Search:

SIYE Time:7:34 on 29th March 2024
SIYE Login: no


Something Left
By goingbacktosquareone

- Text Size +

Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Genres: Drama
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 14
Summary: After Sirius's death, Harry leaves for the Burrow feeling down and out-of-sorts. This is just a sweet, little fluffy piece of the missing summer when Harry finally starts to realize there's more to life than just Voldemort.
Hitcount: Story Total: 4183



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.





ChapterPrinter


Something Left
by goingbacktosquareone



In the dream Sirius was falling again, tripping backwards toward the fluttering Veil with a grin fading across his face. Moony was there, as always, with his arms wrapped around me as I screamed, holding me back…

Then there was nothing.

Instead of watching Sirius disappear forever as the Veil swallowed him whole, the dream shifted.

Mum?

Swirling. Caught up in something I don’t understand. Instead of falling into the emptiness I feel like I’m falling, whirling, flying… into something good.

She just ran by me – giddy. Why won’t she stop to explain? I’m confused by her reluctance to answer my call. I reach out, my fingertips just brush her bare shoulder blade; all I can see when she turns to answer me is the light – white, and impossibly bright – obscuring her face as it glistens off her hair, shielding her away from me like the fiery ring of a solar eclipse…



“Harry?”


Harry Potter opened his eyes and surveyed the garish, orange room where he had been sleeping. He groaned and rolled over in his camp bed, grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and crammed them over his nose so he could see his best friend Ron more clearly.

“You were dreaming again, mate,” said Ron, yawning, using the heels of his hands to rub sleep from his eyes. “It must’ve been better than usual, though. At least you didn’t wake up screaming at the end.”

“It wasn’t as bad this time,” answered Harry, wrinkling his brows as he tried to recall the last remnants of the dream before they escaped his waking memory.

“The Ministry?” asked Ron quietly. He never said Sirius’s name anymore. No one ever said his name anymore. Harry sighed and rolled back over onto his belly, crushing his glasses into his face as he buried his head back in the pillow.

He lay there wondering about his odd dream until he heard Ron begin to snore again. Knowing he’d never be able to go back to sleep, Harry quietly dressed himself and slipped from the room, down the stairs to the kitchen where he could already hear Mrs Weasley beginning her day.


* * *


It started with the chickens.

Upon waking to find Ron, Hermione and Ginny storming his bed on his first morning at the Burrow, Harry had been delighted to learn all the news he’d missed while he’d been trapped with the Dursleys. He hadn’t realized just how chaotic the Burrow had been in his absence, even though Ginny’s hilarious spoof of Fleur Delacour had been pretty much spot on.

Fleur had created pandemonium, not chaos. And not even twenty-four hours later, Harry was flustered to find he’d been swept up in the madness as well. No. This would not do, he thought to himself.

After making a quick escape from Ron and Hermione’s newest game – huff and glare – Harry slipped into the kitchen to find Mrs Weasley puttering about with a pudding recipe. Ginny hovered next to her by the counter looking violently-offended as Fleur prattled on about the morning news from the Prophet.

“Ginny… EGGS!” growled Mrs Weasley as she slapped the recipe down on the counter in a cloud of floury dust. “I have asked you three times for eggs and you’ve yet to move, girl! I can’t possibly make this custard without eggs.”

“Sorry, mum.” Ginny Weasley looked embarrassed as Harry walked through the door and caught her attention. She rolled her eyes toward Fleur and made a small gagging sound, causing her mother to snort loudly and thrust a basket into her hands.

Harry laughed to himself as he watched Ginny trudge through the back door and off into the garden. He was about to take a seat at the table when Ginny stomped back in through the door and gave him her signature glare. “Oi, Potter. Get out here and help me with these eggs. I could use some company!” she barked. She then turned with a flourish of hair and disappeared out of sight

Harry looked up blankly at Mrs Weasley, who simply cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. “She’s been like this all week, Harry. Best to just help her with the chickens and be done with it. You’re probably better off in the garden than in the parlour with Ron and Hermione – those two have been worse than one of Fred and George’s Whizz-Bangs.”

“Sure thing, Mrs Weasley – ”

“Molly, Harry. My name is Molly. I’ve told you a hundred times – ”

“So you prefer to be called by Molly and not by Mrs Weasley?” asked Fleur, who set the newspaper down with a frown. “Beel ‘as not told me of zis! I ‘ave been ‘ere all week and no one ‘as thought to mention it…”

“Come on,” grumbled Ginny as she grabbed Harry’s arm and forcibly pulled him out through the back door. “I don’t think I can stand another moment trapped in that bloody kitchen! Fleur! She’s done nothing but wreck havoc all week.”

“Problems?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Harry,” said Ginny as they reached the fence around the chicken coop. “Ron can barely keep drool from leaking down the side of his chin when she’s around and Hermione does nothing but huff and grumble under her breath about ‘meddlesome Veelas.’ If those two don’t do something about – ”

Harry laughed out loud and held up his hands in a stopping gesture. “Well I hardly think anything is going to happen between those two if it’s all as bad as you’re making it out to be. Ron’s never been able to control himself around Fleur.”

“But you’re able to,” countered Ginny, slipping through the gate and thrusting the egg basket into his hands. “Fleur never seems to cause a problem with you.” She ducked into the henhouse leaving just her bottom and legs visible. Harry shifted uncomfortably as he realized he was blatantly staring at Ginny’s backside. “You never act mental, why is that?” her muffled voice called from inside the henhouse. She backed out with three eggs which she promptly deposited into Harry’s basket.

“Well, uh…” stammered Harry. Ginny held his gaze as he struggled to come up with an answer. “I’ve just never been all that impressed with her. I guess.”

“Very colorful explanation, Potter,” said Ginny, frowning. She ducked back into the opening and Harry heard the hens squawking as Ginny rustled them around to search the remaining nests. Harry stood there; sneaking another brilliant look at Ginny’s rear-end when she abruptly pulled back and caught him mid-stare. He blushed furiously.

“See something you like there?” she teased, highly amused by Harry’s embarrassment. “You better be glad it’s just you… I’ve hexed other boys for less than that.”

Coughing, and scuffing the ground with his toe, Harry just held out the basket, trying not to make direct eye-contact. Ginny rolled her eyes and instead of dropping the egg in with the others, placed it gently into his free hand. Harry jumped like he’d been burned, ultimately causing him to drop the egg onto the ground.

Harry stared at the cracked egg as the white began to ooze out of the shell and onto the toe of his trainer.

“Harry? Are you all right? You look a little peaky. Your hand isn’t hurt is it? Did those stupid Dursleys do something? ‘Cause if that Nancy-boy Dudley did something to your wand hand I’ll curse him myself – ”

“I’m fine,” lied Harry. In fact, Harry wasn’t sure at all how he was feeling. The whole conversation caused his stomach to flip-flop and he was suddenly very aware of his best mate’s little sister, who was standing there with bare feet wearing an old Harpies T shirt and a pair of threadbare denim shorts ranting about his health and his relatives like she really cared. Harry was dumbfounded.

Ginny considered Harry for a moment and then ducked back into the pen and came out empty-handed. She grabbed the basket back from Harry and looked at him thoughtfully. “Did you happen to bring your Broom-Servicing Kit with you?” Harry nodded.

“Well, if mum doesn’t send me out on another wild goose chase for eggs, do you mind letting me borrow it? I’ve been trying to spruce up one of our old brooms – ”

“It’s in my trunk,” said Harry, grateful for an excuse to part ways with her. All of the sudden Ginny Weasley was a different person than the girl he remembered. She wasn’t the sharp-witted little sister anymore. This person was definitely still sharp and witty, but now she looked soft – and warm – and her eyes had a fiery sparkle Harry had never noticed before. She seemed oblivious to the changes, leaving him confused and wondering if the Dursleys had, in fact, caused him some unknown mental harm.

Smiling, Ginny patted him on the shoulder and winked. “Whenever you get a chance. We’ll be here together all summer, you know.”

Shaking the fog from his head, Harry turned back toward the house to retrieve the kit; positive Ron’s sister thought he was off his nut.


* * *



“NO! I said you can’t use him!” exclaimed Ron, looking harassed from his side of the chess board. “Use Errol.”

“You’re just being stupid and selfish, Ron,” sputtered Ginny, turning on her heel to pound back up the stairs to her room. The entire Burrow shuddered as her bedroom door slammed shut; Harry wondered what could possibly make Ginny so angry as he glanced questioningly at his friend.

“Ron, quit being such a prat,” said Hermione from the couch. “Pig’s not doing anything but fluttering around up there. He’s probably bored and hungry.”

“She’s not using my owl to send letters to Dean Thomas,” grumbled Ron as he made his move. “Checkmate.”

“Checkmate?” howled Harry, eyeing the board with disgust. “How the bloody hell do you do that? It’s not fair!”

“Neither is hogging his owl, but he does that spectacularly,” muttered Hermione from behind her book.

“Shut it, you,” said Ron. “If she wants to send gooey love notes to that twit, she’s not using my owl.”

“Since when is Dean Thomas a twit?” asked Harry, confused. He drew up his legs and sat back on his hands, interested in Ron’s answer.

“Since he started seeing my little sister,” said Ron, looking offended. “I don’t want to have to put up with that all year.”

“Honestly, Ron. It’s none of your business!” snapped Hermione.

“It is when I have to start hearing his stories. Believe me, Hermione, I don’t want to have to hear his stories. I live in a room with Seamus. Dean is Seamus’s best friend. They tell stories. I have to hear them. Often. My sister is not going to be a ‘story-girl.’”

“He does have a point,” said Harry, grinning at Hermione. “They do tell stories. Nothing I think could be remotely true, but I wouldn’t want to hear it about Ginny, either.”

“She’s nearly grown! She doesn’t need you two interfering in her love life,” huffed Hermione as she set her book aside to glare at Ron. “Don’t you think you’re being a little immature?”

“Nope,” said Ron, cramming a biscuit into his mouth. “Want another game, Harry?”

“I’ll play. Budge over,” said Hermione. She slid down onto the floor and bumped Harry out of the way.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Harry. But then again, you’re being a prat, too. Maybe you deserve it,” challenged Hermione with a sneer.

Harry slowly backed away from the chessboard, glad to escape the newest argument. He took Hermione’s place on the couch and pulled a Snitch from his pocket, watching as it unfurled and fluttered its wings.

“What are those two on about?” asked Ginny as she plopped down beside him and plucked the Snitch expertly from his hand.

“I don’t think you really want to know,” answered Harry blithely, snatching the Snitch back from her.

Ginny grinned and grabbed for the golden ball once more, this time nearly wrestling Harry for it. When she lost her balance and fell into Harry’s side, he accidentally let go of the Snitch, a mistake she capitalized on immediately. Harry sat frozen, numb from the contact, until Ginny started taking the mickey out of him.

“Jeez, Harry. Is that all it takes to beat you to a Snitch? Maybe someone should tell the weasel to wrestle you for it,” she laughed, punching him in the shoulder for effect.

Harry glanced up across the room and was surprised to see Mr Weasley wearing a bemused expression as he examined them from over the top of his magazine. He was smiling and saying something quietly out of the corner of his mouth to Mrs Weasley, who sat beside him in her chair, knitting one of her ever-present jumpers. She chuckled at his comment, but didn’t take her eyes from her needlework.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and shifted away from Ginny. He felt like the room had suddenly grown much smaller and warmer. “Your parents are looking at us,” he whined, his voice breaking with a hormonal squeak.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Harry. It’s not like we’re over here having a relationship,” she said a bit too loudly, causing Ron to perk up from his chess match and give her a filthy look. Taking the goading one step further, Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and entwined her fingers with his, cradling their hands firmly in her lap. “Watch this,” she said nodding to Harry evilly, scooting herself closer to him until she was plastered against him from shoulder to thigh.

“Nice try, Gin-Gin… but you’re still not using my owl,” said Ron with a smirk. “It’s not very effective when Harry’s sitting there looking all gobsmacked and confused. I think you better stick with Dean,” he laughed ruthlessly.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her brother, growled and stomped back up the stairs, leaving Ron rolling with laughter and Harry still silent, rubbing his hand where her fingers had been just moments before.


* * *



Several days passed as life settled into a pleasant routine of two-aside Quidditch and lazy afternoons at the pond. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny spent the mornings doing chores and expertly avoiding Fleur as much as possible. Ginny had taken to pulling faces and hacking spectacularly whenever the girl entered the room. Harry had started to feel sorry for Fleur; she looked lonely and miserable.

Harry did allow Ginny to borrow his Broom-Servicing Kit, which much to Ginny’s delight, did wonders for the old Cleansweep Five she’d claimed as her own. He’d never seen one of the Weasleys’ old brooms fly better… He was very impressed with Ginny’s ability to manoeuvre a broom – she was a natural flyer – something Harry noticed every time he flew with her in a pick-up match.

One Saturday morning Harry and Ron had spent the better part of an hour pitching gnomes over the fence when Ron noticed Pig fly from Ginny’s room with a parchment tied to his leg.

“That… She… I know she didn’t just send Pig out with a letter!” Harry saw Ginny wave sweetly from her window, sure she’d winked at them, when Ron took off in a dead run for the house. Harry just sighed and loped back up into the garden where he noticed Mr Weasley at work in his old tool shed.

“Hey there, son,” grinned Arthur Weasley, who was tinkering with an old cassette player. He held up a cassette tape hand-labeled Sex Pistols Mix and gestured to Harry. “It’s a very odd name, don’t you think?” he chuckled. “Molly would have kittens if she knew I had this. I found it several months ago during a raid. I don’t think the poor bloke had any idea what a Sex Pistol was. He was blabbering on about having a secret weapon to ward off intruders.”

Harry laughed out loud. “Well, I suppose it could, Mr Weasley. It just depends on whether or not you like listening to the Sex Pistols. It’s a mix tape of a popular Muggle band.”

“A mix tape?”

“Umm, a home-made recording of favorite songs? A lot of people would copy music onto a cassette like that with just their favorite stuff. Kinda like if Mrs Weasley pulled all her favorite Celestina Warbeck songs from all the albums you had and put them in one place.”

“Very interesting… very interesting, indeed,” agreed Arthur. “It’s so nice having you here to answer these questions,” he said enthusiastically. Placing the cassette down on the bench, Arthur gestured for Harry to sit down on an old stool. “You seem to be better, Harry. When we first got you from the Dursleys you were very quiet. Are you better? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Harry looked into the face of his best friend’s father, which was full of love and concern. He gulped and tried to smile. “Things have gotten easier, Mr Weasley. Thank you for asking.”

“I wish I could carry some of your burden, Harry,” said Arthur quietly. “You’ve been through so much… Just the thought of losing Sirius the way we did makes me appreciate every day I have left with my wife and children. It was such a shock to us all.”

Harry blinked back the tears which had suddenly threatened to fall. Steeling himself, he looked up into Mr Weasley’s worried face and wondered how he’d gotten so lucky to find friends like the Weasleys. “It was really hard, afterward…” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure exactly what to do with myself. I’ve never felt this way before. Sirius was like… he made me hope again, Mr Weasley,” choked Harry.

Arthur patted Harry’s hand and drew him into a one-armed embrace. The man was struggling for words. “You have to have hope, Harry. At the end of all of this… when all this darkness is over there has to be a light left to lead you, Harry. Hope is a very powerful thing. Sirius wouldn’t have wanted you to lose your hope.”

Harry stood from the stool and started toeing the ground with his trainer. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and cleared this throat. “It’s just…” Harry faltered for a moment. “What do I really have, Mr Weasley? When all this is over – what if Voldemort wins? What then?”

“We all move on, Harry. Hopefully we’ll all still be here together, whatever happens. You’re a part of our family, Harry. You do have something left. We love you just as we would one of our own,” admitted Mr Weasley.

“But what’s left, Mr Weasley? What is there really?” asked Harry petulantly. “He’s taken everything I have. My parents… Sirius… I just feel so alone.”

“Find that something, son. Find it and hold onto it tight. Find what you love and keep it close to your heart; use it to draw strength. Just trust and have faith, let it guide you.”

Just as the conversation started to move into more uncomfortable territory, Harry heard a spectacular row echoing from the windows of the house. A second later Ron shot from the kitchen door in a dead run across the garden, laughing like a banshee.

“What the…” started Mr Weasley. He and Harry both hurried toward the kitchen door.

Mrs Weasley stuck her head out of the kitchen window and yelled after her son. “Ronald Bilius Weasley! You get back here and – ”

Just then Harry looked up to see a fierce streak, embodied by Ginny Weasley, nearly run him over as she made chase. She bumped into his shoulder inadvertently as he turned; giggling as they nearly lost their balance. Harry steadied them as she apologized with a sparking laugh and then took off into the sun, bellowing after her brother. “You bloody tosspot!” she hissed as her voice echoed and faded across the meadow, riddled with obscenities. “You better hope I don’t catch you! Accio, broom!” screamed Ginny, whipping her wand out of the back pocket to summon the old Cleansweep as she dashed down the paddock.

“GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!” hollered Mrs Weasley from the window. Arthur chuckled as he watched his children tear down the lawn. Ginny deftly caught the old broom as it reached her and mounted it mid-stride, shooting off toward the pond.

Harry was dumbstruck. He’d never seen such a spectacular, running take-off. One moment Ginny had burst by him, legs pumping, hair flying from her pony-tail summoning her broom almost without thought… and the next she was gone, leaving him with an eerie sense of déjà vu.

“Mother of Merlin, Arthur!” exclaimed Mrs Weasley as she joined them. “Such language! And underage magic! What are we going to do with her?”

“With her?” chuckled Hermione from the door step. “I told him not to charm that parchment. He deserves every bit of what she’s about to dish out.”

Mrs Weasley threw up her hands in disgust and sighed heavily. “I’ll just go back to making supper then, since it appears no one but me is concerned about the behavior of those two.”

“Maybe you should go see if they’ve killed each other, eh?” asked Arthur from beside Harry, startling him from his thoughts. Mr. Weasley summoned the Firebolt with a flick of his wand and handed it reverently over to Harry. “Remember what I said, Harry,” said Arthur with a wink, patting him on the shoulder. “I think I’ll just go into the kitchen now and see about calming my wife.”

Harry kicked off and flew toward the pond, wondering if there’d be anything left of either Ron or Ginny to bring home to their parents.


* * *



Later that evening Harry grabbed his Firebolt and went flying alone, finally ending his ride to watch the last of the sun as it set over the pond. He had peeled of his shoes and socks and sat on the little dock, dangling his feet in the water.

“Want some company?” asked Ginny from behind him. Harry jumped at the sound of her voice – he hadn’t heard her approach.

“Sure,” he said, gesturing to a spot beside him.

“I like it here,” said Ginny thoughtfully, dropping her feet into the water beside his. “Sometimes this is the only place I feel like I have to get away from things.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry with a frown. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m here, does it?”

“Not at all,” said Ginny. “Over the past few summers I have spent a lot of time here thinking – contemplating things, I guess. It’s quiet and peaceful. Sometimes I just need quiet and peaceful. Not everyone gets that around here, you know.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I think I understand.” He glanced over at Ginny, who was staring off into the distance, the light from the sunset reflecting off her face. Harry had never really realized how pretty Ginny was: the slope of her nose and the smattering of freckles across her cheekbones, the warm-brown of her eyes…

Ginny turned her head to face him, a soft smile playing on the corners of her mouth. “I figured you would. Of all the people around here, you’re the one who understands what it’s like to have a lot on your mind.”

Harry smiled back. “You could say that, I guess.”

“Do you want to talk about him?”

“What’s to say?” asked Harry petulantly. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back. Just like everybody else I’ve ever cared about.”

Ginny frowned. “Well, I want to talk about Sirius. He made me laugh. He answered my questions instead of treating me like a little girl. It’s like we’re all pretending he was never around. I hate that. He was brilliant… and I’m going to miss him.” Ginny reached up and wiped at her eyes.

Harry put his hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “I miss him, too,” he said quietly. “He was all I had left. And now he’s gone because of me.” Harry hung his head, too emotional to go on for fear of crying in front of Ginny.

“That’s not true!” snapped Ginny. “You know that’s not true! Sirius made his own choices. Just like you went to the Ministry to save him, he would’ve done the same for you. It just turned out bad… like everything Tom touches. This is going to be over someday, Harry. He wouldn’t want you sitting around feeling guilty.”

“Do you feel like you turned out bad?” asked Harry. “I mean, you know that’s not true, either, right?” Ginny looked away again, silent. “I hope you don’t think that way about yourself,” he said fervently.

“Sirius always told me that, too.”

“He did?” asked Harry, surprised.

“There were nights at Grimmauld I couldn’t sleep… Somehow or other Sirius always seemed to be around when I needed someone the most,” said Ginny sadly. “He helped me see I had something left to offer.”

“Something left to offer? What d’you mean by that rubbish?”

“I didn’t think much of myself after… I thought Tom had taken everything good from me. I just needed a kick in the pants. Sirius helped me see I had a lot left to give. He helped me be able to sleep again, to trust in myself… You know… stuff.”

“I’m sorry it was so hard for you, Ginny. I guess I’ve been a rotten friend.”

“Well, now you know.” Ginny splashed her feet around in the water, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “We have a little more in common than everyone realizes, I suppose.”

“I suppose we do,” answered Harry. “I guess I just need to figure out how to move on from here. Figure out what’s left.”

“We all have something, Harry. You’ll find it, trust me. I did.” Ginny stood up and offered her hand down to Harry, then pulled him up with a grin. “Now come on. We can’t sit down here all night dripping like hosepipes.”

Harry noticed her Cleansweep lying on the grass near the end of the dock. He bent down and picked up his shoes, grabbed his Firebolt and kicked off. “Last one back has to spend an hour in a locked room with Ron and Hermione?” he challenged.

“You’re on.” Ginny scampered down the dock, grabbed her broom and soared off toward the house before Harry realized what was going on. Smiling and shaking off an odd feeling he’d experienced since they’d been talking, he laid flat on his broom and shot off in hopes of catching her.


~ The End ~


Reviews 14
ChapterPrinter




../back
‘! Go To Top ‘!

Sink Into Your Eyes is hosted by Grey Media Internet Services. HARRY POTTER, characters, names and related characters are trademarks of Warner Bros. TM & © 2001-2006. Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions on this site are those made by the owners. All stories(fanfiction) are owned by the author and are subject to copyright law under transformative use. Authors on this site take no compensation for their works. This site © 2003-2006 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Special thanks to: Aredhel, Kaz, Michelle, and Jeco for all the hard work on SIYE 1.0 and to Marta for the wonderful artwork.
Featured Artwork © 2003-2006 by Yethro.
Design and code © 2006 by SteveD3(AdminQ)
Additional coding © 2008 by melkior and Bear