Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they belong to JK Rowling.
Author's Note: I started writing this ages ago like in the summer but I never got around to finish it. I had a whole nice ending planned out but I cant remember for the life of me what it was. SO hopefully, it's somewhat enjoyable. This is like my 4th time trying to opst this; I swear my interenet is being evil; keeps disconnecting every time I press Save Chapter lol. So hopefully you like. I never intended it to be over 5000 words, so er, yeah. Please read and review. Oh yeah NOTE: italics indictae flashbacks.
Under The London Skies
A single piece of parchment and a quill already dipped in ink was just some of the few items Ginny Weasley was always seen with these past few months. Everywhere she went her feelings went down on paper; every thought she thought stirred around in her mind, giving her grief, until she finally sorted them all out on paper. Lately everything she was feeling would end up on paper sooner or later, somehow.
Looking up at the skies and then down at her watch, Ginny ticked a little mark off on her parchment under the header ‘days’. She counted the groups of fives quickly and then wrote the overall number under the box of ticks. In total there was two-hundred and thirty-six little lines of black ink, all stuck into a tiny column at the side of her page which was filled with doodles, words and just useless phrases. While no one ever knew what the column ‘days’ actually meant, Ginny felt that it was the most important piece of information on the entire paper – or more like her entire notebook.
Sighing Ginny looked back up at the dark sky which was illuminated by only the stars in space. There were too many to count but Ginny knew that if she were to go out into the country, where there were no city lights, there would be hundreds more of the stars glowing. Every night she wished to see a shooting star, for she had never seen one in her life. Every time that one had appeared, everyone but Ginny would see it shoot by. There was always some stupid excuse as to why Ginny never saw it; however none of it was a lie. She would always be tying her shoe, or looking the other way, and every time one appeared, every one around her seemed to go silent, making their wish which was bound to come true, and therefore making Ginny miss it shoot by.
And every time that that happened, Ginny just told herself “Next time, Ginny, next time.”
But then ‘next time’ rolled around and Ginny would once again miss her chance at a wish which was bound to come true. When she was younger she used to wish for things like toys and dolls to play with, instead of all of the boy toys which were lying around her house. But as she got older, her wishes would dramatically change, from toys to boys and from there to love and happiness.
Now at the age of nineteen, all Ginny wanted was for herself - and for the person who she truly loved the most – to be happy. She had gone through the ups and downs, the aches and the heartbreaks, and Ginny knew that even if the person whom she loved didn’t love her back, but was happy with someone else, she would gladly step aside. She wasn’t the type of girl who would sit around and wait forever, just so someone who didn’t even love her would fall head over heels for her. She knew it would never happen.
She looked down at her notebook and traced the word Harry which she had written down in only one spot; however it was darker than anything else on the page. She had written it over and over again in the same place, and never wrote it any where else. She didn’t want people to think that she was an obsessive freak who would jump at any opportunity to think or speak about the person who was causing her all of this grief.
She was going to handle the situation like the mature woman she was.
But why did she only feel only regret and sadness every time she thought about him?
“You ought to tell him how you feel, Ginny,” Hermione whispered to her. “Otherwise he might just move on.” Although she didn’t really believe it, Hermione felt that by saying this it was the only way to convince Ginny of the truth.
Ginny looked at Harry laughing with Ron in the corner. “I, I c-can’t.”
Sometimes she just wanted to scream. She just felt so out of character, very unlike herself. She, Ginny Weasley, was not going to wallop around because she can’t be with a boy. It’s just not in her nature to do that.
“Boys are stupid,” Ginny muttered to herself. She turned the page in her notebook and dipped her quill into the inkpot which was resting on the table beside her, and then ripped out a sheet of blank parchment. She closed her notebook and then placed the single sheet of paper on the top and put her quill to the middle of the paper, however did not write anything.
“What would I say, Hermione?” Ginny asked frantically. “I can’t just go up to him and say ‘Harry, I’m in love with you.’”
“Why not!?” Hermione exclaimed. “You love him Ginny. With love, you just got to take a chance.”
Ginny felt tears form in her eyes. “But if I take that chance, I know I’ll lose him forever.”
“You don’t know that-”
“Yes, Hermione,” Ginny cut her off quietly, “I do.”
But even though she had said those exact words, at the time Ginny had had no clue if she would loose him forever. She had been just scared to do the thing she knew she had to do, which evidentially was telling Harry the truth. And at the time, telling the truth was something Ginny was not ready to do.
But now, two-hundred and thirty six days later, Ginny knew that that time had come. She had no idea, no plan and nothing to be scared of. She could honestly care less if she lost Harry forever. Sure she’d be sad, but she had grown up since then. In order for her to be happy, even though that it meant Harry didn’t love her and was with someone else, at least he was happy, and that was all Ginny needed.
She looked up at the sky above and looked at all the stars in sight when a feeling, a thought, a message, glided softly into her brain. She didn’t care if anyone understood it, she didn’t care if Harry didn’t want to believe in it, but Ginny knew that a message as powerful as this one, no matter how cheesy it is, or how lame and stupid it is, she knew it was good enough for her.
And that was all that mattered; and so she wrote.
‘I dream of you day and night under the London skies in which we both reside …’
Hundreds of miles away, and several hours later, Harry Potter lay in his bed staring at the ceiling above, his hands behind his head, just thinking. He was thinking of everything that had happened in the past two and a half years, and then he thought of everything that didn’t happen. Sure the war with Voldemort had ended just over two and a half years ago, and Harry couldn’t be happier. Everywhere he went there were crowds of people just dying to get his autograph, or congratulate him on Voldemort’s defeat.
And for the second time in his life, Harry was happy that people were always crowding him, talking about him … because he was happy that what had happened, what had caused all of these people to talk.
Harry rolled over onto his side and stared at Hedwig’s empty cage. She had been gone for a few days already, but Harry was not worried. She was probably just hunting mice or was hanging out at The Burrow, which she seemed to be doing a lot of lately. She was never gone for more than five days, and right now it was only approaching three days. Harry wasn’t worried at all. It felt nice, actually, to have a bit of peace and quiet.
But mind you, at home Harry was always surrounded by peace and quiet. Ever since he had bought the flat he was living in, he was away from it all. Sure Ron, Hermione and others stopped by occasionally, but other than that, at home, it was silent.
Harry glanced at the clock beside his bed. It read 2:11. Harry groaned and rolled out of bed. There was no way he was going to fall asleep right now. He had an important interview at the Ministry of Magic tomorrow and unless he fell asleep now, Harry knew he was going to be dead tired in the morning. So, Harry decided, he would go downstairs and have a cup a tea and possibly read something to get him tired so when he went back upstairs, he would fall asleep easily.
From the bedroom to the kitchen, it was a fairly short walk. All Harry had to do was turn left from his bedroom and walk to the kitchen which was only a three and a half feet away. He went over to the cupboard and took out a coffee mug and a tea bag from the box in the back. With his wand, Harry then magically poured hot water into his cup and then placed the teabag into it.
Sitting down, he waited for a few minutes for the flavor in the tea bag to spread, and then taking it out, Harry took a small sip.
He then looked down at the table and picked up the Daily Prophet from earlier that day and began reading through it. Normally Harry didn’t read the Prophet, but just for the heck of it, he still received it every day through Owl Post, and every day, an owl from the Prophet would deliver it to his kitchen table. However he never usually read it.
“The Prophet is just a load a bull, now,” Ron said, throwing the paper aside.
“It always was a load of bull, Ron,” Harry said, rubbing his temple with his fingers.
“Lies, lies, and more lies. That’s all the Prophet cares about.”
“And you,” Ron pointed out.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Me plus lies. What a good cover story.”
Ron just nodded sheepishly.
Harry tossed the Prophet onto the kitchen table. So he hadn’t really read anything in it, but it wasn’t a big loss. He will probably read it fully tomorrow when he got home from the Ministry of Magic after his meeting with the Auror department. This was only one of the many meetings Harry had to attend with the Head of the Auror department discussing how Harry could be let in into the program without going through much of the schooling that was required to become a fully trained Auror. Harry said he wouldn’t have minded going through the courses, but the Head Auror had said, “Nonsense, Mr. Potter. You’ve proved to us already that you can handle what it takes to be an Auror.”
Harry scratched his head. Drinking the rest of his tea, Harry stood up and started to make his way over to the hallway which led to his bedroom when he heard a soft tap-tap on the window behind him. Slowly he turned around and stared at the snowy white owl sitting on the ledge on the other side of the window. Harry grinned and then rushed over to the window, letting the owl – which he recognized as Hedwig immediately – into the kitchen.
“Only a few days, Hedwig?” he asked the owl, scratching her on top of her head. Harry looked down and spotted a rolled up parchment tied to Hedwig’s claw. Carefully he untied the knot and then unraveled the parchment.
“Who’s this from?” he asked. Hedwig just hooted, nipped Harry’s finger affectionately and then flew back out the window. Harry stared after her. He usually didn’t get owl post anymore from anyone. Most people he talked to just Apparated or Flooed over to his flat.
Harry unraveled it all of the way and stared at the writing. He recognized that writing, there was no doubt about it as to whose it was.
‘I dream of you day and night under the London skies in which we both reside. I know it in my heart that you will always be mine.’
Harry stared blankly at the page. Wait, he thought. If this was from who he thought it was … why would she be writing it down on paper? Usually she was outgoing and honest, face to face. Why the sudden change?
“So why do you carry that notebook around all of the time?” Harry asked Ginny as they walked around to the front of The Burrow.
Ginny shrugged. “So I can sort out my feelings.” She paused and kicked a rock on the ground. “Lately I just find it easier to write my feelings and thoughts down, rather than say them out loud …”
“I never knew you were that kind of girl,” Harry laughed.
Ginny suppressed a grin. “Yeah, well, neither did I.”
Harry looked at his watch and groaned. Right now was not the time to be thinking about this letter, or note, or whatever it was called. So taking one last look at it, Harry placed it on the table and still thinking about it, made his way to his bedroom for the sleep that he desperately needed.
A cool breeze of air blew in from the open window causing Ginny to shiver and run her hands up and down her bare arms. She wore a thin, spaghetti strap tank top and her plaid pajama pants with fluffy white slippers on her feet. She had only come inside from the yard an hour ago and the crisp night air still had a rather chilling affect on her.
“Better close that window,” she mumbled to herself. She crossed her room and then made her way back over to her bed, where she threw back her covers and slid underneath them.
The alarm clock beside her bed perched upon the nightstand displayed 3:21am. She had been outside, alone and under the night sky for approximately three and a half hours tonight. It wasn’t unusual for her to do that. It was the middle of July, so properly dressed, sitting outside alone was just the same as sitting beside a warm, crackling fire. The only difference was that when sitting outside, your nose tended to turn pink and feel cold in the cool breeze.
Ginny rested her head back on her pillow and sighed. She already knew that she was too preoccupied to sleep. She had so many thoughts stirring up in her mind. She reached over and grabbed her notebook, and then yawned. She was so tired, yet her eyes did not want to close. She opened her book to the first page. It was dated for the twenty-third of November, 1999; it was the first day Ginny began to realize she felt so out of character with herself. November twenty-third had been exactly two-hundred and thirty-six days ago.
“Why don’t you ask Harry to dance?” Ron asked his younger sister as he approached her and Hermione at the refreshments table.
Ginny shook her head, but said nothing. Ron raised her eyebrow questionably and looked at Hermione, who shrugged.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Ginny announced suddenly, standing up and grabbing her purse. “Freshen up, you know?”
Ron and Hermione nodded, and Ginny turned on her heels and began walking (much to Ron’s astonishment) in the complete opposite direction of the bathroom. When she was out of sight, Ron turned.
“Is she alright?” he asked in a concerned tone.
Hermione shrugged again. “I don’t know; every time I, or someone else, bring up Harry, she goes … all emotional and distant … she acts very un-Ginnylike.” She paused and nodded in Harry’s direction, where he was sitting at a table on the other side of the room. “He’s been real, er, chatty with Katie Bell tonight … what’s up with that?”
It was Ron’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know; they just started talking an hour ago.”
“Yeah, we’ve noticed.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Both Harry and Katie look like they’re having the time of their lives while Ginny is sitting here moping around; Harry hasn’t spoken a word to Ginny and I have a feeling it’s getting to her.”
“But, but,” Ron stuttered, running a hand through his red hair. “She knows Harry’s all for her. Why should it get to her? He always talks to other girls …”
Hermione sighed. “To be honest, Ron, I don’t think she does know.”
A few minutes of pointless doodlings later, Ginny sighed and snapped her notebook shut. She placed it back on her nightstand, along with her quill and inkpot and then readjusted herself under her covers. The enclosed heat under the covers felt nice against Ginny’s skin, causing her to grin slightly in spite of herself. If there was one thing she liked most about her bed, heck even her room, it was how nice it felt to lie under the warm and toasty covers at night.
Ginny closed her eyes in hopes of falling asleep. She tried to clear he mind by focusing on nothing but an imaginary brick wall in her mind, and began to breathe heavily in and out through her nose. All of her thoughts which were troubling her slowly trickled away into open space. Harry had once taught her the trick a few years ago when she had had troubling falling asleep, after the war had ended. “The old git Snape taught me it,” Harry confessed, causing Ginny to crack a grin. “When he was trying to teach me Occlumency.”
Ginny sighed happily as the last trouble thought slowly vanished from sight. She snuggled further into her pillow and finally welcomed sleep with open arms.
Ginny’s eyes sprung open. What or who in the name of Merlin was making that noise? She wondered. She turned over and looked at her alarm clock. She groaned. It was 4:18am, what in the hell was making that noise?
She grabbed her wand from her bedside table and then threw off her covers.
“The window?” she wondered aloud. She made her way across the room to the closed window, which, with the flick of her wand, sprung open slowly. The clunking stopped and Ginny slowly made her way closer to get a better look. When she reached the window close enough to see outside, she stuck her head through the empty window frame and looked down.
Ginny raised her wand. Down below was a single figure with all too familiar raven-black hair which could still be noted as messy even from a few stories up. His head was down, looking at a small pile of rocks near the garden.
Ginny raised an eyebrow. What on earth was Harry doing at the Burrow at four-thirty in the morning, chucking rocks at her bedroom window?
“Don’t you think your parents would care if an eighteen year old boy was in a seventeen year old girl’s room – who just happened to be their one and only daughter – in the dead of the night?” Harry asked uncertainly as he embraced the petit redhead in his arms.
Ginny nodded. “Probably,” she chuckled. She paused and scratched her chin in thought. “So let’s devise a plan so they won’t find out …”
Harry stared at her with curiosity and confusion. “What kind of plan exactly?”
Ginny sighed and bit her lip; she caught glimpse of her bedroom window and perked up excitedly. “Okay, so lately we both know we’ve both had trouble sleeping-”
Harry nodded and cut her off quickly. “Er, yeah?”
“Well we’ll just use the window!” She stood up and crossed her room to the wooden window. “Come here.”
Harry stood up off of the bed slowly and made her way over to Ginny, who had opened the window and was pointing down at the ground below.
“There are windows for each room-”
“-and there are rocks on the ground in the garden underneath every window.” Ginny grinned at Harry who still continued to stare in confusion. “If we ever need the company and or just need to talk, just go down the vine pipe thingy, around the house and start chucking rocks at the other’s window.”
There was a long pause as Harry cautiously looked down out the window. “Are you sure?”
Ginny nodded. “Yes. Trust me, I’ve done it before with Ron …” Harry raised his eyebrow. “Long story; we were young … but never mind. It’ll work; my parents will never know. They think that the thing-a-mah-bob next to each window isn’t sturdy enough to hold weight …”
Harry shook his head and sighed. “You definitely have too much time on your hands,” he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
Ginny laughed. “Yeah, well, I guess all my extra time pays off?”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “Yeah I guess so.”
Ginny’s heart leapt. Had he received her letter already? Had he figured it out? She turned around quickly to make sure her door was closed, and then stuck her head out of the window and tried to get Harry’s attention.
“Psst!” she hissed. “Harry!”
He looked up but did not smile at the sight of her. He looked tired and restless and somewhat contemplative. It looked like he hadn’t have gotten sleep in days.
“Can I come up?” he asked quietly, but enough for Ginny to hear. She nodded and Harry began to climb up the side of the house. When he reached the top, Ginny grabbed hold of his hand - which caused her stomach to flip-flop - and he hoisted himself into Ginny’s bedroom.
“What are you doing here?” she asked somewhat frantically, hoping that her parents had not heard the noise. Even though she had a slight idea, the plan that the two of them had devised a few years ago had never actually been put to the test. It was the first time he had climbed up to her window from the ground. It somewhat reminded her of the Muggle play Romeo and Juliet which Hermione had, of course, read to her one night during the war a few years ago.
Harry sheepishly held up the piece of parchment which Ginny had held and written a few hours ago. Her stomach dropped. “I’d recognize this anywhere,” he said simply.
Ginny bit her lip and stared down at her feet.
“What do you mean by it?”
Ginny looked up, unaware that there were tears already forming in her eyes. “What do you think it means? It means exactly what it says.”
Harry rubbed his temple and sighed. “Ginny,” he took a step towards her. “What’s gotten into you lately?”
Ginny took a step back and folded her arms. “I’m fine, Harry.”
Harry shook his head. “No, you’re not.”
Ginny threw her arms down in frustration. “How do you know I’m not fine?” she exclaimed, a little more loud than she intended. She glanced at the door and listened for someone to approach, but heard nothing.
“Ginny,” Harry began, speaking in a quiet voice. “You’ve been acting so different for the past year and everyone’s noticing it.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, causing a tear to slide down. “Yeah?” she challenged. “Well I’m fine, Harry. I’m just a little confused that’s all. Everyone gets confused all the time, so why is it that when it’s me, everyone is concerned?”
“Because everyone cares about you,” Harry answered. He took another step forward.
“You’ve been different, very unlike yourself, ever since that Ministry banquet last year …”
“So Ron and Hermione say it’s because of me.” Harry pointed to himself with the same hand the letter was in. He looked at it slightly and then thrust that hand forward.
“And then I get this letter from you …” He shook his head. “I just want to know what I did that made you act this way.”
Ginny sighed in frustration and angrily made her way over to her bed and fell back upon it. “Harry what is so bad about the way I’m acting? Tell me!” She sat up and faced him, streaks of tears lining her face.
Harry lowered his arm and sighed. “Nothing, Ginny, it’s just you’re acting so unlike you. And this letter, I’ve never pictured you to tell someone your feelings through a note …”
“Didn’t you ever get my singing Valentine?” she asked quietly. Harry smiled weakly and nodded.
“Yeah, but you were eleven and the whole Riddle thing was causing you to act like someone you’re not.” He paused. “But as you got older you were someone who wasn’t afraid to tell someone the truth, to say it right to their face.”
Harry shook his head. “No. Not you. I know that you still are the same old Ginny you were a few years ago, but something happened that caused you to act like this, Ginny. Just tell me what it was.”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
Ginny brought her hand to her face and sighed. “That’s what I always hated about you, Harry,” she said quietly. “You always could see right through me. You could challenge my bluff … you have no idea how annoying it was.”
There was a long pause between the two of them. Harry had taken to leaning up against the desk beside the window, taking turns between surveying Ginny, and the note she had written to him which he still held tightly in his hand.
“What’s with Ginny?” asked Harry as he approached Ron and Hermione.
Hermione shrugged. “Who knows?” She paused and looked across the room at the table Harry had been sitting at just a few moments ago. A small blonde haired girl by the name of Katie Bell still sat there alone, as if waiting for Harry to return for she was drumming her fingers on the table and looking around the room impatiently.
“So what’s up with you and Katie tonight?” Hermione asked Harry as he began scooping punch into a cup.
“Nothing,” he said, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “Why?”
“It looks like you two are-” Ron began.
“Kinda together.” Hermione finished, cutting Ron off. Harry, still holding the ladle and cup, stopped and stared at the two of them with his mouth open slightly. He shook his head.
“That’s stupid,” he said. “We’re just friends. We’re talking about Quidditch …”
Hermione shrugged. “It seems to me like Ginny thinks it’s more.”
Harry sighed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with me hanging around Katie Bell that night does it?”
Ginny looked up. “What do-?”
“Ron and Hermione,” Harry said simply, “said that you maybe thought that I was with Katie that night …”
“Weren’t you?” Ginny pried slowly, looking down at her hands.
Harry sighed yet again. “No!” he exclaimed. “Ginny, we’re just friends. I’ve never thought of Katie in the way I think of you.”
“But nothing,” Harry said, making his way over to the bed and sitting next to Ginny, who was looking at him in a way that made her look helpless. Her face was completely expressionless, except Harry could see the sadness in her eyes. “It’s always been you Ginny, ever since my sixth year, I’ve only thought about you.”
“B-but that, that, that wasn’t the only night you were with her,” Ginny stammered as she mentally smacked herself for speaking before she thought. “I mean, it’s just, sometimes you act like you used to act with me, minus the kissing and, well, you know …” Harry shook his head. Ginny continued, “And the Prophet is always taking pictures of the two of you together making it seem like you were a couple and then reporting it-”
“She’s just my friend, Ginny, nothing more.”
Ginny looked down at her hands in her lap and watched the tears fall from her eyes. “I can’t believe I honestly thought you were in love with her.”
“What?” Harry’s voice went rather high than normal as he said that. “Ginny, I love you-!”
She looked up, shocked and blinked. “What?” it was her turn to ask. “You, you do?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said solemnly. “I do.”
There was a long pause as Ginny opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to think of something to say. She had known, obviously, that Harry had at one point felt something deep for her, but never had she heard him say that he actually loved her. She thought to that night two-hundred and thirty-six days ago and sighed. “I, I thought you were in love with her,” Ginny began, “and I realized that if you were happy with her-”
“I’m not in love with her, Ginny.”
“-I would have gladly stepped aside,” Ginny finished, bringing her gaze to her hands again. She felt like such a fool for even thinking that now. She felt Harry bring his hand to her chin and lift it gently upwards to face him. “I figured if you were happy with Katie, it’d make me happy …”
“I know,” Harry said quietly. “But Ginny if you felt that way, you should have told me, because I felt the exact way about you, and only you.”
Ginny nodded and gave a small smile. She broke the silence with a small laugh as she wiped the tears away from her eyes. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t.” Harry told her. “I love you so much Ginny. You have honestly no idea.”
Ginny smiled and wrapped her arms around Harry. “I love you too.”
Out in the hall Molly Weasley, still dressed in her nightgown and robe removed her ear from the wooden door of her daughter’s room and sighed. She knew it was wrong to spy on her only daughter, when she had specifically promised herself that she would allow her children some space. But being the only parent in the house and hearing a noise of rocks hitting the house, it was something that Molly felt she must investigate. She didn’t want any of Lord Voldemort’s on the run supporters trying to sneak into her house now did she?
“Hermione is there something wrong with Ginny?” Molly asked the bushy-haired girl one late night, having just finished watching her daughter rush to her room without saying a simple ‘hello’ to her own mother.
Hermione shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t really know Mrs. Weasley; she didn’t move at all at the banquet. She sat at the refreshment table all night.”
“Did something happen?”
Hermione shook her head. “See that’s what I think it is; nothing did happen.” She paused and bit her lip. “Between her and Harry that is.”
Molly raised and eyebrow and looked up at the ceiling, hearing a door overhead close. “What do you mean?”
“Harry was kinda with Katie Bell tonight and I think it got to Ginny.”
Molly simply said, “Ah, I see, I see.”
“Yeah. But Harry assured Ron and I that it was nothing …”
Molly made her way to Hermione who sat at the kitchen table and sat down across from her, handing her a cup of tea. Hermione stirred it immediately with a spoon and then took a small sip.
“Then you ought to believe him, dear,” Molly assured her. “I watch the two of them from afar and they’re exactly how Lily and James were: inseparable even through the bad and the ugly.”
Hermione sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
Molly turned and made her way down the hall. She smiled.
Indeed she was.