G.I. Ginny, Part Three
Author: Lissa_Maylee, AKA XiaoXiao
Title: G.I. Ginny, Part 3
Challenge: Post-Hogwarts #69: Retell the story of Mulan, with Harry as the Captain and Ginny, dressed up as a male soldier so she can fight in the war to protect the Wizarding World. A "MUST" Scene: the captain removes his shirt as he demonstrates how to perform the exercises correctly.
Summary: Ron and Hermione redeem themselves somewhat; Ginny and Harry are reunited.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: Part Three: 5471
Notes/Warnings: This is Part Three of Three. If you missed Part One, you can find it here, and Part Two is here. Acknowledgements at the end.
I have to stay. I am a soldier, and whatever my feelings or those of my commander, I have to complete my duties. My duties, at this point, mainly consist of finishing the cleanup. Now that all the bodies are buried-except for the Death Eaters, we burned them-we have to do something about the rubble that was once a village.
Actually, I seem to be a bit more dedicated than everyone else. I have a quick look-round, but no one else is here anymore. So, either I’ve been forgotten, or Harry left me behind on purpose. Neither option is very flattering, I must say.
Of course I understand why Harry would be angry. I basically lied to him ever since I showed up at the Ministry. But it’s not as though he would have let me in any other way. And I had to fight Voldemort. For Charlie.
The last night of school, two and a half months earlier.
Dumbledore had been obligated to take away many of our Hogsmeade visits earlier this school year, and so had made this last day a special visit; we could stay till half an hour before curfew. He had the town heavily guarded with Order members, and I knew that Bill and Charlie would be there, so I was anticipating this excursion even more than I usually did.
Besides, if I focused on the fact that Bill and Charlie would be there, I didn’t have to wonder about the rumours saying that Harry would be there, too.
When I arrived in town, I immediately went to The Three Broomsticks, where I knew one of them would be waiting. It was Charlie…with Harry.
“Ginny-Winny-cakes!” Charlie’s irritating nickname for me. Harry was trying to suppress laughter, I could tell. So I retaliated.
“Charleen!” This is not a horribly imaginative nickname, I know; however, I also know that it reminds him the time that a girl he fancied hexed him into a girl. He always turns red; it never fails. Sure enough, he was red as a beet.
“Harry,” I continued as though I had never heard any of those rumours, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Yeah,” he smiled while explaining, “I know. I thought it’d be fun to surprise you.”
“Well, you did that.”
Harry’s grin almost looked…shy? “I hope it’s a good surprise.”
“Um…” What was I supposed to say to that?
Charlie’s grin, on the other hand, was a little too knowing for my taste. “Well, I’m back on patrol duty in five minutes. I’ll just let you two sit here and catch up.”
“Charlie! I just got here!”
“It’s not my fault you’re late, Gin-Gin.”
“Don’t call me Gin-Gin.”
He just grinned again while exiting the building. Harry asked me an inane question about school; I had an equally inane answer. Just as I was about to ask him a pointless question about his training, we heard screams outside.
Harry immediately jumped up, yelling over his shoulder as he went, “Stay here, Ginny!” Of course I wasn’t about to obey any order as stupid as that, so I followed him to the door. It appeared that the main street of town had been hit by a ‘flash attack’, as people were beginning to call them: the Death Eaters Apparated in, hit several innocent bystanders with either Avada Kedavra or an array of painful curses which would be deadly if they didn’t receive immediate medical attention.
And then I saw him. “Charlie!” I pushed past Harry’s arm, which had been blocking me from exiting the doorway. My big brother was lying on the ground, having jumped in front of a pair of fourth-year witches. The Cutting Curse that had been intended for them had hit his abdomen, and he was bleeding profusely. The two witches he’d saved were standing behind him, frozen looks of shock on their faces.
“Don’t just stand there, you stupid bints! Go get a healer, Madame Pomfrey, anyone! Harry! Harry!” He was suddenly there, at my side. “Harry, doesn’t someone have medical training? He needs to be healed! Harry, help me!”
“It’s too late.” Charlie’s voice was faint, as though from far away.
“Don’t say that!” I practically shrieked this in his face. “You’re going to get help, and you’re going to be fine!”
“No, I’m not. It’s okay, Ginny. I wanted to die doing something worthwhile, and don’t you think these girls were worth it?” I glanced up at the witches, whose eyes were overflowing now.
“No, Charlie. They may be worth someone else’s life, but they aren’t worth you. I can’t lose my favourite brother.” We both smiled through our tears, me somewhat shakily, because I called all of my brothers ‘my favourite’ at one point or another.
“Goodbye, Ginny. Take care of yourself. Even without me, there are plenty of Weasley brothers, but only one sister. You know the rarest things are always the most valuable.” This was another familiar phrase between us, one he always reminded me of when I was feeling low. Fresh tears came to my eyes, but I could still see him shift his vision to my shoulder, where Harry’s hand was resting. “Make sure she takes care of herself, Harry. You know that you’re like another little brother to me, right? Make it real, Harry.” There seemed to be some hidden meaning to this phrase that I was unaware of, because Harry could barely nod for the tears.
Charlie closed his eyes, but lived for several more minutes. When he finally took his last breath, I took a deep, shaky breath, kissed his forehead, turned to Harry and collapsed in his arms.
As I look back on it, I realise that maybe I’ve been lying to myself this whole time. Charlie never told me to vow revenge on those who killed him. His last words were words of love, and I’ve been living on hate.
This is not to say that I regret my decision to join the fight, or even to join Harry’s unit; only, my thoughts were all of revenge, and not of the people I could save, like Harry’s are. He understands what this war is about, just like Charlie did.
My sentimental musings are interrupted by a rustling noise; not wanting to be caught in the open like last time, I quickly duck behind a tree.
It’s Voldemort. It seems crazy to even think that he could be alive; not only did several Killing Curses hit him, but he was buried under a pile of bricks, several of which hit him directly on his head. Then, Harry and several others dragged him out from under the rubble, after which Harry personally drove a stake through his heart. Very symbolic, and all that, since he did feed off others’ sufferings and deaths, if not their literal blood.
Despite all that, however, here he is, scrambling up from his prone position, yanking the stake out of his chest as though it was nothing. What is he?
I have to let Harry know. Regardless of how welcome (or unwelcome) I might be at headquarters, I have to let him know. The village clearing pops out of my view, and here is the training room-deserted, of course. Since Harry always came to visit our room, I have no idea where his quarters are, so I run the familiar path to Room 22B. Neville is there, and he doesn’t want to believe me at first, but eventually, he agrees to help me try to find Harry. “Actually, some things make a lot more sense now that you’re a girl. I mean, that you discovered you’re a girl. I mean…you know what I mean.”
“What do you mean, ‘things make more sense’, Neville?”
“Well, your obsession with long preparation time in the morning, for one thing. The way you look at Harry, for another.” There’s no use denying at this point, so I just grimace and shrug.
We wander the halls together; I am constantly thanking Neville for even bothering to listen to me after I lied to him consistently for over a month. He tells me not to mention it, that if I’m telling the truth, this is much more important; we still haven’t found Harry, and are reduced to yelling “Captain Potter!” throughout all the passageways.
After what seems like forever, a head appears out of a (seemingly) solid wall. “Neville? What are you screaming about?” The top half of a body emerges as well, and as he wakes up a little more, he catches sight of me. “What are you doing here?”
“Listen, Harry,” I begin, but he cuts me off right there.
“I don’t know why I should listen to you. You lied to me for over a month! It wouldn’t be so bad if it was some stranger who did this to me, but no, it was a girl I’ve known half my life, a girl I thought I was-friends with. I’m done listening to your stories.” Harry turns partly away, but seems to catch himself.
In an ominously quiet voice, he adds, “And do not call me Harry.”
At this, I want to cry, and if the issue at hand were any less important, I might give in to the impulse; as it is, I choke back the tears and beg, “Captain Potter, you don’t understand!”
The gathering rage in his expression would be enough to make anyone just a little frightened, but before he says anything, good old Neville comes to my rescue. “Captain, listen. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but what reason would he-she have to make anything like this up? Just listen.”
Harry’s jaw tightens, but he nods, once.
“Har-Captain Potter. I was at the battle site after everyone else had left, and I heard a noise. Naturally, I hid behind a tree till I could find out what it was.” I hate the way my voice is sounding: high and shrill, like an excited little girl. I know, however, that I have to get it out fast, because he’s only going to grant me so long before he returns to bed. “It was Voldemort! I know, I thought I was going mad, but he stood up, pulled the stake out of his heart-the wound wasn’t even bleeding-and walked away. I Apparated here as soon as he was gone, sir. Please believe me, sir. You have to believe me.”
This must be the wrong thing to say, because suddenly his jaw tightens even more and his eyes sweep contemptuously over to Neville. “I’m surprised at you, Longbottom. Believing crazy stories from a hysterical girl.” With that, he walks back through the wall and, I assume, to bed.
~*~
The Daily Prophet today carries the news that Harry Potter is going to be honoured in an official ceremony for “leading his troops in conquering You-Know-Who”. I’ve been watching the Prophet’s headlines and listening to the WWN obsessively for the last week, happy about the lack of Voldemort-related news, but half-scared that this means he’s planning something especially dreadful. I’ve also been living in The Leaky Cauldron, because where else would one go to keep a finger on the pulse of Wizarding Britain’s gossip?
Well, that and I’m rather frightened to face my family at the moment. It’s not as though they didn’t know where I was-generally.
The note didn’t flat-out say I was going to join Harry’s regiment, it just said that I was going to join the war against Voldemort. And it may have implied something about a secret mission for the Order. I just couldn’t have Bill, or worse yet, Mum coming into the Ministry to drag me back home; even if it wouldn’t have been terribly embarrassing, then Harry would have found out about my deception. Not that my prevention scheme worked so well for that aspect of the situation.
Anyway, I’ve been here in The Leaky Cauldron, living off my salary from Harry’s unit. (Harry’s very fair-he’d never refuse to pay because of hurt feelings. Addressing the envelope, on the other hand-he wrote, and I quote, “Ginevra M. Weasley, Deceiving Bitch, Who-Knows-Or-Cares-Where”.)
With this news, however, I know it’s time to brave my family and Harry; they’ll all be at the ceremony, obviously, and I have to be there. It’s the perfect opportunity for Voldemort. Imagine, the Boy-Who-Defeated-Him-Twice, convinced he’s dead, receiving a bloody award for killing him. What more perfect target could there be?
An owl arrives here in the main room of the pub, and drops its letter in front of me. I’m sure there’s some mistake, because no one knows I’m here, but it’s definitely addressed to me.
Oh, dear. It’s another one from Harry. “Ginevra M. Weasley, Liar, Wherever-She-Is”. Well, it’s slightly less harsh than the last.
I wasn’t expecting this:
Miss Weasley:
You may have read that I am being given a Ministry ceremony, etc., etc. Although I would prefer not to see you there, you were part of the unit, and an integral part of Voldemort’s downfall.
Therefore, I feel it is only right to extend this invitation to attend as one of my guests. You should know that my guests will be seated on the platform with me during the ceremony, so keep this in mind when deciding whether to attend. Please understand that I will make every effort to avoid speaking with you.
On a more personal note: Ginny, how could you do this? I don’t understand what you were thinking! You could have been killed I thought I could trust you Your family will be ashamed of you.
Harry Potter
I will not dwell on the crossed-out words. I will not dwell on the crossed-out words. I will not- Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to dwell to my heart’s content.
~*~
“…it gives me great pleasure to honour Harry Potter…” Wild applause interrupts Minister Bones here. “…with this small token of the Ministry’s gratitude!” She holds up a gigantic medal, made of the purest gold; it sparkles and shines in the light, and Harry looks rather ill when he glimpses the hunk of metal almost as large as his head. I don’t blame him. He’s never really liked jewellery very much.
I’m sitting on the very end of the platform, in the chair labelled with my name; curiously (or rather, not-so-curiously), the chair was at least a foot from all of the other chairs on the platform, the rest of which were rather closely packed.
Minister Bones is placing the medal around Harry’s neck; I’m surprised he doesn’t fall over from the weight. “On behalf of the Wizarding population of Britain: thank you, Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore would have been proud of you.” This last comment brings tears to Harry’s eyes like none of the long speeches and praises before could. My eyes begin to cloud over as well, as do some of the other men’s.
Before any of us have a chance to start actually bawling, a black-robed figure appears behind the minister. I knew that this was going to happen, and yet I could not help hoping that it wouldn’t. Now that the moment is here, though, there is not a minute to lose; I jump over the table we’re all seated at and draw my wand at the same time.
I’m ready for the Death Eater to grab Harry and take him away, or restrain him until Voldemort is ready to appear, but he does neither of these. He quickly touches Minister Bones’ shoulder and then touches his own belt, apparently the site of a Portkey.
I thought I had prepared for every eventuality, but there’s no time to think about that now. A new plan is what we need. All of the men have gathered around Harry, but I’m hanging back, unsure of my reception; Neville gestures me over, but I shake my head. I know Harry doesn’t want me there. Maybe I should just stay with the crowd and wait for the heroes to come back in triumph.
Neville wasn’t satisfied with my refusal, and comes to lead me into the circle of brainstorming men. Harry stops in the middle of a sentence to stare at me, hard. I raise my chin and stare right back at him. His lips tighten, but he nods almost imperceptibly, and I’m now part of the unit again.
Finch-Fletchley tells the group that he placed a tracking spell on the Death Eater before he Portkeyed, which was very quick thinking, I must say. Harry begins to ask something. “Which of you-,” he begins, but he’s interrupted by a group of red-haired people (and one brown-haired witch) clamouring to be part of the planning. It’s my family, of course.
“Wait just one minute-,” Fred begins.
“-if you’re going to fight Voldemort-,” George continues.
“-we want in, too,” Ron finishes.
Bill, Mum, Dad and Hermione are there as well. A few of them give me questioning glances, but they’re mostly focussed on Harry, obviously hoping he’ll say that they can fight, too.
Harry deliberates. After a minute or so, he nods decisively to himself and says, “Bill, Ron and Hermione can come with us. Sorry, Fred, George, Arthur, Molly. I know that the three of them have had rather extensive combat experience; besides, we’ll need some competent people back here in case of further attack.”
The twins protest this decision loudly, adding, “What about Ginny? What combat experience has she had?” They’ve obviously conveniently forgotten about the Ministry fight in my fourth year, not to mention several other skirmishes I was involved in while in school.
But Harry cuts off their protests, saying simply, “Ginny is a special case,” while turning back to face the rest of the circle. The tone and body language are unmistakeable; Gred and Forge shut up and start organising the crowd.
“Now,” Harry continues the pre-Weasley-invasion conversation, “Who can follow the Tracker well enough to Apparate?” Although basically all magical people can follow a Tracking Spell on foot, or even on broomstick, only about thirty percent can follow well enough to Apparate to the location of the Tracked object or person. Harry, Hermione, Neville and myself raise our hands, along with several other men from the unit, none of whom I know well.
“All right. Everyone who raised their hands, wait here. Everyone else, come with me for a moment.” Harry obviously has a plan, but I know that it will be something that will end with him in a sticky situation, one of those where it will be a miracle if he survives. Just because he’s survived several of these already doesn’t mean that I can let him do it if I’ve got another idea. Which I do. I thank my lucky stars that I never emptied my uniform’s utility belt of the standard potions kit Harry always had us wear.
“Okay, everybody, this is what we’re going to do,” I state.
“Oi!” someone protests, “Who made you boss?”
“Pipe down, unless you’ve got a better idea,” I retort.
“Well, how can I know? You haven’t told us yet.”
“Exactly.” I glare at the rest of the group. “Anyone else have a problem with hearing my plan?” No one says anything. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll Apparate to the location and distract them. They’ll pay attention to me, and I’ll try to lead them away from the minister. The rest of you Apparate nearby, but not exactly in the middle of them, like I’m going to do. When they’re sufficiently distracted, grab Minister Bones and Disapparate her back to our training room. Hermione, you should put a Tracker on someone from the unit so that you can follow them there. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” said one of the men I didn’t know. “How do you know that they’ll pay attention to you? I mean, you are a Weasley, obviously, but Minister Bones is very important to our cause as well.”
“Good question. I won’t be Ginny Weasley, I’ll be Harry Potter.”
At this point, a hand clamps heavily down on my shoulder. “Taking over my position, Weasley?” Harry’s voice is deceptively calm, but his eyes are burning.
“Not your position as leader, sir, just your position as sacrificial lamb.” The look on his face is one of confusion, which only deepens as I reach up to pluck a few hairs from his head. Before he can figure it out, I drop the hairs into my Portable Polyjuice flask and shake.
Several people realise what I’m doing and try to stop me, Harry and Hermione among them. I love them for it, but I manage to bring the flask to my lips and drink without interference. Hermione wails, “But Polyjuice isn’t meant for trans-gender transformations!”
I can see why. It’s quite painful.
However, a few moments of pain are quite a fair trade-off for saving Harry’s life.
Harry grabs my arm. “You’re not going. I won’t let you risk yourself for me.”
I raise one eyebrow at him; I have an inward giggle about the fact that this is a look on him that I’ve drooled over, and reply: “What makes you think that I’m doing it for you? I’m doing it for Minister Bones and the Wizarding world, who all think so highly of you that they’d despair if you were dead.” I mention nothing of my own inevitable despair, should such an event occur.
“Still, it’s to save me, and I should be the one taking the risks. I’m the Captain of this unit, after all.”
“True, which only makes you more indispensable.” In my best ‘teacher’ voice, I add, “Now, don’t let’s argue.” I gently remove his hand from my arm, and quickly Apparate away.
~*~
I wink into existence only about a mile away, right in the middle of several black-robed figures. Reflexively, my mind goes through the several different ways that I could escape from and/or disarm them; however, my body is still. Their reflexes aren’t nearly as fast. I could have knocked out at least two of them before they finally reach me and take my wand.
They drag me through several rooms, till we finally reach some sort of balcony, where the resurrected Voldemort and Minister Bones are standing. My mouth is dry, my armpits are sweaty, and my knees want to knock together. Somehow, however, I manage to make myself stand tall and confidently to confront Tom.
“Ah, Harry Potter. I wondered when you’d show up to save your precious minister. It doesn’t appear that your underlings have decided to follow you to your death, though. Pity. It would have been amusing to kill each one in front of you, ending with the girl of course, and then put you out of your misery.
“I’m not afraid of you any more, you see. I’ve finally conquered death. I found a spell that will cause my body to rise again, no matter how many times you kill me.” The smile on his face is cold and evil.
“No doubt the Darkest of Dark spells, Tom.” There is a quick flash of anger on his face at the ‘Muggle name’ he hates so, but he recovers. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than to stoop as low as you have for your longevity.” I feel no guilt about pretending to be Harry at this moment, because I know that he would be in complete agreement with me on this subject.
“That can be arranged,” he smirks and continues, “but we’ve time for that later.” He nods to the Death Eaters that brought me in and they come forward to drag me away somewhere else. “I’m going to have some fun with the lovely Amelia first.
“And by the way, Potter: you’re really missing out; unicorn blood is really quite tasty.” His high, cold laugh fills my ears as I’m removed from the room.
~*~
My guards lock me into a cage magically. I have no doubt that I’d be able to easily break their spells with my wand, but I’ve never shown any aptitude for wandless magic.
Not five minutes later, Harry appears outside my door. “Harry,” I hiss, “What are you doing here? Wasn’t I clear about the plan? You were not to rescue me, you were to rescue Minister Bones!”
“Shh,” Harry puts a finger to his lips. “It’s not Harry. It’s Hermione. We thought you might have a hard time distracting Voldemort sufficiently on your own, so we all Polyjuiced ourselves as Harry. Now he won’t know who to capture.”
I have to admit, it is a much better-thought-out plan than mine. “Good idea, Hermione,” I tell her.
She shakes her, or rather Harry’s, head. “I didn’t think of it. Ron couldn’t come, so he was determined to think out a strategy; you know how he’s always been so good at chess.” While we were speaking, Hermione had been making some complicated wand movements around the lock of the door and almost as soon as she finishes her sentence, the lock springs open, letting me out. I direct her toward the balcony, and we arrive to a mad scene. There are about three ‘Harrys’ facing off with various Death Eaters, while one is challenging Voldemort. Yet another is holding Minister Bones’ hand, and is surreptitiously preparing to perform a dual Apparition, which takes much more concentration.
Hermione-Harry and I glance at each other, and that familiar expression, Harry’s ‘game face’, greets my eyes. “Let’s go,” I tell her, and she nods. We throw ourselves into the fray; I’m very grateful for my physical training now, without my wand to help me.
There is a sudden shriek of anger from Riddle as he realises that his quarry (at least one of them) has disappeared; whoever it was with the minister has successfully Apparated them both away. “I know one of you has to be the real Potter; the idiot never could leave a hopeless fight alone.” Voldemort appears to be searching our faces, and before I know what I’m doing, I step forward. His face lights up. “Ah, I knew that would get you; you’re the only one who can understand me.”
Confused, I look around at the other Harrys, all of whom seem baffled. Except one. Suddenly, I understand what Voldemort has done; he spoke in Parseltongue, so only Harry (and apparently, me) could understand him. Harry was smart enough to stay back for once, but I took the bait. I swallow convulsively. “That’s right, Riddle; I’m the real Harry Potter. You’ve got me, now what are you going to do with me?” My voice is as strong and confident as I can make it; much more confident than I’m feeling right now.
The others, believing that they’re defending Harry, gather around me in a tight semicircle. Harry-the real Harry-is only a step behind, although I’m sure he’s planning to rescue me somehow. I’ll do my best to prevent it, though.
Voldemort’s look of evil glee slowly changes to one of anger as a strange feeling comes over me. A hank of hair drops into my eyes-red. Oh, no! My hour is up.
“A girl? What trick is this? Which one of you is the real Potter?” He yells at the Harrys, stabbing his wand at each of them in turn, as though merely holding them at wandpoint will force them to confess. They all simply glare at him, pointing their wands right back. Then his wand is back in my face. “I know. Potter can’t stand to see others suffer, and this must be his whore. Crucio!”
Pain.
Pain like I’ve never known.
Pain like this is impossible to imagine or describe. When it fills your body, it becomes your body. Your body is now entirely made up of pain receptors, all of which are being stimulated at once.
When the pain leaves, all I can think about for the next few seconds is that the pain is receding. I find I have a body again, a physical body with which it is possible to feel things other than pain. The next thing I become aware of is an angry roar coming from the mouth of one of the Harrys. He’s wrestling-actually on the ground wrestling-with Voldemort! The other Harrys and I stand around, amazed, for several minutes as this continues; ditto for the Death Eaters.
They roll around on the ground; occasionally, one or the other will reach for his wand, but neither seems to be able to reach theirs in time. I think that everyone is afraid to become involved for fear of hitting his or her respective leader. Finally, the Harry gets his wand free and pointing at Voldemort.
“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort crumples. “And this time, you’d better stay dead!” He kicks the body viciously.
All the other Harrys jump to capture the Death Eaters before they Disapparate, but I stand transfixed. Something has just occurred to me, but before I can act on my thought, the Harry who just killed Voldemort approaches me, murmurs, “Ginny,” and kisses me!
I recover from my shock enough to enjoy the kiss after a few moments, then recover enough from my hormones to push him away after a few more. He groans in protest. “Um…who are you?”
He looks confused, then laughs. “It’s Harry. The real Harry.”
“A-are you sure?”
He grins, then shows me his belt, still containing a full portion of Portable Polyjuice. His smile drops away, his arms tighten, his face comes closer to mine…
I must be stupid, I tell myself as I push him away again. He looks a bit hurt, till I point to Tom’s body. “What’s to prevent him from rising again…again?” I query, and he shrugs. “I have an idea,” I tell him. “Cremate him.”
He stares at me confusedly.
“Just do it,” I insist. “Cast Incendio and burn his body till it’s ash. We’ll see if he can come back to life from that!” Comprehension fills Harry’s eyes and he grins at me, doing as I said. While he’s turned away from me to cast the spell, I notice that the others have rounded up many of the Death Eaters, and that some of them are beginning to change back to their real selves.
That glance is all the opportunity I have to look round for several minutes, as Harry turns back to me. He pulls me into an embrace, whispers, “I love you, Ginny,” into my ear, and captures my mouth before I have a chance to react in any way.
I don’t require much persuasion to continue kissing Harry; in fact, that thing he’s doing with his tongue right now is more than convincing…
~*~
It turns out that what I told Harry to do was exactly right. From questioning the captured Death Eaters and some research on Hermione’s part, we found out that the spell Voldemort used was an obscure Dark Arts spell, which would give the caster’s spirit the ability to return to his or her body an unlimited number of times; without a body, however, there was no way for him to come back.
He had intimidated Minister Bones, but hadn’t had the chance to go much farther than that before all of the Harrys began to arrive. Some Death Eaters tried to attack the gathered crowd, but thanks in large part to the efforts of my family, they got nowhere with that plan.
Harry told me that he had had a crush on me for at least two years, but had thought I was over him; besides, he wanted to vanquish Voldemort before getting involved with anyone. He and I had grown very close as friends when I was pretending to be James, and so he naturally felt betrayed when I was revealed as a woman. After the week that we spent apart, however, he says he realised that I am “his ideal woman”. I make a great friend, I’m courageous, and I’m pretty enough that he had a crush on me before he knew me well.
Needless to say, I blushed uncontrollably whilst he was saying this. He says he likes it when I blush.
Oh, dear, I’m turning into a brainless, giggling girl. I’m a soldier; I’m supposed to be past all this.
It is rather fun, though, this business of being in love.
Well, I can’t debate with myself any longer, because I have to go prepare for our first date. He said to dress sensibly, so I can only guess his idea of romance is to run an obstacle course together or something. It’s just lucky for him that I agree.
~*~
A/N: Thanks again to the wonderful Natbag for making sure that I don’t sound too American, tutoring me in computer literacy, and the title. Voldie’s resurrection is at least partially inspired by the Biblical account of a similar situation, involving the Antichrist. If you’re interested, the reference is Revelation 13:1-8. If you’re interested in the original poem about Mulan, you can find it here. As I said on Part One, the plot as written here owes a lot to the Disney version of the story, so please don’t sue me, Disney! If you’re interested in seeing the exercises that Harry and Ginny became friends over, you can find pictures here
Title: G.I. Ginny, Part 3
Challenge: Post-Hogwarts #69: Retell the story of Mulan, with Harry as the Captain and Ginny, dressed up as a male soldier so she can fight in the war to protect the Wizarding World. A "MUST" Scene: the captain removes his shirt as he demonstrates how to perform the exercises correctly.
Summary: Ron and Hermione redeem themselves somewhat; Ginny and Harry are reunited.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: Part Three: 5471
Notes/Warnings: This is Part Three of Three. If you missed Part One, you can find it here, and Part Two is here. Acknowledgements at the end.
I have to stay. I am a soldier, and whatever my feelings or those of my commander, I have to complete my duties. My duties, at this point, mainly consist of finishing the cleanup. Now that all the bodies are buried-except for the Death Eaters, we burned them-we have to do something about the rubble that was once a village.
Actually, I seem to be a bit more dedicated than everyone else. I have a quick look-round, but no one else is here anymore. So, either I’ve been forgotten, or Harry left me behind on purpose. Neither option is very flattering, I must say.
Of course I understand why Harry would be angry. I basically lied to him ever since I showed up at the Ministry. But it’s not as though he would have let me in any other way. And I had to fight Voldemort. For Charlie.
The last night of school, two and a half months earlier.
Dumbledore had been obligated to take away many of our Hogsmeade visits earlier this school year, and so had made this last day a special visit; we could stay till half an hour before curfew. He had the town heavily guarded with Order members, and I knew that Bill and Charlie would be there, so I was anticipating this excursion even more than I usually did.
Besides, if I focused on the fact that Bill and Charlie would be there, I didn’t have to wonder about the rumours saying that Harry would be there, too.
When I arrived in town, I immediately went to The Three Broomsticks, where I knew one of them would be waiting. It was Charlie…with Harry.
“Ginny-Winny-cakes!” Charlie’s irritating nickname for me. Harry was trying to suppress laughter, I could tell. So I retaliated.
“Charleen!” This is not a horribly imaginative nickname, I know; however, I also know that it reminds him the time that a girl he fancied hexed him into a girl. He always turns red; it never fails. Sure enough, he was red as a beet.
“Harry,” I continued as though I had never heard any of those rumours, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Yeah,” he smiled while explaining, “I know. I thought it’d be fun to surprise you.”
“Well, you did that.”
Harry’s grin almost looked…shy? “I hope it’s a good surprise.”
“Um…” What was I supposed to say to that?
Charlie’s grin, on the other hand, was a little too knowing for my taste. “Well, I’m back on patrol duty in five minutes. I’ll just let you two sit here and catch up.”
“Charlie! I just got here!”
“It’s not my fault you’re late, Gin-Gin.”
“Don’t call me Gin-Gin.”
He just grinned again while exiting the building. Harry asked me an inane question about school; I had an equally inane answer. Just as I was about to ask him a pointless question about his training, we heard screams outside.
Harry immediately jumped up, yelling over his shoulder as he went, “Stay here, Ginny!” Of course I wasn’t about to obey any order as stupid as that, so I followed him to the door. It appeared that the main street of town had been hit by a ‘flash attack’, as people were beginning to call them: the Death Eaters Apparated in, hit several innocent bystanders with either Avada Kedavra or an array of painful curses which would be deadly if they didn’t receive immediate medical attention.
And then I saw him. “Charlie!” I pushed past Harry’s arm, which had been blocking me from exiting the doorway. My big brother was lying on the ground, having jumped in front of a pair of fourth-year witches. The Cutting Curse that had been intended for them had hit his abdomen, and he was bleeding profusely. The two witches he’d saved were standing behind him, frozen looks of shock on their faces.
“Don’t just stand there, you stupid bints! Go get a healer, Madame Pomfrey, anyone! Harry! Harry!” He was suddenly there, at my side. “Harry, doesn’t someone have medical training? He needs to be healed! Harry, help me!”
“It’s too late.” Charlie’s voice was faint, as though from far away.
“Don’t say that!” I practically shrieked this in his face. “You’re going to get help, and you’re going to be fine!”
“No, I’m not. It’s okay, Ginny. I wanted to die doing something worthwhile, and don’t you think these girls were worth it?” I glanced up at the witches, whose eyes were overflowing now.
“No, Charlie. They may be worth someone else’s life, but they aren’t worth you. I can’t lose my favourite brother.” We both smiled through our tears, me somewhat shakily, because I called all of my brothers ‘my favourite’ at one point or another.
“Goodbye, Ginny. Take care of yourself. Even without me, there are plenty of Weasley brothers, but only one sister. You know the rarest things are always the most valuable.” This was another familiar phrase between us, one he always reminded me of when I was feeling low. Fresh tears came to my eyes, but I could still see him shift his vision to my shoulder, where Harry’s hand was resting. “Make sure she takes care of herself, Harry. You know that you’re like another little brother to me, right? Make it real, Harry.” There seemed to be some hidden meaning to this phrase that I was unaware of, because Harry could barely nod for the tears.
Charlie closed his eyes, but lived for several more minutes. When he finally took his last breath, I took a deep, shaky breath, kissed his forehead, turned to Harry and collapsed in his arms.
As I look back on it, I realise that maybe I’ve been lying to myself this whole time. Charlie never told me to vow revenge on those who killed him. His last words were words of love, and I’ve been living on hate.
This is not to say that I regret my decision to join the fight, or even to join Harry’s unit; only, my thoughts were all of revenge, and not of the people I could save, like Harry’s are. He understands what this war is about, just like Charlie did.
My sentimental musings are interrupted by a rustling noise; not wanting to be caught in the open like last time, I quickly duck behind a tree.
It’s Voldemort. It seems crazy to even think that he could be alive; not only did several Killing Curses hit him, but he was buried under a pile of bricks, several of which hit him directly on his head. Then, Harry and several others dragged him out from under the rubble, after which Harry personally drove a stake through his heart. Very symbolic, and all that, since he did feed off others’ sufferings and deaths, if not their literal blood.
Despite all that, however, here he is, scrambling up from his prone position, yanking the stake out of his chest as though it was nothing. What is he?
I have to let Harry know. Regardless of how welcome (or unwelcome) I might be at headquarters, I have to let him know. The village clearing pops out of my view, and here is the training room-deserted, of course. Since Harry always came to visit our room, I have no idea where his quarters are, so I run the familiar path to Room 22B. Neville is there, and he doesn’t want to believe me at first, but eventually, he agrees to help me try to find Harry. “Actually, some things make a lot more sense now that you’re a girl. I mean, that you discovered you’re a girl. I mean…you know what I mean.”
“What do you mean, ‘things make more sense’, Neville?”
“Well, your obsession with long preparation time in the morning, for one thing. The way you look at Harry, for another.” There’s no use denying at this point, so I just grimace and shrug.
We wander the halls together; I am constantly thanking Neville for even bothering to listen to me after I lied to him consistently for over a month. He tells me not to mention it, that if I’m telling the truth, this is much more important; we still haven’t found Harry, and are reduced to yelling “Captain Potter!” throughout all the passageways.
After what seems like forever, a head appears out of a (seemingly) solid wall. “Neville? What are you screaming about?” The top half of a body emerges as well, and as he wakes up a little more, he catches sight of me. “What are you doing here?”
“Listen, Harry,” I begin, but he cuts me off right there.
“I don’t know why I should listen to you. You lied to me for over a month! It wouldn’t be so bad if it was some stranger who did this to me, but no, it was a girl I’ve known half my life, a girl I thought I was-friends with. I’m done listening to your stories.” Harry turns partly away, but seems to catch himself.
In an ominously quiet voice, he adds, “And do not call me Harry.”
At this, I want to cry, and if the issue at hand were any less important, I might give in to the impulse; as it is, I choke back the tears and beg, “Captain Potter, you don’t understand!”
The gathering rage in his expression would be enough to make anyone just a little frightened, but before he says anything, good old Neville comes to my rescue. “Captain, listen. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but what reason would he-she have to make anything like this up? Just listen.”
Harry’s jaw tightens, but he nods, once.
“Har-Captain Potter. I was at the battle site after everyone else had left, and I heard a noise. Naturally, I hid behind a tree till I could find out what it was.” I hate the way my voice is sounding: high and shrill, like an excited little girl. I know, however, that I have to get it out fast, because he’s only going to grant me so long before he returns to bed. “It was Voldemort! I know, I thought I was going mad, but he stood up, pulled the stake out of his heart-the wound wasn’t even bleeding-and walked away. I Apparated here as soon as he was gone, sir. Please believe me, sir. You have to believe me.”
This must be the wrong thing to say, because suddenly his jaw tightens even more and his eyes sweep contemptuously over to Neville. “I’m surprised at you, Longbottom. Believing crazy stories from a hysterical girl.” With that, he walks back through the wall and, I assume, to bed.
~*~
The Daily Prophet today carries the news that Harry Potter is going to be honoured in an official ceremony for “leading his troops in conquering You-Know-Who”. I’ve been watching the Prophet’s headlines and listening to the WWN obsessively for the last week, happy about the lack of Voldemort-related news, but half-scared that this means he’s planning something especially dreadful. I’ve also been living in The Leaky Cauldron, because where else would one go to keep a finger on the pulse of Wizarding Britain’s gossip?
Well, that and I’m rather frightened to face my family at the moment. It’s not as though they didn’t know where I was-generally.
The note didn’t flat-out say I was going to join Harry’s regiment, it just said that I was going to join the war against Voldemort. And it may have implied something about a secret mission for the Order. I just couldn’t have Bill, or worse yet, Mum coming into the Ministry to drag me back home; even if it wouldn’t have been terribly embarrassing, then Harry would have found out about my deception. Not that my prevention scheme worked so well for that aspect of the situation.
Anyway, I’ve been here in The Leaky Cauldron, living off my salary from Harry’s unit. (Harry’s very fair-he’d never refuse to pay because of hurt feelings. Addressing the envelope, on the other hand-he wrote, and I quote, “Ginevra M. Weasley, Deceiving Bitch, Who-Knows-Or-Cares-Where”.)
With this news, however, I know it’s time to brave my family and Harry; they’ll all be at the ceremony, obviously, and I have to be there. It’s the perfect opportunity for Voldemort. Imagine, the Boy-Who-Defeated-Him-Twice, convinced he’s dead, receiving a bloody award for killing him. What more perfect target could there be?
An owl arrives here in the main room of the pub, and drops its letter in front of me. I’m sure there’s some mistake, because no one knows I’m here, but it’s definitely addressed to me.
Oh, dear. It’s another one from Harry. “Ginevra M. Weasley, Liar, Wherever-She-Is”. Well, it’s slightly less harsh than the last.
I wasn’t expecting this:
Miss Weasley:
You may have read that I am being given a Ministry ceremony, etc., etc. Although I would prefer not to see you there, you were part of the unit, and an integral part of Voldemort’s downfall.
Therefore, I feel it is only right to extend this invitation to attend as one of my guests. You should know that my guests will be seated on the platform with me during the ceremony, so keep this in mind when deciding whether to attend. Please understand that I will make every effort to avoid speaking with you.
On a more personal note: Ginny, how could you do this? I don’t understand what you were thinking! You could have been killed I thought I could trust you Your family will be ashamed of you.
Harry Potter
I will not dwell on the crossed-out words. I will not dwell on the crossed-out words. I will not- Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to dwell to my heart’s content.
~*~
“…it gives me great pleasure to honour Harry Potter…” Wild applause interrupts Minister Bones here. “…with this small token of the Ministry’s gratitude!” She holds up a gigantic medal, made of the purest gold; it sparkles and shines in the light, and Harry looks rather ill when he glimpses the hunk of metal almost as large as his head. I don’t blame him. He’s never really liked jewellery very much.
I’m sitting on the very end of the platform, in the chair labelled with my name; curiously (or rather, not-so-curiously), the chair was at least a foot from all of the other chairs on the platform, the rest of which were rather closely packed.
Minister Bones is placing the medal around Harry’s neck; I’m surprised he doesn’t fall over from the weight. “On behalf of the Wizarding population of Britain: thank you, Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore would have been proud of you.” This last comment brings tears to Harry’s eyes like none of the long speeches and praises before could. My eyes begin to cloud over as well, as do some of the other men’s.
Before any of us have a chance to start actually bawling, a black-robed figure appears behind the minister. I knew that this was going to happen, and yet I could not help hoping that it wouldn’t. Now that the moment is here, though, there is not a minute to lose; I jump over the table we’re all seated at and draw my wand at the same time.
I’m ready for the Death Eater to grab Harry and take him away, or restrain him until Voldemort is ready to appear, but he does neither of these. He quickly touches Minister Bones’ shoulder and then touches his own belt, apparently the site of a Portkey.
I thought I had prepared for every eventuality, but there’s no time to think about that now. A new plan is what we need. All of the men have gathered around Harry, but I’m hanging back, unsure of my reception; Neville gestures me over, but I shake my head. I know Harry doesn’t want me there. Maybe I should just stay with the crowd and wait for the heroes to come back in triumph.
Neville wasn’t satisfied with my refusal, and comes to lead me into the circle of brainstorming men. Harry stops in the middle of a sentence to stare at me, hard. I raise my chin and stare right back at him. His lips tighten, but he nods almost imperceptibly, and I’m now part of the unit again.
Finch-Fletchley tells the group that he placed a tracking spell on the Death Eater before he Portkeyed, which was very quick thinking, I must say. Harry begins to ask something. “Which of you-,” he begins, but he’s interrupted by a group of red-haired people (and one brown-haired witch) clamouring to be part of the planning. It’s my family, of course.
“Wait just one minute-,” Fred begins.
“-if you’re going to fight Voldemort-,” George continues.
“-we want in, too,” Ron finishes.
Bill, Mum, Dad and Hermione are there as well. A few of them give me questioning glances, but they’re mostly focussed on Harry, obviously hoping he’ll say that they can fight, too.
Harry deliberates. After a minute or so, he nods decisively to himself and says, “Bill, Ron and Hermione can come with us. Sorry, Fred, George, Arthur, Molly. I know that the three of them have had rather extensive combat experience; besides, we’ll need some competent people back here in case of further attack.”
The twins protest this decision loudly, adding, “What about Ginny? What combat experience has she had?” They’ve obviously conveniently forgotten about the Ministry fight in my fourth year, not to mention several other skirmishes I was involved in while in school.
But Harry cuts off their protests, saying simply, “Ginny is a special case,” while turning back to face the rest of the circle. The tone and body language are unmistakeable; Gred and Forge shut up and start organising the crowd.
“Now,” Harry continues the pre-Weasley-invasion conversation, “Who can follow the Tracker well enough to Apparate?” Although basically all magical people can follow a Tracking Spell on foot, or even on broomstick, only about thirty percent can follow well enough to Apparate to the location of the Tracked object or person. Harry, Hermione, Neville and myself raise our hands, along with several other men from the unit, none of whom I know well.
“All right. Everyone who raised their hands, wait here. Everyone else, come with me for a moment.” Harry obviously has a plan, but I know that it will be something that will end with him in a sticky situation, one of those where it will be a miracle if he survives. Just because he’s survived several of these already doesn’t mean that I can let him do it if I’ve got another idea. Which I do. I thank my lucky stars that I never emptied my uniform’s utility belt of the standard potions kit Harry always had us wear.
“Okay, everybody, this is what we’re going to do,” I state.
“Oi!” someone protests, “Who made you boss?”
“Pipe down, unless you’ve got a better idea,” I retort.
“Well, how can I know? You haven’t told us yet.”
“Exactly.” I glare at the rest of the group. “Anyone else have a problem with hearing my plan?” No one says anything. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll Apparate to the location and distract them. They’ll pay attention to me, and I’ll try to lead them away from the minister. The rest of you Apparate nearby, but not exactly in the middle of them, like I’m going to do. When they’re sufficiently distracted, grab Minister Bones and Disapparate her back to our training room. Hermione, you should put a Tracker on someone from the unit so that you can follow them there. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” said one of the men I didn’t know. “How do you know that they’ll pay attention to you? I mean, you are a Weasley, obviously, but Minister Bones is very important to our cause as well.”
“Good question. I won’t be Ginny Weasley, I’ll be Harry Potter.”
At this point, a hand clamps heavily down on my shoulder. “Taking over my position, Weasley?” Harry’s voice is deceptively calm, but his eyes are burning.
“Not your position as leader, sir, just your position as sacrificial lamb.” The look on his face is one of confusion, which only deepens as I reach up to pluck a few hairs from his head. Before he can figure it out, I drop the hairs into my Portable Polyjuice flask and shake.
Several people realise what I’m doing and try to stop me, Harry and Hermione among them. I love them for it, but I manage to bring the flask to my lips and drink without interference. Hermione wails, “But Polyjuice isn’t meant for trans-gender transformations!”
I can see why. It’s quite painful.
However, a few moments of pain are quite a fair trade-off for saving Harry’s life.
Harry grabs my arm. “You’re not going. I won’t let you risk yourself for me.”
I raise one eyebrow at him; I have an inward giggle about the fact that this is a look on him that I’ve drooled over, and reply: “What makes you think that I’m doing it for you? I’m doing it for Minister Bones and the Wizarding world, who all think so highly of you that they’d despair if you were dead.” I mention nothing of my own inevitable despair, should such an event occur.
“Still, it’s to save me, and I should be the one taking the risks. I’m the Captain of this unit, after all.”
“True, which only makes you more indispensable.” In my best ‘teacher’ voice, I add, “Now, don’t let’s argue.” I gently remove his hand from my arm, and quickly Apparate away.
~*~
I wink into existence only about a mile away, right in the middle of several black-robed figures. Reflexively, my mind goes through the several different ways that I could escape from and/or disarm them; however, my body is still. Their reflexes aren’t nearly as fast. I could have knocked out at least two of them before they finally reach me and take my wand.
They drag me through several rooms, till we finally reach some sort of balcony, where the resurrected Voldemort and Minister Bones are standing. My mouth is dry, my armpits are sweaty, and my knees want to knock together. Somehow, however, I manage to make myself stand tall and confidently to confront Tom.
“Ah, Harry Potter. I wondered when you’d show up to save your precious minister. It doesn’t appear that your underlings have decided to follow you to your death, though. Pity. It would have been amusing to kill each one in front of you, ending with the girl of course, and then put you out of your misery.
“I’m not afraid of you any more, you see. I’ve finally conquered death. I found a spell that will cause my body to rise again, no matter how many times you kill me.” The smile on his face is cold and evil.
“No doubt the Darkest of Dark spells, Tom.” There is a quick flash of anger on his face at the ‘Muggle name’ he hates so, but he recovers. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than to stoop as low as you have for your longevity.” I feel no guilt about pretending to be Harry at this moment, because I know that he would be in complete agreement with me on this subject.
“That can be arranged,” he smirks and continues, “but we’ve time for that later.” He nods to the Death Eaters that brought me in and they come forward to drag me away somewhere else. “I’m going to have some fun with the lovely Amelia first.
“And by the way, Potter: you’re really missing out; unicorn blood is really quite tasty.” His high, cold laugh fills my ears as I’m removed from the room.
~*~
My guards lock me into a cage magically. I have no doubt that I’d be able to easily break their spells with my wand, but I’ve never shown any aptitude for wandless magic.
Not five minutes later, Harry appears outside my door. “Harry,” I hiss, “What are you doing here? Wasn’t I clear about the plan? You were not to rescue me, you were to rescue Minister Bones!”
“Shh,” Harry puts a finger to his lips. “It’s not Harry. It’s Hermione. We thought you might have a hard time distracting Voldemort sufficiently on your own, so we all Polyjuiced ourselves as Harry. Now he won’t know who to capture.”
I have to admit, it is a much better-thought-out plan than mine. “Good idea, Hermione,” I tell her.
She shakes her, or rather Harry’s, head. “I didn’t think of it. Ron couldn’t come, so he was determined to think out a strategy; you know how he’s always been so good at chess.” While we were speaking, Hermione had been making some complicated wand movements around the lock of the door and almost as soon as she finishes her sentence, the lock springs open, letting me out. I direct her toward the balcony, and we arrive to a mad scene. There are about three ‘Harrys’ facing off with various Death Eaters, while one is challenging Voldemort. Yet another is holding Minister Bones’ hand, and is surreptitiously preparing to perform a dual Apparition, which takes much more concentration.
Hermione-Harry and I glance at each other, and that familiar expression, Harry’s ‘game face’, greets my eyes. “Let’s go,” I tell her, and she nods. We throw ourselves into the fray; I’m very grateful for my physical training now, without my wand to help me.
There is a sudden shriek of anger from Riddle as he realises that his quarry (at least one of them) has disappeared; whoever it was with the minister has successfully Apparated them both away. “I know one of you has to be the real Potter; the idiot never could leave a hopeless fight alone.” Voldemort appears to be searching our faces, and before I know what I’m doing, I step forward. His face lights up. “Ah, I knew that would get you; you’re the only one who can understand me.”
Confused, I look around at the other Harrys, all of whom seem baffled. Except one. Suddenly, I understand what Voldemort has done; he spoke in Parseltongue, so only Harry (and apparently, me) could understand him. Harry was smart enough to stay back for once, but I took the bait. I swallow convulsively. “That’s right, Riddle; I’m the real Harry Potter. You’ve got me, now what are you going to do with me?” My voice is as strong and confident as I can make it; much more confident than I’m feeling right now.
The others, believing that they’re defending Harry, gather around me in a tight semicircle. Harry-the real Harry-is only a step behind, although I’m sure he’s planning to rescue me somehow. I’ll do my best to prevent it, though.
Voldemort’s look of evil glee slowly changes to one of anger as a strange feeling comes over me. A hank of hair drops into my eyes-red. Oh, no! My hour is up.
“A girl? What trick is this? Which one of you is the real Potter?” He yells at the Harrys, stabbing his wand at each of them in turn, as though merely holding them at wandpoint will force them to confess. They all simply glare at him, pointing their wands right back. Then his wand is back in my face. “I know. Potter can’t stand to see others suffer, and this must be his whore. Crucio!”
Pain.
Pain like I’ve never known.
Pain like this is impossible to imagine or describe. When it fills your body, it becomes your body. Your body is now entirely made up of pain receptors, all of which are being stimulated at once.
When the pain leaves, all I can think about for the next few seconds is that the pain is receding. I find I have a body again, a physical body with which it is possible to feel things other than pain. The next thing I become aware of is an angry roar coming from the mouth of one of the Harrys. He’s wrestling-actually on the ground wrestling-with Voldemort! The other Harrys and I stand around, amazed, for several minutes as this continues; ditto for the Death Eaters.
They roll around on the ground; occasionally, one or the other will reach for his wand, but neither seems to be able to reach theirs in time. I think that everyone is afraid to become involved for fear of hitting his or her respective leader. Finally, the Harry gets his wand free and pointing at Voldemort.
“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort crumples. “And this time, you’d better stay dead!” He kicks the body viciously.
All the other Harrys jump to capture the Death Eaters before they Disapparate, but I stand transfixed. Something has just occurred to me, but before I can act on my thought, the Harry who just killed Voldemort approaches me, murmurs, “Ginny,” and kisses me!
I recover from my shock enough to enjoy the kiss after a few moments, then recover enough from my hormones to push him away after a few more. He groans in protest. “Um…who are you?”
He looks confused, then laughs. “It’s Harry. The real Harry.”
“A-are you sure?”
He grins, then shows me his belt, still containing a full portion of Portable Polyjuice. His smile drops away, his arms tighten, his face comes closer to mine…
I must be stupid, I tell myself as I push him away again. He looks a bit hurt, till I point to Tom’s body. “What’s to prevent him from rising again…again?” I query, and he shrugs. “I have an idea,” I tell him. “Cremate him.”
He stares at me confusedly.
“Just do it,” I insist. “Cast Incendio and burn his body till it’s ash. We’ll see if he can come back to life from that!” Comprehension fills Harry’s eyes and he grins at me, doing as I said. While he’s turned away from me to cast the spell, I notice that the others have rounded up many of the Death Eaters, and that some of them are beginning to change back to their real selves.
That glance is all the opportunity I have to look round for several minutes, as Harry turns back to me. He pulls me into an embrace, whispers, “I love you, Ginny,” into my ear, and captures my mouth before I have a chance to react in any way.
I don’t require much persuasion to continue kissing Harry; in fact, that thing he’s doing with his tongue right now is more than convincing…
~*~
It turns out that what I told Harry to do was exactly right. From questioning the captured Death Eaters and some research on Hermione’s part, we found out that the spell Voldemort used was an obscure Dark Arts spell, which would give the caster’s spirit the ability to return to his or her body an unlimited number of times; without a body, however, there was no way for him to come back.
He had intimidated Minister Bones, but hadn’t had the chance to go much farther than that before all of the Harrys began to arrive. Some Death Eaters tried to attack the gathered crowd, but thanks in large part to the efforts of my family, they got nowhere with that plan.
Harry told me that he had had a crush on me for at least two years, but had thought I was over him; besides, he wanted to vanquish Voldemort before getting involved with anyone. He and I had grown very close as friends when I was pretending to be James, and so he naturally felt betrayed when I was revealed as a woman. After the week that we spent apart, however, he says he realised that I am “his ideal woman”. I make a great friend, I’m courageous, and I’m pretty enough that he had a crush on me before he knew me well.
Needless to say, I blushed uncontrollably whilst he was saying this. He says he likes it when I blush.
Oh, dear, I’m turning into a brainless, giggling girl. I’m a soldier; I’m supposed to be past all this.
It is rather fun, though, this business of being in love.
Well, I can’t debate with myself any longer, because I have to go prepare for our first date. He said to dress sensibly, so I can only guess his idea of romance is to run an obstacle course together or something. It’s just lucky for him that I agree.
~*~
A/N: Thanks again to the wonderful Natbag for making sure that I don’t sound too American, tutoring me in computer literacy, and the title. Voldie’s resurrection is at least partially inspired by the Biblical account of a similar situation, involving the Antichrist. If you’re interested, the reference is Revelation 13:1-8. If you’re interested in the original poem about Mulan, you can find it here. As I said on Part One, the plot as written here owes a lot to the Disney version of the story, so please don’t sue me, Disney! If you’re interested in seeing the exercises that Harry and Ginny became friends over, you can find pictures here