Five Reunions

While Mrs. Weasley clutched Ron tightly and exclaimed over how much he'd grown, Harry slipped upstairs. He went as quickly as he could, taking the steps two at a time. He'd thought about this moment for months, on all the cold nights when there was nothing else to get him through but the thought of Ginny's warm smile and her heated kisses.

Because they were distracted, no one had seen him go, and so there was no one to stop him. No one to say gently, "You might not want to go up there right now," or "Things have changed since you've been away," or even "There's something you need to know." Instead, Harry charged up two flights of stairs and flung open the door of the first room on the left, with nothing holding him back.

The door flew open, the knob slipping out of his damp hand, and it hit the wall and rebounded toward Harry, but in that brief moment he had already seen enough. He saw clothes strewn on the floor, rumpled sheets, bare skin, and one head of brilliant red hair. The door stopped inches from his stunned face, and he pushed it back open again, slowly this time.

Ginny had grabbed a sheet by this time to cover herself, but there was no disguising what had been going on here. The heavy smell of sex in the room was enough. Ginny's face was guilty, and lounging on the bed next to her, blond hair shining in the low light, was someone he'd never thought to see again.

"Ginny?" he asked. "Ma-- Malfoy?" He was at a complete loss for words.

She walked toward him, the sheet wrapped around her like some kind of toga. "Harry--" she said.

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Harry strode determinedly forward. His friends stood firm behind him, arrayed in a line with defensive spells at the ready. On the other side of the field stood Voldemort, his white skin oddly pale in the beautiful summer sunshine.

"At last we meet again, Potter," he said, when Harry got close enough to hear him. "At last I will make you suffer as you have made me." It was all so melodramatic, so ridiculous and predictable and over the top that Harry felt a completely inappropriate laugh bubbling up through his throat. And that distracted him for a crucial moment, kept him from acting for the split second that truly counted.

Because in that moment, Voldemort did something that Harry was absolutely not expecting. He raised his wand and, just when Harry was distracted, pointed it away from him, toward Ginny.

"Avada Kedavra."

The green light flashed, the exact same shade that haunted his dreams at night. "Harry--" she said.

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The aftermath of the spell reverberated in the air, and the buildings around him trembled slightly. Harry swayed on his feet, too, and for a second he wondered if his legs would hold him. All around him, among the scattered stones and fallen trees, were the charred and blackened bodies of people. Men, women, and children; witches and wizards; Death Eaters, Order of the Phoenix, and innocent bystanders alike. He couldn't even look at them, couldn't fathom the thoughts that were crowding around him, the accusations coming from within his own mind that this is all your fault. If it weren't for you, none of this would ever have happened.

Slowly, the pitifully small number of survivors began to appear, creeping out from behind crumbling houses and out of storm cellars. Ginny appeared slowly out of thin air as she removed the Invisibility Cloak, her red hair revealing itself first and then her ashen, shocked face.

Harry couldn't look at her, either. He turned his face away, and looked instead toward the castle, still smoking in the distance. First one step, then another, and then he was walking away.

She called after him, her voice raw and desperate. "Harry--" she said.

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It was inexplicable. It made no sense. The Horcruxes were all destroyed, and Voldemort himself had been faced down and murdered in cold blood, but it wasn't over and he wasn't gone. Harry felt as though he were carrying a huge weight all the time -- the weight of his parents and a hundred other people whose deaths he should avenge, the weight of the future when Voldemort shouldn't exist but still did thanks to his failure, the weight of his whole life and his whole failed destiny. Everyone had looked to him and he hadn't been able to do anything.

They were on the roof next to the Astronomy Tower, and Hermione had just finished reading the signs in the stars and plotting them furiously on a chart before her, ink on her hands and face and in her hair. She looked up at him and shook her head, tears of frustration in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "But the pieces are not all destroyed. I don't know how, but a piece of his soul is still alive."

"But we destroyed them all," Harry said, trying to contain his own anger. He counted on his fingers. "Voldemort himself, the cup, the ring, the locket, the snake, the trophy, the diary..."

"The diary," Ginny gasped. He turned his head to look at her. She was very pale, as though all the blood had drained from her face. "What if--" she said.

"What?" he asked. "What if what, Ginny?"

"What if destroying the diary didn't destroy the Horcrux?" she asked sadly, as if she already knew the answer. "What if it just... moved?"

"Moved?" he asked.

She looked at him and stepped forward to the edge of the roof. She turned her head and met his eyes before taking that last step and tumbling down into darkness. "Harry--" she said.

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News traveled fast through the wizarding world, much faster than one young wizard whose magic was so exhausted that he couldn't even apparate. By the time he got to the Burrow, he was hot and dirty and tired, and he'd been walking for what seemed like forever.

He cut across the pasture behind the Weasley's land, not caring if he was trespassing on someone else's property or disturbing the cows or anything. It was late summer, and the sun was high in the sky without a single cloud to block its rays. The grass was ripe and golden, and it grew up to Harry's thighs. Walking through the field was like wading in a lake. The Burrow was only three miles away, though, and nothing could take the smile off his face.

At the other edge of the field, under the shade of the trees, he caught a flash of movement, and he shaded his eyes to try to see better. Ginny stepped out of the darkness and stood in the sunshine, just on the other side of the fence, and he could see her perfectly. Her red hair shone like a beacon in the sun, and she was a vision in torn jeans and an old Cannons shirt that clashed fantastically with her hair. Streaks of dirt marked her face, and a long red scar sliced down her arm. The sight of her standing there waiting for him was something he would remember forever.

Harry was running, sprinting through the high grass, all his exhaustion gone. He just wanted to get to her, to not waste even one more instant. Vaulting over the low fence, he grabbed her around the waist and picked her up, swinging her around in a circle. Her face was the only thing he could see.

Smiling and laughing, she kissed him on the mouth, the forehead, the eyelids, as though she couldn't believe he was real. "Harry--" she said, but before she could say any more he kissed her back, cutting off her words.