Let Me Be Your Voice

Part 2

At dinner at the Burrow that night, Harry wasn’t hungry. He pushed a chunk of his beef stew around the bottom of his bowl with his spoon.

“That was a very noble thing you did today, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said from the head of the table.

Harry looked up at the Weasley patriarch, noticing that his receding red hair had greyed significantly in the past month.

Ron grunted as he chewed, not looking at Harry. Harry knew Ron and Hermione did not hold the same sentiments regarding Malfoy as he did, but he didn’t have the energy to argue with them.

“I thought it was big of you, too,” Ginny said quietly from her place beside her mother. Mr. Weasley had been present at the trial and had filled the family in as to how it had gone earlier in the day. “I mean, Malfoy is a royal git, but you’re right to want to give him the chance Dumbledore offered him.”

Having Ginny agree with him didn’t please Harry in the way he had expected it to. Instead, hearing her speak reminded him of what they had put on hold, and he wasn’t keen to have the conversation with her that he knew was coming.

Walking to his own death had made him realise exactly how precious life was, and his priorities had changed since he’d come back from it alive. He wanted to live now, really live his own life, the way he wanted, the way he was meant to, and unfortunately Ginny wasn’t a close part of the future he now envisioned.

He put down his spoon and scooted his chair away from the table. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Weasley,” he said quietly. “I think I’m going to try and get some rest now.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him kindly, though he saw the worry in her eyes, probably because he hadn’t eaten much. “Of course, dear,” she said. “If you get hungry in the night, feel free to wake me up; I’ll fix you something.”

He smiled feebly, thankful for her thoughtfulness, but longing to get away from people. He needed some time to process all the events that had been weighing on him, but first he needed to rest.

As he headed down the hall to Fred and George’s old room where he was staying, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him and silently cursed his luck.

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice spoke in the dimly-lit hall.

He stopped and waited for her to catch up to him.

“Yeah,” he said, resigned. “What’s up, Gin?”

“Can I talk to you a moment?” she asked, her expression determined.

“Of course,” Harry said, forcing himself to keep from grimacing, and continued to his room, with Ginny at his heels.

They sat side by side on the edge of one of the twin beds. The room was lit by a pair of gas lamps mounted on the wall, and was empty but for a few boxes of Fred’s belongings George had brought home for the family to go through when they were ready.

“So…” Harry started, his discomfort rising.

“You know what I want to ask you, Harry,” Ginny said bluntly. “I’m only wondering why it has to be me to bring it up. Has something changed with us? Why have you avoided talking to me?”

Harry wrinkled his forehead, shutting his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to put what he needed to tell her without hurting her feelings or ruining his relationship with her family.

“Look at me, Harry,” Ginny said sharply. “I know something’s going on in your head that you need to say to me. I’m here; I’m listening, so you may as well get on with it.”