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yourlocalmaraudersbabe · 3 years

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Ahhh I love those headcanons are so cute!! Can I request something with Y/n taking care of Sirius? Maybe he's not feeling well and Y/n is always there for him. Braiding his hair, making some tea, y'know? Maybe even trying some skin care products together? I have so many ideas haha 🤭 kisses💙

“I love it and I love you”

Summary: Sirius is sick and you’re there for him (headcanons?? idk i kinda got carried away)

A/N: Thanks for sending this in, my lovely anon! I love writing all of these requests <33

Word Count: 948

Masterlist + Characters and ships that I write for

Requests are always open <3

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Reminder that I do not support jkr. Do not interact if you do.

You and Sirius have been living together for nearly five years now. It was a small little place just above the coffee shop you two opened after leaving Hogwarts.

Sirius rarely got sick, usually around the winter holidays when everyone would pass a certain strain around. They were never terrible, it was always something that he could still work through.

There was almost always something you could do to help through the miserableness he felt: braiding his hair, reading to him, rubbing his back, bringing him tea.

“What kind of tea?” he’d ask nearly every time.“It’s the tea blend my parents always send for sore throats. Now scoot over,” you’d say getting under the covers, handing him his tea.

When sleep overtook the two of you, he’d always manage to wake up being held, despite you two first going to sleep side by side.

He’d sometimes wake up to you running your fingers through his hair and ask for you to braid it for him.

One year, you came home with face masks for you to try as a little date night and found him holed up on the couch with every blanket in the house he could dig out. But that, of course, didn’t stop you from doing a skincare night with him.

Other times he’d get out of the shower and without asking, you’d brush through his hair, tying it back gently for him. He’d lay with his head on your shoulder, listening to you read as the weight of his eyelids became unbearable, giving into the sleep his body was asking for.

This particular cold was pretty bad considering how fast it came on.

He complained of a headache just a couple hours before closing. You gave him a kiss on the forehead and sent him upstairs. “Darling, why don’t you get some rest?”

So, just four hours later, you flipped the ‘open’ sign around, displaying ‘closed’ for anyone walking by. You slipped upstairs, breathing in the muggy air of your completely dark flat.

You flicked the light on, walking over to the window, cracking it just enough for the cool air to spill into the room. You shook off the chill that crept up your spine and walked down to the bedroom. “Sirius?” you whispered.

You heard him stirring. You obviously hadn’t meant to wake him, so you made your way to the door. “Wait,” he said, his voice strained.

He sat himself up in bed against the headboard, turning the lamp on next to him. “You look terrible,” you laughed softly.

“Gee thanks,” he mumbled as you wrapped your arms around him, holding his head to your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair and he melted into you.

“How can I help?” you asked him, pulling him away from you slightly to examine him. You pushed the hair that fell over his forehead away, pressing the back of your hand on his skin carefully. His nose was rubbed raw and his eyes were glossy.

He mumbled something incoherently and leaned forward again, silently asking to be held longer. You stayed like that for a couple minutes before proposing an idea to him. “How about a hot shower while I clean up a bit and make tea?” He agreed, getting out of bed with a low groan of pain.

You went into the bathroom first, starting the shower for him. He came in shortly after and you pressed your lips to his forehead, walking into the kitchen.

In between making tea for Sirius, you washed the few dishes that were left dirty in the sink, tidied up the living room, and when you had finished all that and he was still in the shower, you went back to your bedroom. You grabbed him a sweatshirt and sweatpants just as you heard the water turning off.

He came into the room, flopping onto the bed where you sat with a book. He rolled over, sliding dramatically off the bed, leaving only his hands on the cover. You laid on your stomach, leaning over the side of your bed and shoving his hands off.

He lazily pulled a sweatshirt over his head, laughing at the compromising position. “Did you enjoy your shower?”

Sirius mumbled an “mhm” just before a cough. You sat up, reaching for the mug you brought him. He got into bed, slipping under your arm, pressed up against your side.

You ran your fingers back through his hair just before he shoved the mug into your hand, sneezing. “Aw, I’m really sorry, Sirius,” you leaned your head on top of his, handing his cup back. His wet hair made your chin cold when you lifted your head up. “Is your head feeling any better?”

“No,” he said, moving the mug around in his hands. “Want me to braid your hair?” you asked, already knowing his answer.

“Ummm, of course,” his voice turned playful, never losing that side of himself, regardless of how sick he was.

You let him sit however he wanted, whatever was most comfortable for him. Sirius laid in between your legs, resting his head on your stomach and hugged your waist.

You gathered his hair to the side, sectioning it off while you watched his eyes hang so low, they eventually shut. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’m always here for you, Sirius. And plus, your hair looks amazing,” you smiled, hoping he could hear it. He reached his hand around, feeling it. “I love it and I love you.”

“I love you, Sirius,” you said, rubbing your thumb softly against the top of his hand while he cleared his throat. “Now get some sleep, you need it.”

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

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So I saw the post where you said send in requests and i havent seen anything negating that, so uh, do you think you could write something (when you have the time and motivation of course please dont feel obligated (unless you want to) ) where people start noticing the way Draco flinches whenever someone makes a sudden movement and then all of the sudden one day he comes back to the castle after holiday and its so much worse and people start kinda trying to help and make his days better?

okay, here we go. And no one can convince me that no one at Hogwarts noticed that Draco was a victim of abuse but since Harry has the attention span of a goldfish, it wasn’t added that and JKR is a terrible person.

Also warning: this does talk about physical emotional and mental abuse. I want you all to know that you NEVER deserve it and never believe that your abuse situation “isn’t that bad.” You are cherished and loved and worthy and valuable.

okay, so the first year wasn’t too bad not that it wasn’t bad but, well Draco was innocent to any other way so he thought it was normal for his father to do what he did

Then things start to dawn on him that maybe no... this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Yet, whenever he asks a question against his father... things don’t end well for him. “But why are muggle-born so bad?” “What’s wrong with the Weasleys?” “Why are you so mean to the house-elves?” It never ends well, so he stops asking but now boy does he have a lot of questions and internal conflict that grows.

back to the point so someone drops a book/cauldron/glass something and Draco jumps and begins to panic “is his father mad? What did he do? How can he do better?” because he’s convinced that his father is on another rampage, but Crabbe just nudges his arm and he’s brought back to the present and that he’s not in trouble or danger

Snape is the first to notice because he knows what to look for in a child that has been abused at home, from personal experience, so he scolds the student who dropped the thing harshly

Our darling Hufflepuffs take note very quickly. In fact, there’s a support group at Hogwarts for kids who come from not so safe homes. Magical abuse or not, it's a group to just come and feel safe and like you’re not alone lead by Sprout and McGonagall

In Herbology with Draco, the Hufflepuff tells Momma Sprout about what they think is going on and boy is Sprout a momma bear looking out for Draco at every turn and looking into any records she can get her hands on

These kids from the support group start to become very worried about Draco because they’ve seen it all before and they hate seeing anyone else go through what they went through

They start to send him anonymous letters so that he’ll get mail in the mornings, and sneak sweets/snacks into his bag when they notice he’s not eating, or volunteer to be his partner in class

Boy is Draco confused

Which means he snaps a lot more and is rude and scared because he doesn’t understand why they’re being so nice to him

Alone is what I have, alone is what protects me

When Buckbeak attacks him, of course, he breaks down into tears because it’s all too familiar and he’s terrified that if he blinks he might open his eyes and it’ll be his father coming at him, not Buckbeak

and maybe he keeps the bandages and brace on longer for more than he needs it because it was a reminder that someone cared for him and mended his wounds and he didn’t have to do it himself

You think he just like Potions? Oh no, he’s had to make his own healing Potions all his life for the sake of keeping up the family appearance.

Luna Lovegood, the precious child sees right through all of it. Easily. And is a lot more confrontational about it than the support group, who did things more on the down-low. She takes all of his ridicule and taunts and snaps and lets him yell at her because she knows he needs to vent to someone

When Hermione pulls her wand out to attack him, sure, he could be a drama queen with all bark and no bite but maybe again it's too familiar and whenever there’s a wand in his face like that it ends with him in pain

That night Luna finds Draco in the Astronomy tower alone and just sits next to him.

He scoffs but after a while asks how can she deal with living alone with her father. She tells him that her father is the kindest person she knows and it finally gets through to Draco that how he grew up was not normal.

Luna tells him about the Support Group and he gets notes here and there as invitations, and maybe he decides to go one night

He’s surprised to see a lot of kids he knows. Luna goes and sits by some of her friends, Neville is there, and quite a few older Slytherins, and the Hufflepuff from his Herbology class who smiles and waves at him.

He realizes that these are all the kids who have been nice to him

He doesn’t share at all during the meeting (it’s sort of like AA where kids just go through and talk about what happens to them, if they’ve grown or made progress, what scared them still. The older kids offer advice and comfort and tissues because everyone cries)

He doesn’t share for a few weeks of meetings that he attends, but he doesn’t feel so hopeless anymore

Maybe now he doesn’t snap so much and maybe he’s not as scared anymore to let people in because he’s not alone and he realizes that everyone has their own inner demons and struggles

Fifth-year is the worst for him. With No Nose back, his father is vicious and ruthless and takes his pain and anger out on Draco.

It’s after easter break that he finally shares. “My... my father...”

Before he can say another word there are arms wrapped around him and hands on his shoulders and soft encouragements and consoles.

“He... he used the cruatious curse on me... and said that if I didn’t do it on someone else that he’d...” And Draco just breaks down into tears because he feels wicked and broken and ashamed.

He cries harder when no one judges him or yells at him or treats him differently. He’s still just Draco to them. The same thing happens when he tells them about the Dark Mark,

When he starts to slip through the cracks, the group vividly helps him like they’ve helped kids before him for generations.

Ravenclaws helped him study and find motivation when he started to fail his classes, Hufflepuffs show him how to have fun and take breaks and self-care, Slytherins are there in the common room on sleepless nights with tea and blankets, Gryffindors are there as a defense squad against anyone who wants to get to Draco and boy do they rip on Harry

But maybe Draco sees in Harry what the others saw in him. A kid who’s very fast with reflexes and has the same sort of anger and defense mechanisms that he did

Draco defends Harry from a Slytherin and Harry is confused and the Slytherin is confused but they back down

Harry just glares and walks away and Draco rolls his eyes and sighs

He sends Harry invitations to the Support Group but the golden boy never shows

When the Death Eaters kidnap Luna, Draco about loses it because Luna was one of the first ones who helped him grow

So he goes down to the dungeon and they still have their own little support group. Luna sees first hand what it’s like to be Draco especially when his father makes Draco use the cruatious curse on her

He cries and begs for Luna’s forgiveness and of course, he has it, she knows he never wanted to hurt anyone

At Hogwarts seventh year, he and the Slytherins who were a part of the support group are now also apart of the rebellion and Draco is livid about the punishments that Snape allows because how dare he allow physical abuse as a punishment and he gets an earful from Draco about it

Snape explains that it’s to keep him safe and Voldemort from suspecting anything and Draco just “I don’t give a damn about me or you! Stop hurting these kids! They’ve done nothing to deserve it!” And he’s in tears

Snape pulls back on his regimen a bit

Of course, Draco lies to his father about not knowing who Harry is. Why would he let his father win when Draco held the cards?

When Draco’s father calls him back to the side of the Death Eaters, he’s about to go because he is still afraid of his father but Luna takes his hand and so does the Hufflepuff from Herbology, and soon there are hands on his shoulders and arms, reminding him that he’s not alone and that he’s not the scared little kid anymore and he stands with Hogwarts

He and Harry eventually have a talk about growing up and the abuse they both suffered and Harry and Draco both grow as people and stop being so childish and put away the grudge and hatred for another

He takes a Slytherin girl under his wing in eighth year who’s two years younger than him and jumping at her own shadow. He brings her into the Support Group and helps her find some courage and self-worth

That girl is Astoria Greengrass

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itsblissfuloblivion · 4 years

Text

Torch - Chapter 10: June

jkr made us do this

Ao3 // FFnet

The first days of June brought uncommonly clear skies and warm weather over Hogwarts and Harry had felt alight with happiness. The hours he used to invest into Quidditch now turned into time spent with Ginny, glorious hours of being together, of enjoying each other, of unbounded exploring of one another. The tips of his fingers tickled and an unbearingly wide grin stuck to his face every time he thought about it. It was bliss.

The first Monday of June brings with it the sunniest day of the year so far and absolutely no interest for the remaining classes the Sixth Years still had on their hands. Naturally, Harry’s jittery all throughout the day and outright buzzing by the last excruciating hour he needs to spend in the company of what feels like everybody else but Ginny, with Ron throwing him withering looks and the occasional side eye.

Which turns into a full on stink eye when class is over and Harry all but sprints out, book bag strapped around his neck. It’s fortunate it doesn’t catch on the door knob and throttles him because that would have definitely put a break on Harry’s verve to jump into Ginny’s welcoming arms and (if he can admit it) glue his face to her freckly, beautiful one.

“What took you?” Ginny grins as Harry drops next to her, short out of breath.

She doesn’t wait for Harry’s response but slants her lips over his, tugs him to her by the collar of his robes and he laughs against her mouth.

“Missed me, then?”

“Thought I might’ve combusted during Charms,” she gasps between kisses and lightly bites into his lower lip before she adds, “But shush now, let’s talk later.”

Harry eagerly nods his approval. There really isn’t a moment to spare as it miraculously happens to be just them in that particular spot by the lake, nicely hidden from prying or, even worse, brotherly eyes by the bushes they’ve been making good use of ever since May.

The sun sets, casting orange and red hues over the rippling waters, and Harry marvels at the way the light catches in her hair. He traces his hands through it, brushing it between his fingers tips, feeling its softness.

Then Ginny sucks at a sensitive spot at the base of his neck and Harry moans, brings her face back to his quickly, hands knitting once again through her hair.

Her arms circle round him and she raises on her knees, suddenly towering over him, getting closer and closer until she straddles him, robes sliding high up her legs. Harry lowers himself on his elbows, gaping at the sight of Ginny sat on top of him.

Bold as it might sound, he’s a bit used to having her wrapped around him as he kisses down her face, her neck, her chest. But her over him, oh, it’s so different and so good, Harry can’t help the moan that escapes his lips, the utter heat that envelopes him at the sight of her watching him intensely, deep brown eyes darkened, suddenly ablaze.

Ginny takes his hands and places them on her knees, presses slightly to encourage him to go further, up and up until he reaches under her skirt and brushes over her thighs, his heart beating deafeningly. She dips her head to kiss him, her hands into his hair as she lowers a bit more, presses herself into Harry. He moans again.

Harry grips her thighs and deepens the kiss, slips his tongue into her mouth and Ginny responds in earnest, her own tongue feeling his over and over again until her hips buckle and Harry’s grip turns tighter still.

He’s fairly certain she can fully feel the state of him and it’s probably what makes her press onto him harder and him slide his palms higher until they brush over the cotton of her knickers and quickly rest at her hips.

“Do that again,” Ginny sighs into his mouth and Harry obliges with trembling hands.

He moves his thumb over her skin, stopping a moment to better feel where the cotton material hugs her hips. Then, shily he follows the line of her knickers until his thumb rests on a spot that makes her whimper over him, moan against his lips. He holds still, doesn’t dare move for fear of his own body betraying him, breaking the spell.

Harry breathes hard and Ginny’s quick to catch his lower lip between her teeth, her hands grasping at his shoulders, his robes frantically. So he rolls them over and now it’s him who's pressing into her, Ginny’s legs wrapping around him, her skirt and robes bunching up to reveal what Harry’s previously felt under his fingertips.

“Ginny,” Harry groans and closes his eyes to kiss her again, one hand traveling over the back of her thigh. Her skin is soft and warm and Harry feels the need to squeeze, to feel everything.

A whirlwind of colours and emotions explodes inside his brain when her hand sneaks between them, grasping him through his robes for the very first time. His gaze turns blank, he’s stunned for a few seconds before he recovers and rolls off her in a haste.

“Alright?” Ginny gasps, her breathing uneven, chest rising fastly. Her cheeks are tinged pink and her hair’s a mess, robes still slid up enough for Harry to glimpse a patch of pink cotton underneath. He quickly looks away.

“A bit too much actually,” he says, trying on a sheepish smile, pleading with himself to block the mortified feeling that’s threatening to take over him. Harry wills himself not to shut down in front of her, that she’d made light of the situation when it happened to her in that deserted classroom a week prior, that it’s all proof of how well suited they are for each other, of how much he’s attracted to her.

Ginny, on the other hand, looks self-conscious, her eyes darting away from his face as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth - a telltale sign of being insecure, Harry’s come to notice.

“Did I move too fast? We can take it slower, if you’d like, I didn’t mean -”

“No! God, no,” Harry hurries to comfort her, drapes an arm over her shoulders as he mentally kicks himself for making her feel like she’s done something wrong when all she’d ever done to him was good and amazing and felt bloody brilliant. “Not too high on stamina, ‘s all,” he mumbles, ignoring the scorching sensation taking over his face, his ears.

“Oh,” Ginny’s eyes dart back to his and she blushes a bit before a little smile stretches on her face, getting bigger and bigger until it’s a dazzling grin, blindingly beautiful to Harry. So he kisses her, deep and meaningful, arm still around her shoulders.

The first star of the night shines over them when Harry helps her up, brushes the grass from her robes and pats down his own mess of a hair.

Their hands link as they walk silently towards the Castle, stomach rumbling with heat and hunger.

“You comfortable with all this?” Harry squeezes her hand lightly, head dipping a bit to catch the expression on her face.

She looks surprised, then laughs heartily, a little spring in her step as she replies, “I honestly thought I might be making you uncomfortable with all the kissing and touching and, you know,” Ginny pauses to collect her words, the faintest hint of embarrassment ghosting over her features, “all the other stuff we’re doing.”

“The other stuff, hmm?” Harry grins, tries his best to wink.

“Don’t be a prick,” Ginny laughs, elbowing him playfully.

“I’m not, I just honestly don’t know what you mean. I might need a more detailed explanation.”

He’s the embodiment of innocence as he looks at her with big emerald eyes, dimple forming in one cheek as Harry smiles sweetly. Immediately he yelps because Ginny’s just thrown her school bag at him and proceeded to chase him down the grounds, rightly calling him ‘a lying little tosser’, with Harry pausing in his tracks enough to inform her he takes offense at the use of ‘little’.

Their happy shrieks reverberate against the Castle walls as Ginny throws her shoes at him with the double purpose of smacking him over the head and allowing her to run faster, and Harry pivots and jumps and engaging all the Quidditch training tactics he’s ever learned to make a clean escape. Ultimately, they both burst through the ancient doors barefoot, shoes and bags forgotten, sniggering as McGonagall hurries to lay down the law.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for walking barefoot,” Ginny huffs, amusement still dancing in her eyes.

“I think the term employed was ‘inappropriate student attire’,” Harry whispers, his lips trembling from the effort of keeping at bay the wild waves of laughter smacking on the inside of his chest.

They both burst into a loud fit of giggles when they catch each other’s eye though, doubling over even as a harried looking Hermione ushers them out of the Great Hall, maniacally hissing about losing enough house points for the day.

_____

By some miracle of good fortune, Harry finds himself with the Sixth Year Boys’ Dorm entirely to himself. Ron’s off somewhere pretending to study so he can get one on one time with Hermione, and the rest of his roommates...he’s not particularly invested in their whereabouts so long as they’re not here.

It’s not that Harry hates being around people, but it can become grating, being in the constant awareness of other humans. Never a moment to think about scratching your arse in peace. Let alone actually doing it. Or other similar private needs. Anyway.

Ginny’s off with Luna and despite his urges - namely to be around Ginny as much as humanly possible without being expelled - he knows they should probably leave each other some time to be separate. This may be his first dating relationship but he’s hyper aware of being smothering. Perhaps it’s not good how very much the thought niggles at the back of his mind, the idea that someday everyone he cares about will eventually tire of him and the trouble he brings, but it’s there nonetheless.

His musings are a bit darker than one would expect from a teen bloke left to his own devices in an empty dorm room, but Harry’s for the most part abandoned the idea that he’s normal. Much as he wants to be ‘just Harry,’ it seems every passing day, month, and year, it’s less and less likely.

Except when he’s with Ginny.

She somehow manages to see him, really see him for everything he is, and treat him like he’s normal Harry. Teasing him, laughing together, snogging him ‘til his feet go numb, and dressing him down as necessary. In both senses of the term. And if Harry’s engaging in a moment of honesty, his attraction stirs at either version.

Though it is a boring choice, Harry finds himself preparing for a late afternoon, pre-dinner nap, ditching revising and homework without a trace of regret. He’s just on the fuzzy edge of sleep when a soft knock sounds at the door.

Before he can do much beyond pushing up to his elbows and gaping in confusion, the door creaks open and the Weasley he least expects and is most excited to see slips inside.

“How’s things, Harry?”

His grin falls infinitesimally as he tries to recall whether he’s got dirty pants lying about, but Ginny seems too intent on her purpose to notice.

In a few quick strides, she’s at his bedside and for the first time since she entered the room seems to be awaiting permission. Harry ruffles his hair and scoots over a little on the mattress. “What did you and Luna get up to?”

Ginny shrugs, one finger following the brocade pattern of his coverlet. “Not much, chatted some, shared biscuits from Mum, then she had to go meet Hagrid.”

“I don’t recall Luna getting detention.”

Smiling, Ginny finally takes the plunge and settles her bum on the edge of the bed. “Nah, Hagrid just lets her follow on his nightly walk so she can look for - ” Ginny’s voice trails off as her eyes finally leave the blankets and lock with Harry’s.

A lump forms in his throat and he can’t seem to find anything to do or say. Suddenly his hands feel too big for his body and the only word in his mind is ‘please’. Or maybe Ginny.

“Sorry, I - “ she swallows and slowly her tracing finger circles toward Harry’s hand where it lies limply against his thigh, “I can’t quite remember what Luna was on the hunt for.”

Harry shakes his head and sits up further, a bit too abrupt as he nearly unseats Ginny. At the last moment his hands shoot to grab her arms and steady her. His voice is a bit strangled when he answers, “That’s alright. I, uh - Luna’ll surely fill us in.”

Somehow they’re closer now and Harry feels his heart practically pounding out of his chest while Ginny’s breaths tickle his jaw. “Right - of course.”

And then, like so many times before, that fiery, wild, hurricane that is Ginny Weasley has his mind gone haywire while her lips slant over his. They’ve still not agreed on which of them started that first kiss however many hours, days, weeks ago, but Harry won’t argue that this encounter is one hundred percent Ginny Weasley initiated. If there’s anything he’s learned over their too short time together, it’s that Harry is fully on board with an endless lifetime of Ginny and every bit of her unstoppable force of nature ways.

Now though, he’s swept up in the storm and he might have been a bit of a fumbling mess to begin with but they’ve learned together and there are certain things he’s gotten quite good with over the course of their relationship. So when Ginny looms overhead, knees on either side of his hips and tongue toying with his, he’s no longer a blubbering mess. He’s got moves now.

With a smooth twist, he executes one such maneuver, which ends with Ginny staring up at him wide eyed and cheeks flushed. “Well, look at you.”

Harry’s laugh turns to a groan against Ginny’s lips when her hips rise to meet his in a rolling motion that makes him see stars.

Their kisses become more desperate, shared breaths just as much as presses of lips. While her hands run through his hair, his slide up Ginny’s milky, freckled legs until he rucks up her skirt and those damn pink knickers stare back at him.

Except now, he’s not nervous, and when he looks into Ginny’s eyes he sees the same certainty he feels evident in her deep brown irises.

It feels like a blur, her hands on the waistband of his trousers, his fingers tugging at her knickers, and suddenly he finds his lips leaving hers and slowly mapping the curves of her chest. She sighs when he reaches the edge of pale pink cotton, allowing him to bury himself in her flowery scent, but soon becomes impatient.

A sharp tug at his hair signals she’s tired of waiting as they have and Harry’s ready too. It just feels right this time.

When her palm slips inside his pants and he shudders in her grip, his face buried against her neck so he doesn’t see the door slam open.

But he does hear it, and immediately jolts into action, raised on his elbows and blinking wildly at Ron in the doorway. Some mix of an apology and random swearing is about to leave his lips when Harry glances back down at Ginny and finds...no Ginny. Just a slightly drool-damp pillow clutched to his chest. Apparently he’s gotten quite friendly with his bed dressings this afternoon.

Bloody hell.

Regardless, he’ll need a moment to...collect himself before he addresses whatever drama Ron and Hermione have managed to drum up in the last half hour.

“Dinner, mate,” Ron says, “Rumor has it there’s those mashed potatoes with cheese and bacon. Don’t want to miss. Seamus has been a damn hog lately.”

Harry slumps against the bed and nods, hopefully concealing himself enough to avoid a horrifying conversation that would scar both parties. “Go on. I’ve got to wake up a bit. Detention’s wiped me out. If I try the stairs in my current state I’ll fall to my death.”

Ron snickers. “Snape would love that,” he grimaces, “Actually, Dean might too.”

Harry rolls his eyes and Ron continues, “I’m not particularly chuffed about anybody but - well, what right has Dean got, right? Plus you’re Harry. Clearly - “ Ron flushes and lets the thought drop. “I’ll save you some potatoes. Come down quick though. Don’t want them to get cold.”

“Right, because it’s not like we’re wizards,” Harry teases as Ron flips him off and disappears into the hallway.

Glancing down at his lap, Harry murmurs, “Well you heard him, come down quick.”

_____

Harry’s become more well acquainted with the trees on the bank of the Great Lake in the last month than his entire previous five years at Hogwarts. Sure he’s swum with the merpeople, chased some Death Eaters, and claimed a warm spot in the grass a few times. But there’s something about lying in the sun with Ginny that instantly stirs a delicious feeling of contentment like he’s never thought possible.

And lest it begin to seem that Harry’s utterly incapable of a thought that isn’t completely and entirely focused on Ginny, they’ve ended up lounging like lumps with Ron and Hermione in tow. It’s all rather homey and relaxing and Harry could probably lie here forever.

Especially since in his reclined position he can’t see Ron’s face which every so often twists into a grimace. Harry’s a bit proud of Ron, honestly. Since all of this started, he’s adjusted fairly well. The first time Harry walked into the dorm room after kissing Ginny, Ron tossed a pillow in his face with the type of force Harry longed to wrench from his best mate on the pitch, but otherwise it seems most violent impulses are under control. There have been a few snide remarks of course, but Ginny volleys back with that sass Harry really finds attractive, and soon they’re either all laughing or Harry’s too distracted by Ginny’s lips to care much.

Now, however many blissful weeks in, they’ve reached something of a detente and Ron manages to not fume when Ginny pulls Harry’s head into her lap and runs her fingers through his hair. Which is good because he could happily live in this position.

The weather is beautiful enough that even Hermione’s been tempted to leave the library, albeit with books and notes in tow, and so the foursome have claimed a spot along the water. By some unspoken agreement, Harry and Ginny carefully guided the group away from the tree where some of their more intimate explorations have taken place. Too many memories to drum up in mixed company. Although Harry’s mind is never far from them…

When Ginny’s fingertips slip past Harry’s loosened collar and tie, Harry hears Ron let out a gag, quickly followed by a low ‘oof.’

“What the hell Hermione?”

“Do be mature.”

“I’m not the one who’s feeling Harry up like he’s a - ”

Harry laughs and winks at Ginny. “While I do appreciate you protecting my honour, Ron, I promise you Ginny has assured me of only her noblest intentions.”

Ginny lets her hand rest over Harry’s bounding heart and smiles at Hermione dangerously. “Don’t think I missed those sharp moves. You could make a great Beater.”

“I keep telling her I’ll give her a few rides on my broom and it’ll be like second nature - ”

While Ginny jerks to attention like a hunting dog fixed on a scent, Harry jolts into a sitting position, “A few what on your what?”

Hermione blinks, “A few rides on his - oh. Oh, do be mature.”

It takes Ron a few extra seconds to catch on and then he flushes beetroot from his neck upward. “Oh, damn it Harry. Don’t be such a ninny.”

“‘Ninny,’ nice one Ronniekins,” Ginny teases, tossing a stick at her brother, “Pick that up from Aunt Muriel.”

“Sorry I’m not as macho as loverboy.”

Harry drags Ginny closer as the wind whips up a little off the lake while she folds her hair into a loose plait. “I’ll give you the name of my tattoo place. We can get you something nice to hide your little bald chest.”

“Yeah, like you’ve got anything exciting going on under there.”

Ginny squeezes Harry’s thigh. “Oh, I assure you he’s got plenty to be excited about.”

Even Hermione winces at that, eventually sharing a commiserating glance with Ron. Honestly, Harry would feel worse if they both didn’t have something with just as much potential to be occasionally nauseating staring them right in the face. Everyone should take relationship advice from him - pine and angst for nine or so months, then finally snog in front of a large group, preferably after some victorious event, then proceed to be gloriously happy. Harry highly recommends it.

Life, for once, feels right.

_____

“You arsehole,” Ron jabs Harry with his foot just as he is drifting asleep, ready to enjoy what would be no doubt another of his Ginny centred dreams.

“Sweet dreams to you, too, Ronnie love,” Harry grunts, rubs at his ankle. Shit, Ron’s feet are long. Perhaps if Harry pushes it any more in front of him, he’ll wake up with Ron’s foot up his arse one night.

Oh, god, what if he moans Ginny’s name in the dead of night and then he wakes up with Ron’s foot in his mouth? Who knows how much the plonker can stretch his legs.

“Zip it. What was all that about you having plenty to be excited about, that rubbish Ginny was yapping about earlier?” Ron hisses, hunched over his bed to stare directly into Harry’s bleary face.

Harry scans the room quickly to check if all their dorm mates are sound asleep and snoring. And they are, the lucky bastards.

“Why? Want a private show?”

“Oh, bugger off.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. And if we’re laying it thick, how ‘bout you giving Hermione a few rides on the broom, eh? What was that about?”

“Good night,” Ron splutters and Harry grins, pleased.

“Yeah, thought as much. Night night, Ron mate.”

_____

His pulse strums up when he reads Dumbledore’s note and quickly the image of the last moments he spent with Ginny, her mouth on his, her fingers tightly twisted in his hair as his palms roamed at her chest, her muffled pants as they kissed and touched against a Castle wall, everything runs before his eyes and his mind screams at him that it might’ve been the last time. Their last kiss, their last anything.

Harry knows he might not come back from this. Yet still he walks in silence, the rumbling noise inside his mind the only sounds he hears.

And then there’s nothing left; complete blank, intense white noise as they return to Hogwarts, battered, scarred and bloody. Nothing as he watches Dumbledore die, nothing as he looks directly into Draco’s white, horror struck face. But intense, boiling hatred as he looks into Snape’s.

Harry nearly turns into a murderer that night, he nearly tears his own heart out, spits his brains out from the pain. The thought of Ginny, the sound of her voice - the only things that keep him teetering on the edge.

He barely pretends to be present as Hermione announces her uncovering of the Prince’s mystery, a faint lurching sensation in his stomach as he listens. Harry figures he shouldn’t be surprised; after all, it seems like Snape’s linked to so many pieces of puzzle all throughout his life, destroying what he can, taking even the smallest of joys away from Harry.

He pours his anger and fury into their discussion of Snape, unafraid to let slip how much he hates him, how his mind is conjuring plans and schemes of getting him, the sooner the better.

It’s only the calming sound of Ginny’s laughter that soothes the rippling of dark waves inside his mind, the hurricane shattering his soul. She giggles when Harry makes up an excuse about Fleur being ugly and he smiles involuntarily at the sound. Then he takes her by the hand, takes her to that classroom they’ve shared before. He takes her to the last moment of blissful intimacy they’ll have together, but he’s too much of a coward to tell her that. Harry already knows it, he knows what he needs to do, but he can’t tell her that. Not yet.

Instead, he buries his face into her hair, draws in that flowery scent that’s always made him think of her, and holds her close to his heart as his eyes prickle and his mouth quivers.

She doesn’t say anything either but sits with him in silence, arms tightly bound around his middle. They’re too afraid to speak.

Her hands pull at the hem of his shirt and Harry lets her take it off, holds her as she kisses his shoulders, the bruises on his arms, the swollen patches of skin peppered on his chest.

“Ginny,” Harry sighs as her lips carefully map the remnants of what happened in that cave, and she takes a step back, gazes at him once, then lifts up her shirt to shove it away too. Her bra follows after and Harry’s heart leaps.

It’s the first time he sees her so, and his sad green eyes are hungry to take in, to remember everything; every detail, every freckle, every cluster of little dots splattered over her skin, her clavicle, her beautiful breasts.

Then she closes the distance between them to hold him tightly to her, as he holds her to him. Harry and Ginny, one heart over the other, two frightened young hearts beating against each other, love shared through skin.

They sit like that for a long time, shivering in each other’s arms but not brave enough to let go. They don’t cry, they don’t talk, just clutch at each other, fingers gripping viciously at the other’s back, silently screaming: don’t let go. Just don’t go, don’t leave, don’t leave me.

Finally, Harry draws a sharp breath in, tips her chin up and kisses her deeply, shuddering at the feel of her breasts moving slightly against his chest. Then slowly he retrieves their clothes and hands Ginny her own, gently turning her with her back to him to help her dress.

He clasps her bra and leaves a kiss on her right shoulder, pushing her long red hair to one side. Harry then slides her shirt gingerly over her head, careful with her arms, and rolls it back until it hides the little freckles peppered over the small of her back, over the rounding contours of her hips. He puts his shirt back on too.

Even if he knows that it’ll be days, months, years maybe when he’ll yearn for her touch, when he’ll curse himself for not having kissed those freckles one last time, felt her skin beneath his palms, grip her and undress her and make love to her when she offered him the chance; even if he knows that, he can’t possibly do it, he forbids himself to do it.

Because Harry also knows he could never live with himself if he did that only to leave her behind right after. He could never live with that.

Hand in hand, they walk back to the Common Room and Ginny raises on her tiptoes to kiss Harry long and deeply at the bottom of the stairs before they say good night. They’d meet again in the morning, pained and silent one next to the other at the funeral.

Harry doesn’t close his eyes that night.

_____

Harry can’t remember much of Dumbledore’s funeral besides the heartache, the pain, the voices inside his head that scream so loud, that pound at his skull in a perpetual motion like his very conscience wants to run away from him, to break away.

But then again, how could he do or feel or remember anything else? He buried his mentor today.

And once again, Harry’s on his own. He has to, he must be, he needs to keep them all safe.

His eyes drift to Ginny and his heart breaks even further. For the last couple days he tried to tell himself it will be like a bandaid; but even in his heart of hearts Harry knows that’s nothing but a terrible lie. He’s always been a terrible liar. You’re a terrible liar, Roonil, she laughed and she was right. Now she deserves the truth.

But the thought that they could’ve had so much time together, a lifetime and a day, drives him mad, makes him so angry he wants to scream, to claw at anything until his nails break and his fingers bleed. How can he possibly live her behind?

He’s giving her a better life, Harry tells himself and immediately breaks, shatters to pieces inside his mind. He’s giving her a life without him because he doesn’t have one anymore. Not anymore - Voldemort’s taken it away from him, from them, from what they could’ve been.

The talk with Ginny leaves Harry numb and wishing she’d shouted at him, slap him even, hex him maybe; he would’ve been able to deal with that, he’d had so much practice at handling anger and rejection over his life, he could’ve handled that and carried on then.

Instead, she’d been understanding and kind and hid her tears, her own heartbreak. How could Harry ever be able to carry that with him, in his heart, for the rest of his life? How could he stand knowing he’d hurt another human, the girl he loved, yes, loved, hurt her beyond words or tears?

Lucky his life won’t last much longer, then.

Dejectedly, Harry talks to Scrimgeour, hates him for once again proposing he’d be the Ministry’s stooge, talks to Ron and Hermione, negotiates with them to stay behind, to live their lives. They have full lives ahead of them, the idiots. They have lives whereas Harry doesn’t, the bloody, blithering idiots.

He stares through the window on the ride from Hogwarts but he doesn’t see a thing. He takes in no details of the scenery, of the way the sun sets behind the hills and mountains.

Harry only sees her face somewhere in the distance, broken and brave and staring back at him with sad brown eyes. Ginny...

#itsblissfuloblivion #itsblissfuloblivion writes #torch #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny #harry x ginny #hbp missing moments #canon compliant #ron weasley #hermione granger #torch june chapter #dont @ us we're sad too #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves

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