(no subject)
This is my entry for the ficafest...
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Title: The Rose Garden
Challenge: Three Column Prompt Challenge
Date: Late Summer
Location: A rose garden
Object: A flower
Summary: Harry and Ginny meet in a rose garden, the summer after the defeat of Voldemort.
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Word Count: 2,030 words
Notes/Warnings: Thanks to lyras for the beta-ing, her suggestions were invaluable. Also, the rose garden in which this is set is completely real - it's in Regent's Park, London, and its full name is the "Queen Mary's Rose Garden", I think. It's a lovely, lovely place and I recommend it to anyone who's visiting London.
The sun was setting over the rose garden. Families were standing up, stretching, packing up their things. Behind the row of poplars, the Open Air Theatre had just thrown open its doors; excited chatter drifted on the still summer air. Swallows were swooping, crows cawed around the tall trees, and high above the park, swifts darted in their quest for supper, their calls mingling with the distant traffic noise from Marylebone High Street.
No one looked at the young man sitting on a bench, reading a book. There was no particular reason to. There was nothing special about him. A reasonably good-looking boy, in unfashionable glasses, a blue t-shirt and faded jeans, he was not someone you would look at twice. Unless you, like him, were more than you seemed; unless you had a wand in your pocket and wizard’s robes at home. Then you would see the messy black hair, the glasses, the stubborn set of the mouth, and your eyes would rake his hairline for a glimpse of the scar, the scar that set him apart, the scar that marked him as The Boy Who Lived … Twice. The Muggle families walking past him, clutching blankets and toys and picnic baskets, had no idea that this boy, pleasant to look at but decidedly nondescript, had single-handedly saved their lives and the safety of the wizarding world, only two months before. A close observer would notice the tiredness of the eyes, the fine lines around them, and wonder what had caused such a young man such grief, but never in a million years could they guess the truth.
~*~
“Hi, Harry.”
Harry looked up, blinking slightly, and grinned as he saw who was standing over him. “Hi, Gin.”
“Can I sit down?”
“Go ahead.”
Ginny Weasley sat on the bench next to Harry Potter, and immediately curled her legs up underneath her. She was twirling a flower - a rose - between her delicate fingers.
“So, how are you?” she asked, looking intently at him.
“Better, thanks. You?”
“Exhausted. I’ve been helping at St Mungo’s all day. There was an accident at the Ministry - a case of Billiwigs burst open, so we had about fifteen ministry officials floating around the wards and being sick everywhere - they cause dizziness and levitation, you know. And we had a doxy infestation in one of the upper rooms - I can’t imagine how it happened, but it did, and so I spent the afternoon trying not to get bitten. It was like Grimmauld Place all over again. Why are you smiling?”
“No reason. Do you enjoy St Mungo’s?”
“Yes. It’s - I don’t know, I mean they treat me like me. Like Ginny. Not Ginny Weasley. Do you know what I mean?”
“No,” Harry replied, gravely. “I’ve always been Harry Potter. Except - ”
“Except?”
“Except when I’m with you.”
Ginny blushed slightly, and smiled with pleasure. “Me? But I fancied you precisely because you were Harry Potter.”
“I know, but then you got to know me, and then… Now I feel we’re friends because of what I am, rather than who I am. I think we’d be friends even if I wasn’t Harry Potter.”
“I think so too. So that’s how I feel at Mungo’s - like I’m there because I can be useful, because I can help, rather than because I’m the daughter of the Minister of Magic, and friends with you. Although that is useful sometimes,” she added, with a cheeky grin. “I got a free drink the other day, did I tell you? ‘Oh look, it’s the Weasley girl,’ Tom said, ‘Have a drink, on the house.’ Then he got all embarrassed and said, ‘We heard what you and your friends did, Miss Weasley, and we’re that grateful.’ So of course, I got embarrassed, and spilt my butterbeer all down my robes.”
Harry laughed, then stopped suddenly, as if surprised at the sound.
“Haven’t heard that in a while,” Ginny said, her smile broad.
“During the war, I sometimes thought I’d forgotten how.”
“So did we. Mum was so worried about you. She’ll be glad you’re feeling better. Are you coming to visit soon, by the way? She asked me to ask.”
“I’ll do my best,” Harry promised. “It’s difficult to get away at the moment.”
“Ah, of course. How’s the flat coming along?”
“Already a tip. Ron and I - well, we just can’t see the point of cleaning it, to be honest.”
Ginny made a face. “I can imagine. At least Ron knows how to cook, I suppose, so you’ll be eating properly. You’re not looking too well, though, Harry.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Don’t be silly. I mean, you’re looking tired.”
“Haven’t been sleeping fantastically,” Harry said, with a shrug, “but that’s not new. When have I ever slept well?”
“Never, I suppose.” Ginny drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, looking at Harry with an intensity that made him slightly uncomfortable. “It’s so beautiful here,” she said, eventually. “How did you find it?”
“Our landlord told me about it. I didn’t want to just go to the Leaky Cauldron, not on a beautiful evening like this.”
“Didn’t want to face the people there, either?”
Not for the first time, Harry marvelled at how well Ginny understood him. “No.” Then, in a rush: “No, I didn’t. It just seems so - so unfair. I mean, why do I get all the credit? I had help, so much help. Snape died for me! Me! The person he loathed more than anyone else.”
“Not more than Voldemort, Harry,” Ginny said, quietly, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
“What about you? Ron? Hermione? Neville, Seamus, Dean? All the students at Hogwarts helped, all the teachers, everyone in the Order. And yet everyone just wants Harry Potter, the others only get passing thanks. They just want me.”
“Because you killed him. You, Harry, killed Voldemort. We helped you get to the place, we got rid of the Death Eaters, but it was you who killed him. I know you hate the attention, I understand. But please, please don’t think you don’t deserve all the praise and thanks you’ve received.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Harry looked away, chewing his lip, and distractedly watched a small child taking his first solo bike ride.
“Don’t let go!” the child was shouting to his father, “Don’t let go! I sa-aid, DON’T LET GO!”
“I’m not letting go, James, don’t worry, I’ve got you, I’ve got you…”
Pedalling furiously, the little boy didn’t realise that his father had let go already, and he was going under his own steam. When he did, his chubby face broke into a massive grin. “I’m doing it! Look, mum! I’m biking! Look, look!”
Despite himself, Harry smiled. The sight warmed him, yet at the same time caused a twist in his stomach. His father had never taught him to ride a bike. In a different situation, James had said, “I’ve got you, Harry,” and of course, like this father in this park on a late summer evening, he had already let go. But now Voldemort was gone, who knew? Maybe one day Harry would be in that father’s place, pushing his own son along a path, helping him take one step towards adulthood.
There was a warmth at Harry’s side, and he looked round, startled, to see that Ginny had sidled up to him and was resting her head on his shoulder. After a second’s indecision, he put his arm around her shoulders, and drew her close to him.
“This is nice,” Ginny murmured, then yawned expansively. “Although I think I’ll go to sleep if I get too comfortable.”
Harry decided that he wouldn’t mind that at all. The reality of Ginny’s warm body tucked into the crook of his arm was giving him a serenity he hadn’t felt for a long, long time. Turning his head slightly, he pressed his lips to her warm hair, and he felt Ginny stiffen. Harry cursed himself for ruining the moment, until he slowly realised that Ginny had tilted her head up and was looking expectantly at him. Lost, he gazed at her, noting her sparkling eyes, her lips, her flushed cheeks. All at once, as their eyes met, the atmosphere between them changed, thickened, intensified. Breathlessness gripped Harry, and a shiver went down his spine as Ginny slowly smiled. They sat for a momentary eternity, contemplating the other’s familiar face, suddenly subtly different in the dying light.
Then Ginny grinned. “So, are you going to kiss me, then?”
Harry started, shocked. “W-would you like me to?” he stuttered, lamely, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard.
In answer, she moved her hand to his head, entwined her fingers in his hair, dropping the rose as she did so, and pulled him down towards her. Another eternity passed, their lips just touching, their breaths intermingling, then Ginny increased the pressure and they were kissing properly, and Harry thought back with scorn to his first, clumsy kiss with Cho. This one was hardly perfect - Ginny’s neck appeared to be at a painful angle, and Harry was unsure what to do with his glasses and his nose, which seemed to have grown massively in size and obstructiveness - but it was breathtaking simply because it was Ginny. Ginny. He, Harry was kissing Ginny, the girl he had dreamt of for a year now, the girl who had given him the strength to take the final steps towards Voldemort, the girl who had finally found him, unconscious, gripping Voldemort’s wand, identical to his own, in his limp left hand. The lips on his were no phantom lips, imagined during a sweaty and sleepless night, these were real, real, ever so slightly chapped, and full of blood that was surely pounding as Harry’s was now… The warm body against his chest was no fantasy conjured during the lonely and terrifying hours trapped in the Riddle house, it was a real body, solid, comforting, and - if Harry had anything to do with it - permanent.
He pulled away from her slightly, and whispered, “Gin - ”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Ginny looked at him quizzically. “Harry, what for?”
“For - for being here. For being you.”
“I’ll always be here, Harry.”
Harry gripped her tightly, the depth of emotion almost choking him, threatening to burst out in tears or mad laughter or who-knew-what. “I’ll never want you to go away,” he said, fiercely.
Ginny laughed. “We’ll see. You’ve never spent that long with me, you know. I’m sure my incessant belching will drive you away eventually.”
Harry laughed with her, so happy he wanted to sing. Or at the very least, play Quidditch. He wanted to soar above this beautiful park, his body flying at the same height as his soul.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet and into the circle of his arm. “Let’s go to The Burrow for supper, and afterwards, lets play Quidditch.”
“I’ve been practising,” Ginny warned, as they set off down the wide path. “I’ll probably beat you.”
Harry grinned at her. “We’ll see.”
“We will indeed.”
~*~
The sun was setting over the rose garden. Families were standing up, stretching, packing up their things. Behind the row of poplars, the Open Air Theatre was closing its doors, ready for the evening’s performance; excited chatter drifted on the still summer air, then died away, to be replaced by the strains of Cole Porter. Swallows were swooping, crows cawed around the tall trees, and high above the park, swifts darted in their quest for supper, their calls mingling with the distant traffic noise from Marylebone High Street.
Nobody looked at the young couple strolling along the paths among the roses. There was no reason to; there was nothing special about them. He dark-haired, she flame-red, quiet for teenagers, and intent only on each other, wrapped up in their own world. Their own world of magic and witches and wizards, their world which was finally safe, thanks to them.
Unnoticed, for once unwatched, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley left the rose garden, and headed for home.
~*~
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