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25 Days of Color Prompt: Brown
by vcumonkey (vcumonkey)
at December 9th, 2013 (10:35 pm)
current location: Home
current mood: accomplished
current song: Chronicles

I started a "25 Days of Color" thing for the holiday (it was a way to make myself write more, and it is a sort of therapy, too). Today's prompt was the color brown, and the only thing I could think of was Ginny's eyes! So, I wrote this very short one-shot, which turned out to be a lot more depressing than originally anticipated, but with a dash of hope. I hope you enjoy!


Prompt: Brown
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Word Count: 525
Rating: G
No copyright infringement intended!


Fingers trace every beige freckle, every laugh line, every scar from the war, every bump from Chasing, watched closely by brown eyes under hooded lids. Her hands stroke his face, bronzed from a mission in Egypt; blunt nails scrape his scalp, and his eyes close as he pulls her closer.

He had just returned from a harrowing raid on a suspected supporter’s home, and had found not only Dark artifacts (one of which burned an Auror’s hand so badly it turned brown) but a little Muggle girl who had been kidnapped months before and hidden in a room under the stairs; she had been tortured relentlessly and mercilessly, and had screamed when three of the Aurors, all of whom were men, found her, fastened to a mahogany post in the corner. It had taken quite a while for them to approach her, and even longer to untie her. Her chestnut hair had been matted with earth and blood, and she had been covered in bruises and lacerations. It had taken ages for her to calm down long enough for them to help her out of the house, and she had been immediately whisked away to St. Mungo’s for a Sleep Draught and memory modifications. He still is unsure what they were going to tell her parents. How do you tell a teacher and a doctor that their little girl had been kidnapped by dark wizards simply because she was a non-magical child? Simply because they wanted to watch her suffer?

His job usually caused him strife; it was true the adrenaline rush and the heroism and the saving of lives was what made it worthwhile, but seeing things like he saw today made him weep for the world. Hadn’t he fought to keep things like this from happening? To save children from a life free from the agony that this girl had to endure? It was raids and missions like these that made him come home and into Ginny’s arms. She always knew when he had a bad day; his arms were tighter around her, his hands gripped harder, his face nestled closer into her throat. It was days like these that she could do nothing for him but hold him, stroke him, kiss his neck as she whispered into his ear.

They face each other on their sepia sheets as he draws circles around every cinnamon freckle. He doesn’t like speaking about the raids, doesn’t like worrying her (as she had so much when he was away that year, and as she still does every day he leaves), but she knows, oh how she knows, knows that this can be the most rewarding thing he does and the most disturbing. She helps him forget, just for a little while; helps him forget the blood on the russet floor in the room under the stairs, helps him forget the brown stains on the girl’s clothes, helps him forget the look of death in the child’s eyes.

Just for a little while.

Until he saves another child tomorrow, or next week, or next month, she is here to help him forget.

Just for a little while.

Comments

Posted by: lydia40686 (lydia40686)
Posted at: November 17th, 2016 01:30 am (UTC)

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