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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Drama Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 3 Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated since 2005 *** "I can remember traveling to the shore- the breeze changed as we went through different climates. The sun got stronger, and the air felt more alive. I didn't. The closer we got to the ocean, the farther away I wanted to be from everything." Hitcount: Story Total: 5440 |
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Breaking Disclaimer: No characters in this story are mine. I am making nil money on this, I just write so the muses will stick around. They’re a fun lot, they are. We went on holiday that summer–the one after Ron almost died, Hermione lost a lot of hair, and Harry went away. I can remember traveling to the shore… the breeze changed as we went through different climates. The sun got stronger, and the air felt more alive. I didn’t. The closer we got to the ocean, the farther away I wanted to be from everything. I never wanted to feel again. We took Hermione with us, of course. Harry didn’t go. We didn’t know where he was–no one did. The last words he said to me were “Go be you, Ginny. Don’t worry about us. Take a risk.” He kissed my cheek and left. I didn’t find out what happened next until many days later. By that time I thought him dead, and nobody bothered to correct me. When we got to the shore, I unfolded myself from the car and looked around. The sun was shining brightly but my heart was dark. How could they want to celebrate? How could they be here without him? I couldn’t. So I ran. I ran as far as I could on that beach. Nobody stopped me. I don’t think they wanted to. When I couldn’t run anymore, I stopped. I sat for hours, just watching the waves come in and the tide change. I hurt all over, like I had been hit with too many curses or something. When the night started to set in, I started back toward where our cottage was. The air was changing from dry-feeling daytime to moist nighttime air. My shirt was old, thin, and I could feel the chill soaking into me. I let it. Why stop something that was already in me? I walked into the cottage. Everyone turned, looking at me with concerned expressions. I felt like I was underwater. I could see their mouths moving, but I didn’t hear anything. I found the room I was supposed to share with Hermione, but I doubted that I would see her for the rest of the night. I shut the door gently–I didn’t want anyone to come and see what was wrong. They probably knew anyway. I crossed to the window and flung it open to let in the smell of salt and the sound of the waves against the shore. I sat on my bed, under the window. I think that’s when I started crying. I hadn’t been able to cry for a long time. I didn’t cry when I heard that Ron’s body, alive but battered, had been found. I didn’t cry when I went to the memorial service in Hogsmeade. I didn’t even cry when they read his name along with hundreds of others. But that summer night, in the quiet of my room, on my little bed in that cottage, I cried. I cried for the innocence we all lost. I cried for memories I would never make with friends and people I had never gotten to know. I cried for boys I would never flirt with, never kiss or hug. I cried for girls I would never giggle or gossip with. I cried for the people I would never meet. I cried for a lot of things. But most of my tears were shed for him. The boy I had loved for years, even before I met him. The boy who I came to be friends with, who I gave chocolate eggs to in the library, who taught me to produce a patronus, who didn’t give me my first kiss but my best. The boy that I denied I loved. The boy who grew up under a staircase, who braved horrible summers and no birthday parties. The boy who had nearly snuffed it every June until 1998. My boy. My first, once, and only. My Harry. I don’t know how long I was on that bed. It may have been hours, I’m not sure. No one came to check on me, and I’m glad. I didn’t want them to find me broken and little. I didn’t want them, I didn’t want anybody to see me like that. I just wanted him. I wanted to feel his arms around me, holding me, rocking me. I wanted to hear him hum that little song he picked up from Seamus, something about spending money in good company and filling glasses. I wanted to feel the brush of his lips against the side of my neck as he held me back to stomach and pointed out stars and constellations he liked. I just wanted to hear his voice one more time, whether it be a word of love or even teasing. Anything from him would have been better than nothing. Have you ever had a dream so real that you could have sworn it actually happened? That was how I felt the night I spent with Harry. As he kissed my hand and looked up at me from the floor, I felt myself sort of drift away. It was almost like I was another person watching everything happen. I still wonder, in my mind and to myself, if we really did that. From my heart comes the reply, “Yes! Yes! Don’t doubt!” I rose from the bed, pressing a fist to my mouth. I feel much lighter than I did when I entered this room earlier. I didn’t have a stone in my stomach, and for the first time in weeks I feel like taking a long shower. I went to open the door, feeling like I could talk to someone. Imagine my surprise when I found Ron sitting next to the doorframe. He didn’t say anything, he just stood up. Then he took his long, lanky form and folded my tiny body into a gentle but reassuring hug. We embraced for a long time. I didn’t even notice Hermione behind him, wiping tears and sleep from her face. After he let me go, we three went in to the kitchen, where Mum had food ready despite the early hour. She and Dad gave me warm glances, and Ron even pulled my chair out for me. The five of us ate slowly, silently, almost reverently. The table, which seated six, was eventually emptied of people and food. Ron, Hermione, and I spent the rest of that day sitting on the beach, watching the waves and the tide. I didn’t feel so cold anymore. The sun even began to have the slightest touch of warmth as I sat under it. [a/n: Harry’s song he hums is the Parting Glass, a traditional Irish parting song] |
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