Title:Solitary Worlds
Author: Catalina Royce
Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: They would never stop loving each other.
Rating: PG
Author's Note: This is the first chapter of a challenge fic (given to me by Alabaster Storm). It is a Harry/Ginny fic, which is not my normal pairing at all. I hope you guys like it. This is a chaptered story, and it will take a few chapters to understand, so please bear with it. -- Cat.

Solitary Worlds

I.

Five Years

Neville and Harry saw each other far too much for their own comfort. When the met on the wards, they gave each other tight, awkward smiles and turned away.

Any friendship they may have once had has been destroyed by a single thought: She should never have ended up like them.

And so they'd turn to opposite sides of the room: Harry to the right, Neville to the left. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of Neville's family; the scuffs of feet on the floor, the squeak as the curtains were drawn back from the bed, Neville's quiet murmuring.

He'd focus on the bed in front of him, would walk up slowly, dread pooling in his stomach. Every time, as if in a dream, he would pull the curtain back, expecting to see nothing, expecting to see someone else, expecting to see anything but her.

Always, she'd skitter away like a frightened rabbit, her doe eyes wide. Her hair was wild and untamed from neglect. Her frame had always been small, but now it was almost emaciated. The nurses had informed him that she was paranoid the food was poisoned; the only way to nourish her was to hold her down or to trick her. Her nails were long and she used them as a weapon.

He sat down in the visiting chair. "Hello, sweetheart," he said softly. "How are you?"

She stared at him, backing away.

"It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you. I've just come for a visit. You like visits, don't you?"

No reply.

In desperation, he whispered, "It's okay. I'm a friend. I'm Harry. Do you remember me at all, Ginny?"

She whimpered. Said nothing, but there were tears in her eyes. He wondered if she knew the name, or if she believed he was a trick from the Death Eaters to torture her, or if she was still just scared of his presence. He'd never know. She was incurable.

He held out his arms. "I want to hug you. You love hugs, Ginny. Will you come and hug me?"

She raced over to him; a scattered sort of movement which was graceless and frightened. He wrapped her in his arms and drew her close, sitting her in his lap. He rocked her, whispering to her the entire time.

"It's okay. You're safe here, Ginny. No one is here to hurt you. I promise. I love you." He stroked her flame-bright hair and mourned over the loss of the girl he loved.

Her family didn't visit her anymore. They couldn't. It hurt them so unbearably, to see their only girl unable to recognise them, unable to speak, unable to recognise that they were friend, not foe. It had taken Harry two years of visiting every day for Ginny to somehow assimilate that he wouldn't hurt her; her family hadn't been able to bear being with her. He hadn't been able to bear not to.

The frightened girl in front of him had once been his lover, his friend, his love. She had been a vivacious, sparkling girl with the world at her feet. Visiting her was like rubbing salt into a wound, but he knew that the wraith huddled into him was the love of his life; he'd never stop seeing her. He'd never be able to.

They stayed like that. Harry felt his legs begin to lose feeling, but refused to move or say anything about it. Instead he murmured nonsense words to her and revelled in the feeling of her next to him.

Every time he saw her, he cried afterward. She was so alone now, so unable to reach out and take what she wanted. She lived in an isolated place and the only things around her were pictures she didn't recognise and white; white sheets, white curtains, white walls.

Harry heard the scuff of footsteps again, and turned his head to see Neville leaving his parents. Neville, with an awkward look on his face, nodded. Harry could see the hand clenched around the bubblegum wrapper slowly push into his pocket.

It had been five years since it happened. Harry and Neville would never again be more than acquaintances. It was too hard to enjoy the company of someone who was going through exactly the same thing.

God, how they wished the word Crucio had never been invented.

How Harry wished it had been him instead of her.

He wished that she was sane and well.

He wished that they'd been married.

He wished they had little redheaded children.

He made lots of wishes these days.

Sometimes, in his selfish moments, he wished she'd just died, so that he could move on.

But as it was, all she had was him – and all he wanted was her.