"Where do we go from here?"
The first time she had asked him that, he was sixteen and he didn't have a plan. They were in love on a sunny day, and their eyes were swollen from crying. Albus Dumbledore had died and he had no means of stopping it. He was supposed to have some answers, even the vaguest idea of going forward, but he had nothing.
Harry Potter had nothing but Ginny Weasley, lying in his arms and peering into his face with a confused look in her eyes, like an animal out of a forest fire. He should have told her something brilliant, something that would have saved them from the hellfire that would ensue in the following months, but all he could do is shrug.
If he had known then what would happen in a matter of months, he would have grabbed her hand and whisked them all away to any sort of safe haven, where they wouldn't grow old at seventeen because the war demanded it.
If he had only known how much he would miss her in months of isolation, living in woods and empty apartments and parking lots, wondering whether he would get the privilege of seeing her again, he would have said something.
He should have realized that the universe gave them only few precious moments of innocence, in which they could laugh, joke, kiss, love as though nothing would prevent them from doing so in the future, not a whole lifetime of it. Their lives after the war would never be the same as before, tainted and smeared with blood, battle scars and good people lost.
Instead of giving her a proper answer to the most important question in the universe, he only hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head, desperate to hold her close. Something so fragile, something so precious and something he didn't know if he was allowed to keep.
As if she knew what he had been thinking about, she turned in his arms to face him and ran her fingers through his hair, smiling.
"Whatever happens, we still have tonight", she said.
The hope he saw in her eyes (and many years later, she would tell him that he had the exact same look – the desperate man clinging to the last remnants of hope he would ever allow himself to feel) made him want to believe.
"Whatever happens, we still have tonight."
They allowed their hands to roam places they never have before, fervent touches and zealous kisses. The night was like looking for a bomb shelter while the sound of grenades rips the air and all you have is in your hands, begging for just one night of survival.
"Where do we go from here?"
The second time she had asked him that, they were both covered in blood and he couldn't see the hope in her eyes anymore.
A year had passed and whatever innocence and belief they had before was now gone. Just yesterday they were laughing and coming up with plans for the future ("You'll be a Quidditch star." "Oh, shut it!") and today they found themselves feeling much older than sixteen and seventeen.
War, he thought, didn't allow you to retain ignorance and carelessness. Any falsehoods you may have believed in had to go. The blood you never had on your hands was there now, and no matter how many times you washed them, it would never go away. It clung to your skin like a permanent mark that there was innocence lost, battles fought and blood spilled.
Once they thought that the worst thing in the world would be to see a friend die on your arms, but now they realized that it couldn't even compare to seeing the aftermath of the battle, the whole world praying for a way out. The thoughts that plagued their minds were the thoughts everyone else in the room had.
Harry could see the broken hearts, eyes devoid of hope and hands clutching hands, trying to see a way. But nobody could.
In the battle, your heart is racing forward, your mind suddenly becomes clearer and, even though death might be inevitable, somehow it is easier to die if you are going to die fighting. Your emotions are heightened and adrenaline flows through your blood, everything seems like a moment frozen in time.
Harry died. But dying was only a flash of green light and then sweet nothing.
The aftermath wanted you to feel, wanted you to burst at the seams and it wanted to raise the death toll. It took more fighting to stay alive right after than in the middle of the battle.
In the moments after the battle, they both roamed the Great Hall, counting the members of their family and friends, digging nails deep into their palms, desperately hoping that most of them would be there. Some were lost forever. Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin. They simply ceased to exist and, even to a man like himself – who had lost more than he gained, it was a concept so surreal and so strange that, at first, he couldn't believe in it. Fred was certainly just behind the doors, waiting to surprise them with a prank so elaborate it would probably blow up the castle. Remus must have been at home with Teddy and Tonks, the three of them – a small, but loving family. Colin, with his camera, was probably just developing the films and would be back in a second.
The thought of losing them all forever hurt so much.
And yet, when he finally set his eyes on Ginny, he couldn't recognize her. Something inside her was broken and the fiery gaze she still had in her eyes only showed how hard it was to keep it up and how bad she wanted to cry, if she'd allow herself.
"You're alive", he managed to squeeze out.
She looked so raw, like she was turned inside out and left exposed for the whole world to see. On the other hand, if what he looked was as bad as he felt, he probably looked even worse.
"Barely."
They found a nice, quiet corner of the Great Hall where once the Hufflepuff table stood, not too far from the rest of the hundreds squeezed into the hall which once looked vast and majestic but now seemed too small for all those who wanted to seek shelter.
Only a few meters from where they sat Madame Pomfrey was wrapping a Ravenclaw's wounded shoulder and Harry unknowingly took to observing his hands, covered in wounds and bruises. This too would pass, like everything passes.
Ginny, on the other hand, had a gash on her left cheek and every inch of her was covered in ash and soot. He had hoped that she would stay in the Room of Requirement but he should've known better. Ginevra Weasley would never stay on the bench if a battle was fought for their survival.
And now she was staring at him with those blue eyes he had grown to love and all he wanted was to hold her close, ignorant of everything that had happened. He just wanted to exist in a universe where she would be right next to him and their memories would be comprised of fun dates, smiles and sunrises. Not wars and not battles, not death but births. New lives instead of those taken from the world far too early.
"Where do we go from here?"
Forest fires, tornadoes and destruction. Flames rising up in the air, windows shattering and cries piercing the eardrums. So much to live for, so many things left unsaid, loves not kissed goodbye properly.
"Nowhere."
He managed a weak smile and covered her hand with his. When she nodded slightly, he wrapped his hands around her. Face to face because he never wanted to forget what she looked like, never wanted to wake up in panic because he had forgotten her face, even if he never saw her again.
"We stay right here."
"Together?" she asked fearfully, looking up to meet his gaze.
"Together."