They stood alone in Ginny's room for the first time in a long time. If you didn't count the catastrophe from earlier, which Ginny didn't.

All was quiet. The party had wrapped up hours ago, everyone turning in early after cake.

Harry was a dark silhouette against her door, not moving closer. She half-rose from her bed, waiting for him to say something.

"Sorry…I would've been here sooner, but I had to make sure Ron was asleep…?"

"That's okay," she replied, ignoring the unspoken question he added at the end, "It's not like I was going to get any sleep any time soon."

"Are you sure about this?"

She'd been expecting that. Ginny sighed and began to pace the length of her room, running her hands through her hair. Was she ready? No. But what choice did she have? After tomorrow, Harry would be gone. What if he died? How would she know? Unless they announced it in the Daily Prophet, she wouldn't.

She stopped pacing. "Yes."

Harry was silent. She turned from boring a hole through her dresser to look at him. "Are you sure?"

"Not completely."

Ginny made a noise of frustration. Her hands flew to her hair again, the pacing starting afresh. "Look, it's simple. You're worried I might die; I'm worried you might die. We want to know what's happening while we're separated. End of story. Done!"

"Yeah," said Harry from the shadows, voice reluctant, "But…isn't there another way?"

"Not that I can think of."

Harry cussed softly, moving into view with his own hand in his hair. "I am such an…idiot. Hermione was just in Ron's room—I should've said something-"

"No, you shouldn't have." Ginny said firmly, feeling more comfortable if the only people who knew about this were the two of them. "Besides, it's not permanent—how do you think magical folk can get a divorce?"

"Ginny, we're talking about a bond here."

"Do you think I don't know that?" She strode right up to him, looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm not joking. I'm scared, Harry, scared for you. How will I know if you're alive…or dead? What about Ron? And Hermione? What if they die?"

Harry was no longer meeting her eyes.

"Hey," she murmured soothingly. She waited until they locked eyes again. "I trust you not to let any of that happen. This is…just in case…okay?"

Sighing, Harry nodded. "How do make this…bond?"

"It's just like the bond Bill and Fleur will create tomorrow. Only, not the priest's way."

Ginny stood toe-to-toe with Harry, chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, and forehead-to-forehead. It wasn't comfortable—she had to stand on tip-toe in order to do it. But that didn't matter now.

"W-what next?" asked Harry, sounding embarrassed by her closeness.

"We take our wands and tap each other on the head at the same time."

"…Wait, what? That's it?"

Ginny furrowed her brow. The action felt very strange with Harry's forehead pressed to hers. "No. There's something else…some kind of cheesy saying…." More thinking, then, "I think it's 'I bind myself to thee'."

"…Seriously?"

"Like I said, cheesy. But it's ancient magic, so it's going to be a bit corny."

"Great."

"Look, let's just get this over with—I've lost feeling in my toes."

Simultaneously, Harry and Ginny drew their wands—Ginny from the waistband of her pajamas and Harry from his jeans pocket.

Ginny took a deep, steadying breath. This was it. After hours of gushing over party favors and doily-things in order to pump Fleur for information at just the right time. After steeling herself to ask her parents what the bond of marriage would entail. After the epic disaster that took place earlier in her room as she attempted tell Harry her plans. Yes, even after she slipped Harry the note when she was handing out birthday cake.

This was it.

Ginny opened her eyes, realizing she must have unconsciously closed them.

She raised her wand. Harry did the same.

"Ginny…are you sure. There's a lot of stuff that goes on in my head, around me. Some of it—most of it isn't something I'd wish on anyone else. No one should have to go through what I go through."

"There's no turning back now," she said, bringing her wand down to tap Harry on the head, the words to the bond already forming on her lips.

Harry slipped from Ginny's room into the dark stairway. He maneuvered the stairs, careful not to make steps two, seven, and nine creak. Outside Ron's door, he paused to make sure Ron was snoring and entered.

Methodically, he switched his jeans and t-shirt for lounge pants and a t-shirt, his mind still in the room with Ginny.

He could feel the bond. Even though doors and stairs separated him from her, to Harry it was as if she was still pressed up against him. A ghostly heart—her heart—beat next to his, the main artery pumping to the right instead of the left. Deep in his mind, he could feel her presence: a fiery bird-like bundle of thoughts that fluttered at some unconscious level of his brain.

He really was an idiot. Nothing else happened in her room after the bond was formed. Kissing her, he'd said good night and left. But even before he'd reached for her doorknob, Harry began to regret. He regretted saying yes to the bond, to creating it.

If Ginny was feeling what he was feeling, she would experience every horrific moment of his quest to find the horcruxes. How could he live with himself if he knew every bone-chilling, gut wrenching encounter gripped Ginny as well?

Tomorrow, Harry vowed as he drifted to sleep on the camp cot in Ron's room, I'll talk to Ginny. I'll convince her to break the bond. I'll make her understand…