A/N: Well, here it is, the last chapter. I'm sorry for my evilness in the last chapter, but I just couldn't resist a "cliffhanger." Also, I was thoroughly spooked when I saw Garden State and saw a couple of things very similar to what I had already planned long ago in this story. Shriya made a soundtrack for this fic, which can be found at
Chapter Nineteen
"Lungs Out"
Crack!
Harry stared into empty air. The world felt threateningly quiet. No thunder or howling wind. No sobbed words.
No Ginny.
"Shit."
Harry spun around, slipping a bit in the mud. He made for the open sliding doors. He wasn't sure if he was panicking, but he definitely felt a sharp sense of urgency keeping him from thinking clearly. All he could see was Ginny, wild and mad, screaming into the storm, weeping into the grass. She was white as a corpse, like the morning Ron had found her frozen in the street. Her eyes had been nearly black, so dark and shining with tears as her mouth moved with words that couldn't possibly come from Ginny's mouth. Like something cursed and raw.
Harry swallowed and stepped through the doors, not bothering to wipe his shoes off. Heart pounding, head buzzing, he raced up the stairs, taking two at time. Maybe she'd just Apparated back to the flat. She could be drying off . . .
He burst into the flat.
"Bloody hell!"
Renee stood in the kitchen with her grocery sacks, eyes wide. Harry stared at her. She stared back.
"Hallo, Potter?" said Renee. "What the dickens is wrong with you?"
Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. "Er—Is Ginny here?"
Renee frowned. She glanced towards the bedrooms, then back at Harry. "Um, no. Why? Did she bugger off? You two have a row?"
Harry gripped his wand tightly, a feeling of dread coming over him. "She isn't here?"
"As I just said—no. Crikey, you look—"
But Harry didn't care how he looked. Without another word, he took off, pounding down the stairs and out into the wet street. He looked left and right for a flash of red hair, but he only saw slightly dazed Australians sticking their heads out windows and doors to confirm that the freak storm had indeed ended, and yes, that was water running into the gutters.
"Damn it, Potter, think!" he muttered.
She couldn't be leaving the country. All her stuff was back in the flat. Unless Renee had missed Ginny Apparating and packing with incredible speed. Where would Ginny go, upset like that? If she even got there. In that state, she could be easily Splinched.
Harry swore harshly. He had to think. Where did Ginny spend all her time? Where had she gone last time she'd gone off in a strop?
The Rocks . . . she goes there a lot. Maybe she wants a good drink. I know I do.
Taking a deep breath, Harry raised his wand, focused on his usual alley in The Rocks, and Disapparated.
The ocean was still angry about the storm. Ginny could hear and feel the waves smashing against the cliffs in thundering cracks as she climbed. The wind whipped at her hair and skirt, as if to ward her away from the top. Her chest and eyes burned from crying.
I just have to see it, she told herself as she neared the boulder she'd sat upon for many hours on sunshiny days. The stone was cool and wet under her shaking hand. Bracing. The wind swirled around it, trying to pull her away. Ginny used her free hand to untangle her skirt, but the material just snaked around her legs again. Surely it couldn't be in league with the wind, could it?
Ignoring her battling skirt, Ginny squinted out towards the ocean. It rocked and swayed, still dark and thrashing. The tumult called to her, feeding on her like the storm. Let us have your pain! it seemed to shout.
The ocean's so big, Ginny thought wonderingly. It has room for everything—all of it.
A slightly manic looked stretched across her face, drawing her lips out in a joyless smile. She stepped forward into the wind, her fingers dragging along the boulder, the rock cutting at her nails. She didn't notice. The wind tried to shove her back, but she bowed into it, determined to reach the cliff's edge.
If the ocean wanted her grief, it could damn well have it.
The small, sapling tree jutting out just below the edge creaked morosely. Ginny stared at it, her toes inches away from where the rock began to crumble into the sea. The storm had battered and bruised the poor thing—half its green leaves were gone and its bark was dark from rain. She imagined it giving one last sigh and dropping resignedly—relieved—into the sea.
Ginny followed the ghost tree down as a bitter wave crashed into the cliff wall. She nearly pitched forward at the dizzying sight and sudden jar. Once she righted herself, she peered down again. The craggy, sharp rocks reached up to her from the hissing, frothing foam. Another wave was swallowing the remains of the last one, preparing to punch the wall, perhaps bringing the little damaged sapling down. She glanced again at the shaking tree, wondering how it felt to dangle so perilously over something so unforgiving and hungry as the sea.
"You poor thing," she whispered, reaching out to touch it—
The next wave smashed into the rocks. The sapling shook. Ginny leaned back and looked up and out as the hissing retreat filled her ears. She shivered and rubbed her arms. The wind was warm, no longer moist, but she still felt cold fear creep up her spine. She could hear Nagini hissing in her ear . . .
"No," she croaked, covering her ears. "I don't want to hear it anymore!"
Sound disappeared. Ginny stared over the ocean, hearing only the sounds of her heartbeat reverberating through her body. Suddenly everything was distant and unreal except for two deep, steady rhythms. Her heart and the waves bruising the coastline. She saw the dark ocean, choppy and broody, give way on the horizon. The last vestiges of grey clouds were slowly drifting away. A blue ribbon of pure sky and deep waters split the two greys, steadily growing into what would eventually be another perfect Australian day.
Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the steady thumps and crashes. She swayed a little, feeling drawn to both pulses. Just heart and ocean . . . nothing else . . .
"You silly girl," a cackling, sick hiss rose up in the deep, steady rhythms.
She opened her eyes and nearly doubled over in pain. Sound suddenly burst into her ears as her hands clutched her stomach. She breathed hard as she saw Riddle before her, a twisted form of his handsome youth and skeletal dark form. He sneered cruelly, surrounded by all the dark and cold and pain he'd filled her with. He laughed.
"You are weak, Ginny Weasley. My little pet. Look what you've become. A sniveling little weasel." Slit red eyes and spidery hands reached for her, clasping around her, freezing her. She couldn't breathe. She stumbled backwards, trying to escape.
"Why run, my little Ginny? You are mine."
"I—" Ginny choked. The pain—his fingers were in her, squeezing, drawing blood—was unbearable. It consumed her. She tilted her head back, gasping, needing to breathe. How could he be here? How?
Riddle bore down on her, and she saw herself kneeling before him, bowing to his powers. She felt the cold cell, the sick pleasure in Nagini's hiss as she sank her teeth into Macnair. Harry hung over the boiling cauldron, his eyes begging to know why she'd betrayed him. But then she saw further . . . saw her standing out in the silent snow, saw Harry slowly turning away from her, defeated . . . then she was on the cliff, bowing before him.
He smiled triumphantly and squeezed tighter. "You see, my Ginny?"
"No," she gasped. "No!" Another wave crashed against the cliff, physical and hard. Her eyes saw the ocean, stung from the wind. Let us have it, Ginny.
The icy fingers tried to close in on her, suffocate her until the darkness consumed her—but Ginny tilted her head back and fought to take a deep, shuddering breath.
And then she screamed. Screamed for the ocean to take it—to take Riddle, her pain, her agony, all her lies and nightmares. Harry opened his eyes and jerked his arm away from Voldemort's lusty drink. His feet settled into the grass. He smiled. His eyes glittered brilliant and green. The Dark Lord vanished, scorching the air with his shriek. The icy meadow began to melt around her feet. Harry stood before her holding the diary and a torch. She took them both and the diary burned through her flesh. She could see the bones of her fingers as she shoved the diary into the flame. Pain lashed through her, burning up her arm, reaching her lungs. She screamed as Riddle tried to ravage her, take her through the flame with him. But she held fast, her skinless hand white in the flame. The diary curled and charred. Then it turned to dust and the flames flickered out.
"Sun's comin' out."
Harry tried not to give the storekeeper a dirty look. "Yes, that's nice, but can you answer the question?"
The man didn't move his eyes away from the breaking sky. His pale blue eyes squinted from under the brim of his beaten hat, and weathered lines creased his browned face showing through a bristly, peppery beard. "What's that?"
Harry held back a sigh. "I'm looking for someone. She's got long red hair and was wearing grey, I think. Have you seen her this morning?"
"Can't say I have. Why?"
"Nevermind. Thanks, anyway." Harry quickly turned away and stepped back into the main thoroughfare of The Rock's magical side. He looked up and down the street, wanting to shout from frustration. He knew he should be grateful for Ginny dashing off during business hours—less recreational traffic—but he had little gratitude at the moment. As of now he'd sprinted through both sides of The Rocks with no sign of Ginny. He kept going through the list of places she could have been, but he couldn't exactly search the whole of Sydney, and The Rocks had seemed like a good place to start.
"Damn it," he swore, raking his hair as two very blonde witches came out of Lady Sheila's Seasonal Wear. He'd just been in that store and had left very quickly at all the inquisitive female eyes. "Think, Potter," he muttered. "She couldn't have left the country. She didn't get any of her stuff. Unless she came back while I was here—nono, not going to think like that."
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and peered down the street again. The two witches holding Lady Sheila bags were giving him dubious looks. He scowled at them and started off toward The Scorching Wand. He'd already asked Billy the barkeep, but he could use a quick drink while figuring out where to try next.
Just as Harry apologetically asked for some ice water, he caught flash of someone trying to slink off out of the corner of his eye. White-hot horror struck through him. He whirled around as he reached for his wand and felt a moment of grim satisfaction that he wasn't just being paranoid.
"Malfoy!" he shouted.
Draco Malfoy stumbled over a chair. Harry pounced, kicking a chair out of his way and shoving past a surprised patron to stand before the frantically straightening Malfoy. He felt his old school hate rear its ugly head and for a moment fantasized about hexing the evil little ferret on the spot.
"Potter," Malfoy said coldly. He looked twitchy and scared shitless, but Harry had to give him credit for trying to be cool and arrogant at wandpoint.
"Malfoy," Harry nodded darkly. His wand was just two inches from Malfoy's chest. He couldn't help but notice that there was something very off about the former Slytherin. Staring coldly at Draco, he suddenly realized what it was—lack of shiny, stylish robes and well styled hair. In fact, Draco looked decidedly un-Malfoy-like.
Minus the twitching and foolish acts of austerity.
Oh, and the seething hatred.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry hissed. He could feel the wary eyes of the patrons on them. He hoped none of them called for magical law enforcement. The last thing he needed were Aurors barging in.
"Leaving," said Malfoy. He arched an eyebrow. "Certainly it is not a crime, Potter." Draco said Harry's name loudly, making Harry cringe.
"Answer the bloody question."
Malfoy smiled coolly and tossed lank hair away from his eyes. "I just did."
Harry wanted to hex him good. Gritting his teeth, he said, "What are you doing in Australia, you worthless git? Spying on me?" He pressed the tip of his wand into Malfoy's chest.
Draco put his palm between the wand and his heart. He snorted. "Please, Potter. Like I'd waste my time trailing after you. You're nothing but a washed up hero. Shouldn't I be asking you what you're doing in this desolate place? I'd think the great Harry Potter would be basking in the fame and making lots of ugly babies and getting fat and lazy under all that worship."
"Shut up," Harry growled as Malfoy's voice grew louder. People were staring and murmuring. "It's none of your business what I'm doing here."
Malfoy smirked. "And neither is yours."
Harry just glared. The reasonable part of him said he should just drop this and leave before things got ugly. This wasn't school anymore. He couldn't duel with Draco, no matter how much the wanker pissed him off. And it wouldn't be fair anyway—Harry knew he could take Draco in a heartbeat. But that didn't mean he should. And, anyway, the Aurors would definitely get him then, and he had more important things to be doing right now.
"Fine," said Harry bitterly. He lowered his wand but kept his arm tense. Malfoy was a cheater.
Malfoy grinned wickedly. "That's better, Potter. Control that temper. Wouldn't want to get in trouble, would you? Especially with the Weaselette here—"
Harry's wand nearly came up again. "You know she's here? What? Have you been stalking her—you have been stalking me, haven't you!"
Chuckling gleefully, Draco raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so the little bird didn't tell you I was here? Oh, that is good."
"What do you mean?" Harry said guardedly. Ginny couldn't have known Malfoy was here. She would have told him.
"Let's just say we had a little . . . interlude in the alley—"
Something very foul and angry flew out of Harry's mouth. He hadn't even realized he was about to throw his fist into Malfoy's insinuating face until a heavy, strong hand clasped onto it.
"Potter," Billy said sternly in his ear. Harry hadn't even realized the burly man was there. "How about that ice water?"
Something cool and wet fitted into his hand, instantly jerking Harry back into a less violent realm. He stared angrily at Malfoy as he gripped the glass in his hand. Malfoy stood two paces back, looking as if he'd just recovered from wetting himself. Harry took a slow, careful drink. All eyes were on him and Billy had a firm, warning grip on his shoulder. Heat crept up his neck. He'd lost control. He knew better than this. Malfoy just wanted him to do something stupid.
When Harry felt like he could speak without throwing a curse, he said, "What do you know of Ginny?"
Again Draco looked sickeningly gleeful. "She's a mess, Potter. A bit torn up about betraying you and all to the Dark Lord. Did she tell you about that? Spilled her little heart out to me, she did. Of course, I was the one who saved her."
Harry really wished he could fly at Draco and pummel that twitchy little face with his fists. Harry should have been the one to save her. He put her there in the first place. She'd been tortured into betraying him—she called it betrayal, Harry wasn't so sure. He hadn't had time to think about it really. And he couldn't right now. All he could focus on was the fact Ginny had told Draco before him, that Draco had a part in all of this.
Harry wanted to be sick.
"Oh, I like that look, Potter," said Draco. He smiled cruelly. "If only I'd had a camera. Your face—just like that—will keep me warm on cold nights."
"You're sick."
Malfoy just smiled.
Harry knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. In any case, he didn't think even Billy could hold him back long. With one last glare, he said, "I never want to see your face again, Malfoy," and then Disapparated.
By now only weak, scattered clouds cast shadows over Ginny as she leaned, exhausted, against the sheltering boulder. Salty ocean air cleansed her face and filled her lungs. Her throat hurt and her eyes stung and her body trembled with weariness, but she felt . . . better. Not purified and renewed, but definitely like someone had taken scrubbing bubbles to her. She'd screamed until she lost her voice and her lungs burned out. She didn't know if it had done anything other than cause a terrible ache in her throat, but it had felt like she'd forced something out of her. Riddle, perhaps.
Or maybe she'd just needed to let go. If even for a moment.
And now she could feel. The pain seemed a bit numb. A bit fuzzy like when her foot fell asleep, just before it started prickling. She could think and see and feel. It wasn't so dark or so much like the end of the world.
She gazed out at the ocean, blue again. She smiled a little. Her first glimpse of Australia had been like this. She knew this might be her last. But that was okay. She could deal with it.
Finally, her eyes closed and her mind gave in to a dreamless, exhausted sleep.
She could feel the sun warm on her skin. It felt soothing and scratchy at once. The salty breeze stung, drying her face and hands. Ginny stirred, feeling sore and exhausted and very shaky. Dizzy. The boulder ground into her back and the world seemed to tilt as she tried to open her eyes. She could hear voices, sense shifting movement, just out of her reach. It all seemed clouded, felt like cotton. She could choke on it . . .
"Ginny . . . come on, wake up . . ."
Someone was touching her face. She flinched. She tried to tell whoever it was to stop, it hurt, but her throat was closed and her tongue heavy.
" . . . water . . ."
Suddenly something cool and wet filled her mouth. Ginny's eyes flew open as she choked and sputtered. Bright light and colors danced across her vision and she quickly ducked her head and shut her eyes. After a moment, she squinted and saw her skirt bunched around her and her coppery locks curtaining the rest of the world.
"Ginny?" a gentle, worried voice said just behind the curtain. A hand was tentatively touching her shoulder. Anchoring. Softer than the rock bracing her back.
She moaned weakly and slowly lifted her head. Blinking in the bright sunlight, she saw many faces under colorful hats. Cameras—there were lots of cameras. And waterbottles.
"Try the water again, dear," a fifty-some year old woman said to Ginny's right. "She looks rather thirsty. And confused. Poor thing. You sure you know her?"
"Yes," the voice belonging to the hand said. "Definitely."
Ginny blinked up at the woman, taking in the straw hat she held down on her head, the navy-and-white striped shirt fluttering in the breeze, her white shorts over full hips and belly. Her large sunglasses hid her eyes, but Ginny imagined them to be crystal blue and crinkled at the corners. She had a strange urge to the hug the woman.
"Ginny." The hand squeezed her shoulder. "You need to drink some water."
Her head swam as she tried to turn it towards his voice. She let it fall back against the rock and winced, whimpering, at the sudden pain.
"Watch her head—do you want me to do this, young man?"
"Er—no. I'm fine. Um, but thank you for the water."
"Julie, we've got to go. We can't miss the bus."
"We can't leave her here."
"She's got her friend—Harold or whatever—"
"Harry, I think he said—"
"Whatever. Anyway, how do we know he's not some sort of—"
"Oh now, really, Jennifer! How many criminals go around looking panicked and say 'oh my God Ginny' when they come upon a hapless girl? Besides, he looks just like my son, Benny, and he loves little puppies!"
Their arguing washed over her. Ginny felt herself start to slip down as the world continued to tilt and sway. A hand slipped under her head and tilted her up, and she felt more water pour down her throat. She choked again, but this time reached for the waterbottle when it was pulled away. She drank in loud gulps that hurt her throat and punched her stomach. Her head throbbed, but she began to feel less dizzy. The world came into sharper and less painful focus.
When she drained the bottle, she looked up at the gawking women. Then she turned slowly to Harry. Taking in his dark, worried eyes and pinched face, she felt as if her throat hadn't absorbed any water. Perhaps she couldn't take whatever he dished out, perhaps she couldn't handle rejection or forgiveness or whatever was coming next . . .
"Harry," she whispered, her voice cracked.
Relief flooded his face, making him look seventeen again. His hand tightened on her shoulder and for a second she thought he'd leap on her. But then his eyes flicked toward the flock of tourist women.
Ginny followed his gaze. They looked back at her earnestly. She tried to smile, but her lips cracked painfully. She licked them and tasted blood.
"I'm fine," she said hoarsely. "Really. Thank you."
"Are you sure, dear?" the one Ginny thought to be Julie said.
Ginny nodded. The motion made her a little queasy.
"Well, have another water, anyway. We've got plenty more on the bus."
Ginny smiled weakly, painfully. "Thanks." She drank thirstily. By the time she was done, the women had bid their farewell after Harry assured them he'd get her home safely. When the bottle was empty and her gut couldn't take anymore, she finally looked at Harry again. His hand hadn't moved from her shoulder.
"What happened?" she asked softly, not quite meeting his eyes.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," said Harry. He was crouched down by her. Ginny was sure his ankles were killing him.
She rolled the empty plastic bottle between her hands and shook her head. "Well. I broke down." Shrugging helplessly, she stared at one of his bent knees. "You saw that."
Harry sighed and shifted until he was sitting against the boulder, his shoulder nearly touching hers. "Yeah. But I mean here."
Ginny closed her eyes for a moment. She felt so tired . . . All she wanted to do was curl up somewhere warm and soft and go to sleep for a very long time. But she couldn't. Harry was here and she owed him—owed herself—to have it out. To settle this . . . thing between them.
She opened her eyes and gazed out at the white breaks over the deep blue water. "I thought I could take you. You hating me or something like that. But then I couldn't. So I fled." She went to rub at her scratchy eyes but hissed in pain as fire exploded from her eyelids.
"What the—"
"You're burned," said Harry. His fingers gently clasped her wrists and pulled them away from her face. "It's after four."
"Oh, Merlin . . ." Ginny felt her face redden—more than it probably already was. She'd been here for hours . . .
"It's okay, I think Renee's got a potion," Harry said quickly. "But we should get you in some shade soon. You're rather red."
Ginny nodded but couldn't move. Hanging her head, she stared at her hands clutching her skirt. Immense shame washed over her, yet it felt rather sluggish. She tried to see herself from Harry's eyes as she completely lost control and screamed her betrayal in the rain. And then he found her against this rock, burned and surrounded by a flock of well-intentioned tourists. What could he possibly think of her now?
She lifted her head and stared at Harry. "Harry?" He looked at her openly, and she realized how weary he was. "What . . . what do you think of me? Of this? I mean of everything I said back at the flat? About," she swallowed, "about betraying you?"
Harry's gaze dropped to the grass for a moment, then looked at her again, his eyes dark and serious. "You scared me."
Ginny swallowed again. "Scared you?"
"Well, you were very scary and then the storm just made it even worse . . ." Harry shrugged a little sheepishly but didn't look any less serious. "You've been scaring me for awhile now."
"Oh." Ginny turned her head away, feeling heat rise up her neck and sting her cheeks even more. She wanted to ask how long, but she couldn't bring herself to. I'll only feel worse, she thought, tucking her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. I'm so tired of feeling like this.
"Hey." Harry gingerly touched his fingertips to the top of her hands. His touch burned her sun-tender skin, but she relished the pain for a brief moment. Then she shrunk away from it, feeling small and foolish. Must she always want pain? This sunburn felt too much like her scalding baths.
"Bloody—this hurts," she gasped.
"What does?" Harry asked, drawing his hand away.
Ginny shook her head and cast around for shade. The two small, leaning trees behind the boulder cast thin shadows over the path. They wouldn't do. Harry must have realized what she was looking for, because he said, "Behind the boulder, I think."
She nodded and tried to stand. The world shifted uneasily and her head spun. Harry reached out to steady her, and Ginny let him. For a moment his body blocked the blazing afternoon sun and relief cooled her skin. But then she was looking up at Harry, who looked so confused, weary, and anxious, that she immediately wanted to jump back into the searing light.
No, she told herself sternly. Steadying herself against the boulder, and reluctantly with Harry's help, she moved around the boulder until they were in its shadow. Then, slowly, she sank back to the ground and wished she could bury her face in her knees. Instead, she settled for staring down at the grass. Harry settled in front of her, and she was a bit relieved by this. Maybe he would take the lead.
Several minutes passed and Ginny began to worry she'd have to say something. What more could she say? But then, thankfully, Harry cleared his throat and shifted and, finally, spoke.
"I'm not sure what's going on with you, Ginny," he said quietly, "but I think I kind of get it. You think you betrayed me, so you hate yourself."
Ginny clutched her fists. "I don't think I betrayed you—I did!" she hissed.
Harry raised his eyebrows, and Ginny thought he looked inappropriately smug. "Then why am I here?"
She shrank back and frowned at the question. For some reason, it struck her as a trick. "Which 'here,' precisely? Alive or in this very spot?"
Harry grinned wryly. "Why not both?"
"Did you mean both?"
Harry shrugged enigmatically and leaned back on his hands, waiting. Ginny, despite her miserable state, wanted to cuff him upside the head. "Fine," she muttered. "You're alive because Malfoy had a grudge against his father and pulled me out before I could, in actual verbs, betray you.
"And as for this moment," Ginny said, looking away, "I frankly don't know."
Harry leaned forward. "You don't?"
She couldn't quite look at him.
Harry sighed. "Do you really think that badly of me?"
"What?" Ginny stared at him, completely thrown. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, you seem to think I should hate you or something," said Harry. He looked peevish. "You instantly think I'll turn my back on you for something that's not your fault."
"But it was—" Ginny started to protest, but Harry lunged forward and clamped a hand over her mouth. She whimpered in pain as her burned lips and skin stung.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, dropping his hand. He ducked his head, obviously embarrassed by his sudden action. He pushed irritably at his fringe and adjusted his glasses before looking at her. The line of his jaw was set. "You didn't betray me, Ginny," he said firmly. "You were tortured—"
She winced at the pain on his face and scratching his voice. "So? I gave in. Ron wouldn't have given in. Admit it. Ron would have gladly died for you."
Behind his glasses, Harry's face closed and the shade seemed to fill every hollow. Ginny shivered but forced herself to look at him. Bitterness swelled inside her. Now they both knew she wasn't as brave as everyone had thought.
"What if Ron had betrayed you, Harry?" she demanded, her voice tight. "Would you forgive him?"
Harry swallowed noticeably and looked away. His lips were pressed thin and hard, and she knew she'd unsettled him deeply. "No," he bit out. Taking a deep breath, he plunged on before she could say anything else. "But it's not how you think. Ron would never betray me. He's not like Pettigrew." Quiet, barely contained anger edged his voice, and Ginny pressed her back against the stone. "If Voldemort tortured Ron or Hermione until they were near dead, like he did to you, and something slipped or they surrendered, I can't blame them."
"Do you honestly think either of them would do that?" She couldn't let him off that easy—couldn't let herself off that easy. If he forgave her so easily, it would make these past two years of grieving and wallowing even more ridiculous and shallow and pathetic. And another part of her began to feel righteously bitter at the very idea of him letting her off easier than the Ron or Hermione.
"No," Harry sighed, his anger dissipating. "I don't. And I never want to think of it again."
"I thought as much." Ginny clenched her fists, feeling her ragged nails dig into her skin. She had no right to be angry, really. After all, she'd known for two years how weak she truly was, but somehow it felt worse to think that Harry might have always known, and that was why he didn't seem too beat-up about her surrendering to Voldemort.
"So," she said, unable to conceal her bitterness, "why me, Harry? Why am I different? How can you forgive me?"
She stared at him determinedly. Harry tilted his head back toward the sky, stalling. After a moment he dropped his chin and gazed at the ground between them. Then he moved so he was sitting beside her and folded his hands in his lap.
"What do you want me to say, Ginny?" Harry sounded as tired as she felt. When she couldn't answer, he moved so he could see her face. "Look," he said, "it seems to me you want me to say you're weak or pathetic or something stupid like that. You're not, all right?" The shade and furrow of his brow seemed to darken his eyes nearly back. His face was so close she could see the slight bump from a Quidditch accident on his otherwise straight nose. "You really want to know why it's not earth shattering that Voldemort broke you?" he demanded.
Ginny swallowed and looked down. She could practically feel the anger simmering in him.
"He had you, Ginny," Harry growled. "He's had you longest after me. Voldemort never had Ron or Hermione like that. And you can think that this means you're weak—but you're not. Didn't you hear Dumbledore? Riddle hoodwinked powerful wizards before he ever got to you. Bloody hell—I chatted the bastard up! I even believed him when he said it was all Hagrid's doing. So, really, by your way of thinking, I betrayed Hagrid right there.
"But that's not the point," he said, leaning a bit more forward. "Ginny, you have to fight harder with Voldemort. It's amazing you didn't surrender the moment he got you!"
"But the point is that I did surrender!" Ginny cried, forcing Harry back a few inches. "I surrendered. I wanted the pain to end and I didn't care about anything else!"
Harry gave her a dark look. "You're not the only one who's wanted to die."
Air left her lungs. She stared at Harry, wanting desperately to touch him and hide at the same time. "Harry," she croaked—
Harry shook his head. "Forget I said that." His voice was tight, his eyes were cast a little to her right. "Look, I just—" he paused again, pained. Harry looked determinedly at her and reached for her hand. Ginny started to pull away, but he held fast. "Ginny—did it ever occur to you that whatever you're doing to yourself is letting him win?"
"Yes," she admitted. Shame rose up and her vision began to blur.
"Do you want to let him win?" Harry asked. She could feel him turn her hand palm up and her fingers curled as his fingertips brushed over the crescent marks from her nails. His thumb grazed over her wrist.
"No," she whispered. Hesitantly, Ginny met Harry's gaze. "That's the thing. I want to be fine and be brave and smite him and all of that, but I haven't been able to. And then I think I shouldn't even bother, because it's all futile anyway and I feel like a liar." She snorted bitterly. "And to make things even more confusing, I come up here to have my last look at Australia before you send me off, and I guess I decided I wasn't going to let him have me anymore. I was so damn brave I screamed till I could taste blood.
"But then here I am," Ginny sighed, taking her hand away from Harry. "Burned and pathetic and feeling every bit as horrible as I did this morning."
The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. His hand made an odd gesture as if to touch her cheek, but then sort of faltered, barely brushing her hair as he dropped it. He settled back beside her, his arm grazing hers. She had no doubt it was intentional and felt both warmed and uneasy by this. Somewhere between Hogwarts and now, Harry had gotten enough confidence to give some rather clear signals. It frightened her.
"Sorry for the speech," Harry said softly. "I think some of Hermione rubbed off."
She rested her head against the cool side of the boulder and rolled it a little to look at Harry's profile. Hearing a little sheepishness in his voice eased her. "I need it," Ginny admitted quietly.
Harry looked at her. "Really? Usually speeches just piss me off."
Ginny grinned a little. "Even my Quidditch one?"
Harry grinned widely at that and some of the tension rolled off his shoulders. "No, that was a good one. Your face got all red—"
She nudged him. "Be nice."
Harry just smiled and slid his fingers through hers. Then he glanced away, color darkening his cheeks. Ginny held very still, her heart unsteady. Could she actually let him do this? Hand-holding seemed enormous, implicating more than she could comfortably take right now. Yet part of her was screaming to just get over it and follow whatever lead Harry gave her. She wanted to be over this, wanted Harry to act on whatever had compelled him to kiss her on Halloween. She didn't care if she needed it or not—it was about want.
But can I let myself?
Closing her eyes, Ginny tentatively leaned against Harry, letting her head come to rest against his shoulder. The pressure hurt her cheek, but she ignored it. Harry held very still for a moment, and then relaxed. His hand squeezed hers and then she felt his fingertips gingerly brush hair away from her face. She relished this. I can do this, she thought slowly. I can win.
"Harry?" said Ginny softly.
"Hmm?"
"Can you help me?"
She could almost feel him smile amusedly.
"Help you do what?"
Ginny opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were very green, as always, and very close. She studied his face and her gaze fell to his mouth, which was very relaxed and slightly quirked. Her heart fluttered as she remembered how warm and soft his lips had felt . . .
"Well," she said, pulling back slightly. She sounded a little breathless. "I guess just getting back to the flat for starters. If you want me to—"
"Damn straight," Harry said quickly.
"Good." Relief washed over her. With came more exhaustion, if that were even possible. She needed a long nap and Renee's potion and some chocolate, and then maybe she could sort this terribly long day out. She mumbled as much to Harry as her eyes drooped a little.
"Of course," said Harry. "When you're all rested up and less crispy, you'll have to come cheer us on at the tournament." He gave her a mock serious look. "You must stay for Quidditch."
Ginny laughed. It felt good. But then she sobered quickly. Harry looked so eager and happy suddenly. "Harry," she said quietly. "I can't promise I'm going to be all right. It's bad enough that I still feel like I betrayed you, but then the way I've acted since—"
"Do you even remember how I acted all these years?" Harry demanded, wide-eyed. Serious, he dropped his chin a little. "I've been to the bottom, Ginny. I know what it's like. Believe me."
"I do."
"Good." Harry gazed at her, then leaned forward a few inches and kissed her forehead. His lips stung and soothed at once. When he pulled back, she couldn't help but look at his mouth again, wanting. She wondered if he would—she hoped—
But Harry didn't. Ginny felt both relieved and disappointed as he stood up, still holding her hand. She felt like she'd explode if he kissed her the way he had on Halloween. It was just too much to take all at once. Yet she felt a little lost that he was waiting for her to make the move.
Sighing inwardly, she climbed shakily to her feet. The dehydration and stress left her weak and trembling; she leaned against Harry for support.
"We'll get a taxi," said Harry quietly.
"Fine. I just need a moment." Ginny breathed deeply, gathering her strength for more than just the journey down to the beach. She looked around Harry and gazed at the ocean. It was deep blue, solid and alive. As she realized this wasn't her last look at it, a small smile stretched her lips and she nodded to Harry.
"I'm ready."
EPILOGUE
Sand sifted down between her toes, filling the dark crevices with tiny particles. A chipped, bleached shell dipped down onto her big toe, and Ginny paused a moment from her heavily scrawled notebook to wiggle the small shell. The shell-hat tipped her salutations, and she nodded back. It bade her thanks and then toppled over onto the top of her freckled foot.
She reached down and picked it up. The notebook pages fanned out, cackling madly in the wind. Ignoring it, she examined the tiny shell, rubbing her thumb over the smooth inside. It flashed, winking. Ginny smiled and pocketed it in her sand-dusted satchel. The afternoon sun flashed over her watch.
She glanced at it and sighed regretfully. She only had half an hour before she needed to Apparate back to the flat and grab her bags.
Ginny gazed wistfully out at the Australian waters, thinking. The days were starting to get cooler, now that it was March and heading towards the winter months of more normal temperatures (for England's summer, anyway). The air felt more like home.
Home. Excitement and terror filled her. She couldn't wait to see her family and friends, but she worried about what sort of mess she'd left behind. Her mother still seemed insulted that Ginny had bolted, but that was the least of her worries. Ginny knew Ron, Hermione, Alyson, and Joe would be waiting for her at the station. They'd be studying her as well as welcoming her, but it was things with Dean that made Ginny want to stay in Australia the most. How could she possibly make amends?
Ginny chewed on the end of her pen. The last couple of months had been rough but also very good. She felt a giddy sort of thrill in her stomach. Things had started out slow after the day of her confession. She'd been almost extra paranoid of Harry's presence, but once she'd figured out he was reluctantly waiting for her to decide, they fell into a sort of routine. Ginny had realized the moment they'd returned, she couldn't bear to remain in the closet, and so she'd taken Renee up on her offer to share the older girl's room. But usually she fell asleep on the couch when watching some late-night TV. Harry sometimes stayed with her, but she usually sent him off if she could.
Then she had a particularly nasty nightmare. Up until then, Ginny had kept a check on how far she let Harry get with affectionate expression. Just a little every now and then, when not even her issues could resist the urge . . . But that night she broke her own barrier, crept into Harry's room, and soaked in whatever comfort she could. Of course, Renee had whooped and hollered embarrassingly, taking things well out of hand. Not that Ginny could claim Harry's comforting had been platonic.
At least that night had made things easier . . . and yet much harder. Ginny and Harry couldn't exactly date like normal couples with their living situation, and on Ginny's "good days," she sometimes felt overwhelmed with the urge to make up for wasted times. Her bad days often meant long walks by herself.
Now that she wasn't so absorbed in her own misery, she noticed Harry's moods more. Ginny hated to admit that those could be some of the best days. Harry seemed to think physical distraction was a very good idea, and—Ginny tried not to shiver gleefully—it made things very interesting.
But now they wouldn't be living together. Once Molly Weasley knew her daughter and Harry were truly more than friends, she would raise hell about them living together. Ron had written Harry and Ginny, telling them he and Hermione were still technically living in separate apartments to keep Molly off their backs about a wedding date. "Mum just doesn't get how things can be done now."
But Ginny and Harry had decided that aside from not wanting the Wrath of Molly upon them, living separately could be a good thing. They could try it at least. And, anyway, Ron really needed his rent to get some use, and since Harry was trying out for Quidditch (he was going for Puddlemere first and then taking Ron's nagging for the Cannons if he didn't get in), a temporary place seemed like a good idea. Alyson had already accepted Ginny's begging for a room.
And if we decide we'd much rather toss all pretense aside, then yay for that, Ginny thought as she brushed some chin-length locks away from her face. She'd given in to Renee's pleads to "re-do" her hair. Although still long, Renee had cut off several inches and then layered it, starting with some chin-length locks. Ginny rather liked it, though the layers were more difficult to pull back.
She was really going to miss Renee. The vivacious Australian had been so nurturing in her bohemian ways. Once Ginny finally let on that she wrote little "dabs of stuff here and there," Renee had insisted that Ginny help her with music reviews. Ginny even got her name attached to the articles, right alongside Renee. It was fun. She had a purpose and even went out to performances when the Quidditch tournament prevented Renee from catching a show. (The Dingoes finished third, though there was speculation they might have gone top if not for Hugo's Bludger injury and the inexperience of his replacement).
Ginny could tell Renee was trying to stay cheerful about her and Harry leaving today, although the Australian did point out that Harry had stayed longer than anyone else. They'd both invited her to come to England anytime, and Renee made them promise they would return to Sydney soon. Ginny had no doubt she would; she didn't want to leave, really. But she needed to.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Ginny glanced down at her journal. The pages were blank; the filled, scribbled, scratched sheets had been tossed aside by the wind while her mind drifted. She lightly ran the tip of her pen down the margin. Something was blooming in her mind . . . she hoped it would be good.
THE END
A/N: If you want Harry and Ginny to go off and make sweet, sweet love and many, many babies, you'll just have to imagine that in your head. I'm not writing it. Sorry, there is no sequel. Nadda. I DO have some specific scenes in my head that would have taken place between the end scene and the epilogue, but they're just not coming out. No point.
On a much more grateful note: Thanks to all of you who reviewed, and even those of you who did not but read the story, anyway. Also, Cliodne/Camille – you rock! Shriya, you're also awesome for the soundtrack. Delani, Delyah, emmapottermoon, MangyKeazle – there's a whole lot of you who reviewed constantly or would hit something spot on, so thanks to you observant reviewers! I can't list everybody.
Apologies: My bad with the cliffhanger. I couldn't resist it. My beta actually spotted some "foreshadowing" early on. She thought the cliff and Harry imagining Ginny taking flight off the balcony were pointing to something . . . but they weren't. But it made me feel cleverer than I actually am, and I also wanted to play on that, since she spotted it. So I did. And it's a CLIFF. Best to let you HANG there. MWHAHAHAHA!!! Okay, I'll stop with the badness now.
I don't know if I'll write any other fics after this. I have college, editing for the school's lit mag, and I'm working on some original stuff. Plus, writing Captive and Ambivalence was emotionally exhausting. I also don't think fanfic is able to help my writing anymore, and I'm just too busy . . . so, I'm sorry if anyone is harboring any sort of hope for a potential sequel or any other fic by me.
Oh, and it's been great. And this long A/N feels way too self-important. I shall stop.