Disclaimer: Rowling is our Queen. Thanks to all at simplypotterheads for hosting the Ollivander's Challenge; this is my entry for the final, using the prompt 'a history of magic'. Additional thanks to diva-gonzo for correcting my abominable knowledge of journalistic practices!
"Of course, our readers want to know the real story behind the Battle of Hogwarts and the lead up to it, and I would argue that we have a duty to provide them with that. It is, after all, the twentieth anniversary in May, and we as a newspaper must mark such a momentous occasion with an exciting interview—or three."
"Absolutely not," Ginny said flatly.
"Mrs Potter, with the greatest respect—I do not think you are the person in this room most qualified to be responding here," Rita Skeeter replied, smiling smarmily in the direction of frail old Jacob Winterfold, the Daily Prophet's owner, and his son, Edward.
"No, but I am the person who is married to one member of what you call the "golden" trio; sister to the second and sister-in-law to the third," she said. "So I would say I am the person in this room with the most influence over whether or not it goes ahead."
"I understand your position, Mrs Potter," Edward Winterfold said. "But this newspaper—if you'll forgive the pun—exists to make a profit." Rita laughed obediently. "An interview with a recluse such as your husband, and his friends, would certainly up our circulation, and enable us to employ more staff to cover such items as Quidditch matches." He looked pointedly in her direction, and Ginny raised an eyebrow, refusing to let herself be blackmailed.
"My husband is hardly a recluse," she said calmly. "He just doesn't see how the details of his private life are of interest to anyone outside of his immediate family. And neither do my brother or sister-in-law."
"But this wouldn't be about his private life," Edward shot back. "It would be about the Battle of Hogwarts—a momentous event in modern wizarding history, I'm sure you'll agree."
"A day when many people lost their lives—the anniversary of so many families being torn apart," Ginny replied. "Harry knows what pain that can cause. He doesn't want to glorify the day or turn it into a celebration. That's not what it's about."
"It's been twenty years," Rita said airily. "That's plenty of time!"
Ginny had been annoyed before, irritated by their presumption, but now she was suddenly furious. How dare Rita Skeeter tell her when she should stop mourning Fred's death, or Colin's, or Remus and Tonks's, or anyone?
"My brother died," she said, struggling to keep the anger out of her voice.
"My deepest sympathies," Edward Winterfold said, almost managing to sound it.
"What—" Ginny began, but she was cut off by Aramintha Shaklebolt, the paper's editor, who spoke up for the first time, imploring the Winterfolds to visit the kitchens with Rita to discuss the prospective interview.
"The House Elves have been working very hard today; there's a simply marvellous fruit cake you must try," she said, helping Edward Winterfold get his father to his feet. After much shaking of hands and wishing of pleasantries, they left, and Ginny could hear Rita's cloying tones as they walked down the corridor, explaining exactly what she would ask the Trio, given unrestricted access to them.
"Ginny," Aramintha said as soon as the door closed, but she turned away.
"Don't tell me you're in on this too," she said. She had always liked Aramintha; she was Kingsley's cousin and so she had known her even before she'd started working at the paper. She did a good job as Editor, and Ginny had never had any quarrel with her before—until today.
"Ginny, listen," Aramintha said firmly. "Mr Winterfold Senior is, as you might have noticed, getting on a bit. Edward is about to take over the running of the paper, and he wants to make some changes. You're not hearing this from me," she added significantly. "But there are some jobs on the line."
"Yours?" Ginny asked, her eyebrows shooting up.
Aramintha looked troubled. "I'm not sure. Early retirement is an option…but that's not what we're here to discuss," she said, cutting off Ginny's protests. "Winterfold juniorloves Skeeter because her interviews bring in the big bucks."
"And the complaints letters," Ginny said. "And the threat of legal action, and sometimes even claims of slander and defamation against the paper."
Aramintha grimaced. "Yes, well."
"And now you want me to give her access to my private life," Ginny said. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"Ginny, you know who my family is, and you know how I feel about Rita Skeeter, and her ridiculous gossip columns," Aramintha said. "You know also that I fought to keep you your job after you hexed her at the World Cup a few years ago."
"I tripped into her and mistakenly head-butted her. It was a complete accident," Ginny shrugged.
"Of course it was," Aramintha agreed. "Indeed, I remember concocting that very excuse. And I have never asked you for a favour before now, because of that."
"Oh, come on," Ginny said. "You're not going to lose your job if you don't let Rita interview Harry, Ron and Hermione."
"No, of course I'm not," said Aramintha. "But it was worth a shot. But Ginny, seriously, listen to me. It is nearly twenty years since the Battle of Hogwarts; of course this anniversary is going to generate a lot of attention. You and Harry—well, no, let's face it: Harry, Ron and Hermione—are going to come in for a lot of attention. The media, every newspaper and magazine you have ever heard of are going to be besieging you with interview requests."
"They already are," sighed Ginny. "Good Witchkeeping wrote to us last week; yesterday morning we received an owl from The Numerology Gazette. I've never even heard of them, have you?!"
"So, work this to your advantage," Aramintha pressed. "Make a big show of giving one interview only. An exclusive! Charge a bomb for it, and give all the money to charity. Hell, use it to take a six month holiday, I don't care! Use Hermione, her brain's second to none. Get her to make a list of topics that are off limits. You don't want questions about your family? Get her to write up a disclosure banning them. If anyone can do it, it's her. The three of them are going to have to do something at some point this year—it's the twenty year anniversary of the Battle. There's going to be a lot of press and public interest in the three of them. Get in early, and you'll be able to control that to an extent. The longer you leave it, the harder it'll be to control."
"You really think so?" Ginny asked. "I know it's a big anniversary this year, but there is an anniversary every year. You think it'll be worse this year?"
"Undoubtedly," Aramintha said. "Ten years was too soon and it was still too raw for most; twenty's ideal for it to become rose-tinted, so to speak. What did Winterfold call it? 'A momentous event in modern wizarding history'. The day you lost your brother; the day I lost my sister. I have a personal stake in this too, you know, and not just through Kingsley. And I like it just about as much as you do, but…the public gets what the public wants."
"Or, Edward Winterfold gets what he wants because he owns the paper," Ginny said.
"Correct."
Ginny groaned.
"I'll have to talk to Harry, and to Ron and Hermione of course," she said. "But what you said about controlling it makes a lot of sense. I don't like it, and neither will they, but I don't think we have much choice. You can talk to Rita though. I can't stand looking at her smug face when she hears she's going to get what she wants."
The door opened again and Rita herself stepped through, dazzling smile on her blood red lips. "The feeling, my dear, is entirely mutual."
"I am just—so—angry!" She punctuated each word by hurling a sock in the wash basket with such force Harry could almost hear them rebounding off the floor, and when, on missing the basket with the final item of clothing on their bedroom floor, she let out a strangled yell of fury, he got off the bed and came to stand behind her, massaging her shoulders.
"Don't take this the wrong way," he began, as she sagged into him. "I know your feelings on Rita Skeeter and her gossip columns, and you know I hate it as much as you do. But even after the World Cup—even after she printed all that stuff last year about Hermione leaving Ron for me, and Albus accidentally reading it and being so upset—I have never seen you this upset by her. What's she done now that she hasn't done before?"
"I'm just so sick of it," Ginny said, her voice cracking.
Harry led her over to the bed, humming sympathetically. "I know the whole Chosen Boy Who Saved Us or whatever it is gets old," he said. "Believe me, I know. But you've never been so angry about it before, and you know, it's not going to go away any time soon. People are always going to want to interview me for my role in saving the world…" He pulled a face. "Why is this so different?"
"It's not even that," sighed Ginny. "Really. I know you hate the celebrity aspect of your life; I do too, but that I can live with now. If they just wanted to interview you because everyone always wants to interview you because you're Harry Potter, fine. That I'm used to. But it's not that, it's part of the 'Twenty Years On…' thing they're pushing."
"They?"
"The paper," she said, rubbing her face tiredly. "They want to do a retrospective for the whole of next month on Voldemort's reign, and everything that happened. The people who fought, the people who fled…how the world has changed since, all that sort of stuff. I mean, obviously it's just a huge marketing ploy to sell more papers. Apparently, they wanted to do it for the ten year anniversary a decade ago, but it was decided that the wounds were too fresh, so to speak. It was too soon. But now, the powers that be have decided that, since it's been twenty years since it all ended, that's more than enough time for everyone to be fully healed and living happily ever after the end."
"When you put it like that…" Harry said.
"The big idea is to finish with an interview with you, Ron and Hermione, published on the anniversary of the Battle. An exclusive. The real story behind such a momentous historical event, told by the voice of her times, Skeeter herself. Bitch," she spat. "She thinks we're all over it by now, that Fred's death and Colin's death and everyone else's has stopped hurting!"
"I'm not sure that's the angle they're going for," Harry ventured cautiously.
"Fred died," Ginny continued harshly, as though she hadn't heard him. "He died. And my family hasn't been the same since—you know that. I mean, obviously we're happy. Good things have happened, and we've recovered in some ways. And I am so, so grateful for the life I live now, and I love you and our children with all my heart. I am happy. But there is also not a day that goes by that I don't miss him—and what about Mum and Dad, and George? And the rest of my brothers? And the thing is, we're not special or unusual. So many people were killed on that night—fifty families torn apart like ours. And you carry on, and good things happen, but a death like that changes you. And I hate the way they're presenting the Battle as something to celebrate now that we've hit the twenty year mark. It's so arbitrary! How dare Rita Skeeter decide when something stops hurting and starts being a celebration?!"
"I understand," Harry said. "You know I understand—you know how I've always felt about the press and my 'celebrity'," he said, making air quotes around the word. "But, Gin…twenty years. You've got to have known that people would want to do something…twenty years without him! Twenty years of safety and love! That's a good thing, and it should be celebrated."
"Not the final Battle, at Hogwarts," Ginny cried. "The Battle wasn't some entry in a history book, three lines summing up the fact that you killed Tom Riddle! It was a collection of mostly terrible events and unnecessary deaths. It ended in victory, but I don't want to read Rita Skeeter's sanitised and sensationalised version of what happened. Even though we won, I can't think of a single good thing that happened that night apart from Riddle's body hitting the ground at the end of it."
Harry reached over to her and pulled her towards him, cradling her familiar body as though by touching her, he could take her sadness and anger into his own body by a kind of osmosis to make her feel better.
"I love you," he said, and he felt her smile slightly. "You know I feel the same way."
"That helps," she said.
"But you know what I'm going to say next, as well," he said.
She sighed. "I do."
"Aramintha's right," he said. "Twenty years—it's a big anniversary. We're going to be besieged by interview requests. Well, I am," he said, almost apologetically. "Ron and Hermione too, maybe. Because everyone knows it was just us three doing battle against Voldemort; the Order, Dumbledore's Army, all the other resistance groups—they weren't important."
Ginny snorted.
"So, we get it over with in one go. We get Hermione to use some fancy legalese to make sure Rita can't ask us stuff that might compromise Auror Office security, and make it clear that personal questions about our families are off limits. We charge theProphet an absolute fortune for the interview—and they'd pay, to get an exclusive—and donate the entirety of the money to charities like the Muggleborn Protection League and so forth. If Rita tries to push the boundaries, we call the interview off straight away. We use the opportunity to praise the efforts of all the other groups like the Order and the DA, and then we keep our heads down for the rest of the month. It seems like the best we can do," he said. "We can't really get out of it, so we may as well do it on our terms."
"I hate that you have to even consider it," Ginny said, sitting up. "I hate that it's still a thing, I hate…I hate all of it."
"I know," Harry said soothingly. "I know. But, when you're as big a celebrity as I am…" He pretended to preen in the mirror, and—finally—she laughed. "We've got a nice bottle of wine downstairs that Bill and Fleur gave us last month. You sound like you deserve a glass tonight."
Ginny grinned wryly. "Mate, I deserve the entire bottle."
"Coming right up," he said, sliding off the bed with a wink. Ginny settled back against the pillows. Maybe, maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
"Who are you?"
"I'm here in my capacity as a Daily Prophet staffer," Ginny snapped. "And then wife of Harry Potter, and then sister and sister-in-law to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. So I believe that's four layers of legitimacy to my presence here today."
"Not you," sighed Skeeter. "Her."
Too late, Ginny realised she had been pointing to a rather timid-looking girl, who had been hovering behind them clutching a camera. The girl seemed extraordinarily young to be present in the paper's offices, but also vaguely familiar. "I'm Christina Engleton, I'm the new photographer's assistant…"
"And what, exactly, are you doing here?" Rita persisted, glaring. Ginny noticed Ron roll his eyes at Hermione and her pull a face in response and stifled a giggle.
"Well, as she's the photographer's assistant, I'd guess she's here to take photographs," she said, and Harry snorted. "Is that right, Christina?"
Christina—looking slightly less intimidated—nodded. "Peter Willowbark is sick, so the photography desk sent me down to take the pictures for the article," she said. "Did you want me to do them now, or…?"
Rita heaved a sigh. "This is only the most important interview this paper will get all year, I can't believe they'd send me some junior underling to supply the pictures…especially after it was insisted upon that we interview in these offices rather than somewhere far more comfortable, where the lighting would have been one hundred times better…" She carried on muttering, glaring in Ginny's direction as she did so, until Ginny yawned, hugely and pointedly. Ron was outright laughing, and even Christina, who was still plainly intimidated by Skeeter, was hiding a smile behind her hand.
"Ms Skeeter," Hermione began, the epitome of politeness, "may we begin? Only I have a very busy schedule today, and I really do need to be back in the office before midday."
"Very well," sighed Rita. She picked up her quill, tapped it once with her wand, and leaned forward. "How true are the rumours that the three of you were engaged in a three way relationship throughout the year you were on the run?" she asked breathlessly.
"One hundred per cent correct," Ron said, deadpan. "In fact, we still are. Harry just married my sister for show. Though it's become more difficult in recent years to sustain this myth, because Hermione has realised she actually belongs with Harry and doesn't love me anymore. We instigated divorce proceedings last month, and all this has understandably put a bit of a strain on Harry and Ginny's relationship. So you'll excuse her if she's a bit rude to you, won't you?"
Rita's eyes—which had lit up at the start of Ron's proclamation—narrowed. "Mr Weasley, I've no doubt that working in a joke shop all day has given you something of an over-appreciation of your own sense of humour, but I would remind you that the three of you did agree to—"
"To answer questions relating to the Battle at Hogwarts, and what tasks we undertook—where they can be disclosed without compromising the security, past and present, of the Auror Office—and not to anything relating to our private lives," Hermione finished.
"There has to be some human interest; not all our readers are as…cold-hearted as some people," Rita responded at once.
"Human interest does not extend to our relationships, children or families," said Hermione. "And as you have signed a disclosure to the effect that you will not ask us about those topics, you are obliged to stick to it." Her tone was level and polite, but she held Rita's gaze with a certain steeliness, and in the end it was the older woman who acquiesced and visibly backed down.
"Very well," she said, making a big show of striking through several questions on a piece of parchment. "Tell our readers a little about the nature of your relationship during your time living wild."
"Well, we weren't exactly living wild," Harry said. "We had two tents that Ron's Dad's friend had lent us—er, not for the express purpose of defeating Riddle, but there we go—and they were very roomy, really. We all obviously remained good friends, though we did get on each others' nerves a bit at times. But we were living in close confines with each other under very stressful circumstances, so that's understandable, isn't it?"
"There have always been rumours, Ron, that you were not as committed to the task of stopping the Dark Lord as the other two in your little trio. Would you care to comment?" Rita asked, clearly hoping to make something out of Harry's mundane answer.
"Oh, I definitely wasn't—I was in fact a huge supporter of Voldemort and even now I'm happy to show anyone who asks my Dark Mark tattoo. I just can't believe he's gone; living under his reign was such an enjoyable time for me," he finished, shaking his head and theatrically laying a hand on his chest.
Ginny caught Harry's eye and hastily looked away.
Hermione examined her nails. "I believe the disclosure also covered the topic of baseless gossip and the avoidance thereof?"
After a slightly awkward pause, Harry spoke up again. "I would not be here today if Ron hadn't been there to save my life on numerous occasions during those few months," he said. "I would have died without him, no question. So there's no question about his levels of commitment, or whatever you said."
This seemed to appeal to Rita, and she leant forward, eyes gleaming. "Say you haddied," she began, sounding quite excited by the prospect. "How do you think things would be different today?"
"Oh goody, counterfactuals," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "An excellent use of everyone's time."
"Well, clearly you would be here interviewing old Voldeypants," Ron shrugged. "Hopefully with me as his righthand man. You obviously have to include that in the final article—'Ron Weasley secretly Voldemort's biggest supporter! 'I've got his poster up on my bedroom wall and everything!' he confesses'. It'll be the biggest headline since the Canons won a game in oh-seven."
"As I've said for years, I was definitely not the only person involved in Riddle's defeat," Harry said calmly, before she could respond to Ron. "I couldn't have done it without all the support I received, and, had I been killed, it is very likely that resistance movements like the Order of the Phoenix would have ensured he was finished off. So I'd hope that that would have resulted in a similar world as today's."
"The Order of the Phoenix," Rita repeated. "Tell our readers something about them—something they don't know. A secret."
All three seemed genuinely nonplussed by this request.
"I don't think there's anything that isn't declassified…" Hermione said, and Harry nodded.
"I dunno," he said. "It really wasn't as exciting as it sounds. Mostly we—us three, I mean—weren't that involved. We were still mostly kids."
"There must be something," Rita pressed. "A secret romance? A hidden love? A double-crosser?"
"Um…" said Ron. "My Mum used to make dinner for all of them? Mad-Eye Moody was quite partial to her stew."
Rita sighed, glancing at her roll of parchment again. "So, Harry," she said, brightening. "How certain were you that you were going to die?"
Ginny looked over at Hermione, who rolled her eyes at her. She pulled a face sympathetically in response, only half-listening to Harry talk about his near-death experiences. She had heard them all before, the non-censored versions too, and to an extent she still lived with the possibility of him being killed in his work as an Auror, although this was much less likely twenty years after Voldemort had died. And still—even after all that—she could barely stand to hear him repeat them so calmly, to hear, once again, how close she had come to losing him.
"Do you want to go and get some tea?" she whispered, leaning towards Christina, the photographer, who nodded, and they both got up and left, Ginny leading the way down to the kitchens. She had no qualms with leaving the three of them alone with Rita—Ron would mock her questions, giving ludicrous answers that even the stupidest reader would realise were false; Hermione's legal knowledge would ensure that no personal questions were asked, or ones that couldn't be answered for security reasons, and finally Harry would supply the kind of bland and boring response he'd been giving in interviews for years.
"I suppose it must be strange for you, watching your husband be interviewed like that?" Christina asked, as she placed a mug of tea in front of her.
"We've been together for twenty-one years now, give or take," Ginny shrugged. "I'm used to it."
"I just meant that because you're a journalist, it must be weird," Christina said. "Watching Rita Skeeter doing your job, but asking your family the sort of questions you normally would."
"I try as hard as I can not to ask the sort of questions Rita Skeeter does," Ginny replied tartly. "If I interview Quidditch players, I ask them about the game, or their broom, or their training regime, and not that sort of rubbish. No one who's really into Quidditch cares about any of it."
"I'm sorry," Christina said. "I didn't mean to offend you…"
"No, it's fine," Ginny replied. "I'm just a bit on edge today, what with one thing and another… You didn't offend me, though. Don't worry." Christina was still looking nervous, so Ginny asked her a few questions about her photography, and she seemed to open up, even going as far as to show her a few pictures she had just had developed that were in her satchel.
"Those are excellent photographs," she said, studying the pictures that Christina had taken earlier that week at a Dragon Reserve up in Scotland. "You've got real skill to capture the dragons so well."
Christina flushed with pride as they watch the dragon in the photograph rear up and breathe fire at them. "Thank you," she said. "I'm hoping that Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Ms Granger won't do that at me, when I have to point my lens at them…"
It took Ginny a moment, but she realised the girl was joking and laughed. "I thinkyou'll be okay," she said. "Just don't mention the Cannons' defeat last weekend to Ron and you should be fine."
"I'll make a note of it," Christina said. "Actually, I'm quite excited to take their pictures." Ginny braced herself for another riff on the words she had heard for twenty-odd years, that Harry was the saviour of the wizarding world and it was so exciting! to meet him in person, but Christina surprised her again when she continued. "They'll get printed, you know, and I've only been here a couple of months so I haven't had much time to see my name in the paper, underneath the photos. Usually it's one of the other staff who've been here longer who get to do the exciting stuff, but Peter's sick and Lucy's on holiday and they've already sent David off to tonight's Caerphilly match…"
Ginny smiled. "It never gets old, I promise, seeing your name in print," she said. "And—thank you."
"What for?" Christina asked, surprised.
"For treating it just like another assignment for work, and not fawning over them or sort of…sending them up the way Rita does," she said. "They're not the Chosen Ones, or whatever. They're just normal people, and it's so refreshing for you not to treat them like celebrities."
"Well, to tell the truth I am kind of awed by finally meeting them," Christina said. "It isthe Golden Trio. But I'm trying to keep a lid on it, and I'm glad I've got you fooled."
Ginny laughed again, feeling herself relaxing still further. This interview—like all the others—would amount to nothing, but at least she might get some nice portraits of Harry, Ron and Hermione out of it. Christina was good at taking pictures.
"Actually, my Mum fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, too," she continued, sipping her tea. "So I mean, obviously I think what they did is wonderful, and I know how important it is that Voldemort was defeated. But I've always sort of…lived in the shadow of the Battle, if that makes sense? So it's maybe not as impressive to me as it might be to someone like Rita Skeeter."
"She did?" Ginny asked. She tried to think of anyone with the surname Engleton in her year, but couldn't put any names to faces.
"Mm-hmm," Christina said quietly. "It's quite funny, actually—not funny haha, I mean, funny like…odd. A bit morbid, really. She nearly died, you know. So nearly died. And if she had, then I wouldn't exist."
"Oh," Ginny managed, her throat dry. She did not—could not—think all the people who were killed or wounded that night in public: she would surely start to cry, and everyone knew Ginny Potter did not cry.
"She was," Christina said, sounding determined to finish what she'd started. "She'd…there was some kind of…truce, she always says. Voldemort called off his fighters briefly because he wanted Potter, or something…I don't know. Anyway, Mum had been hit with this curse; she says she could feel herself dying. I just can't imagine…"
She trailed off and cleared her throat, and Ginny fought to keep her breathing steady, to slow her pounding heart, as if such a thing were possible.
"Anyway, so she says she's dying, that she knows it, and that she hasn't the strength to try to crawl in from the grounds or even cry out for help. Then some girl appears from nowhere and bends down to her, and by some miracle sees she's still alive and just sort of holds her and tells her it's going to be okay. And she—this girl—she sends for help and she stays with her, and Mum says she remembers crying for her Mum and to go home because she knew she was going to die and this girl just staying with her and saying I know, I know, and you're going to be okay and then helping someone get her inside…"
The story was so familiar that Ginny clutched the table, nearly keeling over with the shock of hearing it from the other side for the first time, but Christina hardly seemed to notice.
"She says that to this day, she owes her life to this stranger and she just wants nothing more than to find out who the girl was because she—she was about to die. And whoever this stranger was, she saved her life, and she didn't die. And she married my Dad and had me and Adam, my brother and none of that would have been possible without this girl."
"She never knew," Ginny breathed. "She didn't…she never knew who it was…"
"I know!" Christina said. "It's just heartrending. She never found out who it was who saved her life. She obviously wants to, so she can thank her—I mean, so do all of my family. But how do you even do that? How do you show whoever this person was just how grateful we all are? Mum asked around a bit afterwards, but no one ever came forward. She wonders if the person died, you know?"
"No," Ginny said.
"Oh, I mean it would be nice to think she survived, too," Christina said hurriedly. "But—"
"No," Ginny said again, "I mean… Your mother. Mandy Brocklehurst?"
Christina frowned slightly. "Yeah…she's Amanda Engleton now, but…yes. Why?"
"I know who saved her," Ginny said, and Christina's whole body seemed to light up. It was the sort of reaction people had been giving Harry for years, and though she knew it made him uncomfortable, she'd never understood quite how uncomfortable he felt until now, seeing someone gaze at you with such utter devotion for something you hardly felt you deserved praise for.
"Who?!" demanded Christina, almost shouting in her excitement.
"She didn't—it wasn't some sort of noble self-sacrifice; she wasn't some kind of ministering angel," Ginny said, struggling to get her words to mean what she was trying to say. "I mean, obviously, it's important for Mandy, your Mum, and your family but…it was just a little thing for the person who… Oh, God. I can't say what I mean…"
"It was you," Christina said, after a moment. "You are the girl. The person who saved her life."
"I found your Mum, yes," Ginny said. "But I don't want you to think I'm a hero, because I'm not. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and of course, your mother was very brave, good person for staying to fight. She should be the hero. But I don't want her or you or anyone to think that I'm some Healer or anyone special; she'd have saved me as quickly as I helped her, if the tables had been turned. You don't need to do anything to thank me. It wasn't…I didn't set out to be anyone's saviour. I just wanted to do something—anything—to help in the tiniest way."
"But you did save her life!" Christina said, jumping to her feet with such vigour that Ginny was startled into standing, too. "Don't you see? It might not be important to you, but to us… I wouldn't be here without you! My brother wouldn't exist; my mother would be bones in the ground, just another name on a memorial. You are the most important thing that ever happened to her!"
"I'm not…" Ginny tried again, but trailed off, unsure of what she was even trying to say. She was no one's guardian angel, no one's saviour. She'd just been lucky, had good timing, and done what anyone would have done. She didn't set out to save Mandy Brocklehurts's life, it had just happened, in the same way that so many liveshadn't been saved that night, that so many deaths had just happened.
But even as she thought that, she remembered her angry words to Harry. "The Battle wasn't some entry in a history book, three lines summing up the fact that you killed Tom Riddle! It was a collection of mostly terrible events and unnecessary deaths. It ended in victory, but I don't want to read Rita Skeeter's sanitised and sensationalised version of what happened. Even though we won, I can't think of a single good thing that happened that night apart from Riddle's body hitting the ground at the end of it."
She had missed the point: there had been good happen that night. Some of it, yes, in the atrocities prevented when Voldemort was killed, but mostly in the bravery of those who had given their lives, like Fred and Colin; those who had stayed, like Mandy Brocklehurst and all the other teenaged fighters; and in the small victories, like saving just one life. What she had done, how she had saved a life, she had mostly forgotten in the intervening years, and truly, it was not the most important thing she did that night. But to Mandy, to her children and her husband and her family, it was the most important thing they had ever experienced.
That was the real history of the Battle—the tiny things that had the largest impact on people's lives.
And when Christina finished stammering and stuttering her thanks and her gratitude and how she would tell her mother the moment she left for home, when she eventually gave up and decided that mere words would not do to tell Ginny how happy she was, when she came round the edge of the table and hugged her, Ginny let herself be embraced.