Her head was thrown back with laughter, her ginger hair tossing in the wind and her hazel eyes sparkling. She was looking at whoever was taking the picture and as Harry looked at it he remembered that afternoon.
"Come on, Harry," Ginny begged, "Pretty please."
He smiled and took her hand and she dragged him out of the library and the pile of dusty books. They ran through the empty corridors and out to the lake making it a race to see who got there faster. They collapsed under a gnarled oak tree, a tangle of limbs breathing heavily.
"You run like a goose, Gin," he said lightly.
"Do not," she protested.
"Do too," he said.
"Do not," she said again and tackled him and tickled him mercilessly.
"Alright, alright," Harry called, "You win. You don't run like a goose."
"That's right," she said triumphantly, "though I couldn't say the same for you."
She grinned wickedly,"You run like a goose Harry Potter."
He looked at her with fake hurt and then tackled her to the ground and tickled her enthusiastically as she shrieked with laughter.
"Alright,' she cried, "No one runs like a goose."
"That's right," Harry said contently, and leaned against the trunk of the tree.
Ginny soon joined him her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder.
"Why can't every day be like this," Harry said softly. And then his eyes brightened.
"You know about cameras right, Gin?" he asked enthusiastically.
She lifted her head up and groaned.
"What?"
"I was thinking we could take a picture. And then when we're old and have kids we can look back and say, this was us."
She didn't look to happy.
"Come on, Gin.'
"Anything for you, Harry," she said with a sigh. She disentangled herself and stood up, "Alright, what do you want to do?"
"I was thinking that you could talk a picture of me and I could take a picture of you. Then we'd each have a picture of each other."
"Have a camera?" she asked curiously.
He nodded. With a quick summoning charm it was in his hand, he turned and brought the camera to his eye and placed his hand to snap the picture and… she was frowning.
"Ginny," he groaned, "think umm..." he struggled for the right words, "Fred and George with beards dancing around on umm... purple elephants with walking sticks, singing Christmas songs," he invented wildly, "while balancing pineapple on their heads and umm.."
Ginny laughed freely, her head thrown back and her eyes sparkling and Harry snapped the picture.
Harry shook his head from his reverie. He looked at the crumpled picture in his hand. It held so much memory, this small piece of paper. Just seeing her face again gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, because he could so clearly see her. Tears streaming down her face, pleading, begging, and he could still feel Voldemort's sick pleasure, could still hear his ringing laughter and he could still see her falling backwards, hazel eyes gone cold. Suddenly Harry couldn't hold it in anymore; he lay there crying holding the small scrap of paper, crying for someone long dead, someone he would never see again, someone that he loved with all his heart and had never let go of. He cried and cried, till there was nothing left to cry and he felt strangely relieved, as if a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders. And he knew that he would dream of her tonight.