Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Hmmm, yes, a songfic. And I really rather loathe country music,
generally speaking. Ironic, eh? But something about this song reminded me of
Ginny – thus this fic. Enjoy, country music or no country music.
Thank you, Felina Black, for your excellent suggestions. Some very good lines in here are yours.
If I had just one tear running down your cheek,
Maybe I could cope, maybe I'd get some sleep,
If I had just one moment at your expense,
Maybe all my misery would be well spent.
Ginny Weasley sat alone in her living room. Fury pounded through her, mingling with
sorrow and grief, as she stared at the headline of the Daily Prophet.
The Boy Who Lived breathes his last breath in St. Mungo’s
Harry was gone, her Harry, her sweet, perfect, wonderful
Who had lied to her.
“What?” Ginny started and whirled, not prepared for
someone to enter her flat unannounced.
“What are you talking about?”
Her favorite brother
stood in the doorway, looking extraordinarily harassed. “They can’t find him, Ginny, everyone is
“Ron, calm down. Tell me everything.”
“He was supposed to
come to dinner tonight, at Hermione’s place.”
“Gee, thanks for
inviting me,” Ginny threw in irritably.
“That’s not the
point!” Ron yelled, glaring at her. “The point is that he’s gone – his flat is
empty – and Hermione doesn’t know where he is and neither does Dumbledore.”
Ginny couldn’t help
but smile, despite the panic rising in her chest. Hermione and Dumbledore were the ones that
Ron trusted most. In his eyes, if they
did not know something, nobody did.
“Well, he’s not here,”
said Ginny, gesturing around her new flat.
Having just graduated from Hogwarts, she’d moved into a cozy little
neighborhood near the Burrow. She loved
her large family, but she needed some breathing room. However, her own flat was the last thing on
her mind as she started to run through a mental list of all the places Harry
“Gin, they have him. I can feel it,” said Ron, and Ginny’s eyes
welled with tears.
“Don’t say that, Ron,”
she said shakily. “The Order knows
what’s going on – we’re winning this war!
They can’t have him, they just can’t.”
But they did.
The Boy Who Lived breathes his last breath in St. Mungo’s
As soon as she read that horrible headline, Ginny had packed
her bags for the Burrow. It had only
been two years since she had graduated and moved from the family home, but she
had changed a great deal in the days that had passed since she had left. The world was a different place since her
happy childhood. While it had been
painful enough to wait for Voldemort to return, those few years between his
rein of terror were minor cuts compared to the way things were now. There was no comparison for the terror that
every witch and wizard lived and breathed at every moment of their lives – a
deep, buried fear of being alive. Or
being dead. Or being caught. Or simply just existing.
It had been two long years since Harry’s disappearance that
night. The look of horror on Ron’s face
was permanently etched into Ginny’s memory.
Nothing had been the same since.
Although they’d found and saved Harry, many things had happened in the
course of those twenty-four months that had left the wizarding world
desperately trying to pick up the pieces.
She didn’t cry as she changed into black robes and gathered
her belongings. She tucked Persephone,
her lovely gray owl, into her cage without a word. Persephone hooted at her, and she only smiled
Apperating into Diagon Alley, to first pick up a bouquet of
roses to give to her parents as a remembrance of the boy who had become a son
to them, Ginny saw a group of witches standing in the Alley. They were crowded around a copy of the
Prophet, and they were all crying.
“So sad,” murmured one of them, looking to be around the age
of twenty. “Oh, he was such a wonderful
“Aye,” agreed a much older witch, her cheeks also damp with
tears. “The wizarding world has suffered
a great loss today… a great loss indeed.”
Ginny glared at them as she passed. They had no idea. No idea.
What had they lost? A name, that
was all. They knew Harry because he’d
stopped Voldemort. If you had asked them
to describe him, they would have given the description that any witch or wizard
who hadn’t been living under a rock for almost two decades would have
A hero… handsome… intelligent… always getting into trouble…
noble…with that legendary lightning bolt scar.
But the only people, Ginny thought, who had a real reason to
cry were the ones who really knew Harry Potter.
The ones who knew him for his kindness and generosity, his pleasure at
the simple things in life, and most of all, his love. Although love was not something Harry had been
familiar with in his life, the Weasleys and Grangers
had given it to him unconditionally, Ginny most of all.
So if anyone should be crying, she thought furiously, it
should be her, not these witches who had never even met him. And yet, she wasn’t crying. Why wasn’t she crying? She felt like she had done something wrong, like
she did not care as much as she should.
She made her way past the weeping witches without another
Could you cry a little,
Lie just a little,
Pretend that you’re feeling a little more pain.
I gave, now I’m wanting,
Something in return,
So cry just a little for me.
Ron had begged, standing with his girlfriend in the parlour of the Burrow. “Please listen to me. Harry’s an Auror –
“In training! He is NOT supposed to be-“
“Hermione! Shut up a second and listen to me! This is Harry Potter we’re talking
about. He’s not some mad lunatic. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and
he’s an amazing wizard. Of course
they’re going to want to use him in the war.”
But Ron, as was his
unfortunate habit, had chosen the wrong words.
Hermione’s eyes welled with tears but her face remained twisted with
fury. “EXACTLY! They are going to USE him! Has he not had enough tragedy in his life? And what about us? What about Ginny?”
At these words, Ginny
had stepped further into the shadows, sinking down to kneel on the floor as she
listened in on their bitter argument.
“Yes, Ginny, the person that Harry loves more
soldier, every warrior, every Order member, every strategist, they all have
someone like Ginny! We can’t back down because
we will lose someone we love!”
Hermione buried her
face in her hands. “If they took you
away, Ron, I don’t know what I would do.
And I’m so scared.”
At these words, the
angry expression on Ron’s face was wiped away as quickly as if he’d been
slapped. He stepped forward, wrapping
his arms around Hermione, and let her sob into his chest. “Shhh,” he
whispered, “Harry will be fine. He will
After Ginny had bought flowers in Diagon Alley, she Apparated home. It
took all the strength she possessed to enter the Burrow. She walked in the door and found Hermione,
curled up on the couch with her nose in a book.
Ginny cleared her throat, and Hermione looked up in alarm. Ginny saw that there were bags under her red,
swollen eyes, and her lips were chapped.
Her shoulders drooped with a sort of defeat Ginny had never seen before,
and when she spoke, her voice trembled.
Ginny had promised herself that she would be strong for the
rest of her family. She couldn’t give in
to what she was feeling – because that only made it real.
Her eyes traveled around the room, willing Harry to pop out
from behind the bookcase, smiling, his green eyes dancing. She could just imagine him laughing – teasing
– saying that it was all a joke.
“I’ve been here all
along, Gin. Right here.”
She would scoff and turn on her heel, and he would stop
smiling and run after her, apologizing himself into the next dimension and
promising that he would never play such a cruel joke again. She would at first refuse to forgive him, but
his sparkling eyes and messy black hair would draw her in, and she would throw
her arms around his neck and tell him that it was all fine now – that she
voice brought her tumbling back into the present.
This was no sick-minded prank. Harry Potter was dead – he’d moved on – and
Ginny Weasley would never see him, or hug him, or talk and laugh with him ever
And for the first time since his death, Ginny sank to her
knees, buried her face in her hands, and cried.
Weasley sat in the library, poring over books and looking for information for Snape’s essay on Love Potions. She ran a hand through her fiery hair,
distractedly pushing it out of her eyes, and scribbled note after note with her
given you a monster to slay, eh?”
Ginny jumped about a
mile in her seat then whirled to see who had spoken to her. Harry Potter stood before her, his arms
crossed and that secretive smile of his played across his lips – the one that
always made Ginny wonder what sort of private joke he was sharing with
“Why, hello, Mr.
Potter,” she said cordially, smiling at him.
“Would you care to have a seat?”
She moved some of the books off of the nearest chair and Harry sat.
“Thank you, Miss
Weasley,” he said, mocking her in a playful tone, “You are so terribly kind.”
Ginny smiled, and bent
back over her work. Her quill scratched
in the silence that followed, and then Harry spoke again.
extraordinarily pretty, if you don’t mind me telling you.”
Ginny’s head snapped
up. Harry’s face had lost all traces of
that secretive smile. He stared at her
“What?” she asked,
“You heard me.”
The pair stared at
each other for a moment. Harry’s
expression was one of steely satisfaction in his own ability to blurt out
something he’d been keeping in (without making it horribly awkward or
embarrassing), and Ginny’s was one of total shock.
Ginny couldn’t think
of anything to say. She had a lot of
things she wanted to ask, like why
had he waited until she had entirely given up on him to fall for her, or why
someone who was as wonderful of a person as he was had chosen to say such a
thing to someone as average as Ginevra Weasley.
Harry still stared at
her. Ginny realized that she was most
definitely going to be the one who had to speak first. “Harry… I… well, you know about Dean, don’t
Harry slammed his
hands down from the desk onto his knees and looked away in a sort of
disappointed manner. “Yeah, I did… it’s
just… damn it, Ginny, look, I’m sorry.”
Ginny knew that it was
her job to keep the moment light. Harry
was not one to go around declaring his love for people, and though he had done
a good job at making it all look so casual, she knew that right now, he was
feeling like an absolute idiot.
“There’s no reason to
be sorry about anything, Harry,” she said brightly. “Now, about this essay…”
And so he stayed there
with her, helping her compose an excellent essay, for the next hour and a
half. Ginny knew that there were other
things he could be doing, and she felt terrible. And she was scared.
Scared that now that
she had a chance, she was trapped. There
was Dean, who loved her very much, and Cho, who
seemed to be permanently on-and-off with Harry, and there was Ron, who wouldn’t
take to anything between Harry and Ginny well at all, and Hermione, who would
worry herself sick if she knew about it all… and there was the war.
How could she allow
herself to fall in love with Harry Potter in the middle of what was soon to be
the darkest war the wizarding world had seen in centuries?
Long after he had
headed to dinner, Ginny returned to the Common Room carrying an essay that
would knock the knickers off of even Professor Snape. She found Dean sitting before the fire,
staring into it distractedly.
When he saw Ginny, his
face split into a wide grin. “Gin! Hey!” Dean
stood to embrace her like he always did.
As she stood there
hugging Dean, Ginny froze. Harry
appeared on the staircase that led up to the boys’ dormitories. He was carrying a single orange marigold.
Ginny stepped away
from Dean as though she’d been shocked and stared at Harry. For a moment they stood across the room from
one another, staring, and then Ginny turned on her heel and ran from the room.
Harry followed her,
like she knew he would. She collapsed in
the corridor and he knelt beside her as she sat on the cold stone floor.
“Ginny, look, I’m
sorry,” he said softly. “It was stupid,
we can just let it go, and it never happened, alright?”
Ginny looked into
Harry’s green eyes, swirling in confusion and disappointment, and shook her
head. “How can you say that,
“I just said something
stupid – its not like we were going out, it’s just-“
“No, but you said
something… did that mean nothing?”
Harry looked at her,
drew a great breath, and said heavily, “You’re right, Ginny. It meant nothing.” He stood and so did she, and they stared at
each other for a second before he shrugged awkwardly and said, “Friends?”
Ginny smiled, tears
stinging her eyes. Poor Harry. This had all been so hard for him. If it weren’t for Dean…
You’d still be over him, she
told herself firmly. Nothing will happen here.
Harry smiled back and
turned. “See you in the Common Room,” he
said rather shyly. She only nodded.
As he rounded the
corner, the smile dropped off her face and the tears, unrestrained, rolled down
her cheeks. She headed for the library,
for she needed a place to get away.
If your love could be caged, honey, I would hold the key.
And conceal it underneath the pile of lies you handed me.
And you’d hunt and those lies,
They’d be all you’d ever find.
And that’d be all you’d have to know,
For me to be fine.
Fred and George were the last to arrive at the Burrow. Ginny could not remember how long they waited
for everyone to get there. Maybe it had
been twenty minutes. Or maybe it had
been six hours.
Ginny could not tell the difference.
She could only remember the twins entering the parlour and
staring at her. She stared right back,
for they were in simple black robes, not the usual flashing or spiraling
patterns they preferred.
Fred spoke first.
“Hey, little sister,” he said, his voice catching. Then he hesitated, and Ginny offered him a
“Where’s the other pea?”
Tears welled in Fred’s eyes as he spoke, and George clapped a hand on
his shoulder, his eyes also wet. Ginny bit
down on a sob as she watched this. She
had never seen her brothers so solemn before, and it broke her heart.
When Ginny and Harry had finally gotten together, they
became inseparable. Fred had started
calling them two peas in a pod, because where one went, the other
followed. George adopted the saying as
well, but it was Fred who would laugh and tease her about it every time he saw
his little sister alone.
“Hey, little sister,
where’s the other pea?”
There was something about hearing it now that calmed
Ginny. She didn’t know exactly what it
was, but it made her feel like Harry really wasn’t as out of reach as she
thought he might be.
Mrs. Weasley entered the parlour from the kitchen, and saw
the twins standing quietly before her.
“Oh, Fred – George – “ she broke off sobbing as they hugged her at the
“Hullo, Mum,” said George tiredly.
Ron scooted over on the couch he and Ginny were sharing to
make room for the twins, and Ginny made a soft, tearful noise. Ron looked at his little sister, let out a
very boyish sob, and pulled her into a hug.
Ginny sobbed into his shoulder while the rest of the family talked
quietly, or just cried like Ginny.
Hermione edged her way over to the couch and Ron put his
other arm around her, clinging to his girlfriend and his sister as if they were
his last lifeline.
“I c-can’t believe it,” Ginny sobbed. “How c-could he? H-how could he?”
“Oh, Ginny,” said Percy softly from the chair across the
room. She looked at her brother’s tired
face as she sat there with Ron. “He
didn’t do it on purpose. The Dark Lord
possesses powers that we can only imagine–“
“The Dark Lord didn’t
kill Harry Potter!” Ginny screamed suddenly, sitting up and moving away from
Ron. “Harry Potter died alone in a
hospital room, like some common idiot who had a run-in with a Lethifold! And now the world is mocking him!”
Percy frowned at his sister.
“Nobody is mocking Harry, Ginny.
Now please, quiet down. You’ve
had a very long day-“
“SHUT UP, PERCY!”
Ginny bellowed, her throat raw and scratchy from so much crying and
yelling. “You don’t even have any idea!”
She jumped from the couch and ran sobbing into her childhood
bedroom, left untouched by her parents in the last two years.
She collapsed on the bed and buried her face in the pillows,
crying harder than she’d ever cried in her life. But it really didn’t matter how many tears
fell, because no amount of outward sorrow and hysteria could ever convey what
she was feeling inside. It could not have possibly hurt more if
Voldemort himself had found her at that very moment, held her under the
Cruciatus Curse until she was close to madness, then ripped her limb from
limb. She felt like her very soul was
being torn away from her – her very marrow of existence shrinking away as she
fell into an overwhelming sea of grief.
And you’d cry a little,
Die just a little,
And baby, I would feel just a little less pain.
I gave now I’m wanting,
Something in return,
So cry just a little for me.
She stepped up to the
desk in St. Mungo’s, her eyes shining and her face drawn, making her look much
older than only eighteen.
“I’m here to see Harry
Potter,” she said tiredly.
The secretary looked
at her irritably. “Yes, you and half the
other witches your age. He’s quite the
heartthrob, I suppose, even when he is wound up in bandages.” She flipped through her magazine without
another look at Ginny.
“Please, ma’am. My name is Ginny Weasley, and I’m…” Ginny looked around anxiously before quietly
whispering to the secretary, “I’m Harry Potter’s girlfriend.”
The secretary raised
her eyebrows in disbelief and smacked her chewing gum loudly. Then she tapped her own throat with her wand
and said, “Zorgain, are you in Potter’s ward at the moment?”
A voice answered back
through the tip of her wand, a male voice that sounded to be about twenty, with
an American accent. “Yes, I am. Why?”
“Is he awake and…
“Yup,” said the
Healer. “He’s doing quite well, for
someone who’s been through what he faced.”
“Does he know who
Ginny Weasley is?”
ask him and we’ll find out.” There was a
moment’s pause, where they could hear faint voices. Then the Healer spoke back to the secretary,
a mild note of surprise in his voice.
“Yes, he says that she is his girlfriend. Send her down.”
So Ginny was led to
Harry’s unusually hidden room, and when she walked through the doorway, she let
out a shaking gasp of surprise.
horrible. He was wound up almost
head-to-toe with bandages, resembling somewhat of a mummy. What she could see of his face was pallid and
drawn, his green eyes bright and hauntingly shining against his white skin. His black hair was longer than it usually
was, as though he hadn’t had the chance to cut it in a while. But he was smiling.
“Hey, Gin,” he said
“Harry-“ she replied,
staring at him. “What… what happened to
casually. “Nothing that will be too
terribly harmful in the end.”
Ginny snorted. “Do not lie to me, Harry.”
“I’m not lying.”
She put her hands on
her hips. “Tell me right now. Look me in the eye and tell me that you
aren’t lying when you say that you’ll be fine in the end.”
Harry said nothing.
“I see,” said Ginny
And then she walked
over to his bedside and embraced him. He
hugged her back the best he could and then kissed her on the cheek. “I missed you so much, Ginny,” he said
shakily, and she realized he was near tears.
They chatted idly for
a few moments, then the door to the ward opened with a soft creak.
“Miss Weasley, we’re
going to have to ask you to leave. Mr.
Potter, you know the rules. Ten minutes,
and ten minutes only.” Ginny did not
recognize the young man, but his voice told her that it was the Healer called
“Alright, sir,” she
said softly. “Goodbye, Harry.” Something told her that she would never see
Harry smiled at her
and kissed her softly. “Tell them that
when I get home, I’ll tell them everything.”
Ginny laughed softly
and embraced him one last time.
She never saw him
Give it up, baby,
I hear your goodbye,
Nothing’s gonna save me,
I can see it in your eyes,
Some kind of heartache,
Darling, give it a try,
I don’t want pity,
I just want what is mine.
A week went by (or maybe it was only a day – Ginny couldn’t
really tell the difference anymore) and the memorial was held. Those that Harry had known and loved best
attended the private burial. Hermione
had squeezed Ginny’s hand supportively as the coffin was lowered beneath the
bright green grass.
Ginny stepped forward and laid a single marigold on the
shining wood lid. “You know why,” she
whispered softly. “For everything that
you did for me – for everything you were.
I love you, Harry.”
And she stepped back from the hole in the ground. She stepped back from the guilt she’d held,
as if she should have been able to prevent this. But there was one feeling she could not
abandon at the gravesite.
To the world, a wonderful, legendary, super-human hero had
just died. They shed tears of sorrow,
held memorials, and wrote books and songs and poems in his memory. They talked about all the wonderful things
he’d done for the wizarding world and named their children after him.
And Ginny? She stood
and watched this all unnoticed. Nobody
knew that she was the one who was grieving the hardest. She’d run out of tears and time to cry. Life returned to normal, but normal became
that dull numbness weighting the back of her mind.
But to her, the one person for whom she would have given her
soul was gone. Gone, and he would never
return. No matter how many bitter tears
she cried, no matter how many times she looked up hopefully when the doorbell
rang. Harry Potter was at rest
And for the rest of time, the entire world would be crying.
Yeah, could you cry just a little?
Lie just a little,
Pretend like you’re feeling a little more pain,
I gave now I’m wanting,
Something in return,
So cry just a little… for me.