Disclaimer: I clearly don't own anything within the Harry Potter universe, or I would not be huddled in a corner of my dorm room writing a dorky fanfiction. No offense, not to call you a dork for reading fanfics, I just assume since I'm a dork, and I read and enjoy them, well, others must be dorks also. Alas, I digress! Read and hopefully enjoy. :) This is my first fic I've written, but I'm a longtime reader, so hopefully it doesn't suck terribly.

I suppose for this story, just imagine that DH never happened, yet the crew is all out of Hogwarts, graddyated and such…I'll get into more detail later. Voldy's still on the loose, though. Woo hoo! On with the half-assed story.

Some Leave, Some Return, Some Never Come Back

Chapter One

What's in a Flame?

I put everything of yours away.

Every letter, drawing, picture, trinket, anything and everything that had to do with you. It's already been so long and I still hadn't done it. Although I haven't seen you for months, and haven't talked to you for even longer, it was still really hard to do. I read every single word you ever wrote to me, and it was like taking a step back to that time. I couldn't help but laugh sometimes at the things you said to me there, and cry at some things no one had ever said to me before, things no one will ever say to me again. Not the way you did, anyways. I guess that's why it meant so much to me, and why I miss it. You didn't have to leave that day. I wish you hadn't. I had finally found something, someone worth giving a damn about, that made me feel like I was wanted and needed, but he took you away from me.

Then I left.

It was far too hard, being in that place, where every corridor, every room, every niche and cranny held a thousand memories with you, and your ghost would haunt my steps wherever I went. I couldn't outrun what was inside of myself though…and that's exactly where you were. You still are, in a way I can't really explain. My own personal hell was burning inside of me every day, month after month, I couldn't do it. There was no answer, no truth, no closure, nothing. I thought about it so much. I wondered, maybe, just maybe if I went, I'd see you there. Maybe you'd be waiting for me somewhere.

Only you know for sure, though. I'll find out someday.

She chewed on the end of her quill thoughtfully, before sighing in defeat and putting her old diary back underneath her pillow. Despite the scarring experience she had in her youth revolving around a similar small leather diary, she needed a place to pour all of her thoughts, feelings, and the odd bit of poetry or prose into. She had been a little more careful this time however, purchasing her own book from Flourish and Blotts, and making certain that this diary didn't write back. She had entertained the notion of purchasing a pensive for herself, but quickly dismissed the idea. They were quite expensive, and despite having a steady job, it was a luxury she was pretty certain she couldn't afford at the moment. She wasn't quite sure she'd want to dredge up some of the older, painful memories she had locked inside. Memories she'd tried to block from her train of thought, memories that came back to visit her in her dreams…recollections of Tom ripping her mind from her consciousness, leaving her floating, numb, in a vast ocean of instability, when she had though for certain she was dead. Memories of the night she had her heart torn out, when the one person she trusted and gave her whole shoved it back in her face, like she wasn't good enough.

'Snap out of it, Weasley. You're being fucking ridiculous.' She thought to herself, strengthening her resolve and moving across her flat to her desk to begin the pile of paperwork tossed unceremoniously on the weathered wooden surface. She massaged her temples as she sat down in the uncomfortable, stiff wooden chair she kept in front of her desk. It was incentive to do her work faster, so she could curl up in her battered, but cozy armchair in front of the fire to relax.

Ginevra Weasley, employed as an Auror by the remainder of the Ministry of Magic, despised paperwork. She had thought being a dark wizard catcher, of all things, would be a sure way to avoid being hunched over a desk for hours on end, filling out mindlessly dull forms and reports. Unfortunately, along with being a downright exhausting job physically, Aurors had to constantly write out detailed accounts of their encounters and arrests. That being said, the better you were at your job, the more work you ended up having to do.

'I just can't seem to catch a break these days.' She thought morosely, before dipping the tip of her quill in a bottle of ink and taking the first piece of parchment from the seemingly never-ending stack of parchment before her.

After making a considerable dent in the stack of papers, Ginevra rose slowly to her feet, cracking her stiff neck and back, and trudged slowly across her flat to the old futon she utilized as a bed. She had what some would consider low class accommodations, a single studio flat with a small bathroom in the far right corner being the only part walled off from the rest of the room. She figured it didn't pay to become too attached to home anyways, seeing as she'd moved around an average of once every few months to keep from being discovered by Voldemort's forces. She usually kept the lights off, preferring the fire to warm her and provide a comfortable dimness border lining on darkness. She found comfort in darkness these days, unlike most, comfort in the fact that no one could see her. She had always been able to see quite well in the dark, being able to make out forms and shapes of things reasonably clearly with little to no light. She never knew if that was a common trait or not, but hadn't bothered to ask anyone about it all of her 24 years.

As she stretched out on her makeshift bed, she let her eyes travel from the gentle flames licking the walls of the fireplace up to the low ceiling, watching the patterns the fire cast on the chipped grey paint coating. It had become a sort of game for her to try and decide what the patterns resemble, and she would end up dozing off after awhile anyways. As long as it helped her get to sleep, she didn't care how lame it was. Tonight, the flames swayed gently up and down, weaving slowly and rhythmically past each other as the fire died quietly in the hearth.

'It reminds me of water…a stream, or a lake.' She concluded silently to herself, while an uncomfortable feeling began to surface inside of her. 'Funny, having fire remind me of water. They are complete opposites… fire raging, burning, passionate and strong…and water, soothing, calm, cool and reasonable…flames are so powerful, they can consume earth, air, flesh and bone… but even fire can't hope to conquer water. It's like a tragic love story… two equally powerful forces, strong in their own way, never able to be together for fear of one destroying the other completely. Everything has a weakness…even me…especially me.' She thought dejectedly, and rolled over on her side so her back was facing the wall.

It was only as she drifted off into a restless sleep that she began to realize why the knot in her stomach was so tight she could hardly breathe by the time she was through contemplating the flames.

A/N: So I just had to give it a shot, there will be femmslash later on. Can't help it, I'm a fan of GW/HG. If its rubbish let me know, I probably won't really give a shite. It's short because I just wrote it and now its past 5am and I should go to bed! Reviews appreciated. :)