He was dead. That single thought cut through the pain induced haze as Harry collapsed, finally unable to stand any longer even with the help of the last remaining bit of wall. His opponent was dead, and the wizarding world would be free, once the two or three who escaped had been rounded up. As blackness closed in, Harry began to think that he, too, was to be dead in a few moments, but he was ok with that. There were plenty of regrets, of course, but he did what he needed to in the end. If only…
It had been dark forever. Or had it been only a moment? No, it was always dark, and he thought it would always be dark. But something was cutting through the darkness and silence. Noises, voices, shouting, crying, whispering a name, over and over. Always the same name, every time the voices came. Harry. Harry! HARRY! Sometimes a constant stream, other times just one word in a hundred he could understand, and always the name.
His name, he came to realize. He was Harry, whoever he was. Where ever he was, here in the dark. If they kept saying his name, maybe they knew him. Maybe they were looking for him?
It made him feel, these thoughts. Someone knew him, and it hurt somehow. It was hard to hurt without any connection to something that could be hurt, but he did anyway.
Then he felt. It was a slight pressure, really, barely anything at all. It went away, occasionally, but it came back again quickly. Always the same feeling, in just the same spot, somewhere left. He came to realize that he was not just made up of a left, and a center. He was supposed to have a whole body. If he concentrated enough, he could feel most of it. His right arm seemed to be missing, and that felt wrong. But having a body at all seemed like the best thing, so he didn't worry to much about not feeling a right arm, or not being able to move anything.
Finally, light penetrated the murky darkness that had been holding him hostage. One moment it was as dark as he was accustomed to, and the next he was blinded by pure light. It hurt. It hurt very badly and, in his mind, he screamed for the light to go away. After a time the light dimmed to an almost tolerable level, and was tinted reddish by his eyelids. At least it wasn't dark anymore, and the pressure on his left hand was back. The other voices always mentioned Ginny when the pressure was there, so he came to realize that it was Ginny holding his hand all this time. The name seemed awfully familiar, but he couldn't quite remember why.
With the light back, however painfully, a sense of time returned. It was brighter during the day, when Ginny was gone more often, and dark at night when she returned. He would let himself drift off during the light hours, just to feel her there at night.
She started speaking to him in the mornings, while he drifted off. He tried to stay alert and listen, but she seemed to be reading gibberish off of a paper, or a pile of paper. After a few days, he remembered and realized that she was reading him a newspaper.
Another group of days passed, and his eyes were exposed to the very harsh light again. They were holding open his eyelids to look at his eyes. His body reflexively tried to close his eyes, and he managed to turn his eyes towards his left, where Ginny often was. It was day, so she was not there, but the person looking at his eyes was so shocked they nearly fell over as they backed away in surprise.
There was a lot of voices, soon after. Most of them sounded happy. Ginny was always very close, and at one point even leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. It took every ounce of will he possessed, but he managed to twist a corner of his mouth into something that might pass as a smile.
When they noticed, the voices got happier, and Ginny kissed him on the cheek again.
It had been nearly three months since the final battle, where Harry and pretty much everyone who was on his side went all in to take out Voldemort. They had finally rounded up all the horcux, and with a stroke of pure luck they discovered where Voldemort was hiding. There were a lot of injuries on both sides, and a surprisingly low number of deaths. Harry was truly the worst off out of the survivors.
Harry's right arm had suffered from a complicated combination of curse backlash and physical damage. The healers had managed to keep it intact, and repair most of the damage, but no one knew if he would ever be able to use it again. Severe blood loss, numerous broken bones, and sheer physical and magical exhaustion had taken its toll on the young wizard's body but, again, most of that had been easy to fix. The healers had not been able to explain Harry's coma, nor could they do anything but wait for him to come out of it on his own.
The only good news seemed to be that Voldemort was dead, leaving Harry's trademark scar to fade considerably when his body was being healed. And, of course, that Harry was still breathing on his own.
Last week there had been a breakthrough, and Ginny was beating herself up over having missed it. She had just left the room for a few minutes to get lunch when a healer had come in to check Harry over. Harry had moved his eyes on his own, consciously. The worst part for her was realizing that he had been looking to where she always sat at his left side.
Most people came to visit that afternoon, offering encouragement to Harry in hopes he could hear, and celebrating the fact that he may wake up soon. Ginny didn't let go of his hand the entire time. As most people were leaving, she leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek. The gesture was innocent enough, and the reaction stunned her.
He smiled.
Well, he had tried to smile, and it looked rather odd. It had been the first expression his face had shown in months, and it was because she had kissed his cheek. She couldn't help but do it again, hoping that she could some how lend Harry strength.
The worst part was, school was starting again next week. Her family had been very understanding over the summer. Ron had actually joined Harry in the last battle, while she had been stuck in school. They seemed to be trying to make it up to her, by letting her spend so much time by Harry's bed despite the fact that he showed so little improvement until just recently. Now that he seemed to be recovering, they had actually agreed to do her school shopping for her without even trying to get her out of St. Mungo's for an afternoon.
It was Harry's birthday, finally. Ginny arrived in his room with some flowers for his bedside table, a small package of chocolate frogs that she would probably be the one to eat, and the day's newspaper. She placed the flowers in the vase, and set the frogs down beside them. Setting the newspaper on the edge of Harry's bed, Ginny took up her usual seat beside him. She spared a slight smile at the cushioning charms that had been renewed by the healers that tended Harry as she slipped her hand in his.
She gave his hand a light squeeze, and in a quiet voice said simply, "Happy Birthday, Harry. You're eighteen now…" The sad frown that was tugging at her lips vanished as she felt his hand tighten against hers. His eyes opened very slowly, and he managed to turn his head towards her just a bit.
"Harry…" Ginny felt as if all the air had left her, and was glad to be sitting down. "Oh, Harry…" She had thought herself long since cried dry over what had happened to Harry, but she found tears blurring her vision as she leaned closer.
"G…Gin…Ginny…" Harry's voice was weak and dry form disuse, but it was his voice.
Ginny jumped up immediately, rushing over to the pitcher of water and glass set up on another table against the wall. She poured it half full of the slightly chilled water and then hurried back to Harry's side. "Here, let me help…" Receiving a weak nod in reply, Ginny lifted his head and shoulders up slightly, and held the glass to his lips so he could drink.
She set the glass down beside the flowers, and could not help but throw herself on Harry, hugging him and beginning to sob. "You're finally back, Oh Harry, you're back."
Harry, the one who had just been in a coma for three months, made an effort to bring his left arm to Ginny's back and made shushing noises in an effort to comfort her.
The Healers, alerted no doubt by their monitoring charms, choose that moment to arrive en masse. Every Healer that had seen to Harry at all during his stay seemed to be in the group, and Ginny was forced to sit back in her chair and just hold Harry's hand while they ran more tests than Ginny knew existed. After the tests, Harry was forced to take a number of steaming, foul smelling potions that left him looking like he might have been out for a few weeks, instead of months.
Ginny's head was still spinning when they finally left, Harry looking much better than before. She gave his hand a squeeze, which he returned. She offered him a faint smile, and he did the same. A moment passed in silence, but it wasn't the heart breaking sort that had plagued the room for months.
"Thank You." The simple words brought more tears to Ginny's eyes, and Harry gently pulled on her hand to bring her closer. "I could feel you here…" Harry seemed to be having a little bit of trouble finding the right words, but he continued soon enough. "In the dark, I could feel you holding my hand, anchoring me here…"
Teary eyed, Ginny rested her head on the blanket over his stomach. "I never gave up. The press did…a lot of people did. Even some of the healers…I would never give up on you."
Harry shushed her gently, resting his hand on her shoulder. "I know Ginny, I know. It's alright now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."