FIC: "Falling Slowly, Part Five" by irislock
The next two weeks are a bit of a blur. Her whole family surprises her on her birthday with a visit and an impromptu party in the Gryffindor common room. Bill brings some of her money, and George offers her a job at the Hogsmeade location of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Her father discreetly gives her a sheath of fine writing paper and asks her to write Molly once in awhile if it isn’t too much trouble. She thanks him, and hugs him, and apologizes for being so thoughtless. They’re all impressed with her vanishing charms and ability to transfigure her cloak into an armchair and back again.
McGonagall seems to take her success as a sign that she needs more of a challenge and doubles her workload, leaving her little free time. She gets to know a couple of the school's most reliable and speedy owls and writes to Molly daily while eating breakfast. She looks forward to Molly’s reply, which usually arrives while she’s eating dinner. She also gets a couple of letters from Hermione, and she spends an entertaining couple of hours with Luna, who comes to Hogwarts one afternoon to deliver some Scandinavian bowtruckles to Hagrid.
She doesn’t exactly miss Harry, but she does think about him every time she uses her quill. She thinks of writing to him but honestly doesn't know what to say. She spends one afternoon helping Ron and George stock the new shop, and her heart leaps a little when Ron mentions that Harry should be back from Italy soon. She finds herself hoping that he really will come to visit when he gets back from Italy.
Sometimes, to break the monotony of studying, she looks up back issues of the Daily Prophet from his years at Hogwarts. She understands why Hermione wanted to write a book; the Prophet was clearly biased against Harry for a long time, but it’s interesting reading nonetheless. Harry's interview describing the reincarnation of Lord Voldemort is positively chilling. She discovers that her talent for Quidditch started young; she was the Seeker for Gryffindor when they beat Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup in her fourth year.
How ironic this is to her. Her one lesson with Madam Hooch was a fiasco; she couldn’t get the broom off the ground. Her broom, the new one Ron gave her, has been untouched in a corner of her quarters since she got here. She reads the owner's manual and discovers that it's an international standard Chaser's broom that must have cost Ron two months' wages. She's never even thanked him properly, so she encloses a special note for him the next time she writes to Hermione.
The Cleansweep is probably far superior to the school broom she had tried before, and her progress in other areas of magical study has given her more confidence. She thinks about trying again, on her own, so that she won’t have to embarrass herself in front of a professor if it doesn’t go well. Sick of studying late one afternoon, she grabs her broom and heads down to the Quidditch pitch.
She doesn’t try any of the verbal commands suggested in the manual; she simply straddles the broom and kicks off as hard as she can. The broom shoots straight up for about five feet, then somersaults backwards and throws her to the ground. She tries again, pushing off harder, and is rewarded by being thrown to the ground harder. On the third try, the broom throws her sideways and she lands painfully on her bellly. Picking herself up, she wonders sarcastically if it’s possible for the broom to throw her down hard enough to knock all of her memories back into her head.
“You’re pushing off too hard,” says a voice behind her.
She whirls around to see Harry, a thickened shadow sitting on the bottom bleacher. One elbow is propped on a knee, and his chin is resting in his palm.
This is worse than falling in front of Madam Hooch.
“Harry! I - I d-didn’t see you there,” she stammers. “When did you get back?”
“Just now.”
“How was your trip?” she offers, trying in vain to keep the subject away from her horrid flying attempt.
“Okay. You can consider yourself safe in the event of an unexpected vampire attack.”
“Um, thanks. What about attacking brooms? Any experience with those?”
He laughs. “Brooms don’t usually attack unless they’re hexed.”
A breeze has kicked up, and she didn’t think to tie her hair back. It’s long now, almost as long as in the pictures of her before the accident. She brushes some strands from her face. Part of her is glad to see him, but she wishes he’d picked a less embarrassing moment to show up.
He stands. “Want some help?”
She has to think about this. No, she doesn’t want help. Or rather, she doesn’t want to need help. And the last time Harry tried to help -
She turns away from him into the wind to get the hair out of her face before she responds, “No. I think it’s hopeless.”
“It’s not,” he says, and she’s surprised that he’s close enough to have heard her.
She’s looking at the broom lying on the ground. Without benefit of a verbal command, it leaps into Harry’s hands. She’s openly impressed.
“How -?”
He’s walked around behind her, and they’re now facing each other.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, and drops the broom at her feet.
“Hold your hand out over the shaft,” he instructs. “Sometimes it helps if you close your eyes.”
She closes hers. “Not too tight," he prompts. "Relax.
“Now, you’re going to say ‘Up’ and you don’t want it to sound like a request or a plea. You want to show respect for the broom - it’s a powerful tool - but also authority. You’re in charge. If it helps, pretend you have your wand in your hand. You should feel a magical charge when the broom responds.”
Okay, she thinks. I can do this.
Trying to remember everything Harry said and do it all at once, she extends her wand arm over the broom and says “Up” as confidently as she can.
Her elation is evident when the wood hits her outstretched palm, and she only barely suppresses the urge to throw her arms around his neck in victory.
“It works! That’s great! Thanks, Harry!”
Her delight is short lived, though. Holding a broom is very different from flying one.
Harry doesn’t seem to notice. “Perfect,” he says. “Now try it with your eyes open.”
She does, and it works again, and again, and half a dozen more times.
He gives her a basic lesson on broom features and handling, telling her how to brake and accelerate, lift and descend. He shows her how to cast a Cushioning Charm, and she begins to think that, like everything else in the magical world, there’s a lot more to this flying business than she thought.
“Okay,” he says finally, “now you’re ready to fly.”
She doubts that very seriously, but she takes the broom from him and straddles it. The Cushioning Charm makes a big difference.
“Now remember, the harder you push, the harder the broom pushes back.”
“What? I thought the broom and I were supposed to both go in the same direction.”
He chuckles. “You are. But it’s just like Newton’s third law of motion says: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The broom will act against you if you let it. You have to control its energy and make it work for you.”
“What does Newton have to do with magic?” she asks, thoroughly perplexed. “I thought we were defying gravity here.”
“Witches and wizards are still subject to the laws of physics, Ginevra. Magic is just a force that Muggles don’t know about.”
“Hmm,” she says. “I guess I never thought about it that way.”
He shrugs. “Just try to concentrate on focusing the broom’s energy. And don’t be scared of it.”
She isn’t, and she does try, but she can’t seem to get the broom to do what she wants. She falls two more times, more gently than before, but they’re still falls, and she's ready to call it quits when Harry makes a suggestion.
“How about if I fly?"
She's not excited about the prospect of him flying brilliantly all over the pitch and making her feel foolish.
"I'm not sure that will help."
"But it might. You won’t have to do anything but hold on,” he says.
"You want to fly with me on the broom?"
"Well, yeah. I mean...if you want. Sometimes it's easier to learn if you have someone right there with you. "
"I didn't know two people could fly on the same broom." And then, a disturbing thought occurs to her. "What if I fall?"
He looks serious. “I don't think that will happen. But if it does... then I’ll catch you...like I should have last time.”
This last bit surprises her. "What do you mean?"
"You know, when you had your accident."
"But I was in a match," she says.
"Yeah, but if I had been there, I might have been able to do something."
"Like what?"
"I don't know." That familiar pained look is creeping over his features again. "It's just...I only missed three of your matches, and you got hurt every single time. The first two weren't a big deal - a black eye and a broken nose, but...I should have been there."
"Harry, you can't possibly blame yourself for my accident. If the match officials and my teammates couldn't help, what makes you think you could?"
He looks glumly at the ground and doesn't answer.
"Please," she says, "stop punishing yourself for something that's not your fault."
His arms are crossed over his chest. "You sound like Hermione."
"Yeah, well," she replies, "Hermione is bloody brilliant, so that can't be a bad thing."
This brings a slight smile.
"Seriously Harry, not everything bad that happens to me is your fault."
The smile disappears. "What about the Pensieve? That was my fault."
"But it wasn't intentional. You were only trying to help. I know that. And if that hadn't happened, I wouldn't be here now, and I wouldn't have learned magic again, and - and you wouldn't be teaching me how to fly."
His arms uncross, and he doesn't seem as glum. "Well, I should warn you that flying on a broom together does require a certain amount of touching." He looks at her a little questioningly.
She smirks, "If you promise not to fly me into a Pensieve, I promise not to freak out."
His smile is back. "I promise."
He mounts the broom and seats himself towards the back, near the tail twigs. He's sitting straight up, feet still touching the ground, and extends a hand to her.
She takes it and sits in front of him, then tucks her hair into her robes.
"Now, hand placement is important." He takes both of her hands and moves them forward along the broomshaft, right in front of left, until she can feel the slight indentations of the hand grips. "Feel the difference? When you're first starting, keep your hands on the grips. They feel different to the rest of the broom, so you don't have to look down to find them."
Her feet are touching under the broom, and he tells her to lean forward for take-off. "It's smoother if you try to get as close to parallel to the broom as you can - there's less wind resistance that way."
He seems to know a lot about flying, and she recalls reading that Harry played Quidditch himself while at Hogwarts and was even Quidditch captain in his sixth year.
Harry leans forward behind her so that she feels his chest pressing into her back, solid and safe. His hands are in position just behind hers.
Warm breath in her ear, he asks, "Ready?"
She nods.
He pushes, a smooth, steady stroke with both feet that lifts them instantly into the air, though they aren't far off the ground. He leans even farther down, pushing her almost flat into the broom. She looks down and then quickly closes her eyes as they go faster.
"Lift your head a little," he urges. "Don't be afraid to look where you're going."
She does, and at the same moment, he inclines the front of the broom ever so slightly, almost like he's just giving the broom a suggestion, and she feels the lift and rush of air beneath them.
It's absolutely exhilarating. Steadily they climb, gaining speed, and he banks to the right as they navigate the perimeter of the pitch.
This seems so effortless for him, and his confidence relaxes her. Once, twice, six times around the pitch, and then he reverses direction. At one point, he takes his hands off the broom and lets her try. It's bumpy as she adjusts unevenly, but the broom is responsive, and after a few minutes, her actions are much smoother.
"This is amazing," she turns to tell him, and her hair, already straining against the confines of her robes, liberates itself straight into his face.
"Oh! Sorry -" she says. She reaches back with one hand in an attempt to gather it into a bunch, but the broom lurches and throws her off balance. Harry lunges quickly, taking hold of the broom and righting it.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," she says, a little breathless. "It's just that my hair - I didn't want it to get in your face like that."
Harry inhales deeply. "It's okay," he says, and she notices the quiver in his voice.
"But you can't see," she counters.
He slides forward a bit, so that he is directly behind her. Hand at the nape of her neck, he gently sweeps her tresses all to one side, then puts his chin over her other shoulder.
"There. Now I can see just fine."
He is so close. She turns her head a little and looks at him. At his messy hair, which looks no different being blown about by the wind to the way it does when he is perfectly still, at his faded scar and brilliant green eyes. His face is smooth - he must have shaved recently. Her mind goes back over the time they've spent together, and she thinks about how kind, and patient, and loyal, and good-hearted he is in spite of tragedies in his life. And it's here, sitting in front of him on a broom, rising higher and higher in the air, that she falls for him. There's an electrical charge, a spark between them as he returns her gaze and smiles slowly. Suddenly, it doesn't matter so much that she can't remember her past, because her future is looking more promising by the minute.
She's looking ahead now and hears his voice in her ear again. "Want to have some fun?"
He can't be suggesting -
"What did you have in mind?"
"I'll show you. Hold on!" Still in control of the broom, he rises sharply out of the Quidditch pitch and they fly - over Hagrid's hut, and the Forbidden Forest, and over the castle itself. They fly low and fast over the lake, so low that she can touch her toes to the water, and Harry caps his tour of the grounds with a series of loops and rolls and dives that leaves her positively dizzy.
They've landed, but she isn't sure that her feet are actually on the ground. "Wow!" she exclaims. "That was - that was - incredible. I've never had that much fun!" For some reason, images from the Pensieve pop into her head. "Well, not that I can remember, anyway," she adds quickly.
Harry laughs, and it's a shame that his ears are in the way because they're stopping his smile from wrapping entirely around his head.
It's cool, now that the sun is down and she doesn't have the excitement of flying to keep her warm, and Harry retrieves his traveling cloak from the bleacher and drapes it over her shoulders. He's carrying her broom as they walk back up to the castle>
"Thanks for coming to see me. I'm sure you're tired from your trip."
"No problem. I love to fly, and it's been too long since I flew just for fun."
This prompts her to ask, "Did we ever fly together?"
"Not much," he responds, "at least not recently. We'd play Quidditch with your family at The Burrow, but once you started playing professionally, you didn't want to fly as much in your free time. Said your bum needed a rest. We only flew together on the same broom twice. It, um, didn't go well."
"Oh?"
"No. The first time, we kept arguing over who was going to be in control. And the second time -"
She looks over, and he's blushing faintly.
"The second time?" she prompts.
"Do you really want to know?" he says.
Realization dawns. "You had sex on a broom?"
"We tried. We had my Invisibility Cloak so we couldn't be seen, but ultimately - the logistics were sort of complicated, and it just wasn't that comfortable."
She laughs. "Serves you both right for being so randy all the time."
And then, something very bold comes from her mouth. "You must be having a rough go of it. No sex in -" she pauses to count - "ten weeks. No wonder that's what you were thinking about in the Pensieve."
They're at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Hogwarts entrance, and he turns to face her.
He looks sheepish, and blushes more deeply, but he holds her gaze.
"Honestly, Ginny - Ginevra - that's been the least of it." There's an awkward silence between them, but he doesn't explain further.
"Do you want to stay for dinner? I'm sure the elves would make you something."
"Thanks, but no. I've arranged for a Portkey to take me back to London." He pulls a Golden Snitch out of his pocket and shows her. She's only seen one, at The Burrow, but she thinks this one must be old because the wings aren't moving.
"When?"
Snitch back in his pocket, he checks his watch. "In about five minutes."
"Okay, then. When's my next flying lesson?"
He ponders this. "I have paperwork to do all day tomorrow, but I could come on Saturday if you're free. Around ten in the morning?"
"That would be lovely. I'll try to practise in the meantime."
He tells her not to fly too high unless she's sure of herself and gives her the incantation for an impact reduction charm she can cast on the broom.
The moments are ticking by. "Thanks, Harry. For everything."
He smiles. She's become quite fond of his smile.
"It's the least I can do."
He hands her the broom, and she hands him his cloak, and they both know that parting is imminent.
He rocks forward on his toes and leans toward her a little, and she thinks that maybe he is going to kiss her, but then he pulls back. She closes the distance between them and kisses him instead, a soft, tentative brush of the lips. She grasps his hands, and they both smile, and kiss again, and it's lovely - until he breaks the kiss.
Biting his lower lip, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes.
"What is it?" she whispers, trying not to sound too alarmed. "Am I doing it wrong? I've never kissed anyone -"
"No," he tells her in a gravelly whisper, "it's not that. It's just -" Lifting his forehead, he opens his eyes and looks at her. "It's just - not like I expected. I thought that by the time you felt like kissing me again - well, that you'd have your memory back. I mean, you're Ginny, but you're not, and - and - this is going to sound really stupid, but it - it almost feels like I'm cheating on her."
Their hands fall apart. She ignores the leaden feeling in her stomach and, with a valiant effort, manages not to appear too crestfallen. If anything, what he just said makes her like him more even as it makes her feel worse.
"It's not stupid," she begins, but her voice creaks and she has to start over. "It's not stupid, Harry. In fact, it may be the sweetest thing I've ever heard."
Without warning, he disappears, and she is left there at the foot of the steps, cold and alone. Harry's words from earlier ring in her head: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. How ironic - and true - it is; she's finally attracted to the man she was supposed to marry, but she can't have him because he's in love with someone else.
~*~
She's a little surprised when he shows up on Saturday at ten o'clock. She's already been at the pitch for an hour. Her hair is tied back, and she rummaged some practice robes from the Quidditch locker room, so she at least looks like she can fly. In fact, she looks like Ginny. She hasn't been very adventurous with her practices, but she can Summon her broom without fail, hover, and fly short, straight distances.
"Terrific," Harry says. "Ready to work on building speed and height?"
"You don't have to do this, Harry. Really."
"But I thought you wanted me to teach you to fly."
She draws in a deep breath. She'd been thinking about this ever since he left. And she knows this is the right thing to do. It was the right thing to do weeks ago, and she hadn't been able to do it.
"I do. But not if it's going to be hard for you to be around me. I know I'm not Ginny, not exactly, even though I look like her - more now than I did before. And I don't want you to feel - like you're cheating on her by being with me. I understand if it's easier to stay away."
His shoulders slump, and he looks at the ground. Her heart breaks a little. All of those feelings from her first days at The Burrow come back to her, and it seems that no matter what she does where Harry is concerned, it's not right. But she can't just walk - or fly - away. Broom tucked under an arm, she walks closer to him, but she stops before she's close enough to touch him.
"I never should have said anything," he says.
"But it's the truth," she argues. "I'm glad you told me the truth. Well, not happy glad, but I prefer the truth to a lie."
Suddenly, he straightens and takes a step toward her. His hands are in his pockets, but he looks determined. "Yeah? Well, here's another truth. Sometimes, it is hard to be with you. But it's harder to be without you. And in the beginning, I kept wishing and hoping that your memory would come back, and things would be like they were. But now - it's complicated. I like you, Ginevra, I like you a lot. And I don't want to lose you, too."
"So - what are you saying?" There's a tear in her eye and a flutter of hope in her chest.
"That I want to give this a try. If you're still interested. And it's okay if you never get your memory back because - because - we can make new memories."
What's a witch supposed to say when a handsome, caring, talented wizard says something like that? There's only one answer she can think of.
Drawing in a shaky breath and nodding vigorously, she says simply, "Yes."
They meet in the middle of the pitch. Her arms wrap around his waist, and he runs his fingers through her hair. They kiss, slowly and deliberately, for a long time.
Later, Harry says to her, "Dating the instructor will not get you out of flying practice."
She laughs, and they take off again on her broom.
~*~
The elves have packed a picnic lunch, and after two solid hours of flying, they set out to find a suitable spot to eat near the lake.
She nips into the Quidditch locker room to change her clothes, and there's a curious look on Harry's face when she emerges.
This is quickly becoming a game.
"In here, too?" she asks.
He laughs, "Just once, and we nearly got caught by Professor McGonagall." This causes her to break into a fit of giggles.
~*~
Laying on their backs in the sun after lunch, hands pillowed under their heads and watching lazy clouds roll by, he tells her how quickly her flying has improved.
"You could probably play Quidditch again if you want to."
"I don't know about that. I got a letter from the Harpies last week, saying I'll be on the injured players list until the first of the year. If I want, I can try out to be reinstated to the team after that." She pauses and looks at him. "I'm surprised you'd want me to play."
"Luna tells me I shouldn't be overprotective, but I'd never miss a single match if you did." He rolls to one side now, facing her with his head propped on one hand. "I just want you to do what makes you happy."
"We'll see," she says vaguely. "Professor McGonagall offered me a job in Herbology helping Neville, but I don't think I want to be here when all of the students are here. I sort of like having the castle to myself. George offered me a job too, which I'll probably take. Autumn term starts a week from today so I have to leave here by Thursday. Molly is all excited about me coming back to The Burrow. She wants us to take a trip to Romania to see Charlie before I start working and she becomes a Granny."
"What are you doing between now and Thursday?" He's started playing with a lock of her hair.
She rolls onto her side and mirrors his position. "Not a whole lot. My lessons with Professor McGonagall ended yesterday. She says I'm a qualified witch as far as she's concerned. I don't have to retake any exams, but she said I'd easily get five or six OWLs and a couple of NEWTs. I promised Neville I'd help him as much as I could this week. He's kind of nervous because it's the first year since Professor Sprout retired. I'm not worried, though; I think he'll do well."
She pauses, thinking about what else she has to do. "I have to pack - that won't take long. Oh, and I have to retake the Apparition test Tuesday. Professor McGonagall has arranged for the examiners to come here."
"Have you practised?"
"Some. It's alright, I suppose. I haven't splinched myself yet, but I can't get more than a few feet away. It's such an odd feeling. I like flying much better."
A satisfied smile brightens his face. "Me too." Their hands interlace, and she rubs her toes against his calf.
"What are you doing next week?" she inquires.
He sighs heavily. "Working, unfortunately. I'm behind after being gone for so long. I don't think I'll be able to get back here before you leave."
She pouts a little at this. "Are you coming to The Burrow for dinner on Sunday?"
"Oh, yes," he assures her. "I wouldn't miss that. Maybe, after you're settled in, I could take you to London sometime, show you around." He folds her hand over his and gives it a soft kiss.
"Preferably before you go off to Romania," he adds.
"I'd like that."
Her propping hand is falling asleep so she sits up and looks out over the lake. "This is a lovely spot." Harry lies back down on his back.
"Yeah." His voice is dreamy and distant, like he is about to fall asleep. But something about the tone of his voice -
"Here, too?" she asks, growing incredulous.
"Hmm?" he asks as if she's roused him from a reverie.
"Did we have sex here too?" She looks down at him in time to see his eyes snap open.
"Oh. No. But we did snog here a few times."
"Hmm. I don't remember," she says. "But maybe this is a good time to start making some new memories."
~*~
It's Neville who tells her about the Room of Requirement.
Professor McGonagall had lifted the anti-Apparition wards in part of the castle on Sunday for her to practise, and she inadvertently ended up in the Trophy Room (unsplinched, thank goodness). She must have been thinking about Harry just a little too much because she nearly ended up in the trophy cabinet with his 1998 Award for Special Services to the school. In the same cabinet, she noticed similar awards with names that she recognized: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood and...Ginny Weasley. She knew, of course, about what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had accomplished, and she knew that she had been at the Battle of Hogwarts, but she'd never been given any details.
She asks Neville about it on Monday afternoon while they're harvesting bubotuber pus in Greenhouse Two. While he's lining up the containers in which the pus will be stored, he tells her about how the two of them and Luna had resurrected the DA in her sixth year and had successfully run the underground resistance movement until Luna had been kidnapped at Christmas.
He hands her a pair of gloves and goggles. "We kept it going as long as we could," he explains, "but you didn't come back from Easter holidays, and things around here got a lot worse after sightings of Harry were confirmed."
"What happened to me?" She's been doing this for so many weeks now that it almost seems natural - asking other people about her past. She puts on her gloves and goggles and grabs one of the containers.
Neville hands her a plant. "Your family went into hiding. Most of you were at your aunt's house. Ron was at Bill and Fleur's house with Harry and Hermione, and Luna and Dean. Both houses were protected by a Fidelius Charm. You stayed there until the night of the battle."
"And you were still here?" She takes the plant from him and squeezes one of the pods until it bursts and the contents spew into the jar.
"Yeah," he confirms. He's much faster than she is and has already started milking a second plant. "Those of us that were left went into hiding in the Room of Requirement until Voldemort followed Harry here and the battle started."
"The what?"
"The Room of Requirement."
She squeezes another pod. "Okay, Neville," she says slowly. "I know this may be a silly question, but what does the Room of Requirement do? And where is it?" An idea is forming.
"Well, it provides whatever you're in need of - as long as it's not food or a living thing."
"What about a memory? Can it give me a memory?" Distracted from her task, she sets down her plant.
He looks at her for a moment before answering, and she can tell that he knows what she's asking.
"I don't know," he says thoughtfully. "Your memories are part of you, so probably not."
Ah, well. She's disappointed, but not surprised.
He puts a lid on his full container and labels it. "On the other hand," he continues, "it may be able to provide whatever it is you need to get your memory back - as long as -"
"It's not food or a living thing," she finishes. "I somehow doubt that's the case."
He's also distracted now and turns toward her. "And," he adds, "you have to really need the room or you can't get in."
"How come this wasn't in Hermione's book?" she asks.
"It's one of the secrets of Hogwarts. She didn't want it to become common knowledge," he answers matter-of-factly. The fact that Hermione had never mentioned it probably meant that she didn't think it would help.
"Are you going to try?" he says excitedly. "I - I don't think anything - bad - will happen. Except that it may not work."
Though she hadn't told him about the Pensieve, something about his tone makes her think that he knows.
"Yeah, well, I've got lots of experience with things that don't work."
"I could go with you if you want."
She thinks about this. "No. Thanks, though. I think I'll do it on my own - if I decide to do it at all."
He gives her precise instructions about how to find the room and get in.
"You have to be very specific about your request - and make the exact same request three times."
~*~
The castle hums with activity in preparation for the students’ return, and it makes her restless. She tries to keep busy. She takes her Apparition test, and passes, on Tuesday afternoon. She visits Hagrid. She returns borrowed books to the library. She practises flying around the Quidditch pitch with a Quaffle in hand and even manages to make a couple of goals. She has dinner in the Gryffindor common room and then goes back to her quarters and packs.
Sitting at the writing table, she peruses her Hogwarts map, but the Room of Requirement isn't on there. Professor McGonagall is busy, and she doesn't want to bother her by asking for advice. She's not at all sure it's a good idea to try this, and it's possible that she has a credibility problem. What if she doesn't really need her memory back? Things are much better than they were a month ago. She has skills and friends, job prospects and even a boyfriend. But...the more she knows about Ginny, the more she wants to know her - from the inside. As good as things are now, she knows they were better before her accident. She'd survive, and maybe even thrive, without her memory, but what she had told Harry on his birthday was still true - she would like her memories back.
If she's going to do it, it needs to be soon. She has to leave the castle in less than 36 hours. Gathering courage, she leaves a note on top of her trunk explaining where she is and why. She follows Neville's instructions precisely to the seventh floor corridor and locates the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy in a tutu. The opposite wall is blank, and she walks past it thinking, I need to remember my life before the accident. After the third time, a polished door with a brass handle appears in the wall. Taking a deep breath, she opens the door and walks in.
She recognizes the room immediately even though she's never seen it like this. It's her room at The Burrow, decorated as a nursery. There's a crib, with a Quidditch mobile hanging over it, and she can hear voices filtering into the room:
"Look boys, you have a baby sister!" She recognizes Arthur's voice.
The room changes a bit; there's a bed instead of a crib, and a crude drawing of a boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead is taped to the wall.
Another subtle change, and the room is covered in confetti. Looking more closely, she discovers that it's actually shredded pages from the disemboweled diaries that lie on the bed.
The confetti disappears, and instead the bed is partially obscured by a lovely golden dress and a box of tissues. It's the same dress she was wearing in Bill and Fleur's wedding pictures.
She knows what she's looking at, but she doesn't remember her room in any of these scenes.
The room seems to change its mind, and abruptly, she has the sensation of being outside. Walls are no longer visible, and there's a clear sky where the ceiling used to be. A kissing gate appears before her, and the light is fading, as at twilight.
She notices the headstones next, and her first thought is that the room is trying to show her Fred's grave. She goes through the gates and begins searching the names on the stones, recognizing nothing until she spots a dark granite stone that reads "Kendra Dumbledore". Some relation to Professor Dumbledore, no doubt.
The light is getting dimmer, and a few stars have appeared above. She looks past the dark stone and sees, just a couple of rows beyond where she is, a gleaming white headstone. She can't read the names, but there's a bouquet of fresh lilies that some one laid at its base.
"Lily," she whispers to herself. "It's Lily's grave. And James'. Harry's parents. He...brought me here to see their graves after the war."
And she remembers - Harry telling her about Godric's Hollow, and the war memorial there that was a statue of his parents and him as an infant and -
It's a curious feeling. Whenever she'd thought about getting her memories back, she'd thought that they'd all come in a rush, like a flood. Or that they would come back sporadically - one at a time and in no particular order. But this - this is different. It feels rather like she's been on a long vacation to a foreign land and come home to find everything where she left it.
She tests herself: does she remember Fred and George stealing her teddy bear when she was five? And Fred sneaking into her room that night and giving it back? Yes. Does she remember her first ride on a broomstick? Yes. Does she remember Harry proposing? Oh, yes. And she knows the very fact that she can test her memory is proof that it's there.
Her first priority is to make sure that it doesn't go away. She needs to write everything down, and the room complies by providing a desk and parchment and a self-inking quill in what looks like the Gryffindor common room. She writes for hours, well into the night, until her hand hurts and she can no longer fight the tremendous fatigue that she feels.
~*~
She wakes with her head on the desk, her cheek gooey with drool. Her stomach growls loudly; she's absolutely starving. Wiping her mouth, she checks again, and yes, her memories are still there. Memories of Dumbledore falling to his death and Fred's funeral; memories of Tonks making funny faces and of Teddy learning to walk; memories of making love with Harry in Grimmauld Place, not as a spectator but as a participant. She can only hope that they will remain once she's left this room.
There are so many people she wants to tell - Mum and Dad, her brothers, and Neville and Luna. But there's no one she wants to see more than Harry. She checks her watch; it's early morning, and assuming he's not on some mission, she knows exactly where to find him.
As soon as she's outside the gates, she Apparates to Hogsmeade and knocks on the door to The Three Broomsticks. A sleepy looking Neville lets her in.
"Did you get my owl?"
Neville yawns. "Owl?" But Hannah appears behind him, wide awake and wearing an apron. She hands Ginny two parcels and gives her a warm hug.
"Thanks, Hannah. You're the best! I'll stop by later, okay?"
She hurries back out and with deliberate speed and determination, she concentrates on her destination and Apparates to the porch of a white clapboard house at the end of Larkspur Lane in Godric's Hollow.
They had bought this house when Ron and Hermione announced their engagement, and Harry had moved in right away. Most of her belongings were here, too, but she'd been staying in the players' dormitories at the Harpies headquarters until they got married. For a moment, she considers the possibility that Harry had sold the house or was staying elsewhere, but the broomstick propped next to the door is his. The sun is rising above the trees, and she hears him singing in the shower, off key as always, through the open bathroom window.
She has to knock several times, but finally she hears the water turn off and wet, hurried footsteps as he clambers through the hall to the front door. He opens it and looks at her through squinted eyes - he doesn't have his glasses on. Droplets of water trickle from his hair to his bare chest and cascade toward the towel he's got bunched around his waist. She's reminded of just how toned Auror training made him, and she takes a long, appreciative look. She remembers that they'd joked about having sex in every room of this house on their wedding night, but she thinks it would be much more appropriate as a way to celebrate the return of her memory - after breakfast.
"Gin - evra? What are you doing here?"
She holds up her parcels - takeaway fish and chips in one hand and two pints of butterbeer in the other. She smiles.
"Hi, I'm Ginny."
She would always, always remember the look on his face.
The End
This is not a songfic, but the title comes from the song "Falling Slowiy" - the 2008 Oscar Winner for Best Song. The lyrics echo some elements of the story, so I thought I'd share them with you.
Falling Slowly lyrics - copyright 2008 by Glen Hansard
I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now
Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along