On Fire

why, why do I come here?
seeking out the memories I hold in,
'cause you put your spell on me,
made me live in memory,

and I'm frozen in just the wrong time

- Keane

Talk

In a pub in Ottery St. Catchpole, Ginny stared dolefully at the near-empty Butterbeer bottle in her hand. It was hard to hear her own thoughts in the din in the pub, and she wondered exactly how she'd managed to be here on Christmas Eve.

Ginny hadn't planned on doing anything other than sleeping tonight. But once dinner was over, Bill had invited her and George to the local pub to get some air and escape their mother's persistent coddling, which had only increased now that the war was over. She'd refused, of course, but Bill wouldn't hear of it and made sure to throw a coat and gloves at Ginny before he pushed her out of the disguised doorway in the kitchen.

Sighing disconsolately, Ginny tucked her feet under her chair and glared at George's slumped form in the chair beside her. The moment they'd arrived at the pub, both of her brothers had started drinking the hardest Firewhiskey they could find, and with a pat to the head and a bottle of Butterbeer, they'd left Ginny to her own devices. She'd roamed about the room for a bit, smiling at the other wizards and witches present, while avoiding one particularly drunk fellow who ogled her. After half an hour, she joined Bill and George at their table.

Bill had regaled her and George with stories about his curse-breaking in Egypt, yet as the night wore on, his stories became more sporadic and his demeanor morose. Since Bill had been Ginny and George's main source of entertainment, his mood spread to them. George had continued drinking himself to oblivion while Ginny stared about her and fell to thinking. At first she had amused herself with watching the various characters in the pub, but she soon grew bored of that too.

Picking up her Butterbeer, Ginny drained it and loudly set the bottle down on the wooden table. As she relished the last dregs of sweetness in her mouth, she idly wondered where Bill was at the moment and wished that she had someone to talk to, preferably someone who wasn't sloshed. She grinned to herself as she traced the grain of the table, wondering who she would have invited to the pub with her if she'd had the choice. Draco and Blaise crossed her mind.

Ginny closed her eyes at that thought and tried to clear her mind before she began thinking about them again. Clenching her fist on the table, she desperately wondered how she'd fallen into that trap of memories. She'd been so good at avoiding any mention or thought of them since she'd arrived home that she'd deceived herself into thinking that she was over them. Yet, even as she forced herself to focus on something else, the unbidden vision of Draco's murderous eyes during the final battle arose in her mind.

Opening her eyes again, she looked about frantically for a way to take her mind off of it, off of him. At this point, she was willing to seek out the attention of that grabby bloke once again; she twisted around in her chair and searched hopelessly for him or Bill. When she could find neither, she turned to George and jostled him awake.

"Whassat?' George mumbled incoherently as he tried to pry his eyes open.

"George!" Ginny said sharply, shaking his arm again. "George, talk to me," she demanded, a hint of desperation in her voice. And there, in her mind's eye, was Blaise, crumpled on the floor next to Draco's feet, his normally-neat robes and hair askew and his wand falling out of his outstretched hand...

"'S nothin' to talk 'bout," George replied sullenly, turning away from her as he closed his eyes again.

Ginny would have pinched him or hit him, but she was distracted by his half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey, which was sitting a few centimeters from her own hand. Glancing at George to check that he was asleep, she reached for the bottle and took a healthy swig.

This was Ginny's first taste of alcohol, so she was sputtering afterwards and nearly dropped the bottle. Thankful that she hadn't made a mess, Ginny leaned her elbows on her knees and stared at the floor, trying to catch her breath. With a sinking heart, she realized that the Firewhiskey didn't help.

She blurted out the first thing on the tip of her tongue. "That was an Unforgivable, Ron! You'll go to Azkaban!" Almost immediately, she wanted to smack herself for saying such a stupid thing...

Ginny reached for the bottle again, her hands trembling so hard that she was once again in danger of dropping it. She took another swig, spluttering again when she drank too much at once and spilled Firewhiskey all over her.

Ron looked sheepish, and his eyes still burned with rage... She was soon eye-to-eye with the business end of Draco's wand...

Suppressed a cry of anguish in the bottle's mouth, Ginny tipped her head back and drank more.

Ron lunged at Draco to wrestle his wand away... A green shaft of light was heading towards her...

She barely noticed the tears trickling down her cheeks, mixing with the Firewhiskey as she brought the bottle to her lips once more.

She heard the curse coming nearer and closed her eyes... An unfamiliar weight on the back of her knees made her stumble... She was falling, felt a brief moment of pain...

"Ginny? GINNY!" someone yelled loudly in her ear, shaking her so hard by the shoulders that she had to open her eyes. She was startled when she realized that Bill's face was mere inches away from hers; his face was contorted in worry and fatigue, and his breath smelled strongly of alcohol.

"Gerroff," she muttered as she continued crying, trying to shake his hands off of her.

But Bill was furious, and refused to let go. "Where did you get that Firewhiskey?" he gritted out, squeezing her shoulders so tightly that Ginny was wincing in pain. She shook her head, indicating that she wouldn't tell, but he just shook her harder. "Tell me!" he demanded.

"It's Fred's," she gasped after letting out a loud sob. "I'm sorry, all right? I - I just wanted..."

"Right then," Bill replied gruffly, letting go of her shoulders as he rose to his feet and began collecting their things. "I think it's about bloody time we headed home."

Feeling a bit better, Ginny stood up shakily and slipped on her coat. The threadbare wool warmed her far more than she expected it to, but she couldn't stop sniffling as she buttoned herself up with numb fingers. As though she were in a dream, she felt Bill grab her arm and frog-march her to the door as he called out a hearty farewell to the bartender. Vaguely, she was aware of a taller, similarly threadbare form bumping into her and swaying drunkenly away as she touched the door's handle.

After a moment, she was forced awake as the chilly winter air outside blasted her face. Blinking owlishly, she looked around her and finally realized that she was outside on the tavern's porch, wincing in the bright, cheery light from the lantern above her head. Without a word of explanation, Bill grabbed her arm again and forced her to keep step with his long strides. The cold night air soon cleared some of the cobwebs from her mind, so she soon realized that they were walking home.

The walk back was quiet and rather uneventful, except for a spectacular view of George's backside when he was sick in the snow. Normally, she or Bill would have joked with him about it, but they were so exhausted that their thoughts were bent on returning to the warm living room in the Burrow. Ginny had never felt as weary before as she did on that silent trek home. Even when she'd realized that Blaise was dead - No, you idiot, don't think about him! - she hadn't felt as numb and soulless as she did now.

Thankfully, they reached the Burrow before they all developed a bad case of frostbite. Before she could the stomp the snow out of her shoes, Bill pushed her onto a couch, gave her a stern look and muttered, "Don't go anywhere," before he dragged George upstairs to bed.

Ginny lay slumped on that brightly-colored couch for nearly an hour, though it felt closer to a year by her reckoning. The effects of the Firewhiskey came and went, making the room spin for a good twenty minutes before everything righted itself again. With a yawn, she wondered if she was going mad from all of this 'not-thinking' of Draco and Blaise, but she dozed off before she could think of an answer.

The next she knew, she was being roughly shaken by Bill, again. "Stop," she mumbled, trying to find a more comfortable position on the couch, even though she was rather bunched up in her coat, hat, and gloves. Bill would have none of it, though, and had practically pushed her to the floor when she opened her eyes and yelled sleepily, "Bloody hell, I'M UP!"

"That's the spirit," Bill chuckled unrepentantly as he sat down beside her. Reaching over to the table by his elbow, he picked up a steaming cup of tea and held it out to her before he continued, "Here, this will make you feel better."

Groaning, Ginny took the cup and sipped it carefully. Sure enough, the sweet warmth of the tea seemed to spread to all corners of her body. Sighing gratefully, she took another long drink.

She was so preoccupied with her tea that she forgot that her eldest brother was sitting beside her until she was done and looked up at him. He had been watching her impassively, but when he noticed that she was watching him, he smirked at her and took the cup. "I suppose that taught you not to touch Firewhiskey again?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Shut up, you git," she muttered, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back on the sofa with a sigh. They sat there in silence for a long moment, until Ginny looked at Bill again and asked, "Is there a reason why you didn't let me go straight to bed?"

With an infuriating smirk, Bill crossed his legs and leaned back into the cushions as he avoided the question with one of his own. "Why don't we talk?"

Suspiciously, Ginny slowly stated, "All right. What about?"

Bill gave her that stupid smirk again as he said, "You."

"There's nothing to talk about," Ginny answered too quickly. "I'm fine."

"Just as fine as George is, I see," Bill stated nonchalantly.

Ginny had no answer to that seemingly innocent remark. Both she and Bill knew that George wasn't taking the loss of Fred too well. When Ginny had returned home from the Infirmary, she found that George was the only brother who secluded himself in his room and refused to leave even for meals. While everyone sympathized with his grief, it was only Ginny who knew how deeply he mourned.

From the moment she set foot in her childhood home, Ginny was given the job of serving George his meals in his room. On her first trip, she'd found George lying on his bed on his side, staring at Fred's bed and belongings, which looked as though they hadn't been moved since he'd last been at the Burrow. Dropping her eyes in pity, she'd laid the tray on George's bedside table and left him quietly. When she'd returned, the tray was untouched and he was fast asleep.

For a week or so, the food was cold and barely touched. In fact, he'd been like that until Bill took the initiative to enter his room and speak with him. Ginny didn't know what those two had discussed, but since that day, the food she left for him showed signs of being eaten, if only half-heartedly.

Turning her eyes to Bill, Ginny felt her heart sink when she realized what the true purpose of this 'talk' of theirs was. As he had with George, Bill was hoping to help her out of her own depression. Ginny was thankful that he was taking such an interest in her, but half of her conscience rebelled against being used so blatantly. Was he really hoping to cure everything that she'd been through? He hadn't a single clue of what Ginny had felt when she was hurt to the point where she didn't think she could handle anymore until she withered away into nothingness. Unable to hide her thoughts, she blurted out sarcastically, "Am I your new pet project? The next Weasley to be helped by your incomparable powers of healing?"

A moment later, Ginny wanted to bite her tongue off in shame. The look on Bill's face betrayed how hurt he was to hear that much bitterness from the mouth of his little sister. "Bill-" she began uncertainly, trying to think of a way to soothe the effects of her verbal barb.

"Shut it," he replied angrily as he rose to his feet. He stood there for a moment, looking down at her with dislike and a measure of pity. "You know that Mum and Dad are busy with the Ministry and the Order. George is off in his room recovering from his brother's death, Ron's probably crying in Hermione's arms at this second, and Charlie's back in Romania. I thought I'd lend a shoulder to cry on and maybe a listening ear, but if you're so full of yourself that you won't see how your life is slipping away, then continue, by all means!" Finished with his rant, Bill turned on his heel, his ponytail and earring swinging with the movement as he began walking away from her.

Ginny gaped at the back of his head as he walked away. She didn't even have time to examine her own feelings about what he had said before she called out, "Bill, please! I didn't mean it! I- I just can't stand this anymore. It's so hard to forget them, to forget everything that happened!"

Bill stopped in his tracks, and turned around to face her. With an expressionless face, he raised an eyebrow and asked, "Perhaps you shouldn't try so hard to forget?"

"What... What do you mean?" Ginny asked with wide eyes.

"I mean," he replied patiently, returning to the couch and plopping down on it, "that the key to moving on isn't forgetting. It's remembering and learning from your mistakes," his voice trailed off into a whisper as he finished.

Ginny dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap, trying to think about what he'd just said. Had she really been going about this the wrong way? Would remembering how Draco and Blaise had used her to get that information on the secret entrance from Hogsmeade actually help her find some semblance of normalcy in her life? Would she actually be able face the future by thinking through her time as a pawn, even though she felt like her heart would explode if she even thought of Blaise's eyes? "That's a rather tall order, don't you think?" she muttered, staring unseeingly at the clenched hands in her lap

"Tell me all of it, Ginny," Bill quietly pleaded, reaching over to clasp her hands in his.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny focused on his hairy knuckles as she embarked on the tale of how she'd found two wonderful friends on the train ride to Hogwarts in September. She told him of how Blaise would protect her from anyone and how Draco became a pillar of strength in her eyes. She also described the Dementor attack at the Quidditch match, the strange words of foreboding that Blaise had told her before he kissed her, and the way Harry's green eyes darkened in hate when he caught her in his room.

It took a full two hours to tell it all, and when she was done, Ginny could feel her brain and heart pounding in a strange mixture of relief, fear, anxiety, and resignation. Trying to ignore her odd feelings, she finally whispered, "Now, nothing's the way it used to be. It's so hard to adjust, because I feel like I've been living someone else's life these past few months. So many people are gone, and whoever isn't dead is just... changed. Or gone in other ways," she added, thinking of Draco leaving her in the infirmary. Only now, as she retold her story, did she realize that he had turned his back on more than her supposedly sleeping figure and Blaise's body; he had also left his past behind.

Bill cleared his throat gently to rouse her from her thoughts and then quietly stated, "I know this is the one of the worst times to say this, Ginny, considering that we've just been through a bloody war... But life, what we had before Harry entered our lives and our world, isn't always a battle."

Ginny stared at him in confusion. "Well, I'm rather aware of that," she began in a hesitant voice, wondering where he was going with this.

Shaking his head, Bill removed his hand from hers and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "No, I don't think you do," he answered, suppressing a yawn. "What I mean is, you are always going to have hard times in your life, Ginny. Everyone does, as you already know. But there's more to our lives than those struggles we face."

Ginny dropped her eyes again and turned away, whispering, "How is that possible, Bill? Is there really more to my life than this? I feel as though I've done everything that I'm useful for, and soon it will be my time-"

Bill interrupted her by grabbing her shoulder as he had in the pub, shaking her out of her thoughts again. "Don't say that, Ginny," he hissed, turning her chin so that she was forced to look him in the eye. "Don't you ever say that again! There's so much more to your life that you haven't experienced yet."

Her face was one of disbelief, so he tried again. "Ginny, believe me - what you've gone through says a lot about your courage and strength. But your past doesn't make you who you are. It's how you react to what happened to you, and how you're able to deal with it, that defines your character. And some day, you'll be known for making a life for yourself despite what you went through."

Ginny watched his face, taking note of the barely suppressed excitement and earnestness in his voice. The fact that her own brother believed so much in her brought tears to her eyes; with a watery smile, she whispered, "You say that as though you know my future already. I never knew you were a Divination buff as well, Bill."

He grinned good-naturedly at her and shrugged. "Mark my words, Ginny. You'll make something of yourself someday."

"You really think so?" she asked, her eyes pleading for his assurance even as a lone tear trickled down her cheek.

"Yes," he replied simply, reaching in his pocket for a handkerchief and handing it to her. Once she'd blown her nose and settled back down, he leaned back on the couch and surveyed her. "You are the first female Weasley in Merlin-knows how many generations. You're the only sister of Ronald Weasley, Best Friend of the Boy Who Conquered," he grinned teasingly, which caused her to giggle.

"Honestly, Ginny," Bill began in a brighter tone, "after all that you've been through, do you honestly believe that things won't get better? True, it might be another ordeal to get everything right again," he added hastily, "but you won't be alone. You can't get rid of us that easily!" he laughed, wagging his eyebrows teasingly.

It was only a few moments later when Ginny finally went to bed, but she'd never felt as safe and loved as she did that night, wrapped in her old coverlet as she slept dreamlessly.

The next morning, Ginny stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Thankfully, the Firewhiskey had had no ill effects on her, and for the first time in years, she was looking forward to starting the day. She greeted her mother and Bill with a cheery 'Good morning,' and took a seat opposite her big brother, reaching for the toast. Bill winked at her and grinned before returning to the confines of his Daily Prophet.

As Ginny ate, she noticed the title 'Ministry Captures Last of Death Eaters' emblazoned on its front page. The shock of knowing that the war was finally over, that there wasn't any real need to worry for her own safety stunned her. She tried to feel some sort of excitement and peace in response, but all she felt was a grim satisfaction and surprising emptiness. Remembering Bill's words from the night before, she finally rose from the table and willed herself to stop moping. Setting up a tray for George, she carefully made her way up the winding staircase to his room on the second floor.

Once again, he was lying on his side towards Fred's bed. This time, however, he turned his head and watched her as she carefully placed the tray on his bedside table. She noticed his haggard appearance, ruffled hair, and bloodshot eyes long before he mumbled, "Happen to have a Hangover Draught in there?"

Shaking her head at the memories of his drunkenness last night, Ginny looked down at the tray and found a small blue bottle of the potion sitting on it. Bill must have slipped it on the tray as she was leaving the kitchen. She uncorked it and handed it to him.

George finished it in one long gulp, and flopped back on his bed as the potion began to take its effect. Once he was feeling better, he gave her a small grin and said sheepishly, "Sorry 'bout last night. Should've stopped you."

Ginny rolled her eyes and grinned as she assured him, "I'm fine. I was just a wee tipsy - didn't even have a hangover this morning."

"Right," he breathed in relief. "Did Mum make kippers?" he asked as he reached for the tray.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny sat on the edge of his bed and watched him eat. She wasn't quite sure why he was eating with such gusto, but she was too afraid she'd ruin it by asking about it. Instead, she began, "The rest of the Death Eaters have been caught, you know. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning."

George stopped eating and stared at his plate, contemplating this bit of news. Finally, he asked, "All of them?"

"Yes," Ginny replied, wondering what he was thinking.

"Blimey, it's about time," he muttered before he stuffed a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Silence filled the room as Ginny sat there and watched him finish the rest of her plate. Of all of the responses she'd expected from George, it hadn't been that. He was clearly trying to hide his real emotions by focusing on eating, but Ginny yearned to know what was really in his heart.

When he was full, he sipped his tea for another long stretch of silence. Finally, he shot her a quick glance and turned his eyes back to his cup. "Did Bill talk to you last night?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she answered, wondering where this conversation was headed.

"What did he say?"

"Told me to get my head out of my arse, learn from what happened, and move on with my life," she said as bluntly as she could.

George flinched momentarily at her honest answer, but he surprisingly stated, "He told me the same. Said that I needed to move on and all that rot."

Ginny watched his expressionless face carefully, hoping to get a hint of what he was feeling. However, George's eyes were focused on his empty teacup, as though he was afraid to look up and face her, or face the truth of Bill's words. Ginny's eyes were filled with sympathy as she whispered, "He's right, George. Fred wouldn't have wanted you to be like this; you and I both know it."

Looking again at Fred's bed, George said, "Can't be too sure, now can we? After all, he's not around to say it." He looked at her quickly, shooting her a shadow of his old, familiar grin, before his mood became sober again. "I'd do it, Ginny, in a heartbeat. But... I can't," he finished in a serious tone.

"Why not?" she asked with some exasperation. Ginny was certain that if she was willing to move on, she'd be overjoyed about it.

He looked away from her again, as though ashamed to admit his reason. Whispering, he replied, "I'm afraid I'll forget him if I do. I still have Alicia and the business, not to mention pranks that I still ought to make. But I'll be so involved with them that I'll forget him." He sat up suddenly and stared her dead in the eye, stating flatly, "And I can't forget him, Ginny. If I do, who else will remember him?"

Ginny was a bit startled by his openness, but frowned in confusion as she answered, "You're not the only one who remembers him, George. He was my brother, and Bill's and Charlie's and Ron's. Bloody hell, he was Mum's son, and I doubt she'd ever forget him. She still hasn't given up on Percy!"

A sneer crossed his features at the mention of Percy, but George resolutely shook his and replied, "But none of you know him like I do. Or did. He was only your brother, Gin, but there was so much more to him than that. There are parts of him that you and Mum never knew about."

"Well, that's fine," Ginny replied understandingly. "Each of us remembers different parts of him, while you know the most of all. Together, I'd say we have a good chance of accurately remembering what he was like and keeping that memory alive, yeah?"

George pondered that for a moment before he grudgingly conceded, "S'pose you're right." Looking down at his lap, he added, "But it still feels wrong to just... move on."

"I know," she whispered, standing up to sit beside him on the bed. The dejection in his attitude and the guilt that he'd obviously been living with for the past few weeks were coming off of him in waves. Quietly slipping her hand in his, she gave it a gentle squeeze in reassurance. She felt rather powerless to help him in any way, but she understood how greatly George had felt Fred's death. They had been inseparable since they were born; at times, Ginny thought they'd had their own language. Certainly she'd been upset since Blaise's death, but she'd never experienced with him the love and companionship the twins had shared with each other.

Laying her head on his shoulder, Ginny knew that George's way wasn't the best way to mourn Fred. Hoping to give her brother some encouragement, she haltingly began, "I can't pretend to know how you feel, George. But I do know Fred wouldn't have wanted us to simply sit about. You remember - he was always doing something - it was usually a prank, and Ron and I were usually the victims," at this, she pinched him in the arm teasingly, "but he was always active. Wouldn't it be wrong to not carry on that memory as well?"

George turned to look at Fred's bed, and sat there for a few moments in silence. Ginny couldn't see his face in her position, but she knew that he was warring with himself about what to do. "You're right," he finally whispered brokenly, leaning his chin on the top of her head. "I should move on," he continued, as though convincing himself of that fact.

Ginny sat there breathlessly, wondering what his final decision would be. She was surprised, and rather chilled, when she heard him mutter under his breath, "After all, what else do I have to lose?"

Indeed, Ginny answered mentally, thinking of that cold room in Hogwart's Infirmary where dozens of bodies once lay, and the sight of Blaise's crumpled body at Draco's feet. What more does anyone have to lose?