NB: Dear Reader, since this story is slightly AU (only a small part during the final battle really) and of dark content; there will be loads of bad language, some sexual content, violence, blood and gore in context. Although a concerted effort has been made to avoid excessive crudity and lewdness this may not be your cup of tea. If you are a sensitive reader and don't much fancy the above mentioned particulars please do not read further.

DISCLAIMER: This should suffice for the entire story. I do not own Harry Potter, of course. Great, let's go ...

Playing Dead

Chapter One

"CLOSE your eyes." He demanded harshly as he looked down at the woman pinned beneath him.

She looked up curiously at him and it set his teeth on edge. Did she not understand a simple thing like close your eyes? His fingers squeezed her wrists, held above her head and for a moment her pupils flashed with fear.

Somewhere deep inside of him, a part that was secretly disgusted with his perverse behaviour roared its disapproval at his actions. Yet the rest of him, the pivotal parts of him that had allowed him to survive all these years now rushed forward again. A battle between his wills momentarily ensued within the man, one light and one dark. It was hardly a difficult battle however as the potent, latter will emerged triumphantly and demanded to be released.

He did not want to see her deep blue eyes. They were the wrong shade. Her red hair had been what had drawn him to her in the first place. Now however, here, spread against the crisp white linen he could not help but think how dull and lifeless it looked. It was a simple shade of red. Boring. There were no natural highlights of spun gold woven between fiery auburn curls and he hated it. He hated her. This breathing woman who he would take tonight to keep his sanity without even bothering to remember her name.

He hated this flesh for her pale skin and similar freckles that lived on while she was dead. He closed his eyes again, determined to purge himself of those vile thoughts. He was, as always trying to erase her from inside his head. His mind raced through blurred images of sunlit days spent lazily by a black lake, silky red hair that slipped beautifully through his fingers and flowery scents that wafted enticingly around him. Soft kisses and breathy moans cascaded like warm sunlight inside of him and his chest became so heavy with happiness he thought he would burst from it. Then his head began to hurt, his frozen heart turned over in his chest reminding him he was not in the past. However his body hardened with those thoughts of her spilling from his mind.

He bent his unruly head of messy, black hair towards the woman underneath his naked body and claimed her mouth with a forceful kiss. She made a pitiful sound beneath him as she arched her back into him. He wished she wouldn't make that dreadful noise. It was all wrong.

"Harry."

Tonight's lover called out to him but he did not hear her. He heard a softer, huskier voice with a slight lilt to it. She called his name breathlessly and lovingly.

'Ginny.'

When Harry was satiated he immediately jumped off the bed he had been on moments ago. The young girl beneath him seemed upset. Her kiss swollen lips puckering up at him and the man called Harry could not suppress his irritation. She did not look cute or sexy sitting there naked with her hair tousled and bedroom blue eyes.

She looked like disgust. She made him feel disgusted with himself yet again. This woman reminded him that while he tried in vain to escape that wretched sixteen year old girl, by seeking pleasure in other witches, he kept failing. He tried to prove to himself that he was wrong about her, instead he kept proving that she would remain with him forever. Even beneath thousands of enchanted walls.

The woman before him today was only just a temporary distraction. She was someone who's name he couldn't remember. She however, knew him. He bore a name that would not be forgotten for centuries to come.

Harry Potter. Britain's most Eligible wizard. Who did not know of Harry Bloody Potter; Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, defeater of the Dark Lord? His personal favourite though was "most seductive sorcerer in a century". Therefore with such prominent titles it was never a task of any sorts to find a willing woman to try and break through his insatiable need. And he much preferred those titles to the ones his friends and families insisted on dealing him. Heartbroken, grieving or sad. He was not some tragic hero that needed to be coddled.

Harry shook his head lightly, his stronger will binding the conscience it called disgust in darkness while he dressed himself lazily.

"Listen love, it's been fun but I have to go. You know, lots of dark wizards to catch." He smirked at her as she simpered. Witches all over the country loved seeing him as a tragic hero though and if that made his leaving them after a quick shag easier then he would use it for all it was worth.

"Will I see you again?"

Harry cringed at her whiny tone but he steeled himself to turn around and smile at her, giving her the answer he had given countless others who had never seen him twice. "Of course darling, owl me."

He gave her a final wink before leaving the cosy room of The Sleeping Dragon. He had paid for it for an entire night. She could stay as long as she liked. He was going home to shower and sleep.

"Mum's having dinner at the Burrow tonight you know." Ron Weasley started cautiously.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his best friend as he continued to complete his paperwork on his desk. "That's great mate."

"She asked to invite you." Ron informed Harry not dissuaded by his thoughtless attitude.

"Sorry Ron, loads of paperwork to finish." Harry flourished a hand at the mounds of files on his desk without looking up at Ron.

"You can take a break mate. Those reports aren't due till next week."

Harry was starting to loose his temper. Something that now happened quite easily and often with these pressuring ploys from his best friends. He hadn't spoken to Hermione in over a month since she had suggested he needed closure during their last conversation. He really didn't want to stop talking to Ron either. On the other hand it may give Harry the space he craved.

What was it with everyone and trying to get him to "come to terms" with what had happened? It had been three fucking years. Of course he had come to terms with it all. He didn't walk around thinking that he'd come across her ghost like he had searched for Sirius after his Godfather had died years ago. He knew she was dead and he was over it.

Harry did not need to be coddled, or "surrounded by family and friends" or "supported as he went through these troubled times". And he most certainly did not need to talk. His insides clenched in revulsion at the word. He had lost loved ones since he had been one measly year old. He was now twenty one bloody years for heavens sake. He could handle it.

"Ron." Harry began calmly and he was pleased to see his best friend for over ten years look a little uncomfortable. "Your mother makes sure she comes over to Grimmauld Place once every week. She even brings over her cooking; enough for an army and ensures Kreacher is keeping the place clean. I am not starving. As you can see, I'm alive and well."

"Where were you last night then?" Ron suddenly looked brave again.

Harry wanted to reply with a scathing reply but decided against it. "Out."

"With a witch or fighting."

"Both." Harry replied easily.

He would not lie. They knew what he did and he was not ashamed of it. He wasn't a child anymore. Neither was he a boy given a man's destiny to fulfil. Harry had done all of that. He had saved the wizarding world from the darkest sorcerer of all time, he was still here picking up the blasted pieces and arresting bloody Death Eaters. Therefore he deserved do be left alone to his own devices now. It was finally his damn time. This was his life and his alone. He would live it the way he saw fit. He would take pleasure in which ever form and way he wished. He was sick of people making prophecies for his destiny or trying to mould him into the ultimate sacrifice.

Why everyone felt like he was being rebellious or going down a dark path was beyond him. He had enough of being selfless old Harry. The old Harry got him dead loved ones. Selfless took away the only woman you loved before you even had the chance to tell her.

"Hermione's really distraught Harry. She's been crying non stop for weeks on end now."

"Hermione works in the same bloody building as us Ron. If she was so cut up about it then she could have just visited and apologised." Harry interrupted him. "Or she could have just minded her own damn business in the first place." Harry muttered under his breath.

Ron had heard him though and Harry received a disapproving frown. Ron could probably handle a lot of things, but disrespect against his beloved Hermione was not one of them. "Hermione doesn't feel like she was wrong. So she does not think that she needs to apologise for being honest to a friend."

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron but ignored him. He did not want to get into it with Ron right now. His shoulders were stiff and his jaw was still aching. He was definitely going home for a drink and his bed after Ron took the hint and left him alone.

"You can't keep running from this Harry." Ron spoke again and this time Harry could hear the irritation in his friends voice.

Harry hid a smirk from Ron. He was wondering when the red head's temper would finally crack. Patience had never been Ron Weasley's strong suit. And in all honesty Harry was really touched that his best mate had shown him three years worth of it.

"I didn't think I was running Ron. I'm still her, aren't eye. Still -"

"Fuck Harry. Give it a rest won't you." Ron slammed his hands down hard on Harry's desk causing Harry to instinctively stand up. Harry drew his wand, instantly noticing the tremor of momentary fear in Ron's eyes.

Harry narrowed his emerald green ones at Ron before he lifted his wand at his office door. "Muffliato." Harry whispered. He enjoyed the colour that tinged Ron's face.

This was why he had no intention of going back to the Burrow. Ever! Apart from not being able to go there knowing that she would never be there again; Harry could not handle this. This fear that he would hurt one of them suddenly. It was not unwarranted. Harry knew this from the last fight he had had at the Burrow. However having them treat him like a temperamental Hippogriff was something he refused to endure just so they could ease their consciences by having him with them.

"Harry you need to stop what you're doing before you've gone too far. Hermione and I can't keep making excuses for you."

"Then don't." Harry interjected swiftly. If they were unhappy about what he was doing then why didn't they just leave him the hell alone? He was happy dammit.

Ron ignored him and continued. "We both miss our best friend. Our family misses you, Harry. And if Ginny -"

"Don't." Harry warned. Hearing her name was like a ghost walking through him. He felt like he was being plunged into icy water. The cold liquid seeping into his pores, freezing the heated blood that ran in his veins until he was dying from the pain. His mouth gasped for air but he couldn't breathe under water.

Ron paid him no heed and ploughed on bravely. "If Ginny were here, she'd be ashamed of you." Ron's nostrils flared, his face a maroon colour and Harry could tell he was no longer afraid. He was angry.

Harry growled violently as he swept his hand roughly across his desk. And they wondered why he didn't go to the Burrow. They kept bringing her up while he wanted to forget her. Forget she ever existed. He hated them for living without her so easily and he hated Hermione for not helping him bring her back or make him forget her. He hated Ron for being right.

Ron looked calmly back at his best friend as if Harry's outburst had proven his point. Unable to look at the hurt and disappointment on Ron's face Harry turned his back on Ron. He stared determinedly at his office window.

"The only way you can get over this mate is if you accept that she's gone and let her go naturally. You can't keep filling that hole inside of you with darkness. We'll be at Burrow from seven tonight." And with that Ron parted. The soft click of the closing door and Ron's words snapped the control on his destructive emotions.

Harry exhaled loudly before he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He grabbed his Auror robes and headed into the Atrium. He went into one of the empty grates and left the Ministry of Magic. He needed to release some tension after Ron's visit.

Blood rushed to his head as a fist pounded into his temple. His head swung violently to his right and the momentum of the blow made him sway on his bare feet. Harry bit back the pain and ignored the pounding in his skull that was most likely fractured now. He refused to acknowledge that breathing was becoming more difficult with his cracked ribs and rushed at his opponent. His own large fist connecting with a thick jaw.

He felt breaking bones beneath his knuckles. The crack of it resounded within his skull, resonating until it was the only sound he could hear. He continued, uncaring that he had probably knocked out his opponent. His eyes were clouded with a red glow. There was something relieving about the feel of bones breaking against your own bones. Beating your frustrations out on someone else was almost liberating. It was an easy escape.

The adrenaline in his body drowned out the cheering horde of watchers pressed against the steel cage as his vision withdrew into the black of his mind.

Suddenly the scene around him morphed and he was no longer in a dank underground room with hard concrete floors decorated in sweat and blood. He could see again, the blood red haze vanishing into his throbbing veins. It pumped into his chest until that was all he could hear. The heavy drumbeat of his racing heart.

He was sitting in the rubble of the aftermath of Voldemort. Blood soaked his clothes but he didn't care. He held onto her lifeless form against his chest, rocking her tiny body as if she were a new born babe, her limbs flaying uselessly along her as he begged and pleaded for her to awaken. He didn't care that her grief stricken family were all round him trying to hold her one last time too. he didn't care that they were mourning her as well.

Ginny was dead.

The woman he loved, the girl who's face he had seen when he had walked to his own death, the voice of her who had brought him back from that brink was gone. Why did he come back? He could have met her on the other side, he could have been with her and countless other lost, loved ones and yet he had come back.

All those nights on the run when he had missed her until he ached; when he had stared at her name on the Marauder's Map because he craved to have some sort of connection between them; when it had been only her beautiful face he had seen before he welcomed death he had not realised it was because he loved her. Only when he had seen her lying on the floor amongst the other dead had his love for her come crashing down on him, had he truly appreciated what she had meant to him and what he had lost. And how cold irony could be to rob him of her before he could even love her. He hated that she had left him. He hated her.

Suddenly a black rage was welling inside of him, it was uncontrollable, his anger and hatred consuming him, burning inside of him until he couldn't control it any longer.

He screamed and it sounded raw and raging even to his own ears. He could feel his bitter emotions breaking from inside of him and swirling around him but he didn't care. They were not going to take her away from him. They were not going to. Not even death could cheat him this time. After everything he had been trough he did not deserve this!

"Let go man. Let go."

"Let go. Harry, let go." The voice had come to him from somewhere in the distance and he took in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes he stared in disbelief at what he saw.

"Ron?" Harry opened his eyes and a blinding light bulb swung in a hypnotising fashion above his head. The over bright glow piercing his sensitive eyes. Loud shouting and cheering flooded his ear drums making him flinch in pain. His stomach lurched and his body bent forward.

Harry heard the disgusted groans of the spectators as he emptied the contents of his stomach on the fighting mat he had been dragged onto. The huge bouncer who reminded him of Dudley handed him a towel and a bottle of water.

Harry took it gratefully and sipped some before throwing the rest of the icy liquid over his head. Harry removed the tested, plastic goggles that helped him see in a fight from around his head. He took in a deep breath as the water cooled his burning skin. Shaking his head he wiped his face with his hand and towel. Reluctantly he looked over, glad his vision was blurred without the improvisation of his glasses. His opponent, a huge chap who could pass as a Japanese, sumo wrestler was lying flat on his back. His face was bloody beyond even Harry's sad sight could recognise.

Harry had lost control. He had gone back to the day of the Final battle. When he had went to the Great Hall of Hogwarts after Voldemort had been defeated to find Ginny dead. Shaking his head Harry realised he had had to be pulled off his opponent.

"Is he ..." Harry trailed off.

"Nah, jus' knocked out cold. Yer better get goin' then." The burly man told Harry and he nodded putting on his goggles so he could make his way to the locker room.

When he was offered his winnings for the night he shook his head and told the man to pay for his opponents hospital bills as he always did. He was a wealthy wizard after all, Muggle money was nothing to him. The man he defeated tonight would definitely need it. Harry trusted Charles enough to know that the man would keep his word.

Harry enjoyed using his hands and physical strength in the underground fight clubs of London. He was not recognised and he did not get special preference here. Neither was he revered by anyone there. He was just an unknown bloke with demons to unleash. Harry had come across it right after the war.

While walking the dark streets of Muggle London one restless evening Harry had seen a fight break out. Instinct alone had spurred Harry into entering the fray with nothing but his courage, oblivious to the small crowd surrounding the fight. His first year in Auror training sharpening his fighting skills. Hand to hand combat was something that every first year needed to know.

Yet he was inexperienced and young. He had been pounded on badly. That was when Charles had picked him up and offered him a slip of paper.

"Got some guts on yer kid." He had told Harry.

Harry, grimacing with pain disagreed with the large man. He had been trying to break up a fight that had willing participants and people who found it entertaining.

But Harry could not deny that the rush of being involved in a physical fight was exciting. It made him feel alive again in a way that not even duelling other wizards had done. At first catching Death Eaters, the slime that had killed Ginny and Fred, Remus and Tonks and all the others made him feel purposeful. However the feeling of accomplishment had been waning for a while. None of the Death Eaters he had applied his Legilimency to had killed Ginny. They had found the man who had killed Fred, but no one who had been caught thus far had killed Ginny. The frustration of failing her and still not being able to avenge her haunted him day and night.

Muggle fighting helped him unleash that anger and pent up frustration in a way that nothing else could. Tonight however he started to feel disgusted by himself again. The blood on his hands were glowing and Harry gripped the basin in his bathroom.

He washed and washed his hands under the clean, running water but the blood wouldn't leave him. He pulled out his wand feeling sick suddenly. "Tergeo." He mutter but the scarlet poison remained on his palms. "Scourgify. Evanesco." Still, nothing.

He looked up at the mirror on the wall in frustration but instead of seeing himself he saw Fred's mischievous grin before it turned into Tonks' pink hair and then Remus' sincere smile. Then there were her eyes.

"Why?" He asked her sadly. "Why are you haunting me. I wasn't on time. I failed you. I'm sorry." Harry choked out.

Ginny's face distorted as if his words angered her and she opened her mouth. But it was not words that emerged from her. Instead a red tongue hissed from her pretty, pink lips and blood oozed like tears from her brown eyes. Her hair blew back and her face began to prune before his eyes. Harry watched in horror as Ginny's skin wrinkled into her bones before she opened her mouth again. Her lipless mouth formed his name and two other words that pierced his heart. 'Save me.' But no sound was heard and it was worse than any cry for help Harry had ever heard. Then she turned into ash while he looked on helplessly.

"NO!" Harry screamed. He raised his hand towards the glass and smashed his fist into it.

He sank to the floor letting distant memories flood his brain. The black void inside of him was seeping into his veins. It pumped a bitter rage so profusely into his blood that his mind started to disintegrate inside his head. Distant sounds of master Harry could be heard before unconsciousness took over.

Harry lifted his heavy eyelids slowly as he tried to swallow. His mouth felt like it was full of sand. He tried to sit up but his body ached and so he swirled his head around slowly to loosen his tense muscles first.

"Harry." He heard Hermione's shriek before he could see her.

She gently placed his glasses on his nose and helped him sit up. Harry noticed her fingers were cold and shaky. A clear indication of when she was worried.

"Oh thank Merlin, you're alright." She said in a hoarse voice and Harry knew when he looked at her swollen, red eyes and pale skin that she had been crying.

Guilt assailed him as he reached for his side table. He was in St Mungos. He was no stranger to the place. He lifted the goblet of water to his mouth drinking heartily from it. All the while his eyes scanned the room. He was pleased to see it empty. Yet he knew without a shadow of doubt they'd all be here.

As if on cue Ron walked in. He stood still for a moment simply just looking at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face. Was that pity? Harry grit his teeth as he felt the anger that was constantly present within him for three years now rush up into his throat. Before he could speak bitter words of wrath though Mrs Weasley bustled into the room.

"Oh Harry dear, thank heavens you're alright." She cried as she came over to him. She brushed his hair away from his forehead and fluffed his pillows, fussing about unnecessarily. From her choked voice and heavy breathing it was obvious that she had been crying too.

Harry was more ashamed to see that she had lost a lot of weight since the last time he had seen her. Her red hair streaked with more silver strands now. He always avoided her when he knew she would be visiting Grimmauld Place. Her and the rest of the Weasley's for a long time now. Unable to face them after the deaths of Fred and Ginny and more so after his spectacular outbursts of anger. Harry felt more shame creep along his insides.

Like Hermione it was easy to avoid them by angrily blaming them for the distance that settled between them. That way he did not have to feel this unwelcomed guilt and there was no need to question his own behaviour and actions.

The only Weasley Harry could stomach now was George. Maybe it was because of the way George was grieving Fred that Harry could sit with the remaining Weasley twin for hours on end. They never spoke, they just drowned in their firewhisky, staring at Harry's fireplace or stacking shelves monotonously at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes for hours until one of the two went home. Or maybe it was because misery loved company, he didn't know. He was just glad someone understood he didn't need to or wanted to talk.

How he hated that word. It seemed to be everyone's solution to his problems now. He was glad that not all of the the Weasley's had sought him out though. Only Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley persisted on seeing him.

Harry watched as Mr Weasley stood in the corner of the room staring at him intently. Arthur Weasley never pushed Harry to talk and maybe that's why Harry could look him in the eye. The patriarch was as always silent and understanding, his blue eyes clear to Harry. 'We'll be here unconditionally until you're ready.' That however was something that frustrated him about Mr Weasley. He did not know what the older wizard expected from him. He did not know what any of them wanted from him.

Before Harry could speak a Healer entered the room. A tall, old man with a white moustache and round glasses not unlike Harry's. His centre parted hair fell thick and full over his head but every single strand of it was white. Harry noticed he was wearing socks and sandals beneath his healer robes which looked like it had not been washed in weeks. It was stained with blood and something yellow Harry could not identify.

Unsure of this healer Harry moved more into his pillow and the old wizard gave him a knowing smile. "Ah Mr Potter. Do not be alarmed by my appearance. I was simply healing wounds the entire day before you came to us. In fact some of this blood is yours my dear boy."

Harry was not in the least reassured by this but offered a weak smile to Healer Brie before he let the old man work on him. Brie poked and prodded some sore joints but either than that Harry knew he was perfectly fine. The most he needed was probably a few healing charms and a blood replenishing potion.

He had procured a long list of injuries in his life to be able to diagnose himself by now. Generally after his fights he would heal himself or allow Kreacher to help for any out of reach places. He had not suffered any haunting niggles afterwards either. Of course he had let himself get a little drained emotionally tonight and his magic had over reacted back at home. Kreacher, acting on Ron's bidding most likely, must have floo-ed the Burrow when he had passed out. Harry made a mental note to forbid Kreacher to contact anyone in the future.

"Well everything seems to be in order here. All broken bones were repaired, his wounds were superficial, caused by hand, not magic. He'll be fine of course. We've given him a blood replenishing potion. Although he does desperately need some bed rest for a while. No strenuous -"

"I'm fine." Harry interjected through clenched teeth. He most certainly did not appreciate being spoken about as if he were a two year old.

"Mr Potter, are you a trained Healer?" The jovial look on Healer Brie was replaced by a very stern one that looked completely out of place on the man's good natured face. Something about the steely glint in his dark eyes made Harry swallow. This man could confine him to bed rest for a lot longer than a day or two. Robard's would never send an injured Auror on field assignments. The head Auror would demand bloody clearance from healer Brie first.

"No." Harry replied in reluctant annoyance.

Before the healer could continue however Mrs Weasley cut in. She had a blazing look in her eyes that made Harry's stomach turn over. It was the same look Ginny would wear when she was determined about something. One of the reasons he could never look at Molly Weasley was because of her brown eyes. The same as Ginny's.

"Don't worry Healer Brie, I will make sure he gets the rest he deserves. He's been left to his own devices for far too long now." Mrs Weasley glared at Harry and he had never been on the receiving end of one of those furious looks before; even though he had seen it in action many times over the years. He wisely shut his mouth and decided to go with whatever her plans were for the time being. At least until he could escape of course.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling while the ghoul in the attic knocked at a few pipes. He hated being back at the Burrow. Ron had insisted that Harry sleep with him in his room and Harry had been too choked up to argue.

The Burrow looked exactly the same as it had three years ago. Nothing but possibly new picture frames or additional furniture had been added to it. It still smelled the same, homely and welcoming, yet it did not warm Harry's heart as it had always done before. It left him feeling cold and empty inside.

He wanted to run from the Burrow and he suspected his legs had made to move him when Ron's hand had held strongly onto his arm. He was about to shoot Ron a very nasty glare when the look died at the sight of his best friend's face.

Ron was pale and looked to be in pain, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears. Next to him Harry noticed Mrs Weasley and Hermione weren't holding back their own tears. Before he could help it his throat clogged up, burning as his eyes welled up behind his glasses. Harry lifted his head to blink the tears back as they threatened to spill.

His head span as memories raced through his mind's eye. Harry saw her run down towards him. Her red hair aflame behind her. She was tinier than he remembered. "Mummy", she called and his body shook as he realised he was seeing her when she was nothing but eleven years old the first summer he had come here.

Shaking his head to try and clear his mind Harry opened his eyes. He almost expected to see her racing down the steps now as if nothing had changed. Unable to help himself he turned towards the spiral staircase. When no one bounded down those old, rickety wooden steps his ice cold heart fell to the pits of his churning stomach, cracking into sharp shards that made his insides bleed.

He saw Hermione move to come towards him through the corner of his eye as a tear fell down his cheek unchecked. Ron placed a warning hand out to her and she sobbed aloud. Thankful for the space Harry continued to stare at the stairs before Ron pulled him along. He was grateful when Ron took charge because his body felt like it was not his own anymore, immobilised by memories. Ron opened the door for Harry and ushered him in.

"We all miss her too. There's not a day that goes by that we don't think about her. Or Fred. But you have to accept it. It's the first step to moving forward. You can't want to forget her, it will never happen. No one who knew her and loved her as much as we all did could ever forget her. But you're only dishonouring her memory by trying to erase her from your mind and punishing yourself like this, Harry." Ron sounded as if he had wanted to tell Harry this for a long while now but had only been waiting for the perfect moment to do so.

Harry could not bring himself to ask Ron the most important question of all. How? How did he ever accept that she was gone, and not completely forget her, without it tearing him up inside every day?

Harry was grateful that Ron hadn't said anything more after that but left him alone. He had refused to cry. He simply walked to his bed and sat heavily on it. He was thankful that he had been given a dreamless sleep potion and combined with a calming draught the lull of sleep pulled him into a dark well of temporary sanity.

Only Ron's soft footfalls hours later had awoken him moments ago. He felt Ron watch him for a while as he pretended to be asleep before snoring echoed in the dark room. After endless moments at staring into the darkness, when he knew he would not be able to fall asleep again Harry got up quietly. Reaching for his wand he made his way to the first floor.

Lighting his wand he found the door he was looking for. Slowly he turned the handle unsure of what possessed him to come here. He only knew that it was something he needed to do. Harry had always trusted his instincts and they had never steered him wrong before. When he entered the room he took in a deep breath and bravely lit up the lamps with his wand.

Light flooded the dark room at once and Harry took an involuntary step back at the sight that greeted him. He could have been back in Ginny's room years ago if he didn't no better. Nothing had changed. Everything from her bedding to the posters on her wall were the same. And it was obvious that Mrs Weasley kept Ginny's room clean. A part of him was angry that they were encouraging him to let her go when Ginny's room was being kept like a shrine.

"Hypocrites." Harry spun around at her voice. He was sure he had stopped breathing.

Ginny was standing by the window that overlooked the orchard. She had snorted the word at him and Harry was positive he would scream in joy for Ron or Mrs Weasley. But he wanted to keep her to himself for now. Excitement bubbled impatiently inside of him and he was sure he was floating towards her.

"Ginny?" Harry croaked as he rushed over towards the window. At his out stretched hand she instantly vanished like a wisp of smoke that had never been there in the first place. And Harry had to stop his fist in mid air from punching into the glass as he felt the pain of loosing her clutch at his insides all over again. After all these long years he was still desperately hoping for her to come back to him. If he told this to anyone while they talked, how pathetic would he seem?

Turning his back on her window, as he did not want to remember their last kiss shared here on his seventeenth birthday four years ago, Harry went to her bed. There was a scarf folded neatly at the end of it and Harry picked it up. His mind started to reverberate as he closed his eyes. Images flashed uncontrollably behind his closed lids.

"Come here, you." Ginny smiled knowingly at him before she unwrapped her scarf from around her own neck and threw it around Harry's. He had been sulking a little because he had seen her talking to a bloke in her year in between classes. Someone who had asked her to got to Hogsmead with him.

Harry had been annoyed as everyone in the entire Hogwarts new that she was dating him. Apparently the stupid git had thought it had been just a rumour. Harry had went to her and placed his arm over her shoulder, resisting the urge to hex the boy before them. She had teased him incessantly that evening about nosing around her and eavesdropping on her conversations. No matter how much he had argued the point she had not believed him. She thought it was funny and cute that he was so jealous but he had not been happy that she had taken it so lightly. She made him crazy.

"Jealous prat." She smiled playfully at him before tugging both ends of her scarf forward. Harry allowed himself to be pulled to her, staring into her teasing eyes. She leaned forward and pressed her soft lips to his. With her tender kiss she had reassured him that he was the only one she wanted better than any words ever could.

While they sat on the floor before the fire in the Gryffindor common room, her hair alight in the firelight and those bright brown eyes of hers sparkling happily, how could he do anything else but kiss her back.

Harry shook his head in the present as he lifted Ginny's scarf to his nose. Inhaling it he could still smell her flowery scent lingering within the material. All he could think was how much he missed that smell. How he had tried the day she had died to find her scent. Harry had literally sniffed through the odour of blood, burned flesh and smoky ruins to try and smell her one last time. He never did.

Yet here was a scarf she had worn years ago and he could smell her as if she had worn it only yesterday. Harry hadn't realised that he had sunk down to the floor on his knees. He bowed his head into his palms that still held onto her scarf, his hands pressed into the end of her bed and gave in to his emotions. He did something he had not done in three years.

He cried.

Author's Note: So I don't normally post new stories while I have a work in progress because I like frequent updates and working on two stories at the same time can be too much. However, I've had this idea for quite a while now and my brain insists I work on it. So since I have the entire plot and all chapters outlined and I have loads of free time for the next week I decided to just go with it.

I'm very excited about this idea, so happy reading!