The sun cast a dim ray of hope through the stained glass widows of Hogwarts Hospital Wing. It was April first, and only now did the grounds of the half ruined castle see sunlight for the first time in over six months. Those who could walk, found themselves drawn to the windows, closing their eyes to feel the warmth on their faces. April Fool's Day had come, but everyone hoped beyond their wildest dreams that the first glimmer of change since the defeat of the Darkest Wizard would not be snatched cruelly from their awakening hearts.
The dead had been buried-, in all, twenty three students from various houses. Now, in the painful retrospect of the fierce bloody battle, it didn't matter in the slightest from which house they had come. They had all been students, young, vibrant and alive, and now they were gone. It didn't matter who had been Pureblood , Halfblood, or even Muggle -born. Voldemort hadn't cared in the slightest about that in the end.
Slytherin House had lost the most lives. Some said it was because they were on the wrong side, some said it was because they were cursed the most for having traded to the light. Although Dumbledore had asked that there be no tally kept as to the number of specifically categorized casualties, each student had done a personal mental tally. Predjudice, it seemed was hard to let go of, even in the wake of such a disaster. It was a coping mechanism many had come to rely on, especially if the tally one formulated put them on the perceived winning side. It would still take some time to make people realize that there was still fence mending to be done between the houses.
Justin Finch-Fletchley had been a Muggle-born. He'd known of Voldemort's revulsion of his kind. He had even studied it intensely in History class, learning that this hate had originated with Salazar Slytherin, and he'd lived with a certain amount of fear about his background ever since the threats waged against Muggle- borns in his second year. In the end, Justin had died as a result of that fear alone. When the battle had begun, Justin could remember the crimson writing on the wall as clearly as if it were yesterday, warning enemies of the heir to beware. As resolved as he'd been to stand and fight, in the end, Justin had run into the Forbidden Forest and was trampled accidentally by stampeding Centaurs, who were waging their own battle against Death Eaters who had entered their fiercely protected territory. The Centaurs had lamented killing the 'foal.' But in the end, it was Voldemort's fault-, something that the remaining staff members of the once proud school were still trying to come to terms with.
Panic had run deep among the students, particularly Mudbloods and Muggle- borns. Dennis and Colin Creevey, Muggle- borns from Gryffindor House, had managed to survive, but it had cost them their pride and dignity. They had been running blindly through the battle, and stumbled upon two dead Slytherins. Terrified of the implications of their heritage, the Creevey's had stolen the cloaks from Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini and were passed over by the ememy just long enough to get to the Room of Requirement where they could hide among friends, after having hidden among the dead.
It had been Harry's plan, made at the very last DA meeting, to have the room admit only those who were on the side of The Light. They were not the only ones in the Slytherin robes who were accepted into that room that fateful March night. Genuine Slytherin students also were given refuge there. It was amazing and disturbing to see a battle within a battle. When the Muggle-born Creeveys arrived wearing the Slytherin apparel, there was an outcry of infidelity from both Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. The Creeveys would later win back some respect-, at least from Gryffindor students, when it was learned that in their terrified flee for refuge, they had struck down at least two Death Eaters.
The investigation that had been conducted later had concluded that it was indeed the Creevey's wands that had performed the Unforgivable Curse-, Avada Kedavra. Their trial was pending, and the aging Headmaster was busy trying to plead their case, in a sea of other identical ones. It was up to the Ministry to either pardon their actions as part the War Measures Act, or sentence them to a cruel future or no future at all. In the meantime, they were free to enjoy, or worry for whatever time the law would determine at the end of the month, they had left.
In a lonely end of the hospital wing there stood an enclosed area. Grave looking faces came and went daily, but there was never any news on the boy who lay in there. Harry Potter was surrounded by Ron, Hermione, and his Ginny...that's what he had called her, on what he thought would be his last day on Earth. It had been two weeks. He had neither stirred nor woke. Any words that came from him, were too incoherent to make out, try as they might, with their ears leaning ever closer to strain to hear him. Madam Pomphrey had done her best, and as far as she could tell physically, Harry should be awake and very much alive.They all felt like they knew every pore in Harry's face, as they had stared at it, until they were almost cross- eyed with weariness. He looked almost like he was sculpted in fine porcelin-, pale, but not deathly so. It was so eerie to watch him like this day after day, as if he were in a deep sleep, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Any words that did come from him, were incoherent, and try as they might, leaning ever closer and straining their ears, they were unable to decipher his mumblings.
Hermione and Ron had both had a good cry, which even Ron hadn't tried to stifle. Only Ginny sat staunchly in her chair, stroking Harry's dark hair from his forehead, forbidding him to give up. She had only left to shower, and she slept with her head on Harry's bed each night. Even the usually strict Matron did not object. There was nothing else to be done for the boy. He had been seen by every healer that St Mungo's could spare, and there had been no visible results.
No one knew exactly what had happened to the boy who still lived after Voldemort had portkeyed Harry away from the support of his friends and his Ginny, or so the Dark Lord had erroneously thought. Voldemort's body had been found across the lake where it presumably had fallen at the hands of Harry, fulfilling the deadly prophecy. Harry had promised his Ginny that he would return to her. She and his most loyal friends, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna had battled Death Eaters and even, to their horror, fellow students who had joined the dark, seeing the battle taking a turn and not wanting to die. Luna Lovegood had paid with her life. Neville Longbottom had lost his left leg and the love of his life. The battle had raged in and around Hogwarts and into the village of Hogsmeade, and all the while, no one knew where Harry had been taken.
Once the Dark Lord had Harry alone on the other side of the lake, he knew the boy would die easily, or so he thought, but Harry's weapon, the one that the prophecy had spoken of all along-, the one that the Dark Lord knew not, was one that he could not be separated from-, love. From the basic elements of parental love he was sure his parents had had for him, to the love from Sirius, Dumbledore and Hagrid. Later, the love you find for yourself, your friends, and lastly, the love of his life to complete the circle of strength and determination that Voldemort, now devoid of any of these things, could never understand.
It would be a story to be told later, how Harry had finally come into his own, to go down in history books as having defeated the Dark Lord who had plunged he and the entire wizarding world into darkness and fear. Now was a time for healing. Now was a time to call the boy who lived back to them.
Harry had promised Ginny a picnic, a Muggle style picnic, and he hated to admit to himself when they spoke of planning it as a unity event for the school, that he partly agreed to the Muggle theme, because he knew the Slytherins would hate it. Some unity event that would be! In fact, the planning of this picnic, had only been turned over to Harry when he had stormed into Dumbledore's office, demanding to know why the Headmaster had sanctioned a picnic, planned originally by Mudbloods and Muggle- borns, and excluding Purebloods . Ginny had been hurt to her heart to find that the picnic would exclude her, being as she was a Pureblood Witch. Lines had been drawn not only between houses, but along blood lines as well, and for Ginny, it had opened up old wounds from her captivity in the Chamber of Secrets.
Ginny was never one to cry, but Harry had found her by the lake that cold March day, doing just that. She could sense the end of the war was near, for good or bad, and the stronger the divisions became, the less prepared for battle she knew they would be. Some of the people planning this event, had been her friends. For an intelligent girl like Ginny, it made her not so much bitter, but it made her realize what Slytherins who were not part ofThe Dark side must feel-, judged without trial.
The following DA meeting had started out with a very angry and frustrated Harry, imploring everyone to stop letting Voldemort divide them. It was still amazing to the young man how the use of that dreaded name, could make people snap to and pay attention, even when they had come in with staunchly formed plans. There were many apologies all around, leading even to hugs between any Purebloods and those who had been in on the planning of the exclusive picnic. Hermione, in her usual bossy manner, had elected Harry to see Dumbledore about changing the plans to include everyone, even Slytherins to the picnic, which would still be Muggle theme, much to Ginny's delight. She took after Arthur somewhat in being fascinated by Muggle tradition. The picnic had never taken place. The war had pushed picnics and even traditions such as Quidditch matches to the backs of everyone's mind for now, save one boy, who lay between life and death. The one boy who wanted to experience these things from a whole new perspective of peace and permission to finally be young and live as he'd never been allowed to do. He had fulfilled his destiny, to what end, no one yet knew.
All of Harry's friends had spoken to him softly, and at other times urgently, when their fears would surface until they could be stifled again. Maybe there would be no picnic or carefree life for Harry. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Night was when Ginny would sometimes finally give in to her worry and grief. She had lost her oldest brother, and couldn't bear the thought of losing Harry too.
The oldest Weasley child, Bill, had been killed when he'd been summoned to Hogsmead to fight in the village which had been under siege at the same time as Hogwarts. It didn't help her spirits in the least that Bill Weasley would receive the Order of Merlin First Class for saving the patrons of The Hogs Head Pub from a fiery death when Lucius Malfoy had tried to set the place ablaze after having charmed all the exits sealed with an imperurbable curse. Bill had killed Lucius Malfoy with Avada Kadavara as a very last resort, but unfortunately, Lucius had fired the exact same Unforgivable Curse simultaneously at Bill. Ginny knew that had Bill somehow dodged the curse of death, he would have faced the same charges that the Creeveys now faced, but as he had died, the swamped Ministry had pardoned him posthumously, and had bestowed him with the highest award available for acts of valour. War it seemed, changed everything, and Arthur Weasley planned to mention the Creevey's case to the Judge at their trial, using Bill's death and subseqent award, as at least a way to save the young boys who had done the same crimes. A precedent had been set, and for the Creevey's sake, everyone hoped that Bill's case would influence the outcome of their trial.
It was when Ginny's head would swim with memories of Bill and Harry, that she would finally succumb to the dread that Harry would never wake. His curse scar would sometimes burn a fiery red, only to look as it always was moments later. His body would writhe and his face would cringe, but still, he did not wake.
Although afraid somewhat to be left alone with Harry for reasons she could not fathom, Ginny decided at first to give her permission to Harry, that if he needed to let go, he could. She couldn't bear the thought that he may be trapped in his memories, drowning in fear from his past horrors in nightmares that he could no longer wake from. She had witnessed these nightmares night after night every night leading up to the battle.
When Harry moaned, and clenched his entire body, gripping the sheets beneath his body in apparent agony, Ginny stifled the gasp that nearly escaped her lips. She was about to scream for Madam Pomfrey, or anybody, but when Harry's eyes opened to find just her there beside him, his eyes begged her for five moments alone. He couldn't focus his thoughts or his eyes. Ginny's own eyes, filled with tears as she whispered the only the dumb thought that would come to her. "We'll have to get you some new glasses my love." At this, Harry smiled, although even that small a gesture of being awake toward her, cost him every ounce of strength he possessed.
Ginny's legs felt like lead as she was going to get the the Matron, for she didn't want to shout out that Harry was awake for all prying ears to hear. When she stood, she was startled as she was gripped weakly by Harry.
"Harry, I'm just going to get some help," she told him gently, heaving from the weariness of relief that had washed away any of her adrenaline induced energy.
"Ginny...my Ginny...please, before I have to hear anything, anything horrible or wonderful, tell me about our picnic..."
"Harry," Ginny sobbed almost silently, alarmed that Harry had lost his mind, "we haven't had our picnic yet, but I'm holding you to it," she warned.
"I know, I know, Ginny, but before I have to tell, before I have to know...everything, please tell me about our picnic..." Harry was pleading. Ginny didn't understand at first, until she remembered Harry telling her about having to relive the events of his fourth year for Dumbledore. Retelling what had happened between he and Voldemort, would cost him so much more. Ginny now understood. Harry wanted one more day, one more fantasy, where all his friend were alive, and Hogwarts was intact, a fantasy of perfection from this side of things, where the Dark Lord was gone. He would learn the truth later, how ever awful it would be.
Ginny sat next to Harry nervously, her breath catching in her chest as she held his hand to her lips. She didn't know if she could do it. Bill and Luna were dead, and Neville had lost his leg. Professor Trelawny had died after having made a ridiculous prophecy in her delirium that Harry would win a swim suit competition. It would have been funny, had she not been dying when she said it. With a small smile playing on her lips, Ginny decided to pay tribute to the Divination Professor and honour Harry's request at the same time, now that she understood why he needed to hear this story, even if it was just a fairy tale.
Not knowing where to begin and knowing that she would have precious little time to have Harry to herself, Ginny whispered close to his ear about the picnic that never happened. He wasn't coherent enough for her to have to be careful about details as to why they would be swimming in April, so she just went with whatever came to her relieved, but unsure mind. She could hold herself together for five minutes for him. She would sob uncontrollably later, when he couldn't hear her.
"My love," she began, "Even though I'm only in sixth year and you're in seventh, doesn't give you the right to judge the girl's bathing suit competition. I've entered you in the male category, and as I'm one of three judges, I think it's safe to say, you have a pretty good chance at winning, after all, Quidditch is definitely doing you some good!" It wasn't the truth, Harry didn't look good at all at the moment, but his waking emerald eyes could not have been more welcome and beautiful as they were now to her. She had waited in anguished silence to see them again for two weeks.
Harry swam in and out of lucidity. His foggy brain could barely grasp the concept of bathing suits in April. Hey, it was April Fool's day after all. Perhaps Dumbledore had magically heated the lake for the occasion. The Headmaster had of course, done no such thing. This was supposed to be a purely Muggle picnic, meaning no magic. Harry was too groggy and concentrating too hard on holding onto whatever thread of consciousness he could manage, to worry about the details of swimming in that lake in April. He barely managed to hear Ginny's actual words. It was the sound of her voice that kept him listening and dreaming of what he wanted so much.
Ginny's voice caught in her throat, as she was giving Harry one more hour perhaps before he would force himself to evaluate his performance, to half kill himself upon hearing the name of every person who had died, blaming himself still. Ginny vowed to spend as much time as it took to absolve Harry of his guilt, but she knew he would eventually see the truth. Ginny choked back a sob as she spoke of Luna as though the dreamy girl was still alive. She would give him everyone at the picnic alive because she knew he needed the fantasy before the truth would crash upon him in a sea of self imposed guilt and doubt.
In honour of Luna, Ginny declared her the winner of the female bathing beauty competition, and of course, Harry won too. In a fantasy, he could handle that, reality would have been very different for the boy who would barely take his shirt off to catch a bit of sun. This was a good picnic, Harry decided. While everyone swam, Ginny taught him to swim, something she had promised to do for real. Looking at the pale boy who lay in her arms now, she promised herself that a real picnic would come to pass, and she would indeed teach him to swim, but for now, in the moment of perfect fantasy, Harry could swim after only a short lesson from his Ginny. Had he been even a little more conscious, Harry would have felt juvenile for asking for this ridiculous story. He needed a break. He needed to know that things such as picnics really existed, but for now, he wasn't ready to really do anything but brace himself for the tide of the aftermath of the battle, where the math is done by the historians. Five more minutes...
Ginny found herself indulging a personal fantasy as well, one more time to remember Bill alive and well, even if it wasn't real. "So my love, you finally shamed Ron into taking a turn cooking on that muggle contraption you call a barbecue. Remember Bill laughing so hard at him when he overcooked the lobsters and they flew up into the air? Bill just stared at him like he had lobsters coming out of his ears, because...he did!" It was a lame part of the story, and Ginny knew it, but Bill was alive in it, and that was all that mattered-, for five more minutes.
Ginny laughed, falsely recalling one of the half- alive lobsters clinging to Ron's earlobe, and Hermione's reluctance to use the tongs to get it off.
"Just do it, you're not gonna hurt me, Hermione! The lobster is taking my ear off!" Ron had said at the fantasy perfect picnic.
Ginny looked down at Harry's peaceful sleep. His hand had lost it's determined grip on hers, and she contemplated going for the Matron, feeling that he probably couldn't hear her ridiculous story anyway. When she stood to go fetch the Matron, Harry's grip returned in tense ferocity, so she sat back down...for five more minutes.
Ginny painted a beautiful picture in Harry's mind, of people dancing out on the grounds, eating the questionable food cooked by Ron, which the ants seem to find more appealing. She thought she'd work in a good ribbing on her brother, so she made up a story about him getting caught admiring Hermione's behind and saying, "I'd love to get her into a sack!" She described Hermione's actions following this statement from Ron as accepting and open, hoping to see Harry revive enough to question her statement, but he didn't stir. Ron and Hemione were always fighting, and Ginny's story wasn't very realistic, so she made sure to put in one of the couples famous arguments for reality's sake. Ron and Hermione had, according to Ginny, fought for the rest of the picnic because Hermione had admired Firenze by looking at one of the male swimsuit competition candidates and then at Firenze, saying, "I'd love to see him in that outfit!"
"Hermione, are you mad? Where would he put a bathing suit? He's got a horse's bum!" This indignate exclamation from Ron had been voiced loudly, causing everyone to laugh like mad at the red head, and causing Hermione to blush for an hour, which is how long it took for them to stop bickering out loud. They sulked for the rest of the picnic. Now that was believable! Ginny told a good story.
Quite a few people had gotten drunk, like at any good muggle picnic. Dean Thomas had been talking rather rudely about what he'd like to do with his girlfriend if she were willing...something to do with being doused in chocolate and folding his futon in his bedroom down, but he'd said, he'd like to cover her in chocolate futon and lay down on a nice fluffy fondue with her. When his friends, also drunk in celebration of the end of the war had corrected him, he'd replied, much to his girlfriend's dismay, "Futon, Fondue, what's the difference, either way, it'd be fun!" This of course, earned him a well deserved punch in the nose. Dean, not used to consuming alcohol in any great quantity, ended up vomiting on his poor girlfriend, officially ending any hopes of his fantasy coming true, and causing those around to exclaim in dismay, "I can't believe he ate all that!"
By the time Ginny was finished her story, all of the plans they had spoken of in reality before the war had come to the front gates of Hogwarts, had been covered, right from the Muggle style barbecue, three legged races, swimming, eating, making out and all the good things in any normal teenage life-, things this far from normal boy had ever really experienced. Ginny solemnly swore at that moment, when a small sad smile appeared on Harry's face, that she would give him for real, as soon as he was well, his five more minutes, followed by a lifetime of five more minutes.
The time had come. Madam Pomfrey had arrived with the Headmaster. The five more minutes was over for now, but Harry knew as he held Ginny's hand for dear life that he could now really live, with his Ginny, forever.