VII.
Harry's Destiny
With hands that shook, Ginny closed the door behind her.
She blinked, her light-accustomed eyes taking a few moments to get used to the dimness of Harry's room. Everything looked much as it had for the past two years. The simple furnishings, the gentle lighting, the fresh flowers Mrs Weasley insisted on leaving on the windowsill. The single bed, and the figure sitting serenely upon it, propped up against a mountain of pillows, his features set in heart-breaking blankness.
He looked up when she entered. "Hello," he said pleasantly, but without a shred of recognition.
"Hello Harry," she said quietly, her voice catching in her throat. But he didn't notice that. He looked away, and she knew that he had forgotten her presence and would not recall it until he looked back in her direction.
Fighting back familiar sensations of frustration and despair, she sat down on the chair by his bedside. Harry's face was turned away from her as he examined the pattern carved in the skirting boards with the all interest of one who was noticing it for the first time. Which of course he was - every thing his gaze fell upon was new to him.
Suddenly changing her mind, Ginny stood up again, and re-seated herself on the edge of his bed. Harry felt the bed dip and turned his head, his glazed green eyes wide with surprise. Ignoring this, she reached out and took his hand in hers. He didn't pull away – he just watched her with an expression of mild bewilderment.
For a moment she simply stared at him, gripping his much larger hand in both of hers. Remembering… But the blankness in his gaze tore at her, and the slackness in his expression clashed harshly with the vision she always saw in her mind's eye when she thought of Harry… The image of a fiercely determined young man, his expression set, but his eyes bright with intensity and feeling.
She closed her eyes, shutting out reality to lose herself in her memory.
Everyone had known that Voldemort was coming. That Hogwarts was under attack.
There was chaos in Gryffindor Tower as everyone scrambled to collect a few of the possessions most dear to them, then retreat to the dungeons where Professor McGonagall and the other teachers were marshalling students in terse, sharp voices.
Unconcerned with belongings, Ginny's first reaction had been to scan the common room for Harry's face – an action that came so naturally to her it was practically instinct.
And as her eyes located him, their gazes locked.
It was not the first time that she had caught him watching her. In recent weeks it had become a frequent occurrence, but she had not idea what to make of it. Usually he had just seemed a little embarrassed at being caught staring, and turned his head quickly away.
Tonight he did not.
Ginny swallowed hard, but forced herself to hold his gaze. While pandemonium reigned all around them, they alone stood motionless - two islands of stillness on opposite sides of the room, holding out against the flood.
Then Harry had approached. Ginny stepped backwards into a small alcove, so that they could stand together without impeding the flow of students dashing backwards and forwards.
"You should be in the dungeons," he had said, his voice low and oddly intimate. Ginny shivered slightly.
"So should you," she returned softly, and to her surprise her voice held steady.
"I'm not going to the dungeons," he said, calm and determined.
Ginny nodded mutely and looked down, biting her lip. Somehow she had already known what his response would be.
"You're going to face him," she spoke in a dull undertone. It wasn't a question.
"I have to," was his simple, resigned reply. "I'm the one he really wants. And I'm the only one who stands a chance."
She still couldn't look at him. Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribs and she felt sick with horror at the thought of what he was going to face. At the thought of losing him.
Suddenly he spoke again, his voice charged with a strange intensity. "Look, Ginny, if I don't come back - "
That got her attention. Her head snapped up, her tear-brightened eyes wide with pain. "Harry, don't even - "
"No, Ginny, please – let me finish." His green gaze seemed to burn now, and she couldn't look away. "If I don't come back, if something happens to me… If I face Voldemort tonight and realise that I have to die… I don't want spend my last moments regretting the things I left unsaid. I don't want to be thinking, 'I never told her, she doesn't know, and now she'll never know.' Because I – I want you to know..."
He was stumbling, making no sense. Ginny looked up at him confusion. "Know… know what, Harry?"
He seemed to hesitate, and ran a restless hand through his unruly black hair.
"I – that I - Well, this," he said at last, and without warning, he cupped her upturned face in his hands and lowered his lips onto hers.
Every second, every detail of that moment was seared into her memory.
When he finally lifted his head again, Ginny simultaneously felt incredibly weak and utterly invincible.
Her eyelids fluttered open, only to focus on Harry's face, still only inches from her own. He was looking down at her with a strange mixture of expressions on his face, each of them tugging her heart in different directions – tenderness, wonder, seriousness, and the faintest hint of a smile.
"Remember me, Ginny," he said softly, "Remember that… Because you know I'll never forget." And with that, he dropped the lightest of kisses on her forehead… and turned away, to face his destiny.
