She wanted Harry. She needed Harry.
He knew what she was going through, the guilt of being a survivor, the numbness that was slowly fading to a persistent and yawning ache. He'd known for years what she was going through. She'd never thought to ask. Now there were no words.
Ginny shifted in her armchair in front of the Gryffindor Common Room fire. She wanted to be furious at him. She wanted her anger to drown out the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to be alone. She wanted him. She wanted to feel angry. She didn't want to feel at all.
She considered leaving, but found that her legs would no longer support her. It was as though Fred had taken all her strength with him when he died, as if the price of living when so many did not was this horrible, agonizing weakness. She felt as if the dementors hadn't really left at all, as if all the happiness in the world had disappeared.
"Ginny?" It was Harry. She hadn't even heard the portrait hole open. "I thought you'd be up here." She sat up, back straight and entire body tensed for a fight that she wasn't even sure why she wanted. He walked around to the armchair opposite hers and sat down, looking at her expectantly.
Oh yes, he certainly had the right to expect something now, didn't he? She swallowed hard, refusing to look at him. After a whole summer of wanting to cry or scream, after a year of atrocities and torture, after a battle that would haunt her nightmares until the day she died, it came to this. She was going to be angry. She wasn't going to let him, or anybody else, try to make this better.
"Ginny, I'm sorry," Harry said in a low voice. Her face literally felt as if it would explode, and her jaw felt like granite. The now familiar feeling of self-derision surfaced like a monster in her chest that instead of scraping and scratching at her insides, settled somewhere in the pit of her chest and smoldered.
"Not your fault," she said shortly. And it wasn't. But it was, too. It was everyone's fault, everyone, but most especially hers. Her heart began to thump hysterically in her chest and a horribly familiar burning sensation crept into her throat. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.
"Don't be stupid, of course it's my fault," Harry said with a bitter smile. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He looked exhausted, miserable, much like Ginny herself felt. He didn't look like a man who had just defeated the most evil wizard of all time, winning revenge for his parents and countless others. He looked like a lost little boy.
"How can you say that?" she snapped suddenly, after a beat.
"What?" he said dully. His eyes were oddly dead in the firelight. The monster in her chest reared as if slapped, then burst into life, roaring.
"You," she said very quietly. Harry looked up, slightly wary. "You - you stupid, stupid boy," she said, voice shaking as it rose. "You are not, simply not, blaming yourself!" Harry stood, alarmed, and Ginny stood too, furious, determined to goad the life back into him.
"Ginny - "
"Why do you do this?" she shouted, and Harry flinched."Always noble, always the hero, damn you, Harry, just be Harry!"
She realized she was crying, and as soon as she did, her chest spasmed with horrible, painful sobs that she clenched in her throat, so intent on maintaining control that she held her breath, ignoring the hot tears streaking down her cheeks. She stood tall, glaring at Harry defiantly, daring him to run.
But without hesitation, Harry stepped forward and hugged her, and for some reason, instead of making her feel better, it brought everything crashing back down on her. Her control broke and she cried like a heartbroken little girl without restraint or care. Everything hurt, everything hurt: the battle, the loss of her brother and so many others, and suddenly she knew why she was so scared to see Harry, why she had wanted to push him away.
He had been dead. He had been dropped, practically at her feet, dead. And now here she was, sobbing into Harry's shoulder, the sound of his heart beating and the feel of his chest rising and falling two testaments to the survival of the person she thought she had lost forever, and it terrified her.
"I'm being so stupid!" she cried finally, face screwed up against the ever-present fear. Harry didn't say anything, merely pulled her closer and tighter to him. "You've-you've saved everyone - everyone - ! This is absolutely horrid..."
"I rather like it," Harry murmured into her hair. "I haven't seen you in ages, it feels like. And at least you aren't yelling anymore." He paused. "You're very pretty when you're angry though." There was a strange feeling near her midriff, like laughing, but she didn't want to laugh. Did she?
"I missed you," she whispered into his chest. "So much." She could feel his tears seeping into her hair, which startled her, but somehow comforted her as well.
"I love you, Ginny," Harry said, very, very quietly. She took her arms from around his neck, and leaned backwards so she could see his face, pale with tears streaking all the dirt and (she bit back a gasp) blood.
"You love me?" she asked, barely audible. Harry looked nervous, but he also had an odd determined look in his eyes that were framed by his lopsided glasses.
"Yes," he said without blinking. She nodded, not moving.
"I love you, too," she said firmly, straightening his glasses. Harry smiled, and he looked a little less tired.
"That's - well, that's good."
"I never got to tell you," she added in a quieter voice, tears threatening again. Harry looked at her with his green eyes that had been closed, she thought for forever, only hours before, she had thought she'd never see them again, and what if he had died, what if she really had never gotten to tell him - ?
She threw her arms back around his neck and kissed him, full on the mouth. He toppled backwards onto the couch, thrown off balance and she broke off the kiss, worried that she'd hit some of his no doubt numerous bruises. But instead, laughing, he pulled her down with him. He looked relieved - not quite normal, but no longer as if he was going to disappear. She began to cry again.
He laid down beside her, watching her cry, letting down her guard a little bit at a time.
"I thought you'd left me behind, Harry."
"Never."
Here is a picture of survival: a boy and a girl - bloodstained, bruised, but never beaten - asleep.