Hard Time

Chapter Three: Putting the Past to Rest

Harry stared at the picture of Remus and Sirius, a more recent picture, taken when they were working together in the Order, while Harry had been staying at the Dursley’s. A birthday present, of sorts, left at the Grimmauld place. While there was the shadow of stress around both their faces, reflecting both their troubled pasts and the difficult task ahead, they looked for the most part happy. Harry swiped at his eyes as they became blurred with tears. He missed them both terribly.

It had been three weeks now since the final battle at Hogwarts. He was back at the Burrow for the time being, as repairs were underway at Hogwarts and all classes had been canceled, all O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.’s delayed until the following year. He’d already made up his mind to return and finish his studies, along with Ron and Hermione. They weren’t around at the moment, however. Following the battle, there had been memorial services, one after the other, Remus, Tonks, Fred . . . and then Hermione had declared that she was off to Australia to hopefully find her parents and remove the curse from them. Ron had insisted on accompanying her.

The Burrow was much quieter than Harry remembered it ever being. Bill and Fleur of course were living in their little cottage by the sea. Charlie was back with his dragons, and Percy back to working with the Ministry. Only Ginny and George were still at home, and George spent most of his time locked in his room. The joke shop had been closed indefinitely, though there had been several offers from graduated Gryffindors to help George run the business. George stated that his heart had gone out of it, for the moment. Harry could hardly blame him. Every time he passed the clock which told where each Weasley was, he couldn’t help glancing over at Fred’s hand which simply stayed on “In the Great Beyond.”

So that left himself and Ginny, along with Molly and Arthur, and none of them knowing quite what to say to each other. Molly tried to comfort him about Remus, but he knew she was dealing with her own grief; when she thought no one was looking, she cried, and everything on the dinner table lately had seemed to taste faintly of tears. Arthur was stoic and polite, telling Harry that if there was anything he needed to talk about, anything at all, to come see him. But he was busy as well; the Ministry had promoted him again, to vice president of Muggle Affairs. Apparently there was a lot of work to be done, as Scrimgeor had been in contact with the Prime Minster—the actual Prime Minister. Harry still had trouble believing it.

Which left Ginny. Ginny, who had been lurking in hallways watching him lately, giving Harry little glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. It was rather unnerving, when it came down to it.

He knew what she wanted. They’d broken up, separated almost a year ago now, when he’d told her he couldn’t risk anything happening to her, when he’d left on his journey to find the Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort. Voldemort was dead now, the Horcruxes destroyed, all, or nearly all danger past.

So why couldn’t he bear to be with her?

At first he’d told himself he was in mourning, that the thought of doing . . . anything was absolutely abhorrent, especially with Ginny, considering the death of her brother. But that was weeks past now. He knew it wasn’t that which held him back from spending time with her, in fact from trying to avoid her altogether. It was something else. She’d always been that far off dream, that unattainable pot of gold. Now that he had free access, the gold had lost its shine.

Harry shook his head, and returned to the task of gluing photos into his album, finding next a lone picture of Colin Creevey—camera in hand, naturally. It had been taken by his younger brother, who’d survived, too young to fight in the battle. The photo album was becoming full—terribly full. So many dead. But he’d wanted to create this memorial to them, this proof that everything had really happened. He didn’t want to forget a single face of those who died to allow him his final task in vanquishing Voldemort.

A knock at the door startled him into closing the album. He turned around to find Ginny hovering in the doorway, her arm resting on the door, watching him. “Oh hello, Ginny.” He nodded at the photo album. “Just working on a project.”

She bit her lip, catching sight of some of the photos, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

Harry shrugged, taking a deep breath. “Okay, I guess. Just trying to . . . you know. Pull things together.” Pull his heart together, after all the losses. Gather his life up again. Try to continue, after having glimpsed how peaceful the afterlife looked.

Ginny nodded, and Harry appreciated the concern in her face, the seriousness. She’d been very patient with him, especially given the fact that nobody in her family was particularly patient. Ron in particular. She chewed on her lip again. “I was just chasing garden gnomes. I’m bored stiff. There’s not much to do here.” She looked into his face, and he could just see it there, all the questions she wanted to ask. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Harry glanced out the window, at the lush green hillside, the little woods they’d walked on the way to the Portkey for the Quidditch Cup, so long ago, it felt like. He shook his head. “I’m not really in the mood for it.”

A hint of anger came into Ginny’s face. “Harry . . . Are you and I still together?”
Harry blinked in surprise, feeling an odd sense of nervousness. He stood up, holding onto his chair, though for support or to act as a barrier between them, he didn’t know.

“Why—of course we are. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed. You’ve changed. A lot.” There was something in Ginny’s face, a sadness, or perhaps frustration. He was reminded by the expectant faces that had gathered around him at Hogwarts, expecting leadership. He just didn’t want to lead any more.

Harry scratched at the back of his head. “Well everybody’s changed. You were in charge of the D.A. all last year. You’ve changed too.” There was an aura around her of that leadership, that power. It fit her like a glove. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t say that if you really knew me. I just finally stepped out of the shadow of my brothers.” She regarded him for a moment while he fidgeted, letting go of the chair and putting away the photographs scattered over the desk. He looked up as she took a step closer, a resolute look on her face. “Kiss me.”

“Now?” Harry said, fighting the urge to take a step back as she came closer and closer, but before he could say another word, she was pressing up against him, her mouth finding his, lips pressing against his. A swipe of her tongue, trying to gain entry—he tried to keep it to a simple kiss, hesitantly resting his hands on her shoulders. It felt odd. Not at all like their first kiss.

After a moment, she broke it off, frowning at him. “You’re kissing me like my brother would. Ew.”

Taken back, Harry swallowed, not sure how to respond to that.

There was a suspicious moisture in Ginny’s eyes, as she began to pace the floor. “Do you know, I fell in love with you the day I first saw you, when I was only ten? I waited, and I waited for you to notice me. The other fellows I went out with? They were all just distractions, because I didn’t know what to do, because I didn’t know what would finally get you to notice me. And then you finally did.” She stopped, and scrubbed at her eyes angrily. “Well that lasted all of a minute.” She stood, staring at him, and he felt the hot flush of shame, and guilt, roiling in his stomach.

“Do you love me?” She sounded so hurt. He’d never wanted to hurt her, ever.

He nodded emphatically, coming over to her again, rubbing her arms. “Always. I care about you—why would I care so much about your safety?”

Ginny crossed her arms, her expression going closed. “Harry, I still have four brothers who could say the same. I thought you were different.” She let out a frustrated breath.
“I wanted somebody to be my companion, someone to hold me, to be my friend. And more.” She stared at him. “What do you want with me? Really?”

It was a trick question; it had to be. Harry thought desperately what the right answer would be. “I want to marry you someday.”

It wasn’t the right answer; she threw up her hands. “See? Someday. It’s always someday, off in the distance. In school you always had something to keep you busy, something demanding your attention. And then there was You Know Who. Well you know what? There aren’t any more excuses, Harry. No distractions. It’s just you and me and a wide open future. What about right now? What about right here?” She stepped closer, and this time he did take a step back, without even thinking about it.

“I could put a Silence charm on this room right now, and we could shag. Mum’s so caught up in things, she’d never even know. Cripes, it would probably cheer up George to know something naughty’s going on in the house.” She looked hard at him, and he could feel his heart pounding, but it wasn’t the pounding of excitement or passion. It was pounding in fear.

He waited for her to move, to cast the charm, anything. But she didn’t move. Finally, she sighed. “That’s what I thought. You don’t want me. Not really.” She looked down, and now there was no question; there were tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

Harry tried to think what to say. He had wanted her once. Hadn’t he? He’d wanted something, he was sure. But all passion seemed to be dead in him now. He didn’t know if it was the stress of the last year, the horror of the final battle, the fact that he’d been dead and was still alive . . . But she was right. He felt nothing for her right now. Not physically.

Ginny blinked a few times, seeming to gather her strength again. She gave him a firm look. “I’m going to go for a walk. Tell me if you really want this, if you really want me. Convince me. Otherwise, you and I are over.” With that, she turned and walked out.

Harry went to the door, but he still couldn’t think of anything to say. Why? Why didn’t he want her? He could envision her as a wife, a mother . . . but he couldn’t envision even kissing her. What was wrong with him?

He didn’t have time to think about it long. He had just opened the door, to at least apologise to her, when he spotted Mrs. Weasley coming up the stairs. Part of him crowed in victory, see, if you two had been shagging, she would have walked in on you. But he knew that was a very poor excuse. Molly walked up to him, a worried look on her face. “What is it?” he asked her.

She blew out a breath. “The Minister of Magic’s come to see you.”

***

TBC