Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor anything associated with it.
A/N: I've got this all planned out for a bit. I had to totally trash some sections and redo them, so it's been a little more difficult figuring out where the story is headed. Right now it's headed in a little figure-eight while I decide which way to send it…
Keep reviewing, and I keep writing…well, okay, I'd keep writing anyway…
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Title: Promise to Keep
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In first year I had the most ridiculous crush on Harry. I could barely talk in front of him. I was just eleven, he just twelve, but to me he was like the second coming of Merlin or something. I hadn't ever seen a boy so handsome. Harry. He was heaven to me.
By my third year, I'd started to realize just how silly I must have seemed. I looked back at the class of first years and saw how silly and naïve and impetuous they were, and I wondered how Harry ever tolerated me.
I didn't love him anymore. Why would I? The illusion was gone. He was just another boy, too skinny with dumb glasses. Kept getting into trouble or hurt… And then he had to be the one to be there when my worst nightmare came back to life.
Tom Riddle. Alive again. Voldemort. I hoped he didn't know what his diary had done to me.
I had nightmares again. They passed eventually, and I pretended they never happened. Harry never knew.
He sent me a letter over the summer, after fifth year. He apologized for forgetting that I had been possessed before. He said 'if he'd had any idea how agonizing it had been, he would never have forgotten…' But it wasn't painful in the least. Just like the Imperious Curse, like I'd said. Like I was in a trance…
I didn't have the heart to tell him he was wrong, that there wasn't any pain at all. He probably assumed there was but I just didn't say anything. Because that's what he would have done…
I didn't want him to feel any more guilty or embarrassed than he already was. I just told him that it hadn't been that terrible, and the thirty seconds or so Voldemort had had him must have been much different.
He responded with a vague letter.
That was the last we heard of him. And then Ron and Hermione found something out and went with mum to Hogwarts. They told me when they got back.
Harry couldn't escape Voldemort anymore. Voldemort had somehow tightened the connection between himself and Harry, and he could force Harry to apparate to him. They told me Harry looked pretty bad, but sounded fine. They didn't look convinced, though.
I didn't know what to do. I wrote him a few letters at Hogwarts, but his responses were brief and vague. I understood.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Harry doesn't pay me much attention. Sometimes, his eyes rest on me during dinner or breakfast, but he doesn't speak with me much.
I understand.
He is busy.
He does not notice that I am drawing him, either.
I spend hours working on it.
Sketches, just like Dean does.
We're planning to do a portrait of Harry. A magical one, like the rest in Hogwarts.
We say it's just in case Harry doesn't make it.
Sometimes I slip and say it's for when he doesn't make it. And then I cry…
Ron's changed a lot. He used to be my annoying, overbearing older brother, the one that was way too protective all the time. Now I don't think he'd notice if I dated Malfoy.
He hasn't sent a single howler to Dean all year. Dean and I have been going out for months now, ever since I broke up with this guy in Ravenclaw. We just weren't working, and then Dean and I hooked up and we've stayed together.
Mainly because of Harry. Because our ultimate goal is to draw Harry.
Dean's shown me a lot of his attempts. I've shown him mine.
He's very good at the feel and shape of the body he draws. I think I'm better at the face.
He can't seem to find the eyes…
I can. I found Harry's eyes and I drew them. On that day…
The day my brother got married.
Not Bill.
Not Charlie.
Not Fred. Or George.
Not even Percy.
Ron. Married. Barely sixteen and a half. Married.
That was Hermione's idea. Her plan. She needed to see Harry alive again. Ron, too. For them to keep living, they needed reassured that he was still living.
From what I hear, she told him her plan and he refused. Said he couldn't do it that way. She was taken aback and heartbroken—came crying to me, unable to understand what she'd done wrong.
The next night he got down on his knees in the common room, in front of everyone, and recited to her an entire proclamation of his love. I was there. I wasn't the only one that was crying by the time Hermione found her voice and accepted, launching herself into his waiting arms so forcefully that he fell back onto the couch behind him.
Harry just smiled. That warm, happy smile. That no one had seen in months.
It was great to see it. I glanced over and Dean was already drawing it, hands moving fast over the sheet of paper in front of him. He drew Ron and Hermione. He drew Harry.
He drew Harry over and over, coaxing the eyes alive.
I took the pencil from him gently, and started to draw the eyes myself. I was better at them. He knew it.
But when I looked up to make sure I caught them right, Harry was looking at me.
His eyes were dead.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I was the one that found him in that hallway.
Bleeding.
No one around.
He was a mess, lying in a heap. Robes torn and soaked in his blood. His nose was broken, smashed at an odd angle. He had two black eyes, and he was having trouble breathing.
I screamed. Ran for Pomfrey. She took one look at him and had him in the infirmary in instants. I don't know how she moved that fast, but she did.
Harry just gave me a wan smile and thanked me for my help. Then he passed out.
I left. Ron and Hermione pushed in the door as I left. Ron gave me a sweeping glance but then he was focused on Harry. I left.
He thanked me again, later, in the common room. Said he was glad that I had found him, or he would have died. I told him anyone would have helped him. And he said obviously one person wouldn't have. He laughed. I couldn't.
I wanted to hurt him, too.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was spring when Ron and Hermione got married. A month after Ron proposed.
Mum was very supportive of the whole thing, to my surprise. Bill had finally gotten married over the past summer. Charlie had a girlfriend. That was it. Fred and George had short flings every now and then, but no one else had settled down.
And here was Ron, my youngest older brother. Getting married at sixteen.
Somehow, he seemed more like he was thirty. He helped Hermione plan the wedding. He was responsible and organized and did things without being told. He took care of invitations, finding a minister to do the ceremony, and everything else he and Hermione needed.
All she had to do was convince her parents.
That took about two minutes, I hear.
I've never met a smarter witch than Hermione. I thought she'd just talk to her parents and let them meet Ron.
She was smarter than that. She let them meet Harry.
Harry didn't realize what it was about. He thought Hermione's parents had just come to visit the school. That Dumbledore had let them for some special reason.
Hermione's mother had already figured out where to find a good dress by the time they left again. Hermione's dad shook Ron's hand and greeted my parents warmly. The four parents talked for hours after that. There was a lot of crying and laughing and smiling going on.
Harry was taken that evening. When Professor McGonagall was watching him. As I hear it, a Slytherin planted a firework in the hallway as they were going through, and in the smoke and noise McGonagall lost sight of Harry for an instant.
She banished the smoke and firework with the most powerful banishing charm anyone has ever seen, I've heard. But Harry was gone.
He didn't get 'returned' to us for two weeks.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Would you like to see the unicorns?" Harry asks.
I look up from my homework.
"What?" I say stupidly.
It is two weeks until school is out. I have OWLs. I am stressed and busy. But unicorns…
"Unicorns," he echoes. "Outside."
I look past him. Dumbledore himself is standing there. It is his shift to watch Harry I guess. "Is it safe?" I ask.
"Yeah," he assured me. He smiles, this happy, sad, longing smile.
"Why?" I ask. Why is he doing this now? He's ignored me all year, tortured me in his own way with his looks and smiles and few words…
"Someone should see them," he says. "You look tired."
"Okay," I find myself agreeing. Unicorns. I have never seen them before. "Are there many here?" I ask him.
Harry smiles and doesn't say anything. He leads me out of Gryffindor, and Dumbledore himself falls into step beside me. He leans a little close to me, eyes twinkling. "Harry wants to show someone the unicorns," he explains quietly. Before no one will be left to see them, is the unspoken finish to the sentence. Harry doesn't hear, or at least pretends not to. "They are called to him."
"Oh," I say softly.
We go outside. Down the steps, out across the lawn. To beside where the lake is closest to the Forbidden Forest.
There is a flat grassy area there. The moon is shining on the grass, giving it a silver hue. It bends and bobs in the wind like a silvery sea…
Harry steps a little bit further, and Dumbledore shadows him, always fifteen feet behind him. Wand ready.
This is a risk, I realize suddenly. It is by no means safe.
But Harry is willing to do this… Why?
And suddenly I see them.
Silver-white. Glowing, almost. Dancing. They come out of the trees. Are they alive? Are they ghosts? Spirits?
There are dozens. Perhaps hundreds…I can't tell. They are everywhere…
I realize I am holding my breath. I let it out slowly, afraid of startling the unicorns.
They do not notice me. Nor do they notice the headmaster.
They only have eyes for Harry.
They prance closer to him. A young one dances up to him, throwing its head around and prancing closer on just its hind legs.
It flicks its tail and whips almost in a circle, ducking its head and shaking its horn.
Harry is smiling. It is almost more heartening to watch him than the magical creatures that are now cavorting all over the grass, like silver fish in a shining sea.
It is surreal. It is unreal…. It is a dream…
But Harry is here. The headmaster is a silent shadow, the vigilant guardian. All is safe…
The unicorns see Dumbledore now. They dance around him as well, and Harry beckons me closer. "They won't hurt you," he assured me.
"I—oh—" I managed. "I didn't want to scare them," I tell him as I move closer. He takes my hand and pulls me to stand beside him.
There is a huge one standing in front of us. Its twisted white horn is close to three feet long, like a giant icicle on its forehead. It reaches closer and sniffs me. Its warm breath heats my heart like a sudden fire.
I laugh. I can't help it. The feeling is so incredible.
Harry isn't laughing. I notice that as I stop. He is just smiling, then the smile fades… Something is wrong.
"Professor?" I ask, confused. Dumbledore moves closer, puts a hand on Harry's shoulder.
Harry jumps, whipping around. His wand is on Dumbledore before he has even really registered what he is doing.
The unicorns startle.
They rush past us even as Harry crumbles, collapsing, dropping his wand from weak fingers.
It is a thundering torrent of white rushing past us, like a river. Foaming. White. Whipping, roaring… Wearing away the stone that is Harry… Like the sea has been tilted on its side and is rushing away, back to wherever it came from…
Dumbledore picks Harry up gently. I didn't realize that Harry, at sixteen, was so light that an old man could carry him.
He is moaning and looking around blearily. Dumbledore sighs. "He will be fine," he tells me. "It is just a side effect," he explains. I nod, not understanding. "Perhaps you should alert Ron and Hermione," he adds heavily, giving me an apologetic look.
I understand that, though.
* * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * *
I sit with Dean in the common room now. Harry does not talk to me more than a few greetings every now and then. I understand why he does it…
I think I do, at least…
We start our painting. It will be fairly large. So that Harry's head and shoulders are in the painting, and they are life sized approximately.
I do the eyes, remembering that night with the unicorns. How glowing and alive his eyes were. I combine that look with the happiness and pride in his eyes when Ron and Hermione were wed.
They are a sparkling green. Like Dumbledore's. Except that incredible deep green.
We do them first, and build the face around them.
We will add the charm that gives it life last. Hopefully, it will be right.
We had to 'borrow' a few things from Harry in order to ensure that the painting would have Harry's memories and personality. He never noticed the absence of a few photographs, or the missing lock of hair. Ron got it for me. Snipped it off while Harry was sleeping. It of course grew back during the night. Harry never noticed.
I am both afraid and excited for the finish of the painting. We keep it in an empty classroom now. We have permission from almost all of the staff. Of course, Professor Snape has refused to acknowledge our work. He pretends it doesn't exist.
The painting is getting there. The face is almost done, and soon we will finish it. Professor Flitwik is going to teach us how to put the magical components into it. And then we will have finished it. Our portrait. Our Harry. My Harry…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There is a problem.
There is a problem with the portrait.
"Why won't it move?" Dean asks. I shrug and tap the paint-covered canvas. But the boy in the painting does not move.
"I'm not sure," Flitwik admits. "I've done this hundreds of times, and it has never failed me before."
"Lockhart had his own portraits that moved," I say. "So it's not that he's alive or something like that…"
"Perhaps your portrait just has nothing to say right now," Flitwik suggests. I sigh.
"Look!" Dean exclaims.
I do look.
The portrait has decided to come to life. The boy moves, robes rustling as he leans forward. I step closer, so that I am inches from the painting. It is like he leaning forward to speak to me…
"Hold onto him, Ginny," the portrait whispers to me. "Promise."
I stagger back. Dean catches me.
"What, Gin?" he asks, alarmed. "What did it say?"
"N-nothing," I say. I give the green-eyed boy in the portrait a quick glance. "I promise."
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A/N: The portrait will be back eventually. I figured Harry deserved one eventually, although it's meant as a contingency for if he dies. Ginny doesn't want him gone forever, so this is how she plans to keep him around forever.
But things are confusing for her, and Harry's not as good at hiding his feelings as he might think he is.
Coming up next: Someone that is VERY hard to write. Boy, did it take me some time. Who the heck knows what he's thinking?? I don't. Well, I'm off to read it again and edit it again. Thanks for reading, and the reviews are wonderful. –Miss Laine