Title:
"Seeking Ginny"
Author: Casca
Rating:
PG-13
Spoilers: Through Goblet
Classification: Post-Hogwarts H/G, Post-HBP AU
Summary:
For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry
Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come
face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's
discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by
JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books,
Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being
made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended
Author's Note:
Okay, I have gratitude to hand out. First off, to everyone
who ever reviewed Seeking Ginny, including my faithful naggers. You all kept me
going for – how long? – let's not count. Thank you, very much for all the
reviews, the supportive comments, the not-so-supportive comments, countless
nags, praising emails, threatening emails, song inspirations, outtakes, and
just about any form flattery and encouragement. You all rock hard.
To Splatt, for helping this fic sound a helluva lot more
British. Brian thanks you for not letting me turn him into an All-American jock
and for giving him something stronger to drink than gingerbeer. ;)
To Emmyjean, without whom this fic would be a great deal
longer (read:crappier), and who read, fixed and commented on every single draft
of every single chapter, including the last one while she sat at my desk
(sending me gleeful looks as she hit the delete button) eating egg rolls from
the same restaurant where this fic was born… er, how many years ago? Again,
let's not count.
The idea for this final chapter came with the very first
version of this fic and throughout the ma-a-any drafts of the story, I always
found a way to keep it in, because I love it so much. It certainly moved
around, though, starting out at the beginning of the fic and changing to
various parts of the middle, and is now, fittingly, in the final chapter. I
hope you enjoy the ending to this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. There
will be an epilogue in the near future to tie up loose ends left behind by all
the side characters who made this story so fun to write. But make no mistake,
this chapter is about Ginny finding what she seeks, the true aim of the fic.
On a final note, I can’t say enough how much it has meant
to me these past few months, writing these final chapters, racing against time
to finish, and knowing that getting to the end would mean the ultimate reward:
book seven. The reason Harry Potter fanfiction is so rewarding is because it
gives fans something to help soothe the wait for the next book and I feel both
happy and sad to say that Seeking Ginny provided me with that up until the very
end.
So here's to this weekend. The wait is over, my friends.
Chapter Fourteen
The warm summer air skimmed over Ginny's skin, rustling the
strands of hair that had come loose from the haphazard knot pinned on top of
her head. She scrawled her name across the parchment and sat back in her chair
to read her short note, barely hearing the hum of chatter and clanging dishes
that surrounded her. It was the sort of cloudless, sun kissed day that caused
every witch and wizard in the city of
Reaching out to nibble on a buttery croissant, she glanced
up as Maurice hooted and stuck out his leg, blinking at her expectantly. As
though he had sensed that his mistress would be needing his services, he had
joined her at the café not ten minutes after she'd sat down, his beak full from
the previous night's hunt. He was a smart owl, she thought to herself, petting
him where he liked it. But even as he hooted again, perhaps to let her know
that reading the three short sentences more than ten was times was a bit
foolish, Ginny merely continued stroking the top of his head, and let her eyes
find the beginning of the letter again.
The note was simple and scrawled casually on a small piece
of plain parchment. It had been an impulsive thought this morning as she had
rolled out of bed and saw the date on her calendar. After stopping at the
bakery to pick up a small box of sweets to attach to the note, she'd settled
herself at the café with parchment and quill and let the impulse lead the way.
But nearly thirty minutes later, as she ran the plum feather across her chin
thoughtfully, she remembered that having an impulse to do something and
actually doing it were two very separate things.
How often she forgot that.
A distraction arrived then in the way of a laughing group
of teenagers, passing through on flashy-looking broomsticks. Ginny let herself
watch them as they tried to eat melting ice cream cones while riding in speedy
circles around the quarter, shoppers darting out of the way and vendor owners
shouting after them. Giving a little laugh, she finally cast her eyes back down
to the letter… and her smile faltered.
"It's Harry's birthday today," she mumbled to
Maurice. "Should I send him a birthday wish? Or should I just…not?"
But her owl merely turned his head to peer at her upside
down.
"I know it's stupid to be so conflicted." She
chewed on her lip. "I mean it's only a small gesture on his birthday.
Nothing more."
Maurice hooted then, and it sounded like a low purr. Ginny
studied him for a long moment… and decided to stop thinking. She attached the
note to a small box of sweets and, ignoring the nervous twist in gut, tied
everything to Maurice.
"Be fast, all right?"
With another encouraging "hoo!", her owl dipped his wings and set off into the
clear blue sky.
Pushing aside the uneasy jolt in her stomach, Ginny took
another bite of croissant. It was okay, she reminded herself. It was just a
birthday wish… and a rather big step, she acknowledged with a little twinge of
pride.
Unable to stop the sudden smile, she nodded when a server
came around and offered to refill her lemonade. Nestling further into her
chair, she took a long, draining sip of the refreshing drink and closed her
eyes briefly.
Work had been hectic over the last few weeks and she was
beginning to feel the repercussions on her body now, during the two day
reprieve her team had been given to recuperate from their heavy July schedule.
After months of touring only local lakes and rivers, Ginny's team at the
Ministry had finally been assigned research assignments outside of
The first had been in
Visiting
As the teenagers circled around again, distracting a nearby
toddler who decided it would be fun to try and grab hold of one broom's
bristles, Ginny rubbed a finger absentmindedly along her nose where the sunburn
was already beginning to peel. She spent the rest of the afternoon wandering
around the shops and vendors and after a few hours of wonderful laziness, she
paid a visit to the grocer to pick up something to fix for dinner, then hopped
on her magically-enhanced bicycle to fly home.
Her flat was located on a road called Rue Perenelle, in a
historical section of the city. It was named after Perenelle Flamel, who had
occupied a flat there in the fourteenth century. Due to its history, the area
often overflowed with crowds of tourists gazing up at buildings, referring to
leaflets and walking slower than normal to take in the architecture.
"Have we another live 'un, then?" came a formal,
gruff voice as Ginny sealed her bicycle to the fence with a tap of her wand and
glanced behind her.
"Hello, your grace," she said, smiling at the
translucent, pearly ghost who had spoken.
He had introduced himself when Ginny had first moved in as
his grace, the Duke of Poldark, reminding her that even though he was not among
the living anymore, he was still a nobleman and should be addressed as such. He
quietly haunted the basement of her building, and spent most afternoons
entertaining tourists outside.
"The sky and the crowds suggest a lovely summer
day," he said pleasantly. "I see the sun agreed with you in – where
was it, then? Ah, yes, I remember. The Greek Isles, is that right?"
Ginny grinned as she walked up the cobblestone path to the
stairs leading into her building and stopped for a moment to chat about her
trip. An hour later, she remained in the same place, now seated on a cool stone
step, regaling the ghost with bit by bit explanations of her voyages below the
sea as the sun made it's slow descent into the distance. It was reassuring to
know that she did not have to work the following day, although there was quite
a bit of sleep she needed to catch up on if she didn’t want to pass out at the
bottom of Lake Lachrymose during her next dive.
"Any news on the Apparition Laws?" she asked when
she was left with no more stories to tell.
The Duke nodded importantly. "They're saying that the
rumors are true… by autumn, all of the International Apparition Laws will be
collapsed."
Ginny stared. She had thought it was just a rumor… but
apparently, it was looking as though to be true. No more Apparition Laws meant
no more queues and that meant visiting home in the blink of an eye. The thought
should have caused her a great deal of joy… but she felt an odd sort of
apprehension that the barriers between France and England would soon vanish.
Before excusing herself, she asked the duke, "Do try
not to let any live 'uns near my dragon flowers. I haven’t fed them yet and
they tend to… erm, bite living flesh when they're hungry,"
The duke peered down his nose at her small patch of dragon
flowers and other various plants that she'd been attempting to keep alive all
summer. It had been an ambitious project and hadn’t gone over too well,
considering that she hadn’t been home to supervise them for nearly all of
July…not to mention that one particular flower kept eating the others.
Her apartment consisted of only one room aside from the
tiny kitchen and even tinier bathroom. But there were nooks and areas were the
ceiling sloped to create small crannies, offering charm and, more importantly,
places to put her things. Her bed occupied the largest alcove and another nook
held a small round table and three mis-matched chairs - her very first dining
room. Huge shafts of light poured in from the high windows, reflecting off the
different angles of the ceiling, and casting an almost golden glow to the dark
wood floor and red paneled walls.
Her favorite part, however, was the wall leading towards
the kitchen. She had started pinning photographs to it when she'd first moved
in and a few months later, nearly the entire wall was cluttered with moving
faces of all the people in her life. She liked the little flat because it was
her own and the things inside of it – such as an overstuffed chair Brian had
given her from the old flat, and a bookshelf from her bedroom at the Burrow –
made it a culmination of all of her worlds in one crammed, inviting space.
Later that night, after showering and just before climbing
into bed, Ginny went down to feed her dragon flowers, hoping that they hadn’t
eaten all of the other flowers. But
alas—
"You rotten scoundrels, you've killed my purring
petunias," she exclaimed, taking in the horrid sight of the slaughtered
petals lying in a heap on the dirt. Little red bulbs shaped as dragon snouts
straightened at once when she spoke and began aiming angry snaps at thin air.
"Oh, the poor, innocent—well,
I'll have you know that I fully realize where the problem lies in this little
garden," she said to the dragons, who reared up at her tone, "and
it's you lot—ouch!"
She cried out as the dragon flower launched, planting two
razor-sharp teeth into the flesh of her hand.
"Right, that about does it," she said furiously,
yanking out her wand, but something on the walkway caught her eye. A dark figure
was standing just behind the gate… looking directly at her.
Startled, her heart clapped once against her ribs and for a
moment, she merely peered down the little pathway, wondering if she should call
out. But then her eyes adjusted… and from across the small path, through the
slits of the tall fence, sure enough, her eyes found his.
There was a silent, momentary pause, and then,
"Hey."
Her eyes closed briefly. His voice.
"Hi," she found herself calling back a moment
later, sounding dumbfounded, and after another lengthy pause in which a view of
herself in her ripped Cannon's shirt and mismatched pajama shorts flashed
painfully in her head, she hurried down the walkway, careful of the cobblestone
beneath her bare feet, and approached the gate.
He was right there, her mind screamed, as she reached for
the lock and tapped a code against it with her wand. She could literally feel
him through the fence as though his body exuded some sort of palpable energy.
The lock sprang free at once and she pulled the heavy, wrought-iron gate open
with a long creek.
His eyes. They weren't supposed to be in Paris, she though
dimly, as he spoke again with a simple,
"Hey. All right?"
"Yeah," she said, returning his nervous smile…and
because it was all she could think to say, "Happy Birthday."
A warm light came onto his face. "Thank you." He
paused. "I hope you don’t mind my showing up here. I got your note and the
sweets…thanks for that, by the way… and I just decided to come by and… see
you."
Her heart rate quickened a bit at his choice of words.
"Oh… no, it's fine," she rushed to assure him, stepping back to let
him through the gate. It closed with a resounding bang. "I was just
surprised, but then… you don't need to wait in queue to Apparate, do you."
"Right and… well, it was either come here, or let Fred
and George drag me to every pub on High Street to celebrate, and I've, er… done
that one time too many this month."
"Have you?" she said on a laugh.
He nodded. "It's… not something I enjoy reliving, but
yeah."
She smiled, and tucked her hair behind her ears.
"D'you want to come in?"
"Oh, no, I don’t want to put you out or anything, we
can just… it's nice out here."
"It is," she agreed, feeling more than a little
relieved as she gestured towards the stairs.
"You just came back from Greece, right?
Yesterday?" Harry asked as they walked up the pathway and Ginny looked up
at him, and asked,
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"Your mum. It's been the talk of the Burrow. Everyone
is really jealous."
"Ah," she said, sinking down onto one of the
steps, "Yeah, it was really beautiful. The work was hard, but it was worth
it."
Harry didn’t join her on the steps, but merely stood with
his hands in his pockets, and peered up at the building. "Your new
flat?" he asked, glancing down at her.
She lifted a brow. "I take it Mum has been talking
about that as well?" she asked. "She does go on, doesn’t she, that
I'm living in a strange city with nobody to protect me."
"Actually, she's had only good things to say about
you. I asked her for your address after my birthday dinner tonight."
"Ah," she said again, flushing for some reason as
she imagined that conversation, then drew her knees up to wrap her arms around
them. "Did she make all your favorites?"
"She did," he nodded, watching her. "D'you miss
her?"
"Yeah," she smiled. "But don’t tell
her."
Smiling, he took a seat next to her on the step. "I
won't."
They looked out to the road, where a group of people passed
by, their eyes roaming over the building as they muttered something about the
architecture. After a while, Ginny summoned some iced butterbeer from her
cupboard upstairs, and a somewhat easy silence slipped between them as they
drank from the dark bottles.
"Things have been… okay here?" he asked after a
while, finishing off his drink.
She had been playing with the red polish on her toenails
where it had chipped a bit, and she looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah…
they have. Work has kept me really busy."
"D'you like the people you work with?" he asked,
and she nodded, and told him about her team of five linguists.
It was odd, she couldn’t help thinking as they chatted back
and forth about things ranging from work to the family to the Quidditch World
Cup which was approaching … but she and Harry seemed almost… at ease together.
Of course, the moment she thought it, his elbow accidentally brushed hers and
sent electric jolts shooting through her body. But that was to be expected. It
was just comforting, she decided, to know that even though things were still
awkward and probably would always be a bit, they could still do simple things
like…drink a butterbeer together.
"I'd like to take something back," she said
suddenly and he turned to look at her curiously. "Something that I said to
you in my bedroom that night."
His eyes changed at the mention of it, and she looked down,
brushing a little fly off her knee.
"When I said that we… can’t be friends…" She
trailed off carefully, trying to think of a way to put it. Suddenly, she wanted
him to know everything she had been vowing to herself. How she had done away
with her rules, how she knew that she had been hiding from him and she wanted
to stop. And most of all she wanted him to know that if he felt the urge to
stop by her flat in Paris, he didn’t have to search for an excuse to do so.
But when she glanced up at him, he looked her with quiet
understanding in his familiar face… and she knew that she didn’t have to
explain anything. It was Harry and there were some things that he understood.
So she looked back down to her toes, and said simply,
"I want to take that back."
There was a momentary pause, and then he said, his voice a
bit strained, "Right, well… it's not something that you can control is
it?" he asked, and she looked up to find his gaze fixed unwaveringly on
something across the path. "I mean… we just sort of … are what we are.
Nothing can change us, can it?"
He brought his eyes back to hers and a delicate chill crept
down the back of her neck. It was absurd, and yet…the deadpan look on his face
and the unwavering tone of his voice made her feel oddly challenged.
"I suppose not," she said finally. She wanted to
be frightened by the sudden shift in energy between them… but she found herself
meeting his gaze head on.
"There's something I've been thinking about," he
said abruptly.
It was difficult, but she kept her eyes steady on his as he
paused, and then continued, "It has to do with something that you told me…
when I was in the hospital that night… after Devon Forthwright was
killed."
She tried not to swallow as her mind flew back to that
time. But it was nearly impossible to think about the things they had talked
about in that hospital room…especially while his eyes were on hers.
"You said something about… about that museum in
France… the Louvre?"
There was a moment where confusion leaked in, and then she
murmured, "What?"
He looked down, and Ginny watched him pick up his empty
bottle and twirled it between his hands. "You said that you've always
wanted to go in there at night," he muttered, "After they closed,
without the hassle of the crowds… didn’t you?"
"I…yeah, I suppose I did."
He waited a beat. "Right, so…why don’t we go?"
Ginny looked at him. "To the Louvre?"
"Yeah," he said, and she watched him continue his
slow twirl of the bottle back and forth between his hands… until his hands
weren't touching it anymore but merely floating it between them. "Why
not?" he asked, glancing up at her; the bottle dropped as he turned his
eyes away from it, and he caught it between two fingers.
"I… of course we can go," she said, and her heart
began to pound. "When?"
He looked up at her, his turn to be confused. "Er…
now?"
Her brow snapped together. "Now? But…" And then,
as though he had placed an enchantment on her, she understood at once. Her
heart increased its tempo rapidly. "Oh… oh, you mean… d'you know someone
who can let us in after hours?"
Harry cleared his
throat. "Well, not exactly. I looked into it before I came here, and the
security system seems rather simple to bring down from the outside. Once we're
in, I can reset the parameter alarms and—"
"Wait." Her eyes widened. "You mean… break
in?"
"For… lack of a better phrase…."
"And if… by some chance, we happen to get caught
breaking into this very, very important museum…?"
He looked stung. "We won’t get caught."
Ginny simply stared. He wanted to break into the Louvre—the
Louvre, whose security was supposedly
tighter than that of the Ministry's—because she had once made an offhanded comment
about visiting after closing? It was absurd, and yet…
"You want to go, don’t you," came his voice and
Ginny realized that he was watching her with a knowing smile in his eyes.
She did. And she realized that the shocked bewilderment
that had taken her over was covering up quite a bit of fear.
"I … I don’t know, I…" It was all she could
manage because that… thing was
creeping in suddenly… that ugly, familiar thing that always made her so ashamed to be tempted by him. It
always came back, she realized dully, and wrapped her fingers around her
pendant at her neck. No matter how deeply she vowed not to listen to it
anymore, no matter what she told herself…when faced with Harry… it was always
came back.
"Hey."
She jumped. He had nudged her arm lightly. She realized
that she had been staring into space and was certain that the look on her face
reflected the increasing doubt that was tightening in her chest.
"Go on," he said, his voice like a low, gentle
caress that somehow managed to reach her despite her internal struggle.
"Put on some shoes. Let's go."
There was a momentary pause where she stared blindly at the
bottle dangling from his hand… and then, quietly, she nodded.
"Okay."
~*~
The nagging doubt or guilt or shame or whatever it was that
tried to change her mind about coming with Harry didn't cease until Ginny made
a conscious decision to ignore it… and even then, it still lurked about, ready
to pounce should she want an excuse to go back. When they appeared on the
grounds of the Louvre, however, she knew that she wasn't going back.
She had been to the Louvre several times while
studying in Paris but that didn’t stop her from being taken aback by the beauty
of it at that moment. They Apparated right into the Tuileries, a vast park that
surrounded the Louvre. Ginny looked around at the tall lampposts that dotted
the grounds, illuminating the many grand gardens, the mazes of shrubbery, the
tree-lined paths, and hundreds of sculptures. Beyond the park, against the
night sky, was the palace of the Louvre, its ornate wings in colors of cream
and pale blue stretching out across the massive grounds.
Nighttime cast an eerie spell over the place, she thought
to herself. The surrounding atmosphere seemed almost ethereal with the
fountains still bubbling brightly, the lampposts casting pools of light over
the greenery, and the windows of the palace glinting invitingly.
No, she wasn't going anywhere, she decided at once. The
decision seemed somehow easier to make here.
"There's supposed to be a separate entrance to the
magical wing, something about a carousel?" Harry asked, looking around and
Ginny lead the way around an enormous round pond. In the daylight, groups of
people would be milled around it, sailing miniature sailboats attached to
sticks that were available to rent from a colorful cart, now packed away for
the night.
"Peering across the river, as though she might see a
stray sailboat floating across its surface, but the reflection of something
else caught her eye… and made her stop short.
"Harry, there are guards over there," she
whispered. "The park is opened later than the Louvre, but it must be
closed by now—"
"I know," he said, keeping his voice light, and
she barely caught the flashes of light sparking from his wand, which he held
loosely at his side. She stared in awe for a moment before he urged her,
"Where's the carousel?"
"Oh, right." She whirled around. "It's down
there."
After what seemed like a very long walk, with Harry
modifying the memory of every guard in the park, the carousel's glowing lights
came into view, appearing as though it was a figment of imagination, its
painted horses oddly bright against the dark sky and the trees that surrounded
it. But they didn’t have much time to be enraptured by the beauty of carved
horses.
Once inside, Harry quickly became aware that the security
systems were a bit more complex than he had thought. While he hastily worked
through the interior barriers, Ginny waited in a long hall filled with hundreds
of life-sized bronze sculptures of centaurs. They were moving sculptures,
charmed to follow the occupants of the room with their pointed arrows. Since
she was the only person in the room, every single centaur pointed their
respective arrow straight at her head.
This could be rather damaging to a young
child, she thought to
herself, testing them by crouching down suddenly. The bronze figures flew into
position, their faces furious, as they slashed downward with their arrows,
aiming directly towards her. Slowly, she stood… and slowly, they followed her.
"Right, we're not going to be able to go into the
Muggle section," came Harry's irritated voice, and when he walked crisply
into the room, half the centaurs flew up on hind legs to take aim at him. He
cast them a look, and continued to rant about something called laser beams that
he would not be able to disarm without backup.
"But we can walk around the magical section without a
problem?" she asked.
"Yeah, I've managed to bring down the entire wing, so
we can see the lot. But damn…we came
all the way here..."
"Look, Harry, we can come back to the Muggle section
another time. We won’t even be able to get through half of the magic part tonight, anyway. So...what shall we see
first?"
He huffed out a breath, looking as though he wanted to
continue complaining, and then peered at the map he had opened.
"It's a lot of art," he commented after they had
stared at the complex pages for several silent minutes. She looked at Harry and
saw that he still appeared a bit riled from the security hassle, so she grabbed
the map from his hand and folded it up.
"Here's a thought - why don’t we chuck the maps and
have a go on our own? In fact…" She trailed off, tucking the map in the
back pocket of her jeans, and stepping cautiously towards one particular
centaur that she hadn't noticed before. The bronze figure was the only one in
the two long rows of centaurs than did not have its arrow pointing between her
eyes. It was the only one that didn’t move, she discovered, waving her hand
over his face. It was frozen, its arrow aimed directly to the floor.
She stepped forward and crouched down, and as the
sculptures followed her with their arrows, Harry remarked,
"These things are creepy."
"I know there are secret passages to hidden
rooms," Ginny muttered, her eyes roaming over the stone tiles of the
floor. "There's actually an entire map devoted to how to get to them… I
wonder if…" On a whim, she tapped the slab of stone beneath the frozen
centaur's arrow with her wand… then leapt back. She and Harry watched it glow
red for a moment… and then twist and turn as a wide opening appeared.
"It's a staircase," he said, peering down.
"Well, let's go then," she urged and he looked
back at her, his eyes wary.
"Right, stay behind me, then," he said in a
resigned voice, as they descended the steep, wooden steps that creaked beneath
their feet. He glanced behind once and said, in a bit of a scolding voice,
"Where's your wand?"
"Why?" she asked in surprise. "Are there
guards on duty at night?"
"No, but…just have it at the ready, will you?"
She didn’t know if he was being overly-cautious or just
plain smart, but she pulled her wand out to make him happy and they continued
to descend until their feet landed on firm ground. The sight that greeted them
caused them both to stand stock still, in complete and utter amazement.
They were in a forest … a vast jungle of massive thicket
and winding paths that cut through bunches of soaring trees and across babbling
brooks. The branches on the tress, and the leaves that littered the floor moved
in a soft wind that Ginny could literally feel on her skin as overhead, birds
of all sizes flew from branch to branch against a ceiling that was bewitched to
look like an endless night sky.
The fact that a forest of this magnitude had appeared
underneath a hall, inside a museum was not why Ginny was breathless with
amazement or why Harry muttered a soft, "Whoa," as his eyes scoured
the place. The true magnificence of the room was that every single tree that
towered above them, every flower blooming from the bushes, every flittering
bird and even the cluster of unicorns that peeked out from behind a massive
tree trunk were entirely carved in glimmering, white marble.
A plaque stood
under a willow tree near a small creak made of smooth, flowing marble that
looked almost like shimmery milk, and Ginny stepped up to it, her eyes scanning
over a description of the work and Italian sculptor who had created it.
They stayed in the forest for nearly an hour, such was the
sheer size and fine detail of the room. She had just stepped into a small glade
where the white trees made a sort of cocoon filled with intricately carved
fairies zooming around a glistening pond, when Harry found her.
"We should probably move on." He sounded rather
reluctant and Ginny didn't blame him. She would gladly spend another hour
traveling through the white forest, but there was still so much more to see.
After they returned to the centaur hall, they wandered
around, now feeling as though they were in a proper art museum. They passed
through rooms filled with sculptures, busts, and wall carvings depicting things
that ranged from famous battle scenes to magical creatures and famous witches
or wizards. A massive fountain of black stone portrayed a particularly famous
goblin rebellion and took up a handsome, high-ceilinged room of gold paneled
walls. Many rooms, laden with lavish antique furniture dated from many
different centuries, appeared as though they were actual rooms in a grand
palace; she and Harry walked across a magnificent ballroom, a billiard room, a
conservatory bursting with genuine greenery, even a bedroom, with a canopy bed
of pink chiffon that was as tall as the ceiling.
There were paintings, of course, of many sizes and shapes,
some covering entire walls, some very tiny and packed in with hundreds of
others. Many of the portraits spoke, but most were strictly formal and charmed
never to speak, travel to other frames, or make sudden movements. They entered
a particularly dark room with medieval torches flickering against gray stone walls,
and the paintings were spaced evenly throughout in opulent frames.
"It's famous castles," Ginny commented, when she
noticed a common thread in each one. "I wonder if—"
"Here it is," Harry said. She turned and looked
where he was pointing…he'd known exactly what she'd been hoping to see.
There was Hogwarts, immortalized against an oil-stroked
night sky, all solid structure and sheltered fortress. The wave of homesickness
she felt surprised her as her eyes roamed over
the familiar turrets and grounds, up to Gryffindor tower and the flickering
lights inside, then down to the tall oak doors. In her mind, she walked through
them, flew up the main stairs, skipping the trick step, and opened the tapestry
to take the familiar shortcut to the Fat Lady. It was such a vivid image in her
head, it seemed incomprehensible that she would never do it again.
"Have
you been back recently?" she asked Harry, glancing at him from the corner
of her eye and noticing that he, too had left the Louvre and was somewhere
inside the castle.
He
shook his head, muttered, "No… not for… a while."
"Hmm…
you know, perhaps next time I take a trip home, I'll pay a visit. I'd like to see
the professors and have tea with Hagrid." She sent him a smile.
"Pretend like I still live there."
He
smirked. "Play Quidditch."
"Oh,"
she breathed, "Yeah…Quidditch."
"D'you
know that I never fly anymore?" he asked, shaking his head at himself.
"It’s a ruddy shame."
She
chuckled, then agreed, "It is a
shame. I fly on my bicycle all the time, but it's just not the same as a broom."
A
sudden slow grin appeared on Harry's face, and he slanted her a peculiar look.
"The same bicycle your dad made for you?"
"Yeah…
why?"
His
shout of sudden laughter rang out in the dark room. "I remember when he
was putting that bloody thing together. I installed the Invisibility Booster,
does it work all right?"
Ginny's
eyes lifted in surprise. "You helped him make my bicycle?"
"No,
I only added the Invisibility Charm. He always had trouble with that,"
Harry smirked. "So… you ride it along the roads in Paris, do you?"
Lifting
a brow, she merely said, "Right, I know when you're trying not to laugh,
so have at it, then. Tear the mickey out, you're practically dying to."
"Sorry,
but it's funny because… well, there's this film—"
"Yes,
yes, Sarah told me all about it, the witch who rides around on a flying bicycle
in the sky and… cackles or something—"
Another
loud crack of laughter issued from him.
"Anyway,
I don’t have a yellow face like she supposedly—"
"Green,"
he corrected her. "She had a green face,"
"Well,
I don’t have a green face, either!"
Harry's
grin was a mile wide. "Hey, d'you know what we should do? Next time you're
home? We should arrange a game. With everyone."
Her
lips parted in surprise. "A Quidditch game?" She stared at him for a
moment before letting out an astonished laugh. "I would love to have a game," she finally
exclaimed. "But a real game, mind, not the rubbish we used to carry on
with in the glen—"
"We
can arrange two teams, no problem," he said.
"Oooh,
we can make a day of it, have a party afterwards for everyone—"
"We
can even set up seating and invite people to the game—"
"Or—wait."
The adrenaline in her system reared. "What if we did it once a month or
so? You know, we can plan the games ahead of time, so everyone can clear their
schedules. I would absolutely wait in queue once a month if it meant
Quidditch."
Harry
shoved his glasses up his nose, his eyebrows high. "Like… a league or
something?"
"Yeah,"
she breathed, a familiar thrill racing up her spine. "A league. Ron
would wait in queue once a month also – or d'you think he and Hermione will be
home soon?"
"Another
year or so, they think… but - Ginny, didn’t you hear?" Harry asked, his
eyes lighting up. "You won’t have to wait in queue anymore, the laws are
being lifted."
Through
the excitement, Ginny felt a dip in her abdomen. "So…it's really true,
then?"
He
met her eyes, and after a moment, he said, his voice soft, "Yeah… yeah,
the laws will be gone by the end of next month."
The
end of next month? The duke had said it would be Autumn. Ginny stared for a
moment and then let out a low whistle, her eyes shifting in thought.
"Wow."
"Yeah,
it's… well, terrible news if you're an auror or a member of any type of magical
law enforcement," he said dryly. "But if … you're someone who lives
far from home…" He paused and she saw that he knew exactly what prevented her from being
completely thrilled. "It'll change
everything," he finished.
"Right…
it's fantastic news," she nodded as though trying to convince herself that
it didn’t matter that the distance barrier between herself and Harry would
completely vanish. She had already vowed to herself that she would be active in
eliminating any remaining barriers between the two of them anyway, hadn’t she?
Harry
had gone quiet and turned to look at the castle again.
"It
will be great," she said, following his gaze to Hogwarts, her eyes
lingering on the black lake. "I can visit home whenever I want… have
breakfast with Mum before work… come to Sunday tea… " She sent him a
sudden grin. "And be star
Chaser of the biggest up and coming Quidditch league of the century."
Harry
looked at her and slowly his grin grew until it matched hers.
~*~
"Harry, I'm going to
go in this room on the left – Wizards of Eminence," she called to him a
bit later, after touring several more rooms. Not very keen on standing with him
while he stared at a large portrait of half-naked veela, she ventured off on
her own, stepping into a massive, octagon-shaped room, its cathedral ceiling
made of pale aqua glass that glinted from the candles in one enormous, floating
chandelier. Each side of the octagon was carved with a deep alcove where
titanic-sized portraits of distinguished witches and wizards floated in
mid-air.
She walked slowly
through, gazing up at some of the biggest paintings she had ever seen, so
enormous, their occupants were almost twice her size. She stopped to read the plaque
of a portrait that depicted an ancient-looking wizard wearing a white wig, who
was riding a horse with a scaly dragon hide hanging off. She came to a halt,
however, at one of the more lavish alcoves where four paintings hung, each
depicting one of the four founders of Hogwarts, all favorably depicted in
glorious frames that matched each founder's house colors.
And in the very front, a
single painting that was larger than the other four hung magnificently, and a
surprised smile came onto Ginny's face. She allowed herself a lingering look at
the white-bearded wizard with twinkling blue eyes and half-moon spectacles,
before deciding that she needed to go and retrieve Harry. She didn’t want him
to miss this room.
But when she entered the
large octagon, something towards the side caught her eye and she had to look
twice at it before her she came to a crashing halt. It was another portrait displayed alone under a magnificent arch
as though its occupant was being honored.
For a moment, all she
could do was stand there, frozen, as though someone had issued a blow to her
insides…and then her legs began to move. Her shoes clunked on the floor as she
walked down the corridor until she was staring up into the artist-rendered eyes
of Tom Riddle.
He wore robes of silver
and green with a Slytherin crest glinting on his lapel. Sitting poised and
perfect against a simple silver backdrop, he looked older than his years, which
was around seventeen, according to the antiqued silver plaque floating beside
it.
But Ginny didn’t see any
of that. The cold, composed smile on his handsome face was evoking something so
deeply forgotten that all she could do was remain completely motionless in its
wake.
She didn’t know how long
she stood there, alone, staring up into the face of the teenaged boy who had
once possessed her body and her soul. All she knew was that there was no force
on earth that could move her. She had to stand here. She had to look at
him. The magnitude of it surpassed everything.
Some time later… it could
have been minutes or hours… an incredible strength came from somewhere. She
fought to understand what it was before a vague recollection came over her. She
wasn't alone. Harry was here.
A few heartbeats later,
something warm began to seep into her body, and it took her a long time to
realize that his strong hand had come up to grip her shoulder.
"I'm okay." Her
tiny voice deceived her words. "I am."
"I know," he
said, keeping his hand where it was.
Her eyes stayed on
Riddle. She couldn’t move them for anything. But Harry's hand was solid and
fought for the connection that existed between herself and the teenaged boy in
the portrait.
Thoughts were creeping
through now. Words rang in her mind. They were scrawled across a page, but she
heard them, too, almost thundering, as though they had once been shouted at
her. She saw a small girl sitting on a four-poster bed, trembling from head to
toe, trying to keep her hand steady as she wrote… and the same girl was waking
up covered in something that looked like blood.
She flinched inwardly…
and her body moved a fraction, her back connecting with his body. His hand
tightened. She found a power much greater than the one she couldn’t drag her
eyes from.
"Ginny."
Her name was a low murmur
that finally accomplished what the presence of his hand on her shoulder had
been fighting for. It broke the connection. She closed her eyes for a moment,
and when she opened them, turned around. His hand slid away and the loss of it
caused the first real emotion to sweep through her since she had laid eyes on
the portrait. But then she saw bottle-green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses,
and the sight was so familiar, so welcoming, that she held onto it like
talisman against whatever had held her captive a moment ago.
"I'm okay," she
said again, when she saw apprehension swimming in his eyes. She mustered a
small smile. "It's just a painting, right?"
His voice was hard when
he said, "It shouldn’t be here. I had no idea it was here."
"Well,
why shouldn't it?" She swallowed the bitterness in her throat. "He's
a wizard of eminence, isn’t he? The young man who would become Lord
Voldemort?" And to prove that she could, Ginny brought her eyes back to
Riddle, allowed her breath to come out in a slow exhale. "I suppose a
portrait of Voldemort himself wouldn’t be the best thing to put in a public
museum. They probably thought this was the only way to depict him without
terrifying their guests… right?"
When she brought her eyes back
to Harry, something inside of her hollowed out at the way he was looking at
her. "Yeah… yeah, I suppose."
A long moment passed
between them.
"We should… move
on," she said weakly. As transfixed as she had been by the portrait, she
was suddenly just as anxious to be away from it. And from Harry's eyes.
He didn’t motion to
leave, however, and merely shifted his gaze to Tom Riddle where it stilled.
"Can I ask you something, Ginny?"
She hesitated. "Of
course."
"Do you ever think
about it? That year?" His tone was distracted, as though he had suddenly
become captive himself.
"Erm, not
often," she answered. "I used to, of course, but now… well, not
often. Do you… ever think about it?"
She had never before
asked him that.
Something raw came into
his eyes. "I-I have been… recently."
"Oh." She
stared at him. "Why?"
A silent breath escaped
him. "I've just been…you know, thinking about things. Things that you and
I…things we've been through together."
"Oh," she said
again, feebly. Tom Riddle flew from her mind. She couldn’t look away from Harry
if she wanted to.
He cleared his throat and
his eyes searched the painting as though he was looking for something.
"It's funny, how… you think you know yourself… but then…something happens
and you realize that… that someone else understands you even better."
She blinked.
"Sorry?"
He swallowed hard and
continued, "I mean…you think… you think you understand a relationship you
have with someone, only you don’t understand …because as it turns out, they had
it right all along… and you were the one who… who didn’t see it for what it
was."
He turned to her,
finally. Her eyes wide, she stared into his for a long time. Harry looked back
carefully, as though choosing his words, biding his time until, after a moment
of stillness, he said,
"Ginny, there's
something… something I've been thinking about lately. Ever since our – "
He cleared his throat, "– our talk in your bedroom. I want to be honest
with you and… well, I'm going to say it and—"
"No," she
interrupted him before she could stop herself, her heart slamming against her
ribs, pure panic rising in her throat. She wasn't going to let him do this.
"Harry, you… you can’t do this," she said unsteadily. "You don’t
know what you're saying—"
"I do know what
I'm—"
"No," she said
carefully, "You don’t."
He nodded slowly, his eyes
never leaving hers. "I see. Right, so… in other words… you never want to
face it, what's between us."
There was a long moment of
silence, and then, "Face it?" she asked, her voice hushed. "I
have faced it. There is nothing
between us, Harry. That's the point, that's all there is to face."
There was a prolonged
silence and then,
"Really."
There was an edge there,
as though he'd been somehow prepared for her response and was ready to fight
her on it. She closed her eyes.
"Yes, really."
"You know, I suppose
you're right," he said. "There isn't anything between us. How could
there be? You've been running from it for years."
A dull flush rose on her
face. "I've been running? What
do you call looking you in the eye and telling you that I love you? Do you call
that running?"
"No…but you were gone
not five minutes later. And you're still gone. You
would rather spend years torturing yourself… avoiding me, moving away… when all
you needed to do was tell me… talk to
me. And you're still doing it. You're
still running – you're still hiding—"
"Hiding?" she
exclaimed. "I'm here, aren’t I? In this empty museum, in the middle of the
night, alone with you—"
"Yeah, and you were
bloody terrified to come even though, not seconds before, you said that we can be friends after all. It's rubbish,
Ginny. You're going round in the same circle you've always done, only what
happens next time this pesky thing that's between us rears it's head
again? And make no mistake," he
said, his eyes finding hers. "There is something between us and always has
been... even if you don't want to face it or I'm too daft to recognize it for
what it is. Where do you go then? Do
you run to