This is a fic I've had rattling around in my brain for a while. Little angstier than usual. Please R&R.
Post HBP. I don't usually like predictive fics, but this isn't really. Just futurish.
Don't own anything but the storyline...obviously.
She came up here often to be alone; the stones raised her high above noise and confusion of boys, girls, and grades. She would cast her gaze across the grounds, silently admiring the flash of moonlight on the lake or the rippling leaves of the Forbidden Forest in the wind. She would inhale the clear night air and gaze up at the stars, letting the twilight drain her of her worries.
If ever there was a time when she needed to think, it was now.
The Headmaster was dead. She had seen his crumpled body fall from afar, watched as the Dark Lord's followers vanished into the Forest and into the night. The flashes of red and white light had burned into her mind, the battle playing itself out again and again behind her amber eyes.
She climbed up to the top of her tower, the ghostly white of her nightclothes shimmering up the winding stairs. At the top, she paused; the heavy iron door was ajar, a sliver of starlight cutting across the stony floor. Peering through the crack, she could see the form of a boy standing atop the crenellations, his unruly hair fluttering in the breeze.
Quietly, she eased her thin form through the door without opening it, her eyes never leaving the boy ahead of her. She had known who he was the instant she laid eyes on him; who couldn't recognize the profile of the Boy Who Lived?
Still saying nothing, she leaned against the ancient stone and watched him. His eyes were closed, his chest bare, his fists clenched. Silent silver rivers trickled down his cheeks. He stood, shivering slightly in the night air, his feet somewhat apart and his glasses between them. A scrap of parchment was folded carefully over the earpieces. Quickly, her eyes rose to his face, almost angrily. His bottomless green eyes were open now, watching her with a look of what might have been fear.
"I think that's rather selfish of you," she said quietly, her words carried to him on the wind.
His head straightened, his gaze directed at the grounds below. "I just...," he murmured, and then stopped.
"Just want it to end?" she finished for him, her eyes never leaving his face. She folded her bare arms across her chest. "To be over in one sudden, noiseless moment?"
He nodded.
"Well, at least you're prepared. You wouldn't believe how many people forget their notes."
"What?" He turned his head to her, a look of mild surprise on his tear-stained face.
"Their suicide notes. That last brief 'I'll see you in Hell'" She pointed to the parchment wrapped around his glasses.
"You're not going to try to stop me? No pleading? No commands? No list of things death won't solve?"
She scoffed. "Of course not. If you've made up your mind to jump, it's unlikely that anything I say will stop you." She leaned back against the stone. "But maybe, if I stay here, I can convince them that you were pushed."
"What?"
"Well, obviously, if Harry Potter is up here committing suicide, there's no hope left." She shrugged. "Voldemort wins. But if I'm a Death Eater, and you've been pushed…then maybe the good guys still have a fighting chance."
"That's ridiculous."
"No more ridiculous than you leaping off this ledge."
He was silent for a moment, his eyes closed. She watched him still, her observing soundlessly as the tempest raged in his mind. The quiet dragged on for several minutes, after which he let out a sigh.
"Goddamn you." His head dropped to his chest.
"If He deems it necessary."
At that he chuckled, a fresh tear dripping down his nose. "Everything seems so…impossible."
"So does surviving an Unforgivable Curse."
"That's the point! That was nothing that I did! It was a freak occurrence!" he shouted at her, facing her with eyes blazing. "One miracle doesn't breed another!"
"Says who?"
He glared silently at her, his anger rushing at her in waves. She didn't move, she didn't blink. The wind rose, dancing gently through their moon-kissed hair.
"I know what you did. We all do. Your first year, the Sorcerer's Stone. Your second, the basilisk. Your third, dementors. Your fourth…"
"Alright! I get your point!" he growled, avoiding her amber stare.
"Every time you've stopped him."
"EXCEPT THIS TIME!" he bellowed. "PEOPLE DIED! AND…" He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. "And I couldn't stop it."
"And skipping off this battlement will?" she murmured, brushing a strand of curly black hair out of her eyes.
"No."
It was a whisper caught on the wind, a single breath of sound whisked away into the night. Slowly, he turned and climbed down from the cold, unfeeling stone. He picked up his glasses and unfolded the parchment.
Dear Ginny,
He tore it to pieces and cast it off the tower, his dragonscale eyes following their progress across the night sky until they could no longer be seen. A slender hand slipped into his and gave it a squeeze.
"Good luck, Harry Potter. And thank you." The hand began to pull away, but he caught it. Twisting around, he grabbed her and buried his face in her curls. They stood their for an eternity, the only sounds his sobs in their embrace.
"You saved my life. I don't even know your name," he whispered, his voice rasped and worn. She pulled away from him and looked him in the eye.
"I don't think we'll see each other again." She gave his hands one final squeeze, then stepped away. When he finally got up the courage to move, all that was left of her was the sound of bare feet brushing against the ancient stone.