Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; J. K. Rowling does.

A/N: This is the NEW AND IMPROVED version that doesn't have incredibly awkward song lyrics written into the first paragraph. Rejoice.

I sleep and I sleep and I sleep.

Sleepsleepsleep and dreamdreamdream.

I don't want to get up. I go downstairs for meals and sometimes other things, and then when back in my room as soon as I can be, I strip off the kimono I use to look decent and wait for a sleepy feeling.

That feeling comes often. Often enough so that my mother is worried. But when isn't she worried?

The only one I want to be worried isn't here, except in my dreams, and that is why I sleep, and stare at my worn pink ceiling.

I can't remember a time when I haven't been able to remember my dreams. Now I know that I remember every single one of them.

Yes, some of the dreams are bad—about the Last Battle when Harry defeated Voldemort, or the people who have died—but there are more good dreams.

In this dream—I like this one the best—Harry comes to wake me. He stands over my bed and just places a hand on my cheek, and then I see him and I kiss him. He tells me he loves me.

But that is only in my dreams. They are better than real life, they are, but I know that they aren't real unlike what Mum worries. While I sleep Fred, Percy, and Charlie are still alive, and I know—though I do not wish to believe—that it is not true in the nonDreamworld.

In dreams, Harry kisses me. But—in the place I stay awake, I never see him. He doesn't like me very much, in the real world, I think. But in the Dreamworld, he and I laugh together.

He doesn't come to wake me up.

Every morning, promptly at ten o'clock, I eat breakfast and clean myself up. Then—always at eight-thirty—I retire to my room again for more sleep. At twelve noon exactly, I wake up and eat lunch before exercising vigorously. During lunch, people come, and I talk; but not much. Sometimes Ron and Hermione arrive with their new little son (Charlie), but I don't stay long. Ever. My dreams await. I eat an early dinner, then, and go back up to my bed at five o'clock.

It begins again.

Again.

Nothing in my day changes, but for the dreams.

Only the dreams.

So don't wake me, don't shake me, unless you are Harry.

My dreams are always there for me.

One day, though—it is after five o'clock, so I am in bed and asleep—my routine breaks. Is broken.

There is a hand on my shoulder, and a pressure on my lips.

Ginny, whispers the voice—the one voice that I have wanted to hear for all my days spent asleep.

Harry? I ask.

Yes, Ginny. Your Harry.

My body shudders.

My Harry, I say in wonder. My Harry. You are mine, I am yours. Your Ginny.

My Ginny.

Harry takes his hand away from me, and I hear him moving back. Slowly I force my eyelids open.

There he is, green eyes shining.

I rise from my bed. My nightdress is threadbare, now, a fact that I am acutely aware of as I approach my love, my Harry.

I was waiting for you to wake me up, I whisper into his ear. What took you so long?

Harry doesn't answer. Instead, he says, Ginny…I've…will you…will you stay with me?

Yes, always, I say. I kiss him, and suddenly—suddenly the real world is better than the Dreamworld.

I love you, Ginny, my Harry says.

I love you too, I reply. My voice is muffled, my head buried in his shoulder. So, what took you so long?

I was dreaming, he says.

A/N (#2!): Yep, that's it. Have fun. Stay safe. Review.