleep. “Come with me, and don’t make a sound.”
Harry was intrigued. He definitely had not expected the petite redhead to come into his room in the middle of the night. Ginny was his best friend’s little sister, and while they had become friends as well, it certainly wasn’t the kind of friendship that resulted in secret midnight rendezvous.
At least, it hadn’t before tonight.
After only a moment’s hesitation, Harry got up, grabbed his glasses and his jumper, and followed Ginny quietly down the stairs. She looked behind her and smiled when she saw him following, as though she wasn’t quite sure that he would.
She stopped suddenly, and Harry almost ran into her before he caught himself. She pointed down at the step in front, and then gracefully hopped over it to the next one down. That one squeaks, Harry understood, and skipped it as well.
Ginny led Harry out the back door of the Burrow, and they walked quietly to the broom shed, where Ginny grabbed a pair of brooms. She handed one to Harry with a small smile.
“What are we doing?” Harry asked, knowing that whatever the answer was, he was willing to join her.
“Flying,” Ginny replied quickly. At the continued confusion on his face, she went on. “You’ve looked like you could use an escape, and there’s nothing more freeing than flying at night while everyone else sleeps. We can fly as high as we want since no one can see us. Have you ever flown at night, Harry?”
Harry smiled down at her. “Not yet, but let’s change that.”
The moment Harry’s feet left the ground, he knew that Ginny had been right. He needed an escape, and this - this was perfect. All the stress of Voldemort’s return, Cedric’s death, the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, and the death of - Harry struggled to even think of his godfather’s name - weighed down on him. But up here? Flying through the night air, where not a soul (save Ginny) could see him, and he was free. Free. The weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.
Harry glanced to his left, where he could just see the shape of Ginny flying next to him in the low moonlight. She did not crowd him or try to talk to him, which he appreciated. She simply flew with him, letting him set the pace and the path as they flew up over the grove that served as a makeshift pitch and across the nearby fields.
Harry found his mind focusing on Ginny as she flew beside him. No longer was she the little girl from the Chamber; the small scared child who quivered on the slimy floor; the starstruck child whose elbow fell in the butter dish because he was in the room. In the past three years, she had grown into someone strong and confident. She was someone he had come to rely upon, to trust, and he realized that he really enjoyed her company.
Fatigue from the late hour began to seep into his body, and Harry swung back around to the grove for a landing. Harry dropped his broom and collapsed on the ground, arms and legs flung out away from his body. Ginny landed and laid down beside him - not so close that they were touching, but close enough that he could have reached out and took her hand if he felt inclined.
For a few minutes, they merely laid next to each other looking at the stars. It was such a peaceful, quiet night, and Harry was so calm after their flight, that it was easy to pretend like this was normal and nothing was wrong in the world. Harry didn’t want it to end.
“That was brilliant,” Harry said, turning on his side to face her. “Thank you for bringing me out.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, still looking up at the sky. “It always calmed me down, and I thought it could help you too.”
“I didn’t even know I needed it until we were in the air. How did you know?”
Ginny turned to face him at last. “I could tell just by the way you were standing and talking that it was all getting to you.” Her brown eyes found his green one, and Harry felt something like a small flutter in the pit of his stomach. “I see you, Harry.”
Suddenly, a vision flashed in Harry’s mind of him reaching out to her and kissing her soundly. Harry rolled back and shook his head, unsure of where that thought came from. He had just pictured kissing his best friend’s little sister. It must be the exhaustion setting in.
“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering her a hand. “We better get back inside before your mom finds our beds empty.”
She grabbed his offered hand to stand, then released it to grab their brooms. As they walked back to the broom shed and on to the Burrow, Harry couldn’t help noticing that the warmth from her hand still lingered pleasantly in his own.
*****
The Burrow
July 28, 1997
A palm to his mouth had Harry gripping the wand he kept under his pillow even before he opened his eyes. However, reminiscent of the previous summer, the hand belonged to a petite redhead who was telling him to be quiet while beckoning her to follow him.
Like the previous year, Harry followed Ginny down the steps, skipping the one that squeaked, and making their way to the broom shed.
Silence rang out between them. Harry did not ask for and Ginny did not offer an explanation. Neither needed the explanation; both craved the other's company.
Harry kicked off from the ground on the borrowed broom. He forced himself to not think of his old broom and the night it was lost, nor everything else lost that night. As he leveled out over the grove trees, he closed his eyes and let himself feel the wind in his hair. He felt all the stress and worry, pain and fear, fall away to the field below. He simply flew, and let the whole world fall away.
After some time, he looked to his left and found Ginny there. Her face was set in an unreadable mask, but Harry could see the concern seeping through her eyes. With a jerk of his head to show his intentions, he flew back to the grove with Ginny keeping pace beside him.
Like the previous year, he landed and collapsed on the ground, exhaustion filling his body. He closed his eyes, but heard Ginny land and lay out beside him. For a few minutes, they lay there in complete silence.
Drawn by something he couldn't explain, Harry felt his fingers reaching for her, and found her hand a few scant inches away. He grabbed her hand wordlessly, and laced his fingers with hers. He felt her give his hand a light squeeze, which he returned.
Neither of them moved to separate or to close the distance between them. Neither of them spoke. And yet, through their connected fingers, Harry felt a thousand things pass between them. The things they had said, the things they had left unsaid, and the things that they never had the chance to say all passed between their interned fingers. Behind his closed eyes, Harry allowed himself the absolute torture of what life with Ginny could have looked like if he were not the Chosen One.
They could have had months together, or years. They would pass the sunlit days together. Harry could see himself proposing, down on his knee with a ring held up between them. He could see her standing next to him, dressed in white, in front of all of their family and friends. He could see the house they would live in together, and lazy weekend morning spent in each other's arms. He could see her pregnant, giving birth, holding his child. He could see them standing in the kitchen, surrounded by nameless, faceless children, and kissing and laughing over blueberry muffins. He could see them seeing the Hogwarts Express off with their children on board for the first time and the last time. He could see them laughing, dancing, running, flying -- thousands of happy moments of a life spent together. Always happy, because a life with Ginny would be full of happy moments.
Harry opened his eyes, shaking his head to clear it. He took in a shaky breath, dragging himself out of the fantasy of a life with Ginny. It was not his life to live. Not now; not while there was a price on his head and a monster who needed to be stopped. Maybe someday…
But no, he couldn't think that way. He couldn't hold her back from a happy life while his future was so uncertain.
Harry made to stand and offered her his hand. He didn't let go when she was standing, or when they replaced the brooms in the shed, or when they walked back to the Burrow. When they reached the back door, Ginny gave his hand a squeeze, then let go. Without a word, without a backwards glance, they walked inside, up the stairs, and returned to their beds.
*****
The Burrow
May 18, 1998
Harry sat in the kitchen, sipping tea despite the late hour. He could not sleep, his body still trained to serve his watch, not yet acclimated to the relative safety that the end of the war afforded.
A creak on the stairs caused Harry to turn and jump, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, before the petite redhead appeared at the bottom. She walked forward, either not seeing or ignoring his ready wand pointed at her before his tense body allowed his arm to drop.
Ginny grabbed his cup and took a sip of his tea so casually that she might have done it every day. She set the cup down, grabbed his hand, and pulled him behind her out the back door.
Harry walked with her to the broom shed, and took the broom she offered. It had been nearly a year since he had flown - not since the last time she handed him a broom. Well, other than on the back of a dragon, but that hardly counted.
Harry swung his leg over the broom, feeling the familiar lifting sensation as he kicked off the ground. He felt the wind rush through his hair, and tried not to think about…
He tried to picture everything that happened in the last year falling away from him, crashing back to the ground. He told himself to not think of them, not to picture their names and faces, not to see their graves, lined up one after another in neat little rows.
No matter what he did or thought, Harry couldn't stop thinking of the Fallen Fifty. Fifty of his friends, his family, who died for him. Fifty people whose lives ended too early.
And it was all his fault.
Much sooner than expected, Harry turned his broom back and landed in the grove. Even the thrill of flying couldn't clear his head anymore.
Harry sat on the ground, broom tossed aside, with his head in his hands. Without looking, he felt Ginny land next to him and sit beside him. She didn't say anything or touch him, but just let him sit in the quiet.
"I can't stop seeing them," he said eventually, hand still covering his face.
"Who?"
"Everyone who died because of me. The Fallen 50. Colin and Remus and Tonks and Fr-Fred." Harry faltered on the last name. "Shit, Ginny. I'm sorry. I shouldn't bother you with this." Harry stood up, looking around as though wanting a place to escape. "I shouldn't be here. I'm making this too hard for all of you. I should go. I'll go."
Ginny caught his hand as he tried to walk away. "Harry, stop. You don't have to go anywhere." Harry gave her a doubtful look, still itching to run and hide. "Screw that. I won't let you leave. I want you to talk to me." For a moment, neither of them spoke and neither of them moved. "Please talk to me?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, still standing, still holding her hand, trying to decide if he would stay or go. With a great exhale, Harry sank to the ground again, sitting next to Ginny, but facing the opposite way. He dropped her hand and hid his face in his hands. She gently placed her hand on his arm, and he began.
He told her everything. The prophecy. Meetings with Dumbledore. Horcruxes. The cave. The Astronomy Tower. Staying at Grimmauld Place. The doubts about Dumbledore. Ron leaving. Visiting Godric's Hollow. Almost dying at Godric's Hollow. Ron returning. Malfoy Manor. Dobby. The grave. Shell Cottage. The Hallows. Gringotts. Returning to Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement. The Shrieking Shack. Snape's memories.
Harry pauses. For the first time since he started his story, he looked at her. She hadn't said a word since he began, though her hand never left his arm. Harry saw now that she had silent tears streaming down her face. He wished he knew when they started. Ginny was always so strong and so tough. She never cried, at least not where she could be seen, so it shook Harry to see those tears now.
"I-I don't know if you want to hear the rest."
"Yes." Her voice came out as a croak. She coughed slightly. "Sorry. Yes, I want to hear it. If you want to tell me, that is. I want to hear it all." Harry grabbed her hand from his arm, placed a kiss on her knuckles, and intertwined his fingers with hers.
He went on, telling her about leaving the castle without saying goodbye to anyone. He told her about seeing her on the grounds, standing over the young girl. He told her about walking to the forest, summoning his family, and walking with them to the clearing. All the while, he held her hand, stroking her fingers with his thumb.
“At the very end, I just stood in front of him. I put my wand away. I didn't fight him. I just let him kill me." Tears streamed down Ginny's face again, silent but present on her cheeks. "I thought of you. In those last moments, all I could see was your face. I pictured you the way you were just before you kissed me the first time. Running toward me and with that look in your eye. It was - it was a wonderful last thought."
"You thought of me?" Ginny's voice came out as barely a whisper.
"Yes."
"You thought of me, and then you died."
"Yes."
Ginny looked at Harry for a moment, unmoving but with an energy like she was on the edge of an important decision. A look of resolve settled over her face. "I'm going to kiss you now. If that's not okay, you need to tell me because I rea-"
Suddenly, she was in his lap, having been pulled there by their joined hands, and his lips were on hers in a rough, bruising manner. His arms were around her waist, and she buried her hands in his hair. After several long minutes, or hours, or possibly days, they broke apart, only for Ginny's lips to seek out his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his forehead, and his mouth again.
She pressed her forehead against his, slightly breathless from her ministrations, lips swollen and red.
"I wish - I wish I could kiss away all of your scars. I wish I could hug away all of your pain."
"I don't know that it will work, but I really, really want you to try." He kissed her again, this time gentler than the first, his lips just a whisper against hers. "This is better than flying."
"Mmm. Yes, it is."
"Can we do it again?" It was really a pointless question, as he was already kissing her again.
"As many times as you need."