I do not own anything from Harry Potter
Wotcher all! I'm back here with the second and last part! I sincerely hope u enjoyed the first past and I hope you'll enjoy this one as well. I would like to give thanks to all my reviewers here on SIYE: Kat Granger, Miss Becca, Elle, Marauder4eva, emmamoonpotter, and Jake! Your reviews all meant so much to me, thank you again!
To my reviewers on : Angel of twisted souls, samhaincat, G-unit, Free bird 3000, Melindaleo, pline, hopeful tears, luna lovegood2, mep1, and last but certainly not least, cherryblossom08. To all of you, your reviews mean a lot to me, they keep me going, thank you much!
Italics are either lines from a previous memory or Ginny's inner thoughts.
My Faith is forever
Ginny spent most of the afternoon locked up within the confines of her bedroom, only coming out to quickly use the loo or to sneak down to the kitchen for a cold glass of juice. Each time she left the safety of her bedroom, she made sure to keep clear of Harry and stay hidden among the shadows as to not be seen. Strangely, she hadn't seen him once since their short conversation outside her bedroom door in which she confessed about her recent loss of faith in him. The fact that she hadn't seen him since morning brought her immense relief, Ginny reflected lazily as she stared up at the arched ceiling from where she lay sprawled across her bed.
Still, there was something definitely unspoken between them…
The bedroom was extraordinarily hot, she noticed uncomfortably. Small beads of sweat clung to the clammy skin of her forehead, leaving an unsettling sheen in its wake. It didn't help that her bed lay against the wall beside her window either. Late afternoon light shone through the dusty glass and spilled onto her faded bed clothes in warm, bright puddles, her tanned, freckled skin ignited from the patches that fell across the length of her body. It was so hot today… Ginny had changed from her pajamas into a pair of frayed shorts, t-shirt and sandals earlier that afternoon.
Ginny rolled over on her side, her back facing the window as she folded and cushioned an arm beneath her head. Thoughts of that morning returned to her, no matter how hard she tried to push them away to the back depths of her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut as an onslaught of memory came crashing unbidden from the ocean that was her subconscious and resurfaced into her reality, she could remember the words that were spoken.
"The way you were staring at me… I don't need your pity, Ginny."
"You know, Harry, I do sort of pity you…"
"I pity you, not because you're suffering another loss in your life, but because you can't accept the help, the faith that's being so generously offered to you…"
"They've been supporting you ever since day one and right now, you're slapping it back in their faces… And let me tell you something, it hurts… It hurts a lot…"
"Harry, I've always believed that you could overcome anything, I know you can…"
"But… I don't think I can anymore, Harry… Not when you don't have faith in those around you, or more importantly, have faith in yourself."
Her words rang anew in her mind, and no matter how truthful everything she had said was, Ginny could not help but feel a small, bitter prickle of guilt ease down her spine like the blade of a dull, rusty knife… Groaning loudly, she muffled her flustered face into her pillow and heaved a sigh. Oh no… She hadn't been too hard on him, had she? Hey, I was just telling him how it was, she reminded herself defiantly. After all, if he didn't hear it from her, Harry wouldn't have heard it at all, because Merlin knew Ron and Hermione were too frightened about approaching him on the subject. Unlike her, they were not only his two best friends, but they also dared not to stand up to him in his darkest. Sort of ironic, she mused to herself with a mirthless snort.
The truth was said to set ones person free, yeah right…
But, Ginny knew still that if she hadn't said anything to Harry, then there would most likely have been no return from the dark path he was so purposely treading down. Once he walked too far, the doors would close off to them, one by one. But Ginny knew there had to be a way to get through to the boy, to open those doors. Maybe, just maybe, their was a sliver of chance, no matter how miniscule, that he had taken heed of her words and was now thoroughly recalling them. Perhaps then he would finally realize what a complete prat he was being?
Yeah, and then Ron will finally notice Hermione and snog her senseless…
Merlin forbid, because finally realizing what a git Harry's being would be a blow to his pride, no matter how dark his is, thought Ginny sarcastically.
Perhaps, she mused, it wasn't that she was feeling guilty because she told him the truth, first hand. Perhaps it was because she never allowed him to explain himself… I did sort of just leave him out there after telling him… She thought silently into her pillow, her flaming red hair fanned out upon the stark white like a halo. But honestly, what was there to explain? He was being a git, end of story. She knew that was unfair, but she wasn't going to say that aloud, now just then anyway…
Still, Ginny remembered the sight of him in the hallway, early that morning… His tall form had been leaning against the door of her bedroom, as if blocking out her only exit. He then had folded his long arms across the broad of his chest and gazed closely at her, torrid green eyes gleaming dangerously from under that impossibly messy, black as night, fringe… What a sight indeed… Especially his eyes… Like brief glimpses into the poisoned hell that was only the enigma of Harry Potter…
Uttering another exasperated, infuriated groan, Ginny pulled her pillow from beneath her and crushed it over her head, willing those thoughts to go back whence they came and never return to haunt. Curse him… Curse, Harry Potter… She mumbled thickly in a muffled voice. Damning his name repeatedly helped to blind the guilt, if only for a moment until the sound of loud shouts ushered from her bedroom window. Unearthing herself from beneath the mound that was her pillow, Ginny touched her forehead to the window pane and looked out.
Blurred flashes of color zoomed by on broomsticks, silhouetted by the setting sun, one no doubt Ron from the wind swept mass of red hair flashing like a telltale torch, and the other was unmistakably Harry, whom was soaring up toward the sky, eyes squeezed shut against the rush of altitude. Ginny could also see that Hermione was sitting peacefully on the front porch, a book set open upon her lap. Opening her window and welcoming the nip of wind that ripped through her hair and cooled the sheen of sweat clinging to her face, Ginny gazed earnestly out at the trio. Quidditch did look blatantly refreshing from where she sat in the blistering confines of the burrow. But then playing sport with the spawn of all things mad and smarmy, i.e. Harry, was making the idea of roasting inside very comforting just then.
Catching sight of his sister from her window, Ron turned the handle of his new Cleansweep, a gift for his new role as prefect last year, and flew upside to where she sat watching them.
"Hey, Gin," He greeted, "Wanna come on out and play? Me and Harry are short another player, aren't we Harry?" Asked Ron, looking over his shoulder at Harry who was now sitting immobile on his Firebolt, dark head turned deliberately in the opposite direction. He only gave a feeble shrug in reply before flying off to the other end of the field, black hair catching the wind. At this, Ginny ducked below the square of her window to roll her eyes, guilt momentarily forgotten. Boys and their wounded dignity… Meanwhile, a highly aggitated shout had just come from below.
"Correct grammar, Ronald! Not 'me and Harry!' Harry and I!" Hermione yelled up to them exasperatedly, causing Ginny to giggle at Ron's scowl.
"Honestly… Like it really matters…Correct grammar, my arse… " He mumbled, looking pointedly down at the bushy-haired girl whom had sat herself back down on the porch with a haughty ruffle of her sundress. Ron then turned back to his sister with a small shake of his head as to clear his annoyance before continuing. "Anyway…Going to join us, Gin?" He questioned again.
"I don't know…" She began half-heartedly, shrugging her shoulders. Ron scoffed.
"Oh, don't pretend it's so comfortable in there, Ginny, cause its not. Must be ninety five degrees or something, you should go check that muggle thing of Dad's that tells the temperature. I think it's called the thermumetum… or er therumeter… whatever it's called." He stuttered after a perplexed moment, looking unsure of what he said. Ginny grinned and arched a brow.
"Don't you mean the thermometer, Ron?"
"Yeah, that's it!" He exclaimed, grinning with a snap of his fingers.
"You know, you should really think about taking Muggle Studies…" She commented with a slight rise of her eyebrows. At the suggestion, Ron snorted dubiously and looked at her as if she had just gone mad.
"Oh, not you too… You should hear her," and at this he jabbed a finger in Hermione's direction, "go on about me taking that class. Why take muggle studies when I could just ask Hermione anything about muggles? Not to mention, that would mean me taking another class more than I have to." Ginny shook her head at him with an enormous roll of her brown eyes, but he crossed his arms across the broad of his chest and raised his long nose to the air with a dignified sniff. What a git… "I have enough classes on my plate, thanks." He said curtly, sounding not unlike Hermione herself.
Ron gave his broomstick a fond pat. "Now, what do you say to some flying?" He questioned after a moment.
"Give me a minute to think about it, would you?" Came her clipped answer.
Ginny frowned in thought as she braced her arms on both sides of her bedroom window, flaming red head bent, as to weigh the pros and cons of joining them for a game of Quidditch.
On one hand, it was undeniably stuffy within the prison of the burrow; she was reminded as a trickle of sweat trailed down the contours of her temple. And a ride on her broomstick would be temporary relief… But then there was that little issue of playing alongside with Harry and well… that spoke for itself… But, on the other hand, she was also dreadfully bored, lying across her bed with no company but the heat of the sun on her skin, and the bothersome guilt that came unbidden with her situation with the spawn of all things mad and smarmy aka Harry. But, if she did join them for Quidditch, she would have to be, again, in the presence of Harry, and well… Once again, that spoke for itself…
Oh, well… She'd have to face him sooner or later, right? No time like the present, she chirped to herself. Not to mention, it seemed like any choice she chose came down to Harry Potter.
"What do you say, Gin?" Ron asked again, impatience in his tone. He ran a frustrated hand through his damp hair, unintentionally spiking it as he did. She shrugged.
"I guess I will… I'll be down in a bit…" She said heavily with a dismissive wave of her hand. No sooner than she spoke her agreement and Ron was already soaring away from her window and into the skies above.
Closing her window with a resigned sigh, Ginny fell back onto her bed and flung a hand over her eyes, the light of the sun peaking through her closed fingertips. She lay there, prostrate, in a frustrated silence, trying to decide whether joining Harry and Ron outside had been such a smart move after all when suddenly, the sound of the door creaking open shattered her reverie. Turning her head, Ginny spotted a mass of ginger fur squeezing its way through the opening, the sweep of his bottlebrush tail closing the door behind itself in quick succession.
Crookshanks ambled toward her, tail wagging furiously, his paws making a gentle patter across the wood of her floor. Smiling, Ginny sat up and leaned over the side of her bed to scoop him up, the cat meowing as she did so. Once he was secure in her arms, she scratched him behind the ears, and was happily rewarded by the sound of his delighted purring. The vibrations alone emitting from the feline brought an air of calm over Ginny, causing her to sigh again, but this time, from relief.
Setting him down upon her comforter, she watched as he curled up and lay down, looking not unlike a large, plush ginger cushion. Flopping unceremoniously down onto her stomach, Ginny heaved a long breath, but Crookshanks blinked nonplussed at her, his large amber eyes very big indeed. After a moment in which the two lay and stared at one another in a sort of companionable silence, she spoke,
"Do you think I was too hard on him? Harry, I mean…" She asked the cat conversationally, although knowing that she wasn't to receive a reply, it was like having a one sided talk with the wall. Ginny continued though, all the while absentmindedly stroking the top of his head. There was something definitely solacing in speaking to someone and not expecting to obtain an answer or opinion in return, even if that someone was a cat. As if sensing those particular thoughts floating through her mind, something very much like reproach clouded Crookshanks' eyes. But still she continued onwards.
"But honestly, he deserved it, he really did. Ever since he arrived, all Harry's done is mope around the burrow and make everyone worry. It's enough to make anyone go mental…" Ginny rambled on with a sour face.
"You know, Mum really worries about him… We all do… I do… Just because everyone knows I've given up on Harry, they think I don't care about him. But they're wrong, so wrong…" She shook her head furiously, her red hair swinging as she did so. "Sometimes I think that deep down, I've never really got over him, but it's confusing. There are times when I just want to rip his head off with my bare hands and mount his arse on a plaque above my bed. But then, there are those other times when I can't help but still wonder what it might have been like to be in Cho Chang's shoes and have Harry fancy me."
Crookshanks yawned, but Ginny did not pause.
"When I first heard from Ron that Harry fancied Cho, I really was devastated. I had cared for him for all those years, it was quite sad, and well… he liked her… But now that I look back on it, I can't feel sad, only pity, really. I mean, what did people seen in Harry other then a scar and potential fame?... What did they see in Harry Potter other then the chance to be in the spotlight? Honestly, people are stupid like that…"
Crookshanks had fallen asleep to the sound of Ginny's voice, but his inattentive presence went unnoticed.
"I always thought of Harry as this great hero… I suppose I still do think of him that way after everything he's done, mind you, that's a secret I'm taking with me to the grave because Merlin knows what Fred and George would say if getting hold on that little tidbit of dirt… But, after what happened in my first year, you know with the chamber and all, Riddle be damned," Ginny spat venomously, her hands balling into fists, "I really sort of opened my eyes to who Harry was. I wanted to know everything about him, what he liked to do, what was his life ambitions, what was his favorite food, everything! Everything down to what color were his boxer shorts…" At this, Ginny paused to giggle wickedly into her pillow. "That's something even to this day I'm determined to find out… But anyway, after a while of faithful observing, I really started to realize who Harry was. And I suppose if most people did truly know, they would be sorely disappointed that he's not some proud spoken, idealistic tragic hero or something, but I wasn't… If anything, I fell harder… Silly of me, isn't it?" Ginny asked, finally looking to Crookshanks.
The ginger cat was snoozing silently, basking in the warmth from the sun that was slowly sinking from its golden throne among the clouds. A wisp of a grin curled at the corners of her mouth at the sight of him, and she bent down to place a light kiss on top of the feline's fluffy head, between his folded ears. Crookshanks did not stir, but if one looked closely, you might have been able to see the slight smile that spread across his squashed features, a smile that only a cat could have.
Now feeling considerably better having finally vented her thoughts, Ginny rolled carefully off her bed and left the confines of her room, leaving the door open ajar incase Crookshanks decided to leave, although she had no doubt whatsoever that the part kneazle would have difficulty getting out on his own.
The youngest Weasley tore noisily down the creaky stairs, red hair rippling, and entered the sunlit kitchen, nearly colliding with her mum who had been reaching for something up in the cupboards. The surrounding atmosphere was thick with the heavy smell of cooking food, and had she not been in a mad rush to escape out into the evening air, she would have paused to relish in their dulcet aromas. Dodging the kitchen table with only a grace that had come from years of outrunning her older brothers, she reached forward and wrenched the back door open to be warmly greeted by the crisp summer air. So thick was this air that she could have almost tasted it. Inhaling deeply, the smell of flowers and sweat clung to her freckle smattered nostrils. Ah, summer at the burrow…
Ginny stepped lazily out onto the front porch, the door rattling shut with a heavy bang. Hermione, who had been sitting quietly down on the steps, gave a start at the abrupt noise of her entry and upset the book set across her lap. However, she was quick to catch it before its sleek, clean cover could fall into the dirt beneath her feet.
As she whispered a sheepish apology at startling her, the bushy haired muggle born closed her book and gingerly touched a careful hand to where the muscle had pulled in her neck. "Don't worry about it, you just frightened me is all." She replied, sliding over to allow Ginny space to sit down beside her. The wood of the porch was still warm beneath her skin, she noticed at once as she stretched out her legs before her, very much like a cat. Looking over at Hermione, who was currently stroking the spine of her book as if fondly petting Crookshanks, the red head broke the comfortable silence.
"What are you reading?" She queried curiously, folding her hands back behind her head and yawning drowsily from the heat. At her question, Hermione turned her book with a proud flourish, the emblazoned golden lettering of the front title catching the sun. The handsome red leather cover read 'House Elves: Friend or Servant?' At this, Ginny almost snorted, but casually hid it behind a very formative cough and nodded her head in feign thought. Thankfully, Hermione seemed to not have noticed and reopened the book with a very dignified sweep of her hand.
Ginny wondered briefly, as she watched her friend gloat, if Ron had at all seen the book that Hermione was reading.
"My parents recently connected our fireplace to the Floo Network, so I've been able to go to this wonderful library down in Diagon Alley by flooing directly to the Leaky Cauldron." Hermione was saying with unnaturally bright eyes, smoothing some stray strands of bothersome, wild hair back behind her ear.
Ginny tilted her head, baffled, "How did your parents manage to hook up your fireplace to the network?" She asked as she knew Hermione's parents were muggles.
"Well, it was your Dad who did it for them, actually. He seemed very excited about it, really." Hermione replied, absentmindedly looking up heavenward at the two solitary figures that were Harry and Ron. Ginny smiled at that. Her dad was never one to miss the chance of associating with muggles, that much was known. He must have been absolutely euphoric at having mingled freely in a complete muggle habitat.
Ginny had just opened her mouth to ask about her dad's behavior at Hermione's house, when a shout came from above.
"Come on, Gin! Fetch your broom!" Shouted Ron, his hands cupped over his mouth. Ginny nodded and rose from where she sat.
"Have fun." Hermione smiled, once more reopening her book and obscuring her face. Waving a hurried farewell, Ginny ran round the side of the burrow, a cloud of dirt rising from her heavy foot falls, and rummaged through the jumble of old broomsticks gathered in the rusty, weathered shed built, albeit messily, by her dad. Grinning in delight when the callused wood of her broom jumped at her fingertips, she summoned the cleansweep from where it stood flanked by Bill and Charlie's ancient models and swung a leg over its length.
Excitement pumped like blood through her veins as the sky welcomed her into their sunset hued midst. Ribbons of fiery red and copper were branded across the perpetual lengths of the heavens, and Ginny closed her eyes as she took on altitude, the clouds seemingly parting to let her pass unhindered. This was freedom, this was independence… Nearly crowing with pure euphoria, she tilted her broomstick back down and dived, going as fast as her broom could soar, skimming the top of the grass before pulling back up again. Wind ripped through her hair, nipping at her pink face with its icy fingers and nails, but she couldn't get nearly enough. She had her wings again…
So focused on the wondrous sensations of height and wind, Ginny almost missed the ball being thrown haphazardly in her direction. Leaning precariously off the side of her broom, she snatched it up from the air before it could tumble down to the ground.
"Good catch, Gin!" Hollered Ron with a triumphant yell as he flew by to catch her hand in a high-five. Grinning mischievously, she hurtled the ball back in his direction as they made their way across the field. The Chaser position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team back at school was as good as hers. When her brother had successfully captured the ball within his grasp, Ginny glanced over at Harry whom was flying alone off on the other side of the field. It was just like him not to join their game, she mused with an absent shake of her head.
But, the sight of him, lone and solitary, caused her broomstick to slow and pause midair so that she could study him unbeknownst.
His dark head was bent between his shoulders, the muscles in his back flexing hypnotically as he lay forward on his firebolt, diving and spinning through the air. There was a silent, doleful grace in his movements, as if he had been born on a broom and flying ever since then. But no, ever since day one, he was a doomed child, a boy fated to be the soldier. He was tragically beautiful, bounded to his grief, a lone, broken soul yearning for release from the cruel wreckage that was his reality. He was the retreating little boy hidden beyond an impenetrable stone shell, just waiting to be breached. The grief and anger so meticulously concealed behind this wall made him reckless, that much was obvious from the way he flew. He seemingly couldn't get enough speed, as he twisted and turned like an eagle through the trees, before shooting up among the canopies and then diving back towards the ground again. Everything, this, was his hell, his life… The sight of him so intrepid in his bereaved moment made her heart quicken…
Harry suddenly came to an abrupt halt, his back rigid like a board, his shoulders squared tightly as the weight of her gaze prickled at the back of his neck. Very slowly did he turn to look over his shoulder at her, and matter not what their distance was, his emerald eyes equaled with hers, dark and bitter, deep and endless. Ginny felt her next breath lodge up in her throat, and her lungs screamed in silent plea for salvation as she returned the gaze unblinkingly.
Oh, Merlin above…
She couldn't turn away, not now, not when everything in his eyes was so naked, so frighteningly real. And she knew somehow, just then, that he could not turn away either, not even if he wanted to, not even if he needed to, for her eyes mirrored his very own. Everything disappeared, the burrow, Hermione and Ron, everything. There was nothing there but the two solitary figures floating by no means, eyes locked, their connection thriving and steadily building into a crescendo. But this peak, their peak, it was endless, it went on infinitely, and it went on forever… Ginny shuddered, and suddenly her soul was being ripped open, split down the middle, bleeding and screaming as their halves, the two pieces of it's puzzle, were finally divided, wreathing and scratching to return whence its former place was. But just as this feeling began, it ended, only to be replaced by a fresh, dizzying whirl of gasping sensations as the missing half of her ebbing, mortal soul was lavished once again, but by its new partner, the missing puzzle piece.
This half, the one so now keenly stitching its ties, its veins to its partner, melted against hers, and the grasp of this feeling forced Ginny's eyes shut, a tear escaping her weeping lids, her head unconsciously bowing down onto her broom. She could feel its presence meld against the broken seams of her inner spirit, and it was dark, hurtful and beautiful, a storm of all things that made up this one boy… She could feel him just as he could feel her, it was Harry… His grief became her own, and she inwardly gasped as it drowned and plunged her lungs beneath its icy surface. But in return for such an exchange, her faith, the faith that she had so perpetually been offering him, seeped into the holes of his heart and melted through its walls, all burning and wonderful at once like the sweetest and most bitter wine…
Somewhere in London, the door hidden deep within the abyss of the Department of Mysteries, which was kept locked at all times, that contained a force that at once is more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature, gave a roar more beautiful and hopeful than the phoenix's song and swung open on its magically sealed hinges. The door hit the wall behind it with the sheer force of its power, leaving a crack in its wake, and then abruptly closed itself again with a breath.
Finally opening her eyes, panting ever so slightly, Ginny brought up one of her violently shaking hands and ran it down the contours of her face. She was slightly startled to find tears matted beneath her eyes and even more perturbed to find that the distance had closed between Harry and herself. He sat, his back bent, on his firebolt, only feet from her own broomstick, the muscles in his abdomen convulsing with labored breathing as he sat himself right again. Their eyes met, and Ginny licked her dry lips, finding it very difficult to keep a firm hold on her broom. What was that?
His eyes, so green and deep were thawing again, a sure sign that he was trying to hide himself to her again. This saddened Ginny more then angered her. How could two people just have experienced such a union, such a bond that was solely there's, and then hide away again? How could he want to hide from her now? How could he when seemingly one whole half of her soul had just been brutally but graciously stripped from her body, only to be replaced with a part of his. Like her, a part of himself was just torn away to make way for a new half, her half. Their spirits had just mated…
But as she registered his cold, retreating form, Ginny wondered, did I imagine that? Did I imagine that whole thing just now?... All guilt from earlier that evening seemed so far away…
Harry's back was turned to her as he steered away shakily and disappeared into the dark trees of the forest. Ginny watched him, feeling very lost and very alone as the howling wind swept over her form, making her shiver from it's forlorn embrace. And some part of her, very deep as to not be heard, knew Harry was feeling the exact same way…
Maybe, it didn't happen… Maybe I made the whole thing up in my head… Maybe it didn't happen at all…
Feeling very empty, yet impossibly whole at the same time, Ginny turned away to find that the field was completely void of anyone but herself. Ron has disappeared, probably back into the burrow, and Hermione's presence was absent from the front porch, book and all. Furiously wiping away the last vestiges of cooling tears beneath her heavy eyes, Ginny went to store away her broom. But, as she made her way up the front porch, her feet paused. I really don't want to go in, not yet, she thought mentally. Hugging her arms, Ginny raced down the hill away from the burrow, the sky above her head darkening, and the first signs of stars finally began to dot its map across the heavens.
The youngest Weasley didn't stop running until she at last came to the garden wall that separated the land of the burrow, to the fields out beyond it. Not so far in the distance, the quiet village of Ottery St. Catchpole was lit up and looked very pretty indeed from where she had climbed the garden wall and sat herself down. She sat there for a long while… It was even prettier right then because she was more trying to focus on the village's beauty then Harry. Harry and his emerald eyes…
Ginny tore her eyes away from the sight of Ottery St. Catchpole and looked down to find Harry standing before the garden wall, firebolt clenched tightly in his hand. The other was stuffed morosely deep into the pockets of his trousers as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, head bowed. His messy, jet-black hair was wild and wind swept, and the part in the back was sticking out in all directions, ergo, he looked adorable… But she did not dwell on those thoughts. The only thing she knew was that he did not once look her in the eyes as he said her name, and that hurt even more. Perhaps he feared what he might see staring back at him. Perhaps he feared that whatever connection that had transpired between them only a short while ago would reoccur and that she would see a part of him that no one had ever laid eyes upon before. Or perhaps it was that he feared to understand the emotion, the naked, forcibly exposed feelings that were silhouetted in her eyes. Whatever the reason behind this was, Ginny wasn't sure she really wanted to know.
"Please, Ginny, say something? I really don't fancy talking to myself." He pleaded after a long moment. Ginny inwardly winced with guilt and finally turned to look down at him. His eyes were hidden behind that insufferable, wonderful fringe and before she could stop her self, Ginny was leaning forward and brushing it back away from his face, not caring how mad, and how angry she was with him right then. She wanted, she needed, to see his eyes, Lily Potter's eyes… He started at her gentle touch, clearly not expecting it, but still he did not pull away from her exploration. She had a distinct feeling that Harry had never been touched like this before, not at all out of care or concern. She could feel that her very touch was both unsettling and painful to him, but that did not stop her.
"Oh, Harry…" She sighed gently.
Ginny pushed away the lock of black hair that obscured his scar, and very carefully did she place the very tip of her finger upon where it began. He jerked, but forced himself to stay still. During the whole time from when the moment her hands touched his skin, his eyes had remained wide and downcast, but now they trailed up the length or her face and met her gaze equally. He was only acutely aware when his firebolt slipped from his loose fingers and fell to the ground.
"Ginny?..." He said her name again very softly, his eyes very green…
Swallowing the lump rising in her throat, she traced that fingertip down every last inch of the scar, zig to zag, angle to angle… She did not stop until at last every inch of his scar had been lathered and kissed with her touch… And somewhere, deep in the dark corners of the world, a wizard named Tom Riddle was screaming in pain…
Ginny's hand fell slowly away from Harry's face, finding her next breath very difficult to place and conjure. He was trembling from head to toe, his eyes still staring nakedly bright back at her, a sort of mingled fear and wonder frozen in his features. And some part of her took ultimate pleasure in the effects that her touch brought upon him. But, as they stared at each other, that unspoken statement still lingering palpably between them, no ill will was everlasting.
"Harry, take my hand…" She said softly, stretching out her fingers toward him. It wasn't a request.
Harry gulped audibly, his dark brows furrowing as his gaze traveled from the slender hand being outstretched to him and then back to her face. Hesitation swarmed through his orbs but Ginny was insistent, she would not let him pull away this time, not again. He needed this, he needed to seal this connection and keep walking, but she would help him along the way, to be the map of all things light in the deepest darkness of this cruel, war torn world. She would be the hand always slightly pushing at his back to move forward, to be his guide when he was lost or blind. The connection that bound Harry and Sirius had already been severed, but it was time that he be lifted out of his grief and be able to form new connections, new impenetrable ties that could bind him to those that would eternally cherish and love him.
She was waiting for him at the other side of the string, hand outstretched…
Very slowly did Harry lift his hand up toward hers, his fingers seemingly frozen immobile from where they floated between them. A force, one that could not be seen nor possibly understood, felt as though it was grasping at his hand with invisible fingers, and pulling him closer to her, closer to the offered faith.
And then he realized something… She was offering him faith, even when she had confessed only that morning to have loosing it in him. But it was there… all along… She had never really stopped believing in him, and a new part of him, the part that was melded with Ginny's, knew that she would never loose faith in him. Her faith was forever… Just like Ron and Hermione's was. They would always be there, there was no such thing as alone.
A sensation, quite unfamiliar, began to spread like light through his heavy limbs, a feeling that not even the freedom on a broomstick could lift. This undistinguishable, alien light ignited like flame in the fog of his mind, pushing and stretching throughout every last corner, every last depth until his mind was floating in it, and all the darkness diminished. It crept down the column of his neck, and he was breathing this light until a thirst that had never been quenched since the day he was set upon the doorstep of number 4 Privet Drive was abruptly alleviated. Down his neck it spread until it burst in his lungs and chest, embracing his heart, purifying his poisoned blood… It filled every last part of him, down to his toes, until it was imploding abound from his pores and branding his skin.
And then the wounds of Harry's back where his wings had so mercilessly been stripped away were healing and giving way to white and golden feathers, his new wings…
She had often hoped she would be the one to shed some of her light upon him, give him back the wings so brutally torn from his back. He needed to fly again…
Ginny's fingers curled warmly around Harry's hand, and she pulled him up on the garden wall next to him. She could feel their connection tie fast around their bodily forms like ribbon and threads of every last color, until they were folded together in a mesh of light, their wings brushing against one another's in whispered caresses, just as their fingers were doing. And somehow, she could sense the realization glowing in his untidily haired head. She could sense that he had at last come to understand that her faith for him was ceaseless. And now he had come to accept that. His grief was still there, yes, but it was nothing that the people who loved him couldn't help him to overcome. She knew that because she was one of those people…
The sun had finally set before the burrow, and the cloud of heat floating over Ottery St. Catchpole had evaporated, to be replaced with a pleasant night breeze that whistled through the field. The garden wall was cool beneath their skin and neither one of them spoke, but instead watched the last vestiges of summer light sink beneath the horizon, a stream of red and gold in its wake. An unbeknownst to Ginny, Harry was smiling because the sight reminded him of her red hair, hair he would very much like to touch.
A peace, long absent from his life settled over him, and he sighed from its wonderful intensity. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened between her and him today, but he did know one thing and that Ginny and his friends believed in him, they had faith in him, and it felt beautiful…
"Harry?..." She called softly. His eyes were heavy from the warmth folded around his heart and he suddenly wanted to lay down and rest his eyes.
"Hmmm?" He replied.
There was a pause……..
At this, Harry turned to look at her, baffled.
"For what?..." He asked, gazing at her profile. Strange… But he had never really noticed how lovely she truly was…
Ginny turned to look at him with shining eyes in which a smile quirked at the corners of her crimson lips. And then she leaned across their intertwined hands and over his shoulder to touch a kiss to the hollow just above his prominent jaw. Ginny left her slighty parted mouth on his skin for a long moment so that she could somehow always have him remember the feel of her lips there in that one spot. He smelled like earth…earth and something else… something unnamed. Something that was strictly and forever Harry. Breathing him in one more time, her lips brushed a trail across his cheek and rested at the shell of his ear. He shivered, and his fingers tightened around her own.
She whispered, "For saving faith…" And Ginny knew, that if only a little, Harry had finally saved some faith for himself.
A/N: Well that's the end of it, I hope you enjoyed it. That part when harry and ginny are connecting and I wrote about a powerful door in the department of mysteries, that door is mentioned by quote in the Order of the Pheonix when Dumbledore explains to harry about the prophecy. I used most of what he said, only tweaked it a bit.
And people, try not to think as Ginny being too hard on Harry in his time of grief. If someone you cared about ALOT is having a hard time, but refuses to accept help about it, and for a long period of time (harry's two months to feel sad is quite long), you're bound to get angry. There's only so much time you can allow someone, especially a friend, to grieve and not do something. If u didn't try to help them out, or talk to them about it, then you can loose a friend that way to their grief. So, try to understand it through Ginny's perspective. So I just wanted to explain it how I see it, you know. Harry needs to understand that there are many people who are willing to help and be there for him since he's grieving about Sirius, and that he can't wallow in his sadness forever because not only can it both mentally and psychically harm someone, but it will also hurt those around you if you're constantly pushing them away.
Reviews are greatly appreciated and I hope u liked what I wrote. This was written quite differently from what I'm used to. This fic, especially this second chapter consisted of a whole lot of very long, expanded sentences. I hope it didn't bother anyone too much, but I like the sentences like that because it really gets out all the feelings there in one line.