Fic: Where the Rift Mends (Part 1/2)
Title: Where the Rift Mends
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~20,000
Pairing(s): Ginny/Scorpius [other pairings as backgrounds, including established canon relationships]
Warnings: major character death (Harry), ADW: 47/22 for Ginny/Scorpius
Summary: Once there was a man named Harry Potter. Then, one day, there wasn't.
Author’s notes: Written for hereticalvision for hp_nextgen_fest 2010.
Huger than huge thanks go out to the mods for putting up with my slacking muse and of course to my beautiful beta, literaryspell-you are a doll and a half for being able to stand my blatant abuse of adverbs and massive canonfail. <3
Where the Rift Mends
It was a lazy Sunday morning when Ginny received the news. There should have been bacon sizzling in the pan, pancakes flipping in the air, fresh jam and potato cubes, coffee and tea. Lily was visiting for two more weeks, Albus and Scorpius were scheduled to pop in for lunch, and James was going to surprise Harry by being there for dinner. A big family dinner, like they'd had when the kids were little, before things grew complicated and stiff and Harry was gone every weekend on endless cases that never closed. Harry should have been home in eight hours; Ginny would have waited to kiss him, fuss over his hair, and prod him for details about the troublesome case in Japan.
It was a lazy Sunday when Ginny answered the door in her floor-length bathrobe and received the news from a boy Al's age.
"Are you Mrs. Potter?" he asked, voice high and large eyes watery.
"Yes, what can I do for you?"
"Minister Shacklebolt needs to see you as quickly as you can ready yourself. There's been an accident."
Ginny's mouth went dry as the boy's lips formed the code words that meant her life would never be the same.
"Treacle tart."
~*~
Once upon a time, there was a man, a hero, a legend named Harry Potter. Then, one day, after a sweaty battle and a heroic choice, there wasn't. The winds grew cold.
And when there wasn't, everyone was left to save themselves and slay their own dragons, to fight their own demons, to lay their own shadows to rest. When there wasn't a Harry Potter anymore, there was only a myth left behind, a storybook romance of a lanky, malnourished boy who grew up to be Head Auror, who parents named their children after, who changed the way evil perished.
Once upon a time, there was a man named Harry Potter. Then, one day, there simply wasn't.
~*~
Ginny had told Harry treacle tart was hardly what the Ministry had in mind when they'd said, "Choose coded messages that convey a secret meaning for the following life altering situations: emergency, evacuation, capture, and death." Harry chose Fizzing Whizzbee for general emergencies, plum pudding for evacuation, chocolate frog for capture, and treacle tart for death.
It was a reminder of just how lightly Harry took matters of death. After Kingsley told Harry he needed those codes, Harry had told Ginny, "You will never need to worry about hearing anybody say treacle tart unless they are talking about part of Molly's excellent Christmas feast." He'd grinned when he said it, like it was all some big joke and not a matter the Ministry took to heart. Ginny had smiled with him. She believed wholeheartedly that Harry was invincible.
Through the years, Ginny had heard her fair share of Fizzing Whizzbees and a few plum puddings but had always been thankful for the lack of chocolate frogs and treacle tarts. Hearing the words now sent a strange ring sounding through Ginny's ears, as if every noise in the world had been magnified to its loudest decibel and then suddenly snapped off mid-sound and wiped down to the barest tin buzz. The noise thrummed delicately, erasing the words on the boy's lips, which moved soundlessly and slowly, like an object hurled through space but slowed with Impedimenta.
Staring at the boy, Ginny wasn't sure what to do first. Protocol said she should get dressed as quickly as possible, tell anyone she was with that she needed to step out for a moment, and go with the boy to the Ministry. They had been through these kinds of drills a thousand times when Harry first entered the Auror program, again when he was promoted to Head Auror, and again when his assignments grew more and more dangerous. Ginny knew the rules and schedule by heart, knew she should begin the arduous process before the press got wind, but she could not move her legs for the life of her. Both hands dropped lifelessly to her sides, and her body swayed in the gentle summer breeze.
"Mrs. Potter?" the boy mouthed. Ginny couldn't hear him, but she could read the surname on his lips and knew it like she knew how to breathe. "Mrs. Potter, are you all right?"
Numb denial spread through Ginny's body. From the chill at the top of her scalp to the ache settling in the back of her heels, she let the feeling wash over her.
It was impossible. This boy obviously didn't know what he was saying, to whom he was speaking. She needed to see Kingsley. She needed to set things right, to clear this awful joke from her head, to see Harry and kiss him and tell him what an awful husband he was for getting her all worked up over nothing.
"Let me get dressed," Ginny said, turning to the stairs. She left the door open for the boy to enter if he wished, but he remained outside the threshold as if he found it impossible to walk inside.
Up in the master bedroom, Ginny found a pair of brown trousers and a white t-shirt. Stepping into her dress sandals, she moved quietly to the bathroom to find her hairbrush and dragged it through the mess of tangled hair she'd slept on all night. Glancing up to the mirror, she noticed with dull surprise that she was crying. Noiselessly, the tears slithered down her red-blotched cheeks, tracing each freckle and winding towards the pale column of her throat. Hastily, she wiped them away with trembling fingers, deadened to the feel of her own fingertips rushing the tears off her face.
In the hallway, as she grabbed her purse, she ran into Scorpius, whose hair was tousled and cheeks red, looking as if he'd run from his mid-London flat to their country house. He grinned at her, and she would have grinned back, except that she could no longer feel the muscles in her face. Try as she might, she could do nothing but scowl and silently sob.
Scorpius bristled at the look she gave him. In an instant, he was beside her, holding her arm.
"Mrs. Potter?" he asked, voice quiet and unsure. "What's the matter?"
"I need to run out for a moment," Ginny said, the speech rehearsed but clumsy on her dry lips. "Will you stay with Al and Lily and let them know?"
"Of course," Scorpius said, but he didn't let go of her arm. "Can I… Is there anything I can get for you? Do you need some help?"
Ginny laughed, the sound cool and fragile. "I need to run out for a moment, Scorpius, and that's all. I just need to run out for a moment. Just for a moment. I'll be back in no time." For the life of her, Ginny couldn't find the necessary strength to continue any thought beyond the rehearsed lines, nor to pull herself from Scorpius' steadying hold.
Scorpius looked up, spotting the boy outside the door in Ministry garb. He looked from the boy and back to Ginny twice before he released her and allowed her to stumble out of the small but cosy cottage she called home. The last thing Ginny saw before she Disapparated was Scorpius' blue eyes filled with uncertainty and worry.
~*~
In the history books, there were written many things. Harry Potter often called them lies.
They said an awful lot of things that weren't true about the ever-growing myth of Harry's life. They said he could handle three Dementors with one hand tied behind his back, that he fought off the Cruciatus and Imperius Curses both at once, that he slew ten dragons on a quest to find Death Eaters in Africa, that he could throw off the Killing Curse like it was a tickle to his skin, that he had died several times and come back without a scratch. Only a few of these were true.
It was never written that Harry Potter died like many men die-in anguish, in pain, without hope of a second chance. The scars on his body told the story the books cannot: one said, 'I survived death twice' and the other read, 'I must not tell lies.'
~*~
Ginny lowered herself carefully into the chair in Kingsley's office. She had been here hundreds of times over the past twenty-some-odd years. Being married to Harry Potter was not the easy, carefree, romantic life she had envisioned when she first fell in love-it was a life of unease, worry, luck, patience, and loneliness. If she wasn't at home wishing Harry was with her, then she was at the Ministry hearing about how Harry had narrowly escaped this or that curse, or she was at St. Mungo's, taking notes about Harry's condition or the effects of this or that malady. Ginny had always counted herself very lucky to be married to Harry, and she loved him beyond what she ever thought capable, but it was not an easy life.
Sitting before Kingsley, listening to him explain the details of Harry's final case, Ginny felt bitter resentment towards Harry for the very first time in her life. How could he have been so careless? What was the matter with him, saving one of his Aurors before himself? How could he not have gotten to his wand fast enough?
An angry, tasteless thought entered her mind over and over again as she tuned out Kingsley's heavy voice: how could Harry be dead from a simple curse when he'd faced off against Voldemort countless times? He was not dead. He was the Boy Who Lived. He was her hero, the saviour of the wizarding world, the chosen one…
"I'm so sorry, Ginny," Kingsley said. He knelt before her chair and took both of her hands in his, dwarfing them easily. "Whatever I can do for you, you know I'm here."
Ginny laughed. The sound came out uncontrollably, violently. It pained her to hear it. And without warning, the laughter snapped into hysterics as the tears once again rolled down her cheeks. She screamed, without worry for the Ministry officials waiting outside Kingsley's office or the Daily Prophet reporters waiting beyond them. She screamed and beat her fists against Kingsley's broad chest, bit her lips and tongue to dull the pain, and tore her hair.
Harry was gone. Harry was dead.
The world began to spin without her; motionless, Ginny sat in the chair in Kingsley's office and stared straight ahead into the void of nothingness that would be her future. Without Harry, she was only half of a person. Without Harry, she was alone. Without Harry, there was no father for her children, no best mate for her brother, no confidant for secrets, no chalice for her hopes, no keeper of her heart, no match for her love.
Arms encircled her, words consoled her, but the world held a great void where Harry had once been, and Ginny couldn't seem to fill it back up.
~*~
Harry Potter often smiled at strangers. It was his way of coping with their wide-eyed stares and awed outbursts of acknowledgment. Harry didn't always like everyone, but everyone always liked Harry… or that was what the history books always said but that wasn't the whole story.
The whole story was that some people hated Harry. There were those who hated what he stood for-they called themselves the Death Eater Resistance. They were flies in Harry's soup, and he flicked them from his mind easily. There were also those who hated Harry because they were indebted to him; they were people like Draco Malfoy, who remembered what it was to have his life saved on the tail-end of fire, who woke with nightmares and drenched in sweat, who couldn't hug his own son because he'd never been hugged first. Draco was the thorn in Harry's side, the irksome itch he could never quite scratch, the thing that ate into his mind when all else was wiped and calm. And then there were those who hated Harry because of the legend; they were secretive types he couldn't pinpoint, but he knew so many of them. Yet he forgave them all their silent, selfish aggressions, because he understood what it was to want and not have.
Harry Potter often smiled at strangers, but that wasn't the whole story.
~*~
Ginny was used to the publicity that came with being married to Harry Potter. Their marriage had made front-page news, photographs of their children were smuggled out of the hospital and into the Prophet, along with detailed descriptions of every childhood milestone, every bicker or quarrel, near-death encounter, and experiences that should have been private moments between their close-knit family. At first, it was jarring and hard to understand why people would want to see a photograph of Ginny attending one of Harry's post-war fundraisers or performing mundane tasks in the garden or with the kids, but it quickly became routine to hold baby James wrapped with blankets over his face so the Prophet couldn't photograph him or to throw the Invisibility Cloak over Lily while they trekked her to St. Mungo's and back from an accidental curse accident.
And Ginny was famous, too, so she shouldn't have ever been surprised by the media circus that constantly followed their family around. Maybe Ginny was just humble, as every paparazzi sneak attack surprised her, every flash of the cameras irked her, and every time a reporter asked about this or that rumour, Ginny still had time to be caught off guard.
Even having experienced the whirlwind of the Prophet's harassment firsthand since she'd married Harry, nothing prepared Ginny for the uproar surrounding his funeral. As she gathered James, Albus, and Lily close, the flashing lights flickered and snapped, a thousand reporters crowded and jostled, and questions bombarded them as they made their way out of the house towards the Portkey pickup location. Hermione had suggested that a Portkey would be a safer alternative to getting to their secret funeral location, but now Ginny wasn't sure there was any way to keep things secret anymore.
"Get out of our bloody way, arseholes!" James growled, shoving a reporter firmly with both hands as he broke away from Ginny to clear a path.
"Don't give them any fuel for their fires, James," Lily whined. "They're just going to turn it into an awful story."
Albus grabbed James' elbow and pulled him back into the fold. "Come on," he whispered consolingly. "Remember what Dad always said."
"Yeah, well, Dad's not here, is he, Al?" James spat, yanking his arm away and stalking off, shoving reporters left and right to get through. "Jesus Christ."
Beside Ginny, Lily began to cry. Instead of patting her head or combing through her hair to calm her, Ginny just continued walking, her face void of expression, body numb. This was just the last straw she would have to suffer through before things could return to normal. Just one funeral-Merlin knew she'd been to enough of them after the war-and she could rest and relax and forget that Harry ever existed. One funeral. Just one day.
When they arrived to the Portkey location, Ginny was not altogether surprised to find Scorpius waiting, anxiously tugging the sleeves of his black dress robes.
"Mind if I tag along with you lot?" Scorpius asked, posing his question both directly to Ginny and to the younger brood as well.
Albus moved forward and wrapped his arms around Scorpius' neck, hugging him tightly. "Of course, mate," he breathed. "Merlin, I'm glad you decided to come."
Scorpius smiled as his arms tightened around Albus. Ginny watched, her own arm limp around Lily's shoulder. She felt almost as if she were intruding on their private moment together, but Ginny felt a sudden flash of anger that she barely managed to contain-Scorpius was not her son, was not Harry's anything. Just because Scorpius' own family never wanted anything to do with him didn't mean he could tag along whenever he pleased. The irrational impulse to say those things aloud was barely cut off by the announcement from James that their time was coming up.
With a grimace, Ginny drew close. Scorpius was beside her on one side, his eyes sweeping from Albus to her. She ignored his concerned glance, even when he leaned in to ask her again if it was all right he went with them.
"Suit yourself," Ginny replied coldly, eyes drawn down to the muddy tire Portkey she gripped with her children.
"Thanks," Scorpius whispered. For some reason, the sound of it grated on Ginny's last nerve.
"But it's not all right, if you must know," she snapped, brown eyes filling with tears as she looked into his wide-eyed expression. Clearly, she'd caught him by surprise. The emotions flitting across his sharp features only furthered her desire to add, "I don't want you here at all."
"Mrs. Potter…" Scorpius stalled for a moment and then narrowed his eyes. The tone of his voice dropped like a stone between them-hard and unforgiving. "Harry was like a father to me. I have every right to be here, same as anyone."
"Sure you're not just here to get your fix of the publicity?"
"Mum!" Lily gasped. "He's not like that-you know that! Leave him alone."
Heat swam over Ginny's skin as she turned her back to Scorpius and faced Lily instead. "I'm sorry, darling," she apologized, but the sentiment was meant for Lily and not Scorpius.
"No offense taken," Scorpius said, leaning in.
"The Portkey will activate in twenty seconds," James interrupted. "So everyone grip tightly."
"Mrs. Potter, where will the services be held?" one of the reporters shouted.
"Mum, hold onto Lily," Albus urged above the noise.
"Why isn't there a public funeral?" another reporter barraged.
"We have a right to mourn the loss of a hero, too!" yelped another.
Ginny was only glad when the Portkey finally activated and spun the five of them out of the field and to a solitary plot of land several thousands of kilometres away. As usual, Lily was sick when they landed and had to throw up. Albus staggered forward to help her get some water and James dusted off his robes as he caught his balance. Scorpius remained by Ginny's side and pressed in close to touch the bend of her elbow.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Ginny laughed, and a hiccough escaped. She covered her mouth, yanked her arm free, and spun to face him. "Couldn't be better," she lied, eyes swelling with tears.
Scorpius gave her a pained look, but before he could say anything else, Ginny removed herself from her children and headed towards Hermione and Ron, who were waiting some distance away.
"Hey, Ginny," Ron said awkwardly. He held out his arms, and Ginny fell into them.
Hermione completed the embrace with her own arms, and for a time, the three of them stood like that in silence. It wasn't long before Molly and Arthur found them and pulled Ginny into their own warm hugs, then George and Angelina, Percy and Audrey, Bill and Fleur, and all mass of couples who had someone when Ginny didn't. Ginny was unbearably grateful to Charlie, who was alone just like her, even if he didn't know the pain she went through in losing her soul mate.
"I've set up some good wards," Charlie explained quietly, pulling Ginny away from the family to show her the boundaries set up in the grass behind the folding chairs. "I think a few reporters found out earlier that something was going on here, but Dad Confounded them and sent them back where they came, so hopefully we can have a bit of peace today."
"Thanks," Ginny said, wiping her tears with cold, trembling fingers.
"How are you holding up?"
"I've got to be strong, for the kids," Ginny explained, blinking the last of the tears away. From her dress robes, she produced a flask. She had already drained most of the contents, but one last swig couldn't hurt.
Charlie grabbed the flask before she could counter. "How about some coffee? Or tea?"
"Just what I need on the day of my husband's funeral-caffeine to make me jittery and jumpy. Come on, Charlie; it's the only thing that helps right now, so leave off."
With a grimace, Charlie handed the flask back to her. "Do you want to at least sit down?"
"I have to make sure everyone's settled, and I want to check the casket, and there are supposed to be pictures of-"
"It's all under control, Gin," Charlie whispered, his warm hand a constant tether at the rise of her shoulders. He rubbed there soothingly. "Go on and have a seat with the kids. We'll take care of everything."
Nodding, Ginny staggered towards the rows and rows of white folding chairs, half of which were already filled with relatives, friends, co-workers, colleagues, and schoolmates. As she passed, Ginny felt the numb disassociation settle through her limbs again. She shook hands, embraced, but felt nothing amidst the crowd. So many people. So many lives affected by one man. So many people offering condolences, apologies, assistance, friendship. Harry was a good man, they said-as if Ginny didn't know. I am so sorry for your loss, they whispered-as if they understood what was gone now, the only thing that could never be replaced. What can we do? they asked-as if there was something that could help.
Bonelessly, Ginny sank into a chair beside her family, nestled between Lily and Albus, with James just an arm's length away. Hugo and Rose sat nearby with Hermione and Ron, close to Luna and her twins, Bill's family, George and his kids, Percy's girls, and the rest of the Weasley-Potter extended family. There were so many faces, so many old professors and Ministry names Ginny only vaguely recalled. It was almost amusing that they considered this a 'quiet, closed ceremony'. They may as well have allowed all the reporters and onlookers to come in, too.
With a jolt, Ginny realized Harry would have hated this. Harry never wanted a big deal to be made over anything, let alone his funeral. Harry would have wanted a small gathering, where everyone smiled and laughed and told stories-not a parade of ghosts and tears and apologies. It was an awful idea, gathering everyone in the secluded mountains under a makeshift tent. It went against everything Harry would have chosen. Ginny hated that she only now realized it, when it was too late to choose a small gathering at the Burrow over this enormous extravaganza in the middle of nowhere.
Arthur passed by Ginny, jostling her from her private thoughts. He offered her a weathered smile as he made his way up the stairs and onto the stage that had been conjured for the ceremony. Her father looked old and weathered, his white hair hanging in clumps, cheeks rosy and freckled, wrinkles plentiful and stretched deep across his cheeks and brow. He pressed his wand to his throat and suddenly his voice rang out through the windy summer sky.
"This ceremony," he began, "is an unfortunate one, and yet it is the only way we have left to say goodbye to one of the greatest men who ever lived. I considered Harry a son, and I am very proud to have known him, to have been touched by him, to have been saved and affected by his life. He was taken from us too soon, and I don’t think any of us will ever forget what he has done for our world. There are so many reasons to thank him but not enough words to do him justice."
Ginny's eyes filled again with tears, and she let them overflow in silence. Albus gripped one of her hands and Lily took the other, both children trembling at the words their grandfather spoke. The sickening guilt in Ginny's stomach clenched taut and sank lower until she was wracked with it, lungs tight with stifled air. Even though she was surrounded by the freshest air in the world, it made little difference as the breeze rustled her long red hair, carrying memory after memory away with it.
With closed eyes, Ginny listened to her father offer up the stage to anyone who wanted to reminisce or say goodbye. She wasn't sure she could stand listening to selfish musings on Harry's life from people who couldn't understand her loss and grief, so she tried to tune it out and let the wind whisk her away to another place. She bit the insides of her cheeks until they were sore, gnawed on the tip of her tongue until it blistered, and ground her teeth down hard at every mention of Harry's heroics, affection, and sincerity.
"Excuse me," she whispered finally, slinking out of her children's' grasp to duck around to the edge of the gathering.
Lily, Al, and James all turned to watch her go. It seemed all eyes in the entire tent were on Ginny, so she hesitated in her desire to flee out of the need to save face. Hermione and Ron were on the stage, sharing their most intimate memories, ones even Ginny had not been privy to. It angered her, knowing she had never seen these beautiful little pieces of Harry. No matter how close they had been, she had always known Hermione and Ron were closer. They had been through so much together, were thick as thieves, and even when Harry let Ginny in, she was still an outsider.
The parade of faces sobbing and singing Harry's praises only made Ginny feel emptier. She watched in horror as Hagrid, George, Luna, Percy, Kingsley, and various others emptied their souls on the stage, telling stories she'd barely heard wind of in the Prophet.
And finally, just when it could get no worse or less bearable, Scorpius stood up, made his way to the front of the congregation and stood so still that Ginny wondered if he was even breathing.
"When I was thirteen years old," Scorpius began, no script in his trembling hands. "I met Harry Potter for the first time. He was tall when I was short, strong when I was weak, and sincere when I was not. I was only a child, and he was an idol, so much braver and stronger and kinder than many of us can ever hope to be. Like many, I felt privileged to know him, to shake his hand, to share in a laugh over dinner with his family. I admit, there wouldn't have been a pedestal tall enough to support the idolized image I bore in my heart. I was lucky enough to be part of that privileged inner circle that I had previously envied-I am happy to call myself a member of the Potter brood, not by name or blood but through friendship. I was only fourteen when both my grandparents died…" Here, Scorpius cleared his throat, eyes averted from the crowd. "My family… I did not handle it well. I started getting into trouble at school. My family couldn't keep up, didn't know how. Harry stepped in and helped me at a time when I really needed someone to keep me strong, and I will always remember that about him-not just his unwavering courage in the face of astronomical tragedy and war but his kindness and the eagerness with which he was always willing to help where help was needed. To me, he was a dear, amazing, loyal, kind, understanding friend. More than anything, I will miss his warm smiles and easy embraces." Something seemed to catch in Scorpius' throat; he paused for a long moment and then shook his head to be able to continue. "I am no less a man to say I loved him with all my heart, as a father, hero, and close friend."
Somewhat awkwardly, Scorpius ended his speech and stumbled off the stage. Ginny watched him from afar, her entire body trembling with the loss she could never express so well. With sudden nausea, Ginny recalled the rift that had grown between Scorpius and his parents after both of his grandparents died in the same year. Scorpius had been fourteen, a good friend to Albus for several years, and he had stayed at their house nearly every evening that summer and winter. Albus wrote home several times in their fifth year, admitting he was worried about Scorpius, who had been especially close to his grandmother. Harry stepped in, and while Scorpius was always a well-mannered child, Harry's influence had been an extraordinary push in the right direction. Gone was the too-polite and often-brooding son of Draco and Astoria Malfoy; Scorpius came into his own, and looking back, Harry should have been thanked for all of it. Every quarrel Scorpius got in, every fight he picked-Harry was there to back him up, to offer advice, and to ease his pain.
Guilt flooded Ginny yet again, not only at losing Harry but at her complete disregard for Scorpius' feelings and motivations for being at Harry's funeral.
From across the tent, Scorpius caught her eyes, and Ginny tried to express her pain, her misunderstanding, her sorrow, through a mere gaze, but none of it would ever be enough. Harry was gone. They had both lost someone so influential to their lives, someone they loved beyond the name and the commodity that was Harry Potter.
As photographs of Harry swirled over the stage and magnified for all to see, his casket was opened for his closest friends and relatives to pay their final respects. Ginny watched, numb and cold, as Hermione gripped Ron's hand and led him up to the casket. The wind whipped Hermione's unruly curls, and she could see the tears in Ron's eyes even in the distance that separated them. Molly and Arthur found their way up next. To Ginny's horror, her mother flung herself onto the casket and wailed. With contorted face, Ginny crouched down beside the beverage table and pressed her face into her hands. The sound that tore through her was inhuman in its anguish.
Beyond her tears, she heard the rustle of clothes, the shifting of chairs, the little nothing sounds that meant others were stepping up to the coffin as well. Somewhere far, far away, Ginny heard Luna singing a sad goodbye, Hagrid blowing his nose loud enough to rival thunder, and her own children crying. The world began to melt away beneath her feet, so she fell to her knees to catch her balance, swaying nonetheless. Dizzz with remorse, she bent and vomited. The stench of sick couldn't even call her back to reality; it only reminded her to what level things had descended, how much she had lost.
In an instant, everything gone.
When she tried to stand, she nearly knocked the entire table over, tea and all. Two thin hands gripped her arms to steady her, and someone called her name, but she couldn't hear them over the rush of noise at the back of the tent. Hundreds of reporters cast a single disarming spell in unison, causing the walls of Charlie's magical wards and boundaries and Disillusionment charms to crash down with a dull rumble.
"Can you give us a statement about how Harry Potter died?" a reporter hounded.
"Is it true that he was on a mission for the Ministry in Japan and it took three separate Unforgivables to bring him down?" another harassed.
"Is there any truth to the rumour that he was poisoned by the Death Eater Resistance?"
"Is this the only ceremony you'll be having for him, Mrs. Potter?"
"What were his final words?"
The grip on Ginny's arms tightened as flashbulbs captured her horror at the barrage of questions and the audacity of the reporters actually breaking into the private gathering to get answers. Pulled through the crowd, Ginny was finally able to clear her head enough to see it was Scorpius who had one side of her and Albus who had the other. Both had their wands raised and were casting hex after hex to blast through the line of reporters hounding them for details.
"I'll help Grandpa with the casket!" Albus offered, floundering in his attempts to pull Ginny along. "Can you help Mum back home?"
"Is that all right, Mrs. Potter?" Scorpius asked, his voice oddly quiet amidst the commotion. "Can I help you home?"
All Ginny could do in response was nod lamely as she stumbled along in Scorpius' grip and watched Albus fight back through the crowds to get to the stage, where James, Arthur, and Charlie were casting spells to protect Harry's body.
The urge to vomit again was too much. Ginny made a retching noise, pulled from Scorpius, and bent over the nearest bush to throw up again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gagged and heaved and lurched. The warm pressure of Scorpius' hand at the small of her back made things worse-it was the kind of gesture Harry would have made, had Ginny felt ill at a Ministry function or the like. It was such a kind, selfless touch, and thinking of it just made Ginny feel worse about how she'd treated Scorpius earlier.
"Come on, Mrs. Potter," Scorpius said, after it seemed Ginny was through for the moment. "Can you stand? Here, take my arm."
"Please don't call me that," Ginny whispered, standing with Scorpius' assistance. At his questioning look, Ginny sobbed wretchedly. "Mrs. Potter. Don't call me Mrs. Potter anymore."
Scorpius gave her a pained look and took a moment to clean the sick from her blotchy red face with a spell. Then he linked their arms carefully and securely.
"Lean on me and just relax," he said.
The moment Ginny did, Scorpius stepped forward and they Disapparated. A second later, Ginny found herself wobbling in her kitchen, a cold sweat on her brow and the ever present desire to throw up worsened now after Side-Along Apparition. The copious amount of Firewhisky she had consumed didn't help matters.
"Loo," she croaked, rushing from Scorpius' arms and to the downstairs bath. No sooner had she hunched over the toilet than the vomit came again in full force, the tears and guilt quick to follow.
It wasn't long before the sickness subsided, only to give way fully to the pain. Ginny couldn't think of anything but Harry's pale body surrounded by velvet and silk, encased and enclosed, cold and lifeless, void of smiles and laughs and warmth and love. Gone forever were Harry's Sunday morning breakfasts, late-night Quidditch games with the kids, and sweet before-bed kisses. Gone were the laugh lines at his mouth, the stubble at his cheek, the twinkle of energy in his eyes, the heat of his body against hers.
Dizzy with memories and the lingering effects of the alcohol, Ginny fell back against the wall and stared down at her feet. She wore her best dress shoes, little heels and buttons adorning the dark sheen that Harry had never noticed or complimented. Her dress robes were hiked up awkwardly, baring the long, pale expanse of her freckled legs, and she sobbed anew as she remembered her first time with Harry, how he had crawled up her body, kissing every inch with reverence and awe.
Somewhere outside the bathroom, Ginny could hear Albus' voice, muted by the crackle of the Floo.
"...and we were able to move Dad's body, but… Scorpius, thank you. Thank you so much. Dad would have been so happy to hear what you said about him."
"I meant it. Every word."
"I know… I've got to take care of some things with James and Lily. Can you… Is Mum okay? I wanted her to be here, too, but…"
The silence stretched out into whispers Ginny couldn't hear. Laying her head back against the wall, new tears streamed down her red cheeks. She wiped them hastily with the nearest washcloth and rubbed her tired eyes raw. There was so much left to do, so many words left unsaid, and yet she couldn't manage to pull herself up and get to work on laying her demons to rest. She was tired. Her body ached. She was dizzy and cold and ill and numb, and the only thing that sounded remotely worthwhile was crawling into a warm bed and closing out the rest of the world until it felt safe again.
With her head hung, Ginny stumbled her way upstairs, crawled fully clothed into bed, and fell into a troubled but dreamless sleep.
~*~
There are two sides to most stories; this one has four.
One day, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley fell in love and the next day they were married and the next day they had three beautiful children and the next day they knew what it was like to grow up fast and without mercy.
One: Ginny realized Harry did not love her anymore, and so she stopped loving him, too. Then, he died.
Two: Harry found it hard to look in the mirror, harder to tell Ginny why he didn't want to make love. 'I'm tired' and 'I've had a rough day' seemed so trivial and heartless. There were things he wanted, things he needed, things Ginny couldn't give him anymore, things he didn't want to ask for.
Three: Teddy had the Cloak on, had Draco Malfoy's old wand clutched in his bony fingers, taunting Muggle children down the street, and he laughed and laughed and thought himself clever. Harry lost it and threw him out, said he was a bad example for James and Albus, that he didn't trust Teddy, that no one ever would, that he was just as heartless as a young Voldemort. Teddy walked out and never went back.
Four: Draco never touched his son, but all Scorpius wanted was to be warm in his father's embrace. Scorpius became a Potter, relished the love and attention, and lost a second father in Harry's death. Scorpius unwound from the inside out.
The lessons in the four stories: Harry died and Ginny didn't know how to cope and Teddy didn't know how to apologize and Scorpius was still in the process of becoming.
~*~
Sunlight no longer streamed in through the windows when Ginny awoke. The house was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock on the wall and the gentle breeze of conversation that wafted up the stairs and through Ginny's open bedroom door.
As she sat up, Ginny's first thought was that the migraine tearing through her skull was due to too much alcohol and not enough sleep; perhaps she had stayed too late at some Ministry dinner with Harry. Then, all at once, the reality of her situation hit Ginny when she looked down and saw the high heels and black skirt she still donned from the funeral.
The funeral.
Rubbing her head, Ginny listened to the few bits of laughter that floated up from downstairs, and a worn sigh escaped her. It sounded as if everything were normal, as if Harry were down there telling one of his awful, corny jokes, making the kids laugh. Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe Ginny wasn't old and alone but young and with little children instead of grown adults. Maybe they were all just waiting for her to wake up to play a game of Quidditch or to tell her old sports stories or about the time Harry saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets.
A shadow passed across the threshold of her bedroom and stuttered before it melted into darkness. When Ginny looked up, Scorpius was there, a worn expression on his face and concern shining in his eyes.
"Just how many times have you checked on me since I fell asleep?" Ginny asked hoarsely, rubbing her tired face.
"Several," Scorpius admitted. Still, he hesitated. Ginny had to wonder if he thought he was overstepping some sacred boundary just by walking into her room. "Al, James, and Lily are downstairs, and Hugo and Rose asked if they could spend the night as well." Awkwardly, Scorpius cleared his throat. "Also… There's a letter for you downstairs. From Teddy."
For a moment, Ginny was sure she hadn't heard Scorpius right. She blinked, as if that would help, and then swallowed around the unforgiving lump that formed in her throat at the idea that Teddy had written.
"Burn it," she snapped, sliding out of bed with a grimace. "He couldn't even show up for Harry's funeral, so why would I care what he has to say?" Saying the words aloud, Ginny felt sickened with the grief of the statement. Of course she cared. Once upon a time, they had both cared for Teddy like a son.
"That's exactly what James said, but I'm not going to burn it," Scorpius argued. "I'll save it. Maybe you'll want to open it later."
"Not likely." Ginny approached Scorpius, grabbing a long robe off the edge of the bed. "What are you still doing here, Scorpius?" she asked with a shake of her head. "Your parents… They probably want to-"
"You know they don't give a damn," Scorpius interrupted sharply. "I haven't talked to them in nearly five years."
With a nod, Ginny pressed her fingers to Scorpius' lean shoulder, feeling it tense beneath her touch. "Death changes people. Your father knew Harry well-Harry saved his life-and while they weren't friends, I can't imagine what he must be feeling now."
"My father doesn't give a damn," Scorpius repeated, jerking from Ginny's grip. "Harry was more of a father to me than he ever was."
For the first time since Harry's death, Ginny saw tears rising in Scorpius' cool gaze. It was not the first time she had ever seen him cry, but it had been years since she'd caught him huddled under the blankets in the spare room on stormy summer evenings, red-cheeked and wet-eyed. It caught her off guard, and yet she knew she shouldn't be surprised. Everyone was affected. Scorpius had been like a son to Harry. They'd been friends, even.
Ginny again felt left out, as if she'd missed some big piece of a mysterious puzzle she wasn't meant to solve. Everyone else seemed to get it. Why had she missed so much when Harry was alive? Why had Harry kept so much from her?
"I'm sorry," Scorpius whispered, drawing closer to catch Ginny's gaze. "But you know it's true. I don't think you realize how much I owed to Harry, how much he did for me."
Ginny scoffed, tears burning her dry eyes. "I get it, Scorpius. Harry Potter, the greatest hero who ever lived." She gestured wide with both arms, biting her tongue and cheeks between words to get them out without sobbing. "The saviour, the chosen one! I, of all people, get it. I was married to the myth for twenty-seven years, after all. It's just fantastic, how much good he did for everyone else while our marriage was crumbling under his abandonment, and we hadn't made love in years, and I don't even remember the last time he was home for a full weekend without being dragged away to be somebody else's hero."
When the words were said aloud, Ginny felt both weightless and full of merciless sorrow. It was the truth-all of the malice and loathing she'd felt towards Harry's heroics for everyone but her since the fizzle of their marriage began some eight or ten years ago. She had wanted to say those things for such a long time that when she'd had the chance, they all came rushing out, inconsiderate of all that stood between them. Scorpius' eyes were wide and horrified, like he hadn't expected Harry could be faulted for anything. Ginny wanted both to console him and go on airing Harry's dirty laundry. She settled for a grimace and a sigh.
"I loved him endlessly," Ginny said quietly. "But there's only so much a person is meant to bear. All this time, I've been waiting for someone to ask me how I am, but everyone always wondered about Harry… The truth was always that Harry was happy, and I was not. Not for a long, long time."
"Mrs. Potter, I didn't-"
"Don't call me that," Ginny growled, gripping the collar on Scorpius' button-up shirt. She held the fabric tight in her fist, clenching until the wrinkles of the crisp material bunched up under her palm. "He's dead. I'm not Mrs. Potter. I'm not Mrs. anything anymore." Despite the anger in her voice, there was devastation and confusion in her soft brown eyes as they searched Scorpius for understanding. Something snapped in her, at the horrified and awed look Scorpius gave her, and she used it to her advantage when she pressed forward and closed the distance between them. One shove was all it took to land Scorpius flat against the wall, his face a cringe of pain and misunderstanding.
"I'm sorry," Scorpius whispered, shaking. "So sorry." When his eyes opened, tears spilled free. "I didn't know. You shouldn't be unhappy." There was a hitch in his voice when he added, "Harry wasn't perfect-I know that. Nobody is."
Ginny's eyes raked over Scorpius' face, taking in the blanched skin and the white-blond eyebrows and the too-blue eyes and the devastation lurking just beneath the surface. Her fingers tightened on his collar, gripping so hard that the buttons dug into her palm.
Something had happened between the moment Harry died and now, standing with Scorpius Malfoy cornered in her bedroom against the wall. Ginny was broken beyond repair, full of self-loathing and remorse for all the things unsaid and the acts undone and everything she had lost.
Eyes half-lidded and unfocused, Ginny leaned in and found Scorpius' pliant, thin-lipped mouth. He was so different than Harry, so skinny and tall and white, like a strange porcelain doll limp in her grasp. Scorpius did not move, did not breathe, certainly did not kiss her back. Ginny cared nothing for his resolve, tangled her free hand into his long, silken hair, tugged it to tip his face, unsurprised when he obeyed her every wordless command.
Their eyes met as Ginny's tongue swiped over the crease of his lips, but up so close Scorpius just looked like a pale array of pixels with no clear figure. It wasn't long before she couldn't stand to look at him and closed her eyes, pressing her body against his like a dying thing.
It wasn't long at all before Scorpius took her by her shoulders and wrenched her away with more force than she would have thought him capable. Without his mouth, Ginny felt foolish and too aware of it, of her age, of the knowledge that she had just ruined everything.
The look on Scorpius' face was so innocent, so young, so understanding. It broke her heart.
"I'm going to get some tea," Ginny murmured in a daze, pulling away and disappearing downstairs. She left Scorpius to slump against the wall and wonder what she'd done to him.
In the strange aftermath of the out-of-the-blue kiss, Ginny stumbled into a beautiful scene, the likes of which she felt she hadn't seen in years. On the couch by a dimming fire, James was slumped in Harry's old armchair, Lily and Albus were passed out on floor, half in one another's arms, and on the couch, Rose and Hugo were bundled under two quilts, still in their dress robes and unaware. Empty glasses lined the coffee table, bottles of butterbeer were half-tipped over and staining the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.
Ginny's smile stalled on her lips. A shadow hesitated on the stairs and then retreated, and she knew Scorpius wouldn't come down that evening-he was the only person in the house who didn't belong.
~*~
Ginny sleeps with a ghost in her bed, the emptiness haunting in its still embrace when she turns in her dreams to find Harry smiling at her. The ghost sweeps over her body when she least expects it, trembles over her lips, kisses her skin goodnight, leaves her shuddering and breathless.
It is like losing someone, it is like being lost, it is like losing everything.
Harry is free. Ginny hopes that he is happy, with his parents and Sirius and Remus and Fred and Dumbledore and Snape and all the souls lost to the winds.
~*~
The morning after the funeral, Ginny woke up to the scent of bacon, toast, pancakes, and potatoes frying in the kitchen. There was laughter and music and someone singing lightly. For a moment, Ginny was again lost to the hope that Harry had not died and the previous events were nothing but bad dreams, but when she sat up on the couch and slid the quilt off her body, she knew it was all true. How anybody could be laughing was beyond her scope of understanding, but she made her way into the kitchen nonetheless.
Around the table sat Rose, Hugo, Lily, and Albus. At the counter near the sink, James mixed a batch of Harry's famous blueberry-walnut pancakes. At the range, Scorpius flipped each pancake twice and sent them soaring onto the waiting plates around the table. Lily buttered her toast, Hugo had a mouthful of eggs, and Rose hummed her quiet song.
The sight did something to Ginny. Without thinking, she walked around the table and clasped James around the stomach, kissing his cheek.
James groaned uncomfortably. "Mum," he whined, but did not pull away when she smoothed his unruly auburn hair down.
With a look to Scorpius, Ginny ruffled his blond hair affectionately. "Thanks," she said, finding it hard to express her apologies and gratitude both at once.
Scorpius grinned at her, looking relieved, and shrugged off her thanks as he tended to the flapjacks.
The first breakfast passed in relative cheer, with Ginny counting her lucky stars for the rest of the family who remained alive. Later, over spiced cocoa and Quidditch, Ginny offered Scorpius the spare room, and the beaming smile she received gave her the reassurance she needed to know it was the right thing. That night, Ginny slept on the couch again, surrounded by her children, niece, nephew, and Scorpius. The fire died out on its own, and Ginny's sleep was painless.
~*~
Nothing the papers wrote was ever really the truth. The papers said Harry lived a happy, full life, that he died in valour when he stepped in front of the Auror who had a new baby waiting at home for him, and that he regretted nothing.
The truth was that Harry had regretted a lot of things. Ghosts followed him wherever he went, desires tugged him beyond the shadows, and dark veils hid the things he missed and wanted and could never have. The truth was that Harry had not been happy for years, that he saw his deteriorating marriage as a failure on his part alone, that he blamed himself for the deaths of those he loved.
Maybe he died in valour, but nobody is ever ready to die, not even Harry Potter.
~*~
After a week had passed, Ginny was so used to having all of her children back with her that she was surprised when James announced at dinner one evening that he would be returning to Indonesia with Charlie, who had started a new dragon colony there last summer. It wasn't long before Albus admitted he, too, would be moving back to his flat in the city and returning to the Department of Mysteries, and Lily couldn't take any more time off from her accounting job at Gringotts. Even Ginny would soon need to return to her position as the Senior Quidditch Reporter for the Prophet, though they had told her to take however long she needed.
Everyone knew things needed to return to normal to restore the balance in their lives, but nobody, least of all Ginny, was prepared to come to an understanding of what 'normal' would be now without Harry. The day her children were all set to go their separate ways once again, Albus was the last to leave. Ginny nearly walked in on his conversation with Scorpius but hung back around the corner of the spare room when she heard Albus mention her.
"I'm glad you're staying with Mum," he said. "I know it's because you don't want to go back to your flat, but I think Mum's going to need someone to be here after James, Lily, and I leave. I can't come back every weekend like I used to-my job's getting more involved, and I can't even tell her the details."
"It's fine," Scorpius said. "As long as I'm welcome, I'll stay. I don't have anywhere to go, do I? We'll be good company for each other."
There was an uncomfortable silence that settled between the two young men, then the creak of the bedsprings, which told Ginny that Albus had joined Scorpius on the small twin bed.
"Have you tried owling your dad at all, since…?"
"No," Scorpius said stiffly. "I don't think it's a good idea. I haven't… you know… talked to him… in so long." Scorpius cleared his throat. "We're better off without each other, awful as it is to say."
"Still. Might be good to open communication. It's been five years, after all, hasn't it? Plenty of time for him to realize he's hurting you."
There was a lilt of fatigue in Scorpius' voice as he replied, "He's not like your dad was, Al. I wish he was, but I'm too old to believe he's able to change."
As the silence stretched, Ginny took that as her cue to leave them to their privacy, but the creak of the floorboards gave her away.
"Mum, is that you?" Albus called.
Rolling her eyes, Ginny cast a quick Squeak-Be-Gone spell at the spot where she'd been eavesdropping. With a nod, she stepped into the threshold of the small spare room and gave the two of them a once-over.
"Isn't it time for you to desert your poor old mum yet, Albus?" she teased with a warm, sincere smile. "Come here and give me a hug."
Albus pulled a face but stood and moved to embrace her anyway. "You'll be all right, Mum?"
"In time, yes," she said, keeping him close and relishing the way he was living and breathing in her arms. Her fingers crawled through his hair affectionately. "In time."
Finally, Albus pulled away and kissed her cheek. "I'll be around next weekend if I can get the time off, the weekend after that if not."
"The Ministry works you too much." Ginny folded her arms, watching as Albus gathered his duffle bag of clothes and his broom. "I'm going to send them a Howler about it one of these days."
Albus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mum. You do that." With one last look, Albus sighed. "Okay. Going now. I swear. Scorpius, you take care, too, you wanker. Be good to my mum."
"Get out if you're going," Scorpius teased, but Ginny caught a hint of sadness in his voice and in his gaze, which was trained to Albus the whole time.
"Right, right. Bye!"
With a crack, Albus Disapparated. The silence that followed was heavy with the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same. Ginny sat down where Albus had been a moment before, beside Scorpius, and stared straight ahead without really seeing anything.
The two of them sat very still for a long time, until the minutes had stretched into a half hour and then a full one.
"I suppose I ought to let you get some rest," Ginny finally said, frowning. "You're leaving me tomorrow, too, aren't you?"
Scorpius shook his head. "Only for a workday. Want me to make breakfast when I get up?"
Ginny shook her head and pushed herself off the bed with the last remnants of strength left in her body. "No, that's all right. I plan to sleep in well past what's suitable for a woman my age and then spend the day doing absolutely nothing." She stretched and made her way towards the door with a lethargic gait.
"Sounds nice," Scorpius said, grinning. "Have a good night, Ginny."
"Good night, Scorpius."
Ginny made her way to the master bedroom, where she hadn't slept since the funeral. The room smelled like her, all trace of Harry's after-shower scent washed away for good. She went through the routine she'd grown accustomed to-applying creams to smooth her skin, brushing her hair and teeth, changing into a camisole and trousers-and crawled beneath the cold covers. Eyes open, she stared up at the pale, unforgiving ceiling for an hour without realizing.
In the privacy of her empty bed, Ginny could not find solace enough to sleep. She felt as though she were intruding on someone else's space, but beside her, there was no one. The empty space that Harry would have filled seemed so large and intolerant now that he was gone. She wondered idly if she should sell the bed, get a smaller one, but the thought brought the sharp prick of fresh tears to her eyes, so she pushed it away.
With a pillow and quilt tucked under one arm, she made her way downstairs to sleep on the couch but found it already occupied with Scorpius, who sat staring into the fireless hearth. His skinny shoulders were slumped, his back hunched, his entire body loose and emotionless. There was a half-drunk glass of spiced cider on the table in front of him, all the whipped cream melted. Ginny approached with caution and pressed a hand to his shoulder. Under the gentle pressure, she felt him shudder.
It took but a moment to realize he was crying.
"Oh, Scorpius," she whispered soothingly.
Settling into mother-mode as she rounded the couch, Ginny dropped the pillow and blanket to the floor, sat, and gathered Scorpius into her arms. The memory of a similar embrace haunted her-Scorpius had only been fourteen, and all winter he'd had trouble sleeping, and she often found him with a pint of cider and a face full of tears. Now he was a grown man, nothing like the young, scrawny little wisp of a boy who'd befriended her son all those years ago. Certainly nothing like his father, all trace of the Malfoys Ginny knew lost to the years between adolescence and adulthood.
Scorpius tucked his face against her shoulder and wrapped his long, gawky arms around her.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be sorry. Let it out. It's all right."
"I miss him."
Ginny's fingers tangled in Scorpius' hair, wondering absently if Albus and James cried like this. Scorpius always seemed very sensitive to his emotions, whereas James and Albus were the tough-on-the-outside kind. She hated the thought of Albus sleeping in a lonely London flat, crying his eyes raw and trying to pretend he wasn't or James huddling under the covers and wiping his silent tears before Charlie saw something was amiss.
Truly, Ginny wasn't sure if Scorpius was talking about Harry or Draco. Ginny knew all the bad blood between Draco and his son wasn't something that could just be wished away. And Harry, as some kind of substitute father or confidant, was a horrific loss for Scorpius, too, another reminder of those he loved leaving him.
With nothing left to say, Ginny rocked against Scorpius until his breathing evened out and her eyes began to grow heavy. Carefully, she disentangled herself from his loose embrace and offered a worn smile as he curled up against the arm of the couch. Taking the opposite side, she drew herself under the quilt and soon fell asleep as well.
~*~
When Ginny looks in the mirror, she doesn't see her face. She sees the ghost of a girl who fell in love with a hero, bore his children, followed her dreams, and fell into sudden despair when she least expected it. Everyone says it's okay for men to have mid-life crises, but women don't enjoy such liberties. Or at least, Ginny has never thought it could happen to her that one day she'd be smiling and the next there was nothing that could drag her out of bed.
When Harry looked in the mirror, he didn't see his face, either. Harry looked beyond his reflection, refusing the demons of his past entrance to his present. But demons are persistent, and Harry was only human after all. He never had to wonder what it was like to die, since he'd done it before, but somehow it was worse the second time around.
When Scorpius looks in the mirror, he sees a young man who lost his family, gained another, and lost again. He wonders if he can ever hope to achieve a life that is his own and one without doubt.
[CONTINUE TO PART 2/2]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~20,000
Pairing(s): Ginny/Scorpius [other pairings as backgrounds, including established canon relationships]
Warnings: major character death (Harry), ADW: 47/22 for Ginny/Scorpius
Summary: Once there was a man named Harry Potter. Then, one day, there wasn't.
Author’s notes: Written for hereticalvision for hp_nextgen_fest 2010.
Huger than huge thanks go out to the mods for putting up with my slacking muse and of course to my beautiful beta, literaryspell-you are a doll and a half for being able to stand my blatant abuse of adverbs and massive canonfail. <3
Where the Rift Mends
It was a lazy Sunday morning when Ginny received the news. There should have been bacon sizzling in the pan, pancakes flipping in the air, fresh jam and potato cubes, coffee and tea. Lily was visiting for two more weeks, Albus and Scorpius were scheduled to pop in for lunch, and James was going to surprise Harry by being there for dinner. A big family dinner, like they'd had when the kids were little, before things grew complicated and stiff and Harry was gone every weekend on endless cases that never closed. Harry should have been home in eight hours; Ginny would have waited to kiss him, fuss over his hair, and prod him for details about the troublesome case in Japan.
It was a lazy Sunday when Ginny answered the door in her floor-length bathrobe and received the news from a boy Al's age.
"Are you Mrs. Potter?" he asked, voice high and large eyes watery.
"Yes, what can I do for you?"
"Minister Shacklebolt needs to see you as quickly as you can ready yourself. There's been an accident."
Ginny's mouth went dry as the boy's lips formed the code words that meant her life would never be the same.
"Treacle tart."
~*~
Once upon a time, there was a man, a hero, a legend named Harry Potter. Then, one day, after a sweaty battle and a heroic choice, there wasn't. The winds grew cold.
And when there wasn't, everyone was left to save themselves and slay their own dragons, to fight their own demons, to lay their own shadows to rest. When there wasn't a Harry Potter anymore, there was only a myth left behind, a storybook romance of a lanky, malnourished boy who grew up to be Head Auror, who parents named their children after, who changed the way evil perished.
Once upon a time, there was a man named Harry Potter. Then, one day, there simply wasn't.
~*~
Ginny had told Harry treacle tart was hardly what the Ministry had in mind when they'd said, "Choose coded messages that convey a secret meaning for the following life altering situations: emergency, evacuation, capture, and death." Harry chose Fizzing Whizzbee for general emergencies, plum pudding for evacuation, chocolate frog for capture, and treacle tart for death.
It was a reminder of just how lightly Harry took matters of death. After Kingsley told Harry he needed those codes, Harry had told Ginny, "You will never need to worry about hearing anybody say treacle tart unless they are talking about part of Molly's excellent Christmas feast." He'd grinned when he said it, like it was all some big joke and not a matter the Ministry took to heart. Ginny had smiled with him. She believed wholeheartedly that Harry was invincible.
Through the years, Ginny had heard her fair share of Fizzing Whizzbees and a few plum puddings but had always been thankful for the lack of chocolate frogs and treacle tarts. Hearing the words now sent a strange ring sounding through Ginny's ears, as if every noise in the world had been magnified to its loudest decibel and then suddenly snapped off mid-sound and wiped down to the barest tin buzz. The noise thrummed delicately, erasing the words on the boy's lips, which moved soundlessly and slowly, like an object hurled through space but slowed with Impedimenta.
Staring at the boy, Ginny wasn't sure what to do first. Protocol said she should get dressed as quickly as possible, tell anyone she was with that she needed to step out for a moment, and go with the boy to the Ministry. They had been through these kinds of drills a thousand times when Harry first entered the Auror program, again when he was promoted to Head Auror, and again when his assignments grew more and more dangerous. Ginny knew the rules and schedule by heart, knew she should begin the arduous process before the press got wind, but she could not move her legs for the life of her. Both hands dropped lifelessly to her sides, and her body swayed in the gentle summer breeze.
"Mrs. Potter?" the boy mouthed. Ginny couldn't hear him, but she could read the surname on his lips and knew it like she knew how to breathe. "Mrs. Potter, are you all right?"
Numb denial spread through Ginny's body. From the chill at the top of her scalp to the ache settling in the back of her heels, she let the feeling wash over her.
It was impossible. This boy obviously didn't know what he was saying, to whom he was speaking. She needed to see Kingsley. She needed to set things right, to clear this awful joke from her head, to see Harry and kiss him and tell him what an awful husband he was for getting her all worked up over nothing.
"Let me get dressed," Ginny said, turning to the stairs. She left the door open for the boy to enter if he wished, but he remained outside the threshold as if he found it impossible to walk inside.
Up in the master bedroom, Ginny found a pair of brown trousers and a white t-shirt. Stepping into her dress sandals, she moved quietly to the bathroom to find her hairbrush and dragged it through the mess of tangled hair she'd slept on all night. Glancing up to the mirror, she noticed with dull surprise that she was crying. Noiselessly, the tears slithered down her red-blotched cheeks, tracing each freckle and winding towards the pale column of her throat. Hastily, she wiped them away with trembling fingers, deadened to the feel of her own fingertips rushing the tears off her face.
In the hallway, as she grabbed her purse, she ran into Scorpius, whose hair was tousled and cheeks red, looking as if he'd run from his mid-London flat to their country house. He grinned at her, and she would have grinned back, except that she could no longer feel the muscles in her face. Try as she might, she could do nothing but scowl and silently sob.
Scorpius bristled at the look she gave him. In an instant, he was beside her, holding her arm.
"Mrs. Potter?" he asked, voice quiet and unsure. "What's the matter?"
"I need to run out for a moment," Ginny said, the speech rehearsed but clumsy on her dry lips. "Will you stay with Al and Lily and let them know?"
"Of course," Scorpius said, but he didn't let go of her arm. "Can I… Is there anything I can get for you? Do you need some help?"
Ginny laughed, the sound cool and fragile. "I need to run out for a moment, Scorpius, and that's all. I just need to run out for a moment. Just for a moment. I'll be back in no time." For the life of her, Ginny couldn't find the necessary strength to continue any thought beyond the rehearsed lines, nor to pull herself from Scorpius' steadying hold.
Scorpius looked up, spotting the boy outside the door in Ministry garb. He looked from the boy and back to Ginny twice before he released her and allowed her to stumble out of the small but cosy cottage she called home. The last thing Ginny saw before she Disapparated was Scorpius' blue eyes filled with uncertainty and worry.
~*~
In the history books, there were written many things. Harry Potter often called them lies.
They said an awful lot of things that weren't true about the ever-growing myth of Harry's life. They said he could handle three Dementors with one hand tied behind his back, that he fought off the Cruciatus and Imperius Curses both at once, that he slew ten dragons on a quest to find Death Eaters in Africa, that he could throw off the Killing Curse like it was a tickle to his skin, that he had died several times and come back without a scratch. Only a few of these were true.
It was never written that Harry Potter died like many men die-in anguish, in pain, without hope of a second chance. The scars on his body told the story the books cannot: one said, 'I survived death twice' and the other read, 'I must not tell lies.'
~*~
Ginny lowered herself carefully into the chair in Kingsley's office. She had been here hundreds of times over the past twenty-some-odd years. Being married to Harry Potter was not the easy, carefree, romantic life she had envisioned when she first fell in love-it was a life of unease, worry, luck, patience, and loneliness. If she wasn't at home wishing Harry was with her, then she was at the Ministry hearing about how Harry had narrowly escaped this or that curse, or she was at St. Mungo's, taking notes about Harry's condition or the effects of this or that malady. Ginny had always counted herself very lucky to be married to Harry, and she loved him beyond what she ever thought capable, but it was not an easy life.
Sitting before Kingsley, listening to him explain the details of Harry's final case, Ginny felt bitter resentment towards Harry for the very first time in her life. How could he have been so careless? What was the matter with him, saving one of his Aurors before himself? How could he not have gotten to his wand fast enough?
An angry, tasteless thought entered her mind over and over again as she tuned out Kingsley's heavy voice: how could Harry be dead from a simple curse when he'd faced off against Voldemort countless times? He was not dead. He was the Boy Who Lived. He was her hero, the saviour of the wizarding world, the chosen one…
"I'm so sorry, Ginny," Kingsley said. He knelt before her chair and took both of her hands in his, dwarfing them easily. "Whatever I can do for you, you know I'm here."
Ginny laughed. The sound came out uncontrollably, violently. It pained her to hear it. And without warning, the laughter snapped into hysterics as the tears once again rolled down her cheeks. She screamed, without worry for the Ministry officials waiting outside Kingsley's office or the Daily Prophet reporters waiting beyond them. She screamed and beat her fists against Kingsley's broad chest, bit her lips and tongue to dull the pain, and tore her hair.
Harry was gone. Harry was dead.
The world began to spin without her; motionless, Ginny sat in the chair in Kingsley's office and stared straight ahead into the void of nothingness that would be her future. Without Harry, she was only half of a person. Without Harry, she was alone. Without Harry, there was no father for her children, no best mate for her brother, no confidant for secrets, no chalice for her hopes, no keeper of her heart, no match for her love.
Arms encircled her, words consoled her, but the world held a great void where Harry had once been, and Ginny couldn't seem to fill it back up.
~*~
Harry Potter often smiled at strangers. It was his way of coping with their wide-eyed stares and awed outbursts of acknowledgment. Harry didn't always like everyone, but everyone always liked Harry… or that was what the history books always said but that wasn't the whole story.
The whole story was that some people hated Harry. There were those who hated what he stood for-they called themselves the Death Eater Resistance. They were flies in Harry's soup, and he flicked them from his mind easily. There were also those who hated Harry because they were indebted to him; they were people like Draco Malfoy, who remembered what it was to have his life saved on the tail-end of fire, who woke with nightmares and drenched in sweat, who couldn't hug his own son because he'd never been hugged first. Draco was the thorn in Harry's side, the irksome itch he could never quite scratch, the thing that ate into his mind when all else was wiped and calm. And then there were those who hated Harry because of the legend; they were secretive types he couldn't pinpoint, but he knew so many of them. Yet he forgave them all their silent, selfish aggressions, because he understood what it was to want and not have.
Harry Potter often smiled at strangers, but that wasn't the whole story.
~*~
Ginny was used to the publicity that came with being married to Harry Potter. Their marriage had made front-page news, photographs of their children were smuggled out of the hospital and into the Prophet, along with detailed descriptions of every childhood milestone, every bicker or quarrel, near-death encounter, and experiences that should have been private moments between their close-knit family. At first, it was jarring and hard to understand why people would want to see a photograph of Ginny attending one of Harry's post-war fundraisers or performing mundane tasks in the garden or with the kids, but it quickly became routine to hold baby James wrapped with blankets over his face so the Prophet couldn't photograph him or to throw the Invisibility Cloak over Lily while they trekked her to St. Mungo's and back from an accidental curse accident.
And Ginny was famous, too, so she shouldn't have ever been surprised by the media circus that constantly followed their family around. Maybe Ginny was just humble, as every paparazzi sneak attack surprised her, every flash of the cameras irked her, and every time a reporter asked about this or that rumour, Ginny still had time to be caught off guard.
Even having experienced the whirlwind of the Prophet's harassment firsthand since she'd married Harry, nothing prepared Ginny for the uproar surrounding his funeral. As she gathered James, Albus, and Lily close, the flashing lights flickered and snapped, a thousand reporters crowded and jostled, and questions bombarded them as they made their way out of the house towards the Portkey pickup location. Hermione had suggested that a Portkey would be a safer alternative to getting to their secret funeral location, but now Ginny wasn't sure there was any way to keep things secret anymore.
"Get out of our bloody way, arseholes!" James growled, shoving a reporter firmly with both hands as he broke away from Ginny to clear a path.
"Don't give them any fuel for their fires, James," Lily whined. "They're just going to turn it into an awful story."
Albus grabbed James' elbow and pulled him back into the fold. "Come on," he whispered consolingly. "Remember what Dad always said."
"Yeah, well, Dad's not here, is he, Al?" James spat, yanking his arm away and stalking off, shoving reporters left and right to get through. "Jesus Christ."
Beside Ginny, Lily began to cry. Instead of patting her head or combing through her hair to calm her, Ginny just continued walking, her face void of expression, body numb. This was just the last straw she would have to suffer through before things could return to normal. Just one funeral-Merlin knew she'd been to enough of them after the war-and she could rest and relax and forget that Harry ever existed. One funeral. Just one day.
When they arrived to the Portkey location, Ginny was not altogether surprised to find Scorpius waiting, anxiously tugging the sleeves of his black dress robes.
"Mind if I tag along with you lot?" Scorpius asked, posing his question both directly to Ginny and to the younger brood as well.
Albus moved forward and wrapped his arms around Scorpius' neck, hugging him tightly. "Of course, mate," he breathed. "Merlin, I'm glad you decided to come."
Scorpius smiled as his arms tightened around Albus. Ginny watched, her own arm limp around Lily's shoulder. She felt almost as if she were intruding on their private moment together, but Ginny felt a sudden flash of anger that she barely managed to contain-Scorpius was not her son, was not Harry's anything. Just because Scorpius' own family never wanted anything to do with him didn't mean he could tag along whenever he pleased. The irrational impulse to say those things aloud was barely cut off by the announcement from James that their time was coming up.
With a grimace, Ginny drew close. Scorpius was beside her on one side, his eyes sweeping from Albus to her. She ignored his concerned glance, even when he leaned in to ask her again if it was all right he went with them.
"Suit yourself," Ginny replied coldly, eyes drawn down to the muddy tire Portkey she gripped with her children.
"Thanks," Scorpius whispered. For some reason, the sound of it grated on Ginny's last nerve.
"But it's not all right, if you must know," she snapped, brown eyes filling with tears as she looked into his wide-eyed expression. Clearly, she'd caught him by surprise. The emotions flitting across his sharp features only furthered her desire to add, "I don't want you here at all."
"Mrs. Potter…" Scorpius stalled for a moment and then narrowed his eyes. The tone of his voice dropped like a stone between them-hard and unforgiving. "Harry was like a father to me. I have every right to be here, same as anyone."
"Sure you're not just here to get your fix of the publicity?"
"Mum!" Lily gasped. "He's not like that-you know that! Leave him alone."
Heat swam over Ginny's skin as she turned her back to Scorpius and faced Lily instead. "I'm sorry, darling," she apologized, but the sentiment was meant for Lily and not Scorpius.
"No offense taken," Scorpius said, leaning in.
"The Portkey will activate in twenty seconds," James interrupted. "So everyone grip tightly."
"Mrs. Potter, where will the services be held?" one of the reporters shouted.
"Mum, hold onto Lily," Albus urged above the noise.
"Why isn't there a public funeral?" another reporter barraged.
"We have a right to mourn the loss of a hero, too!" yelped another.
Ginny was only glad when the Portkey finally activated and spun the five of them out of the field and to a solitary plot of land several thousands of kilometres away. As usual, Lily was sick when they landed and had to throw up. Albus staggered forward to help her get some water and James dusted off his robes as he caught his balance. Scorpius remained by Ginny's side and pressed in close to touch the bend of her elbow.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Ginny laughed, and a hiccough escaped. She covered her mouth, yanked her arm free, and spun to face him. "Couldn't be better," she lied, eyes swelling with tears.
Scorpius gave her a pained look, but before he could say anything else, Ginny removed herself from her children and headed towards Hermione and Ron, who were waiting some distance away.
"Hey, Ginny," Ron said awkwardly. He held out his arms, and Ginny fell into them.
Hermione completed the embrace with her own arms, and for a time, the three of them stood like that in silence. It wasn't long before Molly and Arthur found them and pulled Ginny into their own warm hugs, then George and Angelina, Percy and Audrey, Bill and Fleur, and all mass of couples who had someone when Ginny didn't. Ginny was unbearably grateful to Charlie, who was alone just like her, even if he didn't know the pain she went through in losing her soul mate.
"I've set up some good wards," Charlie explained quietly, pulling Ginny away from the family to show her the boundaries set up in the grass behind the folding chairs. "I think a few reporters found out earlier that something was going on here, but Dad Confounded them and sent them back where they came, so hopefully we can have a bit of peace today."
"Thanks," Ginny said, wiping her tears with cold, trembling fingers.
"How are you holding up?"
"I've got to be strong, for the kids," Ginny explained, blinking the last of the tears away. From her dress robes, she produced a flask. She had already drained most of the contents, but one last swig couldn't hurt.
Charlie grabbed the flask before she could counter. "How about some coffee? Or tea?"
"Just what I need on the day of my husband's funeral-caffeine to make me jittery and jumpy. Come on, Charlie; it's the only thing that helps right now, so leave off."
With a grimace, Charlie handed the flask back to her. "Do you want to at least sit down?"
"I have to make sure everyone's settled, and I want to check the casket, and there are supposed to be pictures of-"
"It's all under control, Gin," Charlie whispered, his warm hand a constant tether at the rise of her shoulders. He rubbed there soothingly. "Go on and have a seat with the kids. We'll take care of everything."
Nodding, Ginny staggered towards the rows and rows of white folding chairs, half of which were already filled with relatives, friends, co-workers, colleagues, and schoolmates. As she passed, Ginny felt the numb disassociation settle through her limbs again. She shook hands, embraced, but felt nothing amidst the crowd. So many people. So many lives affected by one man. So many people offering condolences, apologies, assistance, friendship. Harry was a good man, they said-as if Ginny didn't know. I am so sorry for your loss, they whispered-as if they understood what was gone now, the only thing that could never be replaced. What can we do? they asked-as if there was something that could help.
Bonelessly, Ginny sank into a chair beside her family, nestled between Lily and Albus, with James just an arm's length away. Hugo and Rose sat nearby with Hermione and Ron, close to Luna and her twins, Bill's family, George and his kids, Percy's girls, and the rest of the Weasley-Potter extended family. There were so many faces, so many old professors and Ministry names Ginny only vaguely recalled. It was almost amusing that they considered this a 'quiet, closed ceremony'. They may as well have allowed all the reporters and onlookers to come in, too.
With a jolt, Ginny realized Harry would have hated this. Harry never wanted a big deal to be made over anything, let alone his funeral. Harry would have wanted a small gathering, where everyone smiled and laughed and told stories-not a parade of ghosts and tears and apologies. It was an awful idea, gathering everyone in the secluded mountains under a makeshift tent. It went against everything Harry would have chosen. Ginny hated that she only now realized it, when it was too late to choose a small gathering at the Burrow over this enormous extravaganza in the middle of nowhere.
Arthur passed by Ginny, jostling her from her private thoughts. He offered her a weathered smile as he made his way up the stairs and onto the stage that had been conjured for the ceremony. Her father looked old and weathered, his white hair hanging in clumps, cheeks rosy and freckled, wrinkles plentiful and stretched deep across his cheeks and brow. He pressed his wand to his throat and suddenly his voice rang out through the windy summer sky.
"This ceremony," he began, "is an unfortunate one, and yet it is the only way we have left to say goodbye to one of the greatest men who ever lived. I considered Harry a son, and I am very proud to have known him, to have been touched by him, to have been saved and affected by his life. He was taken from us too soon, and I don’t think any of us will ever forget what he has done for our world. There are so many reasons to thank him but not enough words to do him justice."
Ginny's eyes filled again with tears, and she let them overflow in silence. Albus gripped one of her hands and Lily took the other, both children trembling at the words their grandfather spoke. The sickening guilt in Ginny's stomach clenched taut and sank lower until she was wracked with it, lungs tight with stifled air. Even though she was surrounded by the freshest air in the world, it made little difference as the breeze rustled her long red hair, carrying memory after memory away with it.
With closed eyes, Ginny listened to her father offer up the stage to anyone who wanted to reminisce or say goodbye. She wasn't sure she could stand listening to selfish musings on Harry's life from people who couldn't understand her loss and grief, so she tried to tune it out and let the wind whisk her away to another place. She bit the insides of her cheeks until they were sore, gnawed on the tip of her tongue until it blistered, and ground her teeth down hard at every mention of Harry's heroics, affection, and sincerity.
"Excuse me," she whispered finally, slinking out of her children's' grasp to duck around to the edge of the gathering.
Lily, Al, and James all turned to watch her go. It seemed all eyes in the entire tent were on Ginny, so she hesitated in her desire to flee out of the need to save face. Hermione and Ron were on the stage, sharing their most intimate memories, ones even Ginny had not been privy to. It angered her, knowing she had never seen these beautiful little pieces of Harry. No matter how close they had been, she had always known Hermione and Ron were closer. They had been through so much together, were thick as thieves, and even when Harry let Ginny in, she was still an outsider.
The parade of faces sobbing and singing Harry's praises only made Ginny feel emptier. She watched in horror as Hagrid, George, Luna, Percy, Kingsley, and various others emptied their souls on the stage, telling stories she'd barely heard wind of in the Prophet.
And finally, just when it could get no worse or less bearable, Scorpius stood up, made his way to the front of the congregation and stood so still that Ginny wondered if he was even breathing.
"When I was thirteen years old," Scorpius began, no script in his trembling hands. "I met Harry Potter for the first time. He was tall when I was short, strong when I was weak, and sincere when I was not. I was only a child, and he was an idol, so much braver and stronger and kinder than many of us can ever hope to be. Like many, I felt privileged to know him, to shake his hand, to share in a laugh over dinner with his family. I admit, there wouldn't have been a pedestal tall enough to support the idolized image I bore in my heart. I was lucky enough to be part of that privileged inner circle that I had previously envied-I am happy to call myself a member of the Potter brood, not by name or blood but through friendship. I was only fourteen when both my grandparents died…" Here, Scorpius cleared his throat, eyes averted from the crowd. "My family… I did not handle it well. I started getting into trouble at school. My family couldn't keep up, didn't know how. Harry stepped in and helped me at a time when I really needed someone to keep me strong, and I will always remember that about him-not just his unwavering courage in the face of astronomical tragedy and war but his kindness and the eagerness with which he was always willing to help where help was needed. To me, he was a dear, amazing, loyal, kind, understanding friend. More than anything, I will miss his warm smiles and easy embraces." Something seemed to catch in Scorpius' throat; he paused for a long moment and then shook his head to be able to continue. "I am no less a man to say I loved him with all my heart, as a father, hero, and close friend."
Somewhat awkwardly, Scorpius ended his speech and stumbled off the stage. Ginny watched him from afar, her entire body trembling with the loss she could never express so well. With sudden nausea, Ginny recalled the rift that had grown between Scorpius and his parents after both of his grandparents died in the same year. Scorpius had been fourteen, a good friend to Albus for several years, and he had stayed at their house nearly every evening that summer and winter. Albus wrote home several times in their fifth year, admitting he was worried about Scorpius, who had been especially close to his grandmother. Harry stepped in, and while Scorpius was always a well-mannered child, Harry's influence had been an extraordinary push in the right direction. Gone was the too-polite and often-brooding son of Draco and Astoria Malfoy; Scorpius came into his own, and looking back, Harry should have been thanked for all of it. Every quarrel Scorpius got in, every fight he picked-Harry was there to back him up, to offer advice, and to ease his pain.
Guilt flooded Ginny yet again, not only at losing Harry but at her complete disregard for Scorpius' feelings and motivations for being at Harry's funeral.
From across the tent, Scorpius caught her eyes, and Ginny tried to express her pain, her misunderstanding, her sorrow, through a mere gaze, but none of it would ever be enough. Harry was gone. They had both lost someone so influential to their lives, someone they loved beyond the name and the commodity that was Harry Potter.
As photographs of Harry swirled over the stage and magnified for all to see, his casket was opened for his closest friends and relatives to pay their final respects. Ginny watched, numb and cold, as Hermione gripped Ron's hand and led him up to the casket. The wind whipped Hermione's unruly curls, and she could see the tears in Ron's eyes even in the distance that separated them. Molly and Arthur found their way up next. To Ginny's horror, her mother flung herself onto the casket and wailed. With contorted face, Ginny crouched down beside the beverage table and pressed her face into her hands. The sound that tore through her was inhuman in its anguish.
Beyond her tears, she heard the rustle of clothes, the shifting of chairs, the little nothing sounds that meant others were stepping up to the coffin as well. Somewhere far, far away, Ginny heard Luna singing a sad goodbye, Hagrid blowing his nose loud enough to rival thunder, and her own children crying. The world began to melt away beneath her feet, so she fell to her knees to catch her balance, swaying nonetheless. Dizzz with remorse, she bent and vomited. The stench of sick couldn't even call her back to reality; it only reminded her to what level things had descended, how much she had lost.
In an instant, everything gone.
When she tried to stand, she nearly knocked the entire table over, tea and all. Two thin hands gripped her arms to steady her, and someone called her name, but she couldn't hear them over the rush of noise at the back of the tent. Hundreds of reporters cast a single disarming spell in unison, causing the walls of Charlie's magical wards and boundaries and Disillusionment charms to crash down with a dull rumble.
"Can you give us a statement about how Harry Potter died?" a reporter hounded.
"Is it true that he was on a mission for the Ministry in Japan and it took three separate Unforgivables to bring him down?" another harassed.
"Is there any truth to the rumour that he was poisoned by the Death Eater Resistance?"
"Is this the only ceremony you'll be having for him, Mrs. Potter?"
"What were his final words?"
The grip on Ginny's arms tightened as flashbulbs captured her horror at the barrage of questions and the audacity of the reporters actually breaking into the private gathering to get answers. Pulled through the crowd, Ginny was finally able to clear her head enough to see it was Scorpius who had one side of her and Albus who had the other. Both had their wands raised and were casting hex after hex to blast through the line of reporters hounding them for details.
"I'll help Grandpa with the casket!" Albus offered, floundering in his attempts to pull Ginny along. "Can you help Mum back home?"
"Is that all right, Mrs. Potter?" Scorpius asked, his voice oddly quiet amidst the commotion. "Can I help you home?"
All Ginny could do in response was nod lamely as she stumbled along in Scorpius' grip and watched Albus fight back through the crowds to get to the stage, where James, Arthur, and Charlie were casting spells to protect Harry's body.
The urge to vomit again was too much. Ginny made a retching noise, pulled from Scorpius, and bent over the nearest bush to throw up again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gagged and heaved and lurched. The warm pressure of Scorpius' hand at the small of her back made things worse-it was the kind of gesture Harry would have made, had Ginny felt ill at a Ministry function or the like. It was such a kind, selfless touch, and thinking of it just made Ginny feel worse about how she'd treated Scorpius earlier.
"Come on, Mrs. Potter," Scorpius said, after it seemed Ginny was through for the moment. "Can you stand? Here, take my arm."
"Please don't call me that," Ginny whispered, standing with Scorpius' assistance. At his questioning look, Ginny sobbed wretchedly. "Mrs. Potter. Don't call me Mrs. Potter anymore."
Scorpius gave her a pained look and took a moment to clean the sick from her blotchy red face with a spell. Then he linked their arms carefully and securely.
"Lean on me and just relax," he said.
The moment Ginny did, Scorpius stepped forward and they Disapparated. A second later, Ginny found herself wobbling in her kitchen, a cold sweat on her brow and the ever present desire to throw up worsened now after Side-Along Apparition. The copious amount of Firewhisky she had consumed didn't help matters.
"Loo," she croaked, rushing from Scorpius' arms and to the downstairs bath. No sooner had she hunched over the toilet than the vomit came again in full force, the tears and guilt quick to follow.
It wasn't long before the sickness subsided, only to give way fully to the pain. Ginny couldn't think of anything but Harry's pale body surrounded by velvet and silk, encased and enclosed, cold and lifeless, void of smiles and laughs and warmth and love. Gone forever were Harry's Sunday morning breakfasts, late-night Quidditch games with the kids, and sweet before-bed kisses. Gone were the laugh lines at his mouth, the stubble at his cheek, the twinkle of energy in his eyes, the heat of his body against hers.
Dizzy with memories and the lingering effects of the alcohol, Ginny fell back against the wall and stared down at her feet. She wore her best dress shoes, little heels and buttons adorning the dark sheen that Harry had never noticed or complimented. Her dress robes were hiked up awkwardly, baring the long, pale expanse of her freckled legs, and she sobbed anew as she remembered her first time with Harry, how he had crawled up her body, kissing every inch with reverence and awe.
Somewhere outside the bathroom, Ginny could hear Albus' voice, muted by the crackle of the Floo.
"...and we were able to move Dad's body, but… Scorpius, thank you. Thank you so much. Dad would have been so happy to hear what you said about him."
"I meant it. Every word."
"I know… I've got to take care of some things with James and Lily. Can you… Is Mum okay? I wanted her to be here, too, but…"
The silence stretched out into whispers Ginny couldn't hear. Laying her head back against the wall, new tears streamed down her red cheeks. She wiped them hastily with the nearest washcloth and rubbed her tired eyes raw. There was so much left to do, so many words left unsaid, and yet she couldn't manage to pull herself up and get to work on laying her demons to rest. She was tired. Her body ached. She was dizzy and cold and ill and numb, and the only thing that sounded remotely worthwhile was crawling into a warm bed and closing out the rest of the world until it felt safe again.
With her head hung, Ginny stumbled her way upstairs, crawled fully clothed into bed, and fell into a troubled but dreamless sleep.
~*~
There are two sides to most stories; this one has four.
One day, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley fell in love and the next day they were married and the next day they had three beautiful children and the next day they knew what it was like to grow up fast and without mercy.
One: Ginny realized Harry did not love her anymore, and so she stopped loving him, too. Then, he died.
Two: Harry found it hard to look in the mirror, harder to tell Ginny why he didn't want to make love. 'I'm tired' and 'I've had a rough day' seemed so trivial and heartless. There were things he wanted, things he needed, things Ginny couldn't give him anymore, things he didn't want to ask for.
Three: Teddy had the Cloak on, had Draco Malfoy's old wand clutched in his bony fingers, taunting Muggle children down the street, and he laughed and laughed and thought himself clever. Harry lost it and threw him out, said he was a bad example for James and Albus, that he didn't trust Teddy, that no one ever would, that he was just as heartless as a young Voldemort. Teddy walked out and never went back.
Four: Draco never touched his son, but all Scorpius wanted was to be warm in his father's embrace. Scorpius became a Potter, relished the love and attention, and lost a second father in Harry's death. Scorpius unwound from the inside out.
The lessons in the four stories: Harry died and Ginny didn't know how to cope and Teddy didn't know how to apologize and Scorpius was still in the process of becoming.
~*~
Sunlight no longer streamed in through the windows when Ginny awoke. The house was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock on the wall and the gentle breeze of conversation that wafted up the stairs and through Ginny's open bedroom door.
As she sat up, Ginny's first thought was that the migraine tearing through her skull was due to too much alcohol and not enough sleep; perhaps she had stayed too late at some Ministry dinner with Harry. Then, all at once, the reality of her situation hit Ginny when she looked down and saw the high heels and black skirt she still donned from the funeral.
The funeral.
Rubbing her head, Ginny listened to the few bits of laughter that floated up from downstairs, and a worn sigh escaped her. It sounded as if everything were normal, as if Harry were down there telling one of his awful, corny jokes, making the kids laugh. Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe Ginny wasn't old and alone but young and with little children instead of grown adults. Maybe they were all just waiting for her to wake up to play a game of Quidditch or to tell her old sports stories or about the time Harry saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets.
A shadow passed across the threshold of her bedroom and stuttered before it melted into darkness. When Ginny looked up, Scorpius was there, a worn expression on his face and concern shining in his eyes.
"Just how many times have you checked on me since I fell asleep?" Ginny asked hoarsely, rubbing her tired face.
"Several," Scorpius admitted. Still, he hesitated. Ginny had to wonder if he thought he was overstepping some sacred boundary just by walking into her room. "Al, James, and Lily are downstairs, and Hugo and Rose asked if they could spend the night as well." Awkwardly, Scorpius cleared his throat. "Also… There's a letter for you downstairs. From Teddy."
For a moment, Ginny was sure she hadn't heard Scorpius right. She blinked, as if that would help, and then swallowed around the unforgiving lump that formed in her throat at the idea that Teddy had written.
"Burn it," she snapped, sliding out of bed with a grimace. "He couldn't even show up for Harry's funeral, so why would I care what he has to say?" Saying the words aloud, Ginny felt sickened with the grief of the statement. Of course she cared. Once upon a time, they had both cared for Teddy like a son.
"That's exactly what James said, but I'm not going to burn it," Scorpius argued. "I'll save it. Maybe you'll want to open it later."
"Not likely." Ginny approached Scorpius, grabbing a long robe off the edge of the bed. "What are you still doing here, Scorpius?" she asked with a shake of her head. "Your parents… They probably want to-"
"You know they don't give a damn," Scorpius interrupted sharply. "I haven't talked to them in nearly five years."
With a nod, Ginny pressed her fingers to Scorpius' lean shoulder, feeling it tense beneath her touch. "Death changes people. Your father knew Harry well-Harry saved his life-and while they weren't friends, I can't imagine what he must be feeling now."
"My father doesn't give a damn," Scorpius repeated, jerking from Ginny's grip. "Harry was more of a father to me than he ever was."
For the first time since Harry's death, Ginny saw tears rising in Scorpius' cool gaze. It was not the first time she had ever seen him cry, but it had been years since she'd caught him huddled under the blankets in the spare room on stormy summer evenings, red-cheeked and wet-eyed. It caught her off guard, and yet she knew she shouldn't be surprised. Everyone was affected. Scorpius had been like a son to Harry. They'd been friends, even.
Ginny again felt left out, as if she'd missed some big piece of a mysterious puzzle she wasn't meant to solve. Everyone else seemed to get it. Why had she missed so much when Harry was alive? Why had Harry kept so much from her?
"I'm sorry," Scorpius whispered, drawing closer to catch Ginny's gaze. "But you know it's true. I don't think you realize how much I owed to Harry, how much he did for me."
Ginny scoffed, tears burning her dry eyes. "I get it, Scorpius. Harry Potter, the greatest hero who ever lived." She gestured wide with both arms, biting her tongue and cheeks between words to get them out without sobbing. "The saviour, the chosen one! I, of all people, get it. I was married to the myth for twenty-seven years, after all. It's just fantastic, how much good he did for everyone else while our marriage was crumbling under his abandonment, and we hadn't made love in years, and I don't even remember the last time he was home for a full weekend without being dragged away to be somebody else's hero."
When the words were said aloud, Ginny felt both weightless and full of merciless sorrow. It was the truth-all of the malice and loathing she'd felt towards Harry's heroics for everyone but her since the fizzle of their marriage began some eight or ten years ago. She had wanted to say those things for such a long time that when she'd had the chance, they all came rushing out, inconsiderate of all that stood between them. Scorpius' eyes were wide and horrified, like he hadn't expected Harry could be faulted for anything. Ginny wanted both to console him and go on airing Harry's dirty laundry. She settled for a grimace and a sigh.
"I loved him endlessly," Ginny said quietly. "But there's only so much a person is meant to bear. All this time, I've been waiting for someone to ask me how I am, but everyone always wondered about Harry… The truth was always that Harry was happy, and I was not. Not for a long, long time."
"Mrs. Potter, I didn't-"
"Don't call me that," Ginny growled, gripping the collar on Scorpius' button-up shirt. She held the fabric tight in her fist, clenching until the wrinkles of the crisp material bunched up under her palm. "He's dead. I'm not Mrs. Potter. I'm not Mrs. anything anymore." Despite the anger in her voice, there was devastation and confusion in her soft brown eyes as they searched Scorpius for understanding. Something snapped in her, at the horrified and awed look Scorpius gave her, and she used it to her advantage when she pressed forward and closed the distance between them. One shove was all it took to land Scorpius flat against the wall, his face a cringe of pain and misunderstanding.
"I'm sorry," Scorpius whispered, shaking. "So sorry." When his eyes opened, tears spilled free. "I didn't know. You shouldn't be unhappy." There was a hitch in his voice when he added, "Harry wasn't perfect-I know that. Nobody is."
Ginny's eyes raked over Scorpius' face, taking in the blanched skin and the white-blond eyebrows and the too-blue eyes and the devastation lurking just beneath the surface. Her fingers tightened on his collar, gripping so hard that the buttons dug into her palm.
Something had happened between the moment Harry died and now, standing with Scorpius Malfoy cornered in her bedroom against the wall. Ginny was broken beyond repair, full of self-loathing and remorse for all the things unsaid and the acts undone and everything she had lost.
Eyes half-lidded and unfocused, Ginny leaned in and found Scorpius' pliant, thin-lipped mouth. He was so different than Harry, so skinny and tall and white, like a strange porcelain doll limp in her grasp. Scorpius did not move, did not breathe, certainly did not kiss her back. Ginny cared nothing for his resolve, tangled her free hand into his long, silken hair, tugged it to tip his face, unsurprised when he obeyed her every wordless command.
Their eyes met as Ginny's tongue swiped over the crease of his lips, but up so close Scorpius just looked like a pale array of pixels with no clear figure. It wasn't long before she couldn't stand to look at him and closed her eyes, pressing her body against his like a dying thing.
It wasn't long at all before Scorpius took her by her shoulders and wrenched her away with more force than she would have thought him capable. Without his mouth, Ginny felt foolish and too aware of it, of her age, of the knowledge that she had just ruined everything.
The look on Scorpius' face was so innocent, so young, so understanding. It broke her heart.
"I'm going to get some tea," Ginny murmured in a daze, pulling away and disappearing downstairs. She left Scorpius to slump against the wall and wonder what she'd done to him.
In the strange aftermath of the out-of-the-blue kiss, Ginny stumbled into a beautiful scene, the likes of which she felt she hadn't seen in years. On the couch by a dimming fire, James was slumped in Harry's old armchair, Lily and Albus were passed out on floor, half in one another's arms, and on the couch, Rose and Hugo were bundled under two quilts, still in their dress robes and unaware. Empty glasses lined the coffee table, bottles of butterbeer were half-tipped over and staining the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.
Ginny's smile stalled on her lips. A shadow hesitated on the stairs and then retreated, and she knew Scorpius wouldn't come down that evening-he was the only person in the house who didn't belong.
~*~
Ginny sleeps with a ghost in her bed, the emptiness haunting in its still embrace when she turns in her dreams to find Harry smiling at her. The ghost sweeps over her body when she least expects it, trembles over her lips, kisses her skin goodnight, leaves her shuddering and breathless.
It is like losing someone, it is like being lost, it is like losing everything.
Harry is free. Ginny hopes that he is happy, with his parents and Sirius and Remus and Fred and Dumbledore and Snape and all the souls lost to the winds.
~*~
The morning after the funeral, Ginny woke up to the scent of bacon, toast, pancakes, and potatoes frying in the kitchen. There was laughter and music and someone singing lightly. For a moment, Ginny was again lost to the hope that Harry had not died and the previous events were nothing but bad dreams, but when she sat up on the couch and slid the quilt off her body, she knew it was all true. How anybody could be laughing was beyond her scope of understanding, but she made her way into the kitchen nonetheless.
Around the table sat Rose, Hugo, Lily, and Albus. At the counter near the sink, James mixed a batch of Harry's famous blueberry-walnut pancakes. At the range, Scorpius flipped each pancake twice and sent them soaring onto the waiting plates around the table. Lily buttered her toast, Hugo had a mouthful of eggs, and Rose hummed her quiet song.
The sight did something to Ginny. Without thinking, she walked around the table and clasped James around the stomach, kissing his cheek.
James groaned uncomfortably. "Mum," he whined, but did not pull away when she smoothed his unruly auburn hair down.
With a look to Scorpius, Ginny ruffled his blond hair affectionately. "Thanks," she said, finding it hard to express her apologies and gratitude both at once.
Scorpius grinned at her, looking relieved, and shrugged off her thanks as he tended to the flapjacks.
The first breakfast passed in relative cheer, with Ginny counting her lucky stars for the rest of the family who remained alive. Later, over spiced cocoa and Quidditch, Ginny offered Scorpius the spare room, and the beaming smile she received gave her the reassurance she needed to know it was the right thing. That night, Ginny slept on the couch again, surrounded by her children, niece, nephew, and Scorpius. The fire died out on its own, and Ginny's sleep was painless.
~*~
Nothing the papers wrote was ever really the truth. The papers said Harry lived a happy, full life, that he died in valour when he stepped in front of the Auror who had a new baby waiting at home for him, and that he regretted nothing.
The truth was that Harry had regretted a lot of things. Ghosts followed him wherever he went, desires tugged him beyond the shadows, and dark veils hid the things he missed and wanted and could never have. The truth was that Harry had not been happy for years, that he saw his deteriorating marriage as a failure on his part alone, that he blamed himself for the deaths of those he loved.
Maybe he died in valour, but nobody is ever ready to die, not even Harry Potter.
~*~
After a week had passed, Ginny was so used to having all of her children back with her that she was surprised when James announced at dinner one evening that he would be returning to Indonesia with Charlie, who had started a new dragon colony there last summer. It wasn't long before Albus admitted he, too, would be moving back to his flat in the city and returning to the Department of Mysteries, and Lily couldn't take any more time off from her accounting job at Gringotts. Even Ginny would soon need to return to her position as the Senior Quidditch Reporter for the Prophet, though they had told her to take however long she needed.
Everyone knew things needed to return to normal to restore the balance in their lives, but nobody, least of all Ginny, was prepared to come to an understanding of what 'normal' would be now without Harry. The day her children were all set to go their separate ways once again, Albus was the last to leave. Ginny nearly walked in on his conversation with Scorpius but hung back around the corner of the spare room when she heard Albus mention her.
"I'm glad you're staying with Mum," he said. "I know it's because you don't want to go back to your flat, but I think Mum's going to need someone to be here after James, Lily, and I leave. I can't come back every weekend like I used to-my job's getting more involved, and I can't even tell her the details."
"It's fine," Scorpius said. "As long as I'm welcome, I'll stay. I don't have anywhere to go, do I? We'll be good company for each other."
There was an uncomfortable silence that settled between the two young men, then the creak of the bedsprings, which told Ginny that Albus had joined Scorpius on the small twin bed.
"Have you tried owling your dad at all, since…?"
"No," Scorpius said stiffly. "I don't think it's a good idea. I haven't… you know… talked to him… in so long." Scorpius cleared his throat. "We're better off without each other, awful as it is to say."
"Still. Might be good to open communication. It's been five years, after all, hasn't it? Plenty of time for him to realize he's hurting you."
There was a lilt of fatigue in Scorpius' voice as he replied, "He's not like your dad was, Al. I wish he was, but I'm too old to believe he's able to change."
As the silence stretched, Ginny took that as her cue to leave them to their privacy, but the creak of the floorboards gave her away.
"Mum, is that you?" Albus called.
Rolling her eyes, Ginny cast a quick Squeak-Be-Gone spell at the spot where she'd been eavesdropping. With a nod, she stepped into the threshold of the small spare room and gave the two of them a once-over.
"Isn't it time for you to desert your poor old mum yet, Albus?" she teased with a warm, sincere smile. "Come here and give me a hug."
Albus pulled a face but stood and moved to embrace her anyway. "You'll be all right, Mum?"
"In time, yes," she said, keeping him close and relishing the way he was living and breathing in her arms. Her fingers crawled through his hair affectionately. "In time."
Finally, Albus pulled away and kissed her cheek. "I'll be around next weekend if I can get the time off, the weekend after that if not."
"The Ministry works you too much." Ginny folded her arms, watching as Albus gathered his duffle bag of clothes and his broom. "I'm going to send them a Howler about it one of these days."
Albus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mum. You do that." With one last look, Albus sighed. "Okay. Going now. I swear. Scorpius, you take care, too, you wanker. Be good to my mum."
"Get out if you're going," Scorpius teased, but Ginny caught a hint of sadness in his voice and in his gaze, which was trained to Albus the whole time.
"Right, right. Bye!"
With a crack, Albus Disapparated. The silence that followed was heavy with the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same. Ginny sat down where Albus had been a moment before, beside Scorpius, and stared straight ahead without really seeing anything.
The two of them sat very still for a long time, until the minutes had stretched into a half hour and then a full one.
"I suppose I ought to let you get some rest," Ginny finally said, frowning. "You're leaving me tomorrow, too, aren't you?"
Scorpius shook his head. "Only for a workday. Want me to make breakfast when I get up?"
Ginny shook her head and pushed herself off the bed with the last remnants of strength left in her body. "No, that's all right. I plan to sleep in well past what's suitable for a woman my age and then spend the day doing absolutely nothing." She stretched and made her way towards the door with a lethargic gait.
"Sounds nice," Scorpius said, grinning. "Have a good night, Ginny."
"Good night, Scorpius."
Ginny made her way to the master bedroom, where she hadn't slept since the funeral. The room smelled like her, all trace of Harry's after-shower scent washed away for good. She went through the routine she'd grown accustomed to-applying creams to smooth her skin, brushing her hair and teeth, changing into a camisole and trousers-and crawled beneath the cold covers. Eyes open, she stared up at the pale, unforgiving ceiling for an hour without realizing.
In the privacy of her empty bed, Ginny could not find solace enough to sleep. She felt as though she were intruding on someone else's space, but beside her, there was no one. The empty space that Harry would have filled seemed so large and intolerant now that he was gone. She wondered idly if she should sell the bed, get a smaller one, but the thought brought the sharp prick of fresh tears to her eyes, so she pushed it away.
With a pillow and quilt tucked under one arm, she made her way downstairs to sleep on the couch but found it already occupied with Scorpius, who sat staring into the fireless hearth. His skinny shoulders were slumped, his back hunched, his entire body loose and emotionless. There was a half-drunk glass of spiced cider on the table in front of him, all the whipped cream melted. Ginny approached with caution and pressed a hand to his shoulder. Under the gentle pressure, she felt him shudder.
It took but a moment to realize he was crying.
"Oh, Scorpius," she whispered soothingly.
Settling into mother-mode as she rounded the couch, Ginny dropped the pillow and blanket to the floor, sat, and gathered Scorpius into her arms. The memory of a similar embrace haunted her-Scorpius had only been fourteen, and all winter he'd had trouble sleeping, and she often found him with a pint of cider and a face full of tears. Now he was a grown man, nothing like the young, scrawny little wisp of a boy who'd befriended her son all those years ago. Certainly nothing like his father, all trace of the Malfoys Ginny knew lost to the years between adolescence and adulthood.
Scorpius tucked his face against her shoulder and wrapped his long, gawky arms around her.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be sorry. Let it out. It's all right."
"I miss him."
Ginny's fingers tangled in Scorpius' hair, wondering absently if Albus and James cried like this. Scorpius always seemed very sensitive to his emotions, whereas James and Albus were the tough-on-the-outside kind. She hated the thought of Albus sleeping in a lonely London flat, crying his eyes raw and trying to pretend he wasn't or James huddling under the covers and wiping his silent tears before Charlie saw something was amiss.
Truly, Ginny wasn't sure if Scorpius was talking about Harry or Draco. Ginny knew all the bad blood between Draco and his son wasn't something that could just be wished away. And Harry, as some kind of substitute father or confidant, was a horrific loss for Scorpius, too, another reminder of those he loved leaving him.
With nothing left to say, Ginny rocked against Scorpius until his breathing evened out and her eyes began to grow heavy. Carefully, she disentangled herself from his loose embrace and offered a worn smile as he curled up against the arm of the couch. Taking the opposite side, she drew herself under the quilt and soon fell asleep as well.
~*~
When Ginny looks in the mirror, she doesn't see her face. She sees the ghost of a girl who fell in love with a hero, bore his children, followed her dreams, and fell into sudden despair when she least expected it. Everyone says it's okay for men to have mid-life crises, but women don't enjoy such liberties. Or at least, Ginny has never thought it could happen to her that one day she'd be smiling and the next there was nothing that could drag her out of bed.
When Harry looked in the mirror, he didn't see his face, either. Harry looked beyond his reflection, refusing the demons of his past entrance to his present. But demons are persistent, and Harry was only human after all. He never had to wonder what it was like to die, since he'd done it before, but somehow it was worse the second time around.
When Scorpius looks in the mirror, he sees a young man who lost his family, gained another, and lost again. He wonders if he can ever hope to achieve a life that is his own and one without doubt.
[CONTINUE TO PART 2/2]