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Finding Home | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Drama Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 13 Summary: Ginny goes back to Hogwarts seeking answers, and finds more than she could have hoped for. Hitcount: Story Total: 4293 |
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‘You said you would never leave him.’ She stands still as stone, hands in her pockets because she does not know what else to do with them, and stares at the cask of white marble before her. It has been nearly an hour since she slowly made her way down the sweeping lawn, now yellowing in the brisk October chill, and stopped just feet short of the Black Lake. It has been nearly an hour, and that is the only thing she can think to say to him. ‘You told me, after Ron’s birthday, that you would never leave him, not if you could help it. At least- not before it was done.’ She stops herself, feeling the all too familiar bulge in her throat. She knows it will only be a matter of seconds before the tears follow. And even though she knows that it is a foolish thought, that she should be ashamed to weep in front of him even though he is long dead, she still bites down on her lip, hard. She will not cry in front of him, such an obvious display of self-pity, even though anyone would tell her she has good enough reason than most to feel pity. Despite this, she knows that he is watching, just as he has done since that terrible night over a year ago, when he left without saying goodbye. Not that it was his choice, of course. Nothing that happened that night was anyone’s choice, she thought bitterly. Just the beginning of everyone’s nightmare. She stops herself quickly. It is still all too easy to be bitter over the events of that night, and there are a great many things that have occurred since which could also be thrown on the pile, so to speak. But she won’t allow herself the indulgence, not even now, because if she starts being bitter she isn’t sure if she will ever stop. For the first time since she’s arrived, she steps forward and runs her palm along the smooth white façade of his tomb. It is surprisingly cool despite the high autumn sun, though she suspects it is likely always cool to the touch whatever the temperature. It is not cold, but soothing. Inviting. She feels as though she could climb atop it and lay down, pressing her cheek against the hard stone top, if she didn’t know that it would most certainly be frowned upon. Although, she thinks, probably not by its bearer. Yes, it seems exactly the kind of thing he would have found most amusing. The thought finally spills forth the tears she has painstakingly been holding back. She’s sure he will not begrudge her a moment of weakness, though it still feels strange. She wonders at how there are even any tears left in her to weep, for it seems she has done nothing but since it happened. Since he happened. But of course, her tears have only been spent in secret, in dark corridors and blackened hospital rooms in the still of night. She cannot bring herself to add to their pain by revealing exactly the full extent of her anguish. They suspect it, she knows, but she feels as if it is the only thing left over which she has any control. How she chooses to mourn for him is the only remaining aspect of the whole thing through which she feels any connection to him at all. Except, of course, for in her dreams. But that’s a different story altogether. But again, she’s quite sure that Dumbledore, of all people, would understand. Or does, rather, which is more of what she feels at the moment. She’s sure he would tell her now, if things had been different, that no one ever came to any great harm for letting go a few tears. Quite the opposite, in fact. The thought gives her strength, somehow. Perhaps strength enough to do what it is she came here to actually do, although she knows it’s not really necessary. He undoubtedly already knows everything, but she still needs to tell it to someone. ‘When you found me alone that time, after Ron had been poisoned, I was very close to giving up. I think you knew that the moment you saw me- it must have been obvious. That, and I was mortified that’d I’d been caught by the Headmaster in a fit of self-pity. It hardly seemed worth it, to continue trying to be happy and whole when so much bad had already happened, and to people who deserved it least in the world. But you understood that too, better than anyone I think.’ She traces the tips of her fingers over his name as she speaks, etched forever for anyone to see in gleaming, white marble, and tries to draw strength from every letter. More than anything, now, she needs strength enough for them both. ‘And you told me, even though it was exactly what I didn’t want to hear, that unfortunately Ron’s poisoning wasn’t going to be the end of bad things happening, that it wasn’t even the beginning. Far from it, in fact.’ She smiles softly at the memory. It seemed at the time a very strange way of comforting a girl who had just very nearly lost a brother to the causalities of war. ‘But despite that terrible reality, I would still get up from off the castle floor and continue to live- I would go downstairs and see Ron again, and go to bed, and get up again and go to classes, because that’s what people do. Even though very bad things happen, and would continue to happen, people still keep living, because there’s just nothing else to do. That’s what you told me.’ Shaking slightly now, she breathes deeply, steeling herself for what has to come next. This is what she came here to do, and if she cannot find it in herself to speak it now then she will never do so. Her hand is pressed hard against the slab top now, her knuckles almost as white as the stone itself. ‘And…and even though that seemed impossibly hard, I knew you were right. That’s exactly what I would do, because what else was there? What good was it even fighting if in the end you couldn’t even live, not just survive, but live for all the things you’d been waiting for it to be over for anyway?’ Somewhere in the distance she thinks she hears a bird calling, a low, fleeting swallow song which sings of something that is strikingly familiar. But it’s gone before she has time to realize why. ‘Well- it’s over now.’ She’s fighting again to keep back the swell that’s rising, threatening to overwhelm her, and forces herself to press on. There are no more birds calling, just the stifling afternoon silence which has suddenly passed over the entire grounds it seems. ‘It happened eight days ago. In Diagon Alley, of all places. That’s where Hagrid took him first, when he first learned what he really was, did you know that? I’m sure you did. We didn’t see it coming, we weren’t even there to begin with, but as soon as the Order got reports everyone knew that he was making his final go of it. There were just too many of them- he intended for it to end, then and there, whatever the outcome. Harry was the first one to apparate.’ ‘It was pure coincidence really, that the three of them had already destroyed the other Horcruxes. Though, now I think about it, I’m really not sure I believe in coincidences anymore. He must have known too, must have felt it. How could he not?' She swallowed. That had been the easy part, the bit that anyone could spew if they had picked up any wizarding newspaper in the country in the last week. It was what came next that was making her entire body tremble uncontrollably, and which was known to only her and three other people, one of whom was currently in no able state to tell it. ‘It didn’t take long- it seemed like only seconds and then the whole thing was done and gone, and there’d hardly been time to blink let alone understand what had just happened. The dust cleared, and they were both lying on the ground, as if they were…’ She couldn’t say it. She could barely even think it. ‘Voldemort is dead.’ She paused, and held her breath as if waiting for an answer, but none came save the rustle of the deadened leaves in the nearby trees. For so long so much had ridden on the hope of that eventuality, and now it was done. It was still unbelievable, and no one, not even the four of them, were really sure exactly how it had come to pass. They probably never would be. ‘And Harry…’ Her voice broke over his name. ‘Harry is alive, but…’ Now came the crux of the matter, the reason that she had run abruptly out of St. Mungo’s earlier this morning and ended up here without even realizing she’d apparated to begin with. But it was so hard to say it. Speaking it made it real, and she knew she wasn’t prepared to accept the reality that went along with what she was about to say. Not yet. ‘He’s unresponsive. Comatose. Catatonic, they don’t know. They don’t know anything, except that he won’t respond to any treatment, and chances are good that he never will.’ Unwittingly, she sunk to the ground, her back pressed against the tomb of her former Headmaster. The utter exhaustion and despair that had been slowly pooling inside of her over the last eight days was finally too much. Her own weight was too much to bear. ‘He finished it, sir, he did what he was supposed to do, but it broke him- it took every part of him to do it, and now there’s nothing left. Nothing.’ She was weeping openly now, great floodgates that were no more controllable than the tide or the weather. Crying for all of them, those left and those gone, but most of all for herself, because she simply didn’t know what else to do. There was nothing else to do. ‘You told me that even though bad things happen, people keep living, they go on, because that’s what they’re supposed to do, that’s what they have to do, but...but,’ she sobbed, her body a small and fragile frame against the sober, white stone. ‘But I can’t, not without him. I don’t know how.’ She stood up suddenly and looked down upon the great marble slab, her tears dotting the surface like drops of rain. ‘You never told me how I’m supposed to do that, so please, tell me,’ she begged. She was beyond caring what might be frowned upon, or who could possibly be watching, beyond both exhaustion and despair. She was beyond desperation, and there was nowhere else to go. ‘Please,’ she whispered, her voice strained and cracked with tears. ‘Please, I need your help one last time. Just tell me what I’m supposed to do, show me how to help him. Please.’ She fell to the ground on her knees. There was nothing else to do, and nothing was going to help him, most of all not the pleading of a desperate girl to a man who was long dead and who no longer held any power over the affairs of the living, despite his fortitude in life. When Dumbledore had found her weeping on the castle floor almost two years ago she had been very nearly on the brink of giving up all hope that things would ever turn out all right. And now there was nothing else to do, but give up hope like everyone else had done eight days ago. But that too seemed impossibly hard, and she had no idea how to even begin accepting that she would never again hear him speak her name, or watch him ride a broom, or any other of a thousand seemingly unimportant things. But there was nothing else to do. She stayed like that, kneeled on the ground in front of Albus Dumbledore’s tomb, for she didn’t know long. Time didn’t seem to pass in minutes or hours; it barely seemed to pass at all, and when she finally looked up again she was so shocked at what she saw that she couldn’t help the harsh cry that sprang from her. For a full minute she stared, wide-eyed, as her mind gradually came to accept that what she seeing was indeed real. There, perched atop the gleaming stone of Dumbledore’s tomb, was a phoenix at the full height of its growth. Fawkes, who had been called once before to the aid of both her and Harry from the bottom of a dark and deadly underground chamber. She had never forgotten the proud and scorching glance, the shining fire of his red and golden plumage, and understood immediately that this was her answer. Fawkes had been called to her aid for the second and last time. Dazedly, she tried to stand, but felt herself reeling forward and grabbed out for the edge of the tomb to keep from falling. She was utterly spent, in mind and body, and had been for the last eight days she realized. But she had an answer. The phoenix edged towards her, and from him suddenly came one clear, swooping note and she felt herself immediately lifted far beyond any ache of exhaustion or despair, whether physical or otherwise. It was, as before, a sound of pure hope and joy embodied, and there welled inside her such a fierce longing to return to him that she was almost frightened by the power of it. For the first time in eight days, she felt the small, fragile spark she had painstakingly held aloft, despite every indication to the contrary, flicker to life and grow. Hesitantly, she put out her arm, and Fawkes perched himself atop it. Just once, she stoked his brilliant crown, and began walking up the sweeping lawns which made up the Hogwarts grounds. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and turned finally from the shining tomb. Now she had something else to do. A/N: I couldn't sleep, and it turns out this is why. I love the idea that Ginny and Dumbledore have some sort of relationship that we'll never get to hear of, and that they must have had conversations about different things, especially Harry. That's kind of where this comes from. All reviews greatly appreciated! |
| Reviews 13 |
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