(Never) Let Me Go

CHapter 1: Elegy

elegy: a melancholy poem that laments its subject's death but ends in consolation.

The war may be over, but no one's warned Harry about the ghosts.

It begins in the Gryffindor common room in the aftermath of the final battle. What began as a group of Gryffindors reminiscing about their school days somehow became a Hogwarts-wide celebration party. As it heads into its third hour, students past and present of all houses are freely coming in and out of the portrait hole, the Fat Lady having long abandoned her post in favor of visiting her painted (and much less rowdy) friends. Everyone's giddy from too many Firewhisky shots, and Hermione finally allows Ron to snog her in public, to much cheering and whistling.

"That calls for another round!" Lee Jordan shouts, liberally splashing everyone in the vicinity with alcohol and multi-colored streamers.

That's when Harry sees them. Fred Weasley is clapping along as George and Angelina challenge each other in a tap dancing battle. Lavender Brown is sitting beside Ron and Hermione on the couch, her ravaged face intact but filled with forlornness. Meanwhile, Colin Creevy is standing by the window, framing potential shots with his index fingers and thumbs.

Harry jerks, nearly spilling the rest of his drink - whatever it is by that point - on Ginny.

"Are you okay?" she asks, rescuing the glass from his hand in time.

"Um yeah. Was just a bit of shock seeing them."

"Them?" She follows Harry's pointed finger. "Ron and Hermione?"

Harry blinks at her genuine confusion. "You don't see Lavender next to Ron? Or Colin by the window? Or" - with some difficulty - "Fred?"

"Harry." Ginny threads her fingers through his. Her voice is gentle. "They're gone."

"But -" At the sorrow on her face, Harry bites back the rest of his words. It wouldn't be the first time he sees things others don't.

A survey of the room suggests that indeed, he is the crazy one. No one else is reacting to the
ghosts in any fashion. Not even Nearly Headless Nick, who floats past Lavender and Fred without a second glance en route to a conversation with Luna and Cho.

He rubs his eyes and feigns a yawn. "Reckon I'm a little sleepy and drunk. That last shot wasn't a great idea."

Ginny's frown eases into a fond smile. "Lightweight," she teases. After plucking strands of pink streamers from his hair, she leans her head against his shoulder. A hand sneaks onto his lap, grazes up his thigh, and squeezes.

Harry stiffens, then tries to relax before she notices.

"Hey," she whispers. "Everything will be fine."

Will it? Will he?

Already the euphoria of victory is starting to fade with the effects of alcohol, leaving the first seedlings of doubt in its wake. However, Harry only pats her hand and allows her to snuggle closer. Her red hair tickles his neck, sweet-smelling and familiar.

Over Ginny's head, he returns his gaze to the common room. Right before his eyes, his ghosts fade - neglected and unseen - and he almost hears the rustle of a veil as it flutters shut behind them.

Harry continues seeing ghosts throughout the summer, both in dreams and broad daylight.

Usually, he sees classmates and friends (too young, too soon). Sometimes, he sees faces he recognizes from the obituaries in the Daily Prophet (innocent, helpless). More rarely, he sees Death Eaters (forever tainted). Once, he almost draws his wand to shoot a Stunner when he spots Bellatrix Lestrange striding down the cobblestoned streets of Diagon Alley towards Gringotts, before he remembers that she is - should be - dead.