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Not From Others | ||||||
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Category: Post-HBP, Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, General Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Extreme Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Negative Alcohol Use, Violence Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 348 Summary: She may not have been able to join Harry, Ron and Hermione, but Ginny refuses to go down without a fight. As war approaches, Ginny returns to Hogwarts to resurrect Dumbledore's Army and face the darkest year the wizarding world has ever seen. DH from Ginny's POV. Canon. Hitcount: Story Total: 108195; Chapter Total: 4281 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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A tremendous noise awoke Ginny, who had managed to fall into a deep sleep against her mother’s shoulder. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and squinted at the crowd around her; everybody seemed to be standing and leaving the tables in a hurry, shouting, but she couldn’t make out what. ‘What’s going on? Is there another battle?’ ‘The body,’ said Charlie shortly. ‘What?’ She frowned, and checked her watch. She’d barely been asleep an hour. ‘Charlie, what’s-?’ But he’d joined the great horde of witches and wizards bunched around the door to one of the side chambers, and as she followed she realised that it was the room Kingsley and Slughorn had moved Voldemort’s body. The crowd were jeering and shouting, spitting and cursing, and as Ginny ducked and wriggled through a gap under someone’s elbows, she saw why. Voldemort’s body, mostly covered by a dirty looking sheet, was being carried out by Harry and Kingsley. The mob’s anger was not directed at them, but no doubt it was an unpleasant experience, and from the look on Harry’s face, he still hadn’t had any rest. ‘Evil!’ shouted the witch next to Ginny. ‘Pure evil! Evil!’ Somebody lunged from the crowd and hit out at Voldemort’s body, almost knocking him off the stretcher. Harry stumbled slightly, looking tense and nervous, mumbling something to the man. ‘Please, Mr Flume,’ said Kingsley deeply. ‘I know you’re upset-’ ‘He killed her,’ the man was sobbing. ‘Ordered her dead!’ Ginny suddenly recognised him as the man who was always behind the counter at Honeydukes… ‘Let us pass, Mr Flume.’ ‘We should be allowed to do what we want with him!’ shouted Seamus fiercely. ‘He shouldn’t be treated with any respect!’ There were angry noises of approval at this, and Harry looked desperately to the floor, seemingly unable to look at the body or anyone in the crowd. ‘We need to get rid of the body as quickly as possible,’ said Professor McGonagall, who Ginny hadn’t noticed standing behind Kingsley. ‘Make way, and let us be rid of him.’ When there were yet more cries of protest, her lips turned into the familiar thin line that always preceded the removal of house points, and she barked, ‘is this the way to treat our new Minister of Magic and the man who saved us all? Spare a thought for them and make way so they can do their jobs!’ Harry looked gratefully at McGonagall, and continued to make his way through the crowd, holding the stretcher awkwardly behind him. The crowd parted, but continued to follow, unable to control their anger and grief, persistent in their shouting, hurling abuse at Voldemort. ‘None of them were this brave when he was up and walking about, were they?’ said Ron, who had pushed his way through to join Ginny. ‘I thought you three had snuck off to rest?’ she said, as they followed the odd funeral procession through the entrance hall. ‘We did, we’d almost made it to the Gryffindor tower before Kingsley bumped into us, asked Harry if he wanted to do this. I don’t think he did, but you know what he’s like, couldn’t say no.’ Harry’s back was to her now, but the tenseness in his shoulders and the way his head was bowed gave him the aura of someone gritting their teeth and battling through it. Some reporters had arrived at the castle already and explosion of clicks and flashes surrounded him, the cameras uncomfortably close to his face. ‘Where’s Hermione?’ Ginny asked Ron over the noise of the crowd. ‘She’s gone to bed, I’ll go up and do the same once this is done.’ ‘You must be shattered too! Go to bed!’ ‘No,’ said Ron protectively. ‘I need to keep an eye on Harry.’ They stepped outside, and the crowd followed Harry and Kingsley across the lawn, past the patch where Harry, apparently dead, had lay, and out to where most of the battle had occurred. It looked as though it was going to be a warm spring day. The morning light caught on the patches of blood which stained the grass. The body was lowered, and now Ginny could see that many of the Hogwarts teachers had been accompanying Harry and Kingsley, for now they were ushering people back with wide open arms, calling for space, and a large semi-circle was forming out of the huge audience. Wood had been gathered from somewhere, and now Harry and Kingsley were levitating it onto the body, like a backwards pyre. ‘They should have put him on top,’ spat Demelza viciously. ‘So we can watch him burn.’ ‘No, I’m glad he’s at the bottom,’ said Seamus. ‘It’s where he belongs.’ Kingsley clapped Harry on the shoulder and gave him a nod. Harry paused for a moment, before pointing his wand at the base of the pile and shooting blue flames at it. They engulfed the wood quickly, Ginny could immediately feel the heat on her face, and she was standing at least fifteen foot back. The explosion of clicking began again, Harry turned sharply towards them, startled, before realising his mistake and heading to the remaining pile of logs. He pointed his wand at them, but his hand shook, so without saying a word he tucked it into his pocket and lifted a log by hand. Ginny was not sure who else had noticed. Most people’s attention was on the raging fire before them, which they either cheered loudly at or watched in stony silence. Kingsley seemed to have noticed, and, perhaps to help Harry avoid embarrassment, he followed Harry’s lead and also began to manually throw the logs on. They were standing very close, the heat must have been unbearable. ‘The photographers are freaking me out,’ muttered Demelza. ‘All those flashes, it’s like spells again.’ ‘At least they’re not pointed at you,’ said Ron, who was watching Harry carefully. ‘I’m going to say something, they need to leave him alone.’ ‘No, Ron,’ said Ginny. ‘I know it’s tempting, but leave it, once this is over we can hide him away somewhere. He won’t thank you for adding to the drama of the day.’ The cheering had died down, and now most people watched quietly, their faces a landscape of hatred and grief, staring into the hot blue-white flames of the fire. Harry and Kingsley still walked slowly back and forth to the pile of logs, sweat beginning to dampen their clothes, their swaying gaits suggesting dizziness from the heat. Ginny felt Ron’s arm around her and thought of the time the Carrow’s had burnt all of Harry’s things. ‘Where are all the prisoners?’ she asked. ‘All the Death Eaters we captured?’ ‘Moved down to the dungeons, but there aren’t many of them. Most of them scarpered.’ ‘Are the Carrows there?’ asked Seamus sharply. ‘Wouldn’t mind paying them a visit before they fall under Azkaban’s protection.’ ‘No idea,’ said Ron. Seamus gave a nod, something dark in his eyes. ‘I’m going to go and check. Fancy joining me, anyone?’ ‘Count me in,’ said Terry Boot, pure malice in his expression. A few more growls of agreement, and those most badly treated by the Carrows returned to the castle in a spirit of viciousness. Ginny wanted to follow them, wanted to hurt the Carrows too, but she was distracted. ‘He looks like he’s going to faint,’ she said to Ron quietly. ‘You took the words out of my mouth,’ he said, pushing forward. Flitwick tried to stop him, squeakily insisting that he stay back. ‘Sorry Professor, but I need to speak to Harry…’ Ron and Ginny crossed the grass, getting ever closer to the heat, and Ron stretched out an arm and touched Harry on the shoulder. Harry jumped, one hand leaping to his pocket, before his face immediately relaxed on seeing Ron. ‘Come on, mate,’ said Ron quietly. ‘You’ve done your bit.’ ‘No, I need to-’ ‘Harry, you’re about to collapse,’ said Ginny firmly. ‘Come on, now.’ She placed a hand on his arm, and as she did the flashing intensified, some of the larger cameras even banging and smoking, and though Harry had his back to them he closed his eyes tightly. Under her fingers, his arm trembled. ‘You go, Harry,’ said Kingsley. ‘It’s all done now.’ Harry looked at him. ‘I’ll come and find you later about the-’ ‘Yes, yes, it can all be discussed. Go to the hospital wing.’ ‘We’ll take him,’ Ron told Kingsley, and he carefully began to lead Harry away. Harry walked as though in a daze, there was something not quite right about his eyes, they seemed to stare into the distance. The crowd swarmed around them, many shouting for Harry, asking to speak to him, trying to touch him, but he stared into nothing, his head slightly bowed. ‘Get out the way!’ Ginny yelled back. ‘Leave him alone!’ Ron was rather more diplomatic, merely asking people to let them through, though still being rather sharp with his elbows and keeping a firm grip on Harry’s shoulder. Behind them, the reporters and photographers seemed unsure of what to do. Photograph the new Minister by the burning body of He Who Must Not Be Named, or follow The Chosen One? Ginny helped them come to their decision by firing a Bat-Bogey hex at a burly-looking photographer who was obnoxiously shouting ‘Potter!’ as he chased them. ‘Where are we going?’ asked Harry confusedly as Ron pulled him away from the direction of the Gryffindor tower. ‘Weren’t you listening? Hospital wing.’ ‘What? No, I’m fine, I just need some sleep-’ ‘You can sleep in the hospital wing,’ said Ron, reminding Ginny strongly of their mother. ‘Actual injured people need those beds-’ ‘Most of them have been transferred to St Mungos already,’ said Ginny. ‘Come on, we could argue all day…’ When they arrived, the room was bustling with Healers and groups of families, but as Ginny had said, there were very few patients. Most of the staff simply seemed to be cleaning up and taking down notes from next of kin, though a few beds seemed to be screened off. A harassed looking blonde Healer in St Mungos uniform bustled up to them, one eye still on her clipboard. ‘Can I help you? Are you looking for someone- Oh!’ She had recognised Harry and now stared shamelessly, her mouth gaping open. ‘Er, no, don’t worry,’ muttered Harry, but Ron spoke over him. ‘Is Madam Pomfrey about?’ At the sound of her name, Madam Pomfrey appeared from behind one of the screens, carrying a bundle of bandages. ‘Ah, Potter, it’s been an odd year without you wandering in and out. And some Weasleys too, this is like old times. Come on then, let’s have a look at you.’ ‘I’m fine, really,’ Harry protested. ‘You’re probably really busy-’ Madam Pomfrey turned to the blonde Healer. ‘Belinda, go to the Great Hall and see if you can fetch the rest of the Weasley family. They’ve all got red hair. We might as well check the whole lot of them now.’ ‘Right…’ said Belinda faintly, still staring at Harry as she backed away. ‘Sure…’ Ron and Ginny took Harry to a nearby bed, and as he sat on the edge he turned to Ron. ‘I told you, you should have gone to bed with Hermione-’ Ron began to argue, but Madam Pomfrey gave a stern look to the pair of them. ‘Enough of that now, although Mr Weasley I think it would be a good idea if you went and fetched Miss Granger so I can check her over. I’d like to check everyone over while you’re all here.’ ‘And then we can go home?’ said Ron, as though it were the most wonderful thing in the world. ‘Certainly. I recommend it, you won’t get any peace and quiet here, there’s already talks of organising a street party in Diagon Alley, and I doubt you want to get cajoled into that.’ Ron didn’t need another word, he gave Harry one last pat on the shoulder and sped out the room. Harry barely reacted, and Madam Pomfrey looked at him shrewdly. ‘It looks like you’re suffering from a bit of spell-shock, Mr Potter, I doubt you’re the only one. It will take time to go, but you’ll learn to cope eventually.’ She looked down at the bundle of bandages in her arms. ‘I’ll just go and get rid of these, neither of you go anywhere, you both need seeing to.’ As she left, she pulled the screen back around them, shielding them from view of the rest of the room. They were finally alone, and they both realised it. Ginny, who still stood by the bed on which Harry sat, lifted her gaze to him slowly. He looked back, his green eyes piercing. She took a step towards him at the same time as he reached out an arm, resting his trembling hand on her waist and pulling her closer. She leaned her forehead against his, and though neither of them said anything they were now both breathing deeply, Ginny pursing her lips slightly to stop herself from crying. Her hands reached up to touch his face, tracing his jawline, grazing his cheeks. His hands pressed firmly against her back, she could feel their warmth through her shirt. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. She let out a shuddering breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding, and leaned into him more. Now his arms were wrapped around her in a tight hug, and they held each other for the first time since he’d left, both so thankful that the other was here, alive, and that it was finally over… They kissed. Very softly, savouring the moment, tender and careful. Ginny’s heart was still fragile, and it was still hard to believe he was back, she worried that if she kissed him too hard he would crumble away into dust, and she’d lose him again, but their kiss was like a promise to her. They only broke away when Madam Pomfrey loudly coughed. *** The next few days passed in a kind of numbness for Ginny. For all of them. Snatches of happiness were found in unlikely places, when they forgot what had happened and shared in the lifted burden they had carried for so long. When Harry entered the Great Hall and was promptly chased out by a large flock of owls; when he, Ron, Hermione and Ginny hid from oncoming reporters by scrambling up into a tree; when she told him about Hagrid’s ‘Support Harry Potter’ party and he’d roared with laughter; when they’d climbed through a hole in the wall and sat on the roof to watch Dedalus Diggle’s shooting stars. Sometimes, she hadn’t known how to think, she hadn’t been able to place the emotion that filled her like ice water. Dennis Creevy and Zaha had sent Colin’s camera to The Prophet, and now his photos, undeveloped by magic, showed the battle, frozen in time, haunting and terrible. Ginny didn’t want to call them beautiful, but she wasn’t sure how else to call them, the way he had expertly captured emotions on faces she was sure hadn’t known they were being photographed, the way he had found bursts of colour and love among grey dust and rubble. She had sobbed, hard, over a picture of Tonks, wailing to the sky, her still hands clutching at a man the caption described as ‘a werewolf Order member’. But the fury that Hermione showed over that small caption invigorated her, it was empowering to do the British thing of writing a terribly angry letter about it, and the girls spent a good hour thinking carefully over their words, each one picked and placed perfectly to make sure something changed. Doing things seemed to lessen her guilt, made her forget that she had smuggled Colin back into the castle, made her forget that she had used an Unforgivable Curse (even if it was on someone who deserved it), made her forget that one of Tonks’s last moments had been pushing her away to protect her. So, like Harry, Ron and Hermione, she threw herself into assistance, helping McGonagall organise where people could sleep, rebuilding the wall that had killed Fred, and working with Flitwick to scan the huge amount of post Harry was receiving for anything malicious. But overwhelmingly, constantly, was the ache of grief. They had not, as Ron had been so eager to do, gone home immediately, but waited for nearly a week, helping to rebuild and reorganise, but mostly joining the endless procession of funerals that steadily filled the new graveyard amidst Dumbledore’s tomb. Molly had cried, because she wanted to take Fred home with them, but George had insisted that it was right that Fred should stay here, in the grounds where he had fought for everything good in the world. It had been the only time George had really spoken since the battle, so they listened to him, simply thankful that he was not in his dead-eyed stupor. But of course, he returned to silence, barely eating, sleeping constantly, unable to be tempted into conversation. Harry helped carry the coffins, not just for Fred but for any family that asked him, and with each one he rested on his shoulders he seemed to grow older and older, eventually confessing to Ginny after a little too much firewhiskey that each felt heavier than the last. ‘I wish they would stop asking me,’ he admitted, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself. ‘They all keep telling me how much it would mean to them and I can’t say no, but I don’t even know most of these people.’ Yet he never did refuse, and though each one was like a fresh wound, Ginny could see how much it helped the families of the fifty or so people they had lost. It had been even worse when Andromeda arrived for the funeral of her daughter and son in law. She wordlessly handed Teddy to Harry and left to sob over her daughter’s coffin. Harry stared at the baby with the same unfocused look in his eye that Ginny had seen in the hospital wing, before apologising, over and over again, coming out in ever louder sobs as the baby started to squirm and cry. ‘Harry, stop- Harry! It’s not your fault-’ ‘I’ve done this to him,’ he said helplessly. ‘Look, look what I’ve done to him…’ ‘He won’t have a life like yours, Harry,’ Ginny told him desperately. ‘He won’t, he’s got you, and Andromeda, and all of us, he’ll be so loved-’ ‘He could have had brothers and sisters,’ Harry said, staring at the squalling baby. ‘He could have had so much, and I stole it from him.’ ‘Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange stole it from him,’ said Ginny. ‘Voldemort stole it from him. And they’re gone now.’ But Remus, Tonks, Fred and Colin wouldn’t come back. Sometimes she found Harry standing at the edge of the forest looking longingly into it, and she wondered if he was hoping that if he had returned, they could too, but he never said a word. Simply took her by the hand and walked with her around the lake as they gradually, piece by piece, told each other their stories. When they aligned, it was as though they were connecting somehow, like a friendly little wave from their past selves. When Ginny told Harry about the torn photo of the laughing Lily Potter she had found, he had reached into the pouch around his neck and brought out the other half. When they went to the Headmaster’s Office together and found it, he spell-o-taped it together, and it felt like the completion of a circle. When they buried Snape, there had been outcry that he should be allowed to be buried in the same place as the heroes of the battle — surely he should be burned, like Voldemort and the rest of the Death Eaters? But Harry had insisted, and his defeat of Voldemort had elevated him to an even grander heroic status than he’d had before, almost revered, so nobody argued, and he led the funeral. He explained Snape’s life, and even though The Prophet ran it as a scandalous, sordid story, along with rather sexualised descriptions of Lily Potter next to an abundance of pictures, people slowly began to understand Snape as a different man to the one he had lived as. Harry left lilies at his grave. On their last day at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron had an argument. Struggling with the memory of his friend willingly walking to his death without saying goodbye, Ron had become over-protective at best, rarely letting Harry out of his sight, smothering him more than Molly ever had, and speaking with concern about his spell-shock recovery to the rest of his family. When Harry enthusiastically took up Kingsley’s offer of fast-streaming into the Auror department, Ron had reacted with horror and fury. ‘You said you’d had enough trouble for a lifetime! You said that! You finally got out of murderers trying to kill you all the time, and now you’ve signed up to do it again!’ ‘What else am I going to do?’ asked Harry. ‘I don’t really know anything else, do I? I don’t think I’d suit a desk job, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but they won’t pay me to stand in your presence all day making sure I don’t get hurt.’ ‘You could do Quidditch!’ said Ron. ‘Or… Or…’ He flustered helplessly, his ears pink with rage but the rest of his face pale under his freckles. ‘I want to find the other Death Eaters,’ said Harry. ‘I thought you wanted to as well? You said yesterday you were furious so many of them escaped.’ ‘Well, yeah, but…’ Ron looked devastated. He turned to Ginny. ‘Aren’t you worried?’ he demanded. ‘He could come back from his first day in a body bag.’ ‘Well knowing Harry he’d only get up again,’ muttered Ginny. Ron then looked to his mother for support, who shared some concern, but eventually simply said, ‘you have wanted to be an Auror for a long time, haven’t you, Harry?’ At Harry’s nod, Ron point an accusatory finger at him. ‘Then I’m doing it too! We do this stuff together.’ Harry smiled. ‘All right,’ he said happily. ‘And you’re not allowed to go off and start saying you need to do stuff alone.’ ‘Fine.’ ‘And you’re not allowed to go and off yourself without saying goodbye.’ ‘I’ll make sure to say goodbye first.’ When they finally returned to the Burrow, much of it had been trashed. But, like the castle, it was therapeutic to rebuild, to focus on something other than memories and loss. Fred’s clock hand was found by Molly on the floor of the kitchen, and she wailed, clutching it to her chest, before shoving it in a drawer Ginny was sure would never be opened again. Harry and Ron began to work as Aurors, coming back in the evenings so exhausted that they were nearly falling asleep at the table, but motivated and excited. Harry in particular often brought home huge manila folders, like the one MacNair had taunted them with at the wedding, and he pored over them well into the night, his brow furrowed in concentration. At night, she would often slip silently to his room, curling up next to him for whispered conversations and deep kisses. If Ron was aware, he didn’t seem to mind, for both he and Hermione were often absent too, and within a week the pair of them had gone together to Australia. During this time when they had the bedroom alone, Ginny and Harry began to truly know one another, and he revealed secrets to her that even Ron and Hermione didn’t know. He told her about how he had been forced to watch the murder of his parents through Voldemort’s eyes, the exact wording of his and Ron’s argument that had torn at his deepest unhappiness and jealousies, and his long walk through the forest, accompanied by his loved ones. ‘And then, when I faced him,’ he whispered one night, ‘my mind ran through everyone I cared about, everyone I was doing it for. You were the final one I thought of, that blazing look you have sometimes, and the way it feels when you kiss me… If I’d known that was going to be the last thing I would see, the walk there would have been far easier.’ Her heart melted, and her eyes filled with tears. She kissed him, more passionately than she ever had before, and if Harry thought that she had a blazing look he was surely right, for something was ablaze in her. A feeling of certainty and understanding that with love, all would be well in the end. |
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