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If The Fates Allow | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny Genres: Drama Warnings: Sexual Situations, Extreme Language Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 596 Summary: Ginny has been forced to marry Draco Malfoy, but her heart still belongs to Harry. Will she ever be able to break free from this unwanted marriage? Will Harry help her? A story of passion, blackmail, Greek gods and a most surreal place for playing Quidditch! Join Harry and Ginny on their odyssey through despair and hope, faith and love, amidst Voldemort's machinations! Hitcount: Story Total: 114788; Chapter Total: 4163 |
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author’s note: this chapter is dedicated to Fire who wrote the 100th review. Please note that this chapter is merely a filler. I thought I should show the characters’ reactions to Harry’s ‘death’. This chapter is about emotions, so don’t expect any action. "Be happy while you're alive, for you're a long time dead." (Scottish Proverb) “I can’t believe it! Can’t believe it! Just can’t. Believe. It.” Hermione said passionately. “He can’t have died, Tonks!” “I wish he hadn’t, Hermione,” the young Auror sighed, leaning against the window-frame in Ron and Hermione’s small downtown flat. “But according to Ginny, and Harry’s… er… wife, he’s no longer with us.” “How? How did it happen?” asked Ron, his voice shaking, his face so pale that his freckles stood out more than ever. He was clutching the armrests of the couch so tightly that his knuckles also turned white. “I can’t tell you much about it,” Tonks shook her violet-haired head. “All Ginny said was that he’d died, and that woman – Harry’s wife – accused Ginny of having caused Harry’s death. I tried to ask Ginny how it had happened, but I couldn’t get a single word out of her. When we arrived at the Burrow, she went and locked herself up in her room. Not even Molly managed to talk to her, at least not until after I left them to come here…” Ron propped his chin into his palms, gazing at the carpet with glassy eyes. Next to him Hermione was silently wiping her tears. Hearing her sniff, he turned to her and gathered her into his arms. “Oh, Rooooon,” she sobbed, her whole body shaking. “I was so… so happy when he came back… I thought… I thought we’d have him back again… I never thought that was the last time we’d see him…” “It never occurred to me, either,” he whispered into her bushy hair. “Wonder what Malfoy will do now… that he knows Ginny eloped with Harry…” “Well, Malfoy hasn’t returned to England yet…” Tonks interjected. “He took on to escort Harry’s wife home… you know, that woman was in a terrible state, and he feared she’d harm herself.” “Oh… Malfoy’s shown concern for someone?” Ron’s mouth tucked into a bitter smile. “One thing’s sure: we won’t let him harm Ginny when he gets back.” “Of course we won’t,” Hermione said resolutely, drawing back from him, looking for a hanky in her pocket, but finding none. “Here,” Ron handed her a tissue. “Let’s go to the Burrow, shall we? Perhaps we’ll manage to convince Ginny to talk… or even if not, we can still be with her, calm her…” “I’m not sure I could calm anyone when I’m far from calm,” whispered Hermione and blew her nose, “but of course we can try…” “I’ll go and tell Remus the sad news,” said Tonks distractedly. “Right… see you.” With that she Disapparated. Ron and Hermione were left alone, and the young witch flung herself on Ron’s neck again, silently crying. Not struggling any longer to ignore the burning sensation in his eyes, he let a single tear run down his cheek. “We’ll miss you, Harry, mate,” he whispered into the thin air over Hermione’s shoulder. She gave a loud sob at hearing his words and tightened her grip on the back of his shirt, clinging to him as desperately as she had never done before. Ron had never been the emotional type, he had been called an insensitive wart by Hermione, according to whom he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but for probably the first time in his life he truly began to cry. His first tear was followed by a flood of new ones. He didn’t even bother to wipe them away, but let them run freely down his face and onto Hermione’s locks. Memory after memory flashed through Ron’s mind… “Are you really Harry Potter? And have you really got that – you know…” The Harry in his memories lifted his fringe and let him glimpse his scar for the first time. How poor Harry had hated that scar… how much he had suffered because of it… and now his suffering had come to an end… “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” “I don’t know. I think Hermione does, though, why not try her?” Oh, good old, cheeky Harry! “Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher, there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.” He had stood up to everyone – Snape, even that cow Umbridge… and Voldemort… “Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?” How Ginny had blushed at this question… Back then Ron had never imagined that his sister would be the one to see his best friend die… “Fleur didn’t turn up. I couldn’t leave her.” “Harry, you prat, you didn’t take that song thing seriously, did you?” Oh yeah, Harry was the type to take things seriously all the time… Was that the reason for his death? Oh, Harry, Harry, why did you always have to act the hero? Hermione had always feared it’d be the end of you one day… you stupid git, you! Ron screwed up his face against the howl of pain that wanted to escape his mouth and hugged Hermione as firmly as he could, as if he feared he’d lose her too. Draco opened his eyes, blinked and realised that his surroundings weren’t familiar at all. For one thing, the ceiling was painted yellow. He didn’t remember ever sleeping in a bed that stood in a room with a yellow ceiling, and that was saying something, because he had slept in at least a dozen different beds, most of which belonged to pretty young witches. He shifted his glance to see out of the window, beyond which a huge board advertised the shop of Aesculapius the Apothecary (all sorts of potions and poisons available). Aesculapius? He frowned. It sounded Greek… He strained his mind to remember what had happened and how he had got here… a letter from a certain Mrs Potter… the Leaky Cauldron… Athens… Delphi… the stupid oracle… the Row of Gods… Styx… Potter. Potter falling into the river. Potter’s death… Phaedra… Pha edra having hysterics. Phaedra accusing first Ginny then him of being at fault over Potter’s death. Phaedra crying on his shoulder. Phaedra kissing him… Kissing him??? He sat bolt upright. A soft moan came from his left as the spring mattress moved after he sat up. I have a very bad feeling about this, Draco thought and slowly, very slowly turned his head to look left. There she was, the sexiest woman he’d ever met, languidly sprawled on the sheet; her wavy, ebony black hair spread on the pillow; her blouse open, slightly torn as though it had been ripped open, her lacy black brassière still in place (hadn’t I unclasped it? – he wondered). Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but they looked prettily puffy… What the heck got into me? Draco ran his hand through his silvery blond locks. Get away from here. Just get away from here! Carefully he slid out from under the covers and told himself that he must have been totally out of his mind, and to such an extent that he hadn’t even properly got rid of his trousers just dropped them to his ankles – he had never been this careless about sex before, he was the type who loved impressing women by doing everything slowly and properly… what had got into him this time? Why hadn’t he cared about doing it properly with Phaedra? Why hadn't he wanted to impress her? He shook his head. This wasn’t the time for contemplating things, especially not when he was standing there, his shirt hanging on him, wrinkled (obviously he hadn’t bothered to take it off, either), his most private parts totally exposed. Phaedra moaned in her sleep again and Draco hastily pulled up his boxers and trousers, did up the buttons on his tattered shirt and crouched down to look for his shoes. He found one of them under the bed, the other one half way across the room. With a swish of his wand he made his appearance acceptable and tiptoed to the door. He’d have to leave this tavern as soon as possible. He had heard from Phaedra the last time they visited Nikias’ that there was an Anti-Apparition charm on the whole building, so he needed to walk out of it to leave this darned place at last. At the door he cast one last glance at the young widow, and a strange emotion clenched at his heart. It wasn’t a pleasant thing at all, it hurt him and gave him the impression that some invisible force was trying to throttle him. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy had pangs of remorse. Damn it, he cursed himself as he opened the door. Don’t look back, Malfoy! What would it help if you did? What would you say to her? That you’re sorry for taking advantage of her grief and shagging her senseless? Come on, you have never felt sorry for shagging a woman before! But then again, none of the women you shagged so far had lost their husbands only a couple of hours before… Get a grip, Malfoy! You had a bit of fun with her, so what? She wasn’t complaining, was she? She seemed to be enjoying herself… So why have pangs of remorse? You merely consoled the poor thing in her deep grief… Hell, since when have I been talking to myself??? Draco kicked himself hard in the shin as Phaedra had once done. The pain was horrible but it had the effect he’d expected from it: it made him come to his senses. As quietly as he could, he closed the door behind himself and sprinted down the stairs, through the restaurant (‘Leaving so early, Seamus?’ – Nikias shouted after him), and out onto the street, from where he Apparated back to England. Harry made his way towards the Quidditch stadium that stood not far away from Hades’ palace. He had only spent about three hours in the underworld and already he was being sent to a training session – Hades must have been desperate to secure Elysium’s victory over Tartarus if he wanted Harry to start training at once. So, wearing Cedric’s light blue Quidditch uniform, Harry padded towards the pitch, above which shapes were zooming on broomsticks, but he couldn’t make them out from such a distance. It took about ten minutes of walking from the king’s palace to the pitch, and this time Harry wasn’t walking with Cedric - for Cedric had departed with Hades’ consent - but totally on his own. When he had walked with young Diggory to the mahogany tree, they had been so deep in conversation that Harry couldn’t even properly pay attention to his surroundings, all he had seen was that Elysium was a pretty place. This time, however, his eyes drank in the sea of wildflowers gently swaying in the breeze on the endless meadows, his ears recorded the cheerful chirping of the birds and gurgling of the tiny, crystal-clear brooks, and his nostrils got filled with the most wondrous fragrance: flowers, mixed with the fresh scent of grass. He had smelled pleasant things before, but the meadows on the Hogwarts grounds or Aunt Petunia’s flowerbeds never managed to smell this sweet. For a moment he felt like jumping and whooping at the top of his lungs, but he held himself back, suspecting that other residents of Elysium would think he’d gone mad. He also thought that cheering too jubilantly in the underworld would be some sort of sacrilege, this being a place of the dead. Then, as his thoughts wandered off to Ginny, he felt shame wash over him – how could it even occur to him to jump and shout when she was very likely in prison – either in a prison of Athens, or in the prison of her marriage to Draco. However, he shouldn’t have felt ashamed, for Elysium was indeed a place that made one want to jump for joy, it was exactly like Harry had always imagined heaven to be; a place so refreshing, so happy, so wonderful that it made one forget all about their sorrows… Strangely Harry couldn’t fully forget his sorrows and guilt, not like all the other residents of Elysium… perhaps because he wasn’t dead? He reached the gate of the pitch. So, I’m going to meet Gryffindor, eh? he thought and pushed the door open. At first his team mates didn’t even notice him, they kept passing Quaffles to each other and trying to beat the Bludgers off their course. What struck Harry as surprising was that the Quaffle the Chasers of Elysium were playing with, seemed very different from the Pennifold Quaffle that Alicia, Katie and Angelina had used to pass to each other… on one hand it wasn’t red, but white – this was acceptable, since Harry thought that in the underworld there was no winter, so the Quaffle didn’t need to be red to stand out if dropped into the snow. On the other hand, it wasn’t even perfectly round like the Pennifold Quaffle – it had some holes and dents in it… but Harry couldn’t make it out while it was zooming above. Suddenly one of the Chasers dropped the Quaffle with a yelp. Harry, who had not seen the players’ faces properly from the ground, jumped aside from the path of the falling white ball. The ‘Quaffle’ landed on the very spot Harry had been standing on a nanosecond earlier and he finally saw what those holes in it were: eye-sockets. Eye-sockets of a skull. Before he even had time to say an ‘ewwww’, the Chaser who had just yelled landed right next to him. “HARRY!” The young wizard looked up from the skull-ball to see a pair of familiar dark eyes glinting at him from behind a curtain of shaggy dark brown, shoulder-length hair. “Sirius?” he whispered. “Harry!” his godfather shouted, this time angrily. “What the hell are you doing here?” “Playing Quidditch?” Harry allowed himself a faint grin. Sirius reached out and shook him. “But why? Whyyyy?” “Because Cedric had to go and…” “…why didn’t you better take care of yourself? You weren’t supposed to die this early!” “Er, Sirius…” Harry began. “Harry? Is this really you?” another male voice came from his right. Harry turned in the direction of the voice to see a tall man with black hair sticking out in all directions. “Dad?” he swallowed hard. “Harry!” James gathered him into his arms, squeezing him so tightly that Harry thought he’d either suffocate or his ribs would crack any second. Suddenly James pushed him back, holding him at arm’s length, his warm brown eyes scanning his son’s every feature. “My, you do look like me! But why did you have to die? Did Voldemort kill you? That bastard, so Trelawney’s prophecy actually did come true…” “Dad,” Harry shook his head, almost finding the situation amusing. “Dad, I’m not dead.” “What? Not dead?” James squinted at Sirius, who shrugged with a confused expression. Suddenly a lithe figure stepped out from behind James, and without a word reached out and cupped Harry’s face in her hands. “I was dying to see you again, but I was hoping I wouldn’t see you this soon… my little baby.” Before Harry could even say a word, Lily Potter embraced him, pulling his head down to hers – he had to bend at least ten centimetres to be at the same level with her. ‘Little baby’, indeed… Harry’s nostrils got again filled with the honey and hyacinth aroma of her hair. I won’t cry, he told himself, but it was a hard business keeping his tears at bay. Lily drew back a bit and looked into his eyes; for a lingering moment green eyes met equally green ones. “He’s telling the truth,” she said, turning to James and Sirius. “He’s alive. My baby Harry’s alive.” “Muuuum, I’m no…” Harry couldn’t utter ‘baby anymore’, for Sirius jerked him sideways to face him. “Wow, really! His eyes, look at his eyes, James!” “Holy Snitch,” James shook his head incredulously, and his mouth tucked into a mischievous grin. “You’re truly alive… What are you doing here then, son?” “Playing Quidditch,” Harry repeated. “Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” a harsh voice tore at the air from above. Harry looked up to see a man with a black beard sitting on his broom with a back as straight as though he were a proud knight riding a horse… “What’s this commotion? Get back to practice, lazy lot!” “Come off it, Godric,” said James. “Come off it?” the bearded man snapped. “We’re playing Tartarus in a week and you’re telling me to come off it?” “Would he have a descendant called Oliver Wood by any chance?” Harry whispered to Sirius. “Just to inform you, Godric,” said James, “my son Harry just turned up here in the underworld – alive. And I want to talk to him. So do Lily and Sirius, right?” “Certainly,” nodded Lily. “Cancel training for today, old chap,” added Sirius. “Your son turned up?” Gryffindor knitted his eyebrows, looking slightly menacing that way. “Why?” “Er, to substitute for Cedric Diggory, sir,” replied Harry. “He had to leave the underworld urgently.” “He’s left?” Sirius and James gasped. It was highly unusual for someone to leave the underworld. “Have you ever played Seeker, boy?” asked Gryffindor scathingly. “’Course he has!” Sirius put an arm around his godson’s neck. “He’s the best darn Seeker I’ve ever known, Ricky.” “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Ricky?” Godric scowled at him, then turned back to Harry. “How long are you staying, boy?” “Until Cedric returns, of course.” “Right. I’d like to see what you’re capable of,” nodded the Captain. “Yeah, you will, old chap – just not today,” grinned James. “Today he’s ours. Come, son, let’s go home. Want daddy to give you a piggyback?” Harry squinted at Sirius with an incredulous expression that suggested he didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl at his father. Sirius just waved merrily and steered Harry out of the stadium, leaving the fuming Godric Gryffindor and the two befuddled Beaters – one with a huge Roman nose, the other with girlish golden locks – behind. Jason ‘Hightower’ Stephanides was playing chess with his girlfriend Leto Papafotiu as the door of the common room in the headquarters of the Circle of Hermes opened and his sister entered. Jason dropped the bishop he was holding and jumped up. “Phaedra! What happened? You look a fright!” His usually stunning sister resembled a banshee with her face deadly pale, her hair unruly and her eyes full of something that Jason couldn’t identify – was it pain? Was it rage? Or a mixture of the two? “He’s dead,” she whispered as she sank down onto a cushion, propping her elbows on the chessboard (not caring that she knocked off the figures) and hiding her face in her palms. “Who?” Jason asked. “My husband.” Leto let out a small squeak at the other end of the table, but Phaedra didn’t seem to hear her, perhaps she hadn’t even noticed her presence. “You mean… Harry?” whispered Jason. “Why? Did I have more than one husband?” Phaedra snapped, her eyes sending lightning bolts at her brother. “It’s okay, it’s okay, calm down, sis,” he said soothingly and reached out to put an arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “It’s NOT okay, Jason,” she said in a raspy voice, again hiding her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook, so he was sure she was crying, though he couldn’t see her face. “I… I’d better go now,” whispered Leto and tiptoed out of the common room. Barely had she closed the door behind herself when she met Nausika, the Chief-of-Circle. Nausika wanted to enter the common room, but Leto held out her hand. “No. Don’t go in there now.” “Why not?” “Because… because Phaedra just returned…” “With Harry?” Leto shook her head. “Alone. Harry’s dead.” Nausika thought she’d die on the spot. “Dead? D – E – A - D?” Leto nodded, tears brimming her eyes. “But… but how? I mean… he was here just three days ago, I even talked to him…” the always so cool, strict chief had to lean against the wall to support her weight, for she felt she’d faint if she didn’t. “Harry Potter… dead? I never… never thought… He was so talented… he could have been the best here in the Circle if he hadn’t left… He was so brave… he was never afraid, no matter what sort of a mission he had to take part in… the only one he ever feared was You-Know…” her voice faltered. She well remembered the conversation she had had with Harry a couple of days earlier – the conversation in which Harry admitted having let Voldemort flee. “Was it… was it You-Know-Who? Did You-Know-Who kill him?” “I don’t know,” Leto said. “Perhaps Phaedra will tell you… when she’s feeling better. Now Jason’s with her, she’s sobbing her heart out.” “The poor thing,” Nausika sighed. “Losing a child and a husband in a short two weeks… Life’s so damn unfair.” Leto just nodded mutely and they set off for their rooms, leaving the young widow to cry on her brother’s shoulder in peace. “Holy heavens,” Remus muttered, sinking into his armchair in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He had started working there after Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed the new Minister for Magic. Kingsley had believed that if a werewolf was working for this department, it would give the image of the Ministry treating magical creatures (also including beasts, ghosts and beings) with more respect and caring for their welfare. Remus had managed to fit in pretty quickly and was enjoying his work that provided him with the opportunity to help his own kind through legislation passed in his department. “First the attack on Amos, now Harry… Are you sure that he’s… dead?” “I’m afraid so, Remy,” sighed his wife, sitting on the armrest of his chair, propping her head on his. “How did it happen?” “I don’t know,” Tonks replied. “I couldn’t make Ginny reveal any more, she was in such a state of shock… I think she loved him very much.” “Yeah, I also thought she did… but then, why did she marry Draco Malfoy?” said Lupin thoughtfully. “That’s something I never managed to understand,” she shook her head. “D’you think we should tell the press about Harry?” “They’ll find out sooner or later, I suppose,” Remus heaved a sigh. “The death of the Boy Who Lived can’t be kept a secret, after all… remember what big news his disappearance was, too… all the newspapers were filled with articles like The Boy Who Has Gone Missing… poor thing, he was so young…” “My heart’s aching for Ginny… and also for that… Phaedra, or whoever,” Tonks whispered. “Oh, you mean his wife?” Remus grimaced. “Tell you what, she wasn’t the one for him. They just didn’t fit. At least…” “I know what you mean,” she nodded. “I always imagined Harry getting together with Ginny. Actually I felt thrilled when they eloped… Bugger, if we tell the press – for we have to tell them –, we can’t reveal that the Boy Who Lived died after eloping with Malfoy’s wife… what would people say?” “I for one believe that Harry wouldn’t care what people said about him… eloped with Ginny or not, he’ll always remain the boy who rid the world of Voldemort for thirteen years… I doubt people would remember him as a low-down seducer instead of as a hero… I’m more worried about Ginny. People tend to say only nice things about the dead, but they are always ready to speak ill of the living, and Ginny’s alive… she’ll have to endure all the evil remarks.” “Yes, that’s what I fear, too,” Tonks agreed. “I think we should ask Kingsley, he’ll know how to present this to the press without destroying anyone’s good reputation.” Lupin slid an arm around his wife’s thin waist and pulled her down from the armrest into his lap. “He’s with Sirius at least, Tonks. He was missing his godfather so much… and his parents…” his voice trailed off. “He’s… he’s together with them at last.” She looked into his warm grey eyes, seeing that they were slightly watering. “Cry if you want to, Remy. It helps. I’ve cried already.” “No…” he shook his head. “I think he’s in a better place now. We shouldn’t cry… he’s happy now, I’m sure of it.” “Perhaps you’re right,” she whispered, her nose touching his. Soon not only their noses touched, but their lips, too. With a flick of her wand, Tonks sealed the door of the office and let Remus make her forget about her grief, at least for a short time. “Ginny?” Hermione knocked on the youngest Weasley’s door. There was no reply from inside. “Ginny, it’s me, Hermione, let me in!” Silence. “Ginny… ; I understand if you don’t want to see anyone who’d ask weird questions, but if you like, I promise I won’t ask anything… just let me in, please… or else I’ll sleep here, in front of your door!” Hermione waited and waited for what seemed to be an eternity before the door finally creaked open and a ghostly-pale Ginny appeared. The red-haired witch motioned her inside, then closed the door again, and with a swish of her wand sealed it from unwanted guests. Ginny sat back down on her bed and Hermione took a place next to her. At one moment they were just sitting there, next to each other, at the next one Hermione was embracing her friend and Ginny was hugging her back, as though her life depended on not letting go of her. It had only been five days earlier that her mother had been sitting here on her bed, next to her, and she had hugged her to say thanks for her advice and support… Molly had encouraged her to go to Harry and talk to him… now Ginny wished that her mother had rather dissuaded her… then Harry would still be alive… “It’s my fault, Hermione… Phaedra was right, it’s my fault, only mine!” she whispered into her friend’s bushy brown hair. “Tsk, tsk, what are you saying there?” the older witch said soothingly, cradling Ginny in her arms, though she felt she needed someone to cradle her, too. She needed consolation just as much Ginny did… “The truth,” breathed Ginny, pulling slightly back. Hermione would have sworn that she had been crying, but now that she saw Ginny’s face it was clear that she hadn’t shed a single tear. She looked broken, but her eyes weren’t watering in the slightest… Hermione almost envied Ginny for the ability of not crying, for she felt she was dissolving into tears again. “What… what truth?” sniffed Hermione, drying her cheeks with a tissue. “It’s my fault, Herm. Had I not asked for his help, he’d still be alive.” “His help? What’d you mean by that?” “I can’t tell you, I’m sorry,” Ginny shook her head. “And you promised me not to ask questions, remember.” “Yeah, right,” Hermione nodded with a small, sad smile. “I promised it. But I only did so to see you, to make sure you were all right…” “You mean you feared I was thinking of committing suicide?” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “No, Hermione. I’m not even brave enough for that. I should have been brave enough to continue carrying this burden alone, without complaining… I shouldn’t have asked for his help… but I was only thinking of getting free at last, not caring that I might make him get into trouble… I’m a selfish bitch.” “No, you’re not,” the other girl shook her head, confused. What was Ginny talking about? What burden? Getting free from what? She simply didn’t understand. “Oh, yes, I am selfish,” Ginny protested. “But you’re definitely no bitch,” Hermione tried to joke, only to get a piercing look from her friend. “That is exactly what I am,” said Ginny with a disgusted grimace, and Hermione had the impression that Ginny was disgusted with herself. Seeing Hermione’s bewildered expression, Ginny continued. “I slept with him.” “That’s… not that surprising, you know,” said Hermione after a short pause. “You two eloped, after all…” “You don’t understand anything!” Ginny hopped up from her bed. “I didn’t elope with him! I just… can’t tell you, but… I didn’t go with him having the intention to shag him, Hermione! It just came… unexpectedly.” The elder witch stood up and put an arm around her friend’s shaking shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault that he’s so gorgeous… was so gorgeous…” her voice faltered. “Nor is it your fault that he died.” “You don’t know anything…” Ginny whispered. “Then you could perhaps fill me in…” suggested Hermione. “I can’t. Anyway, no questions - you promised me.” “I promised you, but you can’t keep it a secret for ever, Gin. People will want to know at least how he died.” “If they’re curious, they should ask Draco. He was also there. I bet he’d love to tell the press all about the death of his old enemy.” “Don’t be such a cynic, Ginny.” “I’m no cynic, Herm. I just feel that my heart has been ripped out… and one can’t live without a heart… so I want to die.” Understanding that she wouldn't succeed in getting to know anything from her friend, Hermione just gathered her into another embrace, trying to channel a bit of encouragement into Ginny, which was a hard business, for Hermione herself felt weak and discouraged. Her heart ached as it never had before – she had never even thought of Harry dying (perhaps with the exception of their first Divination lesson), and now she simply didn’t know how to cope with the cruel reality. While her heart ached for Harry, it also bled for Ginny. She knew Ginny must be suppressing her emotions, perhaps that’s why she wasn’t crying, and Hermione was aware that suppressed emotions could hurt one more than crying for hours… Why was Ginny trying to ignore her pain? Could it be because of the shock? Yes, that had to be it, Hermione thought. She remembered the day her grandfather died. It had come so suddenly, so shocking that her mother hadn’t even cried for several hours after it, although it had been her father who had died. Hours after her grandpa dying, Hermione’s mother finally started to cry, and it felt as though some sort of a dam had suddenly broken through in her soul, letting all her sorrows pour out like a flood… and as her tears flowed down her cheeks, she felt relieved, light as a feather… However, it seemed that Ginny was denied the relief of crying, and Hermione feared that it’d damage her friend’s fragile soul much more than crying for a whole week. “Ron! Good ter see yeh!” said Hagrid cheerfully, slapping his young friend in the back with such force that Ron tumbled against the table. “I wasn’ expectin guests, yer know, that’s why things are a bit… er… not so tidy.” Ron almost smiled – almost. Hagrid was talking as though it had been unusual for his house to be untidy. Fang leapt at him, trying to lick his face. “Well, I wasn’t really planning to visit you today, but… things happened and I felt I had to tell you.” “You look concerned, mate, what’s the problem?” asked the half-giant. “It’s… it’s about Harry.” Barely had he uttered the name when a flutter of wings could be heard and a very annoyed Hedwig soared up from her perch on Hagrid’s armchair to one of the rafters, turning her back on Ron. Ron never knew what the owl’s problem was, but he clearly remembered how shaken the poor bird had been after Harry had disappeared five years ago, and remembered even more clearly what Hedwig looked like after he and Hermione had sent her after Harry. They never got to know exactly what happened to the owl on her journey, whether she ever found Harry or not, but when she got back from her journey, she was totally lethargic. She didn’t want to go hunting, she seemed to have decided that she’d starve to death… No one ever got to know that Hedwig had actually managed to find Harry, but he had set fire to Ron and Hermione’s letter in front of her and had told her to go back to England and never look for him again. When Hedwig had wanted to fly onto his shoulder and ‘cuddle’ a bit with her master, he rudely shooed her away. Hedwig didn’t know that it had caused Harry huge pangs of remorse later, that he had regretted a thousand times being so nasty to his faithful owl, but he couldn’t just send Hedwig an owl and apologise… Hedwig never managed to forgive him for sending her away so rudely, for she didn’t understand what had happened to Harry before he’d left – she had no idea about Voldemort’s blackmail and Ginny breaking Harry’s heart… all she knew was that ‘her master’ had deeply hurt her, and that she never ever wanted to hear about that ungrateful sod again. To try and help the poor, depressed owl, Ron had taken her to Hagrid, the only man who possibly knew something about animal psychology… and Hedwig had lived with Hagrid ever since… So, to express her indignation at hearing Harry’s name again, Hedwig soared up to a rafter, clicked her beak indignantly and pretended not to be listening to the conversation of the two wizards. “Why, what happened ter him?” asked Hagrid brightly. “Has he come back?” “Yeah… he came back five days ago,” nodded Ron. “An’ why hasn’ he visited me yet, then?” Hagrid asked in a slightly hurt tone. “Because he left shortly after he returned,” sighed Ron, not knowing how to present this all to Hagrid, who had been Harry’s first friend, the first ever person to care for him after his parents’ death… Even Rita Skeeter had ‘accused’ the half-giant of being a father-substitute for Harry. “He left again, with Ginny.” “Ginny?” Hagrid raised his eyebrows. “You don’ mean those two… eloped?” “Well, sort of, but…” “That’s great, Ron!” Hagrid clasped his hands. “I always knew they’d end up together, I did! I remember yer little sister comin’ ter visit me house in her firs’ year, she came so often an’ I knew she was comin’ because she was hopin’ ter see Harry! Am I glad ter hear the news!” “Hagrid!” Ron held up his hands. “Hagrid… this isn’t what I wanted to tell you… Harry… Harry’s dead.” “WHAT?” rumbled the half-giant, his voice so harsh that the glass in his window almost shattered. “Yeh don’ mean it!?!” Hedwig, against her will, clearly heard Ron’s words. She went rigid on the rafter, as though she had been petrified. Ron bent down to pat Fang’s head, so that he didn’t need to look at Hagrid. “I’m sorry… but I do mean it. He died in Greece… but I don’t know more… Ginny… Ginny would, she saw him die… but she isn’t willing to talk about it…” Slowly he lifted his face to see huge tear-droplets coursing down Hagrid’s face, running into his shaggy beard. “Tell me… tell me it’s not true… Ron…” the gamekeeper rasped. “I wish it weren’t Hagrid…” In the next instant Hedwig swooped down on the red-haired wizard, madly fluttering her wings, her beak snapping towards Ron’s face, as if she was trying to scream ‘No! You’re lying! That can’t be true!’ “Calm down, Hedwig,” Hagrid reached out and pulled the owl back before she could take Ron’s eye out. “Calm down, girl… it’s no use goin’ all hysterical… that won’ bring him back.” Sniffing, he started to look for a handkerchief in one of his several pockets. He blew his nose so loudly that it rather sounded like a honk. “I’m sorry for bringing bad news… but I felt you deserved to get to know before others do…” Ron hung his head while Fang slobbered onto his shoes. Hedwig’s outburst had finally subsided and she was hanging limply in Hagrid’s dustbin-sized hand. If Ron hadn’t been sure that birds couldn’t cry, he would have sworn that he’d seen tears in Hedwig’s amber eyes. Silence fell over the gamekeeper's tiny house, a silence as deep as the sorrow in their hearts. author’s note: the next chapter will be happier, I promise :) Erin: don’t worry, no one will commit suicide. Also thanks to: ally, J.C., C Rose, arios, Fire, Belle and Angie |
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