Time It Is Given

(This epilogue to the Harry's Seventh Year series was planned from the beginning, but I ran out of time before Deathly Hallows was released. Now, almost a year later, I've finally finished it.

If you haven't read the series, then this story won't make sense. I suggest going here: http://hp.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=544207001 ...and reading from the beginning.)


*****


Ginny held firmly to Harry’s arm as they stood there in the cold. Harry had cast a Heating Charm on the two of them, but they were both still shivering –the wind was sharp and cut through their cloaks, and stung their cheeks with dustings of snow.

Ginny’s eyes were open, and she was facing the same direction that Harry was, but even so she asked him softly, “What’s it like?”

“It’s—it’s pretty much what you’d expect,” Harry said, sounding helpless

“Tell me the epitaph.”

“But your mum already—”

“Tell me again,” Ginny asked, pleadingly.

Harry swallowed audibly before reciting the carved inscription Ginny already knew by heart: “ ‘I’ve seen the world. I’ve been everywhere, done everything. Now there’s nothing left for me to do but do it all over again. ’ ”

“I remember when he said that,” Ginny whispered. “I was nine. He only got another seven years to do it all over.”

“Do you think he did?” Harry asked. “Do it all over, I mean?”

Ginny hesitated, and to her surprise she found herself smiling. “Yeah,” she said decisively. “I think so. Charlie wasn’t one to let a dull moment go by without filling it up with excitement first.”

They stood for a while longer, until Ginny turned her head to face Harry. “Harry? I’m starting to freeze—”

“Sorry,” Harry said, making to turn. “Let’s go—”

“—but before we go, can you help me touch the tombstone?” Ginny finished.

Harry took Ginny’s hand and guided it to the top of the granite tombstone. She sank down on her knees, and ran her fingers over the carved words, imagining what they looked like. It was hard to believe; it seemed almost surreal to think that beneath the stone, beneath the soil, her brother had been left for time to take away.

“You always l-looked out for me,” she said, her voice thick and stumbling. “When I let you, that is, since I was so much trouble. Sometimes, you were better at it than mum and dad. I thought… I always figured you’d b-be a great dad someday, and scare the piss out of your wife by teaching your kids to adore dragons as much as you did. You were the wild one, even more than Bill, but you always had time for me. Always. I’ll remember that… and I’ll remember you. I promise that I will carry you with me as long as I live.”

Ginny stood up and took Harry’s arm again. His hand covered hers and squeezed lightly, but he didn’t say anything, and Ginny was grateful. Harry knew her well… and he understood loss even better than she did.

Two weeks later, fourteen entire days since Harry had put down Voldemort, and they hadn’t even finished with all the funerals. Harry and Ginny had only ventured out of the House of Black for the first time two days earlier, and only because Harry would have killed himself rather than not be there when Hagrid was laid to rest. Hagrid had been buried on Hogwarts grounds, a rare honor. Ginny had had to be the strong one that day.

Ginny knew that the rest of her family was expecting her and Harry to join them back at the Burrow. But she didn’t want to go.

She shivered a bit. The House of Black hadn’t felt very much like home to her in the last few days. Most of the D.A. had moved out during the first week after the battle, leaving only Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione. Pansy, Sally-Ann and Padma had still been around some, presumably to help with Hermione’s research and testing, and once Neville was well enough he’d returned as well, to deal with the greenhouse. Ginny was so used to it being constantly bustling with the D.A.’s activities that, with everyone having moved out, it felt dead. It was nice to be able to shut herself away from the Wizarding World (which wanted to either laud her for standing with Harry against Voldemort, or vilify her—all of them—for opposing the Ministry), but the house felt more confining then welcome. And she knew that if they’d still been around, the rest of the D.A. wouldn’t have treated her the way the general public would. She would have liked that. But even the empty house was better than trying to endure the melancholy of her family—what was left of it.

It was hard enough, standing beside a grave she’d never see, thinking about the brother she’d never again speak to… she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the rest. George was mostly Healed, but it was looking more and more like Ron would never get his foot back. And Ginny herself...

Her eyes felt normal. They felt so normal that every nerve in Ginny’s body, every instinct she had, screamed at her that she was seeing, even though she wasn’t. She was constantly, fiercely aware of how off something was, how wrong. Something was wrong that she couldn’t set right.

The scariest thing was that Ginny could already feel her memories of what people looked like fading. Not her family, not Hermione and Harry, but her friends from Hogwarts weren’t quite as clear as they should have been. How long would it be before she wasn’t really sure what anyone looked like? Would her mind play tricks on her? Was it already?

And she was also keenly aware of how dependent she was on Harry. Not that he’d ever see it that way, and not that Ginny didn’t appreciate it, and love him all the more for it. But Ginny didn’t see how she would ever get used to needing help just to walk across a bloody room. She hadn’t truly understood the freedom her sight had given her, and now she felt trapped, smothered, needy and useless…

“Ginny?” Harry said in confusion when Ginny didn’t move to leave with him.

“Can we—Harry, can we just go home?” Ginny asked plaintively. She hated sounding so weak, so incapable of dealing…

“I think that your family’s going to worry if we don’t go to the Burrow,” Harry said hesitantly.

“I know, I just…” Ginny trailed off. She knew Harry understood, or at least was trying as hard as he could to understand. And he was right, and anyway it was silly to feel so awkward about seeing her own family. “Is—is Hermione going to be there?” she asked abruptly.

“Er…no,” Harry answered. “She had to run off and meet someone, so your parents helped Ron back to the Burrow.”

“What?” Ginny growled, feeling a surge of anger. “So now she’s not even helping Ron either?”

Harry gasped. “Yes she is! She’s trying to help both of you!”

Well she must not be trying very hard!” Ginny shouted, yanking her hand away from Harry. “Because Ron’s still missing a foot, and last time I looked—oh wait, I can’t!”

Harry said nothing for a long moment. Then, his voice thick and rough and full of hurt, he muttered “Hermione’s barely slept in the last two weeks, Gin. She’s been staying up until all hours researching, testing, comparing notes with Pansy, and Padma and Sally-Ann, trying to figure out ways to help you and Ron, and Neville since he’s still scarred, and even Terry, even though no one’s ever found a way to undo a Dementor’s Kiss. On top of that, she’s dealing with McGonagall and the Order, all of Dumbledore’s Army and their f-families, and the Ministry as well. Right now she’s meeting officially with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and she’s doing it even though he wanted to see me—she’s gone instead of me. She’s taken on everything that I should be doing, so that I can stay with you.”

Ginny didn’t think she could feel more terrible. All she’d known was that she’d barely seen Hermione for more than five minutes at a time in the last week—she hadn’t even considered that it was because Hermione was running herself ragged so that Harry wouldn’t have to leave Ginny alone. And on top of that she was still finding time to research Ginny’s condition.

Ginny fell to her knees. Harry was beside her in an instant, grasping her arms; “Ginny! Are you—”

“I’m such a b-bloody bitch!” Ginny cried, clutching Harry’s cloak. “I—I’m so self-absorbed I d-didn’t even realize…”

“No, Ginny, stop it!” Harry admonished. He pulled Ginny close, and even though in that moment she felt like she didn’t deserve comfort, she let him. “You’re scared,” Harry said softly. “It’s okay, Hermione understands—we all do. None of us expect you to just—just get over it. Hermione’s just doing what she can to help you, because she’s worried. And—well, right now she’s kind of the only one of us who can do what she’s doing anyway. You and Ron are hurt, and I’m—”

“Stuck with me,” Ginny whispered.

“No,” Harry said sharply. “I was going to say that I’m not really… able to go out in public right now. It’ll probably be months before things die down enough, and in the meantime I’d probably be a danger to anyone around me if I tried to walk around the Ministry, or Diagon Alley for that matter. Hermione’s taken on all that stuff because she’s the one who can do it. And she’s kept up with researching because she’s not willing to give up on you or Ron. Although I did tell her that she’d better get some real sleep and not Sleeping-Draught sleep soon, or I’d get Rita Skeeter to do a comparison: Hermione to Dumbledore.”

Ginny laughed in surprise. “I bet she tried to kill you with her glare,” she said.

“She did, but obviously it didn’t work, and she promised that right after meeting with Kingsley that she would take Ron back to the house so they could both have a nap.”

“Good,” Ginny murmured. “I don’t want her getting sick with fatigue because of me.”

“I told her you wouldn’t want that,” Harry said.

“Thank you,” Ginny said, pulling Harry closer. “Um… do you think that you can get her to come see us later? I want to thank her in person. And… and apologize.”

“When we get back to the house Hermione and Ron will probably be asleep, but I’ll leave them a message to come see us when they wake up,” Harry offered.

“Good,” Ginny said. “Speaking of the Ministry, have they decided who’s going to be the new Minister yet?”

“Not officially,” Harry told her, “but I bet Robards will get it—the only objections to him getting the post are because he’s the head of the Aurors, like Scrimgeour was. But Robards has basically been running the Ministry since Scrimgeour was taken away to have the Imperius Curse broken, and he’s been doing a better job than Scrimgeour did.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” Ginny retorted. “So does that mean Kingsley will be the new head of the Auror department?”

“Probably. He’s got seniority on most Aurors, he’s well-respected and has handled the investigation of our battle pretty well—tactfully anyway, but that’s partially because he’s in the Order. I bet he would get it.”

Have you or Hermione… turned over Snape’s body to Kingsley?” Ginny asked tentatively. “Or Draco, for that matter?”

“No, but those are two things Hermione’s going to bring up with Kingsley in private today,” Harry said. “She’s just going to tell him the truth, and they’ll talk about how to handle it. Snape… will be easier. Hermione will tell Kingsley what we agreed, that Snape should be posthumously pardoned because of what we learned. Draco’s trickier, though… but Hermione and Kingsley will probably figure out some legal way to get him mostly off the hook. Maybe he’ll have to make some kind of financial recompense and spend a year or two in Azkaban. He will be punished, but it could be a lot worse for him.”

“G-good,” Ginny said, her teeth chattering.

“You’re freezing,” Harry observed with concern. He got to his feet and pulled Ginny up. “We need to go. Uh…”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Ginny told him. Her white-and-shadow eyes sparkled, but her cheeks were dry. “Let’s go to the Burrow. Just—just try to keep mum from weeping all over me, okay?”

“I dunno how much luck I’ll have with that, but I’ll try,” Harry said. “And we can leave whenever you want. Just say the word and we’ll head back to the house.” He paused. “Oh—um, I just remembered…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, before we left this morning I got an owl from Lavender,” Harry said. “She and Parvati asked us—begged, really—if they could come back and live in the house again.”

“What?” Ginny asked, confused. “They—why do they want to—?”

“The same reason we’ve been staying in there so much,” Harry answered. “Reporters are bothering them constantly, they’re getting recognized in the streets… It’s making things difficult for their families, too. Your folks can handle all that, and Hermione’s parents are muggles so they aren’t being affected the same, but the Patils and the Browns are under a lot of scrutiny. Actually, I bet Padma wants to move back in too, and Sally-Ann… they’ve sure been spending a lot of time in the conference rooms and the basement.”

Ginny hadn’t really realized how much Padma and Sally-Ann had been around. “What did you tell Parvati and Lavender?” she asked.

“I told them that I had to speak with you first.”

“What? Why?”

“Because—because it’s your house, Gin! As much as it is mine, anyway,” Harry reminded her. “We live there, so having others live there affects us, so… you have as much say as I do.”

“Well—what would you prefer?” Ginny asked. She was surprised to find herself hoping that Harry wanted to allow the others to return.

“If it’s going to bother you, then forget it,” Harry said flatly.

Ginny scowled. “That’s not what I asked you, Harry!”

“Uh…” Harry paused; Ginny wished she could see his expression—she had no idea what he was thinking. “Well, I think—I think we should let them come back,” Harry said finally. “I mean, I’m mostly responsible for the mess they’re in anyway. Besides, they’re our friends, and I don’t like seeing them in so much trouble.”

“Then invite them back,” Ginny said, going almost limp with relief. “And if any of the others ask it’s okay with me too. I think it’s the right thing to do, too—and before you ask, I’ll be fine, Harry. Really. I’ve missed having all the company of the D.A. around. I know I haven’t acted like it,” she admitted, “but I really have.”

“Oh… okay,” Harry said. “I’ll send them an owl later.”

“Good.” Ginny pulled Harry closer, and encircled him with her arms. “Let’s get out of here before I freeze,” she muttered.

*****

The Ministry-approved Portkey took them right to the backyard of the Weasleys’ family home. Harry had braced himself carefully, so when they landed he managed to keep both of them upright.

“Did it work right?” Ginny asked, turning her head back and forth.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “We’re here.”

Ginny relaxed in his arms, but didn’t let him go. Harry was in no rush, so he just stood still for a moment. The backyard was far less cold then the cemetery had been; the house blocked most of the wind, and some of the protection Charms kept the worst of the snow away. There was only a light dusting over most of the garden, but the field and forest nearby were thick with snow. It was really beautiful and peaceful.

From inside, Harry could hear the murmur of voices; Remus and Tonks were there, and he thought that he heard Minerva McGonagall too. Harry didn’t want to talk to McGonagall again. The last time they’d spoken, four days earlier, Harry had gotten very angry with her; he’d had some very harsh words for her, which he wasn’t prepared to apologize for. He just hoped it wouldn’t cause Hermione, Neville or Pansy any problems.

Ginny sighed; “Well, let’s go in.” She made as though to move away from Harry, but he held onto her. “Harry?”

“I—let’s just sit on the bench for a bit, okay?” Harry suggested.

“But—” Ginny hesitated, and then frowned. “Harry, I appreciate that you’re trying to make it easier on me, but you were right—they’re going to worry if we don’t at least show up, they’ll think something happened at the cemetery.”

“I know, but… let’s just wait a bit longer,” Harry said, guiding Ginny to the bench and sitting them down. “I—I’d rather wait until McGonagall’s left.”

“What?” Ginny said in surprise. “Why don’t you want to see Minerva?”

“I just don’t,” Harry snapped. He regretted it immediately when Ginny leaned away from him in shock. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “McGonagall really made me furious a few days ago and I don’t want to talk to her about it again.”

“About what?” Ginny asked. “You didn’t tell me about that!”

“I didn’t want to talk about it at all,” Harry said, wishing he’d just shut up and gone inside, and pretended McGonagall wasn’t there.

Ginny looked deeply hurt. “Harry, who else are you going to talk to about it? You can’t just ignore whatever it is!”

“You’ve got enough to deal with without my dumping stupid problems on you,” Harry stated flatly.

“Bloody fucking hell! I can’t see, Harry—it doesn’t mean that I can’t think and can’t feel!”

”I know that!”

“Then stop treating me so different!” Ginny shouted. “Ever since long before we got married you’ve come to me with problems, just like I did with you—why should that be different now?” She grabbed Harry’s head and forced him to face her directly. “I lost my sight, Harry, but it doesn’t make me see you any differently. So you have no excuse. I’m not the only person who was hurt in this war, I know that. You have needs just like I do, and I—I need you to need me. Understand?”

“I—” Harry hung his head. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Then tell me why you’re so angry at McGonagall,” Ginny repeated firmly.

Harry was silent for a long moment before answering. “Well, you know how Minerva’s been made permanent Headmistress of Hogwarts?” he said. Ginny nodded. “Well, she’s decided to stop teaching Transfiguration.”

“Really?” Ginny exclaimed. She thought about Hogwarts without classes from McGonagall; it was very strange. “She thinks she’ll be too busy?”

“Yeah, and also she doesn’t want trouble with being accused of favoritism,” Harry added. “Which is stupid—I mean, once people see who she’s hiring for all the vacant professorships she’ll get accused of favoritism anyway.”

“That’s not fair,” Ginny admonished Harry. “Neville’s the best person to replace Professor Sprout and you know it—Merlin, Sprout said so herself!”

“I know,” Harry agreed. “And he’ll have a few years apprenticing with her before she retires anyway. But Pansy’s going to cause favoritism rumors for sure.”

“So Pansy accepted?” Ginny asked, smirking a little. "That’s just what Hogwarts needs, another surly Potions teacher who picks on the Gryffindors and favors the Slytherins.”

“She hasn’t accepted yet,” Harry said, “but Neville gave his official acceptance two days ago, so you know Pansy’s going to any time now.”

Ginny chuckled. “Wonder if they’ll get married before Ron and Hermione?”

“Not likely. Pansy will probably insist on a big, proper pureblood ceremony—it’ll take months to plan. Ron and Hermione are going to elope if they get half the chance.”

Ginny cocked her head at Harry. “So that’s why you’re so angry?” she asked confusedly. “Because McGonagall’s not teaching Transfiguration any more?”

“No, of course not,” Harry said. He sighed. “Ginny, I promised I wouldn’t tell you this—that I wouldn’t tell anyone, not yet, anyway. But since I obviously stink at keeping secrets from you, I will. Just don’t tell Hermione I told you, okay?”

“Hermione?” Ginny repeated in surprise. “What about Hermione?”

“Promise me you won’t tell her I told you?” Harry pleaded.

“Oh fine, I promise,” Ginny huffed. “Now what is it?”

“McGonagall offered to let Hermione take over as Transfiguration teacher,” Harry reluctantly confessed. “Not for the term after New Year’s, but next September. She’d spend the summer at Hogwarts doing some intensive studying and practice with McGonagall, and in September McGonagall would turn over the teaching post to Hermione, and take over permanently as Headmistress of Hogwarts. I talked to Hermione this morning, and she admitted that she’s leaning towards accepting.”

Ginny blinked a few times before responding. “And what about Ron?” she asked. “Would he go live with Hermione at Hogwarts? I can’t imagine he’d be too happy just stuck at the school all the time with nothing to do.”

“Um… I think that they’re talking about it, and Ron’s going to see about investing some of his and Hermione’s money,” Harry answered, a bit surprised at Ginny’s question. “He’s talking to Fred and George about lending them some money to open a couple more Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. But beyond that—er, don’t tell anyone about this either, okay?—but Ron’s planning on taking some art classes so he can get better at drawing.”

“Really?” Ginny exclaimed, her face lighting up. “That’s wonderful!” Before the twins had teased him into giving it up, Ron had shown real talent at drawing. Ginny still had the sketch of her that Ron had done when he was eight and she was seven. “I hope he’s not too embarrassed about it…”

“I think he’s past that, really,” Harry said with a smile. “He said something about it being stupid to be afraid that people would insult his art after what we’ve been through.”

“That’s true,” Ginny agreed.

“Hermione said she’s not entirely sure she wants the job though… which is bollocks, of course,” Harry added. “She’s just worried that, since Dumbledore was the Transfiguration teacher before McGonagall, it’ll only further convince the Wizarding World that she’s the next Dumbledore.”

“Considering what you told me she’s taken on recently, she’d better get used to it,” Ginny said wryly. Then she frowned. “Damn it Harry, you still haven’t answered me! I can’t believe that you’re angry at McGonagall for offering Hermione the Transfiguration job—you know Hermione would be brilliant at it!”

“No, I’m not,” Harry agreed. “But the reason I’m angry is… it’s similar.” He flushed. “McGonagall wants me to study to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped. “But—but you—”

“Not to take over the job right away,” Harry added hastily. “Thanks to my good word—which I guess is going pretty far with the Ministry right now—the way’s been cleared for Remus to return to the post, but he only intends to remain for a few years at most. I would study under Remus, taking over the job when Remus retired.”

“Well… I guess it’s not surprising,” Ginny said after a moment. “I mean, you defeated Voldemort, the greatest user of Dark Arts in centuries. And if McGonagall’s going to hire all our friends to teach—”

“I don’t want to!” Harry shouted. “Damn it Ginny, I’ve had enough of that bollocks to last me fifty lifetimes! I’ve spent years trying to fix it so I wouldn’t have to go through it any more!”

“Then don’t,” Ginny said calmly. “Turn McGonagall down for the job. If you don’t want to then you wouldn’t be happy doing it anyway.”

Harry stared in shock at Ginny for a moment before pulling her close and hugging her. “You’re the only person besides me who didn’t think it was a brilliant idea for me to teach,” he mumbled into her hair.

Ginny stiffened. “So you’ve told other people?”

“No. Only Ron and Hermione know, and that’s because they were there when McGonagall offered me the job. I thought they’d understand, but…”

“I think they probably will, if you told them what you just said to me,” Ginny offered, relaxing.

“Maybe. Hermione keeps hinting that I need to decide what I’m going to do with my life, now that it looks like I’ll get to have one,” Harry said with a derisive snort. “She doesn’t get that I’m happier not doing anything right now, since I don’t have to—I can figure out the rest of my life later.”

“Hermione’s only saying that because she isn’t content herself unless she’s doing a million things,” Ginny pointed out wryly. “So she thinks you must feel the same way. But she only wants you to be happy, Harry—everyone from the D.A. does.”

“Not everyone.”

Ginny lifted her head, and Harry could read the confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Tomorrow… is Alicia’s funeral,” Harry said faintly. “Her parents asked me to come, but I don’t think Oliver will be too happy to see me there. They were such good friends, even before they…” he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I think he really loved her…”

“He doesn’t hate you, Harry,” Ginny said gently. “He wants to blame someone, but he knows it’s not your fault. He’d—he’d blame Charlie, except Charlie didn’t curse Alicia of his own will. And he’d blame whoever put Charlie under Imperius except he doesn’t know who it was, exactly, and if it was Voldemort, Voldemort’s dead. All he’s got left to direct his anger at is you. But it won’t last. Angelina and Katie know, and Alicia’s parents. They’ll straighten him out.”

“Yeah… eventually,” Harry agreed. “That won’t help tomorrow though.”

“Well then tomorrow I’ll just give Oliver a piece of my mind,” Ginny offered.

Harry couldn’t help but smile. Then he sighed, pulling Ginny tight against him again. “Maybe I should take the job,” he said.

“The Defense Against the Dark Arts post? Why?” Ginny asked. “You just said you don’t want to.”

“I don’t,” Harry confirmed. “But maybe I should. Someone’s got to, and maybe the students will listen more if it’s me. Isn’t it my responsibility to help if I can, to prevent anyone from becoming the next Voldemort?”

“NO!” Ginny shouted, grabbing the front of Harry’s robes and shaking. “It’s not your responsibility, Harry! No more than anyone else’s! You. Have. Done. Enough! For Merlin’s sake, be selfish for once in your life! Yes, you were the only one who could take down Voldemort, but there are other people who can do this—let them! When someone gives as much as you have, they’ve earned the right to live a life afterwards!”

“Dumbledore didn’t get to,” Harry muttered. “He defeated Grindelwald, but he still never got to stop—”

“Yes, Harry,” Ginny interrupted. “Even after he took down Grindelwald, Dumbledore continued fighting Dark wizards his entire life. But that was probably because he thought there was no one else who could or would do it but him. I don’t know if that was true for Dumbledore, but it’s not true for you! And that’s thanks to you, too—you’ve ensured that there are a great many people who know firsthand what it means to face Dark wizards, and will spread that knowledge far and wide. All of them—all of us—will be taking that responsibility, Harry. So please… please just be selfish and let it go.”

“I—” Harry was silent for a long time. “I don’t know how to let it go, Ginny,” he said finally.

“Turning down the teaching post would be a good start,” Ginny replied smartly. “Think of it as a symbol of your new, carefree life.”

Harry snorted. “I don’t think my life will ever be carefree, but I see what you mean.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. I will.”

Ginny hugged him again. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Even if…” Her throat caught, so she tried again. “Despite what’s happened to me—to all of us—I still want the life with you that you promised me.”

“I keep my promises,” Harry responded. “Especially to you.”

Harry stared out at the snow-covered hills, stroking Ginny’s hair lightly, and tried not to feel guilty. The weight in his pocket weighted heavily on him, and his conscience gnawed at him as it had for three days. The feeling continued to build until he just couldn’t bear it any longer; “Ginny?”

“Yeah, I know: we should go inside.”

“No, not that.” Harry gently pried Ginny off him and held her at arm’s length; he looked into the solid white globes of her eyes and shivered, his determination to keep quiet collapsing. “Look, I have—I want to…”

“Harry?” Ginny said when he didn’t continue. “What is it?”

Harry turned Ginny quickly and sat her on the bench. “Ginny, I want you to promise me something,” he said quickly, his heart racing. “Please don’t—don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“Get my hopes up?” Ginny repeated, confusion clear in her face. “About what?”

“About… your eyes,” Harry said. “The chances that anything can fix them…”

Ginny laughed bitterly. “Harry, I have no hope that I’ll ever see again,” she said, and Harry had to bite his lip hard to keep from sobbing at the fatalistic tone of her voice. “I—it’s terrifying, but I’m trying to deal with it as best I can. I know I’ll always have you to help—”

“Always,” Harry agreed fervently.

Ginny smiled. “And that helps a lot,” she continued. “And like you said before, I know that you, and Hermione and Ron and everyone, don’t expect me to just get over it. I can’t promise that I won’t—give in to my frustration sometimes. But I’m not expecting that I’ll ever see again.” She reached out, found Harry’s cheek with her hand, and stroked it. “Why did you feel the need to hear that?” she asked quietly.

“Because Hermione gave me something,” Harry said, fishing in his pocket. He took Ginny’s hand and pressed the object into it.

“A vial?” Ginny said, running her hands over the smooth crystal. “What’s in it?”

“Phoenix tears,” Harry said softly. “Hermione begged them from Fawkes, and gave me this… to try on your eyes. Phoenix tears are very powerful—they cured me of poison when the basilisk fang got me in the Chamber of Secrets. But I don’t want you to hope,” he said rapidly as understanding dawned on Ginny’s face. “Hermione tried this on Ron’s foot, and Neville’s scarring, and it didn’t do anything. And that means…”

“That means that it probably won’t help me,” Ginny finished for him.

“I just…” Harry lowered his head. “I’ve been carrying that vial for three days, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, because—because if I got your hopes up, and then it didn’t work, just like everything we’ve tried, I don’t think I could bear knowing that I did that to you…”

“Harry,” Ginny said, capturing his hand with her free one. “I appreciate your trying to shelter me from… disappointment, but don’t. I don’t expect it to work, and I would never hold it against you for trying. To be honest, I’d thought of phoenix tears, and was wondering why Hermione hadn’t offered it yet. At the very least we should just try it, so you can tell Hermione the results—or lack of results, that is.” She gave Harry a strained smile. “Don’t worry about my feelings, Harry…I’ll be okay. Shall we get it over with?”

Harry stood and took the vial back from Ginny. “Tilt your head back,” he said as he uncorked the vial. Ginny did so. Harry took the small dropper and sucked up a little of the precious tears from inside. “Okay,” he said, leaning over Ginny. “Here it comes…”

He dripped five drops into each of Ginny’s eyes. “It’s cold!” Ginny yelped, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“It was for me, too, when I had it,” Harry agreed. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Ginny said, slowly tilting her head upright again. “It… I think it’s kind of prickling. And now my eyes feel warm—what a weird sensation…”

“Can you describe it?” Harry asked as he replaced the stopper and stored the vial back in his pocket. “You know Hermione will ask—” His head shot up at Ginny’s gasp. “Ginny? What—”

“Harry!” Ginny breathed.

Her eyes were sparkling, tears of her own rolling down her cheeks. And that’s when Harry realized; he could see her eyes. No longer were they solid white—the familiar dark brown had returned. “G-Ginny?” Harry stammered.

“I can see you,” Ginny blurted, her words stumbling over themselves out of joy. “I can see you!”

She threw herself into his arms, and he was sobbing, clinging to her. “I can s-see the hills,” Ginny babbled, looking over his shoulder. “And the trees, and the snowflakes…”

Harry just held her, not saying a word, not trying to halt his own tears. But after a moment Ginny said “H-Harry?”

“What?”

“Harry?” And the edge in Ginny’s voice made Harry’s blood freeze. “Everything’s going b-black!”

Harry pulled Ginny away from him so he could see her. The black-brown of her eyes was fading, already almost gone. “Ginny!”

“I can barely see you,” Ginny cried. “It—it didn’t last…”

“Don’t panic,” Harry said, fumbling in his pocket. “I have the vial here, hang on!”

“No, Harry!” Ginny said, reaching out and stilling his hands. “Don’t waste it!”

“Waste it?” Harry gaped at Ginny, gobsmacked. “It brought your sight back, it’s not wasting it!”

“It was only temporary, Harry,” Ginny said, far too calmly for Harry’s liking. “It would just fade again.”

“But—I—you just…” Harry felt cold wash over him as he realized what had just happened. “Oh Merlin,” he groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I did it, and it was worse than I thought! I gave you hope and you even saw for a minute and then it was taken away—”

“Harry, stop!” Ginny demanded. “Stop feeling guilty right now!” She lifted his head up more tenderly than her voice suggested. “I will never, ever blame you for giving me hope, Harry. It’s one of your gifts, it’s how we were able to win the war, it’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you: You give people hope.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Harry asked, stunned.

Even as the last hints of color left her eyes, Ginny smiled. “Because you gave me hope, Harry. The phoenix tears restored my sight temporarily—that means that my sight can be restored! We didn’t know that—I honestly thought it was impossible! But now we know, and if anyone in the world can take that knowledge and find a permanent cure, it’s Hermione and Pansy! So we give Hermione back that vial, and we tell her what happened…and we wait, and someday…”

She chuckled, more joyously than Harry could believe; a few more tears snuck out of her eyes. “I know it might take months, or years, or maybe a permanent cure won’t ever be found. But even that’s okay, Harry, because…because now I know that every now and then—when it really matters—I’ll be able to see, even if it’s only for a moment. I know some people would probably consider it torture, having sight only a few moments for the rest of their lives…but being able to choose which moments makes this a magnificent gift, Harry, not a burden or a curse. Ten minutes ago I honestly believed that I would never see the faces of our children… I feared that I would slowly lose my memories of the people that I love. Now I know that that’s not true.”

Her lower lip shook as she reached out, blind once again, and drew Harry to her. “I thought you were giving me everything you could,” she murmured shakily as she pulled Harry’s mouth to hers. “And then you found a way to give me more. I love you, Harry. And I hope somehow that I can give you as much as you give me.”

“You—you already do, Ginny,” Harry whispered just before their lips met. His heart felt like it might explode, and he embraced Ginny, and thought about what she said. And he thought about their lives, together no matter what happened next, and the freedom he finally had, and the freedom from fear they’d all achieved, and how, given the right perspective, the future was something he was no longer dreading.

All would be well.


- FINITE INCANTATEM -


*****


[Ginny] fixes Harry with her squirrel-black eyes, and Harry knows that,
whatever time it is given to him to live, he will spend it loving her.
Antosha, The Weasley Family Picnic, Part III: Tea