Harry and Ron stood at the top of the stairs, their bags slung over their shoulders. Harry glanced over at his best friend. He looked absolutely exhausted. They both considered the long corridor of bedroom doors in front of them.
“Well, I guess I better find her,” Ron sighed.
“Ron, listen, you did what you needed to do,” Harry chose his words carefully. “She’ll get over it, just give her some time. Look, I don’t want to start a row with you or anything, but this is what you and Hermione do, you know? You argue, you both get your knickers in a twist, then everything settles down again, right? It’s happened dozens of times in the past few years.”
Ron scrubbed his hands over his face. Harry could see they were shaking a little. “Yeah, I guess so. But this feels a little different, Harry. I mean, we’re not arguing about, you know, homework or Crookshanks or Quidditch, right? And while I don’t always agree with Hermione, I usually know where she’s coming from. But this thing she’s got about house elves makes no sense to me. I don’t get it at all, do you?” He paused.
“Not really, mate,” Harry stifled a yawn. He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure Ron would understand, and it was too late to get into it anyway. Hermione, like Harry himself, was an outsider to the wizarding world for more than half her life before she found out she was a witch. She had to learn to fit in, just like he had. And did she really, even now? Her smarts prevented her from being warmly accepted by everyone, and though Harry loved her dearly, he knew her bossy attitude alienated her from some people. He thought, maybe, her obsessive empathy with house elves had a little something to do with that sense of not fitting in, or being treated fairly for who she was. “But…but if you really want to talk to her, then listen to what she has to say too. I “ I think it’s important to her, even if she’s not totally right about it.”
“Yeah, ok,” Ron surveyed the row of bedroom doors. “Are you going to take the one you were in during fifth year?”
“No, I don’t think so. That portrait of Phineas Nigellus was in my old room,” Harry shook his head, remembering the snarky, rude, disembodied comments from the old painting. “He can travel between his portrait here and the one in Dumbledore’s “ sorry, McGonagall’s “ chambers. He’d love the chance to rat us out, I think. We better just stay away from that room altogether,” Harry sighed. Traveling unnoticed was going to be more difficult than he had first thought. Scrimgeour, spies, portraits, house elves, he thought bitterly. Suddenly, Harry felt as exhausted as Ron looked. His mind wandered to Ginny. He wished she were here. He groped for the knob of the nearest bedroom door, noticed a thin fan of light emanating from underneath the one two rooms down and across the hall.
“There she is, Ron, if you really want to talk to her,” Harry nodded. He didn’t have the energy to do much more.
Ron shuffled down the hall, rapped lightly on the door. After a few moments, it swung open. Hermione appeared in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, bruised circles of exhaustion under her eyes. She glanced down at Harry, gave him a strained smile. Ron took her hand and whispered urgently to her. She stepped aside and let him into her room. The door closed softly shut behind them.
Harry stood another moment at the doorway of the bedroom he’d chosen, swaying on his feet a little. He hated to see what the path to Voldemort was doing to his friends, and himself. It was one thing to think about murdering Voldemort, quite another to see a wretched being like Kreacher destroyed in front of his eyes. He knew it was necessary, but it didn’t make it easier for Harry to remember that small, lifeless form. He shuddered, thinking of the price that was paid to house a piece of Voldemort’s soul.
Harry lit the tiny bedside lamp and threw himself across the mouldy-smelling bedspread, closed his eyes. He could hear a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Mrs. Weasley’s telling him to at least take his shoes off, but he couldn’t muster the power.
He breathed deeply, watching red and black pinwheels of light spin behind his eyelids. Hermione and Ron’s strained faces swam in and out of focus, mildly accusing in his mind’s eye. Then the tendrils swirled and morphed into the red vortex that had consumed Kreacher. Harry tried to dispel that image, and the strands of scarlet lightened to a burnished golden orange, danced and revealed a sweet, smiling face. Ginny’s. He let his mind travel backwards, to earlier in the afternoon, half a day and miles away from this cold, threatening house.
The day had been mildly overcast, the sun peeking out in golden glimpses. Harry and Ginny had wandered away from the Burrow, strolled through a field buzzing with fat bumblebees and butterflies, and come across a chuckling stream. They had arranged themselves carelessly on the damp grass, both of them stretching and settling into the lush greenness.
Though Harry felt a knot of apprehension building in his stomach when he thought about leaving this place and starting his march towards Voldemort, something loosened in him and seemed almost to seep into the ground. He turned his head, breathing deeply the heady mix of grass and Ginny’s hair, which pillowed her freckled face, inches from his own. He leaned over and kissed her.
“So,” she said when they broke apart, “You’re on your way “ all of you.”
“Yeah, I guess we are,” something in him resisted the idea, though, of course, he was the reason for this vendetta (and he truly began to think of it that way in his mind) in the first place. Do I really have to? Someone else could destroy Voldemort…it doesn’t have to be me…Harry knew these thoughts were fleeting, at best. They had everything to do with Ginny’s face and the warmth of her touch, and nothing to do with the bigger picture. He understood, in the darkest place in his heart, that he wouldn’t, couldn’t rest until he destroyed Voldemort. He also had plans for Severus Snape as well. He dearly hoped he’d run into Snape, at a time and place that Snape wasn’t expecting it.
“Ginny?”
“Mmmm?” Their noses touched, barely.
“You understand why you can’t come with us right away, don’t you?” This had been a bone of contention with them “ Ginny wanted to leave today, right now, with he, Ron and Hermione, but Harry had balked. He was at war with himself “ part of him wanted her by his side, no matter what. The other, saner part of him wanted to keep her safely at the Burrow, and then at Hogwarts. Ginny didn’t agree with this line of thought.
“No, not at all “ though I am trying to be reasonable,” she murmured, her eyes shining with that steely gleam of hers he loved so much, “And I understand, because of my age, certain “erm, restrictions “ are placed on me that the three of you don’t have to worry about.” She kissed him lingeringly. “But, I DID convince you to let me stop by tomorrow, right? I’ve got the little piece of paper with Ron’s directions on it. I’ll be there after you all make it safe for little Ginny?” She pinched his cheek.
“Ow!” He smacked her hand away, laughing. “Gimme a break, Gin. I am trying not to be a ‘dense hero’ or whatever you called me, but you can’t blame me for wanting you safe.” They both sat up, cross-legged, from each other. She had grass in her hair, a leaf, a stray, white daisy. “I want to show you something,” he said, rooting around in his pocket. He pulled out the watch Lupin had given to him yesterday.
“Wow! That’s gorgeous,” Ginny breathed, cupping her hand around the shining metal and ball of light. “Lupin gave that to you? But he doesn’t have that kind of money!”
“Actually, not,” Harry smiled down at the gift, “It’s from my dad…from a long time ago.” And he told her the story Lupin had shared with him. His dad’s excitement, embarrassment, pride in his son.
“It’s like a beautiful, perfect, little universe, isn’t it?” She whispered, uncharacteristic tears making her eyes shine.
“Yeah, it really is,” but Harry wasn’t looking at the watch anymore. He was looking at her. She heard something in his voice, and caught his gaze. She leaned over and kissed him, the tiny constellations from the watch reflecting rainbow lights across their faces.
Harry opened his eyes, smiling at this memory, feeling lonely. He took the watch out of his pocket and it swung in lazy circles over his head. He was snapped from his reverie by a noise coming from the stairs. He jumped up, his heart beating fast. Someone was on the stairs. Even as he listened, another riser creaked. He hadn’t heard anyone walking from the opposite direction, so it couldn’t be Ron or Hermione. Then it could only be “ he headed for the door, glancing at his watch. It’s three in the morning!! What’s she “ he flung the door open, his wand up and ready just in case.
“Don’t even try a Bat-Bogey Hex on me, Mr. Potter. That’d be like the student teaching the teacher,” Ginny stood there, real, not a day dream or a wish. Harry said nothing, just took her in his arms. And, for a few brief moments, it really was a beautiful, perfect, little universe.
The Time is Now by Hermione816
Chapter Notes: Completely exhausted, Harry's mind drifts away to a happy memory - of he and Ginny.