A/N: Merlin, it's been forever since I wrote Harry Potter fanfic - and I can say that, while I definitely have missed it, I've still been productive in the meantime. Just you know, not around here. D:
This was written for fandomfusion on LJ, who were hosting a HP genfic and art challenge. The prompts I chose were:
So now you'd better stop
And rebuild all your ruins
For peace and love can win the day
Despite all your losing
'Immigrant's Song', Led Zeppelin
&
". . . all these you see are helpless and unburied."
- Virgil, The Aeneid, Book 6, line 427
However, the second prompt is much less evident in my story, to the point where it's mostly non-existant. I only used to inspire the idea of writing post DH fic - something I haven't done in an awfully long time, and certainly not with these characters. To give credit where credit is due, the idea of writing Michael came from some of WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot's stories about him, even if she doesn't know it. I highly recommend everything she writes.
Reviews are always appreciated!
Rebuild All Your Ruins
The bell above the door tinkled softly as Michael stepped inside Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Behind him, Anthony and Terry were bickering about the most recent edition of Marvin the Mad Muggle, but they too fell silent.
The shop demanded solemnity. Shelves that had once been teeming with bright boxes were now empty, save for the light blanket of dust that covered them. Posters were peeling from the walls, their corners frayed and tatty, and on the floor lay an abandoned product, which let out the occasional moan. Michael had never been close with Fred and George – even without the inter-house rivalry, their owl to him when he started dating Ginny had cleared that issue up – but he still felt a shiver up his spine, like he was walking through a ghost.
The irony caught in his throat – in many ways, he was. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was naught but a shadow of what it had once been, and if it hadn't been for Lisa and the others that died, Michael thought that laughter might have been the war's worst casualty of all.
"Look," Terry said finally, in a halfhearted attempt to break the silence. "A rubber wand. Remember when we gave the Carrows one of these – and they tried to Crucio Neville with a chicken!"
Michael laughed, but it was as feeble as the story had been. What he remembered about that stunt was the fear of being caught stealing the wand, the pain of the spells the Carrows had used on him for torture, the way one laugh at Amycus' expense had caused a week's worth of nightmares. The sudden shock that marred Terry's face showed that he was remembering that too.
Anthony coughed quietly, and his friends turned to look at him.
"What?" he said. "I'm just saying… I think the real highlight was Luna trying to convince Rufus Scrimgeour that he had Nargles in his hair."
"Now that was funny," Terry replied. "Remember how he gave Amycus that look, like he was totally snogging her under the mistletoe."
They all snorted now, even though Michael felt vaguely uncomfortable, as though making fun of tragedy was something he ought not to do. He was almost glad when they heard footsteps coming towards them – a well-timed interruption.
"How may I help – Anthony! Terry! Michael!"
Michael looked up as Ginny came out of the back room of the shop, closely followed by Harry; the three boys glanced around, somewhat unsure of what to say. Somehow, it was completely possible to form an entire underage, illegal army dedicated to one person, and still not know what to say to that particular person when they appeared in front of you. To make matters worse, Harry seemed not to even notice their discomfort; Michael wondered if he was just slightly oblivious or if having too many cameras flash in front of his eyes was starting to make him blind.
"Sorry the place's so messy," Harry said. "George only just reopened last week, but we're running the place for now – he's still a bit…" He didn't have to finish his sentence – all of them knew what he was going to say too well.
"It's cool," Terry said. "All we want are some fireworks, so we're not expecting entire shelves of You-Know-Poo… not that we need that anymore," he added nervously, and the silence in the air was palatable as the joke fell flat. Voldemort's defeat wasn't nearly as exciting now that they were all starting to count the losses.
"Help yourself. It's not like this place is full or anything," Ginny said finally. Putting on a cheery voice, she led the three boys over too a shelf in the back corner. "These are our filibuster fireworks and these…"
Michael just shook his head quietly as she continued what was obviously a well-rehearsed spiel. Like everyone else, Ginny Weasley was just trying too hard. Sometimes, Michael wondered if he was too.
--
"Can I talk to you, Michael?" Ginny asked quietly, as Anthony started digging in his pockets for enough money. He, Terry and Harry were standing in the corner while Michael wandered around the shop, attempting to look interested, but simply appearing rather bored. The atmosphere of the shop, with its dust and its sharply drawn curtains and its smell of something old and musty, like books, was making him feel a little uneasy. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, in all its post-war disrepair, was reminding him that the same ideals he'd fought for, he'd somehow managed to lose. It wasn't a feeling he liked, not at all.
"Yeah, sure." He followed her into the back storeroom, just out of the others' earshot. From her casual demeanor, Michael didn't think she had anything too serious to say – but then again, he thought that when she'd broken up with him, and when Cho had broken up with him, and when Neville had approached him about forming the DA. For all his supposed arrogance (something both Gryffindor and Slytherin were quite bipartisan about, actually), Michael Corner wasn't the best judge of motive or intention at all. Really, considering the personality traits he had working against him, it really was a miracle he was still alive.
"Look, I don't want to make this awkward or anything… it's about the fireworks."
"What about them? And why did we have to come out here to talk about it."
"Anthony and Terry have never trusted me after I screwed up the rescue of that poor first year, so I figured it was easier to talk to you alone. I… I just want to know that you're not planning anything stupid, because a six month anniversary… that's a pretty big thing."
"We're not," Michael replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Was that all? He waited for the subtext or the hidden meaning in her words to become apparent, but it seemed there was none. "It's kind of a ritual for us, y'know. A thing."
It wasn't really – this was the first time they'd had the idea, but how could he explain that the fireworks were for Lisa who, put simply, was not a flowery type of person at all? How could he explain that they were planning to let them off over the war cemetery in her memory, to do what she did – find the brightness in every morbid situation? Really, Michael didn't think he could explain that at all.
"They're for Lisa," he said finally, because that was the simple truth. "If she hadn't been a bigger nerd than Hermione… not that there's anything wrong with that, of course not," he said, suddenly becoming fascinated by his shoelaces as Ginny glared, "she would have been a Gryffindor. We're going to, you know, set them off at midnight, y'know… kind of in her honour and all." Michael shifted slightly, jamming his hands further into his pockets, and he regretted it the moment he did. He knew that Ginny would see how he'd changed. Once, Michael would never have admitted that he was uncomfortable, any more than he would have admitted he was scared.
It almost made it awkward, he thought, like the walls were closing in around them. Once they'd had everything, innocence and happiness, and it was hard to word any of this to Ginny without sounding like a complete and utter lunatic that couldn't move on. War or not, Michael didn't want his ex-girlfriends thinking the worst of him. He sighed – it was Lisa who'd made him tone down the nonchalance, Lisa who'd made him accept the harsh reality that their year under the Carrows had been, Lisa who'd died trying to convince him that life meant something more than just looking good. Michael almost felt ashamed that this was how he was repaying her. He might have shed a few layers from his almost too-tough skin, a change he was hoping would remain, but his arrogance was certainly coming back in droves.
Either way, Ginny didn't seem to have noticed the change in his behaviour. He wasn't sure whether he was happy about that or not.
"That sounds… nice," Ginny said, and she smiled gently. "The sort of thing Fred and George would have done once, when they had each other to do it."
"They were incredibly, weren't they? Even though Lisa could have given them a run for their money if she didn't have her head in a Transfiguration book twenty-four seven… or if Terry, Anthony and I were better accomplices. That was her excuse, anyway, but we think she just didn't want to own up to the fact that she liked studying."
"Thank Merlin for Hogwarts that you weren't. The place would have been horrible."
"Yeah." Michael could feel the tension in the air when she said that, and he just nodded slightly. There didn't seem to be much else he could do or say. "I'd better get back there. Whether he says it or not, Terry's still a little pissed that Harry's being given all the credit for a war he fought it, so I should probably get him out." He almost slapped himself for being so blasé, but then he stopped – he'd always been like this, until the war, and maybe this was a sign the times were changing back. He couldn't replace Lisa, and no matter what he said, fireworks weren't really enough to honour her spirit, but maybe he could replace himself.
"Yeah," he said finally. Once again, it seemed like all he could say. "Bye."
Michael smiled slightly as he walked out the door. Time, it seemed, had already healed some wounds – this Ginny was a far better deal than the one who had broken up with him – and maybe, just maybe, a little bit longer to recover would heal some more. Most importantly, maybe he was taking the first steps to heal himself.
--
The cemetery was chilly as they walked side by side to Lisa's grave, and Michael wrapped his arms around himself – not that he was going to admit it wasn't all for warmth. It was almost eerie; they'd seen so much death and destruction and he almost felt as though the screaming of the wounded was easier to bear than the silence. At least then, there'd still been a chance. Now…
Michael's thoughts were interrupted by Anthony. "We're here."
The three boys squatted down beside Lisa's grave, and after a moment's silence, Terry was the first to speak. "It almost seems like sacrilege not to leave something, doesn't it?"
Anthony sighed. "We agreed no flowers."
"No, not flowers. Something more…"
Terry paused as Michael stood up and started removing his shoes and socks.
"What are you doing?"
"Lisa always said the sight of my shoes was comforting." He smiled fondly at his sneakers, complete with the bright yellow laces that had been a little attempt at avoiding conformity. "She reckoned she could always see me coming, and she knew to go and hide."
He could tell that Anthony and Terry were following the gist of his reminiscence, and they both stood up themselves. Moonlight shone on both their faces, and if he hadn't seen so much worse, Michael would have shivered. It was kind of hard to be afraid of the dark though, not when you'd seen and defeated the unknown that lived within it. Knowing what was out there was better than not knowing at all, and it seemed that Terry agreed with him as he placed his necklace gently across the tombstone and turned out his wandlight.
"Time to start these babies up, don't you think."
The three boys set to work preparing the fireworks, diligently setting each one in the grass to spell out Lisa – a tribute that Michael thought was simple, but fitting. Lisa had been the proverbial light in the darkness, and allowing her name to fill the sky… that, he thought, was almost destiny. Not that he was ever going to mention that particular thought to Terry and Anthony. Of course not – after everything they'd been through, some things hadn't changed, and his mates' ability to pay him out was one of them.
Instead, he just said, "It's amazing, isn't it? I thought we'd be invincible once, like a Muggle superhero."
Anthony smiled slightly. "We all thought that, didn't we?" He traced the scar running down the side of his face, and Michael wondered if it was intentional or not. Some scars had faded, even Anthony's wounds had knotted into nothing more than a thin, raised line along his cheekbone, but the others… they would always remain. Michael knew that all they could do was slowly move on, and try not to let the garish reminders of a war so horrid affect them. Unfortunately, he knew he was not the only one finding that easier said than done.
"We never thought anything bad was going to happen did we? At least nothing like this…"
"I don't know," Michael replied. "Terry seemed to think the sky was falling that time Eloise Midgen had a crush on him."
All three boys laughed at that, and Terry hit him lightly on the arm.
"And like you weren't scared when Lisa started that fake rumour that Snape was being made to teach us sex ed. At least Eloise's acne disappeared – Snape, I don't even think he could be saved by Lockhart's new hair potion crap."
"I don't know," Michael said, with mock seriousness. "I always used to think he'd look like quite the gentleman if he was bald."
As all three boys collapsed in tears, Anthony gave the signal. On cue, hundreds of fireworks rose up into the sky and, as Lisa's name filled the darkness that was both inside and around them, Michael couldn't help but smile.
Everything would be alright.