The noon sun was high in the sky, but curtains kept out its blessed warmth in the little dormitory where Harry slept. He hadn't bothered to close the hangings around his sleeping frames, and remnants of a hastily eaten meal sat on the little nightstand next to him. His glass were crooked on his face, and his trainers, though already off his feet, had been left discarded at the foot of the bed.

Ginny hadn't meant to climb upstairs to the boys' dormitory, but that's where her feet led her. Her brain felt blissfully blank, though foggy, like a dark cloud had settled over it. She knew why she felt this way. The aching hole in her chest, the place closest to her heart, had stopped throbbing as exhaustion took over and her mother urged her to go upstairs and sleep with the promise that she herself would follow soon, once everyone else had been prodded to do the same. And that was why when Ginny's shaky legs led her up these stairs, and not her own to the girls' rooms, she did not object.

She watched him sleep now, his chest rising and falling with little inconsistence, his fingers twitching every few seconds. She supposed she had just wanted to check up on him, though with a lurch she realized, I just want to check he's still alive. It wasn't a dream. He didn't really die.

But had he died? Had he gone and come back? Had his heart stopped beating, unlike hers, which pounded harder and harder next to that gaping hole that had been punched out when Fred died?

Her chest contracted, and, trembling, she walked through the dark dormitory towards his bed. They were the only ones in there, in the quiet early afternoon. She could hear birds singing songs outside, oblivious to the pain inside the castle. She knelt beside Harry's sleeping form and gently pressed her hand to his chest. It was like a shock of lightning to her fragile frame, to finally reach out and hold some part of his living body. He did not stir, though he was warm, and she could feel his heartbeat beneath his shirt, pounding gently away.

The electric shock subsided and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Her face melted into a small smile as the ache in her throat grew, though no tears fell. He's alive, she thought blissfully. She stayed like that, crouched awkwardly on the floor, her hand gripping the neck hole of his T-shirt. After some time she pulled his glasses off and set them tenderly aside. She removed his shoes from the bed as well, and brushed the crumbs off the blanket and onto the floor.

The same feeling that had brought her to his dormitory took over once more and she gingerly climbed onto the bed and lay beside him. The mattress creaked as she partially closed the curtains and settled onto her left side, facing him, with inches separating their bodies. Though her body was tired, her eyes remained wide open. Watching, waiting.

They had just begun to flutter shut when he finally moved. Wordlessly he rolled over to his side and looked directly at her. The green eyes were piercing on the innocent brown. Ginny did not break contact, but stared back.

He reached out his hand and gripped hers. The hole near her heart seemed forgotten for a moment, and she squeezed his hand back. She thought she saw the corners of his eyes grow wet, but she pulled him close to her, and it was with him breathing warmly into her neck, alive and well and with her, that she drifted off into a delicate sleep.

It was nearly pitch black dark when Ginny awoke next. She groggily stretched her body and nearly toppled off the narrow bed, letting a few swear words slip out of her dry throat in the process. Untangling herself from the curtains, she remembered where she was.

With a jolt she realized Harry was no longer lying next to her, but sitting up, facing the empty dormitory. He was hunched over, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was so long, it went down to his collar in a messy tangle of jet-black tufts. She longed to run her fingers through it, as he did several times in an attempt to straighten it.

"Hey you," she said softly, her voice croakier than she had intended. Damn.

He turned and looked at her. He didn't smile. Neither did she.

"Hey you," he repeated. His body jerked awkwardly, like he wanted to reach out and touch her but thought better of it. He covered it up by running his hand over the back of his neck again. Just grab me, it's okay!

He grunted and added quietly. "Ginny, I -"

"It's okay," she interrupted. The hole near her heart was threatening to throb again. "We can talk about it later. Everything. I just want to be here with you." Her throat burned and she reached out and ran her hand up and down his arm. "That is, if you want me here."

"Yes, I do. We don't have to talk just yet. Just stay."

"Of course I will." She breathed a sigh of relief. She had been ready to scream if he said he wanted her to leave. Tears burned in her eyes but she refused to blink. Oh Merlin, not here. Don't cry now. She shook her long hair and coughed, then checked her watch. "It's nearly midnight."

Harry rubbed his eyes. "I've been asleep a while."

"So have I."

"How's - how's your mum? And your dad?"

"They've seen better days."

"I'm sorry," said Harry miserably. "Remus, and Tonks, and Fred -"

She started involuntarily at the mention of Fred's name. He shook his head like a dog and stood up abruptly, swaying a little before grabbing the top of his four poster bed and leaning over.

"I'm just gonna wash up," he said to the floor, and he disappeared into the darkness.

Anger flared inside Ginny, though she was not quite sure why. She followed him into the boys' bathroom where he had turned on the water tap to the shower and leaned now against the cool tiles. One hand rested on the wall while the other held his face. She tugged briefly on his arm and pulled it away easily. She expected him to beg for forgiveness, to scream that their deaths were his fault, to lose control and push her away - and suddenly, as pain and remembering came back in a rush, she realized she wanted to fight, she wanted to scream, she wanted to argue and bicker and punch him for leaving her and playing the hero to everyone but herself -

"I'm so happy you're alive," he whispered hoarsely, tears dripping down his dirty face. "What if I'd lost you too? What if -"

The anger melted away and Ginny reacted without thought. She pressed her lips on his and he responded greedily, hungrily, and she savored the moment because this Harry would not last forever. He was always so selfless, rarely so open about how he really felt, and she allowed him to indulge on the emotion, because she needed it just as much as he did - the consolation that the other was alive, the feel of warm skin against their own, the acceptance that the fear had been real and mutual and now it was over. His grief would return, as would her anger, and the guilt she knew he truly felt would not be forgotten later. But for now, they only existed for each other. The months she had spent in desolation and anger could be dealt with later.

The water splashed down onto the floor and steam rose in spirals around them. His hand on her waist finally slackened and he wiped the tears clumsily from his eyes. He cupped her cheek in his palm and frowned.

"I thought you'd be angry."

Bingo. "I am," she said loudly, and then she added, much softer, "but maybe I'm not. I don't know anymore." She swallowed. "I'm hurt. In so many different ways. But I'm happy too."

Tears fell down her face and soaked into his hand. She combed her fingers through her knotted hair and tried a smile. It felt wrong on her face, like it did not belong there, and that brought on a new wave of dreaded tears. Harry pulled her into a hug and she cried into his chest as the sound of the water muffling her sobs so no one, maybe not even Harry, could hear them. Even the steam seemed to make her vision cloudy and cloak her in an impenetrable cocoon where no one could see her hurt. He was remarkably warm and familiar, though it felt like decades had passed since they last touched, not just one year. She could faintly hear him crying too, gripping her tightly as they stood there in the muggy bathroom.

Ginny could have gladly stayed there forever but she eventually pulled herself away. The tears had stopped, and she felt empty without them. The gaping hole near her heart felt drained and empty too. She could feel his eyes on him as she played with the collar of his shirt and, with unexpected forcefulness, she pulled his T-shirt over his head and gasped.

He was skinnier than he had been a year ago, and he sported a new, dark, oval-shaped scar right on his heart. She touched it with her fingertips and her lips trembled.

"What is this?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"New scar, from the locket Voldemort turned into a Horcrux."

"I don't really know what a Horcrux is."

"Voldemort split his soul into seven pieces and hid them in different objects," he said quietly. "Eight, actually. I was one of them."

Ginny looked up into his face inquiringly. "Was?"

"Was," he repeated firmly. "I thought I was going to die last night. I thought I'd never see you again."

Her hand contracted on his chest and pain flared in her throat again. "I thought you had really left us - left me."

"Can you forgive me?"

She didn't answer. She smoothed down his shoulders and ran her hands along his arms. There was faint scarring on his forearm and she stopped again.

"Christmas Eve. The snake," he supplied.

She shuddered. She felt his fingertips along her arm lift up the sleeve of her shirt over her shoulder. Bruises colored her skin in black and green clouds.

"Got shoved. Hit the wall and fell on my side." She turned around and pulled her long hair aside to reveal the back of her neck, and then added, "Got into a fight with some Slytherins in February. It used to cover my whole back, it's almost all healed now. I couldn't show Mum and have her fix it, I didn't want her to know and get upset."

"You shouldn't hide your scars," he growled unexpectedly, pulling her shirt roughly aside to see the extent of the damage. "Who did this to you?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" she replied, a little heated too. Clearly she should not have shown him either.

"Of course it does! Who did this to you?" he repeated threateningly.

"There's no need to yell at me," she said, pulling back and eyeing him warily. "And you're one to talk, hiding your scars and all." She brushed away his bangs, which were long and covered the thin scar on his forehead.

"Well, I'm working on it," said Harry shortly, turning back to the shower and removing his glasses. "Who was it?" he said for a third time, facing her with a pained expression on her face.

Ginny frowned. "You don't need to protect me anymore. It's over."

"Fine, I don't have to know," Harry conceded. He tried to take off his jeans but doubled over in pain. Ginny caught him by the shoulders and helped him lean against the wall.

"Where does it hurt?" she said calmly while he gasped in pain.

"My ribs, I think," he said breathlessly. "Wasn't - too bad until n-now..."

"We should get you to Madam Pomfrey. Or maybe I can have her come up here."

"Kreacher," Harry wheezed, standing up straight again. "I can call for him. He'll do it."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "What, are you and him best pals now?"

"Actually, yes," Harry groaned uncomfortably as Ginny supported him while he finished undressing. "Well, isn't this romantic," he couldn't seem to help adding, flashing a cheeky little smile at her as she pulled off his grimy socks.

"Don't get too excited," Ginny replied. All thoughts of passion and romance had evaporated as soon as she had seen his morbid scars, his anger at her own, and his inability to even stand up straight anymore. She suddenly felt exposed with his eyes on her tear-stained face and blotchy cheeks. "Do you need me to stay with you?"

"No, I'm okay," he said grudgingly, gingerly straightening up while clutching his ribs. "Don't worry about me."

Ginny snorted. "Like that'll ever happen," but she doubted he heard her voice over the heavy pounding of the still falling water.