This story does not have a happy ending, as you'll soon learn. It might have, once. I'm sure there was a point, along the way, that something happened, something that ruined everything. I'm sure. But the problem is, I can't find it. It was something so small that I didn't even know it had happened until what must have been months later. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm wrong and this was meant to happen from the start. And if that's true, then it means that all this suffering, this pain – it's all my fault.

-xxx-

"No, no, no, no, oh god no, no, please," he muttered under his breath as he ran, hurtling up stairs four at a time, skidding around the corner so fast he hit the wall on the other side of the hallway. He dashed forward, one hand reaching back, into his jeans, pulling out a thin stick of wood that he hadn't used once in this building in the entire four months he'd been living there. But the time was over for subtly and secrecy.

He blasted the door in front of him with a jet of blue light, dissolving it instantly, the locks that had been holding it in place melting, and jogged through, his wand-free hand on his side now, clutching a stitch.

Suddenly, for the first time, he was glad of the cramped quarters, the broken-down three-room apartment, because it meant that there were only three places for her to be. And she wasn't in the kitchen/dining/living room. He melted the bedroom door, too, just shoving his head inside enough to be certain, taking in the rumpled sheets, bile building in his throat. He spun on one foot, stomped the three steps to the bathroom door, and lifted his wand; before it was even halfway to a proper position, the familiar blue light escaped and hit the door. It melted almost immediately; they must not have cast a shield spell, or else they had been very weak. Neither was a good sign.

Suddenly, he slowed; though he knew time was of the essence, somehow he just couldn't quite force his feet to run. His steps became heavy and slow, like he was walking through molasses, and suddenly, the world rushed to catch up with him. He'd been running ahead of it, ever since he'd heard, but now it had caught up, and it was laughing at him, taunting him with every drip, drip he heard from the bathtub.

He shivered, his wand-hand falling to his side, as he stepped through the thick, resisting air, heart thumping far too loudly in his chest. He was pretty sure that he wasn't breathing properly, and even though holding his breath couldn't be a good idea after all that running, he didn't care. He didn't think he could stop, anyway; he didn't have control over his body anymore. All he could do was wait inside, watch his feet move across tile that was slick with water, stepping carefully over the neat pile of clothes.

He reached the bathtub, standing over it, and looked down.

He had been holding his breath; it left him in a rush and a soft cry, his wand dropping out of his hand at the same time as his knees gave out. They hit the bathroom tile at roughly the same time, his wand clattering away and rolling to a stop against the toilet; his knees jarring with pain that his brain distantly noticed.

She was pale, white all over except for the shock of her red hair, bright and waving gently in the clear water, looking like a mermaid's. Her lashes were closed, charcoal swipes over her far-too-pale skin, freckles dotting her cheeks. She was curled up, completely underwater, a tiny bubble clinging to the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger.

He let out a cry, again, soft, like a bird in distress, and suddenly he was clambering over the side of the bathtub, splashing in, careful not to land on her, gasping at the shock of the cold water.

He huddled in there, though, nevertheless, and didn't even bother to pull the drain; simply pulling her up to him, her cold (already cold), limp body flopping sickly against his own. Her head rested on his shoulder, face upturned towards the sky, her back across his front. Pulling her to him like this had shifted her, had bent her out of the water, and one foot had gotten braced against the tap, toes on the cold metal. It was only when he pressed his face into her shoulder, breathing in the wetness and trying to find the warmth, the scent of jasmines that had always hung around her like a cloud; it was only then that he realized she was naked, as her breasts came into his view, and his breath hitched. He remembered the neatly folded clothes on the floor. He had never seen her naked before.

He had never kissed her either, and he did this now, pressing his shaking forehead into her shoulder, kissing her bare back gently, shaking all over, hot tears slipping down her wet skin.

"Ginny…" the hoarse whisper escaped him without his permission, and he shivered harder in the freezing water, one hand wrapping around her abdomen, the other fisting in her thick hair, so long that even now some of it still dangled in the water, twisting like mermaid's.

He did not know how long he remained there, shuddering in the frozen water, hugging the cold form of the girl he loved, crying, whispering her name, begging her to come back to him, sobbing.

All he was aware of was the utter cold; not the water, but the cold spreading through him, in his veins, the antonym of hope – and the heavy man's ring on the middle finger of her right hand, clinking against the porcelain of the tub.

Harry Potter loved Ginny Weasley, had promised to keep her safe against the will of the world, had protected her this long; had failed her and was left with a body in a bathtub that broke his heart.

So, a couple notes. First of all, I was inspired to write this by the movie Memento (and one other thing, but I'll tell you that later, so that it doesn't give anything away). Now, I've never actually seen the movie, but if you have, or if you've heard of it like me, you'll know it's told backwards. So is my story.

Secondly, this is hopefully going to be my Epic D/G Tale, which will hopefully be long and plotty, and, as you already saw, angsty. So, be warned... and supportive of my foray out of one-shots, please. :) Updates will be spotty, since I have no reliable writing schedule. Sorry in advance.

My wonderful beta, who is responsible for not making this chapter be either much shorter and less interesting, or longer and less dramatic, among other things, is Nimph. Thank you!