Author's Note: Hi guys, this is one of my longer stories that I'm rather proud of (and it is still no-where near finished, but that's what happens when you're working on a Masters' degree). Its a MULTI story Harry/Ginny 'soul bond' story. Porting it over from SIYE where my penname is sabradan.

He was dead. Sirius Black was dead. And it was all his fault...

Harry Potter was having a rather inauspicious beginning to the summer holidays after a rather horrid fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The teenage wizard sat on his bed at half past one in the morning, yet again, at Number Four, Privet Drive. He had been back with his relatives for nearly a week and a half now, and he couldn't remember getting a full nights' sleep once. He would always wake up in the middle of the night, his sheets at his ankles, having thrashed around violently during one of his many nightmares, where he would undoubtedly relive one of the many horrible experiences he had over the past year.

And so it came to be that tonight, again, Harry Potter was awake, doing his level best to keep his 'condition' as he had come to calling it, away from his Aunt and Uncle's knowledge. So, he sat on the edge of his bed, again, his head in his hands, and brooding.

The year hadn't been so unbearably bad, he thought ruefully, until the end of term. Sure, Minister Fudge was still being as bull-headed as ever, denying Voldemort's return and had gone so far as to interfere in Hogwarts by installing one of his own people as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And Umbridge was, for all intents and purposes a horrid little toad, and by far the worst defence teacher he'd ever had, of course. More accurately, he thought, the more appropriate title would be 'How-Not-To-Defend-Yourself-Against-The- Dark-Arts' teacher, chuckling mirthlessly. But she was manageable, even when she was unfair to students, punished him with countless detentions where he was forced to write lines with a blood quill, and even when she became Fudge's appointed 'High Inquisitor' and started sacking teachers, including Dumbledore, left, right and centre. He could deal with that, he thought bitterly. But his life was never simple enough to just give him one problem to deal with. Not Harry Potter.

He could even deal with some of the other things, he thought miserably to himself. In addition to Umbridge, there was also the fact that the Ministry, as well as the Daily Prophet, and most mainstream sources for the Wizarding community, were trying their level best to discredit him and Professor Dumbledore as nothing more than compulsive liars and ne'er do wells trying to stir up trouble.

That didn't bother him, really, he thought. No, that was a lie, he thought bitterly to himself. He did mind, but not for the reason a normal 15 year old boy would mind. After all, he wasn't a normal 15 year old boy; he wasn't able to be a normal 15 year old. He was Harry-bloody-Potter, the bleeding hero of the Wizarding World, for something he didn't do, nor could he even remember, when he lost his parents to Voldemort at the age of 15 months. He couldn't just have normal 15 year old problems, worrying about girls, and homework, and his now-looming O.W.L. results, or even the current standings for his favourite Quidditch team.

No, he had all those worries, of course, but he also had to worry about being the saviour of the wizarding world, again, now that Voldemort had returned, even if Minister Fudge didn't believe him. He also had to worry about trying to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, so as not to give them anything more to discredit him with. Not that they weren't doing a bloody fine job of that already, he thought bitterly. That was why he cared; not that he didn't mind the defamation of his character, because he did, of course; but rather, because he and his friends, and Professor Dumbledore, and the Order of the Phoenix needed to begin preparing for the war that was brewing on the horizon. And, in order to do that, they needed to begin recruiting people for the coming fight; but in order to attract members, they first needed everyone to believe that Lord Voldemort had, indeed, returned. And the Prophet and the Ministry had done a bloody good job of preventing that, he thought bitterly. That was why he had a particularly foul attitude towards the Minister, The Daily Prophet, and, in particular, Rita Skeeter.

Of course, he also had normal 15 year old worries to burden him as well; Quidditch, studying for his O.W.L.s (the results for which should come in the post sometime in the next few weeks, he realised ruefully), and girls.

No, the real crucible came, Harry miserably recollected, came at the end of the last term, a mere few weeks prior. Voldemort had lured him to the Ministry to collect a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, under the pretence of saving his godfather, and only father figure, Sirius Black, from what he thought was torture at the hands of Voldemort himself. So he had been lured to the Department of Mysteries in the heart of London's Ministry for Magic, and he had brought his friends along. He had fought with them on that for a while, but eventually he gave in, and they all went to London with him. So, he, along with his friends Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, stormed the Department of Mysteries, only to find not only no sign of Sirius Black, but to then be ambushed by some of Lord Voldemort's most elite Death Eaters.

There was a fierce battle that later ensued, which resulted in The Order of the Phoenix coming to their rescue as they fought the Death Eaters in the Death Chamber in the Ministry. Unfortunately, while none of his friends were too badly hurt, this fight had resulted in Sirius Black's death. Bellatrix Lestrange, his demented Death Eater cousin had cursed him, and the curse, while in itself was not-quite-lethal, sent him flying through the Veil. Harry tried to rush after him, to save him, but it was no use, he was gone. Remus Lupin had had to use all his strength (which was quite a lot, despite his frame, thanks to being a werewolf, Harry mused) to hold him back and drag him back to Hogwarts. Of course, before he could do that, Harry had chased after Bellatrix, and tried to place her under the Cruciatus Curse (unsuccessfully), and had been possessed by none other than Voldemort himself, before Professor Dumbledore came, duelled with Voldemort (whom he refused to call anything but 'Tom Riddle'), and finally expelled Voldemort from his body, until finally, just before Tom left the ministry, Minister Fudge came and saw, with his own eyes that the Dark Lord had, indeed, returned.

Once he had finally returned to Hogwarts, Harry could feel nothing but anger and grief at the loss of Sirius, as well as the prophecy about himself and Voldemort (that he had been there, in Voldemort's eyes, 'to retrieve') that left no doubt in his mind about the outcome of the brewing war ('Either must die at the hand of the other...for neither can live while the other survives') that he practically destroyed everything not nailed down or hidden away in the aged Headmaster's office. But it didn't change the fact that Sirius was dead. He blamed Bellatrix, of course, as well as that fat toad, Umbridge, and Snape, for not helping immediately in his rescue of Sirius; but most of all, he blamed himself. It was his fault Sirius died; if he hadn't believed Voldemort's mind games that he was torturing Sirius, and hadn't come storming down to London without thinking rationally first; hell, if he had even tried to contact Sirius first directly (rather than relying on that traitorous elf, Kreacher), he would've known that Sirius was safe and fine (if a bit bored), and Sirius wouldn't have had to come to rescue him. But he didn't, and now Sirius was dead. And it was all his fault.

I'm so sorry, Sirius, it's all my fault...

It took him a while for the reality to even sink in, let alone come to terms with it. He still hadn't come to terms with it, he reminded himself bitterly, or else he wouldn't be up at half past one in the morning, brooding over the events of the past few weeks. Soon after destroying nearly everything in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, he was sent on his way back to his common room to rest; he never made it halfway there. After that, the shock, and the adrenaline and all the pressure of the past year had finally got to him, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
When he woke up the next morning (or what he thought was the next morning), he wasn't in his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, but rather, in the bed that had, over the past five years, become 'his' bed in the Hogwarts Infirmary, with the stern, but motherly Madam Pomfrey looking after him.

When he had finally cleared the sleep from his mind and found his glasses, he realised that he wasn't alone in the Hospital Wing; Remus Lupin, Professor Dumbledore as well as Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all sitting by his bedside. They all wore concerned expressions on their faces and seemed well relieved at his finally waking up. They all tried to reassure him that what had happened was not his fault, but Harry didn't really hear any of it; it was his fault and he knew it. He appreciated their gestures, of course, but he didn't take to heart any of what they were saying. Eventually they tried engaging him in conversation on much lighter and more insignificant grounds, in an attempt to draw him into conversation, to get him to talk. That, too, failed to work. Harry had simply not wanted to be bothered by anyone. He listened to what they were saying, of course, and appreciated their gestures, but refused to be drawn into their conversations, regardless of what the topic was. Eventually, they realised their presence wasn't helping him any, and when Madam Pomfrey shooed them out of the infirmary so that Harry could rest, they left without complaint.

And so things went along that way for the past few weeks, to the end of term, and even continuing along the same lines now that the summer holidays had started. Harry was waking up. They all tried to reassure him that what had happened was not his fault, but Harry didn't really hear any of it; it was his fault and he knew it. He appreciated their gestures, of course, but he didn't take to heart any of what they were saying. Eventually they tried engaging him in conversation on much lighter and more insignificant grounds, in an attempt to draw him into conversation, to get him to talk. That, too, failed to work. Harry had simply not wanted to be bothered by anyone. He listened to what they were saying, of course, and appreciated their gestures, but refused to be drawn into their conversations, regardless of what the topic was. Eventually, they realised their presence wasn't helping him any, and when Madam Pomfrey shooed them out of the infirmary so that Harry could rest, they left without complaint.

And so things went along that way for the past few weeks, to the end of term, and even continuing along the same lines now that the summer holidays had started. Harry was completely understand. He rationalised his actions to himself by saying that things were better off this way: they were better off without him; he would only get them killed, the same way he got his parents killed, and then Cedric Diggory, and now Sirius. They were all confused, and rather angry at his actions, he could tell, but they would get over it, eventually. He decided that he would rather have them alive and have them hate him, than have them dead, and have their blood on his hands as well. It hurt, a lot, if he was honest with himself, but he made a decision, and he would be damned if he would change his mind and get his friends killed for his own selfish need of friendship. And Harry Potter was nothing, if not stubborn.

They had all sent him letters, of course. It seemed like nearly the minute he stepped into his room at Number Four, Privet Drive, he was assaulted by Owls of all sorts of varying sizes and colours. He recognised, of course, Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl (who was carrying letters from both him and Ginny), but there were others from his other close friends, as well as one from Remus, one from Hagrid, one from Professor Dumbledore and yet another from his auror friend, Tonks. Harry, however, resolutely refused to open any of them, except for one: the one from Ginny.

Ginny Weasley was another thing that was confusing Harry lately. They had grown much closer over the past year than in the past. She had apparently gotten over her dreadfully embarrassing (for both of them, really) schoolgirl crush on him sometime over the past two years, and had steadily grown their relationship from nothing more than casual acquaintances, as she was Ron's (Harry's best mate) little sister, to good friends in and of themselves. She had been seeing Michael Corner of Ravenclaw over the past year, until they had broken up towards the end of the year, for various reasons and it seemed to Harry as if after that he had started to see her in an entirely new light. Until recently, she was just little Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister, and then just Ginny Weasley, his friend. He had never before really noticed how she was no longer all that 'little', after hitting a rather flattering growth spurt in all the right places the previous year, which had filled out her petite frame in all the right places. Before she had broken up with Michael, Harry admitted, he had never noticed her in anything but a platonic manner; he had never noticed what a truly beautiful young woman she was growing into, where she had all the right curves or how her deep brown eyes had small flecks of gold in them and flashed to a near hazel when she was angry, or upset, or in another situation where her passions for one thing or another ran high. Nor did he notice before how her hair colour, a bright, vibrant red, seemed to change slightly with the varying sunlight: from a bright, fiery nearly-orange colour, to deep, vibrant, nearly copper colour, and anywhere in between. And now he was starting to notice it, and it scared him slightly.

And then, when they were in the Department of Mysteries, he had acted more protective of her than any of his other friends who had accompanied him there, even going so far as stepping in front of her, multiple times, in attempts to shield and protect her as much as he could. It was particularly unnerving to him, for the reasons that he didn't try to do that for any of his other friends, and he knew, very well, that Ginny was as capable a witch as any of his other friends there; and also because she let him, on more than one occasion, when it was well-known that Ginny Weasley hated being shielded and protected in that manner, from anyone, even (no, especially, Harry thought) her brothers. Yet, she let him, without so much as a harsh word, let alone her famous bat-bogey hex, and it unnerved him. Both the fact that she had let him without complaint, even though she rarely needed it, and the fact that he was so much more protective of her than the others, when he knew she could take care of herself. He had been thinking about that situation, and her, a lot over the past couple of weeks since Sirius' death, and that confused and unnerved him even more.

Did he fancy Ginny Weasley? He couldn't fancy her, could he? After all, she was his friend, Ginny. Just friends. And she was Ron's little sister, surely, she was out-of-bounds, right? Surely, he couldn't fancy Ginny Weasley. Especially now, once she had finally gotten over him and started dating other people. No, he couldn't fancy her; and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyway–it wouldn't be fair to anyone involved.

Unfortunately for him, however, he wasn't quite as stubborn when it came to her as it did to his decision about his other friends.Of course you fancy her, you bleeding idiot! A small voice would always say in the back of his mind whenever his mind drifted in that direction. You fancy her, a lot. Maybe even more than fancy. And you know that Ron would be okay with it eventually, too. After all, on the ride back to King's Cross, he was all but trying to set you two up!

This was also true. Perhaps Ron wasn't as dense as most people thought, if he could see right through Harry and see the things that even he wouldn't willingly admit to himself, let alone try to do something about it. When Harry was honest with himself, he knew the little voice was right. He did fancy Ginny. He did. And he had to be honest with himself; he owed everyone at least that. He owed it to himself, and to his friends, and he owed it to Sirius. Sirius would want him to be happy, and more importantly, want him to be honest with himself, especially when it came to fancying girls. Yes, when he was honest to himself, he did quite fancy Ginny. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option right now, he didn't think. After all, she was seeing Dean Thomas. She had told that to Ron (and their entire compartment) that she was seeing him after Ron's attempt to hint that she should choose better boyfriends (while hinting madly that 'better' meant 'Harry').

That's not true, either, the little voice inside his head screamed at him. She only told that to Ron to get him off her back about her relationships, and you know that! She added it as a post-script on her letter. And it was true. She had written that in her post script that she wasn't really seeing Dean, but instead just wanted to see Ron squirm, he admitted to himself yet again. But what did that mean? Did she know how he was feeling about her, now, of all times? Was he that transparent? And if he was, or if she did somehow know, how did she feel? Was that a hint that she wanted him to ask her out? But it couldn't be, could it? After all, she got over him almost a year ago, right? He thought to himself. Yet, the more often he tried to persuade himself to the contrary, the less and less effective it became. If he was completely and truly honest with himself, he would admit that he did indeed fancy Ginny rather badly, and that she wasn't seeing Dean, and that, if he asked her on a date, he probably had a very good chance at the response he wanted. But what should he do?

Damn it, Sirius! I'm so confused! I need your help. What should I do...?

He paused in his introspection once again to reread Ginny's letter for what must have been the fiftieth time. It wasn't that he was so much more interested in what Ginny had to say–well, a bit he did, but not that he wanted to purposely ignore the others–but he just couldn't bring himself to read the others because he knew exactly what they would say, and he wasn't in the mood right now to read them. Ginny's, however, was different. It read:

Dear Harry,

Things here at the Burrow are alright, all things considered. Very average, at least for a Weasley holiday. Ron's going nutty about Hermione and whenever she sends him an owl, he runs up to his room to read it in private. He never used to do that before, you know. I think Ron fancies Hermione and that's why they're writing back and forth so much, and why he's acting all wonky. When you come here, you'll see what I mean.

The twins are already in trouble with Mum. It wasn't bad enough that they dropped out of Hogwarts in their last year ('IN YOUR LAST YEAR!' Mum was screaming the other day. I'm sure the muggles in the village could have heard them, and I'm nearly positive Luna and her dad across the way did as well. 'YOU COULDN'T WAIT THREE BLOODY WEEKS?!' The fact that Mum swore is huge, Harry. Mum never curses. Like, at all. That means this is REALLY bad). But not only that she found out about the shop (though not anything about their kind, generous and rather handsome benefactor...anyone I might know?) and she practically exploded. She wouldn't let them come over for tea for a week. She's just now started feeding them again.

Of course, Percy's still being a Git, and Charlie's well, Charlie, and is still in Rumania. Bill, on the other hand is very busy with Gringotts, the Order, and Fleur. I honestly didn't believe for a minute that all the time he spends with her is ' 'elping her with 'er eengleesh' one bit. And I was right. They're dating! Ugh! He brought her over for dinner the other night, and it was the most awkward meal I can ever remember. Ever. Even more awkward than the first time you came to the Burrow and I put my elbow in the butter dish! It was that bad.

Anyway, I'm sure you don't really want to hear all my ramblings, and that's not really why I wrote to you, either. And I know you don't really want to hear any of this, or be pushed or anything, but really Harry, I need to know, how are you? I'm not going to tell you that 'it'll all be alright' and that you 'need to talk about it' as I'm sure Hermione would, nor am I going to completely ignore it and pretend like nothing happened like my thick-headed brother will undoubtedly do. I'm not going to push you to talk when you're not ready or anything else like this, but I do want to know how you're feeling. As in how you're REALLY feeling; and don't you dare tell me that you're 'fine', Harry Potter, because you know as well as I do that for you, 'fine' means 'not dead'. If you don't want to tell me all the details and everything, that's alright. But I do want to hear SOMETHING substantial from you. Please, Harry. You're my friend and I really do care about you, and I want to make sure you're alright. Please know, Harry, that if and when you are ready to talk, I will be here and more than willing to listen.

I also know that right now you are probably locking yourself in your room, brooding about Sirius. Please don't, Harry. I'm serious. Well, actually, no, I'm Ginny, but listen to me anyway. (Sorry, Harry, I had to!) I know you tend to like to push people away and blame yourself, but if you only ever listen to one thing I have to say, let this be it: THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. I repeat: THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. The only person the blame for what happened falls on is Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange. They lured us there, they started the duels, they created the situation where Sirius had to come in the first place (and I know you blame yourself for that too, please don't...there's no way any of us could have known better. I would have made the same decision in your shoes) and Bellatrix killed him. Not you. Please, please remember that.

Anyway, I think I've rambled on enough. I hope you'll believe me when you read this letter, Harry, and please listen to what you're heart tells you as well as your brain, and that you write back soon.

I hope you're managing to keep the muggles off your back, at least.

With Love,

Ginny

P.S. I'm not really seeing Dean, I just wanted to see Ron squirm and let him know that he has no right interfering in my relationships! See you soon!

This letter, while simple, raised Harry's spirits so much, yet raised so many questions. Mostly, again, about Ginny. Did she know how he felt? Was he that transparent? How, exactly DID he feel about Ginny? (At this point, the voice again cut into his brain and said, 'You bleeding fancy her, you ponce!') And how did she feel about him? After all, she was supposedly over him? And why did she sign her letter 'with love'? That wasn't something all girls did. After all, Hermione certainly never signed any letters like that–well, maybe letters to Ron, he quickly added, sniggering–but none to him, certainly. Maybe that was just how she was? Or perhaps...just maybe, she wasn't completely over him, and he had a chance? But a chance at what? Should he even risk getting her even more involved and endanger her even more than she already was? He sighed heavily, trying to settle his nerves enough so he could return to bed to at least get a few more hours of sleep. Maybe everything would be clearer in the morning. His last thought before he hit the pillow was 'If only Sirius were here, he would know what to do'.