Disclaimer I don’t own Harry Potter or any of the characters [those honours go to J.K Rowling] nor do I own the song Music When The Lights Go Out [which is courtesy of the Libertines].
Authors Note: This is my first fan fiction, so I am slightly nervous as to what you all think of it and how it’s received. I would very much appreciate feedback as to what’s your opinion of it.
Italics are obviously for the song, but important thoughts are put down in it too. I trust one will be able to discern which is song and which is thought.
Enjoy!
Zara x
Music When The Lights Go Out
By Scrummy_Girl
Well is it cruel or kind not to speak my mind and to lie to you, rather than hurt you?
His heart was in turmoil. He gazed unseeing as the train roared past the emerald countryside, the blazing sunlight seemed to mock his dark mood. The warmth of the day belied the seriousness of the path that lay ahead of him. A path his heart wouldn’t be with entirely, for it still lay with the red haired girl he was leaving behind.
Sure, he could still see her whenever he wanted; he would, after all, be in attendance to Bill and Fleur's wedding in several weeks, and the likelihood of it was that he would be spending summer at the Burrow, planning his next move against Voldemort and the deadly quest that lay ahead of him. Yes, he would see her all the time in the next few weeks. But, even that pale glimmer of hope could not stop the deep twisting in his heart.
He was leaving her behind. That was the plain and brutal truth of it. He replayed their last conversation over and over again in his mind. Her eyes, darkening with the pain of his words. Her body stiffening. And yet, she still resolutely refused to cry.
Oddly, he felt a blaze of pride at her spirit. That’s my girl. That’s my brave Ginny.
Hermione and Ron were always there for him. Always by his side, offering him words of encouragement, advice, and adamantly and blindly following him into whatever new danger was lurking around the corner. But having a relationship different to that had been so wonderful, had been so new, so vibrant. Spending time with Ginny had been a wholly new experience; someone who understood him perfectly, understood his pain, and had been able to soothe it in a manner wholly different to Ron’s nervous jokes and Hermione’s book references.
And that relationship was gone. Destroyed by him. No matter how worthy the reason was (Lord Voldemort, in his opinion, was someone, or something to be taken seriously), he had ruined the only thing that in the past months had given him joy, had lifted the terrible burden laid upon him. In that respect, Voldemort was killing him. He hadn’t laid a hand on him for months but his destructive spirit was all around. Voldemort had taken his parents from him, had taken Sirius from him, had taken Dumbledore from him, and had now taken Ginny from him out of fear of losing her.
Well, I'll confess all of my sins after several large gins, but still I'll hide from you, and hide what's inside from you
Ginny had given him everything, and he had turned away from her. He saw her now, laughing gaily with Colin Creevy, and to her right was Michael Corner, his arm slung lazily across her waist as he grew drunker and drunker. The Daily Prophet’s Annual VM was supposed to be a happy occasion for celebrating the end of the war, rejoicing that although hundreds of people died, so many lives were saved by their sacrifices.
He couldn’t of been more sullen.
His eyes darted round the room, taking in the appearances of the worlds most socially favoured wizards and witches that had congregated in the glittering ball room. He doubted that any of them had any real indication of what they were there for.
Curiosa Buggins, new Minister of Magic, stood up to make a speech.
He grimaced. For what words could reach at the shadow he was currently lurking in at the back of the hall, the Minister was rambling on about ‘loss of wizards’ and ‘nobility of death.’
In his eyes, there had been nothing noble about the deaths of the people he had seen die. He had been out there. He knew it was more then just a matter of so many bodies that they all just became another number. He had heard the pleas of those, begging for death and whimpering in pain. He remembered how helpless he had felt, unable to do anything. He had smelt the air. Dirty air, with the scent of blood upon it, and the scent of darkness. He had seen the mangled corpses, so mangled that it was impossible to recognise who the person had once been. He had witnessed horrors that no one was supposed to witness, horror’s few people could truly understand. Yes, he had managed to escape the War alive - a rare thing, but it didn’t come without it’s cost, without it’s loss, without it’s sacrifice. And he had made his sacrifice.
‘And you haven’t stopped bitching about it for a thousand years!’ a frustrated and bored Seamus Finnegan had remarked when he had begun moaning about Ginny again.
He had once been never one to let out his feelings, hiding them. He knew Voldemort could get to him through his emotions. He couldn’t let Voldemort have that power.
Ginny had once spoke to him about it, remarking on his lack of feeling, and how he seemed reveal everything to her but let on nothing.
‘Why? What’s the point of it? Tell me what’s bothering you, tell me and I’ll help you,’ said Ginny one night while the pair were lounging in the grounds.
‘I can’t tell you, Ginny.’
‘Why?’
‘I just can’t.’
‘This is what I mean! You need to stop locking it all up. One day it’s going to come back and bite you on the -’
‘Ginny, please. When I’m ready, I’ll tell you.’
He still wasn’t ready. She had made it clear to him that she would be waiting for him when he chose to come back for her. Watching her giggling with Colin now, made him evidently aware that she had tired of waiting for him.
And alarm bells ring when you say your heart still sings when you're with me, oh darling, please forgive me
Ginny had revealed all to him one night. She had been lost in the post-war celebrations, oblivious to his mingled happiness and grief. His happiness for Lord Voldemort’s death and his grief for all those had died for the cause.
Ron Weasley. Arthur Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Remus Lupin. The role call went on…
Most of the people that had survived the war had been the ones who had avoided it at all costs. He was pretty sure that of his old year, only Hermione and Seamus remained of his house. All others had died fighting for their beliefs of a free Wizarding world.
On that fateful night, Ginny had shown him her true feelings. He hadn’t seen her since the end of sixth year, for her family had forced her to stay at Hogwarts.
He had stayed hidden in the upstairs bedroom of Grimmauld Place. He had grown sick of the constant stream of visitors offering him congratulations.
‘Congratulations on what?’ he had remarked to Hermione, who only seemed to understand his pain and share a part of it. The pair of them retreated upstairs, ignoring the raucous noises of party-goers downstairs. They had sat in silence, dwelling in their shared sadness together. The war had ended, but it only seemed to increase their anguish. He was a broken man. He had a tortured, drawn look about him, and a grim, lost look in his emerald eyes that had sunken into their sockets. His skin had tinged an odd grey colour, presumably because he refused to go outside and face the press, and much more the destroyed, post-war world. His body was frail and thin, and looked as if one good jinx could finish him off. He lived in the darkest memories of his past.
The pair had remained up there. Occasionally, he heard shouts of their names. Shouts he paid no attention to. The silence between them seemed to comfort him. They needed no words. He could tell Hermione was hurting as much as he was. She had tried to call off a post-war party, but had failed. She had tried to stop them from holding it at Grimmauld Place, somewhere that he had never wanted to go to again.
Eventually, Hermione had drifted off into sleep. He had no such luck; the sounds of the party were not abating, and he hadn’t slept in weeks anyway. The occasional moments where he was able to rest were stilted and few and far between. He had no wish to go to sleep though, his dreams were haunted by visions of blood and death.
Ginny had floated in. An odd smile on her face. With a jolt, he had recognised where he had seen that smile before; when he had broken up with her, by the lake.
‘Hello,’ she had greeted him.
He looked up from the piece of parchment he was perusing, giving a start as if he had just recognised her. The knowing look in her eye told him she knew the movement was false.
In truth, he had recognised her before he had even heard her enter. He had recognised her tread, her scent, her sweet presence. When she entered a room, it seemed the atmosphere itself seemed to change within it. It wasn’t like the artificial hold over the very matter of the earth like Veela. It was entirely more natural. She was an angel of the soil and a nymph of water.
And even though that loving hold she had over his senses was still there, he knew he did not feel the same burst of emotion that he always associated with her. That told him all he needed to know.
Ginny had sat down, and poured out her heart to him. Telling him she still needed him, she still loved him.
But something had changed about her, and he knew it. Moreover, she knew he knew it. She seemed more aware, but more blind. More false, but ever more hurtful.
And then he knew what had happened.
She had changed, attempting to be someone he thought she would like. A new Ginny Weasley to go with the new him.
Ginny had stared at him nervously. For, throughout the proceedings and the outpouring of her feelings, she hadn’t said a word.
The music downstairs had stopped. The chatter, clangs, sounds of laughter too. The house was oddly still and silent.
But I know longer hear the music, oh no.
He had eventually replied. He told her of his pain, his grief, his depression, his disillusionment with the world, his loneliness, his apathy…everything.
But he made no profession of wanting to be with her. Ginny had realised it.
‘Look, I know -’
He had stopped her. Her amber eyes glittered strangely in the dim room.
And all the memories of the pubs, and the clubs and the drugs and the tubs, we shared together, will stay with me forever
He went over their time together, their happiness, their past. He recounted his favourite moments spent with her. The time where they had relaxed on the softly scented grass in the weak sunlight. The time where they had sat by the fire, talking deep into the night.
She had smiled at this. Smiled at his reminisces, occasionally giggling.
But then his forced light-hearted tone had stopped, and her eyes had regained the odd gleam.
But all the highs and the lows, and the to’s and the fro’s, they left me dizzy. Oh darling, please forgive me
He listed the reasons why he couldn’t continue their relationship. He expressed his regret.
He did regret it, but it wasn’t for the right reasons. He didn’t regret it because he couldn’t be with her, he just couldn’t face the fact that he might hurt the only thing he loved.
The war had changed everyone, and he, as the main man in the war, had altered most. He had re-evaluated his relationships and his feelings in the past year, and he found he couldn’t be false anymore, protecting people for fear of losing them. He had to protect them for the right reasons, and not beyond it.
And now he had to protect Ginny from himself. He couldn’t hurt her again.
Well I no longer hear the music when the lights go out, love goes cold in the shades of doubt, the strange face in my mind is all too clear. Music when the lights come on, the girl I thought I knew has gone and with her my heart, it disappeared
Ginny assured him she would be waiting for him until the time came when he wanted her again. She left the room. Almost immediately, the noise downstairs seemed to flair up again, and his room, Sirius’s room, regained it’s heavy, thick atmosphere.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Hermione. They needed no words.
And all the memories of the fights and nights under blue lights and all the kites we flew together, love thought they'll fly forever.
He returned to the same spot where they had broken up five years ago before. It was the anniversary of Dumbledore’s death. He came there every year alone. Most students at Hogwarts kept their distance, respectful of the mysterious, famous Mr. Potter.
He crouched down beside the tomb, brushing away the pieces of mud and grass that stained the tomb. He knelt his head respectfully. He usually remained there for ten minutes before disappearing to the village of Hogsmeade and aparating away into the hovel that he called a home; a basement underneath the Leaky Cauldron.
Five minutes to go.
Occasionally, he thought he heard voices he recognised. Treads he recognised. He couldn’t drag himself up though, he couldn’t be bothered to go up and greet people he knew didn’t care about him, only cared about what it meant to be seen with him. Sometimes, he felt very lonely. But loneliness suited him. Loneliness meant he didn’t have to deal with other people. Other people meant reactions. Reactions made his situation very real. He was fine with pretending it was okay being shut off from society. It was healing.
One minute before he could leave.
The students around him were whispering in what they probably thought were discreet whispers. They weren’t.
‘It’s him!’
‘He looks dead pale up close!’
‘Thin too!’
‘He looks like a ghost.’
‘Should I go up and ask for an autograph?’
This was commonplace. Every year when he ventured there, students discussed him excitedly. None of them ever dared, though, to actually speak to him. Sometimes he wished they would.
Ten seconds.
He stood up.
Nine seconds.
A new voice was added to the mix. A feminine voice.
Eight seconds.
‘Where’s the tomb?’ she asked.
Seven seconds.
‘Over there,’ a student responded.
Six seconds
Someone was drawing nearer to him. He vaguely remembered the smell. He thought he knew the tread.
Five seconds
‘It’s her!’
‘Who?’
‘I can tell it’s her, she’s got the red hair!’
‘Who?!’
‘I’ve seen her in the paper a million times before.’
‘WHO?’
‘It’s Ginny Weasley!’
Four seconds
He stiffened at the sound of the name.
Three seconds
The tread was drawing nearer.
Two seconds
He took a step back, but he was afraid to turn around. Afraid to face her.
One second
She stopped beside him, and the excited chattering of the students stopped. The soft rustle of the grass seemed stilted. The lake seemed to freeze mid-ripple. The grounds appeared to fall eerily still.
He could only hear her quiet breathing, and the song her very body seemed to give off. He recognized that song. It changed every time he heard it but he would always be able to remember it. It seemed as much a part of him as it was of her.
Music when the lights go out, love goes cold in the shades of doubt, the strange face in my mind is all too clear. Music when the lights come on, the girl I thought I knew has gone, and with her my heart it disappeared
He glanced at her. Her red locks flowed around her shoulders in fixed ringlets. She was dressed in pale blue robes which spoke of wealth and elegance. Her skin was glowing a pale golden colour, and her body had matured into full, voluptuous curves.
Despite all this, he couldn’t help but notice that there was no glitter in her eyes.
There was also a wedding ring on her finger.
She noticed him looking. ‘I waited for you,’ murmured Ginny. ‘I waited for you for five years. I couldn’t wait any longer.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. They both knew it wasn’t adequate.
‘I missed you. You disappeared after the ball. No one knew where you went or why you went.’
‘I couldn’t deal with it. It made me afraid, so I hid. I still hiding, matter of fact.’
‘If you are hiding, why are you here then? Why are you here?’ asked Ginny.
‘Why are you? I presume it’s not to pay your respects to Dumbledore; his grave is well neglected. People seem to so easily forget all he did for our kind.’ He sighed. ‘I haven’t seen you here before, and I don’t think it’s chance for both of us to show up at the same place at the same time.’
‘What if it was chance?’ said Ginny.
‘Is it?’
‘No,’ she mumbled.
‘Tell me.’
‘I was speaking to Tom in the early hours of yesterday morning. He let slip you lived downstairs. I went down there but you weren’t there. I remembered the date, and figured you’d be here.’
He smiled, despite himself. ‘You’ve been channelling Hermione’s spirit, haven’t you?’
Ginny shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen her since she disappeared to Egypt.’
‘Oh, right.’
The pair lapsed into an awkward silence. Despite the fact he hadn’t seen her in years, he found he had little to say to her. Or little, at least, he could say to her easily.
As the silence became near unbearable, Ginny finally broke it.
‘Don’t you even want to know who I got married to?’
‘Oh, yeah. Who?’
She sighed, obviously frustrated. ‘Michael Corner.’
‘How are you finding married life, then?’ he asked, more out of politeness then real interest. He didn’t know how he felt about her getting married.
‘It’s alright.’ She opened her mouth to continue, but seemed to think better of it. Then she blurted out, very quickly, ‘It’s not the same as being with you!’
She clapped her hand to her mouth, a blush staining her cheeks.
He hadn’t had social relations with someone in a while, and now having to contend with one of the most complicated people he’d ever met admitting she still cared for him, despite the fact she was married, was all a bit of a shock to him.
‘Ginny, I thought we went over this.’
‘I know. I just hoped you might of…well…’
‘Well what?’ he snapped.
‘Changed your mind about us.’
He looked into her eyes, glimmering with buried pain and new-found hurt at his words.
He knew then. He knew that all the hiding he’d been doing was because of his fear of facing her. He wasn’t afraid of the world, he was afraid of hurting her. She was Ginny, the brightest star in his world. He couldn’t quench her light.
He’d always brought pain and death to anyone he knew. He wouldn’t do that to sweet Ginny.
But he knew he loved her. And she knew it too.
‘Don’t you have any feelings for me, at all?’
It was a pointless question.
He hesitated, but answered truthfully. ‘Yes.’
There was that same blazing look in her eye that had appeared the first time he’d kissed her.
‘Then -’
‘No, Ginny. I can’t. I love you, but there’s too much pain buried in our past. If we were to get together, I don’t know if it would ease it or worsen it.’
Ginny stamped her foot. ‘Why do you always have to be so woeful and tormented all the time, and always think with your heart?! Try thinking with the head for a change! You are so intent on not hurting peoples’ feelings that you do it unknowingly. You think the way to avoid causing pain is to avoid people all together.’
‘No, Ginny, that’s not -’
‘Yes, it is! And you know it! You’re a good person, but you refuse to live and you constantly dwell in the past. When you’re human, you are going to get hurt, the sooner you face up to that the better! Please, I’m begging you -’
He grasped her hands and pulled her towards him. He placed his lips upon hers softly. She began kissing him back ferociously, but he pulled away.
He hadn’t actually wanted to. Kissing her had always been the most magical thing in his life in the past - and he was a wizard
He walked away from her, for the last time in what he hoped would be in his life. Raw pain was conflicted in her face, pain so terrible he couldn’t bare to glance back to look at the girl he was leaving behind.
‘Please, don’t leave me again! Don’t leave me waiting another couple of years for you!’
‘I won’t. I won’t see you again, Ginny. That I promise you. I didn’t mean to hurt you today, but I already have done. That’s why we can’t be together. Goodbye.’
Ginny had collapsed into sobs. ‘Please! Don’t leave me! I’m begging you, Harry, please don’t!’
Harry didn’t turn back. His mind was aching with the heaviness of his decision, constantly wondering whether or not it was right. She was a married woman, after all.
Harry ignored the whispers of the students around him, but the sobs of Ginny tore at him and his heart; the heart that was, once again, in turmoil.
Harry gazed ahead of him, the blazing sunlight seeming to mock his dark mood. The warmth of the day belied the loneliness of the life that lay ahead of him. A life his heart wouldn’t be with entirely, for it still lay with the red haired girl he was leaving behind.
But I no longer hear the music, oh no, no, no, no, no. And I no longer hear the music