Chapter 22 A Cradled Figment Of Imagination?
Harry would never forget his last private visit to Ginny’s bedroom at the Burrow, when he sat in her bed and she comforted him about receiving the letter telling him he was selected as mentor. After thinking thoroughly though, he figured he wasn’t really alone with her that night, because Hedwig was with them, so he could not classify that visit as anything special. This time was different, thanks to Samantha’s scheme with the stairs. They would definitely be alone, with no shrieks from Mrs. Weasley, no unwelcome visits from Hermione, and no letters from Hedwig. With the castle deserted as practically everyone was at Hogsmeade, he felt like they were by themselves, standing on top of the world.
He had never ventured to her quarters at the castle, and his heart was pounding so madly it was about to burst, because of the overwhelming excitement, knowing his presence might surprise her so much she could bounce off her bed in glee and embrace him wildly. Alternatively, she could be looking and feeling at her worst, and she could be so offended with his uninvited invasion she would take her frustration out on him and curse him senseless. Nevertheless, he didn’t care that the latter outcome was more likely than the former, because he truly wanted to see her; he just wanted to hold her, to ensure she was all right.
The curtains in her room were sealed, blocking out the winter sun. Even though the room was dark, it felt very peaceful. As he glanced around her room, he noticed some bouquets of red roses from the competition lying on the floor. There were two unmade beds on the opposite end of the room, littered with stuffed animals belonging to Ginny’s roommates. Oliver’s jigsaw puzzle was on her dresser, and it was near completion but for three gaping holes. There were a paper plane, a small grandfather clock, a picture frame, and a red medicine bottle next to it.
He unfolded the plane and suppressed his laugh when he noticed hideous sketches on its wing, “Oh my goodness! I didn’t know Snape is into these kinds of… activities!”
Ginny’s bed, next to the dresser, had nothing but a feathery dream catcher hanging directly above it. Angeline’s Café was indeed captivating, he thought to himself as he examined the gorgeous puzzle.
Seeing the puzzle reminded Harry of what was in his pocket today. He had carried with him one of the puzzle pieces in his pocket, intending to search for an opportunity to sneak it back to her without her knowing he was the culprit. He felt bad for walking away with it, knowing she cared about its completion very much. However, noting that she was missing two other pieces, the guilt lessened somewhat, since his contribution would not solve her problem. Admittedly, he withheld it that day because of his jealousy of Oliver; deep down he didn’t want her to complete it.
All the resentment he harbored for Oliver had since dissipated after the competition, when Ginny surprised him with a deep kiss by the staircase, followed by her tickling him intimately the next morning. Now that Ginny was willing to be his girl, he was no longer threatened by Oliver’s presence. In addition, he knew Oliver would not abandon her in the competition like that if he truly cared about her. To Harry, it was clear there was nothing between them.
Next to the puzzle was a dynamic picture of the two of them from the competition. Chuckling sweetly, he picked up the frame, because of all the glamorous images she could choose from that evening, she had to select this awkward photo to display, an embarrassing image of him embracing her in his arms, with one of her bare feet dangling from her missing a shoe. However, as he studied the picture attentively, he stopped his sneers. Instead, a deep smile occupied his face and a fuzzy feeling melted his heart. He was moved by the way she was hugging him in the picture, with her face snuggling endearingly in his chest, and him smiling brightly, watching over her. Samantha was right, he thought to himself. He was smiling again. He now understood Ginny’s reason for selecting this picture; he would have selected the same one himself.
“Ginny… Ginny. It’s me. Harry,” he removed a rose from one of the bouquets and murmured to her. Snickering boyishly as he tiptoed closer to her bedside, he couldn’t help himself as he teased her cheeks and her neck with the rose; he wanted to get back at her for the horrific way she tickled him yesterday, and for arming Samantha with such a powerful weapon against him. He could now foresee how this could easily escalate terribly for him for the rest of the school year, by giving his crazy mentee more excuses to grab him inappropriately when she wanted something. Quickly suppressing the childish boy in him, he gradually stopped his playful ways. She was obviously very ill and in deep sleep. In his mind, she could do no wrong. He would never be upset at her, because he simply loved her too much.
He set aside the rose and mindfully pulled her blanket up to her chin to ensure she was warm. As he was fixing her blanket, his lips would end up being merely inches away from hers. Even though her eyes were closed, she was unknowingly drawing him in. He unquestionably wanted to kiss her badly, but he refused to let himself take advantage of her like this. Despite having absolute control over his lips, his yearning eyes, with a mind of their own, broke free of his control, and they roamed her face freely as they became spellbound by every inch of her delicate features, painting her in his mind like a paintbrush on a canvas.
In fact, he was so close to her now he could now feel and hear her warm shallow breaths. Judging from the stuffy sounds, her nose must be blocked, he mused to himself. As he continued to gaze at her, he was inadvertently comparing what was in front of his eyes now to his visions of her with the mistletoe earlier. The thinness of her cheeks, bony jaw line, and loss of color in her lips were evident, compared to his visions of the little girl with the hot round red bubbly cheeks. At first, he attributed these differences to her being ill, but he could not deny the loss of girlish innocence behind the lines and the narrowness of her face. He had never gazed at her so closely before, but it had just occurred to him she had seemingly aged very much this past year, he thought to himself as his heart ached sorely.
He pondered about what used to be her hearty giggles when he first met her. It was the same with her brown eyes. When they met for the first time, she employed her sparkling brown eyes to peek at him through her door at the Burrow, but they had become opaque now. Her spunky presence when she dug her elbow into the butter dish was also no more.
In the midst of his concentration, Harry could suddenly hear faint voices again.
”Ginny, Ginny. It’s me, Harry. Wake up. Please talk to me… Ron, Hermione, come quick! Something is wrong with Ginny! She’s not waking up!” It was his voice, except the tone sounded very urgent.
Harry was no longer startled with this. In fact, he was growing very tired of these untimely intrusions; they always surface in all the wrong times and all of them somehow mysteriously involved Ginny in one way or another. After taking a few steps back in confusion, the dream catcher hanging above her bed entered into his view again, and the sense of familiarity fell upon him. Seeing her in her bed and the dream catcher hanging over her was somehow an image he had witnessed before.
“I’ve been here in this room before… but… when… and why?” he registered blankly, his eyes darting between the dream catcher and Ginny as sweat buttered his forehead. He took a deep breath, steadied himself and carefully approached her. Determined to not let these voices ruin his happy mood, he ignored them and squished them to the back of his head, along with the others he had recently.
Feeling very warm, he set the picture frame on her bed, removed his jacket and draped it on her, “No wonder you have a cold, Gin. Your blanket is thinner than parchment.”
Immediately after he covered her with his jacket, his head began to seethe in pain, as if something smashed itself against the back of his head. Whipping around to check the source of his agony, he accidentally knocked the picture frame to the ground. Thankfully, the noise from the tumble did not wake Ginny up, and the frame appeared to be not broken, but their picture fell out of it. He quickly gathered them up. As he was about to insert the picture back, he noticed another photo was already in the frame. This photo was hidden behind the picture of the competition, and it was him and Ginny, except he could not remember when it was taken.
Harry noticed this picture was in complete contrast to the one taken at the competition. Ginny’s eyes were sparkling at him as she hovered closely behind him, with her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling happily against his head. She had the same youthful look as in his visions of her under the mistletoe. He, on the contrary, had a strained grin in the image, looking very indifferent and somber, and he appeared to be pulling away.
The screeching pain continued to claw at his head as he hastily assembled the frame and set it back on her dresser. He was clenching his teeth to suppress his urge to scream, because he was afraid of startling Ginny, but suddenly, his vision was no longer under his control, and in a split second, her bed transformed itself into a hammock in front of his eyes. She was resting in it with a rose in her hand.
Sunlight seared into her dark room despite the closed curtains, and he found himself standing in a bright background of grass surrounding a beautiful cool lakeside. To his horror, all the objects in the room, the dresser, the neighboring beds, and the paper plane, were swirling dizzyingly and everything became blurry and opaque. Sensing something was wrong, he dug for his wand, only to discover a quill was in his hand, along with a handful of parchment, when he pulled his hand out. Looking desperately in all directions, he found himself detaching out of her room and gliding into the sunny lakeside background. Wind was traveling through his messy locks. It was a place he had certainly visited before, a scene that was too painful to forget, an emotion that was nothing but profound sadness and unfathomable remorse, and a memory that was finally gluing itself together…
“……”
“Dumbledore always says I am brave for my age, then why don’t I have the courage to confess the truth?” Harry stared into the beautiful sky as he mumbled hopelessly to himself, sitting on the warm grass with his back facing Ginny.
Harry took out a quill and started to express his apologies on the parchment. He was unable to voice it; his courage continued to fail him.
He stared at the parchment with a longing look on his face as his eyes began to tear up, worrying about the pain Ginny would have to endure as a result of what he did. Rereading what he wrote again and again, he was certain she would leave him.
She deserved someone better, he thought to himself despairingly, because what he did was despicable. He slowly folded the parchment into a paper plane and launched it into the sky. The plane flew steadily towards the lake. After watching it disappear, he continued writing his messages with the rest of the parchment.
He launched the paper planes dejectedly toward the lake, sniffing back tears and watching them stoically as they disappeared into the horizons, desperately hoping that his wishes would come true, that she would not leave him.
“AARGH…” It was Ginny’s voice when she fell off the hammock and tumbled into him, sending his parchment into the gentle breeze. They were floating like autumn leaves falling from their trees…
”BANGGGG!”
“……”
Ginny immediately unsealed her eyes when she heard her door being slammed shut, only to discover that she was on the floor next to her bed, entangled by her blanket and oddly, a boy’s jacket. Rubbing her eyes feverishly, she realized she had accidentally tumbled out of her bed in the midst of her dream about the picnic by the lakeside with Harry. As she was about to reach for the tangled mess in the dark, she discovered a piece of a jigsaw puzzle was in her palm. Staring at it peculiarly, she was wondering why she had it in her palm. She pressed herself up and turned on the light, illuminating the jacket on the floor. To her surprise, it was Harry’s jacket. It was the one she gave back to him yesterday night. She looked around her room desperately, searching for him, but all she could see were empty walls. Coughing severely, she quickly opened her closet, hoping he was hiding inside, but to her disappointment, he was not there.
“Harry?” she waved her arms into the air, believing he was hiding underneath his invisibility cloak, but again, she couldn’t touch him. It could not be a dream; he had been here with her. He came and covered her with his jacket. He had once again offered his jacket to her, just like the time at the picnic.
She walked out of her room, peering at every angle of the deserted hallway.
“Harry?” she cried to the empty halls, but there was no answer.
Disappointed, she trudged inside and slowly made her way to the dresser, putting the piece of puzzle into one of the gaping holes, only to realize that it was a new piece she believed she had misplaced. Looking at the unfinished portrait, it was now only missing two pieces.
Too groggy and too tired to search for the truth, she picked up his jacket and cradled it, her eyes shifting emotionally to the picture frame of the two of them on the dresser.
“Harry…”
***
Harry was sitting by the lakeside next to his bike in a blanket of snow, gripping a handful of crumbled parchment and the memorable paper plane Hedwig delivered to him last year. Seeing the plane on Ginny’s dresser reminded him of that mysterious heart-wrenching story:
“Again last night,
Alone without you.
To the moonlight,
I made a wish.
That one night,
I rewrite our story.
Turn back time,
To days we hold hands,
Journey side by side,
Under sparkling stars,
That took turns,
Shining on us.
Remember that night?
You and I,
It was paradise.
Please lead me the way.
Guide me with your hand.
So I can be by your side.
Please come back to me.
Please try. Come back.
So I…”
As expected, the impact of every single syllable was thumping at him harshly just like all the previous times he read it. He was certain the blotches of smudged ink were from the writer’s tears. He had kept it with him because in a small corner of his mind, he knew there had to be a reason Hedwig brought it to him, and that he was the intended recipient of such a sad message, because otherwise, she would not have delivered it to him so eagerly that night.
At the time, he never figured out whose handwriting it belonged to, but as he was rereading the passages now, he knew. He could not deny their similarities with Ginny’s handwriting style he saw on the competitors’ list in the common room, the way she carved her name and Oliver’s name on it. Because he was so angry when he gaped at the list that night, every twist and turn of her soulful cursive writing and the flickering plus sign were burned like an imprint in his heart. With the plane on her dresser, the photo hidden behind the frame, and all the visions he had, there was no doubt in his mind it was Ginny who wrote this painful message.
Everything that happened between him and Ginny began to make sense, her frigidness and indifference toward him this summer, the way his apologies angered her, and her emotional reaction after the broken doves. He could still remember the day in the common room three months ago, when he spoke to Ginny about his first mentor meeting with Samantha. He had believed Ginny was stressed out about Oliver, the same way Ron was stressed about Hermione. He now realized she wasn’t thinking about Oliver at all. She was thinking about him. He had unwittingly punished her severely by telling her he was never in love with anyone before.
All of his visions were real. All of her tears were real. The one who hurt her was him. He was the reason she aged so much this past year. He could not hate himself more at this moment.
He glanced at the last passage. He remembered writing it to complete the story:
“I will always be by your side...”
“How can I be by your side when I can no longer look you in the eye?” he cried.
“The pain you suffered this past year… it was because of me…” he growled tearfully, carefully putting the soggy parchment back in his pocket. Without the doves, this smudged parchment would be the only thing he had that was hers.
“But you are still… so kind to me… so nice to me… all of you… Ron… Hermione…”
The bike ride to the lakeside was a bumpy one, just like he remembered, when he brought Ginny here to have a picnic.
“It’s a bicycle? A common recreational vehicle in the Muggle world?” he recalled Ginny asking him when he pulled her to the back of the castle towards a pile of hay.
He came wanting to retrace the steps of his visions. Even though the layer of snow had covered the green grass, he could still recognize all the details, the tree where he set up his hammock, the bushes he used to hide his picnic basket, and the blue lake to which he sent all his message-filled paper planes. He could not deny it. That picnic with Ginny did take place. The broken hammock was still lying on the grass under the snow. He planned the picnic because he wanted to confess his betrayal to her and to apologize, but his courage failed him that day, because he was afraid of losing her. Without her, his life would have no purpose.
His head was throbbing in pain from remorse and from the punishing weight of all these hurtful memories, but the pain was nothing compared to the anguish in his heart. The idea of him putting her through this ordeal was simply unimaginable.
He flipped through the pieces of parchment in his grips and read the messages he scribbled while he was in Ginny’s room earlier, when all the memories rushed back to him. He realized those were the exact words he wrote last year:
“Please forgive me for everything that I did. I’m so sorry. Truly sorry. Love, Harry.”
“I hope we’ll always be together. Always. Love, Harry.”
“I’ll die without you! Please don’t leave me! Love, Harry.”
“Please tell me what to do to heal your pain! Love, Harry.”
“I am sorry. Love, Harry.”
Exactly as he did last year, he proceeded to fold these newly written messages into paper planes and send them to the lake.
After watching the planes disappear, he tossed the leftover parchment into the air, simulating the moment when she tumbled into him after she fell off the hammock. Just like last year, they were floating in the air like autumn leaves falling from their trees.
“Ginny, I’m sorry…” he cried to the floating parchment traveling towards the lake. There was no answer.
“I’M SORRY…” he screamed louder, but the only thing that came back was his solemn echoes of his own voice.
“I’M -- SO SORRRRYYY…!!!” he lunged forward and roared as loud as he could, but he knew she couldn’t hear him. He could never undo her pain.
He closed his eyes and collapsed into the cold snow when he found himself in the same spot where they shared their final heartfelt embrace together. He could do nothing except for gripping helplessly at the snow. Only his snowy footsteps and his unstable shadow remained to accompany his loneliness.
”Ginny, you deserve someone better, because… what I did…
“I… don’t deserve you…
“Goodbye, Ginny…
“I am truly sorry…”
In harmony with his cries, he could hear sounds of chirping from afar. He opened his eyes and turned his head up, his winter tears spilling all over his cold cheeks. His vision was very hazy because his watery eyelashes had smudged his glasses, but he could make out a faint image of a white bird that was perched quietly on a tree, watching his sorrow next to a ray of sunlight.
The Boy Next Door by gossipweaver
Chapter Notes: The jacket in his hands, the dream catcher in her room, the paper plane on her desk, the images in his mind, the voices in his sleep, … when all he sees is her… pieces of her… yesterday’s her…