Note: 7-8-12 ~ I changed my screen name from E. C. luvs twilight to the much more appropriate E. C. loves. Sirius. Black (minus the spaces).
IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ OR THE STORY WILL NOT MAKE SENSE!
DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS!
Thank you! Anyway, this is an AU of the final battle. In this reality, Ron and Hermione also died in the fire in the Room of Requirements. Distraught, Harry makes another decision at Kings Cross, a decision to join his parents, Remus, Sirius, Ron, and Hermione. Neville, who knew of the prophecy, fulfilled his destiny by killing the Dark Lord. (This could have happened in any way. Personally, I think it would have been funny to stab Voldemort with the sword after cutting Nagini's head off. But really, it doesn't matter, soooo…) THIS IS A ONE-SHOT!
Disclaimer: I am a middle-class 14-year-old American teenager. J.K. Rowling is not. 'Nough said.
A month after the Final Battle, the castle of Hogwarts was nearly empty. Survivors had gone home, tourists had been banned, and the remaining students were home enjoying the first peaceful summer in what seemed like a lifetime. Few remained there, in the place which had taken the lives of so many.
Here was where the remaining Weasleys lingered.
In the kitchens, surrounded by empty firewhiskey bottles, Arthur Weasley slumped against a wall, ragged and broken. He saw not the house-elves or the kitchen, only faces. Just faces. The smiling, mischievous face of his son Fred. The happy, laughing face of his son Ron. He saw Harry's face, looking so thrilled and exhilarated after winning a Quidditch match; he saw Hermione looking both exasperated and amused at her friends' antics. They were full of joy and found pleasure in simply living life. All gone, forever. He reached for another bottle.
George Weasley was still crying. For a long time sat in a chair in the common room – he and Fred had tested the jokes in this chair – and stared at the fire –Harry talked to Sirius in that fire – with a numb feeling that couldn't quite ever block the gnawing pain. The house-elves brought him food – how often had he and Fred snuck down to the kitchens? – and most of it lay scattered on the floor – Ron was always messy, he never cleaned. He never got up, save to go to the bathroom, and he slept with his head on one of the desks – Hermione was constantly studying on this desk. After a while he conjured a mirror and stared at his image in the glass, wishing desperately that it wasn't his own face staring back at him, but the face of someone who was completely identical.
The three oldest Weasley children tried to find solace in one another, without avail. The Room of Requirement, having finally rebuilt itself, now housed the three boys. It took the form of a small, circular room. The walls were covered in photographs, memories taken straight from the minds of the mourning boys. Several pictures showed a small red-haired boy riding his first broomstick, or playing in the bath, and some showing him reluctantly playing dress-up with his baby sister. Others showed two identical boys running around the house chased by their mother, or throwing snowballs at their unsuspecting siblings, or at their new, unbelievable joke shop. There was an abnormally small black haired boy asking shyly how to get onto Platform 9 3/4. The same boy was shown expressing surprise and pure, unthinkable happiness upon finding presents on Christmas morning, and then again his face shone with pride as he pulled out of a dive clutching a small golden snitch. A bushy-haired girl had her face buried in a book. She had her hand raised as far as it could reach. With amusement, the girl playfully slapped a sheepish-looking boy. Percy, Charlie, and Bill Weasley knew that they would never again see Ron, Fred, Harry, or Hermione, and for that reason they cried.
Within a closed section of the Hospital Wing, Molly Weasley was being fed yet another Dreamless Sleep potion. The once plump and cheerful woman was now thin and worn. Two of her sons, her two babies, her own flesh and blood...gone. Gone. Forever. And Hermione and Harry... they might as well have been family. They could've - would've - been family one day. Had Fred ever hurt anyone? His pranks were harmless, temporary. Ron, so brave and loyal, had hated the war. He was never serious enough to deal with it well. Hermione was always emershed in her studies, never in reality. She was always the peacemaker, the one to speak sense. And Harry, little Harry, hadn't he suffered more than anyone should before he was even a teenager? He was selfless, always so brave, even at the very end...
Ginny Weasley felt nothing.
She remembered, of course, the mind-boggling pain of a month ago. She had seen with her own eyes her brother Fred fall, and later watched as two charred bodies were pulled from the blackened wreckage of the Room of Requirement. But most of all she remembered her own heart-wrenching scream, remembered dull, dead emerald eyes staring at her, and remembered the feel of his face under her hands, already growing cold. She remember her screams - Not Harry! Please, not Harry! - and the cold, amused voice of Tom Riddle as he told her of another red-haired woman who had pleaded the same words.
Lily Potter had been successful. Ginny had failed. He was gone.
Why had he left her behind?
"Harry. Oh God, Harry, why did you have to be so bloody noble?" Anger filled her, bringing with it pain. In the locked girls' dormitory, Ginny, curled herself into a ball, trying desperately to claw her way back to numbness, to hold herself together when it felt like she was being torn apart.
Something inside her broke.
It was a dam that broke, or so she supposed, because Ginny was sobbing, wailing, and she began to scream. The sound was horrible - it was the sound of torture, of hopelessness, and it continued until it filled the room, echoing off the walls. When her voice failed her, she shrieked still, a silent, broken scream that conveyed even more sorrow.
Underneath the pain was the hatred, raw and horrible. Ginny hated Voldemort for the death and pain in which he had relished. She hated Bellatrix for her babyish voice that mocked her even now - Aww, is the wittle Weasley sad wittle baby Potter is gone? Poor Potter, he's never coming back! She hated herself for surviving, and she hated Fred and Hermione and Ron for dying. But most of all, Ginny hated Harry, because as much as she loved her brothers, and as great a friend Hermione was, she couldn't live without Harry. And Harry had left her, had caused the pain that now wracked her body. Harry, who would never hold her in his arms again, would never kiss her again.
As the pain mounted, Ginny couldn't stand being locked in the small room. She threw open the door with her wand and ran past George, who looked up from a mirror as she passed, and through the castle. She didn't notice she was outside until she had reached the place where she had first seen Harry dead, lifeless body, and with another dry sob, she ran on. The branches of the trees cut her face as she ran through the forest. Eventually she reached a small clearing containing the last few remains of a camp, and she collapsed on the ground, throwing down her wand.
She felt the ground beneath her feet and the warm summer air around her. She must be alive, but how could she be when her lungs couldn't take in any air? How could her heart still beat when it was mangled beyond prepare?
The forest around her looked so peaceful, and within it she heard the sounds of life going on. Ginny hated it. What right did the world have to continue when her world had been crushed so violently?
In a fit of anger Ginny picked up a handful of rocks and threw them into the forest. Her magic propelled them onward faster than seemed possible, and they disappeared into the shadows. One embedded itself in a tree, going into the truck about an inch. Finding a scapegoat for her irrational anger and pain, Ginny targeted the tree. Again and again rocks hit the tree, making it shudder with the astounding force.
Ginny bent down to pick up another stone, but instead her head grasped something small and circular... a ring. A broken ring, at that, with some kind of marking in the center. Desperate for a distraction, Ginny studied the ring, casually tossing it back and forth between her hands. Then she heard something, a sound that immediately vanished all of the pain and left in its place shock and an awful hope, as terrible as it was uplifting. It was a voice.
"Ginny?"
Her head snapped up and she stared with wide, frozen eyes and a slightly parted mouth. Her hand automatically clenched around the ring in her hand.
She stared into wide, emerald-green eyes. It was him. Her Harry.
"HARRY!" The strangled cry broke through her lips, and she threw herself onto him, sobbing once more. So joyous was her relief, she didn't notice the slightly musky scent mixed with Harry's, nor the fact that the loving arms around her didn't seem to be quite solid enough to be real.
"Oh god, Ginny, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm such an idiot. You must hate me. I don't blame you. Oh, god, Ginny..." Harry rambled for a while, but quickly settled just for burying his face in her hair and wishing desperately that he could truly be standing there with his love.
"Harry, I thought you were dead! I saw you laying there, and I screamed for you but you wouldn't move. Oh, god, Harry, you left me..." The familiar pain, muffled slightly by Harry's presence, washed over her once more, and her legs could no longer hold her up. The arms that tried to hold her weren't strong enough to bear even her light weight, and she fell to her knees.
Suddenly frightened, Harry processed her words and took a step back. "Ginny, you know I'm... that I'm not..."
"Not what?" Ginny asked, needing for his voice to continue, the voice that had haunted her every dream and nightmare.
"Ginny, I'm not... alive." His voice broke at the very end.
Ginny's heart broke with it, just a tiny bit more. "What do you mean? You're standing here, you're with me, of course you're alive. How could you not be...?" But deep down, a part of her brain acknowledged the strange differences, and once more she heard Bellatrix's sing-song, cruel voice - He's killed Harry Potter! Puny, pathetic Potter. Wittle baby Potter's never coming back now, is he, little Weasley?
Glancing down, Harry lifter her arm. His hands encompassed her tiny hand holding the ring.
His voice was hesitant, careful. "Have you heard the story The Tale of Three Brothers? The one about the Deathly Hallows?"
"Of course I've - oh. You mean this is the... Resurrection Stone?" Her voice betrayed her disbelief. Harry gave a sad, small smile and nodded. Ginny knew, somehow, instinctively, that it was true, but she desperately wanted another explanation - one that didn't mean her Harry was here only temporarily. "It's just a story. Just a children's story."
"No, it's not. My Invisibility Cloak was Death's Cloak, and Dumbledore's wand was the Elder Wand..." Harry told Ginny the whole story, but she wasn't dramatic like Ron and Hermione always were - no gasps of terror, no screams. Just an occasional, silent tear.
At the end, Ginny carefully unfolded her fingers, staring with awe and apprehension at the ring in her hand which had given her back her love. She felt his eyes on her and knew what he was going to say, and her voice was dead as she said it for him.
"I've got to send you back, don't I?"
Harry nodded slowly, biting his lip. Ginny stared at him and her throat closed.
"Can you...can you stay for a while? Please?"
He did. Barely talking, the two teenagers sat down and held hands, crying. Ginny wanted nothing more than to sit there forever, but Ginny was no fool. She was strong, and Harry knew she would do the right thing, no matter how much it hurt. Part of him didn't want her to. His voice cracked again as he whispered her name.
"Ginny?"
"I know." Her voice broke, too. "You've got to go back. You don't belong here with me anymore." Her cold voice told of her pain, and he flinched. She grabbed his hand. "Please, just tell me one thing. Are you happy there, wherever you're going? Your parents, Sirius, Remus, Ron, Hermione, and Fred - are they with you?."
Harry stared into her eyes as he nodded, and a small smile stole over her lips.
Harry leaned in, and Ginny's lips met his, fitting together perfectly. She ran her hands through his messy black hair and breathed in his scent. After what seemed like an eternity, or maybe just a few seconds, Harry pulled away.
Not saying another word, Ginny dropped in Resurrection Stone into Harry's out streched hand. As his fingers closed, Harry faded away into the air.
Not a single tear leaked out as Ginny remembered the boy who loved his friends and playing Quidditch. An orphan boy who, having not found a home with his relatives, found love in his godfather, only to have him taken away. She remember the feel of his lips on hers and those stolen hours in broom cupboards at Hogwarts.
Ginny also remembered another boy who, having lost the love of his life, brought her back... the second Peverell brother, who recieved the Resurrection Stone from Death. Grimly, Ginny remembered the fate of the second brother.
With a dry eyes and a smile on her face, Ginny picked up her wand where it had fallen to the ground.
So what did Ginny do? Did she take her own life, like the Peverell brother? Not gonna tell you!
So what did you think? It's not the best story out there, but I think it was OK. I'm writing this in Study Hall right now, so it might be kinda bad with grammer and stuff.
No flames, please, but instructive critism is always nice.
Please review! Pretty please with sugar on top? or chocolate, or whatever other topping you like, except gummy worms. The gummy worms are MINE!
Haha. Anyway, please review :)