Written for The Teachers' Lounge: Ultimate Iron Fic Challenge: Round 2, given the prompt power.
My Opponent is Snarky64, whose story in Round 1 was so good that I'm fairly certain this will be the end for me. Go check out her stuff.
The sky is ferocious, crimson clouds clawing at a pale, yellow sun, and the sun is resigned, allowing itself to be dragged further behind the mountains, casting long shadows at the edge of the forest. The air is thick with grief and blood and hope.
Water laps gently at the edge of the lake, licking at the river stones that lie still, undisturbed.
I thought the forest would seem less ominous, now.
It doesn't.
I suppose dying in a place will do that to you. I don't have many people to compare the experience with, but the reason seems valid.
The strangest thing after a war is the silence. Sure, there are people around, but they speak in hushed tones, so the only real noise is the scrape of shovels against rubble as the mess is slowly cleaned up. As I walk further into the forest, the noise slowly fades.
It's nothing, really, compared to the screams of yesterday.
The Elder Wand feels smooth against my palm. A faint heat emanates from its core, purrs against my wrist.
"Harry."
I'm back in the Burrow, Ginny's hand on my wrist. It's so small, but it would be foolish to think it delicate; this hand is calloused, with flecks of dirt under fingernails and a simple silver band, a gift from a brother, adorning a slim finger.
Hearing my name on her lips rocks me. My pulse quickens. I smell cinnamon; she's adding it to her coffee while watching me with tired eyes.
In the present, my hand brushes lightly against the bark of a tree. We can be together now. My chest tightens.
In twenty years, I'll be at a desk somewhere, glasses on the bridge of my nose, hair needing to be cut, belt too tight against a growing gut. Long hours squinting at reports while missing dinners with my family.
I can't imagine Ginny growing older. Maybe her freckles will be more pronounced, her hair faded, the laugh lines around her mouth deepened.
She will still be exquisite.
Over time, her lip will curl when I stand too close. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but I will. After our twentieth wedding anniversary, she'll suggest that we spend some time apart. To rediscover ourselves, she'll say. What is it Muggles say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Three weeks later, I'm sitting on the kitchen floor, quietly sobbing into a bottle of whiskey because I don't want to wake up the kids.
She also rediscovered Dean Thomas, apparently. He makes her feel more alive, more young, more passionate. She's his muse and it makes perfect sense.
I am, once again, alone.
The Elder Wand thrums against my wrist.
There are so many ways to make someone love you…
To make them stay.
I thought with the end of this war, everything would stop hurting.
I was wrong.
I wish I could be as certain as Ron and Hermione. As they stood at the edge of the rubble, hand-in-hand, eyes set defiantly forward, I swear the whole world could feel their bond.
I envy them.
Hermione's skin is so smooth. I never really noticed, until now. I wonder what it would be like to run my thumb along her jawline, her throat, feels the muscles move as she swallows…
When the Horcrux taunted Ron in the forest, I screamed at him not to listen, because he is my friend, because...well, because, they do belong together, don't they?
Stop pretending you've never considered the possibility…
Of course I have. And with the wand...maybe everyone could be happy. Maybe I could spend most nights curled against Ginny, my hand resting on her thigh...but others, I could finally feel Hermione's skin, the softness of her cheek, the dampness of her breath against my chin…
I swear, the Elder Wand is humming.
I shake my head, try to focus on the present. There is little light among the trees now. Ahead of me, I see a thin wisp of a figure, reaching up to pick a leaf from a branch. Blonde hair tumbles to her waist.
Luna. What is she doing out here, alone?
Her hair is so long. She stretches out on her toes to reach another leaf. What on earth is she doing?
I wonder what her hair feels like. Like silk, I think. Like dragging a finger through a calm lake, letting the velvety water trickle along the back of your hand.
I wonder how her hair looks against her bare collarbone, gathered in the hollow. To sweep it away and hold it back while my teeth graze against her shoulder.
I wonder what it would feel like to never feel the threat of loneliness again.
The smell of cinnamon fills my nose.
"Harry."
I turn quickly. And there she is, freckled, tired, gorgeous. Tendrils of red hair are stuck to the side of her face. The left corner of her mouth twinges, her head cocking to the side.
"What are you doing here?"
I'm back in the Gryffindor Common Room, and the Quidditch House Cup is in Ron's arms, glittering in the firelight. Ginny approaches me, her steps slowing as she draws nearer. My pulse quickens. I look to Ron, and he nods.
Her face is so small beneath my hands. But not delicate. Sharp and smooth and warm. She is intoxicating.
Kissing her is better than firewhiskey.
"Harry?"
I blink.
"I've been thinking..." My voice is rough from lack of use; I clear my throat before continuing. "I...I miss you."
She grins, and pulls me against her roughly. I smile into her hair.
"You smell like home."
She rolls her eyes at me. "I smell like sweat and blood."
The mention of blood makes us both frown. I reach out to squeeze her hand. "What now?"
She squeezes back. "Now...we mourn. And rebuild. And we grow. Together."
I love that word. "Together."
I look back where Luna was a moment earlier, but she's gone, and the forest is now completely dark. I whisper a spell to light the way.
The Elder Wand is cool against my wrist. It's just as well; it will remain cold from lack of use, as it slowly fades in Dumbledore's grave.
Ginny's palm is warm. And it's the most incredible feeling in the world.