|
Always There | ||||
|
Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 31 Summary: We think we know who Harry's oldest friends are. But we forget the very first one, the one who never questioned his motives, stood by him and was perhaps the most loyal of all. Hitcount: Story Total: 6121 |
|
|||
|
“Hey beautiful,” he says to me. “Thanks for the present.” He smiles at me and gives me a treat. I answer with my thanks and watch him, as I have done for nearly my entire life. He and I have been through a lot together, and through it all, I was there. Even before the train, I was there. I went to his home, if you could call it that, and he talked to me. I was the only one he could talk to, seeing how those Muggles avoided him as if he had fleas. Once school started and the redhead became his friend, I understood. He still needed me. I was important to him; I was unique among the others; people saw me and knew I belonged to him; I was special. But not anymore. He tells her he loves her the way he used to tell me. He strokes her hair and holds her close. All he did with me was give me illicit treats that made me fat. But I still loved him. No, I still love him. He is and will always be mine. When he lost those he loved, I was there. He lost so many people at too early an age. The Diggory boy. Snuffles. Dumbledore. They all meant something to him, and in my own way, I was there to comfort him, to sing to him, to help him feel like someone cared. He kept everything bottled up inside, and if he could reach out to others by telling me where to go, I would always do that for him. He tells her those things now. I watch them, and I see how she makes him relax the way I could never do. She tells him she loves him and holds him close, causing all his hurt to go away, if only for a moment. I am grateful, in part, for that, because she tells him the things I cannot and wish I could for so long. When his friends didn’t believe in him, I was there. I was there for him, a truer friend than most when others called unbalanced, delusional, and starved for attention. They were so wrong. He never sought the attention. People forced it upon him. He endured stares, rumours, whispers, and endless newspaper articles. I knew he felt abandoned and hurt, but I couldn’t really tell him that it would be all right, that they were wrong. All I could do was sing to him and keep him connected to those he cared about. Then she came along and gave him hope. She filled his days with happiness and his nights with pleasant dreams. I had always liked her. She was friendly, not too overbearing, and had a calming effect on me that no one else seemed to have. But she was taking over. She was moving in on him and he liked it. I wasn’t as important to him anymore, and even though he still called me over to him, and stroked me, I knew I was being replaced. I couldn’t really blame him. But I always thought I would be his first love. After all, I had always been there for him. When he took off on his quest, my real work began. He took me along for company while the other two finally decided they would be mates. I scurried back and forth between him and her. I always knew where to find him, and she used that to her advantage. She would send letter after letter and I would gladly take them to him. I didn’t know what those messages contained, but each one of her messages softened his heart more and more. He was learning to trust in love and what it could do for him. I also learned that together, she and I could help him do great things. When he told her that it was over, that The Snake was gone, I watched from the porch as they put their faces together in a display that I could never understand, yet knew the meaning behind it. It meant I was losing him. For the first time since knowing him, I felt alone and unwanted. I was there when they mated for the first time. I was there when they were joined in a silly little ceremony n the garden. I gave them a mouse, freshly killed. I was there when the young were born and I took great pride in delivering those particular messages. I watched him change from a boy to a man to a father. Watching him grow filled me with the pride of a parent. Now, my days are filled with dodging errant balls, slugs, paper airplanes, and a plethora of assorted toys that the young ones fling about the house. They tell him that they want to hold me and play with my feathers. He laughs and tells them that I am too old for those games. He’s right. I am old. I know that she will take care of him. I know that they will have many more young (her belly is swollen again) and that they will all be wonderful witches and wizards. I know that they will miss me and that stories of my adventures with him will be fodder for many a bedtime story. Still, the thought of not being there for my boy fills me with dread and it makes me wonder if it was all worth it. But then, I always answer my own question. I look at him and see what he has become. He is my Harry. He is my hero. “Dad? Come here,” Philip told his father one morning. Harry padded over to his son, his feet bare and making soft noises against the carpet. “What is it, Philip? Something…” He saw what Philip was looking at. He stood fixed to the spot and his face lost all expression. “Hedwig…” With shaking hands, he opened the golden cage and picked up the owl that he’d received when he was eleven. The body was cold and feathers had fallen onto the floor as he took her out of her enclosure. His eyes filled with tears that he didn’t hide from his son. “Dad, are you alright?” The boy reached out, stroked the white feathers with his hand, and finally rested on the head, where his father’s was resting as well. “No, Philip, I’m not.” Harry sat on the floor, cradling what was once a loyal owl and friend. The boy sat down next to his father. “She was old, huh?” “Mmmm. At least twenty.” “Hagrid gave her to you.” “Yeah.” Harry sniffed as tears fell off his nose. “When I turned eleven. She’s always been there. Even before your mum. Even before Ron and Hermione.” “What should we do?” Philip asked. Harry let out a heavy sigh. “Come with me to the garden?” Philip got up off the floor, taking his father by the hand. As he carried her outside to the garden with his son in tow, he remembered the moments that they had shared and what things would be like now. But one thing he would always remember was this: she was always there. |
| Reviews 31 |
|
