Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

2. Tell Me (Kelsey – Metro Station)

Because, I'm always here for you
And I'll be here for you
I know, I know, I know
I know how it feels
Believe me, I've been there
And I know, I know, I know
I know what it feels like
Tell me, Kelsey


He couldn't stand it. She'd told him she wanted to be alone, and she'd gone outside. He'd let her. He figured now that that was a mistake, but he was trying to be understanding, trying to give her space. Her brother had died and there was a part of him that would always blame himself for it. He grieved as she did, and for those first few days, he let her be, too lost in his own thoughts and anguish to do more than look over at her a few times. It broke his heart to see her that way, so young and lost and in pain, and he had no idea how to help her.

But now she was outside, alone, in the rain, without a cloak or jacket. Annoyed, he turned away from the window. At the very least, he'd take her a goddamn jacket out. It was just stupid, standing in the rain in that thin little shirt, and he was going to tell her.

He paused at the back door, and just looked at her. She was in the middle of the garden, her face slightly raised, her arms crossed over her waist. He'd seen her wrap her arms around herself a lot in the last two weeks, but he never remembered her doing so before.

A way of comfort? A way of defending herself against the irrevocable fact that her brother was dead?

He crossed the garden slowly, and was soaked to the skin by the time he'd reached her. The rain was coming down fast and thick, but not hard enough to hurt.

"Ginny?" He murmured it when he reached her, but didn't touch her. He hadn't, not since the morning he'd killed Voldemort. He'd hugged her, tightly, and for a moment it was almost like being back to normal. But then everything that happened seemed to have fallen between them and created a wall. She was almost avoiding him – not just him, really, but everyone – and he didn't think she'd had real, human contact, since the second of May. There'd been much hugging that day, he remembered. And then, after...

She'd closed herself of from the world. From him.

"Ginny." He tried again, when he got no reaction.

"I said I wanted to be alone." There was none of the firmness or flat hardness to her tone, like there had been when she'd first made the request. Her voice was quiet, thin, almost childlike. (She was so young, too young to have seen what she'd seen, done what she'd done, lost what she'd lost.)

"It's raining." He stated, rather stupidly.

"I noticed. I like the rain." Liked the harsh coldness of the air. (It was so much easier to breathe out here.) Neither mentioned that she'd disliked the rain, before.

"You're not wearing a jacket. I, uh, I brought you one out." He held it out, flushed a little when she stared at him. She took the jacket from him, slipped it on, not mentioning how uncomfortable it was, with the jacket already having gotten wet and her shirt being soaked anyway.

"I'm sorry, Ginny." He murmured, pushing his wet hair away from his eyes. "I'm sorry about Fred." He didn't notice her slight jolt at the name. "And I'm sorry – I'm sorry you got hurt." It tore at him, to see the marks, the scars, to have heard from Bill that she'd been hysterical at one point of the battle, with a sprained knee and covered in bruises. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you."

"I didn't need protecting." She muttered, her voice hard, showing a tiny glimpse of the old Ginny.

"You got hurt." He pointed out, slightly annoyed.

"I'm not a kid." She snapped, and then swore softly. She raised her face a little bit more, reslishing in the cold, soft fall of the rain on her face. "I'm not seventeen yet. Few more weeks. I guess I am still a kid. I don't feel like one."

"You've seen too much for that. Done too much." He murmured. "I'm sorry for that, too."

"Stop apologising, it's not your fault." Again, just a faint glimpse of the old Ginny, and her impatience with his tendency to assume blame. "You lost your childhood. Your entire childhood. I had most of mine, really." Maybe that would be comfort, one day, when she was ready to let go of her pain and anger and accept comfort, she mused.

She hadn't, Harry thought. Her childhood had ended at eleven, when the memory of Tom Riddle had tried to kill her.

"Thanks for the jacket, Harry. Go inside now." There was a plea in her voice, but he couldn't leave her here, in the rain, alone.

"No."

She looked at him, glared. "I want to be alone."

"Tough. I'm not leaving you again. I've done that too much. I'm here, now, I'll always be here for you. Talk to me, Ginny."

For a moment, she was tempted to pour it all out, to tell him all the thoughts and feelings that were tangled up in her head, to confess that she'd hardly slept in the last few weeks and whenever she did she had nightmares, to admit that she relived the battle every time she closed her eyes – or worse, worse she relived the moment when she'd seen his body and realised she'd lost a brother forever. She wanted to say it all, and to ask about him – because she was worrying about him, worried for him, but couldn't bring herself to connect with him on any level – and she wanted to sob and hug him, press her face to his chest and just feel safe because she hadn't felt safe in so, so long and she was scared she never would again.

"I can't." She whispered. "I'm sorry. I can't." She turned, didn't look at him, but for a moment laid her hand on his arm. Then she walked away from him, into the house. He watched her go, let her go, and felt miserable.

And Ginny went to her room, stripped off her wet clothes, entered the shower, and felt miserable.

And you never, ever let me in
(Let me in)
And you never, ever let me in
(Let me in)
And you never, ever let me in
(Let me in)
And you never, ever let me in