Forced to Love by Nephthys Moon

Chapter 4 - Memories and More

Ginny had arrived that night at Harry’s house in Godric’s Hollow in a wonderful mood. It had been a calm, clear evening, giving her no warning of the turmoil that she would soon meet. Standing at the door, she’d heard the sound of shattering glass and pulled her wand. Cautiously, she’d opened the door, calling Harry’s name.

The sitting room had been destroyed. The oak end tables had been overturned and the plush arm chairs they’d sat in companionably so many evenings before had been shredded. Broken glass had crunched under her feet. The room had smelled very strongly of liquor, and she’d noticed that the walls were soaked in the firewhiskey that once sat on the shelf above the table. Harry stood in a corner, firing spells at an invisible opponent. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent glitter and his usually calm face was pale, sweaty and hard. His scar burned harshly red in the whiteness.

He’d shot a Stunning Spell at her. Her head hit the edge of the doorframe and a black mantle covered her vision. The rest of the evening slipped in and out of the darkness. She’d come to briefly to see Harry at the foot a bed she was now tied to, naked and raging at Bellatrix while talking to her. It had taken a few minutes to realize he’d thought she was Bellatrix. When she’d tried to plead with him, make him hear realize that she wasn’t, he’d cast a Silencing Charm on her. She’d watched, mute, as he climbed on top of her and forced her. He’d muttered incoherent things about besmirching her pure-blood.

She’d blacked out again. When awoke the next time, he was dressed, staring at her with distaste in his eyes. Ginny had retreated into the inner recesses of her own mind. This person couldn’t be her beloved Harry. She knew that she’d wake up to find it a dream. Then, he’d smiled, an evil smile worthy of Voldemort himself. It was cold and lacked real humour.

“I’m going to kill you now, Bellatrix,” he’d said dispassionately. He may have been discussing the weather. “I’m going to kill you with my bare hands you murdering bitch and leave your body for your master to find.” He’d wrapped both hands around her neck while she lay there, limp with shock, torn robes bunched around her waist. When the blackness claimed her again, she’d welcomed it.

“When I woke up,” she told Ron, returning to the present, “Harry was crying. He begged me to help him, insisted that he hadn’t known it was me until his vision cleared of the red fog that had been covering it. I was free from the bonds and my robes had been pulled down. I ran down the stairs, out the door and Disapparated as quickly as I could. I came home, and I showered. I must have been in there for hours, just trying to wash the memories away. I left for Romania that night,” she finished dully. She was a veteran of the worst war – the war between men and madness. The damage couldn’t be seen on her body, but her heart and soul were scarred beyond repair.

Ron watched his baby sister in disbelief. Harry had done this? He’d known that Harry had tried to kill Ginny in one of his insane rages, thinking she was Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been dead for many years, but he hadn’t known the rest. Suddenly, realisation hit and he stood.

“Hermione’s with that madman now!” he roared, immediately Disapparating. Ginny followed, knowing he was headed to Godric’s Hollow to rescue Hermione from his former best friend.

***

Hermione knocked timidly on the weather-beaten wooden door of Harry’s house. When it opened, the first thing Hermione noticed was his wand pointed at her face.

“Oh, Hermione – it’s you,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes, you goose, it’s me,” she snapped. “Now put that wand away and tell me what you want!”

He lowered his wand and stood aside so she could enter. “Thank you for coming,” he muttered.

“Harry,” she said gently, “You look terrible.” He did, too. A growth of beard that must have been at least a month old covered his face, which was white as parchment and glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. His eyes were unfocused, wild even, and his typically messy hair was flat, greasy and lank.

“Nice to know that I look how I feel,” he chuckled. The sound was a little rusty, as though he hadn’t laughed for a long time. Refusing to meet her eyes, he said, “I’m sure, as it was splashed all over the Prophet, that you know what I did to Ginny.”

“I know what you did, though I’ve never been able to make sense of it. Why, Harry?”

“Hermione, I thought she was Bellatrix. I didn’t realise who it was until it was over. Charlie forced the story from her when she arrived in Romania and had me arrested. The Ministry tried to keep it quiet, but Rita Skeeter got a hold of the story. You know the rest.”

“Have you stopped drinking?” Hermione had never been one to sidestep sensitive issues.

“Just this morning. After I wrote you, I threw my entire stock in the fire – almost burned down the house, actually.” He gave a wry laugh.

“You know, Harry, you still haven’t told me why you asked me to come over,” she reminded him.

“I need her. I knew where she was hiding, but I couldn’t bring myself to have her run out on me again. It was easier to hide in front of my fire and drink the memories away. But she haunts my dreams, Hermione. You’re her best friend. Surely you can talk to her, see what she thinks about me?” he made the last a question.

“I really think this is something you should approach her about yourself,” she told him.

“I don’t know how!” he shouted, suddenly angry. Fear flooded Hermione’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Harry, I don’t know if I can help you. Ginny is happy – or she was, until Smith Contracted her. Romania is where she belongs now. You’ve got to let her go,” she finished. Before Harry could utter the angry retort clearly on his tongue, the door burst open and Ron flew into the room, Ginny on his heels.

Bypassing Ron entirely, Harry whispered, “Ginny?” Her curt reply stopped him midway through standing.

“Hermione, we’re leaving now,” Ron ordered.

“No, Ronald, we aren’t. You are.” Interrupting Ron, who opened his mouth to protest, she continued. “Neither of you were invited. You had no business coming here tonight.”

“Do you know what he did to my sister?” Ron demanded.

“Yes, I do. But he wasn’t in his right mind when it happened –“

“And he would appreciate it if you would stop talking about him as if he isn’t in the room,” Harry inserted good-naturedly.

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, grinning in the old way. “Ron, as I was saying, Ginny has forgiven him, and I think that you should as well.”

“You have?” Harry asked, turning to the young woman still standing in the open doorway.

“I have, Harry, but I will never forget it, nor can I move past it. Please, don’t ask me to come back,” she finished at a whisper.

“Of course not,” Harry lied.

“Am I still in the room?” Ron bellowed, looking between Harry and Ginny.

“Perhaps we should leave, Ron,” Hermione suggested.

“Great idea. Come on, Ginny, we’re leaving,” he said.

“I’m not leaving yet,” she responded haughtily.

“I’m not leaving you alone with that prat!” He had begun to shout again.

“You do realise, brother dear, that Harry was your best friend for more than 10 years, don’t you?”

“I don’t care! He almost killed you! How can you defend him?” Ron demanded.

“I’m not defending what he did, Ron. I’m just trying to make you see that it was a long time ago and you’re overreacting.”

“Ron, we’re leaving,” Hermione insisted. “Now, Ron!” she added when he didn’t move.

“Fine. She can stay here. Maybe he’ll actually kill her this time!” With that, he grabbed Hermione by the arm and stormed out the door. Hermoine looked back desperately before her face disappeared.

Before Harry could speak, she began, “I wanted to stay for a moment, because I wanted to speak to you without Ron interrupting. I have forgiven you, Harry, I really have. I know that you were confused. But I am never coming back. You frighten me. I love you dearly, but I can’t live in fear for the rest of my life, constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure you aren’t there with your wand drawn. Good-bye, Harry,” she whispered.

“Ginny, please,” he begged. “I need you. Please don’t go. I’ve stopped drinking, I’ll do anything you want, just stay.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t,” she murmured. She walked across the floor to where he stood, hands limply at his sides. She placed a soft kiss on his lips and walked out the door. She Apparated to Hermione’s house immediately.

“Ginny,” Harry sighed. He turned and climbed the stairs to his long-disused bedroom. As he settled, fully dressed, under the mouldy covers of the bed , he planned his next moves.

***

Ginny Apparated to the bedroom she always used to avoid Ron and Hermoine. She could hear Ron’s voice, raised in anger, and Hermione’s soothing murmur. “Harry,” she sighed. How could she still love him after all of these years of running from him in terror? How could she still dream of a happily-ever-after with him after the things he’d done? She collapsed on her bed, overcome by silent, racking sobs.

***

“Ron, Harry was your best friend for years. How can you desert him now, when he’s finally reaching out for help?” Hermione asked.

“What about Ginny? Huh? What about the things he did to her? For heaven’s sake, Hermione, he raped her and then nearly killed her!” he bellowed.

“He’s disturbed. He needs our help. We can’t just abandon him!” she insisted.

Ron let out a sigh. “He just isn’t Harry anymore. He’s turned into one of those monsters he worked so hard to destroy.”

“I think you should take a long, hard look in the mirror. Ronald Weasley would never desert a friend. Do you even know yourself?”

“He deserted me!” Ron shouted.

“You’ve always been this way – selfish. It’s always been about what’s been done to you! Well, what about you. You’ve never once asked me to marry you, though we’ve been dating for nearly seven years. You still go out nearly every night, drinking with friends and staying out until all hours. You still haven’t applied for Auror training, though you made the required grades and have the required gender!”

“He thought she was Bellatrix Lestrange,” Ron said, ignoring her list. “Hermione, he thought she was a woman you killed years ago. He’s mental.”

Clarity hit Hermione suddenly. Ron would never mature; he would never grow up. For all her years, if she married him, she would have to deal with his stubborn, childish selfishness. Mustering all of her considerable courage, she made a decision.

“Ron, I think you should leave. I’m helping him. He was my best friend, too. He abandoned me, too. If you can’t see that, then this is the end.”

“Fine!” Ron stomped out of the house, slamming the door as he left. Hermione sat in the seat he’d vacated and sobbed. Had she really just broken up with Ron over Harry? She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.

“I heard,” came Ginny’s voice. Hermione thought it sounded a bit teary. The younger girl wrapped her arms about her friend as they wept together.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Hermione said, regaining her composure.

“I couldn’t bear Mum’s inevitable questions. Ron will come around, Hermione. I know he will,” she reassured.

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. She didn’t believe her, but accepting it seemed to be the quickest way to be alone. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I’m going to bed.”

“Sure, get some rest,” Ginny said. Hermione stood and left the room. She managed to reach the confines of her bedroom before the tears fell again. Fear overwhelmed her. If Ron withdrew his claim, she would be forced to marry Percy or Viktor. While she was fond of them both, neither of them were exactly her dream husband. Silently weeping, she changed into a nightgown and climbed between her sheets. It was many hours before she finally fell into an exhausted sleep

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