Anew

Suffice to say I had to blow dust off my Schnoogle homepage in order to post this chapter. I apologize for the delay. Being an avid reader, I understand that there is nothing more frustrating than an author whose updates are so infrequent, or indeed, almost nonexistent, that the reader begins to harbor bitter feelings of malcontent or just gives up hope of a new chapter entirely. Unfortunately, as a junior in high school, I had to buckle down this last semester (it's my last chance to impress upon colleges that, in fact, I would be a fortunate and amiable addition to their student body) which left little time for writing. I actually had to go back and reread my earlier chapters to remember what I wrote about before starting chapter three. Hopefully, my updates will be more frequent from now on, as my school year is almost up (save for exams, which I am doing a fabulous job of repressing any knowledge of) and thus, free time will be more copious than of late. So, here's the third chapter, and, as always, JK Rowling owns Harry Potter; I am merely a humble servant of hers, committed to forever obsessing about and expanding on her genius. And as a side note, I've been religiously rereading the Twilight series to prepare for the upcoming release of Breaking Dawn in August-- hence my rather formal diction and syntax. I appear to be channeling Edward's manner of speaking. I apologize if it's aggravating; I think it's amusing, personally.

Chapter Three: A Moment of Certainty

"There was a certainty at this moment...a more gentle sensation towards the original, than had ever been felt in the height of their acquaintance."

~Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

It seemed very appropriate to be staring into a fire. A fire was, after all, all consuming, blinding, and rather symbolic. It had all sorts of connotations: hell, death, but also light and rebirth-- but that was if you were thinking positive thoughts about phoenixes rising from the ashes and all that. Which he wasn't.

The Gryffindor common room was also appropriate for the present time. It was familiar, which was a vague comfort, as nothing else was even close to approaching the vicinity of familiarity. It was also, he thought pensively, full of memories: lying on the hearth rug while he watched Ron try to copy Hermione's homework to no avail; Crookshanks stretched out on a wide cushion, hissing at anyone who tried to move him; Fred and George selling a variety of illegal substances in a corner, trying and failing to look inconspicuous; Ginny sitting by him and the hyper awareness he had of their proximity that never seemed to decrease with time; that subtle sense of peace and tranquility that only comes with a place you've known for years.

Being here, soaking up the heat radiating from the fire in front of the long couch he was sitting in, he could almost believe that nothing had changed.

Almost, but not quite.

Hence the negative thoughts weaving slowly though his mind-- slowly because pain never needs to be fast to draw blood; it's always worse slow, when the agony is drawn out in an almost lazy way, like a sharp knife being leisurely drawn against unresisting skin.

Harry forced back a shudder. He needed to distract himself, because for all he had told Myrtle, the morning light did not necessarily overcome the darkest of nights. And it had been the darkest, by far. Worse than-- but no. He would not go back into memories of blood and hexes and the death that seemed to haunt him like a shadow, just on the edges of his body-- not close enough to take him, only those around him.

And he could not help but think that that was worse.

He focused once again on the fire. He had been staring at it for so long that he could pick out the colors. Most people thought that fire was one color: red, or perhaps orange. But those more observant could see the transition between the coolest orange and the less mild yellow, the hot blue and the scorching, blinding white. He looked at the red in between. He had always had a weakness for it. It was the color of autumn, his favorite season; of the stupefy curse, his favorite spell; of Ginny's hair, and he had always had a weakness for her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the portrait door open. He barely heard the familiar creak of rusty hinges; as he turned his head, he was all of a sudden focused on something much more familiar.

Ginny.

It was as if the mere thought of her had conjured her appearance in front of him. And as surprised as he should have been-- that out of all the people that must be looking for him, she was the one who had found him; that out of all the places she could have looked for him, she chose to look here, in this small, circular little room that held more memories than almost any other; that she was alone and looking at him like he was some small, but still unbelievable miracle-- he didn't feel at all taken aback.

Of course it was her. It had always been her.

He made no move towards her and she stayed where she was as well. She seemed to be waiting for something; she was just standing by the portrait hole, her eyes locked with his, like she feared one small movement would break their contact.

A moment passed. And then another. After what seemed like the longest time, she took one step towards him. And then another. When she reached the couch, she sat down next to him, her eyes huge and dark in her small, fair face. With a tentative hand, she reached her fingertips towards his face, brushing gently against the skin of his cheek. Her hand was shaking. He closed his eyes at his touch and felt his eyelashes brush her skin. He heard her give a soft cry and he opened his eyes.

She had taken her hand from his face, her eyes oddly devoid of tears. He stared at her, waiting for her to burst into hysterics or something along those lines. The tension was building in the small, hot room and he wasn't sure he could last much longer under all the stress.

"Harry?" she asked softly, her eyes locked onto his.

His voice was hoarse from lack of use and his response was practically inaudible.

Ginny choked on a laugh. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Harry realized that he wasn't the only one to have inappropriate reactions to grief.

She took a deep breath and leaned forward to put her forehead against his, her hand just brushing though his hair to lie on his neck. He could feel his heart beating harder in his chest, could hear the sound of her uneven breathing.

"You're here," she said softly, her breath stirring the hair at his temples. "You're really here."

"Yeah," he told her, his voice a low whisper as he wrapped his hand around her own. "Yeah, I'm here."

They sat like that for a moment, breathing the other in, the only sounds the fire crackling in the grate and the echoing silence of everything unsaid.

Ginny took in a deep shuddering breath and shook her head lightly, as if trying to clear it. She pulled her head up and Harry could see the mother-of-pearl sheen on her cheeks that betrayed her tears. He reached up with one hand to brush them away and she sighed into his touch. His other hand trailed down her arm to her hand, and he laced his fingers with hers. When he brushed his thumb against her wrist, he felt something he was not expecting, something he had forgotten about : the hard edge of metal against her soft skin that brought back another memory as he raised his eyes to hers.

Flashback

The annoying thing about girls, Harry thought irritably as he practically dragged Ginny along the corridor, was that they always thought they were right- even if they were dead wrong, like now for instance.

As soon as he entered the room and closed the door behind them, Ginny wrenched her arm out of his grasp with surprising force and glared at him furiously.

He sighed, preparing himself for a battle that suddenly seemed more daunting than the one raging outside.

"Ginny," he began, trying to sound patient and understanding, yet still firm and unyielding.

She didn't even let him finish his sentence. "Don't think for a second that you can keep me in here, Harry," she snapped, her dark eyes blazing. "I won't stay and you can't make me."

So much for patient and understanding. He'd just have to go with firm and unyielding. "Watch me," he said, his low and rough.

She took a step towards him and looked up so that their eyes met. "I won't stay here," she said quietly, fiercely. "Not while you're out there."

"That's exactly why you have to stay here," he insisted. "I can't fight if I don't know for certain that you're here, safe. Ginny," he said and he put his hands on her shoulders, "please don't be difficult. Not now."

She didn't appear moved; in fact, she looked incredulous. "Do you think for one minute that it will be easy for me to stay in here when you're fighting out there?"

His grip tightened on her shoulders. "Ginny--" he began, but she cut him off.

"My whole family is out there," she said, her voice rising. "I'm not going to be the one sitting alone in the dark, not knowing what's going on outside."

"Use lumos," he said tightly.

She glared at him. "I meant in the dark figuratively."

"You always were ambiguous."

"Harry," she said desperately, "let me go."

He looked down into her wide eyes gazing beseechingly at him and felt his will falter. He forced himself to concentrate, to ignore the way she was looking at him.

"No."

"Harry--"

"No," he said, more forcefully this time. "Not a chance."

She bit her lip in frustration and shot him another glare. "And if I won't?" she asked daringly. "If I won't stay here?"

"Then I'll tie you down and lock the door behind me. This is not a discussion."

She jerked away from his grasp and his hands dropped from her shoulders. "That's not fair."

"No," he agreed, "but you're not being fair either."

They scowled at each other for a moment. Distantly, Harry could hear the shouts and crashes of the battle raging outside. He had to get out of here and go fight. He had to end this. Tonight was the night everything ended and everything changed. And where was he? In a small, dimly lit room, away from it all, arguing with his girlfriend.

Unbelievable.

He turned his attention back to Ginny. Her bright hair was tangled and waved around her face like the flames of a fire and her eyes were huge and dark, focused on him. He wanted to remember her face, everything about it. He didn't know when he would see her again. He let his ears tune out the violent background noise so that all he could hear was the sound of their ragged breathing. He let his eyes focus on her face, on her piercing eyes, on her gentle mouth, on her pale skin and the freckles that were as familiar to him as her scent: floral, subtle and soft.

He bent his head and he heard her sharp intake of breath as he pressed his lips to hers. She was not expecting it, and for a moment he thought she might push him away. But she didn't. She arched herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing into his mouth, a whisper, remembrance.

And he had forgotten this. How it felt to be with her. When each moment was not a blind turn around a darkened corner, but the feeling of walking through one's house after a long vacation; everything came rushing back: the feel of her hair against the palms of his hands, silky and smooth; the way she pressed herself against him, as if she wanted to mold herself to him and fuse them into one person; the way she ran her hands down his back and he felt his muscles move under her touch. He had forgotten all the different parts of her.

They broke off the kiss, but didn't separate, their heads bowed towards each other, foreheads pressed together. The only sound in the room was of their uneven breathing.

He turned his head a pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I have to go," he told her softly.

He heard her breath in sharply. "Take me with you."

Harry shook his head, and ran his hand through her hair again, marveling at the texture and color and how he could have forgotten what it felt like to touch her. "I can't do this with you," he said. "I have to do this alone."

Ginny said nothing for a long moment. She took a step back to look more directly at him. To his surprise, her mouth lifted up at the corners, an almost-smile. "I always thought I would be there in the end," she quietly, and then her smile faded. She reached up and traced the shape of his face, her fingertips brushing his temples, his eyelids, down his cheekbones to his jaw and over his lips. His mouth parted at her touch. She dropped her hand to his and grasped it tightly; she glanced at their interlocked hands for a moment before letting go. Ginny looked back up at him, their eyes catching, gazes mixing together. "I just didn't think it would end this way."

"Nothing's ending," he said fiercely.

She nodded, but he could tell she was placating him. Standing on her toes, she reached up to kiss him. He noticed an edge to the kiss that had not been there before-- a tension-- as if she was afraid they only had so much time left to them.

"Be safe," she whispered as she drew back, breaking the kiss.

Harry stared at her. She looked... resigned. And there was a soft sadness behind her dark eyes that had replaced the fire he remembered. It made him realize that she was very small, fragile even, and he suddenly felt nervous for her. He wanted to stay with her here and make sure she came out of this, that they both came out of this together. But this was not her battle to fight, and in order for him to fight it he had to leave her. But he couldn't leave without telling her.

"Ginny--" he began, but then a loud, deafening, echoing crash sounded from someone nearby and she stumbled into his arms, taken aback by the sudden noise.

He caught her, making a split-second decision. "Here," he said hastily, putting her back on her feet. He grappled with the watch on his wrist, not entirely sure what he was doing or why. He slid it off and took her arm, sliding the watch onto to slender wrist and fastening it. She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

He met her gaze directly. "I'll come back for you," he said, his voice low. "I swear. I will come back for you. Just stay here."

She blinked at him. After what felt like an eternity, she nodded slowly.

Harry looked at her for a long moment, and then crushed his lips to hers, cupping her face in his hands and making this his last memory of her.

When they broke off, he turned to leave. If he didn't now, he might never, and he had to. His fate was waiting on the other side of that closed door while his future stayed here, a future he might never see again. He forced the thought back and took a ragged breath. He moved towards the door.

"Harry."

He turned. Ginny stared wordlessly at him, her eyes very bright. An infinite time stretched between them, and though the future was blurred and distant, he could see the past. He could see her lying in the grass in the grounds, her red hair a stark contrast with all the green and blue of summer; he could see her laughing during meals, her flask of pumpkin juice shaking in her hand as she tried and failed to stop giggling at something he had said; he could see her in the darkest corner of a corridor, pressed up against him and he could feel the heat of her all around him, and he remembered thinking that life could be absurdly simple sometimes, even it never stayed that way.

He turned around again and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Tearing her eyes away from the closed door, Ginny looked down at the watch around her wrist and took her wand out of her robes. She pressed the tip to the metal and murmured a spell, her voice shaking slightly. The band of the watch shrank and tightened to fit her wrist. She put her wand back and ran her fingertips over the metal that had molded itself so perfectly against her skin. It was like a memory she couldn't shake off, like a promise she wouldn't forget.

References:

"He noticed an edge to the kiss that had not been there before-- a tension-- as if she was afraid they only had so much time left to them." - adapted from Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer

Side Note: Yes, I know that Ginny does leave to join the battle. This will be discussed in the next chapter. (Harry will be most displeased.)

Next Chapter: How do you leave a home? For a home is perhaps not where you live, but where you grow. Hogwarts will soon only be a memory, so how will they say goodbye?