Resolution

In the days that followed, Hogwarts was in somewhat of a frenzy. The castle was still in complete disarray from the aftermath of the battle- windows smashed, portraits ripped from the walls, corridors blocked with heaps of rubble- and the staff members were working from dawn to dusk in order to repair the damage. Classes and final exams were cancelled. Terrified, shocked, and disbelieving parents were pouring into the school by the dozens, desperate to make sure that their children were safe- and of course, to hear upfront the details of Lord Voldemort's greatest and final battle, and of the boy who had defeated him.

Harry was used to people whispering about him. From the moment he had set foot into Hogwarts, mutters and wide-eyed stares had followed him wherever he went. In his first year, this was merely due to his fame in the wizarding world as being the only wizard to have ever survived the Killing Curse. In his second year at Hogwarts, when most of the school population had believed him to be the heir of Slytherin, the whispers were of terror and disbelief. The muttering turned scornful and scandalized in his fourth year, when many of his peers believed that Harry had illegally entered his name into the Goblet of Fire in order to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. But these were whispers of a different kind: of awe, jubilation, even reverence. Harry Potter was a hero, a legend, even more so than he had been before.

It was all a bit of a blur to Harry. He found himself being hugged and kissed and clapped on the back by people to whom he had never spoken before in his life. More cakes, boxes of sweets, and gold Galleons had been pressed into his hands in the last week than he was sure he would ever need in his lifetime. A stack of lengthy and gratified letters at the foot of Harry's bed was growing taller every hour, thanks to the constant flow of owls to and from the boys' dormitory (Harry was sure that the windows would all be splintered through by nightfall due to the constant pecking of impatient beaks). Harry thought that eventually, when his life returned to a state of relative calm, he might like to answer them all.

He found that he was not eager to join in the raucous celebrations that were taking place across the castle, despite the constant and enthusiastic invitations from his peers. Instead, he spent his days with Ron and Hermione, stealing whatever solitary moments they could, playing chess in the Gryffindor common room or sitting in their favorite patch of shade by the lake. They understood, better than anyone, that Harry needed peace.

He was certainly not unhappy, but there was a certain sadness that tainted his euphoria, a strange sense of emptiness. His heart ached for those he had lost, for those who would never know that they had not died in vain, and for the countless families whose lives had been forever shattered by Voldemort's desire for power and followers. Harry felt like someone who had undergone a painful surgery; the experience was over, but the scars would always remain, as a reminder of what he had survived.

"You know," Ron said seriously to Harry, "I reckon things are going to get pretty boring around here without You-Know-Who trying to snuff you every chance he gets."

Hermione laughed appreciatively, something Harry had seldom heard before whenever Ron made a jocular comment about Voldemort. But things were certainly different now. Hermione, Harry, and Ron were sitting at the base of the gnarled oak tree by the lake, the place in which they had lounged a hundred times, the place where four best friends had sat a hundred times before them. The sun burned a perfect white circle in a brilliant blue sky, and the green lawns rippled in the slight breeze. Fifty yards away, Harry could see Hagrid sitting on the porch of his hut, knitting what looked like a giant tablecloth with Fang dozing at his heels. He looked up and waved at Harry, his bearded face breaking into a huge grin. Harry waved back.

"I can't believe it's really over," Hermione sighed. She and Ron were sitting side by side, leaning against the vast trunk of the oak with their legs tangled together. "I mean, after all of that- you were right, Harry. Voldemort did want to leave a Horcrux here. If we had just listened to you in the first place, we might not have…" She trailed off, gazing sadly at the fringes of the Forbidden Forest, where, Harry knew, the bodies of Lupin, Tonks, Snape, and Fred were buried. He felt his heart jolt. Despite his great victory, Harry knew that he would always sustain a great burden: the memory of those he had loved, who had died for him, who had stood in Voldemort's way until Harry was ready to face him…

And yet, Harry knew, he could not spend his time mourning. Too many people had died, had stepped courageously in harm's way, for Harry to feel one ounce of regret about anything. With a sort of morbid pleasure and unwillingness, the phrase for the greater good floated into Harry's mind. In a strange way, though, he could not think of a better way to describe the deaths that had occurred: by some twisted calculation Voldemort's demise could not have come were it not for those who had died before him.

Harry touched Hermione's hand gently, and her eyes snapped back to him. A silent understanding seemed to pass between them. Ron slipped his arm around Hermione's shoulders, a comforting gesture, and she smiled and let her head slip onto Ron's shoulder. Harry gazed up at the magnificent stretch of blue above him. For now, at least for this moment, the three of them had found peace.

For a few minutes they sat in silence, save for the distant shouts of students swimming in the lake and scampering across the lawn. Finally Ron cleared his throat and looked closely at Harry with an unusually shrewd expression. "Listen, mate- have you talked to my sister?" Harry suddenly felt as though his stomach had expanded into his throat.

"I- er, no, I haven't." Hermione and Ron exchanged an exasperated look. "What?" Harry demanded hotly. Even as he felt himself becoming defensive, his thoughts wandered briefly to Ginny, to her piercing eyes and long, glistening red hair that was always so soft in his hands. He wondered where she was at that very moment. Involuntarily he turned his head, as if expecting to see her striding toward him, but his eyes met nothing but the gleaming stone exterior of the castle.

"Oh, no reason, mate," Ron said, in a voice that was much too casual. "I just reckoned you might have figured out by now that she still loves you. But that's no big deal, or anything. You know, now that Voldemort's gone, and you don't have to worry about him going after her, and there's nothing stopping the two of you from being together… but if that's not what you want, mate, then there's no pressure." His smugness was maddening, but Hermione wore the same superior smile. Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione beat him to it.

"You know, Ron, I'm not sure Harry is quite ready to be in a relationship again. After all, he did just single-handedly save the wizarding world. He might need a break after that, don't you think? Some alone time?" She and Ron were grinning now, an infuriating gesture.

"That's rubbish, Hermione, you know I didn't do a bit of that myself," Harry said loudly. Hermione and Ron started to laugh, used to Harry's exasperated tirade. "And anyway, I just haven't gotten around to talking to Ginny, you've seen how mad everything's been lately, and-"

"Am I interrupting something?" Hermione and Ron stopped laughing, and Harry looked up. Ginny was standing over him, her slender form silhouetted against the blazing sun. She wore a familiar bemused expression that made Harry's hands itch to touch her, to press his thumbs to the corners of her mouth and smell the sweetness of her hair. Instead he jumped up and brushed off his jeans, feeling very much like his feet had turned to marshmallow.

"Not at all," he said in a hoarse voice; Ginny's eyes were boring into his with such intensity that he was finding it difficult to produce coherent words. "Actually, I was just- we were just- do you want to go for a walk?" He gestured toward the grounds, his arms flopping uselessly. Ginny nodded, still staring at him, and she and Harry began to walk slowly away from the oak tree. Harry allowed himself one glance back at Ron and Hermione; they were both beaming at him, and Ron was nodding his head encouragingly.

They walked in silence for a while. The sun beat down hard on Harry's head, warming his scalp and shoulders, but he barely took notice; the world seemed to have dissolved to him and Ginny, ambling along the perimeter of the shimmering lake as if they were two completely regular people. Harry felt strangely outside of himself, as if he were actually floating a few feet above the ground as he and Ginny walked.

Finally she stopped; Harry did the same. Ginny looked at the ground, but her shoulders were squared and attentive. "I've been thinking about everything you said before you left," Ginny said, in a voice that was quiet but definitely steady. She did not meet his eyes; instead, she gazed out at the lake with her arms crossed. "About why I couldn't come with you. To be honest, Harry, I was so angry with you for a while. I thought you were just being stupid… noble-"

"I was being," Harry said. Ginny looked at him in surprise, and Harry stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He gazed directly into her eyes, marshaling his thoughts. It was important that she hear everything he needed to say. Harry felt as if he could not make things right with Ginny unless she truly understood why had done the things he had, why he had felt it necessary to cut her off, to leave her behind. "I think… I thought it would be better for both of us if we were apart," he said slowly. "I thought it would be easier to be detached from you. But I was wrong, obviously." Ginny blinked, but her face remained impassive. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. "I was a git, Ginny. When I… when we… broke up, you have to know that that was the last thing I ever wanted to do. I'm not proud of it." Harry looked down, gathering his words. "I was worried for a while. I thought you might come try and find us. I thought you might do something stupid and end up getting yourself in trouble."

"I thought I might do that too," Ginny admitted, and the faintest smile passed across her face. "But I knew you'd be angry. I mean, I thought that might have been fair payment, but after a while I realized I needed to let you… you know. Do it on your own. So I waited. I figured you would come to your senses eventually. At least, I hoped you would." She looked out across the lake again, and when she spoke again, her voice was even quieter. "I thought you would change your mind when you came for the wedding." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Harry could still hear the hurt beneath her words. "I thought you would let me go with you. That was the worst part."

"Ginny, I'm so sorry," Harry croaked. He could feel a familiar pressure building up behind his eyes, but he willed himself to continue. "I am so sorry. I never wanted you to feel like I'd left you behind. Like I'd forgotten about you. Or I didn't care. Because I did. Believe me, I did… I still do." It took Harry a moment to realize that Ginny was sniffing and wiping her own eyes. Without thinking, Harry put his arms around her and pressed his face into her sweet-smelling hair. Somehow, they sank onto the grass, so Ginny was half sprawled on the ground with her arms wrapped around Harry's neck. Harry lifted Ginny's chin and kissed her, a longer, sweeter kiss than they had ever shared, and Harry felt as if everything was suddenly falling back into place, as if every broken shard of his life was coming together again, repairing itself into one glittering whole. For a fleeting moment, Harry was reminded of the last time he had kissed someone who was crying… how it had been so strange and foreign… but kissing Ginny was the only thing that felt real; in his chaotic and sometimes terrifying life, Ginny had always been there. Oh, how he had missed her!

Finally they broke apart. "You're forgiven," Ginny said with a shaky smile. She lifted her arm and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robes. Harry laughed weakly and brushed some hair off of her face. He suddenly felt the full effect of the sun, pouring warmth and promise over him like a great waterfall. Still chuckling, Harry got to his feet and pulled Ginny up, tugging her close to him. They made their way, half stumbling, back to the shady oak tree, where Ron and Hermione were engaging in a very indiscreet display of affection. For a moment Harry gazed them, a strange sense of loss filling him, a loss different from that he felt for Fred and Lupin and Tonks… Ron and Hermione were in their own world now, just the two of them. They were no longer three best friends (although, really, there had always been a bit more than friendship on both Ron and Hermione's minds), a close-knit group… and a sadness filled Harry like a great balloon.

But then Ginny squeezed his hand, and he looked into her eyes, and he knew that he would never be alone, or an outsider. He knew that Ron and Hermione would always be his best friends… and if there were times when he drifted out of their world, he would always be drifting into another.

Ginny took a few more steps toward the oak and cleared her throat; they came up for air, Ron blinking very rapidly and Hermione looking quite embarrassed.

Ron took in the sight of Harry and Ginny with their arms clasped around each other. "Well, at least you two have made up, then?"

"Yes, we have," Ginny said seriously. She and Harry sat down opposite Ron and Hermione, Ginny nestling her head in the crook of Harry's shoulder. "And I think it will be for good this time." Harry looked down at Ginny's face, which was positively glowing with elation. He acknowledged this bold statement but was not surprised by it; certainly there was no one out there for him but Ginny. There would be no more arguments or silly distractions. And if there were more trouble out there, waiting for him… they would face it together. He would not make the same mistake twice.

Hermione had finished smoothing out her hair and robes and was now leaning against Ron, absentmindedly weaving the hem of his robes between her fingers. Ron was leaning against the oak tree, one arm still around Hermione's shoulders, the other flopping lazily on the grass. "So… that's it, isn't it," Ron said wonderingly. It was more of a statement than a question. "It's really over."

"It's really over," Ginny repeated. "So now we can be… what's that word?"

"We can be normal," Hermione suggested. "Normal. It sounds strange, doesn't it?"

"Just a bit," Harry agreed. Absently he reached up to rub the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. The scar had always been a sort of dark mark to Harry, a mark of the terrible things that Lord Voldemort had done, to him and to countless other witches and wizards… but now it was just a scar like any other, an interesting story to tell someday, if anyone was still interested in five years, or ten, or twenty. An involuntary picture flew into Harry's mind of him and Ginny sitting in a great messy room that greatly resembled the kitchen in the Burrow, telling stories to enrapt children with red hair and green eyes…

Harry blinked. That fantasy wasn't too outrageous, was it? "I think normal sounds good," he said firmly. "We should all try that for a while. We'll just be… normal. Regular people. Like everyone else." Ron, Hermione, and Ginny nodded. "Just with more interesting stories," Harry added, and they all laughed. He felt a great, sweeping sense of relief wash over him. Harry had lost so much- his parents, his godfather, Dumbledore and Lupin; he even felt a pang of loss for Severus Snape, who had been a good man, really- but right now, at that moment, all that mattered was the four of them, sitting beneath the oak tree and the brilliant sunlight, their reflections shimmering in the lake's surface, talking and laughing and loving, living with a promise that tomorrow would surely come.