Response to a challenge by numbers. Number 2 theme: Two paths diverge.
Author Note's: All regular disclaimers apply. No character is mine I just play with them. Thank you, Jo. Some minor HBP spoilers, you've been warned. Many thanks to humandnase for fulfilling his beta duties. Spell-o-tape is such a lovely invension!
Another hot day at the Burrow. This summer is unlike any other, the sun hotter than ever before. No doubt even it knows we are in the midst of war and is shinning its hot disapproval. A war that had been claiming victims left and right. I cannot bring myself to read the Prophet anymore. I am deadly afraid that one day I will find the name of one of my brothers or his name among the dead.
This morning I received his latest owl. He goes on to tell me that, all things considered, he's doing well. He also let's me know that Ron and Hermione are also well; bloody eloquent, is he not? He notes their bickering has been kept to a minimum while the snogging has gone up considerably. I'm glad that it only took Ron 7 bloody years to figure it out. Honestly, boys! Bill and Fleur went on with their wedding; gaining Phlem doesn't feel too bad when we also, even if unofficially, gained Hermione.
Inevitably, he dicusses the war. He says that he feels that blasted final battle getting close. He even assures me he is negotiating a good date and place with Voldemort in order for all wizard kind to be present. It is just a matter of days before the tickets go on sale and that I should not worry, for all Weasleys will be in the first row. I can't help but smile. He is, of course, making fun of the Prophet's "coverage". They have no idea how Harry plans to vanquish the Dark Lord but lack of veracity and sensible information have never stopped them before so why should it now? Rita Skeeter deserves a bottle of insecticide potion, or some U No Poo. He sounds resilient, optimistic, but I cannot help but wonder if it is all nothing more than a way to sooth his mind, and mine. He swears he will make it through, that he will not allow Voldemort have his way again. Not ever again.
It is hard to go on with my pathetic life when I know they are facing dangers I can only imagine. Mum goes on and on telling me that I am much too young to join the fight, but haven't I proved myself? She can't understand how old I feel sometimes, as if I've been alive for ages. My innocence fled the minute Tom took over me when I was 11. I stopped being a little girl then. Sometimes I wonder if he feels as frustrated as I. Many virtues that boy has, but patience is most scarce. I'm sure the horcrux hunt is not going nearly as fast as he would like even if he avoids mentioning this particular topic in his letter.
He changes the topic to food and how he misses Mum's. He assures me food is not the only thing he misses from the Burrow, I have to admire the boy's subtlety. We had our understanding during Dumbledore's funeral but it wasn't until Bill's wedding that we could talk without expectations or pretensions, just plain honesty. I took his hand and walked to a nearby ash tree. He gave me a shy smile while commenting on how pretty I looked in my bridesmaid's dress. I gave him a sad smile. We sat down, looking at the horizon, twilight setting in. Instinctively, I looked up to the sky and could see the stars beginning to shine. It was then when a strike of silliness hit him. It occurred to him that while we shared the same sky and looked at the same stars we weren't that far apart. He didn't elaborate on his logic, but the urgency of his words led me to accept it as a fact. He looked at me pleading for understanding, I just nodded. I remember biting my lips to contains the tears. We both knew there could be no promises, but somehow hope kept creeping in.
"Harry, you know I love you, yeah?"
He nodded.
"That's how I'll know the stars you'll be gazing at." He took my hand in his and we just looked at the stars, the ones that will bring us closer during our time apart.
He brings his letter to a close, asking me to be careful and to keep gazing at the stars. He signs, "Yours, Harry". Mine. That much is true, he's mine and I'm undoubtedly his. I hope the future will bring us back together soon. For now, we have the stars.
Ginny closed her journal and ink well while putting her quill on the warm ground. Grim thoughts had been haunting her all day, an inexplicable uncertainty creeping up her heart but she allowed herself to gaze at the stars, indulging in them, thinking of him and their future together. Her back firmly on the trunk of the ash tree, her sight on the sky above. That was how Harry found her the next morning, lifeless. He learned of the Death Eater's attack by owl and immediately apparated, followed by Ron and Hermione.
He held her close and cried hot, bitter tears. He looked at a dumbfounded Ron and Hermione, both with tears running down their cheeks. No words could possibly describe the feeling of hopelessness, the madness rushing through his veins. He let go of Ginny and picked up her journal. The same journal he had teased her about many times before. He read the last entry and closed it immediately.
He spent the night under the same ash tree, gazing at the same stars, wondering about life and death and the unfairness of it all. He knew what needed to be done, and once accomplished, he would allow himself to mourn her. For the time being, he'll just gaze at the stars hoping that wherever Ginny might be, she will be gazing at them too.