The Wounds of a Friend
A/N: For those of you not familiar with the book of Proverbs, the title of this story was inspired by a particular passage in Proverbs with the phrase, "faithful are the wounds of a friend." In other words, it's better to receive correction from those that care about you than to receive flattery from someone who hates you.
This is my attempt to show you true friendship that goes above and beyond the call of duty.
Opening scene: Ginny Weasley in the common room at night with Harry Potter…
She knew she would find him down here; there was hardly one moment in Ginny Weasley's life when she had absolutely no idea where Harry Potter might be. Long study of his habits and close scrutiny of his carefully masked face had allowed her to break the code.
The Harry Potter Code, she called it. She took a certain satisfaction in knowing what he was thinking or feeling when even his best friends, Hermione Granger and her brother Ron Weasley had no clue. But tonight she felt no satisfaction, only sorrow.
She could see his messy black hair sticking up over the back of the red-gold couch, and felt the usual pang. This time, she pressed it down quickly; tonight was not about her; it was about Harry. She took another step forward, careful not to make a noise or give her presence away. It was important that she talk to Harry now, and she didn't want to scare him off.
Ginny drew her breath in and straightened her shoulders. It was now or never. She walked around the couch to where Harry was sitting stiffly. It was so like him; Harry always sat stiffly when he was especially hurt. He would never allow himself to complain about his troubles (and there were many of them), even when he thought no one was there. Ginny wanted to cry at the sight.
Instead, she knelt down beside him, aware that he did not even see her there, being so lost in his own thoughts. "Harry," she said his name tentatively. No response; she may as well not exist, for all he knew. She pushed down the hurt that always followed being ignored by Harry and tried again, this time more forcefully. "Ha-rry," she said loudly.
Harry shook himself, and looked around wildly for a second, before his eyes rested on the red-haired girl in front of him. He was clearly startled. He pushed his glasses up on his nose from where they had fallen, a familiar, heartbreaking gesture.
"Ginny. Hi, Ginny," he said stupidly, still shaking off the stupor of sleep brought on by the hearty fire in the Gryffindor common room. For a moment he seemed happy to just sit there, lapsing back into his dark thoughts, and forgetting her presence. Then with a jolt he sat up straight again, apparently remembering something.
"Er…Ginny, it's quite late, isn't it?" he faltered, unsure how to send her away without hurting her feelings. Ginny only nodded, so he continued. "Shouldn't you—I mean all of us—be in bed, you know? I mean, we have to get up in the morning," he ended lamely.
"Harry, it's 12:45, so it's morning already," Ginny stated. "Everyone else is already in bed." She saw him glance around the room, confirming her words. He made a move to get up, and she went on hastily. "Don't go to bed yet." Harry's brow arched in mild curiosity, and Ginny blushed. "I mean, I need to talk to you about something. It'll only take a few minutes, I promise." She watched him nod uncertainly, and took it as her cue to continue.
"I want to talk to you about the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match today," she said quietly, knowing the impact those words would have on Harry. She was right; she had barely gotten to 'Hufflepuff' before he had gone from slightly relaxed to stiff again. She couldn't blame him, really.
Harry had deliberately lost the match today, and Ron was livid, not to mention Angelina and the other team members. Ron went over the deep end, explaining to Harry at lunch why we do NOT forfeit matches just because somebody's dead, and how Harry was being a traitor to his own house, turning his back on glorious tradition, blah, blah, blah.
He hadn't seemed to notice Harry's increasing agitation, and rambled on loudly, his fervency and volume increasing with every word. Finally, Harry had endured enough. He grabbed his book bag and stood up. Ron took a deep breath but before he could continue, Harry seized the chance to get a word in. Unlike Ron, his face didn't go purple when he was angry. He said slowly, loudly, and with deliberate calm,
"If you don't like decent people, Ron Weasley, then don't be friends with them. I've had enough of your constant nagging and whining." He ignored the shocked looks from Hermione and Ron, and continued. "What I did to deserve you as a friend, I certainly don't know." It was not a compliment, and everyone knew it.
Ron's face went from purple to white to a furious red in three shell-shocked seconds. "How DARE you—" he snarled, and stretched murderous hands towards Harry's neck. But Harry had already stalked off and vanished down the hall. A deadly silence reigned, and everyone who had heard the confrontation (which was most everybody) remained frozen in their seats, except for Ginny. She knew that someone had to go after him, and Ron certainly wouldn't. Hermione would be busy giving Ron a severe dressing down and trying to talk some sense into him. As usual, the hard stuff was left up to Ginny.
She followed him into the courtyard, running to catch up to him. "Harry," she panted, "Harry, I'm sor—" Harry cut her off rudely before she could finish.
"I suppose you're coming to stick up for your big brother then," he growled bitterly.
Ginny was taken aback by his outrageous accusation. She could think of no response for a minute, and Harry took it as an admission of guilt. Without another word, he spun on his heel and disappeared back into the castle. They hadn't seen him all day after that, and now Ginny was determined to set the record straight—as much for Harry's sake as for hers.
She looked up at him from her position on the floor, her knees a little stiff from kneeling so long.
"Look, before you go anywhere, let me explain." There was no note of pleading in her voice; merely firmness he hadn't thought her capable of. He looked at her deep blue eyes and saw steely determination, and thought better of his plan to run away again. He sat back down, waiting for her defense of that outrageous git, her brother, which would surely come.
"I know you let Hufflepuff win today—no don't try to convince me that they won on their own merit," she said, raising a hand to stop Harry's feeble explanation. "Ask any first year, and even they will tell you that the Quidditch Cup for Hufflepuff is a pipe dream, even with their win today.
But Harry, you've alienated half of your house over a game! I know you had a good reason, and I think I know what it is." She paused for breath, waiting for him to protest that she couldn't possibly know, but he merely inclined his head and motioned for her to continue.
She tried hard to keep her voice from wobbling as she came to the next part. "I think I know what your reason is, but I want you to talk to me about it." She continued, despite the mutinous look growing on Harry's face. "I know that it's partly about Cedric," she went on, "but it's also about Cho, isn't it?"
The surprised look on his face confirmed her guess. Even Hermione and Ron didn't know about his complex with Cho. "You are also contemplating letting Ravenclaw win next month." She waited for the truth of her words sink in, wondering how he would react.
To her great surprise, Harry made no move to deny his intentions. She tucked her legs under her and sat on the floor, watching his face. He seemed to be struggling with something—probably with whether or not he should admit the truth. Suddenly, he squared his shoulders with decision, much in the same way Ginny had before approaching him. His next words shocked, hurt, and confused her.
"Ginny, I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work with me." He ignored her little gasp of surprise. "I am NOT an object for psychological study!" He practically bellowed this last statement, and both of them glanced around nervously, expecting to see disgruntled Gryffindors arrive on the scene any minute. When no tousled heads appeared, he continued more quietly.
"You want me to talk about my feelings to you, so you can diagnose my problem, fix me up and hand me back to the world corrected. Well, Ron's wrong, and so are you!" Harry stood and brushed roughly past her. Clearly, he was through talking for tonight.
Ginny gaped at him, too hurt to respond at first. Tears started filling her eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them away; this wasn't over yet. She ran after him and caught his arm, forcing him to look at her.
"I do NOT support Ron in this," she said coldly. Harry, who had been trying to break free from her grip, stopped suddenly.
"You—what?" He questioned, incredulously.
"I said, 'I do NOT support Ron', you blockhead," she sighed in exasperation. "Honestly, how Hermione puts up with you two, I'll never know. Now, before we get any further, I'm going to tell you something that I'm sure a hundred people have told you by now." He looked at her warily, not sure what to expect.
"What happened last year was NOT. YOUR. FAULT." The words came spilling out faster now, as if afraid that he would try to stop her. And she didn't know why, but it was imperative that she finish what she was going to say.
"I know that you feel horribly guilty about what happened with Cedric—" she saw him wince at his name. "But you HAVE to get past that and LIVE again, do you understand me?" Without waiting for acknowledgement, she went on.
"You are one of the most brilliant, unselfish, honorable, disgustingly noble people I know. If you could go back in time, you would take the Cup by yourself. It wouldn't matter if the whole school thought you were a selfish git—Cedric would be alive, and that's what you care about.
Cedric wouldn't want you to keep beating yourself up about it. He would be disappointed to see your actions today. Quidditch is a GAME, Harry, a GAME, and not a way for you to express your guilty feelings to your teammates and to the rest of the school. If you want to express your feelings, then TALK to someone; don't shut us out. Oh, don't deny it; you know you've been shutting Ron and Hermione out. And me too," she added in a smaller voice. If Harry noticed her last sentence, he gave no sign. Ginny took a deep breath and continued.
"Ron apparently doesn't care whether you feel guilty or not, so long as Gryffindor wins the Cup." Ginny rolled her eyes at the thought of her pigheaded brother. "I care, Harry. I CARE. I know it must be horrible for you—but let us share some of the burden. If you can't talk to me, then talk to Hermione, or Dumbledore. Or Malfoy, even!" She ground her teeth in frustration. "Just TALK to someone, okay?"
Harry stared at her, a mixture of emotions playing across his face. He had never seen Ginny Weasley this fired up about anything before. He had only known her as Ron's little sister who was quiet and shy around him because of her embarrassing little crush. This was a totally different Miss Weasley. He sighed in defeat. If it came to a battle of pure stubbornness, he would lose for sure.
"Okay," he dimly heard himself saying, "okay. I'll talk to someone. But right now, I really have to go to bed." He was halfway up to his room, before he remembered that he had forgotten to thank her. She had said the nicest (and the most painful) truths that he had heard all day. He had really needed to hear it, even if it was hard to admit.
She had said she cared. She cared how he felt. Harry felt like doing a little jig, right there on the stairs, and wondered what was getting into him. Yeah, she says something really nice—and what does Harry the big Jerk do? He asked himself. He turns away and marches upstairs without one word of thanks. What an idiot I am!
He turned around and sped back down the stairs, hoping to catch her before she went up and tell her how much her little tirade had meant to him. Pausing on the last step, he scanned the Common Room quickly, searching for her familiar red hair, but she was gone.
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Ginny walked slowly up the steps to the girls' dormitories with leaden legs. Her shoulders were slumped in exhaustion and defeat. It's over, she thought wearily, not bothering to change as she fell face-first into bed. Harry will never talk to me again, he only promised to talk to someone to get me off his case.
She dragged herself further up the length of her bed and found her pillow. Pulling it to herself, Ginny relaxed into its softness. She never heard the tiptoed footsteps by her bed, or felt the soft blanket falling over her, even though she snuggled with it out of habit. The next morning, she awoke to find a long stemmed rose on her pillow.