Harry Potter One Shots!

Leather and Ink

TomxGinny

She knew. Knew not to trust books without brains. Knew that she'd been a silly girl with a silly crush. Knew that she should've told someone.
She missed her first year. Lost to roosters and snakes. Lost to lions that ignored her. Lost to a diary that told her everything she wanted to hear.

The most special year of your life, her mother reminded.

She couldn't remember most of it, and what lingered was fuzzy round the edges. Lost time only to awake with blood dripping, drying. Knew the book was bad the moment she stroked its soft black leather.

And yet...

I know Ginny, I understand, words whispered across parchment.

You're special Ginny, like me and no one else.

A hand gently held.

I could teach you...

Of the moon

the stars

And beyond.

He did too, she remembered the lessons clearly. The Greek, Norse, Hebrew and Arabic spells. She felt naughty (free) murmuring them under the blankets. Flicking her hand the way he described.

The hand holding hers

Watching cold fire spark between her fingers. The rude boy in her year jump from a hex, glance around to find the culprit wandless and thereby blameless. A leaf harden into sharp stone.

Soon, Harry Potter fell from her mind. A new boy took his place. A new, perfect, boy. He filled her dreams, slipping through her consciousness. Flickered in the mirror. Sparkled in her eye.

Fred and George stopped asking annoying questions, content with the vigour she displayed they leapt from the responsibility so uncomfortable. Unbothered by her peers, ignoring Looney Lovegood's stares she thrived. (No sleep, little food)

Tom filled her senses. Reflected in her face, the voice of her thoughts, leather and ink. They became one and when you become one with someone they can't hurt you. Can't leave you. She flushed that book, again and again and again and again and agai-

Harry stabbed that book. She stepped in his blood and yet he did not leave. Held by her shaking hands as her father shook his head, as her mother fussed. Brothers laughed and teased. And then slowly they forgot, well, actually rather quickly. Only Charlie asked how she really was. She lied, as we are wont to do. Or maybe he did, for her, you know. He's nice like that. The hand that writes back is practiced and fluid. Slides over the page smoothly, ink flowing steadily. Her hands shake, wobbly and unsure.

Words become sharp. Hits the mark with a healer's precision. Gifts her mother a perfect daughter (a pity he can't cook) outwardly calm, refined.

Second year is filled with Lupin's stares, Lovegood's frowns, and curiously, Snape's silence.
Third is exhilarating. Free time and the new faces of handsome men and pretty women. Moody's eye roves.
Fourth she's now powerful enough to truly bring her boy to life, her Tom, alone in the dorm. Snape's silence grows louder. Harry sends her glances when Cho leaves the room. Tom glares back, she hopes he won't notice her eyes flashing red.
At fifteen, Tom teaches her more. Hands and words gaining speed and night. Her owls pass with flying colours and she rises to new heights. Draco broods in her direction. Harry pants after her. This time Tom ignores him.
Sixth and she's finally caught up. He steps from her mirror, pets her head. They find the tiara together. Find the knife together. Watch the corpse crack the floor.
Seventh, his favorite number. Reach together into her chest, find the soul(s) behind her heart and in one movement she's slashed in two. Cleaved apart they fall together. Cold lips touched hers and, ghostlike, passed through.

She marries him, Harry, that is. He makes her mother happy. Loves the children.
She sees him at her dinner table years later. Harry grins, introduces him. Thomas Yew, up for Minister of Magic. He grasps her hand. Warm. His lips graze it. Cold.

She knew better.
And yet...