"Very well, Miss Weasley, you're dismissed. You'll be ready to join your classmates by the morning," Madam Pomfrey stated austerely, adjusting the sheets of the bed, "However, I do strongly encourage a full night's rest by my standards. Now off you go."

Ginny Weasley nodded.

She cast an furitive glance at the occupants of the room, smiled weakly, and swept out, ignoring her brother's request for food and Hermione's scrutinizing gaze. Truth be told, she felt meek and distant, a stark contrast to her usually gregarious state.

The bleak atmosphere of the week haunted her. Suffice to say, Ginny was no longer the naïve child that she was before, especially not after the events of her First Year. Recent events, however, made her think about those unpleasant memories again. How they had shaped her. How they had toughened her. How they matured her.

Not a soul had anticipated Sirius's death.

It seemed like the entire world wept for the man. The day was dim and grey. The sun cowered beneath clouds, permitting dim light to pass through. It was almost like a Dementor had settled on the land. The skies wept with surppressed tears.

Exhaling sharply, Ginny continued to walk along the corridor. Both students and teachers were occupied in their respectful classes. And Ginny, despite her lively and extroverted self, felt like quite the outcast at the thought.

Sighing, she approached one of the windows and looked down. To her surprise, she found the answer to her worries. She had allowed her eyes to sweep about the outdoors, when her eyes suddenly widened. There, sitting beside the lake, relatively isolated, was a black-haired individual. Retracting, she nearly snorted at the sight.

Honestly, Harry Potter was boding to be her downfall.

Quietly, she scrutinized his lone figure, debating whether to accompany him or let him be. She knew that it was best to leave him alone when he grieved. That was what Ron and Hermione had agreed on. But she wondered why they thought that way. Surely everyone needed someone to help them cope. It suddenly occured to her that she had never seen his guard falter.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she collected herself. Determined, she accompanied her chivalry through the corridors, past the steps, through the doors, and out to the outdoors. But as she reached, she faltered. It was as if the winds had collected what was left of her courage. Instead, she was left to deal with her timidity.

Her childhood haunted her. She was still the girl with her elbow in her butter-dish. The petite girl who had greeted the famous Harry Potter with ruffled red-hair and second-hand robes. As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew her strength faltered only in his presence.

But even then, her determination prevailed. She wouldn't let him to mourn on his own, even if Ron and Hermione were better suited for this role than her.

Crossing her arms loosely over her ebony robes, Ginny tentatively approached him. She cursed her weakness. Now was not a time to be caught up in a stupid crush. Collecting herself, she approached him, wary of startling him.

He was perched on an impressive boulder, his back slouched slightly, his eyes flickering about the lake. She couldn't see his eyes since she was behind him. He wasn't shaking, which surprised Ginny. She wondered how he would react to her being here, especially in such a private moment. Would he invite her or simply desert her?

Regardless, Ginny affirmed that she wasn't leaving.

As a result, she lowered herself onto the boulder beside him. Her heart wrenched when she caught sight of tears descending down his face. Ginny knew that he hadn't noticed. He was twirling an item in his hand, his eyes flickering about the lake. He was so still that he looked almost like a statue. But she reassured herself that he was alive by the movement of his hand and the blinks followed by tears. Despite the situation, she marveled at the silence.

He was clearly in denial.

"Harry?" she whispered.

He didn't respond.

In fact, his thoughts were his world now. But she repeated herself and pressed further.

"Harry?"

Startled, Harry's eyes widened. He turned to identify the source to the sound. Strangely, he found he had company. But as soon as he registered the fact that he had company, Harry looked away. He hastily wiped the sleeve of his robes against his face and under his glasses to hide his tears. But he didn't – or couldn't – respond.

Ginny understood.

Rather reluctantly, she averted her eyes, waiting for him to composed himself. It was almost strange how human he was. This was the first time that she had seen him in such a vulnerable state. Strange, how countless books and articles showed how utterly invincible he was because of a simple, indirect act. Yet he laughed, cared, and cried like others - like humans. Ginny nearly kicked herself for being one of those people.

But as she shot him a furitive glance, she frowned. He was studying something in his hand. To her surprise, a gleam emerged from between his palms. But there was also a shimmer of red as well. Absentmindedly, without a second thought, she treaded over forbidden territory and clasped his forearm. There was blood on his hand.

"Harry," she reproved, "You're bleeding."

But he gave his hand an indifferent glance and shrugged. Now composed, he turned to study the lake with clear disinterest again.

He startled, however, at the soft pressure on his hand. He glanced questionably at the accused. But the latter looked irritated. She reached to heal his wound with her wand. As she stowed her wand away, she resisted the urge to point the wand directly at the owner of the cut instead for being so indifferent. An irritating voice, however, told her that she would never have to courage to. Not when she was absentmindedly stroking the callused texture of his hand. At the gesture, she flushed. But even with contact, he either didn't notice her hand or he just didn't mind the gesture. But she blamed her inner childhood for not extracting her hand.

"You know," she began, struggling to keep a pleasant tone. She focused endearingly messy black mop of hair shielding his eyes. "There are some that care whether you live or die," here, his eyebrows furrowed in question, but he had yet to lift his head, "even if you might not."

But he frowned and answered, a slight bite in his tone.

"It's just a scratch."

He rolled his eyes.

But he still wouldn't look at her.

"Yeah?" Ginny asked, "Next you'd get your chest split open, but you'd still call that a scratch, wouldn't you?"

She didn't flinch when he straightened. Rather, she inwardly rejoiced at the fact that he finally reacted. He furrowed his brows, now resembling his usual self . . . Even if that self included a flare of a temper. Unlike most, however, Ginny could accept that part of him. She was not scared of his temper like Ron and Hermione were. She could deal with it. Forcing a reaction out of him was her accomplishment for the day. He had finally shed his uncharacteristically vacant look. Now he wore a blazing countenance.

"Of course," he snapped, "Isn't it better than having to die because your godson made a stupid decision? No, I couldn't die ― not like Sirius!"

Despite herself, she realized why others had trouble confronting him. He always seemed bitter, particularly towards himself.

But she couldn't let him bottle himself up. He had to release his frustration.

Funnily enough, he still hadn't removed his hand from hers. Instead, he snapped his head towards the lake again, fiddling with the item again. Although, she noticed, his eyes were downcast in guilt.

Merlin, why had she accepted Dean's request?

She disentangled their hands in response. Then, she reached towards his fingers and halted his movements.

"I don't think Sirius would have it any other way," she stated firmly, her gaze unwavering.

Harry appraised her honesty for a moment before he exhaled dejectedly. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she smiled at his doubtful expression. Allowing him a moment of thought, she averted her eyes towards the lake. She hoped that he would consider her words seriously.

But she couldn't resist taking advantage of his absentmindedness. As his thoughts overwhelmed him, Ginny cast discreet glances towards him. She relished in their close vicinity, a rare feat for the two. She observed him carefully. She studied the way the sharp black locks splashed over his eyes, a stark contrast to the bright green. His lips pouted when he frowned, she noticed. She marveled how easily distracted he seemed when his thoughts would overwhelm him.

She could hardly spot anything that she disliked about him.

After a moment, she startled when a sharp edge pierced her skin while she was fiddling with his hand. Frowning, she leaned forward to spot the predator.

What she saw bewildered her. She glanced questionably at him, but he didn't notice. He blinked when he felt a slight pull in his hand. He glanced down to find his palm vacant of company. Frowning, he glanced towards his companion. What he found, however, amused him.

She jerked her hand questionably.

"It's a mirror." Ginny stated succinctly, frowning at the shard. When she caught sight of Harry's amused, yet weary, look, Ginny attempted to glare. Internally, however, she felt relieved.

"Well, it is a mirror," Harry affirmed. When she scoffed, Harry managed a weak smile. "Just not the mirror you'd expect."

"That's helpful," she muttered. Harry shook his head before he snatched the mirror from her. He then turned to face her. She felt as if she was in her Divination's class again.

Though, she wouldn't mind the subject at all if he was the teacher.

"It's a two-way mirror," he said, "You talk to the person who's got the other mirror through this. Neat, isn't it? Sirius gave it to me," he sighed, turning away, "I s'pose he thought I'd use it, but . . ." His voice trailed off.

"You never got the chance," Ginny finished.

He nodded.

She sighed.

His despair was almost contagious. She withdrew her hand, perched her legs on the boulder, and wrapped her arms around her knees, and rested her chin on the surface.

"Madam Pomfrey let you off early, then?" startled, Ginny snapped her head up and locked eyes with sharp green, "You didn't go around behind her back, did you?" He narrowed her eyes.

Despite herself, she chuckled and shook her head.

"Now why would I do that?" she hummed. She shot him with a pointed look, "I don't go around breaking rules, Harry."

He snorted. Quite smugly, she noticed a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

"Wouldn't put it past you."

"But really, though," she massaged the lingering bruise. He offered her a curious, yet concerned look, "It's only my ankle. Honestly, Ron and Hermione have it much worse, mind you." She nearly cursed at his guilty look.

"A – are they. . .," Harry struggled, "Are they alright?"

"Ron's getting better," she said nonchalantly "Hermione had it harder than the rest of us, but I wouldn't worry. Nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't handle," gathering her courage, she shot him an accusing look, "But are you alright?"

He shrugged.

"Never better," he said sarcastically. Ginny huffed in annoyance but let it slide. She guessed there were some things that couldn't be helped.

And Harry Potter couldn't be helped.

Sighing, Ginny untangled herself, placed a reassuring hand on his arm for a moment, and stood up, stretching and yawning. When she finished, she glanced down only to find that he had reverted his attention to the mirror in his hand, his eyes downcast. Ginny, cursing her weak heart, was flooded with foreign emotions. She desperately wanted to repair the damage to his being, but there was only little she could do.

She knew that he would never be the same again.

"Are you staying here, or. . .?" Ginny interjected, "Or are you going back to the castle?" She watched as he adjusted his glasses, the corner of his eye crinkling.

Then, much to Ginny's dismay, he shook his head – refusing.

He averted his gaze. "I think I'll just ―" he breathed deeply. "Stay here." He finished softly, not meeting her gaze.

Ginny sighed. Reaching forward, she grasped his hands – rather feverishly, in her desperation. "Get better soon, Harry." And miraculously, he smiled, albeit a small and somewhat timid one, and nodded. She smiled.

With the intention to return to the castle, she straightened up and had started walking to the castle when she froze abruptly at the sound of his voice.

"Where are you going?"

She must be hallucinating. Had he really sounded – disappointed? With a concealed wince, she whirled around, her hair splashing on her right shoulder. To her surprise, he had straightened into a pose reminiscent to the old Harry. Ginny could have sworn that Sirius had not died at all.

She was tempted to return to her former position and cower in guilt for leaving him.

But alas, she was still Ginny Weasley.

"Madam Pomfrey reckoned I could do with a bit of rest," she said almost defensively, as if convincing him of her innocence. "You know, a bit of refreshment before the morning."

But damn, if only she could conjure the audacity, she would whirl around and tease him endlessly at the rare sound of disappointment. She marveled at the development of their relationship. She could swear he had never expressed anything but indifference years before. Now, however, the faint sound of disappointment towards her departure was enough to motivate Ginny to merrily skip around the corridors (not that she would). But as usual, she bottled her childhood self into a bottle with no oxygen and smiled towards his direction.

"Right," he smiled. She thought that was the end of the conversation until Harry's next statement cut through her pride like a scapel, "Thanks for everything, Ginny."

Ginny groaned to herself. Merlin, why had she accepted Dean's request?

Casting a glance towards the criminal who had stolen her heart, she smiled weakly. Her flight-or-fight response engaged in flight, and Merlin did she fled the grounds. Rather guiltily, she thought she would succumb to a death like Sirius's. Her heart would certainly overwhelm her with feelings for the cordial Harry Potter.

Indeed, death to her besotted heart.