A/N: Written for the Song Fic Boot Camp with the song Payphone (I finally used the title to this collection!), and for the As Strong As We Are United Competition, with the prompts darkness, loss, and photograph. Also for the Not-a-Song Fic Competition with the pairing Harry/Ginny and the song Payphone, and for the Harry Potter Spells Competition, for Obliviate (write about someone missing someone and having memories of them.)
Written especially for Lucy (WeasleySeeker) for the Valentine's Day Gift Exchange, with her prompts roses, flourish, moonlight, and agitated. The dialogue in italics from Neville near the end (and the situation it describes) is taken from her one-shot "Resistance," which you should all read next. Other events in that paragraph are from (a) canon and/or (b) my multi-chap "All We Know is Falling." [which you should also read. ;)]
I'm not JKR or Maroon 5 and own neither the characters nor the song lyrics that loosely inspired pieces of this.
Word Count: 3019
Rating: T
Warnings: Ginny swears a lot when I write her, but never any *really* bad words...
Petals on the Ground
Auntie Muriel's place was small, and Ginny was agitated to be there at all, let alone at such close quarters. Auntie Muriel might as well have been three people with her ability to meddle, and toss in her mum and father, and Ginny felt constantly surrounded by people. "We only want the best for you, dear," her mum said this afternoon when Ginny hadn't yet managed to get out of bed.
"Well maybe you don't know what's best for me anymore! I'm sixteen, and I should be at Hogwarts helping Neville. Especially without Luna there-"
"Ginevra, you know we could never live with ourselves if we let you go back there and something happened to you. I would rather you were safe and home than receiving an Order of Merlin, First Class, on your behalf because you did something stupid and got yourself killed."
Ginny tossed the duvet off of her and said up. "Mum! Honestly, talking about my death all casually like that."
Her mother smiled knowingly. "In the same way you were talking about putting yourself in danger, Ginny. You're safer here."
"Okay. But I'm not going down for tea. I want to be left alone for a bit. Could you please just give me a few hours?"
"Yes, but you'll be downstairs - dressed, with your hair brushed - for dinner."
Ginny nodded. A few hours alone was far more than she'd been given since her parents held her hostage over the Easter holidays. She hadn't been at all surprised - especially with the injuries the Carrows sent her home with - but it still left her irritated. She hadn't been in hiding a week yet and already she missed Neville. And in the silence, where the only bustling activities were housecleaning and her aunt searching out gossip, and where, in a change of pace, she needed hardly any effort to try to remain alive, her ache for Harry had only magnified.
She tried not to talk about it; any conversation about Harry would inevitably turn to a conversation about Ron, and she didn't think her mum would want to handle that particular topic. Her mum was still sore about him leaving school, even knowing what kind of a place it had been. Hell, Ginny didn't want to have that kind of conversation. So instead she moped, and thought about it anyway. Over and over again.
Harry. Was he even still alive? When was the last he was heard from?
Harry. Did he still care about her at all? Did he have a chance to think about her while he was off doing whatever it was he was doing?
Harry. Was he going to be so changed when - no, if - he got back that he wouldn't want to be with her anymore? Was she so changed that they wouldn't work?
The thoughts melted together in her head, a stream of HarryHarryHarry that never stopped and she wished she didn't care so much so it wouldn't hurt so bad. But wishing wasn't enough. She still wasted every night that separated her from Harry - nearly a year now - counting back over their few weeks of happy memories, trying to figure out what it was they could have done differently. How could she have kept him? How could she have convinced him that it was not better this way? Because it wasn't. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
Ginny still had her Galleon from the D.A. and wondered if Harry did; she would know if something went wrong with Neville, if something happened at the school. She knew Neville would be sure to inform her and use the fake Galleon. But Harry wouldn't contact her if something were to happen. She knew that. He was too damn noble, too damn concerned about not letting other people in and getting them involved.
He kept burning down every bridge that might have connected them. It sucked - they had built some damn good bridges. Those weeks at the end of her fifth year had been some of the happiest of her life. The pretensions of her celebrity crush had long since dissipated under a genuine admiration for who he was. Her experience dating other people prepared her for a relationship, and rather than solidifying her love for Dean or Michael, her relationships only solidified the love she had for Harry. At the end of her fifth year, when she should have been studying harder for O.W.L.s, wondering what N.E.W.T.s she would get to take, she was holding hands with Harry Potter and running off to a secret broom closet, or finding a private alcove down by the lake.
Kissing him was far better than she had imagined, which was impressive because she had imagined it hundreds of times from the time she was a young girl. His lips against hers, his hands in her hair, the way he would mumble softly into her ear that he loved her... Hours passed that way, and neither of them felt like they were missing anything. If there was ever a time she could call true love, that was it. But now she was paralyzed, lying in a bed at Auntie Muriel's, but stuck in the happy times of their relationship. It was so much easier to think about those days than it was to worry about him now, half angry with him for leaving at all, half worried sick over whether or not he would ever come home.
She was pulled out of her reverie by the sound of music coming up the stairs, a happy little tune by Celestina Warbeck. Her mother must be cleaning. She always listened to Celestina Warbeck while she cleaned. But this song, right now, in the mood she was in, - Ginny didn't think. Still in her pyjamas, she was halfway down the stairs and running to the radio before she knew what she was doing. She shut it off manually (damn being underage; damn her mother caring) and faced her mother, cheeks heating up from rage. "If I hear one more stupid love song," she yelled, Molly less than a foot from her, "I'll- I'll be-" she collapsed into her mother's arms, rage turned to sobbing.
Her mother cradled her, though Ginny was the taller of the two, and guided her to a floral print loveseat in the corner. Placing Ginny's head on her shoulder, she said, "Thinking about Harry?"
"Of course."
"It'll be okay, Ginevra. You'll get through it."
Ginny pulled away, standing up and staring over her mother, her face once again looking sharp. "You can't expect me to just... be fine, you know, when he's out there." Her mum's mouth opened in a reproachful way, but she shut it quickly as Ginny snapped at her. "But I can't expect you to care, of course. You and Dad, home safe during the last war, raising babies like everything was okay. Like you'd understand."
In an instant, Molly was on her feet at her side, grabbing her shoulder and forcing her daughter to face her. "Ginevra Weasley, don't you talk that way about me! You don't know the half of what happened during the first war; don't you daresay that life was easy."
"You had Dad," Ginny reproached.
Molly's face softened. "Yes, I did. But I lost my brothers in keeping him. There aren't many days that pass, even now, when I don't wonder what I could have done to save them."
Her heavy, shallow breathing calmed down as Molly's own calm and information sobered her. Finally, she quietly said, "I couldn't imagine losing a brother," and went back upstairs. She joined her family a few minutes later, hair brushed and wearing a proper outfit for the first time in a few days. Walking past her mother on the way to the dining room, she murmured, "I'm sorry."
Molly nodded and sat down beside her. Dinner with the three adults wasn't nearly as bad as Ginny expected it to be, especially when all her past experiences with Auntie Muriel spoke to something awful happening. Though she was quieter than usual, and the conversation wasn't joking and loud like it was when her whole family was present, it was something. She hadn't realized how much she simply missed having company. Loneliness is really only a comforting state when companionship has been forgotten.
In fact, Ginny would have called dinner that evening as the most enjoyable part of being in hiding thus far, until Muriel turned to her suddenly and said, "You and that Potter boy. I saw the way you looked at him at Bill's wedding. Did you two ever end up seeing each other?"
Her fork was nearly to her mouth and overflowing with a heaping bite of casserole when she slammed it back onto the plate. As it crashed down, she said, "Obviously not, as he's off doing Merlin knows what and hasn't spoken to me since August. Thanks for asking."
"Ginevra! Don't talk that way!"
"Why shouldn't I? She asked a stupid question-"
"Ginny!" It was her father speaking that time, and to upset him took much more work. She held her breath. "Go upstairs. I'll talk to you later." She sent him one more contemptuous look and marched away, leaving a plate of half-eaten food behind her.
She needed some kind of outlet for her energy, but as anything magical was sure to be caught and get her into even more trouble, she resulted to tidying up her already immaculate bedroom. She threw things around without much care for their fragility, and only broke one vase in the process. Auntie Muriel would be unlikely to notice anyway, as half a dozen others sat on the wardrobe alone.
If Harry were there with her... if Harry were there... she tried to convince herself that things would be different. But she doubted that was true. In the ten months since they had briefly experienced a fairy tale ending, it became hard to remember the people they used to be. She was still baffled that he wasn't there next to her, taking care of her. In one quick conversation after Dumbledore's funeral, he'd turned his back on the possibilities of tomorrow as if he'd forgotten what life had been like just yesterday. Although, she supposed, there were some days that change everything.
But every bit of change she had, every change she had made, seemed to have been wasted on him. She gave him, rather unabashedly, all of her love, and he seemed to give it away, or at least set it aside.
There was a light knock on the door, but her father didn't wait for an answer before coming in. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. She said the first thing that came to mind. "We don't even have a picture together."
"Gin- wait, what are you talking about?"
"Harry and I. We've known each other for more than six years. But we don't have a picture together. The closest I ever got to seeing his face at school this last year were wanted posters listing him as Undesirable Number One." Saying the words made her feel ill. She made her way to the bed and curled up across from her father, leaning into the padded headboard. It was easier not to yell when he was there. She wasn't sure if it was because there was something more calming about him, or just that the similarities between Ginny and her mother were too many to keep them civil.
Arthur reached out to pat her knee. "That's really what this is all about? Just love?"
"Just love? You say that like it's a small problem." For the first time since before leaving Hogwarts for the year, Ginny felt a genuine smile taking over her face.
"That's not at all what I mean, Ginny. Love is always a very big problem to be in. Dumbledore once told me that young love makes even the best of us miserable. But missing Harry isn't a good enough excuse for your behavior since you've been here. I know you miss him. But you can't forget - Ron's out there with him, too. Whatever you're feeling for Harry, you must know your mother and I feel at least as much for missing your brother."
"It's not just that I miss him, though, Dad." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course that's part of it, missing him, worrying that he's okay. But I don't even know where we'll stand when he gets back. Ron will come back and he will be your son and my brother, just like he always has been. Going away won't change that. Mum will be angry for all of a half second, then they will hug and cry and be mother and son again. But Harry and I? I don't know where we'll stand. He keeps building barriers and burning bridges, trying to think of reasons we can't be together. Who says that will stop - even if the war is over and we win?"
Arthur sighed, but his voice had the air of reassurance. "You'll get your happily ever after, sweetheart. It just not might be when you want it - and perhaps it won't be with whom you want it."
She scoffed. "I stopped believing in happily ever after. If it existed, I'd still be able to hold him. I would know he's safe. I would know he loves me."
"One day you'll see. You're still sixteen - there are still a few more years yet before you should worry about happily ever afters not existing."
He got up to leave, and despite herself, Ginny found herself saying, "Wait, I thought you came upstairs to get me in trouble for dinner."
Arthur smiled. "I think you have created enough trouble for yourself. But your mother and I expect you to be more sensitive in the future; remember we're all feeling apprehensive."
Outside, darkness had fallen, and it, far more than the daylight of late spring that she'd been sleeping through lately, made Ginny want to go outside. "Dad?"
He paused at the doorway. "Yes?"
"Do you mind if I go for a walk? Just around the garden once or twice."
"I think that would be okay. Ask your mother on the way though, please."
"Fine." She did so, and after promising to be no more than fifteen minutes, she went outside. The air was cool and seemed to refresh her from the stifling air she felt inside. This sort of being alone, when it was voluntary and out of doors, was much different than locking yourself into a bedroom out of spite and heartache. It was almost regenerative. She walked slowly and stopped along the back fence to observe the roses. Under the moonlight, they looked strong, like they were fighting against the blackness of night, like every place of luminescence was a triumph. The wilted petals on the ground beside the plants didn't even feel like loss. It was more like a sacrifice, small things given up for the flower as a whole to flourish. There under the moonlight, the roses reminded her of war.
It was strange, the comfort she derived from them, like somehow this picture of war in front of her made everything seem like it would be okay. The sun even sets in paradise, and darkness falls. That was the key, she thought, the absolute key. Darkness falls. The two words described two things: first, a day ending, the sunset coming and leaving stars and moonlight in its wake; but they also describe the end of darkness - darkness falling away, being defeated in the end.
She thought of every sacrifice she made during her time at Hogwarts - losing Luna at Christmas, the nights of being punished, the first-year Gryffindor who lost her life at the hands of the Carrows. She remembered the first time she faced detention with the Carrows, and how she screamed when she hadn't wanted to, and Neville hadn't, and later that evening she found her lips against his and hadn't yet forgiven herself for it. But Neville - he seemed to understand. "It's always been Harry for you, hasn't it?"
And it always would be, she realized. If he came home and decided he couldn't be with her, it would still be Harry. If he fought against You-Know-Who, and if he... if he lost, it would still be Harry. It would always be Harry. If he wasn't there, she would die an old maid, because she couldn't imagine putting anyone through a life married to someone who only almost loved them. Those brief moments with Neville at the Yule Ball, and their kiss that followed years later - they were enough of a taste for her to realize how little anyone else would do.
But perhaps there was something to be said about wartime being about sacrifice. If she lost Harry, it would just be another petal on the ground. She could make it through, certainly. It wouldn't be pleasant; she could tell that based on her attitude now, when he was only absent but not gone. But it would be manageable. Maybe, with time, it would get easier.
But if he came home, and fought, and won, and lived - her whole life would come back with him. Maybe he wouldn't be whole. Maybe it would take awhile yet to find their happily ever after, for him to trust her with the secrets of this year, for her to trust that he would tell her in time. Certainly, in war time, that had to be enough.
Carefully, she knelt down into the soil beside the roses and snipped one off. The thorn pressed into her skin, but didn't draw blood. She brought the rose inside and went straight upstairs, coming back down with one of the vases she hadn't already broken. "Auntie Muriel? Do you have some water? I would like to keep this rose in my room."
