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Hope Has A Place | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Drama, Fluff Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 13 Summary: ~Far in the distance is my wish under moonlight~ Harry returns to the Burrow after defeating Voldemort. Hitcount: Story Total: 4995 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: Thanks to JKR for sharing her wonderful characters and the world to which they belong, to the fabulous Cwarbeck for taking the time to beta this, to Roma Ryan for the poem that inspired this in the first place, and to Enya for the title of this story. Her song by the same name is what I believe Ginny was humming as she sat by the pond. I would also like to give a great big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review my other stories or to nominate them for the Silver Trinkets. Your kind words, thoughtful comments, and constructive criticism mean so much to me. |
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Harry Potter stepped out of the Burrow and into the quiet of the winter night. He was always amazed at how brightly the stars shone here, away from the lights of the city. A sliver of a crescent moon glowed brightly against the black of the night sky. Harry thought it seemed to be just the right moon for this evening. A full moon was a sign of fulfillment, of completion, but the crescent moon made Harry hopeful, for it was the moon of things yet to be. He smiled to himself, unsure of when he had developed this new-found poetic streak. He smiled even wider, unsure of when he had developed the habit of smiling to himself. Maybe this new, hopeful Harry Potter had arrived into the world at the precise moment that Voldemort had left it. He felt his smile broaden yet again as he realized for about the millionth time in the last 4 hours that he was free. Free from the prophecy, free from Voldemort, free from the curse his life had become. He sighed. Free. He could not remember much about leaving the battlefield. He could remember Ron attempting to carry him. He could remember saying that he could walk, that he needed to walk. It had been very important to him that he walk away from the vanquished Voldemort under his own power. Ron had finally relented and Harry had limped from the field, supported by his best friends. The next thing he knew he was awakening in St. Mungo’s. Hermione was crying and Ron was holding her, kissing her forehead, stroking her hair, whispering soft reassurances. Harry remembered smiling at them, happy they had finally admitted what they meant to each other. See, he thought, the smiling had started right away. He gazed across the yard, toward the lake, looking for the familiar, unmistakable flash of red that would tell him he had found the object of his search. To Harry’s great delight, and to the added magnificence of the evening, it started to snow. The light, wispy flakes flitted gently through the night. They seemed not to land at all, but to drift endlessly as they built themselves up into the beautiful, soft, fluffy snow flakes that would get caught in the hair and eyelashes of a certain beautiful redhead. On this night, even the snow flakes held the promise of something more. He could not believe he was here at last. When they had arrived at the Burrow through the fireplace in the living room, Mrs. Weasley had been too shocked to even jump up and hug them. She had just sat frozen in her chair, mouth open, hands knitting of their own volition as first Hermione, then Ron, and finally Harry, had materialized in front of her. When Mrs. Weasley had continued to stare at them, Harry and Ron had shared a puzzled look, but Hermione had just smiled. The smile told Mrs. Weasley everything she needed to know. They had expected her to scream, to hug, to laugh. They had not expected her subdued response. She had dropped her knitting in her lap and said simply, “It’s over,” her words more a statement than a question. Harry had nodded and responded just as simply. “Where’s Ginny?” he had asked. Mrs. Weasley had told him that Ginny spent most of her nights outside, staring across the pond. She had told him that Ginny would sit there for hours, arms hugging her legs, chin propped on her knees, staring into the distance, watching…waiting…hoping. The mental image her words created had rendered Harry incapable of speech. He had simply nodded and walked from the room. He had stopped in the kitchen before venturing out. He had needed a moment to catch his breath, to calm his heart, to wipe away the tears that had formed without his consent. He walked down the porch steps and out into the night. At last, he saw her. She was sitting at the edge of the water just as Mrs. Weasley had said she would be. He did not think it was possible for anything to be as simultaneously beautiful and heart-rending as this picture of his Ginny. He could not stop the tears this time and had to pause again. He leaned against a tree and cried silently as he focused his energy, not on stopping the tears, but on holding back the keening cry that threatened to escape him. She had not stopped loving him, he was sure of that now. He instinctively knew that she had spent every day of the past two years in much the same way as he had — wrapped up in the memories of their time together, dreaming of the future, hoping in the face of hopelessness that the fates would bring them together again. Harry rubbed his face with the backs of his hands to wipe away his tears. He took a deep breath and continued his journey to Ginny. As he neared her, he caught a whiff of flowers carried on the breeze, mingled with the crisp smell of the snow. Flowers and sunshine and laughter, that was what Ginny Weasley smelled like to him. He breathed deeply, drinking in the aroma that had haunted his dreams during their time apart. He could not believe that, in a matter of moments, he would be enveloped in that smell again; he would lift her up and bury his face in that incredibly heavenly spot where her neck met her shoulder. He could almost feel her arms wrapped around him already. He approached her slowly lest he startle her. As he drew near her, he realized she was humming. Her voice was soft, but clear. The tune she created was beautiful — mournful, yet full of hope. It was as if she had found a way to express everything he had felt during his time without her. Even without words, her song painted a picture of inescapable loneliness, all-consuming worry, and a love without bounds. As he listened, he could think of no gift she could ever give him that would be more precious than this song. He could not believe how blessed he was that this incredible woman was in his life, that he now had the chance to live that life with her. He looked up to the heavens, up at the stars and the swirling snow, and thanked whatever force governed the universe that he was here for this moment. Her voice faded although he did not believe she had reached the end of her song. He heard her quiet sobs, watched her shoulders hitch as she cried. “Harry,” she called softly. It was amazing how that one whispered word had the power to break his heart. “Ginny,” he said tenderly. She turned, her expression one of disbelief. “Harry?” He nodded and reached for her, closing the distance between them as he held out his arms. She jumped up and threw herself into his embrace. Just as he had imagined he would, he lifted her into the air and crushed her to him. He kissed her neck, her hair, her cheek, every part of her his lips could reach. “Harry,” was all she could say -- over and over and over she said his name as she clung to him in the quiet of the night. The stars, the snow, and the hopeful crescent moon were the only witnesses to their reunion. Finally, he was able to utter the words he had longed to say more than any others since he had left, not knowing that they were the same words she had most longed to hear. “It’s okay, Ginny.” “I’m home.” |
| Reviews 13 |
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