Harry
Traumatic experiences can have a strange and unexpected effect on people. My moods were constantly swinging back and forth, like a mighty pendulum of angst and childlike humor. Sometimes I felt like a child on summer holiday, and other times I felt like an old man at a war memorial – and it only took seconds to switch between the two. I imagine it's a lot like being bipolar.
Or female.
I can think of at least five instances off the top of my head of your having male PMS and I'm not afraid to put them into writing.
My mind was splitting into fifty different directions. There was the physical comfort of the hot bath I was, the throbbing achiness I felt in every muscle in my body, the bodies that were strewn across the floor every time I closed my eyes…and then there was Ginny. Beautiful Ginny, with her long ginger hair sticking to her face and her slender frame carefully treading water in front of me. There was something inviting about the concern written across her face that made me want to gush and tell her everything.
"It's like I died for nothing. Or at least, I think I did…I don't know, it's all so confusing and I was so exhausted that it's hard to remember exactly what happened."
I took a deep breath and resolved to relive, for the second time in two days, that long walk through the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort. It was the least that she deserved. As I steeled myself to tell the story, she took a washcloth from the pile by the bath and dipped it into the water.
"It was when Voldemort had given that awful ultimatum. I knew that if I didn't surrender myself, he would slaughter every man, woman and child he came across. Voldemort was never one to make empty threats. So I went. I went into that Forest to confront him for what I was sure would be the last time. There was no time to say goodbye to anyone, and anyway, I didn't think I could handle it. I walked past you at one point – you were nursing one of the kids, one of the stupid underage kids who thought – well anyway, I knew that if I stopped to say goodbye to you, I wouldn't be able to go through it. But in a weird way, thinking of you did get me through it. At least until I used the Resurrection Stone."
"The what?" I had expected this response. What I hadn't expected was for her to give it while gently scrubbing the filth from my face with the washcloth. She looked deep in concentration as she tried to clean my cuts and bruises without causing me pain. Whether it was because it was truly hard work or because she was trying to patiently listen to my story without interrupting, I'll never know.
A little of both, really.
Well okay, I lied – now I know. It makes for better prose to write it this way though, so I'm not changing it!
Fine by me.
I winced involuntarily as she rubbed the sore spot on the bridge of my nose where my glasses usually sat. "Do you know what the Deathly Hallows are?"
"No."
"Yeah, neither did I, and nor did Ron or Hermione. Okay, but you know the Tale of the Three Brothers, right? From the Tales of Beetle the Bard?"
"Oh sure, it's about these brothers that meet Death, and he makes them these really powerful objects – "
"Right. Well, those are the Deathly Hallows: the Resurrection Stone, the Elder Wand, and the Cloak of Invisibility. Turns out they're real. I know this because last night, I had all three of them in my possession."
Always the realist, she dropped the cloth away from my face and looked at me, puzzled. "You what? No, they're not real; it's just a story. You were worn out and hadn't slept in days, and you probably just thought you had them in your delirium."
It was a lot like the time Hermione insisted that my wand had not acted of its own accord in self-preservation against Voldemort the night that Moody had died. My head was beginning to throb painfully. "Just listen to me, okay? They are real. Hermione and Ron will tell you. That Invisibility Cloak has been in my family for generations. How many Cloaks like that do you know of, that last that long and never fade or lose its magic? And the Elder Wand – well, you saw. Voldemort had it, and I took it from him with a simple Disarming spell. Expelliarmus, Ginny. That's how I defeated Voldemort. Expelli – bloody – armus. So yes, they exist. And so does the Resurrection Stone. Dumbledore left it to me in his will, indirectly – well it's complicated, but the point is that I had it when I was walking to face Voldemort, and I used it. I saw my parents. And Sirius. And – and Lupin. They came out of it and gave me all kinds of encouragement."
Ginny was now gaping at me with her mouth in a perfect O. I wasn't clear on whether she believed me or not, but as the last 17 years had made me completely fagged when it came to convincing people of things, I decided to press on. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But I swear to you it happened. And it wasn't a hallucination. What happened afterward, that might have been a hallucination. I don't know, it was all sorts of bizarre. But this was real. It definitely wasn't my imagination. My mum and dad and Lupin and Sirius, they were there, in a weird sort of half-physical half-wispy state. Not really ghosts, but more like…I don't know, like a reflection or something. It's hard to describe. But it meant the world to me to have them there as I went to face death."
To face death. It sounded strange coming out of my mouth, knowing that it was true yet scarcely believing I had had the courage to do it. And not in the way I had experienced it in the graveyard in fourth year, or in the Department of Mysteries in fifth: always the possibility of a narrow escape; but confronting it directly and with silent resolve.
To my immense relief, Ginny resumed her almost ritualistic washing of my face and neck. "I believe you," she said, in the quiet tone of voice I had come to associate with awe. "So what happened afterward that was so bizarre?"
"I died. The Death Eaters had tied Hagrid up to a tree, and stood around in a circle and watched Voldemort aim a Killing Curse right at me. All I remember is a lot of green light, and then – "
"Wait, you mean the Curse actually hit you? You didn't narrowly escape and only pretend to be dead?"
"No, it definitely hit me. Right here." I patted my chest where my heart kept its steady rhythm. Although her eyebrows lifted in awe and surprise, there was something behind her eyes that looked almost like fear. She started to run her soapy cloth along the length of my arm, gently massaging the muscles as she did so, but I could tell that her sole focus of attention was on my story.
"Well, like I said, I knew Voldemort wouldn't stop unless he had me. And I knew he wouldn't be satisfied, and the war would never end, unless I let him kill me. So I did. There was also part of me that suspected that in dying for everyone that was fighting to protect Hogwarts, I could protect them. Like a sacrifice. I did notice that when I came back, none of his spells were lasting. Like that terrible hex he put on the Sorting Hat when he put it on Neville's head. I imagine Neville fought pretty damn hard against that one, but I think the spell just faded because of my sacrifice. Either way, I knew I had to stand firm in front of Voldemort and allow him one well-aimed Killing Curse."
"You must have been terrified," she whispered.
"Like you can't imagine. That's why I was so grateful that my parents and everyone were with me."
I'm sorry I doubted you, love. I'm sure they were there; I'm sure you didn't just imagine them out of nowhere.
Now she began tending to the cuts and sores on my chest in earnest. She picked up her wand from our pile of abandoned clothes and traced patterns all across my front, murmuring under her breath as she did so. I winced and gritted my teeth as I felt my skin and muscles contracting with the healing spells she performed. Despite having had Death Eaters as teachers for nearly a full year, she had managed to get a far better education that I had.
"So that's where it gets strange," I continued. "There was a flash of green light, and then…I was at King's Cross station. With Dumbledore. Only it was completely empty. He said it was like – like a limbo, or something. And we talked and he explained the whole Deathly Hallows and self-sacrifice and Horcruxes thing to me. He said I could choose to return to the living or – or move on, or something. Ginny, I've got to tell you, I was so tired. And my body was so broken. It sounds selfish, but I welcomed death. I really, really wanted to die. I knew what I was facing if I decided to come back, and it sounds weird but death looked so warm and safe and inviting. But then I thought of you. And I thought of Ron and Hermione and everyone else who was fighting so hard to save me. Some of them had even died for me. So I came back. I simply decided to come back and – there I was, lying on the ground, back in the Forbidden Forest with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Hagrid was so upset, he – OUCH!"
One of her spells had sent a shocking burning sensation just over my navel. My abdominal muscles twitched in response, which were so sore that I felt a wave of nausea come over me. She anxiously apologized and set her wand back down at the edge of the bath, choosing to continue with her washcloth massage. I knew many of my scars would become permanent if they weren't properly cared for, but I somehow preferred that to being poked and prodded. Hadn't I suffered enough?
You're absolutely right, I am so sorry I did that.
"It's all right," I told her with a paradoxical groan. "Hey – hey, Ginny. Look at me." There was something about her nervous apologies and meek gestures that I was beginning to find unsettling. I clutched her arms and looked her straight in the eyes. "Are you all right?"
"What? Yeah, yeah I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." I cupped her chin in my hands, softly grazing my thumb across her cheeks. The tracks of her tears were stained in layers of dried mud and grime. "Something else is bothering you, isn't it? Something else besides Fred."
Looking back on it now, it was probably not the kindest way to bring up the subject. I sounded so cold and harsh, even to myself. Being essentially murdered, fighting what looks like a losing battle, and watching so many of your friends and family die has a way of hardening a person to reality. She closed her eyes tightly, but in spite of her apparent effort the tears came spilling out regardless.
"We really thought you were dead, you know," she half-whispered, half-cried. "I really thought you had gone and done something stupid, like surrendering yourself to a homicidal maniac because you thought it would solve everything. You saw him, Harry – he was hungry for blood even after he thought you were out of the way. He wasn't going to stop and it was Dumbledore all over again, wasn't it, dead for nothing, dead because of some stupid noble idea. The two of you!" She smashed her fists into the water, splashing bubbles in every direction.
"Hey, hey it's okay, it's over isn't it? I'm not dead, I'm right here," I said soothingly, pulling her into an embrace. In a strange way, holding her close to me, pressing her head against my heart, gave me more comfort than any of her words could. "We're together now. We get to start over. I don't know what's going to happen or where we're going to go from here, but at least we know that whatever happens, we'll do through it together. No more secrets, okay? From now on, anything you want to know, I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything." I felt her nod against my chest.
"Yeah, no, I know," she said. She pulled herself slowly away to face me and fiercely rubbed her eyes. "I'll be okay. I just…oh Harry, I'm so glad you're alive."
And she flung her arms around my shoulders and kissed me hard on the lips.
I knew she was putting on a brave face for me. I knew that, one day soon, she was going to have to break down completely or explode from holding it all in. But in that moment, kissing her warm naked body in a bath that stayed magically hot, I was content to let her pretend that nothing was wrong.
You know, at some point we should probably stop writing fluff and advance the story a bit. It's all right, I'll do it in my next bit.
You've been awfully quiet and kind to me while I wrote this. Sure you don't want to add some last-minute cheek?
I'm sure. You've just reminded me of how grateful I am that you're alive and that we're together.
