You Love Her, Don't You? by PheonixFeathers
Chapter Notes: Not my first attempt at a fic, but the one I'm most proud of, and the only one accepted! Different chapters will come in different POV later, or I may make a series, each story with a POV. The actual title will become clearer in later chapters too. Any comments well-recieved, but if it's critisiscm, please make it constructive!
Harry peered at the house in front of him; the house that had been a second home to him. Second only to Hogwarts.
Privet Drive was no longer existent to him. He had only re-appeared there because Dumbledore had told him to. If anyone else had told him, he probably wouldn’t have done so. But Dumbledore was different. Harry trusted him completely, despite Dumbledore’s over-zealous trust in everyone.
He felt in his pocket, finding the gold chain and heavy locket that was a fake Horcrux. This and the death of the greatest wizard the world had ever seen were the two reminders that Harry had. He had to find Voldemort, end his reign of terror…he felt as though he owed it to Dumbledore somehow. And to the people inside the house he was looking at; all the people he loved. Being the only one who could save them, he was determined to do it well.
He took a deep, steadying breath, and entered the Burrow.
The normality of the Burrow startled Harry. He knew there would be a wedding soon, he knew it wouldn’t all be Voldemort, but it somehow came as a shock. It calmed him to be in a place where he wasn’t expected to be the ‘Chosen One’. The ghost of a smile appeared on his face, the first trace of happiness he had shown for almost a month.
Mrs Weasley saw him taking all of the surroundings in, and was pleased to see he wasn’t (although not in best spirits) in a pit of depression.
“Hello Harry, dear. Sorry we’re so busy at the moment, but the wedding is taking so much time! Ron and Hermione are upstairs, Hermione is such a help, but Ron…well, I thought it best he had a permanent break, and I told Hermione to keep him company. They are inseparable at the moment. I have my suspicions, but I don’t know exactly why,”
“Hi Mrs Weasley,” Harry’s voice sounded as though all energy had left it, but he was pleased to be back at the Burrow, with the closest to family he knew. He too had suspicions about Ron and Hermione, and the first proper smile grew on his face as he though of his friends.
He took the stairs to Ron’s room, and on hearing no noise, decided to knock. If he and Hermione were together, he supposed they should have some warning that someone was interrupting. If he were still with Ginny, he would have liked them to knock.
He forced himself to stop thinking of her; it was far too painful. He didn’t need more to worry about. He already had the fate of the entire world on his shoulders. That was enough for anyone.
The door opened and the freckled face of Ron Weasley, looking suspiciously casual appeared in the gap.
“Harry!”
Suddenly, Harry was enveloped by a hug that left him with copious amounts of bushy brown hair in his face, and received several thumps on several thumps on his back.
Relaxing properly for the first time since Dumbledore’s funeral, Harry felt a warm glow at the sight of his friends; only then did he notice that Ron appeared to be wearing a coloured lip-balm that he had seem Hermione wearing on several occasions. He decided not to comment; Ron and Hermione could tell him in their own time.
“Hi Harry! We would have been downstairs but mum seemed to think I was a health hazard,” said Ron, with a slightly disgruntled look on his face.
“That’s because you broke two plates and a non-breakable glass in the space of a minute, Ron!” said Hermione reproachfully, “anyway, it doesn’t matter now. How are you Harry?”
“I’m…well…”
Harry couldn’t really put into words what he felt. He was worried, angry, scared, determined…he was mourning…he was broken-hearted…he was happy at seeing his friends, happy to know they were together…
Hermione gave him and ‘I understand’ look.
“How are you two? What’s happening here?”
Ron started spluttering incoherently about “Me…’Mione…Umm…”
“Yeah I get it,” he grinned, sparing Ron the need to explain anything else, “that’s great! H-how’s Ginny?” he asked tentatively, not sure if he wanted to know.
“She’s...okay,” said Hermione, wondering whether to say what she was actually thinking: ‘no, Harry, she’s a wreck.’
“Really?”
“Well…she’s pretty upset, Harry. Sorry,” replied Hermione.
Ron opened his mouth as though to say something, but Hermione (quite wisely) gave him a sharp nudge.
“Should we go downstairs and help with the cooking?” asked Hermione. After seeing the look on Ron’s face, she added: “Or I could cook and you two could do the tasting. Whatever…”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” smiled Harry, glad of the subject change. His smile grew wider as he noticed Hermione’s fingers entangled with Ron’s.
Downstairs, Harry’s mood was greatly cheered by both Hermione and Mrs Weasley’s cooking; both were trying out recipes for the wedding, and he, Ron, Bill and Fleur were acting as testers. He was greatly (and happily) surprised to find that Hermione was almost as good a cook as Mrs Weasley, something Bill commented on. Fleur, on the other hand, made no comment. She didn’t seem to think it was needed.
Harry was just having a friendly disagreement with Bill over the jam tart when Ginny appeared in the doorway. Harry, with a mouthful of the said jam tart, started to quietly choke in the act of swallowing; this fact slipped anyone’s notice but Ginny, who slapped his back. Muttering thanks, he went to get a drink of water. Why did it have to be her that helped him? Why not anyone else?
She had disappeared by the time he had recovered. Harry’s insides ached; he could not bear the fact that she was in this house, as was he, and neither of them could even speak to each other. Wanting to be alone, he muttered some excuse about using the bathroom to Ron and Hermione, who had seen the whole by-play, and decided that the bathroom would in fact be a good place to sit for a few minutes.
His heavy steps echoing the feeling in his heart, he slowly made his way upstairs to the bathroom. With a sinking feeling, he realised he would have to pass Ginny’s room to get there.
An ache developed in his temples, the cause of which was the past month, and all that had happened. He wasn’t looking where he was going, only dimly registering the way he was going. As he reached the landing, he bumped into someone…someone shorter than him, with long, wavy red hair.
‘Damn it,’ he thought, as realisation dawned he was alone with the one person he wanted to be alone with, and at the same time wanted to be the furthest away from.
Ginny.