Title: Live
Characters/Pairings: Oliver/Katie, Ginny/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Warnings (if any): Character Death
The girl sat next to her mother, her head resting on the shoulder of the woman who’d given her life and who’d saved that life not an hour before. From her vantage point, her brown eyes were easily able to lock onto the platform where the fallen lay, most looking as though they were merely sleeping. She turned away, watching the brilliant light of the newly-risen sun flow through the broken panes of the windows across the Great Hall. Her mother was talking animatedly to the person on her left, her tone one of great pride as she spoke of Harry, though her hands were fisted on the table and her knuckles white.
“…almost a son to me himself, you know. He and my youngest son have been thick as thieves since their first day at Hogwarts, and he’s dating my daughter,” she was saying, but the cheer in her voice struck a false note on her daughter’s ear and caught her attention.
“Used to date, Mum,” the girl whispered. “He used to date me.” Whether her mother heard her or not, she continued her chatter, and the girl looked away, her eyes unerringly finding her brother’s body in the long row lining the platform. It seemed so silly now to think that the boy with whom she’d shared an incredibly passionate kiss last summer was the same man who’d defeated Voldemort. He seemed so horribly grown-up, so much older than he had the last time she’d seen him – had it only been the night before?
Movement on the platform caught her eye, and she drew her thoughts back into herself. There would be plenty of time later to mourn the death of the boy she’d loved, and perhaps to grow to love the man he’d become overnight. Worrying about her love life seemed trite as she looked at her brother’s still face. Another flash of motion, and she turned her eyes towards the source.
There was a boy – no, a young man, perhaps twenty-five, perhaps younger – leaning over the body next to Fred. His hands were stroking the girl’s face. He had his back to her, and she felt as if she were intruding on a personal scene, but she was unable to look away. The movement of his fingers across the closed eyelids, the shaking of his shoulders as he sobbed, his very demeanour spoke eloquently of grief – a deep, soul-wrenching grief that kept him from taking any notice of the world around him. It was as though the girl in his arms had been his world, she thought, her throat tightening.
Her mother turned and saw the direction of her gaze and stopped mid-sentence. She patted her daughter’s shoulder comfortingly and turned away from the platform as though unable to bear the sight of her son lying so still. Her conversation continued to flow around the girl, but she was deaf to it. All of her senses were attuned to the tableau before her. As she watched, he took the girl into his arms and rocked slightly; she could swear she heard him singing, though the words weren’t clear.
Tears flowed freely down her face as his song ended and he lay her back down, brushing his tears and her hair out of her face. He bent, once more, to lay a gentle kiss on her cheek, and the girl caught his profile as his tears glistened in the light of the sun. As he pulled away, he whispered, and she watched as his lips formed the words she knew he would say: I love you.
Then he stood and gave one last lingering look at the fallen girl before turning and walking away. As he faced her full-on, Ginny suddenly recognized him. She stood, brushing her mother off and walking to meet him.
“Oliver,” she said softly, catching his attention. He looked up and gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry for you, too,” he answered. “I saw Fred; he was a good man, Ginny.”
“Yes, he was.” She was aghast to hear her voice crack as she forced herself to acknowledge her brother in the past-tense. She fought the urge to look at the platform to try to identify the girl. She realized suddenly that other than an almost-maniacal love of Quidditch, she knew very little about Oliver Wood. Her curiosity must have been evident on her face, for his next words answered her question.
“Katie Bell,” he whispered. She stifled a gasp. She’d known Katie, had even played Quidditch with her, but she hadn’t known that Katie had been here. “We got engaged two weeks ago.”
“Oh, Oliver, I’m so sorry.” She felt fresh tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Don’t be,” he interrupted. “Katie had a way of expressing things, and one of the things she said stuck with me. She said it was a famous quote from a Muggle film actor – she was Muggleborn…it was part of the reason she wanted to fight so badly.” He paused for a moment, his face scrunching up in a gesture of extreme pain. “Anyway…she said ‘Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today.’ She felt it was the best way to live, and she would have been proud of what she did here this morning.”
“Fred – they said he was laughing at a joke Percy made when he got hit. I think that is how he would have liked to go,” she murmured, looking down.
“Percy made a joke?” Oliver asked incredulously. He looked aghast at his insensitivity for a moment, but relief washed over his face when she laughed.
“Actually, that was my first reaction, too,” she answered. “And – I think that would be Fred’s reaction, as well.”
“You’re probably right,” he laughed. They smiled at one another for a moment before he spoke again. “I guess I should let you get back; Potter’s probably looking for you.”
“I haven’t seen him in a while, actually,” she said, ashamed of the tears that pricked her eyes. “He seems so much older now. I’m sure he’ll want someone a little more grown up.” Her eyes widened as she realized she’d just confessed her secret fear to a relative stranger. Yes, she knew Oliver, but certainly not well enough for this!
“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Oliver assured her comfortingly. “He’s had a hard time of it, from what I hear. All he needs is a good rest and a few kisses to get back to himself.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she muttered, unfairly annoyed that he would just brush aside her confidences so callously.
“I’m not just paying you lip service, Ginny-girl,” he said, tucking a finger under her chin and forcing her face up. His eyes were warm and kind and she felt herself smiling in response to his grin. “Potter’s lot hasn’t been easy, but if I were a betting man, I’d lay ten Galleons on him coming back to get you.”
“You mean that, don’t you?”
“That I do.” He nodded. He let loose an ‘oof’ as she rushed him, wrapping her arms around him tightly in an affectionate hug. He loosely held her and patted her hair until she pulled away, embarrassed.
“Don’t apologize,” he said, laughing at the look on her face. “Oh, you’ve a very expressive face – it’s all there in your eyes. I probably needed that as much as you did, so there’s no need for apologies. You want to ‘make it up to me’, I’ll tell you what to do. You dream as if you would live forever, and you live as if you’d die today.” His voice broke on the last word, and he patted her on the shoulder and mumbled a good-bye as he brushed past her.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the empty space in front of her, not bothering to brush the tears from her cheeks. Her mother came up to her then and wrapped an arm about her shoulders tightly, silent for once, just offering her comfort and motherly love. Ginny Weasley, even with all the grief in her heart, had never felt lighter.
