Author’s Note: As always, many thanks to
my beta, Night Zephyr, for all her encouragement and help. Song lyrics and title borrowed from ‘Even in
the Quietest Moments’ by Supertramp.
Characters and… well, pretty much everything else borrowed from the wonderful
JK Rowling.
The Quietest Moments
-by Mingo Cortez-
Even
in the quietest moments
I wish I knew what I had to do
And even though the sun is shining
Well I feel the rain—here it comes again, dear…
Ginny Weasley sat in the dim drawing room of Number Twelve Grimmauld
Place. Long tapers flickered gloomily
above the mantel, but no fire was lit in the hearth. She drew her knees up to her chest, and sank
back into the worn support of the old wing chair that stood like a proud and
imposing sentinel in the corner of the room.
In the opposite corner, a fresh evergreen was softly dripping snow onto
the carpet. It filled the room with a
pleasant, festive aroma, but couldn’t quite cover the mustiness that even Mrs
Weasley’s hardest efforts hadn’t been able to remove.
Ginny gazed steadily at the tree—the
dark shadows, the crisp whiteness of the clinging snow, the heightened shades
of green where the candlelight touched the branches. She thought of all the reasons why she should
be happy.
Her father was out of danger.
It was nearly Christmas.
They were all together.
Ginny rubbed a hand over her forehead. She knew what was bothering her. I forgot.
Lucky you. I’m sorry. It had
been easy to pull herself into a cool, professional mindset when Harry needed
the reassurance. But almost instantly
she envied the genuine relief that had flooded his face. The fact that he could be certain he hadn’t
been possessed. That he could
forget. The insensitive, self-indulged—she let out an audible sigh of
frustration. She couldn’t blame Harry
for being insensitive. Boys, Ginny knew,
were seldom sensitive. She had six
brothers who had proven that. And
self-indulged? Well, that was true at times… but the look in his eyes
when he wheeled to face her was sincere.
He meant it when he apologised.
Succinct as the exchange had been, unemotional as she had appeared, Ginny felt
like crying now—and she was resisting so hard that her stomach hurt.
She squeezed her arms tightly
around her knees. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t
fair. She would never
forget. No matter how many years
passed. No matter how many battles came
and went and scarred along the way. No
matter how much she grew. No matter how
brave she felt. She could never
forget.
It
was a deadweight irrevocably tied to her.
A deadweight of guilt, fear, and anger.
Of broken trust. Of
self-hatred. Of hot shame.
In two and a half years she had mastered herself. When memories welled up and threatened her as
they did now, she clenched her teeth and fought back. She wouldn’t let herself cry. She wouldn’t let herself hurt because of him. She pressed back the tears, tucked away the
nightmares, and forcefully thought of something—anything—else.
Ginny
stared at the Christmas tree.
Dark shadows. Crisp whiteness. True,
absolute green.
**~*~**
She didn’t notice Harry pause on his way past the drawing room. She didn’t see him appraise the tree, his
eyebrows raised in mild surprise. She
wasn’t aware that his eyes slowly shifted from the evergreen to the high-backed
armchair in the corner. He took a half
step backwards. The light from candles
on the mantel played softly across the crown of Ginny’s head. When she adjusted her chin on her knees,
liquid gold and brilliant red flashed briefly from the dull shadows. Her eyes appeared abnormally bright.
For just a moment, Harry remembered the eleven-year-old girl he had rushed to,
sprawled as if dead on the Chamber floor.
And then the same girl, arms crossed and voice scathing—Lucky you.
Harry turned, quietly, and continued on his way.
He wouldn’t forget again.
And
even when you showed me
My heart was out of tune
For there's a shadow of doubt that's not letting me find you too soon
-The End-
