Atqui

She sits back on her heels and wipes filthy hands on equally grimy robes. She surveys her work with indifference, except for the very ghost of a smile. A gleaming hardwood floor twinkles up at her, a testament to perseverance. Her scrub bucket is full of the grime of centuries, and her hands are red and soggy in a way that only gripping a wet sponge for hours can make them, but she has succeeded. The house-elves at Grimmaud place haven't really been very thorough for the last few decades, something that even Hermione would admit.

Still, someone has to do the cleaning, and it might as well be her. With a house as full as number 12, floors (and everything else) get very dirty very fast. Even with the enlarging charms that Bill has preformed on the place, there is no denying that the house is full to the brim, not only with witches and wizards, but also with the much more destructive and ever-present fog of fear. A year. To the day. Since it began.

The killings are worse. She doesn’t need to read the newspapers flashing death tolls that her tired father brings home every night. She doesn't need the ever-present glow of green that seems to surround London to remind her how many more are dying every minute. She doesn't need to hear the desperate whispers of the Order. The lines on her mother's face, the waver in Charlie's voice, the grey of Tonks' hair, the tangible blanket of suffocating ill-ease that hovers over them all tell her enough. Her parents try to protect her from the worst, yet still, they cannot shelter her from the reports. They cannot blind her so that she cannot see the bodies that still lay in the streets. No one can wipe her memory blank, no matter how strong a charm they would use: she knows that what she has seen is beyond the help of magic.

And she thought she had seen the worst at Hogwarts. The rape, the murder, the blood on the snow.... Neville, Luna's eyes as he fell, Katie against the wall, Hannah, Ernie, Dean and Seamus, back to back, surrounded... She was wrong, however. She sees much worse every day and every time she turns off the light at night; the faces of the dead and dying, burned forever behind her eyes: the Creeveys, the Patils, Percy, the Edgecombs, the Diggories, the Jordans, the Grangers - she still didn't know if Hermione knows about her parents - the McMillans, the Spinnets, Mrs. Figg...

She has screamed and cursed whatever force brought her into this world and put her through this. She has tried to cry and found that she cannot. She has torn at her own flesh and she has fallen asleep with blood on her sheets, only to wake up the next day wishing that she could just end it all. She has learned the Unforgivables, learned them from bitter experience. She is confident that if she spoke the words, the welcome darkness would come and claim her... and yet she cannot. She cannot because of him. Him, and his damned eyes that can see through her and absorb her all at once. Him and his hair, and his glasses that always seen to slide to the end of his nose. He is her lifeline, her own door at the end of a corridor... and he is still alive. She knows that, should she decide one day to pass through that veil, he would be unable to follow her. Of course, he is, at the moment, as unreachable as if he has passed out of her realm, but she can still feel his consciousness out there, in the wide, cold place that is their world, can tell that he is still alive. Sometimes she curses him for tying her down, for stopping her from escaping the vice-like grip of life. What is life, anyhow, but a chance to break the heart? To bruise the soul? To shatter hope and replace it with despair? Does it really matter?

Ginny stands and smoothes her rumpled ropes. She picks up her bucket and sponge and walks slowly downstairs to the great kitchen, which is currently empty. It is nearly two in the morning, so this doesn't much surprise her. She pours out the scrub bucket and tucks the sponge neatly away into its corner of the cupboard. Brushing her hair out of her weary eyes, she heads to the front door to lock up. As she taps the many bolts with her wand to lock them (Ministry age restrictions be damned) something catches her eye out of the small window by the door. At first she winces, thinking from the sparks that are rising in the sky that another Mark has ended yet another person's life, but then she does a double take. The sparks are red.

Suddenly, her heart is beating five times faster than normal. Breathlessly, she peers out the window, through the heavy sheets of rain that are falling, straining her eyes to see more...

Those are defiantly fireworks. A cloud of purple sparks erupt into the sky over the red. What on earth is going on? What could people possibly celebrating--

Leaving her rational mind deep in thought, Ginny quickly unlocks the door and cracks it open. The smell of ozone washes over her, and the pitter-patter of raindrops fill her ears. She know this is a dangerous thing to do, but the Fidelus Charm will still work until the third step, so she should be okay. Now that the door is open, she can hear noises... the pounding and drizzling rain foremost, the crackling of magical fireworks... but there are other noises; people screaming and yelling and... cheering...?

She steps down the first step and stares into the night. Those are yells and screams, yes, but they are not those of pai--

She turns on her heel and runs into the house, not bothering to shut the door behind her. She takes the stairs three at a time and runs onto the first landing.

"EVERYBODY WAKE UP! SOMETHING'S HAPPENED!"

She raps on the nearest door for good measure and then bounds up the next landing and yells again before continuing further up the floors. She can hear the voices of the people she'd just woken up behind her, some sounding grumpy, some exited, all confused.

She dashes back downstairs after doing the sixth floor and runs headlong into Tonks on the first floor landing, her hair mussed and her expression groggy.

"What the hell is going on? Ginny, why--"

"Quick, Tonks, is everyone up? Good, come here it's, oh my god, I'm not sure, but there were fireworks, red and purple, and I think--"

She is babbling, she knows, but at the moment Ginny doesn't care. She has reached the door and dragged Tonks outside.

The rain is coming down in buckets, but that doesn't stop the enchanted fireworks that are erupting everywhere. Green, yellow, blue, violet, orange, scarlet....

Tonks has a completely stunned expression on her sopping face. Moments later, her face completely cracks into the widest smile Ginny has ever seen. She gazes up at the sky and then punches the air and bellows:

"WE WON! OH MY GOD, PEOPLE, GET OUT HERE!!!"

People are spilling out of the houses all around them wizard and muggle alike, all trying to figure out what was going on. At Tonks' words, the murmurs that have filled the night stop and everyone is still, hoping, waiting...

And then a bright fuchsia sparkler erupts into the night, high above the roofs of London, resolutely spelling out the words IT'S OVER!!!

It's as if the sound has been turned on. A great cheer goes up from the whole city. Windows are thrown open, people are jumping up and down in the pouring rain in their night things, yelling and hollering. More enchanted fireworks join the first ones, filling the entire dome of the sky with dancing, sparkling, colored light. People spill out of their houses, filling the streets. The Order is still standing stock-still, crammed into the doorway of their invisible house. Suddenly, Tonks lets out a whoop and runs into the street. A split-second later there is a proper stampede of yelling witches and wizards and Ginny is propelled forward into the screaming crowd. She hardly notices. She is still in shock. Over? At last? He's dead? Harry killed-

Then it hits her.

Harry!

She springs to life and pushes off through the crowd frantically gazing around at the street. Most people are either screaming their heads off, or standing by the curb in shock. She knows that the Obliviators are going to have a tough job in the morning, due to the number of muggles that are staring at the blatantly obvious displays of magic taking place all around them, but at the moment Ginny couldn't care less. She threads her way through the crowd, through the pouring rain, wondering what exactly happened. Sure, it's over, but does that mean the Tom is dead? Or does I mean (her stomach twists painfully at the thought) that Harry--

No, she tells herself firmly, I won't even go there.

The impact of the end of the war, the end of her nightmare is having little effect upon her. She will scream and yell and cheer when Harry is safe. She needs to find him. Is he in the city? Is he lying dead in a ditch somewhere?

Suddenly, a hand grippes her shoulder. She spins around, a million thoughts rushing through her head. A Death Eater, a muggle please-man, Dumbledore for all she kno--

"Ginny."

And there he is. Gazing at her, his voice rough as sandpaper. She gasps. He's covered in blood, the excess mixing with the rain and dripping down his form. There's a cut above his right eye and one on his left shoulder. His robes are filthy, coated in blood and grime and soaked to boot. In fact, he looks much like he did when she gained consciousness in a certain stone chamber four years ago. There is, however, one astounding difference. His forehead is unmarked. Bloody yes, but scarless. It takes her a minute to compute this and she looks in confusion to his eyes, and sees it immediately: he is older. So much older. His eyes are still a brilliant green, but they seem weary. Like hers, they have seen too much. And they gaze at her with such love that something within her snaps. An invisible barrier falls away, and suddenly she is crying. Crying for the first time in over a year, her tears mixing with the rain hitting her face. She cries for him, and for her, and all that has been taken from them. She cries for the dead and for the living and for those who have lost so much that they are a combination of the two. She cries for Percy, for Dumbledore, for Sirius, for the Grangers, for Neville, for Hogwarts and for the numbness that she has lost. And then his arms are around her, and his breath is in her ear and his tears, tears that she thought he had forgotten how to cry, are in her hair. And for a minute, time hangs suspended. For one, glittering, shining, wretched, breathless moment amid the rain and the cheers of a hundred thousand voices, there is no time, there is no space, and they are together.