A/N: Here's the final part where Harry and Ginny finally begin to catch up on the year's events, comfort each other after the trauma both have sustained, and begin to understand what the defeat of Voldemort means for themselves going forwards. It also features Molly, Arthur, Charlie and George towards the end as they also slip up to the Common Room in an attempt to temporarily leave their grief behind. Enjoy the little reference to Astoria Greengrass and Draco, as well.
Ginny was caught in a swirl of emotions and memories as she followed her instincts. Rest was what she needed. But not rest where the bustle, the celebrations and the agony were all clustered together.
Rather, the Gryffindor Common Room was proving enticing. She knew sooner or later that she'd locate Harry. But that knowledge couldn't drown out the overwhelming need to see him, hold him….finally, fully reassure herself that the nightmare she and so many others had been propelled into early that morning was well and truly over.
She'd been overwhelmed by the way her mother still sobbed over Fred, by the sight of the motionless Lupin and Tonks, so unfairly struck down at what should have been the happiest point of their lives – though mercifully, both had died within seconds of each other. She'd managed some sleep on her mother's shoulder sometime before midday, but had then gone straight into action, helping shift injured to one side of the Great Hall for treatment. Now, her work done, and too exhausted for conversation with anyone, she'd come up here for solace.
Not that there hadn't been cause for celebration as well – not limited to the end of a hideous individual who she'd literally carried around in her pocket for a whole year. And who had been singlehandedly responsible for the deluge of grief that had visited her family, Harry's and dozens more wizarding families.
She closed her eyes and stopped in her tracks as she once again remembered the way Colin had charged forwards to protect an unarmed Cormac McLaggen, saw him fall at the base of the castle walls, and recalled her Reductor Curse literally reducing an enemy to a pile of ash. And even worse, the howls of agony emanating from George and Percy as both embraced each other and collapsed to the floor beside their distraught parents and Fred's prone figure.
Then there was the sight of Harry, lying like a rag-doll in Hagrid's arms….
Stop that. That never happened.
With a shiver, Ginny opened her eyes and realised with a start that she was standing barely metres away from the Fat Lady's portrait, and its occupant was staring at her expectantly, though sympathetically.
"I'm sorry…" she stammered, flushing bright red. "I…I can't remember the password. After all this…."
"Don't worry about that, dear," interrupted the Fat Lady smoothly. "You need the rest. And so does a certain someone."
Ginny, in spite of her crushing fatigue, felt her heart jump a beat.
"Did you mean…."
But grinning conspiratorially, the Fat Lady beckoned Ginny forwards as her portrait swung to the side, revealing through the gap the reassuring, homely colours of the Gryffindor Common Room.
It was once through that she was greeted by a sight she never thought she'd see.
Harry, some of his minor cuts and burns being healed by none other than a certain detestable, wizened elf who was dabbing his master's face with a cloth presumably containing dittany.
"Miss Weasley," croaked the aged elf in greeting, bowing low to Ginny, who for a moment was too shocked to reply. "If you'd like, I can bring something for you and Master Harry…"
"Thanks, Kreacher, but you've done more than enough. Permit me to say that you would have made Regulus proud," said Harry warmly. Ginny cleared her throat and locked eyes with the elf whom she'd once so vividly detested, her disdain only heightened by Harry having told her during a quiet chat after a game of Quidditch in the Burrow's orchard on her fifteenth about his ownership of Kreacher and of the latter's role in Sirius' death. She was surprised to see the elf's eyes shining with unshed tears. When had things so vividly changed? It was a question she wanted answered, but there was so, so much more to get out of the way first….
"Thank you for looking after him, Kreacher," she said quietly, her eyes meeting his – and she noted with disgust that one side of his face was covered in bruises.
"And get yourself some rest, too," she added hastily. Kreacher bowed low once more.
"Master Harry always thought Miss Weasley was kind and brave. Oh yes, I see he is right now," he whispered, though Ginny was unsure whether his words were directed at her or himself.
"Er, thanks," she managed awkwardly as Kreacher tipped his head in hers and Harry's direction and clicked his fingers, Disapparating instantly.
With Kreacher gone, her sole attention was now focused on the boy lying on the couch beside the now-roaring fire, staring at her with an almost frightening intensity.
"You're here," he whispered hoarsely.
"Well, where else would I be?" she shot back rather heatedly, her year of heartbreak, her utter terror over the fate of every single person she ever cared about, crushing grief at the loss of Fred and the despair over seeing Harry himself apparently dead – and the gleeful confirmation of this by Voldemort - sweeping through her veins once more.
A lump was burning in her throat, and her eyes were beginning to water. She knew sooner or later that this frenetic storm of emotions would reduce her to being a crying mess, but she willed herself to keep the tears at bay. She'd only lost control over seeing him apparently dead – it would not happen again now, at this moment of reunion.
"Ginny?" Harry's voice was soothing, but in Ginny's current turbulent and erratic state of emotions, it also came across as frustratingly condescending.
"I'm so sorry about everything. None of this should have happened. I'm sorry about Fred, about…."
"Shut up," she growled, tears erupting onto her cheeks in spite of herself. She furiously wiped them away. "You're sorry? Sorry that the man who forced me to set a monster on my friends, had his pet snake attack Dad, made you an orphan, and brought about the deaths of Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye and dozens of others last night – Merlin, probably hundreds in total – is dead? Sorry that it's over? Sorry that for the first time ever, I don't have to worry about what Tom has in store for you? That kind of sorry?" There was a pause as she felt a stitch coming on, but foolishly ignoring it, she launched into her tirade again, not caring that more tears were now pouring down her cheeks.
"You give yourself up to him, doing as he asks to save us all, survive, defeat him and ensure everything we've ever fought for isn't destroyed, and you're meant to feel sorry? Spare me the Hippogriff dung, Harry. That's not what Fred thought, or Remus and Tonks, or Colin, or anyone who fought here last night and died or else was wounded. Ask Lavender right now! She doesn't think that, Mum and Dad don't, and nor do I," she finished fiercely, jaw locked and daring him to argue back. "Are you sorry for that?"
She positively ran out of breath, her pulse soaring, glaring at him. Part of her felt guilt at erupting into a furious tirade at him during their first encounter alone in almost nine months to the day, but the git deserved it, she thought.
Harry scowled back at her.
"No, I'm not," he replied quietly but determinedly.
"Bloody better be," she shot back, feeling an indescribable surge of exhilaration as she scanned his weathered features more minutely. His hair was even messier than usual and caked with grime, while his chin was now covered in black stubble, his clothing was ripped, dirty and slightly bloody, and he looked thoroughly exhausted. In many ways, he looked like an entirely different person.
His eyes, however, told a different story. For they were fixed solely on her, and moreover, he looked nervous. It was the same look he'd given her just before they'd kissed in her bedroom, the day of his seventeenth, that final present and message wrapped into one – that she understood what he was doing, accepted it, and that there was still no-one else but him, and he should remember it forever. Including, implicitly, to the grave.
It had been so rudely cut short, but she knew from the way Harry had precisely matched the intensity of her kisses that nothing had evaporated in the wake of Dumbledore's death. Now, here was confirmation that the yearning for more time was still there.
She was, however, too exhausted to rush at him and snog him senseless. Besides, it felt obscene after Fred's death, and grief was still lurking around the back of her mind, ready to pounce once more.
She took a deep breath, instinctively dampening her lips slightly, and walked around to directly in front of the couch where Harry was sitting. The seconds ticked by as they stared into each other's eyes, both hesitant at making the next move. She knew she must look a mess at the moment - cuts, mud and blood over her face, her shirt, jumper and jeans severely ripped, her face blotched and her eyes bloodshot – but she knew Harry didn't care one bit, and nor did she. Harry gingerly held out his hand in front of him – she took it, laced her own fingers with his - and she heard Harry exhale at the contact.
"Ginny….I…" his voice was almost reverent as he stared back up at her, and Ginny instinctively knew he was searching for the words that they'd somehow never said to each other.
"I know," she whispered softly, wrapping her free hand around to the base of his neck and pressing her lips to his forehead. "I always knew."
Breaking the contact, she looked down at Harry's hand – covered heavily in scar tissue. Harry followed her line of sight and snorted. "Gringotts," he answered. "Yesterday morning feels like a lifetime ago-"
"You broke into Gringotts?" Ginny interrupted incredulously.
Harry nodded, and let out a half-smile, his eyes closing lazily. "All in a day's work. And escaped via a dragon. Seemed like a good idea at the time," he joked weakly.
"Only you three idiots. Typical," she mock-scolded, squeezing his hand and half-collapsing onto the space next to him.
"That's me," he chuckled weakly. "Harry Potter, dragon tamer extraordinaire. Ow."
"You deserved that," she shot back, pinching his armpit once more. "And talking of magical creatures, since when did you and Kreacher get so close?
Harry yawned.
"It's a long story," he began, "and one that can probably wait until tomorrow. I can tell you everything then. Horcruxes, where we went, what Voldemort was doing. All starting tomorrow. But I'll just say this; Hermione was right about Kreacher. Unbelievable, but true."
Ginny chuckled at the thought of Hermione, on the run with Ron and Harry, still finding time to give them a SPEW lecture in-between dueling Death Eaters. "Sounds like her," she agreed, "but what happened to him, is he all right?"
"Yeah, he is. He fought Bellatrix, Hermione tells me, and she was about to have her way with him when Hermione began dueling her."
"That's our Hermione," she said with pride, recalling the brief horror of seeing her friend facing Bellatrix's wrath alone before she and Luna had intervened. "And what about you, Harry? It just had to be Expelliarmus, didn't it?"
Harry let out a snort and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, yawning as he did so. "It worked the first time I faced him properly. And besides, I didn't need to try and kill him – I knew that wand was mine anyway."
Ginny had heard snatches of talk about wands made of elder before, about how they were supposed to be unlucky for their owners, and had also been read Beedle's tale, naturally, but knowing that the Elder Wand existed was just one of the many revelations from that morning which had made her head hurt. It paled in comparison to the rush of affection for the boy sitting beside her who had declined to use lethal magic on the most evil wizard of all time, even to defend himself. And even after that wizard had done all he could to tear Harry's life to pieces. The pressure behind her eyes grew again as she thought again of the war dead, of Fred, of all the people she'd cared about who had perished. And of what they'd witnessed – Bellatrix, not content with merely killing people, maiming others with Sectumsempra indiscriminately in the final stages of the battle. Of people crushed by giants, or attacked by Greyback. Or, in her case, reducing a man, no matter how evil his intentions, to ash.
The sight of the Slytherin girl she'd comforted in what she'd assumed was her dying moments came back to haunt her - along with the memory of the moment she'd heard an unusual noise and intuitively knew that Harry was heading to face Voldemort. Thankfully, both he and the girl she'd comforted had survived, though quite how that had happened was a miracle, even with Madam Pomfrey's expert treatment and stabilisation. She'd become so numb to the horrors of the battle that she even lacked the ability to feel disdain for a haggard, ashen Draco Malfoy as he approached the once-again conscious, injured girl minutes after the defeat of Voldemort and gave her hand a squeeze before being pulled away by his parents. Had he whispered her name? It was something-or-another Greengrass, she remembered.
And in spite of this, of families being ripped apart, of people she knew dying, being injured, or in some cases, being compelled to kill for self-defence, Harry had offered his mortal enemy a final chance to stand aside.
"Harry," she croaked, cursing her wobbling voice. "Why, after all that he and his side threw at us, did you give him that last chance?"
Harry let out a melancholic sigh.
"I remembered something that Dumbledore told me, last year before…before we got together. That prophecy really meant nothing at all – not until Voldemort hunted down my parents and cursed me, thinking he had to act on it to save himself. It only meant anything at all because Voldemort set store by it. I….I could've in theory forgotten about Voldemort, or tried to, and pretended that everything was okay, even after Dumbledore's death….and continued what we started," he finished, his cheeks visibly burning in the low glow of the firelight as he started into the fire's depths in deep contemplation.
"But he would've found me, one way or another, before long. And found you. Besides, I found out last night that in theory, I was marked for death from when I was born. My death would help defeat him. Because….I had a Horcrux inside me. A bit of his soul. Just like with his pet snake."
Realisation flashed through Ginny's mind. That was the reason Harry could speak with snakes, had found her in the Chamber of Secrets, knew that her dad had been attacked, and had unique insides into Voldemort's – Tom's – mind.
"So you had to die," she whispered, her vision blurring, but much to her surprise, Harry turned to her and shook his head. "No, I thought I had to," he explained. "I still can't quite understand it, but when Voldemort took my blood after he'd killed Cedric, my mother's protection also extended to between me and him. Meaning…somehow….that I could still live. I saw Dumbledore after the curse hit me."
"In heaven?" Ginny exclaimed, almost knocking Harry on the head with a flailing arm (her right, nestled on her knee, was still holding his). Harry turned and gave her a non-committal shrug.
"Dunno," he replied contemplatively. "It was like a train station…like King's Cross…all white, and I saw him, talked to him, and saw the bit of Voldemort's soul that had been destroyed. Trapped, whimpering, flailing," his voice trailed off, as a look of nausea rippled its way across his face. When he spoke again, his voice trembled, like Ginny's had.
"I knew then what fate he'd face, if he didn't attempt to feel some remorse, tried to piece his soul back together. I tried, but it was beyond him. Maybe it always was, even when he was so much younger." There was no mistaking it now. There was sadness in Harry's voice, and Ginny recalled the look of utter exhaustion and astonishment as the boy she'd loved more deeply and painfully than her silly, besotted eleven year old self would have ever thought possible, stared at his old enemy's crumpled form with a total lack of gleeful jubilation. Affection gushed up inside her like a geyser that was boiling over and about to erupt.
"Oh, Harry," she whispered once more. "I definitely know I was right when I said I was mad about you last year over hunting Voldemort. "But-"
"I know," Harry interrupted, squeezing her hand once more. "He didn't deserve it. But I had to try anyway."
They both tailed off into companionable silence and as the seconds ticked by, accompanied by the aflame logs snapping under the heat of the fire, Ginny thought of the incredible pride Harry's parents and godfather would surely have felt at the achievements and personality of the young man Harry had grown into without their presence.
It was far more pleasant than thinking about her feelings of guilt in particular over Colin's death and the fact that Demelza, her friend and teammate, had been lucky to only be hit with a Stunning Spell. I should've told them to flee, let the older DA members and Order do their work.
But if she was being honest with herself, she was being hypocritical, given she'd badgered Harry into coming to help rescue Sirius at age fourteen. That was her choice, like it was with Colin, Demelza and Jimmy Peakes, whom she'd witnessed get injured.
No, it was far more pleasant thinking about Harry, of his warmth pressed against her left side, of his hand in hers, of how his eyes lit up when they saw her – how he looked nervous, even.
She yawned. It had been an awfully long day, and she knew she needed to be at full energy to the next morning to begin properly processing the loss of so many people dear to her, but that could wait. Right now, this moment, with her hand intertwined with the very same person whom she believed dead at dawn that morning – was a literal miracle.
Acting on impulse, she let go of Harry's hand, and trailed her hand over to Harry's chest, to where she knew his heart lay beating, continuously, reliably.
As she felt his pulse, she heard Harry hiss with pain slightly.
"You okay?"
He nodded. "I think I've bruised myself there. It…it was where his curse struck me. I seem to be building up a collection," he added wryly, moving his fringe aside to reveal his scar. "I'm feeling rather relieved that this bloody thing isn't going to keep waking me from now on, to be honest."
The wry tone of his voice, in spite of the seriousness of what he was inferring, set Ginny off into a set of chuckles that for the first time that evening, felt genuinely like hers.
"You sure that bruise on your chest was from his curse?" she replied cheekily. "Not from where you...I dunno…got a Hungarian Horntail tattoo at last?"
Harry snorted at the memory of her casual flirtatious banter with him, as well as the tattoo joke that had so amused Hermione and hacked off Ron.
"He knows it's a lie, now," Harry whispered in her ear. "The tattoo stuff. Thanks, I might add, to him becoming me last July."
At which Ginny rolled her eyes. Ron really had been thoroughly annoyed by her suggestive joke, the idiot.
"I'll have to tell him to keep his hands off your body then," she shot back, "or else there will be consequences. Painful ones, involving having his own bogeys attack him." She was particularly pleased to see Harry choke with laughter and flush as red as a tomato. It really was too easy with him. It brought back memories of those snatched, precious few weeks after the Quidditch final last year, of walks by the lake, visiting Hagrid together, of him looking as carefree as she'd ever seen him.
Harry let out a yawn, and blinked blearily.
"Whoa," Ginny whispered, wrapping an arm around his back to steady him. His eyes locked with hers once more, and she felt her heart skip a beat once more, and also could feel the tell-tale heated flush climbing her cheeks as she was suddenly possessed by an overwhelming desire to have his lips on hers once more. She could tell from Harry's nervous swallow and own flushed face that the same thinking was crossing his mind.
So she went for it. Not in a frenzied rush like the last time this had happened, but more slowly, comfortably, relishing the tickle of his stubble on her chin as he tilted his head one way, followed by the other, relishing the way one of his hands gingerly crept up to become lost in her still-messy, dirty hair, relishing the pause as they both pulled away for a moment, drinking each other in.
He was alive.
This was what winning meant for them.
"Ginny," Harry's breathy exhalation if anything made her heat up further. She kissed him again, slowly, softly, the way she'd always wanted to for most of this entire rotten year, through the Carrows' torture, through the DA rebellion, then the staying in exile at Muriel's. Harry's hands were warm to the touch, as they slowly moved in circles around her back, and especially when one dipped to her waist, and she felt his fingers contact the small patch of skin beneath her jumper.
She broke away from her kiss, and pulled Harry in closer, resting her head on his shoulder and exhaled deeply.
"It's been a long couple of days," she mumbled, and she felt him nod his head.
He broke away and yawned again, looking slightly sheepish. "It's the fire that's doing me in," he mumbled back. "Feels like I'm turning into Hermione."
She laughed, adjusting herself into a more comfortable position herself and intertwining her legs with Harry's.
"So we can discuss everything tomorrow?" she asked, and was relieved to see Harry nod.
"If I tried to explain everything, we'd be awake here until early morning or something," he said quietly, tailing off with another yawn. "Goodnight, Ginny. Thanks for being there for everything."
He closed his eyes, and after about thirty seconds or so, his head lolled onto her shoulder. Ginny, in spite of her own fatigue, was simply transfixed by the way he looked so innocent and peaceful all of a sudden.
She slowly bent over him and kissed his forehead.
"Thanks for being alive," she whispered, before closing her eyes herself and surrendering to the peaceful embrace of sleep, at long last.
….
It was a couple of hours later that four occupants entered the Gryffindor Common Room. At the sight of the youngest Weasley nestled against the young man they'd come to associate a one of them, Charlie dropped his mouth open in shock. But Molly smiled knowingly at her husband and turned to face George, who had managed to produce a timid smile from behind the curtain of misery he'd been hiding behind all morning.
"Is..are they…" Charlie finally spluttered, but Molly batted a hand at him.
"Oh, shush, Charles. Ginny's right where she's needed," she admonished, sighing melancholically as she turned to face Arthur. The sight had rallied her spirits somewhat, after slowly beginning to digest the news that Fred was irreversibly, truly dead. But she was also feeling grateful that this young man before her, whom she'd long come to love as one of her own, had not perished after all. When she'd stepped in to duel Bellatrix, her immediate terror was of losing a third child.
Harry had matured enormously from the time he'd first caught sight of the nervous, totally lost boy at King's Cross all those years ago. Now, he'd clearly let someone else in her family besides Ron into his inner circle, and she couldn't be happier at that.
"I said already that we good as had another son, Arthur. Back in Grimmauld Place," she said quietly.
"And it's looking it might soon be official," added Arthur, pecking Molly on the cheek as she turned to face Charlie, who had paled again. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It's not that I'm downplaying…downplaying Freddie," she whispered sadly to her second-oldest son, dabbing at the corner of her eyes. "It's just that right now…"
"I know, Mum," Charlie smiled, rubbing her arm gently in return.
It was a couple of minutes later, when Molly had settled down on a couch opposite her youngest and Harry, alongside Arthur, that her thoughts began to dwell once again of the pressing grief that was constricting her chest with every breath. George and Charlie had both taken armchairs on the opposite sides of the Common Room, and Molly knew they needed her presence in this room as much as she needed them. They would all need it in the days, weeks and months ahead.
But then she looked once again at the peaceful form of Harry, looking more contented that Molly had ever seen him and she then innately knew a simple truth.
If Harry, with all the grief, guilt, responsibility and trauma resting on his shoulders was going to recover from this, then she knew all of them would. It was this thought that sent her off to sleep beside her husband and three of her children, whom had, miraculously, come out of this terrible, terrible battle.
….
It was many hours later that Harry awoke once again. The fire in the Common Room had burned down to mere embers, and he noticed with a shock that half the Weasley family was sharing the room with him. Molly and Arthur were resting on a couch directly in front of his and Ginny's. As he looked behind, he saw George and Charlie also both dozing in armchairs, tear tracks down both their faces. It was then that Harry remembered what had happened to Fred, and his stomach turned over.
So many lives wasted….
But then he remembered the moment Voldemort's body dropped pathetically to the ground, and he remembered it was all over. Permanently. He had no idea where Ron and Hermione were right now, but the knowledge that they had survived was good enough for him now. There would always be time with them to talk, reminisce and mourn together. Just like with Ginny.
He turned to his right to face her, her curtain of hair pouring over the back of the couch as she stirred slightly at his movement, then mumbling slightly, settled once more. Here, beside him, miraculously alive, was the very girl who had been his final thought as the second Killing Curse he'd encountered hit home.
The burden had been lifted, now, for both of them. There was to be no more running, no more hiding, no more battle plans. They could now pursue their Quidditch and other interests, mock Ron and Hermione's infuriating antics, mourn together, and socialise freely (even if it meant occasionally nocturnally evading Ron.) They could even eventually share a home and raise a family, were they both inclined.
The dark and windy path he'd followed, set in motion by a prophecy in a grubby room in the Hog's Head almost two decades beforehand, had come to its inexorable end after enormous suffering and loss. What lay ahead was an unlimited supply of golden days of peace ahead.
For all of them.