Ginny Weasley was insanely happy.

She was sitting in the Burrow’s garden with the night air cool on her face and the fireflies twinkling in the trees. She was seated on the lap of her boyfriend, the famous Harry Potter who had just defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time, and tonight, they were eating brownies.

Ginny had one in her hand. They were the really good kind, all warm and really fudgy. She was seated on Harry’s lap in the tree swing, and her hand that didn’t hold the brownie rested in his, her fingers lightly touching his palm. His other arm was around her waist, and she would occasionally toss a bit of her brownie into his mouth, since he wasn’t holding one.

They were talking and laughing with Ron and Hermione, who were seated in the same lawn chair, squeezed in next to each other with their legs and hips touching. The whole group was enjoying a quiet evening before their lives got busy again the next day.

Right now, however, the future was the last thing on anyone’s mind. Right now all they cared about was that moment in the Burrow, when the sweet smell of honeysuckle and the last rays of summer drifted over them, putting them all in a haze of happiness.

When Ron and Hermione left to get another brownie, Harry adjusted Ginny on his lap so that she was facing him. He took a tiny piece of her brownie, and fed it to her, smiling.

“I love you,� he whispered, and pulled her close enough to kiss. Ginny thought she could stay forever in the warm summer air, her arms wrapped around Harry and her lips pressed against his mouth. His lips tasted like chocolate and his arms felt so warm and strong Ginny thought she would melt with happiness. She drank in the scent of his untidy hair and the feeling of his back against her hands…

All too soon, Ron and Hermione returned. Harry and Ginny broke apart, but Ginny left her arms around Harry, snuggling up close to his chest. Ron and Hermione were laughing about something, their heads close together and their fingers gently entwined. Ginny grinned lazily at them. They were so perfect together, and she had waited so long for them to realize it. As Ron and Hermione resumed their seats, Ron spoke.

“Are you three all set for tomorrow?� he said.

The next day, Ginny would be starting her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry and Hermione were heading to Hogwarts as well- Harry was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and Hermione was teaching Transfiguration.

“Yeah, we’re ready,� Harry said. Hermione remained silent, but she suddenly looked anxious. Ron rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.

“Relax, Professor Granger,� he said. “They’re going to love you.�

The four sat there quietly for a moment, completely at peace with the world. The crickets in the rosebushes chirped a summer melody.

Mrs. Weasley walked over to them, interrupting the silence and looking grave.

“Harry, dear, can I speak to you alone? There’s something you should know about.�

---

An hour later, Harry was seated on his bed, staring absently into space and holding his pajama top in one hand. Ron was downstairs with Hermione and Ginny was doing some last minute packing. Harry was supposed to be packing too, but he had something else on his mind.

A soft knock disturbed his reverie, and he got up to open the door, slipping on his pajama top as he did so.

Ginny stood in the dark hallway, her hair loose and flowing over the back of her pale purple nightdress. Her brown eyes looked worried.

“Harry? What did mum want?� she said.

“Come in, quietly,� Harry whispered.

Ginny walked into the attic bedroom and perched cautiously on Harry’s bed, still peering at him anxiously. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since Mrs. Weasley had asked to speak to him. Ginny had seen Harry deep in conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin, looking very grave.

“What did mum want?� she repeated.

Harry sat down next to her.

“You know my cousin, Dudley?� he said. Ginny nodded.

“Well, apparently, a Death Eater kidnapped him yesterday and started torturing him, trying to figure where I am. You know the Burrow has all kinds of protective wards, so they can’t find me here- but anyway, he’s in pretty bad shape, in St. Mungo’s. They couldn’t catch the Death Eater, though. My aunt and uncle are furious, of course, and so scared…� he said.

Ginny could hear emotion in his voice, but she wasn’t quite sure why it was there. She didn’t know if Harry was angry or sad or scared or even a combination of the three. She had never heard Harry talk about his family before.

“I’m sorry,� Ginny said. She hesitated a moment, then covered Harry’s hand with hers, trying to convey her love and support in the gesture. Harry rubbed his fingers against her knuckles.

“What are you going to do?� she asked.

Harry stared absently at the sloping ceiling in the bedroom, still gripping her hand.

“I’m going after her,� he said softly.

“What?�

“Bellatrix Lestrange. She did it. I’m going after her. Tomorrow.�

A/N: Please review! Did you like it...or not?

The ceiling of a dark, dank cell was dripping muck disgustingly onto a cot in the middle of the room. A girl lay on it, her skin raw and red, her eyes closed and lashes fluttering gently. Dirt covered her cheeks and thick red hair, which fanned out behind her, filthy tendrils spilling over the edge of the cot...

A horrible man with grimy, yellowish nails and teeth stood in the doorway, cackling, blood dribbling down his chin and into his matted gray hair…

The girl looked up…

There was a boy…he stood resolute, his green eyes gleaming, even though there was no light in the room. Behind him stood two shadowy figures the girl on the cot couldn’t see…

The boy was raising a thin wand. Something was approaching form one corner of the room, but the girl couldn’t see it. Light was flying everywhere.

But the green-eyed boy was falling…He was yelling something, his eyes rolling…The shadowy figures were yelling too…And the girl on the cot saw the boy’s green eyes close, his cheek pressed against the grimy floor, his face as pale a ghost against his jet-black hair.

For a moment, the scene seemed to freeze before the girl’s eyes, but then suddenly she could see nothing but a pair of malicious red eyes with snakelike pupils…And she was screaming fit to burst, the world was going black, her whole body was thrashing against her bonds and the black-hired boy was dead.

For the third time that week, Ginny Weasley woke up after a nightmare.

The dreams were always the same, and they plagued her nightly. Everyone seemed to include Harry, dying at the hand of Lord Voldemort or else grievously injured in St. Mungo’s, unable to see Ginny, to hear her, or to speak to her.

Every time, it was the same- Ginny would wake, sweating and shaking, her pajamas twisted hopelessly inside her bed sheets. She had suffered the same nightmares during the war, and this similarity was dragging up all kinds of uncomfortable memories.

She would lie in bed, quivering, until her brain caught up with her imagination and told her that if Harry was dead, she would be the first to know. She would get out of bed, pour herself some water, and head down into the common room to wait by the dying embers of the fire, afraid to go back to sleep. Needless to say, her schoolwork was suffering and she constantly had unattractive bags under her brown eyes.

Today, it was no different. Ginny curled catlike in an armchair and stared blankly into the coals in the fireplace, which were still glowing. She choked back a tear when she remembered that this was the chair that had been Harry’s favorite back in Ginny’s fifth year. She buried her face in it, hoping somehow that it still had a little bit of Harry in the worn red cloth. She wished more than anything that he was with her.

Harry was supposed to be there, at Hogwarts. He was supposed to be teaching students incredible defensive magic and hanging out on the grounds with Ginny and Hermione. Instead, being the stupid noble git he sometimes was, he was off tracking Bellatrix Lestrange, leaving Ginny to stew in the mess that her emotions had become.

She could remember the moment he had told her he was leaving so well…

“Bellatrix Lestrange. She did it. I’m going after her. Tomorrow.�

“Harry, no!� Ginny had screamed.

“Yes,� he had said, a note of finality in his voice. “I have to, Ginny. She’s after me. She killed Sirius. She hurt the people who took me in…they might have hated me like dry rot, but they still kept me. If you expect me to sit around…�

“When will it stop?� she had said, tears stinging her eyelashes, as hard as she had tried to conceal them from Harry. “When can you finally settle down and be normal?!�

For a moment, an odd look had crossed his face. A second later it had vanished, and Ginny was left to wonder whether it had been there at all.

“I don’t know,� he had said. “I wish…but…I don’t know, Ginny.�

“It’s hard for you, Harry,� she’d whispered. “But it doesn’t have to be…�

“Yes, it does,� he’d whispered. “You’d best just pray I don’t loose hope.�

Then he had gone back downstairs.

Ginny had been determined he would never loose hope. She had gone back to her room, sat down at her desk with parchment and quill, and written a very important letter, which she had placed in the bottom of his backpack, underneath all his underwear and several cereal bars…

Ginny wiped a few tears off her cheeks, her eyes burning from the heat of the fire. She must have dozed off, because before she knew it dawn had come.

The pale sunlight sent its thin rays in through the tower window, landing directly on Ginny’s eyes and jerking her awake. The sky was faintly pink, but purplish darkness had not quite receded from the tips of the trees in the forest.

Ginny’s friend Miette was first to come down the stairs that morning. She looked vaguely worried and harassed, and her neatly pinned blonde hair was escaping from her hairpin.

“Ginny! Oh my goodness, I was so worried when you weren’t in your bed this morning. You never get up this early! What’s wrong with you? You’re always tired lately! Why didn’t you get some sleep in the dormitory where other people do? It’d do wonders for your health- not to mention you school work and appearance. You’ve got worse bags under you eyes than…well, someone with bags under their eyes.�

Miette stopped to breathe and Ginny groaned. Miette was Ginny’s best girlfriend in Gryffindor, now that Hermione had left, but Miette was the kind of girl who was constantly excited, constantly breathless with sheer animation. She also had the annoying habit of bounding out of bed, completely and utterly awake every morning.

Miette also couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. She was too open with her emotions, which was one reason Ginny loved her, but it also meant Miette knew nothing of Ginny’s newfound relationship with Harry. Ginny had wanted to tell with all her heart, but Miette was just too talkative to be trusted with such scandalous information. If anyone were to find out that Ginny was dating a professor…well, someone who was supposed to be a professor, the results would be disastrous.

“Miette, relax. I’m fine. Just had… a bad dream,� Ginny told her, not moving from her comfortable position in the armchair.

“Oh. Did you try thinking of a happy ending for the dream? ‘Cause that’s what I always do, and it works really well. This one time, I had a dream about that time when they had to fight the dragons in the Triwizard Tournament, only I was one of the champions and—“

“Miette, I’m fine, I promise,� Ginny said. “I haven’t tried the happy ending thing yet, though. Maybe later.�

“Okay. We better get down to breakfast before the crowd. I want to get a seat with a clear view all the way to the Ravenclaw table. Jeremy French is so cute!� she said, going immediately into a list of the Ravenclaw boy’s various charms.

Ginny wasn’t really listening. As hard as she tried to think of a happy ending for her dream, there were none. She felt like the dream might be telling her something. Harry was in danger, and she lived every day in fear that he would never come back to her. Somehow she felt the chances of her own happy ending were very slim indeed.

On the outskirts of Hogsmeade, there lies a dingy little pub- the Hog’s Head. The sign outside swings softly in the breeze, and the light in the largest room is dim and gray.

In an upstairs room, Harry Potter lay stretched exhaustedly on the bed, running one hand dejectedly through his untidy black hair. A large green backpack lay open beside him on the bed, several pairs of underwear spilling messily onto the bed.

He sighed, contemplating whether or not it would be safe to go down into the pub for dinner. True, he could keep his face hidden, but was it worth the risk? He had to be sure no one knew he was here.

Harry was tracking Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the very few known Death Eaters who had not been captured or killed after Voldemort’s fall. He had given up everything to do it. He had been planning on assuming the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. He had been planning on spending time with a certain seventh year redheaded girl… Ginny…

After the war, Harry had continued his relationship with the gorgeous redhead. Everyday, it seemed she could make him happier than she had the day before, and her absence was killing him. If truth be told, he had been planning on… Well, I can’t do that now, no use thinking about it, he thought.

Harry was lying on a scratchy, buggy mattress, his stomach aching with hunger and his mind buzzing uncomfortably. What wouldn’t he give to be at Hogwarts right now, eating dinner in the Great Hall, planning Defense lessons in the library, or playing chess with Hermione?

Harry had been out and about for two months now, and Hogwarts had found a temporary substitute for him. They had been two months of cold, two months of searching and searching and running around the countryside. His search had brought him finally to Hogsmeade, where he hoped Bellatrix was hiding.

Harry hauled himself off of the bed, brushed a bedbug away from a pair of his underwear, and pulled on his black cloak to go down to dinner. He slipped quietly out of his room, making sure his face was in shadow, before tiptoeing down the stairs and into the dingy little bar.

A few seedy looking witches sat in one corner, sipping fire whiskey, and a cloaked man sat brooding at the bar. Several warlocks with strong Scottish accents were playing cards at a nearby table, and there were several more hooded figures into the dimmest corner of the room. Harry sat heavily on a barstool, several seats away from the heavily cloaked figure. He ordered a butterbeer and some tomato soup, and the barman slumped over to the stove to heat his food. Harry let his mind wander while he waited, contemplating his next move.

When the soup was hot, the barman placed it in front of him with a grumpy expression on his face, slamming a bottle of butterbeer down next to him. Harry cracked open the bottle and drank deeply, savoring its taste. He set the bottle down and started on his soup.

A voice distracted him from his reverie. It was the cloaked man.

“Sorry?� Harry said, wondering what the man could want.

“I said, ‘Are you enjoying that meal, Potter?’� the figure said. The voice was not male. It was a cold female voice that sent chills through his entire body.

“Yes,� said Harry, his every muscle tensing.

“Good,� said the woman, reaching for her hood, “because it’s going to be your last…�

It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!� she screeched, and Harry reacted instinctively. He flung himself off of the barstool, knocking over his soup and sending hot tomatoes flying everywhere. The jet of green light barely missed him, and he heard yelling somewhere in the back of his brain. He was flat on his back, under the stool. Without thinking, he let his experience from the war take over.

“STUPEFY!� he bellowed, sending a jet of red light to where he thought Bellatrix was. Scrambling to his feet, his wand outstretched, he saw the pandemonium that reigned in the bar. Bellatrix was firing spells everywhere, as if she was hoping no one would shout and give her away. The other cloaked men had pulled back their hoods and revealed Death Eater masks.

Several barrels of mead had exploded, and all the tables in the bar were sopping wet. The witches in the corner were shrieking swearwords mixed with hexes from where they were trapped behind a table that had gone flying. The masked Death Eaters were firing jets of multicolored light in every direction.

Harry dodged a Stunner and fired several spells in rapid succession towards the whirling black blurs the Death Eaters had become. Leaping over a stool and nearly slipping in a puddle of mead, he fought his way through the melee.

“Impedimenta! Stupefy!� he shouted again, whirling his wand towards Bellatrix.

She was faster.

“CRUCIO!� she yelled, and Harry doubled over, screaming in pain, as if hot knives were pressing into every inch of his body. He was surely gong to burst, to explode…

And then it stopped. Harry lay, breathing heavily for a moment, before stumbling to his feet. Gathering every last vestige of his strength, he spat in her face.

She grinned, and wiped Harry’s bloody spit away from her eye.

“Do you know what this is, Potter?� she said, hatred filling her voice, “This is your punishment. No one defies the Dark Lord. No one defies my master.�

“Well, I hate to break it to you,� said Harry disgustedly, “but I think I might have killed him. I’ll get back to you on that.�

Her eyes momentarily filled with anger and her nostrils flared, but otherwise, Bellatrix ignored his jibe. “And did you like killing him, baby Potter? Did you like becoming a murderer?�

Harry opened his mouth, and closed it again, biting back his retort. Was he really a murderer?

“No,� he said stubbornly.

“Ah, but you did!� she replied, “You liked killing him. I can see it in your eyes. I can read you like a book, Potter. There’s no need for Legilimency. You liked becoming a killer. You liked taking away a life. Deny it if you like, but I can see it. We’re not that different from each other on the inside, Potter, are we?�

Harry felt sick. Her words were boring into his brain like one of Uncle Vernon’s drills, feeling their way around the mental walls he had put up, feeling their way into all the crevices, until he could think of nothing else. The other Death Eaters were laughing, the sound muffled and distorted by their masks.

“You think the Dark Lord didn’t deserve to live, do you? You think you were right to kill him. But guess what, baby Potter? He thought he was right to kill you too. You’re just as bad as you thought he was… You’re a murderer too,�

“You liar,� he said hoarsely, “I…�

“CRUCIO!� she said again, and Harry felt his body slam against the ground. The pain was blinding him, filling his skin. Hot knives were pressing into his flesh, fire was all around him, he was writhing uncontrollably on the ground. He wanted it to end, to stop. He wanted to die…

He could hear himself yelling, but the pain was filling his brain so that reality and delirium seemed to meld together into a fusion of pain and suffering. Nothing could possibly be worse than this…

He was shaking on the ground, filth from the floor filling his nose and hair. Insane laughter was penetrating his brain, but he didn’t know if it was himself or someone else. He felt his legs hit a table, but the pain couldn’t even reach his conscious self; the rest of him hurt so much. His voice gave out from screaming so much, but his mouth remained open, red and raw.

His memory seemed to meld in with his dreams, his recollections were drowned in a waterfall of agony, so that he could no longer remember, could no longer feel. He briefly wondered if this was what had happened to Neville’s parents, but a second later, any thought he had was drowned in a wave of anguish, so awful he thought he might burst.

�Crucio, CRUCIO!

There was someone screaming inside his head, voices that were more terrible than anything Harry had ever heard.

The pain was sending him into a vortex of indistinguishable color and sound, where his conscious self seemed to leave his body, and could remember nothing but Bellatrix’s words to him…

“You liked killing him…I can see it in your eyes.�

Suddenly, the pain was gone, and the real world came flooding back in a spinning mass of color and sound. Harry didn’t know what was happening. His brain felt blank, empty and only two things could permeate his consciousness. One was pain. The other was an inescapable truth.

He was a murderer. So he ran, vanishing through the back door of the inn, and dashing through the streets of Hogsmeade, his own screams still ringing in his ears, gulping and coughing in pain. The moon was the only thing providing light when Harry fell, unconscious, by the cave on the outskirts of the village.

“Ginny! Get down these stairs and help me with the potatoes. NOW, please!�

Ginny sighed and replaced her magazine dejectedly on her night table, dragging herself off of her bed and looking critically at her reflection in the mirror. Her Muggle sweatpants and t-shirt were mismatched and her hair was in a messy bun, but at this point, she didn’t really care what she looked like. She sighed again, slipped her feet into her favorite slippers, and went downstairs as slowly as possible.

When she reached the kitchen, her mother had already finished chopping potatoes, but that didn’t stop her from finding work for Ginny to do. Mrs. Weasley looked vaguely harassed as she handed Ginny a spoon and gestured to the gravy on the stove, and she immediately bustled over to the fireplace to check on the bread as soon as Ginny was properly set up with the gravy.

Mrs. Weasley was working extremely hard to make sure that Christmas eve dinner that night went smoothly. The entire family was turning up, and her mother was determined that the holiday should be as enjoyable as possible.

There was only one person who wouldn’t be arriving that day to enjoy the holiday. Harry was still off on his mission, wherever he was, searching for Bellatrix, and Ginny was still completely dejected that he wouldn’t be around for Christmas.

“Well, Ginny, I’m glad to see that you dressed so nicely for the arrival of your older brothers,� Hermione had looked up from the crossword puzzle she was doing on the table and decided to comment.

“Shut up,� Ginny snapped. “Why aren’t you doing any work?�

“Merlin’s beard, Ginny, relax,� she said, looking offended. “I don’t mean to insult you. And I did help your mum. She made me stop after I added too much cheese to that salad,� she finished, gesturing to a large bowl of greens on the counter. It did indeed have quite a lot of cheese on top.

Ginny frowned. “So if I mess something up, I’m out of here?�

“I suppose,� Hermione said. “But I wouldn’t if I were you. Your mum will go ballistic.�

Ginny stuck her tongue out at her and went back to the gravy. Stirring absentmindedly, she pictured what it would have been like if Harry was here…

Lost in wonderful and possibly R-rated fantasies, Ginny barely registered that Hermione was speaking again.

“You want a game of chess after you’re done?� she asked.

When Ginny didn’t answer, she continued. “Okay, how about we take walk down to the village?�

“Or,� she continued, smirking, “how about snogging Harry senseless?�

“What?� Ginny said dazedly, looking sharply up from the gravy.

“I knew that’d get your attention. I know that’s all you’ve thought about all holiday.�

“I’m just worried about him is all,� Ginny said.

“I know you are. But Harry will be fine. Trust me. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be home soon,� Hermione said kindly.

“Easy for you to say,� Ginny said grumpily. “You’ve got your boyfriend around anytime you want.�

Hermione smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I know,� she said. “I’m lucky.�

Ginny returned moodily to her work on the gravy, stirring with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Hermione stared at her for another minute, looking concerned, but she soon returned to the contemplation of her crossword puzzle when it was clear that Ginny wasn’t in the mood for anymore chatting.

By six o’clock that evening, it seemed that the entire extended Weasley family and assorted friends and their families were gathered in the living room and kitchen of the Weasley household for a Christmas eve feast. A ham was sizzling in the oven, and Christmas carols played softly behind the sound of fourteen festive voices discussing everything from Quidditch to cooking recipes.

Bill and Fleur sat on the couch, their newborn son Beau wrapped in several blankets in Fleur’s arms. Beau was Ginny’s first nephew, and she loved him to pieces already, even though she had only met him in the last week that she had been home for Christmas. He was only a few weeks old, wrinkly and pink, with a tiny bit of strawberry blond fuzz on the top of his tiny head.

Charlie, his new girlfriend Tamber, Lupin and Tonks sat by the fire, laughing and holding mugs of hot cider. Mr. Weasley was stirring a pot of soup while his wife whizzed around the kitchen, fixing last minute preparations. Fred, George and Ron sat at the table, where George was apparently telling an extremely amusing story, because the three of them would periodically break into peals of raucous laughter, and Hermione would look pointedly at them with a slightly stony expression. She and Ginny were seated in the last two seats in the room, or rather, Hermione was seated in the last chair of the room, and Ginny had been left to curl gracelessly on the ottoman, staring absently into the fire.

Getting slightly bored with staring into the fire, Ginny got up and walked over to where Fleur and Bill were sitting.

“Hey, Ginny,� Bill said, grinning at her and pulling his finger out of little Beau’s grasp.

“Hi,� she said. “Can I hold Beau, Fleur? Please?�

Smiling serenely, Fleur placed the tiny boy in Ginny’s arms. “I am going to ‘elp your mother, Bill,� Fleur said, kissing the tip of her husband’s nose and striding over to the kitchen. Beau opened his little blue eyes and looked at Ginny, giving her a pink- gummed grin. Ginny and Bill both laughed, and Beau’s tiny hands grasped for Ginny’s necklace, a present from Harry for her birthday. She gently peeled his fingers from around it and tucked the chain under her shirt.

Suddenly, a loud popping noise came from somewhere nearby. Ginny spun around, nearly upsetting Beau from his perch on her lap, and causing him to begin wailing loudly. Charlie, Lupin, Tonks and Tamber jumped back from the fire, and most of Tonks’ cider ended up on the carpet.

“KINGSLEY!� Mr. Weasley yelled in surprise, staring at the head that had just appeared in the fire. It was indeed Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking anxious and harassed.

“Arthur, Tonks, I’m really sorry to have burst in right now, but there’s something I thought you should know right away, given your… er… personal connections with…� he trailed away, looking almost surprised at the number of people to whom he was speaking, as though he hadn’t quite noticed they were all there.

“Go on,� Tonks said quickly. “It’s fine to speak here.�

“I…� Kingsley hesitated. “I don’t know if… it has to do with Potter and…� He was staring pointedly at Ginny, and she knew immediately, and with a surge of anger, what was going on.

“Anything you have to say about Harry, you can say in front of me. I can handle it, thank you,� she said stiffly, rocking Beau so he would stop whimpering.

Kingsley shrugged and turned back to Mr. Weasley and Tonks, who had moved to kneel in front of the fire, their knees in Tonks’ cider stain.

“Fine, here’s the story,� he said, taking a deep breath. “We got a message from some of the Hogsmeade inhabitants a while back that they had heard all kinds of banging and yelling in the Hog’s Head one evening. We went to investigate and found a bunch of unconscious ex- Death Eaters and civilians, and the whole place swimming in mead. When we interrogated the witnesses, we found out that both Potter and Bellatrix had been involved in the fight, but no one could tell us where either of them went after the battle, so we started looking for them right away—“

“Hold on!� Ginny interrupted. “You didn’t tell us that Harry had been in a battle? Don’t you think that’s the kind of information everyone in this room would like to know?�

Kingsley frowned at her. “There was no need. There was nothing to suggest that Potter wasn’t perfectly fine. We didn’t want to worry you,� he said, and, seeing that Ginny was about to comment again, quickly continued.

“We finally captured Bellatrix this morning. We’ve been interrogating her all day, and she finally told us that she tortured Potter to extreme extents during the battle, but she doesn’t know what became of him. Veritaserum proved she told the truth. Potter may be in serious danger.�

Ringing silence filled the room after he finished. Ginny felt suddenly short of breath when the full implication of Kingsley’s words hit her.

“We have to find him. Now! He could’ve been out there for months. He could be dead!� She handed Beau to Bill and was halfway out of the room to find her cloak when her mother grabbed her shoulder.

“Ginny! No! You can’t go looking for Harry now. What if there are more Death Eaters around? I forbid it,� she said.

“Let me GO!� Ginny said desperately, wrenching her shoulder out of her mother’s grip.

“Ginny, calm down,� Hermione said from across the room.

“Yes,� Kingsley agreed immediately. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about it in front of someone so… personally attached to Potter.�

Ginny took a deep breath and tried to calm her fearful, racing heart. “So I’m supposed to do nothing?� she said scathingly. “I’m supposed to let the boy- the man- that I… I love… just die?�

“No,� Kingsley said, sounding irritated. “We’ll be looking for him, of course. I just thought you might all want to know. I came here out of courtesy, Ginny,� he said, his voice gentler now. “I just wanted you all to know what was going on.�

He left with another pop, and Ginny fell dejectedly onto the ottoman. Hermione grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly, but Ginny could not be reassured. For several minutes, no one spoke. Finally, Lupin opened his mouth as if to say something, but at that moment, Ginny pulled herself up and went upstairs without waiting to hear what he would say, and he closed his mouth rather resignedly.

Up in her room, Ginny collapsed onto her bed, staring lethargically up at the ceiling, contemplating the difficulty of her stupid noble boyfriend. She squeezed the necklace he had given her and closed her eyes, as if she could bring the experience back just by remembering.

Her birthday had come just a month after her recovery from the war had finally finished. Her renewed relationship with Harry had been blossoming ever since he had rescued her in the forest. She hadn’t really been expecting much for her birthday, but he had surprised her…

The sun shone brightly on Ginny’s closed eyes as the morning dawned. She thought she could stay forever in her warm bed and never get up, but there was a knock on her door, and she had to sit up.

It was Harry, carrying a small package wrapped in tissue paper and grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi,� he said. “Happy seventeenth birthday.�

She smiled at him and got out of bed, walking over to hug him tightly. “Good morning,� she said, her words muffled because she had buried her face in his shirt. She turned her gaze upward to those startlingly green eyes she loved so much, and Harry smiled even wider, if that was possible, and kissed her gently on the lips. They broke apart after only moment, and just as Ginny was about to kiss him a second time, he stopped her.

“Don’t you want to see what I got you?� he said mischievously, but there was hint of anxiety in his tone, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d picked the right thing.

“Harry, you didn’t have to—“ she began, but he cut her off with another chaste kiss.

“But I wanted to,� he said. “And after all, you do come of age today. Here.�

He handed her the package, and she pulled off the pale paper to reveal a small velvet box. Inside was a tiny green crystal heart on a delicate golden chain.

“Harry!� she said, shocked. “This is… this is beautiful. Thank you.�

“I’m really, really glad you like it. Hermione helped me pick it out.�

“It’s amazing,� she whispered. “I’ll never be able to find you something so great.�

“I know something that gets pretty close,� he said, grinning playfully at her.

“What?� she asked, and Harry leaned down and kissed her, pressing his lips gently to hers at first, but deepening the kiss slowly until every inch of her body had curved into his, her lips pressed against his mouth and her hands feeling every inch of his back, reaching up under his thin t- shirt.

“That gets pretty close,� he breathed when they broke apart, and kissed her again…

Ginny was disturbed from her fantasy continuation of the memory, in which, instead of being interrupted by a nosy older brother, as had really happened, she and Harry were quite alone. Ron was knocking on her door, and she jerked her head back to reality.

“Come in,� she said, wondering what on earth he could want.

“Ginny,� he said the moment he came in, “did you mean what you said? About being in love with Harry?�

“Yes,� Ginny said defensively. She was almost sure that Ron was about to start berating her for her so- called “juvenile fantasies�, but at the moment, she did not particularly care.

Ron didn’t speak for moment. He seemed to be trying to think of something to say.

“I’m okay with that,� he said finally.

“What?� Ginny said, completely taken off guard.

“I think you and Harry really are in love,� he said, his voice a bit stronger. “And I just wanted to tell you that Harry’s going to be fine. I know it.�

“How?�

“Listen, I know him really well. I know how to tell what he’s thinking. The whole time we were out fighting Voldemort, he was determined to come back to you. I’m sure it’s the same way now. I know he’ll come back for you,� Ron said, watching his sister carefully.

Ginny stared at him silently. She was worried about Harry, and nothing Ron could say would convince her to feel otherwise, but he did have a point. If anyone knew all about Harry, it would be Ron.

“Ron!� Ginny said, suddenly inspired. “You can find him! Please, go look for him. There’s no Quidditch practices for a while now, I know your team’s training schedule. Please go look for him. The Ministry can’t do it as well as you!�

“Ginny…� he said, looking unhappy.

“Please, Ron, say you will. For me, please?�

“Fine,� said Ron, resigned. He turned to leave her room. “I’ll leave tomorrow…�

“Ron?� Ginny said, stopping him. “If he’s having rough time when you see him, just… just tell him to read my letter.�

“We’re looking for an average height, dark haired man, eighteen years old, with a lightning bolt scar. Have you seen anyone around?�

The old bearded wizard gave Ron a shrewd and calculating look. “Yer looking fer that Potter boy, ain’t ye?�

Ron started. “Yes- er- how did you know?�

“Lightning bolt scar, I ask ye. As if everyone didn’ already know his story… Anyway, I’m one o’ them villagers here who called them Ministry buffoons when we was hearin’ all that noise in the Hog’s Head. Scared my poor old Kneazles right out o’ their skins, I can tell ye…� he said, trailing away and muttering under his breath about disturbances.

“So you knew that Harry Potter was involved?� Ron inquired anxiously.

“Course I did. Saw the poor guy runnin’ out of the pub, stumblin’ something dreadful. If I saw him on the street like that, I’d tell him he’d be a good lad to sit down an’ let the whiskey wear off a bit…� the man replied. Ron barely listened as he continued to grumble.

“You saw Harry? Which way did he go? You have to tell me, now!� Ron said, hurriedly cutting off the old wizard’s monologue.

“Oy, calm yerself, lad. I don’ know what way he went, I wasn’ watchin’. If I was ye, though, I’d check out them rocks out o’ the village. There’s a lot o’ stuff out there none o’ us livin’ here ever bother with…�

Having heard enough, Ron Weasley pulled his traveling cloak closer around his shoulders and bent over against the bitter January wind, gasping as the frigid air rushed into his throat. Dusk was falling, and he now had one place he wanted to visit in Hogsmeade before turning in for the night at the Three Broomsticks. He hurried onward, towards the craggy hills on the outskirts of the village, which he remembered, having visited them in his fourth year.

The search for Harry was going badly. Ron had been inquiring after his best friend for a week and a half now. If Harry wasn’t near those caves, Ron had no idea where he might be found.

Pulling the blue scarf Hermione had knitted him closer over his nose, he trudged along the dirty path, blinking as tiny pinpricks of sleet hit his face. I hope Ginny appreciates this, he thought sullenly. This weather is just awful.

He picked his way among the rocks on the hill, not quite sure where the handy cave might be. Fourth year seemed ages ago to him now. However, he remembered the place when he came to it, almost as if Sirius’s dog paws had padded over the familiar rock just yesterday.

A young man sat in the corner of the cave. And it was undoubtedly Harry.

He looked disgusting, with tangled and matted hair that was encrusted with a layer of dusty grime. His face was bleeding and dirty, and his nose was running. His torn, stained and bloody clothes hung loosely against his frame. His skeleton could be seen under his blistered skin.

The worst sight was his eyes. They were hard and dead, as if the soul inside them had shriveled up into the deep recesses of his mind. His pain was evident, and his expression was wild and deranged. His normally green eyes were masked by a bloodshot pink tinge, and his pupils were dilated to the point where the green was almost invisible.

Ron gasped at the sight of the man before him. This was not Harry. This was some ghost of Harry, some gory, disgusting spirit. Real Harry did not look like that.

Real Harry also did not brandish a knife at his best friend, but that was what this Harry was doing.

Ron pulled his wand cautiously from his pocket. He was not afraid of Harry’s knife, but Harry was obviously insane and did not understand what was going on. What Ron was actually afraid of was if this insane model of Harry suddenly decided to pull out his wand.

“Harry?� Ron whispered, peering at him.

“Get… away,� Harry said, hoarsely, staring at Ron with wildly gleaming eyes and waving the jagged knife clumsily in front of him.

“Harry, it’s okay. It’s just me, Ron,� Ron said cautiously, not moving.

“Get away… from me,� Harry repeated.

“Harry, you’re not right in the head. You need—“ Ron started, but Harry interrupted him.

“I’m—I’m a murderer. Get away,� Harry croaked, tears spilling unexpectedly from his emerald eyes as his entire body shook.

“What the…?� Ron murmured to himself, unnerved by Harry’s strange behavior. “Harry, you’re not a murderer.�

“You want to bet?�

Harry whipped his wand out of his pocket, shouting something Ron couldn’t decipher, since it was more like a croak. Instantly, a rat came soaring out of a corner of the cave, coming to rest in front of Harry, squealing wildly. Ron watched in horror as Harry raised his wand again before the squeaking creature on the floor.

�AVADA KEDAVRA!� he yelled, green light flashing to illuminate his hungry, feral eyes. The rat slumped, dead on the floor.

“See?� Harry whispered. “See? I can kill with mere whim. I have the power to snuff its life out like a candle. I can make them hurt if I want to.�

He grasped the dead rat in his filthy fingers, staring at it fiercely. Suddenly, without warning, he struck, tearing at the rat’s raw flesh with his teeth. A harsh ripping, squelching sound filled the cave, and Ron nearly gagged.

“Harry, stop!� he yelled, stumbling a few paces forward. Harry looked up at Ron, a carnal hunger and empty insanity simultaneously filling his eyes.

“I can kill you too, Ron… I can kill you in an instant—just like I did for Voldemort, just like I did for all the rats in this cave. I can make you hurt if I want to…� Harry rasped, as Ron edged slightly closer to him, staring at Harry as though unable to believe his eyes.

“You can’t save yourself,� Harry whispered, as if the idea of so much dangerous power was tearing him up inside.

“I can save myself,� Ron said, horrified. “I just have to save you first.�

He raised his wand. �STUPEFY!�

Harry slumped back onto the dirt of the cave. Shaking with shock and horror, Ron grabbed his best friend in the whole word by the arm, and Apparated to St. Mungo’s.

---

Deep in his dreams, Harry Potter could feel nothing. No pain, no guilt or suffering or terror. His mind was wonderfully and utterly blank, filled with nothing but swirling, soft pale haze.

It was utter bliss, and he was loath to wake up.

He could hear voices softly muttering in the vicinity of his body, and white light shone warmly on his eyes. He felt nothing but soft, warm cloud beneath him, lifting him up and wrapping him in a cocoon of steam.

In his dreams, a girl came to him, walking towards him through a misty cloud, her small, delicate hand reaching out to grasp his. Bright steams of sunlight burst out from behind her, illuminating her shining red hair and deep brown eyes. Harry could feel his breath catch in his chest.

She was close to him now, her hands inches away from caressing his face, hovering a centimeter above his cheeks. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating around her, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and never let go.

But Harry knew he couldn’t, because horrible things would happen.

Gently, she lowered her fingers to his face. He tried to yell for her to stop, to get away, to save herself, but it was too late. A searing, burning force rushed through Harry’s body. The girl screamed, her cry piercing through his muddled mind, and fell backwards to the floor. Her skin was blistered and burned, and her eyes were closed.

In his dream, Harry knew they would never open again. He tried to yell, but his lungs seemed to be full of cotton. Iron hands were gripping down on him, and urgent voices were yelling nearby.

He wanted to wake up, but his eyes were glued shut. He thought he was dying. He knew he didn’t deserve to live, anyway. He had proven that.

He was falling, plummeting through ice cold winds…

He was reaching out from the bottom of a well, for people that could hardly hear him…

He was flying high above the clouds, the sun burning him and blinding him…

A Healer stood hopelessly by Harry’s hospital bed, wondering why on earth he had tears streaming down his cheeks.

The moment she had seen him, Ginny had started crying. He was lying there, so lifeless and cold, his eyes closed as if to shield him from the harsh realities of the world around him. His skin was so white, it looked like porcelain, and countless tiny pinkish wounds marred his handsome face. He lay, weak and helpless in the hospital bed, the white of the sheets and his skin contrasting sharply with his messy black hair that flopped untidily onto his pillow. His eyes were closed, and his lashes fluttered slightly. She could see every vein in his eyelids.

Ginny wanted his eyes to open. She wanted more than anything to look into his bright green eyes again, so intelligent and full of life. But he didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t look around at her, and she was reduced to sitting by his bedside, trying to control herself.

She reached out one trembling hand and touched Harry’s, the cold of his hand exaggerated against the warmness of hers. She wrapped her fingers around his, trying to give him some of her warmth. His eyes twitched slightly in his sleep, but otherwise, he gave no notice that he felt anything. She scooted her chair closer to the bed.

How long would he lie there? Ginny had left Hogwarts the moment Professor McGonagall had agreed to it, and she had gone straight to St. Mungo’s. Harry had been asleep that entire afternoon, as well as today. She hadn’t moved from his bedside. She had slept curled on the bottom of his bed.

In desperation, she flopped over to rest her head on his covers, taking great, shuddering breaths as tears squeezed out from behind her eyelids. She still was holding onto his hand, and she slowly brought it to her lips, kissing his palm gently, and willing him to respond.

He remained still, and she buried her face in his sheets again, her emotions whirling around her.

“Harry…� she pleaded with his silent face. “Wake up, Harry, please… What happened to you?� She was staring at his face now, tears running unchecked down her cheeks.

“Harry… please, let me help you…� Ginny begged, as if by her desperate tone, he would be jerked back to alertness. When he remained impassive, she climbed gingerly off of her chair, her legs tingling from sitting so long. She began to pace the room, wondering what on earth she could do to help Harry.

Back and forth she went, wiping tears from her cheeks and staring wildly around at the room. No inspiration came to her for some time, until she spotted something on a corner table. Staring at it, her heart beating suddenly faster, the answer came to Ginny in a glorious light bulb of revelation. The only thing she had to check was whether he still had it…

In a few short strides, she had crossed the room to the small table that held Harry’s knapsack. Unzipping it with some difficulty due to the ripped fabric, she pulled the bag open and began rummaging frantically inside. Pushing aside several pairs of underwear, a dirty t-shirt and a peanut butter granola bar, Ginny’s hand closed at last upon a white envelope.

It was the letter she had written to Harry all those months ago, praying he would never have to open it. She pulled it out, staring at his name on the front in her own handwriting and navy blue ink. Her eyes filled with tears for the umpteenth time that day, and one fell on the letter, smudging the ink ever so slightly, but she brushed it away, angry with herself for being so emotional.

Going back over to Harry’s bed, she set the letter on his nightstand, as close as she could get it to the bed, hoping he would notice and remember it. Then, making a sudden decision, she lay down as quietly as she could beside him, her head next to his shoulder, a few strands of her hair resting absently on his chest.

She must have dozed off for a while, because the next thing she knew, a familiar hand was gently shaking her shoulder.

“Ginny?�

She opened her eyes and turned her head, wincing ever so slightly as her muscles unstiffened. It was Bill, his scarred face staring down at her and looking concerned. She wasn’t surprised he was here. Ron and Hermione were staying at the hospital with her, but they had gone to grab some dinner. The rest of the Weasleys just popped in and out whenever they got the chance.

“Hi,� she said, yawning.

“Hi,� Bill said. “You’re coming to get coffee with me.�

“Am I?� she asked dazedly. “I don’t want to go anywhere.�

“That’s exactly why we’re going. You’ve been wallowing in this room to long,� he said sternly.

“What if I like wallowing?� Ginny said, although she knew she was going for coffee, even if Bill had to drag her to the hospital tearoom.

“Wallowing does not like you,� her brother said decisively. “Get up, or I’ll have to carry you.�

“Fine,� she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and slipping them into her flats, which had been tossed unceremoniously beside Harry’s bed.

She and Bill set off down the hall, greeting the few Healers that they saw who were helping Harry. It took them less than ten minutes to walk to the tea room. Bill went to get coffees, while Ginny sat down at a table by the window and stared numbly around the room. He came back a few minutes later, holding two steaming mugs.

“Here you go,� Bill announced, placing one before her. “St. Mungo’s gourmet coffee,� he finished, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Ginny sipped her drink, more to give her something to do than because she really wanted to, but she had to admit that she felt a bit warmer and happier as soon as the liquid hit her throat. Bill was watching her closely.

“He’s going to be fine, Ginny. I promise,� he said, looking reassuringly at her.

Ginny didn’t answer for a moment. Abruptly, she slammed her mug on the table.

“How can you be sure?� she said, almost angrily. “That’s what everyone keeps saying. Hermione, Ron, Lupin and now you! How are you all so sure?�

“We’re not,� said Bill, unpeturbed. “We’re optimists. But Harry’s tough, he’ll be okay.�

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t really sure that positive thinking was really going to get anyone anywhere.

“Trust me, Ginny,� he said earnestly. They sipped in silence for a while.

“Come on, let’s go back,� Bill said finally, draining the last drops from his mug.

Ginny stood up automatically, and she and Bill made their way back to Harry’s ward without speaking. When they got there, however, the door to the ward was closed. Bill peered through the window.

“Dad’s in there… with one of the Healers—Dr. Kosenski,� he told her.

She tried to open the doorknob, not caring if she disturbed anyone, but it was locked. She swore and flopped dejectedly into a waiting chair outside the ward, hoping they would be quick.

This waiting was killing her. She had no idea what was happening to Harry or what was going on. No one did. Ginny thought that somehow this uncertainty was worse than knowing something horrible. She rubbed her eyes, exhausted. Her head ached with worry and fatigue.

She waited in her chair, growing more uncomfortable and impatient by the minute. Bill left to find Ron and Hermione, and several Healers came and went from the room, but not one would tell her anything that was going on. She vowed to accost Dr. Kosenski and her dad as soon as they came out into the hall.

When Ginny finally felt as if she couldn’t wait a minute longer, the doorknob jiggled again. She looked up sharply at Dr. Kosenski and her father as they left the room.

“Well?� she asked, trying to keep her voice even and respectful.

“He’s awake,� Mr. Weasley began, but Ginny did not pause to let him finish. Leaping off of her chair as though it had caught on fire, she ran to the door of Harry’s ward, intending to run in and greet him. However, Dr. Kosenski grabbed her shoulder and held her back.

“—But he’s requested no visitors,� Mr. Weasley finished. Ginny gaped at him, and turned back to see Harry seated in his bed, clearly alert. Why wouldn’t he talk to her?

“Even—“ Ginny began, but her father cut her off.

“Even you, Ginny. He’s in a bad state. It’s not a good time for him.�

Ginny stared back into Harry’s room, watching him closely. Even though she wasn’t close to him, she could still see the hard, hopeless and deadened look in his eyes. He turned his head slightly and looked at her directly. Hope surged suddenly in her chest, but the feeling was dashed as quickly as it had come. Harry just frowned and looked away. He couldn’t remember her at all…

Ginny felt fresh tears in her eyes. “Harry…� she whispered desperately against the glass.

She stood there, staring into his room, shaking with grief. Her father came up behind her and rested one strong hand on her shoulder. Ginny felt as though she were falling, reaching for Harry, who was waiting for her at the bottom of a well. She wanted to help him, but his need was so great, she could hardly hear him.

The healers were back again. Harry turned over in bed, his head spinning with even that slightest of movements, trying to ignore them. He was sick and tired of it. Sick of people staring at him as though he was some strange zoo animal. Sick of people inquiring incessantly what was wrong with him, how he felt, and if he needed anything. True, he needed rest, and relaxation and whatever disgusting concoctions the healers were making him choke down every few hours. But he didn’t need all these people hovering around him so he felt as though he was in a very cramped elevator.

He was still injured from his battle with Bellatrix, but, as everyone should have known by now, he was no stranger to physical pain. It was emotional pain that he wasn’t quite used to yet. He expected getting used to the kind of grief he felt now was most likely impossible.

The healers were talking, whether to him or not, Harry didn’t care. They handed him a small cup of some foul-smelling liquid, and Harry gulped it down mindlessly. His entire system seemed to be functioning on automatic at the moment, leaving his brain to stew in his own mess.

It was simply impossible to remain in his body. He was full of an incessant disgust for himself, and a desire to run- to be far away from anyone and everyone who knew all the terrible things he had done, and the horrible person that lurked under his innocent and heroic façade.

As much as everyone thought he was, Harry knew he was not a hero. He was nothing more than a murderer. Voldemort had deserved a chance to live- didn’t everyone? Then again, Voldemort had been evil and terrible and he had killed Harry’s parents. Wasn’t it right for Harry to have revenge?

These arguments swirled around in his head, chasing one another through his mind in endless circles, and filling him alternately with disgust and melancholy, or righteous anger. There would be periods when the hopelessness of his life seemed to engulf him and that he would stare at the ceiling for several hours, so that by his third day of consciousness, he had memorized the pattern of cracks in the paint. It was a large rabbit.

When Mr. Weasley had spoken to Harry the day he woke up, Harry had told him he did not want to see Ginny. He was such a mess inside, and he was scared of the terrible and murderous power that seemed to exist within him. Of course, having dozens of nightmares of himself somehow harming Ginny wasn’t helping either. As much as Harry didn’t believe in divination, he couldn’t help wondering if these dreams could be an omen of the future.

People had tried to tell him that Bellatrix had been messing with his mind at the Hog’s Head. He believed this, to a certain extent. Certainly her powers of persuasion coupled with several performances of the Cruciatus Curse had addled his mind, but he couldn’t erase his self-doubt all the way.

Harry turned over in bed to stare at the wall on the other side of his room. A small bulletin board hung above a shelf next to the window. Pinned to it were several get well cards, as well as a photograph of Fred and George wearing headless hats. He could tell it was them because labels were scrawled above their nonexistent heads in what looked like Ginny’s handwriting. He wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad to know she had been in here.

The rest of the Healers had left, save for one. It was Dr. Kosenski, their leader. He was standing at a small table in front of the window, puttering around with a few bottles. He looked up as Harry shifted under his sheets and the doctor followed his gaze to the bulletin board.

“Your girlfriend did that for you,� he commented. Harry started.

“What?�

“Your girlfriend. Ginny. She was in here constantly while you were unconscious. Always watching over you. Her brother dragged her out for a coffee when you woke up,�

“Oh,� said Harry. He believed that easily. It seemed like something she would do.

“She was angry when we told her she couldn’t see you. It broke my heart to watch,� he continued casually, scribbling something on a clip board and not looking at Harry. Harry didn’t comment.

“But I know you didn’t mean to hurt her. I’m sure you’ll both come round.� He turned to leave, stowing a few potion bottles on the shelf. “Oh, and Harry?� he said, pausing and looking back from the doorway.

“Yeah?�

“She left you a letter. It’s on the bedside table,� he finished, walking out into the hall.

Harry started once again and looked around at the small table by his bedside. Sure enough, a small white envelope lay there, his name printed neatly on the front. Hands trembling slightly, Harry reached for the envelope and slit it open. Out fell a piece of parchment covered in Ginny’s neat printing.

Dear Harry,

I hope you never have to read this, because if you do, it will mean you have lost all hope. If life is all happy and dandy for you, Mr. Potter, then close this envelope immediately.

Right now, Harry James Potter, I am so angry with you. You’ve just told me that you’re leaving to track and capture Bellatrix Lestrange. WHY ON EARTH DO YOU FEEL THE NEED TO ACT LIKE SOME STUPID NOBLE HERO AGAIN!

But I’m more than angry, Harry, I’m worried sick. I want more than anything to have you sitting beside me, safe and sound and whole. This is what I was scared of all those weeks ago in the woods- that something would hurt you, hurt me, something would make me feel all those scary things again that I felt during the war. Well, guess what? All those awful fears and worries are rushing right back.

So I don’t just want to make you all guilty, cause god knows you’ve had enough of that. I want you to remember me. When the world is breaking all around you and you feel like you can’t go on, I want you to remember that I’ll always be here for you. When the pain of everything is filling you up and you feel like you’re just going to burst because it hurts so badly, think of me. Come back to me, and I can help you.

You are the most incredible guy I’ve ever met, and you’re a hero in every sense, but if you let life drag you down so far, you’ll lose everything. You have to keep going, because you have to come back for me. There is so much for you to live for, and nothing for me to live for if you’re gone. I love you, and no matter how much I hate waiting around for your heroics to be over, I understand how you feel. I do it on the understanding that you won’t forget me.

Putting it simply, I’ll always love you. Don’t ever lose hope. Even the very hardest thing can’t get you down.

All my love forever and ever-- Ginny

Harry read the letter through once, twice, three times, his eyes filling with tears as he reached the end. Ginny. His Ginny. The girl who loved him even though he had murdered Lord Voldemort. The girl who promised to love him and be there for him and be his own forever and ever. How could he have forgotten her?

He looked up from the letter, his eyes still watery. Someone was peering through his open door, only semi- illuminated in the growing darkness. Harry craned his neck, trying to see who it was. Then his bedside lamp caught a strand of bright red hair in its sphere of golden light. He knew immediately who it was.

“Ginny?� Harry whispered cautiously. His stomach swooped at the thought of seeing her again.

The figure moved into the room, smiling and crying at the same time. Ginny walked over to his bed and sat down next to him. She reached toward his face, wiping away one of his tears with a familiar hand. Harry sank into her touch, moving closer to her and gently, as if in a dream, touching his lips gently to her cheeks and eyelids, slowly kissing her salty tears away.

He knew that he would still have to talk about what had happened. He knew that when the morning came he would still have to face the world. He knew that his healing process was not yet over, but at the moment, he didn’t care.

“Are you okay?� she murmured softly, her red hair teasing his face as he continued to kiss her cheeks.

“No,� he whispered back. “But don’t stop.� Ginny wrapped her arms around him pulled him closer.

They were unable to stop after that. Ginny’s lips found Harry’s and they kissed deeply, melting against each other, their minds becoming hazy. Harry’s hands caressed every part of her body- her arms and shoulders, cheeks and hair. She felt his hair and his strong muscles under his shirt, deepening the kiss as if she could never feel it again.

Somehow, Ginny ended up in top of Harry on his bed, every part of her body attempting to meld to his as his lips moved more urgently against hers.

“You’ve found me, Ginny,� he breathed against her ear, moving aside her hair to kiss her there. He held her as close as he could, and together, the two of them fell deeply asleep.