There's a sharp knock at your door, and you jump a little. Biting your lip, you stare intently at it for a moment before deciding that whatever is on the other side isn't out to kill you. You push yourself higher in your bed, setting your book down on the table beside you, shaking your head at the foolishness of your last thought - if whoever it is wanted to kill you, they wouldn't have bothered to knock.
"Come in," you call to the door as it swings open with a creak.
You smile warmly at the newcomer before realizing that you appear far too happy to see him. Internally, you slap your wrist because you remember that he's not yours to smile at anymore.
"Hey, Ginny." His voice is softer than you were expecting, and the hostility you had tried to muster up in your chest deflates. He shrugs into the room, closing the door behind him. He lingers in the doorway for several moments, rocking on the balls of his feet, contemplating his next move before he suddenly asks, "Am I bothering you?"
You roll your eyes. "Harry, never."
His uneasiness loosens a little, but not by much. Harry stares at you in a way that makes your heart break, and you desperately try to ignore the feeling, but you can't. You can't because you know that look - He's studying you, trying to memorize you and store your face in his memory because you could disappear at any second.
You swallow painfully at the realization that you might not be the one who's going to disappear.
Harry moves silently to Hermione's cot bed across that's across the room - and far away from you. He sits himself down, crossing his legs carefully. There's a familiar crease between his eyebrows, and he suddenly finds the sheets very interesting. You watch him pick at the little balls of cotton sticking to the fabric, and while you hate the silence, you can't bring yourself to say anything.
You don't think you can say anything - not without saying far too much.
There's a shout and a holler downstairs, and both of you look toward the door, half-expecting someone to burst in. It would be your kind of luck.
But it doesn't happen.
Harry exhales loudly and looks at you again, eyes both expectant and unreadable, and he's struggling to put on a brave face. "How's your summer been?"
Half of you wants to snap at him and ask, "How do you think it's been?" but you decide against it. Instead, you shrug a little at him in return and say, "Well, it has been as good as it could be. Fleur's been driving me up the wall, though. It's too bad that Bill is really going to marry her."
With this, a corner of his mouth tilts upward as he nods, and you think, Well, damn close enough, and smile in return.
Seeing your time to strike, you ask, "Ditching your own party, birthday boy?"
His amused expression diminishes almost immediately. A pair of broken green eyes study you again, and you almost break under the gaze. In the silence, you can see how much he's changed since you saw him last. His gaze is intense and piercing and unbearably raw. He's hurting so much that you're hurting too, and your stomach twists into a tight knot that would take years to unravel.
He somehow felt the emotion that stemmed from his pain, and he breaks the wordless exchange with his head ducking a little. He stumbled for words before finally settling with, "You're ditching my party too, you know."
You open your mouth to retort before closing it with a frown. The git has a point. You don't really know the reason you wanted to be alone. The having a party in the middle of everything - It was a preposterous idea. The Order didn't quite understand what Harry had to do, but you did, and it was impossible to simply forget. If anything, trying to forget made it hurt more in the end because when reality would eventually return, you would know exactly what you're missing out on.
Harry was pursing his lips, waiting for you to speak.
"What's it like? Being seventeen?" you ask this quietly, knowing exactly what you were truly asking him.
His expression tightens, and he too realizes what you really mean. "It's -" His voice fails him. Harry lets out a gust of air, rising to his feet again.
For a moment, you're terrified that he's going to leave, and you make a move to stop him before noticing that Harry wasn't moving away from you, but rather, to you.
He sits himself on the edge of your bed, near your knees. Harry doesn't smile, but he doesn't look guarded either. His eyes hurt still, but it's in a different way this time. The corners of his eyes crinkle a little, and you remember when you told him that you thought that it was adorable.
"I wish I could tell you that it's amazing," Harry whispers finally, sounding unbearably crestfallen. His eyes flicker closed as he inhales shakily. "But I can't."
Anger bubbles in your chest. Not at Harry, but at the world and what it's doing to him. It's starting to take a toll - but you already knew that. "Whatever happens, Harry," you're speaking quickly, passionately, trying to get him to somehow sense that you're so in love with him, "we're here."
"No one can protect me anymore," he says. His expression determined and fearful and stubborn and so very Harry. He turns away almost immediately, and Harry adds bitterly with a clenched jaw, "I'm out of time."
"Not yet - You're not out of time yet. You'll fight for more. We all will - We're all running out of time," you say sternly. "Don't count yourself out yet."
Harry stares out the window to your left. He's so young and handsome, but you know better. He's not the boy you remember from King's Cross - that boy is long gone. He's young and old, but he's still alive and you're very grateful for that. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, appearing exceptionally tired.
"I wish."
He doesn't say anything more, but you understand. There were endless things to wish for.
Harry's gaze travels back to you, and he rests a hand on your knee. He smiles sadly, just a little, and admits, "I've missed you."
You're a little taken back, and your mouth opens and closes but a reply doesn't come. You don't know what to say to that. Nothing you can say can change anything. He's leaving soon, and he'll play his part in the war because he's the Chosen One. He's not yours, and as much as it pains you to admit it, you're not really sure if he ever was. The idea of being together is absurd now that you think about it, but you don't need a title - you just need to know, and you would let that be enough.
You swallow back the knot in your throat and manage a choked reply, "You have no idea."
He nods carefully. "There's so many things I wish I could say to you."
"Me too."
You stare at each other for awhile before he scoots closer to you. You're frozen, gazing into the green eyes that captivated you since you were just a child. But then, you realize achingly that you are still a child.
His hand rises and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Tucking it behind your ear, he says, "This conversation never happened. I was never here, and I never said this."
"Said what?" you murmur breathlessly.
"That I'm stupid, that I should've - We should've had more time. We had none - no time at all compared to what could've been. I realized too late."
Your heart tightens, and you know. You know that he's not expecting to come back. Three words that he failed to say hang in the air, and you want to tell him that there's no one else and that you're absolutely positive and that you'd wait forever if you had to. You're not sure if you can.
"The cards are never on my side," he smiles again, resentfully.
You shrug. "Then again, this could've never happened at all."
"You're right. It's ironic, isn't it? Everything I needed was right in front of me all these years."
The weight of his words hit you like a freight train. Your eyes are watering now, and you clench your jaw so hard that your temple hurts. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair at all, and you stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to stop the tears from coming.
"Hey, hey," he whispers, moving impossibly closer and wrapping his arms around you. His breath catches when you lean into the embrace. "It's all right - It'll be all right."
You bury your face in his chest and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to call him a liar - He's lying to you, things are far from all right, things will never be all right. He's going to walk out of the room and leave you behind like everyone always does. You can't stand the thought of what could happen to him after he's gone.
So you ease into his arms because that's all you can do. You want to believe his lies, and for a moment, you almost do. Sobs that you've held in for months are flowing freely now - There's no way of stopping them now that they have started to come. Your breaths are coming in gasps, and not one part of you cares.
Somewhere above you, Harry is whispering incoherent words of comfort and apology. You understands what he means rather than what he's saying. He's trembling, and after feeling a steady flow of warm, wet drops hit the top of your head, it suddenly becomes clear that he's crying too.
This moves you, and you pull away from him to look at his face.
His green eyes are blood-shot and heart-wrenching, and he lets out a choked laugh. He sniffs self-consciously, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. Harry chokes out, voice breaking, "Look at us, we're a mess." He reaches over and brushes away a stray tear on your cheek.
"How can you stand it?" you whimper, grasping your forearms in a feeble attempt to hold yourself together that, of course, doesn't work.
"I never said I can."
You stare at his face, and you wonder how you are going to make it out of this alive. He's everything, and the fear of losing him engulfs you like a tidal wave. You snap your jaw together, fighting the tears that threatened to overtake you once more.
"Obviously, I can't stand it if I'm here," Harry continues softly. "I can't stand it, not at all."
"Then, what are you doing here?"
"I wish I could tell you, but even I'm not really sure," he whispers truthfully. "and being here isn't fair to you - I'm making this worse, making it harder. I'm being selfish and -" He stops abruptly, guiltiness flashing in his eyes.
"I don't care if you're making it harder," you say gruffly, wanting to touch him but thinking better of it.
"I care, though."
"I don't care if you care, you git."
He smiles then, and perhaps it's the only true smile you've seen the entire night.
"Don't laugh - I'm serious."
"I know," he tells you tenderly, the short-lived smile fading. "I know, I know."
"You're leaving," you say bluntly.
His response is just as simple, "I am."
"What are we supposed to do?" And you think, what am I supposed to do?
"I don't know."
"What are you supposed to do?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Of course not."
There is bitterness in your voice, and he makes a face. He doesn't say anything, but he reaches over and takes your hands in his, and the act is so familiar, so normal, that it seems almost surreal. You bite your lip.
"Just for the sake of saying - I'm sorry."
You sigh, "So am I."
He stares at the ceiling, and you listen to the sounds of conversation coming from below you. You wonder if anyone has noticed that the two of you have disappeared, and they probably have, but you realize that you don't really care.
His hands are familiar. You remember the texture and the shape and the warmth, and you hope that you'll be able to feel them again someday.
"Ginny - What are we doing?"
You laugh now, and you're surprised by how involuntary the action really is. "I really have no idea, Harry."
"Neither do I," he murmurs.
"What now?"
"No idea." He laughs begrudgingly at himself, "I'm such a coward."
"How so?"
"I can't bring myself to say what I came here to say because, if I do, then it'll feel like -"
"Like this is final?"
He agrees silently.
"We don't know if we'll ever get another chance, Harry."
The truth of your words ring out in the silence, and it lays heavy in the air.
"Don't chicken out now," you whisper encouragingly even though you already know what he's going to say.
His words are fast and awkward but somehow very perfect, "I - I just - I'm in love with you -" He stares down at the intertwined hands sitting in your lap, determined not to look at your face. "It's too soon, and I know that it was only for awhile, and I know that we could die, but - You need to know."
He falls silent.
You finally find your voice and whisper, "It's hardly fair."
Harry snorts, "Tell me about it."
Shyly, his gaze travels back to your face, and he murmurs, "Don't tell me my confession was in vain. If it was, tell me now."
"Harry," you say gently, "Don't be daft."
"Then say it," he pleads quietly and a little desperately, "give me a reason to see this to the end."
"I think that I've always been in love with you," you admit this more smoothly than he did, playing with his fingers as you speak to him. "But you already know that." You don't tell him that you'll wait for him - A part of you knows that he wouldn't be able to stand it if he truly didn't make it.
He whispers, "I should get back - They've probably realized I disappeared by now."
"I don't care," you tell him with urgency in your voice, "I don't care if they come bursting through the door right now - Just stay. Please."
Harry doesn't reply, but he moves to your side, arm snaking around your waist. You lean against him and revel in how natural it feels. His back is pressed against the wall, and your legs are tangled underneath your covers. You bury your nose in his chest, listening to the sound of his even breathing.
It isn't much, but you let it be enough because he'll eventually leave and walk out the door, and you'll still be here wishing for things that never were.