Before embarking on his little flight of fancy, the author wishes to put
some disclaimers ahead of it. This story presupposes several things, among
them: 1) Harry has entered his sixth year—it is about February or March.
2) Harry and Ginny have been in better conversational contact this year
(and almost certainly his fifth as well) than they were in any book through
Goblet of Fire. 3) Ron and Hermione (who the author views as the most
inevitable couple since Romeo and Juliet) have gotten together by now,
possibly in sixth year, possibly late in fifth year. I know people want it
to happen earlier than that, but we do need to watch them dance painfully
around each other for a little while longer before their union can make us
as happy as it will when it occurs. 4) Arabella Figg is now teaching
Defense Against the Dark Arts (not in 5th year as many have suggested).
The author would also like to say that if he had conceived of more backstory for this, he would have written it, but unfortunately only this small bit was inspired (and even the use of "inspired" is debatable here). He thinks it would make about a chapter's worth of material in an actual Harry Potter novel. He does not totally wish to rule out the possibility of prequels/sequels, but this little bit was the only part that really got him motivated to write.
The author also wishes to apologize for what he knows to be a terrible butchering of Ms. Rowling's amazing story, but the urge to write this little piece was too strong, and he thinks it might be just good enough to merit telling until Ms. Rowling gives us her highly superior version of the same story (for the author is convinced that the essence of plot in this story, if not the circumstance itself, is correct). The author hopes that certain romantic sentiments herein are not found icky or too sugary, but he stands by his words as they came to him when he was writing and editing, and hopes the readers can forgive any saccharine they find, for this is the work of an amateur. With that, enjoy!
"Love Sprung from Hate"
By
Uilnslcoap
1 "NO!"
2 In his mind, Harry screamed the word, but in the bedroom, when he woke and heard himself actually say it, it came out as little more than a whimper.
3 "…No…"
4 In his head, he could still hear that high, cruel voice repeating harshly, in a manner similar to that of machine gun fire, "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"
He forced his thoughts away from the dream. That was the last thing he needed to think about right now. He sat up and looked around the bedroom. Not for the first time, he felt envious of their peace. His gaze fell upon Neville, and then he felt a twinge of guilt over his jealousy. Neville's parents had been driven mad, had been taken from him as effectively as Harry's had.
Even so, thought Harry, none of them has had to hear that voice…and that laugh…
Harry wanted to talk to someone. He glanced at the currently snoring Ron, but no. Even Ron couldn't understand. Who could? In this, Harry was alone. People could feel sorry for him, but they couldn't understand, couldn't even begin to comprehend, what it was like to have Voldemort standing there, completely real, in front of you.
Why did he have to be alone in this?
But he certainly wasn't going back to sleep, not even without someone to talk to. No, he was still far too shaky from the dream for that. And he didn't want to sit there, either. He reached for his glasses, but in his haste to leave, knocked them onto the floor. He cursed softly, but decided not to search for them since it might wake the others (and besides, I won't need them anyway, thought Harry). As quietly as he could, he slid out of bed. He was aware of a slight catch in Dean's breathing as he walked toward the door. He didn't wake any of them, though.
As he padded down the dark stairway, he tried to calm himself with the thought of Dumbledore's presence at Hogwarts. Surely what had happened in his dream could never…but he still didn't dare to think about the dream. He wondered if he could go find Dumbledore, talk to him about the dream. And yet…and yet, no, even Dumbledore wouldn't really do. He wanted a more (more what? thought Harry) equal conversation than one with Dumbledore. He could hear the advice and encouragement Dumbledore would give him, the words he would try to soothe him with, and they would be good to hear, but they weren't really what he needed right now. Besides, he didn't really relish the idea of wandering the dark corridors tonight--it struck him that this would have seemed exciting only a few years ago, maybe even only a year ago, but not now--and also the Marauder's Map and Invisibility Cloak were upstairs in his bedroom, and he certainly did NOT want to go back up there.
As he neared the bottom of the stairs, he again thought about his strange solitude. Voldemort had hurt him even more than he could know. Not only had he taken away his parents and given him these awful dreams, but he had also stranded Harry in a place where he couldn't talk to anyone about it.
Harry found himself coming back to reality in the Gryffindor common room. He glanced about at the vague outlines of couches and chairs and tables, and suddenly, he felt even more ill at ease than before. What was wrong? He suddenly felt someone else was there and then realized why.
He could see the couches and chairs far too clearly. There was a fire in the grate, and that meant someone else was there.
It's Voldemort, thought Harry irrationally. He's come to make that nightmare true. Oh no, oh no…
"Hello, Harry."
He jumped, extremely startled, but then instantly calmed down. The voice was female, for one thing, and for another, there was a note of tenderness in it that he didn't think Voldemort, even disguised with Polyjuice Potion, was capable of putting into his voice.
Harry's eyes flickered toward the voice, which came from the couch nearest the fireplace. A head peeked around the side of this couch. From Harry's point of view, the head was framed by fire. He couldn't make out the face without his glasses on, but he suddenly realized the hair around the head was redder than the fire itself.
"Hello, Ginny."
"Sorry if I scared you."
"It's all right," he said, too relieved to deny that she had practically given him a mild heart attack.
"Why are you down here?" he asked her.
"Oh, um, I had a bad dream."
"Really? Me too."
"Mine was very scary, actually," said Ginny. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about bad dreams right now."
"That's fine," said Harry, once more very relieved since he was rather afraid that he would have to talk about his own nightmare and couldn't bear that idea. He sat down a few feet from Ginny. The darkness of the common room was like a shroud over them, but the fire was comforting.
"How are classes?" he inquired.
"Oh, much better this year. Mrs. Figg…she's a bit odd sometimes, but she's definitely the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've had since Lupin."
"I know," said Harry enthusiastically. "Has she talked to you all about lethifolds at all?"
"No," replied Ginny, "but everything I've heard makes me very afraid. So unfair, so sneaky, to just slip in and smother someone in their sleep."
"Yeah, sounds like something Snape would do." They exchanged quiet laughter. Neither of them really believed Snape was capable of such a thing, but the laugh visibly eased both of them.
"How are your parents doing? And Bill and Charlie and Fred and George?" He neglected to mention Percy…his break with the rest of the Weasleys in favor of the actions (or non-actions, Harry thought with just a touch of malice) of the Ministry was still painful, he guessed.
"Oh, they're doing very well, all things considered. Especially fighting in a war that the Ministry of Magic says doesn't exist."
Harry thought he could hear Ginny's resentment for Percy in that statement but decided to gloss over it, not wanting to open up wounds.
"Yes," said Harry, "sometimes I feel so guilty knowing that I'm in the safest place in the world when people are fighting out there, putting their lives on the line for us."
"That's true. Sometimes I worry so much that Voldemort will track Mum and Dad and my brothers down and…hurt them."
Harry's mouth had dropped open.
"You said his name. You called him Voldemort."
"Well, it's his name, after all. Or Tom Riddle if you'd like to be more accurate. We've met."
"I'd forgotten." It hadn't occurred to Harry that one other student had met Voldemort (though not in his current form), and here he was, talking to her. He vaguely wondered at the fact that Voldemort had not come up between them in a conversation, then thought it wasn't that hard to believe. Voldemort didn't exactly make for casual, lighthearted discussion.
After the considerable pause during which Harry thought about this, Ginny suddenly burst out, "Sometimes…" she swallowed a little, then said a little more calmly, "Sometimes I'm afraid there are bits of him in me, still, waiting for the right spell or something to bring him back."
"I know exactly what you mean," said Harry reassuringly. "He left some of himself in me when he tried to…well, you know, kill me. I can speak Parseltongue, but I'm always scared there's more to it than that."
They sat there for a moment, silently pondering their mutual fear of the mark Voldemort had left on them.
"Ginny," said Harry suddenly.
"Yes, Harry?"
"This is an odd question, but I've always wondered…d'you remember the time on the Hogwarts Express, at the beginning of my third year, your second, when the Dementor came into our compartment?"
"Oh yes, you fainted." Realizing what she had just said, she giggled nervously. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"
"No, no, it's fine," said Harry, even managing to find it funny. "I just wondered--you don't have to tell me if you don't want to--but you seemed very shaken up by the Dementor, even if you didn't faint like me. What did you see, or hear, or whatever, when it came in?"
Ginny stiffened and she took in her breath quickly. Her eyes withdrew as if they weren't looking at Harry or the fire or the common room anymore, but were instead remembering sights that they wished they hadn't seen.
"Sorry," said Harry. "I should have known, don't worry about answering."
"No, I'll tell you," she said, coming back to herself suddenly. "It will be…hard, but I want to tell you."
Harry looked at her intently.
"I saw," she began in a voice that seemed as dead and withdrawn as her eyes had been a few moments before, "I saw myself leading the…what was it called? Basilisk, yes…out of the pipes and into the corridor. And I was hissing, telling it to round a bend I guess, and then Hermione and Penelope came round facing the other way but looking into a mirror, and they both fell over stiff. And then I heard myself laugh, but it wasn't my laugh, and it wasn't, I don't think, Riddle's laugh. No, it wasn't Riddle's laugh. I heard him laughing when he came out of the diary in the Chamber of Secrets just before I passed out. That wasn't the laugh I laughed when I Petrified Hermione and Penelope. This laugh was less human, even higher than Riddle's, and so unfeeling…"
In the pause that followed this, they heard the crackle of the fire several times.
"Harry…Harry, I think Voldemort, Voldemort as he is today…I think he was laughing through me…"
Ginny was shivering.
"He was there. For a moment, Voldemort, not just Riddle, but Voldemort, was there, inside me."
Silence stretched like a gulf over them. The fire seemed to have died down almost to the point of going out.
"Ginny, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have…" He faded into silence.
"No, Harry, I'm glad. I never told anyone before. Because, don't you see, Harry? They wouldn't have understood. But you, you've met him, you understand."
"I dreamed about Voldemort tonight," said Harry quickly.
"So did I!" Ginny exclaimed.
"He was on the Quidditch field. And I was in the stands. I couldn't move."
"Was I there, Harry?" Ginny asked quickly.
Harry did a double take. He was astounded by the question, mostly because it seemed mildly prophetic (in a genuine, not-Trelawney-prophetic sort of way) considering the answer.
"Yes, next to me in the stands. Just you and I."
"Oh!" said Ginny.
"And he had them all cursed or something, maybe Petrified. He was telling me…us, what he was about to do."
"'I will torture the famous Harry Potter's friends, and the unknown Ginny Weasley's family. When they praise my name, then I will kill them.'"
For the second time, Harry's mouth hung open. Ginny had just quoted, word for word, Voldemort's speech in his dream.
"And then," said Ginny, "he did just what he said he would do. He fired off the Cruciatus curse at all of them."
"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" Harry yelled as quietly as possible.
"Exactly, and Fred and George and Percy…" she winced slightly, but then continued, "…and Bill and Charlie and my parents and Hagrid and Neville and Ron and Hermione and so many others…if they were Petrified, their mouths weren't because they all were screaming."
Without even realizing it, Harry had put his hands in Ginny's upturned ones. They were clutching each other tightly.
"And after awhile," Ginny continued, "after what seemed like forever, they all said at the same time, 'We praise the name of Lord Voldemort.' And then he laughed. The same laugh that came out of me when I almost killed Penelope and Hermione."
"The same laugh he laughed when…" Harry stopped. He had been about to say, "…when he killed my parents," but he changed it to, "when he was torturing me in the graveyard after he as good as killed Cedric."
"And then," said Ginny.
"He raised his wand, and fired the killing curse at them all."
"Avada Kedavra!"
"And we both screamed 'NO!'"
"And then I…we, I guess…woke up."
Again, silence fell between them. They were now sitting right next to each other, still with their hands in each other's.
After some time, Ginny said, "Harry, what about you? What happened to you when the Dementor came in to our compartment?"
Harry's eyes did the same trick Ginny's had done a few minutes before, despite the fact that he hadn't actually seen anything, except possibly a shadowy fog, at the time.
"Like you said to me, you don't have to say anything."
"No," said Harry. "You're right. It's because if anyone can understand, you can."
Still, it took him awhile before he actually said it.
"I didn't see anything, really. But I heard my mother screaming."
A single tear ran down Harry's cheek. This was much more painful than he had thought it was going to be. Of course, he had told Lupin about some of the things he'd heard, but he'd never fully confessed the whole of it, nor made it obvious how hearing those things had made him feel. It was a much more personal and grief-inducing business, somehow, to tell it to Ginny. He couldn't stop now, though, and he didn't really want to, either.
"Later, when Professor Lupin helped me to practice on a boggart that turned into a Dementor, I could hear my dad telling her to take me and run, that he'd hold him off…"
His eyes watered, overflowed at that last thought.
"And Voldemort laughing, telling my mother to stand aside and…"
Tears were now running steadily down Harry's face. He forced back a sob to say the last thing.
"I heard my mother telling Voldemort not to kill me, to kill her instead."
Then he gave in to the sobs. He was heaving slightly with them, the tears coming freely now.
Ginny put her arms around him, and Harry clutched her like a drowning man clutches a life preserver. He sobbed into her shoulder while they held each other.
A few minutes later, after the tears were almost over, he looked up and took one arm from around Ginny to wipe his face. Then he realized something.
"Oh dear, I've gotten your nightgown wet."
"Oh, Harry," she said, and then laughed a laugh that was just this side of tears.
He looked at her face then, and saw his tears mirrored by those on her face.
"Harry, I'm sorry. I should have known. I forgot. How could I have been so stupid? But all the same, I'm glad you told me--glad that I'm not alone when it comes to Voldemort anymore. I mean, I knew I was never really alone when it came to Voldemort, that you had met him too."
She was speaking through the tears very quickly now, the words spilling out as if she'd been waiting years to say this. And maybe, thought Harry, she has. Why didn't I see it?
"I always knew deep down you would understand," she continued, "but I just…it was just so hard, remembering it, and I was…ohhhh…afraid that you would think it was so childish of me. Voldemort…he made me do terrible things, but Harry, he killed your parents. I was scared, so scared you would think I was being petty, when he did so much worse to you."
She was still crying, but the tears were beginning to slow down.
"I'm so afraid of him," she went on, "and I haven't even met the real him. I was afraid you would think that Ron's little sister was just scared over nothing. And I've been so alone in this, kept it to myself for so long, when I should have just told you."
"And I'm so happy, Ginny, that you told me. And so happy that I told you." In later years, he would never really understand what made him say this next thing. "We've both been alone in the dark for years, but that's over now. We've found each other." Then he began to wipe the tears from her face. She closed her eyes as he wiped them from her cheeks and nose, and a few from her mouth. His fingers paused on her lips, and then withdrew from her face.
She opened her eyes. They looked at each other, each focusing on the other's eyes, still shining with tears and the effort of crying.
"Ginny," said Harry simply.
"Harry," said Ginny.
Then, slowly, they leaned into each other, embracing, and their lips came together in a sweet, gentle kiss. The darkness was no longer frightening. It was now a blanket over them, broken only by the warmth and light of the fire.
Their lips separated, but they did not break their hug.
"You don't think…you don't think this is something Voldemort wants to happen?" asked Harry. "That the dream about him brought us together tonight because he wanted it to?"
Ginny looked down, considering the question. Then she raised her head, and gazed at Harry decidedly.
"This is something that Voldemort would not be able to understand, let alone want. If he knew he had done this—that he had brought comfort to his worst enemy and a little girl that he failed to kill trying to bring himself back to life—he would only be angry and confused. Love is something that Voldemort can never comprehend, more's the pity."
Then she kissed him again.
* * *
Hermione and Ron, hand in hand, found Harry and Ginny hand in hand, asleep on the couch the next morning.
"So it happened," said Hermione happily.
"And if there are two people who deserve each other more than they do, I don't know who they are," said Ron.
"So you don't think of us like that?" asked Hermione, stiffening slightly.
"Now, Hermione, that's not what I was trying to say. I'm just happ…"
"…ier for them than you are for us. It's plain enough." She jerked her hand out of his.
"Why do you always twist my words, you bushy-haired know-it-all?"
"Why do you never think about what you're about to say, you freckle-faced layabout?"
"When you two are finished exchanging pleasantries," began Harry, who was rubbing his stiff neck, "I think Ginny and I would like to have some breakfast."
"Honestly, you two flirt by fighting, you can see it in your eyes," said Ginny, who was stretching her arms and legs.
"Maybe," said Ron quietly.
"We might," mumbled Hermione.
After Harry and Ginny had changed out of their nightclothes, the four of them headed for the Great Hall.
"What do you think Malfoy will say?" Ginny asked Harry quietly as they walked along.
"Let him say what he likes. Let him call you poor or say you're seeking fame through my name or anything he wants. It won't faze me, as long as I have you to stand beside me."
Ginny squeezed his hand as they took the final steps into the Great Hall, together for all of Hogwarts to behold.
* * *
Author's Note: I agree with the stories that depict Ron as protective of Ginny and upset at Harry for getting into a romantic relationship with her, but I also feel he'd have grown used to the idea if he saw it starting to happen. I also feel Hermione and he would have discussed the possibility of it (Ginny and Hermione almost certainly have), and Hermione would have gotten Ron to see reason. Girls are often good for boys that way.
And, of course, some positive feedback or constructive criticism would be nice (hint, hint). Would you be so kind as to review? Thanks, then. Hope you enjoyed it.
The author would also like to say that if he had conceived of more backstory for this, he would have written it, but unfortunately only this small bit was inspired (and even the use of "inspired" is debatable here). He thinks it would make about a chapter's worth of material in an actual Harry Potter novel. He does not totally wish to rule out the possibility of prequels/sequels, but this little bit was the only part that really got him motivated to write.
The author also wishes to apologize for what he knows to be a terrible butchering of Ms. Rowling's amazing story, but the urge to write this little piece was too strong, and he thinks it might be just good enough to merit telling until Ms. Rowling gives us her highly superior version of the same story (for the author is convinced that the essence of plot in this story, if not the circumstance itself, is correct). The author hopes that certain romantic sentiments herein are not found icky or too sugary, but he stands by his words as they came to him when he was writing and editing, and hopes the readers can forgive any saccharine they find, for this is the work of an amateur. With that, enjoy!
"Love Sprung from Hate"
By
Uilnslcoap
1 "NO!"
2 In his mind, Harry screamed the word, but in the bedroom, when he woke and heard himself actually say it, it came out as little more than a whimper.
3 "…No…"
4 In his head, he could still hear that high, cruel voice repeating harshly, in a manner similar to that of machine gun fire, "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"
He forced his thoughts away from the dream. That was the last thing he needed to think about right now. He sat up and looked around the bedroom. Not for the first time, he felt envious of their peace. His gaze fell upon Neville, and then he felt a twinge of guilt over his jealousy. Neville's parents had been driven mad, had been taken from him as effectively as Harry's had.
Even so, thought Harry, none of them has had to hear that voice…and that laugh…
Harry wanted to talk to someone. He glanced at the currently snoring Ron, but no. Even Ron couldn't understand. Who could? In this, Harry was alone. People could feel sorry for him, but they couldn't understand, couldn't even begin to comprehend, what it was like to have Voldemort standing there, completely real, in front of you.
Why did he have to be alone in this?
But he certainly wasn't going back to sleep, not even without someone to talk to. No, he was still far too shaky from the dream for that. And he didn't want to sit there, either. He reached for his glasses, but in his haste to leave, knocked them onto the floor. He cursed softly, but decided not to search for them since it might wake the others (and besides, I won't need them anyway, thought Harry). As quietly as he could, he slid out of bed. He was aware of a slight catch in Dean's breathing as he walked toward the door. He didn't wake any of them, though.
As he padded down the dark stairway, he tried to calm himself with the thought of Dumbledore's presence at Hogwarts. Surely what had happened in his dream could never…but he still didn't dare to think about the dream. He wondered if he could go find Dumbledore, talk to him about the dream. And yet…and yet, no, even Dumbledore wouldn't really do. He wanted a more (more what? thought Harry) equal conversation than one with Dumbledore. He could hear the advice and encouragement Dumbledore would give him, the words he would try to soothe him with, and they would be good to hear, but they weren't really what he needed right now. Besides, he didn't really relish the idea of wandering the dark corridors tonight--it struck him that this would have seemed exciting only a few years ago, maybe even only a year ago, but not now--and also the Marauder's Map and Invisibility Cloak were upstairs in his bedroom, and he certainly did NOT want to go back up there.
As he neared the bottom of the stairs, he again thought about his strange solitude. Voldemort had hurt him even more than he could know. Not only had he taken away his parents and given him these awful dreams, but he had also stranded Harry in a place where he couldn't talk to anyone about it.
Harry found himself coming back to reality in the Gryffindor common room. He glanced about at the vague outlines of couches and chairs and tables, and suddenly, he felt even more ill at ease than before. What was wrong? He suddenly felt someone else was there and then realized why.
He could see the couches and chairs far too clearly. There was a fire in the grate, and that meant someone else was there.
It's Voldemort, thought Harry irrationally. He's come to make that nightmare true. Oh no, oh no…
"Hello, Harry."
He jumped, extremely startled, but then instantly calmed down. The voice was female, for one thing, and for another, there was a note of tenderness in it that he didn't think Voldemort, even disguised with Polyjuice Potion, was capable of putting into his voice.
Harry's eyes flickered toward the voice, which came from the couch nearest the fireplace. A head peeked around the side of this couch. From Harry's point of view, the head was framed by fire. He couldn't make out the face without his glasses on, but he suddenly realized the hair around the head was redder than the fire itself.
"Hello, Ginny."
"Sorry if I scared you."
"It's all right," he said, too relieved to deny that she had practically given him a mild heart attack.
"Why are you down here?" he asked her.
"Oh, um, I had a bad dream."
"Really? Me too."
"Mine was very scary, actually," said Ginny. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about bad dreams right now."
"That's fine," said Harry, once more very relieved since he was rather afraid that he would have to talk about his own nightmare and couldn't bear that idea. He sat down a few feet from Ginny. The darkness of the common room was like a shroud over them, but the fire was comforting.
"How are classes?" he inquired.
"Oh, much better this year. Mrs. Figg…she's a bit odd sometimes, but she's definitely the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've had since Lupin."
"I know," said Harry enthusiastically. "Has she talked to you all about lethifolds at all?"
"No," replied Ginny, "but everything I've heard makes me very afraid. So unfair, so sneaky, to just slip in and smother someone in their sleep."
"Yeah, sounds like something Snape would do." They exchanged quiet laughter. Neither of them really believed Snape was capable of such a thing, but the laugh visibly eased both of them.
"How are your parents doing? And Bill and Charlie and Fred and George?" He neglected to mention Percy…his break with the rest of the Weasleys in favor of the actions (or non-actions, Harry thought with just a touch of malice) of the Ministry was still painful, he guessed.
"Oh, they're doing very well, all things considered. Especially fighting in a war that the Ministry of Magic says doesn't exist."
Harry thought he could hear Ginny's resentment for Percy in that statement but decided to gloss over it, not wanting to open up wounds.
"Yes," said Harry, "sometimes I feel so guilty knowing that I'm in the safest place in the world when people are fighting out there, putting their lives on the line for us."
"That's true. Sometimes I worry so much that Voldemort will track Mum and Dad and my brothers down and…hurt them."
Harry's mouth had dropped open.
"You said his name. You called him Voldemort."
"Well, it's his name, after all. Or Tom Riddle if you'd like to be more accurate. We've met."
"I'd forgotten." It hadn't occurred to Harry that one other student had met Voldemort (though not in his current form), and here he was, talking to her. He vaguely wondered at the fact that Voldemort had not come up between them in a conversation, then thought it wasn't that hard to believe. Voldemort didn't exactly make for casual, lighthearted discussion.
After the considerable pause during which Harry thought about this, Ginny suddenly burst out, "Sometimes…" she swallowed a little, then said a little more calmly, "Sometimes I'm afraid there are bits of him in me, still, waiting for the right spell or something to bring him back."
"I know exactly what you mean," said Harry reassuringly. "He left some of himself in me when he tried to…well, you know, kill me. I can speak Parseltongue, but I'm always scared there's more to it than that."
They sat there for a moment, silently pondering their mutual fear of the mark Voldemort had left on them.
"Ginny," said Harry suddenly.
"Yes, Harry?"
"This is an odd question, but I've always wondered…d'you remember the time on the Hogwarts Express, at the beginning of my third year, your second, when the Dementor came into our compartment?"
"Oh yes, you fainted." Realizing what she had just said, she giggled nervously. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"
"No, no, it's fine," said Harry, even managing to find it funny. "I just wondered--you don't have to tell me if you don't want to--but you seemed very shaken up by the Dementor, even if you didn't faint like me. What did you see, or hear, or whatever, when it came in?"
Ginny stiffened and she took in her breath quickly. Her eyes withdrew as if they weren't looking at Harry or the fire or the common room anymore, but were instead remembering sights that they wished they hadn't seen.
"Sorry," said Harry. "I should have known, don't worry about answering."
"No, I'll tell you," she said, coming back to herself suddenly. "It will be…hard, but I want to tell you."
Harry looked at her intently.
"I saw," she began in a voice that seemed as dead and withdrawn as her eyes had been a few moments before, "I saw myself leading the…what was it called? Basilisk, yes…out of the pipes and into the corridor. And I was hissing, telling it to round a bend I guess, and then Hermione and Penelope came round facing the other way but looking into a mirror, and they both fell over stiff. And then I heard myself laugh, but it wasn't my laugh, and it wasn't, I don't think, Riddle's laugh. No, it wasn't Riddle's laugh. I heard him laughing when he came out of the diary in the Chamber of Secrets just before I passed out. That wasn't the laugh I laughed when I Petrified Hermione and Penelope. This laugh was less human, even higher than Riddle's, and so unfeeling…"
In the pause that followed this, they heard the crackle of the fire several times.
"Harry…Harry, I think Voldemort, Voldemort as he is today…I think he was laughing through me…"
Ginny was shivering.
"He was there. For a moment, Voldemort, not just Riddle, but Voldemort, was there, inside me."
Silence stretched like a gulf over them. The fire seemed to have died down almost to the point of going out.
"Ginny, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have…" He faded into silence.
"No, Harry, I'm glad. I never told anyone before. Because, don't you see, Harry? They wouldn't have understood. But you, you've met him, you understand."
"I dreamed about Voldemort tonight," said Harry quickly.
"So did I!" Ginny exclaimed.
"He was on the Quidditch field. And I was in the stands. I couldn't move."
"Was I there, Harry?" Ginny asked quickly.
Harry did a double take. He was astounded by the question, mostly because it seemed mildly prophetic (in a genuine, not-Trelawney-prophetic sort of way) considering the answer.
"Yes, next to me in the stands. Just you and I."
"Oh!" said Ginny.
"And he had them all cursed or something, maybe Petrified. He was telling me…us, what he was about to do."
"'I will torture the famous Harry Potter's friends, and the unknown Ginny Weasley's family. When they praise my name, then I will kill them.'"
For the second time, Harry's mouth hung open. Ginny had just quoted, word for word, Voldemort's speech in his dream.
"And then," said Ginny, "he did just what he said he would do. He fired off the Cruciatus curse at all of them."
"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" Harry yelled as quietly as possible.
"Exactly, and Fred and George and Percy…" she winced slightly, but then continued, "…and Bill and Charlie and my parents and Hagrid and Neville and Ron and Hermione and so many others…if they were Petrified, their mouths weren't because they all were screaming."
Without even realizing it, Harry had put his hands in Ginny's upturned ones. They were clutching each other tightly.
"And after awhile," Ginny continued, "after what seemed like forever, they all said at the same time, 'We praise the name of Lord Voldemort.' And then he laughed. The same laugh that came out of me when I almost killed Penelope and Hermione."
"The same laugh he laughed when…" Harry stopped. He had been about to say, "…when he killed my parents," but he changed it to, "when he was torturing me in the graveyard after he as good as killed Cedric."
"And then," said Ginny.
"He raised his wand, and fired the killing curse at them all."
"Avada Kedavra!"
"And we both screamed 'NO!'"
"And then I…we, I guess…woke up."
Again, silence fell between them. They were now sitting right next to each other, still with their hands in each other's.
After some time, Ginny said, "Harry, what about you? What happened to you when the Dementor came in to our compartment?"
Harry's eyes did the same trick Ginny's had done a few minutes before, despite the fact that he hadn't actually seen anything, except possibly a shadowy fog, at the time.
"Like you said to me, you don't have to say anything."
"No," said Harry. "You're right. It's because if anyone can understand, you can."
Still, it took him awhile before he actually said it.
"I didn't see anything, really. But I heard my mother screaming."
A single tear ran down Harry's cheek. This was much more painful than he had thought it was going to be. Of course, he had told Lupin about some of the things he'd heard, but he'd never fully confessed the whole of it, nor made it obvious how hearing those things had made him feel. It was a much more personal and grief-inducing business, somehow, to tell it to Ginny. He couldn't stop now, though, and he didn't really want to, either.
"Later, when Professor Lupin helped me to practice on a boggart that turned into a Dementor, I could hear my dad telling her to take me and run, that he'd hold him off…"
His eyes watered, overflowed at that last thought.
"And Voldemort laughing, telling my mother to stand aside and…"
Tears were now running steadily down Harry's face. He forced back a sob to say the last thing.
"I heard my mother telling Voldemort not to kill me, to kill her instead."
Then he gave in to the sobs. He was heaving slightly with them, the tears coming freely now.
Ginny put her arms around him, and Harry clutched her like a drowning man clutches a life preserver. He sobbed into her shoulder while they held each other.
A few minutes later, after the tears were almost over, he looked up and took one arm from around Ginny to wipe his face. Then he realized something.
"Oh dear, I've gotten your nightgown wet."
"Oh, Harry," she said, and then laughed a laugh that was just this side of tears.
He looked at her face then, and saw his tears mirrored by those on her face.
"Harry, I'm sorry. I should have known. I forgot. How could I have been so stupid? But all the same, I'm glad you told me--glad that I'm not alone when it comes to Voldemort anymore. I mean, I knew I was never really alone when it came to Voldemort, that you had met him too."
She was speaking through the tears very quickly now, the words spilling out as if she'd been waiting years to say this. And maybe, thought Harry, she has. Why didn't I see it?
"I always knew deep down you would understand," she continued, "but I just…it was just so hard, remembering it, and I was…ohhhh…afraid that you would think it was so childish of me. Voldemort…he made me do terrible things, but Harry, he killed your parents. I was scared, so scared you would think I was being petty, when he did so much worse to you."
She was still crying, but the tears were beginning to slow down.
"I'm so afraid of him," she went on, "and I haven't even met the real him. I was afraid you would think that Ron's little sister was just scared over nothing. And I've been so alone in this, kept it to myself for so long, when I should have just told you."
"And I'm so happy, Ginny, that you told me. And so happy that I told you." In later years, he would never really understand what made him say this next thing. "We've both been alone in the dark for years, but that's over now. We've found each other." Then he began to wipe the tears from her face. She closed her eyes as he wiped them from her cheeks and nose, and a few from her mouth. His fingers paused on her lips, and then withdrew from her face.
She opened her eyes. They looked at each other, each focusing on the other's eyes, still shining with tears and the effort of crying.
"Ginny," said Harry simply.
"Harry," said Ginny.
Then, slowly, they leaned into each other, embracing, and their lips came together in a sweet, gentle kiss. The darkness was no longer frightening. It was now a blanket over them, broken only by the warmth and light of the fire.
Their lips separated, but they did not break their hug.
"You don't think…you don't think this is something Voldemort wants to happen?" asked Harry. "That the dream about him brought us together tonight because he wanted it to?"
Ginny looked down, considering the question. Then she raised her head, and gazed at Harry decidedly.
"This is something that Voldemort would not be able to understand, let alone want. If he knew he had done this—that he had brought comfort to his worst enemy and a little girl that he failed to kill trying to bring himself back to life—he would only be angry and confused. Love is something that Voldemort can never comprehend, more's the pity."
Then she kissed him again.
* * *
Hermione and Ron, hand in hand, found Harry and Ginny hand in hand, asleep on the couch the next morning.
"So it happened," said Hermione happily.
"And if there are two people who deserve each other more than they do, I don't know who they are," said Ron.
"So you don't think of us like that?" asked Hermione, stiffening slightly.
"Now, Hermione, that's not what I was trying to say. I'm just happ…"
"…ier for them than you are for us. It's plain enough." She jerked her hand out of his.
"Why do you always twist my words, you bushy-haired know-it-all?"
"Why do you never think about what you're about to say, you freckle-faced layabout?"
"When you two are finished exchanging pleasantries," began Harry, who was rubbing his stiff neck, "I think Ginny and I would like to have some breakfast."
"Honestly, you two flirt by fighting, you can see it in your eyes," said Ginny, who was stretching her arms and legs.
"Maybe," said Ron quietly.
"We might," mumbled Hermione.
After Harry and Ginny had changed out of their nightclothes, the four of them headed for the Great Hall.
"What do you think Malfoy will say?" Ginny asked Harry quietly as they walked along.
"Let him say what he likes. Let him call you poor or say you're seeking fame through my name or anything he wants. It won't faze me, as long as I have you to stand beside me."
Ginny squeezed his hand as they took the final steps into the Great Hall, together for all of Hogwarts to behold.
* * *
Author's Note: I agree with the stories that depict Ron as protective of Ginny and upset at Harry for getting into a romantic relationship with her, but I also feel he'd have grown used to the idea if he saw it starting to happen. I also feel Hermione and he would have discussed the possibility of it (Ginny and Hermione almost certainly have), and Hermione would have gotten Ron to see reason. Girls are often good for boys that way.
And, of course, some positive feedback or constructive criticism would be nice (hint, hint). Would you be so kind as to review? Thanks, then. Hope you enjoyed it.