~I Lost Him Too~
Author's note: A manipulated picture I saw made by a person called Emmyjean inspired this story. The picture is called "Alone", and it shows Harry looking almost furiously down at something, with a watching Ginny in the background. This short story plot immediately came to mind.
Sorry if it's a little awkward, with not much plot. I just wanted to get it down on the computer as fast as my fingers could type it.
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He sat alone in the library, tearing his quill to shreds with his fingers. He bit his lip and quickly wiped away a tear that was threatening to spill from his eye. Gazing down at the parchment he was writing on, he only saw three black scribbles that were supposed to be words, words of what he was feeling. Words of how he wanted to kill the murderer, wanted to strangle anyone who got in his way.
Brushing his black hair from his eyes, the boy looked up, his green eyes dull and expressionless. His scar was jagged and fierce on his forehead, and his expression was angry and upset. His fingers trembled as he piled the remains of his quill on the table he was sitting at.
"How dare he." That was the only thought that was running through Harry Potter's head. "I'll kill him. I swear I will. I'll murder him with my own hands."
"Harry?"
Harry whirled around, his robes billowing behind him, to see Ginny Weasley standing there. For a young girl of fifteen, she was very solemn and mature, like an adult who had seen too much. Judging from her red eyes, Harry could tell she had been crying, and he didn't blame her. If it weren't for his pride, he'd be crying too.
"Um, Harry, would you like another quill?" Ginny asked, brushing a red curl away from her cheek.
"Yes, that would be very nice," Harry murmured, his voice hard and emotionless.
Ginny fumbled into her book bag and gasped as it ripped and fell on the floor. Tears immediately began to stream from her eyes, and Harry stood up, infuriated.
"What, are you crying over a bloody book bag?" he demanded angrily.
"I-I'm s-sorry," Ginny wailed, backing away.
"Honestly, Ginny, if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you went from fifteen to five. Wailing about a ripped bag that you can easily fix," Harry snarled, snatching a feather quill from the mess and starting to twiddle it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Harry James Potter," Ginny growled, "if you think you are more injured than I am, you're wrong. I am just as hurt, if not more, than you! I am traumatized, Harry."
"Traumatized? What a funny way of putting it," Harry spat, narrowing his eyes at her. He put on a high squeaky voice. "Oh look, I'm so traumatized."
SMACK! Harry knew it was coming even before Ginny's hand collided with his cheek painfully. He winced, and his fingers immediately shot up to feel the wound. "This'll sting for weeks," Harry thought angrily, but he didn't have much time to think, for Ginny was red and breathing heavily.
"Harry, don't you think for one second that you are the only boy in the wrong. I know you've lost him, but Harry, I've lost him too. I loved him, more than you ever will, and now he's gone. You are not the only one suffering here!" It looked like waterfalls were pouring out of Ginny's blue eyes. "I want to murder You-Know-Who and his henchman. I want to punish them and make them bleed. But I know I can't. I know have to go on with my life, with or without my brother."
Harry gazed into her eyes, unsure of what to do or say. Ginny wiped the tears from her face and bent down, shoving her books and supplies back into her tattered excuse for a book bag. Suddenly, Harry placed a hand on hers, stopping her from picking up anything else.
"Here." He took his own book bag, emptied his two books and stack of parchment out of it, and handed it to Ginny. "I can carry my things all right without it."
"Thank you." Ginny's voice became as hard as Harry's had been as she moved her stuff into the bag Harry was lending her. "I guess I'll see you back in the common room."
"Ginny, wait," Harry called after her.
She turned around slowly, frowning at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Can I-can I see you tomorrow? Here?" Harry asked. "I'd like to talk about him."
"Talk about him?" Ginny nodded slowly. "Ok. I guess talking helps. I just can't believe he had to die."
"He didn't have to," Harry replied with a trace of irony in his voice.
"He did it to save us," Ginny added.
"I know." Harry paused and then asked. "Tomorrow then?"
"Tomorrow."
The next day they would go to his tombstone and read the words written on it, thanking him for his life and his friendship.
"Rest in peace, Ron Weasley. Beloved son, brother, and friend."
Author's note: A manipulated picture I saw made by a person called Emmyjean inspired this story. The picture is called "Alone", and it shows Harry looking almost furiously down at something, with a watching Ginny in the background. This short story plot immediately came to mind.
Sorry if it's a little awkward, with not much plot. I just wanted to get it down on the computer as fast as my fingers could type it.
________________________________________________________________________
He sat alone in the library, tearing his quill to shreds with his fingers. He bit his lip and quickly wiped away a tear that was threatening to spill from his eye. Gazing down at the parchment he was writing on, he only saw three black scribbles that were supposed to be words, words of what he was feeling. Words of how he wanted to kill the murderer, wanted to strangle anyone who got in his way.
Brushing his black hair from his eyes, the boy looked up, his green eyes dull and expressionless. His scar was jagged and fierce on his forehead, and his expression was angry and upset. His fingers trembled as he piled the remains of his quill on the table he was sitting at.
"How dare he." That was the only thought that was running through Harry Potter's head. "I'll kill him. I swear I will. I'll murder him with my own hands."
"Harry?"
Harry whirled around, his robes billowing behind him, to see Ginny Weasley standing there. For a young girl of fifteen, she was very solemn and mature, like an adult who had seen too much. Judging from her red eyes, Harry could tell she had been crying, and he didn't blame her. If it weren't for his pride, he'd be crying too.
"Um, Harry, would you like another quill?" Ginny asked, brushing a red curl away from her cheek.
"Yes, that would be very nice," Harry murmured, his voice hard and emotionless.
Ginny fumbled into her book bag and gasped as it ripped and fell on the floor. Tears immediately began to stream from her eyes, and Harry stood up, infuriated.
"What, are you crying over a bloody book bag?" he demanded angrily.
"I-I'm s-sorry," Ginny wailed, backing away.
"Honestly, Ginny, if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you went from fifteen to five. Wailing about a ripped bag that you can easily fix," Harry snarled, snatching a feather quill from the mess and starting to twiddle it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Harry James Potter," Ginny growled, "if you think you are more injured than I am, you're wrong. I am just as hurt, if not more, than you! I am traumatized, Harry."
"Traumatized? What a funny way of putting it," Harry spat, narrowing his eyes at her. He put on a high squeaky voice. "Oh look, I'm so traumatized."
SMACK! Harry knew it was coming even before Ginny's hand collided with his cheek painfully. He winced, and his fingers immediately shot up to feel the wound. "This'll sting for weeks," Harry thought angrily, but he didn't have much time to think, for Ginny was red and breathing heavily.
"Harry, don't you think for one second that you are the only boy in the wrong. I know you've lost him, but Harry, I've lost him too. I loved him, more than you ever will, and now he's gone. You are not the only one suffering here!" It looked like waterfalls were pouring out of Ginny's blue eyes. "I want to murder You-Know-Who and his henchman. I want to punish them and make them bleed. But I know I can't. I know have to go on with my life, with or without my brother."
Harry gazed into her eyes, unsure of what to do or say. Ginny wiped the tears from her face and bent down, shoving her books and supplies back into her tattered excuse for a book bag. Suddenly, Harry placed a hand on hers, stopping her from picking up anything else.
"Here." He took his own book bag, emptied his two books and stack of parchment out of it, and handed it to Ginny. "I can carry my things all right without it."
"Thank you." Ginny's voice became as hard as Harry's had been as she moved her stuff into the bag Harry was lending her. "I guess I'll see you back in the common room."
"Ginny, wait," Harry called after her.
She turned around slowly, frowning at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Can I-can I see you tomorrow? Here?" Harry asked. "I'd like to talk about him."
"Talk about him?" Ginny nodded slowly. "Ok. I guess talking helps. I just can't believe he had to die."
"He didn't have to," Harry replied with a trace of irony in his voice.
"He did it to save us," Ginny added.
"I know." Harry paused and then asked. "Tomorrow then?"
"Tomorrow."
The next day they would go to his tombstone and read the words written on it, thanking him for his life and his friendship.
"Rest in peace, Ron Weasley. Beloved son, brother, and friend."