Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I, however, like to play in that world.

They say there's linings made of silver
Folded inside each raining cloud
Well we need someone to deliver
Our silver lining now
And are we there yet?
Home, home home

- Ingrid Michaelson

Each step up the stairs to the boy's dormitories felt like climbing a cliff.

Yawning against the sun that refused to stop shining despite the destruction inside the castle, Harry dragged himself up the stairs of Gryffindor Tower, resolutely counting the remaining steps before him. Six more steps. Five more. Four more.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry finally reached his dormitory - he shook his head slightly and mentally corrected himself - his old dormitory, and pushed the door open with a heavy sigh. The four-poster beds with red and gold hangings greeted him with a familiarity that he had not felt in nearly a year. Harry gazed at his old, plush bed with hungry eyes as he toed off his trainers, and with another sigh he slipped his feet out of his worn shoes. He shuffled towards the bed, leaving a trail of clothing behind him until he was stripped to his pants. With a huge yawn, Harry set his glasses on the bedside table and pulled the red and gold hangings aside.

Someone was in his bed. Harry let out a startled gasp and grasped for his glasses to bring the intruder into focus. The monster in his chest raised its head in interest when Harry realized that it was Ginny who was sitting against the headboard of the bed, her knees drawn to her chest. She turned to face Harry and smiled slightly at the audible gasp he released. "Sorry," she murmured. "Did I scare you?"

"Just a bit. Thought for a second that some long-lost relative of Bellatrix had plotted to murder me in my sleep," he replied just as softly, a long-lost laugh tinting his voice. He leaned against the post across from her.

Ginny let out a dry laugh, followed by a sniffle. It was only then that Harry noticed that she had been crying. She must have felt his eyes on her, for she scrubbed at her face with the palms of her hands as if to erase the tear tracks that had formed there. "I'm sorry for this. I just really needed to get away, you know?"

"I know the feeling."

"Mum just doesn't seem to want to let me out of her sight." Ginny' tears started to fall again. She immediately brought her hand back to her face and used the back of it to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. "Bah! I hate crying. It's not like it changes anything." At this she stilled, as if that statement indeed changed everything.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and her tears fell in earnest. Her shoulders began to shake, and she brought her head down to her knees.

He didn't want to believe she could hurt like that.

He closed the space between them and cradled her head to his chest as she sobbed. This way, he could hide the tear sliding down his cheek from the girl who he thought never cried.

"Do you think there's life after this one?"

The question didn't surprise Harry. He scooted closer to the headboard so he was sitting up a little more and hooked his left arm around Ginny's waist to bring her with him. Leaning her back against his bare chest, she tucked her head into the crook of his neck comfortably.

"I think so."

"Why?"

He smiled at her persistence and took one of her hands in his own, lightly rubbing her knuckles. "I think so because it almost makes this whole war worth it. If they -" Harry's voice broke slightly, but he cleared his voice and continued. "If they can be happy, I can at least have a little peace about it," he finished, tracing the lines on her palm with his fingertips.

Ginny shifted in his arms and pushed herself up so they were eye level. "I don't blame you, Harry."

Her eyes drilled into his, and he was forcefully reminded of his Occlumency lessons with Snape. With a twinge of regret, he pushed a ginger strand of hair behind her ear and simply replied "I know you don't."

"It might be too soon to ask, but...what about us?"

They were on opposite ends of the bed, Ginny sitting cross-legged at the headboard and Harry lounging against the bed hangings, which he had charmed to support his weight. Upon hearing Harry's question, she paled considerably and cast her eyes downward, picking a thread on the comforter.

Harry's hopeful expression fell from his face, and he too examined the ever-interesting bed comforter. "You know, forget about it. I really shouldn't have asked so soon -"

"Harry," Ginny interrupted his babble. Reaching across the bed, she touched the top of his hand in what Harry supposed she thought was a friendly manner. The monster in his chest loved it. "Harry, it's okay. We need to talk about this sometime."

Harry captured her hand in his and waited, anxious for her to confirm what he felt. Ginny continued,

"I think I need some time."

He hadn't really been expecting that.

"I fancy you, Harry. I really fancy you, but I just can't deal with trying to be all happy with a boyfriend and burying a brother at the same time."

"You make me happy, Ginny," Harry replied fiercely. He tipped up her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. "You don't need to act it."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think I believe you, but maybe I need to believe that myself first."

Their laughter filled the dormitory. Harry and Ginny were laying on their stomachs playing Exploding Snap. Almost every time he would lay one of his cards down, the whole stack would explode. She would dissolve into laughter, and then he would laugh with her. They would start the game over, the pack would explode again, and both could not help but laugh and laugh. Harry swore her laughter was contagious, infectious, and downright wonderful. She would proceed tell him to shut it and play his card, and then swat him with a pillow for good measure when he would just laugh at her. Which would result in more giddy laughter.

Though they did not say so aloud, neither could remember the last time they laughed like that.

Sometimes during that day he would hold her as sobs wracked her body. She would wrap her arms around his torso and shamelessly cry into his bare chest, not a thought in her mind but the grief that consumed her. He would stroke her hair and be silent, because he couldn't tell her that it was going to be okay, because he had no idea when that would be.

Sometimes during that day she would hold him as he gave over to tears that were the result of both grief and guilt. He would bury his face in her hair, trying desperately to keep a strand of dignity and not let her see his tears, though he knew she could see his shaking shoulders and hear his loud sobs. She would run her fingers through his hair and tell him over and over that he couldn't have changed anything, that he didn't have that power, and that was okay.

Sometimes during that day they buried themselves in the blankets of the bed and held each other in silence, both knowing that the other was crying, and not wanting to admit that they were crying themselves. They spent most of that day in that bed like that, in the belief that they were helping the other.

Harry awoke with a start as the heat of Ginny curled up to his side left his body. She had slipped to the edge of the bed and was gathering her fiery hair up into a low ponytail. Reaching for his glasses, Harry squinted at the clock on the bedside table: it was 5:43 AM. They had drifted off sometime after it had become dark, exhausted by the physical battle of the previous day and the battle they had fought with grief together.

Harry slipped his glasses on and turned to face Ginny. She met his gaze and murmured softly, "I really should go. Mum'll be going spare." All Harry could do in his sleep-clouded brain was nod softly and squeeze the hand that had found his.

Ginny bit the corner of her lip, and before Harry could process what was happening, she was kissing him slowly and sweetly. As soon as Harry recovered from his initial surprise, he kissed her back, cupping her face and brushing her cheek lightly with his thumb.

The kiss did not last long. After a few moments, Ginny lifted her head back and stared at Harry for a moment, then stated simply, "Just something to tide you over, Potter." Though her mouth was only turned up slightly, her eyes held a twinkle that had existed before the war. She held Harry's gaze with that twinkle until she turned to walk quietly out of the dormitory.

Harry fell back against the pillows and propped his hands behind his head. The sleepy fog that had clouded his brain was beginning to lift, and he could not help but grin. That kiss was as if a piece of normality had flitted to and fro right before his very eyes.

And Harry liked that very much.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! The title for this fic was taken from Ingrid Michaelson's "Are We There Yet?" (some of the lyrics are quoted after the disclaimer). It's a beautiful song, you should definitely check it out.