AN: It's Harry Potter Ship Week on tumblr, guys! I'll be writing something short and simple each week because my brain has been fried. I think it's a latke now thanks to what I've put it through. Anyway, the Ship Weeks are bound to help me with writer's block, so I'll be participating each week.

In other news, I gave up with NaNoWriMo again. I had paced myself horribly and I had no real plan.

(tumblr: Zadi-Zadi-Zadi)

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and the Warner Bros officially own Harry Potter. We are just the misbehaving rug rats playing in the big sandbox.

Title: You Bleed, You Cry

Words: 1K

Summary: More weight was shifted on the bed and Harry opened his eyes. Harry Potter Ship Week

It was the scent of flowers that penetrated his dreams. Light and acting as an undertone to the more powerful smells of plaster and sweat, it captured his hazy attention and made him feel something comforting. Slowly being taken away from slumber, Harry felt dimly aware of the extra weight and warmth that was next to him. He almost couldn't open his eyes, but he knew for certain that she was sleeping next to him. He could feel the impressions of her body—her nose being pressed into the back of his neck, a lone hand draped over him, and her knees touching his legs. It was a very intimate scene, and Harry hadn't felt something like this before.

Ginny was neither dream nor a longing memory this time. She was real. He raised his hand to touch hers to reassure himself. Her hand twitched at the contact.

The more he realised this, then the more the sleep faded from his mind. It felt like a powerful Sleeping and a Body-Locking Charm was slowly losing their power, and he was surprised at how calm he felt. Waking up like this wasn't in his nature. Not with Voldemort hanging above his future.

'Cept it's different now, he reminded himself. Everything is different.

Harry sighed and tried to gain some more awareness of his body. He could feel the twitch of a muscle in his thigh, the soreness in his right arm, and a dull pain over his heart. That wasn't it, really. His eyes felt gummy, his mouth tasted something horrible, and there was that bleeding headache that wouldn't stop. He was sore everywhere and it felt more appropriate like his body had gone through the Triwizard Tournament all over again. Almost painfully, he rolled to his other side. Small twinges shocked through him, and the stiff muscles and limbs protested at his decision.

Sagging on to his right side, he groaned. He decided that the aftereffects of coming back from the dead were worth it—better to have a sore body than to have a dead one. But this was still going to rank up somewhere high in his pain scale due to what he had gone through. After all, months of hiding and running from Voldemort; breaking into the Ministry, Gringotts, and Hogwarts; and the fight itself did came with a price.

More weight was shifted on the bed and Harry opened his eyes.

Ginny's dark eyes were staring at him. Her blurry face came into view and a curtain of red hair fell between them. Wordlessly, he twisted a lock around a finger and pushed it away from her face. A part of him was beyond thrilled that she was here; there other part was just tired of it all, so there was no common ground.

"Hi." Her voice was hoarse. She opened her mouth to say more but nothing came out. Instead leaned over him, her long arms reached out for something on his bedside table. She resumed her position and handed Harry back his glasses.

The world became jarringly clearer through the grime-covered lenses. "Thanks," he said in a soft voice. He licked his dry lips, uncertain of what to say next. Memories flipped through his mind's eye, all from the madness at the wedding to sobbing in her arms last night. He felt disconnected from all of that, somehow, as if he was watching the scenes from someone else's life. Now he was back in his, and he was feeling freer. He felt lighter, like some great weight had been lifted of him.

He couldn't read the expression on Ginny's face. That worried him. For months he had envisioned of what their reunion would be like. In the cold protection of the tent, he would dream of her—flying in the paddock of the Burrow, walking down the halls of the castle, anything that wasn't this. He didn't even think to imagine how he would have felt emotionally after the fight. He didn't thought he was going to be broken and breaking down in her arms. He struggled to remember the rest, but it was all a blur.

She leaned closer to him. Harry was fascinated with seeing the details on her face, his eyes travelled up a line of freckles that dotted his cheek. Small cuts were scabbing over the hollow of her throat and there was a long and dried gash of red on the other side of her face. He was going to check the injury, but her hand cupped the side of his own face. Slightly calloused fingers brushed over his skin. Dark brown eyes studied him, and her lower lip pouted in concentration.

"Don't get me wrong." The sound of her voice was sudden. It was the first time he was hearing it without the cacophony of a battle or other people in a crowded room. "I'm…gad to see you." Her hand left his face and pressed over his heart. Harry hissed at the contact and she removed her hand. Something flittered behind her heavy gaze. "You died, Harry."

"It didn't agree with me." The words fell flat. "Why did you stay?"

Ginny tilted her head to the side. She still appeared unsure. "I had to be sure…I…I needed to see for myself that you were really…" The next word was the hardest for her say. "Alive."

Harry held her hand up to his chest. Her flattened her palm against his heart, and took deep, even breaths. Her mouth fell to say another word, but it was inaudible.

"You died," she repeated. Her voice was strained and wobbling like a broken record. "You died and…"

"Ginny." Her gaze snapped up to his, and Harry felt momentarily lost in her eyes. All of her barriers were gone and he could see the stark emotions. All of the pain and misery was there, but there was also hope. "I'm alive."

Her body shuddered, and just when he thought that she was going to cry, she pulled him into a hug. His face was buried into the crook of her neck with the metal of his glasses biting into her skin; and she held onto him, her arms criss-crossed over his back. Harry mustered himself to say something, anything that could help, but he could only murmur nonsense words as he and Ginny fought the urge to cry.

Most of all, he didn't wanted to let go.