Disclaimer: I don't own HP, J.K. Rowling does. I just own my ideas, such as they are.
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Letters and Tears
Ginny stood alone in the cold street, shivering. The air was chilly, almost to the point that she could see her breath. But Ginny didn't care about that. She only hugged her arms around herself to try to keep the tears at bay.
She shook her head and shut her eyes against them. What was wrong with her? She'd thought she'd learned to be tough over the last few years. Learned how not to hurt. With all she'd been through it should have been unavoidable.
So why did she have to go and surprise herself? She'd run off and forgotten everything. All her hard earned lessons meant nothing.
Ginny opened her eyes and started walking again. Her destination was just a few yards away, and it looked as if it had also learned some hard lessons over the years. Forgotten a lot, too. In fact, in the fading evening, it looked as if it should have been condemned years ago.
The small inn's chipping paint clashed sharply with its drooping shutters, and part of the roof had caved in at the back. A piece of stained tarp was nailed down haphazardly over that section to keep the constant drizzle out.
Ginny tried to ignore this as she walked up the crumbling concrete steps leading to the front door and let herself in. The entry way didn't add anything to the place with its bare walls and dim light. The floor creaked ominously under her feet as she trudged towards the stairs.
Her room on the second floor was small and the walls did little to keep the damp out. Ginny sneezed as she walked past the narrow bed to the window on the far side of the room. The whole place smelled of mold and mothballs and what might have been cheap perfume.
The dirty window looked onto the deserted street below and Ginny sat down in her only chair and stared down, watching the wind play with someone's discarded trash until the mist crept up and blocked it from view. Then she still looked; only now her eyes saw only the past. Or perhaps the future she might have had.
Her life in London was thousand miles away now. And a thousand years in the past. Or not even part of her at all. How could she have dared to think she could be happy? That she could really love anyone ever again?
She didn't want to spend her night here going over and over again every tragedy and mistake in her life. In this dirty little room there was only room, only time for one.
Finally looking away, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light of the single bare bulb on the ceiling, Ginny dug in her pocket for a quill. As she reached across the tiny table for parchment, she pretended not to notice the tears that splashed its scarred surface. If she didn't acknowledge them, they couldn't really be there, could they?
Ginny'd never liked apologizing. Asking for forgiveness or knowing she'd done something that she needed to be forgiven for. Her hand shook as she wrote. Shook so badly that the ink spilled, making a dark stain on the page. Almost like blood.
No. She had to stop thinking things like that. This place was depressing enough. She shouldn't make it worse than it already was. Besides, she was only staying here because this was the last place anyone would look to find her. Even if they guessed the area where she'd gone, they'd never look twice at this place.
She wiped up her ink and tried to start over. Her hands shook just as much, but she gritted her teeth and went on. She had to finish. He deserved that much from her, even though she'd never meant for any of this to happen. She hadn't wanted it, but it was too late to go back now.
The words she wanted didn't come easily. She wanted to seem confidant, as if she knew what she was doing, knew she was right. Ginny smiled and had to laugh at her self, even as tears continued their course down her cheeks. It did no good to lie to herself or to him.
But she couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't say she was afraid. It was easier to call the whole thing a mistake.
She finished the letter. Rolling it up tightly, she left it on the table to await morning and an owl. Glancing once towards the bed, Ginny turned back to the window and continued to look out at the night, not really seeing it.
Ginny walked slowly down the deserted street, just as she had yesterday and the day before. It was a long walk, a long distance from her decrepit lodging to the little church in Godric's Hollow. More than long enough for her to feel the cold.
Wrapping her arms around herself against it, she wished she wasn't alone. Found herself wishing for warm arms around her, a strong chest to lean her head against. She didn't bother to sort out whose arms she craved. It didn't matter now.
She walked past the empty church and entered the graveyard. Graveyards had never frightened her and neither did this one. Slipping between the stones to find her destination had become almost second nature now. How could she feel fear anyway? The only things Ginny felt anymore were sadness and regret.
And there it was. The stone with his name. Not a huge stone. Nothing terribly fancy. There were memorials all over the country a hundred times more grand. But that didn't matter. His grave stone was simple and beautiful. It suited him.
She knelt on the wet grass before it. This was as close as Ginny could ever get to him now. He wasn't coming back.
She felt like she should say something. Tell him that she loved him, that she was grateful for his sacrifice, but the words would not come. Perhaps because she wasn't grateful. Not at all. The part of her that was still a young girl with dreams of a future with her first love was crying that it hadn't had to be this way. And maybe it hadn't, but that didn't change anything, did it?
And as Ginny continued to sit on the cold ground, she found that she didn't need to say anything at all. She was sure where ever Harry was now, he knew. He knew that they were all grateful and that they all loved him. The boy who lived. Except now he was dead. And she was sure he knew of all her selfish feelings and all her regrets as well. Did he think she was a horrible person? What was so wrong with wanting the one she loved back?
Ginny sat by Harry's stone for a long time. The sun was starting to go down when she heard the soft approach of feet behind her. She thought it might be a dream or a ghost until she felt the small hairs at the back of her neck stir with his breath.
"I got your letter." He drawled the words out, as he so often did. Only he didn't sound haughty or arrogant now. Was he afraid? Was that the emotion she heard in his voice? She needed to look in his eyes to know, but she did not turn or look up. What could she say to him now? Perhaps if she ignored him he'd go away.
Except he didn't go and when he spoke again she was sure there was amusement in his voice. "Didn't need it, though. I knew where to find you."
Finally, for the first time in what seemed a very long time, Ginny felt something other than sad. Annoyance shot through her, warming her up, and she realized how wet and cold the back of her pants really were, and how hungry she was. When had she last eaten anything? She stood and faced him.
Draco had backed up when she'd stood, and now he leaned against a tall gravestone, looking elegant and expensive, like always. He seemed so relaxed, as if this were just an everyday kind of meeting, as if she hadn't left. But when she met his eyes, they told her a different story.
"How?" The word came out hard, short and angry. Draco had always done this to her. He made her angry, made her feel alive. Well she didn't want that now. She wanted him to go away. Didn't she?
"When I came home and found you'd gone, I knew. Somehow I just knew you'd go back to him."
Ginny couldn't find any words to say to that. So she just stood, silently, not sure what to do. Part of her longed to rush into his arms, let him go on making her feel alive. But part of her wanted to sit back down by Harry's grave again and cry. A small part of her wanted to hit him, but she knew from experience it would just make her more angry when he laughed at her for it.
And he didn't say anything else just wrapped his arms around her, wrapping her in warmth and love, like she'd been wishing for.
"Have I lost you to him, Ginny?" He whispered the question into her hair, almost as if he didn't want to be heard, didn't want to know her answer.
She continued to be still, just leaning against his chest, thinking. That had been her intention. To leave him. To never see him again and never have to feel as if she was being torn apart, betraying her past and betraying him with her longing for what she could have had. She'd thought it was better to be alone.
Now though, after less than a week of being alone and living in the past, Ginny wasn't so sure she'd made the right decision. It was lonely, and memories and regrets were poor company. Did she really want to punish herself for the rest of her life just because she'd fallen in love again?
Shaking her head, she pressed her face against him for a moment, breathing in the scent of him and for the life of her his scent was the only one she could remember right now. Nothing else seemed to matter.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, she pried herself from his embrace and backed up, turning to look down at the stone again. Her mind was made up. She'd come to a decision.
"Good-bye." She knelt and pressed her cold fingers to the stone, almost like a kiss. "Good-bye, Harry."