Emerald Of My Eyes by sapphire200182
Summary: *March DSTA Romance nominee*It is said in the Wizarding World that witches who wish at midnight on Valentine's Day will have their wishes granted. But is love a little bit too late for a certain female Weasley, burdened by the physical and emotional scars that remain from her experiences during the war?
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Post-HBP, Post-Hogwarts
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2007.02.05
Updated: 2007.03.09
Index
Chapter 1: Act 1: Like Any Other Day
Chapter 2: Act 2: Tears in the Dark
Chapter 3: Act 3: The Coward
Chapter 4: Act 4: Darkest Night
Chapter 5: Act 5: Brightest Day
Chapter 1: Act 1: Like Any Other Day
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my esteemed reviewer GINNY__POTTER258, especially for critical advice concerning girl-talk, several specific incidents and the general plotline…thanks dear!
Summary: On midnight of Valentine’s Day, it is said in the Wizarding World that something very special will happen. But is love a little bit too late for a certain Weaselette, burdened by the physical and emotional scars that remain from her experiences during the war? Read and review please!
Disclaimer: I do not intend copyright infringement. I do not intend to profit from JKR’s brilliant work. I do intend to claim this plot and the ‘witches’ limerick’ as rightfully mine.
Author’s Note: Many thanks to my esteemed reviewer GINNY__POTTER258, especially for critical advice concerning girl-talk, several specific incidents and the general plotline…thanks dear!
At midnight sharp on Valentine’s Day,
When darkest night turns bright and gay,
You may be sure,
Your love is pure,
On the second month and fourteenth day.
—Anon, Old Witches’ Limerick—
Diagon Alley,
14 February 2000
Diagon Alley in the morning is a sight to behold. The shops and stores are a-bustle with gossiping housewitches doing the morning’s marketing, foremen coming in for supplies and tools, Ministry employees having a quick bite to eat before hurrying off, and — most colourful of all — Gringotts staff as they hold meetings over power breakfasts on the street corners.
“…so, Rexmaine…(chomp, chomp)…profits the last quarter in your division have…”
“…analysis of diamond (chomp) production is quite conclusive, Fearingor; Atlantis is not producing as much as it should and I (gulp), Ragmar, intend to find out why…”
“…funny, the reports of (swallow) undersea earthquakes in that area should have clued you in already, Ragmar…”
Diagon Alley’s culinary delights are varied and range from the typical full English breakfast (eggs sunny-side-up, bacon, fried slice, beans, bubble and squeak, fried mushrooms and tomatoes) to certain types of food that requires a more…discerning palate. After all, a by-product of the melting pot of Wizardkind is a stew made up of all sorts of dishes to satisfy all sorts of tastes, and sometimes they clash horribly with all the others.
Fried squirrel on a stick is a favourite with the goblins (who like it with Tabasco), while it is well known Curse Breakers generally prefer filleted dragon and chips. You get the odd vampire sneaking into the Twin Chimaera Pub for a Bloody Mary (no relation of the well-watered down Muggle drink) with sun-proof cloaks draped over head and shoulders…four or five teenage breakers from the Salem Institute asking anxiously after the latest mocktail (“The Warbeck White Lady is an international drink, much as Celestina Warbeck is an international singer…you should really learn to mix it up…”)…
There’s usually an elf or two trying out an illicit Butterbeer at Tom’s Leaky Cauldron establishment (“So early?” asks Tom, but the elves merely grin and nod vigorously), and a tourist hag in snazzy sunshades who comes up to you and asks for directions to the nearest “restaurant that sells kangaroo brains in batter, dear, we’re not picky.”
All along the street, Apparating salesmen hawk their wares (“pin that lovely ‘air up with this Shield-Charmed butterfly brooch, little lady, protect yer pretty ‘ead?”) and on Christmas you could generally find any present in the world for anybody in the world, be it a spellbook or 1890s Chudley Cannons memorabilia (which was the last year anyone manufactured Chudley Cannons memorabilia, seeing as it was the last year they won the league)…
But Ginny Weasley wasn’t looking for any of that today. She strolled along, arm linked with her brother Bill’s, munching on one of Tom’s new Butterzels (they taste just like a cross between Butterbeer and a pretzel) and feeling the bright, hot sun on her face. She leaned on her walking stick, a reminder of the scars she still bore from the war.
The sunshades she wore were also reminders. Reminders that Ginny was here, Ginny was alive…and so many of her friends weren’t. Their names were etched in her memory forever, and she vowed that as long as she was alive, neither the wizarding world nor she would ever forget their selfless sacrifices.
“You’re quite sure you don’t want anything heavier than a Butterzel?” asked Bill concernedly. “You should be taking care of yourself, now…”
“I’m fine, Bill,” said Ginny. “I might have had a touch of the flu, but I feel fine now. It’s a lovely day,” she declared.
Ginny could pick out all sorts of sounds and smells, and they thrilled her. Diagon Alley was a mixture of sounds and smells. Her sharp hearing picked them up — the rustle of vegetables in the corner, the clink of cutlery, the cracks of Apparating salesmen, the hollow pop of a cork being pulled from a bottle, as someone inspected a potion-seller’s merchandise (she could smell it was Amortentia)…
“It sure is, Snug,” nodded Bill.
There was a contingent of American tourists nearby…they appeared to be crowding around a food stall. “Any dragonburgers available here, bud?” she could hear one of them saying.
“Sorry, we don’t serve…umm…dragon whatsits here…” said the flustered stall operator.
“What’s bubble and squeak, Mum?”
“Can we try the Yorkshire pudding? Can we?”
“Gimme a fried rat on a stick, bro. Squirrel, whatever. Yeah, I’ll take that with mayo ‘n ketchup. Thanks bro. You’re a pal.”
Off to Ginny’s left, three kids shuffled in the snow. They were peering at the latest addition to the ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’ window.
“Look, it’s the new Nimbus Two Thousand Two…”
“Cool…but ‘Which Broomstick’ says the Firebolt’s better ‘cos…”
“That’s way out of our league, mate. Those Firebolts are Premier League stuff, eh, Jock?”
“Aye, I doubt some poor down-and-out ‘uns like them Chudley Cannons or them Wimbourne Wasps could buy ‘em, laddie.”
Ginny giggled; her brother Ron wouldn’t be very happy about that last comment.
“Here, Snug, let me help you up the steps,” said Bill’s voice suddenly.
They were now at the white marble steps outside Gringotts. During operating hours, crowds of goblins and humans streamed in and out of its doors, hurrying around eagerly about their business.
“Don’t be silly,” said Ginny tartly, and took her arm off Bill’s to emphasise her words. “I can walk just fine.”
And so she did, striding proudly up Gringotts’ steps, leaning her walking stick against the wall so she could fish out her wand from her robes, opening the door with a tap of her wand (at seven thirty, it was still closed to the public). She smiled at the watchgoblin who stood by the door and respectfully doffed his cap.
“Morning Searinox!” she called out jovially. “It’s a great day to be out and about.”
“Lovely morning it is, Miss Weasley,” agreed Searinox, Gringotts’ most senior watchgoblin. He had greeted every single Gringotts employee in much the same way for at least forty-five years. “It is a wonderful day of love. In fact,” he chuckled, “it is THE day of love.”
Ginny winced. She’d forgotten it was the fourteenth. Valentine’s Day…ooh, she simply must meet Hermione after this and catch up on the gossip of the witches’ world. Idly, she wondered how Hermione was faring at the Wizarding Orphanage she ran in Hogsmeade…
“See you then, Bill,” she said.
“You’re perfectly fine?” he asked. “If you are, I’ll shove off now.”
Brother and sister embraced, and she stood on tip-toe to give Bill a peck on his cheek. But she missed and kissed his nose instead.
“Bye,” she said, waggling her fingers.
Ginny stepped into one of the offices off Gringotts’ main hall. This was where the Curse Breakers and treasure-hunters would go to value and record their findings. She worked as a valuer here.
The office area looked like any other office in the world. The floor space was divided into several rooms, six in all, sharing a common corridor where the Curse Breakers waited for an office to free up. Coffee, Firewhiskey and Butterbeer was available in the mini-pantry off to one side.
Ginny sank into her easy chair and stowed her bag under her desk. Her wand went on top of the desk, while her purse slid into a drawer. Pulling open a drawer, she felt around and removed a pile of ledgers and accounts-books, a set of golden scales, the albatross-feather quill Hermione had given her, and an inkpot.
“Morning, Miss Weasley,” said Griphook’s distinctive rumble as he passed by outside her open office door and poked a head in.
“Good morning, Griphook. How’re Arachnea and the children?” she replied. Opening another drawer, she pulled out the morning correspondence — hand delivered at six thirty that morning by the mail-goblins — and briskly tapped the sealed letters with her wand.
“They are fine, Miss Weasley. Indeed, little Lupus is beginning to display magical tendencies,” said Griphook. His voice bespoke the pride of every father when his son takes the first few steps of life.
“Great,” mumbled Ginny distractedly. Her fingers danced over the letters. “Dear me, Griphook…Atlantis’s production has dropped another notch.”
“Yes, the earthquakes around that area has greatly affected output this month. That reminds me…a shipment of rubies are coming in from Ophir,” said the goblin. “I shall have to excuse myself. Good day, Miss Weasley.”
“Good day, Griphook,” she muttered.
Ginny’s first job, back in 1998, had originally been as a jeweler’s assistant, at old Hector Rodimus’s Gold and Pawn Shop. News had spread through the goldsmith’s circles of the magic she wrought with her dexterous fingers, pushing and prodding the gold and gems, able to calculate values and prices of diamonds and gemstones more accurately than anyone else. Naturally, when she applied for a job at Gringotts she was accepted.
The day’s first shipment of gold had arrived, and with it separate teams of Curse Breakers bringing home the bacon. Ginny heard the someone knock on her door, and looked up at her first customer.
“Curse Breaker Ernest Macmillan, C-5 rating, here with a load of African diamonds… How do you do, Ginny?” came a slightly pompous voice. A skin bag clunked down onto her desk.
“Ernie! How was your trip to Africa?” said Ginny, as she pulled the bag’s drawstring and, reaching in, picked up the first diamond. It was absolutely huge. “Mmm,” she muttered distractedly, already engrossed with the diamond. It was so big, it had to weight at least forty carats.
“Oh, just great. We opened up a tomb, found a chestful of diamonds in there. This lot’s the last of it, the rest came by express-courier yesterday, Head Office couldn’t wait…”
Her expert fingers danced over the gemstone. Ginny ran a finger over the crown and the pavilion of the diamond, counting the facets — fifty-seven was the current ‘ideal number’ — and tapped the diamond gently with her wand.
The vibrational feedback from the wand clued her in to the diamond’s clarity, quality, and brilliance. The spell calculated the angles of each and every facet, and various other tests, each of which produced a different vibration in the wand and Ginny translated the meanings of this sign and that sign in her mind. Her job was almost like that of a Healer, really. Detect the symptoms and diagnose the patient.
The diamond went into her scales, and by listening to the click…click…click…click…of the gears as the diamond rested on it, Ginny could tell precisely how heavy it was. This particular gem was a whopping 52.7 carats! It was probably the king of Ernie Macmillan’s bag. The diamond went into another machine, which spat out a piece of parchment that told her exactly how brilliant and what colour the diamond was, according to the Gringotts’ Diamond Sparkle Valuation Scale.
It scored a 9.7, which was — for all intents and purposes — perfect.
“Well!” said Ginny, slightly breathless. “Well! I would value it at around two hundred thousand Galleons. It is most certainly an excellent find, Ernie.”
“Two hun…Merlin’s beard, that’s…that’s…” Ernie was shocked. “Well, thank you, Ginny,” he said, trying to recover his pomposity. “Well, what about the other diamonds?”
None of the other diamonds were as big as the 52-carat monster. They ranged from 1-carat pebbles to 24-carat rocks, and were most certainly precious, but none seemed to compare with the showpiece gem.
“Well,” said Ginny, pulling out a ledger from the stack next to her, “I guess that’s it. Sign here. Quite a find you got there, Ernie.”
“Yeah. Credited to Team Twenty-Six, please. Thank you,” said Ernie. “I’ll be off then. See you around.”
Ginny waved back, already engrossed in entering the specifications of the diamonds into the various ledgers, accounts books and triplicate forms that required her attention. It would be almost thirty minutes before she was free to handle any more shipments, since the 52k diamond alone required at least seven special forms, letters, and certifications — all of which was part and parcel of a particularly big find.
More Curse Breaker teams and several goblins from Atlantis streamed in, and Ginny found herself hard at work calculating values, certifying and registering diamonds, rubies, sapphires, gold and silver nuggets, etc. etc. etc.
All too soon it was lunch time, and as Ginny was finishing off Justin Finch-Fletchley’s pile of gold nuggets, chatting animatedly to the Hufflepuff, she ran a finger over her watch.
“Ten past twelve,” she muttered to herself. She would probably go over to Hermione’s for lunch. Sometimes she stayed to tell the orphans a story or two — they always enjoyed Miss Ginny’s visits, especially that rascally tyke Edwin Bones — and Hermione would cluck and say, “When are you going to settle down and have a few kids of your own, since you love them so much…”
Lost in the memories, Ginny didn’t notice the owl perched on her desk. Usually, her sharp ears caught the swish and flutter of wings before the owl reached fifteen feet of her desk. This time, the owl hooted softly, and nipped her finger.
“Hey,” said Ginny, closing her ledgers so the owl wouldn’t answer Mother Nature’s periodic telephone calls all over them, “what have you got for me?”
A leg was thrust into her hand, and Ginny’s nimble fingers undid the strap tying the letter to the owl’s foot. Tapping the parchment with her wand, she muttered a charm and began to read.
Dear Ginny,
Hannah Abbot and Luna Lovegood here. Join us for lunch? We’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron’s at about twelve. Owl us ASAP.
Love,
Hannah
She grinned. Grabbing a quill, she scrawled on the reverse side of the parchment, “I’ll be there. Order a Merlin salad and coffee for me, please. Ginny.”
Quickly, she finished weighing and recording the thick fingers of gold, and punched out for lunch. From beneath her desk, she pulled out the walking stick and made sure her purse and wand was stowed safely in her cloak. Bill stopped by her cubicle, as he always did during lunch.
“Going anywhere for lunch?” he said.
“I want to meet a couple of old schoolmates at the Leaky Cauldron’s. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s just the Leaky Cauldron.”
“You’re quite, quite sure?” asked Bill.
“Yes, quite quite sure. Don’t mollycoddle me. You go on home and see to Fleur. I know you’ll like that,” said Ginny.
Bill leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Be well, then, Snug.”
“I will,” nodded Ginny. And, leaning heavily on the walking stick, she made her way out of the door and down the steps.
“Ginny!”
Luna Lovegood’s greeting squawk cut through the babble and bustle of Tom’s establishment during lunch hour. Ginny made her way over to the table, pausing just a fraction of a second as a hovering cherub squeaked, “Today’s Lunch Rush Special is cow’s brains in rose petals with coffee and cherry pie; five Sickles only!”
Ginny took a seat at the table, leaning her walking stick against the table.
“Hey, Hannah, Luna,” she said jovially. “Did you wait long?”
“Oh, no, not really. Look, we ordered your Merlin Salad and the coffee should just be coming,” said Luna. “Don’t put dressing in the coffee, though, you could break out in warts.”
Ginny giggled, and Hannah sighed. “Did you know Colin Creevey’s moving to France?” she asked. “Got himself an apprenticeship.”
“No, really?” said Ginny. She poised a fork over her plate.
“Oh yes. He’s going to apprentice himself to a career journalist. Susan Bones said that the journalist’s such a big name there, the Daily Prophet would pay through the nose to get Colin when he comes back.”
“I always thought he was a bright one. France, huh?” she said through a mouthful of lettuce.
The rest of Ginny’s lunch was spent enjoying the crisp romaine lettuce, juicy tomatoes and aromatic onions that made up the Merlin salad, laced with pleasant conversation. The minutes flew by, and soon, Ginny noticed it was already ten to one. She had to be back at Gringotts by half past one.
Hannah, she discovered, was working at Madam Malkin’s, helping to service customers and in the meantime learning the tricks of the trade. Luna was a trainee Healer at St. Mungo’s, and thus far had managed to mix up a Blood Restorative potion and a Dreamless Sleep potion twice in a row, although it was a lucky thing indeed as it prevented a Niffler-bitten patient from bleeding to death in his pleasant, dream-free afternoon nap.
“What about you, Ginny?” asked Luna suddenly. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, I’m working Gems Department at Gringotts as a valuer,” she said. “Not a very high-class job like yours, Luna, but it’s good.”
“My job’s not high-class…though I admit you do meet a few cute boys there,” said Luna dreamily. “There was this twenty-year old…Kenneth, I think…he had these lovely amber eyes…I really wanted a date with him…”
“So, have you asked him out yet?” said Ginny with a grin, nudging her.
“Yeah. We went on a date along Periwinkle Alley. Ate at Figaro’s. It was quite nice, really, he held my hand…” said Luna, stirring her Gillywater idly.
“What next?” chirped Hannah. “Do tell.”
“Oh, there’s nothing else. He passed on a week ago. Scrofungulus. There wasn’t much I could do, I’m just a trainee Healer,” said Luna.
Silence reigned around the table. Unbidden memories surfaced in Ginny’s mind, but she shoved them under roughly, and with a shake of her head.
“I’m…sorry,” said Hannah. She sounded strained, thought Ginny.
“It’s alright. I’ll be seeing him again…sometime,” said Luna. “You girls want dessert?”
Hannah seized on this sudden change of topic, and took the opportunity to order chocolate fudge brownies, diets notwithstanding. The brownies duly arrived, topped with ice cream, cherries and whipped cream, and they were consumed quickly.
Ginny checked her watch, and realized it was fifteen past one. She would have to hurry to be back at Gringotts in time. “I have to go soon, sorry. What are you two doing after this?” she asked.
“Oh, we’re going to go visit Neville’s…” began Luna brightly.
“Shhh!” said Hannah fiercely. Luna blinked embarrassedly and hurriedly disappeared behind an edition of the Quibbler.
Ginny clenched her fist around her fork. She felt the colour draining from her face.
“Oh, I nearly forgot…Dennis is hosting a sort of surprise farewell party for Colin,” said Hannah, attempting to salvage the situation. “He’s booked up the Three Broomsticks’s largest dining room. His aunt used to be Barbary Heathcote’s next door neighbour, and Dennis managed to get him to come, would you believe?”
“Yeah,” said Ginny, plastering on an unconvincing smile, which had gone a sudden white. Retrieving her cane and calling for her bill, she stood up hastily.
“It’s been a lovely lunch, really,” she said. “Thanks a lot for everything. It’s been really great seeing you girls again.”
“Bye,” said Hannah forlornly. “And girl…take some Dreamless Sleep tonight if you need it.”
Ginny gave a wry smile, and put down a Galleon on the silver tray the waitress handed her. She hurried out the door.
The smile vanished as soon as she crossed the threshold.
Chapter 2: Act 2: Tears in the Dark
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my esteemed reviewer GINNY__POTTER258, especially for critical advice concerning girl-talk, several specific incidents and the general plotline…thanks dear!
The walk back to Gringotts was a brisk one, but Ginny hardly registered the crowds that surged around her. Passing Searinox by the twin gates of Gringotts, she barely replied to his respectful “Good afternoon, Miss Weasley.”
She did her work numbly, mechanically, until at about four, when, as she tried to tackle a tottering pile of paperwork, she felt ‘It’ come.
‘It’ was her personal demon. It attacked her when she was at her lowest, or when she was stressed, or when she was reminded of that terrible day, like she had been reminded inadvertently at lunch today.
‘It’ was the feeling of lost childhoods, shattered dreams, the futility of the fragmented world she lived in, the feeling that death and destruction had struck her down, but hadn’t fully claimed her, because Death himself had passed over her and moved instead to reap the lives of so many of her friends.
‘It’ was the feeling that it had all been in vain. It had first attacked her that night in St. Mungo’s when a nosy trainee Healer actually berated her for feeling sorry for herself…she’d replied that her friends whom the Death Eaters hadn’t killed were scarred for life, hexed him badly and checked herself out of the hospital…
Percy… Padma Patil… Michael Corner… poor Lavender Brown… Seamus Finnigan… her Gryffindor Quidditch team-mate, Katie Bell… Hestia Jones, Mundungus Fletcher, Sturgis Podmore… so many others who had been in the Order…
Ginny sat stonily at her desk. Her walking stick was still in her hands, clenched tight in her fists.
When she had been more emotionally unstable, ‘It’ had included the feeling that she had been abandoned, cast adrift on a lonely sea, and that it was better to just end it all. At times Ginny had stared at her wand for hours, wondering what it would be like to take her own life, and just end it all, you know?.
The detritus of her work lay around her; ledgers left open, lying about carelessly, quill still on the desk beside her, ink-pot uncovered and her diamond scales and machines strewn about, out of their proper places and drawers.
Her expression was dull, and she gazed blankly and unseeingly at nothing. In her mind’s eye, however, a thousand images — forever imprinted in her consciousness — flashed before her.
It was the thirty-first of October, 1998. Halloween’s Day, in fact. Dark clouds smothered the sky. Thunder rolled across the heavens, like a giant bowling ball spinning down the polished celestial lanes. This gloomy backdrop was rent occasionally by bolts of lightning.
Riddle Manor. All around was chaos. Spells and curses flashed overhead every few seconds, the biggest fireworks display the wizarding world had ever seen.
And also the deadliest.
Ginny ducked a red bolt from her masked opponent. Pointing her wand and concentrating hard, she non-verbally cast the hex Bill had taught her to defend herself with…after the Chamber of Secrets…
The jet of blue sparks struck the Death Eater in the chest. Seconds later, his hands came up to clutch and tear at his ivory mask. Behind it, the frenzied screeching of bats filled the air, along with the screams of the Death Eater.
“Stupefy!” panted Ginny, and the robed figure fell back, unconscious.
A second figure hurtled past, Remus Lupin fighting three Death Eaters at once, his wand flipping from one target to another like quicksilver, the intricate wand movements belying the Marauder’s dueling skill, despite his old age. Not for nothing had he been a major figure among the Marauders. Sirius and James had considered his charmwork on a par with them…unlike Pettigrew.
There was a bang like a gunshot, and one of the Death Eaters fell back, blood spilling from somewhere within his robes. Ginny pointed her wand at the second of Lupin’s two opponents, and coolly blasted him to the ground with “IMPEDIMENTA!”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the red jet of sparks streaking towards her. She turned, the Shield Charm on her lips, her nimble body twisting away from the spell, but even as she tried to avoid it she knew she wouldn’t make it…
Then a figure topped by a crown of tousled, black hair threw itself into the path of the spell. A flick of a wand, and the spell ricocheted into the sky. Then the black-haired figure resumed his duel.
Harry was dueling a Death Eater whose mask had fallen off in the fight. Rodolphus’s skull-like grin was uncovered by the flapping cloak.
Ginny yelled “Stupefy!” but Rodolphus sent the spell zooming back at her without so much as a wave of his wand. She ducked the jinx, tripped and fell onto the ground, but her distraction had given Harry the opportunity to Stun Rodolphus with a jinx of his own.
Harry hurried to her side. She felt his hand on her forearm, looked up into his concerned face.
“You’re all right, Gin?” he whispered anxiously. “Did he hit you?”
He’d called her by his pet name for her. Gin. He hadn’t called her that since the funeral.
She wrenched herself to her feet, wand gripped tightly in her hand. “I’m fine,” she said shortly, but her voice was soft. Tender. Totally unlike what it had been the past few months.
“We’re winning,” said Harry, with a wry smile. “We’re actually…”
She saw it coming behind his back. Shoving him roughly aside, she yelled “PROTEGO!” and focused on casting the strongest Shield Charm of her life.
The bronze yellow bolt blasted through the Shield Charm, striking her wand-arm and slamming into her shoulder and body with the full force of a troll’s club. Her knuckles popped, every single one of them. Blood flew into the air. Ginny gasped and swore in agony, but most of the Blasting Curse’s fury had been blocked by her Shield Charm.
Harry caught her as she staggered back, his left arm supporting her while his right arm gripped his wand, tip pointed at the threat that bore down on them like a snake stalking its prey.
“Most impressive,” hissed Voldemort, wand out and pointed at Harry and Ginny. “Most impressive indeed.”
“This ends today, Voldemort,” said Harry, but Ginny could feel the quiver in his voice. He was scared, she saw. He was positively frightened. But not for himself.
For her.
She got to her feet, and pointed her wand shakily at the evil thing that stood before them. Blood dripped down her hand and either fell to the ground or ran down her arm to her elbow, soaking into her sleeve.
“Go,” said Harry, teeth clenched.
“No.”
“GO!” he said, louder.
“I won’t leave you, Harry,” said Ginny firmly. “Whether you like it or not.”
“You Gryffindors and your pathetic bravery,” interrupted Voldemort silkily. “Your foolish bravado won’t help your little brood-mare one tiny bit, Potter. You’re still mine. You always have been.”
“Funny,” said Harry, “anyone with half a brain would’ve managed to kill me as a baby. Oh, that’s right,” he said, smiling slightly, “you’re half-blood. Imagine that, Slytherin’s heir is a half-blood. Salazar must be turning in his grave, that his descendant should be half-Muggle…”
“ENOUGH!” screamed Voldemort. His pale snake-like face was livid with fury. He waved his wand in a wide, sweeping arc. A flickering, purple, fiery string of energy snaked out from the tip, and he swung it in front of him like a whip. Flourishing his wand, Voldemort brought his whip high above his head, and then slammed it down at the pair in a quick movement.
Harry and Ginny both yelled “PROTEGO!” but the incoming wave of energy shattered their shields and crashed into both their bodies.
Ginny’s split knuckles were on fire, and she struggled to maintain her balance as the wave rolled over her, smothering her, as she tried to draw breath into suddenly-scorching lungs. Her wand spun away somewhere, every bone and muscle in her body was on fire, her limbs felt as if they were separating and joining up again in wrong configurations, knee to shoulder, elbow to ankle…
Then the wave passed over her, and, too weak to hold herself up, she fell, tumbling like a rag doll in the dust.
There was a grunt from nearby, and Harry’s limp body was flung down next to hers. Blood trickled down from a head wound somewhere, matting his untidy black hair, welling in the creases of his scar, streaming in tiny rivulets down his grimy face.
“Harry,” she whispered feebly, trying to lift her hand, willing her fingers to travel two feet forward and touch his forehead.
Footsteps crunched in the gravel. Tom Marvolo Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort, stood over his two vanquished opponents.
“Y…your Horcruxes are destroyed, T-Tom…” gasped Harry. “You’re mortal now. Anyone can kill you.”
“Fool,” he spat. “Haven’t you learned anything in your precious Mudblood school? You haven’t destroyed me. No-one has managed to destroy the Dark Lord.”
He raised his wand, pointed straight at Harry. “And no-one will.”
“NOOOOOOOOO!” came a piercing cry from somewhere, and Neville Longbottom leapt onto Voldemort from behind. Ginny had no idea where his wand had gone, but Neville, bare-handed, was wrestling Voldemort down into the dirt, his right fist bunched and striking like a jackhammer into Voldemort’s frail body.
The Dark Lord doubled up like the covers of a book; Neville delivered an uppercut to his chin, snapping Voldemort’s head back with a wicked crack, throwing his robed body to the ground at least six feet away. Neville dived after him.
But he had made a mistake here. Voldemort still had his wand. Panting, sitting on the grass, Voldemort flicked his wand at Neville, as he lunged towards Voldemort. The green jet of sparks that flew from the wand-tip commanded Ginny’s attention.
“Neville, look out…NO!” she screamed, her lungs on fire with the effort. The next few moments were misted over by the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes.
The light connected with Neville Longbottom’s chest, and with a small grunt he went spinning into the dirt. He looked calm, composed…almost as if he was at peace. His hands fell neatly by his side, and he looked as if he was arranged in orderly fashion in a coffin.
What peace there is in death, thought Ginny bitterly, irreverently.
From behind, Sturgis Podmore cast a spell at Voldemort; casually the robed figure turned, deflected it and threw a curse almost nonchalantly back at the Order of the Phoenix member. Sturgis fell to the ground with a choked-off cry, his thatch of hair standing upright from the force of the Blasting Curse that had shivered and broken every single one of his limbs.
By her side, Harry tried to sit up, his robes torn and ragged, the lens of his glasses shattered. It was a miracle the flying glass hadn’t cut his eyes to pieces. His wand lay by his side, and he reached agonizingly for it.
Voldemort kicked his fingers aside, his wand pointing straight at Harry’s throat.
“And so it ends, Potter,” said Voldemort. He flicked his wand.
Ginny wrenched herself up, propelling herself forward with incredible force that came from some reserve somewhere she had thought long exhausted. She flung herself at Voldemort, knocking his wand off-aim, screaming “PROTEGO!” in defiance.
The spell shot at Ginny at eye level, searing-hot, streaking past her head, blazing a superheated path in the air like a wild forest fire, and tearing a scream of agony from her raw throat. Stars exploded in Ginny’s head, her face was on fire, a million tiny pinpricks crucifying her skin and the world went black around her, even as she heard Voldemort shrieking as his own spell rebounded on himself off of Ginny’s wandless Shield Charm…
Hot tears trickled down her face. The memories, the heartbreak, the anguish as her friends fell one by one… Neville’s peaceful demeanour, finding the calm and rest in death he had never found in life…
She became aware of the goblin who stood at her elbow; Fangmar, her immediate superior. She became aware of the snapped and splintered walking stick in her hands. Ginny wondered how it had torn itself in two; it was sometime before it dawned that she had wrenched it into pieces.
“You’ve got a slight touch of the flu, Miss Weasley,” said Fangmar, in his gruff but kindly voice. “It’s a slow day, Ginny, why don’t you go home early? Get some rest, you’ll catch dragon-pox if you continue thus and then where will we be without your expert hands? Go on.”
Amid her protests, Fangmar wrote a memo to Bill, asking him to collect her and bring her home as she wasn’t feeling well. Then, he gave the excuse that he, too, needed to go home early and left Ginny to pack.
He understood. Oh, yes, he understood.
Ginny was furious at herself for breaking down at work. In the meantime, most of ‘it’ had passed over her, fading like the wispy remnants of a dream, and her tears dried and caked on her cheeks. Slowly, she packed her bag and decided to bring the paperwork home with her. It was the least she could do.
The specialized Braille diamond scales for blind wizards and goblins went into her drawer; the ledgers and accounts books written neatly in English and Gobbledygook (but easily transformable into Braille with the tap of a wand) were stuffed into Ginny’s bag. She brushed a finger over her Braille watch; it was pointed at four o’ clock.
“Hey, Snug,” said Bill’s soft voice. “You okay?”
Ginny nodded, stifling a sob. She did not look up. What was the point, when all was darkness?
“It came again, didn’t it,” said Bill quietly. He moved to sit down on the arm of the easy chair, and Ginny felt an arm snake around her and pull her closer. It was okay, the cubicles were fairly private and Ginny liked to cast Silencing Charms around the area, as a form of privacy.
She nodded.
Bill produced a handkerchief, and offered it to her. The last time he’d done so was just after the incident at the Chamber of Secrets. She’d cried a long while, then. Bill had held her close, and tucked her into bed that night. Since then, Ginny had never cried, excepting that time at Dumbledore’s funeral. Even when she had been informed of her condition…
They were whispering around her. The greyness cleared from her sight, and Ginny Weasley started awake, her eyelids fluttering open, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs from her brain.
She lay on a soft bed, a pillow under her head and cotton sheets drawn up to her chest. Ginny opened her eyes wide, blinking slowly and deliberately.
But her vision remained an inky black. The darkness refused to clear.
She began to feel just a bit frightened. The ugly darkness reminded her of second-year, when Dementors had been on the Hogwarts Express and had come into the compartment. All had gone dark. For a moment then, she had even heard Tom Riddle’s soothing voice…
Gooseflesh broke out on her body, and she shuddered.
“Ginny? Ginny? You’re awake?” came a familiar voice by her side. A hand touched her forearm. The bed springs creaked as someone sat down by her side.
Suddenly frightened, startled by some unknown fear, she grabbed hold of the hand, managing to hold its’ wrist. It was strong, sinewy; she knew immediately that it was Bill’s.
“Bill?” she called out, in a high, quivering voice. “Is that you?” She clutched convulsively at his arm. “Where’s Harry…where’s everybody…where’re the lights…?”
“Yes, yes, it’s me, shhh, relax. Go back to sleep,” said Bill. A hand — an unseen hand — caressed her cheek and pushed her against the bedsheets.
She pushed it away roughly. “Where’s my wand?” she said. “Bill!”
“Ginny…you fought V-Voldemort…you need rest, Ginny,” said Bill’s voice. He sounded tired…defeated, even.
“Bill! What’s wrong…what’s happening…” she cried, struggling against his arms. She took in a deep breath, and yelled plaintively, “WHY CAN’T I SEE?”
Silence. Bill’s hand had withdrawn itself. Ginny turned her sightless eyes left and right; her sense of direction at least was unimpaired. She sensed Bill breathing, to her left; she also seemed to sense his eyes on her.
“Ginny,” said Bill, and it was more a sob than anything else, “y-you’ve had an accident.”
“What accident?” she demanded, flailing, trying to find his arm. Bill laid his hand on hers, and she gripped it determinedly. “Tell me!”
And yet she didn’t want to know. For her quick brain had come to a subconscious conclusion of why the horrible darkness surrounded her, and her subconscious suspicions began to rise to the surface. But she pushed it under deliberately, smothering the terrible realization as it grew bigger, like some ravenous plague.
The thought was in the back of her mind, and she didn’t want it to come to the fore…didn’t want to think it…for that would mean it was true.
“Ginny…the Healers tried…they’re still trying to find a cure…they…”
“For Merlin’s sake, Bill, TELL ME!” she screamed.
Bill was silent, and even Ginny was shocked at herself. She’d never shouted at anyone like that before.
But no recriminations came from Bill. No scoldings. No reprimands. No, what he said next was worse, much worse.
“A spell hit your eyes, Ginny. Some Dark curse. You blocked most of it with a wandless Shield Charm, but…but…your eyes were damaged, Ginny,” said Bill.
The thought burst into her brain, now that confirmation from outside sources had arrived.
“I’m…” began Ginny. She was speechless.
For a long while, she sat there, half-upright. Bill sat with her, holding her, letting her think…and hopefully come to terms with her new condition. Twice he opened his mouth to say something, but found there was nothing to say…
At last, she blinked once. It was the first time she’d blinked in half an hour.
“I see,” she said.
“Ginny,” began Bill, taking her limp hand in both of his, “you…”
“It’s okay, Bill,” she said softly. “I’m okay.”
And that was true. She was okay.
Ginny sniffled, and accepted the handkerchief. After a good cry, she felt just a little bit better.
“Feel better?” came Bill’s voice, from far away.
She nodded sadly.
“Come on, let’s get you home. I’m off early today, it’s perfectly okay.” Bill took her bag from under the desk, tapped the desk drawers to lock them and repaired her white-painted cane. Within moments she was ushered out of Gringotts and out in the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.
Bill, holding her hand and supporting her as she came down the marbled steps of Gringotts, said “I’ve owled the twins. They’ve closed early as well, and the fireplace is ready for you to Floo.”
Ginny smiled through her tears. “You were always the practical one, Bill. Charlie’s head was in the clouds along with the dragons, and Percy…”
Then she shut up, berating herself silently.
She felt Bill’s arm stiffen, then relax. But it was a forced relaxation. During a Death Eater raid on Gringotts, Percy — who had been there on personal business, namely dating Penelope Clearwater in Diagon Alley — had taken a curse meant for him, and died of his injuries. Bill had never forgotten that. Merlin only knew the stresses the Curse Breaker underwent, being big brother to the entire brood of rebellious and trouble-finding Weasleys.
Ginny resolved to lighten the load for him in future, for she knew he was close to breaking point.
“Here we are,” said Bill. “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.”
Chapter 3: Act 3: The Coward
Author's Notes: Many thanks to GINNY__POTTER258 for saving me from making many, many mistakes with this story. Thanks girl! This fanfiction is dedicated to every single blind or otherwise disabled person in the whole wide world. Be courageous, and realise you're not alone.
When Ginny stepped through the fireplace of the Burrow’s kitchen, preceded by Fred and George Weasley, she was stunned at the sensory onslaught that attacked her ears. She stopped in her tracks for a moment, until from behind Bill prodded her forward. What seemed like twenty, maybe twenty-five different voices chattering at top volume surrounded her. Then, as they noticed her, they fell silent, and the silence was almost as deafening as the noise.
But it was not her to whom the silence was directed at.
“Merlin’s beard,” said Bill. “What’re all of you doing here? And what’s with the cake…and the feed-up…and the enlarged walls…and…”
“Bill?” said the voice of Mrs. Weasley. “Guess what…Fleur’s pregnant!”
“Pregnant?” said Bill, utterly bewildered. "Pregnant?"
“Congratulations!” chorused a bevy of voices.
Discreetly, Ginny made for the door, the layout of the Weasley kitchen already memorized in her head. Her cane tapped in front of her. At around where the door should have been, it met up against resistance — solid, static resistance, like a wall.
“Oh, sorry, Ginny,” came a familiar voice, “the kitchen’s been enlarged…come on.” And a soft hand gripped her forearm.
“Hermione? Wha…what are you doing here?” said Ginny, delighted.
“The whole Order’s here, Ginny,” said Hermione. “Mrs. Weasley threw an impromptu party the moment she found out Fleur’s pregnant this afternoon. She wanted a sort of surprise for Bill, didn’t tell him until now…he doesn’t look very happy though…”
Ginny sighed. She really didn’t want twenty Order of the Phoenix members to observe her red nose, sniffles and tear tracks and then come down on her like a ton of bricks. She didn’t need their sympathy, didn’t want their sympathy…only wanted to be alone.
“I’m going up…don’t feel well,” she said shortly.
Irritatedly, she tapped her way up the stairs, gripping the banisters for support. She was tired, drained both emotionally and physically, and she wanted nothing more than a warm bath and a long sleep in her comfortable, cosy bedroom.
“But…what about the party? Your mother won’t be very happy if you miss out on her first grand-child’s pre-birth celebration…” said Hermione.
“She’ll deal with it. I’m tired,” snapped Ginny from the landing. “Speaking of which, hurry up and get a kid, so Mum has got something to do other than nag her already-adult daughter.”
She stumped off to the bathroom.
Feeling for the towel rack, Ginny looped her towel over it. Pulling her wand from her bathrobe pocket, she waved her wand and cried “Engorgio!”, and immediately felt the tingle of magic on her skin as the room enlarged. She could feel the tiles widening beneath her feet.
Then Ginny aimed her wand where she knew the shower stall was, and waved her wand, muttering beneath her breath. Walking towards it, her fingers came into contact with a Ginny-sized bath tub. Another wave of her wand and it was full of hot water. She could feel the steam on her face.
Ginny undid the belt on her bathrobe, and hung that on the rack. Pointing her wand at the door, she muttered “Colloportus!”
As she slid into the bath, she sighed, feeling the warm caresses of the steaming liquid envelop her body, soaking away her cares, the soap suds absorbing her burdens, and at least for a little while she could pretend nothing was wrong.
There was a knock at the door, and Ginny turned towards the direction of the sound, annoyed at having her intensely private moment interrupted by some…
“Who is it?” she called out.
“It’s Hermione,” came the bushy-haired witch’s voice.
“Come in, I’m only taking a bath.”
“Umm…I think…in that case…” said a rather flustered-sounding Hermione.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Hermione, we’re all witches,” said Ginny, with a giggle.
“It’s okay, I’ll just talk to you through the door.”
“What’s so important that you have to interrupt my bath?” asked Ginny curiously. She grabbed the soap off the soapdish.
“Well…I thought you looked rather…forlorn-and-I-wanted-to-make-sure-you’re-alright,” said Hermione, the last bit coming out very quickly.
Ginny sighed. “I’m fine.” She hesitated before deciding she might as well tell the truth before Bill gave them a second-hand account. “I just had an ‘It’ in the office.”
“Oh, Ginny,” said Hermione. “You poor girl, and none of us realized… Are you okay? I’ve got some Dreamless Sleep potion among my toiletries, just in case…and I’m quite sure your mum’s books say something about memories…maybe you could borrow a Pensieve and stick everything in there a while…”
Ginny stifled another giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth and laying her head back on the bath tub’s sill. Run to a book and read about precedent scenarios, that was the first thing Hermione did.
“I’ll just look up ‘Getting Rid of Painful Memories for Ginny Weasley, by Hermione G. Weasley’ then,” she called out.
“Be serious. These ‘Its’ can damage your career at Gringotts, Ginny. Did Fangmar notice you?”
“Errr…” Ginny didn’t want to lie, not to Hermione, who was just trying to help in her own way. And yet…she knew very well what was coming if she replied in the affirmative. The heck with it. She wouldn’t lie to her best friend.
“Yes,” she said.
“See what I mean? Look, when you’re done we’ll go find your mum and see whether there’s any way we can…I don’t know, repress the memories or something…”
“No! I don’t want to forget,” said Ginny loudly. “I want to remember, but things are so tense lately I just…someone just mentioned a name during lunch and I get like this, I don’t…”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Hermione, interrupting her.
“Uh-oh,” muttered Ginny.
“You need a break. You’ve been working non-stop the past three months, and you haven’t gone out sightseeing or shopping or anything. You just come home and work on your paperwork or something.”
“To sightsee, I need to be able to see, damnit!” snapped Ginny angrily, but Hermione plunged on.
“Ginny, I take more breaks than you do. You’re just working non-stop at Gringotts, and you’ve never even taken one day of leave. You’re going to get out of here and you’re going to join the party,” and here Hermione raised her voice just slightly, “and you’ll do it even if I have to drag you out of there.”
“What? No way!”
“Yes. You’ll go down there, eat something hearty and forget your diet for a change, smile and have fun!”
“No!”
“Yes! Promise me at least one hour downstairs, circulating and talking. No excuses, Ginny. And I’m serious about dragging you out.”
“What, modest Hermione’s actually going to see me starkers?” said Ginny. “I’m waiting, Hermione. Drag me out.”
“Very funny. I’ll wait in your bedroom. Do hurry up in there.” After a pause, “And don’t make me Summon you downstairs, nude and all.”
Clad in her bathrobe, warm, dry and as relaxed as one could be given her circumstances and her past, Ginny sat on the edge of the bed, as Hermione brushed her hair carefully. Ordinarily, she would have done it herself, but Hermione had insisted.
“You know,” she said, “this is one of the things I really hate about being blind. I don’t get to do anything by myself. I’m dependent on others. And they think I can’t do things, y’know, and they say ‘Oh, let me help, let me help,’ just tripping over their feet to help poor blind Ginny…” said Ginny bitterly.
The hairbrush completed another lap of her fiery-red hair, but it didn’t begin again. Clearly Hermione was thinking.
“Well…” began Hermione. “I do suppose…yes, yes, that is… Well,” and Ginny could almost hear her shrug, as the brush resumed its work, “sometimes things are just like that. Life begins when something bad happens. Then you see how you go about facing the challenge, and later on you reap your rewards. That’s all life is, really.”
“Yes, but what rewards do I reap when I finish this?” said Ginny sadly.
“Ginny Molly Weasley, do I have to slap you to get you out of this pitiable funk?” demanded Hermione. “Snap yourself out of it, girl. This is not the Ginny I know.”
Ginny bristled at this comment, but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t in the mood, frankly, and was mentally steeling herself for the party and all its attendant nuisances and frustrations. She hated this party thing, and she hated it even more when she had to open her mouth and ask, “Hermione, what am I wearing downstairs?”
She heard Hermione pad over to the wardrobe and riffle through its contents. “Hmm…something casual…yet not too casual…maybe this…”
Ginny sighed in frustration. This was yet another aspect of her life that she hated. The fact that she hated it, though, she usually kept secret from everybody…even herself. But at times it spilled out into the open. Hermione had helped her through those situations, strenghtening the bond between the two witches…
“Here’re your potions and lunch, Miss Weasley,” said a gruff male voice she identified as Trainee Healer James Thuxley. A tray nudged her elbow.
Ginny carefully marked her page in ‘How to Read in Braille, by Agnes Agammemnon’, and took the tray.
“Thanks,” she said.
As she began eating, the trainee Healer could be heard scribbling something on the roll of parchment which lay on the chest of drawers by her bedside. Healers wrote their remarks and reports in that parchment, and Thuxley was probably writing down that she had taken the next dose of potion.
“Alright, I’ll be seeing yer,” said Thuxley gruffly. “An’ try not to make a mess out of the food tray, you.”
Ginny bristled at this remark. “I don’t,” she said icily, “and even if I do, bear in mind I’m practically blinded.”
“Oh, don’t be feeling sorry for yerself all the time. You war victims are always depending on others an’ goin’ around moping an’…”
Ginny didn’t hear what else war victims purportedly did. For the scenes of Neville’s heroic sacrifice flashed before her eyes. The peace of his features as he came to rest on the dusty earth…hs hands, falling neatly by his side…the unnatural paleness of his face… And she remembered the others…Sturgis Podmore…Percy… Padma Patil…Michael Corner…Seamus Finnigan…
Worse, she recalled the ones who didn’t die. She knew Dean Thomas lay in St. Mungo’s with half a right arm. She knew Lavender Brown lay in the Dai Llewellyn Ward with cursed bite from Fenrir Greyback which, though it wouldn’t turn her into a werewolf as he hadn’t transformed yet, would leave her face unrecognizably scarred. And all because the members of Dumbledore’s Army had decided to join the Order of the Phoenix, along with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny…
She threw the tray from her lap. She didn’t hear the contents scatter all over the place, it probably had an in-built Balancing Charm.
“Oh yeah,” said Ginny furiously. “Going round moping, eh? Let me tell you; those of my friends whom the Death Eaters didn’t kill are in St. Mungo’s with half an arm and half a face, and they’re like that because they decided to stop the Death Eaters and defend you ungrateful cows, you bloody snot-brained git!”
Whipping out her wand from under her pillow, Ginny jerked it in the direction of Thuxley’s voice and muttered her favourite incantation.
“Well, of all the…” began Thuxley, but then his voice was cut off by a bat-like screeching that emanated from his rapidly-reddening nose. “Wha…what the…bloody HELL, GET THEM OFF OF ME! AAARGH!”
There was the off-chance he might be sensible enough to reach for his wand, too, so Ginny said “Petrificus Totalus,” and flung herself out of bed. She flung her own robes on over the hospital robes, picked up her cane and walked resolutely towards where she knew the doors were.
Another Healer burst in just as she reached the doors. “And just where are you…” came a raised female voice. Then the Healer must have caught sight of the whimpering trainee next to the hospital bed behind her, for she stopped short.
“Bloody he…”
“I’m checking out,” she snarled, brandishing her wand, “and I’ll hex you too if you try and stop me.”
“Miss Weasley, you can’t…” she began, but Ginny was in no mood for niceties.
“Silencio!” she muttered angrily, jabbing her wand hard in the direction of the Healer’s voice.
Irritably, Ginny decided to risk Apparating and concentrated hard on the Burrow. She focused on her bedroom…the soft bed…the warm woolen blankets…the downy pillows…and Apparated with a crack…
“Ginny? Ginny?”
As Ginny snapped out of her reverie, she realized Hermione was shaking her shoulder hard.
“See what I mean?” said Hermione grimly. “After this party is over, you and I are going to sit down and have a long discussion about you. We’ll see a Healer if we need to. Now go on, get dressed…or do you want me to help you with that too?”
“Prat,” mumbled Ginny as she untied the bathrobe and Summoned her undergarments with a wave of her wand.
“Git,” replied Hermione. Her voice sounded softer, more muffled, thought Ginny. Why…oh yes, she was probably turning her back. Modest Hermione.
“What did you get out for me?” asked Ginny. “Polo and jeans?”
“Well…I thought maybe a blouse and a skirt would do…after all, Ginny, you need something to remind yourself that you’re Ginny Weasley, 18, redhead witch, not Ginevra Molly Weasley, 48, stern career woman…”
While part of Ginny grudgingly acknowledged that Hermione — as usual — was correct, the other part was indignant at Hermione’s blatant assumption that Ginny had forgotten who she was.
But you have forgotten, haven’t you? Whispered a sneaky voice deep within her.
“I’ve not forgotten…” muttered Ginny, as she carefully slid into her skirt.
“What was that?” asked Hermione.
“Nothing. Shall we go?” she asked.
“Yeah. Come on, I’ll help you down the stairs.”
And Ginny, though she dreadfully wanted to re-assert her independence, allowed Hermione to take her arm and carefully guide her down the stairs.
As they entered the dining room, Ginny heard the muted roar of conversation again. She trained her senses towards her left, where she was sure she had heard Fleur’s French accent, cocking her ears like little dog.
“…eet eez a pleasure, magnifique…”
Then there were the womenfolk clustered around Fleur…the usual. Patting of swollen stomach, caressing of cheek, fussing over this that and the other…typical...
From the other side of the room, male voices were engaged in raucous laughter — most likely at Bill’s expense — as Fred and George relentlessly took the mickey out of their older brother.
“Come on,” came Hermione’s low whisper, “we’ll go get something to eat at the buffet. It’s on the table to the right. There’s quite a spread, I can see…”
“No need for you to help me with that, I know what my mother probably cooked up. Baked potatoes and salad to start with, roast lamb ribs and chicken pie, plus rhubarb crumble to top it off?”
Ginny could feel Hermione muttering beneath her breath as she examined the food. “Wow…you’re right…except she added sandwiches…meat ones and egg salad ones…and there’s a big chocolate blancmange too…”
“Yeah. You go along and talk to Ron, I’ll handle myself,” said Ginny, Summoning a plate as she carefully moved towards the right. She wished she’d brought the cane down, but then she hadn’t felt like it.
Carefully, she selected several sandwiches, a baked potato and a single lamb rib, Summoning them onto a plate. Then she sat down at a corner to eat. And as she ate she reflected on her handicap and what Hermione had said about her forgetting who she was.
You need something to remind yourself that you’re Ginny Weasley, 18, redhead witch, not Ginevra Molly Weasley, 48, stern career woman…
What did a disability do to a young, hearty girl with her entire life before her?
She sat on her bed, staring at the misty blackness which represented her entire field of vision now. It was two days since she’d forcibly checked herself out of St. Mungo’s, and she had been sitting here on the bed, in the same position, for almost six hours.
Ginny heard a knock on the door. She called out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Bill,” came the quiet voice of the Curse Breaker.
“Come in.”
The door creaked open.
“Hey, Snug,” said Bill, “You okay?”
The bed springs creaked as he sat down beside her. His arm went around her shoulder and Bill pulled her against him, like he had countless times the past sixteen years…when Ron or the twins bullied her…or when Percy had been too overbearing…or when Mum had scolded her perhaps just a bit too harshly…
“Bill,” said Ginny quietly, “I need to see.”
“Wha…?”
“I need to see myself, Bill.”
Bill was silent for a moment.
“I need to know, Bill,” she said, turning towards where his voice had come from.
“Snug, please,” he said wearily, “you’ll only hurt yourself if you do this.”
“Please, Bill,” she said. “Borrow a Pensieve. I know Mad-Eye Moody has one. Anything, just…just let me see myself.”
Ginny sat still, remembering. Her sandwich remained in her hand, dripping egg salad onto the plate, but she didn’t notice.
“Wotcher, Ginny,” said Tonks, plumping herself down on the chair next to Ginny’s. “So how’s things at Gringotts? Goblins okay?”
Ginny forced a smile. “Yes…Fangmar’s very nice to me, he’s quite kind and understanding. Unusual for a goblin. There’re only three I know who are like that, and he’s one of them.”
“Whoa,” said Tonks, “are you crushing on a goblin?”
“No I’m not, don’t be ridiculous, Tonks…” said Ginny, giggling. She took a bite of her sandwich, but it tasted dry in her mouth. She took a gulp of pumpkin juice to wash it down.
“Why are you sitting here, Ginny, why not go around and talk, girl, there’s the world’s supply of hotties here. That new Auror,” whispered Tonks conspiratorially, “he’s been glancing at you every so often for the past five minutes. And he’s got this goofy smile on his mug, like when Ron ‘helps’ Hermione improve her flying…”
“Yeah, right,” muttered Ginny, “it’s probably just because I’m blind and he’s wondering how an ugly girl like me ended up in a place like this.”
“Oh, cheer up, Ginny, it’s Valentine’s Day,” said Tonks, her voice slightly muffled with food. “Make a wish at midnight, you know the poem. Merlin, this lamb is good…”
“Well, I’m feeling down in the doldrums…”
“What could it hurt?” said Tonks. “Besides, it’s always fun to wish at midnight on Valentine’s Day. Merlin knows I used to do that a lot.”
“Wishing for what? A sexy werewolf carrying you off into the sunset on his flying motorcycle?” said Ginny.
“Nah, I can still remember it…” Tonks clasped her hands together and sang in a childish, lisping voice, “At midnight sharp on Valentine’s day, when darkest night turns bright and gay, you may be sure, your love is pure, on the second month and fourteenth day…so please, change my name to ‘Angelina’…”
“The only way darkest night will turn gay is if Fred and George decide to let off a couple of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs,” muttered Ginny. “Not that I could see it,” she added to herself.
The old witches’ tale about Valentine’s Day was always a common part of Wizarding folklore. Legend had it that Merlin blessed the fourteenth day of the second month, because that was the day he fell in love with Morgan le Fay. It was also said that at midnight, if some miracle or wonderful sign occurred while a witch was meeting with her wizard, then it meant they were fated to be together.
But Ginny had long decided from a young age that it was all in fun, and though she joined in sometimes and stayed up till midnight at times, she was aware that it was all just an old witches’ tale.
Miracles? snorted Ginny. Show me one. For example, how could someone like me ever see again?
Approximately half an hour later, Ginny stood in front of Bill. The Curse Breaker placed a stone basin carved with runes on the kitchen table with a thud. She gazed at where she thought Bill was. “Bill,” she said, “look at me. Look at me closely.”
Bill looked.
For about half a minute Ginny stood there, then she reached up and removed her sunshades. She heard Bill flinch, but she suppressed the lump that rose up in her throat and kept still…maintained her outer façade of calm…
“Alright. Now.”
She heard rustling, a mumbled incantation, and then Bill said, “It’s ready.” She felt him take her hand. Ginny took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself.
She felt Bill lean forward, and felt the pressure of his other hand on the small of her back, and she leaned forward.
Quite suddenly, the darkness fled, fled for the first time in days, replaced by a silvery mist which resolved themselves into shapes, shapes into colours, forgotten colours, until the Burrow’s kitchen was depicted beautifully in front of her.
Ginny gasped and sank to the floor, dazed; her brain, used to the familiar darkness, was being overwhelmed with all the information that was pouring in. Reds, whites, blues, greens, yellows, light and dark, pale and bright…
Ginny took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. There, standing in front of her, was herself. She wore a blue robe, her red hair was pinned up in a sort of bun — Mum must have done that for her while she was asleep — and a lock of hair fell into her eyes. She looked bad, a very pale and wan face, and her body was frail and thin, a result of her loss of appetite…
Then, Memory-Ginny whipped off her sunglasses, and Memory-Bill flinched, turning away momentarily…then turning back to gaze determinedly back at Memory-Ginny’s empty eyes.
Her eyes. Their dark brown brightness was unnatural, too steady, too unwavering…too blank. They were the eyes of one who did not use them anymore. There was some slight scarring and scorch-marks around the edges of her eyes and along her cheekbones, the last vestiges of the Dark curse which had landed her in this condition.
Ginny pushed down the lump that climbed up her throat and blinked, willing herself not to cry.
Around her, the memory faded, the colours faded, the sights faded, the bleak blackness returned…and in half a moment Ginny was sitting in the kitchen of the Burrow, and the bright world was dark once more…
There was a slight commotion near the fireplace, and Ginny put down her sandwich, frowning. She turned her head this way and that, trying to pick up something that might give her a clue, something amid the witches’ chatter and the ambient sounds that drowned out everything else.
She heard Fred’s voice — oddly cool and icy — and Charlie’s distinctive rumble. But she couldn’t make out what they were saying. They didn’t sound happy, though.
“Thought you weren’t coming,” said Remus Lupin…albeit a very forbidding Remus Lupin indeed. “Weren’t you holed up in your house moping?”
A tingle of fear coursed through Ginny’s veins.
“Weren’ you spendin’ yer time bein’ a ruddy ‘ermit?” rose Hagrid’s voice over the commotion.
A feeling of dread rose up in her chest, making it hard to breath…or was it just because she was holding her breath?
“Bleedin’ sauce,” grumbled George.
“Bloody hell, you actually dare come in here uninvited after abandoning us for months,” said Ron loudly.
Surprisingly enough, Hermione didn’t even chastise Ron for his language. Indeed, Ginny thought she could hear Hermione say frostily, “What a pleasure to see you.”
The source of the disruption came closer and closer. Ginny rose to her feet, putting the plate aside.
“Decided you needed to get your head out of your arse?” said Tonks scathingly.
Ginny felt hemmed in, trapped by the dark walls of her blindness. Who was it? Footsteps echoed deafeningly in front of her, echoed because the entire room was silent now. Why were they so quiet? So silent? Were they holding their collective breaths?
Ever since young, Ginny had loved the silence…loved the nothingness, loved the quiet solitude of the night, when nothing but the gentle whoosh of wind rushing past her ears while she sat on her stolen broom disturbed the silence. But since going blind, Ginny hated the silence, hated the blank void…because she feared that she would be deprived of her hearing too. A poem from Muggle Studies rose up in her mind…written by a Muggleborn wizard.
Silence lurks here and there
It hides in my despairs
and is everywhere.
Yet no-one knows where this silence is
For silence is what silence is
And lurks behind each corner…
There was naught but silence now. Then a throat cleared with a cough.
‘It’ came in a loud thunderclap this time, not like the last time back at Gringotts, breaking the stultifying stillness, the stifling silence…
“Hello, Ginny.”
Chapter 4: Act 4: Darkest Night
Author's Notes: Thanks to my excellent reviewer GINNY__POTTER258, who is as mad as I am. To all out there who left a review, a rating, a DSTA nomination or all 3, thanks all!
This is the penultimate chapter.
P.S. This fanfiction is dedicated to every single blind or otherwise disabled person in the whole wide world. Be courageous, and realise you're not alone.
“Hello, Ginny.”
Hi Ginny.
Good morning, Ginny.
Gin…I love you.
AAAAAAAAAARGHH…GINNNNYYYY!
Run, Gin! I’ll hold him off…UNGH…!
For an instant Ginny felt a weakness strike her knees; she remembered that voice all too well. It had invaded her dreams for the best part of seven years, and in her dreams sometimes her name was on his lips…sometimes a sweet, loving word whispered in her ear…sometimes in a prolonged scream under the Cruciatus, or choked off suddenly by a flash of green spell-light and a high-pitched cackle…
She forced herself to retain some semblance of control over her mind and body.
“Harry?” she said, dreading the answer.
“It’s me, Ginny.”
Ginny cursed the blindness. She cursed the Merlin-damned darkness that had invaded her life. She cursed that damned Dark Wizard who still left his damnable mark on this earth even after his damnable death…
“Gin? Are you okay?”
Gin. He’d called her by his pet name for her. He hadn’t done so for a year and four months…hadn’t spoken to her for a year and four months…hadn’t stepped foot out of Grimmauld Place for a year and four months…and now, a year and four months after the battle…two years and eight months after breaking up with her…after abandoning her in her time of need to wallow in his own damnable self-pity…he dared call her ‘Gin’?
Her right arm swung back. Months of depending on her ears to ‘see’ what was around her had sharpened her senses; when her arm swung forward with every ounce of indignation she could muster, the palm of her hand landed — with a strangely satisfying crack - home on Harry’s cheek.
She could hear him stumble in shock. Before he regained his senses or tried to come after her, Ginny was already hurrying up the stairs and into her room, tears brimming and threatening to spill over her defenses…
Ginny — huddled and with her hands clasped around her knees — sat on the bed. A blanket was draped around her shoulders and pulled up to her chin. Her fingers played with her wand, fingering the tip idly.
Why had he come back?
The last Ginny had heard of Harry Potter was that he was holed up in Grimmauld Place, doors locked, fireplace disconnected from the Floo network, and house warded so heavily that even the owls were having difficulty finding the place. Ginny knew he’d been through hell for practically his entire life, and had given him a wide berth. But the months had passed, with no word at all from Harry, and there was a limit to everybody’s patience.
True enough, Harry had suffered badly in the final battle…during his brief spell in St. Mungo’s he had cried out the names of dead or wounded classmates and Order of the Phoenix members in his sleep. But so had everyone else, frankly, and if there was one thing the wizarding world did not need, it was a bitter Boy-Who-Lived who kept himself locked up doing who knows what in 12 Grimmauld Place.
And as the Chosen One slipped further and further into obscurity, Ginny reflected on Dumbledore’s wise words: “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
Dumbledore had told her that just after the Chamber of Secrets incident. And the funny part of that saying was that those words had a big part in getting Ginny to come out of the shell she had built around her at Hogwarts, and contributed a lot to her increasing popularity in 2nd year.
And it had helped her get over her shyness when Harry was around.
Harry had mentioned before that this little proverb had been one of his favourite ‘Dumbledorisms’. But it appeared that he had seemed to have very much forgotten that.
He had broken off their relationship two years and eight months ago…and she had agreed, for she knew that when his work was done he would be back. She had been confident she would be able to control her feelings. But as the months progressed, she found herself in holed up in her bedroom constantly, and when she was not studying she gripped the only memento he had given her just before he left.
Throwing the blanket off and swiftly crossing to her drawer, Ginny tapped it with her wand and pulled out said memento. It was much wrinkled from constant reading, and only a charm prevented it from falling apart at the seams and creases. A single tap of her wand turned the roll of parchment into Braille dots.
Dear Gin,
Ron, Hermione and I are leaving shortly to find and destroy four magical items that will ensure that Voldemort will be mortal when I duel him finally. I don’t know whether I’ll succeed, or whether I’ll even return. Just in case, my will is already registered with the goblins. I am leaving one thousand Galleons and Headquarters to Lupin and Tonks, wishing them a happy marriage.
I leave five hundred Galleons to each member of the Weasley family, and four hundred and fifty Galleons each to Fred and George, as they already have too much for their own good. Remind them that they got their share when I was in fourth year. To Ron or Hermione, when they return, I leave one thousand Galleons and my best wishes for their marriage too.
I’m sorry, Gin, but I had to get that over with. There’s too much risk where I’m going not to write down my wishes on this parchment sheet. Forgive me.
My quill pauses over the parchment, as I watch Ron and Hermione talking quietly over dinner. It’ll please you to know that they’re finally together. Tell Fred he won the pool; they got together in less than a week.
Gin…I don’t know how to say this. Every day I remember all the times we sat by the Great Lake…you and I and a couple of bacon sandwiches…our first date…or just those times when we sat next to each other and just talked, or did our homework…now I find myself searching for someone to talk to, and I look for you and find you’re not there.
Ginny, I’ll have to kill Voldemort. When I have to, I’ll bring you with me. I promise you that. But if he attacks me, Apparate away immediately. Don’t wait. And Ginny…when I come back…please promise me you won’t abandon me…
She couldn’t read any more. Abandon him? Abandon him? He was the one who had abandoned her. Ginny fisted the parchment sheet in her hand, then unclenched her fist. The preservation charm smoothed out the crinkles immediately.
“Ginny?” His infernal voice came from the locked bedroom door. “Ginny, please, listen to me…”
“What do you want?” she yelled, scrambling off the bed and standing in front of the bedroom door. “You left me alone for almost three years! You deserted me just when I needed you most!” she screamed, feeling that she would almost break to pieces with sorrow and anger.
“Ginny, I…”
“What’s the matter?” she taunted maliciously, still shouting at the top of her voice. “Got a problem with my blindness? Maybe you like a girl who can see you and hero-worship you! Go on, shack up with Cho bloody Chang then, and leave me the bloody hell alone!”
“Ginny, please. Listen to me. I just want to…”
“Sod off, Potter.”
Very quietly, even as Ginny climbed back into bed and turned her back defiantly to the door, she heard him say, “I won’t leave till you hear my say.”
“You can’t do that, Potter,” came Ron’s voice through the door. “Get out of the Burrow.”
“Ron!”
“You’ve no right to just barge in here, Potter,” said Ron angrily.
Ginny listened with growing annoyance to the heated exchange outside.
“Ginny doesn’t want to see you!”
“That’s for her to decide!”
“You heard her; she wants you to sod off! So get the bloody hell out of here!”
Ginny knew he wouldn’t leave until she came out to face him. He was stubborn enough. And part of her wanted to know his sorry excuses for having stayed locked up in Grimmauld Place for a year and a half. But to let him explain himself…
So Ginny, like a typical Gringotts accountant, tried to balance the two opposing arguments. Tried to reason it out in her head.
I want to hear him out so I know at least what he’s been doing these past few months. He seems to think he has a valid excuse. If it’s a bad reason, I’ll simply send him on his way, clean and simple. If it’s a good reason…err…
You love him, said a snide voice. You always have…even though you’ve never admitted it.
I do not, thought Ginny furiously. I only want to hear what he has to say for himself.
And if he has a valid excuse? What are you going to do? Welcome him back into your life, like he obviously wants you to? rejoined the snide voice.
Ginny stopped. “Well, perhaps…” she muttered, before realizing that she was speaking out loud.
See what I mean? You love him.
I don’t, she thought firmly. I don’t. I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t…
So why meet him? Send him on his way with a dressing-down, why don’t you? I know why not, girl…you love him, that’s why. You love him because he is what completes you and makes you whole. These past months, you’ve been drowning your sorrows in work. Hermione was right; you need something to remind you that you’re Ginny Weasley, 18.
And that something is Harry.
Torn between the two conflicting sides of the coin, and irritated by the increasingly loud argument just outside her bedroom door, Ginny decided to settle the argument by the oldest ways known to man. From her pocket, she extracted a thin sliver of metal. Balancing the metal precariously on her thumb, she flicked upwards, the bit of metal flipping through the air to fall on her outstretched palm…
…and her finger, tracing over the face of the coin, felt the distinct contours of a sickle.
“Ah, well, heads it is,” she muttered, pocketing the Sickle.
Marching over to the bedroom door, she paused for a moment in front of it. Then, taking a deep breath, she felt for the handle and twisted it.
The shouting was cut off abruptly as she stepped out onto the landing. Ginny could somehow sense them looking at her…the Golden Trio, now divided against each other…
“Alright, Harry,” she said, struggling to prevent her voice from breaking, “I’ll hear your say. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hex you out of the house right now.”
“Ginny…” began Ron.
“Shut it, Ronald!” she hissed. “This is between Harry and I, so would you please leave us alone?”
“Come on, Ron, let’s go back to the cottage, I want to see how the poor dears are doing, come on…” whispered Hermione.
“But ‘Mione…”
“Move!”
Amid disgruntled grumbles, Ginny listened as Hermione escorted Ron back down the stairs. Then she turned to face Harry expectantly…she could hear his feet shuffling in the dark…
“Come in,” she said.
When both were safely ensconced in Ginny’s room - with heavy privacy charms and all sorts of Imperturbable and Silencing Charms on the doors and windows - Ginny turned to Harry, who leaned uncomfortably against a wall.
“Well?” she said testily.
“Ginny…I know it was a mistake, locking myself in Grimmauld Place,” said Harry. She heard a rustle that sounded like him running a hand through his messy hair, which she knew he only did when he was nervous.
“Too bloody right,” she said bitterly.
“But I had things I needed to do…things I wasn’t going to let anyone know about, in case I failed. I didn’t want to make everyone hope for too much. This Chosen One thing…they’d expect me to be able to do anything…and I can’t…”
“What are you talking about?” said Ginny. “You abandoned me, Harry. You promised me, at the funeral, that it would be until the Horcruxes were destroyed…yes, I squeezed it out of Ron and Hermione…and I let you go.” Her voice rose just a little. “Do you know what it took to let you go off hunting Dark artifacts guarded by vicious Death Eaters, never knowing if you would ever come back?”
“I’m sorry, Ginny…” he said.
“I only got to see you once, and that was when we were fighting Voldemort. And then the war was over, and I was waiting for you, and here Hermione comes to tell me you’ve locked yourself up and won’t speak to anyone…just when I was expecting you to come help me through my troubles…but instead the Chosen One ran away because he didn’t think he felt himself able to help me…”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
And Ginny knew it was true. He was sorry, so very very sorry that he had made the mistakes he had made…and part of her wanted to forgive him just like that, and hold him…but then he deserved much worse…could she find it in her heart though to punish him by sending him away, never to see her again? No…because it would be punishing herself too…
“What were you doing in Grimmauld Place anyway?” she asked.
“I was researching. Doing things.”
Ginny sensed a Quaffle trying to evade her. “Really? What things?”
“I…I…” Harry shifted his feet nervously.
“Harry…” began Ginny warningly.
“Ginny,” he said, and there was a different tone in his voice. “Ginny…answer my question first. if I hadn’t gone away…would you still have loved me?”
Ginny would have fallen over if she hadn’t been leaning on her walking-stick…what…did he really say that…would she still have loved him…probably, yes, she was just smothering her feelings…but no, she couldn’t, she’d gotten over him…had she?
“I…w-well…” she stammered.
Ginny felt a hand on her shoulder…a hand on both shoulders…and could picture him standing in front of him, his green eyes intense…how she longed for those green eyes to fill her vision again…
“I need to know, Ginny…I need to know or I won’t be able to sleep…would you still have loved me, Ginny? Because I…I know I love you,” finished Harry.
He loved her! He did? Then why did he leave her to fend for herself for so long?
“I…I would have loved you, Harry,” said Ginny, turning away to hide the hot flush creeping up her neck. “But my question is, would you have let me love you?”
“You know the answer to that, Gin,” said Harry.
“Then why fritter away this time when we could have been together, wasting your time cooped up at Grimmauld Place doing Merlin knows what!” she blazed angrily, turning around to face him.
Harry sighed. “I was trying to find a cure for the blindness. Don’t get me wrong, Gin,” he said, as she opened her mouth to speak. “I love you however you are.”
He loved her! He’d shut himself up for her! Misguided, perhaps, but he meant well! Finding a cure for her eyesight…which Ginny knew still bugged her considerably.
But did he know the internal turmoil which she had been plunged into by the curse? No matter her emotional resilience and outward calm, the blindness had made sheer hell of her life and just when she was trapped in one of those rare times when she needed reassurance and help from him…he had up and left without saying a word…
“I…I just thought that if I failed, it would be better if you didn’t get your hopes up too…”
Ginny cut him off with a brutal stab of her finger into his chest. She felt his flesh wince beneath her onslaught. “Never,” she said, stabbing him again, “ever…ever…” her finger digging deep with every word, “…ever assume that I don’t need to know what you’re trying to do. I am not a weak, simple-minded girl who would burst spontaneously into tears at the slightest tragedy…”
“I was worried for you, Ginny, I…”
“So, by being worried for me, you wasted one and a half years which would have otherwise been better employed loving me!”
He didn’t try to fight back. He sagged against the wall - she could hear the impact of his body against the whitewashed plaster - and sighed heavily.
She reached out a hand and touched his cheek, felt the moistness. “You noble Gryffindor prat. But I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t…”
She felt a soft tear trickle down her own cheek. A wave of suppressed emotion crashed over her like a tidal wave, breaking through the frigid barriers she had put up to protect herself from the pain Harry had caused by abandoning her…barriers she knew she needed no longer.
“I’m sorry, Ginny…I’m so, so sorry…” Harry gripped her shoulders. “I’m going, Ginny. Take care.”
She clutched at his arm. “No…wait! Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ll move to France. Maybe I might work with the Ministry’s new Department of International Magical Affairs…or be an Auror, now Scrimgeour’s kicked out…I could play professional Quidditch too, though…I have a few options available.”
“Don’t go anywhere, Harry!” she said, gripping his forearm. She felt the sinewy flesh beneath, and the solid hardness of bone, and she realized he was rather thin. Perhaps he hadn’t been eating right at Grimmauld Place. “Please…I want you to be around…”
“Why? I don’t think your family likes me very much now, and frankly I don’t blame them.”
Ginny was almost panicking. She didn’t want him to leave…didn’t want to experience the agony of separation from the one she loved…
Loved? Loved. Yes. She loved him, and it was true. In that moment, the last of her defenses went down into the dust, and an onrushing surge of love and affection for Harry swept over her…
“Harry! Don’t go away!” she cried out. She had to make him understand, had to! “I…I love you, Harry! Don’t leave me again!”
Silence. Ginny could hear his heavy breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“You…but…I…”
“Don’t leave me ever again, Harry,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t bear it…and I know you can’t, either. I can feel that.”
Something touched her shoulders. It was his limp fingers. Ginny leaned in, put her arms around him, and laid her head on his chest. “Don’t go,” she whispered.
His arms went around her, slowly finding their old, familiar positions, and Ginny felt their reassuring solidity enfold her.
There was no question now whether he loved him or she loved him. They knew. They felt each other’s love for the other, and rejoiced in it without the need for verbal acknowledgement.
“I missed you so much while you were gone…” she whispered against the front of his jacket.
“And I missed you…and I only have myself to blame for it…” he said bitterly. “I was wallowing in my own self-pity. I was so torn up about all of you…I just hid away in the past, ignoring my future…” sighed Harry. “What a bloody waste.”
“At least you’ve got something to show,” said Ginny. “I have nothing. Nothing but a lousy resume working valuation counters for Gringotts.”
“I have nothing, Gin,” said Harry, and there was a brittle sorrow in his voice. “I have nothing. One and a half years of endless study, and I don’t have a thing!”
“Why…?”
“The spell won’t work. I’ve tried it on all sorts of blind witches and wizards…trawled Knockturn Alley in disguise just to find another wizard who’ll be willing to try out the spell…checked and double-checked the calculations…and it just doesn’t work!”
So he hadn’t found it after all…yet. Ginny was frustrated, absolutely frustrated. To have come so close, and yet so far… But she tried to be strong, because Harry would only rip himself up some more if he knew how disappointed she was.
“Never mind,” she said bracingly. “It’s a whole new world, when you’re like me. You hear better, you feel better…and you really get an appreciation for life. It’s great…I mean it’s fine…pretty much…”
Her voice trailed off. In the silence that followed Ginny knew she had been babbling.
“I’m sorry, Ginny,” said Harry again. “I…I just…”
They stood there for a while, leaning against the wall. Somehow, Ginny didn’t feel uncomfortable at all; on the contrary she felt warmer and safer than she had ever been for ages…
She stood on the shore of the Great Lake, two pieces of toast in her hands. She flung one out as far as she could, watching its parabolic flight over the ripples, then the Giant Squid raised a tentacle to catch the bit of bread and pull it under the waves to his maw, waving another tentacle at Ginny reproachfully.
“Sorry,” mumbled Ginny. The second piece of toast struck the water just above the Giant Squid’s head, and the dear creature raised his head to engulf the bread.
A long, wet tentacle snaked its way into the shallow water near the shore, and Ginny bent down and tickled it. It undulated with pleasure.
Footsteps crunched in the gravel behind her. Instinctively, Ginny whipped out her wand, twisting round and dropping to one knee to minimise her profile.
“Easy, easy, it’s me, Gin…ny,” came a familiar voice. Seconds later, a crown of tousled hair appeared out of some bushes, and Harry Potter stepped out of the vegetation.
“Oh, sorry, Harry,” Ginny said, quickly turning around to hide the flush on her cheeks. She pocketed her wand.
Harry walked to the edge of the lake. Crouching, he grasped one of the Squid’s tentacles and patted it. The wet appendage twitched happily.
Sighing, Harry stood up. They stood that way for a moment, unsure of what to say. Ginny found herself holding her breath, and had to consciously regulate herself to breathe deeply and evenly.
Presently, Harry said, “It’s our last day here, Ginny.”
Ginny nodded. “Yeah,” she said, throat dry. It was the day immediately after Dumbledore’s funeral. For her, it meant the end of her fifth year, the end of Hogwarts, the end of normal life, the beginning of a dark age, the end of which no-one really knew. For Harry, Ron, and Hermione, it marked the end of one phase, and the beginning of another…the beginning of their adulthood, for all intents and purposes.
“It’s quite good weather” said Harry.
“Ummm…” she said.
“Excellent for Quidditch.”
“Yes.” Ginny picked up a flat piece of flint, sent it skimming across the waters. Once…twice…thrice…then it sank out of sight. “I know Ron would want to go flying, but he’s entertaining Hermione.”
“Uhuh. Good for them.”
“Yeah…er…good for them,” she said. Why was their conversation so…stilted? Stiff? She knew why. They’d just broken up…but this conversation was worse than the disjointed dialogues back in first-year…this was positively depressing. What had happened?
For a fleeting moment, Ginny thought that perhaps he didn’t love her anymore. Was that the real reason behind their break-up yesterday?Bloody hell…
The thought so distressed her that the next bit of stone slammed into the water with much harder force than she had expected…certainly much more force than was required to skip stones…a three-foot high geyser of water sprouted over the ripples and waves. An instant later, Ginny regretted doing that.
Harry couldn’t have missed that. And now he would fuss over her, ask her what was wrong, and protect her, shield her, smother her even more than he was already doing…
So it was that when Harry turned to her, Ginny was already approaching the boiling point. Yesterday’s breakup had brought matters to a head, and she was emotionally drained from the funeral and everything…
“Ginny,” began Harry. “Are you okay?”
“Fine!” she said quickly. “I’m just…dandy!” She tried to skip another stone into the water, but flung it with such vehemence that the stone nearly struck the Giant Squid’s hea. As it was, it was a close-run thing and the Squid glared at Ginny reproachfully.
“Ginny,” he said again. “Come here…” and he held out a hand.
“I’m not going to be patronised, Potter,” she said.
It was a moment before she realized that she had said that aloud.
“I won’t patronise you, Ginny. You know I won’t.”
She regarded him for a moment, before taking his hand. Harry pulled her close, and his warm arms enfolded her…perhaps for the last time.
“Harry,” she said, holding back for a moment, “we’re not supposed to…”
“It’s just Hogwarts. And…and I can’t stand not holding you for one last day.”
For a moment, a malicious Ginny considered reminding him that they were broken up. That he had pushed her away. Then she shoved Malicious Ginny to the furthest recesses of her mind, leaving only a bitter memory to shame her. How could she even think of doing such a thing to Harry…
She rested her head on his chest, feeling the throbbing of his heartbeat. As one they sank onto the grass.
They sat that way for a long time. Tea-time came and went - neither of them were very hungry anyway - and still they stayed that way, leaning against the beech tree that stood tall and leafy next to them. Ginny fell asleep for about an hour, waking up only to shift positions and avoid cramp.
There was no need for talk. There was no need for anything. There was merely need to exist, to be there for one another, to reassure one that the other was there - forever and always - as a source of comfort…and to be reassured in turn.
Somewhere, the Hogsmeade clock tower chimed five o’ clock. They had lain there in the grass for two hours. It was time to assemble in the Great Hall and depart for the Hogsmeade train station. Time for Harry to go. To fulfil his destiny.
Ginny got up, never taking her eyes off his. “Harry…”
He didn’t look up, didn’t meet her stare.
“Harry…”
“Ginny,” he said, turning his head finally to gaze into her eyes. She could see that he was steeling himself for something. “Ginny, promise me…promise me that when I’m done with him…you’ll still be here…?”
“Wha…”
“I couldn’t bear to come back and…and find out you’re not around…” he said. “I couldn’t bear…for me to ring the bell at the Burrow…and see your mum coming to open the door…and tell me that you…that you’re…”
Ah. She understood. Harry had seen too many of his loved ones die…and she knew he couldn’t bear for another loss. Not one as dear to him as she was.
She smiled at him, through her tears. “I’ll still be here, Harry. You promise me you won’t get into too much trouble while you’re gone.”
“I won’t, Gin,” he said. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”
And in that moment, as Ginny remembered that vow they’d made to each other - the vow that they’d kept, after all - she realized that it didn’t matter if she was blind…it didn’t matter if he had left her in the lurch for a year and a half…all that mattered was that they were together now, and all the force in the universe wouldn’t come between them now.
“Ginny,” said Harry, startling her out of her ruminations. “I’ve been thinking it over. If you don’t mind…do you think I could try the spell one more time?”
Hope flared for a moment, then Ginny beat it down desperately. It wouldn’t do to get disappointed again.
“I don’t see why not, Harry…but who are you going to try it on?” she asked cautiously.
“Do you think you would mind?”
For a moment, Ginny was perplexed…then she realized what he was talking about.
“Well…yes. Yes, I’ll do it,” she said. Why not? Until now, Ginny had always taken pride in the fact that she was independent. That she was capable of handling her emotions and physical needs herself, not requiring help from anybody even in her blind condition. The ‘Its’ she had dismissed as momentary lapses of her self-control, never acknowledging that perhaps they were the symptoms of wounds that ran deep and would not heal.
But those psychological wounds were healed now. Harry had seen to that.
“Make a wish, Ginny. You know the tale,” said Harry. She could almost hear the grin in his voice.
Ginny smiled sadly. “Fiddlesticks,” she said. “Let’s see this spell of yours.”
Harry drew her to him. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“Yes. Come on.”
“All right. I love you.”
Ginny closed her eyes. In spite of what she had told Tonks and Harry, she thought of Valentine’s Day and the magical significance it carried in the wizarding world. She knew many breweries laid in the beginnnings of Veritaserum, Acromantula antidotes and various love potions on this day because it was thought that the potions would be more effective…
She smiled mirthlessly, and recited the poem in her head.
At midnight sharp on Valentine’s Day…
She could hear Harry muttering beneath his breath. She could only make out ‘something…something…occulus…something….’
…when darkest night turns bright and gay…
She heard the swish and flick of his wand as it cut through the air in front of her.
…you may be sure…
Harry’s wand sung as it whipped through the air.
… your love is pure…
Harry had spent months on this, thought Ginny. He mustn’t fail, not just for her sake but for his peace of mind!
…on the second month and fourteenth day…
And then the wish: “I wish I could see again…”
Chapter 5: Act 5: Brightest Day
Author's Notes: Thank you to GINNY__POTTER258 for an excellent beta job and for giving me lots of tips (and more than once, actual sentences which I have eventually written into my fic). You go girl!
To all my reviewers, people who have voted/nominated me for DSTA, thank you. This is the final chapter, so do not hesitate to click that review button down there - it'll only take a second - and pen in some opinions about Emerald of My Eyes. It would please me greatly.
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight…
-”It Ends Tonight,” All American Rejects-
The streets of Ottery St. Catchpole were silent, still, with naught but the occasional frog’s guttural croak breaking the silence of the night.
Along the outskirts of the little village were the farmhouses of the Thompsons, the Spendloves, the Barnabys, and…the Weasleys.
The Weasley homestead was specially hidden from prying eyes. Most wizards and witches doubted that anyone who wasn’t part of the family - or a family friend, like Harry Potter - could find the house. Merlin knew even the owls had trouble locating it. The Burrow was well protected.
In the garden of the Burrow, Errol and Pigwidgeon hooted, out on their nightly jaunt around the fields. They took off from their perches for a swoop around the garden, frightening an old gnome, and peering interestedly through the front windows of the Burrow.
There were still a couple of guests in the Burrow’s living room, but the Weasley matriarch had long gone to bed, as well as Fleur. Arthur, Lupin, Bill and Charlie were playing blackjack with a set of magical cards that squealed every time Charlie held them. Bill said it was because they probably smelled dragon-dung.
Ron watched a replay of the latest Chudley Cannons game on his Omnioculars. The Cannons had recently beaten the Holyhead Harpies 410 to 400, and Ron, as an up-and-rising assistant coach, was very proud of the fact…even though Ron had been pulling his ears dejectedly during the match, as the Harpies pulverized them with over forty goals.
When Hermione told him excitedly that their Seeker had caught the Snitch (the Seeker had yawned and the Snitch had flown into his mouth), Ron had waved a limp hand at her and pleaded with Hermione not to joke around.
“But he has, Ron!”
“He has?” exclaimed Ron, bewildered. He stared up at the elderly Seeker, who waved triumphantly, something golden and fluttering caught in his hand. “HE DID!”
Now he replayed the match over and over again, scribbling hardly-legible notes onto roll after roll of parchment.
In a corner, Tonks and Hermione sat, sipping mulled mead from goblets and watching as Ron punched his fist into the air and gave a shout as he watched a book-perfect Hawkshead Attacking Formation score a goal - the same goal had probably been replayed fifty times already by now.
“I’m worried,” said Tonks.
Hermione understood completely. “Yes,” she said. “I know how you feel. The full moon’s in two days time, you must be very worried.”
Tonks glanced at the witch. “I meant about Ginny.”
This completely threw Hermione for a loop. She stared at Tonks for a moment, reddened and then quietly said, “Oh.”
“But yes, I worry for Remus, too.”
“Ginny’s a big girl, she can take care of herself,” said Hermione.
“I know, it’s just that…” Tonks fell silent. “I worry for Harry too. It’s not good for him to bottle himself up like that.”
“I certainly hope he has a good excuse, else Ginny might really mess things up. And heaven knows he’s messed up enough, as it were,” sighed Hermione. “Poor Harry.”
“I knew he and Neville were very good friends.”
“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “The prophecy, you remember it? It could have applied to either Harry or Neville. I think Harry saw poor Neville as a sort of brother, you know. Both lost their parents to Voldemort at a tender age. Both suffered trials that no youngster should ever have. And Neville was an almost-Chosen One…the only person whom Harry might really connect to. They both have…had so much in common.”
“Did Harry tell him about the prophecy?” asked Tonks.
“Oh, yes, just after Harry’s birthday. Neville was rather shocked by it all. Anyone would. Imagine if Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, came up to you and said, ‘Know what, you could’ve been me…’”
“Harry was very torn up at the funeral.”
“Yes, he locked himself up in Grimmauld Place soon after. Poor Harry,” repeated Hermione.
“He’s been through a lot,” sighed Tonks. “We’re all happy, Hermione,” she said, gazing fondly at Lupin, who had a twinkle in his eye as he laid down his hand and collected a Sickle each from Arthur, Bill and Charlie. “Harry deserves to be happy, too.”
“Yeah. But will he ever be?” mused Hermione.
“I hope so, Hermione,” said Tonks. “For his sake, and Ginny’s…I sincerely hope so.”
Ginny blinked deliberately. Eyelids uppp…eyelids doooown… What did she see?
The stiflingly dark walls closed in around her. Turning her sightless eyes this way and that, she rolled her eyeballs and blinked again. The all-encompassing darkness still surrounded her.
So much for the spell, then. Ginny smiled sadly.
Despite her vow not to be personally involved, despite her promise to herself that she would not have too high hopes of whatever spell Harry had invented, she still felt disappointment; it was only natural, and she wouldn’t be human if she felt nothing. She felt like a bird locked in a cage, like a dog chained on a leash for the rest of his life, like an eagle who had had his primaries clipped.
For the first time in her life, she truly empathised with Sirius, locked up in first in Azkaban, and then in Grimmauld Place, not able to go out, not able to take the fight back to those who had deprived him of his best mate and twelve years of his life. Back then, she had felt sorry for Sirius - everybody had - but his plight was quickly forgotten when she was with Michael Corner. Now, his pain came back to the forefront of her mind, fresh and clear…because it was her pain too.
Ginny felt trapped, almost suffocated in the pervading black blankness.
But she had so much. She had Harry, where others had none but themselves and their depressed thoughts. She had her life, where Neville had none. She had her family, where Susan Bones - dear Susan - had none. She had a job and a future, where Remus Lupin had none. She was thankful.
Slowly, as Ginny rose out of her black thoughts, she became aware of a dull, repititive thud that grew steadily louder. “Harry? Harry, what are you doing?”
The thudding came from somewhere near her. She reached out towards it, and grasped the first thing she felt. It was Harry’s sleeve, and she held on, transferring her grip to his wrist.
The thudding stopped.
When Ginny put her hand over his, she felt the chapped and torn skin over his knuckles. “Oh, Harry, don’t punch the wall, please…” she whispered.
“It’s my fault,” muttered Harry bitterly. “What did I do wrong? Maybe I should have called in Hermione, or Bill…but I wanted to keep it away from you, because I didn’t trust you.”
“It’s not your fault Harry, you couldn’t have known,” said Ginny. She tried to put her hand on her cheek, to soothe him, but he flinched away from her.
“It’s all my fault,” he whispered. Then, to Ginny, “Why did you ever love me?”
“It wasn’t just a crush,” said Ginny. She put a hand on his cheek, and this time he didn’t move an inch. “I crushed on the Boy-Who-Lived. I crushed on the boy who saved me from the Chamber of Secrets, but I fell in love with the man who cared for his friends, who cared for his professors, who stood up to the Dark Lord, who accepted his destiny…and who cared for me enough to tell me to stay behind while he went Horcrux-hunting.”
A trickle of fluid dripped down into her hand.
“I don’t know many people who are like you, Harry. I don’t know many people who would turn their back on fame and fortune and live with the Dursleys summer after summer. I don’t anybody who would befriend the Longbottom boy who was nearly the Chosen One, or to find a cure for a silly girl’s blindness, or to sacrifice himself for the good of the wizarding world.”
“And I don’t care if I’m blind, or mute, or deaf, lame or anything, Harry. As long as you’re with me…” and here her breath caught a little, “…I’ll always be happy and content. You’ve done a lot for the world, Harry. Now it’s time for you to rest, and it’s time for you to be happy, now that you’ve made the rest of us happy too.”
“Ginny…” said Harry, wrapping his arms around her.
She sank into the comforting warmth of his body, and pulled him to her. Misjudging their combined inertia, she fell back, dragging him with her and landed on the bed, giggling uncontrollably.
“Forget it for a moment,” she said. “Forget everything. I’m here for you, Harry, and it’s time to let go of everything, have your cake and eat it too.”
“I’m going to marry you,” said Harry.
Ginny giggled. “That’s what I told my mum after we saw you off at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, in your first year. She said I was mad.”
“She’ll eat her words, along with the wedding cake.”
Harry took her hands, and they sat on the edge of the bed, her small, delicate hands in his bigger, chapped ones.
“Hmmm. And where do you want to go for the honeymoon?” teased Ginny. This was one part of him that she had never known, and she didn’t pass up the opportunity now. Besides, it was getting his mind off everything else, and that was what Harry needed. Harry was the original workaholic; he’d dedicated his life to fighting first Voldemort and then her blindness that he had forgotten how to have fun. She doubted he played much in Grimmauld Place.
“A beach somewhere. A secluded cove, where the reporters couldn’t get at us. Anti-Apparation wards all around. Clear blue skies, sunny weather, none of the perpetual rainy muck here. A little thatch cottage, and nobody but me to pay you mind. Clear tropical waters, unpolluted, where you and I can swim and play among the fishes and corals. We’ll get you a Firebolt, and we’ll race out to sea, and swim and only come back when we want to and…”
Ginny could hear the longing in his voice. “…and?” she prompted.
“…and I won’t have the fireplace connected to the Floo Network, and Hedwig will be with us, but she won’t go anywhere for letters. Nobody except Ron and Hermione will know where we are, and they won’t send us any letters,” he said wistfully.
“That settles the mornings and the afternoons. How about the nights?” said Ginny mischievously.
She could almost see him glance sharply at her, and she smiled.
“Well…romantic candlelight dinners on the beach every day. Nothing but you, and me, and maybe the crashing of the waves, and the stars and the silent nights…” said Harry hesitantly.
That wasn’t exactly what Ginny had meant by night activities, but she accepted it with a knowing smile.
“But you’re going to have to court me properly first, Harry,” she said. “I think you need a little practice. I’m not letting you off the hook easily for almost three years of missed dates and picnic lunches by the Great Lake.”
“Do I really have to?” said Harry, stroking her jawbone and running his finger down her neck. “I’ve already gone through so much, I don’t think I can stand Madam Puddifoot’s…”
“Humph,” snorted Ginny, “what they don’t tell you about Puddifoot’s is that every single couple that has been there broke up in the end.”
“Must’ve been the cherubs.”
“But they look so cute, though yes, they are irritating…”
“Just like kids, really.”
“Yeah,” said Ginny fondly. Then, after a moment, “How many kids do you think you want?”
“Seven, at least. Just enough for a Quidditch team. We’ll have a great team of Chasers, maybe the three eldest ones…and our two Beaters will be twins, just like their uncles, though hopefully not up to as much mischief…a goal-keeper who can do a Starfish with Stick…and the youngest will be a Chaser, because she’ll be nimble and agile…”
“I was thinking more of ten,” she said.
“Ten?!”
“Just to make Trelawney happy, you know. You’ll have to be Minister of Magic too, so get cracking on your career.”
“Hah!” barked Harry.
Harry was in a cheerful mood, and Ginny was glad that she had calmed him down and finally got him to accept the facts of life. She reached up to kiss him, but her lips landed on his nose instead.
“Improve your aim, Gin,” said Harry. “That Quaffle didn’t go anywhere near the goal. Let me show you how it’s done…”
And before she could say a word, Ginny felt his lips come down on hers.
“Is there more where that came from?” she asked, as he pulled away.
“Oh, yes,” was his reply. Ginny was positive she heard a grin in his voice.
She kissed him again.
He was warm, and a tingle coursed through her like liquid fire, pumping through her veins and spreading through her entire body. It was like being dunked in Butterbeer, it was warm, it was passion, it was affection, it was love, and she moulded herself against him…
Harry whispered something, what was it? Ginny dismissed it as a groan or a sigh, and enjoyed the warm feelings that swept through her, tingling every single nerve ending.
Except for her eyes. They remained cold and hard. Black and blank, unfeeling…unseeing.
The warmth spread through her body until it engulfed her entirely, but her optical organs were indifferent to the flames that licked and caressed her. It was as if a brick wall held back the insistent tongues of fire.
“Ohhh…” Ginny moaned, caught up in totally new sensations and feelings. And yet she wondered why her eyes felt like they did…chill and cruel.
Then some unseen and unfelt barrier broke, and the warmth surged into her eyes like a tidal wave, battling step by step over the dead ground, and the frigid cold vanished slowly, faded away to be replaced by a lingering heat that soothed the damaged tissue, that comforted the sore eyeballs…that healed.
Ginny gasped in shock as the warm flames pricked her pupils, like the sun does when you stare up at it, and she opened her eyes wide.
Colours burst through like a flock of multi-coloured fairies streaking out of the cold, dark night; vivid lights and patterns; pastels, warm colours, cool colours, brights, dark colours, and the colours fled to the edges of her vision, and Ginny tried to catch a fleeting glimpse of them, but the colours remained just out of her field of vision.
The colours and patterns resolved themselves into concerned green eyes as the soft, warm lips left hers. The vivid emerald hue was a particularly striking shade which Ginny had never thought she would see again.
Tears blurred her vision, and she dashed them away with the cuff of her sleeve. She blinked again, deliberately, and stared.
“H…Harry?” she croaked.
“Gin? A-are you alright?” said Harry anxiously.
“I…yeah, I’m fine.” Ginny blinked again. The green ovals remained in front of her, bordered by flesh and dark jet-black eyelashes. If this was a vision, it was a damn good one. She glanced down. He was wearing the brown jacket she’d given him for his seventeenth birthday.
“You’re wearing the jacket I gave you,” she said quietly.
“I…what…how did you…” Harry gaped at her with shock. “Ginny…can you see me?”
“I…” began Ginny, testing the words she was about to say, tasting them on her tongue. Hardly believing it was true. “Yes…yes, I can see.”
“You can see!” exclaimed Harry. “You can see!”
Their lips touched, and she embraced him as she savoured another kiss. Looking up, she gazed into the deep, brilliant emeralds of his eyes…and closed her own.
Somewhere, an old grandfather clock chimed. Bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…bonggg…
And it was midnight, 14th of February, Valentine’s Day. Tonight, a young witch’s wish had been granted. The grandfather clock’s last resounding bong! faded away, and it was now the 15th.
The humble little cottage at the northernmost tip of one of the more secluded Mediterranean islands is quiet, sleepy and still in the pleasantly warm night. As combers and waves crash rhythmically onto the beach, a snow-white owl swoops over the peaceful tableaux.
Looking through one of the windows of the cottage, we find another scene inside, homey and cosy. A fire crackles in the hearth, oddly reminescent of the one we have visited so many times before in Gryffindor common-room, throwing shadows over the room’s furniture.
A wedding gown and dress robes are draped over the back of a nearby chair, and bags lie by the doorway, hastily abandoned there by their owners, who obviously had more pressing issues in mind.
The bed is rumpled and exudes a messy-cosy atmosphere. The peaceful, sleeping figure of one Ginevra Molly - or Ginny, rather, as she does not approve of the use of her full name - lies on the right side of the bed, hands clasped over her middle. Additional mounds on the right side of the bed - with arms encircling Ginny’s waist - may or may not be Harry Potter, as it is difficult to tell in the dim firelight.
But then a breeze blows into the room, ruffling the person’s jet-black, unruly hair - and we see, by the lightning-shaped scar on the side of his forehead - that it is indeed Harry.
And so it is here that we leave Mr. and Mrs. Potter, blissfully spending their honeymoon a deux on an idyllic beach. It is time for us to return to our own lives, after bidding goodbye to the happy couple. And so we leave, the same way we came, as all stories must come to an end - and besides, we have intruded very much into Ginny’s and Harry’s private world, and they deserve some time to themselves, after all that they both have gone through.
So was it the kiss, the spell or the old, old legend that eventually restored Ginny's eyesight? I don't know. Perhaps no-one will ever find out. But for the moment, Ginny is training to be a Healer in St. Mungo's, Harry is working at the Department of Mysteries on magical maladies (including eyesight problems)...and I believe it is time for us to leave.
But as we turn to go, a glittering piece of jewellery perched on top of the dresser catches our eye. It is a wedding ring - an emerald - and a companion piece with a ruby mounted on it lies next to the ring; the ruby’s lustrous hue the exact shade of her hair, and the emerald shining brilliantly, just like the emeralds of his eyes…
Author’s Note: The epilogue above is my eulogy for the fanfiction world of Harry Potter, for after the release of Deathly Hallows we all know nothing will ever be the same again. It is, indeed, time for canon Harry and canon Ginny to live out the rest of their days without us looking over their shoulders, because they do deserve some privacy, though they are totally unaware of our presence.
Meanwhile, we authors in SiYe, FanFiction.Net, the Leaky Cauldron and so forth will pen our own dreams of what probably came after, though Deathly Hallows will most likely have cleared up all the details of Harry's life, leaving us with nothing but a blazing castle-in-the-air of what-I-think-Book-Seven-will-be-like fanfics which will never fit in canon, and are therefore practically useless.
Hopefully, though, a phoenix will rise from the ashes of said castle-in-the-sky, heralding a better and brighter haven for us aspiring authors with itchy fingers aching for a keyboard, overworked brains pinning down plot bunnies and ears oozing Harry Potter. Because while JK may sort out Voldemort and his cronies, there will always be another adventure on the horizon for Harry and gang.
It has been a great time, and hopefully Harry Potter fandom will never die out. And personally, I don’t think it ever will. Not while any of us are still alive, that’s for damn sure.
Thank you.