FIC--Wallowing in Self-Pity, part four
Jul. 18th, 2007 11:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ficsbydeenasTitle: Wallowing in Self-Pity
Chapter Four
Chapter Pairing: HP/OFC
Chapter Rating: R for language
Summary: Too many things have gone wrong. Too many people have suffered, even though the battle is won. A self-imposed exile is all he thinks he deserves.
Christmas that year was strange, in Harry's opinion. It was the first Christmas he'd spent without a Weasley in the last eight years. He desperately missed Ron and often wondered how he was doing, how he got along with only one arm. His thoughts also went to Hermione and how the job at the Ministry was going. Granted, he didn't know if she was still working there, but that was the last place he knew she worked.
Of course, he thought of Ginny often. She loved Christmas and he could never get enough of watching her open her gifts—she was always so joyful and childlike. He'd never forget how she looked when she would finish putting the fairy lights on the tree, awestruck and smiling widely.
Out of the corner of the room, he heard a soft tapping, knowing instinctively it was an owl, feeling his heart sink. Someone had found him.
Harry stepped slowly toward the window at the far end of the living room and saw a large, snowy owl. He involuntarily sobbed at the sight of Hedwig standing outside, snow falling gently upon her feathers. She hooted softly, as if asking 'Open the door, dear boy. It's Christmas.'
Once Harry lifted the sash, Hedwig swooped in and landed on his shoulder, playing with his hair with her beak. He'd forgotten how much that tickled. The owl stuck her leg out and watched his curious eyes while Harry untied the parchment and sat on the couch to read.
She signed it 'Ginevra' not Ginny or even Gin.
She must really hate me. Happy Christmas, indeed.
-----
When Claire came by, Harry was still reading the letter Ginny had written. He lost count of the number of times he'd read it and was now sure that he had the entire thing memorized. That was how Claire found him, sitting in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, holding the parchment in his hands.
"Harry…Harry, what're you doing down here?" She kneeled down at his side and before he could say anything to her, she pulled the letter out of his hand. Her eyes darted across the page while Harry blanked watched her, not even realizing that she was getting a glimpse into his past. "What's this all about?"
That was enough to snap his out of his thoughts.
"You read that? That's personal!" He grabbed the parchment and tore it into little pieces and threw them into the fire.
"How'd you get that? There's no post on Christmas, Harry, and yesterday was Sunday." Claire stood up and walked to him, placing her hands on his shoulder, which he abruptly shrugged off.
"Leave me alone, okay?" His voice was harsh and sharp, causing her to suck in her breath.
"Harry, we're going to church with my parents today, remember?" Claire reminded him, stroking his back with a hand. Her touch made his skin crawl.
"I've never been one for church. I'm not going," he simply stated. "Please leave, Claire.
"Harry! We promised my parents!"
"No, you did! I've never been to church in my life and I'm not about to start now." Harry strode purposefully across the room and pulled the only package beneath the Christmas tree into his arms, extending the gift to her. "Here. Take it."
"I…I don't know what's the matter with you, Harry, but snap out of it, okay? It's Christmas, baby."
"Don't CALL me that!" In his anger, Harry threw the package against the wall, shattering the contents in the process. "Happy Christmas, Claire."
Harry grabbed her arm and pushed her backwards towards the still-open door, shoving her out into the corridor. Before she could argue, he shut the door in her face and fastened the five locks on the door. He could hear her screaming at him through the door, yet managed to ignore it.
As if on their own accord, his feet led him to the closet and he soon found himself taking down a box from the top shelf. He set the box onto the coffee table and began rifling through it, looking for something specific.
After nearly emptying the cardboard box, he saw it, lying there on the bottom. Harry took the worn photograph in his hands. Memories came flooding back, the good and the bad. Despite his best efforts, Harry began crying and rolled himself up into a ball on the floor as Christmas music wafted up from the street below.
Chapter Four
Chapter Pairing: HP/OFC
Chapter Rating: R for language
Summary: Too many things have gone wrong. Too many people have suffered, even though the battle is won. A self-imposed exile is all he thinks he deserves.
PART FOUR
Christmas that year was strange, in Harry's opinion. It was the first Christmas he'd spent without a Weasley in the last eight years. He desperately missed Ron and often wondered how he was doing, how he got along with only one arm. His thoughts also went to Hermione and how the job at the Ministry was going. Granted, he didn't know if she was still working there, but that was the last place he knew she worked.
Of course, he thought of Ginny often. She loved Christmas and he could never get enough of watching her open her gifts—she was always so joyful and childlike. He'd never forget how she looked when she would finish putting the fairy lights on the tree, awestruck and smiling widely.
Out of the corner of the room, he heard a soft tapping, knowing instinctively it was an owl, feeling his heart sink. Someone had found him.
Harry stepped slowly toward the window at the far end of the living room and saw a large, snowy owl. He involuntarily sobbed at the sight of Hedwig standing outside, snow falling gently upon her feathers. She hooted softly, as if asking 'Open the door, dear boy. It's Christmas.'
Once Harry lifted the sash, Hedwig swooped in and landed on his shoulder, playing with his hair with her beak. He'd forgotten how much that tickled. The owl stuck her leg out and watched his curious eyes while Harry untied the parchment and sat on the couch to read.
Harry—
I'm glad Hedwig found you. She always could.
I hope you're having a good Christmas because we aren't.
Ron hasn't been himself and hasn't left The Burrow for more than an hour since he came home from St Mungo's. He and Hermione are on the skids as well. I wouldn't be surprised if they broke up before the year is out.
Mum's been driving herself insane worrying about you and Ron, she's lost a lot of weight and looks sick.
Hermione quit her job at the Ministry. She's working at the Leaky Cauldron. What a waste.
Me…well, I just love being by myself at Hogwarts. That's sarcasm, in case you've forgotten, Harry. I hate going home. I hate what you've done to my brother by leaving him when he needed you most. I hate that Hermione is leaving Ron's life bit by bit. I hate that you, my best friend—yes, Harry, you were my best friend—left and ignored every word that I said to you that day. But most of all, I hate myself because I miss you and I really want to slap you across the face. Hard.
So in case you were having a happy Christmas, here's to hoping that you now have a taste of what Christmas is like at The Burrow.
Ginevra
She signed it 'Ginevra' not Ginny or even Gin.
She must really hate me. Happy Christmas, indeed.
-----
When Claire came by, Harry was still reading the letter Ginny had written. He lost count of the number of times he'd read it and was now sure that he had the entire thing memorized. That was how Claire found him, sitting in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, holding the parchment in his hands.
"Harry…Harry, what're you doing down here?" She kneeled down at his side and before he could say anything to her, she pulled the letter out of his hand. Her eyes darted across the page while Harry blanked watched her, not even realizing that she was getting a glimpse into his past. "What's this all about?"
That was enough to snap his out of his thoughts.
"You read that? That's personal!" He grabbed the parchment and tore it into little pieces and threw them into the fire.
"How'd you get that? There's no post on Christmas, Harry, and yesterday was Sunday." Claire stood up and walked to him, placing her hands on his shoulder, which he abruptly shrugged off.
"Leave me alone, okay?" His voice was harsh and sharp, causing her to suck in her breath.
"Harry, we're going to church with my parents today, remember?" Claire reminded him, stroking his back with a hand. Her touch made his skin crawl.
"I've never been one for church. I'm not going," he simply stated. "Please leave, Claire.
"Harry! We promised my parents!"
"No, you did! I've never been to church in my life and I'm not about to start now." Harry strode purposefully across the room and pulled the only package beneath the Christmas tree into his arms, extending the gift to her. "Here. Take it."
"I…I don't know what's the matter with you, Harry, but snap out of it, okay? It's Christmas, baby."
"Don't CALL me that!" In his anger, Harry threw the package against the wall, shattering the contents in the process. "Happy Christmas, Claire."
Harry grabbed her arm and pushed her backwards towards the still-open door, shoving her out into the corridor. Before she could argue, he shut the door in her face and fastened the five locks on the door. He could hear her screaming at him through the door, yet managed to ignore it.
As if on their own accord, his feet led him to the closet and he soon found himself taking down a box from the top shelf. He set the box onto the coffee table and began rifling through it, looking for something specific.
After nearly emptying the cardboard box, he saw it, lying there on the bottom. Harry took the worn photograph in his hands. Memories came flooding back, the good and the bad. Despite his best efforts, Harry began crying and rolled himself up into a ball on the floor as Christmas music wafted up from the street below.
