***
How often do we sit weeping -- you
and I -- over the life we lead!
My friends, if only you knew
The darkness of the days ahead!
-- Aleksandr Blok
Harry made his way past the unpacked boxes that created something of a maze in his new house and slowly started up the stairs. He paused in front of the hall window and looked out at the empty countryside. His only neighbors, two families that lived along the same road, were blocked from view by the trees that surrounded his property. It was this privacy that had motivated him to purchase the house; he needed to feel safe and secluded, and away from prying eyes. He moved away from the window and continued towards his room. Inside sat an open trunk; within sat a dozen books, a few handmade jumpers, a slender piece of wood that had been elegantly carved and polished until it shone, a quill and ink pot, a piece of folded fabric that shimmered in the sunlight, and an old piece of parchment that was stained and wrinkled with age. Next to the trunk was an old broom. Quite a few of its twigs were bent each way, and many more were missing. An empty birdcage sat on top of Harry’s bed, but there was no sign of a bird ever being in the house.
Harry rushed to the trunk and slammed it shut before he could second-guess his actions. He hoisted it up and carried it swiftly down to the bottom of the stairs. He made another trip, this time carrying the broomstick and birdcage, and set them down next to the trunk. Harry opened a small closet under the stairs and proceeded to put the trunk, broom, and birdcage inside. Finally he locked the door and slid the key underneath the doorframe, so he could never open it again.
It was never supposed to happen this way. Tears fell down his face, and Harry made no effort to stop them. There was no one watching, and no reason to hide. The Chosen One, he thought bitterly. The Boy Who Lived.
“I’m not the hero.” Harry leaned against the door and allowed himself to slide to the floor. “The real heroes were the ones who died fighting for what they believed in. The ones who died for me.”
Harry tried to remember the events of the last few months. He had a hazy recollection of the first few hints he had received regarding the Horcruxes. Vague puzzles at first, mysteriously worded, as if the author knew more than he was saying, and was laughing at him for his stupidity. Hermione had poured over these riddles daily, spending all her waking time trying to figure them out. It had drained her, but she kept going.
Harry and Ron had given up on them long ago, and instead resorted to random searches. They had started with Hogwarts, searching every room and corridor. It had been monotonous, repetitive work, forcing them to spend long hours prodding statues and bookshelves with their wands in the hopes of finding some sort of secret passage. They had suffered from lack of sleep, and Harry had been hit the worst, going days without spending more than a couple of hours in bed. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of revenge. It was not healthy, but no one thinks of their health in a time like that.
A few weeks into the search, Hermione had a breakthrough with the puzzle that led them to their first Horcrux and set them on the path towards the next one. And so it went, the mystery unraveling and Harry feeling a new sense of accomplishment. But Voldemort had gotten wind of Harry’s progress, and the final Horcrux was guarded by no fewer than four Death Eaters. Ron and Hermione led Fenrir and Rabastan in one direction, while Ginny and Harry went after Alecto and Bellatrix, who held the last of the Horcruxes, Ravenclaw’s tiara, in her hand.
“Accio!“ Harry shouted, but nothing happened. Bellatrix laughed, brandishing her own wand.
“Crucio!” Harry was on the ground, writhing on the floor. Ginny threw a disarming charm at Harry’s torturer, allowing him time to scramble to his feet. Harry quickly stunned Alecto before he could get out his own Unforgivables. Bellatrix turned to look at Harry, a sarcastic smirk playing at the corners of her lips. Harry began shooting spells at her. She blocked them skillfully.
In her zeal Bellatrix allowed the Horcrux to fall only a short distance from Ginny, who immediately started for it. Bellatrix continued to focus solely on Harry.“Avada--” Ginny changed course immediately and rushed for Harry. “--Kedavra.” Ginny died before she hit the ground.
Bellatrix let out a short laugh at the sight of her. Blind with rage, Harry rushed at her, completely forgetting about the Horcrux lying on the floor mere feet from him. “Crucio!” Bellatrix fell to the floor and Harry watched her, half vengeful and half appalled at himself. The curse stopped shortly after it started and he stared at her, vaguely wondering what he had just done. But he did not have long to wonder. Bellatrix scrambled to her feet, brandishing her wand once again.
“Stupefy!” Harry shouted, but Bellatrix easily deflected the spell.
“Diffindo!” Harry tried again, but once more Bellatrix deflected the spell. It flew above the last remaining Horcrux and crashed into the shelf behind it, shattering it into pieces and sending a torrent of acidic potions down onto the tiara. Bellatrix screamed, as if she were in pain, running towards the melting tiara on the floor. Harry grabbed Ginny’s body and made his escape, yelling for Ron and Hermione to Disapparate along with him.
Ginny’s death hit Harry hard, perhaps even harder than the Weasleys‘. He should not have allowed himself to give in to her so quickly. He should have stuck to his original decision and left her out of it. But she had argued all the way, wanting to serve a purpose for the Order. This was not the purpose Harry would have chosen for her. It was her sacrifice that allowed Harry to destroy the Horcrux. It was because of her that Harry survived at all. Does the end justify the means?
Ginny had a small funeral, only close friends and relatives. She was buried underneath an ash tree in a tiny cemetery just outside Ottery St. Catchpole. But no one present noticed the beauty of the deep red leaves, or the cold autumn air biting at their cheeks. Nor did they notice the deep reds and oranges painted on the sky over the setting sun. Their concentration was on Bill, who stood up and walked to a podium in front of the crowd.
“Some people are so afraid to die, that they forget to live,” Bill began, his quiet voice breaking into the stony silence. “But that was never a problem for Ginny. She always knew exactly what she wanted and had a plan to get there. This was a bit of a problem when her plans clashed with ours. In the end it became a contest of wills, seeing who could hold out the longest. Unfortunately, it was usually Ginny.” Bill laughed softly. “But despite her strong will and stubborn temper, she had a big heart, and was never afraid of sticking up for someone whom she felt was being oppressed. She never looked the other way if there was someone who needed her help.
“It is always heartbreaking to think of someone dying so young. But instead of thinking about the life she could have led, I ask you to remember the life she did lead.
“Ginny would not want us to spend our whole lives grieving when we still have a life to live. It is our responsibility, to all those who died in this war, to live our lives to their fullest so that we may make this world a better place for those who come after us.
“She died so that we may go out and create a better world than the one she left behind. Remember that she died fighting for what she believed in. I am proud to be her brother.”
Bill stepped down from the podium and walked into his mothers open arms.
“That was beautiful,” she whispered, small tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sure Ginny would have been proud.”
Arthur stood next to his son and smiled. “You did wonderfully.” The two of them walked past Ginny’s grave, pausing to pay their respects, and left the cemetery. Slowly the rest of the mourners began leaving, until only Harry was left.
He moved closer to Ginny’s grave and placed a small bouquet of flowers on top; amaryllis, hollyhock, and lilac. He took a step back and stood still, looking down at the fresh dirt.
Harry wanted to be sure he had enough time to say goodbye, and that he said it properly, as it was the last time he would be here. The magical world was no longer a home for him. The one place where he had ever felt as if he belonged, the one place where he had not been called a freak but rather heralded a hero, now became a tomb for him.
He felt the eyes on him, constantly staring, as if hoping he would pull some amazing feat and set things right for them again. He watched the mothers and fathers put up pictures of missing children with the hope that someone would recognize them and know of their fate. Harry heard people cry out in the night, reliving the terror that he had eradicated from the earth, but not from their minds. Never from their memories.
Death had left its mark on the world, and it was suffocating him. Everywhere he went, everything he saw reminded him of the horrors of war. He could not get the faces of the dead out of his mind. Their last cries echoed through his head, and he was helpless to save them.
Harry needed to escape from this world that was threatening to engulf him in its misery. He needed to step back and reevaluate his life. His future was as of yet undecided, but he could not sit back and allow himself to be pulled along with the rest of them. Those unhappy souls who were following no real direction, but rather living day to day, just trying to survive.
He needed more, he wanted to establish a real life for himself, one that did not involve reliving his worst memories day after day. And it was obvious to him that no such life was available here.
So he swore off magic, and left it all behind.
In Black and White by The_Mystic
Chapter Notes: I would like to thank my betas Grey_Lady and FenrirG for their initial support. And ThessalyRose, who stuck it out with me through all of my problems, no matter how mundane and stupid.