Silent Witness

Harry rolled over on his side, his arm reaching out blindly - for what, he didn't know. Actually, that wasn't entirely true, Harry knew what he was reaching for. It was just far too early to admit it.

Ginny.

That's who he was reaching out for. That was who he'd always been reaching out for.

Well, maybe it wasn't too early.

When his hand met only with the cool crisp pillow, he let out an exalting sigh.

Things were seeping back into his memory. Light was creeping between the cracks in his eyelids, bringing with it a dull ache.

Throwing the arm that had caressed the pillow back over the side of the bed, Harry groaned. This was not nearly as glorious as he'd always imagined. A pounding headache, an empty bed, and a creeping hangover was not exactly how he'd envisioned his . . . joining with Ginny.

Well, wasn't that pathetic? He couldn't even say the word. Nix that, he couldn't even think the word.

Sex. Sex. Sex.

There - he'd thought it.

And now, Harry kind of wished he hadn't.

Sex. Sex. Sex with Ron's little sister.

There was a loud smacking sound as his hand collided with his forehead.

Bloody brilliant, Potter.

Harry threw the sheet off his legs and flung them over the bed. When he was met with a biting cold, he quickly recovered himself, wrapping the sheet snugly around his waist.

Waddling across the room, Harry decided, was not the most dignified way to chase after the woman he'd bedded the night before.

He would have smacked himself on the head again if it weren't for fear of losing his precariously draped toga. But Harry refused to end it like this. He could still smell her perfume on his pillow, he could still see her hair falling back onto the bed, he could still...

...see her brother standing in the hallway.

Harry decided that it also wasn't very dignified to stand in another family's hallway in nothing but a thin white sheet.

So as Ron stared at him with a raised brow and mouth agape, Harry readied himself for the inevitable strike. His red haired friend stared at Harry, puzzled.

"But, Gin -" Ron pointed down the hallway leading to the stairs and back at Harry, coming to the slow realization. It was best to play dumb.

"What?"

Comprehension seemed to dawn and then Ron was moving toward him. About to strike when... Harry found himself in the grips of a tight Weasley hug.

Harry gasped, struggling to maintain hold of his sheet. It was his turn to be utterly perplexed. "What - what are you doing?"

Ron's voice was muffled against his shoulder, but Harry could still decipher "New Year's wishes really do come true!"

Freezing up, Harry pushed his friend back, feeling a powerful urge to babble incoherently. Because that was definitely one thing Harry wasn't feeling right now - coherent.

"Just what sort of wishes are you making there, Ron?"

Ron was beaming from ear to ear, a bright shine had come into his eyes and Harry felt himself become even more uncomfortable - if that was possible in this situation.

"You and Ginny. I saw her come out of this room -"

Harry ran a hand roughly over his face, his own comprehension dawning. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Ron was no doubt thinking this was some sort of intentional act made by two consenting and sober people. Harry would be in for a beating.

He didn't know who he'd be more afraid of when the truth came out - Ginny, or her six older brothers.

"Ron - Ron, you can't tell anyone about this. You hear me? Anyone." He sighed and rubbed at his neck. "We haven't talked about this. I don't even know what happened -" Ron gave him a menacing glare and Harry held up a defensive hand. "But I will! I'll find out, I swear. I just think I - we need some time."

The brown eyes looked back down the hall, Ron appeared to be gnawing his lip and it made Harry smirk at how much Hermione had rubbed off on his best friend. "Fine," Ron said looking away. "But I'm not -" He paused, and Harry waited for him to finish."Oy!" Ron threw his hand in front of his eyes, "Rearrange your sheet, mate!"

To say breakfast was an awkward affair would be the understatement of the century. After Harry had come to the realization that chasing after Ginny in a house full of her very large and intimidating relatives was not the best idea, he'd sent Ron on his way and turned to put on some decent clothes.

He'd arrived in the kitchen to find the usual scene of boisterous laughter intermingled with children's screams. It was a sound that had been muted during the war and Harry was all too happy to have it back. The only person out of place was Ron, who on most occasions was not a morning person. But that morning seemed to have been an exception.

He was grinning from ear to ear, wearing the idiotic smile that Harry most often associated with Ron's 'post Hermione kiss' expression. He had shot his red headed friend a glare in warning but Harry had, as it turned out, not been the only one to notice that something was amiss.

George had bounded down the stairs, stopping his exuberant stride only to ruffle Ron's hair. "Hermione finally christen the family jewels, little bro?"

Ron had promptly turned an alarming shade of red, somewhat reminiscent of Mrs.Weasley's homegrown tomatoes, and thankfully, all smirking had ceased.

Had it not been for the fact that he and Ginny had consistently avoided eye contact through out the entire meal, Harry would have found the situation utterly amusing.

But nothing else had been amusing about the day. It had been the day that Harry had been dreading since that fateful Christmas. He supposed on some level it was selfish of him - not to want to attend the memorial service of a man who had had such a great impact on his life.

It had been exactly what he'd expected. Reporters had lined the streets, begging for comments from the attendees. The turn out had been incredible: it was as if the entire Wizarding World had come to pay its respects. Either that, or to gawk at the deceased.

Harry shook his head; his grim attitude seemed to be unavoidable.

There had been several very moving speeches, dedications, and songs but Harry had gone through the entire event like an outsider looking in. The wall between him and those who surrounded him had descended once more. Sarcastic comments had been spinning through his head during the entire ceremony and Harry felt the bitterness tighten its grip on him like Devil's Snare.

Maybe Ron and Hermione were right - maybe he didn't do so well on his own.

That was another thing he'd yet to decide - his living arrangements. His mind and heart had been engaged in a continuous battle. His heart wanted the trio back; his head would sooner be stuck in an oven.

He had the nagging suspicion that living with his best friends would be eerily similar to that last year at Hogwarts, only immeasurably worse. Ron had finally got up the nerve to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend, and apparently they had been trying to make up for lost time. It was nauseating.

And their current mentality seemed to be that there was no time to lose, so they might as well make the most of it.

But if he was entirely honest with himself, that wasn't the only disadvantage. How was he supposed to get up to any interesting misbehavior with Mummy Hermione hovering over him?

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that was the exact reason they'd offered him a place to stay in the first place.

Shifting in his seat, he let his eyes shift half-heartedly to the congregation on the opposite side of the Gryffindor common room. He was certain both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley would later chastise him for his evasiveness. But memorial services didn't usually spark the conversationalist in him.

Harry had developed a routine during the war. He'd attended so many funerals over the past ten years, though none of the others so elaborate as this one, that this process had become something of a therapeutic habit.

The others would gather together speaking in hushed tones and collective grief, all waiting for George to crack a joke and lighten the mood. The rest of the ceremony was usually spent telling humorous tales of friends long gone.

And then the wall would descend, keeping distant every faded memory and every stubborn grief that threatened to consume him. This was merely an opportunity to inscribe yet another name in his mental list of those long gone.

And while Harry's own behavior could have left something to be desired, there was no reason to expect anything more. And those who would try to withdraw him from this self imposed exile would fail miserably. But for the others, the former headmaster would have been proud. It was what he would have wanted - friends gathered together in a celebration of his life and the continued future rather than sorrowful remembrance of the past.

But Dumbledore be dammed if he, or anyone for that matter, were to expect such a grieving process from him.

But Harry had convinced himself that the Professor would not want Jimmy Fitzgerald's slimy hands clutching at Ginny's waist. No, the professor would not like that at all. If only Harry could tear his eyes away from the sight.

The group had burst into laughter. Ginny was lowering her head onto Jimmy Fitzgerald's shoulder, her frame quivering with gentle laughter. Her hair was dancing in the firelight as it fell softly in front of her face.

Jimmy Fitzgerald's fumbling hands were making a move towards her face. He obviously thought he was going to caress that stray hair from Ginny's cheek.

Well, Harry would see to that.

Before he'd even realized that he had finally broken his timeless ritual of solitary brooding, Harry had crossed the room and was gripping Ginny's upper arm - pulling her up and out of her chair. Out of Gryffindor tower completely, and far, far away from Jimmy Fitzgerald.

When they'd finally reached the empty class room, Ginny was staring at him with an incredulous ferocity quite reminiscent of Professor McGonnagal. It was dark and damp and Harry was fairly certain he'd led her into an abandoned Potions classroom. But if someone had asked him to return to the Common Room, he was fairly certain he'd never be able to find his way.

And now she was pursing her lips . . . He was in trouble. She was going to take away fifty points, at least. Harry shook his head. This was Ginny, not Professor McGonagall. He had to act fast, she was getting ready to yell.

Harry crashed his lips onto her own, squelching any sound that she may have been attempting to make.

He'd barely had time to taste the strawberries on her lips when she was shoving him away with enough strength to rival a physical combat Auror. Her lips were swollen and her eyes were burning with an angry fire.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she was screaming. Apparently kissing her hadn't been the ideal way to stop that. And now he had no idea how to respond. Harry was floundering like a first year. He tried to take a step towards her.

"Don't!" She held up her hand. "Don't come a step closer." Her voice had fallen to a deadly whisper.

He stopped, his shoulders slumped.

Her eyes seemed to bore into him for an age. Harry couldn't bring himself to look at her. What the hell was he doing? He'd become some sort of uncontrollable monster. Why wasn't she saying anything?

Finally, she threw up her hands in apparent frustration.

"What the hell is the matter with you? I'm with Jimmy now! I'm happy!"[Author ID1: at Sat Jan 20 22:24:00 2007 ]

[Author ID2: at Tue Jan 9 20:57:00 2007 ]

"Ginny-" he croaked.

"No! No, Harry!" Her hands were clutching at her hair. "You had your chance! You had your chance and you blew it!"

He couldn't breathe. She was coming close to mentioning the unspeakable.

Ginny's breathing had become ragged. One hand was clutching at the desk as if it were her only safety net - perhaps it was.

"I can't have you in my head." She was still looking at the desk. "I can't trust myself with you again." Drawing in a shaky breath, her eyes finally met his own. "Please leave."

He did.