Ghost

Ginny makes it through the war intact except for the heavy silence that surrounds her skull like a shroud. Her hair has grown back already, thicker and a brighter shade of red, almost the exact shade of Ron's hair, before he died. In the mirror, she looks almost unchanged: just a bit thinner, a bit paler.

Her brothers are all dead, every last one of them, and her father, too. The house is large and empty without them. Ginny has developed an incapacitating fear of the dark. Most nights she can't bring herself to go up the looming staircase and instead sleeps curled up on the sofa. Most mornings she wakes to find her mother making tea and crying in the kitchen.

It's May now. Flowers are blooming in the back garden. Ginny spends hours out there, de-gnoming or just lying on her back in the grass, looking up at the trees. It's much easier to de-gnome now that she can't hear their tiny shrieks as they die. In September, she'll go back to Hogwarts for her last year. Ginny can barely imagine taking notes in class, gossiping at breakfast, watching Quidditch matches. Having friends and homework. A life.

Too much is gone. Ginny wants to stay home and take care of her mother, who she's afraid will waste away, alone in the big house.

She knows she won't stay.

Dumbledore has offered to teach Ginny a spell that will allow her to hear things again. She knows she'll have to learn it in order to go back to school, but for now she's enjoying the silence. It means she doesn't have to listen to her mother wailing in her brothers' bedrooms at all hours of the night. It means she can almost pretend she no longer hears the echo of Ron's screams as he was tortured to death. Almost.

The house is oppressive, haunted. After a while, Ginny can't bear even to sleep indoors, and moves her bedding to the twins' old tree house. They never let her up there when they were still alive. It's also haunted, but not in a way that keeps Ginny up at night, quaking and frightened.

Ron's ghost lives in the tree house. He tries to talk to her but Ginny only shakes her head helplessly. Just as well - she doesn't really want to hear anything he has to say. They exchange wispy, frozen kisses and he curls up beside her when she sleeps. During the day, they sit side by side on a tree branch, hidden beneath the leaves. She tries not to look at the place where his legs end abruptly just above the ankles.

Harry Potter comes to visit on a Thursday, shortly after noon. Ginny sees him coming up the path from her perch in the tree house. Ron promptly disappears. Ginny doesn't come down to greet Harry until her mother appears at the back door and beckons Ginny into the house. Harry hugs Ginny, smiles at her, says something to her, then something else. Ginny stares at him blankly. She watches as his smile falters. Then Ginny's mother touches him on the shoulder, says something to him. Harry looks anguished. Good, Ginny thinks.

She sits at the kitchen table, watching awkward conversation pass back and forth between her mother's mouth and Harry's. Ginny is glad she can't hear what they're saying. They must be carefully avoiding the topic of Ginny's brothers, casting around desperately for some neutral ground, something safe and idle. The weather's nice this year, isn't it? How's Ginny doing? These are excellent biscuits, Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny escapes after fifteen minutes, goes out to the pond and dangles her feet in it. Everything is so quiet. When she was younger and Ron wouldn't leave her alone, she would stuff cotton in her ears and pretend she couldn't hear him. It muted the sound of his voice, whiny and high-pitched, but it was nothing like this. The wind blows and she can't hear it. Birds chirp soundlessly at each other in the bushes.

She doesn't hear Harry come up behind her, and jumps when he sets a hand on her shoulder. He sits down beside her and takes her hand in his. His nails are bitten down the quick. Ginny has no sympathy for him. What did he lose? A best friend? Nothing, Ginny thinks. That's nothing.

She isn't surprised when he leans in and kisses her, awkward, fumbling - nothing like Ron's kisses, which were always smooth and warm and sweet. She waits for Harry to pull away, then pats his hand gently and stands up. He looks stricken. Such a sweet boy, really. She wonders idly what he'll do with his life and finds that she doesn't care.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she says, or thinks she says. She must, because Harry nods and looks down at his feet.

Ron is waiting in the tree house. Ginny holds out her hand. He tries to take it, but his hand passes right through.