The showdown between the two Weasley women wasn’t mentioned again,
and the reluctance and avoidance to speak of it scared Harry. On top of
everything else, Ginny went home that night. Harry was rather hoping
that she’d spend the night with him again.
Ginny Apparated to the corridor outside her London flat. She leaned
against the wall with a sigh and slid down until she was crouching on
the floor. She knew Dean would be waiting inside the flat; they hadn’t
seen each other in three days and she did miss him. However, the
overwhelming guilt of leaving Harry alone was eating her away. He had
asked her a dozen times that afternoon why she and her mother had
argued. Harry had wanted to know what they knew that he didn’t? Was he
ill? Dying? His worst fears had risen to the surface when he asked
Ginny if Voldemort was still alive. Ginny had tried to just pass the
argument off as a family situation, but Harry was too smart for that.
Ginny just kept dodging the questions, changing the subject, or passing
them off as codswallop.
Ginny finally rose off the floor and
inserted her key into the lock on the door. Upon pushing it open, a
smiling face greeted her.
“Well, how is he?” Dean inquired, excitement abounding in his normally soft voice.
“Huh?” Ginny mumbled in surprise as she slipped off her coat and hung it on an old brass coat rack near the door.
“Harry! How is he? Merlin, I could hardly believe your note.”
The excitement in his voice was torture to Ginny and almost seemed
forced. She was feeling the pain of knowing that, only a few hours ago,
she had been kissing Harry quite passionately while she was betrothed
to someone else—someone who she thought was good and sweet and
utterly lovable—someone who didn’t deserve her.
“Oh, well,
he’s doing all right. Still sleeping a lot. Seeing Remus today took a
lot out of him. He is having a bit of a hard time coming to terms with
all that he's missed in the last five years.”
Dean smiled,
ruffling up his curly black hair. “Poor bloke. I can’t wait to see him,
though. I’ve Owled the other Gryffindors from our year. We’re all
trying to coordinate our schedules to visit him together.”
Ginny suddenly felt as though her stomach was in her throat. The
prospect of having her former beau, who thought he was her current
beau, and her fiancée in the same room was heart stopping.
“Now, Dean. Harry’s been through a lot. Let’s give him some time to
acclimate to life again.” Ginny dropped the rest of her belongings by
the door and walked further into the flat. It had become her haven over
the last couple of years. Coming home from the hospital after a long
day of work and spending time with Harry. The décor was homey, with
lots of antiques, like a less cluttered version of The Burrow. Ginny
loved her little flat and would definitely miss it when she and Dean
moved in together.
Dean shrugged, following along behind her. “I know. I’m just excited for him. He was always a good mate at school.”
Ginny furled her eyebrows and turned abruptly when she reached the
hallway and wrapped her arms around Dean’s slender frame, burying her
head in his chest. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted, nuzzling his shirt
and catching a scent of his cologne.
Dean smiled, holding her
tight, and lifted her feet off the floor. “Mmm, me, too,” he growled
playfully. “Dinner’s ready. Have you eaten?” He gave her a quick kiss
before setting her back down.
“Eh, I’m not hungry, just
tired.” She looked around the flat again. Even though she hadn’t been
here much in the past few days, it was immaculate: much cleaner than
when she had Apparated out that morning. Dean confessed that he had
been there since early afternoon, eager to see Ginny, and had made
dinner, cleaned the flat, and put in a full day of work himself. What
wasn’t there to love about him?
“I have a wonderful idea,” Ginny declared, locking her arms around Dean’s waist.
He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
Ginny smiled bashfully, diverting her eyes, and slapped his chest. “How
about I run a nice, long, hot bath, and you come join me in five
minutes?”
“Deal,” he confirmed, pressing his lips softly to Ginny’s forehead. Their presence there was comforting. “Meet you in five…”
Ginny made her way through the living room to the hallway. Her bare
feet made soft slapping sounds as she stepped onto the cool bathroom
tile. The countertop was clear; all her brushes had been neatly put
away, and the glob of toothpaste that had oozed out of the tube had
been cleaned up. The magical version of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus showed Venus sitting on the edge of her shell, brushing her long, blond hair while she hummed a little tune.
Ginny let out a sigh of contentment and began to fill the claw-footed
bathtub and added a splash of jasmine scented bath oil. She disrobed as
the tub filled and cautiously dipped a foot in.
Ahh, heavenly,
Ginny thought as she climbed into the deep tub. She sunk beneath the
water’s surface, thoroughly drenching herself. Strangely enough, Ginny
felt calmer under the water than above it. She ran her hands through
her smooth, wet hair, disrupting the floating red fan at the water’s
surface. Ginny opened her eyes and stared up at the gold leaf ceiling
through the crystal water. The bath oil stung her eyes a little, but it
was a welcome pain. Why can't I get Harry Potter out of my head?
Ginny felt her body gently rest on the smooth porcelain bottom of the bath. Why do my problems haunt me, even here?
Closing her eyes, she let out a frustrated scream, causing an eerie
sound and a churn of bubbles to escape her lips. She opened her eyes
once again to see a blurry, dark face peering down at her.
She surfaced from the water with an audible gasp as oxygen refilled her constricted, deprived lungs.
“What on earth were you doing, Ginny?” Dean demanded, not without a
scowl of concern. He grabbed her around the arm, more forcefully than
he intended, and hoisted her from under the water. “I called for you.”
Ginny was blushing as she stammered out a response, “Oh, I was just, er, washing my hair.”
“Why’d you scream?”
“I was startled?”
Dean regretfully started to smile. “Is that a statement or a question? You don’t sound too sure.”
Ginny only shrugged, pulling her knees up and locking her arms around them.
Dean sighed with defeat; she was clamming up on him. “Well, budge along if you want me to get in.”
The bath consisted of a lovely chat, a backrub, and more than a little
snogging. The safety and comfort of Dean’s strong arms surrounding her
was exactly what Ginny needed after the hectic two days she’d just been
through. After towelling off, Ginny entered her bedroom to find the bed
turned back invitingly and her favourite nightgown laid out on top of
it.
Dean was standing there, waiting for her, with only his towel wrapped around his waist.
“Thank you,” Ginny whispered, taking a hesitant step toward Dean and letting her chin drop a little.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “It’s
nothing. You’ve had a rough couple of days; you deserve more.”
Ginny stood on her tiptoes leaning in to his kiss. “No,” she contradicted. “You do.”
She did a quick drying charm on her hair and changed into her
nightgown. The cool, crisp, lavender sheets felt good against her warm
skin as she climbed into the tall, four-poster bed. Ginny sighed
happily as Dean pulled the covers up around her and tucked her in.
Ginny rose up in bed with a certain amount of fear reminiscent in her eyes. “You’re staying, aren’t you?” she asked with alarm.
Dean only nodded, moving around to the far side of the bed. He set the small alarm clock on the bedside table and Accio-ed his bag from the front room. After he stepped into his pyjama trousers, he turned back to the bed, finding Ginny asleep.
Harry had read in books what a battlefield smelled like, but now that he was on one, he knew he’d never forget it.
A
cloud of smoke obscured his vision, and he was choking on the horrible
ash and dust. Screams of fear and cries of lament filled the gloaming.
Harry had lost track of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione early on in the
battle. He couldn’t bear to think about where they might be and what
condition he would find them in.
Behind him, he heard what had haunted his dreams for years.
That laugh…
Harry’s
mind rapidly changed gears, and he could hear Ginny’s weeping voice.
She was inconsolable and screaming with despair as Harry felt someone
dragging her away from his lifeless body.
His thoughts
flashed again. This time, Ginny was singing Christmas carols, sniffling
intermittently between verses. She was visiting him at St. Mungo’s on
Christmas Day.
Harry’s mind lurched again, sending
him back to the final battle. He was shielding his face from an
explosion of light. He felt himself go weak and fall to the cold, hard
ground.
Harry gasped loudly for air, sitting straight up from the bed. Hot tears stung his eyes and his cheeks. It's only a dream, he tried telling himself. But they weren’t just dreams, they were memories.
Across town, at the cusp of Muggle and Wizarding London, Ginny Weasley awoke with a start.
She threw the covers back and tore out of the bed frantically.
“What is it?” Dean asked, struggling to awaken from sleep.
“I don’t know,” Ginny admitted, rummaging around in her dark bedroom.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she looked over at the clock:
12:34. She didn’t know what the trouble was, only that there was
something terribly wrong. It felt as though a Golden Snitch was
fluttering around in her stomach. Her heart was pounding and her head
ached.
“What do you mean, Ginny?” Dean asked, folding the
covers over as he heard the clang of a shirt being pulled of its hanger
in Ginny’s closet.
“I don’t know, I just know something’s
wrong,” Ginny snapped, tossing her nightdress over her head and
shimmying into her jeans and pulling a jumper on.
“Where? It’s the middle of the night Ginny.”
Ginny hurried across the room to the edge of the bed. Even in the dark she instinctively found his lips and kissed him.
“To St. Mungo’s,” she stated briefly, glad it was dark so she could not read his expression.
“I’m sorry, I have to go; he’s got nobody.”
Dean sighed dejectedly. “I know,” he admitted. “Go.”
Ginny screwed up her face and Apparated to St. Mungo’s.
Ginny arrived at the St. Mungo’s Apparition Point and raced through the
halls. Her mind was swimming with thoughts of what she might find when
she reached Harry’s room She couldn’t ignore the sense of fear that
threatened her. The only thing she knew for certain was that Harry
needed her.
She was nearly breathless when she arrived at
Harry’s room. The door was closed and the lights were off. Ginny was
beginning to think she had made a stupid mistake when she heard the
sound of sobbing coming softly from within the room.
Without
hesitation, Ginny threw open the door and found Harry sitting on the
edge of the bed, his feet dangling a few inches from the floor. He was
bent forward, cradling his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with
each lonely sob.
“Harry?” Ginny’s voice shook and trembled with worry.
Harry didn’t need to hear her voice or see her face to know who was
standing at the door. He could only see her silhouette, illuminated by
the hallway lighting, as he didn’t have his glasses on. It didn’t
matter; Harry knew her body. Granted, it had been five years since he’d
experienced it, but he knew her aura—the glow that just seemed to
accompany her and radiate to those who surrounded her. Harry knew it
was Ginny out in the corridor simply from the way she made him feel.
Her presence was calm and comforting, like a life preserver in the
waters of agony and turmoil that had been his life.
Harry looked up when Ginny spoke his name, slightly startled by
her appearance. He shook his head, trying to shake away the negative
emotions, but it didn’t help.
Ginny didn’t wait for an
invitation. She stepped inside the room, letting the door close behind
her, in effect, blocking out the rest of the world. She took off her
coat and threw it down onto the floor. It slid across the tile and came
to a stop at the foot of the little table with the water pitcher.
Ginny hurried over to him, falling to her knees at his bedside and
extending her hands to him. Harry saw her concerned expression and
discovered, for once, he didn’t really mind it. She was here and that
was all that mattered.
“Harry, love, what is it?” Ginny asked, heartache evident as her hands moved up to cradle his face and wipe his tears away.
Her palms felt soft and cool against his warm, tear-stained face. He
leaned into those wonderful hands, trying to catch his breath. “T-Tell
me it’s all over,” he whispered bitterly. “Tell me life is going to get
better. Promise me you won’t ever leave.”
Ginny swallowed
hard. She never had any intention of abandoning Harry, and she would
always be a part of his support system; but she had already chosen to
move on with her life without him. Hadn’t they always been friends,
regardless of whatever labels they had placed on themselves?
“Things have steadily been getting better since the moment you opened
your eyes, and you know I’ll always be here, Harry. I couldn’t leave,
even if thought I wanted to. I woke up knowing you needed me, so I
rushed over. Now, tell me what spurred all this.”
Ginny
brushed the remaining tears off Harry’s face and swept his hair behind
his ears with her fingertips. She rested back on her haunches and
waited for him to speak when he was ready.
“I may have killed
Voldemort—I don’t know—but he isn’t totally gone. Ginny, he’s invaded
my mind and my thoughts, and he waits cowardly until I fall asleep to
do so.” His voice was broken and raspy, and his breath came out in
short huffs.
“You’re having nightmares again, aren’t you?”
A single tear escaped his emerald green eyes.
“I’m remembering, Gin.”
Alarm swelled up in Ginny before sympathy did. “W-what are you remembering, Harry?”
Harry sniffled and shook his head. Staring down into Ginny’s chestnut
brown eyes had already counteracted his gloom. “I’m not 100% sure. I
think I'm having some flashbacks of the final battle. I’ll need some
corroboration of that.” Harry paused, screwing up his eyes in
concentration, trying to remember the order of the flashbacks. “Then, I
think I had some memories, flashbacks, or whatever, of being here in
the hospital. You were here, singing Christmas songs.”
“Was I crocheting?”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t really see you; I only heard you singing.”
Ginny was flooded with old memories. There had been so many days that
she had sat in the chair next to the bed, unsure of how to pass the
time. She interrupted him before he could continue, “Mum suggested I
take up knitting, crocheting, and quilting to pass the time while I sat
here with you. It not only turned out to be therapeutic but productive.
You’ve got a lovely, warm quilt waiting for you at home.” She smiled.
Her new hobbies had helped her keep her sanity while she had insisted
on spending so many hours in that room.
There was a long pause
before Harry finally spoke again, “Truthfully, the memories don’t scare
me; it just makes me sad, knowing I missed so much and caused everyone
so much grief.” Ginny made to speak but Harry pressed a finger to her
lips to silence her. He needed to speak his words now, while Ginny’s
presence gave him the courage.
“Voldemort, Ginny… he seemed so real. I heard his laugh, saw his eyes, and just felt so cold, empty, and utterly alone.”
Ginny raised her head up and looked into Harry’s eyes, placing her
hands on either side of his face. Her fingers traced each fine line
that his distraught emotions forced into his skin. “Hear me, now. I am
here, and, no matter what, I always will be. We’ll get through this,
just as we’ve gotten through everything else. Voldemort is gone, Harry,
I watched him incinerate. If he has a hold on your mind, it’s only
because you let him. Stop him; don’t let him have the power over you
anymore. Use your Occlumency! You’re the strongest person I’ve ever
known, Harry; you’ve had time enough to suffer—move on!”
Her
face was close to Harry’s. He could see the intensity in Ginny’s eyes.
She was strong, beautiful, and smart. She was undoubtedly the living
angel he so needed to grace his life: the reason that made all his
battles worthwhile.
She was slightly out of breath from her
dissertation. Her cherry coloured lips, which so perfectly complimented
her fair skin, were parted ever so slightly. In their closeness, Harry
was happy to see the freckle that still lingered about the left side of
her top lip—like that Muggle actress, Marilyn Monroe.
Caught
up in the moment, he leaned forward and kissed her, slipping his hands
under her arms and pulling her up off the floor. She obeyed his wishes
and sat straddling his lap, her mind too tortured by feelings of
betrayal toward both of the men in her life to do anything differently.
He parted her lips with his tongue, drawing her into his mouth and, by so doing, drawing proverbial strength from her spirit.
Harry’s lips were strong, and his kisses were forceful and exciting.
The feelings that swarmed over her made her want to do so much more,
but the little voice in the back of her mind began to cry out again,
quietly at first, but then screaming disparagingly.
Two-timer! Traitor! Charlatan!
A part of Ginny didn’t care if she was betraying Dean, and the other part felt as though her heart might break.
Nevertheless, Ginny’s fingers entwined in the back of Harry’s ebony
hair, pulling him closer. When Harry’s hands began to stray, Ginny
halted the kiss, nipping at his top lip as she did so.
She
smiled slyly, placing a finger to his lips. “Hey, let’s get you back
into bed. I’ll stay here with you tonight. No more nightmares.”
Harry kissed her finger before resolving himself to the fact that she
was right—he was dead tired. Ginny tenderly settled him into bed and
cuddled in beside him.
Harry closed his eyes and yawned as he
slipped one arm around her to keep her nearby. With a contented sigh,
he nuzzled into the curve of her neck.
“I love you, Gin,” he whispered softly, his breath tickling her skin.
Ginny’s breath caught painfully in her throat. Stonewalling, she
brushed the fringe off his forehead. Even though only yesterday she had
told her mother she loved Harry, saying it aloud to him today was out
of the question. Ginny knew if she actually verbalized those words,
there would be no going back.
“And I, you,” she replied, choking back the tears.