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Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Man Who Conquered, and the Wizarding World’s youngest auror, paced through the corridors of St, Mungos. He’d been (un)happily ensconced in the waiting room until the furtive looks and whispers not quite hidden behind raised hands had driven him from the relative comfort. It had all reminded him too much of what he’d gone through as a teenager, the emotional see-saw propelled by so-called news articles in The Daily Prophet.
He’d hoped that it would all start to lessen with each year they moved further away from the war, but it was always stirred up by commemoration articles and ceremonies and new tell-all books by survivors who had actually been in the castle or in Hogsmeade during the final battle.
(That none of these “tell-all” books were written by a member of Dumbledore’s Army or someone Harry actually felt close to was telling. One of the most controversial, in fact, had been written by a student at Durmstrang. How a student at a school in another country had been at the battle [without being on Voldemort’s side] was questionable.)
He frowned, shaking his head. None of that was quite why he was here, pacing, unable to use a Notice-Me-Not charm in case one of Ginny’s medi witches came looking for him. There had been a freak accident on the quidditch field. A charm had interacted with a prank hex or some completely random occurrence.
(Harry fully expected that Hermione already had her books open as she tried to track down just went awry. He knew that he and Ron would be investigating it as well, as soon as they knew Ginny was alright. It wasn’t really an abuse of power; such an interaction happening just when a war hero - and girlfriend of the Man Who Conquered - was in the vicinity was… suspicious, to say the least.
The investigation had absolutely nothing to do with the coils of guilt Harry felt restricting his breathing. He’d been avoiding Ginny lately, wrapped up in the latest hitwizards he’d been attempting to bring to justice. It had also been… not freeing, exactly, but… he’d felt as if he had space to breathe for a while there.
He’d been with Ginny romantically since he was 17. He’d known her since he was 11.
A part of him felt like she had staked her claim on him way back when she was a little red-haired child that followed him and Ron around. Few others had ever shown an interest in him, Harry (vs him, Harry Potter), and he always felt like he may have just… fallen into step in his relationship.
Not that he didn’t love her. He did, of course. Every time he saw her, caught the sun shining on that auburn hair, those big blue eyes and quick smile, her pale freckled skin glowing with good health… his breath caught and he was consumed with the idea of being near her, somewhere in the orbit of her life. How had he spent so much time away from her?
He just… didn’t always think of her when they were separated. (He’d thought about trying to figure out if that was normal in a relationship but, really, who would he ask? His closest confidantes were still Ron, Ginny’s older, protective brother, and Hermione, who told her boyfriend almost everything.)
“Mr Potter?” He turned to the mediwitch, following when she gestured him to follow her to a private spot. It wasn’t terrible news, thank Merlin. Ginny would need a few days in St. Mungo’s but was expected to heal completely. Her having to stay at all was testimony to just how badly she had been injured; even Arthur Weasley had only needed to stay overnight after he’d been bitten by Nagini.
He corralled Ron and threw himself into the investigation of what had gone so horribly awry on the practice field of the Holyhead Harpies.
It took a few days - and some pointed interrogations by a normally quite affable but now remarkably intimidating Ron Weasley - to discover that Ginny’s accident and their hitwizard case were connected. Apparently it had been decided that some injuries to Ginny Weasley might derail the auror team on their tail.
That it had actually been a solid plan and worked until the discovery they were linked went unsaid.
Ron and Hermione escorted Ginny home. Harry hadn’t wanted his presence to make the injured girl even more uncomfortable by having to deal with reporters. He was waiting for her as she gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa, arguing stringently that she’d been cooped up in bed for days and was perfectly capable of sitting quietly.
Harry, dutiful boyfriend that he was, fluffed her cushions and brought her a cuppa with a few of the muggle biscuits she’d fallen in love with. Ginny was pale, freckles standing out in stark relief against her skin. Her red hair was slightly greasy and stringy against her scalp. Her normally bright blue eyes were dulled with a combination of pain and potions, glazed and slightly too wide-set.
He frowned, having never noticed any of this before. Was this because she had a prolonged injury? She’d been both injured and ill before, if nothing to this extent. He felt none of the urge he normally did, to sit near her and feel her warmth, to wrap her in his arms, to kiss the corner of her mouth. He felt lower than a toad’s belly at the thought that looks were so important to him.
“I should get you some tea,” Ginny said abruptly, struggling to sit up after a minute or so watching the thoughts chase across Harry’s face.
“I can get myself a cup later,” Harry said, gently pushing her back down. She fought briefly against his hold before twisting, a pained gasp making him let go.
“You know I always like to make you my special tea,” she murmured as an apology, making her way slowly to the kitchen.
Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a speaking glance before Ron shook his head. “She’s always been mental,” he commiserated with his best friend.
Harry rolled his eyes and made his way into the kitchen after his girlfriend. There was already everything they needed in the living room; why would she be so insistent on making him another cup of tea? As he silently entered, Ginny was leaning against the counter, face ashen as she gripped her ribs. They’d been badly broken and Harry knew from experience that Skelegro didn’t help with the soreness completely.
He watched silently, wanting to be there if she needed him but not wanting to set off her infamous Weasley temper, as Ginny reached for a cup and a tea blend, mixing them together with the ease of long practice only a Brit can truly have.
It was only when she reached in the cupboard and grabbed a small, dark green vial that he realized she was completely unaware of his presence. Three drops of liquid splashed into the cup, a gentle hiss of pink steam arising as she stirred it with a metal spoon. The vial was replaced in a cupboard and she turned, the cup and saucer clinking as it trembled in her hands at the sight of her.
“Harry!”
He said nothing, swallowing as he looked from the cup to the cupboard and then to her face. He felt a band tightening in his chest. In disappointment, in betrayal, in… he wasn’t entirely sure.
He just knew he had to get out of here before he said anything that he regretted.
Harry made his way out of the apartment quickly, ignoring Ron and Hermione calling after him, asking him what was wrong. He also ignored Ginny, standing at the doorway pale as a ghost as she watched him leave.
Between one step and the next, he apparated.