⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ RUSH a harry potter motorsport au
chapter one-hundred; demons
SUMMARY
He's composed when facing with Ginny's fire. But the truth can only hide for so long before even the darkest of secrets reveal themselves like poison. And in the darkest moments, the demons follow through to rip through thoughts with a terrifying return. How long will Harry be able to stand his ground against Ginny's putrid anger and disgust before the dam breaks?
wc: 10k
rating: mature
content: conflict, mentions of suicide, self-loathing, comfort
characters: Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger
"Ginny," Harry murmured, and for the first time his voice trembled, just slightly, as though the word itself had cut him on the way out. His fingertips pressed harder into his climbing heartbeat, cradling the precious organ deeper as it answered her words with a heavy, aching thump. He felt that ache with it—felt it reverberate through his ribs, through his throat, through the whole tender architecture of him—and he stroked his heartbeat with desperate devotion, trying to soothe it as much as he was trying to soothe himself. His stomach twisted already just at the worst scenario of the love of his life ripped away from his reach... and it was an awful feeling.
"Don't fucking 'Ginny' me, Harry," she bit out, her voice a whip-crack in the room. "Watching you interrogate someone is one thing, but knowing you went back—knowing you deliberately took your time, uninterrupted, just to savour that kind of power over a school bully? That is a level of darkness I don't recognize. If you can go that far with him, then I can go just as far to think about our marriage. I can't—I fucking can't trust a man who enjoys the screams. And for a man who loved, tell me how the fuck does one enjoy hearing something like that?"
Harry swallowed thickly, the motion like sliding shards of glass down his esophagus. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected his wife to gamble their entire history, to lay their marriage on the altar of his sins and threaten to light the match.
"No—no, you don't mean that," he whispered, his green eyes darting across her furious, tear-streaked face, searching for a glimmer of the woman who had held him two nights ago. "Please. I love you, Ginny. Just... forget what happened in that cellar. Move forward with me. We have so much more at stake—just—"
"Don't tell me to just forget it!" she cried, the bitterness in her tone toxic. "It's hard to even look at you right now... I'm wasting my breath."
When she turned to leave, Harry reached out, his left hand grasping at the air between them, but she wrenched herself away as if his touch were a brand. "Ginny... no."
She marched toward the door, and Harry tracked her with the desperation of a drowning man. He kept his right fingertips anchored to his heartbeat, feeling a putrid, cold ache seeping into the marrow of his ribs. Without conscious thought, he trailed after her, his breaths shortening into sharp, jagged gasps as dread coiled around his lungs like a tightening vice. "Ginny—stop—you're just angry—you don't mean it—"
"Angry?" She spun on her heel, her shoes clicking sharply against the floor, her eyes glistening now with visibly swelling tears of affliction. "I'm disgusted. Don't make me look like the villain now, Harry, because the only thing fucked up in this house is you."
