FICLET: Heroes and Ghosts (Ginny/Sirius)
Title: Heroes and Ghosts
Pairing: Ultimately Ginny/Sirius, with some Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG
Word Count: 632
Summary: People said that the world belonged to the youth, that the tale of the elder generation had finished. But Ginny Weasley disagreed.
Author's Notes: I wrote this for fanfics_express's Ginny Drabble Exchange, which ended up being gifted to the entire community. This is a Post-War fic, and includes the epilogue. Originally posted here.
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
-Pink Floyd, "Wish You Were Here"
The world at that point in time was like a sprawling forest that had just been burned - completely burned to the ground. Roots were weak, shriveled, or lost forever in the earth. Miles upon miles upon miles of charred, barren land were dotted with stumps, gnarled branches, perhaps a few weeds, and also craters - grave-markers for the trees that once were. And in the air there hung no sweet perfume, no birdsong - not even the gurgling of a brook, nor the soft rustle of the wind. All was still. Time, it seemed, had stopped.
Then, after many eons: movement. First, claws, followed by a nose, until the gopher reared his head and pushed himself out from his hiding place. He looked about him, noting his homeland destroyed, and yet he scuttled across the ground anyway. The rest of his kin soon followed; they staggered out, but out they did come.
'Reconstruction' was the name given to what followed. Gathering the dead wood, people built pyres - beacons for the future generation, candles for those who had passed. Seeds were sown in the hope that an abundant harvest would soon be reaped. It would be a new forest on an old land. New roots in ancient earth.
People said that the world belonged to the youth, that the tale of the elder generation had finished. But Ginny Weasley disagreed. Her children were named after heroes of war; they did not have names of their own. Their lives would forever be linked to the previous generation, because 'Reconstruction' was really about honoring the dead, and not celebrating the living. (The trees were only ever planted in memoriam.)
Who were the heroes, and who were the ghosts, then? The people said, "They are the same," referring to those who had died for The Cause.
Ginny, however, could not see it that way.
She meant no disrespect to the dead, of course. They had all fought most nobly. Yet what were they now but dust? While all the world grieved for them, Ginny averted her eyes; she did not care to weep or fall on her knees, as it had been too long for tears to mean anything anymore.
The only ones who mattered now, Ginny thought fervently, as she hugged her children close and took Harry's hand in hers, were the ones who were still standing. Those were the true heroes.
It was time, she felt, for others to let their sorrow rest as well.
And just then, while she walked with her family, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye - a dark, ominous shape there in the clearing.
She stopped, letting the others continue, and peered closely at the object. At first the edges seemed blurry under cover of night, but her sight quickly focused - and she saw.
It was a large, black dog, similar in appearance to the Grim.
Ginny gasped softly.
"Ginny?" Harry called, looking back at his wife curiously. Not receiving a response, he followed her gaze. "Oh," he murmured.
The dog barked once, and took a step forward. Yet, for some reason, Ginny did not feel at all frightened - and she even found herself approaching it, her arm outstretched.
"Sirius?"
She wanted to believe it was him. Because his so-called death, though long before the Second War truly began, had always remained a mystery.
She was not pining, she told herself - she had meant what she said about those who had passed. But there was a chance, if but the tiniest of possibilities, that he had never become just another ghost behind the Veil... There was a chance she would get to welcome home a lost hero.
If only he lived, if only he were still standing...
Reaching out her hand, she made to stroke the dog's fur.
Pairing: Ultimately Ginny/Sirius, with some Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG
Word Count: 632
Summary: People said that the world belonged to the youth, that the tale of the elder generation had finished. But Ginny Weasley disagreed.
Author's Notes: I wrote this for fanfics_express's Ginny Drabble Exchange, which ended up being gifted to the entire community. This is a Post-War fic, and includes the epilogue. Originally posted here.
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
-Pink Floyd, "Wish You Were Here"
The world at that point in time was like a sprawling forest that had just been burned - completely burned to the ground. Roots were weak, shriveled, or lost forever in the earth. Miles upon miles upon miles of charred, barren land were dotted with stumps, gnarled branches, perhaps a few weeds, and also craters - grave-markers for the trees that once were. And in the air there hung no sweet perfume, no birdsong - not even the gurgling of a brook, nor the soft rustle of the wind. All was still. Time, it seemed, had stopped.
Then, after many eons: movement. First, claws, followed by a nose, until the gopher reared his head and pushed himself out from his hiding place. He looked about him, noting his homeland destroyed, and yet he scuttled across the ground anyway. The rest of his kin soon followed; they staggered out, but out they did come.
'Reconstruction' was the name given to what followed. Gathering the dead wood, people built pyres - beacons for the future generation, candles for those who had passed. Seeds were sown in the hope that an abundant harvest would soon be reaped. It would be a new forest on an old land. New roots in ancient earth.
People said that the world belonged to the youth, that the tale of the elder generation had finished. But Ginny Weasley disagreed. Her children were named after heroes of war; they did not have names of their own. Their lives would forever be linked to the previous generation, because 'Reconstruction' was really about honoring the dead, and not celebrating the living. (The trees were only ever planted in memoriam.)
Who were the heroes, and who were the ghosts, then? The people said, "They are the same," referring to those who had died for The Cause.
Ginny, however, could not see it that way.
She meant no disrespect to the dead, of course. They had all fought most nobly. Yet what were they now but dust? While all the world grieved for them, Ginny averted her eyes; she did not care to weep or fall on her knees, as it had been too long for tears to mean anything anymore.
The only ones who mattered now, Ginny thought fervently, as she hugged her children close and took Harry's hand in hers, were the ones who were still standing. Those were the true heroes.
It was time, she felt, for others to let their sorrow rest as well.
And just then, while she walked with her family, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye - a dark, ominous shape there in the clearing.
She stopped, letting the others continue, and peered closely at the object. At first the edges seemed blurry under cover of night, but her sight quickly focused - and she saw.
It was a large, black dog, similar in appearance to the Grim.
Ginny gasped softly.
"Ginny?" Harry called, looking back at his wife curiously. Not receiving a response, he followed her gaze. "Oh," he murmured.
The dog barked once, and took a step forward. Yet, for some reason, Ginny did not feel at all frightened - and she even found herself approaching it, her arm outstretched.
"Sirius?"
She wanted to believe it was him. Because his so-called death, though long before the Second War truly began, had always remained a mystery.
She was not pining, she told herself - she had meant what she said about those who had passed. But there was a chance, if but the tiniest of possibilities, that he had never become just another ghost behind the Veil... There was a chance she would get to welcome home a lost hero.
If only he lived, if only he were still standing...
Reaching out her hand, she made to stroke the dog's fur.