Disclaimer: It's not mine, Jo owns the wonderful characters from Harry Potter. I'm just shamelessly exploiting them.

Summary: Harry survives the war, but is scarred physically as well as mentally. It is Ginny who makes him see that we are who we are because of our scars.

A/N: This story was inspired by the word "Grotesque" from a word prompt community. Enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think. Cheers, Nesserz.

Harry steps out of the shower, hair wet, dripping down his shoulders, causing a light ticklingsensation on his back. He towels himself off, drawing in a sharp breath as he rubs across the cut on his chest. Looking in the mirror he sees that it's healing well, turning quickly from an open gash in his chest to a recently formed scar. He runs his fingers over it, seeing flashes of how it happened. His eyes darken, his hatred for Voldemort fresh in his mind – until Ginny walks in on him. All dark thoughts are pushed aside when he surveys the girl standing in the room, surveying him.

She at least has the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, sorry, didn't realise you were in here," she says, a grin tugging at her mouth. Harry hurries to cover his chest, very conscious of the scar running along it. He stands there, his faded t-shirt pressed against himself, clenching his teeth in pain from pressing on it. Ginny looks concerned and steps towards him, reaching out to take his shirt from him. He steps back, almost tumbling into the bathtub in the process.

"Don't," he says sharply, and she retracts her hand, looking upset. "It's hurts, is all," he says, feeling stupid and weak.

"Let me look at it, see if it's healing right," she says, not moving from her vantage point right in front of him.

"It's fine – they sealed it right up at St. Mungos," even as he's talking, he realises he's lowering his shirt, his face flushing, knowing how disgusting it must look to her and how she can bear to offer to look at it, out of her own free will. He only looks at it when he catches glimpses of it in the mirror after showers, like now.

Ginny takes his shirt from him and drapes it around her shoulders, looking decidedly odd, but Harry likes the way his shirt looks against her hair. He shakes his head, trying to think of something other than the fact that Ginny is staring intently at his chest. He's looking over her head when he feels her touch him, his chest muscles constrict and he grabs her wrist so fast she hasn't a chance to move away.

"Does it hurt that much?" she asks, looking very concerned. "It happened several weeks ago, Harry, it shouldn't still be causing you physical pain,"

"So you're saying I'm weak, is that it?" he flares up unexpectedly and Ginny flinches and he instantly feels terrible for it.

"No! Not at all. You've never been weak, Harry, never," they stand together in the small bathroom, Harry scratching his neck uncomfortably and looking at the floor and Ginny staring out of the small window, overlooking the garden. "I'll just – bye," she says, spinning around and heading for the door.

Harry inwardly kicks himself for making her leave then wants to do it again when he speaks. "I remember what happened every time I look at it and I can't handle it. He's marked me – again – for life. It's this giant reminder that he's won –"

"Won? Won what?"

"Won at making me afraid of showing myself, always feeling like I should be hiding." He says, embarrassed at this showing of his feelings. He's not one for talking about how he feels and doesn't know how he's meant to do it. Ginny doesn't seem to mind though. Instead, she walks over to him, and they sit down on the side of the bathtub and she takes his hand.

"See this scar, Harry?" she touches his right thumb, running her own thumb along it and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Do you remember how you got it?"

"No, but I don't see—"

"A Gnome bit you. This one here," she says, turning his hand over, and pointing to his wrist, "That's from when Hedwig caught you too sharply with her talons. That one's from that cow Umbridge," she says, skimming over his hand where the still evident "I must not tell lies" scars were, looking incredibly angry.

She pokes him in the knee next, gently with her index finger, "The one on your knee's from when Dudley threw his baseball bat at you when you were seven,"

Harry looks at her, amazed, but waits to see if she'll continue.

She does.

"The one on your shoulder blade is from when Ron dropped Crookshanks on your head and he didn't land too well," she says, allowing herself a small giggle. Harry laughs too, remembering. "Let's see, this one is from when Hermione tried to teach you how to brew a Potion in the common room – I forget which one –"

"Amortentia," he says, flushing as he remembers what that particular Potion always reminds him of.

"Oh that's right. Okay, so this one is from when you blew up your Aunt Marge and her wine glass shattered everywhere," she's pointing this time to his forearm, where a tiny pearl white scar is barely visible and realises he's forgotten about that one himself, how on earth could Ginny possibly have remembered?

"Do you see what I'm trying to say Harry?"

"That you have an impossibly good memory?"

"No," she says laughing, and taking his hands in hers. He makes himself focus on her next words, and not the fact that she's caressing the scar on his thumb again. "That your scars make you who you are. You wouldn't be the Harry that we all know today if you hadn't been through those experiences that caused those scars."

"Not all my experiences have resulted in scars,"

"No, but these are just the physical scars," she's looking at the one on his arm. "Experiences cause emotional scars too, which is what this one is doing to you," she says, touching his chest again. Harry closes his eyes, waiting for the pain, but realises it's lessened considerably and thinks Ginny's taken her hand away. He looks down, but no, she's still touching him and it's not hurting. "Whilst you may remember some of the stories behind these scars fondly, like Ron's inability to give objects to people instead of dropping them on their head, some of your scars are going to bring back horrible memories, but they still make you who you are and personally, I wouldn't change a thing about you," she says, hanging her head, though she doesn't let go of Harry's hands which are back between them now.

"How do you always know what to say?" Harry asks her quietly, staring intently at her, incredibly touched by her honest words.

"You think I always know what to say?" she asks him, clearly surprised as she looks up. He nods.

"You seem to always get it right, when it comes to me," he says, coming to a realisation. "I think it's because you know me so well, and I'd like to be able to return the sentiment – to know you as well as you know me, if you'll let me.

"Oh Harry, of course I'll let you, I never thought you'd ask," she begins to roll up her sleeve and Harry feels more at ease than he has in a long time, he gets the strange feeling that even though Ginny knows the stories behind all of his scars, that she doesn't really see them, that she cares for him so much that she sees only him.

"This one is from Fred pushing me over in the kitchen and I knocked my elbow on the kitchen table. This one's from me falling over a game of Gobstones and slicing my knee open. Did Mum yell when she caught Bill and Charlie laughing at me, oh you should have seen it…"

Now it's his turn to see only her and that's just the way he likes it.

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Fin

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A/N: Yay? Nay? Review, hey? )