Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.
Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.
A/N: To the anonymous flamer, thank you for reminding me why I often detest humanity. I was starting to forget... anyways, enjoy!
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Chapter 15: The Life You Leave Behind
Hogwarts had always seemed inviting. There was some mysterious, ancient quality about it that felt benevolent, and was warm and friendly. The castle's magical saturation partly contributed to that, but it really was the memories that inhabited that castle. Over a thousand years of magical youth had been through it; they had eaten fantastic food in the Great Hall; they had watched as their favorite Quidditch players battled it out on the pitch; they had sat up with each other late into the night in their common rooms, studying or just enjoying the company. The corridors were literally alive with the voices of a millennium of wizards and witches, and if one listened carefully enough, hearing them wasn't hard.
It was through these corridors that Harry was now walking, and he couldn't help but shiver and pull his robe tighter around him. The depth of winter was never pleasant in northern Scotland, but it seemed, to Harry at least, that this year's season was the worst. A cold permeated the air, and it was more than just the temperature. Everywhere Harry looked, he was plagued with memories; himself, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were running from Fluffy; himself figuring out the clue from the Golden Egg in the prefect's bath; Fred and George making their triumphant exit over Umbridge. The memories were there, and they were vivid, but they felt detached.
He felt like they were from another life, and that things had inexplicably gone from bad during the war to worse now. His seven years at Hogwarts, while filled with difficult times, were the best years of his life. He had shared something—something special—with a few people, and that feeling was lost to him. As he rounded the corner and saw the Gargoyle, he remembered when Dobby had thrown Lucius Malfoy in the opposite direction. He seemed to be doing that more and more these days. Everything would remind him of something that had happened.
Harry had recently realized a truth: people don't appreciate what they have until they lose it. Hermione and Ron had supported him in invaluable ways over the years, and now that they were seemingly unreachable, he felt lost. He missed Hermione's words of wisdom and constant worrying, and he missed the way Ron could often make him laugh. Helen and Ginny were great—spectacular, really—but there was a void in him that was slowly filling up with poison.
That poison was his thoughts, which were all the things he wasn't saying to anyone. He'd had a hard time justifying getting up in the morning on a few days, and it was slowly eroding away at his emotional reserves. He had always considered himself to be strong and independent, but he realized that he'd always had support in some form or another in school. His relationship with Ginny was good, but her friendship was different than what he had shared with Ron and Hermione. He loved her with all his heart, but there were just some things he couldn't talk about with her.
One of those things was her affliction, even though he used to be able to. In his depression, he tended to avoid subjects that clouded his mind, and that was one of them. He knew it was bad, he knew that it was hurting their relationship, and he knew that he should be more attentive to the time they shared with each other, but his growing apathy prevented that. He had always been a man of action, but there seemed to be little to get excited about these days.
The grinding of stone upon stone interrupted his soul-searching, and he looked up to see the Gargoyle moving aside. With a great, resigned sigh, he mounted the revolving stairs and stared straight ahead as they bore him upwards. They ground to a halt and he stepped off, noticing that the door to the Headmaster's office was ajar. He pushed it open with the flat of his palm, stepped through, and saw that Dumbledore had his back to him. The old man was facing the bay window behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back.
Harry watched him for a moment; Dumbledore must have heard him come in but still, he didn't move or acknowledge Harry's presence. Harry moved toward one of the plush chairs near the desk.
Suddenly, Dumbledore spoke. "It's been a long time, Harry."
As Harry sat down, he asked, "Since what, Albus?"
Dumbledore still hadn't turned or moved, but answered. "Since you've been up here."
"I see you every day, Albus."
Harry watched the back of Dumbledore's head as it shook a little. "That's not what I meant, Harry, and you know it."
Harry looked down. He did know what the Headmaster was talking about, and felt slightly guilty, but that strange apathy was overriding it. He just didn't really care. Movement caught his eye, and he looked back up.
Dumbledore had taken off his half-moon spectacles and was placing them on the windowsill. He brought his hands to his face, and even though his back was still to him, Harry could tell that he was rubbing his eyes.
"Look, Harry…you know I'm always here for you, right?" There was a silence following that, in which Harry didn't respond. He was thinking about all of the conversations he'd had with the man. When it had stretched on for quite some time, Dumbledore cocked his head. "Harry?"
Harry shook his head, as if to clear it. "Yes, I know it." Harry rubbed his own eyes, trying to get the dull ache out from his head…and his heart. "It's hard, though."
Dumbledore finally turned around and moved to stand by his desk. Harry almost did a double take—he'd never seen him without his glasses. He looked so much older, so much more worn than when he was wearing them that Harry was sure, for an instant, he'd missed the passage of twenty years.
"I know it is. Believe me, I know." Harry met his eyes, and noticed with that same apathetic sense that the bright blue eyes were not sparkling. As he thought about it, he did not know when he'd last seen that welcome twinkle. Dumbledore sat down and stared at Harry—well, not at him, as Harry noticed, but over his head.
"Have I ever told you about how I defeated Grindelwald?" Harry thought that was an odd twist in the conversation. He shook his head.
Dumbledore smiled ruefully to himself. He was still looking somewhere over Harry's head. "No, I don't suppose I would have. I haven't really ever told anyone."
"Why not?" It seemed like a logical question to Harry.
Dumbledore's eyes focused on Harry's. "Some things happened that were…unpleasant." Harry raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, reclining it slightly. He looked very reflective. "Before I met him that night…I was cocky and arrogant. Probably was the influence of Merlin's blood." The old man looked down at his desk. "Have you ever seen me be arrogant, Harry?"
Harry thought back over the years. There had been times when Dumbledore seemed confident—no, that wasn't the right word. Harry's memories zeroed in on the confrontation the Headmaster had had with that Auror, Dawlish. The Auror had tried to apprehend him, but Dumbledore had pretty much told him to step aside or be hurt. Arrogant wasn't the right word.
"I think you were more…knowing," was the only way Harry could put it. He looked down as well. "When you fought Tom in the atrium…you were sure and relaxed, but it wasn't arrogance."
They both looked back into each other's eyes at the same time. "I'm glad that you can see that, because arrogance cost me dearly that night with Grindelwald."
Harry was intrigued; he'd never heard the Headmaster sound so resigned before. "What happened?"
"Grindelwald was unlike Tom, in that he was a sniveling little coward, whereas Tom usually wasn't afraid to stand and fight." That was news to Harry, as it seemed to him that Voldemort had indeed run from Dumbledore at the Ministry. "I know what you're thinking, Harry…but, believe me, Tom was no coward." Harry's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Tom was a strategist—he knew when to cut his losses and leave. Grindelwald…well, he was just afraid that he'd lose." Dumbledore closed his eyes and reclined further into his chair. "I banked on that, and it cost me."
"I believed that because I was so powerful, Grindelwald would be too frightened and either run or make a critical error and I'd get the upper hand. My wife—" He must have heard the tendons creak in Harry's neck as his head whipped up, because he cut off in mid-sentence. Dumbledore peered out through half-lidded eyes at Harry.
"Yes, Harry, my wife. It's a little known fact that I was married, and I would appreciate it if you didn't share it with anyone."
Harry shook his head slowly. "I won't…but why shouldn't people know?"
"Because then they'd know of my greatest failure." The old man's eyes slipped closed once again.
"Anyways," he began again, after a long silence, "my wife insisted that she come with me that night. She was by no means weak, but her magical prowess did not compare to Grindelwald's, or mine for that matter." Harry wasn't sure where this was going. He had come up here to talk about something else entirely, it seemed.
"My arrogance overrode any judgment I may have had, and I let her come. I knew for sure that I could protect her if the need arose." Harry watched; a twitch seemed to pass through his face. "We Apparated to the spot we knew he would be, and sure enough, there he was.
"He had a wild look in his eyes, something I don't think I've ever seen since. It was fear…but it was more like a trapped animal. His natural inclination was to run, as that was his nature, but we had put up anti-Apparition wards immediately upon arriving. He knew he was trapped." The Headmaster's face went hard.
"I should have just ended it there. I should have just used Avada Kedavra, but I couldn't bring myself to cast it. I know I sound hypocritical, because I was so angry with you when you told me you'd used the curse, but that is the one time I wish I had." There was a surprising amount of vehemence in his voice, and Harry could see that he was being completely honest. This was the raw truth.
In an ever-more resigned voice, Dumbledore went on. "I didn't, though. Instead, I played with him. I taunted him. He was getting more and more desperate, and I should have seen it, but I was too busy enjoying myself. Finally, he threw up his strongest shield and put most of the rest of his magical energy into a blasting curse. It was fairly powerful, and I was momentarily stunned by it.
"That was all the time he needed, because he ran to my wife. She wasn't powerful enough to fight him, even in his weakened state. He grabbed her and pulled her in front of him. His last words to me were, 'If I'm going, Albus, so is she.' He put his wand to her forehead, cast a Reducto, and blew both her head and his apart."
Harry was shocked. He'd never heard such…bleakness in the Headmaster's voice, and he sure as hell never had a clue that he'd had a wife or that she had been killed. And to be killed like that…right in front of her husband…he wanted to retch at the thought of it.
He didn't know how to respond to something like that. It didn't really improve his current mood, either, and he had no idea why Dumbledore had shared it with him. "Albus…" was all he finally said. It was more of an exhale that sounded like a word, rather than an actual vocalization.
Dumbledore finally opened his eyes again, and stared straight into Harry's, unblinkingly. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've told you that, Harry." Harry could only nod, and as he did so, he noticed the blue eyes were shining, but not with their usual twinkling.
"Like I said, that was my greatest failure." He blinked, and a single tear slipped from his left eye. Harry watched it as it rode a wrinkle down to rest above his upper lip. Another tear slipped from Dumbledore's other eye. "I made a promise to myself, then and there. I would not fail again. In anything." Dumbledore blinked rapidly a few times, and then viciously wiped the wetness from his face. "Do you hear me, Harry? Anything."
Harry shrugged slightly. What was the Headmaster getting at? It seemed to be the wrong to do, though, because Dumbledore suddenly sat forward, leaning into his desk.
"Don't you understand? Don't you see, Harry? I've done it again. I've failed again."
Harry was so bewildered that he was barely able to articulate anything. "What…what are you talking about?"
Dumbledore grimaced. "You, Harry; I've failed you, in so many ways." Another tear slipped from his eyes, and he angrily wiped it away. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen this much emotion from him.
"Albus…" Harry said again. He was searching for something to say, and the Headmaster seemed to be content to wait. "I…you…no you haven't."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Yes I have. I've seen it over the past few months. If I hadn't been so selfish…" he trailed off.
Harry's anger rose ever so slightly. "No, you haven't! Why are you talking like this? The only one that's failed here is me!" There, he'd said it. The apathetic void diminished a little. Dumbledore was now looking intently into Harry's eyes, as if searching for something. Harry knew what it was, he realized—the old man was making sure Harry was being completely honest.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair once again. "It seems like we have something in common, Harry."
"Oh?" was all Harry intoned.
"We were blind to our weaknesses until it was too late, or in your case, almost too late."
Inexplicably, Harry's temper snapped. "Goddamnit, stop with all the fucking cryptic bullshit!" It must have been from the stress he was feeling, or the situation with Ginny, because it came out of nowhere. As quickly as it had exploded, it died. Harry looked to Dumbledore and saw something he wasn't expecting: a small smile at the corners of his lips.
"Feel better?"
Harry leaned back in his own chair, rubbing his temples. "No, not really." There was a pause, in which Harry closed his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry…"
"No need to apologize," Dumbledore said, all traces of the smile gone, from the sound of his voice. "You have a lot on your plate right now."
"That's not an excuse—"
"Harry," the Headmaster cut him off. "Don't worry about it." Harry opened his eyes, and saw that the Headmaster's were unfocused, somewhere off to the side.
"Anyways…unlike me, you can do something about it, Harry."
"About what?" Harry asked slowly.
Dumbledore sighed, bringing his gaze up to Harry's. "Don't play stupid—it doesn't suit you." His look seemed to harden a bit. "You know very well what I'm referring to."
After a moment, Harry nodded. He did, but it was hard to make himself believe it. The indifference and the ache seemed to be controlling him these days. It made life seem less worth living.
"Yeah, I guess I do…" he finally said. It wasn't much, but it was what Dumbledore needed to hear.
"Good. Of course, it is entirely your choice to actually do something about it, but take some advice from an old man who has failed once again." Harry looked up as he finished, shaking his head slightly at the last comment. Dumbledore ignored it, however, and continued on. "Don't wait too long, because one day you might find you can't undo it."
Harry looked down and considered his fingernail for a moment. Of course the Headmaster was right, as he most often was, but Harry couldn't help but harbor a little resentment. Who was Dumbledore to tell Harry how to run his life? Harry shook his head, stopping that train of thought. It led down roads he didn't want to travel.
He looked up. He needed to switch gears, so he merely nodded. "Ok…but I have a question for you?"
Dumbledore must have sensed the shift, because he reached behind and plucked his glasses from the windowsill, perching them back on his face. He gave Harry an inquisitive look.
"Have you thought any more about what we talked about…" Dumbledore looked up briefly, as if trying to remember, and then looked back at Harry.
"Refresh my memory, please."
"You know…about Ginny."
"Ah," Dumbledore said, as he nodded. "Yes, I have. Quite a bit, in fact." Harry cocked his head at him. "I think it's going to come down to a decision by you and then by her."
"What do you mean?"
"The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn't really my place to stop or prevent you from trying anything. It's completely up to you and Ginny."
Harry sat up a little straighter. "Is there something that you think will work?"
Dumbledore flinched a tiny bit. He scrutinized Harry over the top of his glasses for a moment. "I don't know what I think, Harry." He sighed. "There is one possibility—it might work. I just don't know."
Harry could barely contain himself. This was the most…anything…he'd felt in a long time now. Something could work? "What, Albus. What might work?"
It looked as if it almost pained Dumbledore to continue. "In your ascended state…you might be able to manipulate her heart in some way…it would probably have to be instinctual."
Harry nodded. "Alright, that sounds fine. That shouldn't be too hard." Harry wasn't looking at Dumbledore anymore; he was too absorbed in his own thoughts of what he might have to do, and how he could make it work.
"Harry." Something in the Headmaster's voice snapped Harry back to reality, and he met Dumbledore's gaze. "I regret that I must remind you that it might not work." The familiar emptiness whipped back into place in Harry. It was gone for only a few seconds. "And you also have to realize that this is more Ginny's choice than yours."
Harry realized that at some point he'd clenched his fists. "Yeah…I know."
Dumbledore glanced at Harry's lands, which were in his lap. "I'm not trying to be negative here, Harry. I'm trying to be realistic."
Harry was closing himself off, much like how he was when he first came into the office. "I know," he said, in a stony voice.
"Talk with Ginny, Harry. Don't rule anything out." Harry nodded once and stood up. He was ready to leave, and he really needed to see Ginny. The office was starting to feel oppressive, so with another nod at the Headmaster, he turned to leave.
"Oh, one more thing, Harry." Harry turned, eyebrow raised. "Hogwarts is hosting a Christmas Eve party this year. I would be honored if you, Ginny, and Helen attended it."
Harry became wary. "Who's going to be there?"
Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "Don't worry—there won't be any press or anyone like that. It's more for the Professors and their families. There will be a few people from the Ministry, but no one that would give you any trouble."
Harry shrugged. "Alright."
Harry watched as Dumbledore leaned forward and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Would you like me to send out two extra invitations?"
Harry became a little angry again. He didn't like people meddling in his life, and he would have thought by now that Dumbledore knew that. "No, Albus, I wouldn't."
"Harry…"
"No. Ok? No." Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, and then nodded once. He began to shuffle some papers on his desk, and Harry turned and left.
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"Where have you been?" Ginny asked, as she looked up. Harry had just entered through their portrait hole.
"I needed to talk with Albus for a few minutes," he said, as he sat down next to her. She leaned into his side, closing her textbook. The title read: NEWT Defense, Year Seven.
"You know, Harry, your essays are killer."
Harry smirked. "Really? But they aren't very long."
"No…no they aren't. But, length doesn't always indicate difficulty." She glanced sideways at Harry, a slight smile on her crimson lips. "A foot on how theoretical shielding could block an Unforgivable is not easy."
"It wasn't supposed to be," he replied, and snuggled into her a little bit. She smelled…wonderful…like she always did. Her shoulder was quite comfortable, too.
They sat in an easy silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the other's body. Harry caught himself thinking in the same tired way, and saw that he hadn't exactly been an attentive husband in the past few months. What was happening to him? Why were his thoughts always so…dismal?
"What were you and Albus talking about?" Ginny asked. Her voice sounded sleepy.
Harry shifted upright, wrapping his arm around her waist, drawing her against him. She rested her head against his chest. The slight thump…thump…of his heart caused her hair to vibrate slightly.
"He invited us to a Christmas Eve party. Us and Helen."
"Oh, really? Who's going to be there?"
"Mostly the Professors and their families." Ginny nodded against him. Harry laced his fingers through her fiery hair and stroked it gently. He knew she liked that.
"That should be a good time, then. I've always really liked the holiday spirit."
Harry was bemused. He'd never really known that. "You have?"
"Yeah…it's just peaceful. Life slows down a bit, people enjoy themselves a little more, and families come together." Her voice slowed at the end, but anyone but Harry would not have noticed it. He knew what caused it, too.
Ginny's voice was very quiet when she next spoke. "Will Ron and Hermione be at the party, Harry?" Harry was silent for a moment; the only noise was the slight whisper of his hands gliding through her hair.
"I don't know." Harry was torn. He desperately wanted to see them and talk to them, but the more time that passed, the harder it was for him to do just that.
"Do you want them to come?" she asked.
"Do you?" Harry immediately responded.
Thump…thump…Harry's heart went. He could feel her head shake slightly with each beat as his hands continued their trek through her hair.
"Yes…I don't know." He pulled her tighter against him. "Like I said, Christmas is supposed to be a happy time. If they came…it might make things awkward." She was playing with the hem Harry's shirt. "Maybe the day after Christmas would be a good time for both of us to go over to the Burrow."
Harry knew he would have to face them sooner or later, even though he dreaded it. "Yeah, you're probably right," he said.
Another easy silence descended, and Harry had to catch himself from dozing off once. His fingers were still entwined in her silky locks. There was something else he needed to bring up.
"Albus and I talked about something else, too…" he trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject.
"Oh?"
"Helen, uh, made some connections between things that have happened and your…condition." She tensed for a moment, and then sat up. Her cheeks were a touch red and she seemed to be sweating a tiny bit. She locked eyes with him.
"What?"
"Draco's heart…your condition…what I did to the Death Eaters…she saw some interesting parallels." He paused, absently noting her chest appeared to be heaving. "Draco experienced the same thing as you, but his malady was magical. I…well, I destroyed thirty hearts."
Ginny shrugged slightly, as if to say she didn't know where he was going with all of this. Harry sighed. "Look, it stands to reason that if I could do that, then why couldn't I fix your heart?" Her eyes widened a little. "Even though your condition is natural, and Draco's wasn't, why couldn't a counter-curse work to the same effect?"
"I don't know…" she said.
"Those are the observations that Helen made—where is Helen, by the way?" The random switch seemed to confuse Ginny for a second.
"Umm…I think she said she was going to the library."
"Oh…alright, anyways, that's what she asked me about. That was," Harry paused as he thought about it, "at the end of July. I went to Albus with what she said, and he said he'd think about it."
"And that's what you talked about with him today?" Harry nodded. "Well, what did he say?"
"He said he'd realized it would ultimately be our choice, but the only thing he could see working would be me trying to fix it."
Ginny's lower lip trembled, and she bit it. "And…and you think you could do it?"
Harry's heart almost broke in two at the quavering hope in her voice. It was the exact same emotion he was feeling.
"I'm not sure," he said slowly. "It's possible, but I wouldn't really know what I was doing. I could hurt you more."
She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Did you know what you were doing that night when the Death Eaters came?" Harry shook his head.
"But it happened anyway?" He nodded. "So…it's something that you can just do, if the right emotion is present…?"
"I suppose…but how would we know what that is?"
"That might just happen without you trying, like it did before." She put her head back onto his chest. Harry was starting to understand what Albus had meant about accepting things.
"Ginny, babe…what if it doesn't work?" He heard a sniff and she shuddered against him. Damn it, he thought. He hadn't wanted to get her crying. "Or," he started, wishing he could avoid saying it. "What if I made it worse?"
Her voice was muffled somewhat when she spoke. "We'll have to worry about that when we come to it."
"So you want to try this?"
She nodded slightly against him. "Yes, but…not until after Christmas sometime. We don't need the stress right now. Let's just enjoy our holiday."
Harry hugged her even tighter against him. "I love you," he whispered into her hair. The scent of her perfume, or shampoo maybe, was intoxicating.
"I love you, too," she whispered back. They stayed like that, holding each other, for a long time after.
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The next week passed uneventfully. Harry, Ginny, and Helen relaxed, just enjoying their free time and each other's company. Ginny and Helen noticed a subtle change in Harry's attitude, but it wasn't much. He seemed to be a little less resigned, but there was still some kind of damper on his spirits. Ginny knew what it was, but they did not broach the subject of where they would be visiting the day after Christmas again.
Christmas Eve arrived cold and clear, and Harry, Ginny, and Helen went into Diagon Alley to pick out something to wear to the party. After enjoying a quiet lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, they went to Madam Malkin's. Ginny ended up with a strapless, auburn gown; Helen chose a matching burnished bronze one. Harry liked the dark gold dress robes Ginny had pointed out, and decided that he would get them. He had Madam Malkin put the Gryffindor and Potter crests on all three of their outfits.
They arrived back at the castle with just enough time to shower and change before the party. At seven in the evening, precisely, the three of them stepped through the doors of the Great Hall.
All of the Professors were there, as well as some of their families. There were small, circular tables set up around the Hall, which could hold about eight to ten people each. There was a drink bar along the right wall, and food buffet along the left. Toward the front of the Hall, where the Head table usually was, there was a dance floor set up. Flitwick had decorated the Hall, as he usually did, but it was a little less overwhelming this year. It was subtler—Harry looked around at it and felt his spirits lift slightly. It wasn't tacky or overbearing. He'd have to mention it to Flitwick at some point.
Harry saw Dumbledore waving the three of them over to his table, and they headed in that direction. He saw that besides the Headmaster, there were four others at the table. One of them was McGonagall, another was Flitwick, and the two others were teenage girls.
"Welcome Harry, Ginny, Helen. You all look marvelous tonight," he said as he eyed the crests on their clothing.
"Thank you, sir," Helen said, as she sat down. She had put her straight, brown hair up in a bun, put some glitter in it, and curled the ends. She looked like a little princess, in Harry's opinion. Ginny sat down next her, and Harry sat on her other side. He looked questioningly at Dumbledore.
"Ah, yes, my apologies. This," he said, inclining his head toward the girl on McGonagall's left, "is Francine Lankwell. She's Minerva's sister's granddaughter."
Francine, who had long, black hair, smiled at the three of them. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, Miss Potter," she said, nodding to each.
"And this," Dumbledore continued, motioning to the girl on Flitwick's right, "is Julie Flitwick, his granddaughter."
"Honor to meet you, all three of you," she said.
"Likewise," Harry said, as Ginny and Helen nodded. The eight of them passed small talk for a little while, and during that time, two others came to sit. An older lady, diminutive like Flitwick, sat down on the Charms professor's left, and another older lady, who looked very similar to McGonagall, sat down between her and Dumbledore.
"This is Minerva's sister, Kathryn Lankwell, and the charming young lady next to Filius is his wife, Dahlia," Dumbledore imparted.
The group passed pleasantries once again, and it was soon announced that people could start getting themselves dinner. They all went to the buffet and filled their plates with all types of food—it was a magnificent spread, one that Harry was sure he'd remember for ages.
Harry and Ginny had a few glasses of century-old wine, which they enjoyed greatly. Harry gave Helen a taste, but she wrinkled her nose and sputtered. She didn't like the taste at all.
It was a pleasant evening, and it passed quickly. Following dinner, a small desert was served; Harry loved the chocolate fudge, Ginny had two helpings of the caramel coffee cake, and Helen had a chocolate milkshake. There seemed to more Muggle foods present than Harry remembered, but he didn't complain. The House Elves seemed to be serving the best of both worlds.
After everyone had eaten what they wanted, the dance floor was opened, and couples slowly wandered out there.
"May I have this dance?" Harry asked Ginny as a slow song came on.
She grinned and nodded, and he led her by the hand out onto the floor. They swayed in time with the music, enjoying the closeness and the peace the evening seemed to bring. Harry hadn't felt this serene in a long time. As the song wound down, Harry looked around and saw that Dumbledore was dancing with a laughing Helen. He smiled to Ginny and pointed it out, and she laughed.
"I think I'm going to cut in," he whispered to her, and she nodded, and went to return to her seat.
Harry made his way over to the two, catching Dumbledore's eye. The old man smiled. Harry cleared his throat when he reached them. "Excuse me, Miss Potter, but would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"
She looked over her shoulder at him, and just then Dumbledore twirled her. She let out a noise between a laugh and a shriek, and glared at him half-heartedly. She nodded to Harry. She wasn't very tall, but he could manage, and they danced for several songs in a row after that. He hadn't seen her smile so much in a long time, and he felt slightly guilty about it. He seemed to have been neglecting a lot of things recently, and he would make sure to begin rectifying that as soon as Christmas was over.
Their last dance was a slow dance, and Harry gently twirled her as the song finished. He watched as the small curls at the ends of her hair flew outward with the action, and with a heartrending pang, he knew that Helen was one of the people that had kept him sane. Through her quiet innocence, but sometimes profound wisdom, she had knocked Harry down a few times, and had kept him grounded. She might have been only seven, but to Harry, the age didn't matter. She was just as wise and important to him as Dumbledore was.
They walked slowly back to their table, laughing and talking about how Flitwick's wife had tried to dance with Hagrid. She had almost been squashed, and had given it up as a bad job. Ginny was idly twirling her wine glass as they sat down.
Harry sat down between them, and put an arm around each of their shoulders. He kissed Ginny's forehead, and then repeated the action on Helen's.
Ginny cocked her head at him with a questioning smile on her face. "What was that for, Harry?"
"I don't think I've done that enough in the past few months." He sighed; the bare shoulders of his two favorite girls felt cool to the touch. "You both know how much I care for you, right?"
"Of course, Daddy," Helen said, although there was a heavy tone to her voice. He didn't think he'd ever heard it. He looked at her with a crease in his forehead, but she was staring at the table.
Ginny nudged Harry slightly, and he looked at her. "Yes Harry, we know it. And you know how much we both care for you."
Harry nodded, and bit his lip as, without warning, tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm just…I'm sorry, you two." One leaked down his cheek, and Helen noticed it as it splashed on the table. She looked up in surprise; her father didn't cry very often.
"What are you sorry for?" Ginny asked.
"Everything…just, how I've been. I've been so selfish. You two mean so much to me, and have helped me so much. I don't know what I would have down without both of you."
Helen reached up and carefully wiped away a tear that was sliding down his cheek. He didn't move as her small finger slid across his skin. "I don't know what would have happened without you, Daddy. You saved me…helped me…brought me here, to live with you and Mum…" she faded away.
Ginny was nodding along with her words, and leaned into Harry, slipping her arms around waist. "She's right, you know. And for me, too. You helped me get past the depression I was going into."
Harry wiped at his face with the sleeve of his robe, and then replaced the arm around Ginny's shoulders. "So," he said with a watery smile, "I guess we all helped each other." Ginny and Helen nodded. Harry let out a short laugh. "I'm becoming so weepy," he said.
Ginny kissed his cheek. "Mmm…that's alright. Emotional men turn me on." Harry had been trying to swallow, but choked as her words penetrated his brain. Helen gave them both an odd look, and shook her head. She reached for a piece of fudge. Harry felt the fire burning in his face, because she had said that in front of Helen, but Ginny obviously didn't care. She was bemusedly watching as the cherry color in his cheeks faded.
"All right, there?" she asked. He comically loosened his collar, glaring at her.
"Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, I dunno…" she said, pinching his thigh. He brushed her hand away and captured it in his own.
He growled at her. "You better watch it, young lady."
Helen interrupted them. "What are you two doing?" She was looking at them unblinkingly, half-eaten fudge midway to her mouth.
"You guys are so weird," she said after a moment, and popped the rest of the fudge into her mouth. Ginny and Harry just laughed and shook their heads. Harry led Ginny onto the dance floor once again, and they moved to the beat of several faster songs. Harry was enjoying himself, and he could see that Ginny was too. She was smiling and keeping up with the beat with Harry. After a few songs they returned to the table.
Harry looked around. The party was slowly dying out, and people were starting to leave. There seemed to be about half as many as there was when they'd first arrived. He looked down just in time to catch the tail end of a yawn from Helen. Ginny must have seen it, too, because she spoke up.
"Harry, it looks like someone is ready for bed." She looked at her watch. The face read 11:30. "It is pretty late, and I'm pretty tired myself." She looked at Helen. "You ready for bed, too?"
Helen nodded. It had been a fun night, but she was knackered. "Alright then, I'll take you up to bed and probably turn in myself." Her eyes slid to Harry.
"I think I'm going to stay down here for a little while longer," he said. He wasn't really too tired yet.
"Ok, that's fine," Ginny said, as she stood. She gripped the back of the chair tightly as she got to her feet. "Ready, Helen?" Helen stood as well. Harry hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She smiled up at him.
Harry turned to Ginny and hugged her, too. He pecked her on the lips. "I love you, babe."
She smiled. "I love you, too. I'll probably be asleep when you come in, so I'll see you in the morning." She grabbed Helen's hand and they started for the exit. Harry watched them go, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He loved them so much.
Harry stayed at the party until almost one, when Dumbledore and him were the last ones there. They cleaned up, sampling bits of leftover dessert here and there.
"So, how was tonight?" the Headmaster asked as they stood by the exit of the Hall. It was dimly lit, and was looking like it normally did. All traces of the party were gone.
"It was fine; it was what we needed, I think." Harry knew that the words were the truth, because he felt better at that moment than he had in a long time. The next day was Christmas, which he would spend with Ginny and Helen, and then the following day he would begin to repair his life.
"I'm glad that you enjoyed, yourself." Dumbledore was still staring into the cavernous Hall. "I was slightly disappointed, though…"
"Albus," Harry said, taking his pause as a chance to get a word in. "I know what you're going to say, but you don't need to. Believe it or not, I am capable of fixing certain things myself."
"I am aware of that, Harry, but sometimes you don't have the luxury of waiting forever."
"What are you implying?" Harry had a hard edge in his voice.
Dumbledore turned to him with a smile on his face. "Merely that sooner is better than later." He glanced at his watch, and then raised his eyebrows. "I must be off to bed. Enjoy your Christmas."
He turned and left. "You too, Albus," Harry called to his back.
When Harry arrived to his room, he was definitely feeling groggy. As he shrugged his robes off, he saw that Ginny was indeed asleep already. The only movement coming from her was the slight, almost nonexistent rise and fall of her chest. Harry slid under the sheets, and with a wave of his hand, the single burning candle puffed out.
----------
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know…Harry started awake, unsure at first what had woken him. A second of listening told him that the alarm Ginny had bought in Diagon Alley was going off, and that it was now Christmas morning.
Movement caught his eye, and he looked over to his left. Ginny was on her side, facing away from him, but that wasn't what caught his eye. Through the window, he could see snow falling.
Where the treetops glisten, and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow…"Happy Christmas, Ginny," he said, and sat up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and rested his elbows on them. He put his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing the sleep from it. It must have been pretty early still, because he felt awfully tired.
He cocked his head to the side; Ginny hadn't responded. "Ginny? Time to wake up. It's Christmas."
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write…When she still hadn't responded, he lifted his head completely from his hands and turned around. The falling snow caught his eyes again for a moment, but then they snapped to Ginny when he realized she hadn't even moved. He crawled over to her and shook her shoulder gently.
"Gin—" but he cut his own voice off. She felt cold and clammy, and her head lolled over toward him. Her skin was pale, and the freckles stood out in stark contrast to the whiteness.
May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white…Harry's brain went in four different directions at once: shock, panic, horror, and denial. He shook her shoulder again, but the only thing it did was to move her head in a sickly way.
"Ginny?" he asked again, very quietly. His lip trembled, and his face scrunched up as a searing, overwhelming pain shot through him. This couldn't be happening…couldn't have happened…not on this day…not like this…
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write…A sob escaped him, and he buried his head into the soft folds of her nightgown. He noticed, absently, that her breasts weren't moving. She wasn't breathing.
"Ginny, come on…" he cried. "Wake up," he pleaded. His tears were leaving the fabric wet, and it stuck to her skin. He looked up at her face—it was relaxed, almost peaceful, except it had no color.
May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white…His fists clenched on either side of her, and he straddled her, tilting her head back. He pressed his hands together and placed them over where her heart was. He pressed once, twice, and a third time; he leaned down and breathed into her mouth. It had no effect. Harry continued to do this, blinded by his hot tears, for several minutes.
Finally, exhausted, he collapsed by her side. "Ginny!" he shouted. He kept shaking her shoulder, hoping that maybe she would wake up, that maybe she would tell him it was ok, that it was all a dream, and that they had another century to live happily ever after. He kept hoping, but it didn't happen. Life wasn't the fairy tale he wanted it to be. The tears that were now pouring down his face felt like hot coals, like the ones that were burning in his chest, and he pressed his face to her neck, weeping against her cold flesh.
May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white…----------
The ice beat against Harry's clothes and face, but he didn't care. He was too numb to feel it. It was a dreary afternoon, and the weather cast a further pall over the already mournful proceedings. It was four days after Christmas, and it was Ginny's funeral.
Harry sat toward the front of the crowd, slouched in his chair. The past four days had been a whirlwind, one that had seemed to pass right over him. He watched all of it happening, but he felt detached. Things just weren't supposed to be like this—this quickly or this suddenly.
He felt deadened inside. All sensations were underwhelming or just completely absent, but he didn't care. He didn't even care that he didn't care. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and weep. Actually, he'd done that a few times over the past couple of days. He knew in the back of his mind that he should have offered more support to Helen, but in a resigned sense, it just didn't matter to him anymore.
Ginny…his Ginny…had died. She had died. It was an alien term to him, even though he'd been around death, because it had never touched him so personally. His parents—well, he hadn't really known them. Sirius had been great, but he was never very close to his Godfather. Dumbledore's 'death' had probably affected him the most, but the old man was still only his mentor.
Ginny was his wife. He had shared thoughts and experiences with her that no one else, not even Ron or Hermione, came close to. When he'd last seen her at the party, she was smiling and leading Helen away. He couldn't remember exactly what she'd last said to him, but he thought it was something about seeing him in the morning.
If only he had gone with her…his jaw clenched and his fists tightened around the edges of the chair he was sitting in. The freezing rain beat off his knuckles, but he didn't notice. He was one of the few people that hadn't cast an Impervious charm over themselves, and he had gotten some funny looks, but his impassive face had silenced whatever they were thinking.
Helen was sitting next to him, dressed in black slacks and a black blouse, and she looked about as cheerful as Harry felt. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were puffy; she had been crying a lot lately and had gotten very little sleep. While Harry had known death and had experienced it, she hadn't really been exposed to it up close and personal yet. She had seen Harry kill people, but that wasn't the same as losing her psuedo-Mum.
In a way, they were both just as overwhelmed. Harry was deeply in denial, and Helen just couldn't comprehend what had happened. She had never seen Harry like he'd been during the past few days, or the Headmaster for that matter, and she was worried about what it would do to her relationship with her father.
Harry's thoughts were along a similar track; he was trying to figure out what he could do about Helen. He couldn't help her if he couldn't help himself, but he didn't want to help himself. He wanted to wallow in the self-pity and the misery, because it took away the guilt, and he wanted to do that for a long time.
He knew that Ron and Hermione were somewhere toward the back of the crowd, but he hadn't spoken to them or really even looked at them since they'd arrived. Harry had gone to the Headmaster's office in a bawling panic early Christmas morning, and Dumbledore had been the one to tell the Weasleys. Harry had no idea how that had gone; he had been avoiding Ron's brothers as well.
In fact, he'd barely spoken at all since he told Dumbledore what had happened. He was lethargic and his brain felt like it was wading through murky waters whenever he tried to think. He was surprised that he'd even had the initiative to drag himself from his room to attend this funeral, which was taking place in the Hogwarts courtyard.
He wasn't listening to the proceedings. The only thing that reached his ears was the drum of the ice on the ground. He looked at the area in front of him with disinterest, watching how the small pellets hit the ground and bounced back up, before falling again. With a twisted sense of irony, he realized it was the perfect metaphor for his life. Each time he fell, he would bounce back up, only to fall again. It was a never-ending cycle with him, and he wished that he would either melt and stop or bounce back up so high that he couldn't possibly fall back down.
He shifted slightly in his chair, and raised his eyes to the front. Dumbledore was addressing them all, but the words didn't reach Harry. Well, they did…but he didn't bother comprehending them. What could the old man say that would possibly make him feel any better? What would make the bitterness—the guilt—and the dull throbbing ache go away? Nothing, that's what. Nothing would, and he didn't know if anything ever could.
The waving of Dumbledore's arms caught Harry's eyes from where they had settled on the coffin, and he raised his head to look. Dumbledore was looking at him. "Harry, would you like to give a eulogy?"
Harry almost said no. It was on the tip of his tongue, and he didn't care what people would have thought, but something stopped him. As much as he despised talking in front of people, as much as he wanted to just go back to his room and crawl into bed, he realized that he had to do this. There were still some things he needed to say Ginny, and if he didn't do it now, it would hang over him for the rest of his life.
He nodded slightly and stood; ice fell off of him to the ground. There was a crunch... crunch... crunch… as he made his way to the podium, but his mind was singularly focused on the coffin. That was all he saw—all he knew. He turned to face the crowd, but he didn't see any of them. Unbidden, an image of Ginny sitting in the chair by the fire, holding Helen in her arms, came to his mind's eyes. He was so drained of emotion that it didn't even occur to him to be sad over it.
He turned slightly, the coffin entering his peripheral vision. Whatever he had to say, it wasn't to anyone else but who lay there.
"Somehow…somehow I think I've disappointed you. No…I know I have. I know I've let you down. But, I don't know…should I feel guilty about it? Should I feel guilty about letting you down, Ginny? Is it my fault? Is it both of ours? Or is it no one's?
"I'm not sure, I don't have the answers, but I think we let each other down. That's what I think happened. We both saw the end before we began, but we chose to ignore it. We chose to acknowledge it at first, but then we let it go. We didn't talk about it, we avoided it, and now it's too late."
Harry took a deep breath, and turned toward the coffin a little more. "I was being selfish, Ginny. That's what it was. I had a choice to make, and I made the wrong one. And then, when I realized it, I think your soul had already gone into the night. There are some things that can't be undone, and I know that what I did was one of them. I wasn't there for you when you needed me most, and I lost you long before Christmas because of it.
"I think it was because I was blinded by you, Ginny. I saw what we could have had, and what I know I wanted, and took it. I've kissed your lips…I've held your head…I've shared your bed." Harry's voice broke for a second, and the first tear fell down his face, lost among the melting ice.
"I knew you so well, Ginny, I even knew how you smelled—Merlin, I can smell it even now—you were perfect. What now, though? You've moved on, to your next great adventure, and I'm here, wondering when I'll get a chance to see you again. Remember us, Ginny, wherever you are, remember me, remember all that we had.
"Remember when we cried, when we smiled…I remember watching you sleep, seeing a smile grace your features every now and then." Harry smiled to himself through his tears, but it didn't last. His face contorted for a moment, and he had to contain a sob. "I would have been the father of your child, I know it, and we would have been a great family. I would have spent my entire life with you, and loved every minute of it."
Harry wiped at the tears and ice on his face. It was getting hard to see. "You knew my fears, Ginny, all of them, and you were the only that could talk to me about them. I knew yours, too, and I think I understood them the best. We had our rough spots, our doubts, but I know I loved you, with all my heart, I know it.
"I don't think I can live without you. There's just this hollowness…it's so big and empty and cold…I can still feel you next to me when I'm sleeping; is that bad? Ginny, I love you so much—you were the one, and I think you always were. Goodbye, Ginny… goodbye my love."
Only the soft patter of ice on the coffin could be heard in the ensuing quiet.
