Show Me Forgiveness

Show me forgiveness

For having lost faith in myself

And let my own interior up

To inferior forces

The shame is endless

But if soon start forgiveness

The girl might live

~ Björk

I pause suddenly, my fingers resting on the keyboard. I glance at the calendar on my desk--January 27th, it says. Seven months, then. It's been seven months since I left. I shut my eyes and lay my palms flat against the board, the plastic keys making a soft clicking sound. My skin prickles. Seven months.

"Anne?"

I look up, startled. Standing before me is one of my co-workers, Anise, and I pray that my appearance has not given away my unexpected episode of nostalgia.

"Are you okay? You've rather been somewhere else for the last few moments." Anise's eyes widen and she begins breathlessly, "You haven't come down with something, have you? It is the season for that sort of thing, after all," she says knowingly. "Robin--you know, Robin, from Resources--well, she called in sick this morning. You haven't what she has, have--"

"Really," I interrupt hastily, realising that otherwise my co-worker will never cease her rambling. "I'm quite fine."

"Oh. Well...okay, then," she frowns, and I can tell that she, ever the gossip, does not really believe me. "Anyhow, your shift is over in a few minutes."

"Oh, really?" I ask, disappointed. Apparently I had last track of the time. "Well...are you certain that you don't want me to pick up a few extra hours?"

"Anne, you know there really hasn't been much to do lately," she replies. "Besides, you work harder than anyone else here."

"I'm only a filer, Anise."

"And a damn good one to boot," she smiles warmly. "Now, go home to your nice, warm flat...and enjoy the rest of your evening!" She pauses, then, "and that's an order."

Rolling my eyes, I begin to collect my things. As tedious as my work is, Anise doesn't understand that it keeps me occupied, which is essential to my survival in this new life of mine...a life that I've never wanted, but a life into which I've forced myself. This is the only way, and I know that.

The cold is unrelenting against my skin, but I welcome it nonetheless. The snow falls heavier now, mixed with rain, and the resultant slush collects at the sides of the streets. My hair is plastered against my cheeks, but I do not bother to brush it away. Perhaps I will put the kettle on and draw a bath when I get to my flat.

Some time later I am standing before the door to my flat, key in hand, when something passes over me; it is a feeling that I can not quite place, and it is gone before I can analyse it further. It is admittedly not the first instance of this feeling. I have felt it before, this deep, numbing sensation of someone trying to reach me, but I always push it away, always worried that my inclination might be becoming a reality, a reality that I am not yet ready to face. As I open the door, I note somewhere in the back of my mind that this time the sensation was stronger.

And with good reason, it would seem, for as I shut the door behind me it is he that stands mere feet away. I cannot decipher his expression, but neither do I expect that he can decipher mine. We remain like this for several moments, neither of us moving, the distance between us seemingly palpable, before it suddenly begins to truly sink in. I've been found. Months of cautiousness, unbearable cautiousness...wasted. I feel myself becoming less and less aware of my surroundings, less and less aware of him, of everything, really. My thoughts are jumbled, and my mind is clouded by wonder and disbelief. I've been found. But the words seem so incredibly unreal to me. I soon lose my ability to stand, and as I sink down to the floor I realise that my shoulders are shaking, and that my eyes are bleary with seven months' worth of unshed tears.

He comes to my side immediately, predictably. He wraps his arms around me, and I see that he, too, is crying. I do not return the embrace, but rather sit there in something of a stupor. I can not bring myself to believe any of it.

"Ginny," he whispers, resting his head against my forehead, and there is nothing in me that can prevent the fresh onslaught of tears. He kisses me then. I do not return it, and it is brief, a simple, light brushing of his lips against mine. He then releases me, for which I am grateful. I wonder how can he be so compassionate after what I did. I sicken myself.

"How," I choke, but he does not answer. "How, Harry," I demand softly.

"We've been searching for you ever since you left."

"We?"

"Everyone," he whispers, then looks away. "Everyone that knows, at least. Which isn't that many, Gin," he quickly clarifies. "Your family...and me. That's all. That's everyone that knows, so you don't have to--"

"I want you to leave," I cut him off simply, my voice lacking any discernable emotion.

"I can't," he reveals softly. "You know I can't."

Using the door as my support, I stand up, needing to reduce our propinquity. I walk toward the window in my flat, staring out at the world, and hating it. Hating the circumstances. The circumstances that I've created. I turn to face him, my arms folded protectively. "You shouldn't have come here," I state.

He, too, is standing now, and his expression is somewhat fiercer than before. My dispassion has frustrated him. "Look at how you're living, Ginny," he says. "Look around you. Everything is so bare."

"Well what did you want to have me do, Harry?" I spit out. "Live some lavish life after...after..." I can not say it, so I turn away.

"Of course not," he says, "but this life is hurting you."

"You can't have been here that long, Harry!" I say bitterly, and a tear slips down my face. I wipe it away forcefully. "You know nothing of my life."

"I know that you need help."

"Oh, well naturally that's what you came here for!" I bark at him. "That's what you all want, isn't it? To send me off to St. Mungo's and--!"

"NO, Ginny!" My comment has hurt him, but I don't know why. "I would--we would never do that to you! ...What I meant is that you need the support of the people that love you."

"People that--" I break off, laughing bitterly. "People that love me, Harry? Why don't you tell me where Ron fits into all of this, then! Hm, Harry, what about him?" I demand.

"Ron..." he closes his eyes. "...he understands."

"Bullshit," I shout incredulously. "I'm to understand that..." I'm crying harder than before now. "...that he would...that he could..." I can barely speak, the words hurt so much. "...still love me...after...THAT HE COULD STILL LOVE ME AFTER I KILLED HER! AFTER I KILLED HERMIONE!" I give up trying to control the sobs that are wracking through body. My hands are clamped shut over my mouth. This is the first time that I've said it aloud, and the effect on my emotions is far too great.

He comes to me now, and I accept him. He guides me to the couch and holds me tightly as the two of us cry, and he whispers to me, "Shh, it's okay," but I know that it isn't.

"I couldn't stop it..." I choke. "I tried to...but it was too late..."

"I know."

"He had already killed so many, Harry. ...Colin, Neville, Luna, Seamus...and so many others..." And it's occurred to me that I need this...this emotional purgation. I've needed it for so long, but I've been afraid of it. "I hated Malfoy for what he had done to my friends for all those years...for what he had done to you and to Ron and to Hermione." Taking a deep, shaky breath, I continue. "I could feel it...inside, building up. It was so intense. I knew what was going to happen...but my god, Harry, I didn't know that she would be there!" He knows that I have to get it all out, and so he remains silent, and I go on. "I knew that I had a problem. It wasn't the first time that I had done magic without a wand. But...but for that...to happen as it did...god, I'm so screwed up, Harry."

"No, Gin," he whispers, shaking his head. Stroking my back gently, he says, "Our emotions...they are connected to our magic, but for you the effects can be greater, much greater. It doesn't mean that you're screwed up, and don't you think that ever again. It just means that you have to gain control of what's inside...and there are ways that you can do that."

"I know," I begin softly, "and I have been able to...for the most part. There have only been a few incidents while I've been here, but no one has been hurt. I was able to get hold of a few texts that deal with...that deal with my condition."

"I don't understand, then, Ginny. If you've improved, then why haven't you come back?"

Sighing, I say, "Harry, you know why..."

"Gin...no one hates you," he tries to assure me.

"I hate me, though," I inform him, trembling slightly.

"Well," he cups my cheek his hand, and I lean into his touch, "I love you."

"You shouldn't," I mutter truthfully. "I'm a right mess."

He laughs lightly. "I think I can live with that."

"Don't pretend that she wasn't your best friend, too, Harry."

He drops his hand, and his expression turns solemn. "I've had to mourn two losses during these past seven months, Gin. I'm not going to give up my chance to get one of them back. I miss Hermione...god, I miss her," he says, his voice strained. "But I don't blame you for her death, Ginny, and the thought of you out here alone and hurting is more than I can bear." He whispers then, "I need you."

I'm shaking now, and he pulls me closer. Why? Why must he be so kind? Why can't he hate me as I do? "I'm afraid, Harry," I admit faintly. "I'm afraid of what will happen if I go back. I've been fine all this time because I've been away from it...away from the magic. What if I can't control it anymore...what if someone else dear to me dies?"

"Hey," he whispers, lifting my chin so that I can meet his gaze. "I won't let that happen. I won't give you any reason to leave again." Then, "I've missed being with you. I've missed kissing you and I've missed just...holding you like this."

"I know," I whisper, nodding. "I've missed being with you, too."

He leans toward me then, and I wrap my arms around his neck, my eyes fluttering closed. His mouth move passionately against my own...and everything feels so warm and so familiar. I return the kiss with equal fervor as my fingers gently massage the base of his neck. He pulls away for a moment to whisper in my ear, "I want it all back, Gin," and then once again angles his mouth over mine. He soon moves to my neck, and I loll my head to side to allow him better access.

"Can we just...have tonight..." I manage to whisper in a voice thicker than my own, "...before..?" I feel his nod against my neck, and gently he lays me down against the couch, covering my body with his own.