Solitary Worlds
II.
Four Days
Ron hugged her tightly. He had detached himself from a sobbing Hermione to see her. “Are you okay?”
She gave him a smile-that-was-not and just shrugged. How was she supposed to be okay? The love of her life was not even cold in the ground. She felt nothing but despair and the certain knowledge that she would never be happy again. She couldn’t even take a measure of joy from her surroundings; it was a blistering cold day with ice and frost all over the ground.
It was as though the world had died with him.
“I’m fine.”
Ron’s eyes were red, too, the faintest shimmer of moisture in them. “Listen, Ginny, I know that—I know that you two were—“ his voice cracked. “Soulmates.” A single tear slid down. “And if I lost Hermione, I don’t know how I’d go on. If you—“ he paused a moment, “if you ever need anything from either of us. If you want photos, or to talk about him or – or whatever. He was our best friend. To lose him is like being stabbed a thousand times...I can only imagine what it would be like for you.” He looked back at Hermione, then at the casket. “I’m so sorry, Ginny.” The tears stated rolling down his face. He hugged her once more, then returned to his wife.
She stared down at the grave, a mahogany coffin pushed down deep, sleet already beginning to cover it. Soon they would bury the last traces of her life. In a year, as is correct, they would place a tombstone above him, to mark his existence.
He was, quite rightly, next to his parents. When she died, she would be next to him. They’d be together forever.
As they should have been.
Her black clothes had been worn many times in recent years. But always, always, he had been there with her, wrapping her up in his arms and promising that it’d be okay, that they’d be fine, that she’d heal and learn to smile again. His embrace was strong and safe, and she’d always known that he was right.
This time, she was alone. He wasn’t here to comfort her, he was down there, and she knew she’d never be safe again.
Her best friend, her lover, her soulmate was dead and buried. She had a family of six brothers, two parents, countless nieces and nephews – and she was alone in the world.
She didn’t think she’d ever be happy again.
Her dad came up to her, touched her arm. “Ginny, honey, its time to go.” She couldn’t move. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the coffin, ever increasingly covered by snow. Her dad turned her, so she was on an angle; so he could see her face. “Ginny, honey, we need to leave.”
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t leave, yet. I can’t leave him. He’d never leave without me.” The tears started. She hadn’t been able to stop crying for three days.
“He already has, sweetie.” Arthur turned her to him and wrapped her up in his arms. His hands stroked over her hair, soft and rhythmical as she sobbed.
“Why did he leave me, Daddy?” Her voice was that of a bewildered and hurt child searching for a meaning in death. “He promised me he’d take care of me. He promised he’d keep me safe and love me forever. How can he do that when he—“ she broke off. “When he’s dead?”
Arthur hugged her tighter. “He will, darling. He will love you forever. He died loving you; that will last longer that anything you’ve ever known.”
She couldn’t believe him, not now, not when she felt so alone. What she needed was Harry, alive and well, with his silly sense of humour and his intense gaze. With him there she could have faced anything and everything; death, torture, loss, pain, happiness, joy, laughter, love, passion – anything. Now she didn’t think she could even wake up in the mornings.
Her life felt desolate. All the colour had been bleached from it. She wanted to die, right now. She didn’t know how to keep on living, how to pretend anything would ever be okay again.
He was gone. Harry, who had been a constant in her life. Harry, who had been her hero since first year.
Harry, the boy who lived...hadn’t.
And she didn’t know how to deal with that.
She’d never be okay again.
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