A/N: Hi there! I know it's past Valentine's Day, but this is a new oneshot for Harry and Ginny, made for Valentine's Day. It takes place after Voldemort's defeat and the Battle of Hogwarts, starting with the last lines of the last chapter (Chapter 36, not the Epilogue) of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It's also my first third-person-written story.
Enjoy and please leave a review with thoughts!
Disclaimer: I do not own HP. This oneshot begins with lines quoted directly from the end of Chapter 36 of TDH, which I also don't own. It is obviously J.K. Rowling's work.
A Candle in the Darkness
"I'm putting the Elder Wand," he told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, "back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won't it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That'll be the end of it."
Dumbledore nodded. They smiled at each other.
"Are you sure?" said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.
"I think Harry's right," said Hermione quietly.
"That wand's more trouble than it's worth," said Harry. "And quite honestly," he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, "I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."
She found him in Gryffindor Tower, sitting on one of the well-worn armchairs by the coldly empty, soot-black fireplace. The cushions on every couch had been torn apart, leaving puffs of cotton dangling and floating everywhere while the half-melted springs inside the cushions stood stoically, the remnants of the battle that would forever after be known to all as the Battle of Hogwarts. So many had died, so many had suffered, but none of them in vain; for Lord Voldemort had been defeated, the last scrap of his malignant black soul wiped from this very Earth by his own doing.
She had only ever known the Dark Wizard so many people had feared as Tom. Tom Riddle, who had been her savior and destroyer during her first year at Hogwarts. Her family had never even seemed to care that she'd been possessed by the Dark Lord, asking if she was fine and then moving on. Of course she said she was fine; what else could she have said? But she hadn't really been all right; Tom Riddle had been understanding and charismatic to her, even if only through a silly little diary. He'd lied to her, taken over her, used her as his puppet to do his bidding and write his horrible messages on the walls in her own blood. It was an event in her life that had never stopped haunting her, though no one else knew about it. Who else would understand what it was like to be possessed by Lord Voldemort?
Which was exactly why she'd come seeking Harry. No one, not her, not Tonks and Remus, not even Fred — tears welled up in her eyes at the thought — had suffered nearly as much as Harry Potter had in the long battle to finish off the man who'd once been Tom Riddle.
And there he was, sitting on the demolished unstuffed armchair and looking exhaustedly at absolutely nothing. She approached him from behind and hesitated before lightly touching his shoulder. He started, jumping up and pulling his wand out of his pocket before realizing who exactly was behind him.
She supposed he'd earned the right to jump up defensively at any disturbance, and immediately felt guilt at approaching him so silently. So she looked down at her worn-down, beaten and bloodied sneakers, before opening her mouth to say something.
But he didn't let her get that far. He rushed forward and enveloped her in the warmest of hugs, one filled with apologies and regrets and relief all together. She cautiously leaned into the embrace before wrapping her own arms around his waist and holding on as though she'd never let go.
It was one of those timeless moments, so similar to the first time he'd kissed her in the Gryffindor common room. When they at last pulled back, neither could tell whether a second or a minute or a season had passed.
He was the one to pull back and look at her face, her warm amber eyes and knotted, dirty auburn hair, her pale complexion sprinkled in warm red freckles. Her not-quite-full yet still beautiful lips, her thin nose. She was exhausted, and traumatized, and not yet recovered. Ginny had lost a brother today. She'd lost Harry for a couple of minutes, even if he hadn't really been dead.
He wrapped his filthy, bloody and torn arms around her once again and ran his hand through her messy hair, working gently through the knots that hadn't been brushed out in a long time. He whispered in her ear, "I'm so sorry."
Ginny, who had been burying her head in his shoulder, pulled back. "No, you are not sorry, Harry Potter. You just defeated Tom Riddle for the last time and saved the wizarding world of a war that would've gone on a much longer time. You have nothing to apologize for." She looked ferociously into his eyes, forcing him to accept the statement.
He wasn't going down so quickly. The light in his exhausted green eyes died once more as he said, "No, Ginny. I left you thinking that I had sacrificed myself and died. I —"
"Have nothing more to say. You did it to protect us all. And what matters is that you're here now."
"No!" he whirled around, his back to her. "Don't you think they mattered? So many people died, Ginny! And because of me! Tonks, Remus — even Fred! It's my fault they're dead."
Tears threatened to spill over once again, but she swallowed the grief. "That's not true, Harry," she said, more gently this time, as she reached his arm and pulled him back around to face her. "No, listen to me," she said as his shoulders sagged, only continuing when he looked her in the eye. "Harry, those people — everyone who was killed in the war, not just today — your parents, and Sirius and Dumbledore — they did not die because of you. They died to finish a war against a monster. And that monster, Voldemort, was the reason they all died. Not you.
"And you want to know something else, Harry?" she continued. "What you have done, everything you've suffered through for years fighting Voldemort? You are not the reason they died, Harry. You're the reason they didn't die in vain."
She saw in his eyes that he had acknowledged the truth of her words. It would take years upon years to recover from this war, Ginny knew, but for now, they could take small steps like this one.
"No one blames you for anything, Harry. Fred — Fred is gone," she gulped down her grief again, "but at least he died fighting for the good." And then the tears really did come, washing down her face and turning dirt to sludge, but she cared not, and neither did he.
He cried too, for every piece of family he'd ever lost, for the relief that it was over; finally, it was over. And he cried, sorry for those who would never find the courage to love.
Molly Weasley, furious and anxious after having looked all through the Great Hall for her daughter to no avail, pounded up the steps to Gryffindor Tower. The Great Hall had been full of people, though the chatter was nowhere near as lively as it had been when she was a student here. Perhaps it was simply because a war had just ended; many people had lost their family members, and she was one of them. No. Do not think about him, she told herself.
Molly Weasley had always been a strong woman, a mother of seven — now six (no, stop thinking!) — and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. She would find a way to cope with the grief. Even as she tried to harden her resolve again, she thought back (not for the first time since her son's death) two years, to the time she had been caught unawares by the boggart in 12 Grimmauld Place.
She had seen every member of her family lying dead on the floor in front of her, and the endless tears had washed down to the floor from her eyes. But when Fred had appeared dead, he had been with his twin in the afterlife. Because never in her life would Molly ever wish her George and her Fred to be separated.
Her resolve fell apart yet again as she thought of George, twinless and grieving more than the rest of the Weasley family put together at the moment. But it again hardened when she thought of being strong for George, and everyone who needed her at the moment.
Just as she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, wiping away the tears that were falling, Ron and Hermione walked out of the Gryffindor common room, whispering but smiling slightly. Ron, who had seen his mother, warned her not to go in. To leave them alone (whoever them was).
So, naturally, she entered the tower, ready to start screaming at Ginny for staying away and nearly scaring her out of her wits.
What she found softened her heart to the point of breaking.
On the large sofa placed right in front of the fireplace of Gryffindor tower were Ginny and Harry. The two of them were sleeping, looking at peace for once. They seemed completely natural there, sleeping with their arms wrapped around each other and Ginny's head resting on Harry's chest. His glasses had fallen slightly off of his face, his left hand in Ginny's hair and his right on her back.
Molly walked over as quietly as she could and took Harry's glasses off without disturbing them, setting them down on the table. After one last look at her daughter and the Boy who Lived, she walked out of the Gryffindor common room through the portrait hole.
There was a smile on her face and hope in her heart. Everyone would be just fine and recover from this dark war, and they'd lead their own lives and fall in love. Because one thing was for certain — to recover from darkness, there had to be a candle lighting the way.
A/N: And that's it. Please leave a review, it makes me so happy, and keep an eye out for other oneshots and updates on my main stories!
