Harry/Ginny Drabble: Panic Attacks
This just popped into my head. Unbeta'd - so feel free to point out any errors. Dedicated tor_becca because she had a birthday yesterday and she rocks H/G fandom
Title: Panic Attacks
Word Count: 300
Pairing: Harry/Ginny (duh)
Rating: G
Summary: On bad nights, she would lay awake for hours
On bad nights, she would lay awake for hours, staring at the canopy of her bed, one hand methodically brushing back and forth over the logo on her nightshirt (an old one of Harry’s). The Gryffindor lion was directly over her heart, and she tried not to think of the times that it had been his hand there.
She had two shirts of his. This one she wore every night. The other, one of his Quidditch shirts, she kept in the trunk under her bed protected by a charm. It smelled of Harry, sweaty, and woodsy, and alive. Sometimes pulling it out and burying her face in it was the only way she could fall asleep.
On the worst nights, she would wake suddenly from a deep sleep in a cold sweat, convinced that he was dead or dying. Those infernal “Undesirable Number One” posters plastered all over the school made him look tortured and a little mad, and she could not erase his face from her mind.
Heart racing and breath heavy, it took all of her willpower to not get up and go to the one place in the school that could offer comfort. She’d suffered enough detentions to not want another, and she didn’t want to tip the Carrows to the existence of the Room of Requirement.
So she occupied herself by planning her movements for the next day very carefully, thinking up excuses to pass (or be sent to) the Trophy Room. There, she could look at the Quidditch team picture from her fifth year, and gaze at a Harry who was happy and confident and nearly carefree. The Harry in the picture would occasionally cast a longing look at her image. Then, she would feel herself calm and know that she would sleep well.
Edited to comply with a recent post about fic header usefulness.
Title: Panic Attacks
Word Count: 300
Pairing: Harry/Ginny (duh)
Rating: G
Summary: On bad nights, she would lay awake for hours
On bad nights, she would lay awake for hours, staring at the canopy of her bed, one hand methodically brushing back and forth over the logo on her nightshirt (an old one of Harry’s). The Gryffindor lion was directly over her heart, and she tried not to think of the times that it had been his hand there.
She had two shirts of his. This one she wore every night. The other, one of his Quidditch shirts, she kept in the trunk under her bed protected by a charm. It smelled of Harry, sweaty, and woodsy, and alive. Sometimes pulling it out and burying her face in it was the only way she could fall asleep.
On the worst nights, she would wake suddenly from a deep sleep in a cold sweat, convinced that he was dead or dying. Those infernal “Undesirable Number One” posters plastered all over the school made him look tortured and a little mad, and she could not erase his face from her mind.
Heart racing and breath heavy, it took all of her willpower to not get up and go to the one place in the school that could offer comfort. She’d suffered enough detentions to not want another, and she didn’t want to tip the Carrows to the existence of the Room of Requirement.
So she occupied herself by planning her movements for the next day very carefully, thinking up excuses to pass (or be sent to) the Trophy Room. There, she could look at the Quidditch team picture from her fifth year, and gaze at a Harry who was happy and confident and nearly carefree. The Harry in the picture would occasionally cast a longing look at her image. Then, she would feel herself calm and know that she would sleep well.
Edited to comply with a recent post about fic header usefulness.