Print Story

[-] Text [+]

Waiting


He was not in love with her.

How could he be? They’d been allotted a very short amount of time to be together during the trials of his sixth year. He remembered every touch of her hand, every flash of that signature fiery mane and – more than anything – he remembered the peace that she had brought him for those few weeks.

Harry looked up at the ceiling, listening to the soft snores of Ron not far from him. Hermione turned in her sleep on the couch, mumbling something about Won-Won under her breath. He almost laughed.

When would those two get around to it? He had thought there was progress after a year of making one another jealous and the protective way Ron had held her at the funeral. However, it seemed they were doomed to dance around the issue for a while longer.

Harry’s thoughts drifted away from his two best mates asleep in the sitting room of the Weasley Twins’ flat.

Fred and George had graciously put the trio up for a few days in their flat, mainly to get them out from under Mrs Weasleys’ thumb. The eternal mother to everyone within a five hundred kilometer radius disapproved of Harry’s decision to not return to Hogwarts.  The fact that Ron and Hermione were to join him was even less pleasing.

Once the screeching had stopped – though Harry’s ears were still ringing – the twins had taken him aside and asked if they wanted to wait for their train in London. Hermione was suspicious of their motives, but Harry knew it was another way of them thanking him for helping start their business.

Sleep was more elusive than ever, as of late. With so much to think on, so many paths he could travel, there was nothing that gave him peace, even in the dead of the night. At times, he would work hard in the twins’ shop, moving boxes or stocking shelves, so as to not have any energy at the day’s end. Then, perhaps, he could fall asleep.

The Burrow had been a nightmare. Ginny was there, her blazing eyes telling him she was not letting go so easily, that flowery scent seeming to mock him at every turn. She remained his friend, talking and laughing with them whenever she was not helping her mother. But there was something between Harry and Ginny, unsaid words that seemed to stretch across an enormous divide.

He was not giving up either. He merely wanted her protected from whatever was to come. When he was finished with his duties to “save the world” he would come back for her. Harry had to believe that, he had to believe that she would be waiting for him.

Sighing, he conceded that Ginny Weasley had spent her life waiting for him. Years spent hearing the stories – most of them rubbish – about his initial “defeat” of Voldemort. Ages of pining for a boy who had no idea how to handle idolatry. Then, remarkably, waiting for him to understand that he wanted her just as fiercely as she wanted him.

Now, she waited for him again. He hoped this would be the final time. No more waiting.

Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, he looked back over his shoulder; ensuring Hermione and Ron were still fast asleep. Once his fingertips grazed the small bit of satin he’d nicked from Ginny’s box of hair…things in the loo at the Burrow, he drew it out slowly.

Hermione had told him a long while ago that knights used to carry a favor of their ladies into battle, usually a ribbon or scarf of some sort. It was an odd thing to do, stealing a girl’s ribbon, but Harry had remembered his best mate’s words and taken it without thinking.

Now, if he were plagued by yet another night of insomnia, he would take this “favor” in his hands and remember the good things about those precious weeks with Ginny.

He tucked an arm behind his head, wrapping the white ribbon through his fingers. Everything was out of focus with his glasses off, but for some reason he could see clearly in his mind’s eye that day in the common room.

Hermione always said he acted before thinking. Kissing Ginny hadn’t really been on his mind that day until she threw those slender arms around him. That blazing look in her eyes, the euphoria of knowing they had won the match…and suddenly her very warm lips on his.

It was an altogether more pleasant experience than his disastrous first kiss had been. There was no room for thinking, no time to anticipate. Just the feeling of the red haired girl in his arms and the tingles he felt whip through his body at the contact.

After that, being with Ginny had been easy.

She understood him at a basic level. Perhaps it was because she knew the touch of Tom Riddle, possibly on a deeper level than he did. Or maybe it was simply the knowledge her years of waiting and watching had given her.

For once in his life, there were rumors around the school that he hadn’t minded. He heard some interesting tales of his adventures with Ginny, and she laughed each of them off, often making jokes about them. He learned early on that she liked to make him laugh.

That was one thing he was always willing to indulge her in. Laughter seemed a pivotal part of their relationship.

“Hungarian Horntail,” he whispered into the darkness with a small smile.

He could not remember actually asking her to be his girlfriend. It sort of…happened. He kissed her and quite suddenly they were an item. Not that he minded. It was effortless, easy, and comfortable. Even when they were doing something as mundane as homework, he felt as though he were on an even keel when she looked up from her books and crossed her eyes at him in frustration.

Harry chuckled softly at that particular memory.

With a sigh, he stuffed the ribbon back into his pocket. Dumbledore’s funeral held not only the painful memory of burying someone he had been very close to, but also the bitterness of his “stupid noble reason” for breaking it off with Ginny.

Expecting tears or anger had been silly of him. That was certainly not Ginny’s style, especially when it came to him. She was patient beyond anything he had ever known when she was dealing with the “Boy-Who-Lived”. He would forever be grateful for it.

“Harry?”

He started, tilting his head back to look towards the sofa where Hermione had been sleeping not too long ago. Glad he’d put the ribbon away, he gave his best mate a lopsided smile.

“Go back to sleep, Hermione,” he whispered, not that anything could wake Ron.

The bushy haired witch’s eyes seemed to reflect the silver of moonlight that reached them through the crack in the window curtains. She clutched her pillow tightly, shaking her head from side to side a few times.

“Don’t worry,” said his best mate. “We’ll all come back and Ginny will be here.”

Harry’s heart gave a little lurch at the sound of her name, but he nodded, his hair scratching the carpet a little.

“I know,” he answered in a soft voice. “Stop reading my mind and go to sleep.”

Hermione chuckled a little, muttering about “boys” under her breath as she turned over on the couch.

When her back was to him, Harry let his head fall forward. Staring back up at the ceiling, he amended his earlier thought. No, he was not in love with her. Not yet at least.

Maybe, someday, when it was all over and there was no more waiting...

Harry turned onto his side, clutching his pillow, letting his dreams take him back to the warmth of Ginny's arms.