"Thoughts" Harry/Ginny, PG
Title: Thoughts
Rating: PG
Ship: Ginny/Harry
Word Count: ~300
Summary: Ginny writes Harry a letter.
Dedication: Jenny
"She sends me pictures of the ocean in an envelope" -Bright Eyes
. . .
THOUGHTS
Harry,
I’m thinking about you. I wonder if you’re awake yet. I imagine you dragging yourself out of bed, looking out the window. Raining again?
Ron and Hermione are in the next bed (you can’t honestly tell me they’re not sleeping together), their hands entwined and Ron’s leg hanging off of the side because the beds in the hotel are much too small. Hermione has buried her head in the crook of Ron’s neck and you remember when I would be that close to you, lying on the couch in the common room. Lazing in the afternoon when I’d finished exams.
Then invisible strings guide you from the room like you’re a marionette, and you’re staring out the window with your wooden puppet eyes. You’re seventeen today, but you’re much older. "No," you told Hermione yesterday, because you don’t want a birthday cake. "No," you told Ron earlier this week, because you don’t want any gifts. I know this because I recieved an owl from Hermione, and she’s worried about you, and I quote, "Ginny, I don’t know what to do about him. He isn’t talking to us. I can understand that, I don’t think I would be very talkative if I (and here Hermione has crossed out something about dark wizards and You-Know-Who) was forced to carry the burden that Harry carries. Oh, and don't get smart with me, Ginny, don’t tell me this is the one thing that I don’t know."
I see you drinking firewhisky with a quaking hand pressed to the counter. Maybe you’re thinking about me, wondering if I’m awake. Well, I am. I haven’t slept. I know you too well, Harry. You are a man of the sea. You are a man of exploration and battle, and you will never have a home.
--Ginny
fin
Rating: PG
Ship: Ginny/Harry
Word Count: ~300
Summary: Ginny writes Harry a letter.
Dedication: Jenny
"She sends me pictures of the ocean in an envelope" -Bright Eyes
. . .
THOUGHTS
Harry,
I’m thinking about you. I wonder if you’re awake yet. I imagine you dragging yourself out of bed, looking out the window. Raining again?
Ron and Hermione are in the next bed (you can’t honestly tell me they’re not sleeping together), their hands entwined and Ron’s leg hanging off of the side because the beds in the hotel are much too small. Hermione has buried her head in the crook of Ron’s neck and you remember when I would be that close to you, lying on the couch in the common room. Lazing in the afternoon when I’d finished exams.
Then invisible strings guide you from the room like you’re a marionette, and you’re staring out the window with your wooden puppet eyes. You’re seventeen today, but you’re much older. "No," you told Hermione yesterday, because you don’t want a birthday cake. "No," you told Ron earlier this week, because you don’t want any gifts. I know this because I recieved an owl from Hermione, and she’s worried about you, and I quote, "Ginny, I don’t know what to do about him. He isn’t talking to us. I can understand that, I don’t think I would be very talkative if I (and here Hermione has crossed out something about dark wizards and You-Know-Who) was forced to carry the burden that Harry carries. Oh, and don't get smart with me, Ginny, don’t tell me this is the one thing that I don’t know."
I see you drinking firewhisky with a quaking hand pressed to the counter. Maybe you’re thinking about me, wondering if I’m awake. Well, I am. I haven’t slept. I know you too well, Harry. You are a man of the sea. You are a man of exploration and battle, and you will never have a home.
--Ginny
fin