"I had pretended that I was dead." I had said to the reporter. Lights from what seemed like hundreds of cameras (and probably actually were hundreds of cameras) flashed brightly in my face, effectively blinding me. Microphones and wand tips were nearly shoved into my mouth as desperate wizard reporters fought to get a question in.
Shouts of "Mister Potter!" and "Harry! Over here!" And even some "I love you Harry!"s were included.
Everything was such a blur. No one seemed to notice that I was still bleeding, or that my hand was still wrapped around my wand... that tears were pricking my eyes and my head felt like it was being bashed by hammers.
And it still is like that now, twenty minutes later as I walk through the rubble-filled corridors of what was Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm vaguely aware of the blood trailing behind me in pools, my legs screaming in pain, and my forehead still slightly burning from the loss of what apparently was a part of Voldemort's soul.
I increase my pace, and walk quickly back and forth, thinking the words
'I need a place to be alone...'
'I need a place to be alone...'
'I need a place to be alone...'
A familiar chamber door appears in front of me, slightly wobbling from its appearance.
I open the door quickly and shut it behind me. The Room of Requirement is now exactly what I needed it to be: a place to think.
A fire roars in the corner, crackling invitingly, and a plush chair, looking suspiciously similar to the one in the Gryffindor common room, looks ready to sit in. I flop down into the chair, feeling exhausted, and unfortunately giving my adrenaline time to stop flowing. The pain starts to really hit me, and I lean back into the chair, groaning.
I think back to the woods, and my conversation with Dumbledore...
"But, you're dead."
"Oh, yes."
"Then... I'm dead too?"
"Ah, that is the question, isn't it? On the whole, my dear boy, I think not"
It was a strange thing. All of it... Even through his explanations, it was still odd. I had just... died. There's no other word for it. I died. And the horcrux part of me died, and the Harry part of me lived... but what if the Harry half had died instead?
I shake my head, causing more pain.
Not possible. A horcrux depends on it's container...
"Of course it is happening in your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"
That, of course, was the last thing I will ever hear Dumbledore say.
"What would he think of my tactic of playing dead? It was honestly far from fool-proof... had any other Death Eater come to check my pulse it would have been over... for real this time." I mutter to myself, my head in my hands, my face slick with tears and blood (mostly blood)
"Don't think that, he would be so proud of you." I hear a light voice say from behind me. I whip around, and cringe in nothing less than agony as my closing wounds reopen.
I open my eyes from the pain-lapse to see Ginny, slightly scratched up and messy but on the whole, all right. I turn back to the fire.
"How did you find me?" I whisper, not trusting my normal voice to work yet.
"I knew you would come here. You always come here when you need to be alone." She says, walking in front of the fire, forcing me to look at her. I look down, unable to bring myself to gaze upon her.
"Harry..." She says gently, I can feel that she's crouched down, right in front of me.
"Harry..." She says, slightly more forcefully. I still refuse to answer.
Finally it seems she's had enough of the silence. She grabs my face in her hand, pressing in cuts and bruises, causing me to hiss in pain. I finally look her in the eye, her face showing no concern for the immediate pain she's causing me. Her eyes have a fire in them, and before I know it, her lips are on mine. For the first time though, I don't react, I keep my mouth still until she pulls back, with obvious fright at that not working.
"Harry, come on, it's over... please you don't have to go through any more..." She cries, gripping my hand tightly.
Tears are leaking out of my eyes, and my breath is coming out in ragged gasps. She looks me back in the eye, and my resolve breaks.
"Ginny..." I say. She immediately stops crying and looks at me, tears glistening on her cheeks. "When you thought I was dead... what was going through your mind?" I ask her.
"Oh god Harry." She says, taking a deep breath and wiping her cheeks. Her red hair looks like flowing fire in the light cast from the burning logs. "W-when I saw you there, in Hagrid's arms..." She tries to compose herself, gripping my hand hard. "I didn't know what to do. I was hoping, praying that it wasn't you... though I knew there was nobody else it could've been. When Hagrid laid you at Voldemort's feet, I wanted nothing more than to run over and pick you up, and take you away... take you anywhere. I couldn't let you lie there, like a trophy he had won... like a toy for him to show off. You looked broken..." She leans closer to me.
"You still look broken." And she kisses me again. This time though, I respond. I kiss her hard, with a ferocity I never knew I had. My hand is in her hair, my palm on the nape of her neck. Her arms are wrapped around my shoulders, her fingernails digging into my skin. Though my wounds are excruciating, I refuse to let them ruin this for me. I need this so badly... I need it more than anything.
I nip at her bottom lip, and she bites at mine. We break apart, both breathing heavily.
I kiss the top of her nose lightly, and rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.
"Ginny, you know I'll never be the same. I-..." I pause, not knowing what to say. "I'll always be broken. I don't want you to have to stay with a broken person."
"What? H-Harry no! I'd never leave you. Ron and Hermione will never leave you." She exclaims, opening her eyes and pulling away to look at me. "You won't be broken again." She whispers.
I shake my head.
"You don't understand..." I take a deep breath, not being able to come to terms with the fact myself. "I've murdered someone without feeling remorse. That means my soul is broken." I say. "I've done terrible things... great, but terrible." I smirk, remembering what Ollivander told me when I first got my wand seven years ago.
"I won't believe it. You'll always be Harry Potter. The bravest, most amazing, and one of the most powerful wizards in the world." She says. "And I will always love you." She says, and our lips join once more.