A.N. I know I should be focusing of Princess of Fire and Ice, but actually I had written this quite a long time ago, around the time Deathly Hallows Part 2 came out, and I was feeling all emotional about everyone dying, and for some reason yesterday I felt like typing it all up and publishing it, so anyway… here it is. Enjoy.
"Fred! George! Wait for me!"
Down the years Ginny hears the pattering of her own small feet and a little girl's voice calling out breathlessly.
"Wait for me!" Fred runs slowly, only just ahead of her. She didn't know then that he did it on purpose, so she could catch him and feel pleased with herself. But she knows it now.
She puts on a burst of speed on her little fat legs, and grabs at his sleeve.
He spins around, laughing, and grabs her hand with his and now George has the other and they're running again, half carrying half dragging their little sister between them.
She hears his voice again.
"Come on George! One, two, three-"
And she's flying upwards, her legs go over her head and the whole world is spinning and she sees the sky below her and the ground above and she's screaming with joy. But she isn't scared, because both her hands are still clasped in her big brothers. She's safe.
"Again, again!"
She sits motionless by the still body, in a dim room somewhere near the Great Hall. She thinks. She isn't sure, and she doesn't care. She's not thinking about the room. In her mind, she's not here. She's watching three children run on the grass. She doesn't see the walls, or the floor, or the lines of bodies, so cold. The grass waves in the summer breeze and the children's calls make her smile through her tears.
Because even here, where it is so peaceful and beautiful, she cries. Even here, she can't forget. The memory only makes the pain stronger, because she knows that one of those children will never run again.
Never run. Never laugh. Never stop and wait when she calls him.
Another tear falls.
Back in the little stone room, she draws her knees up to her chest and lays her head on them and rocks gently as she cries.
Fred. Poor Fred. Poor dear Fred. Why didn't she tell him just once more?
Tell him she loved him. Thank him for waiting, for all those times, far all those years when she couldn't run as fast as his. He would have laughed. He would have teased her, told her she worried like mum, and told her they'd all be fine. Cracked a joke. Even before a battle, he'd have had her laughing. He'd have got a smile from everyone around him.
But now it's too late.
And he'll never make any more jokes, ever again.
She presses her head against her knees, and cries.
"Ginny?" Someone's talking to her. Someone touches her arm.
She looks up, and through the blur of tears she sees a tall young man with dark hair and bright green eyes behind round glasses.
Harry.
Guided by his hand on her arm she stumbles to her feet, dashing away the tears.
But more come. They wont stop.
He pulls her to him and holds her tight, and she cries again, on his shoulder, soaking his jumper with her tears.
But he holds her in his arms, and they mourn together.
A.N. So now if you are in floods of tears, I want to know. Or if the whole thing went over your head and you feel cold and hard like a brick in a freezer, I want to know that too. In other words, hit the little blue button, please!