Author's note: Hello all, thank you so much for reading my first chapter, I'm pretty excited about this story, hopefully the point gets across, I know for some of you this may seem like an odd way to finish this story, but I don't think everything would be marshmellows and butterflies after they killed Voldermort. So here's the second chapter, hopefully you all like it!
- 1 year later -
The anniversary was a great deal harder then he thought. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach the instant he opened his blue eyes. He groaned knowing he could not sleep through this day. He rolled over and placed his feet firmly on the solid floor of his old dormitory, the ancient rug scratching against his toes. He groped the night table for his glasses. With his vision finally clear he could see Ron and Hermione curled up next to each other on Ron's old bed. He smiled at them. He was elated for his friends, although unable to voice his own feelings. Harry still could not tell Ginny exactly how he felt.
He could barely look at her without getting a sick fluttering in his stomach. He couldn't bear to think about her when he was away. Just the idea of being able to hold her the way that Ron could hold Hermione was enough to break Harry's heart. A year ago today he had kissed her on the steps, Hogwarts falling all around them, her claiming that she knew. But to them the world as they knew it might have ended, 'I know' said as such a cliché, placating him to continue his mission, Harry would think on his darker days.
He loved her that much was obvious. Is that what she knew? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Harry couldn't think of love at a time like this. They wouldn't be here if they hadn't just captured the Carrow's. They were caught off guard in a deserted Romanian village. But the actual capture, something didn't add up. The Carrow's were the fifth and sixth death eater's they have captured, and each time it was like they were just giving up in the end. If not for Professor McGonagall's unexpected owl, he would not have stepped foot on the castle grounds.
There was a soft knock at the door; Hermione moaned in her sleep at the sound, Harry shushed Hermione instinctually, practically tip-toeing across the room. Wand in hand.
He pried the door open slowly only enough room for one eye to peek out. "For Christ sake Harry!" Ginny practically shouted. She was in no mood for his paranoia.
Harry rushed to open the door and enter the hallway that Ginny now stood in. "Ginny? What are you doing here?" Harry hissed. As soon as the words left his mouth he was ashamed. Not at the words themselves, but at the tone he had used. The same tone he uses to integrate.
Ginny took a step back as if he has scolded her. "I came to see you." Her face was calm and collected now, remembering why she came, her temper starting to boil under the surface, "I'm sick of your piss poor letters, I want to know for once and for all what the hell it is you want." Her voice rising with every word, so much so she had to pause to calm herself. She had practiced this too much and too long to have her emotions get the best of her now. "I can't keep waiting for a ghost. I just need… some reassurance…" She said barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry," Harry croaked, "there's still too much danger, I just want to-"
"If you say that you want to keep me safe, I swear to God I'll scream." Ginny couldn't even look at Harry, her eyes were scanning the hall behind him, glazing over with unshed tears. "I can't wait around forever, Harry. I don't care if it's safe or not, don't you love me? That's all I need to know." She finally looked him in the eye, letting a tear slip down her cheek. She did not make a move to remove it. She wanted him to see it. She wanted him to feel some amount of the hurt he caused her. The months of not knowing, reading the papers to get word of him. Getting letters that don't say anything, all cryptic and vague.
In the mere seconds that had passed, Ginny's mind had whirled with questions, what if he doesn't love me? What if he never cared for me? She tried to slow them down but they just kept piling up, the amount of questions equaling the amount of tears behind her eyes.
"Of course." Harry whispered. He bowed his head in shame at the sight of her tear. He couldn't look at her. Ginny rushed to wipe away the irrational tears that had fallen.
It was silent for the longest time, only Ginny's sniffles broke the silence. "Okay," She whispered. "How many more do you have?"
"Twelve." Harry recited. The ministry had given them a list. Voldermort's closest circle of Death Eaters. These were their biggest priority. Harry knew every name and every relative of that name, when he closed his eyes at night that list was imprinted onto his lids.
"Okay," She whispered again. She was clearly thinking over her options.
"Ginny?" Harry said breaking into her thought. "Please?" He said stepping closer to her, taking her hands in his. He couldn't lose her.
"Please what?" She did not want to give in. She was not going to appear weak.
"Please don't…" Harry stopped not knowing where to start. "I can't ask you to stay."
Ginny stepped back clearly not expecting this. Harry continued. "It's not far of me to ask you to wait for me. I do love you Ginny, that is hardly the problem. But there's something going on. I'm not quite sure what it is, but it's as if the Death Eater's are just letting us capture them. I can't put my finger on it. I think it has to do with Rudolphus Lestrange. It's not safe for you."
Ginny just stared at him, her mouth opened slightly in shock. "I'm not waiting for you." She turned and walked out of the hall leaving Harry to watch her go.
Ron and Hermione could hear the whole exchange, shutting their eyes quickly as Harry reentered the room. "I know you're awake. I saw the extendable ear in the hallway." He said sitting down on the edge of his bed.
Ron was the first to sit up. "Well, she is my sister after all."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Oh Ron," she sat up and turned to Harry, "For the record I told Ron it was a bad idea and that he shouldn't do it, but since he did, why are you pushing her away?"
"I don't want her getting hurt," Harry mumbled through gritted teeth, his bed sheets clamped in his fists.
"I'm sure she could hold her own," Hermione insisted, pulling her hair back securely.
Harry wanted to scream. "That's not the point Hermione! What if she did get hurt and I wasn't, or I couldn't –" He choked. He couldn't finish the rest of that sentence.
Hermione leaned back as if Harry had actually lashed out at her, Ron a statue next to her, his face mirroring professor McGonagall's from just a few days ago. Pity. He knew exactly what Harry felt. It was what Ron felt in the Malfoy's basement. Completely and utterly helpless.
"Okay mate." Ron finally said nodding his head. "I get it."
Hermione looked at her boyfriend incredulously and then to Harry, "Will you just write her more often? You could have avoided this whole thing." She said throwing a pillow at him.
Harry looked at Ron as if asking for an explanation on Hermione's actions; he just shrugged, earning his own pillow being slug in his face.
- 1 year, 3 months, 2 weeks, 4 days later -
Ron watched from under the invisibility cloak as Crabbe entered a pub up the street. The same pub he had watched Goyle walk in not twenty minutes before him. They were certainly not the smartest Death Eater's. Ron walked with confidence toward the pub. He threw the cloak off and shoved it in his saddle bag. His steel toed boots hitting the cobble stones, he had vague flashes of the old American westerns he used to watch with his father, when his mother wasn't home of course. In this moment he was a cowboy, his spurs jangling.
He strode through the back alley and entered through the kitchen. The old haggard cook looked up from his stew pot; Ron put his finger up to his lips to silence him. The cook nodded and turned back to his stew. Ron walked to the waiters swinging door and peered through the circle window. He felt a small hand slip into his; he didn't need to look who it was. He wrenched the arm behind him, dragging its owner against the far wall. "What are you doing here?" He spit through gritted teeth.
Hermione yanked her arm free and pushed him with both hands, causing him to stubble backwards. "I'm here to help you, you stupid arse. I saw you take the cloak off before you walked in the alley, I followed you."
"I thought you were tracking Selwyn?" Ron asked his anger dying into concern.
"I was, I caught up to him and when he went to apparate I grabbed on to him. I landed down the street from you, no Selwyn." Hermione zipped her hoodie up all the way as she told Ron her tale.
Ron looked toward the circle window again. They were starting something. "Stay here," he moved toward the window, noticing Hermione following him again, he stopped, "Please?" Ron heard the cook chuckle, his ears burned.
Hermione of course did not listen. She pointed her wand to the top of her head and gave herself a stylish, platinum bob. "I've always wanted to use that." She scrunched up her nose and grabbed a tray of butter beer, and strutted out of the kitchen letting her hips sway wide.
Ron rushed to the window, she leaned over the table that Crabbe and Goyle were seated at, laying down two glasses for them. Goyle grabbed her arm. Ron pushed the door open to hear the conversation, "You look like this filthy little mudblood I know." Goyle wrenched her arm so that she was facing Crabbe, away from Ron, "Look, doesn't she look like Grainger?"
"Yeah she does," Crabbe said standing, moving to get a better look.
"You know," Hermione started in her best American accent, "I get that all the time."
Crabbe grabbed her chin in his large sausage fingers, her disguise clearly not fooling him. Hermione saw him slip his wand out from his pocket. She didn't think, it was pure adrenaline. She brought her fist down into Goyle's face, successfully knocking him and his chair over. Backing up fast she tried to pull her wand out of her back pocket, it was too late. "Crucio!"
She stopped everything she was doing, moving, blinking, breathing. All she could do was scream. The room filled with blue and green light, zooming across the room, past Hermione's glazed over eyes. She heard shouting and glass shattering, steel toe boots hitting something, hard, and then it was black.
She didn't know how long she was out. She could see subdued sunlight seep from under her eyelids. She could hear fabric shuffling somewhere in the room. Someone was running their fingers through her hair, the sensation absolutely sublime, if she didn't have the overwhelming feeling that she was going to lose whatever lunch she still had in her stomach.
She opened one eye, groaning at the spinning sensation, as if she had drank uncontrollably the night before. "Shh," Ron slipped his arm under her head and cradled her against his body, "its okay."
Hermione didn't care that she wanted to vomit; she wanted to be near him more. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, "I'm sorry," she croaked, her voice breaking from being unused.
"It's okay," Ron resumed running his fingers through her hair. "I signaled for Shaklebolt the second you picked that tray up."
Hermione buried her face in his chest. "I'm so sorry," She finally looked up at him, the bags under his eyes were a deep purple, he had not slept the night before.
"I really don't want you to go on any more missions," Ron whispered, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. She opened her mouth to speak but Ron stopped her. "I can't stop you from going, and Merlin knows we need your help. But I think you should know that I don't want you to."
Hermione lifted her hand and gently traced the scar over his right eye, "I could say the same to you." Ron moved his head, never breaking eye contact, and kissed the palm of her hand. "You can't always be there to protect me." Hermione whispered.
"You can't blame me for wanting to." Ron said pulling Hermione so that she was eye level with him. "You know I love you right?"
Hermione nodded bringing her lips to meet his.
- 1 year, 7 months, 1 week, 2 days later –
The first year after the war, before he had become Minister of Magic, Kingley Shacklebolt would come and deliver messages to them while they were out on missions. Arthur Weasley and him were the only ones that were able to find the trio. As of late, with the Death Eater attacks becoming less and less coincidental, Shacklebolt had not had time to deliver the letters direct. And that is why today found Harry pointing the firing end of his wand in Seamus Finnegan's face.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Harry! I'm on your side!" Seamus practically shouted shoving up his sleeves to show the bare skin there. "I'm just the messenger." Seamus shoved his way past Harry into the very dark and sparse living area, if you could even call it that. The room only contained a cot, the blankets haphazardly thrown about, a small side table, with a glass of water and an old torn book, and a ratty old couch. "Wow," Seamus whistled, "I love what you've done with the place."
Harry rolled his eyes, holding out his hand, "You said you were a messenger?"
Seamus' eyes widened, "Oh I'm great, thanks for asking Harry." He reached into his bag and pulled out a large bundle of envelopes. "Oh it's great seeing you too Harry," Seamus continued mocking his old friend, handing him the bundle.
"Seamus," Harry began, trying to explain why he was so cold.
Seamus shook his head already knowing where this was going. "Don't worry about it. I still sleep with my wand." He shrugged and stepped around Harry heading for the still open door. "Oh, Shacklebolt wanted me to give you a message." He cleared his throat dramatically. "Ms. Weasley has returned to school at Hogwarts."
"Seamus," Harry tried to explain again, but Seamus put a hand up to stop him.
"I don't know what's going on with you and Ginny, but I would probably do the same thing if I was in your position. It's in our blood as men to protect. We can't help it." He shrugged again and mock saluted to Harry as he left, closing the door behind him.
Harry slumped into the old ratty couch pulling the bundle on to his lap; he gingerly pulled the brilliant red ribbon off and started sorting them into three piles. Hermione's, Ron's, and Harry's. Harry had been writing Ginny for months, he truly did not want to lose her from his life, but each letter sent out, never came with a reply. After the tenth letter he considered stopping, then he scraped that idea. He wanted Ginny, even though he had a job to do now, he would win her back.
Ginny, however, would write Hermione and Ron back, answering questions Harry had asked her. They of course would relay the message to him, but it wasn't the same. She was still angry, and he was still sorry.
He paused on a small envelope, the return address of Ottery St. Catchpole. Ginny's neat script spelled out his name. Harry Potter. Such a plan name, but in her handwriting looked elegant, at least to him. He doubts anyone would really share his feelings.
He traced the letters with his fingers, as if that would somehow bring her presence into the small dark room. He flipped the envelope over and ripped through the wax that sealed it.
Dear Harry,
I haven't been able to write you. I've tried. I have scraped thousands of pieces of parchment. I've broken at least five quills, but I miss you. Something terribly actually. I start school soon. Mum had insisted. Well more like demanded. I'm kind of scared. To go back. Neville's teaching Herbology now and Luna Divinations. But you probably already know that. God, I miss you.
Ginny.
Harry held the letter close to his chest, letting out a sigh of release. She still loved him. She didn't say as much, but he knew, just like she knew that he loved her. They were meant for each other, no matter what was happening now, he knew that in the end, it would be them.
-1 year, 11 months, 3 weeks, 6 days-
The news of the third break out of Azkaban had not been a surprise to them. For almost a year now they had known the Death Eaters were planning something. Harry had a hunch that they were going to try to bring back the Dark Lord. It seemed almost obvious. All the vandalism, the fires, the riots, it seemed as if they were trying to be noticed, but it seemed as least to an outsiders view that the Ministry was ignoring them. As if they were a petulant child, the parent just does not feel like scolding at the moment. The third mass break out was the proverbial last straw.
Ever since Shacklebolt had taken office he had worked on a second Wizarding jail, trying to correct the mistakes of Azkaban's security, it was nearly ready when the break out occurred. The Ministry had made quick work of finishing and moving all those who had not escaped to the new facility, Fort Phoenix.
Luckily the work that Ron, Harry, and Hermione had accomplished had not been done in vain. Dolohov, Rowle, the Carrow's, Crabbe and Goyle had stayed very much detained, as they were being held under twenty four hour surveillance.
It angered Ron when he thought back and realized they had only captured six Death Eaters in almost two years. He wanted this to be over, his patience was wearing on him as he paced back and forth in the kitchen, Hermione washing the dishes by hand for something to busy herself with. "Ron," Hermione whispered her back still to him. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor."
He stopped for a moment, as if considering this, then his thoughts getting the better of him he continued to pace. Hermione sighed exhaustedly at the rustle of clothes.
She turned off the water and pulled the dish towel off the hook on the wall, wiping her hands of the excess water slowly. She watched Ron move under the horrible florescent lighting, somehow making the scars on his face and arms stand out tenfold. She looked down at her own arm, MUDBLOOD written out in pink scar tissue. She traced the letters gingerly, she had tried in vain to heal them, but whatever she did, it stayed with her, reminding her. She knew better of course, cursed injuries cannot be healed by magic, but the child in her still felt the need to try. The strong feeling of being watched came over her; she lifted her brown eyes to see Ron's clear blue ones watching her.
He had stopped his pacing, and watched her careful movements. She had worn long sleeves ever since that night, only taking of her coverings in the comfort of her own home, usually just around Ron. As the months flew she would sometimes forget about her scars, every time someone would catch sight of it, her cheeks would turn crimson. Everyone always had the same expression. Pity. It seemed the trio got that look a lot. He took two very slow steps toward her. She dropped her arms once she had noticed. He took her forearm in his hand, and ever so gently brought her scars to his lips, kissing every single letter. "I'm so sorry." He whispered in her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing her close to him.
She nodded into his chest, lifting her head to meet his gaze, "I know." She said against his lips, if it were possible he pulled her closer.
Author's note: So how'd you like it? Good? Bad? Please let me know. I love that you all have added this to your favorite story or me to your favorite author, I truly appreciate it. Write me, let me know what you think, if you have any questions, I'd love to hear from you.