A/N: Feedback for the last chapter was overwhelming! You guys are the best!

Warning: This chapter contains MAJOR (and when I say major, I mean major) angst. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: My initials are not JKR. That should be enough explanation.

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"Where'd you get that scar?"

Gia's question had seemingly come out of nowhere. She and Harry were sitting on the floor of her living room watching an old film on television, but they'd spent more time joking with each other than actually paying attention to the plot. So, incidentally, the question caught Harry slightly off-guard.

He turned his head and looked at her; he was surprised to see that she was staring at him quite seriously. Without meaning to, Harry reached up and unconsciously fingered the scar adorning his forehead. The scar was such an important part of him that he, ironically, sometimes forgot about it.

It held far too many painful memories and reminders, and he didn't like to think about the reason he was cursed with it. It was almost laughable how it was once the only thing he liked about his appearance; now it was what he hated the most. Harry would have liked to share all of this with Gia, but he knew that was out of the question. He trusted her very much, but he knew that even thinking about telling the truth was outright laughable. Instead, he decided on a story quite familiar to him- the one he'd been told for ten years of his life.

"In a car accident."

Gia gave him a look full of concern. "How old were you?"

"One."

Her eyes crinkled with sympathy. "Wow. Were your parents with you?"

Harry looked away, almost wishing that she would just stop asking him so many questions. Quietly, he gave another one word answer. "Yeah."

There was a moment of silence before her next question came softly. "Were they okay?"

He could feel a rather familiar tugging at the back of his eyes, but he ignored it. It was a talent he'd prided himself on for fourteen years, and he answered her dully. "No. They died."

He didn't look up, but he could tell that Gia was quite shocked. She didn't say anything for a few seconds, and then she finally managed to stutter an apology. "Oh... I'm sorry. I... I didn't know."

Harry forced a shrug as he looked up. "Don't worry about it. There's no way you would have." He hoped the bitterness he was feeling didn't translate as sarcasm. "It's not like I introduce myself like, 'Hi, I'm Harry. I'm an orphan'."

Gia nodded slightly; she had a very faraway look on her face. "Do you remember them at all?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I've seen pictures, but that's about all I know really. I don't really have any memories of them."

"My mother died when I was five." Her statement had been quiet and reserved, and she was looking off somewhere that Harry couldn't see.

He was surprised to say the least. He'd met two people whom she had introduced as her parents briefly a few days ago. "But I thought..."

Gia shook her head and quietly answered the unasked question. "No, Anne is my step-mother."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure what to say; he'd definitely not expected to have this conversation tonight, and he didn't exactly know how to handle it. Was he supposed to apologize as she had done when he told her that his parents were dead? Were they just supposed to sit in silence?

Gia answered his silent questions when she posed a verbal one of her own. "Do you ever feel guilty for not remembering them?"

She was looking at him now, and Harry noticed that he'd never seen her look anywhere close to this serious. So far, she'd been happy and laughing most of the time they'd been together. He didn't know how to react.

"Not really," he answered quietly. It was the truth, too. Why should he feel guilty about something like that? He had far too many other things to feel guilty for instead. "I was just a baby."

She nodded absently. "Yeah." Then she bit down slightly on her lower lip. "But I was five- almost six. I shouldn't have forgotten."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember your mother?"

Gia looked down at the floor below her. She spoke so quietly that he had to strain to hear her. "I remember some things. Like I remember this book she always used to read to me- it was called 'Little Bear'." She smiled sadly. "I knew it by heart, but it was my favorite. I know she must have gotten sick of it, but she never complained. She just always read it to me whenever I asked her to." A tear glistened in the corner of her eye, but she laughed quietly. "And I remember she used to make really good macaroni and cheese..."

Harry tried very hard not to notice that she was starting to cry. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how.

"I remember those stupid things- things that aren't even important." A tear slid down her cheek. "But I can't remember the important things. I don't remember what she smelled like. Or how her voice sounded..." She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. "I forgot all the important things."

Not knowing what else to do, Harry asked her a question. In a very small voice, he looked at her carefully and said, "How did she die?"

"She had cancer." Gia shrugged her shoulders lazily. "But no one even told me. No one even told me she was sick until she was in the hospital about to die." More tears fell from her eyes as she went on. "And then they weren't even going to let me see her, but I begged my father and begged him until he finally gave in." She was nearly trembling, and her eyes were blank and aimless. "And she just looked so... so not like her. She was just sick looking, and I was..." she bit down hard on her lower lip, "I was scared of her." A sob escaped her lips, and she put her head into her lap.

Harry finally reacted, and he moved closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her back. He could feel her body shaking with her sobs underneath his hand.

She finally looked up, swallowing and wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. With a quivering voice, she went on with her story. "But then she asked me to come lay with her. And I did." She rubbed her lips together. "I was scared of her, but I went anyway because I didn't know what else to do." The tears started to fall again, and she drew in a few shallow, shaky breaths. "And do you know what she did then?" There was a long moment before she answered her own question with the quietest and most wavering of voices she'd used yet. "She told me the story of 'Little Bear' by heart." She swallowed and looked away. "And then the next morning she died. And then that was it..."

Seeing Gia in such a state was pushing Harry closer to crying his own tears than he'd been in a long time- even the night of the Third Task. But he couldn't cry because that wasn't what she needed. He wasn't sure what it was exactly that she did need, but he knew it wasn't his tears. Instead, he opted to remove his hand from her back and reach for one of her own hands. She looked up when he took her hand into his own, and they shared a meaningful look that wouldn't have been understood by anyone other than the two of them.

It was the most personal of moments that they'd shared so far, and somehow, Harry knew that Gia trusted him enough to tell him more. Because he just somehow knew that there was more that needed telling.

Calming her tears, Gia took a slow breath and went on talking. "When she died, I was completely alone."

Harry looked at her with a gentle gaze. "What about your dad?"

Gia scowled. "My father doesn't give two shits about me, and he never has. After she died, he was too caught up in dealing with..." she waved her hand dismissively, "...with whatever it was that he was feeling to even care what I was going through. Instead of sitting down and talking to me and explaining to me what had happened and why and how and everything else, he just chose to send me to a fucking psychiatrist." She laughed a cold, derisive laugh. "So, I was just supposed to sit there and tell this complete stranger everything that was going on in my head. I was five goddamn years old!" She set her lips into an angry line. "I was five years old, and the only person I had to talk to was some overpriced shrink that spent more time telling me how pretty I looked in my dresses and how sweet my curls were than trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me."

Harry had no idea what to say, so he just listened. He finally figured out that listening was all she really needed.

"And then, like I wasn't fucked up enough, my dad had to go and marry some bitch who hated me."

"Your stepmother? The same one you have now?"

Gia nodded. "Yeah. Anne. God, she is such a bitch!"

"Why do you think she hated you?" Harry didn't want to be pushy, but he was curious. He hoped she didn't mind.

"She still hates me," she answered without hesitation. "She's always thought that she had to compete with me or something for my dad's attention. But it's not like he ever cared in the first place, so yeah... whatever." The tears had stopped completely, and now she just looked like she was brimming with rage. "Do you know she tried to kick me out of the house last year?" Her eyes were flashing. "I was fourteen years old, and she tried to kick me out of the bloody house. She fed my father some bullshit about how my friends were all such horrible people. And how stupid I was. And what a slut I was." She looked up at Harry, her face set to something almost dangerously serious. "And I am not a slut. I'm not. And I'm not stupid, either. And my friends aren't bad people!"

Harry shook his head, not knowing what else to do. "What did your father do?"

She rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't kick me out because I guess he has some sort of human bone in his body. I guess he knew that if they kicked me out, I'd probably end up a prostitute or a drug addict or dead or something, and he probably didn't want to deal with that guilt. Or the shame." She shrugged her shoulders bitterly. "But sometimes I wish they would have kicked me out because at least then I wouldn't have to stay here and listen to all the horrible things she has to say about me. And I wouldn't have to watch my father sit by and do nothing about it. God, I hate them."

Harry looked down at the floor. "Do you ever think about running away?"

She nodded. "I think about it a lot."

There was a long moment before Harry answered quietly, "Me, too."

Gia looked up at his admittance and studied him curiously. "Who do you live with?"

Harry tried not to scowl, but it was hard. "My mum's sister and her husband and son." He could detect the bitterness in his own voice, and he was sure that she heard it, too.

"You don't like them?"

Harry let out a very sarcastic laugh. "About as much as I like getting my teeth yanked out of my head."

Gia glanced momentarily at their still entwined hands and then back up at him curiously. "What makes them so horrible?"

Harry looked away, fighting down the anger that he wasn't sure he could control. He could feel his emotions getting far too serious- what with hearing Gia's story and thinking about his own. It was almost too much. "I spent ten years of my life living in a broom closet under the stairs."

"What?" Gia's eyes went wide with his statement.

Harry frowned and glared at a spot across the room. "Yeah. My aunt hated my mum, and then they got stuck with me because I didn't have any other living relatives. And they hate me so much... I don't have one single memory that I would call good from before the time that I was eleven. And the only reason I have them past eleven is because I went off to school."

There was a long moment of silence until Gia sat up and spoke in a loud, completely outraged voice. "That is such fucking crap! Life is so full of just bullshit!"

Harry looked up; he suddenly felt more connected to her than he had to anyone before in his entire life. Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and everyone else included. Nodding slightly, he muttered an, "I know."

"We were just kids for Christ's sake! Just fucking children, and no one even gave a damn!"

She was closing in on hysteria, but this was somewhat comforting to Harry. For the first time in his life, someone really understood. In the same toneless voice, he repeated the first statement. "I know."

She twisted up her face, and Harry was afraid that she was going to start crying again. But she didn't; she just shook her head and spoke in a calmer tone. "All I ever wanted growing up... All I ever wanted was for someone to tell me that my mother's death wasn't my fault." Harry looked at her, but she went on. "You know, maybe if someone had told me she was sick, I wouldn't have been so needy. Maybe I could have taken care of myself more, so she wouldn't have to spend all her time tending to me. Maybe she could have gotten better..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at Harry.

And then, in a way that only someone else who blamed themselves for their parents' deaths could do, he gave her everything she wanted.

"It wasn't your fault."

Time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other with a look more meaningful than any that they'd ever given or received in the past. And then Gia shook her head over so slightly and whispered something that would change them both.

"God, where have you been?"

And then, before he even knew what was happening, she was kissing him.

Harry sat in shock for a moment before he realized what was happening. His eyes closed on instinct, and her hands slowly found the sides of his neck as her lips moved carefully over his. He'd never kissed anyone, but he was sure in that instant that the fact that he'd never kissed anyone before had been for a reason.

The reason being that he'd never known Gia before.

Without really knowing what he was doing, Harry gently moved his own lips under hers and simply reveled in the way she tenderly and slowly met his movements.

It was truly like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Moments later when they pulled apart, Harry's head was still spinning. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at her. She was looking at him in a way that no one ever had before. And then, without speaking, she slowly raised one of her hands to his forehead and brushed his bangs away from his face.

Looking into his eyes briefly, she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his scar.

And, in that single movement, she told him without even speaking a word every single thing he'd ever wanted or needed to hear.

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Whew. Okay, this chapter was incredibly short, I know. But it was also probably the hardest thing I've ever had to write. It took me a long time to write, and I actually broke down into tears on more than one occasion while writing it. I hope that its meaning is well-felt.