I hope you enjoy my first stab at the HP Universe. If you like it, make sure to take a chance at my tumblr (lonelyassasins). This is a post-war fic, with a very distraught and emotionally unstable Harry. You've been warned.

Title:of monsters in men (and still there is sun).

Summary: She can't help the sigh of relief that escapes her lips when she sees him, his shoulders hunched, looking smaller than usual against the pale sky that looms against him. He's always made himself out to be so tall, to be so steady, to be unstoppable. She's always been one of the few to know better. [Hinny. Post-war fic. Oneshot.]

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Mischief Managed.

of monsters in men (and still there is sun),

"I scream for everything that has gone wrong.
I scream for everything broken in our lives."
-Marie Lu, Champion.

"She made broken look beautiful,
and strong look invincible.
She walked with the Universe
on her shoulders and made it
look like a pair of wings."
-Ariana Dancu.

by clarabella wandering.

She can't help the sigh of relief that escapes past her lips, the little noise that blows past her tongue and slips through the cracks of her carefully fortified walls when she sees him, his shoulders hunched, looking smaller than usual against the pale sky that looms against him. He's always made himself out to be so tall, to be so steady, to be unstoppable. She's always been one of the few to know better. (This infuriates him at times, and she knows this will be another one of those times when his temper rises at her seeing straight through him.)

She's about ten feet from him when he straightens abruptly, having sensed her (once a warrior, always a warrior) presence, and so she walks forward, lengthening her stride, until she's standing next to him, staring at the vast expanse of pale sky that he's been looking at with seemingly vacant eyes. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't have to. Her red hair whips behind her in the soft wind, and she doesn't speak, lets the silence settle, waiting for his outburst, but he's stonily silent for so long that she thinks that mayhaps he's lost his voice, but then-

"Why'd you come?"

The voice is quiet and unnaturally flat, not at all like his usual lively lilt, but she's been expecting this and takes it in stride. She keeps her silence, because she knows he's not done yet. There's another sentence on the tip of his lips, stretching and tipping over into the open air: "I wanted to be alone." She nods, "you did." It's the truth; he did tell her he wished to have a bit of isolation, but he and she both know that this isn't really what he wanted, and much less, what he needed. She tells him so. "How do you know what I want, much less what I need?" He asks her, a little snappishly, but the voice still has that same dead tone that puts her strangely on edge. "You don't know me," he tells her, and when she swings to face him, she sees that his eyes aren't vacant at all; they're filled to the brim with memories and emotions.

He is ready to burst.

"You don't know me," he says again. "No one does." The sun grows a little brighter, winding its way to touch their toes, and, once she's waited a beat, she says, "contrary to your opinion, I think I know you quite well, Harry." It takes all her love for the man before her to control her temper, but she succeeds, only staring at his face with a gentle gaze, waiting for him to greet her (he won't meet her gaze).

And then, most suddenly, he does.

"Why are you with me?" He demands, his green eyes meeting her hazel ones, glasses askew, his hair being whipped by the wind like hers, "why do you -do you even love me?" The thought sends him wheeling to face her, and his voice rises, "nobody knows me, not you, you-you don't want to be with me! Who'd want to be with me? who'd want to even look at me? I'm-" he runs a hand through his hair, his entire body shaking as he groans in anger and frustration and sadness and, most of all, guilt. (The guilt comes in massive amounts, weighing him down, closing his eyes, making him see things -things that she'll defend him from until her dying breath.) "-I'm not a man. I'm a monster." He finishes, and then he says it louder: "I'm a monster, a monster. Monster, monster, monster, MONSTER!" He screams, and she can hear his throat tearing itself apart, watches him raise his hands into tight fists, a completely muggle thing to do, so crude and unrefined, but at least he's not hurting himself like he'd done the year before, she reasons, reigning in her own tears and pains. She watches him shake and watches him raise his fists at nothing, yelling wretched things at himself, and then she reaches out, very quickly but very gently, taking his balled up hands into her own and holding them tight, loosening them until they are grasping her own. "I don't deserve to have lived," says Harry, and then his shoulders slump again, and he starts to rock back and forth, still shaking wretchedly.

He is broken.

Her arms fold themselves around him, him suddenly seeming so small and her so much bigger (she's six inches shorter than him but somehow he currently seems tiny). He's shaking violently; her arms only curl around him tighter, hugging him close, rocking him gently, not saying a word save for his name. "Harry," she murmurs, quietly and soothingly, "Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…" She doesn't say anything else, but then, she doesn't really need to; she puts her all into saying his name, and slowly he stills, glasses pushed hard against her chest, but he's calm. Maybe he's not whole (far from it) but he's here.
He's hers.

She kisses the top of his head, letting her tears fall into his raven hair, letting his tears fall onto her chest. Her red hair billows around them, and they stand there him, her, them, the sun lifting itself around them, until he lifts his head very slowly, to meet her eyes. The sun is at his nose now, the pink-red light shining against them. He blinks at her, and she pushes his glasses up his nose gently, a fierce love for him pumping through her body. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Finally, he whispers, "Ginevra." and then, again, as if he can't believe she exists. "Ginevra."

Ginny reaches up to kiss him, and he meets her lips with a fierce crash. They kiss for a long moment before pulling apart, and she says to him, with all the love and care she holds for this man who stands before her, "I know, Harry. I know."

The sun rises.

fin.