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Seeker of the Flame | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Fluff, Drama Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 28 Summary: A companion piece to Keeper of the Hearth. This is Harry's story of the night he returned to Ginny. Hitcount: Story Total: 6044 |
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A/N : Well, Harry finally told me his side of the Keeper of the Hearth story and said I could jot it down. Please read and review. Harry wants you to and you don't want to disapoint him, do you??? ;-) LT A lone figure appeared out of nowhere and moved along a misty, deserted street. The moonless night was dark, but dawn would arrive swiftly within the hour. He was clad in bloody, torn robes. The near absence of sound made by his worn dragon hide boots against the pavement would have made it seem, to anyone listening at an open window, that a child and not a man was traveling through the town. But, he was a man; his hair and face filthy with battle, his green eyes tired but determined. Earlier that evening, Harry Potter had fulfilled his destiny. The last piece of Voldemort’s soul, along with the dark wizard himself, had been forever vanquished from this world. It was still amazing to Harry that even a small bit of soul could have existed within the confines of something that evil. Well, not anymore, he thought with a tiny smirk, in the first moment of levity he had allowed himself in he didn’t know how long. The moment of levity, however, didn’t last. Although he had fulfilled the destiny set so many years ago by a daft seer in a grubby pub, although the wizarding world was now rid of the most evil wizard of the age, Harry was not happy. He was not whole. He hadn’t been for a year. Not since before the death of his mentor, Dumbledore. Not since the last time he held her in his arms, full of innocence and hope. She was his only source of comfort and he had no choice but to let her go. Harry continued his walk, turning down alleyways that were dank with the smell of rubbish. Discarded bits of paper and torn sweet wrappers fluttered in his wake. Small, curious eyes glinted out from behind dustbins. His presence seemed to intrigue the feral animals that made their homes in the refuse. He could have avoided all of this unpleasant travel. He could have easily Apparated right to the front door of Headquarters. He chose not to do so, however. Harry wanted, no needed, there to be some distance between his old life and his new. Of course, given what he had done to her, Ginny might not allow him to live. Harry knew that she certainly wouldn’t kill him outright. Or, at least, he hoped she wouldn’t. But, the strong willed, beautiful and talented Miss Weasley could, with a simple shake of her head, kill him. He had done to her what Dumbledore had done to Sirius. Harry had locked Ginny away, hidden her from the world to save her life. ‘But,’ said the awful voice in his head, the cruel, cold voice that had been his constant companion over the last year, ‘At least Dumbledore gave Sirius a choice. You took Ginny’s choice from her. You locked her in a cupboard under the stairs, didn’t you?’ Harry hated that voice, hated it with more venom than he had hated Voldemort. It was only the memories of Ginny that had kept him alive; but his own doubt, despair, and self-pity had eroded his only moments of hope. When Harry had the time to question the voice, sometimes alone in his mind, and sometimes out loud with Ron or Hermione, he was able to take comfort in his decision. Ginny, above anyone, had to be safe. There was no way around it. If Ginny were not safe, Harry couldn’t concentrate on the task of saving the world. Prior to the start of the quest, Harry was moody, distant, depressed. One evening, Remus Lupin cautiously approached Harry with two goblets and a bottle of elf made wine. As they worked their way through the drink, Harry told Remus of his love for Ginny, how he had to let her go to keep her safe, how he missed holding her, how he was afraid for her, how he didn’t think he could carry on if anything were to happen to her. Harry was humiliated as he cried in front of his last true connection to Sirius and his parents. Lupin however, understood. Perhaps it was because his own beloved Tonks was in danger every moment fighting for the cause of the Light; perhaps it was because Harry looked so much like James or because he had Lily’s eyes. Whatever the reason, Remus told Harry of an ancient charm. The charm was so unbelievably complex that it would require much study and subtly. In the end, it was Hermione that reluctantly cast the spell on Ginny and Molly, coached well by Bill and Lupin. As he continued his solitary trek through the city, he glanced at his watch to see how much longer until daylight. He still had plenty of time to get there before the sunrise. Harry walked a few more blocks and decided to rest for a while on a splintered and chipped park bench. Harry’s mind wandered back to the night the charm was cast. They were at Headquarters. Fortunately, the Order was able to stay at Grimmauld place as Dumbledore had thought to place an additional Fidelius Charms on the home before his death using Molly Weasley as the Secret Keeper. Harry approached Ginny who was reading in the parlor. He silently drank in her beauty from the doorway until she sensed his presence. She placed down her book and looked up at him expectantly. He sat down next to her on the old, moth eaten sofa. Harry took Ginny’s hands in his and told her about the Horcruxes. He explained that he would be leaving tomorrow and that he didn’t expect her to wait for him. Indeed, he couldn’t guarantee that he would make it back; even if he did, he was sure to have done things that she may not be able to forgive. Finally, he told her that he loved her. Ginny quietly told Harry that she loved him, too. She told him that there was nothing he could ever say or do that would change how she felt about him. Ginny would be awaiting his return. The next half hour was the best of Harry’s life. The kisses and caresses weren’t of the desperate, seeking nature of their first encounter and lacked the giddy pleasure of the hours by the lake at Hogwarts. It was as if their declaration of love brought them to a private paradise, full of wonder and profound discovery. It was the melding of two souls. All too soon, there was a small knock at the sitting room door and Molly entered with a tray. She nervously served them hot cocoa, fussing over the pouring. After the first few sips Ginny looked at Harry with a slight question in her eyes and then fell into a dreamless sleep as the potion worked its magic, spilling cocoa down the front of her robes. The room filled silently with people. Harry didn’t remember much about the casting of the spell. None of it seemed real. He was barely aware as Hermione spoke the incantation and made the precise wand movements. He was, however, keenly aware of the dread that filled him as Claustrum Fidelius, the Love’s Prison charm, ensnared both his beloved and her mother. After it was done, Bill made to pick Ginny up but Harry pushed him roughly away. She was his Ginny and it would be he who took care of her, at least this one last time. Harry gathered her small frame into his arms. As he carried Ginny to her room, he whispered words of love and apology into her fragrant hair, willing her to understand. With another glance at his watch, Harry stood up and headed down the last of the roads that would take him to Ginny’s doorstep. Simultaneously, he felt intense joy, incredible guilt and most of all, blinding, crippling fear. A fear that she would not forgive him, that after all, her love for him had vanished because he had orchestrated her imprisonment. Well, there was nothing for it. He had to know whether or not she could forgive him. As he approached the door of headquarters, Harry reached into his robes and retrieved the last of the envelopes he had been carrying since the beginning of the quest. As he had sent each one off to Ginny, sometimes by owl, sometimes with Fred or George, his load lightened just a bit. Five envelopes, then four, then three, then two and now only one. Staring at the door, he hesitated. A nervous laugh escaped his lips. Dumbledore was the only one that Voldemort ever feared and yet, petite Ginny Weasley made The Boy Who Killed Voldemort quiver in his dragon hide boots. He could only imagine what Rita Skeeter would make of that. Taking a calming breath, Harry rang the bell. At first, he was concerned; he did not hear any movement within the walls of Number 12 and wondered briefly if there had somehow been a breach in security, if his Ginny was missing, kidnapped, being tortured. Then, he heard footsteps making their way up to the door and he relaxed. It went silent for a brief moment. But, before Harry’s mind could panic again, the footfalls continued and suddenly, the door opened and she was there. Her hair was short, peppered with flour, her eyes vacant, her once perfect complexion, pale and mottled with red blotches, her robes worn and filthy. There was a smell of sweat and stale fire whiskey about her. But, there was also the lovely curve of her face, her perfect nose and yes, underneath the unpleasant odors, was that faint flowery scent that floated through his dreams. He had never seen anything so wondrous in his life. Ginny looked stunned and Harry, not knowing what else to do, handed her the envelope. He was shocked at how cold and rough her hand was. It was no longer the hand of a girl; it was the hand of a weary woman. He watched with trepidation as she opened the letter, her dark eyes darting to his and then back to the parchment. He saw a smile tug at her lips and she launched herself at him. As he caught her the beast in his chest, who had only whimpered and pulled half-heartedly at its shackles in despair for months, broke free and roared in triumph. They stood there, locked together in a timeless embrace. Gently, Harry rocked Ginny back and forth, kissing the top of her head, all thoughts of everything but her disappeared. Finally, he felt her tug on his robes, gesturing wordlessly for him to kneel. Without thinking about it, he followed her silent command. Her hand reached down and lovingly caressed his cheek. He leaned into her touch and gazed up to see her face go from sweet to stormy in a flash. Ginny removed her hand from Harry’s face, pulled it back and slapped him: hard. So hard, in fact, that Harry nearly fell over. He was stunned for a moment and then he realized what this meant. She hadn’t forgiven him. She didn’t love him anymore. The Universe crumbled. He stared at the ground and watched as it became blurry with despair. Harry couldn’t bear to look up into Ginny’s eyes; he couldn’t stand to face her rejection. There was a whispering somewhere in the room, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…I shouldn’t have done it…please, I’m sorry…” The words repeated themselves several times until Harry recognized the voice as his own. Then Ginny dropped to her knees swirling up dust from the floor. She peered up at him, but he refused to meet her eyes. Resolutely, she reached up and turned his face to hers and spoke, “Never do anything like that to me again.” Once again, Harry nearly fell over, this time with relief. The sound of her voice, which was raspy with exhaustion, raw with emotion, was Phoenix Song to his soul. And the words, the words weren’t goodbye. They spoke of admonishment, but not abandonment. He answered softly, “Never.” Ginny smiled then and leaned up to kiss him. Harry met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her. Their lips met and the world swam away. This time, Harry did tip over, taking Ginny with him. Before they hit the floor with a dull thud, Harry couldn’t help but think that they were falling, in love, towards their future. |
| Reviews 28 |
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