Chainless Soul

Chainless Soul

by Cinnamon

Epilogue

The day of my mother’s funeral dawned bright and clear, one of those strange winter days where the sun seems warmer than it’s supposed to be and the sky is free of clouds and, rather than the dismal gray of a winter sky, it shone brilliant blue. It was more like a spring day than one at the beginning of February, and I was glad. Spring had always been my mother’s favourite.

The snow was glittering like diamonds in the sunlight, and I stood at my window for a long while, watching the sunrise. I hadn’t slept much the night before; Snape had been right when he said I’d have nightmares, maybe forever. But even so, I felt rather peaceful as I stood there, watching the light paint the snowy ground with diamonds.

I dressed carefully in gold, because my mother had always detested black mourning clothes. I wore a dress that looked like it was made of gold foil that fell around me loosely and fluttered wispily when I walked. My mother had made it for me the year before, and I had loved it. I ran a comb through my long hair, pulling it back and clipping it to the side, before slipping a cloak on over the dress and leaving my room, going downstairs. I was the only one up, though I could hear Ron moving about in his own room.

I wasn’t hungry and I walked through the house, making my way to the backdoor. My mother’s clock, the one with the hands that said our names and pointed at ‘home’, ‘work’, ‘traveling’, and ‘mortal peril’, was hanging on the wall, and I paused, staring at it for a moment.

I sensed Ron come into the room behind me, and I said, “I heard you smashed that.”

“Mum fixed it,” he told me quietly.

My name was on home; my mother’s as well. I smiled a little.

I turned around to face him. He looked awkward in an old set of dress robes, his face pale, his hair carefully slicked down. “Is Harry still sleeping?” I asked. Harry had stayed at our house the night before, planning to come to the funeral with us. Mum would have wanted that; he was, after all, family. Bill and Charlie were due home that morning.

“He’s digging through his luggage looking for a jumper.” Ron told me. “He wants to wear the green one mum made him last year because he remembers she said it went well with his eyes, but he can’t find it.” He was holding a lumpy package wrapped in brown paper, and I pointed at it.

“What is that?”

He smiled a little, eyes brightening with tears for a moment before he blinked them away. “You don’t think mum forgot you this Christmas,” he joked weakly, thrusting the package into my arms.

I unwrapped it carefully. It was a knitted yellow jumper with a huge sunflower on it, and I smiled, my own eyes misting with tears. “Best one yet,” I said quietly. I held the jumper up to my face and rubbed my cheek against it; I remember it smelled like potatoes and flour.

We went outside then, because somehow being inside was making me claustrophobic. I wanted to watch the sun rise.

The snow crunched under our shoes as we walked out past the garden, not speaking, making our way to the picnic table. We brushed the snow off it and sat there together, our breath misting before us, the sun warming the air around us.

I started drawing circles in the snow, smiling a tiny bit, lost in memories, and I was about to speak to Ron when George and Fred, dressed nearly the same as Ron with their wild red hair slicked down as carefully as his, came outside. They saw Ron and I sitting on the table and they waved and came over to join us.

The sky had turned amber as the sun rose even higher, and I watched my two identical, solemn brothers making their way towards me, an impish feeling I hadn’t felt in months stealing up inside of me.

I scooped up a handful of snow and threw it as hard as I could at Fred, who stumbled to a surprised stop, snow dripping down his face. He stared at me in shock, George glancing from me to Fred and back again, a grudging smile on his lips.

“Do you remember the way mum used to shout when we’d have our snowball fights and track snow all over the house?” he asked.

Fred was shaking the snow out of his hair, and he laughed softly. “How can I forget? She grounded me for a month the year before we started at Hogwarts.”

I slipped off the table, going to Fred and picking the snow out of his hair, brushing it off his shoulders. “Do you think she’d be mad at me?” I asked quietly, looking away. “Ashamed, I mean?”

Fred slung an easy arm around my shoulders. “I think she’d be proud.”

The door opened again, and this time Percy stepped out, looking awkward and nervous. He was fiddling with the collar of his robes, his face very pale. “Guys?” He asked, sounding so un-Percy-like that it nearly hurt. He was watching us standing in the snow together in a tight little group with wide, pleading puppy-dog eyes. “I… I can’t get this dratted collar to lie flat.”

I smiled at him, coming over to help him, understanding that he was asking for more than he had actually said. Percy had never really been one of us, always content to hold himself above, thinking himself superior, and now he was asking to be a part of the tight bond the rest of us had, if only for today.

I was fixing his collar when a snowball, thrown by Ron, flew over my head and hit Percy in the face, dripping off his glasses and melting a little on his shoulders. Percy looked horrified, and I could hear the others snickering. I grinned gently as I started wiping the snow off his face. Behind me, I could hear Fred, George, and Ron start throwing snow at each other in earnest, a full-blown snow war breaking out. Percy looked disgusted.

“Mum would not approve,” he snapped.

I listened to the sound of laughter behind me and I had to shake my head. “I think she would, Percy, honestly,” I said, because it was the first real laughter I had heard forever, and I knew mum would understand.

There was a soft popping sound, the sound of the air moving when a wizard apparated, and I spun towards the sound, already knowing without seeing that it was Bill and Charlie.

I was right. They had apparated right into the middle of the snow fight, and were quickly pelted with snowballs. Bill immediately started cursing, trying to defend himself and tell Ron, Fred, and George off all at the same time, and Charlie didn’t bother. He made his way out of the line of fire, his chocolaty eyes scanning the garden until they found me.

“Ginny!” He cried gladly, running forward. Without even stopping to consider it, I shrieked and lifted the skirt of my dress, running towards his open arms and jumping into them. He hugged me tightly, smelling of dragonhide and leather and soap, all very Charlie smells, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, hanging on tightly as he spun me around and around and around the way I had longed for while far away from him.

“I love you, I love you, don’t ever leave us again,” he gasped when my feet finally touched the ground again.

I smiled up at him through my tears and swore that I never would, and then he spun me around again.

The snow fight had died down by this time, Bill having finally convinced the others to stop pelting him with snowballs; and now they were all sitting in the snow, looking flushed and disheveled. Ron was sprawled on his back, looking up at the sky, George lay back making a snow angel, Bill was helping Percy fix his hair, and Fred was sitting cross-legged and staring at the glittering snow thoughtfully. I went and sat beside him, and it was a solemn, quiet moment.

I leaned my head against Fred’s shoulder. None of us spoke as the sky dulled to a soft rose, and then George sat up, inspecting his snow angel carefully and smiling. “I think she’d be proud of all of us,” he said, and I knew he was right.

Sometimes the hardest person to receive forgiveness from is our self, and though I never will forgive myself, I have somehow done something to deserve the forgiveness of my family. Sometimes I wonder what I had done to deserve everything that was done to me, and then I realize that maybe I have been to hell and back, but really, I have my share of blessings too. Family that stands by me no matter my mistakes, someone who loves me enough to forgive a thousand sins and more, and the strength to survive and move on without letting my entire existence be defined by a tragedy.

If anything, I have learned that a monster may hide behind any face, from the haunting face of a melancholy boy to the handsome face of a rich, pure-blooded wizard, and even the young face of a girl like me. But then, so can an angel.

The End.