His Memories

His memories

Chapter one

The Witness

...Arous'd and angry,
I'd thought to beat the alarum,
and urge relentless war, But soon my fingers fail'd me,
my face droop'd and I resign'd myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them,
or silently watch the dead;
Years hence of these scenes,
of these furious passions,
these chances,
Of unsurpass'd heroes,
(was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;)
Now be witness again...

~Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Two years earlier...

~*~

It was one in the morning when Ginny crept down the cold stone steps to the Gryffindor common room. She hadn't been able to sleep. The torches on the wall burned dimly, and cast long dark shadows across the room. The fire was slowly burning itself out, and there was Ron, slumped over in an armchair, as he had been every night for the past week. "Ron," she said quietly, "You awake?"

"No."

Ginny sprawled herself over one of the empty chairs next to her brother. He hardly flinched as she nudged her hand at his. His hand felt cold like it had been resting over the arm of the chair for hours and all the blood was drained from it. He still hadn't changed out of the clothes he had worn that day.

"All right?" he asked quietly.

"No. Are you?" But she knew what the answer would be. Harry and Ron had been through so much together, and were inseparable at school. They were a source of strength for each other, and now Ron seemed incomplete.

The whole school felt incomplete. It wasn't the same without Harry there. Students went to their classes, their common rooms, and the library as they had done before, but the mood was subdued, and even the Great Hall was quieter during meals.

"Of course not," Ron sighed, she could tell he had been crying but was trying to hide it from her. "I went to my best friend's funeral today." Ginny shivered, once again picturing Harry's lifeless body in the casket.

Hundreds of witches and wizards turned out in Godric's Hollow to see Harry Potter prematurely laid to rest next to his parents. The cold, depressing mood in the crowd was rivaled only by the weather, which was drizzling rain off and on during the entire ceremony.

Ginny was starting to feel cold as she sat motionless. The fire that had been a single flame when she entered the room had burned down to a pile of smoldering orange-red embers. In the dim shadows on the wall she could just make out the outline of a broomstick above the fireplace. The mantle had become a memorial of sorts after Ron placed Harry's Firebolt there. Since then, students had added flowers, pictures, cards, and other sentimental objects: Neville's Remembrall, a pair to mismatched socks.

Each time she entered the common room, it gave her some comfort to glance over at the mantle. There was always something that would catch her eye and flood her with happy memories of Harry. After returning from the funeral, Ginny finally made a contribution to the memorial. It was a picture her mother had taken of her with Harry, Ron, Hermione; they were tossing gnomes out of the garden. A smile crept across her face as she imagined Harry lobbing one over the hedge in a rather dramatic fashion. If it was possible, his untidy hair seemed more untidy, his cheeks were flushed, and he had a broad smile on his face.

Almost as quickly as she remembered it, the picture was replaced by the one image that she wished she could forget--forever: Harry's body in the casket. For the first time, his hair was not unruly. His cheeks were pale, and his mouth was somber. He didn't look like he was sleeping because she knew he usually had a slight smile on his face when he slept.

She heard Ron sigh again.

"I know," she said feebly. "It's tough on all of us."

"Even Malfoy raised his goblet to Harry at dinner tonight; can you believe he had the nerve?" That was the most feeling Ginny had heard from her brother in a while, but it was short lived.

"Ron," Ginny scolded, but quickly changed her tone to something more compassionate. "He's sorry. Do you find it that hard to believe that even Harry's sworn enemy would feel bad about this?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Ginny forced herself upright in the chair and looked over at Ron. He still hadn't moved from his position, but she could see his eyelids flicker, and his cheeks were beginning to redden.

"Because everyone knows his father did it -- sodding bastard. And Malfoy knows but he won't say anything." He slowly opened his eyes, but didn't turn his head to face her.

"He wasn't there. No one was--" Ginny was almost glad her brother refused to look at her, because if he had, he would see the guilt written in big red letters all over her face. Every time Ron cursed everyone and everything in that forest that didn't interfere and save his best friends life, Ginny felt even worse. If he kept that up, she wouldn't be able to look anyone in the face.

But it had all been for her safety, and there was really nothing she could have done. Still, the thought of what her boyfriend's father had done plagued her memories and dreams. Dumbledore knew what she had witnessed, Draco knew, but that was all, and that's how it would stay. The unfortunate side effect was a growing rift between her and Ron. He was just too tired to resist talking to her tonight.

"Sure," he said sharply.

"Why don't you go up to bed, and we'll talk about this in the morning."

"Can't. It's just Seamus, Dean, and Neville up there."

"You have to stop doing this Ron. You haven't slept there since it happened," she said, feeling like a massive hypocrite for even suggesting it. She wasn't back to normal, and probably never would be. She hadn't slept a full night through since he was killed, because every time she drifted off to sleep her subconscious mind would take over, showing her images of a murderous and eerily satisfied Lucius Malfoy effortlessly running a sword right through Harry's chest. Best not to think about it then, she would tell herself. Easier said that done though. She was there, under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and remembered every detail all too vividly.

Ron showed no sign of moving from the chair, and Ginny expected to find him there, asleep, in the morning. She returned to her dorm after her futile attempt to talk to her brother, and found the diary under her pillow; it was a gift from Harry two weeks before he was killed. She picked it up, but dropped it as a shiver ran through her body. She picked it up again, this time holding it more securely, and ran her fingers over the gold lettering that read H. J. Potter. It had never been opened, or at least she had never opened it, afraid of what might be written inside.

Did she really want to get inside Harry Potter's head?

=======================

Ginny looked over the plainly wrapped parcel Harry had just given her. Her name was hastily scrawled on the front, and the ink was still wet. "Why did you use my full name?"

"I figured it would catch on soon. Virginia Erin Weasley."

"My mum calls me that when she's angry with me."

"Well, then it's about time we changed that."

"We'll see." She looked up at Harry to exchange a warm glance, but he was straining to keep a feeble smile on his face. "So, what's the occasion? I know it's not my birthday. "

Harry's eyes fell to the floor. "I can't really explain. I just want you to have this."

Ginny sighed. "Harry, I don't understand you. I explained this months ago, and it's never going to work between us." She didn't completely believe herself. She would always love Harry, but he would always think of her as Ron's little sister, which was not how she wanted to go through her first relationship, let alone her life.

"It's not about that, Ginny. Just take it, and keep it safe. Please." Harry gently reached for her hand, pulling it up to kiss it. His hand was cold and he was trembling. She could swear, even in the sunlight that was shining into the common room, that the green in his eyes were somehow not so green.

"I know I can trust you with this." Harry let go of her hand, but stuffed something small and cold into her palm. He had been holding it the whole time, she realized, but it was still cold. He stood up slowly, bracing himself on the edge of the chair, and exited through the portrait hole. Ginny was alone, but in her palm, she held a thimble. Inside was a small piece of parchment that read "Common room, October tenth, eight pm."

She didn't understand what it meant, and she set it aside so she could open the small package he had given her. It turned out to be a red leather bound book, and on the back in raised gold letters was Harry's name. He had given her his diary, but why?

It remained hidden in the bottom of her trunk. Only Harry knew what was in it, as she had refused to let herself open the book. He told her to keep it safe, he did not tell her to read it.

But what puzzled her was his demeanor since that night in the common room. At first she thought he was sick, or lacking sleep, but each time she saw him, the circles under his eyes were darker. He would walk slowly as though he was distracted. She didn't know what to think, but could never bring herself to ask him if he felt all right. The one time she tried to talk to Dumbledore about Harry's behavior, he assured her that it was nothing out of the ordinary. She should have known then that out of the ordinary for Harry was free from harm.

On October ninth, she returned to Gryffindor tower hoping to find Harry in the common room. He hadn't been at dinner and no one had seen him since lunch. He wasn't there, and a frightening feeling began to creep over her. She stuck her hand in her pocket, fingering the thimble Harry had given her. She knew it was a Portkey and that it was useless until October tenth at eight pm, but for some reason she carried it with her.

After lingering in the common room for several minutes, she finally went up to her dorm where she found a package laying on her bed. The note read, "use it well" in Harry's almost illegible handwriting, and the ink was still wet. She looked around the room half expecting to Harry there, but she was alone.

She unwrapped it to find Harry's Invisibility Cloak. It was then that she knew that Harry's odd behavior had a purpose, and whatever the outcome, she had to be under the cloak with the Portkey in her hand.

The night she waited for the Portkey, there were several people in the common room studying and playing exploding snap; she felt ridiculous, although no one could see her. She was just hoping to be whisked away to a surprise party, or a dress robe sale at Madam Malkin's, but instead she found herself in a forest, with the wind cutting through her school robes, and witnessing a murder she had no way of stopping.

=======================

Ginny woke up after dozing off for a few minutes. She was gripping the diary so tightly, that now her hands had the imprint of the leather, and the image of the word "otter" was pressed into the palm of her right hand. She sat up, and held the diary right side up, closed her eyes, and tried to imagine herself opening the diary. She didn't actually want to open the diary just yet. Was it an invasion of privacy if he had given it to her? Before she knew what she was doing, her thumb had traced the perimeter of the book and was wedged in between two random pages, forcing the book open. She tightened her eyes so that she couldn't even see the weak lamp light though her eyelids, and opened the book.

Over her roommates snoring, she heard a faint crackling sound as she opened the book and flattened her palm against the page. The parchment felt tattered, but she still kept her eyes closed and she flipped through the pages. She only had to open her eyes to learn what made the late Harry tick, or at least what made him write in a diary.

They were just friends, but she told him everything, and he did the same. She couldn't imagine what was in the diary that they had never talked about. Thoughts about his mother and father? How much he hated the Dursleys, who hadn't even bothered to make an appearance at his funeral? How sad he was that Sirius hadn't been seen or heard from since Halloween the year before?

With images of Harry scribbling running through her mind, she finally opened her eyes; the right one, then the left one. The page was blank. She turned to the next page, but that was blank too, in fact, the entire diary was blank except for the first page.

She almost shrieked, which would have certainly woken up her roommates, but she only stifled a gasp; her first thought was of Tom Riddle's diary, but this one had Harry's name on it. It couldn't be the same, could it? So, to be sure, she took out a quill, inked it, and, after ten minutes of hesitation, wrote the word "hi" in the diary. What happened next, she expected, but didn't want to see.

Black ink rose to the surface of the cream colored paper, as her own words sunk in. The ink formed three words, in handwriting so familiar it made her heart ache.

Who is this?

She shut the diary, holding it up to her forehead, her eyes closed, and tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. No, it can't be. She didn't want to believe that Harry had been expecting this to happen, and she tried not to think about the thimble Portkey that had brought her to the clearing in the Dark Forest where Harry was kneeling before Lucius Malfoy; where, less than ten seconds later, he would be lying on the ground, as Lucius wiped the bloody sword off on Harry's robes.

~*~

Two months passed, with everyone avoiding the slightest mention of Harry's name, except in memoriam at the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match. They presented Gryffindor a banner in Harry's honor, much like the one that Gryffindor had given them before a match after Cedric was killed. The banner was now hanging next to Harry's broom in the common room. Ginny looked at it briefly as she slipped up the stairs and away from the Christmas Party that had been going at full force for three hours.

All she could think about was the diary, left wrapped in parchment and an old jumper, in the bottom of her trunk as though it was disease ridden. To prevent someone from opening it, if they got past the impenetrable force field of her mother's knitting, she had placed several charms on the diary. One of which would turn the pilferers hands red for three days. She was only going to pack it to bring home to the Burrow for the holidays, but something made her want to open it.

She took out her favorite quill, and a bottle of ink, and sat on her bed with the closed diary in her lap. The last time she had tried this, students were petrified, Hogwarts was almost closed, and she and Harry were almost killed.... But this time would be different; it had to be.

She took a deep breath and opened the diary. It didn't matter which page; they were all the same, except that the first one that had a big black zigzag resembling the lightning scar on Harry's forehead.

~hi ~

Who is this?

It was the same thing the diary had written two months ago. She dipped her quill unnecessarily and when she touched it to the page, a Galleon size blotch of ink spread out on the page and then dissolved.

You may want to blot your quill first.

Inspecting the tip, she tried again.

~ It's Ginny. ~

Virginia, how have you been?

~ It's Ginny, and I'm fine, for now. ~

Sorry, Ginny. What do you mean by "for now?"

~ I can't do this. ~

Do what?

~ You're not real. ~'

Ginny didn't wait for a response. It wasn't right, not now. She closed the diary, and put it back in her trunk, leaving it there over the holidays. Even though she didn't have it with her, it was constantly on her mind. Upon returning to Hogwarts, she couldn't help thinking about the diary, as if it was calling to her, like Riddle's diary. Only, she hadn't written more than a few sentences in it, so there was no way it was controlling her.

"Harry wouldn't to that," she told herself at least three times a day. Her compulsion was her own mind telling her that the diary would explain why Harry gave it to her only weeks before he was killed.

Finally, she couldn't take it. She had already lost Gryffindor ten points for daydreaming in Transfiguration, so she knew she had to do something. Immediately after class and just before dinner, she went up to Gryffindor tower with the intent to finally write in the diary, but she was held up by a mass of students. They were crowded around her brother and Draco fighting. Ron, who undoubtedly had been provoked, was holding Draco up against the wall, threatening to punch him...again.

"Not again," she mumbled to herself before mustering up her best Molly Weasley impersonation. "Ronald Weasley, put him down." At the sound of Ginny's shrill outburst, a gap formed in the crowd allowing her to march purposefully toward the two boys.

"Quit defending him, Gin, he's no good." Ron was breathing heavily through his clenched teeth. "This slimy git is about to have an accident."

Ginny tugged aggressively at her brother's robes, until he finally stepped away from Draco. The Slytherin was silent (for once) as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his robes, and straightened his prefect badge.

"You don't deserve to wear one of those." Ron flicked his finger at the badge.

"Hands off Weasley, or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?"

Draco flashed his signature half smile, saying nothing more to Ron. His gaze focused squarely on Ginny as he took her arm, pulling her to him, and kissing her deeply. She wanted to pull away and yell at Draco for getting her brother stirred up, but every time Draco kissed her, the world around her seemed to melt away until it was just them. She was brought to reality as Ron pulled them apart. She was shoved to the side, and then Ron backed up two steps only to lunge at Draco.

The crowd seemed to be cheering them on, and if Ginny hadn't stunned her brother, no doubt people would have started taking bets on the outcome of the fight. She sent Draco away before finally, and with some hesitation reviving Ron. She was too furious with her brother to speak to him, and didn't wait for an explanation before storming off to her room.

As she lay silently on her bed, she remembered why she was on her way to Gryffindor tower in the first place -- the diary. Wiping the tears from her face, she went to her trunk and pulled out the diary, a quill, and ink. She had to go through with it this time.

> hi <

Is this who I think it is?

> Virginia <

How are you?

>I've been better, but I'm not looking for pity. <

What happened?

> I just found my brother fighting with Draco again. <

Some things never change.

>I wish they would grow up. Ron just hasn't been the same <

Since what?

>I can't. <

Yes you can. I know Harry died and I need you to tell me how it happened.

> How? You're just his memories. <

Yes, and my memories know that he was dying.

Ginny put the diary down, leaving it open. She intended to continue, but not just yet. She had to think of the right way to tell Harry's memory how he died. Although, the diary would probably take it better than she or anyone else had, after all; it was just a book.

Just a book, right?

She pulled out Harry's obituary from the Daily Prophet and began transcribing it. The diary was not satisfied with this, however, and interrupted her, sucking all the ink out of her quill so she couldn't write anything.

No. You were there, you can tell me.

> I can't do it. <

I know you can.

>No <

Why?

The word lingered in the page as she thought about where to begin. Why? she thought. She had plenty of "why" questions for him.

>Why didn't you just tell me the thimble was a Portkey? Why didn't you warn me about what I would see if I took it? Do you know that every day I live with the memory of you dying? Wondering if there was some way I could have stopped it from happening. <

Her heart was beating rapidly and she could hear it in her ears; her breathing increased, almost to the point of hyperventilating. And even as she closed her eyes to blink back the tears, she saw quick flashes of Harry's face. She finally focused on the diary again as more words appeared.

It's time that you went to Dumbledore. By the way, what day is it?

She was almost offended by how impersonal the question was. "What day is it?" she mumbled, but the diary couldn't hear her; it couldn't sense her emotions. Unsure of what was driving her, she continued to write.

>It's March 6. <

>And he'll tell me what he couldn't they day you died? <

Yes, but first, fill me in. How did he kill Harry?

Again Ginny put the diary down, and wiped away the tears that were welling up in her eyes. The diary was starting to confuse her. It spoke, or rather, wrote in the third and first person. "Was it Harry or not?" she wondered. Dumbledore would know, but first she had to steady her hands and write out, for the first time, what she witnessed that evening in the forest. She picked up the diary; the tears on her thumb soaking into the page caused more words to appear.

I know it's hard, but please, you must tell me.

She picked up the quill, and began describing what she had seen the moment the Portkey took her away from the Gryffindor common room.

> You were kneeling before Lucius Malfoy in a clearing in the Dark Forest. Your empty hands were raised over your head, and you didn't move. He was glaring at you with contempt. I couldn't see your face, but I know you must have looked dignified, not the least bit frightened. I think it made him angry that you wouldn't cower before him and plead for your life. I never told Dumbledore this, but he spoke to you just before he <

Ginny scratched out that last word and replaced it with "you died".

> It all happened in a matter of seconds, and I never had a chance to pull out my wand to disarm Malfoy before he ran the blade through your chest. He quickly wiped the blood off his sword using your cloak, and Disapparated. I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. <

Don't apologize. None of this could be prevented, and when you talk to Dumbledore you'll know why.

So Lucius chose to kill me like a Muggle would.

> Please don't make light of this; it's not a joke, not for those of us who buried you. <

Sorry.

Did he take blood?

>How did you know? <

Continue...

She dipped the quill into the ink before touching it to the page again. A small blotch appeared, and in it, a crude image of Harry's smiling face dissolved into the center. Ginny smiled with tears still streaming down her face. The image inspired her to continue.

> When Lucius was gone, I rushed to your side and took your hand. And please don't ask me what was going through my mind at the time, or what I said to you, or what you said to me. I don't think I'll ever repeat it. I slipped the thimble out of its pouch into our joined hands. It brought us directly to the hospital wing where Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were waiting. By then it was too late. <

Tears were obscuring her vision, and she paused to wipe them away. Images and memories flashed through her mind as she described what happened. She could hear her own words in her head. Harry, if you want me to kill him, I will. I'll do anything you ask me, just don't let go. I'm sorry I couldn't stop him, but I'll--.

When the time comes I know you will do the right thing.

The words appeared in the diary, and echoed in her ears because they had been Harry's last just before she felt his hand go limp. It was reminding her of the anger she felt that day: toward herself, Draco, his father, Dumbledore, everyone.

And now the diary.

>They were expecting us. Why? Why did you let this happen? <

The diary didn't respond.

>Damn your bravery, why were you there in the first place? <

Still no response. Ginny shut the diary and buried her head in her pillow, screaming and cursing Harry for not trying to save himself.