reparo ( ✓ )

chapter nine

A month had gone by, and Harry felt numb. Why had Draco Malfoy kissed him, and why had he allowed it? Why had he befriended the boy who'd been nothing but a prick to him since that first day in front of the Great Hall? Most importantly, why did Harry miss Draco's presence beside him whenever he eventually did fall asleep - which wasn't often?

Harry didn't know the answers to these questions, and he didn't want to know. He felt cold all the time now, perhaps even colder than before he'd called a truce with Malfoy. The truce was flawed, as was mostly everything in life. Friends were supposed to be, well, friends; but all Harry did around Malfoy was avoid him and lower his head in shame. It was at those times that Harry wished Sirius or Dumbledore were there the most.

Sirius had spent years with Harry's father, and surely they'd had their quarrels. Then again, Sirius Black and James Potter hadn't been enemies from the start, which Harry and Draco had been. He wished for Dumbledore's knowledge. He wished he knew somebody who would have the answers to what he was feeling inside, if anything at all.

He thought back to his first Divination course of the term. They'd used tarot cards, and Harry's fortune had predicted a great change. From time to time, Harry would wonder if that change had been Malfoy; but then he remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach, and how he felt cruddier than ever before.

The nightmares were more frequent now, and most nights, Harry remained in the Common Room until the sunrise. Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville didn't deserve to have to listen to him cry every night. Harry kept to himself for the most part, leaving Ron unsuspecting of anything. Most nights, he'd head up towards the dormitories when it was time for bed, and lie in his four poster bed until his roommates were fast asleep. Then, he'd head down the staircase and sit by the fire, wishing Sirius would speak to him through it like he had long ago. Had it really been that long ago? Three years. His godfather had been dead for three years now.

"Harry?" He jumped, startled by the voice. As he turned his head, his eyes met Ginny's.

"Why're you up?" He asked simply, crossing his legs as he poked a stick at the glowing embers.

"I could ask you the same question." She said, and sat down beside him, staring into the flames. "Are you okay, Harry?" She asked after they'd been there for maybe five minutes.

"I'm fine, Ginny." Harry lied, and the redhead shook her head.

"You're not fine, Harry. I've been watching you for a week now. Every day, you go to the dorms, and then once everyone is asleep, you're here in front of the fireplace." She stated, placing her hand on Harry's shoulder. He leaned into the touch gratefully.

"Ginny, if I say I'm fine, please just accept that I'm fine." He sighed, voice betraying him as he focused his gaze on the flames once more.

"Whatever's troubling you, I wish terribly I could lift that burden. It is not good to dwell on troubling things." Ginny spoke, voice calm as she took Harry's trembling hand. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Harry's eyes met hers, and before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling them into a lying position in front of the fireplace. Harry stroked Ginny's ginger locks, and she placed one hand on the small of his back. Suddenly, his eyes shot open and he pulled away from her, curling in on himself as violent sobs wracked his body.

"Harry..." Ginny whispered soothingly, willing him to use her as his shoulder. She wanted desperately to be there for him. She wanted to lift his burdens, and she wanted him to be happy; even if it weren't her job to make that happen.

"I'm so sorry, Ginny." He cried, holding onto her as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did, but now wasn't the time to dwell on that too.

"It's okay, Harry. Please, don't apologize. I love you, Harry, and I want you to be okay." She said, kissing his tear-stained cheek.

"Why does everything bad happen to me and those I love?" He asked, and she faced him.

"The bad stuff is over, Harry. Is this what you're dwelling on? It's over! You're free, and you're safe, and you still have loads of people who love you. I love you. Ron loves you. Hermione loves you..." She stated, trailing off. "You're so loved, Harry."

"For my fame." Harry muttered, and Ginny shook her head.

"That's not it at all, Harry! They love you for who you are, not what you've done. I'd love you just as much if all you'd ever done was clean a toilet. You're an exceptional person, Harry, and I'm so grateful to have ever been able to call you mine." She smiled, pulling him into a hug. "Let go of your troubles, Harry. Let them go and please, please be happy."

Harry wiped the few stray tears from his face and pulled Ginny into another hug, breathing in her scent. She smelled of home at the Burrow, of the animals and fresh earth.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" He asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I could recount your exploits, Harry, but that's seven years that you've already experienced for yourself." She smirked, and he grinned.

"You're wonderful, Ginny. Thank you." He stated appreciatively, and suddenly a yawn was escaping his lips. For once, he felt as if his heart were beating properly again.

"I know. Now, Mr. Potter, let's get you off to bed. That yawn is a good sign, and I demand you go to sleep." And now the caring side of Ginny was gone, and instead the motherly side took over. Someday, Harry knew she'd make a great mum.

"Goodnight, Ginny." He smiled, kissing her cheek as he stood up. He saw her blush, and flashed a quick smile her way before heading towards the dormitories.

"Goodnight, Harry." She whispered, fingers brushing against where he'd kissed her.