Author's Note: Hello there, readers! This is my first HP fanfic; I have previously written for CSI, the Mentalist, and Pride and Prejudice. If you happen to be one of my readers from one of those fandoms who has decided to give this HP fic a chance, thanks! If you're a new reader for me, thanks, too! I can't wait to hear what you think of this lengthy one-shot! Please let me know.
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The battle was over. The champions of Hogwarts sat lethargically in the Great Hall. Movement was minimal. The initial wave of triumphant jubilation had passed. Bone deep exhaustion, along with a depletion of adrenalin and the return of sensations such as intense hunger and thirst after hours upon hours of draining spellwork and tragic losses, left the victors sluggish. Many were sleeping, plenty with their heads on a shoulder or lap of someone who had been trying to comfort them in their time of shared mourning.
The Weasley family looked much the same as the rest of the inhabitants of the hall. Arthur sat stoically holding the stock-still figure of George, whose initial sobs over the loss of his twin had subsided into shocked and unfathomable silent grief. Molly sat on the floor next to her son's lifeless body, having returned to her post of shielding and protecting his body after disposing of Bellatrix, who had dared to try to inflict more loss on her family. Molly's hand rested on Fred's forehead, now cool to the touch. Percy, Bill, and Charlie sat like ducks in a row on a Gryffindor bench, hardly moving and not talking; Percy's head rested on the table and his eyes were fighting a losing battle at staying open. Fleur's head rested on Bill's shoulder, and her face, though sporting brilliantly colored bruises in multiple places, at least looked peaceful in sleep. Ron and Hermione sat next to the lifeless bodies of Lupin and Tonks. As Hermione held Tonks' hand and wept, she and Ron whispered intensely for a while about Harry and what to do for him; in the end, a decision was not reached and Hermione and Ron both succumbed to restless sleep with their heads on the table next to their departed friends. Ginny sat on the floor against the wall, gazing sightlessly at Fred's body. She had refused the physical comfort of a hug or a shoulder to lean on, and had, in fact, refused to speak to or look at anyone in her family for some time now.
Ginny's eyes were on Fred, but her mind was on Harry. He had died. She had seen his body and had cried out in pain; her heart had seemed to stop in that terrible moment. Yet, he had somehow lived. Relief flooded through her even as Harry verbally prepared to duel with Voldemort for one last time; she did not doubt for one moment that Voldemort would be the one to lay stone cold dead on the floor alongside so many of his innocent victims. It could not be Harry. He had not come back from the dead to die again. He had won. Then, he had disappeared.
He needed peace, quiet, sleep, yes, but he needed her, too. Ginny searched the recesses of her exhausted mind for an idea. Kreacher.
Her eyes began to feverishly scan the Great Hall. After being unable to locate a single house elf, she realized they must have taken their mourning to the kitchens. Having grown up with Fred and George (her heart skipped a beat at the thought, and she already wondered for how long it would be so incredibly painful to think of her brother), she knew where the concealed entrance to the kitchen was. Ever so quietly, she rose and walked out of the hall. Hardly anyone even looked up at her, and the few who did, including her mother, had not the strength or the presence of mind to question her motives for leaving.
Upon entering the well-lit and surprisingly non-damaged kitchens, Ginny was immediately greeted by an ancient house elf by the name of Kreacher. Although the creature had clearly been nursing some wounds and mourning losses, and even though at every previous meeting between himself and Ginny, he had used every foul word he could think of in her presence, he bowed low and muttered, "Miss Weasely. Master Harry has spoken highly of you. You must be very tired and hungry after having fought so valiantly. How may I help you?"
If shocked over Kreacher's sudden decision to serve instead of revile her, Ginny did not show it. She simply stated, "Thank you, Kreacher. I don't want to take much of your time. You need rest, too, and I want to thank you and your friends for helping to win the Battle of Hogwarts. There will be time to celebrate later, but for now, we all need food, rest, and time to grieve. All I need right now are two things. One, something, anything to give Harry to eat. Two, do you know where Harry is?"
Several curious house elves had overheard Ginny's request for food, and regardless of their own injuries and exhaustion, many rushed to prepare a large tray of fruit, sandwiches, and treacle tart, which they promptly handed to Ginny even before Kreacher finished answering, "Miss Weasley, Kreacher does not know where Harry Potter is. I am sorry. Would Young Miss like Kreacher to organize a search for Master Harry?"
"No, no, no, Kreacher, please don't. Take care of yourself and your friends." Turning to the room at large, Ginny added, "Thank you for the meal. I am sure Harry needs to eat even more than most of us. He'll appreciate it greatly. I'm sorry for all your losses. If there is any way I can help you, please just ask." With that, Ginny turned away from all of the large, sad eyes watching her and walked back out into the corridor. Without the adrenaline that came with the battle, even holding the tray of sandwiches was proving to be a Herculean task, and Ginny struggled to command her mind to focus on Harry's whereabouts.
Eventually, as she leaned against a cold stone wall for support, Ginny recalled hearing Hermione and Ron discussing a memory from Snape that Harry had and that they were concerned about. The only place Harry could experience the memory would be the Headmaster's office where the Pensieve was housed. Ginny hoped she could make it to the office over the piles of debris without collapsing.
Twenty minutes later, Ginny stepped upon one of the fallen gargoyles who had stood guard before the Headmaster's office for centuries. She was startled when a raspy voice grumbled, "You didn't have to step on me, you know. You could have walked around."
Ginny jumped, several pears fell to the floor with a soft splat, and she muttered, "Sorry. Sorry. I just need to get into the Headmaster's office. Can I go in? I don't know the password or anything, but I promise I have nothing but good intentions and sandwiches to take in there with me."
The muffled voice of the second gargoyle, whose face was obscured by a large chuck of fallen ceiling, grumbled, "Fine. It's not like we can stop you in this state anyway."
Without a reply or backward glance, Ginny ascended the debris-littered stone staircase. When she reached the door, she found that her nerves nearly failed her. She stood stock-still outside the door, heart hammering and head flooded with thoughts like, "What if he doesn't want to see me right now?," for several minutes. It was only when her hands began to tremble and threatened to drop the entire tray of food that Ginny realized she could hardly turn back now. Timidly, she pushed at the door, which yielded easily at her touch.
He looked so vulnerable. The hero of the Battle of Hogwarts, the one who won the war for them, the one who defeated Voldemort once and for all, the one who died and returned to the world of the living, the Boy Who Lived, looked just like that, in fact: Harry looked like a boy, a child, kneeling on the cold, hard ground with his head in his hands and his hands resting on the floor. He did not even look up when Ginny entered; either he knew who had entered or simply didn't care if someone had come to finish him off in the name of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Ginny stood there, momentarily frozen, wondering if he did actually hope someone had come to end his misery. Her heart broke for him and tears began to silently dampen paths along her dirt and blood-covered face.
As Harry's shoulders began to tremble with silent, anguished sobs, Ginny set the tray of food on a table and knelt down next to him. Ever so gently, as if afraid he would break if she touched him too firmly, Ginny wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid her head on his back. Harry's sobs gained a voice, and he cried for the loss of his friends, he cried for the pain in his body, he cried for having murdered, even though he never actually employed a killing curse or drew Gryffindor's sword against a human being, he cried for the hatred he had felt for Snape, he cried for having doubted Dumbledore, he cried for not having killed Voldemort in time to save all the lives that were lost, and he cried because of the immense guilt he felt for dragging his best friends on the hunt for Horcruxes that almost cost them their lives multiple times and for being the reason Fred died and the reason Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and his parents died. The weight of it all was too much to bear. Ginny cried right along with him.
Sobs subsided to tears, tears subsided to sniffles, and sniffles subsided into silence. After what felt like hours of time spent keeled over on a stone floor, Harry needed to move. Ginny relaxed her grip on his shoulders and helped him onto a sofa that she suspected had been dark blue before the battle had seen it covered in a rather thick layer of dust and detritus. Neither of them had spoken since Ginny's arrival into the Headmaster's office, and the quiet between them continued. Up to this point, Ginny had done all the holding, and Harry neither openly acknowledged her presence or attempted to comfort Ginny in her grief, but Ginny didn't mind for a moment; his needs were far greater than hers. She began to feel unsure that her presence was welcome, however, when Harry still hadn't spoken or even made eye contact with her even though they were sharing the same couch. She tentatively queried, "Harry?"
That one word seemed to break through Harry's fugue, and he suddenly jerked his head toward her face, locking eyes with her and seeing her as though he hadn't even realized she'd been in the same room for over an hour. "Ginny." His voice was hoarse, tired, beaten. As he spoke, he reached out, gently grasped her face in his hands, and brought his chapped, dirty, bloody lips to meet hers. The taste of the sweat, blood, and tears shed over the Battle of Hogwarts brought Harry and Ginny together in a hungry, passionate embrace. After a cut on Harry's lip split back open and began to bleed anew, he pulled away from Ginny and eyed her slowly and methodically as though trying to memorize every last detail in her battle-worn face as he wiped his lip with his shirt sleeve, which was caked with Gringotts marble, ancient dragon skin and underground grime, lake water, Hogwarts stone, his own blood, and the damp earthen floor of the Forbidden Forest.
"I'm me again." Those were the words Harry finally croaked. He still eyed Ginny with hunger and something that maybe seemed like fear. Ginny wondered if he was afraid she'd leave or afraid she'd stay. She also wondered what he meant. When was he not himself? Those few words seemed to hold more value than any others she'd ever heard him say, so why did she not understand?
Harry saw the questions in her eyes. Wearily, he said in a flat voice, "Ginny, I'll tell you everything. The whole story. Down to the minute if you'd like. Just not now. What I'm going to tell you now won't be comprehendible, but it's all I have in me to tell you now. I want you to know. You deserve to know. But it's hard. Ginny, I, well, Ron, Hermione and I, were gone hunting for horcruxes. They're horrible dark magic. They're little trinkets that contain a fragment of a soul so the person whose soul is split cannot die. Before Voldemort, no witch or wizard had ever made more than one horcrux, and one was evil enough. Voldemort made seven on purpose. Seven, Ginny. Think of it. He couldn't die until all of those, plus his one unintentional horcrux, were killed first. Dumbledore started the process and Ron, Hermione, and I… well, and Neville, since he killed the snake… we finished it."
Ginny's eyes had grown wide with fear. She innately knew what, or rather, who, the unintentional horcrux had been.
Just as Ginny reached out to take Harry's hand in hers and tears formed anew in her eyes, Harry confirmed her suspicion. "Ginny, the night Voldemort killed my parents, he couldn't die when his killing curse rebounded onto his own body because his soul had been severed into seven pieces, but his body was destroyed. Another piece of his mangled soul split when he killed my mum and took residence in the only living thing in the room: me."
Harry looked away, staring toward the window, but not really seeing anything, as he continued in a pained whisper. "I had to offer my life for all of yours so that the Voldemort in me could die. I was so scared, Ginny. So scared. Then, I died and everything was white. Dumbledore came and told me he was proud of me for being so brave and that I had to decide whether I wanted to stay in the white place or go back to finish the battle. It was hard to choose, Ginny. I was so tired. I was so, I don't know, angry and sad and hurt at Hogwarts, but not in the white place. But I came back. I came back to finish what I had started."
By the time Harry finished his monologue, Ginny was quietly sobbing. "Harry" was all she managed to squeak out before he pulled her close and held her against the heart whose steady rhythm Harry had come to appreciate more than ever before.
After what felt like ages again, Harry's roaming eyes found the sandwiches. Ginny felt his reaction, and rather worried that a death eater had just stumbled upon them, but was appeased as she heard Harry exclaim, "Food!"
Ginny grinned and got up to grab the tray. "Kreacher's friends made this for you. I figured you'd be hungry."
"I don't think I've had a bite to eat in three days, and it's not like I've been lounging around watching the telly all that time; I've burned a fair few calories." He grinned. Smiling hurt his face. It felt as though his muscles had forgotten how to form a smile.
Ginny grinned because Harry grinned, and felt similarly, as though her mind had forgotten what happiness was like.
Grins turned to giggles, and giggles turned to laughter. Laughter felt heavenly, until both realized laughter was for happy people to enjoy, not for people who had just suffered tragic losses. Laughter subsided abruptly and tears flowed afresh. Full stomachs and bone-deep exhaustion finally caused Harry and Ginny to curl up on the grimy sofa together and fall fast asleep, just after Harry sent a patronus to Hermione to let Ron and her know he was safe and alive.
Albus Dumbledore, from his perch in a frame above the sleeping heads of Harry and Ginny, wished he still had the power to concoct a dreamless sleep draught for them, but as it turned out, it proved unnecessary; the two reunited heroes slept motionlessly for fourteen hours, such was the state of their exhaustion.
Once the blinding ray of brilliant sunshine hit Harry squarely in the face, he could no longer pretend to be asleep. He opened his eyes to fiery red hair in his face. He felt home. Harry pressed a gentle kiss to Ginny's forehead and whispered, "I love you" as she stirred to wakefulness. He didn't know if Ginny heard his whispered words or not, but it didn't matter; there would be plenty of opportunities to tell her he loved her now that their happily ever after was finally attainable.