AU: Harry tries to support Ginny in the best way he knows how. He never thought she would fall apart like this.
She's Always Buzzing
She spends most of her days sleeping. Sometimes it seems like she's just going to sleep forever, but she always wakes up at night. It's as if twilight is her sunrise. When sky blue gets dark enough to see the colors of the city lights a trail of ruby red and diamond white hits her like the sunrise. She goes out at night and loses herself, because she can't be bothered to remember. If she did, she'd have to face it all. She couldn't do that. Tonight she's out to lose herself and find a high on Peachtree Street; from mixed drinks to techno beats it's always heavy into everything.
She just couldn't be in that house any longer. It was all just too much. Her family had tried so hard to persuade her to stay. She needed them, they told her. They needed her, they whispered to each other. He would do anything to keep her happy, so they got a flat together.
Their relationship wasn't what anyone would call healthy. She used him to forget. He didn't have red hair or freckles. His hair was dark, messy, and perfect. She didn't see death when she looked into his eyes, she saw hope. She needed hope, she clung to it. She clung to a false reality and hope.
"Harry! You can't let her keep doing this!" Molly Weasley scolded him in a hushed whisper. It was the middle of the afternoon, Ginny was in her room, tangled in a mess of sheets, sleeping. Harry wasn't sure what time she had gotten in last night; he had left her around three in the morning.
Harry kneaded his fingers into his head and ran them hastily through is hair in frustration. "I know…" he trailed off, looking down at the counter not wanting to look at the disappointment in Molly Weasley's deep brown eyes, eyes that reminded him so much of Ginny's. "What am I supposed to do? I mean maybe this is how she has to deal with it."
"Harry James Potter, that is not my daughter in there. That is not my Ginny. Ginny doesn't crumble."
"I'm trying Mrs. Weasley, I really am. I just want to make sure that she's happy at the same time."
"Do you think she's happy Harry? Do you really think she's happy?"
Harry hung his head again.
Later that evening Harry lay in bed. He could hear his shower running. He stood up and put on his boxers. He pulled the sheets up and tucked them neatly under the pillows, followed by the comforter. He didn't want his bed to reflect the mess that it had condoned.
Ginny had ambled into the kitchen around five that evening.
"Can I fix you something to eat love?" Harry asked sweetly from the couch. "Your mum dropped off some kidney pie this afternoon."
She shook her head, and the messy bun on top of it swayed.
"Gin, you should eat something."
She picked up an apple from the bowl on the counter and waved it in the air dramatically before taking a bite. He smiled at her and got up from the couch, kissing her lightly on the forehead before heading back to his room. He had been sitting on the chair in the corner reading the Prophet when she burst in. Tears streaked down her face, blending the black of her mascara from the night before with the pale canvas of her cheeks. She straddled him in the chair and grabbed his face in her hands, needing to see his eyes, his bright green eyes staring back at her, instead of Fred's brown eyes behind her own lids. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close to him. In these moments when she broke down and allowed her to hold him he really thought she was better, but then it started.
She moved her head and kissed his neck roughly; leaving dark bruises on top of those that already resided there. Her body squirmed, and he released his hold on her, dropping his hands to her waist. Her hands quickly moved up under his shirt, raking across his chest. Before he knew it his shirt was gone, then hers was too. He just sat there with his hands on her waist. She pushed her breasts against his chest and raked her nails over his back crisscrossing with the welts that he already held. She moved her hands down his sides and opened the button on his jeans. She forced his pants down just as far as they needed to be. She grabbed hold of him. She was still in her skirt from last night. She was wearing no underwear. She pushed herself onto him and began her descent into her false reality. He just sat there with his hands on her waist, they never even kissed. He groaned when he came, and she screamed his name when she came later. She splayed herself across his chest panting. He let his arms creep around her again. Holding onto her was the only thing that was real to him. He picked her up and moved her to the bed, laying behind her and holding her tight against him, fitting himself into the contours of her body. It doesn't last long, it happens all over again, in his bed. Then he has to fix it, because he can't fix her. I can't be her angel now. You know it's not my place to hold her down, and it's hard for me to take a stand, when I would take her any way I can.
She emerges from the shower wearing nothing, with her gorgeous hair wrapped up in a towel. She can't bear to look at it. She magically dyes it dark brown every time she goes out so she doesn't have to look at the red in the mirror. Red, so much like the color of all the blood she has seen. But every time she wakes up it's back, and she can't stop herself from staring in the mirror and seeing him. Harry is at work and doesn't know that she wakes up mid morning. She just wakes up and stares in the mirror until she is exhausted all over again. Sometimes when she wakes up she thinks it's going to be better, that she's going to be better, but then she see's that her hair is red. She wants to be better, for Harry, for her family, but mostly for him. She won't say his name in her head.
Her frame is sickeningly skinny and fragile looking. She no longer looks like the woman who could take on the world with or without a wand. She doesn't feel like eating. It hurts, just like everything hurts. She moves out of the room without looking at him and makes her way across the hall to her own room. He sighs. He folds her wet towel and hangs it on the rack. He wipes the steam from the mirror and straightens up the counter around the sink. He finds himself in the kitchen, eating the other half of her apple.
When she enters the kitchen she is stunning. Her turquoise sequined tank top hugs her thin frame tightly. It just rests on the top of short white shorts. Her long pale legs end in high black heels with ribbons tying up her calves. Her hair is dark brown. She walks over to the counter that he is sitting on a stool at and presses her body into him. He runs his hands down her sides and places a kiss on her lips that have been painted with plum lip gloss. She sits down across from him and pours herself a cup of coffee, and scans the portion of the Prophet that has been left lying on the counter.
At the club she drowns herself in drink after drink with her muggle friends. She takes a joint and revels in its ability to make her forget as Harry keeps a distant watch on her. She dances to every song. She is smiling. Here she is happy and carefree. If they could just see her like this. She's always buzzing just like neon, neon. She wraps her arms around his neck as they sway happily to a song that has become one of their favorites. Soon a fast song comes on and he is jumping up and down with her while she swings her body with the music. She just seems to flow at night.
That night they leave together, at three, when Harry usually leaves alone. They fall into bed and Ginny is being gently. She caresses him and lets him caress her. She smiles at him and kisses him on the lips. She lets him take control for the first time in a long time. She lets him make love to her tenderly, without the frantic need to lose herself for the sole purpose of forgetting. At the height of her climax her hair turns back to red. She falls asleep in his arms. Harry smiles to himself. When she lets me hold her, everything is okay.
But she doesn't wake up with him in the morning. She is still in bed when he comes home that afternoon. She comes and she goes like no one can. She comes and she goes she's slipping through my hands. She's always buzzing just like neon, neon, neon, neon. Who knows how long, how long, how long, she can go before she burns away.
He stared at her sleeping form, with a coffee mug clutched in his hands. At least she was still in his bed. Last night was progress. Last night had not just been sex. Last night they made love for the first time in a long time. If he could accomplish more nights like last night he would be happy. He wasn't going to let her go that easy.
I can't be her angel now. You know it's not my place to hold her down, and it's hard for me to take a stand, when I would take her any way I can.
She comes and she goes like no one can. She comes and she goes she's slipping through my hands.
She's always buzzing just like neon, neon, neon, neon. Who knows how long, how long, how long, she can go before she burns away.
AN: Italics are from John Mayer's, Neon. I'm not a fan of the song fic exactly but I was inspired by the song, so I had to include it. Hopefully I met a happy medium.