A/N: All of the characters contained herein are the property of JK Rowling.
Ginny's vibrant red hair was spread out around her in startling contrast to the stark white sheets and her pale, almost translucent skin. Harry was sharply reminded of his second year at Hogwarts when he'd found Ginny, so white and still, in the Chamber of Secrets. She had almost died that day. It scared him to think about it now. Had he not saved her then, he would have lost her before he had even realized how much he cared for her.
He sat down next to her and brushed her hair back from her face. He felt so helpless. He was supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world. The Prophecy said so. Dumbledore said so. Why then could he not keep the people he loved safe? His parents were dead. Sirius was dead. Ginny, his bold, brave Ginny, lay here broken and bruised. Even the Dursleys, who he wasn't sure he could say he truly loved, were gone, or as good as.
Harry thought of his Aunt Petunia then. He wondered if she had noticed that his visits had stopped. The healers at St. Mungo's had encouraged Harry to come see her when he could. They said that she seemed calmer after her saw her. He remembered that they also told him that he should talk to her when he was there. They seemed to think that this would help, like Harry could talk her back into sanity somehow. Harry had, as a result, spent each of his visits talking to her. He never really remembered what he had said afterwards, he had just rambled, and hoped it helped.
He looked at Ginny again, wondering if he could somehow talk her back. He knew Madame Pomfrey had said she would be fine, but he couldn't stand to see her laying there, so lifeless, like that. He was, he reflected, willing to try anything. He began to speak.
At first, it was just about trivial things like how classes had been that day, but soon he found himself pouring out his soul. He told Ginny things that he had never told anyone. He told her about being locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the first time. He had not yet been three and was terrified of the dark. He remembered he had cried for his Mum and Dad. Uncle Vernon had come in then. He had beaten him and told him that the more he cried the longer he would be there. Harry had stopped crying after that. He had also given up hope of ever seeing his parents again. It was his earliest memory with the Dursleys. He told her other things too. He told her about his birthdays, about how he'd always thought that he must've been naughty as a child because he'd never received gifts from St. Nicholas. In the end, he'd given up on believing in St. Nicholas as well.
All of Harry's memories weren't bad ones, however, and he shared these with her too. He told her about the enjoyment he had gotten from playing with Dudley's cast off toy soldiers. He would set them up and have great battles on the floor of his cupboard when he was little. He told her about receiving his Hogwarts letter, meeting Hagrid, and his first trip to Diagon Alley. He told her how worried he had been that he would not fit in here either, until he met Ron, his first ever friend, on the Hogwarts Express. He shared with Ginny the simple rush of joy he'd felt the first time he flew on a broom, and the satisfaction he got from feelng his fingers close around the snitch. He told her about his first meeting with Sirius and the brief moment of hope he'd had at the thought of leaving Privet Drive and living with his godfather.
Harry even told her all of his hopes and dreams, things he rarely if ever allowed himself to dwell on. He told her how he wanted to be an auror, how he would fix up Grimmauld Place and make it a beautiful, happy home. They would live there with their family. They could visit the Burrow every Sunday for dinner and their children would never, ever doubt that they were loved.
He was a little shocked when he realized how easily and automatically he had stuck Ginny into his vision of the future. He knew that he would never be able to tell her these things when she was awake, not yet anyway. They were too young, their relationship too new. Their world was at war and he still had to face Voldemort. Harry also knew that he would store these dreams away. They would become his hope, his reason for going on when all else seemed lost.
All at once the events of the day caught up to him as his exhaustion pressed in. He had barely slept the night before and had expended a great deal of magic in his earlier anger. A part of him also realized that he was drained from the torrent of words and emotions which had come pouring out to the sleeping Ginny. He reached out and very gently, so as not to jostle her healing arm, took her hand. He then rested his head against the back of the chair and allowed his eyes to slowly drift closed.
"Did you like my gift for you Potter?" the high cold voice hissed. "She's gotten quite pretty, our Miss Weasley, even with the message my loyal servants left on her forehead."
"Our Miss Weasley Tom? That's a bit presumptous don't you think?" Harry asked, marveling to himself that he was so bold as to refer to Voldemort by his true name as he had heard Dumbledore do. He allowed himself a small satisfied smile.
"Have you forgotten that she was once mine Harry? She will be again you know," Voldemort said tauntingly.
Harry laughed then. "I hardly think so. She is not the same shy, lovestruck little girl she was then. She is strong and independent. She will not be tricked by you again and she will never come to you willingly."
"Do you really think she's strong enough to resist Lord Voldemort boy? I'll see her grovel before me and she will cheer your death when I kill you."
Harry could feel the anger in Voldemort, could tell the conversation was not going the way the Dark Lord had expected it to. Harry was supposed to be cowering in fear, supposed to be plagued with doubts about Ginny. He wasn't though. He had faith in Ginny, faith in the love that they shared. He was tired of himself and those he loved being victims and he knew that Voldemort's threats were empty. More than all of that though, Harry was angry... powerfully, toweringly angry because now he knew. Voldemort had been the one to order Ginny's attack. He had been the one to lure Harry to the Department of Mysteries and cause Sirius' death. He had been the one to take Harry's parents from him. Voldemort would be the one on which Harry would release his anger.
"I'm tired of this conversation Tom. If you are not going to do anything but repeat your idle threats, you may leave," Harry said in an icy cold voice. He then allowed all of his anger to be unleashed and directed at the Dark Lord, pushing him out of his mind.
This was not enough for Harry this time, however. He decided that this time Voldemort should have to deal with the agony Harry felt with these intrusions. He concentrated all of his thoughts on the searing pain he felt in his scar, the pain that only Voldemort could bring. He reveled in it, harnassed it, and sent it back to it's source. Harry could feel the Dark Lord collapse under the weight of it.
"Now stay out of my head Tom. Your mind games don't work with me anymore," Harry snarled.
He broke the link then, slamming shut the barriers in his mind, and coming back to consciousness with a rush. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find himself staring into the shocked and frightened faces of his family and friends, the green flames around him fading once again.
Hope you enjoyed that. Thank you for reading and, hopefully, reviewing. As always, thanks to Danielle my wonderful moderator, Will my son and beta, and all of you fabulous people who review.