Thank you to GINNY__POTTER258 for an excellent beta job and for giving me lots of tips (and more than once, actual sentences which I have eventually written into my fic). You go girl!
To all my reviewers, people who have voted/nominated me for DSTA, thank you. This is the final chapter, so do not hesitate to click that review button down there - it'll only take a second - and pen in some opinions about Emerald of My Eyes. It would please me greatly.
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Emerald Of My Eyes | ||||||
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Category: Post-HBP, Post-Hogwarts Characters:All Genres: Romance, Tragedy Warnings: Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 59 Summary: *March DSTA Romance nominee*It is said in the Wizarding World that witches who wish at midnight on Valentine's Day will have their wishes granted. But is love a little bit too late for a certain female Weasley, burdened by the physical and emotional scars that remain from her experiences during the war? Hitcount: Story Total: 25862; Chapter Total: 5335 Author's Notes: |
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It ends tonight, It ends tonight… -”It Ends Tonight,” All American Rejects- The streets of Ottery St. Catchpole were silent, still, with naught but the occasional frog’s guttural croak breaking the silence of the night. Along the outskirts of the little village were the farmhouses of the Thompsons, the Spendloves, the Barnabys, and…the Weasleys. The Weasley homestead was specially hidden from prying eyes. Most wizards and witches doubted that anyone who wasn’t part of the family - or a family friend, like Harry Potter - could find the house. Merlin knew even the owls had trouble locating it. The Burrow was well protected. In the garden of the Burrow, Errol and Pigwidgeon hooted, out on their nightly jaunt around the fields. They took off from their perches for a swoop around the garden, frightening an old gnome, and peering interestedly through the front windows of the Burrow. There were still a couple of guests in the Burrow’s living room, but the Weasley matriarch had long gone to bed, as well as Fleur. Arthur, Lupin, Bill and Charlie were playing blackjack with a set of magical cards that squealed every time Charlie held them. Bill said it was because they probably smelled dragon-dung. Ron watched a replay of the latest Chudley Cannons game on his Omnioculars. The Cannons had recently beaten the Holyhead Harpies 410 to 400, and Ron, as an up-and-rising assistant coach, was very proud of the fact…even though Ron had been pulling his ears dejectedly during the match, as the Harpies pulverized them with over forty goals. When Hermione told him excitedly that their Seeker had caught the Snitch (the Seeker had yawned and the Snitch had flown into his mouth), Ron had waved a limp hand at her and pleaded with Hermione not to joke around. “But he has, Ron!” “He has?” exclaimed Ron, bewildered. He stared up at the elderly Seeker, who waved triumphantly, something golden and fluttering caught in his hand. “HE DID!” Now he replayed the match over and over again, scribbling hardly-legible notes onto roll after roll of parchment. In a corner, Tonks and Hermione sat, sipping mulled mead from goblets and watching as Ron punched his fist into the air and gave a shout as he watched a book-perfect Hawkshead Attacking Formation score a goal - the same goal had probably been replayed fifty times already by now. “I’m worried,” said Tonks. Hermione understood completely. “Yes,” she said. “I know how you feel. The full moon’s in two days time, you must be very worried.” Tonks glanced at the witch. “I meant about Ginny.” This completely threw Hermione for a loop. She stared at Tonks for a moment, reddened and then quietly said, “Oh.” “But yes, I worry for Remus, too.” “Ginny’s a big girl, she can take care of herself,” said Hermione. “I know, it’s just that…” Tonks fell silent. “I worry for Harry too. It’s not good for him to bottle himself up like that.” “I certainly hope he has a good excuse, else Ginny might really mess things up. And heaven knows he’s messed up enough, as it were,” sighed Hermione. “Poor Harry.” “I knew he and Neville were very good friends.” “Yes,” Hermione nodded. “The prophecy, you remember it? It could have applied to either Harry or Neville. I think Harry saw poor Neville as a sort of brother, you know. Both lost their parents to Voldemort at a tender age. Both suffered trials that no youngster should ever have. And Neville was an almost-Chosen One…the only person whom Harry might really connect to. They both have…had so much in common.” “Did Harry tell him about the prophecy?” asked Tonks. “Oh, yes, just after Harry’s birthday. Neville was rather shocked by it all. Anyone would. Imagine if Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, came up to you and said, ‘Know what, you could’ve been me…’” “Harry was very torn up at the funeral.” “Yes, he locked himself up in Grimmauld Place soon after. Poor Harry,” repeated Hermione. “He’s been through a lot,” sighed Tonks. “We’re all happy, Hermione,” she said, gazing fondly at Lupin, who had a twinkle in his eye as he laid down his hand and collected a Sickle each from Arthur, Bill and Charlie. “Harry deserves to be happy, too.” “Yeah. But will he ever be?” mused Hermione. “I hope so, Hermione,” said Tonks. “For his sake, and Ginny’s…I sincerely hope so.” Ginny blinked deliberately. Eyelids uppp…eyelids doooown… What did she see? The stiflingly dark walls closed in around her. Turning her sightless eyes this way and that, she rolled her eyeballs and blinked again. The all-encompassing darkness still surrounded her. So much for the spell, then. Ginny smiled sadly. Despite her vow not to be personally involved, despite her promise to herself that she would not have too high hopes of whatever spell Harry had invented, she still felt disappointment; it was only natural, and she wouldn’t be human if she felt nothing. She felt like a bird locked in a cage, like a dog chained on a leash for the rest of his life, like an eagle who had had his primaries clipped. For the first time in her life, she truly empathised with Sirius, locked up in first in Azkaban, and then in Grimmauld Place, not able to go out, not able to take the fight back to those who had deprived him of his best mate and twelve years of his life. Back then, she had felt sorry for Sirius - everybody had - but his plight was quickly forgotten when she was with Michael Corner. Now, his pain came back to the forefront of her mind, fresh and clear…because it was her pain too. Ginny felt trapped, almost suffocated in the pervading black blankness. But she had so much. She had Harry, where others had none but themselves and their depressed thoughts. She had her life, where Neville had none. She had her family, where Susan Bones - dear Susan - had none. She had a job and a future, where Remus Lupin had none. She was thankful. Slowly, as Ginny rose out of her black thoughts, she became aware of a dull, repititive thud that grew steadily louder. “Harry? Harry, what are you doing?” The thudding came from somewhere near her. She reached out towards it, and grasped the first thing she felt. It was Harry’s sleeve, and she held on, transferring her grip to his wrist. The thudding stopped. When Ginny put her hand over his, she felt the chapped and torn skin over his knuckles. “Oh, Harry, don’t punch the wall, please…” she whispered. “It’s my fault,” muttered Harry bitterly. “What did I do wrong? Maybe I should have called in Hermione, or Bill…but I wanted to keep it away from you, because I didn’t trust you.” “It’s not your fault Harry, you couldn’t have known,” said Ginny. She tried to put her hand on her cheek, to soothe him, but he flinched away from her. “It’s all my fault,” he whispered. Then, to Ginny, “Why did you ever love me?” “It wasn’t just a crush,” said Ginny. She put a hand on his cheek, and this time he didn’t move an inch. “I crushed on the Boy-Who-Lived. I crushed on the boy who saved me from the Chamber of Secrets, but I fell in love with the man who cared for his friends, who cared for his professors, who stood up to the Dark Lord, who accepted his destiny…and who cared for me enough to tell me to stay behind while he went Horcrux-hunting.” A trickle of fluid dripped down into her hand. “I don’t know many people who are like you, Harry. I don’t know many people who would turn their back on fame and fortune and live with the Dursleys summer after summer. I don’t anybody who would befriend the Longbottom boy who was nearly the Chosen One, or to find a cure for a silly girl’s blindness, or to sacrifice himself for the good of the wizarding world.” “And I don’t care if I’m blind, or mute, or deaf, lame or anything, Harry. As long as you’re with me…” and here her breath caught a little, “…I’ll always be happy and content. You’ve done a lot for the world, Harry. Now it’s time for you to rest, and it’s time for you to be happy, now that you’ve made the rest of us happy too.” “Ginny…” said Harry, wrapping his arms around her. She sank into the comforting warmth of his body, and pulled him to her. Misjudging their combined inertia, she fell back, dragging him with her and landed on the bed, giggling uncontrollably. “Forget it for a moment,” she said. “Forget everything. I’m here for you, Harry, and it’s time to let go of everything, have your cake and eat it too.” “I’m going to marry you,” said Harry. Ginny giggled. “That’s what I told my mum after we saw you off at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, in your first year. She said I was mad.” “She’ll eat her words, along with the wedding cake.” Harry took her hands, and they sat on the edge of the bed, her small, delicate hands in his bigger, chapped ones. “Hmmm. And where do you want to go for the honeymoon?” teased Ginny. This was one part of him that she had never known, and she didn’t pass up the opportunity now. Besides, it was getting his mind off everything else, and that was what Harry needed. Harry was the original workaholic; he’d dedicated his life to fighting first Voldemort and then her blindness that he had forgotten how to have fun. She doubted he played much in Grimmauld Place. “A beach somewhere. A secluded cove, where the reporters couldn’t get at us. Anti-Apparation wards all around. Clear blue skies, sunny weather, none of the perpetual rainy muck here. A little thatch cottage, and nobody but me to pay you mind. Clear tropical waters, unpolluted, where you and I can swim and play among the fishes and corals. We’ll get you a Firebolt, and we’ll race out to sea, and swim and only come back when we want to and…” Ginny could hear the longing in his voice. “…and?” she prompted. “…and I won’t have the fireplace connected to the Floo Network, and Hedwig will be with us, but she won’t go anywhere for letters. Nobody except Ron and Hermione will know where we are, and they won’t send us any letters,” he said wistfully. “That settles the mornings and the afternoons. How about the nights?” said Ginny mischievously. She could almost see him glance sharply at her, and she smiled. “Well…romantic candlelight dinners on the beach every day. Nothing but you, and me, and maybe the crashing of the waves, and the stars and the silent nights…” said Harry hesitantly. That wasn’t exactly what Ginny had meant by night activities, but she accepted it with a knowing smile. “But you’re going to have to court me properly first, Harry,” she said. “I think you need a little practice. I’m not letting you off the hook easily for almost three years of missed dates and picnic lunches by the Great Lake.” “Do I really have to?” said Harry, stroking her jawbone and running his finger down her neck. “I’ve already gone through so much, I don’t think I can stand Madam Puddifoot’s…” “Humph,” snorted Ginny, “what they don’t tell you about Puddifoot’s is that every single couple that has been there broke up in the end.” “Must’ve been the cherubs.” “But they look so cute, though yes, they are irritating…” “Just like kids, really.” “Yeah,” said Ginny fondly. Then, after a moment, “How many kids do you think you want?” “Seven, at least. Just enough for a Quidditch team. We’ll have a great team of Chasers, maybe the three eldest ones…and our two Beaters will be twins, just like their uncles, though hopefully not up to as much mischief…a goal-keeper who can do a Starfish with Stick…and the youngest will be a Chaser, because she’ll be nimble and agile…” “I was thinking more of ten,” she said. “Ten?!” “Just to make Trelawney happy, you know. You’ll have to be Minister of Magic too, so get cracking on your career.” “Hah!” barked Harry. Harry was in a cheerful mood, and Ginny was glad that she had calmed him down and finally got him to accept the facts of life. She reached up to kiss him, but her lips landed on his nose instead. “Improve your aim, Gin,” said Harry. “That Quaffle didn’t go anywhere near the goal. Let me show you how it’s done…” And before she could say a word, Ginny felt his lips come down on hers. “Is there more where that came from?” she asked, as he pulled away. “Oh, yes,” was his reply. Ginny was positive she heard a grin in his voice. She kissed him again. He was warm, and a tingle coursed through her like liquid fire, pumping through her veins and spreading through her entire body. It was like being dunked in Butterbeer, it was warm, it was passion, it was affection, it was love, and she moulded herself against him… Harry whispered something, what was it? Ginny dismissed it as a groan or a sigh, and enjoyed the warm feelings that swept through her, tingling every single nerve ending. Except for her eyes. They remained cold and hard. Black and blank, unfeeling…unseeing. The warmth spread through her body until it engulfed her entirely, but her optical organs were indifferent to the flames that licked and caressed her. It was as if a brick wall held back the insistent tongues of fire. “Ohhh…” Ginny moaned, caught up in totally new sensations and feelings. And yet she wondered why her eyes felt like they did…chill and cruel. Then some unseen and unfelt barrier broke, and the warmth surged into her eyes like a tidal wave, battling step by step over the dead ground, and the frigid cold vanished slowly, faded away to be replaced by a lingering heat that soothed the damaged tissue, that comforted the sore eyeballs…that healed. Ginny gasped in shock as the warm flames pricked her pupils, like the sun does when you stare up at it, and she opened her eyes wide. Colours burst through like a flock of multi-coloured fairies streaking out of the cold, dark night; vivid lights and patterns; pastels, warm colours, cool colours, brights, dark colours, and the colours fled to the edges of her vision, and Ginny tried to catch a fleeting glimpse of them, but the colours remained just out of her field of vision. The colours and patterns resolved themselves into concerned green eyes as the soft, warm lips left hers. The vivid emerald hue was a particularly striking shade which Ginny had never thought she would see again. Tears blurred her vision, and she dashed them away with the cuff of her sleeve. She blinked again, deliberately, and stared. “H…Harry?” she croaked. “Gin? A-are you alright?” said Harry anxiously. “I…yeah, I’m fine.” Ginny blinked again. The green ovals remained in front of her, bordered by flesh and dark jet-black eyelashes. If this was a vision, it was a damn good one. She glanced down. He was wearing the brown jacket she’d given him for his seventeenth birthday. “You’re wearing the jacket I gave you,” she said quietly. “I…what…how did you…” Harry gaped at her with shock. “Ginny…can you see me?” “I…” began Ginny, testing the words she was about to say, tasting them on her tongue. Hardly believing it was true. “Yes…yes, I can see.” “You can see!” exclaimed Harry. “You can see!” Their lips touched, and she embraced him as she savoured another kiss. Looking up, she gazed into the deep, brilliant emeralds of his eyes…and closed her own. Somewhere, an old grandfather clock chimed. Bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bo nggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg… bonggg… And it was midnight, 14th of February, Valentine’s Day. Tonight, a young witch’s wish had been granted. The grandfather clock’s last resounding bong! faded away, and it was now the 15th. The humble little cottage at the northernmost tip of one of the more secluded Mediterranean islands is quiet, sleepy and still in the pleasantly warm night. As combers and waves crash rhythmically onto the beach, a snow-white owl swoops over the peaceful tableaux. Looking through one of the windows of the cottage, we find another scene inside, homey and cosy. A fire crackles in the hearth, oddly reminescent of the one we have visited so many times before in Gryffindor common-room, throwing shadows over the room’s furniture. A wedding gown and dress robes are draped over the back of a nearby chair, and bags lie by the doorway, hastily abandoned there by their owners, who obviously had more pressing issues in mind. The bed is rumpled and exudes a messy-cosy atmosphere. The peaceful, sleeping figure of one Ginevra Molly - or Ginny, rather, as she does not approve of the use of her full name - lies on the right side of the bed, hands clasped over her middle. Additional mounds on the right side of the bed - with arms encircling Ginny’s waist - may or may not be Harry Potter, as it is difficult to tell in the dim firelight. But then a breeze blows into the room, ruffling the person’s jet-black, unruly hair - and we see, by the lightning-shaped scar on the side of his forehead - that it is indeed Harry. And so it is here that we leave Mr. and Mrs. Potter, blissfully spending their honeymoon a deux on an idyllic beach. It is time for us to return to our own lives, after bidding goodbye to the happy couple. And so we leave, the same way we came, as all stories must come to an end - and besides, we have intruded very much into Ginny’s and Harry’s private world, and they deserve some time to themselves, after all that they both have gone through. So was it the kiss, the spell or the old, old legend that eventually restored Ginny's eyesight? I don't know. Perhaps no-one will ever find out. But for the moment, Ginny is training to be a Healer in St. Mungo's, Harry is working at the Department of Mysteries on magical maladies (including eyesight problems)...and I believe it is time for us to leave. But as we turn to go, a glittering piece of jewellery perched on top of the dresser catches our eye. It is a wedding ring - an emerald - and a companion piece with a ruby mounted on it lies next to the ring; the ruby’s lustrous hue the exact shade of her hair, and the emerald shining brilliantly, just like the emeralds of his eyes… Author’ s Note: The epilogue above is my eulogy for the fanfiction world of Harry Potter, for after the release of Deathly Hallows we all know nothing will ever be the same again. It is, indeed, time for canon Harry and canon Ginny to live out the rest of their days without us looking over their shoulders, because they do deserve some privacy, though they are totally unaware of our presence. Meanwhile, we authors in SiYe, FanFiction.Net, the Leaky Cauldron and so forth will pen our own dreams of what probably came after, though Deathly Hallows will most likely have cleared up all the details of Harry's life, leaving us with nothing but a blazing castle-in-the-air of what-I-think-Book-Seven-will-be-like fanfics which will never fit in canon, and are therefore practically useless. Hopefully, though, a phoenix will rise from the ashes of said castle-in-the-sky, heralding a better and brighter haven for us aspiring authors with itchy fingers aching for a keyboard, overworked brains pinning down plot bunnies and ears oozing Harry Potter. Because while JK may sort out Voldemort and his cronies, there will always be another adventure on the horizon for Harry and gang. It has been a great time, and hopefully Harry Potter fandom will never die out. And personally, I don’t think it ever will. Not while any of us are still alive, that’s for damn sure. Thank you. |
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