A/N: Harry is 19 and Ginny is 17 and it has been a year since Harry defeated Lord Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Of Companions and Contemplations

Harry Potter stood in the apple orchard; the sun warming his back as it trickled through the lush, green foliage, his eyes narrowing as he squinted past the trees and into the field that was acquired for Quidditch. He stared with a fierce passion at something quite intensely. The Boy Who Lived and the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord's source of attention was not a something, however, but a someone—a someone who just so happened to be perched on her broom.

Ginny Weasley. Youngest of the Weasley clan, fiercest of her six siblings and the only girl to have been born in several generations—currently hovered above the ground, her crimson mane flowing gently down her back as her sharp eyes lazily scanning the area, completely unaware of the attention she was receiving.

From the corner of his eye, Harry watched with a mild interest as Ron and Percy huffed and groaned as they gathered up the Quidditch gear that had been discarded in favor for one of Molly Weasley's famous meals. The Quidditch match had been glorious: Harry, Charlie, Percy, Fleur and George against Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Bill and Mr. Weasley. Harry and Ginny were the Seekers; Ron and George were the Keepers; and the rest of the lot were the Chasers.

How did this odd assortment of people come together for a rather physically brutal (the competitive streak in the Weasley's had reared its ugly head) and painful game? The majority of the folks had whole-heartedly immediately wanted to participate when the "friendly-family game of Quidditch" was suggested. But Mr. Weasley, Fleur, and Hermione were a different case. A reluctant Mr. Weasley only agreed to the game to escape his wife's murderous glare that she wore donned since he had casted the spell to return Ron to his human form that very morning (the fault of which Ron became a talking ladle was something neither son nor father would speak of). Hermione, begrudgingly, joined in after Ron promised to consider taking his Seventh year of Hogwarts with her. And Bill had to beg Fleur to understand how horrible and unacceptable it would be to have uneven numbers in such a game. And so, the teams were created and the game commenced...

This was an excitingly grueling three hours ago, and they had just, finally, completed the game when Ginny caught the Snitch. Harry had been proud of her in-spite of her victory resulting in the other team winning. The rest of the family had long clambered into the Burrow for a hearty lunch, leaving Harry and Ginny alone outside.

And here they were now.

Harry swung his broom between his legs and gently pushed off the ground with a converse toe. He silently zigzagged through the apple trees and paused, in the air, meeting her above the field. "Hullo," he breathed once he was at her side.

She did not return his greeting, but he knew she was aware of him presence. Ginny peered upward—Harry following her gaze into the brilliant blue sky and puffy clouds above—for what seemed like forever. She was waiting for something.

And that it did. With a cry, Ginny shot into the sky like a bullet, her red hair streaming out behind her. Harry, who had been caught up in studying the girl, was suddenly thrown off guard and startled by her sudden actions. He blinked into the glaring sun, and could just barely make out the glint of light upon gold and the glittering of wings.

The Snitch.

Now, it was not uncommon for Harry, Ginny or Ron—or even the other Weasley children when they felt like it—to practice Quidditch in the fields beyond the orchard, hogging the magical balls for themselves to practice seeking, chasing, blocking or hitting—with. The amount of time spent with the balls was often a source of argument, too, in the Weasley house. Mrs Weasley would commonly have to put a foot down or the bickering between her children of 'He-said-she-said'—'I-get-it-now' and 'Mum-said-it's-my-turn!' would be nonstop. And unfortunately, as the Weasley kids grew older and welcomed Harry Potter into their home, they turned to him—usually Ron, his best mate or Ginny, his girlfriend—to side with one of them, thus winning the fight.

Luckily for Ginny, Harry almost always sided with her. Best keep the missus happy, no? Best piece of advice his godfather ever gave him.

But this was no ordinary Snitch-seeking fiasco. Ginny's form was rigid and taught—her hands on the broom handle was in a deadly grip—and her face was not an expression that she wore when usually in the air, not the expression she had worn even an hour ago—that was one of liberation and pure joy. Her expression, now, was stoic and a calm, contained fury. This made the situation all the more confusing. Ginny loved Quidditch almost as much as Harry, if not more so. Quidditch was what brought the two together in the first place! It helped Ginny get over the hump of her crush and forced Harry to see her in a different light than Ron's little sister. As Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Harry began to admire Ginny's seemingly sudden skills on a broom and latter truly came to value her as a fellow team member, despite her being two years younger than he and Ron.

So what was making Ginny so miserable that the air could not fix?

Harry watched with a lump lodged in his throat as his girlfriend dip into a breakneck dive... heading directly towards the ground, the Snitch dancing just out of her reach. She went racing toward the field—only one thought in her mind. Harry expected Ginny to swoop out of the plunge six feet away from the ground; this would leave her three feet to readjust her broom into a different position, one foot to brake her fall before crashing into the earth's surface, and another foot to gain speed and height again as she began her ascend.

Harry did not expect Ginny to wait till the last second possible—a mere two feet away from the grass—to finally pull wildly on her broom and tumble off sideways, the Snitch in her hands and flushed splotches upon her checks.

"GIN!" cried Harry and leaned forward on his broom, edging it faster and closer to reach her. He jumped down and dropped to his knees—his broom forgotten as he flung it aside—and grabbed her arms. "Are you all right? Are you hurt? What happen up there?"

He frantically inspected her for injuries.

"Fine," she said shortly. "I'm fine—ow! Stop that! I said I'm fine!"

Harry frowned as his girlfriend rolled over to lay on her stomach, hiding her face from him in the grass. "You aren't fine—you almost killed yourself! I just watched you with my own eyes—you literally dived right at the ground and had no intention of stopping!"

"But I did," whispered Ginny, which went unheard.

"What on EARTH POSSESSED you to DO THAT?" Harry roared, trigger by her careless attitude. His intention wasn't to rip her head off, but he had felt pure, unadulterated fear as he watched, helplessly, as she plummet to the ground, and he couldn't help the rising emotions that grew in his chest. "I DID NOT FIGHT A BLOODY WAR FOR YOU TO GO AND KILL YOURSELF."

Ginny sat up and glared at him with a fire in her eyes that she hoped burned his soul. "Take. That. Back!" she snarled.

Harry, realizing his poor choice of words—sighed, and rocked back on his heels. "I'm sorry," he backtracked quickly, but genuinely. He knew the Chamber of Secrets was still a touchy subject for her, even six years later.

"I'm sorry," said Harry again, now calmer and with more ease. "Just... I just don't understand why you did that. Do you have a death wish? Do you understand how crazy that is to do? Weren't you terrified? I was terrified just watching you."

Ginny was silent. She folded her body into a cross-legged position. She did not face him—he noticed—but did not completely turn away, either.

"I... I can't..." Ginny trailed off, her hands fluttering uselessly in the air. "It's just so hard... I thought it would get better... get easier... in time, y'know? That's what everyone says. But—" she furiously wiped what suspiciously looked like tears on her sleeve.

"But it just gets harder with the more time that passes. I can't even remember what his laugh sounds like... all I feel is numbness. And I can't even feel terrible about that—about not feeling anything... I'm sorry, Harry," she said, looking at her boyfriend earnestly, "for giving you a heart attack. But I needed to feel something... to just not be this empty shell of a person that I've been since he died... I needed to do something, something crazy, to see if I could feel anything."

"Did it work?"

Ginny plucked leaves out of her red tresses. "Doesn't really matter," she said in a hollow voice. "I just thought... since... since I love Quidditch so much... that maybe it would be different... but... it was stupid of me to try."

Harry gazed at her, wishing he could take away her pain. He would never know what the loss of a true sibling would feel like—with the possible exception for Ron and Hermione. In a way, he was fortunate for the lack of emotional pain, but Harry was also saddened because he had seen that the special bond the Weasley siblings shared by-far outweighed the losses and the grieving that came in the end.

"Do you remember what you said to me after Sirius died?" Harry said quietly.

Ginny shook her head lifelessly, her blank, unseeing eyes staring out at the horizon.

"I spent a year mourning him... a year wishing he hadn't gone... a year refusing to feel anything but misery, because, I reckoned, why I should feel any happiness at all with Sirius dead?

"But you changed that. You barged into my room and made me talk." Harry chuckled, and even Ginny had to smile a little as they recalled that famous afternoon.

He was furious and moody and wanted to be alone (which he displayed beautifully by by locking himself in a bedroom all day), but she was equally stubborn and resistant and was aggravated by his pity party. Ginny had marched upstairs (despite the protests from her family) and forced Harry into conversation; letting him break down, cry, yell or shout at her—whatever he needed to do to release the emotions he had kept bottled up inside of him for a year. That day was the turbulent beginning of their hesitant yet rewarding friendship that eventually blossomed into a relationship.

"You said that Sirius wouldn't had wanted me to spend a year brooding. "Life's too short to waste with unhappy thoughts", you said. "Seize every good opportunity that comes your way. Go outside and forget about everything dreary in your life. Do something that makes you smile. Be with people that you love. You'll never know which laugh will be your last.""

Ginny made a strangled sound between a sob and a laugh. "I'd forgotten," she said.

Harry grinned at her. "That speech changed my life." He twisted a piece of grass around his finger, pulling tightly, daring himself to not wince as the blood circulation was cut off.

"It's different, I know, between Sirius and Fred. I knew Sirius—like, really knew him, which was for all of year or so, and then he was gone just as quickly—while Fred has been in your life since your first breath. You love him. I can't imagine knowing someone that long and loving someone that fiercely and then loosing them so... quickly."

"In a blink of an eye," Ginny said horsely. She balled her hands into fists at her side, her knuckles turning white as she gathered her thoughts and feelings.

"It all just... happened... in a blink of an eye... I was dueling Bellatrix... he was right next to me... I ducked her Stunning—for a second I had my back turned—for a split second!... Fred was laughing at Bellatrix... and then he was just... laying on the ground..." Ginny told him all of this with a hard face and brimming eyes, and Harry felt the prickling of tears himself.

Harry had never heard of how Fred had exactly died—the Weasley's would tear up whenever his name was even mentioned, and Harry honestly didn't really want to push for details himself. The phrase "I'm sorry" floating around Harry's head, but the words seemed empty and fruitless and thus did not leave his lips.

Ginny flopped onto her back and propped her arms behind her head. "Don't you dare tell me "I'm sorry", Potter," she said tiredly, as if she had read his mind. Harry laid down too, resting on his side, facing her, with his head balanced on his hand.

"That's all everyone ever says to me. ''I'm sorry, Ginny"—"I'm sorry about your brother"—"I'm sorry for your loss"—"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry,"—WHAT ARE THEY EVEN SORRY FOR?!" She cried. "They didn't KILL Fred! They didn't LOOSE a BROTHER. They're just sorry for the poor little girl who grew up too fast and lost so much! A week later—when everyone's buried and the replenishing begins—they'll all forget the girl and her dead brother—whom she has not—they'll forget to mourn because he wasn't their loss—AND THEY'LL ALL GO ON WITH BLOODY LIVES!"

Despite the sliceable tension of the air, Harry couldn't help but study Ginny. He could not tear his eyes away from the slenderness of her throat—the threads of gold and orange in her hair that only appeared in the evening sun—the way her chest heaved with furry and her freckles stood out in contrast to her pale cheeks. She was beautiful... and frightening.

"You've always hated pity," he commented in a low voice. "Even after the Chamber. You were so young—I thought you surly would need help recovering or something... and I wanted to help... but I saw how other people tried and you tore their heads off.

"I knew, then, that you would be all right. It might've taken some time, a long time, but you would get better. Maybe not completely, but mostly."

Ginny chuckled humorously and for a split second, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of Tom. The revelation was short lived, though, and he berated himself for these thoughts. Ginny wasn't Tom. She wasn't Voldemort. She was good.

"Then I suppose the sudden interest in chess and Exploding Snap was pity?"

"No," Harry said firmly. She looked uncertain and uneasy—he hated that he made her feel uneasy. "I have been unsure of many things in my life; Dumbledore kept such a massive amount of secrets that it made my head spin and the Dursley's lied to me my entire childhood—I never knew what was and what wasn't... but I am completely and utterly sure about one thing."

"That being?" said Ginny with an eyebrow arched.

Harry rolled over, caging her in with his forearms, the grass tickling his elbows. "You."

It was a simple three-letter-word but it made her heart flutter.

Against her will, Ginny smiled. "You know," she said, tracing his jaw with her finger.

Harry hummed pleasantly as he leaned into her touch. "Yes, my dear?"

"You're crazy."

She brushed his ear, grazing his cheek and lightly tracing his lips with the pad of her finger, trailing down his chin and his neck to rest on his collar bone. She loved to simply touch him—he was addicting and alluring like the strongest of wines and the grandest of treasures. She couldn't get enough of him.

Harry grinned wolfishly and caught her mouth in a kiss. "All the best people are."