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The Final Symphony
By muggledog

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Category: Post-HBP, Post-Hogwarts
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance, Tragedy
Warnings: Death
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 6
Summary: Living with her parents undercover, Ginny Weasley hears a musical work, Tchaikovsky's Symphony no. 6 in B minor, that changes her life, recalling everything that has, and is, happening as she lives the final battle against Voldemort.
Hitcount: Story Total: 12423; Chapter Total: 2638





Author's Notes:
The street that I used for Harry and Ginny's dream house in Montpelier, France, Ruelle Plaqe (roughly translated 'Beach Lane') does not exsit. In fact, I've never been to Montpelier, or any other city outside of Paris. I have absolutely NO intention of insulting anyone French, so if any Frenchmen/women read this tale, I apologize, and assure you, any offensive material is 100% unitentional.




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Allegro con grazia

After Harry, Ron and Hermione had left, my whole life seemed to become surreal, if such was possible. I wandered around in a bit of a daze, not really caring what happened now. It was naïve, I know, but no Death Eater threat seemed imminent, so every day I was left to merely wander around the house feeling my heart break again and again and again. I had told Harry I’d wait for him, and I wasn’t about to break my promise, but I couldn’t help wondering if I were to be with another bloke…any one…Dean, Michael, Neville…it didn’t matter who, at least I’d be able to shed off the unbearable loneliness of having the knowledge that the three people who are most important to me, after my parents, are all gone, fighting the most evil wizard known since my grandparents were young, and I can’t even know how they are doing. I think I must be going mad, slowly and unquestionably painfully. It doesn’t help that Mum and Dad are so wrapped up in the Order of the Phoenix that I hardly ever see them. For the most part, anyway.

It was a shock when Hagrid stopped by to tell us that McGonagall, who had been in charge after Dumbledore died, wanted us to go and live undercover in Muggle London.

“Tha’s where the danger is,” Hagrid explained to Dad, “McGonagall wants as many o’ us she can spare live in London in various hideouts throughout the city, so we can keep an eye on the Death Eaters plans, an’ help the Muggles tha’ need us, should a Death Eater attack.” We moved three days after Hagrid came to see us.

I didn’t feel any different in London than I had back at the Burrow. If anything, London was worse. All the Muggles knew that something was happening, and that they were at risk, but they didn’t know who or what they were at risk from, so fear, uncertainty and insecurity were the reigning feelings on any Muggle we came across. At first, Dad was clearly in heaven. He was as clumsy as could possibly be around anything Muggle, and as we lived in a Muggle city, well…you can guess. We nearly burnt our flat down our first night there, as Mum and Dad puzzled out how to cook like Muggles. With a pang, I wished like nothing else that Hermione were with us. She could have instructed Dad in everything Muggle, and she and I could laugh about his carelessness. In fact, we laughed for a good hour before we fell asleep at the Quidditch World Cup over Dad’s inability to use matches. Matches! But of course, that was a time long ago. I didn’t try to stop my tears at the memory.

After a few weeks, Mum and Dad were familiar enough with Muggle devices that we were able to cook without setting fire to anything, and we all soon mastered things like rent, the bus, reading road signs, ordering food at restaurants, etc. I was surprised at the exchange rate of Galleons to Pounds, and Mum was very happy that we were able to rent a fairly posh flat in the center of the city. But after all that had worn off, we had settled very much into a routine that didn’t help me feel any better. When we accepted our mission, Professor McGonagall had given Dad a false resume, a letter that Muggles use to help them get jobs, and Dad was able to secure a job clerking for a law firm. Mum found employment at a Muggle department store, and I worked at a café on the next block. I think I was one of the few employees there who actually enjoyed the lunch rush, the constant stream of customers allowing me to keep my mind off the current state of affairs. But if there was a downtime, my happiness would vanish, as I was assaulted by the memories, worries and fears that were now a constant part of me, much as I detested it. This did not go unnoticed by my boss.

Mon Cher, why are you looking so sad? What is wrong? Is there anything I can do?” My boss kindly asked one day.

“Thank you, Rene, sir, but no,” I replied, smiling at him gratefully.

“If ever I can help, Gin-every, let me know, yeah?” He said. I smiled. He could not say Ginevra quite right, and though I agreed to let him call me Guinevere, his calling me Gin-every could bring a smile to my face like few other things I knew could these days, and he knew it, and would only call me Guinevere if he needed to address me in the presence of a customer. Rene truly was a sweet man, and in return, had even allowed me to call him ‘Uncle’ in private.

Rain fell that evening as I made my way home from the café, which was called “Francois’s”, and as I was walking, getting wetter and wetter, colder and colder, I couldn’t help but think how much the weather was right now echoing how I felt, but for some reason, I derived a small amount of happiness as I listened to the rain hit the roofs of the city’s buildings. It by no means banished my fears and doubts, but it still seemed comforting, somehow. Upon entering our flat, I saw Mum and Dad in a close embrace, looking out the window.

“Hello, Ginny, dear,” Mum said, turning, having heard my footsteps, “goodness love, you’re soaked to the bone.”

“Allow me, firefly,” Dad said quietly, and proceeded to nonverbally cast a drying charm on me, keeping his wand well hidden.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, smiling.

“Come join us, love,” Mum said, bringing another chair over between herself and Dad. Gratefully, I sat down, and let them snuggle up to me, as I snuggled into them. We all were silent, which was nice. As I leaned into Mum’s embrace, and continued to listen to the rain, almost without my noticing, the tears that I would not, and seemingly could not, shed since the departure of Harry, Hermione and Ron, sprang to my eyes.

“What’s wrong, firefly?” Dad asked me.

“Harry doesn’t love me, Daddy,” I said, repeating what I had said to Hagrid. Deep down, I knew I was being ridiculous, and that Harry had assured me he did love me that night, but doubt had overtaken me ever since they all left, and I wasn’t sure of anything, I didn’t believe anything, and I didn’t trust anyone anymore.

“Yes, he does, firefly,” Dad responded. I didn’t think I had it in me just then to tell him how grateful I was for his bluntness. It gave me a little bit of hope.

“Sure,” I said, crying earnestly now, but still able to maintain my sarcasm, “he loves me, so he up and leaves me to wonder where he is, what he’s doing, how he’s doing, and though he says he loves them too, he lets my best friend and my second favorite brother go along with him.” Dad stroked my hair and kissed my head.

“When Ron finally told me that he and Hermione were joining Harry on his quest, he said that Harry had to practically beg them to stay here, and keep out of harm’s way, too. I can only assume why Harry backed down at let them come, and then refused to do so for you, but I think it is safe to say that Harry acknowledges that all three of you are perfectly able of making up your own minds, and that he knows that you all could face what you-know-who throws at you, but I think it all boils down to the fact that Harry probably thinks that he couldn’t face life without any of you, but I’m prepared to bet that if he lost Ron and Hermione, but still had you, he could still carve out a life for himself. I suspect he fears that if he looses all three of you, he will just withdraw completely and refuse to live.” I nodded.

“Come on, love, you should go to bed,” Mum said. I allowed her to help me up and steer me into my room. Considering all the thoughts which were running through my head, I was surprised at how quickly I fell asleep.

I stood on a beach in Montpelier, France, a city Rene had told me about at work. I cherished the feelings of the sand on my feet, slipping through my toes. I grinned and bit back a chuckle as I watched people swimming and little children laughing and running zigzagging courses around the sunbathing adults and in and out of the water, splashing each other.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry said, stepping up beside me.

“It’s lovely.”

“Maybe we should buy a house here,”

“I’d love that.”

“It’ll be like this, someday, Ginny. We’ll be able to live where the sun truly shines like it is now. We’ll raise a household full of little red-haired, green eyed, and black haired, brown eyed children who will play in the water day in and day out while we risk cancer because we can’t get enough sun.” He chuckled.

“Will it really be like that?”

“Yes,” he bent his head and nuzzled it into my neck, playing with my hair and kissing me, “someday it will be like this, and we will live here.”

“I can’t imagine it. All I can see are clouds right now.”

“Clouds can be broken up by the sun. That’s why I’m out there, fighting. Because I want more sun for you and me. Because I love you.”

“I love you, too,”

“Then,” he said, smiling, “I will see you inside of that little cottage over there, number 55, Ruelle Plaqe.”


When would things be that way? I wondered as I awoke. I refused to debate the answer as I already felt like crying, and did not need an incentive to do so now.

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