Author's Note: A few errors were pointed out to me and I (painfully, since I loathe this chapter) went through and fixed them (I hope). Thanks to twilighthp95 for the tip.

The Boy Who Lived - Seventh Year

The dark grey sky frowned gloomily at Hogwarts. For days, nothing but roiling winds, heavy rain, and dark clouds had covered the sky. The weather completely matched the mood of one particular seventeen-year-old wizard by the name of Harry Potter.

Sitting in the Common Room of Gryffindor Tower, Harry gazed out the window in a depressed slump. His eyes were dull, lacking any of the former happiness that had graced his younger years at Hogwarts. Now, things were extremely complicated, what with Voldemort preparing to strike the Final Battle and Harry, Ron, and Hermione going of every once in a while to look for Horcruxes.

Harry sighed, fogging up the glass of the window. He absent mindedly rubbed it off. Dumbledore's death the previous year had also stirred up complications. Hogwarts had only reopened after Professor McGonagall took up as Headmistress. Harry, Hermione, and Ron hadn't even planned on attending their seventh year at the school, but had reluctantly changed plans at the last minute.

There was a loud thump as Harry's forehead hit the windowpane. The force sent his mind reeling back to reality. He looked around the empty Common Room; it was nearly two in the morning, and everyone had gone to bed hours ago. Satisfied that he was still alone, he turned back to the rain-soaked horizon out the window.

Harry inhaled sharply as he heard the soft, almost silent pad of feet on the floor. He whipped around to see a quick flash of red before it vanished. He slowly stood up and moved to a chair, not taking his eyes off the spot where the red had disappeared.

Sure enough, he felt the seat sink slightly as another person sat on it next to him, though he couldn't see anyone.

Harry rolled his lusterless eyes. "Can I help you?"

"No need to snap," came the small, slightly annoyed reply. The seemingly empty air in the seat next to Harry wrinkled and the Invisibility Cloak fell, revealing the frustrated freckled face of Ginny Weasley. She looked at Harry, who had turned his head back toward the window. "Sorry, but you had just left it, so . . ."

"Gin, I just want to be alone," he whispered. The truth was, he was still upset about having broken up with her the previous year at Dumbledore's funeral. That, and the weight of the Wizarding World was entirely on his shoulders.

"I know, but I don't care," Ginny said firmly. "Harry, you're letting this get the better of you. You never let it before!" She looked up at him, urging him to listen.

Harry quickly turned his head to face her. "It's different now!" His green eyes, darker than usual, held a burning anger that Ginny had never seen before.

"Harry, if you're going to let Voldemort get to you like this, then he's winning this war," her voice was shaking, which caused the anger in Harry's eyes to melt away and be replaced with sadness.

"Ginny, I . . ." Harry started, but stopped, unable to continue. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Harry, I told you, I understand about us, okay?"

"But I don't even think I do! Was is really the right choice?" He asked quietly.

Ginny shook her head. "I can't answer that for you, Harry."

He looked down at her, with her bright, tearful brown eyes, and sighed. He really did love her. "Damn, Gin," he managed a tiny smile. "Why do you always do this to me?"

Ginny let out a small laugh. "I guess it's because deep down, you know it doesn't really protect me from Voldemort? That this whole charade of a break up won't help in the slightest?"

Harry stared at her. Then, to both Ginny's and his own surprise, he genuinely smiled. "You know what? You're right."

"Right about what?"

Harry didn't answer, he simply leaned down and kissed her. When they broke apart, they were both grinning. Harry's eyes seemed to have gained back their emerald green colour, as well.

"So, now what?" Ginny asked quietly.

"Er, we go to sleep? It is rather late . . . or early," Harry said, looking at his watch.

"But what about, well, us? We haven't really even talked in—"

"Don't worry, Gin. We'll have plenty of time tomorrow."