Blood. There was so much of it coming off of him. Blood, dirt, tiny pieces of glass. He let the water run down him in torrents, drenching his clothes through. It was over. It was over. It was over. A hollow shakiness took hold of him and he felt his knees begin to buckle beneath him. He slid down the shower wall and curled in on himself, the water both warming and chilling him.
He wasn't sure how long he'd sat under the tap, letting the water pound upon him, but his fingers were pruny when a smaller hand worked its way into his.
"Harry."
He looked up to see Ginny. She was covered in grime, kneeling beside him, her red hair growing wet as the shower's water hummed against them both.
Her large brown eyes bored into his as they gripped their hands together in silence. After a few minutes, Ginny slowly rose from the tile floor and leant her hair over to wash it better. She gave a hiss as the water hit her head and blood began to run into the drain.
Harry stood, needing to check every inch of her head for injuries. He could have lost her, but she was there; warm and real. His hand glided through her wet hair, checking for more cuts or bruises. She leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes tightly.
"I thought you were dead," she whispered.
"I'm sorry," he said back.
Her eyes closed tighter and before he knew it her fists were coming at him, hitting at his chest, pushing him against the wall, one successfully landing on his jaw. He finally stopped her, grabbing both her wrists. She glared at him and tears mixed with the showers' stream as it fell on them.
"I thought you were dead," she choked out.
"I know," he said, slowly letting go of her wrists, and putting his hand on either side her face to really behold her for the first time in nine months. He blocked her from the shower spray so he could fully take in her countenance. Her brown eyes, so fierce and warm, stared into him and through him. Her jaw jutted out in defiance, daring him to make an excuse. His thumb slowly caressed her smooth cheek, careful to avoid the small lacerations scattered among her freckles.
"I'm so sorry."
She nodded and breathed him in, wrapping her arms around him. She held him tight, as if he really would be dead should she let go, making him let out a gasp of pain. She quickly leapt back, looking at him with a discerning eye. Her hands went to the hem of his shirt and began to peel it off of him to inspect his wounds. At one point he would have been embarrassed or excited to have her pulling clothes off of him, but in this moment he didn't even know what emotions he had left. All he could feel was weariness, and a low hum of reverence for the beautiful young woman before him. His shirt fell to the floor, and the water turned red again as the water stung a myriad of cuts and burns down his body. Her fingers quietly skimmed along his bruised ribs, across his chest, and paused a moment at the scar the locket had branded onto his chest. She was taking in his story one injury at a time, in ways words never truly could communicate.
"Gin, I missed you so much."
They had been apart through so much. Eventually he would tell her everything. There was no one else, besides his two best friends, he could tell all of this to. Being with her like this made him feel alive in a way he thought would be forever denied to him. He had meant to die tonight. He thought he'd never get to hold her again, but here she was, running her hands up and down his body, making it thrum at her touch.
"I watched you on the marauder's map. I watched you every night I could. You were my last thought…" No, he couldn't tell her this so soon. He couldn't tell her that he'd meant to die. He couldn't tell her how the last person he thought of before dying, was her. Not yet. Not now. He needed her to know how much he loved and missed her, though. He searched out her gaze, but she wouldn't relent.
"I didn't have a map," she said, staring down at his chest. "I didn't know where you were."
"I know, I'm sorry," he said.
"Stop saying you know, and stop saying you're sorry," said Ginny, pushing him away from her before she walked a few paces away.
Harry didn't know how to respond. For months all he had of her was her name, written on a parchment map. He'd kept vigil over that map every night he'd been on watch. She was the one pure constant he had. She had been there, like his own personal evening star. No matter what happened, she was that last hope of another life. She was what he could return to, when everything was finally said and done. She was keeping him tethered to this plane, he knew it. One breath of rejection from her and he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep standing. He backed into the shower wall, willing himself to not react.
"You… You meant to die, didn't you," Ginny more stated than asked, back still turned to him. He held his breath. It was too soon to tell her all this. It was too raw. It almost felt that telling her so soon would open up the veil he'd nearly gone behind, and he'd be torn from her for good.
"You can't do that again, Harry Potter," she said with a shake of her head. He silently watched her. The only sound was the water echoing off the bathroom walls. She slowly walked up to him and turned off the water.
"I don't care if there are a thousand dark wizards. You don't choose death," she ground out. "Not again, ok?"
He held his hand out, and after a moment she took it.
He would give her everything. Every moment. Every breath. If she'd have him, he'd give her all the years of his life. He'd never been more certain of anything. It frightened him, how certain he was. He was too young to know. Who could possibly know something so unknowable at such a young age? But he knew.
"I choose you," he said, hoping she knew what he meant.
"Good," she said with a small smile. As she stared at him, he knew he didn't have to say more. She wouldn't need him to declare more. She wouldn't need him to swear fealty to this life, instead of sacrifice. She knew. She moved forward and their lips touched. Feverish kisses drew him further away from the veil, the tiredness, the emptiness he'd felt to his core. Somehow he was filling with light, warmth, and renewed spirit.
His skin stung, his bones ached, he shook from the cold- but he'd never felt more whole.