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No Hero | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Other, Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Fluff, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 4 Summary: Summary: Maybe the only reason we have weddings is for other people to recognize their feelings for one another. Maybe humming rose petals can set a mood. Maybe the whispering of the breeze through a willow tree can make you contemplate. And maybe, just maybe, a dream with a red rose can help. Hitcount: Story Total: 3612 |
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“I do,” Fleur says. She and Bill kiss, and there is the onslaught of snuffling, muffled weeping, and noses blowing. “Weddings always make me cry,” mum whispers to dad, wiping away her tears with her sleeve. “I know,” he replies, handing her a hanky. “I just wish they could have had it last July, instead of having to wait. That was what they wanted,” she says with regret in her voice. “If only Gringotts hadn’t been attacked.” Dad nods. Bill and Fleur walk back towards the Burrow, and I’m surprised that they don’t knock something over; they’re still kissing; their faces seem to be locked together. One of Fleur’s young cousins skips after them and throws pink rose petals everywhere. A few get in people’s hair, and the petals start to hum. That was all Mrs. Delacour’s idea: to charm the petals so that they hum pretty tunes after the wedding. Personally, I think it’s a bit tacky, but Fleur’s not my daughter. Gabrielle and I wait a few moments before following them. We have to go help Fleur out of her wedding robes, which might take awhile. She needs new makeup and to freshen her hairstyle. Then it’s on to the reception. Dad charms the living room so that it’s much larger and we all go in to celebrate the merging of two souls. * “Harry,” I call. He walks out of the reception, and makes his way to the back garden. I see him excuse his way through the Fleur and Bill well wishers and walk into the kitchen. Whatever it is, it can’t be a good thing for him to be escaping for the outside world. I follow him outside, and see him standing by the large willow, watching the distant lights of Ottery St. Catchpole. “All those people,” he says to himself. “What about them?” I ask. He jumps a little, previously oblivious to my presence. “They don’t know… about Him.” He talks to the night, the sky, and the clouds. He doesn’t even bother to look at me. “But if they did know, what would it do to them…to their lives…their paranoia?” I answer. I am right behind him, and I consider making a comment about his robes, but I don’t; I don’t think it’s the best thing to do tonight. He seems to be thinking about his ‘destiny’, and I know from the heaviness in his voice he isn’t enjoying it much. “That’s exactly what I mean,” he says. I walk up next to him; he rests his hands on the low brick wall in front of us. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. It marks the boundary between our back garden and the town’s land. “But if they knew what you were doing for them, they’d think you were a hero. Half of the people back at the reception think that.” He turns his head to face me. A small breeze whispers through the willow’s leaves; it blows a strand of my red hair across my face. Before I can move it, Harry says, “I am no hero,” and lightly brushes the hair away from my eyes. He stops for a brief moment, as if he doesn’t know what he’s just done. “I am only a man, and a sad one. In the last year and a half, I have only found and destroyed one of the remaining Horcruxes. Meanwhile, men, women, and children, wizard and Muggle alike, are being slaughtered. I had a dream…everyone was crying; there was blood everywhere. And just before I woke up, I saw a red rose fall to the ground in front of me.” “Harry,” I start to say. I want to reassure him, to tell him that it as just a dream, and that it doesn’t mean anything, but the red rose... “Red roses signify love, passion, and devotion, don’t they?” “Ginny, I am not a hero!” “But you’re mine,” I say in reply, simply. He looks away from me, hurt in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “Can’t you find someone different, someone better than me?” he asks me. I know in his heart he doesn’t mean it, and that he only wants to protect me, but I’m sick of it. Now that I’m out of Hogwarts, I’m an adult, and I can now make decisions on my own. I want to be with Harry. I don’t care if Voldemort kills me, I just want to be held in Harry Potter’s arms; I just want him to kiss me, to say, ‘I love you, Ginny.’ Why can’t he see that? I draw him into an embrace. My hip and thigh bump against the rough brick. I know I’ll probably have a bruise by tomorrow morning, but I don’t care. “Listen to me,” I say with my cheek against his chest. I hear his heart beat, and I feel his muscles, tense as if he is waiting for something. “I love you. I don’t care what you think about it, and I don’t want to hear all the reasons why I shouldn’t.” I lookup into his green eyes. Though not as green as a fresh-pickled toad, they sparkle a little. “Ginny,” he says, trying to push me away. “If Voldemort ever found out-“ “No, I don’t care if Voldemort ever finds out! I want to be with you! And if Snape really was a spy for Him, he probably already knows!” “But Ginny, I want to protect you! Not get you killed!” “And what better way than if we could accept our feelings?” Maybe I sound whiny, but I want him to know! “I’ve loved you since I was ten, since that day at Platform 9 ¾. I told myself that it would never work, and I guess I was right.” I start to walk back into the house, to return to the reception, but I stop and turn around. “I love you.” I say. Then I turn back to face the kitchen, and start to navigate the knee-high weeds and a few loose gnomes furrowing for worms in the dusk. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, I think. Halfway to the house, I hear the swish of grass around Harry’s trainers. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I open my mouth to say something. “I’m…” he turns me around and cuts me of with a kiss. Caught by surprise, I kiss him back. It’s almost like the kiss back in my fifth year, but tell in some way he feels different. I can’t quite figure it out, but it feels nice. He pulls away before me, and my heart sags a little. “I love you, too. Maybe I would like to be your hero,” he whispers in my ear; it tickles and I giggle. I sense him smiling. “You already are, remember?” I doubt there will be much care for Voldemort tonight, at least, not from us. |
| Reviews 4 |
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