The Sugar Quill
Author: Darker_Rage  Story: Why - Ginny's Tale  Chapter: 1 - Long into the night
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Why? – Ginny’s Tale.
A companion piece to Why? – Harry’s Tale.

These are JK Rowling’s children. They are only in my care for this story, and I’ll have to give them back soon.


Summary: Just what was Harry thinking down by the lake the day Dumbledore was entombed? How did his decision to stop seeing Ginny affect both of them? A what-may-have-happened-next. Possibly rated PG, but not really, for insinuating things that are not described in the text

Chapter 1 – Long into the night



A touch… A breath…


Strange, how a single touch and a few whispered words could so thoroughly break a person, mind body and soul. With those last few words, Ginny had bared her soul to Harry,

”I never really gave up on you. Not really…”


With those words, and the look in his eyes, she knew he’d understood. He’d finally truly understood what it was to truly love, and to be loved in equal measure. Yet still he could walk away. Ginny knew she could never have done the same in his position, the fate of the world be damned. But Harry, stupid, wonderful Harry had taken the weight of the world on his shoulders once again, and trudged his weary way across the grounds, around the lake shore. She had kept on watching, hoping against hope that he would turn around, even for a second. Then she would have run to him and everything would have been fine again. But he didn’t, so she was forced to keep watching his retreating back until the Minister caught up with him.


 “He won’t come back, will he? That’s over now,” she had whispered to herself, and then the tears had started.  It was rather beautiful in a way; the reflection of the light off the lake and of Dumbledore’s tomb took on a brilliant rainbow sheen, and the edges of everything became soft and blurred, as if it was all a fever dream that might go away if she closed her eyes tightly enough. Then the tears began to fall, like hot traces of fire running down her cheek where such a short time ago, Harry’s hand had followed the same lines, awakening a wholly different feeling of fire. Hermione, with her exceptional ear for trouble, was already looking at her friend strangely and had reached out a tentative hand to offer solace and comfort. Ginny had jerked away from her; she didn’t want to be touched, not then, not ever again. She had known that her heart was breaking. She just hadn’t expected it to hurt this badly. Desperate to seek solitude, she had turned and run back up to the castle, back to the common room and flung herself down on her four-poster bed. She had not moved then until it was time to return to the Burrow; all she’d had the energy to do was cry.




A week later, back at the Burrow and locked in her room, the memories of that day still brought Ginny to tears. She wasn’t eating anything at all, was barely drinking and didn’t move or speak to any of her family. She felt … almost dead, as if most of her life had fled her and only a stubborn spark of life keeping her going


 “Heartbreak,” she muttered ruefully, then began to cry anew, every tear like acid ripping a new hole through her being. She felt as if she were going mad, trapped in a cage with no escape, battering herself bloody on the bars of her own mind. She knew she was shutting out her family and friends, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care. It was two in the morning and still she couldn’t sleep. In a few hours, her mother would come in to ask if she were ok, and Ginny wouldn’t be able to answer, again. Molly Weasley would then sigh, shake her head and leave, replacing Ginny’s locking charm on the door. She didn’t think she could face that look again.


Suddenly it hit her. There was an answer, a way out. It had been staring her in the face all along, just waiting for her to realise it.


“If I can’t live with him in my thoughts,” she whispered, reaching out for her wand, “then I won’t.” She pointed the wand at the ground for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths, steeling herself for what she was about to do.


“Harry, I’m sorry…” was all she could think of to say. In a rush, before she could change her mind, she pointed her wand at her forehead, and uttered a spell she had never expected to use on another human being, never mind herself.


A touch… A breath…


Her last thought before the blackness claimed her was a memory of Harry’s hand caressing her face, and the feel of his breath as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear beside the Common Room fire, long into the night.



A/N: I’m not going to spell it out, as that would spoil the surprise, but consider that this is a chaptered story, and I’ll need all the characters to finish it off. Also, remember what they say about the Unforgivable Curses? Ginny wouldn’t be able to perform one even if she wanted to.

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