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Category: Dark Autumn Challenge (2005-5) Characters:None Genres: Drama Warnings: Extreme Language, Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 26 Summary: ** Winner of Best Drama in the Dark Autumn Challenge ** The members of the DA are truly tested one crisp autumn day in Hogsmeade. How will the students react when forced to face their enemies? Hitcount: Story Total: 4819 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. |
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Luna Lovegood wasn’t sure of a lot of things, but she was absolutely positive that this was wrong. She had never seen someone look quite so defeated. “Hello,” she said. The defeated girl barely lifted her head, continuing to stare at the ground, “Hi.” At any other time, Luna would have warned her about the dangers of sitting alone near hedges on a park bench; this was precisely the kind of spot Clovehorned Gaflores liked to burrow. But today she refrained from such wise words, knowing that small, finger-eating creatures were the least of Ginny Weasley’s worries: Luna could hear the tears in her voice and the breath escaping with great labor. “Ginny, everyone is going back soon,” she had never really had a way with words, despite her numerous articles featured in the Quibbler. Comforting someone and warning someone were entirely different situations. Ravenclaws, unlike Hufflepuffs, had never really been known for their ability to console. “Thanks,” she responded brokenly, not making any motions that would indicate her departure. Luna blinked, “I can go get someone.” Ginny’s head shot up, “No!” She shook her head vehemently, red hair being tousled about. “Please, Luna, don’t tell anyone.” Luna wasn’t exactly sure what she wasn’t supposed to tell, but she nodded despite that, “All right.” Silence weighed heavily on the crisp autumn air. “I don’t care, you know,” Luna informed her. “What?” Luna nodded slowly, calmly, “I cried once when I was bit by a nargle.” A thought passed through her mind, “You haven’t been bitten have you? Because I would love to write an article on the affects of-” Ginny sighed, “No. I haven’t been bitten.” “Oh,” she plopped down next to Ginny. “Yeah.” Ginny looked over at the girl next to her. She was tangling her wand in her dirty blonde locks, and her left foot was rubbing her right calf unconsciously. Her teeth were tugging at her bottom lip in unmistakable concentration, and the scarf baring the Ravenclaw house colors was tied rather haphazardly around her neck. It had always been said that one should not judge a book by its cover, but Luna’s appearance suited her. Ginny silently wondered if her own appearance suited herself. She knew that her eyes and face were wet with tears. Tears that she had noted were not uncommonly found slipping past sprinklings of freckles. And here she was, crying once again. Crying over him. Over the fact that no amount of Deans or Michaels could ever cure her of her want, her need. God damn you, Harry. She pulled at the tangled strands of red hair that had been carelessly pushed behind her ears and sighed. It was easy to see why her family was mocked so often. Red was the color of anger, blood, and hate. Ginny clearly remembered an incident in which Karina Aftonpolk (a Ravenclaw now in her seventh year) had informed her that in South Africa, the country to which Karina’s father was a Ministry Ambassador, red was the color of mourning. Ginny had cried for hours. “Did you know,” Ginny began, “that red is the color of mourning in South Africa?” “Did you know,” countered Luna, “that red is the color of beauty in Russia?” A small smile threatened to emerge, the corner of her mouth twitching. Sometimes Luna was actually quite…sane. Ginny opened her mouth. She wanted to thank Luna, or to hug her, or possibly to tell her she was most certainly the strangest person she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, but any such response was instantly stifled by a loud scream. A shiver raced down her spine as she jerked her head in the direction of the noise, noticing Luna do the same. Hogsmeade itself seemed to be frozen in shock, an eerie picture that would be forever etched into her memory. The village which had- just moments ago- been bustling with life and activity was now at a stand still. Ginny jumped to her feet, and was immediately followed by Luna. Yet, when she attempted to place one foot in front of the other, she discovered that she was frozen in place. Blood rushed loudly past her ears as a battle was waged between her heart and her mind. A cave. A cave just up the road. Her mind whispered seductively in one ear, while her heart sung a repeated refrain. Help! Your friends need help! Hermione, Ron…Harry. “Luna,” her voice was frantic, “Luna, we need to move. We-we need to go somewhere. Do something.” “Yes,” her reply was flat and frighteningly serious. “Well, well,” someone hissed from somewhere behind the pair, “isn’t that brave? Must be a couple of fearless Gryffindors. Going to run and tell Dumbledore, are you?” Ginny didn’t need to turn around to know that she and Luna were in an unfathomable amount of danger. Her left leg began to itch, moving forward slightly, her entire body willing itself to run. Run and never look back. “Or are you staying to play?” she sneered. Ginny closed her eyes tightly, wishing desperately that she would wake up. Wishing desperately that she would live to see the sunset that night. “I’m a Ravenclaw,” said Luna. The woman seemed to be taken by surprise. Ginny could hear the maddening rustle of robes as a ghostly figure appeared immediately in front of them. Her long black hair shadowed her angular face, and her eyes spoke more than any words ever could. Absently Ginny wondered if every Death Eater embodied hate, as the one in front of her did. “What?” the malice in her voice was tangible. “I am not a Gryffindor. I’m a Ravenclaw,” Luna stared her straight in the eyes, daring her to strike. Ginny felt sick to her stomach. Coherent thoughts quickly slipped from her mind, and all she could dwell upon was the fact that she would have to watch her friend be murdered. She would have to watch Luna die. This musing weighed heavily on her mind, just as her wand was beginning to weigh heavily on the pocket of her tattered robe. Her fingers were drawn to it, as if it was calling to her. However, before Ginny could register what had happened, she found herself thrown viciously to the ground. She wiped her hand across her face in resentment and fright, only to discover that her lip was bleeding. “Reckless,” the woman sighed with nonchalance, “Absolutely reckless.” She laughed then, a cruel, mirthless laugh that would echo through Ginny’s nightmares for years to come. “Just what did you think you would accomplish?” Ginny’s fright was quickly being replaced with barely concealed anger, her breathing now escaping in short gasps. “I do believe Albus is slipping. What exactly are they teaching at that school?” Ginny wanted more than anything to make the woman before her choke on her own words, but she knew she would be killed before the words had even left her mouth. “Stop!” Ginny’s eyes darted quickly to Luna, whose outburst had once again stunned their captor. Please, please let her be okay. “Oh,” came an icy tone. The Death Eater glanced at her nails, pretending to find something about them terribly interesting, “Want to save your friend, do you?” Luna stood firm, “Yes.” The woman tutted, “And I thought Ravenclaws were exceptionally intelligent.” Suddenly, the woman’s wand was drawn, and with frightening accuracy, a sliver of green light shot from the end of her ebony wand, hitting Ginny squarely in the chest. “Imperio!” “No!” Luna’s voice was faint to Ginny’s ears, as all sounds began to drown out. It struck her unexpectedly, a voice hissing at the corners of her conscious. Kill. Kill her. Ginny shook her head furiously, she wouldn’t do it. No. But the noise wouldn’t cease, it only grew louder, more insistent. KILL HER. The edges of her vision began to dissolve, her sight blanketed in darkness. She found herself reaching into her past, hoping to find the courage to fight the pain that was now wrapping itself around her body. She remembered her sixth birthday party and the cake that Fred had tried to set on fire. She remembered the time Ron tripped her and she fell down every single last step. She simply remembered. She remembered things she regretted, and things she had always aspired to one day accomplish; things she might never have the chance to do. Things she might die never having said. Come, little girl. Kill her. Kill her. You don’t want to die do you? Ginny tried to shake the voice from her head, her fingers clawing at the ground. This needed to stop. It needed to stop so that she could tell her mother she would eat corned beef sandwiches everyday for the rest of her life. It needed to stop so that she could forgive Percy for all that he had done and said. It needed to stop so that she could finally beat Ron at one games of Wizard Chess. It needed to stop so that she could tell Harry she loved him. Her heart clenched at this thought. Harry did not love her, and he probably never would. Yet, she knew that he would see her death as his failure. He had promised to protect her, and all of the Weasley’s for that matter, and he had let everyone down. Please, please. For Harry. It was an incessant plea; an all consuming need that slowly swallowed the terrible grating voice. The voice that was now screeching in indignation. And suddenly, it was over. Her surroundings began to swim back into sight as a dark veil was lifted from her conscious. Ginny was surprised to see that not only had the Death Eater fled, but a woman with brown, mousy hair now stood above her. “Wotcher, Ginny.” Ginny gave her a crooked smile, and let the darkness take her once more as she fainted. --------------------------- Harry wasn’t quite sure how it had ended up like this; how he came to be sitting alone in an empty booth in The Three Broomsticks, cradling a butterbeer. Although, quite frankly, he knew what an absolute berk he was being. In fact, it was only several minutes earlier that Ron had reminded him what a “bloody tosser” he had been over the last few weeks. Harry hadn’t corrected him, and truth be told, he agreed with Ron nearly one hundred percent. Not that it was completely his fault either. No, it was that damned Dean Thomas and his hands. The hands he couldn’t seem to keep off the youngest member of the Weasley family. He took another long sip of his drink, letting it warm his frozen insides. Actually, if Harry were to be honest with himself, it was hardly Dean’s fault at all, but rather Ginny Weasley’s. Ginny and her flowing red hair, beautiful smile, kissable freckles, and enchanting laugh. Ginny who had slowly found a way to creep into Harry’s every thought. Harry groaned and put his head in his hands, willing his best friend’s little sister to disappear from his conscious. This was getting ridiculous, and there was nothing to be done about it. Well, unless Ginny willingly up and moved to a convent: a highly unlikely scenario. “You okay there, Potter?” Harry lifted his head to find none other than Dean Thomas staring down at him quizzically, “What?” Dean shrugged, but the questioning expression did not disappear, “You just look a bit knackered, is all.” “Oh,” Harry nodded, pulling himself up straight. If only Dean knew what it was that had him so worn out. Dean mirrored Harry, and nodded also. He scratched his arm, tugging at the sleeve of his worn West Ham shirt. He really needed to talk to Harry. However, he knew that this would certainly be an uncomfortable conversation, and was having second thoughts about walking over to his booth in the first place. Stop it, Thomas. You can do this. Harry’s been your mate for years. “Hey Harry,” he drew in his breath, digging for his courage, “do you think we could talk?” It was Harry’s turn to look confused, “Sure.” He gestured wordlessly to the empty place across from him, and Dean sat down quickly. “Uh,” Dean began ineloquently, “this is probably going to sound a bit odd, but I want to talk to you about…well, about Ginny.” Harry did his best not to choke on his butterbeer, “Ginny?” Dean nodded awkwardly, “Yeah.” His hands were fiddling nervously with each other, and underneath the table his foot was tapping like mad. “It’s just that I don’t think she well, likes me anymore.” Harry’s eyebrows knotted together, his mouth turning down in thought, “Dean, I’m not exactly the right person for this kind of thing.” A short, bitter laugh passed through Dean’s lips, “Harry. You’re exactly the person for this.” “No,” he insisted, “trust me. I don’t know if you heard about the whole Cho Chang thing, but it wasn’t good. In fact, I think you and Seamus actually put on a reenactment in the common room.” Dean shook his head urgently, “Harry she doesn’t like me anymore because she likes you.” Harry looked up sharply, unaware that he had been staring at a knot in the wood. He must have heard him wrong, “What?” Dean sighed, knowing that this conversation would be much harder than he had anticipated. “You’re all she sees, Harry. She worries about you all the time. And when she looks at me, I can tell she wishes I was someone else. I may be a boy, but I know when someone is lying to me.” Harry brushed his hand through his hair, letting his mouth hang open. He was thoroughly overwhelmed. If Dean’s implications were true, that would mean… But Harry never had the chance to finish his thought, as the door to the inn was thrown open violently. “Death Eaters!” cried a terrified fourth year as he tore through the doorway and dodged behind the bar. A collective cry of panic rose as people began to throw themselves under tables and around corners, knocking over chairs. Harry and Dean looked desperately at each other, their previous conversation quickly behind them. There was hardly any choice in what they could, or should do. They could hide as the others had done, leaving themselves sitting ducks, or they could leave the building and risk coming face to face with one of Voldemort’s followers. Both options looked bleak. Their choices were soon narrowed, however, when the sound of scuffled footsteps could be heard from the inn’s entrance. “Just try to disarm him,” Harry whispered urgently to Dean, who nodded. Dean gripped his wand tightly, his grasp slipping slightly from the sweat that his nervousness had summoned. “Good luck, Harry,” he said, meaning each word. “You too, Dean.” “What’s this?” the Death Eater drawled, coming into view, “the Great Harry Potter saving all of Hogsmeade?” Harry did not reply, but instead tried to recall nearly every curse he had ever learned. He just needed to stall him until help arrived. He could do this. He had dueled others plenty of times. Unexpectedly, a shot of light flew from the end of the Death Eater’s wand, causing Harry to fall to the left in order to avoid it. “Oh, very clever,” he cackled, “Very clever, indeed.” Dean stepped forward defensively, “Expelliarmus!” But the spell barely had time to leave the wand before the Death Eater waved his hand, and rapidly muttered, “Levicorpus.” It was as if Dean’s ankle had been tied to an invisible noose as he was lifted into the air. His arms flailed as he fought urgently, fighting his unseen bindings. The man laughed in contempt, “Try all you want, you’ll just tire more quickly. You’ll make it easier for me to kill you.” This stopped Dean’s struggles as he deflated noticeably. “Ah, yes, just as I thought,” the Death Eater sighed in nonchalance, “Just like a Thomas to give up so readily. Just like your father. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.” Dean’s face paled visibly. “My father was a muggle,” he whispered with little conviction. The man shook his head and stepped closer to the dangling boy. He, too, began to whisper, a low, unintelligible hiss to anyone other than Dean and Harry, “Oh no, my boy. He was a wizard. A pathetic, muggle loving one, but a wizard nonetheless.” “No,” Dean’s eyes were glazed over, and all Harry could do was watch as his friend was taunted. His entire body was frozen in shock and he couldn’t move. “Indeed,” the Death Eater continued, clearly enjoying himself, “was rather easy to kill, really. All I had to do was tell him what would become of his wife and son if he refused me. Went willingly, he did. No need for the Imperius at all.” Tears trickled silently down Dean’s forehead, his position not allowing him to cry in a decent manner. “Cried, is what he did, and begged,” he continued, “‘This can’t be the Thomas that’s been a threat to the Dark Lord for so long,’ I thought to myself. How the mighty fall.” “Stop it,” Dean pleaded, his body now completely limp as though all the life had slowly drained out of him. Harry had had enough. Beneath his heavy sweater, he clutched his wand resolutely, moving languidly as not to draw unwanted attention. His jeer was a knife, and his words twisted the weapon deeper, “I killed him myself. He was weak.” With his last word, Harry drew his wand the same moment he yelled, “Voro visum!” The hex hit the Death Eater directly between the eyes, and he stood shocked for a moment before he grabbed his eyes fiercely. His wand clattered to the floor, and Harry swiftly snatched it before anyone else might reach it. Placing half of it under his right trainer, he pulled the other half up abruptly, grinning with grim satisfaction as it snapped sharply under the force. Hurriedly, Harry moved beneath Dean who was barely conscious due to the incredible rush of blood to his head, used his own wand to free his friend. “Liberacorpus.” The invisible rope was cut, and Harry tumbled to the ground as he attempted to catch Dean. Dean shook his head lethargically, and stared unseeingly at Harry. “It’s okay, Dean. We’re okay,” he insisted as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Dean nodded, but turned his head to look at the Death Eater. The sight before him was astonishing. The Death Eater, one of the great followers of You-Know-Who, was writhing on the floor, screaming in agony. His fingers were clawing hungrily at his eyes as if acid was eating away at them. Dean looked at Harry, “That was brilliant. You have to teach me that.” He then added, softly, “Thanks.” --------------------------- Hermione wasn’t sure she liked this situation in the least, and she said so, “I don’t like this in the least.” The redhead beside her rolled his eyes, “Aw, come on, Hermione. When I give the signal, you trip Snape. It’s fail proof!” She snorted, “It’s hardly fail proof. He’ll give me detention for weeks. Not to mention we’re prefects and shouldn’t even be considering harming a teacher.” Ron scoffed, “Well, you going to turn us in then? For considering the harming of Snape?” She glared at him and continued walking. Sometimes it was better just to leave things unanswered. Besides, silence never settled well with Ronald Weasley, and whether one replied or not was scarcely a deciding factor in whether one received a response from the boy. “He deserves it anyways,” he muttered dejectedly. Hermione had to hide the smile that was threatening her lips, “Why can’t you think of anything more productive to do with your time? If you spent half the time you do on complaining doing something useful — like homework — you might actually get better marks.” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, “Oi, you sound like my mum.” “She’s a wise woman.” Ron harrumphed and continued to trudge through the streets, kicking leaves as he went. “What do you think’s gotten into Harry lately? He’s acting completely mental.” Hermione nodded in thought, “Yes, I suppose he is. Although, I’m not sure you should have told him off like that earlier.” He stopped and faced her, daring her to contradict him, “He needed to be told off.” “I don’t know,” she sighed reluctantly. “He’s been acting like a right git for days now. It’s about time he got his act together.” Hermione started to walk again, pursing her lips as she considered her next words; it wouldn’t do to make Ron upset. “Yes, well, perhaps what he really needed was someone to talk to. Someone, perhaps, like his best friend.” Ron glared at her incredulously, “You’re his best friend, too!” “Yes,” she agreed impatiently, “but I, Ronald, am a girl.” He again halted suddenly, and spun to face her, “What?” His face was a picture of indignation, “You’re a girl?!” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her melodramatically, “And all this time I trusted you!” He drew back quickly, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, “You’ve betrayed me! Deceived me!” It was difficult to stifle the laugh that wanted desperately to escape her throat, “Oh come on, Ron. Would you like to discuss your...girl problems with me?” Ron looked at Hermione skeptically, “What makes you think it’s a girl problem?” “Honestly, Ron,” she heaved a sigh. The way he was staring at her suggested that she had a dung bomb shoved up her jumper. “It just makes logical sense,” she tried, hoping he would believe her. If he and Harry could work this out without her getting caught in the middle, she would be euphoric. “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy,” he wagged his finger at her, clearly seeing past her blatant lie. “Who is it then? It’s not Cho? Bloody Tornadoes supporter, crying like...somthing that...cries loads.” It was Hermione’s turn to roll her eyes, “No, it’s not Cho. Besides, if it was, you would be supportive of Harry, right?” Ron raised an eyebrow. “Oh, fine,” she stomped her foot, and began to stride far ahead of him. Ron watched her walk away with keen interest. She knew something that she wasn’t telling him, that much was clear. But why would Hermione keep a secret about Harry from him? They had all learned how detrimental secrets between them turned out to be. Not to mention, the thoughts of secrets between Hermione and Harry made his stomach contort in all sorts of odd ways. “Hermione, wait!” He scurried after his friend. He reached her, and placed his hand on her shoulder, spinning her around. “All right, I promise to be nice. Just...no more secrets, okay?” Hermione bit her lip hesitantly, but nodded in agreement, “Ron, you have to promise to keep your cool.” He was confused to say the least, but he agreed, “Yes, yes.” “Ron,” Hermione looked down at her hands, and began to pull at the loose bits of yarn on her knit jumper, “I think Harry’s...interested in Ginny.” Ron coughed loudly, clearly misunderstanding his friend, “Come again?” “Harry likes Ginny,” she said it more resolutely this time. He shook his head furiously, “No, no he doesn’t. Ginny had a crush on him, but that was ages ago.” She sighed, “Come on, Ron. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it. I mean, we are gone on prefect duties quite often, and Harry and Ginny have gotten quite close. I started noticing it this summer, acutally.” Ron scoffed, “You would.” A flash of anger crossed Hermione, “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You know very well what that-” However, whatever Ron was about to say was cut off when he was unexpectedly knocked over by a small third year. The redhead’s mouth opened in outrage, about to give the small boy a piece of his mind, when once again he was interrupted, this time by Hermione. “Neville! What’s the matter?” her voice was filled with concern. Ron noticed Neville for the first time, his figure a giant amongst the miniature third years. His face mirrored that of pure horror, and his breath was escaping in small gasps. To say he looked worn would not have done him justice. “I didn’t know what to do!” His voice was desperate and it sounded as though he was on the verge of tears, “I know I should have stayed, but I had to get them out of the square!” “Neville, what are you talking about?” Ron asked, sure that his friend had gone mad. “Death Eaters,” he whispered pressingly, glancing over his shoulder as if he didn’t want the younger students to hear, “in Hogsmeade. We need to go get help.” Hermione grabbed Ron’s wrist as she sucked in a vast amount of air. Ron, on the other hand, felt as though all the air had left his body. Neville’s eyes darted about, surveying the surrounding buildings, “We need someplace to hide them, or at least to keep them safe until Dumbledore arrives.” If Dumbledore arrives. Hermione, too, glanced about, her eyes locking on an unobtrusive alleyway, “There! Quick, get behind that building!” At her point, the small groups of students herded into the alley, remaining deathly quite. She turned to Neville and Ron, “I’m going to try a concealment charm. It will be rather easy to break, I’m afraid, but maybe, just maybe, it’ll hold the Death Eaters off a bit.” Both boys nodded; anything was better than nothing. “You stay here,” Hermione instructed the students, “We won’t be far off.” No one argued. In the not-so-far distance, Hermione, Ron, and Neville could see that the center of town was under attack. Although there weren’t many Death Eaters, the panic they were creating seemed enough to uproot the entire village. A few townspeople were making an effort to fight, but most were trying hopelessly to flee. One woman was waving her wand madly about, jets of light pouring from the tip, but the Death Eater was much to fast, and the woman’s fight was useless. The Death Eater was simply playing with her now. Hermione hugged Ron tightly, wanting to look away, but finding herself unable. Ron and Neville were clearly drawn in the same manner; as a moth to a flame. “Look,” Neville pointed, still whispering. Ron and Hermione followed his finger to a rather scruffy looking man, who was slinking ever so slowly behind the Death Eater that was currently dodging the witch’s spells. He raised his wand, and even from the distance, Hermione could see the mad look in his eyes. With an incredibly cheap shot, a stream of green flew through the air and hit the Death Eater from behind. Hermione watched in horror as the Death Eater swayed slightly before falling face forward onto the stone road. Just like that, with a simple rush of green light, a human’s life was taken, a soul permanently snuffed. Her eyes filled with unshed tears as she whispered to Ron, “I thought we were the good guys.” Ron was silent. --------------------------- It was dark when Ginny awoke. Rays of light tumbled from moon and spilled across the floors, illuminating the darkness. Her entire body ached as though she had been thrown from her broomstick, and she tried hopelessly to sit up. Her eyelids seemed to be the only part of her body willing to move. She took in her surroundings slowly, recognizing the hospital wing immediately. Its large windows stretched above her, and the linen sheets were starchy against her skin. It was far from the first time she had been here, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. She gently turned her head to one side, wincing at the pain that shot through her neck. The bed next to her was occupied, and upon closer inspection, Ginny could see that it was none other than Luna Lovegood lying beneath the covers. Her expression was even more aloof in slumber. Ginny wanted to laugh at the thought, but her lungs wouldn’t allow it, and she let out a small, strangled cough instead. At her cough, something began to stir against her legs. Ginny turned her head once more cringing as she moved to quickly. She half expected to see Dean resting at the foot of her bed. However, the sight that awaited her surprised her. Harry Potter, half sitting on a chair-half sleeping on the bed, was beginning to wake. “Harry?” her voice was sandpaper. His head jerked up as though cold water had just been poured over him. His glasses were crooked on his nose, and his hair was sticking out in all directions. Another cough escaped Ginny as she attempted to giggle at the picture he created. Worry flashed across his face as he heard the noise and saw the exhaustion in her eyes. He leaned forward suddenly, grabbing her shoulders, and wrapping his arms around her body. He buried his face in her shoulder and inhaled deeply. Her scent was all that was keeping him grounded at that moment, proving that she was real. “Ginny,” he said her name soft, reverently, almost like praying. Kissing his head gently, she could feel her emotions begin to overflow, “I’m here.” I’m here. Harry pulled away and clumsily brushed a tear from her cheek. He helped her prop herself up against the head of the small hospital bed, and rearranged her sheets and pillow accordingly. Neither spoke, and silence mingled with the darkness surrounding them. “How’s Luna?” Ginny asked, her voice scratchy. “She’ll be fine,” Harry assured her, “She took quite a hit from the Death Eater. She fought really well, stunned the Death Eater, managed to hold herself together until Tonks got there. Tonks was really impressed, very heroic, apparently. She defended herself and...and you...after you were hit with the Imperius.” The last word was barely a whisper. Ginny closed her eyes as she remembered the curse, the terrible voice that had echoed inside of her head, “I thought I was going to die.” Tears clouded Harry’s eyes at her words. Hearing Ginny say this nearly killed him, “I’m so sorry.” “Why?” Ginny smiled wryly, “You’re the reason I didn’t die.” Harry shook his head, clearly not understanding. Ginny simply smiled once again, not wanting to say anymore. If she were to tell him all the secrets she had kept from him right now, her weakened spirit wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection. Instead, she reached out her hand and touched his cheek. “Thank you.” Harry placed his hand over hers and leaned in, kissing the center of her palm. “You should be getting some sleep,” Harry moved to stand, “Besides, Madam Pomfrey will have my head if I stay any longer. She’s been trying to kick me out for hours.” Ginny grinned at the thought of Harry arguing with the overly protective healer to stay by her side. She wished she could just tell him how she felt, but even in her weak state she wasn’t desperate enough to spill her heart. “Good night, Harry.” He smiled softly down at her, “Good night, Ginny.” And going against what his common sense was telling him, he leaned down and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead. He turned on his heal, hoping to escape the room in which too much emotion was dulling the sensible reasoning of his brain, and letting his heart take control. But when he moved to walk away, he found that his feet were frozen in place. Years later, if Harry were asked why he had done what he was about to do, he would still not have an answer. Perhaps it was the overwhelming thought that he could have lost her that day, or perhaps it was simply long overdue. Whatever the reason was, it did not change the fact that at that moment, Harry turned back around, leaned down, and placed a lingering kiss directly on Ginny’s lips. Harry touched his forehead to hers, “I love you.” And in a whirlwind, he was gone. Ginny brought her hand to her mouth, tracing the swell where Harry’s lips had touched hers. “I love you, too,” she whispered to the darkness surrounding her. The words were swallowed by the empty room, but she knew that they were still lingering in her heart. Fin. |
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