Disclaimer: Dude, I'm not that awesome. Really.
A/N: Ta-da!! Today is a free day, so here is the beginning of a new series. I hope I don't scare you away with this. xD
Edit: Tweaked to fit the timeline.
Awakened
It was eight years later. The war was over.
Dark clouds gathered in the afternoon sky as a man trudged through the wet and brittle grass on a mission. That was the wrong word. His mission was complete; this, what he was doing now was simply his purpose, the only thing that kept him clinging to his wasteland life, devoid of anything which produced a spark of happiness.
At least, as it was now.
The light was gone from the heavy sky and his eyes, just as it had been that night. That night had nearly destroyed him and others, raping their world of what was so valuable to so many.
Bodies lay thick on the ground, some wounded and some... It was necessary, as all life transformations generally were. His destiny had laughed right in his pleading, broken face and robbed all he'd had, giving nothing in return.
The light may have left, but the tears hadn't. They'd never really surfaced before, just sat there, lurking behind his droopy eyelids. Even at the funeral, he hadn't cried. Perhaps it was because he couldn't see her body: it was locked in that confining box, and he had no desire to see it again.
He'd never imagined his life would be this empty with the Dark Lord vanquished. He knew it would never be easy, but this was beyond description. He was living in the shell of his own depression. And now there was no her to bring it back. She'd loop her arm through his and drag him out of it, forcing him to think about pleasanter things, about her.
Once, he'd snapped at her for it.
He was irritated that she found it appropriate for him to be musing about blessings. It made him want to laugh at the whole irony of it all. He had blessings? She just looked at him, with her tortured half-smile and pulled him closer to her, cradling his head in her arms. She spoke softly of what was worth living for, and of her love for him.
He had seen that same smile so much over the last few years. It was the only noticeable sign that a great Shadow had passed over her. She was marked by the unquenchable cruelty of that being, so disturbed he could not even be called a man, he had to destroy. He remembered her body, lying white and pale and unmoving on that cold floor. She looked almost wraithlike, the last of her dear soul pouring into his undeserving body.
Rage had driven him, stabbing at that book with utter hatred. How could anyone hurt something so pure? It was as though she was that unicorn in the Forbidden Forest and he was going to slaughter her without a worry or care. He felt a sense of completion wash over him, and as he watched that little girl, breathing her soul in once more in tiny, short hiccups, he thought, nothing will ever touch you again, Ginny Weasley.
The naiveté of a child.
He tightened in her grasp and she rested her head on his, speaking closer, as if she knew what he was feeling. And she probably did. He forced himself to calm and listened quietly, becoming soothed by the cadence of her smooth, hushed voice and the drumming rhythm of her heartbeat.
He had apologized afterwards for being so short with her, but she'd just told him to hush, placing one of her fingers over his mouth. She smiled again, a bit sorrowfully, and told him sweetly that there was nothing to forgive.
The light in her eyes kindled his own and he loved to look at her, if only to catch a glimpse of those sparkling brown eyes looking adoringly at him. That day before he'd run off, she'd looked at him with those same eyes and they told him that she would miss him. Tears swam in those bright eyes, but she smiled on bravely, like the Gryffindor she was. He waved to her before setting off. His heart now felt unbearably heavy.
And the little minx hadn't obeyed. After the Horcruxes were all destroyed, he returned for a short time and whispered to her of his plan, still believing that she would stay put as he asked. The battle began slowly and was over in seconds it seemed. Everything was happening too fast and he couldn't slow it down. And then...
... There she was.
She twirled, weaving in and out of the forms of Death Eaters, hexing and blocking other spells. Hogwarts was half-fallen behind her, the castle on its knees, as if it was begging for mercy right along with Harry's heart. He glared in rage as he watched as recognition fell onto the loathsome creature's face. "Ah," it whispered in a hissing voice. "Little Ginny." She saw him and tears slid down her white, shocked face, but she continued her dance with a bold smile.
She didn't even have a chance. He struck her down before she'd moved an inch.
Her body crumpled, down, down, down it fell, that smile frozen on her lifeless form, collapsing dead on the grass.
"She was dear to you, was she not? Shame," the voice said, a lilting laugh present as though he was not sorry at all. Rage bubbled through his veins and he was not able to stomach the anger. He retched and the voice laughed again. He turned back to the half-man and threw a hex at him. Within the course of a minute, the Dark Lord was no more.
He was beyond grief as he knelt by her body, his hand holding hers. She wasn't dead. It was just like last time. Wake up, now, he's gone, sweet. He won't touch you again. I got him, he's gone. Wake up, dearest…. But Ginny just kept smiling and he sat there, staring blankly at her eyes, which were closed, never to open again. She looked so dreamy, he went on thinking she was still asleep, and his heart knew better, but he wouldn't stop hoping that this was all some twisted and unfunny joke.
They tried to pull him away, but he wouldn't leave. He only stayed by her, glaring at the sky, and wishing she would open her eyes just one more time. Her mother came finally, and pulled his hand out of Ginny's and took him away from the scene. It took a week to get over the initial shock, full of much hushed conversations with her family and a whole lot of tea.
The man sat down in front of her grave and set down the roses he had brought. But they had wilted. Those unwilling tears began to form and break free of the barrier he had built and he cried over her for the first time. "Ginny..." he whispered.
"Harry?"
No, the voice was too good to be true.
"Harry...?" the voice called him again.
He closed his eyes, not minding the rain that started to fall. Only he couldn't feel it. He opened one eye; it was definitely raining, but he wasn't getting wet.
"Harry!"
Harry James Potter awoke with a start. Sweat pooled on his chest and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His wife was looking at him worriedly. "Are you alright, Harry? You were calling my name," she said softly.
He blinked for a moment and groped for his glasses that were currently resting on the side table. He put them on and the world fell into focus. She was smiling at him cautiously. He nodded. "I'm alright," he said. She had a pained look and her hands were in little fists about her stomach. "Ginny, what's the matter?"
She laughed shakily and made a sound of pain as her face contorted again. "I think it's time, darling," she said weakly. He wasted no time.
And that was how Harry Potter ended up sitting in his living room, while a Mediwitch attended to his wife in the few hours of labor before the delivery of their first child, a son.
It was eight years later. The war was over.
