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Until You Can Fly Again
Harry Potter was having a miserable time staring into the bowl that looked forlornly empty as it sat in front of him. Across from him sat Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley whose faces plainly stated that they were worried about him. This irked him to no end. He was not some incapable child that had to be looked after, to be coddled, to be followed wherever he went. He was just fine on his own. He had seen more, done more, understood more, had felt more than either one of . . .
"Good morning!" said Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, swinging herself easily into the seat next to him. Hermione returned her greeting with a small wave. "Do you mind if I sit here?" Harry felt her hand rest lightly on his shoulder, glanced up at her and grunted incomprehensibly. Trying to ignore her cheery brightness, and the sunlight glinting off the long, shiny scarlet hair tied up with a blue ribbon, Harry busied himself by determinedly plunking his finger repeatedly in the bowl of his golden spoon. The handle of the spoon bounced up and down, rapping loudly on the wood of the table. Plink . . . plink . . . plink!
"So . . . how is everyone doing?" Ginny asked, pulling a dish of scrambled eggs toward her, and shoving a healthy pile onto her own plate with her fork. "Sleep well?" Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. Harry pretended not to notice them shoot skeptical looks at him and continued playing with the spoon. Plink . . . plink . . . plink!
"Pretty good," Ron said, resting his elbows on the table as he gulped down the rest of his pumpkin juice. "I wouldn't have said no to a few more hours, but Hermione's holding her notes hostage. Apparently, I'm not to go flying until that essay for Snape is finished. And on the weekend too!" He directed a very nasty glare at Hermione who determinedly took no notice.
"I never said you had to listen to me," said Hermione primly. "You're doing that all on your own."
"Well, I wouldn't have to if you weren't so stingy," Ron retorted. "We can't all have brains . . . haven't you heard of sharing with the less fortunate?" Ginny sucked in an amused breath and shook her head. As expected, Hermione let out an outraged squeak.
"Stingy? How dare you! Who's been doing your homework for the past five years? Who's taken notes for every single class? Who's wasted half her nights helping you out because you procrastinated?" Harry rolled his eyes at Ginny who smirked and let out a little snort of laughter. Feeling annoyed at himself for breaking his vow of grumpy silence, he immediately frowned and ducked his head, clacking his spoon again with renewed vigor.
"Well, maybe you should procrastinate a little more often, huh? Maybe you've wasted half your nights doing worthless garbage. Ever thought of that? Maybe it's okay once in a while not to excel at everything? Maybe I honestly don't care sometimes!"
Suddenly, Harry's spoon was snatched out of his hand by Ginny who had a very unconcerned look on her face as she dipped his spoon into her bowl of porridge and ate. Harry glared at her with shock. She looked up finally and smiled.
"Sorry," she apologized. "There weren't any other spoonsand you were driving me mad with all that banging." She bent her head again over her meal.
"Hmph," said Harry. The nerve of her.
"Oh shut up, Ron," said Hermione exasperatedly, tugging at Ron's arm until he stood up, looking pleadingly at Harry and Ginny to save him. Ginny raised an eyebrow at her brother as though saying, It's all your fault, you prat, so don't look at me for help. "Harry, we're just going to the library if you need to find us, all right?"
"Fine, fine," Harry said grumpily. "Do what you want." What did he care if they went to library? He had better things to think about than where the two of them went. He certainly didn't need their help, so he certainly would not need to find them. Trying very hard not to feel guilty at the dejected looks on his friends' faces as they left the Great Hall, he turned back to the table where he started stirring the marmalade with the knife that had been left in the jar. Noticing that the person sitting next to him was uncharacteristically quiet, he glanced sideways at her.
Ginny was sitting with her chin on her hand, staring at him in a manner that reminded him slightly of Luna Lovegood: vaguely interested. But she also looked a little thoughtful and a little annoyed. Harry was in no mood to be scrutinized. Why didn't she just go away and leave him alone? Scrambled eggs and porridge did not take that much time to eat.
"What?" he snapped at her, throwing down his knife. "Have I got something on my face?" Too late, he realized that this was not the person he wanted to infuriate. Fred and George did not exaggerate when it came to the temper of their only sister. Harry winced inwardly and waited for the blow.
"No," said Ginny pensively, showing no sign of anger at his rudeness. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. "I was thinking, rather, that you remind me of a goose." This was so unexpected that Harry's mouth dropped open and he gaped at her.
"Excuse me?" he asked, flabbergasted.
"A goose, Harry, a goose," she answered, tilting her head slightly at him, as though the different angle might show him differently. She reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice and filled the goblet in front of her. Then she leaned over and poured juice into his goblet. "Drink Potter. You haven't eaten anything since I got here."
"Why would you think I'm a goose?" Harry asked, not knowing whether to feel insulted or curious as to her insights. He took a sip of his juice.
"Oh, you know," she said vaguely, examining the platters of food in front of her. "Lots of reasons, I suppose. Want some?" She held up a piece of toast. He shrugged. She nodded, and grabbed another piece, pulling the butterdish towards herself.
"What reasons?" he asked her, not wanting to skirt the subject now that she had brought it up.
"Pass me that knife?" she asked him, pointing to his left. He handed it to her and watched as she smoothed the butter over the toast. Funny how she does that, he thought absently. He usually just slapped the spread over the middle of the bread, but she deliberately made sure that the butter reached all of the edges so as not to leave a single spot of toast uncovered. "What reasons? I guess just the way you act sometimes. Here." She set the toast on a plate and placed it in front of him, and began to butter her own piece.
"How exactly do I act sometimes?" Harry inquired, wondering if this was a safe question to ask. She motioned him to eat, and he picked up his toast and took a bite, staring at her so that she couldn't mistake him to be distracted.
"Not how you should," she told him matter-of-factly. "Not lately, anyway." She started scooping eggs onto a plate and put that in front of him as well. Barely noticing, he stuck his fork into the food and ate. Why wasn't she just giving him a straight answer? Why was she dragging everything out?
"Come on, Ginny," he said exasperatedly. "You tell me I'm a goose for lots of reasons, and now you won't tell me why? What am I doing that isn't what I should be doing?" She widened her eyes innocently at him and shrugged.
"What do you think you're doing that you shouldn't be doing?" she asked him. "Jam, Harry?" She pushed two jars of blackberry and strawberry jam over to him.
"I don't know!" he said, aggravated, selecting the strawberry spread and smearing it over his bread. "That's why I asked you!" He carelessly dropped his knife on the table which resulted in the sticky red jam flying up onto his sweater. Ginny clucked and wiped it off his clothes and face with her napkin. He blushed.
"Honestly, Harry . . . you need a nanny," she said, shaking her head. "You are such a slob."
"Why do you keep changing the subject?" he snarled at her. She swiftly turned her head and shot him the most furious look he had seen from her in a long time.
"Because I wasn't sure if I should tell you just what you're doing that's making you look like an idiot!" she said angrily, slamming her napkin down.
"Now I'm an idiot goose?" he said irritably, stabbing his fork into his meal.
"That and anything else I can think of," she shot back at him. Harry ignored her and ate vigorously from his plate of food.
"I don't suppose you're ever going to tell me just why I'm an idiot goose?" he said, unable to keep quiet anymore. His temper was about to give way.
"No, I think I am," she said resolutely. "And I refuse to let you make me angry. So there." Her tone softened. "Keep eating, will you? I can't tell my mum you're starving yourself."
"Fine," he said, his temper subsiding slightly. He was hungry and he did not want to get a Howler from Mrs. Weasley no matter how good her intentions were. Ginny was silent for several seconds. Finally, she sighed and looked up at him.
"Tell me how flocks of geese fly," she requested. Harry glanced at her, confused.
"Don't they fly in Vs?" he answered, puzzled by this unusual approach.
"You're right, they do," Ginny said, pouring herself some more juice and filling up Harry's goblet again. "Do you know why they fly in that particular formation?"
"Not exactly," Harry said, forgetting to be angry at her for not getting to the point right away. She looked unhappy and disappointed, unlike her bright, merry attitude of just fifteen minutes ago, and he couldn't help thinking that somehow it was he that had made her feel this way. So he tried even more to control his temper and be polite to her. "What does that have to do with how I'm being an idiot?"
"I'll get there, okay?" Ginny said, resting her head on her hand and looking at him intently. "You're supposed to ask me why geese fly in Vs now." Not wanting to anger her again, he answered immediately.
"Why do geese fly in Vs?" he said genially.
"There's a couple reasons why they do," she answered. "See, the first goose . . . the one who flies point . . . you know the one that flies in the front . . . the point?" Harry nodded. "Anyway, he makes the whole way easier for the rest of them. He breaks up the resistance, and the rest of the geese fly on the updraft created by the slipstream, see?"
"Right," said Harry. "So every goose that's in the back has it easier than the one in front?"
"Mmm-hmm," Ginny said nodding. "Can you see the problem here?"
"There's a problem?" he asked. "How can there be a problem if the geese don't have to work as hard?"
"Harry, do you really think that the goose in front can fly up there the entire trip?" she asked, rolling her eyes at him.
"I guess he'd get tired after a while, wouldn't he?" Harry answered, thinking hard.
"Of course he would," she said, filling her spoon with eggs and surreptitiously flipping them over her shoulder to land on the Slytherin table. He resisted the urge to turn around to see if any had managed to splatter Malfoy. "So what's the solution?"
"They all land and rest until the point goose, or whatever they call him, can fly again?" Harry asked her, chewing.
"And waste all that time?" Ginny said incredulously. "Can you imagine how long it would take to get wherever they were going?"
"I see your point," he agreed. "So what? And are you sure this will tell me why you think I'm an idiot goose?"
"Yes, I'm sure," she said firmly. "Sowhen the goose flying point is too tired to go on, he falls to the back and another goose takes his place, and they just keep going like that."
"Interesting," Harry nodded, knowing the entire time that he had never heard anything that he cared less about than what she had just told him. "Is there more?" He told himself he was only paying attention because she had a voice that was nice to listen to, and it was even nicer because she wasn't nagging him.
"I know this is boring, Harry, and that it doesn't make sense yet," she sighed, setting her spoon down. "But it's important, okay? I'm just trying to help you understand a few things."
"What don't I understand?" he asked. This girl was confusing him more and more by the minute, and yet he was still here, listening to her. He could've walked out and left her sitting by herself, but he couldn't imagine doing something more horrible than that. Harry wondered if Ginny really knew how well she could hold an audience when telling about the most ridiculous things.
"I'm getting there," she scolded him gently. "Do you know what happens when a goose . . . any goose for that matter . . . gets sick or hurt and can't fly anymore?"
"He falls down to the ground?" Harry asked bluntly. Subtlety had never been one of his greater strengths and probably never would be.
"In a manner of speaking," Ginny smiled. "Nah, two other geese fly down with him and stay until he dies or gets better. Then they join another formation to catch up with their own group."
"They really do that?" he wondered out loud. "Stay with a sick goose when they could be getting where they needed to go?"
"Yeah," Ginny said, staring into the distance. "I think it's amazing, that kind of loyalty in animals."
"I suppose so," he said, fiddling with his fork and knife. He could not, for the life of him, figure out just why she was telling him all this rubbish. "Ginny, that's a nice story, but I'm just not good at reading something into it. Can't you just tell me what the point of it is and what it has to do with me?"
"The point is, Harry," Ginny began. "You remind me of the goose in front."
"I do?" he said, surprised. "What makes you think that?"
"You're a leader," she said simply. "I think you've always been one. You always are in the front, facing the tough stuff . . . and the people behind you trust you; they follow you and somehow, you always make it easier for them. You're someone that's looked up to, and idolized . . ."
"Well, I see where you're going now," Harry said, getting a little irritated. "You're going to bring up the fact that I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, and that I'm somebody important because I somehow stopped Voldemort when I was a baby . . . this isn't anything that I haven't heard before . . . spare me, all right? I never wanted it!"
"I know you never wanted it," Ginny said earnestly. "But it's not about whether you wanted it to happen because it did. You are the Boy-Who-Lived, and you are famous for defeating You-Know-Who when you were a baby, and you are someone important . . . or you could be someday."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked harshly. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'll tell you sometime," she said coolly. "When you aren't acting like an obnoxious seven-year-old. How's that?"
"Whatever," Harry said shortly. "Are you finished?"
"No," she said tersely. "You are a leader, and you always will be one. But the truth is that you won't . . . you can't . . . be the only one. There are other people who can take over for a little while so you can be a normal kid, one that doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Every hero needs a break so he can collect his wits, Harry."
"Don't you get it, Ginny?" he asked her, a lump growing in his throat. "I'm not a hero, and I can't afford to take a break. I won't ever be normal. I can't be. Not after everything that's happened." Horrified, he felt tears prick the backs of his eyes. Swallowing, he looked away.
"No, I guess you can't," she said sadly. "But can you honestly tell me how you can fight when you're broken inside?" She had voiced the words that described exactly how he felt inside: torn, hurt, broken.
"I know how you feel," Ginny said, putting her arm around his shoulders. "Maybe I don't understand everything you've been through, but I know a little bit . . . maybe more than the others do." She was so kind and comforting; Harry almost hated her for making him want to throw his arms around her and hug her. It seemed almost easier to just cut himself off and pretend to loathe everything and everyone around him. He settled with dropping his hands into his lap.
"It really hurts and I just don't want to deal with it anymore," he confessed, staring at his hands. Her arm tightened around him and she leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "I just want it to be somebody else . . . not me. I'm not strong enough to do all it."
"Remember what I told you about the two geese that stay with the sick goose?" Ginny said softly. He nodded silently. "Harry, you're like that goose: you're hurt, and sick, and weak here . . . inside. But you aren't alone. You've got friends like my brother and Hermione. And my family. Lupin, Tonks, and all of the members of the Order."
"I know," Harry said, ashamed. "But . . ."
"And they really love you," she continued gently, patting his arm soothingly with her free hand. Harry vaguely remembered her comforting her brother two years ago and decided that her hand on his arm was very nice. "It's like you said: they could be just getting on with their lives, doing what they wanted to, going where they wanted to go. They could just abandon you, and forget about youbut they didn't. They care about you, and they're going to stay with you until you're okay again. Don't you see? They believe in you and trust you, and so do I. We'll be with you until you're strong enough and then some."
"Too many things have happened or are going to happen," he said angrily, slapping the table with his hand. "It's not a joke or a story from faraway place. None of you will ever be able to understand it! It's dark, it's evil, it's foul . . . it's right nowand it won't get any better for a long time."
"I'm not sure anyone will be able to understand," she said nodding. "But I really hope that someday you'll feel you can tell us so that we can understand you . . . even if it's just a little. You're a great person and I know you'll do great things. When you're old and grey, everyone will know you as the Boy-Who-Lived because you lived life. They won't remember that you defeated You-Know-Who as a baby . . . okay, they will, but it won't be as important as . . ."
"As what?" Harry asked curiously, forgetting to be mad. "How do you know that I'll ever be old and grey? And what will be more important than defeating Voldemort?"
"Ron told me that Trelawney said you'll live to a ripe old age and be Minister of Magic with twelve children," Ginny smirked, removing her arm around his shoulders, leaving his back uncomfortably cold. She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand again, looking at him calculatingly. "No, you'll be known as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived that was the youngest Quidditch Seeker for his House team in a century, who had a really cool Firebolt and a weird house-elf who adored him and knitted socks for him, who made his aunt blow up like a balloon, who was always kind to everyone around him . . . most of the time . . . ouch! Don't do that!"
"Serves you right," Harry said, while liking what she was saying. Maybe he would be remembered for more than some ugly scar imprinted forever on his forehead. "Will they remember anything else?" His suddenly forlorn voice startled him. It became clear to him how desperately he wanted to be known as just a normal person, not some insane, attention-seeking, famous teenager, even though he had just declared a few minutes ago that he knew he wouldn't ever be normal that way.
Ginny looked surprised too. "Why wouldn't they? Everyone will know that you like chocolate and treacle tart, but not peppermint humbugs, and they'll know how surprised you were the first time you saw moving photographs, and won't the little kids go crazy when they hear how you stuck your wand up a troll's nose and got sticky boogers all over it? It's strange how fascinated you are with nasal fluids when you're little." She shuddered.
She continued in a more serious tone. "But they'll remember how you cared enough about others to do anything you could to save them if they were in trouble, and cheated in the Triwizard Tournament because it was only fair to the other Gryffindor champion, and Fred and George's children will know how you gave their parents your winnings so that they could have their joke shop. A joke shop that made things like torturing Umbridge possible. Going behind her back and defying the Ministry by teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts. Funny things like that. Stories that'll be passed down from generation to generation. Being famous will be a nice side-note to your real story."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked skeptically. He couldn't imagine his fame being pushed to the background by ordinary little anecdotes. Things like that just never worked for him.
"I once read this little piece by Ralph Waldo Emerson in one of Hermione's book . . .it said that real success is living and making the world a better place to be, whether you've saved a life, or planted a beautiful garden, or helped someone breathe a little bit easier because you lived . . . and I think I know of someone you helped to do that." Ginny became very quiet as she spoke. Harry realized that she was talking about herself and watched her intently, so that she would know he understood what she was saying. She turned and looked straight into his eyes. "In fact, you should read that piece sometime, whenever you feel like doubting yourself. And then look around. You'd be surprised how much of a difference you've made in people's lives."
"But who's going to ever know that stuff about me?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. "Who's going to tell them all that? Because if I'm lying in a grave, I hardly think I'll be telling any stories to any generations." Though he said it in a joking tone, the truth hit a little too close to home, so he paused and waited for her to say something to lighten the conversation. He was in a better mood than he had been in for a long time, and wasn't eager to go back to where he had been. Ignoring his friends had been difficult and energy consuming. Besides, he liked listening to Ginny tell him things that he had never really considered, but that she thought were nice about him. Harry had never realized how much she knew.
"Well, I will for one thing, so don't worry about that," Ginny grinned, her brown eyes twinkling impishly. "Not to mention . . ."
"What?" Harry inquired suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. "I didn't even know you knew all that stuff about me. How'd you know about cheating and telling Cedric?"
"I notice a lot of things and stuff gets around," she shrugged. "I always thought you were sort of interesting. As for the other people, of course your twelve children will spread all the good dirt about you, because you'll have all this cool information to tell them for bedtime stories. Daddy Harry." She smiled at him.
"Very funny," he retorted, but he realized that this made-up future she was creating for him was much more desirable than the one he had imagined. Harry decided that he would much rather have her version of the future if it were at all possible.
"I think so," she said cheerfully. "You know, you can actually be a nice guy when you're not sulking. I was right by thinking you needed some help. I should get an award . . . one of those Special Services shields. For saving the school from your awful temper . . . for a while anyway."
"And just how did you help me?" Harry asked jokingly. "I don't seem to feel much different, other than the fact that I'm annoyed at you because you took so long to get to the point."
"Well, I got you to eat breakfast, didn't I? I don't recall anyone else being able to do that," Ginny said triumphantly. Harry closed his mouth, swallowing the retort that had been on his tongue to contradict whatever she might have to say. Unfortunately, she was right. He had eaten, and quite heartily as well. Now he had no choice but to be nice, and go apologize to his friends. Harry winced at thought of Hermione's violent hugs and joyous tears . . . making up with Ron was much easier (a punch on the arm was all that was needed to make recompense) . . . and wondered if apologizing was really necessary. After all, who was to say this wouldn't happen again?
"I think . . . I know . . . you'll be all right," she said softly, as though reading his mind. "You won't forget what I told you? I meant every word." No, he wouldn't forget, but it might skip his memory once in a while. How would things turn out then? What if something worse than what happened at the Department of Mysteries occurred? Would they still feel like they trusted him, or believed in him?
"What happens when I get hurt, or killed? How'm I going to have twelve children then?" Harry demanded suddenly, voicing his fears and stiffening. "You know I'm not exactly the kind of guy you could go on a picnic with and not expect anything dangerous to happen."
Ginny laughed quietly and slipped her arm through his as they stood up to leave the Great Hall. "I know you aren't. But that won't make a difference in how we feel about you. What happens, Harry, is that we stay with you to the end. Until you're gone or until you can fly again."
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent
people and the respect of children;
To earn the approbation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To give of one's self;
To leave the world a bit better, whether
by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a
redeemed social condition;
To have played and laughed with
enthusiasm and sung with exultation;
To know even one life has breathed easier
because you have lived
This is to have succeeded.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Author's Note: This is the final product of a story I have tried three different times (with three different plots and approaches) to write. Each one was okay at the beginning, but fell apart in the middle. This one was based on a lesson I had at church once, and I loved these words by Emerson, and wanted to incorporate them into something anyone could understand, and I hope I did a fair enough job. I'm not sure what category this should go in, so I'm going to name it as , but if you think it should be in a certain category, please tell me in a review and tell me what you thought about the story itself. Thank you again for all your support!
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