v. Acceptance
The holidays were rough that year. It was my first Christmas since the divorce, and though I saw my family, including my brother, it was still lonely, awkward, and exhausting. I spent a very quiet Boxing Day with Gemma and Adrian, who wanted to set me up with someone again. I turned them down, knowing my heart would not be in it for quite some time after what had happened--or not happened--with Ginny.
January passed in a blur of cold and snow and lonely nights spent by the fireplace in my flat reliving that awful moment a year before when my wife--my ex-wife, as I had finally forced myself to think of her--had told me it was over. It all came crashing back: the shock and denial, the anger, pleading, and finally the depression. I slept more than usual, the fatigue of the holidays settling into my bones along with the dark mood I found myself reliving most days.
By February I was once again working late into the night, trying to put my past behind me, but this time I was trying to forget someone else. I had not seen or spoken to Ginny since our last dinner together before Christmas, when I had unexpectedly confessed my feelings for her. I had asked Gemma once how Ginny was doing, and apparently she was doing well, so I tried to let that cheer me up…only it didn't. I missed her, and it did not appear that she missed me at all, as she had not made any attempt to contact me whatsoever. She had moved on, and once again, I was struggling--physically and emotionally.
I fell ill not long after Valentine's Day. The lingering fatigue I had experienced since Christmas but had tried to ignore finally caught up with me. I developed a cough that frequently left me short of breath. I woke up with a fever toward the end of the month, but took a potion and went into the Ministry anyway, intending to work at least for half the day. I vaguely remember collapsing in my office, although I don't remember who found or helped me. I woke up in St. Mungo's, disoriented and confused.
I know I was very sick, but things were a bit vague after that, as if my mind and body simply did not wish to remember my illness. Soon enough I returned to the Department of Mysteries, determined to try and reestablish my routine. It was safe and it was stable, and I needed that in my life, as boring as it was. I needed to forget about St. Mungo's, about my ex-wife, about Ginny.
It was just so, so hard.
She came to see me on my first day back. It was toward the end of the day, and I was working alone in my office when she walked by. I stood and stared after her, wondering why she had not stopped. I was shocked to see her there, and just as surprised at how much it affected me: even after so many months, my feelings had not gone away.
It was March, and it must have been about the time Harry had died the year before, for she appeared very somber. The Auror department had probably held a memorial for him, because her eyes were red, and she was not smiling. In fact, she seemed more pale and sad than I remembered from our last meeting, and I couldn't help but wonder if our parting had upset her as much as it had hurt me, or if it was the anniversary of her husband's death that was weighing on her.
Not knowing what to say or do, I was glad when she doubled back and hesitantly stepped into my office. The look on her face, however, worried me: shocked and scared, Ginny stood rooted in place as I approached her.
"Hello, Ginny," I said, moving around my desk. "It's good to see you. Are you all right?"
She stared at me, her hand coming to her mouth in disbelief. Then she quickly closed the door behind her. "Graham? Is that really you?" she asked. "What are you doing here?" Her voice sounded frightened. I sensed that something was wrong, and my stomach clenched with fear.
I stepped closer, but she backed away from me. "I work here," I said, smiling so she might relax. She shook her head at me, still tense with apparent shock.
"No, no you don't," she replied. "Not anymore."
"Of course I do." I laughed, although something about her tone made me nervous, as if I was starting to suspect something but couldn't quite put my finger on it. "The bigger question is what are you doing down here? We haven't talked for months."
"I'm not really sure why I'm here," she murmured. "I guess I just wanted to…I don't know," she repeated. "I was expecting to speak to someone else. I wasn't thinking you would still be here."
"Why not?" I asked, completely confused. "This is my office, isn't it?" I studied her face closely. "Are you sure you're all right? Are you here for Harry's memorial?"
She shook her head and frowned. "No, that's not until the end of the month. Gemma and I came for something else."
"You're here with Gemma?" I asked in surprise. "Why? Are you following a story?"
"No, not a story," she replied.
"Is Gemma still with you?" I asked, confused by her vague answers.
"No, she went home with Adrian. I stopped by to see Hermione before I left and just decided to come down here on a whim."
"Was there something I missed upstairs?" I asked. I couldn’t recall Gemma and Adrian mentioning anything about going to the Ministry, but then again, I had not spoken to them for…well, I couldn't really remember that either. I knew they had been at St. Mungo's with me, but my memory since falling ill was very hazy.
Ginny motioned to the couch. "Graham, I think you should probably sit."
I slowly lowered myself to the sofa in my office, and Ginny sat down next to me. She started to reach for my hand, but then seemed to think better of it. My disappointment was second only to my increasing anxiety. What was going on? Why had they all come to the Ministry? Why didn't I know anything about whatever seemed to be going on?
"Graham, I came for a memorial service, but not for Harry," she said, her voice soft and gentle. She gazed into my eyes as if willing me to understand, but I still had no idea what was going on.
"For who, then?" I asked, running a hand through my hair. "I haven't heard anything, but then I've been out sick for several weeks…" I trailed off at the look of sympathy and pity on her face. I had a sudden suspicion of why she was there, but I shook my head in denial. "No…"
"It was for you."
"There must be a mistake," I said, jumping up and staring down at her. "Because clearly I am not in need of a memorial service."
I started pacing the office as Ginny blew out a long breath. "I was very sick, I know. I collapsed here at work, and they took me to St. Mungo's. But I'm better now--I feel fine!"
"That was two weeks ago. You were taken to St. Mungo's but you… you didn't make it. You slipped into a coma and never woke up." Ginny stood up and stopped me from pacing. "I'm so sorry, Graham, but…you're gone."
I grinned because it was utterly ridiculous to hear it out loud. "You mean I'm dead." I reached out and took her hand. She gasped. "No, I'm not. You can feel that, can't you? I'm here, alive, with you."
"You're cold as ice," she whispered, dropping my hand. "And you're not supposed to be here."
"Neither are you," I replied, sounding petulant. A part of me believed her even though the rest of me refused. "Why did you come here if I'm dead?"
"I came down to…I don't know," she said, turning away and waving her hand dismissively. "I came down to say a private goodbye, I guess. We left things so poorly in December that I've felt awful about it ever since."
"That was three months ago!" I exclaimed. "I figured since you obviously didn't feel the same, that you had moved on."
She turned toward me, a stricken look on her face. "And you were right. I didn't feel the same. I feel terrible for leading you to believe I did, or that I could."
"Could you?" I dared to ask, dreading the answer even as I craved it. I had often wondered about the answer, sitting alone by the fire: could she have felt the same about me, one day, when she was ready?
"It doesn't matter now," she said softly, avoiding the question. "You're a ghost, Graham. That doesn't make for a successful long-term relationship."
"I'm not a ghost!" I exclaimed, but I heard the hysterical edge to my voice.
"You are," she insisted. "I don't know why you're here or how I can see you, but you died two weeks ago. You have to move on. That must be why I'm here."
"I'll prove it," I said, ignoring her last remark, and I strode across the room. I walked right through the closed door and stopped in the corridor in shock. The door opened behind me, and Ginny came out, glancing around.
"Do you believe me now?" she asked, but I stubbornly shook my head.
"No," I replied, determined to prove her wrong.
I strode down the corridor to the next office, where Mitchell Goldstein, the Unspeakable in charge of the Brain Room, worked. We had been colleagues for several years, working together on memory study and having the occasional lunch, though we had never been close friends away from the office. Mitchell was sitting at his desk, sipping a cup of tea as he stared off into space, a thoughtful look on his face. Once again I ignored the fact that I could pass right through the door and strode up to his desk.
"Mitchell?" I asked, but he didn't look up. I waved my hand, then my arms. I stomped my feet and yelled; he simply continued to stare at the wall, silently drinking his tea before setting it down with a sigh and beginning to go through a stack of parchments.
"I hate this," he muttered. "Dammit, Graham, now I have to sort through this pile and find some rookie to do your job half as good as you." I glanced at the stack of papers and saw that they were all transfer slips from various departments around the Ministry.
So it was true: I was gone, and my position was already being filled.
I stumbled backward, bumping into a bookshelf and knocking a book to the floor. I almost stooped to pick it up, but Mitchell glanced up with a frown on his face. I swallowed hard.
"Stella Stebbins always wanted to transfer," I said, hoping that he might somehow hear me. He tilted his head, then rifled through the papers.
"Stebbins?" he murmured, reading through the slip. Then he glanced around the room, though it was obvious he still couldn't see me and probably wondered if he had even heard anything. "Thanks, Graham. Wherever you are."
I wanted to scream that I was right there in front of him, but I was starting to panic, so I bolted back through the wall. Ginny was still standing in the hallway.
She must have sensed my fear, for she took my hand and began to lead me down the corridor. Her steady, living presence calmed me. I still had so many questions, but the only one that I managed to ask was, "Where are we going?"
"I'm not sure," she said. "I've only been down here a few times, but I remember the Veil as if it were yesterday and not over twenty years ago."
She shivered, and I glanced sideways at her, suddenly even more anxious. The Veil had been known to entrance even the strongest of Unspeakables, the whispering voices of lost loved ones calling out to them from wherever they were on the other side. Even I had once been tempted to step through the archway and see what was there; I had only stopped myself by casting a Silencing Spell so I could not hear the voices and be enchanted. Aside from the fact that I still did not accept my circumstances, I could not let her near it, for fear of what she might do.
"Ginny, I'm not going through the Veil," I told her. "What if you're wrong? What if I'm under some kind of spell? Maybe there's a cure." I wasn't sure why I was clinging so desperately to life, when in truth it was a very sad, lonely existence for me. I just knew I didn't want to leave--not now that she was there with me.
"It's not a spell, Graham," she said. "You collapsed at work and were taken to St. Mungo's."
"But I remember that!" I exclaimed. "And I remember waking up."
She gave me a sympathetic look. "Gemma said you were conscious, for a while. But it was your heart, Graham. You had an infection in your heart, and there was nothing they could do. Too much damage had already been done, and you slipped into a coma and died three days later."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "I remember getting up and going back to my flat. I got dressed and came in to work in this morning."
"Did you eat anything?" she asked.
"I wasn't hungry."
"Did you talk to anyone?"
I hesitated. "No, but that's not unusual. We Unspeakables sometimes stick to ourselves." And I had been in such a state recently that not speaking to anyone for an entire day was more normal than not.
"You're dead, Graham," she said bluntly, and to my surprise she had lead us directly to door of the Death Chamber. "You need to stop denying it."
"I'm not denying it," I snapped back. "I'm just telling you that you're wrong." Which was the same thing as denial, as I knew perfectly well.
"You can walk through walls," she said. "You can't eat. No one but me can see and hear you. Is that all part of being an Unspeakable too?"
I shrugged. "It could be, if I mangled a spell…" I trailed off at the skeptical look on her face. She pushed open the door and stopped almost immediately. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath, then set out down the stone steps leading to the familiar dais in the center of the room, where that mysterious black curtain fluttered, just as I remembered from the last time I had been there, years ago.
As always, I heard a soft whispering all around, the voices of the dead calling out to me. In the past, it had been only a buzz; I could never recognize anything that was said. Yet now it was louder, and I could understand much of what the voices were saying.
They were calling me home, entreating me to join them.
I froze halfway down the steps and swore under my breath, desperately trying to resist the impulse to turn around and run from the room. Ginny had reached the bottom and held out her hand to me once more.
"Are you all right?" I asked, forcing myself to continue and taking her hand. There were tears running down her face. "Can you hear him?"
She nodded as she wiped the tears away. "I can," she said, gazing up at the archway in wonder. "I can hear Harry. Graham, I can't stay here long. It's too hard."
"What?" I exclaimed, taking her other hand and turning her to look at me. "No, Ginny, you can't go through there. You still have too much to live for, you have to resist it!"
She laughed as she tucked her hair behind her ear and sniffed. "Of course I will. I'm not going with you."
"With me?" I asked. Even though I knew deep down why we were really there, it still wasn't sinking in: it wasn't a spell. I was dead. It was time for me to pass through the Veil. Ginny had brought me there for that reason and that reason alone.
"You have to cross over, Graham," she said, placing a warm hand to my face. "And I have to stay. I want to stay. I have my children to think of, and my family and friends. I miss Harry terribly, but it's not my time to join him."
I could only nod in dull bewilderment.
"I want to thank you," she said. "For being so kind to me for all those months. For being such a good friend."
"Friend," I said bitterly. "Ginny, how can you say that after what happened the last time we--"
"Hush," she admonished, a finger to my lips. I may have been a ghost, but I still shivered at her touch.
"You helped me through a hard time," she continued. "I'm not sure where I'd be now if it weren't for you."
"I'm sorry I ruined it," I murmured.
"No, you didn't," she said, dropping her hand with a small smile. "It wasn't your fault. I just wasn't ready."
"And now I'll never have another chance."
Ginny didn't reply as she guided me up the stairs toward the archway. I had been there so many times, spent so many years exploring the mysteries of the Veil, that I should have been more prepared. Yet I wasn't: I was scared. In spite of all our study, we still did not know what was beyond that tattered curtain, blowing in the mysterious breeze. The voices calling to me did not sound frightening, but stepping into the unknown beyond felt like walking off a cliff into the ocean, knowing I would fall into the sea but still dreading the sensation.
As I stood there staring at the thin shroud that separated life and death, I wondered how this could possibly be happening to me. Why was I still here? Why hadn't I already moved on? And why could Ginny see me?
I turned toward her, only to find her with her eyes closed and a small smile on her face. A tear slipped out, but I knew it wasn't for me, because I saw her husband's name on her lips. She touched them, as if some invisible force had kissed her, then opened her eyes and nodded.
"It's all right. You know that." I shook my head; I didn't know that, not really. I suspected it, but even in the Department of Mysteries, we had no answers to the question of what was truly beyond the Veil.
Yet there was really only one answer I needed, to a question that had nothing to do with living or dying. And I was suddenly determined to ask it, because I knew it was the question that was holding me back. I would only cross the Veil when I knew the answer.
"Ginny," I said, taking her hand. "Could it have ever worked between us? If you were ready, and I was…well, alive?"
"Is that why you're still here?" she asked, and her voice was filled with such pity I wanted to turn away in embarrassment. I didn't; I held her gaze, waiting for her answer.
"I need to know. Could you have ever felt that way about me?" I heard the pleading tone to my voice and hoped she would be honest.
She stepped forward so that we were close enough to feel one another's heart beating. Only mine wasn't. I was dead. I would never have the chance to know love again, to hold her hand and feel her skin against mine, to touch her face and feel her lips…
She leaned forward and kissed me. I felt it all the way to my bones. I don't know how I did, or what she felt in return, but it was warm and wonderful, and I could have stood there forever with her, on the brink of death but clinging to the woman I had fallen in love with.
"Yes," she whispered in my ear as she pulled away. She stepped back with one last squeeze to my hand before letting me go. "I think I could have loved you, one day."
I sighed. It was as if a tremendous weight had fallen from my shoulders. I was lighter, freer. I felt happy, relieved, and most importantly, I suddenly felt ready. It was finally time to move on, holding the knowledge in my heart that yes, Ginny Potter could have loved me.
Fate is a cruel mistress sometimes.
With a nothing but a nod, I turned toward the archway. The whispering was louder. I could make out more voices, clearer voices. I thought I heard Harry Potter and wondered if I would meet him on the other side, or if kissing his wife would send me in the proverbial opposite direction. Yet I sensed no hatred from the Veil, no sorrow or anger, only peace. They were welcoming me.
And then I heard singing. It was a voice I had not heard for years, a voice I had heard only once at a club in Liverpool. The woman who had changed the course of my life was singing: Megan Jones, the ghost from my past. I had never heard her sing, but it was as beautiful as I had imagined it in my head during all the years since.
I glanced back at Ginny one last time. She was smiling, but there were still tears running down her face. Whether they were for me at that moment, I did not know. Yet I did know that we could have had a chance--those tears could have been for me, one day--and that's all that mattered.
So I stepped through the Veil, finally accepting both my life and my death. It was simple and painless. There was light and love and laughter. There were my grandparents, friends and colleagues I had lost, and even Harry Potter, standing with Fred Weasley, who had changed my life as much as his sister.
And there was Megan Jones, singing.
Let me be your stillness, your calm and quiet core.
I can show you comfort and soothing sweet succor.
Let me be your solace, your peace and harmony.
I can show you true love and set your spirit free.
Let me be your solace, and set your spirit free.
* * *
Solace by Gmariam
Chapter Endnotes: I don't really get it either, but there you go. The end. *sniff*
If you are really that interested now, the story about Megan Jones is called "The Chartreuse Chanteuse."
Many, many thanks to Soraya/babewithbrains for not only hashing out the end with me, but reading the rest of the story so she actually knew what I was struggling with! I really appreciate it!
I also appreciate reviews in that empty white box. Thank you for reading! :)