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SIYE Time:5:56 on 29th March 2024
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Strength
By cackling stump

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Angst, Songfic
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 5
Summary: Harry struggles with his emotions the summer after Sirius' death, but he receives a letter that gives him new hope. A songfic to the song by the Alarm.
Hitcount: Story Total: 3039



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.



Author's Notes:
I am normally not a fan of songfics, but I recently heard this song again by the Alarm that was a favorite of mine in college and this story idea came to me.




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Give me love Give me hope Give me strength Give me someone to live for

In an quiet park located somewhere in Surrey, a teenage boy sat on a bench, his head in his hands. The few mothers and small children that were there using the slides or swings kept a wide berth around him. He looked like perhaps he was homeless as he wore ragged clothes that were too large for him. The pants, riddled with holes, were cinched up by a belt that had obviously had extra holes poked in it and the soles of his shoes flapped as he walked. He definitely needed a shower. He smelled of sweat and his face often had dirt on it, and grime could be seen under his fingernails. Occasionally he could be heard to moan or groan, sometimes a sob, but never anything decipherable as words. The families kept even farther away, thinking he might be mentally ill. He was there almost every day for the last few weeks, and, with time, he was pretty much ignored by all those who were there.

Who will light the fire that I need to survive Who will be the life blood coursing through my veins Like a river flowing that will never change I need someone I can depend on

’cause I’m a man of emotions who can’t hide the tears I’m a man of feeling who can’t hide the pain I’m alone on the outskirts of town where no one knows my name I’m at the point in my life where I need affection

Exc ept for a young girl, perhaps four or five years old, who slipped away from her mum while she was occupied chasing after her younger brother. She walked up to the older boy and tugged on his sleeve. He looked up at her, his eyes behind his glasses red and tears falling slowly down his cheeks. His face then blushed, embarrassed that he was crying in public yet again, as he wiped them away with his sleeve. That had been happening on a too frequent basis.

“Why are you sad? Where’s your mummy? I bet she could make you feel better.”

Harry was startled by the question. After a moment, he answered with an unsteady voice, “I don’t have a mummy. I don’t have anyone to make me feel better.” That was true. His parents, whom he knew only from snippets of unpleasant memories and a few stories from their friends, had been killed when he was just a baby. His only remaining family, the people he lived with, certainly wouldn’t provide any comfort. And most painful of all, his godfather, who had just met a few short years ago and had learned to love like a combination of a friend and a favorite uncle, was now dead also. And it was his fault. This was the reason he ran as far away from the house on Privet Drive as he could each day after he completed his chores; the physical pain he felt from the exertion helped to dull the pain and guilt he felt and quieted the constantly replayed image of Sirius falling through the veil.

The girl held out her hand. “Would you like a biscuit? It’s choc’late. Mum says that choc’late always make things better.” Harry reached out and took the offered gift. As he crunched the snack, the corner of his mouth twitched upward just a little. The little girl took a step closer, went up on her tiptoes, and placed a small peck on his cheek, before turning and skipping back to her mum and brother.

“Your mum’s right. It does help,” Harry said to her retreating back. Though it wasn’t the chocolate, it was the small act of kindness, something that was so lacking, especially this summer, when he felt so isolated.

Won’t you Give me love Give me hope Give me strength Give me someone to live for

Give me love Give me hope Give me strength Give me someone to live for

I need it now I need it now

Someone write me a letter I need to know that I’m still alive Someone give me a telephone call I need to hear a human sound Someone open up a door And let me out of this place I’ve been caged up for oh so long I don’t know if I’m living or dying

Of course, that isolation was mostly his fault as well. After Sirius’ death, Professor Dumbledore, the closest person to a grandfather he had ever known, revealed to Harry the truth behind why the boy was targeted by the darkest wizard in the world. The prophecy that said that neither could survive while the other did. That it would end with either Voldemort killing Harry or Harry killing Voldemort. The news had shocked him to the core and he had reacted with a combination of raw grief and anger, resulting in Dumbledore’s office in shambles after his tantrum. He hadn’t heard a word from the man since, not even a letter telling him how long he would have to stay with the Dursleys before the blood wards were strengthened. I’d be surprised if he ever wants to talk to me again after that outburst, thought Harry, who had been filled with guilt almost immediately after leaving the office.

He hadn’t heard from his friends either, another act of his own doing. Ron and Hermione could tell that something else in addition to Sirius’ death was bothering Harry on the Hogwarts Express, but he had resisted all attempts at getting it out of him. Then, starting with the second day of the summer, Hermione had sent him letter after letter, pleading with him to share his feelings about Sirius and whatever he was hiding from them. Each letter took a different tack. She said she had read a book about mourning and it said that it was important to let out the grief so that it wouldn’t smolder. She reminded him of all the times she and Ron had been there for him and that they wanted to be there for him again. She said it wasn’t his fault that Sirius died. She said that Sirius wouldn’t want him to wallow in his sorrow. She even tried to make him feel guilty and said he wasn’t being a very good friend. Ron had written a few times as well, but it was obvious his letters had been dictated by Hermione as they didn’t sound like him at all and basically said the same things as Hermione’s, just in messier handwriting. At first he had replied with short notes saying that he was fine, but, as the letters kept coming day after day, his frustration and anger built, and, in combination with his self-reproach about his part in Sirius’ demise and the burden of the prophecy, he was nearly ready to explode. And explode he did when Hermione finally had called him on the telephone one day.

“Harry, you’ve just got to share what you’re feeling. It isn’t healthy to keep it all bottled up. I know that you miss Sirius, but . . .”

Harry blew up, screaming through the handpiece. “You don’t know anything Hermione! You don’t know what it’s like not ever knowing your parents! You don’t know what it’s like losing the only connection left to them! You don’t know what it’s like having a demented serial killer intent on murdering you! You don’t know what it’s like having the whole wizarding world’s future depending on you and knowing you have no chance to survive!” He hadn’t meant that say the last sentence, but his fury had loosened his tongue. “Hermione, just leave me alone! Stop writing me! Stop calling me! Stop having Ron badger me with those letters that I knew you told him to write! I have to deal with this myself and you can’t help me! Only I can do it! I don’t want to hear from you again!” He slammed the phone down and heard the glass in the doors of Aunt Petunia’s curio chest clattering against the frame. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and the waves of accidental magic dissipated.

He hadn’t heard from Hermione or Ron since. He was actually surprised that they listened. His heart yearned for the compassion and friendship that they offered, and he regretted his actions, but his pride prevented him from apologizing, and he still didn’t feel ready to share the burden of the prophecy with anyone just yet. So, due to his own actions, he was essentially cut off from the wizarding world, and had no contact from anyone who he cared about. He hadn’t felt so alone since before his eleventh birthday. This time felt worse, because now he knew what it was to have friends, to be cared for, to be loved. Now that was all gone. And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Someone better Give me love (give me love) Give me hope (give me hope) Give me strength Give me someone to live for

After the encounter with the little girl, Harry got up from the bench and began walking. Walking and thinking. He lost all track of time and, after a while, he had no idea where he was. As he walked, he considered all of his recent mistakes, starting with the ill-fated trip to the Department of Mysteries, resulting in injuries to most of his friends, and ending with his rejection of and refusal to apologize to Hermione and Ron. With the way he had been acting recently, he doubted he had any friends left. And that was probably for the best; Voldemort was likely to use those he loved against him again, like he had with Sirius, and, if they weren’t his friends, they would be safer.

I walk alone across the outskirts of town I can’t control what I’m going through now

But that didn’t mean he didn’t ache for them. He missed Ron and Hermione. He missed Ginny and Neville and Luna. He felt like he was lost without them and, if he was honest with himself, late at night he sometimes wondered if it was worth living at all without them in his life. It hurt him a little that none of them had tried to contact him, even though he had asked them to leave him alone. He knew it was irrational, but he felt betrayed that they weren’t even trying to help. As he walked further, it was this thought that his mind grasped; he knew that the only way he could get out of this valley was with a friend’s help, but he felt trapped by his bad behavior. He couldn’t help wonder which one, or ones would be the one to free him from this prison of his own making.

Will you light the fire that I need to survive Will you donate the life blood coursing through my veins Will you open up the door & let me out of this place I’ve been caged up for oh so long I don’t know if I’m living or dying

As the darkness fell, fatigue set on him, and he found another bench to sit on. Again, the tears started to fall. In addition to the loneliness, he felt like he needed to remove the burden of the prophecy by telling someone. What could he do? He could try to apologize to Hermione and Ron, but he wouldn’t blame them if they ignored it. He deserved that. He could write Neville, but he wasn’t sure if Neville was ready to hear that he could have been the Chosen One. He had made such strides this past year in the DA, but that news might make him go back to the timid boy who thought he was barely more than a Squib. Luna was likely the only one of his friends who wouldn’t be mad at him; after all, anger wasn’t in her make up. But whether she could help was sort of a coin toss. If he could keep her attention long enough to tell her about the prophecy, she was just as likely to say something profound as spout something that made no sense at all. Ginny, on the other hand, was the one who was probably the angriest. She was always the most passionate of his friends. Even though he had actually yelled at Hermione, she would probably take it personally and be yelling that he was a prat, or a git, or possibly worse. But she was also the one who had the most in common with him. She was the only one who knew how it felt to be possessed by Voldemort. After what he experienced in the Atrium of the Ministry when he was possessed too, his esteem for her had grown immensely. How had she resisted him for almost a year? Just a few seconds with Voldemort in his mind had made Harry want to give up right then and die. And she had insisted that he come and talk to her if he needed help. Perhaps he could write her. No, that probably wasn’t a good idea either. She said on the train ride home that she was going out with Dean. I don’t want to get in the way of her happiness too.

Won’t you Give me love (give me love) Give me hope (give me hope) Give me strength Give me someone to live for

Just as he was about to rise to start heading home, he felt something soft hit his head. He pulled out his wand quickly and assumed a defensive stance, pulling on the training that they had done in the Room of Requirement. He scanned the area for danger, but saw nothing that would be considered dangerous. Then whatever had hit him hit again, this time bouncing off his temple before rolling onto his shoulder. In the glow of a street lamp, Harry saw that it was Pig, Ron’s owl and he let out the breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. The small owl had a parchment, but, when Harry tried to retrieve it, Pig just flittered around, making it almost impossible for Harry to catch him. Eventually, Pig’s excitement died down enough for him to land on the arm of the bench beside Harry and he could take the letter.

Harry held the letter and took a deep breath. What would Ron say? Would he just parrot Hermione’s words again? Or would he tell him off for the way he treated Hermione? With a mixture of irritation and apprehension, Harry unrolled the parchment. He tilted the page so that he could read it in the dim light and was shocked that it wasn’t Ron’s messy scrawl, but neat precise writing with an occasional feminine flourish.

Dear Harry,

I’m guessing you’re surprised to hear from me, but I noticed my git of a brother hasn’t been writing you much, and I know how much you like mail when you stay with those horrible Muggles, so I thought you might enjoy some news from the Burrow.

Give me love (give me love) Give me hope (give me hope) Give me strength Give me someone Someone to live for

As Harry read Ginny’s letter, he instantly felt better. She didn’t mention the Department of Mysteries, other than to say her ankle was all better, she didn’t mention Sirius, she didn’t ask him how he was, she didn’t urge him to share his feelings or to let out his grief. She just wrote about how she was spending her summer. She was a skilled writer; he almost felt like he was there with her. She told him about degnoming the garden, sneaking out of chores so that she could fly, swimming in the pond at the edge of their property. She groused about Bill’s incredibly rude fiancée and Harry’s former competitor, Fleur Delacour, calling her “Phlegm” The corner of Harry’s mouth rose a little when she grumbled about Ron and Hermione’s constant quarreling, wondering when they would just snog and get it over with. She complained about being forced to learn (again) how to cook (after all, how is she going to attract a handsome wizard if she can’t cook well). That made Harry smile a little, as he thought Ginny was plenty pretty enough to attract a wizard regardless of whether she could cook or not. Wait, where did that notion come from? Then, she wrote how her Mum had reacted when she learned about the Twin’s exit from Hogwarts before graduating. He had no idea that Mrs. Weasley could be so malicious with charms and hexes. Imagining Fred and George having donkey ears and tails for a week, uttering the occasional “Hee haw,” made him laugh for the first time in weeks.

She finished the letter with:

Looking forward to seeing you soon. Professor Dumbledore said that he is going to collect you shortly, but that he has a special mission for you before he brings you here.

Love, Your friend always, Ginny

Ha rry walked back to the Dursleys feeling better than he had in weeks. Perhaps it was Ginny who could be the one to pull him out of this morass he was stuck in. An unbidden thought of regret that she was dating Dean surprised him, but he dropped it as quickly as it came.

Give me love (give me love) Give me hope (give me hope) Give me strength Give me someone Someone to live for

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