Harry
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Did they finally hook up? Did they ever hook up at school? Are Harry and Ginny still virgins? Is Harry as much an animal in bed as he seems?"
Hardly.
Or maybe not. Maybe you're thinking, "They're both good kids, and they're finally together after having spent so many long months apart. They probably stayed up the whole rest of the night talking and catching up."
As it turns out, it was neither of the above.
Ginny had had her bed magically enlarged so as to make it comfortable enough for the both of us to share. The trouble with this was, as soon as our heads hit the pillows, we were fast asleep. For the second of two nights in a row, I fell asleep in my clothes. It was something I regretted when I woke to pains in every muscle where a zipper or a tight crease or seam had been.
It was, however, the first time I had ever seen Ginny sleep beside me. I eased her head carefully off my shoulder and paused to watch the steady rising and falling of her chest with each breath. I've never been the romantic type. Everyone knows I'm the bloke that says, "Watching someone sleep? That's not romance, that's stalking!" But as I've said before, tragedy has an interesting effect on people. Seeing so many people fall dead in front of me was starting to make me numb to the very concept. I was slowly coming to accept that no one ever stays in your life forever. Eventually you will lose them, and there's nothing you can do about it.
In spite of all that, I was growing desperately attached to Ginny. Somehow, in the very dark reaches of my subconscious, I had convinced myself that she was the one person who would never leave me, who could never leave me. I had convinced myself that she was immune to death. It looks stupid in writing. It sounds even worse when you say it out loud. But there it is. Ron and Hermione might leave me at some point – Ron certainly did, anyway – but Ginny was always there, would always be there.
That was why I felt so calm and relaxed watching her. She looked sweet lying on the pillow with her brilliant red hair cascading over her face, but it was gentle rhythm of her breath that I found comforting. It was an affirmation of life, a visual confirmation that she hadn't left me. I tucked a loose bit of hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek in my hand. As my fingers grazed down to her neck, I felt the subtle thrum, thrum, thrum of her heartbeat and smiled to myself.
So basically you're saying you're in love with me because I have a pulse.
Basically.
Charming.
You know it.
Apparently I had woken quite a bit earlier than most everyone in the house. I had a quick wash, changed my clothes, and wandered down to the kitchen, feeling better rested than I had in days. There were no clocks on the walls in the Weasley home, not conventional ones anyway. My favorite clock, the one with several hands each bearing the faces of a member of the family, was perched securely over the sink. They had all come to rest on "HOME". The hand that had shown Fred's face was mercifully absent.
When I walked into the room, only Mr. Weasley was there, his balding head barely visible above the top of his newspaper. I was looking at a large photograph of myself that took up nearly the entire front of page. The headline read: "HARRY POTTER DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO" and, in smaller letters underneath, "The Chosen One Saves Us All".
I was pleased to see my photo looking uncomfortable and edging its way toward the frame.
"Morning Mr. Weasley," I mumbled as I filled the tea kettle. Okay, so maybe I wasn't as awake as I'd thought. Nothing a good pot of strong tea wouldn't fix.
Mr. Weasley peered over his newspaper and, when his eyes rested on me, he gave a tired half-grin and set the paper down on the table. "Morning Harry. Sleep okay?"
"Okay. You?"
"All right."
There was no use pretending our conversation wasn't strained. In just a few short hours, a coffin containing the body of his dead son would be on display on the front lawn. I had just emerged from the bedroom of his only daughter, and I was pretty sure he knew it. Plus I had essentially whisked away his youngest son for months on end, leaving him with not so much as a whisper of his son's whereabouts. If Mr. Weasley didn't completely hate me by now, I would've been surprised.
"Been quite a lot of talk about you down at the Ministry, you know."
I stopped fixing my tea to turn around and look at him properly. My heart was throbbing painfully in my throat. "About me?"
"Yes. As you know, we're in the process of a massive overhaul. It's a big project," he said, smoothing down the crease in the middle of the paper, probably to avoid looking at me. "Everyone that was there was either in league with You-Know-Who or – or is dead. Most of the Order is gone now. We're badly understaffed, and we were thinking…well, we could use your help. Not right away, of course. I'll understand if you need time to adjust to everything that's happened. And we're not asking you to be Minister of Magic or anything; I think we've got that all sorted out. But the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could certainly use a hand. We could train you up a bit, you know, get you in line with all the proper procedures and things. Obviously I understand if you don't want to do it, it is an awfully big job and with all that you've been through – "
"I'd love to." The words were out of my mouth before I had the chance to think about them. "Honest, I would. When can I start?"
Mr. Weasley smiled at me with something that looked very much like tender affection. It reminded me of the expression on Dumbledore's face when I had seen him in that strange state of unconsciousness, or the way my parents had looked at me when their ghostly figures had immerged from the ring. I blinked hard as my thoughts caught up with me. This war was definitely breaking down my sanity. No wonder Dumbledore had been a bit off his rocker.
You haven't lost your mind, love.
Oh…well, thanks.
You can't lose something you never had to start with.
Isn't that the baby I hear crying?
Nope, just you.
Oh for the love of – you know, that was actually pretty good. Impressive. I can't even be angry with you for that one. Well done.
Aren't you glad you married me?
More every day.
Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to say more, but the sudden appearance of Ron and Hermione stopped him. It seemed best to drop the subject, at least for now. Hermione immediately slipped into Mrs. Weasley's usual role and set to work preparing breakfast, at which Ron and I shared appreciative glances. I was glad Ginny was still in bed; no doubt she would accused us of brazen chauvinism.
I would indeed. Just because she's a woman, she has to do all the cooking? Glad our marriage wasn't based on that sort of misogynistic dragon dung.
But you do do all the cooking.
Not the point.
Right.
Once we were all fed, washed and dressed, we headed outside to see if we could help with any of the arrangements. To our surprise, a good number of people were already scattered about the front lawn, hard at work. Rows of plain white folding chairs had been set up in front of a simple altar littered with an assortment of flowers. The petals caught the sunlight in such a way as to make them look as though they were exploding with color. Even the sky was an exceptional shade of blue. If it hadn't been for the casket at the center, it would have been a lovely effect.
It seemed as though everyone had turned up for the occasion, including Hagrid and Luna and even Professor McGonagall, who joked in a sad sort of way about how she missed throwing him out of her classroom. Luna drifted dreamily through the crowds, looking as always as if she had some sort of secret. She announced in a voice louder than necessary that she and her father would be going abroad that summer and she had no intention whatsoever of finishing school. For all her faults, I couldn't help cheering her on for her brave flouting of social norms. Meanwhile, Hagrid had foregone the reinforced chair set aside for him and crashed down hard on the ground, looking withdrawn and sullen. Hermione sat beside him and aggressively tried to engage him in conversation. It wasn't like Hagrid to be so quiet and reserved; in fact, it was deeply unnerving.
I felt unsettled and anxious and took to wandering about in an effort to calm myself down. The only person whose company I wanted was Ginny's, and she and the rest of her family had shut themselves off in a tight circle. Not that I could blame them; it was a funeral for their son and brother and cousin and nephew, after all.
A small, elderly wizard ran the ceremony, one who bore an uncanny resemblance to the wizard that had presided over Dumbledore's funeral. I half-expected to see merpeople emerge from the edge of the yard, or a centaur shoot a flaming arrow into the sky. Gradually I came to realize that of all those I'd known that had died, Dumbledore had been the only one that had received a proper service. As I sat listening to the wizard up front drone on about continuation of life through memories or some other such nonsense, I thought about my parents, and Sirius, and Lupin, and Mad-Eye, and that stupid Creevey boy who had dived thoughtlessly into battle. Angry tears spilled into my lap and I didn't bother to wipe them away. It may have been a farewell service to Fred Weasley, but at the same time it felt like a memorial for everyone that had died in the war against Voldemort. Looking around, I realized that I probably wasn't the only one to feel that way. The fact that so many people had come to pay their respects suddenly made sense.
The instant it was acceptable to get to our feet, I bounded out of my chair and made a beeline for Ginny – not because I needed her, but because I suspected she might need me. Sure enough, when I reached her, I saw her trying to console a devastated George through shimmering tears of her own. The Weasleys welcomed me into their circle as if I were one of their own. I felt deeply moved by this, acutely aware that they had always given me the impression that I belonged to their bizarre yet cozy wizarding family. As apathetic towards death as I had become, they caught me up in their mourning and it wasn't long before I was sobbing with the rest of them.
While I stood in that circle, looking around at the grief etched across everyone's faces, I felt my hands ball into fists. Bitter, resentful anger coursed through me so quickly that my head started to ache. This was not my fault. The blame lay with Riddle, and with all those witches and wizards he had brought under his influence. Many of them – even and especially the Malfoys – were still at large. I found this utterly unacceptable, moreso when I saw George bend himself double over his brother's casket and exclaim that half of him was dead and gone forever. My eyes met Ginny's and I knew she knew what I was thinking.
I'm going to fix this. I'm going to make it right.
