#gjnnypotter fic

[gjnnypotter]

Mashed Parsnips.

This was written for the Hinny Discord Incognito Elf exchange for @thebiwholived. There are some stronger themes and slight language in this, so read with caution (there is some fluff though, I promise). I hope you all have a magical festive season!

The day had started out brilliantly. So brilliantly that he should have known, really, that it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Things never did when he was around.

The feast that Mrs Weasley had cooked up for lunch had been ruined by the arrival of Percy with none other than the Minister himself. It made him feel sick, knowing that the rogue Weasleys arrival was conducted by Scrimgeour in an attempt to get to him, that the manipulative move was made against the family because of him being in their home; and most of all, that their familial love had been taken advantage of. Because of him.

[[MORE]]

Couldn’t resist dropping in my arse, he thought bitterly. He had returned to the kitchen earlier on to be met by the sight of Percy standing stiffly with mashed parsnips flowing like a stream of lava down his face before he spun on his heel and stormed out after the Minister - all while Mrs Weasley sobbed into her gravy stained apron. His guilt-filled gaze had swept over their faces taking in each one in great detail - Ron, incandescent with rage, had been standing with his hands balled into fists; Bill, his handsome face twisted into one mirroring his shock; Mr Weasley, Fred and George all glowing a bright, furious red.

But it had been Ginny’s expression that made him almost double over. It had been hers that made him stutter a whispered apology and run. She had stared her brother down with something akin to resentment in her eyes, with her brow so narrowed that it made that stare appear even more intense. Her fiery hair rippled slightly as her shoulders rose and fell with each breath she took, her spoon clenched in her white-knuckled grip as a thick, pale substance dripped from it onto the floor. It wasn’t that hard for him to put two and two together.

It wasn’t this, though, that had made his gut twist as though a knife had been plunged into it.

It was when everyone at the table had turned to look at him instead of at each other that she had dropped her eyes to the table and her lip had quivered. It was that one small wobble when she thought no one had been watching that had made his chest clench to the point he had to bite his lip to force down the whimper that was oh-so desperate to slip past his lips.

So here he was now - sitting on his bed while staring out of the window, completely surrounded by orange and feeling like shit. He ran his hand through his hair with a deep sigh, his eyes monitoring the progress of a small snowflake that floated gently down from the grey sky.

The hand that was raking through his hair slowly made its way to his forehead. His fingers lightly traced the jagged scar on his forehead. Something stirred inside him, the same something that he had felt last year when he thought he was being possessed. Self-loathing. He knew it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination, but a fact that whoever he grew to love would suffer.

Him being here was selfish. He couldn’t stay. He was Harry Potter. The Chosen One with a target on his back, and while that target was still there - he was a danger to everyone around him. He was a liability. Lying to himself and pretending that everything was ok wasn’t an option anymore. He had to face the cold hard truth - he was alone. Sirius dying because of him had put the nail in the coffin. Even the mere thought of his godfather struck a blade of grief through his heart, and no matter how often Hermione prompted him to speak about him - Harry couldn't. He’d rather swallow sand than speak about him. But he’d never admit that out loud.

It hurt.

He winced at the sharp pain in his scar, panicking before taking note of the congealed blood underneath his fingernails. He stood up and paced, wringing his hands, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but The Burrow. He had to get out.

Don’t be stupid, piped up the rational voice in his head, what would that achieve, you’ve tried it before - remember?

He kicked the leg of Ron’s desk in frustration, then immediately regretted it as a fresh wave of pain jolted his toe. Swearing, he dropped back down onto the bed, sneering at the poster of Dragomir Gorgovitch who smiled down at him, carefree and winking.

Wanker.

The faint sound of voices and footsteps from the kitchen wafted up from the bottom floor, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to join them. He felt exhausted. Drained. Since when had simply getting through each day become so hard? Sometimes he felt like falling asleep, and maybe not waking up again. It was a dangerous thought, he knew that, but it would be kinder than the alternative that had been spelt out for him by the prophecy. And it would bring some level of control back into his life because right now, it felt like he had none. It felt like his voice was lost in amongst the calling of war, and the path that had been laid out for him by Dumbledore wasn’t so much as a path as it were a cage he was trapped in.

And he’d be with Sirius again.

He gave himself a mental shake, pushing his glasses up and sluggishly scrubbing his hands over his face. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him it was nearing two, and another glance out of the window showed him that the snow was still gently sailing down in intricate swirling patterns.

What a Merry-bloody-Christmas.

He turned back from facing the window, fully intending on lying down and having an impromptu nap when a photo fell directly into his line of sight. It was of the Weasley family when they were in Egypt. He remembered, fondly, Ron waving that blasted newspaper clipping around for weeks at the start of their third year, shoving it into the faces of whoever would look. But it was the red face of the girl in the middle of the shot that was burned into his mind even when he forced his eyes shut.

Ginny.

Even when she plucked that maggot out of his hair his stomach had fluttered. He couldn’t face her though, or her family for that matter, not after that mess at lunch. Not after they had been used by a man of the highest authority just because he, Harry, was in their home. The indignant crease of her brow and the way she had forced herself together made him feel as if he were about to break apart.

It was with these thoughts that a soft, yet firm knock rang through the room.

‘Harry?’

Speak of the devil.

He scrambled up off of the bed and tugged down the sleeves of the jumper he was wearing, exhaling through his nose as he opened the door.

‘Ginny.’

She looked beautiful standing there, framed by the door as she gently rolled her sleeves up, a soft expression gracing her features. He was sure that Ron would hit him if he were to see inside his head. Harry swung the door open a bit wider, and she stepped into the room. The glaring orange on the walls appeared dull next to her hair which appeared to be ablaze as it swept like a pendulum across her back before settling as she sat on her brother’s bed. He sat on his own bed opposite her, shifting as her chocolatey stare penetrated him like an X-ray.

‘Ron was going to come up and get you, but then mum brought out more Christmas pudding and… well, you know how he is. I swear that stomach of his could still be heard through about half a dozen silencing charms.’ She shrugged with a smirk.

‘Does his stomach ever stop rumbling?’ Harry asked coyly.

‘No, I don’t suppose it does.’

The freckles by her lips shifted as she smiled. They were hypnotising, reminiscent of the stars scattered across the sky.

Ginny leaned forward, her right hand coming up subconsciously to massage her earlobe as she spoke, ‘Lunch wasn’t your fault. I know you think it was.’ She said bluntly, cutting right to the chase.

‘How can you say that? The only reason Scrimgeour came was to speak to me.’ Harry said, confused.

‘Yes,’ she spoke slowly, both hands coming to rest on her knees, ‘but you didn’t ask him to, did you? And you didn’t ask him to bring that git with him. It’s not your fault they came and did that, its that joke of a Minister’s.’

Her belittling of the Minister was like music to his ears, but it failed to distract him from the heavy pressure on his chest. Harry shook his head, breath catching as he saw her frown, ‘If I wasn’t here, then that wouldn't have happened. It would be better if I just… I don’t know… left. You would all be better off if you didn’t know me. I bring what’s going on out there-‘ he gestured vaguely to the window, ‘- so much closer to you. You’d all be safer if I weren’t around.’

‘Oh?’ Ginny said simply, a single dark eyebrow quirking in what looked like mirth, ‘That’s the biggest pile of shit I’ve heard in a long time.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

He was confused. Really bloody confused. And that pointed look she was giving him wasn’t helping. He looked back blankly.

‘What was it that you said? We’d be so much safer if you weren’t around? Need I remind you of last year? Without you, my dad would be dead. And I would be too, don’t forget.’ She said the last part quietly, the mirth fading out from her voice.

‘I didn’t.’

Her eyes bored into his, their soft brown appearing darker to him in the dark grey light from the clouds. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He didn’t want to.

Years could have passed for all Harry knew. It was as though time had ground to halt. He saw nothing but her, cared about nothing other than her in that moment. The tight coil of guilt that had wrapped itself around him was loosening, and the fact that he could breathe again went unnoticed as they shared a connection that detailed more than words could ever illustrate.

It was a thud from downstairs that eventually snapped them out of their joint reverie. He felt hot, even though the snow was slowly piling up on the windowsill outside. She looked perfectly composed though, breaking into a grin as she stood up and stopped in front of him.

‘Now - that’s enough moping for today, you’ve used up your daily limit.’

‘Have I really? I was hoping to get another few minutes in.’

Ginny shook her head loftily, crossing her arms as she sauntered to the door, ‘No can do I’m afraid. It’s Christmas after all, we can’t have you holed up in here all afternoon.’

Harry stood up too. He would rather be downstairs with the Weasleys, there was no point in denying it to himself. One in particular. And though the guilt hadn’t fully dissipated, he couldn’t trouble them any further by wallowing.

If that reason hadn’t been enough, the way her eyes lit up when she saw him stand certainly was.

‘If we hurry there might be some pudding left.’ She said as she pulled open the door.

‘I doubt that, not if Ron’s been at it.’

‘I’m sure Mum will have more. She’ll have taken precautions.’

They trekked down the stairs, Harry admiring the way Ginny’s feet lightly danced around the creaky steps. The sounds of the wireless and incomprehensible chatter began to crescendo as they neared the sitting room.

‘Finally,’ Said Ron thickly through a bite of what looked like a mince pie, ‘I was about to come up and get you myself.’

‘Sit down dear and help yourself, there’s still plenty left over.’ Mrs Weasley said kindly, but Harry was disconcerted to see how bloodshot her eyes were. He looked around as a small hand lightly touched his arm, trailing after her as Ginny pulled him over to the table and snatched up a mince pie, staring at him as she took a ridiculously sized bite.

Harry snorted as she struggled to chew, dodging a playful smack that she aimed at his chest. Her hand was covering her mouth as she attempted to stop the overflowing crumbs from escaping past her fingers. Her muffled laughs were endearing.

‘Eyes bigger than your stomach?’ He asked her when she finally swallowed.

‘No, I don’t think so. Got there eventually, didn’t I?’ She said with playful cockiness as she wiped her hands on her thighs.

They joined Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, as well as Lupin and Fleur, plopping down onto the sofa next to the tree, the gnome still glaring down at them from its perch on the top. They spoke of nonsense, the aching feeling that had burdened him earlier on receding as he sat in between Ron and Ginny underneath the colourful paper-chained ceiling.

‘...and then by the time we got there, the poor Muggles had been cornered by them! A right old palaver it caused, the Obliviators had their work cut out for them. This was a few years back, mind you.’

‘Merlin, that’s genius. We could capitalise on this, people would love them. And of course we could modify them so that they aren’t quite as bloodthirsty.’ Fred murmured to George who was nodding enthusiastically, both of them ignoring their mother’s tuts.

‘I still don’t understand.’ exclaimed Ron

‘Were you not listening, Won-Won? The Muggles were attacked by a swarm of random, weird looking, small metal things, and Dad and Perkins had to set them to rights. It’s not that hard to get.’

‘I got that part thanks-’ He rolled his eyes, ‘-I just don’t understand why someone would charm something so stupid. A biting toaster I can understand, but why use something small and pointless like that to cause trouble when you could use something so much more impressive, you know what I mean?’ He finished. The rest of them all nodded, amused.

‘One of the Obliviators said that they were actually muggle game pieces. I think he said they were from a board game called “Monotily”. I was thinking of going out to find it so we could play it today.’

‘Do you mean Monopoly, Mr Weasley?’ Harry asked smiling, sipping on his eggnog.

Mr Weasley tipped his glass of fire whiskey at him, the amber liquid close to sloshing over the rim, ‘That’s the one, Harry.’

‘I remember the Dursley’s playing it once.’ He said with a wistful sigh.

‘Only the one time?’ Ginny asked. The large, pink sequin hat she got from the cracker she pulled with him was tipping precariously to the side.

‘Yeah. The first time they played it Dudley was so angry that he went bankrupt that he swiped the pieces onto the floor and then stomped on the board until it snapped.’

‘And you’re smiling about that?’

‘It was rather funny,’ He shrugged, ‘and I managed to hide the little pieces without anyone noticing so I could play with them later. The dog was my favourite.’

Ron laughed, as did Fred and George. Ginny laughed too, a loud laugh that forced her to put her eggnog down as she clutched her stomach. Harry’s stomach fluttered pleasantly, and he found himself joining them.

‘How about a good old family game of Kappas and Kelpies while we wait for tea?’

‘We just had lunch a few hours ago, you pig!’ Ginny shot at Ron.

‘And in a few hours from now, I’ll be ready for tea.’ Harry and Ginny shared an exasperated look as Ron left in search of the game.

‘Fred, George - careful before your mother sees.’ Mr Weasley spoke lowly, throwing cautious looks at Mrs Weasley who had disappeared through to the kitchen. But the twins continued chuckling; Fred miming launching something at George, who in turn had the most ridiculous expression of utmost disgust on his face. Harry felt as though he knew exactly which scene it was they were recreating.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Ginny snapped. The twins froze.

‘You need to put more oomph into your fling Fred. That amount of effort wouldn’t get it anywhere. More like this-’ She sprang up off of the sofa and closed one eye, flicking her wrist expertly to ping the imaginary substance through the air, ‘-you see?’ Harry laughed at the display.

‘That was some good aim you had by the way. You got him right on the glasses - that’ll be hard to get off.’ He nodded at her, and her cheeks turned slightly pink. It was probably a trick of the light.

‘I’ve honestly never felt anything as satisfying as chucking mashed parsnips at that prick’s face. Not even getting the quaffle through the hoop comes close to it.’ She sighed dreamily, staring up at the ceiling as her hat finally slipped off and dropped to the floor with a soft thump.

‘I second that. I’d happily hand over my bat to do that to him again.’ George agreed, Fred nodding beside him.

‘I should’ve done that to Scrimgeour.’ Harry said after another sip of eggnog.

Ginny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Harry watching intently as it slid from behind her ear back to cover her face almost immediately. She impatiently swept it back again, though this time it remained where she wanted it to be.

‘Better yet, greet him next time you see him with a good old fist to the face.’ She said with a smirk.

‘There’s always that.’

The snow was still falling, and Harry could see that Percy and the Minister’s footprints had been almost completely obscured, only a faint imprint remained as the fresh layer blanketed them. His eyes swept over the scene in front of him, the twins and Ginny bantering back and forth; Mr and Mrs Weasley chatting with Lupin on the opposite side of the room; Bill and Fleur sitting on a cosy armchair with their hands entwined and Ron off clattering about somewhere in search of the game. His gaze fell back on Ginny, and the way the twinkling lights from the tree set her face in a golden glow.

Maybe it was a Merry-bloody-Christmas after all.

[gjnnypotter]

I wrote one for Harry, so I couldn’t not write one for Ginny too! Happy Birthday Ginny :)

Ginny Weasley was not a morning person. She would choose the appealing warmth and comfort of her bed over anything else that was put against it, and she would do so with little to no hesitation. To her, there was no greater pleasure in life than nestling into her duvet with a cup of tea to hand.

There was only one day of the year when she threw this philosophy of hers out of the window in favour of rising early. Not Christmas, no - but her birthday. She had woken up at silly o’clock on the 11th of August ever since she could remember. It was a tradition, and she had no qualms about following this particular tradition of hers at all.

She woke up slowly, as she did every day. She wasn’t like her boyfriend. She didn’t understand how he could wake up and then immediately feel ready to start the day. Taking her time in the morning was her forte. She groaned quietly as she lifted her head slightly off the pillow and saw the time glaring back at her from the small blue clock on her bedside table.

5:30 AM

Ginny smiled to herself and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her hair falling into her face and obscuring her vision as she stood. She padded lightly down the hall and through to the bathroom, quickly brushing her teeth to get rid of the mossy feeling she had when she woke. She paused - toothpaste dribbling down her chin, her arm still raised holding the brush - as she heard the clattering of pans and muffled swearing from down the stairs. Ginny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Her boyfriend was meant to be in the office by now, as far as she knew he didn’t have the day off. It could’ve been one of her brothers or sisters-in-law making the racket in the kitchen, but she doubted it.

Interesting start to this Birthday I suppose. She thought wryly as she crept down the carpeted stairs of their small cottage. Her wand in one hand, and toothbrush still in the other. With her back to the wall - she stealthily inched towards the kitchen door. Her heart felt as though it was beating out of her chest. Taking a calming breath, she exhaled and kicked the door open.

‘Expelliarmus!’ She shouted, aiming at the person who was crouched on the floor without really taking in who it was. The person ducked low and her spell hit the cupboard door just behind them. She opened her mouth to send another spell, when the person stood up and faced her - their face set in a mixture of bafflement and shock.

‘What the hell Ginny?!’ Ginny lowered her wand with a sigh of relief, before she responded with heat to equal his.

‘What do you mean “what the hell?’ I should be asking you that! Merlin Harry, what the fuck are you doing?’

Harry simply looked at her for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as she thought of what to say.

‘This was meant to be a nice surprise! I thought you were going to wake up a bit later, you woke up at six last year. You’re not meant to be up yet!’

Pots and pans were strewn across the floor, the cupboard that they belonged in was open and empty. It looked like there had been an avalanche. There was flour on the counter and in Harry’s hair - the white powder standing out in stark contrast to his dark locks. It looked as though he had been baking.

‘What are you doing?’ She asked suspiciously, ‘You’re meant to be at work aren’t you?’

‘And you’re meant to still be asleep.’ He responded sarcastically, smirking at her before he went back to cleaning up the floor. Ginny took a seat at the table, watching him tidy while she summoned her dressing gown from their bedroom.

‘Robards gave me the day off. I asked him weeks ago. My plan was to keep it quiet and then-‘ he paused as he stood up and pushed the cupboard door shut, turning to grin dazzlingly at her, ’-see your face light up as I served you breakfast in bed. Though that part hasn’t gone the way I expected it to.’

Ginny smiled, her dressing gown fluttering behind her as she walked over to him and wrapped herself in his embrace.

‘I’m sorry for ruining your surprise,’ Her words muffled as she spoke into his chest, ‘though I can’t help but wonder where that breakfast you were making is?’ She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him lightly, then backed away back to her seat at the table.

‘You’re so subtle.’ He teased. Ginny watched in interest as he opened up the fridge and carefully took out something out, his lean frame blocking her from seeing what it was. He grabbed a wooden tray and placed the thing on it, then he pulled his wand out of his pocket and conjured a flower and a glass to put it in before placing that on the tray too along with a steaming mug. He carried it over and put it on the table in front of her. Ginny looked from the tray to Harry. She tried her hardest to keep a straight face, though on the inside she felt like she was falling in love with him all over again.

‘The flower was overkill.’

‘I thought as much.’

‘The tea looks good though.’

‘I’d bloody well hope it does, I know how to make a good cuppa.’

Ginny nodded, fighting with herself to keep her expression neutral. She pointed at the slice of cake he had cut for her and quirked an eyebrow in question.

‘I made your favourite cake. Blue.’ He deadpanned. She snorted and couldn’t stop the giggles that escaped her lips.

‘I love it. You didn’t have to do this.’ Ginny said as she kissed him again, drawing it out this time.

‘Anything for you. Happy Birthday.’ He said, kissing the top of her head as she hugged him once more.

‘You can put down the toothbrush though you know.’

[gjnnypotter]

This is just a short wee oneshot I wrote in celebration of someone’s special day. Happy Birthday Harry!

39.

Bloody hell he was getting old, he thought with a shrewd smirk as he opened his eyes - squinting slightly as a golden sun ray flitted through the blinds and onto his face. He felt a familiar tickle on his nose and knew without looking that his wife’s hair was the cause.

The patter of a few pairs of feet and the hushed whispering of his children’s voices reached his ears as they made their way quickly down the stairs, up to Merlin knew what.

He remembered being their age. He remembered the small shred of hope that one day, someone, somewhere would simply acknowledge his birthday like they did Dudley’s. He remembered the joy, the pure and unrelenting joy when he read the birthday messages his friends had sent him, pledging never to let them know that they were some of the only ones he had ever received. He remembered lying in his bed, drenched in sweat while tears he was unaware of shedding tracked down his cheeks, after waking suddenly from a nightmare he could only remember as being horrific - when the prospect of living to see another day let alone birthday seemed bleak.

39.

He was lucky. Lucky - for he had the things he had once thought were impossible for him to ever have. He had a wife, a family, kids who reminded him every day of just how incredibly fortunate he was, a job that he loved and a fair few grey hairs - though he wasn’t as fond of that last one.

39.

He stared up at the blurry ceiling, the faint sound of arguing children making its way to his and Ginny’s room. The bright red hair of his wife was strewn all across the bed and his face as she lay across his chest, effectively pinning him down. His nose twitched, eyebrows furrowed, and his unasked question of what he was smelling was answered as the smoke alarm went off, the shrill piercing noise eradicating any remnants of sleep that had been clawing at his heavier than usual eyes.

Ginny shot up violently as she was torn from her slumber, her knee connecting sharply with a certain area that made Harry swear loudly in surprise.

‘What the fuck are they doing?’ She slurred slightly as the last dregs of sleep left her, leaving her with an exasperated expression on her face. She looked down and even though his eyes were watering in pain and he could barely see her, Harry knew from the stifled gasp she emitted that she had realised what had just happened.

‘Shit - Harry I’m sorry!’ He felt her hand on his arm brush his skin lightly before coming to rest on his bicep, as though she was scared of maiming him further.

‘No, no. It’s fine - really!’ He added at her skeptics expression. He attempted to speak evenly, though his voice was substantially higher than normal. He felt the mattress dip slightly as she lay back down, wrapping an arm round his chest gently.

‘Merlin, you know what? Just leave your kids to it. Only get up if the house is on fire.’ She sighed, speaking over the loud ringing of the alarm.

‘Oh so they’re my kids now? If anything they’re yours. Those pyro tendencies are all Weasley.’ He retorted, still recovering from her unintentional attack on his nether regions.

‘You make a good point, I’ll give you that.’

The alarm stopped after a couple of minutes, accompanied by their eldest son’s victorious shouts. They both smirked as they listened.

‘Good start to the day,’ Ginny murmured sarcastically into his neck, ‘Happy Birthday.’

39.

He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[gjnnypotter]

Soon.

A HBP Harry Potter oneshot. Angst ahoy.

He hadn’t even noticed the fact that he had lost many nights, and days for that matter, trapped in thought. Lost in the memories that swirled around his mind, haunting him both when he was conscious and not.

He thought that he had hit his lowest last summer.

He was wrong.

At least then, he had Si- him. It hurt to even hear his name, let alone think about what it was exactly that he, Harry, had lost.

He had only been back at the Dursley’s for a week, and already that week had morphed into an eternity.

He spent each day in a haze, a numbed out daze in which he would fall down the rabbit hole of grief.

It hurt to feel. He was sick of hurting.

Then why keep hurting? Piped up the incessant little voice in his head.

There was that question again. Why? It was a question, a single word, that he had asked many times in his life. But now more than ever.

A lone car crawled down the road, and it was the quiet whisper of its tires on the tarmac that roused him from his trance. He blinked and turned his head slightly to the side, forgetting in his spaced-out state why the numbers on the clock appeared blurry. It was then he realised that the familiar weight of his glasses was missing from his face.

He groped blindly in the dark and felt the cool metal against his fingers before slowly tucking the legs behind his ears. He tried again to read the time.

3:00 AM.

He wasn’t surprised. His relationship with sleep had always been rocky, but now it was almost non-existent. The nightmare he had the first night back from Hogwarts had left him reeling. He couldn’t breathe, each breath got caught in his chest and it had taken what felt like years for him to suck in the air he so desperately needed.

Never again, he had vowed to himself. He didn’t want to feel like that ever again - so vulnerable and exposed - like he was some sort of attraction in a bloody museum.

But he was tired. So tired. Tired of feeling the way he did, tired of killing people with his own stupidity and tired of the struggles each day brought with it.

The only thing that kept him going were the letters from Ron and Hermione. They were worried, he could tell, and it wasn’t like they were concerned about hiding that fact. Apparently his letter to the two of them hadn’t appeased them.

I’m fine. The Dursley’s are fine, ignoring me but honestly I prefer it that way. Hedwig’s out hunting right now, so you’ll get this when she’s back I guess. How are you?

He had sent the same letter to the pair of them. He was ashamed at how long it had taken him to write it. Even the simple, “how are you?” had caused his hand to tremble and his heart to race as he almost drowned in the wave of guilt that overwhelmed him.

He stared at the empty cage on the shabby desk across from him. She should be back soon. He missed her - she was the only one in the godforsaken house that knew he existed.

He shifted onto his back, his bloodshot eyes seeking solace in that same spot on the ceiling.

He knew it couldn’t be that much longer until someone came for him. Whether that someone was Dumbledore, the Weasleys, or that little voice in his head, he didn’t know. He just hoped someone would.

Soon.

[gjnnypotter]

So I’ve caught the writing bug again and I’ve spewed out this pre-Hinny oneshot set during Half Blood Prince. Enjoy :)

The softly flickering flames in the fireplace doused the common room in an orange glow. Only a few people lingered around - a fourth year girl was scribbling frantically on a piece of parchment with her astronomy books and charts scattered around her, while a small group of fifth year boys were sitting on comfy looking cushions in a circle on the floor playing gobstones.

Many things were on his mind, and he seemed to catch himself daydreaming more often than not these days. The weight of the world was on his shoulders and it seemed too heavy to even attempt to throw off. The prophecy was always lingering on the edges of each thought he had and the grief from losing Sirius still hit him when he least expected it to.

Not everything was doom and gloom though, and he had to be thankful for that. Ron and Hermione had apparently decided to forget that their argument that had spanned the course of several months had ever occurred, and he couldn’t have been more relieved - playing the role of peacekeeper between the two of them had been damn near impossible. Katie returning to the Quidditch team had also perked up his mood recently. The team was back to how it was meant to be from the start and their chances of winning the cup were looking better by the day.

However at the present moment, Harry Potter was sprawled across an armchair trying to stay afloat in the pool of melancholy he was currently drowning in. His paranoia over what the hell Malfoy was up to was reaching breaking point. Each moment he spent tracking the Slytherin’s movements became a moment wasted, as no matter how hard he dug, he was failing to uncover any information of value. Months of looking and all he knew was that Crabbe and Goyle were being polyjuiced into girls - hardly a victory for either side. And to top of his despondent mood, rumours of him being the “Chosen One” followed him everywhere in a variety of forms - from giggling girls to looks of awe from almost everyone he met. The rumours were true of course, but there was no need for the public to know that - he could only begin to imagine he field day the Prophet would have if he confirmed said title.

Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair as the fifth years let out another round of raucous laughter that he couldn’t tune out this time. He twisted round awkwardly in his chair to glare at them, as did the fourth year doing her homework, and then promptly settled back down into his previous position- fully prepped to re-enter the whirlwind that was his thoughts.

He had just settled back down when the portrait opened. He glanced to the side halfheartedly to see who was coming into the common room at half-past eleven at night.

And then he did the perfect double take.

Ginny Weasley stepped quietly into the common room. Her head was kept down as she walked quickly over to the door to the girls’ dormitory, his eyes following her progress. Robes fluttering behind her, she glanced up briefly as her foot touched the first step going up. Her hazel-eyed stare met Harry’s green head on.

“Harry.” She said stupidly, slightly out of breath while stepping down from the stair. She smiled drowsily and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. He could see she was tired, it was almost midnight after all, and it was evident in the purple smudges underneath her eyes as well as her slow movements.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, sitting up straighter as his legs swung round so he was sitting on the chair as one normally should. Ginny made her way over to where he sat and slumped onto the sofa next to his armchair.

“What are you doing up so late? Wait - don’t tell me - Ron and Hermione finally pulled their heads out of their arses and have gone to snog in a broom cupboard. Did they leave you waiting here all alone? How rude.” She said with a wide grin. It took Harry a couple of moments to answer, as he was captivated by the way her hair seemed to glow and dance in the glow of the dying embers of the fire. He forced his gaze away from her hair to meet her eyes again.

“How did you know? Hermione could have sworn their cover story was airtight.”

“Ah well, nothing gets past me. Especially if it concerns Ron. Any news that concerns him finds its way to me and is then used as a source of emotional blackmail.”

Harry stared at her, trying to discern whether or not she was kidding about blackmail part. And why are you overthinking that particular detail? He thought to himself.

“Is that right? Well then he had better watch out.” He replied jokingly, a smirk playing on his lips. Ginny smirked as well, though her gaze swept him up and down. She edged further along her sofa, closer towards him.

“Now I don’t know about you Mr Potter, but I am rather tired - knackered if I may say so myself. I was on my way to my bed when I happened to see you still down here, looking rather - what’s the word? Sad? No. Lost.” Her lofty joking tone had changed to something akin to sympathy as she spoke. Ginny leaned forward and held her head on her hand as she studied him intensely. Harry’s brow knitted as from a simple look she had sussed him out.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He stared at her.

“Nah, I’m alright. Really I am.” He said after seeing her narrowed eyebrows.

“And I’m a hippogriff,” She said as she rolled her eyes slightly, “You can tell me you know.” Her voice softened.

“It’s just,” he shrugged, “I don’t know-” He waved his hand vaguely. “-sometimes it gets a bit too much I guess.”

Ginny reached her hands out and took his, pulling him to his feet. She looked up at him and brushed the hair from his eyes, leaving a tingly feeling where her fingers met his skin. “Sometimes it does get a bit too much. And sometimes, you have to let people help you when that happens. I know you can’t tell me what’s on your mind even if you wanted to - but there’s always Hermione, or Ron if the twat actually stops staring at Hermione long enough for him to take in what’s happening around him.” She grinned as Harry laughed softly.

She gently let go of his hands and placed one on his shoulder. Harry’s eyes darted down to his shoulder before moving back to focus on Ginny. His heart was pounding in his chest, he was rather surprised that Ginny couldn’t hear it thudding. The monster in his chest was urging him on.

Just kiss her already.

I can’t.

“You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m always here if you need me.” Her fingers trailed a small path down his arm before she removed them. They stood close to each other, barely a foot apart. The aroma of flowers tickled Harry’s nose. They were locked in each other’s gaze. Then Ginny walked backwards for a few steps. “Goodnight Harry. Get some sleep.” She turned and headed to the steps up to her dormitory.

He watched her go, admiring the way her hair cascaded down her back, swishing slightly as if it were a pendulum as she went. She turned around and glanced back at him, seeing that he hadn’t headed up to his own dormitory yet. She shook her head exasperatedly, reminding Harry of her mother, and pointed at him then to the steps to his dormitory. Harry raised an eyebrow and grinned while he lifted his hands in defeat. Ginny smirked smugly in victory and mouthed the word “goodnight”, before turning to disappear round the spiralling steps.

Harry made his way up to his dormitory, changed into his pyjamas and crawled into his bed. He lay on his back and stared at the scarlet canopy of his bed for a moment. Turning onto his side he shut his eyes and went to sleep, a content smile lingered on his face.

[gjnnypotter]

After Life and Love - Chapter 5

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13370100/5/Conversations

[gjnnypotter]

Looks like I’ve coughed up another oneshot witten at 3 in the morning. I was in the mood to celebrate my favourite bro-tp, Harry and Ron. Strong language ahead. Enjoy :)

“Harry I’m bored.”

“You’ve said.”

“No, I’m bored.”

“I know Ron.”

“Let’s go and do something.”

“Pardon?”

“I said let’s go and do something - anything - I don’t care what - before I go crazy!”

“But your mum said-“

“I know what she said, but what she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

The sun was setting on the Burrow. It was a pleasantly warm evening for July, not too hot but certainly not cold. Harry and Ron were lounging out in the garden, hidden from Mrs Weasley’s worried eyes behind a clump of trees. The Battle had been a mere few months ago and Mrs Weasley was still concerned about the pair of them leaving the confines of house after night had fallen - and rightfully so. There had been many threats made against Harry’s life by a bunch of rogue death eaters out for revenge, and Molly had strictly forbidden them from leaving the safety the Burrow’s wards offered. They were both of age though, adults, so she couldn’t really keep them there against their will - but the thought of causing her any unnecessary worry made Harry squirm with guilt.

“I’m not sure.” Harry said, running a nervous hand through his hair while glancing back at the house.

“Come on it’ll be fine!” Ron stood up and threw is hands in the air in a placating gesture. He paced over to Harry and stood over him, offering out a hand that Harry grudgingly took. He straightened up and looked over his shoulder again to the Burrow, where he knew Mrs Weasley would be settling down for the night. He bit his lip and sighed, before nodding at Ron.

“If she finds out, I’m blaming you.”

Ron smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s fine by me.”

“Where are we going then?”

“You’ll see.” Ron started walking to the gate where they would be able to apparate from. Harry was by his side. He couldn’t help but feel bad for going against the promise he made to Mrs Weasley, but the thought of being able to go out and enjoy himself with Ron for a few hours made him grin with anticipation.

The months since the Battle hadn’t been easy for anyone, but Harry was having a particularly hard time of it. He would wake up screaming and on more than one occasion he had forgotten to put up a silencing charm and ended up waking the entire house. He found himself becoming caught up in his memories at the most random and inconvenient times. Slipping into flashbacks while at the dinner table, seeing a flash of green light speeding towards him in a forest clearing. Even looking after Teddy was taking its toll on him, as every time he looked into the baby’s eyes all he could see was Remus looking back at him. It made him feel some semblance of pity for the people who knew his own mother, he understood now how taxing looking him in the eye must have been.

However now was not the time for sorrow. So when Ron offered his arm, Harry grasped it with a trepidatious smile. The tight squeezing sensation of apparition only lasted for a few seconds, but he was grateful when it was over. Harry could hear loud shouts in the distance before he opened his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Middlesbrough”

“Ok,” Harry said slowly, “Care to tell me why we’re in Middlesbrough?”

“We are here, my dear friend, to get you well and truly pissed.” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back as he steered him out of the dark alleyway they appeared in, out onto the busy street ahead of them.

The street was lined with small shops and a couple of pubs that were packed full to the brim. People were spilling out of the door, craning their heads to see something inside. They were chanting, but what they were chanting Harry couldn’t make out for the life of him.

“Merlin, is it normally this busy?” Ron shouted into Harry’s ear as they pushed past the crowds of enthusiastic muggles spilling out of the door of a pub called O’Connells.

“How should I know? I’ve never been here before have I?” Harry said while weaving through the throngs of people to get to the bar.

“Fair enough. There must be some sort of event on. Reminds me of the Leakey when there’s a Quidditch match on the wireless. George recommended this place to me, said he came here with Angelina once and it was nice and - sorry!” Ron hastily apologised after knocking straight into dejectedly pissed off looking muggle in a yellow and green shirt. The man glared at Ron before turning back to look at a small television screen perched in the corner of the pub. Harry followed the mans gaze to the screen and realised with a slight groan why the crowds were so large.

“Of all the nights you want to get drunk in a bar that’s not the Leakey, you just had to choose this one?” Harry hissed into Ron’s ear while pointing up at the screen. Ron stared at the screen in amazement before turning excitedly back to Harry.

“What is that? That is incredible! Is that the thing you told me about back in sixth year - a feletision?”

“Television.”

“Right, that’s what I said.”

“Mmhhm, so it was.” Harry arched an eyebrow in amusement.

“What is it showing? Looks like that crazy game Dean is always going on about.”

“Crazy game, lad?” A middle aged man turned to face the pair of them, his beer tipping precariously in his hand as he swivelled round, almost splashing the drink over his blue strip. “You can’t be from around these parts. That right there-“ he pointed passionately at the TV “- is the World Cup final. Brazil against France. Biggest game in four years, you boys should be glad you ain’t missing it!” the man spoke with a hearty grin and a lofty expression, he reminded Harry distinctly of Slughorn.

“I’ll just get the drinks then, shall I?” He didn’t wait for Ron’s response and instead pushed past a couple of people to get to the bar, leaving Ron to discuss the foreign matter of Football with the kind faced muggle. Harry waved the bartender over and received a rather pitying look from the young woman. She smiled with a pained expression.

“This your first time here? I can tell - you look awfully flustered. I get it, don’t worry. My colleagues and I drew straws to see who would all work tonight, and low behold I drew a short one. That’s just my luck.” She shook her head and sighed dramatically, causing Harry to grin slightly. “God I’m sorry! Here I am blethering - what can I get you?”

“I’ll just have two pints please, that’d be great.” Harry had to shout so he could be heard over the noise of the crowd shouting at the players in the screen to “just pass the bloody ball already!”

“Sure thing.” The bartender handed him two full glasses that Harry awkwardly paid for and carried back to the spot he and Ron had claimed as their own. Ron’s face lit up as he saw Harry weave his way back towards him.

“Harry! Thanks mate-“ Harry handed him his glass and watched on smirking as Ron chugged down half of his drink in one go. Ron wiped the froth from his face with his arm, the glow from the TV giving him a green tinge, “- listen, this muggle tele thing is brilliant! Imagine if we had that back at the Burrow, actually getting to see a Quidditch game instead of just listening to it! We should get George on it once the shop gets going properly again.” Ron closed his eyes and sighed with a blissful smile before peeling one eye open to see Harry laughing at him.

“What’re you laughing at? It’s a great-“ but Ron was cut off by half of the pub erupting in cheers and whistles, while the other half scoffed and shouted profanities to nobody in particular. The noise was deafening, people were waving their blue scarves in the air and were punching their drinks up in victory. The man reminiscent of Slughorn spun round on his heel, a look of sheer joy gracing his features, to face Harry and Ron and he slapped them both of the back - hard. Ron snorted as Harry stumbled slightly, sloshing his drink down his front.

Harry had never seen anything like the scenes in front of him before. The noise in the pub was deafening as the commentator screamed out that the score was now two nil to France. Even the Brazilian fans in the pub grudgingly wore looks of awe at the goal that had just been scored. He had been to the Quidditch World Cup final in the summer before his forth year, and the atmosphere there was similar to the one here - however the muggle environment, no major threats to worry about and the fact he was in a pub with his best mate made this final feel just that bit more intimate.

He looked to his side and saw Ron with one of the biggest smiles Harry had ever seen on his face, and so Harry couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed by his soaking t-shirt. He was beginning relax his previously tense stature as he began to feel more comfortable in this new environment, and seeing Ron chug down his pint while being egged on by the chants of the muggles around him made the last thread of worry Harry had disappear.

Hell, what is there to loose?

Harry caught Ron’s eye and tossed down what was left of his drink, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly in satisfaction at his friends approving look.

Ron nodded his head, laughing, he slapped Harry on the back, “That’s more like it! I’ll get the next round.”

Ron got the next round, and the round after that and Harry the fourth along with one after. By the time they had finished their fifth round, Ron’s goal in getting Harry pissed had been achieved. Well and truly achieved.

The pair of them each had one arm each slung round the others shoulders, their free hand grasping a tall glass that was filled precariously to the brim. Harry’s cheeks were flushed and he was leaning heavily on Ron. He seemed to be having a slightly harder time coping with the drink than his gangly friend. Harry took another swig of his drink, however it was then that one of the Brazilian players were fouled.

Harry choked as Ron hollered abuse at the referee, flapping his hands wildly in fury and he accidentally elbowed Harry in the ribs.

“Oi! You lousy ref! He barely touched him! Merlin’s saggy left-“

“What he said! He barely toush-t- touched him,” Harry shouted, gesturing with his glass towards the game while looking to Ron, “what a joke! Is this a joke? Imagine if they were this biased in Quid- what? Don’t shush me like that I was speaking! That’s just rude.” Harry’s expression melted into one of exaggerated hurt as he removed his arm from around Ron’s shoulders and clutched his chest as if he were genuinely in pain.

Ron - who himself was only slightly less drunk than Harry looked horrified. He grasped Harry’s shoulder and squeezed it hard, looking straight into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. That was mean of me.”

“It’s ok, I forgive you.”

“Thank you for your forgiveness.”

“It was no problem,” Harry gave Ron a hearty pat on the back and a wider than normal smile before draining the rest of his glass in one long chug.

The match was nearing its end and the French supporters were all going riot, while the Brazilian fans watched on with the hope that their team could score 2 more goals in 5 minutes - a feat that they knew was unlikely. Most of the pubs occupants were completely hammered, those in blue singing a drunken rendition of ‘We are the Champions’ while receiving disgruntled glares from those in yellow and green. Ron was completely immersed in the game as if he were watching the Canons play.

“Come on Goovash you glorious bastard.”

He hollered to the screen while linking arms with a tall blonde muggle who was standing just next to him.

“It’s pronounced Guivarch.” She turned to smirk at him, unwinding her arm from his as she did so.

“S’wat I said, isn’t it Harry?”

“Hmm? Oh right, yeah - that’s what he said.”

“Oh?” she nodded sceptically, “I don’t suppose you know what position he plays then?” She challenged them, crossing her arms and

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment, “don’t suppose he’s a-“ He made an inappropriate gesture with his hands “-kind of guy by any chance?” He asked seriously while Harry dissolved into giggles beside him.

The French-stripped girl looked torn between looking disgusted or amused, so she settled for shaking her head slightly and muttering, “so immature,” under her breath, the corners of her mouth twitching as she spun on her heel back round to watch the match with her friends.

Ron, meanwhile looked baffled.

“What was that all about? She asked a question and I answered it!”

Harry opened his mouth, about to reply with a sarcastic comment, when suddenly the hoards of muggles around them erupted in excited shouts.

“Come on, Come on, Come on Zidane you beautiful bast-.”

“Yes boys, go on-“

Hands were covering mouths.

Fingers were tangled in hair. Fists were clenched round glasses of bitter.

Harry had his eyes fixed on the game. He reached out blindly to his side, arm waving through the air until he eventually found Ron’s hand and grabbed it - pulling his best mate closer to him in anticipation. Ron clutched back, his grip unyielding.

On the screen, they could see a small player in blue zip towards the goals - kicking a small white ball that went streaking into the back of the net.

“ZIDANE I LOVE YOU YOU GORGEO-“

“Get the fuck in there!“

“C’MON BOYS!”

Drinks were flung into the air, and the frazzled bar staff couldn’t do anything to prevent the alcohol from raining down upon both the people and the floor. Harry and Ron punched their drinks into the air, Ron hollering joyous expletives to anyone who would listen and Harry drunkenly professing his love towards the French team.

It was then that the final whistle blew and the large crowd slowly began to file out onto the street, vacating the cramped pub. The sun had set, leaving a dark dusky pink sky behind. Chants could be heard echoing down the street as the elated muggles made their way home, most of them tripping over themselves as they stumbled away.

Harry was leaning heavily on Ron as they ambled back to the alleyway they had appeared in. He caught his foot on the kerb as they crossed the road from the pub to the opposite pavement, causing himself to stagger slightly. Muttering intelligibly under his breath he straightened up again, cursing all the way.

“Please remind me to thank George for telling me ‘bout this place. That was brilliant, I chose I good night to be bored!” Ron exclaimed at an unnaturally high volume as both he and Harry turned into the dark side alley.

“Don’t try and pretend you knew that football game was going to be on, you barely knew what it even was before tonight.” Harry slurred slightly, however he has basically shouting when compared to Ron’s loud rambling. His hair was damp and sticky from the beer he had thrown into the air, and his shirt was still sodden from when the Slughorn-esque muggle had hammered him on the back making him . But in spite of this, he was feeling as light as a feather - like nothing could drag him down from his current residency on cloud nine. It was as if the sound dial on all of his worries and fears had been turned down to mute for the first time in months, maybe even years. There was no weight left to weigh down his shoulders.

It was a truly wonderful feeling.

Harry shifted slightly to face the drunken Weasley next to him as Ron shook his head, hair flying and sending little drops of alcohol in every direction, while looking sheepish at Harry’s last comment. An immense surge of gratitude rose up from deep within Harry, and before he knew it - he had opened his mouth.

“I’m glad you were bored this evening, and thank you bringing me here - guess Middlesbrough isn’t as shit as I thought it would be. Your mum’ll be fuming if she ever finds out about this, but I don’t mind-“ Harry put his hands on Ron’s shoulders, eyes shining as he spoke in a slow and emotional tone, “-because if it weren’t for you I would be dead - literally. I’d still be at the bottom of that bloody pond. I don’t know what I’d do if I’m honest. Thanks for sitting with me on that compartment mate, you’re the best brother I could ask for - Merlin, don’t tell George I said that, he’ll take the piss out of me. Oh and thanks for sticking with me last year, the last seven years really. I wouldn’t’ve blamed you if you decided to bugger of and be pals with someone with a less demanding lifestyle than mine.”

Ron only looked slightly baffled before he put his own hands back on Harry’s shoulders. “T’was and tis my pleasure my dear Harry. You know us Weasley’s, we stick together. I couldn’t just leave my brother could I?” They looked at each other for a moment before stepping forwards and sharing a hug, something they didn’t do often - but it felt right.

The pair of them broke apart as the streetlight above them flickered on weakly, casting a dull orange glow over them. Ron held out an arm to Harry, whose glasses were slightly squint and were reflecting the light from above them.

“Guess we should head back before Mum realises we’re gone, eh?” Harry grinned at Ron’s nervous smile and nodded, grasping Ron’s arm.

“Yeah, that would be a good idea. D’you think she’ll have noticed?”

Ron glanced quickly behind him to assure that no one was looking at them from the street, before he shrugged his shoulders.

“Nah, I think we should be good.”

They disappeared with a crack.

[gjnnypotter]

Thunder and Rain

So I’ve always wondered what happened straight after Harry left Dumbledore’s office after that chapter in the Order of the Phoenix. So I’ve decided to write what I think might’ve happened. Enjoy :)

The door to the office closed behind him with a firm thud, blocking out the dulcet murmurs of the portraits. Harry walked swiftly down the spiralling staircase. He had to get away. He couldn’t bring himself to sit for one more moment in the tense silence that had descended upon himself and his headmaster. He stepped off of the staircase, out into the empty corridor. Everyone was in the Great Hall for breakfast, and Harry couldn’t be more relieved. He knew he looked a state. His face was white as a sheet and his clothes were dirtied and torn from the scuffle in the ministry. If anyone saw him now, who knew what kind of rumours would fly around - not that he cared about them really.

Sirius is dead.

The thought hit him from nowhere and it felt like he had been punched. Hard. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, his breathing gradually becoming more and more unsteady.

It’s my fault

He needed to get away. To leave. To go somewhere where nobody could find him. He didn’t want to be found. He needed to be alone. He had to be. It was necessary.

Before he knew it, his feet started to carry him away. He wasn’t thinking straight. He walked as fast as he could, shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep into his pockets. Everything was a blur - the walls around him closing in.

If he had just listened to Hermione then this wouldn’t have happened. If he had just taken a moment to think about what the implications of running off to London would be, then this wouldn’t have happened. If he had realised it was all a set up, a trap, then this wouldn’t have happened.

He’d still have his godfather.

The guilt was overwhelming. He felt like he was drowning in it, falling slowly down into a deep abyss with no hope of ever emerging.

Harry looked up and saw that he was standing in entrance to the owlery, of all places. Soft hoots and twitters greeted him but he barely noticed. His thoughts were racing and whirring around his head.

The draughts coming in from the glassless windows ruffled his hair, making it messier than it had been before. Harry walked over and sat himself gently of the window ledge - leaning against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest. The morning sun bathed him in an orange glow, but it didn’t seem to be able to dissipate cold feeling that had overrun him.

Harry had always liked it up here. It was quiet and secluded, and there was a brilliant view of the lake and the surrounding hills. The owlery brought with it a sense of calm. Of feeling of ease and tranquility as owls swooped in and out of the tower. Over the years, Harry had loved coming up to say hello to Hedwig - and in recent years, to give her a letter to send off to his long lost godfather.

He wouldn’t be able to do that again.

Harry took in a shaky breath and bit his trembling lip. He didn’t cry though. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. He remembered coming close to doing so at the end of his fourth year, but he had never completely unraveled. There was a foreign lump at the back of his throat and any attempt to swallow it down didn’t seem to do the job.

Harry shut his eyes tight and lowered his head to rest on his knees. His hands were shaking slightly as he clasped them around his legs. He felt isolated.

Neither can live while the other survives.

And there was that too. To just put the cherry on top of his burnt cake that was falling apart. Harry didn’t want to believe it was true, however he knew deep down that the prophecy and it’s contents weren’t just a load of nonsense - even if he wasn’t ready to accept that yet. He was only 15 for Merlin’s sake! How the hell was he supposed to defeat a Dark Lord - a feat that Dumbledore himself couldn’t even manage a few hours ago.

Kill or be killed. Perfect. Murder or be murdered. Just fantastic. Slaughter or be slaughtered. Bloody amazing.

Because that was his destiny. A curse he was born into. He didn’t like either outcome. He didn’t want to think about it. How could he ever hope to be normal, to live a normal life and to be a normal teenager when a death sentence was looming over him like a shadow.

Life just isn’t fair.

It was funny how that didn’t shock him anymore.

Harry gazed blankly out onto the grounds of Hogwarts, the place he called home, he saw other students walking across the grounds - enjoying the morning sun, laughing with each other. They were carefree, untroubled and happy.

Happy.

Because why should Harry’s problems concern them? Why should they care about the death of the only father figure Harry could remember? Why should they care about Harry��s decent into guilt and grief? And why, oh why should they care about Harry’s future status of murderer or victim?

So Harry sat on the window ledge. Trapped in a vicious snare of self loathing and impeccable despair. The perfect blend.

And so minutes bled into hours. People came in and out throughout the morning, hastily leaving after glimpsing Harry’s hunched form framed by the sun and blue sky. The perfect contrast to what he was feeling, for if the weather truly reflected his emotions there would be thunderstorms and gales. No sun. No blue skies. Just thunder and rain.

[gjnnypotter]

After Life and Love -Chapter 3

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13370100/3/Reunions

[gjnnypotter]

After Life and Love - Ch 4

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13370100/4/Rollercoaster

[gjnnypotter]

Saying Goodbye

Minerva McGonagall was a strong woman, she could handle anything. But she didn’t know if she could handle this. She looked up at the two white coffins, one had a pair of glasses on top, the other had a little lily. The tears were coming thick and fast now. 21. It was just too young to die. Minerva had tuned out the speaker a long while ago. Instead, she tuned into her own thoughts. She remembered a shy 11 year old Lily Evans, an outgoing James Potter. She remembered James’ flare for transfiguration and Lily’s for charms. She chuckled to herself as she remembered the mischief the four boys always caused, James always seemed to be the ringleader of these pranks. Minerva and the other professors had a bet going since their fourth year for when the pair would get together. Obviously Minerva won, stating that it would be in their Seventh year.

But Minerva felt another wave of sadness crash down on her as she remembered little Harry. The poor child wasn’t even aloud to attend his parents funerals. Minerva reflected on when Lily was pregnant. She was positively radiating happiness. She and James would figure out plans on what they thought Harry would do when he grew up. Minerva was there when their world came crashing down. Lily’s scared and James’ heartbroken faces were still etched into her head. She was there when they were informed of that horrid prophecy. Lily was terrified for her son. James has sworn to the child that he would get rid of Voldemort so Harry didn’t have to. But why should a baby, a child, an orphan have to bear that burden. The burden of being the saviour of the wizarding world.

Minerva was snapped back to reality as the speaker finished. The coffins were lifted and put into the same hole in the ground. Minerva watched as people began to throw soil onto them. She could hear the clang of the hard soils making contact with the wood. Minerva approached the coffins and threw in her soil, crying all the while. She pretended to leave the cemetery, but she hid behind a tree while everyone left. When no one else was around, Minerva knelt by the headstone. She felt in her pocket and fished out a piece of paper.

“Dearest Minerva,” it read,“Lily gave birth today! A little boy. His name is Harry and I swear to you that he will be amazing. He just will be, I can tell. You should reserve the role of all three chaser positions in the quiddich, he will be good enough to have them all! Honestly Minnie, he’s going to be special, I can just feel it! Anyway, can you do me a favour? When Harry James Potter (that’s his full name!) comes to hogwarts, can you make sure he gets up to mischief? I will be throughly devastated if he doesn’t! I'all see you on Tuesday Minnie! Lots of love, James”

“I’ll make sure of it James, you have my word” she smiled as she left the cemetery, thinking of the future antics of Harry James Potter.