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Harry wakes with a start. His heart is pounding, and his head is light. It takes a few blinks to reorient himself. The burrow– he’s at the burrow. The final battle concluded a few weeks ago; the Weasley’s have been working since to repair their home, as it had been destroyed by the death eaters in a raid. Mostly Arthur, Bill, Charlie, and Harry have been working on the repairs; Molly’s been laid up in her grief since Fred’s funeral a couple weeks ago, and George is right alongside her. Ron left for Australia with Hermione. Percy’s at the ministry. And Ginny’s been shouldering the role of homemaker by making sure everyone is fed while Molly’s unable.
With Ron and Hermione in Australia to recover Mr and Mrs Granger, Harry feels somewhat untethered. His friends were the only people who knew the whole story, who knew what he’d gone through those dreadful months on the run in that rotten tent. He and Ginny are like two ships in the night, lately; passing each other, but missing contact— never seeing. Harry’s been preoccupied helping set protective charms at the burrow with the other three Weasley’s that’ve taken up the reparations; at least, when he’s not running back and forth between the ministry to meet with Kingsley and his cabinet about what exactly went on (Merlin, how do you sensitively explain a horcrux as to not cause panic?), what they’re going to tell the public, and restructuring the government.
It’s in moments like these where Harry feels lost. Who does he go to? What’s keeping him here? He’s dying to go for a fly– but his broom’s in pieces, and he’s not going to go messing about in the broom shed with the brand new, still-being-set-up wards up over it.
He takes a shaky breath, and he rises to his feet. Wand in hand, Harry opens the door slowly so as to not make the hinges squeak– mostly out of habit, since they don’t squeak as harshly since being repaired. Walking down the stairs to the main floor from the attic requires at least some thought– skip the fifth step on the second flight and the third on the first. (Some things, especially in this magical home, never change).
Once safely at the landing, Harry makes his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He doesn’t particularly want tea, but the ritual of preparing it is the type of routine that would do his brain well right now. He putters up and down the kitchen, his steps light, pacing until the kettle whistles softly, in which he silently removes it from the stove and pours himself a mug of boiling water and plopping a chamomile tea bag into it. His glasses fog up from the steam.
Harry watches the water change color gradually. He looks into the water as he stirs the bag around by the string, creating a lazy vortex in the mug. It’s captivating– somewhat hypnotic to his nightmare-addled, sleep-ridden brain. Loud, lazy pats upon the floor wakes him from his state.
“Ginny?” Harry whispers as he turns, facing the noise. Ginny’s always been heavy-footed.
“Oh,” Ginny jumps slightly, “hello, Harry. You surprised me. What are you doing in the dark?”
Harry holds up his cup of tea to the redhead.
She nods, “Have enough for me?”
“You’ll have to steep it yourself,” Harry tells her. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
She shrugs before walking to the overhead cabinet to Harry’s left, reaching for a mug. Her shirt rides up, showing the slightest sliver of her skin as she does so. Harry’s eyes lock onto it– freckled and pale; the moonlight entering through the kitchen windows makes her look heavenly. He blushes, shameful, and averts his eyes to the floor, admonishing himself for thinking like a randy ponce.
“Sit?” Ginny asks, nodding towards the living room.
Harry nods.
The pair make themselves comfortable on the smaller, thread worn couch, warm and squashy. They’re pressed thigh-to-thigh, and their shoulders bump as they sip their teas.
“You had a nightmare?” Ginny guesses; Harry nods lazily, confirming her theory. “What about?”
“Honestly? I don’t really remember.” Harry admits.
Ginny hums in understanding, “I have nightmares like that, too. Sometimes they’re really vivid– and I think I’m really there. The Carrows with their wands drawn, and rushing first years to the room of requirement. Waking up is a relief, with those ones. Others I wake up just feeling… wrong. Scared, for some reason. But I can’t remember why. Though I suppose there isn’t really only one reason to be scared, is there?”
Harry shakes his head, “not anymore. I thought, after defeating Voldemort, everything would be okay. But, fuck, Gin, it’s been so hard. Rebuilding the ministry, talks with Kingsley, helping with repairs…. Sometimes, I feel like I'm doing too much. I don’t know what I’m doing. Everyone wants my help, but I don’t know how to help them. But— if I don't keep myself busy, I’ll break. I know I will.”
Ginny rests her head on Harry’s shoulder, and she closes her eyes. Harry turns his face into her hair, taking in the scent of her; she smells of the spice cabinet, the garden, and her vaguely floral shampoo. She smells like home, Harry thinks.
“I wish you wouldn’t run yourself so thin, Harry,” Ginny whispers. “It kills me to see you so stressed. Every time I’ve seen you these past weeks you’ve had a divot between your brows,” she raises her hand to clumsily poke him on the forehead, “I'm afraid you’ll get stuck like that, you know.”
“What, Stressed?”
“No, with a furrowed eyebrow. Can’t have you wrinkling this young, you know. People already think you’re a cradle robber, don’t need to make it look the part.”
Harry huffs a laugh into her hair. “I’m sorry I haven’t been spending time with you,” he mumbles.
Ginny shrugs minutely, “It’s alright; I’ve been busy trying to keep everyone together without mum around, too. It’ll settle.”
Harry hums in agreement. The pair sits in each other's company, letting their tea go cold, reducing the mug to hand warmers as they remain still. Time passes— Harry’s not sure how much— before it occurs to him that he doesn’t know why Ginny’s made it down here.
“Hey, Gin?” Harry nudges the woman next to him gently.
“Hmm?” Ginny replies sleepily.
“Why’d you come down in the middle of the night? Did I wake you?”
Ginny shifts a little, raising her head off Harry’s shoulder, “Oh, no. I was up with George. I gave him a small dose of dreamless sleep, and I came down to make sure I’d closed the cabinet. I didn’t know you were even down here. Actually, I was quite surprised to see you. You were moving so quietly.”
Harry shrugs, “Sorry. Force of habit, I suppose.”
“Don’t apologize for being quiet in the middle of the night, you silly man. What do you mean by force of habit? I promise you a little banging around in the kitchen isn’t going to wake anyone in this house. With nine of us, that’s par for the course.”
“Oh, um,” Harry stilts; he hadn’t told Ginny much about his time at the Dursleys– he preferred to put them far out of his mind when he was away from them, “when I lived with my aunt and uncle–”
“Those utter cockroaches” Ginny interrupted
“--They didn’t, um, feed me very well. Sometimes, I’d sneak out of my cupboard to the kitchen to grab something to eat. I got caught once, and… let’s just say I learned to move very silently after that.”
Ginny meets Harry’s eyes, full of concern, “your cupboard?”
Harry chokes on his spit, he hadn’t really meant to say that. “My Hogwarts letter was addressed to Mr. H Potter, Cupboard under the stairs. It’s where I slept until I got my letter and Vernon was concerned wizards were watching him.”
Ginny’s eyes are wide, bewildered, “Harry… that’s… fucked.”
“A little, yeah.”
“No, literally,” she sits herself up, turning her body towards Harry so they’re properly sitting face-to-face, “how are you not, like, evil?”
Harry looks at her perplexed, “Gin… I don’t… know how to answer that question…?”
Ginny grabs him by his shoulders, “you, Mr. Harry Potter, are the most resilient man I’ve ever known.”
Harry grunts in protest, uncomfortable, “I think that’s a little–”
“No, really. Listen to me,” Ginny interrupts, “Treated like utter shit your entire childhood, came face to face with Voldemort an ungodly amount of times, literally harbored that snake’s soul, and you’re still sane. Quite impressive, I’d say.”
“I don’t think–”
“Harry,” Ginny emphasizes, “I was quite fucked up after first year. Just utterly mad. The trip to Egypt? Mostly for me to see Bill to learn some things about curse breaking so I wouldn’t be scared shitless around mundane things anymore. I couldn’t look at a journal for months, after the chamber. You got no training, barely any support. And you’ve still come out the other side sane. Loving, and so willing to help.”
Harry’s eyes soften, and he takes Ginny’s face in his hands. “I love you, Gin.”
Ginny breaks out a wide smile, “I love you, too.”
Harry kisses her gently on her soft lips; he runs a hand through her long hair. “I say we head to bed, yeah?”
Ginny looks at the clock– which, of course, doesn’t actually tell time, but is getting rather close to “collect the eggs,” which she knows to mean that it’s nearly four thirty in the morning. She nods and gets up, pulling Harry to his feet. They ascend the stairs together, and Harry kisses Ginny goodnight as he leaves her at her room before heading to the attic.
He climbs back into bed, content, and drifts back into sleep.
✦✧✦✧
The next morning, Harry wakes up refreshed. Happy, even. He descends the stairs with a pep in his step, and a dopey smile on his face. He greets Ginny in the kitchen with a chaste kiss on the cheek, and helps her set the table for breakfast.
The day passes in a haze, Harry’s good mood carrying him through the pains of yet another trip to the ministry to discuss some policy or another– though he’s not much good to them without Hermione’s input, and more exhausting work setting wards with Bill.
Harry’s drained by the end of the day, the effects of last night’s late-night rendezvous in the kitchen with Ginny thoroughly depleted, and he collapses into bed with a thump, and falls asleep without taking his day clothes or his glasses off.
He dreams. Well, he nightmares. He’s in the forest, but his parents aren’t there with him. He’s alone, and he’s terrified, and as he makes his way to the clearing, it’s only him and Voldemort. His clique isn’t there to protect him. The dream deviates harshly from reality, as Voldemort conjures up all of his loved ones– Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall; the list goes on– and tortures them, one by one, with that cursed knife of Bellatrix’s, then a litany of cruciatuses, concluded by strangling them with his snake until they’re all lifeless– though he sees through the snake’s eyes, like that time with Arthur, and sees his loved one’s faces so, so close. The bodies are a pile at his feet as Voldemort approaches him, and he runs his hands gently, harrowingly, down Harry’s jawbone. A self-satisfied, cruel smile paints Voldemort’s face as he raises his want to torture Harry before he kills him and– Harry wakes up.
He wakes with a scream, his back soaked with sweat, and his heart beating furiously. He can’t catch his breath, and he feels as if he’s going to faint. He makes his way to his feet, crashing around, grabbing onto anything and everything to support himself. He needs to go to the bathroom, splash his face with some cold water, or something– but he can’t. He collapses onto his knees, unable to catch his breath, glasses falling to the floor, panicking.
There’s a knocking at the door, but he can’t really hear it. It’s in the background, not something to be paid attention to. He’s struggling to breathe, and hands touch his face. He flinches away violently– the feeling too reminiscent of Voldemort’s in the nightmare. The hands move to his chest, pushing him flat on his back. The person lays on him lightly, but firm, and breathes deeply, encouraging Harry to match his breaths.
The steady weight, the slow cadence of the breathing, and the warmth of this person calms Harry down eventually. He sees the characteristic shock of Weasley-red hair, but the long tresses reveal the identity of his savior– Ginny. Ginny, as always, is there for him. Merlin, he loves her so much.
Harry’s arms come around to pull Ginny more on top of him, taking more of her weight on top of him, and he hugs her tightly.
“Nightmare?” Ginny asks, facetiously.
Harry scoffs with humor, “gee, how’d you know?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ginny asks, her cheek pressed against Harry’s neck.
Harry shakes his head, “No. It’s alright. You’re here now. Did I wake you?”
“No,” Ginny assures, “I was still awake. It’s not that late, just about half-one.”
Harry and Ginny lay on the floor together, breathing. Harry’s just about ready to fall asleep again– Ginny’s presence being so calming. He feels safe. Ginny senses that he’s about to fall asleep again.
“Let’s get you to bed, then,” she says, encouraging Harry to sit up.
Harry makes his way back to Ron’s bed with Ginny’s guidance (he refuses to sleep on the camp bed when there’s a perfectly good mattress right there).
Ginny kisses her teeth at him playfully, “still in jeans, Harry. Honestly.”
She moves to the set of dressers and pulls out soft looking flannel bottoms and Chudley Cannons tee shirt too large to fit anyone; she turns to Harry and makes a motion for him to put his arms up. He complies, and Ginny strips him of his shirt— which he squaks indignantly from— and wrestles his heavy, limp limbs into the new shirt.
“Trousers?” Ginny asks. Harry blushes as he realizes that he was kind if hoping she’d help him switch those out, too— though he supposes you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Fully changed into clothes much more suitable for sleeping than the scratchy jeans and button up he was wearing, Ginny turns to leave. Harry catches her wrist.
“Stay?” he asks.
Ginny sighs, “Harry, you know I can’t–”
“Please?” He pleads, “I slept so well after last night. Never slept better, honestly. You make me feel safe.”
Ginny chews on her lip, contemplating. Obviously, she wants to; but, she fears the reaction of the rest of the house if they were discovered. She makes up her mind, releasing her lip.
“Fine. But–” she cuts Harry off before he gets too excited, “but! I’m out before everyone else wakes up.”
Harry smiles at her, “Well, obviously!”
Ginny smiles as she climbs under the covers with Harry, snuggling up right beside him. His arm wraps heavy around her waist, holding her close, and his face is buried in her hair.
“I love you, Ginny. I really do,” Harry says.
“And I really love you, too, Harry,” Ginny replies, a sleepy smile heard in her voice.
The pair drift to sleep soundly, and neither have nightmares.
✦✧✦✧
“Bill,” Arthur shouts across the kitchen in the morning, “Can you go wake Harry? Kingsley wants him at the ministry in three quarters of an hour. He’s usually up by now.”
Bill nods, “sure thing.”
Bill makes his way up the stairs swiftly, reaching the attic room, and pushing the door open. Nothing would have prepared him for what he saw when he opened those doors. Harry. And his sister. Harry and Ginny. In bed. In bed together. He gapes at the sight, momentarily lost for words.
“What,” Bill bellows, startling the pair awake, “Is going on here?!”
Ginny stretches, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, murmuring, “so much for being out before morning.” She looks at her oldest brother, “Morning, Bill!”
“Morning, Bill,” Bill mocks. “I cannot believe you two! In Ron’s bed! And Harry– with my sister! She’s not yet of age, you absolute womanizer!”
“Bill,” Ginny asserts, “do not talk about Harry like that. You’re jumping to conclusions.”
Bill sputters, “I don’t think so! You’re in bed, together! What do you have to say for yourself, Harry?”
Harry looks like a deer in headlights, mouth gaping, at a loss for words. To make matters worse, Charlie comes up behind Bill to see what all the commotion was about.
“Holy shit,” Charlie breathes, “Harry, what the fuck are you doing with my sister?!” he intones, voice getting louder with each word.
“Sleeping,” Harry mutters.
“Sleeping?!” Charlie and Bill yell together.
“I truly expected better of you, Harry,” Bill spits, “I thought you were better than this. Better than being just a randy teenage boy looking to grab a feel whenever’s convenient.”
Charlie shakes his head, agreeing with Bill, “and with our sister, Honestly.”
“Well, this is entirely inappropriate. I thought we could trust you, staying here, but if you can’t control yourself, you’ll have to–”
“Bill,” Ginny yells, cutting him off, seething with rage. “Leave Harry alone. Projecting, are we? Nothing happened. Nothing. We are fully clothed. We just slept, literally.”
“Well I don’t believe that, what else would you be doing in bed in the middle of the night?” Bill retorts.
“You can believe what you want, but the truth is the truth, even if you don’t want to believe it. We just slept.” Ginny affirms, her voice hard.
“Sure, you ‘just slept’ tonight, but what about the others? What have you two really been up to, when you’re–”
“Nightmares, Bill.” Harry states coolly. “I’ve been having nightmares. Terrible, terrible nightmares, where all of you are dead at my feet, and I’m forced to watch Voldemort torture you all before killing you. Ones where you all blame me for F-Fred’s death, and everyone else’s. Ones where Voldemort won and I died but nothing is okay on the other side. It’s awful, Bill. And it’s every night. I woke up screaming last night.”
“I had to pull him out of a panic attack,” Ginny mutters, “It lasted forever. I truly thought he was going to pass out from hyperventilating.”
“I asked her to stay, last night. I slept better after having a cup of tea with her the night before, and thought that, well, how good would I sleep if she was with me? Apparently too well, considering you lot are standing in front of me.”
“The plan was for me to be out before– before something like this happened, where you all barge in and jump to conclusions before even considering that, maybe, just maybe, we’re not all ‘quite all right, thanks,’ after the conclusion of a bloody war where we were both at the forefront of, seeing the worst shit you’ve ever seen! Not everything is about sex, you bloody hypocrites! If it were, It’s not any of your business, anyway!” Ginny rages, her brothers shrinking behind her gaze.
Arthur comes up behind the lot of them after Ginny finishes, “Now, what’s going on here? I sent you up a quarter of an hour ago. Harry, you’re expected to be with Kinglsey in half an hour.”
Harry’s head whips up, alarmed, meeting Arthur’s, “shit,” he panics, running out the room to take a quick shower and a bite to eat, leaving the Weasley’s in his wake.
Bill faces his father, “Ginny and Harry are sleeping together.”
Arthur looks at Ginny, “Sleeping sleeping or sleeping sleeping?”
Ginny huffs, “The first one. He’s being deliberately misleading,” she glares at Bill.
Arthur shrugs, “well, I don’t see any problem with that.”
Bill sputters, “You don’t see– Dad! It’s just not right! It’s Ginny! And Harry! Soon enough they won't just be sleeping sleeping and they’ll be sleeping sleeping!”
“Well, either way, I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Arthur starts, “It’d be a bit hypocritical, wouldn’t it? Not a coincidence your birthday is only seven months after your mother and I’s wedding, is it not? And I know for fact you and Fleur weren’t perfectly chaste before your wedding, either.”
Bill sputters, “But– it’s– It’s Ginny! It’s different!”
“What, Because I’m a girl?” Ginny challenges.
Bill stays quiet, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “I don’t like it,” he says.
“Well, that’s all fine and good. Keep your dislike away from Harry, though. He’s been through so much, Bill. If being here with him keeps the nightmares away– for the both of us, mind you– then I say: ‘jolly good!’” Ginny lectures.
Bill sighs, “I know. When he, Ron, and Hermione came to the cottage after they escaped Malfoy manor, they looked— Merlin, Ginny. They looked dead on their feet; Hermione almost literally. Whatever they went through was terrible. I guess it’s just— you’re my sister. My baby sister. I feel like I need to protect you, even when i don’t.”
Ginny gives Bill a curt nod, “So you’ll leave us alone?”
Bill signs, “I suppose.”
Ginny smirks, “Good!” She pats her brother on his shoulder and leads the crew out of her bedroom, down to the kitchen (Harry, evidently, already gone to the Minister’s office).
“Now,” Ginny asks, “How do you lot want your eggs?”