PART THREE: THANATOS

"You can visit him in a moment, sir. Mrs. Weasley is quite distressed."

Distressed. That word bounced off the impossibly clean halls of the hospital, flying back at Ron like a curse. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as his heart shamefully continued to beat while Drummond rose from his seat with the assistance of his blackthorn stick.

The senior Healer wore a kind expression for the assembled Aurors and associates who waited outside of Harry's room in the closed ward. Ron gave a half-step forward, his concern etched on his freckled face. "But he's going to be all right? Ginny was able to find an antidote?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. He will be just fine, but your sister will probably need a moment. Mr. Potter is not conscious in any regard, although I'm sure he'll wake within the hour."

"You can sit down, Weasley. He's not going anywhere," Drummond said from his reclaimed seat against the wall, his walking stick upright underneath his hands. He looked to the senior Healer through sharp, yellow-ish eyes.

"Will he make a full recovery?'

"Yes, he'll recover, thanks to Mrs. Weasley's efforts. But he will need to rest for a few days."

"Good, good," Drummond replied. "We'll visit in a few minutes. Give it a wait."

The other Aurors and trainees sat down with the shaky sense that they would be jolted again, adrenaline high despite staying up until two in the morning after a mission. Normally, Ron would have been yawning and stretching to stay awake, the kind of tired-crazy that he and Harry had become painfully familiar with over the past few years with the Aurors. But now his hands were clasped in front of him, his long forearms tensely resting on his knees while his brain whirled with attentiveness. The bright hospital lights were disorienting and full of shapes that he was probably imagining in his anxiety to see his friend, his brain fuzzy around the details of how and why he was here, confident only in the fact that his best mate was laid up in a hospital bed at his suggestion.

Guiltily, the word idiot looped in his head, repeating itself against a backdrop of all the times Harry had saved his life, his father's, Ginny's. Idiot idiot idiot.

"I'm going to check on Ginny," Ron said, forcing himself to move at a normal pace. Drummond granted him an approving grunt and told Ross and the trainees to hold off.

He softly knocked on the door before letting himself in, closing the door behind him.

Ginny had a crumpled handkerchief clutched in her hand, one of the thoughtful gifts her mother had made for her last Christmas. A luxury. She had always wondered what good an embroidered handkerchief would do, what use she could find for one. Thanks Mum, she thought, just the thing for when I nearly kill my boyfriend. Glad you thought of such a useful present. Her initials were stitched in the corner, G. M. W. standing out bright and red against the mascara-stained fabric.

"Hi," she said wetly, her dark red hair tucked behind her ears. "He's going to be alright."

"Ginny—don't go feeling guilty," Ron started, swallowing. "You were brilliant. You saved his bloody life—"

"Stop it," she said. "You're not making me feel any better. I was this close," she held up her thumb and index finger, "to not getting it. I nearly failed. Some brewer I am. I can barely come up with a simple antidote."

The last part came out muffled and soft, her face crumpling. Ron cautiously approached her, taking his younger sister in his long arms. "But the important thing is that you did it. He's going to be fine."

"I know."

Her voice broke and she dabbed at her eye with the thoroughly stained handkerchief. Ron took out his wand and did a quick scourgify for her, a small act of kindness between brother and sister. Ginny gave a thick chuckle and hugged him a little more tightly.

In the silence of the still room Harry's easy, regular breathing seemed to reverberate like a clear bell. A mild sense of peace filled her at having her older brother there to help sort everything out. Ronnie. Her favorite of all her siblings.

"Thank you," she said, smoothing her hair back. "I just can't help but feel like I failed him. Harry's done so many things for me, and for our family...I just wanted to make sure that he was alright. I was so terrified that I wouldn't get it in time and that it'd be all my fault."

"It was my fault," Ron said, stone-faced. He matched Ginny's wide eyes with his own. "I was the one who told him to try talking with the gate. I was the one who thought it'd be okay to just go in—like nothing would happen," he said bitterly, directing his gaze to the floor. "I kept pushing Harry to keep going because I was so damn sure that we'd found something—"

"Will you two stop blaming yourselves?" Harry said, his eyes half-open. "I think we can just chalk it up to a collective fuck up."

Ginny rushed over but hesitated to take his hand, a question in her eyes. "Come here, you," he said, a small smile twisting his lips.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, holding his hand and carefully sinking down next to him on the mattress.

"I've had worse," he said, his thumb stroking the top of her knuckles. "I think I owe both of you a 'thanks'."

"'A thanks'? Are you sure you'll all right?" Ron asked skeptically.

"I'm fine. You took me straight to St. Mungo's even when I kept saying I was fine, and you brewed the potion that saved my life, so yes, I want to thank the both of you," Harry said, looking from Ron to Ginny.

"Alright. But, mate, never let me talk you into doing anything ever again," Ron warned, eliciting a chuckle from Harry.

Ginny decided to stay the night with Harry instead of returning to the flat on Ash Street by herself, despite urgings from Ron that she was welcome to stay with him and Hermione and pressure from Harry that he would be just fine on his own until morning, and that she should go home and get a good night's sleep. By the time Drummond, Ross, and the trainees had left it was nearly three, and Ron didn't make it home to his flat until half-past, leaving Harry and Ginny to sleep during the early hours of the morning.

She curled up beside him in bed, much like she would have done if they had been at home as opposed to a hospital room. He slipped his arm around her waist and reached up to cup her cheek in his hands. She had always liked that his hands were a good deal larger than her own and quite masculine, course from years of Quidditch and full of sinewy strength.

"You saved me," he said, his pale skin oddly visible in the lightless room. "I don't know if anyone else could have done it. I'm thankful, and proud."

Ginny felt like she should tell him that she didn't deserve his praise, that she had nearly failed him and that she would've never forgiven herself if that had been the case, but she held back. Years before, Ginny had learned that she wasn't doing herself any favors by being so forthcoming with boys, and Harry was not an exception. A trace of discomfort flew down her spine at the thought of Tom Riddle and her young, truthful heart. She shifted against him and bit her tongue, pressing her full breasts against his chest in lieu of honesty.

"What is it?" Harry asked, keenly observing her.

Ginny had begun noticing the looks that he gave her sometimes, probing, inquisitive looks that oddly reminded her of the desire to completely bear her soul to the diary, or the feeling she got when being carefully surveyed by Professor Dumbledore.

"Nothing," she lied, pulling his arms around her. He was as warm and sturdy as always, the same rough, hot skin that had pinned her wrists against her pillow and teasingly pinched her nipples the night before.

Her body had got used to their pattern of sex in the evenings and she was weak in the face of desire. When he began to kiss the soft skin of her cheek, her neck, she began to feel a coil of excitement tense in the secret space between her legs in spite of the knowledge that Harry was far too ill to satisfy it. Her eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment Ginny was able to pretend that they were back in the privacy of their high-ceilinged flat with the whole evening before them.

Harry kissed her, his quick fingers brushing her hair away from her face. One of the things she'd learned about him when they had first started going out was that he had a thing for her long hair. She purposefully took it down for him every night, tugging it out of the neat plait she kept it in for work and letting it fall down her pale back, a red scarf fluttering in the breeze. The full softness of his mouth against hers reminded her of all the times he'd kissed her like that—firmly, searchingly—instead of the teasing he put her through every night.

The scratchy tug of his unshaved jaw against her cheek made her tense longingly, and Ginny could practically hear him smirking in the darkness. He took the lobe of her ear in his teeth and gently pulled.

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow, promise," he whispered, his hands reaching into her partially unbuttoned black dress.

"You'll do no such thing," she said, pointlessly fighting the knowing way that he held her breasts in his hands. "You're supposed to rest."

He shrugged and pinched her nipples, sucking on her lower lip as he slid his leg between hers. "Not stopping us now, is it? Besides, I'd like to see you go that long without it."

"I can stand two days, thank you. It's not impossible."

"Alright then," he said cheekily, covering her up and pulling away slightly. "I suppose I'll hold you to it. Goodnight Ginny."

She sighed and turned over, muttering something like "tosser" as she did so.

"I love you too," he deadpanned, a protective arm encircling her waist.

Only one more chapter left. Sorry for the long wait in between updates, but I've had a lot going on recently. If you're enjoying the fic I encourage you to leave a review :D