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SIYE Time:21:58 on 28th March 2024
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A Reason To Believe
By Amour

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Category: Post-DH/AB
Characters:All
Genres: Fluff, General, Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 19
Summary: "All this year, I was holding onto something - something to be my reason to believe that there would be a better tomorrow." Harry and Ginny share a private moment at the Burrow after the war.
Hitcount: Story Total: 7731



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
The idea for this story has gone through so many changes and rewrites that I've finally decided to just post it. Hope you enjoy.

For Jenn - may you always be my editor.




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Dawn was just creeping up onto the horizon, but Ginny Weasley couldn’t sleep.

She had been awake almost the entire night, simply watching the shadows move and twist on her ceiling, and listen to the crickets and birds chirp outside. It was maddening, to toss and turn and try her hardest not to wake Hermione up as the bushy haired girl slumbered across the room.

She sat up with a huff and frowned at the window outside. Dratted sun. If it had only waited another hour, perhaps she could have gotten some sleep. But it wouldn’t happen now. She climbed out of bed and pulled on the emerald sweater she had found in the wash last year. She had an inkling as to who it belonged to - but she wasn’t about to make assumptions.

She slipped down the stairs, making sure to miss the creaky one, and slid into the kitchen. She didn’t bother with the lights; the light from outside made it possible to see. She filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to boil.

The house was quiet - obviously, she was the only one up. She imagined that her poor mum had cried herself to sleep last night at the loss of Fred after she had been up late doing chores to try and forget about her son’s funeral. She could picture her father staying up with her and now sleeping off the exhaustion she knew he and everyone else felt.

Ron, she was sure, had fallen asleep with Bill, Charlie, and Percy as the remaining Weasley brother’s tried to consol the remaining twin. More than likely, there were multiple bottles of Firewhiskey that had been emptied and needed to be replaced.

She, herself, had been up late talking with Hermione. The older girl seemed understanding at the redhead’s uncertainty, and filled her in one some minor details - most of which, Ginny thought with amusement, focused on Ron and how she felt when he had abandoned her and Harry before Christmas. She could sympathize, and resolved to smack Ron the next time she saw him.

Movement outside caught her eye, and she moved towards the window to peer out. There he was, loping away from the house and towards the small pond that lay behind the grove of trees. She grinned and removed the kettle - tea could wait. He couldn’t.

The grass was cold and wet, the blades sticking to her bare feet as if they had glue on them. She ran her hands through her wild hair multiple times in an attempt to smooth it out, but it remained as frazzled and untamed as ever.

He stood on the edge of the pond, his face uplifted to the sky as if searching for something. His posture, although relaxed, didn’t mask the tension in his shoulders and neck.

He was twirling something between his thumb and index finger - yellow, and small. She recognized it as one of the yellow flowers from their overgrown garden. She had picked some just the other day to put on the kitchen table. Mrs. Weasley had appreciated the gesture from her only daughter.

Harry’s voice startled her. “You’re not going to just look at me all morning, are you?” His tone was light and cheerful, but there was a sadness, a sense of loss, behind those words. He turned to her and gave her a tight smile. “Morning.”

She moved towards him, hugging herself to warm up her chilled body. “Morning,” she said quietly, and touched his elbow gently. “I didn’t pin you as one to pick flowers.”

He surprised gaze dropped to the flower in his hand, and his smile grew - the tension faded a bit. “I’m not,” he admitted, then reached up to tuck the yellow bud into her hair. “I figured I’d start enjoying life instead of just living it.”

There was a haunted look in his eyes as he turned away from her, and she toyed absentmindedly with the hem of the sweater she was wearing. She knew what he was thinking - Fred, Lupin, Tonks, and the countless others who were now dead.

It had been a week since the battle had been fought, and nearly four days since they had returned to the Burrow. The house and grounds had immediately been secured against reporters and any who weren’t family friends. The Weasley’s claimed that Harry and his two friends needed rest, and the family needed time to grieve. Nothing was closer to the truth than that.

He was throwing rocks across the still surface of the pond now, and they both watched as the stones skipped across the glassy water to create ripples that seemed to just keep spreading. Her gaze shifted to him, her eyes almost glued to the rippling muscles in his back that lay hidden under a threadbare shirt.

This was the first time since before the battle that they had exchanged words with only the other as their company. The house was always too full to speak privately, and Harry was always disappearing off to think before she could ask him for a walk. He seemed to be avoiding her - and not just her. Ron and Hermione had both voiced their concerns for the dark haired young man.

But now she had him pinned, and she was ready for answers.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

Her question obviously confused him, because he turned to her with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked quietly, titling his head at her.

There was a lump forming in her throat. “Before you went into the forest - why didn’t you say goodbye to me? To anyone?”

The haunted look seemed to disappear, replaced by a steely look. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, Ginny,” he said stiffly, turning away from her. “Please.”

“I nearly died right then and there,” she told him in a choked voice, moving around him. He only turned again, obviously bent on ignoring her. She caught sight of his face, though - hesitant, pained, and… was that a little tenderness in his eyes.

“I wanted to turn my wand on myself,” she continued, grapping his shoulder and forcing him to look at her. “Do you even think about how going into the forest and nearly getting yourself killed would effect anyone else?”

“It was the only way,” he said shortly, his eyes flaring with an unknown emotion. “It was the only way to stop this war once and for all, Ginny.”

“Oh, so Voldemort killing off the only person that could stop him was going to end it?” She scoffed and shook her head at him, the anger she had felt a week ago coming back in full force. “Somehow, the logic doesn’t match up.”

“Maybe Ron and Hermione can explain it to you,” he said in a low voice, his jaw tightening. “They should have a rather good idea about why I did it.” He stalked away from her and moved to sit on a rock several feet down the bank.

“Well, I want to hear it from you.”

He looked up at her stubborn tone and matched it evenly. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighed and looked away, then tugged her pajama shorts down a little to cover more of her legs. “Fine,” she said in a snappy tone. “But I’m here, you know. I always have been.”

The cold grass was practically numbing her feet as she nimbly stepped back towards the crooked house. He was an insufferable git that didn’t know what was-

“You were there at the end, you know.”

His words made her stop dead in her tracks and momentarily lose her breath. She turned back around and stared at him with an incredulous look. “What?”

He was still facing the pond, but now he turned to fix her with a determined look. “At then end. When Voldemort raised his wand.” He swallowed, and she saw tears in his eyes even from the distance she was away from him. “You were the last thought I had before-”

His voice broke as he shifted positions again to gaze at the pond. But his face dropped into his palms, and his shoulders shook.

Ginny could only stare. Not once had she ever seen Harry Potter cry, and now here he was, practically weeping in front of her. Her feet moved on their own - she lifted his head and wrapped her arms around his neck. He buried his face in the red of her hair, his hot breath strong and sporadic on her neck.

“I thought of you,” he finally whispered, “and the way you looked right before we kissed in the common room. Of that blazing look, the way you felt in my arms.”

He pulled away and reached up to twist a hand into her hair, obviously done caring about the tears that still swam in his eyes. “I couldn’t help but realize that I wasn’t going to see you again.”

“But it all turned out all right,” she whispered, her fingers moving to cover his lips. “The curse rebounded like it did when you were a baby, and you were only pretending, weren’t you?”

The look in his eyes made her heart stop cold.

“I died, Ginny,” he said in a low voice. “Or, went to a place where I could… you know, gone on.”

She frowned, confusion seeping in. “How is that possible?”

“My mum,” he answered simply. “Dumbledore explained it in a lot more words than that.”

“Dumbledore?”

He was smiling now. “Dumbledore. He was there - at King’s Cross with me.”

“The place you went,” she filled in.

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. “He said that if I had meant to go on, there would have been a train to take me away. But there wasn’t one.” His face turned thoughtful. “I’ve been wondering, but I think I know now.”

“Why there wasn’t a train?” she asked, reaching for his hand. He slid his fingers between hers, and she cherished the feeling of his warm palm against hers.

He nodded, then looked up and smiled at her. “Yeah. Why there wasn’t a train.”

For a moment, things were back to they way they in those last few weeks of her fifth year. They were sure of themselves then, they were half in love with each other already, they had their future planned out (perhaps not together, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t thought about it). They spent their lunch hours and breaks and any spare time in their favorite secluded spot by the lake, allowing their hearts to soak in the warmth of the spring sun and the new love that was theirs.

But his sigh broke her out of memories and back into reality. The past year was being returned to her - the heartache, the nights she spent miserably crying herself to sleep, the dread she had felt whenever his name had been mentioned on Potterwatch.

She didn’t notice when he leaned closer to press the sweetest kiss she’d ever had to her temple. She let herself get lost in that feeling, only stirring when he pulled away.

“Ginny,” he began seriously, “I think it’s time that I told you everything.”

Silence.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

An d so he did.

--

“But how did you survive?” Ginny asked again. “You haven’t made that very clear.”

Harry lowered his head, but if it was shame or embarrassment, she didn’t know. “Like I said, my mum.” He sighed and looked up. “When Voldemort took my blood during the Tournament, he tied himself to the protection that she gave me. As long as he lived, I lived.

“I did what my mother did,” he said in a quieter voice, the tone one of wonderment. “She died, willingly, to save me - and I followed her example.” He drew in a deep breath and tipped his head back to observe the bottom branches of the tree above them. “I died to save you.”

She was skeptical. “Me?”

“Well, not just you,” he laughed. “Ron, Hermione, your family, my classmates.” He smiled almost shyly at her. “But I saw you, didn’t I?”

The realization hit her in one sweeping blow. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “All this year, I was holding onto something - something to be my reason to believe that there would be a better tomorrow.” He swallowed. “Maybe I thought that I was giving you a brighter future by letting him kill me. Maybe I just wanted it all to end. But don’t think for a second that it was because that I didn’t want to be apart of that tomorrow.”

Her first question rose back to her. “But why didn’t you say goodbye?”

His eyes met hers, and a brief look of sadness entered them. “It had to be the hardest choice ever,” he said slowly, “to not say goodbye to anyone. I saw you, as I was leaving,” he added, “and it nearly drove me crazy to know that I wasn’t going to kiss you one last time before I died.”

He touched her cheek tenderly. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t have gone through with it. I would have been content to spend the rest of my life with you in my arms, not caring about the war.” There was silence between them for a long time as they both tried absorb the information that had been presented in the last hour.

The sun was rising steadily over the horizon now, spilling golden light over the entire earth. Ginny watched its reflection in the pond, wondering what would happen if the big ball of fire were to suddenly plummet to earth and meet the cool morning water.

“So what will you do now?” she asked in a voice softer than a whisper.

He breathed deeply, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I’ll enjoy life,” he said with a sense of closure. “Enjoy breathing, enjoy the simplicity of the dawn.” His hand found hers again. “Spend every day with people I love by my side.”

It was her turn to kiss his temple. “And we’ll be right here every step of the way,” she whispered, running a hand through his messy hair. With a giggle, she added, “Your hair grew.”

His right hand followed her path through his black strands of hair. “I suppose it did,” he mused. “I recall asking Hermione to cut it for me when we first made it to Shell Cottage, but she said she was rubbish at them and she’d cut my ear off if she tried.” He laughed, loud and strong in the morning light. “First thing she wasn’t good at, and I actually needed it.”

“Mum’ll give you a good cut,” Ginny said with a grin. “She’ll probably shave you and Ron bald just to keep you from looking like Bill.”

“Let her shave me bald,” he said, lifting his chin defiantly. “I can make it grow back by morning.”

The thought didn’t register with her until they were moving back towards the house. “You’ve done it before?” she asked curiously. “Made your hair grow back.”

He grinned and nodded. “After Aunt Petunia shaved my whole head but my bangs - to hide that horrible scar, she said. It grew back by morning.”

They shared a laugh as he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I missed you,” he said simply, brushing her wild red hair back from her eyes. “More than you know.”

“Missed you more,” she teased, walking her fingers up his chest to tap him on the nose. “You, at least, were busy.”

“Oh, I hear you were quite the little vixen this year, Miss Weasley,” he said in a husky voice, his face coming dangerously close to hers.

“And what would a little vixen say right now, then?” she said quietly, raising an eyebrow at him.

He grinned. “Kiss me?”

“Kiss me, you fool.”

And kiss her he did.

When he pulled away, he frowned at her and stepped away, although he still held her hands. A moment later, he looked at her slyly. “Ginny Weasley, you’ve gone a nicked my sweater.”

She had the decency to blush. “It was forgotten in the wash after you left,” she said defensively. “Besides, it smelled like you.”

He laughed. “Not anymore.”

“No, not anymore,” she giggled, then waggled her eyebrows at him. “Care to fix that?”

He gladly obliged.
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