Cold
Sobbing and choking with pain and despair, Ginny slowly drags herself weakly towards Harry's crumpled body. The rocks and ashes tear and blister her skin, but all she can think of is those once burning green eyes. She is close enough, now, to see his face.
She recoils at the image - his face is twisted into such an expression of despair and loneliness that she can hardly bear to look. And his eyes! His beautiful eyes... They are the windows to the soul. She had seen them laugh, cry, fill with anger. But his soul has flown with his life. Now they are dull.
She gasps for breath.
They say that just before you die your life flashes before your eyes, and you see every scene from your existence in a stream of colour and noise, yet somehow comprehensible.
But as Ginny pulls herself across the rocky earth, she sees only one thing – from afar, as if she is another.
Her and Harry are sitting peacefully together on a bridge over a small pond, her head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around each other. They dangle their feet in the water, feeling the coolness of the liquid. Birds sing and the trees rustle in the light breeze. As Ginny watches, a small red-haired child runs onto the scene, giggling. Her image and Harry's untangle themselves laughingly, and embrace the little girl. Then more people gather. Her brothers, her mother and father, Hermione, hand in hand with Ron.
All smiling, laughing.
But over her mother's shoulder, the little girl lifts her bright green eyes to Ginny's despairing gaze. Laughter dies and sadness takes its place, with the knowledge of the fates of her kin.
The image fades.
In the real world, Ginny reaches out a shaking hand towards Harry's blood-stained cheek.
Things are different now.
There will be no future. There will be no happy ending.
Her brothers lie scattered across the battle field, buried underneath others – both friends and enemies. Her mother is lying dead in a ditch, eyes open in shock. Her father was tortured to breaking point and beyond. Hermione lies just outside the circle of ashes and upturned earth Harry and Voldemort created in their last battle. Her neck is broken. Ron died inches away, by the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange.
And before her, in horrible truth, is the body of Harry Potter, the boy with dorky glasses and messy hair, who loved her, and whom she never told.
So there is no use imagining what might have been.
Ginny Weasley coughs weakly, drawing up blood. She gasps for breath, but her eyes roll back into her head, and she slumps to the ground
Her hand rolls away.
Draco Malfoy, even as he lay broken against the castle wall in his Death Eater robes, his mask torn and his life fading, could not stop the tear that slid down his stone face as he saw Ginny Weasley collapse onto the ground.
She would never reach him now.
He realises that nothing matters anymore. For although in living we are divided, the dead...
The dead are all cold.
A/N: I think I freaked me out. :/
Disclaimer: Everything here is the creation of JK Rowling, except for the plot of this story and my own words.