Disclaimer: This all belongs to J.K. and Warner Bros. I am but a humble fan.
Ok guys I'm going to try and do something that I have yet to see done successfully with this fanfic and in doing so open a gate for new fanfics to fall in this category but for this to work I need your help. This first piece, the prologue, is rather short but I promise further chapters won't be. Now, I know people always tell you they need you to review but when I say I need you to I mean it. So first off I need you guys to review on the style of this prologue and let me know if you were able to understand it. Obviously I understand that you won't get everything because I haven't given you everything (that comes in the story) but I need to know if you can follow this prologue before I move on because if you don't get this I'll need to rewrite it. Oh, don't expect to pick up on what my new thing is yet. I'll let you know soon enough but if I were to tell you now I'd spoil everything.
Much love and happy reading,
Ginevra Weasley swatted at the tears that threatened to spill for the seventh day this week. The Great Wizarding War had been over for two months now and Wizards, Witches, and Muggle folk alike were just now burying the dead. Ginny choked back a sob as Bill's coffin was lowered into the ground and dirt was tossed over the simple mahogany casket. His skeleton would remain encased in it for the next few hours at best, just as long as her transfiguration spell could hold his wedding ring in shape. Ginny grimaced and pushed an unruly tendril of red hair out of her dirty face. It had been like that for everyone after the war, so many coffins were used during the war that when it came to a close there weren't enough of the wooden boxes to house the corpses of the thousands left dead by the final days of war. Wizarding families had taken to transfiguring any object they could lay their hands on into coffins. She had, on more than one occasion, witnessed a child sweating over a shallow grave with a toothbrush and a corpse being the only other witnesses of their labors. With all the looting that had occurred in the chaos following the Final Stand it was hard for any family to find a body, a coffin, or something of value to bury the dead in. She had been "lucky". Bill's corpse had been covered with such a high mound of Death Eaters from his last personal stand that his belongings had been left relatively untouched.
Ginny shuddered remembering her own personal stands. The Dozen Days of Death as the last days were called had cost triple the lives of the rest of the war. Voldemort had released a plague into the air of London two nights before the final stand, a horrible plague that burned the lungs, spilled scarlet life, and left women, children, warriors, and civilians alike dead within twenty four hours. It was created for two purposes: to create pain and to kill; both of which it did with a terrifying efficiency. There had been an Order Meeting that night. One Ginny was supposed to attend and probably would have if it weren't for the urgent letter from Luna Lovegood who had been living in Whales since graduation.
Luna Lovegood went into labor that night and would have experienced the painful ordeal alone if not for Ginny's outstanding morals. She couldn't just leave a fresh widow to give birth alone. Luna's husband Phil Turnston, a writer for her father's magazine had been killed three days earlier in a Muggle London attack in which Voldemort and his followers apparated into the heart of London's tube system and began imploding bodies at random. The Ministry was so scattered that they sent in the only investigative squad they could muster, a band of hooligan first timers who upon reaching the scene had felt it better to get things cleaned up quickly rather than correctly, identifying all the bits would be far too difficult and cost too much time and money both of which the Ministry of Magic no longer had.. Three tall mounds spread acrid air through the tunnels of the underground that night.
A chill crept up Ginny's spine. Immediately upon receiving Luna's letter she had sent an owl to her father informing him of the news and what she thought would be her late arrival to an Order meeting. She then dressed and removed her childhood rag doll, Annzie, from it's shoebox under her bed. She had meant it to be a gift for her daughter after the war but Camille had been born still. Ginny had been devastated. She hadn't expected to feel such attachment to her rape baby but eight and a half months of carrying the innocent life had left her hopelessly in love. She had gotten a job sewing clothes in the small town of Woodstock, just outside of Oxford, and moved into a small two room cottage which Harry provided wards for. Ginny had turned one room into a kitchen/dining/living room and the other into a small bedroom/bathroom for her and her daughter to be. It was a slow process with only a few Knuts available here and there but by the seventh month Ginny had purchased a small crib and several baby toys and she had also sewn clothes and blankets for Camille from scraps left over from work. It was a poor but shabby life centered on ensuring Camille would be happy. She may not have been conceived in love but she certainly would be born into it. Now Ginny just hoped she could make another child happy.
With Annzie in hand Ginny had apparated to Luna's small apartment in Whales to the site of Luna contracting in the bed and a nurse, clearly new to childbirth, guiding her. Luna was absolutely frantic, a site that would've been considered rare in her Hogwarts years but with the war Luna's glossy eyes and quirky personality began to fade only coming to light in the rare "happy" occasion. Ginny hated war; it changed people including her. Prior to the war Ginny would have been innocent and confused at the scene of Luna's labor but a failed birth of her own had provided her with the necessary knowledge to guide Luna through the birth of Belle Remembrance Lovegood Turnston.
Ginny hugged herself as she allowed the charmed shovel to stop its movements and cast a glance at the fresh grave mound. She allowed her gaze to wander from the freshly tilled earth across the seven headstones that lined the plot: Bill, killed in the final battle by a curse which turned his blood to silver; Charlie, his body had been sent in pieces to the Burrow thirty-three days after he'd been sent to Romania on a spy mission; Fred and George, captured in their shop and tortured only to be rescued in a cationic state which they never awoke from; her mother and father, poisoned by Voldemort's plague; and Hermione, kidnapped and raped. She had been rescued but never got over the disgust and guilt she felt. Ron had taken care of her until the Order had called on him to complete a six month mission. During his absence Hermione realized she was pregnant and thinking the child to be her rapists' she had starved herself to death unable to face Ron. Ginny had been terrified by the corpse of her once vivacious friend; it was so emaciated it was hard to recognize it and the small stomach had been lined with deep scratches from Hermione's own nails. She was only 19. Ron was disappointed with his failure as a husband when Hermione was recovered having been raped, devastated when she committed suicide, and utterly defeated when a test revealed the baby to be his. There was nothing more for which he could hope; nothing could ever be happy.
A chilled breeze weaved its way through barren trees and Ginny tightened her cloak feeling lonely in the empty graveyard. Ginny shifted her eyes to the only headstone in the makeshift cemetery. It was a tall structure composed of pure white marble and as she crossed the grassy hill she could make out the words marring the stone: Harry James Potter. He had died of magical drainage. All his power had been expelled from his body with his defeat of Voldemort and like Dumbledore before him he had received a huge funeral. Wizards and witches from across the globe had been drawn to the funeral of their savior. Words were said by many, but not by a single person close to him. Ginny had been asked; being that she had been his girlfriend and his best friend's sister but she had to decline. There was no way with all the tragedy that had befallen her that she could form a coherent sentence about Harry more or less a speech. After the last stranger sat having babbled on about how great the boy-who-lived was a song had filled the air and for a moment Ginny felt at peace. Fawkes had swooped down upon Harry's body which lay in rest and with a deep trill of his song Harry's body was replaced by a tall white headstone, a simple representative for a simple man.
Ginny ran her fingers across the words etched into the stone and sighed. She and Harry had never gotten back together after his sixth year. He, Ron, and Hermione had spent a large part of the war devoting their time to finding the horcruxes and destroying them and even after they were destroyed Harry had other things to focus on. He had become obsessed with destroying Voldemort. Ginny could remember nights when he didn't sleep and days he didn't talk and nights he slept and days he talked; neither combination was pleasant. The deaths of so many of his friends and her rape had ripped what little innocence he still possessed out of his being. He was the Wizarding World's Savior and he was a child and he was a virgin.
Ginny closed her eyes at the last part. No one should die without first feeling love, not familial love but romantic love; she was a firm believer in that. Harry had never had the chance to experience love on that level and she blamed herself for that. She should have spent more time with Harry bestowing upon him tender touches, stolen kisses, and love. She should have forced him to remain a human and feed his need for human connection. She should have loved him instead of…
Hot tears flooded her eyes and Ginny felt her throat clench. She lifted one hand to her head while using the other to caress her rounded belly. The baby kicked inside and she could have sworn it was playing Quidditch, just like its father. She shouldn't have trusted him, she shouldn't have let him live, and she most certainly shouldn't have fallen in love with him; every last inch of his body and soul, now and forever.