Author's Note: This piece of fiction has been dedicated to the ever lovely MajiKat, whose reviews and stories induce inspiration in everyone. Please enjoy this first fic of my anti-ships. Be proud of Celtic, she paid attention to a canon ship for once. ^_-
“Ginny,” his voice rasped. “I have to go.”
She shook her head but said nothing. He took a step back from her, his eyes never leaving her face, but he too was silent. After a moment he turned to leave. He made it three steps closer to the door before he turned to face her again. “Wait for me,” his tone was begging.
She still refused to answer him. She was hurting too much inside to allow any of it to spill over without showing him her vulnerability, especially in words.
“I’ll write you letters,” he said. It was an empty promise and they both knew it. He quickly walked towards her once more, grabbing her hand tightly in his own. She was horrified to feel the sharp cold of tears forming in her eyes. “Don't cry,” he whispered, “I’ll come back. You've always been here for me. I will come back for you.” He took her face in his hands, staring at her in a hungry, yearning manner before closing his eyes painfully and leaning his forehead against her own. In a moment he was gone. She was left standing in the center of the room, completely dazed.
She turned towards the window. Realizing if she hurried she may catch a glimpse of him disappearing into the night, she ran to the glass.
“I always knew you were hiding things,” she whispered to the iron paneling. Her breath left a foggy area on the window sill. The ground was covered in snow. lways calming with your words. She turned from the window, allowing herself to sag against it, her head leant back and her neck exposed. Your words were like a dream but your dreams never fooled me. She closed her eyes as tears finally made their way down her cheeks. Not that easily.
Ginny walked to the other side of the room, allowing herself to sink onto her bed. She reached to the left, where a small table sat next to her pillow and pulled open a drawer. From the depths she withdrew a thin hardcover book. Flipping it open she sank against the headboard. The pages were yellow and crinkled. "I remember,” she whispered to the pictures stuck to the paper of the journal. The occupants were laughing. I used to be so scared I couldn't talk around you. Now here I am at that place again. I couldn't even say goodbye before you left. She turned the page and came across a picture of her and Hermione during the summer of her fourth year. They were in the backyard of the Burrow playing quidditch. Behind them, though she had never noticed him before now, was Harry. His eyes dark and brooding. “But I was listening,” she told him.
He had gone off to fight the war that had nipped at his heels since birth. He had gone off without her. All she had left was the memory of a goodbye she never made and pictures. You'll fight your war - your battles - where I can't go, she closed the book and set it to the side. You left me far too easily.
Ginny allowed her muscles to relax and she slid back onto the pillows. It was torture how her sheets allowed his scent to cling to them, even though all he had done was perch on the edge of the bed for mere moments. She buried her nose in them. ’Don't cry’ you command as you walk through the door. She turned and looked at the heavy wood that he had passed through but moments ago. For a moment she was gripped by an overwhelming desire to run after him, but it was short lived as she realized he was long gone. For a lack of anything to do with herself she picked the journal back up, running her fingers anxiously over it. But you still left. You still walked out. Even though you saw my tears, heard the words I was not - could not - say...
Unable to contain the maelstrom of emotions she was feeling she stood quickly. Maybe I should have screamed. She faced the large mirror at the end of her bed, speaking to her reflection but seeing nothing but his image. What if I’d cried my eyes out and screamed and fallen on the floor? Would you still have left? It wouldn’t have made a difference. She knew that. He felt bound to this quest and the only thing that would have done was make it more painful for him. So she had held herself together until he had gone, but now that he had truly departed she was beginning to lose the ice she had packed her heart into. He may not be able to hear it, but she felt as if saying the words aloud would help.
She sank to her knees, one hand pressed tightly against the reflective glass before her. There's a thousand words I should have said, she whispered. They’ll fly to you. No matter the distance. No matter the time. This was her prayer. Her invocation. It would be her epitaph. This was her plea - from her heart to his- screaming the three words she had not had the courage to tell him.
Again she was loosing strength. She slipped down the mirror, coming to rest at its base, he was so far away, and her heart felt every meter that was between them with every aching contraction it beat out. “The dream can't end now. It can't,” she tried to reassure herself, staring at her mouth moving in the mirror. He had promised he would come back. She fell asleep where she lay on the floor, waking up to live another day in the same manner. And so it continued as the weeks blurred together.
Ginny had blue circles beneath her eyes that had not been there before, but that were a very permanent part of her outward appearance as of late. Her mother fretted over her constantly. Her brothers refused to let her be, but they did not pester more than seemed wise. Her heartbreak was painted on her face for all the world to behold. “Maybe you've been here all along. Maybe you were never even gone,” she put a hand over each of her ears. Her mother didn’t want to send her back to Hogwarts. Not like this. But it was the only safe place left, and even then it was not all that safe.
“'I’ll write you letters’,” she mocked. Of course she had known it was a lie, but that did not lessen the pain in any way. How could I have believed you? I saw how you could not meet my eyes. Heard how you stammered out the words.
The Twins tried more than once to pull her from her room, but there she sat, staring at a picture of him.
“It’s a horrible picture, Gin,” George laughed.
“Well George, Harry is not a very good looking chap,” Fred elbowed Ginny, encouraging her to laugh with him, but her face remained blank. It frightened them so that they left silently, as he had done.
It was harder every day to keep it from her family. To keep the doubt inside of her. Once she was back in school, back with the members of the DA, she could start to try and forget, and then maybe someday it would hurt less.
Each day was different. The pain cycled. It was manageable, and then it was not. The day she was to return to Hogwarts proved to be one of the unmanageable days.
Anger might have been the answer I was looking for. She held her journal between her palms, his face laughing up at her in its sad, somber way. What if I turned around and said I wouldn't wait? In one violent motion she ripped the image in two, shattering his visage in one clean sweep. It did not ease her pain.
Once she had realized what she had done she was overcome with grief. She scrambled to gather the pieces back together. After piecing the picture whole again, much like a jigsaw puzzle, she experienced a moment of calm where she wondered if it would be that easy to repair her heart. Perhaps if she were to rip the useless organ from her chest she could do a quick mending and all would be well.
Ginny stood, her paper fragments and destroyed journal tumbling from her lap as she approached the window. Though the air was chilly, she threw the glass open and climbed out. She found herself standing on the roof, her arms thrown to the sides and her voice screaming to the empty night air. Her heart was thundering in her chest, but perhaps, if she screamed loud enough, he would hear her.
“And even though I have a thousand words inside my heart, ripping, clawing, their way out I know one day you will hear them and that makes it okay!" A piece of roof tiling skittered from beneath her foot and she slipped. She regained her balance as a light wind whipped up, blowing her hair to and fro across her face. She threw her head back, reveling in it.
Her ruckus had drawn the attention of the occupants of the Burrow. Soon her entire family was gathered on the lawn below, her mother with tears in her eyes and her twin brothers rushing forth to stand as close as they could to where she was, poised to try and catch her if she were to slip over the edge. She ignored their pleadings for her to return to the ground safely. Ignoring their threats to levitate her down if she did not comply.
Ginny stayed where she stood, her arms thrown open to the emptiness before her. All that met her was silence and pain. She sank, her knees giving way. She pulled her legs to her chest and rest her chin atop them. She closed her eyes, trying to recall his hands, his mouth, the sound of his voice. “Wait for me,” she whispered. “One thousand words will bring you back. One thousand words will bring you back.”
Bill, ever the favorite of her brothers, appeared at her side. He set a kind hand on her shoulder, but she did not acknowledge him. “Come on, Gin,” he said softly. “Let’s go inside.”
It was then that a new breeze whipped past her, kicking her hair off of her face where it had stuck to her tears. It was like gentle hands all over her body. It was comforting and she knew then that maybe his heart had not heard her, but it had felt her. And knowing this, knowing that her pain was not alone, she allowed herself to be led back inside.
As she stepped through the window after her brother she turned one last time to gaze at the horizon. “One thousand words,” she whispered to the fast approaching night. “They’ll fly to you and carry you home; back into my arms.”