Chapter Fourteen

"The Second Sacrifice"

It was Friday.

As Harry walked down the quiet corridor to the infirmary, he was very grateful for the week's end. It had been the worst week of his life, and nothing had been done to him. He could barely believe that last Friday he had been more happy than sad, that he had shared a soft kiss. Had it really only been a week ago?

It felt so much longer.

Harry's steps faltered as he came to the closed door of the infirmary. He'd only been there twice to see Ginny, and both times she had been sound asleep. Harry had avoided it as much as possible, making up stupid excuses like studying and needing extra Quidditch practice whenever Ron or Hermione announced they were going down to see Ginny. He'd made himself scarce when the Weasley family had arrived to visit their recovering daughter.

How could he possibly be in the same room with the Weasleys, knowing he was the reason why Ginny looked so emaciated and sick?

Harry stood stock still before the thick infirmary door, trying to stop his shaking. Beyond this door lay Ginny, sunken into her white bed, vibrant coppery hair dull and lank around her thin, pale face. Madam Pomfrey said she barely awoke to eat, and only then by force. She didn't even eat the Chocolate Frogs Ron had brought.

Ginny loved chocolate.

Madam Pomfrey said that Ginny should have recovered from Cruciatus by now. Harry's fists clenched and he felt anger and despair well inside. Cruciatus was horrible agony, but Harry knew there had been more to Ginny's torture than that. Why else would she still be like this? Sleeping as though to hide from the world? What else had Voldemort done to her? Had Malfoy done anything?

Harry still couldn't believe what Hermione had told him. Draco Malfoy had helped Ginny escape. It couldn't be true. And now Malfoy was missing, but no one was really looking for him, either. Harry wasn't sure how he felt. He was overjoyed Ginny was safe now, but she should not have been saved by Draco Malfoy. He, Harry, should have done it.

It shouldn't matter who had saved her, he knew, just as long as she was safe and alive. Harry repeated this over and over to himself, but he still felt guilty and inadequate. It was this guilt that drove him away from the infirmary, but now he was here with a resolution. He was skipping Quidditch practice, having faked a twisted ankle, to come here and tell Ginny the truth.

I lied. I just have to tell her that. Then she'll know. And then she can decide. Simple.

Harry's hand shook violently as he raised it to pull the infirmary door open. He didn't fear telling her the truth—he was only nervous about that—but seeing Ginny looking so ghostly and frail under the white sheets terrified him.

Breathing deeply, Harry steeled himself for the worst.

The infirmary was quiet, glowing in a gray light from the freshly fallen snow outside. Harry blinked wonderingly around at the white sheets and curtains, the open windows letting in the light, and the rows of empty beds. Gradually, cautiously, his eyes moved down the row to the farthest bed surrounded by a privacy curtain. He was glad it was on the far end; he could turn around and leave if he chickened out.

"No," he told himself sternly. "You need to tell her."

Walking slowly but determinedly, Harry approached the white curtain. He paused just on the other side, listening hard. Nothing. She was probably asleep. Harry wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not. Cautiously, he peeked around the curtain, and felt his chest tighten.

Bathed in gray light and surrounded by white linens, Ginny looked both ethereal and . . . dead. She lay very still on her back, head turned to her right against the pillow. One hand lay at her side, the other was lost under the warm, white woolen blanket. The light falling across her face failed to bring any luster to her red hair, which looked thinner and straggly. Shadows circled her eyes and filled the hollows of her cheekbones. Her lips were pale.

Harry stared at her lips, remembering how soft and warm they had been. Now he knew they were cold and tense.

"Ginny," he breathed, sinking into the bedside chair. He dropped his head in his hands, fighting what was to be released. "I'm so sorry."

Without thinking, Harry reached out and took her cold, limp hand in his, and then brought his lips down to kiss it. He saw the small freckles along her thumb, spreading over the top of her hand and sprinkling up her arm and under the sleeve of her gown. His eyes continued upward until they rested on her still face that was not relaxed.

Was she having nightmares? Or—Harry's heart skipped sickeningly—was she only pretending so she wouldn't have to look at him?

Harry stared at her, trying to detect a twitch or sign of faking, but Ginny's face remained perfectly still, not even her eyelids twitching. He listened and watched her breathing. In and out. In and out. It was steady, but not deep. Could she . . .?

Harry's heart beat erratically as he leaned over her. Desperately he wanted to feel her lips against his, however cold and still, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he gently kissed her cheek, and felt a hitch in her breathing.

~*~*~

Lying here in the soft bed, isolated from the rest of the world, Ginny could drift in and out of consciousness. Away from people, she could easily let time pass without any meaning. Whenever she heard footsteps approaching, she simply steadied her breathing, closed her eyes, and felt herself slip away.

The joy of seeing Ron, knowing that she was alive and safe, had passed soon after her brother had scooped her into his arms to carry her back to Hogwarts. All joy had died when she'd laid eyes on Harry, alone, lurking behind everyone else. How could she recover from this when there was Harry?

She knew how, but it would take all of her strength and resolution to do it. And make her miserable. She had been avoiding him most of all. If she saw that look in his eyes, she would break down, confess everything, and then know the full despair of his rejection. How could he possibly love her when he knew how she had broken? She had seen his death, but she had not cared, because she had wanted to die.

She was simply too weak for Harry Potter.

I betrayed him.

Ginny had only told Dumbledore what had happened, but only the bare details. It had been depressing to see the great wizard weak in the hospital bed, Madam Pomfrey doting over him. Yet Dumbledore had twinkled and smiled with good humor at the school nurse's tutting. When asked, Ginny had told him obediently what Voldemort's purpose had been, what methods he had used, and that no, he had not been able to complete the task. Despite her attempts to be closed, she had felt those piercing blue eyes penetrate her words, and she could no longer look Dumbledore in the eye.

He knew.

And it was of little comfort that Tom Riddle's diary was no more.

Tom Riddle was still alive, lurking within her soul, feeding off her and gloating at his triumph. She would never be without him, even if she locked him away deep inside again. But she couldn't blame him for what she was about to do. It was not Tom Riddle who had betrayed Harry.

When Ginny heard his footsteps, she quickly drew herself away, wanting to sink into the dark before he came around the curtain. Coward. She had faked sleep so much, had avoided Harry more than anyone else. What made her think she had the strength to do this? Her entire body was alert to his presence, and she couldn't relax and sink into the mattress. Just breathe slowly in and out . . . in and out . . . don't move . . . in and out . . .

"Ginny . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

In and out . . . in and out . . .

And then he was hovering over her, casting a darkened shadow over her, his body warm and real. She wanted desperately to reach out and cling to him, pull him against her and burrow her head in his chest. Ron's arms had been warm, tight, and safe. But it was Harry she wanted.

And Harry she couldn't have.

Ginny stayed still. In and out . . . in and out . . . But then she felt it . . . his lips. In her mind she saw his face in Wedgrass, and then the fierceness in his gaze as he turned away after telling her it was a mistake . . . She knew what those looks meant. I love you, Harry. I love you so much that I have to do this. I'm too much of a coward, but it's for the best.

He knew she was awake. She could tell by the way he drew away, hesitated, his mouth hovering above, his shortened breaths warm on her face, and then he pulled back completely.

Ginny knew this was it. Yet she kept her eyes closed for another minute, unable to bear opening them and seeing Harry's face. Finally she could not wait any longer, and slowly she opened her eyes, careful not to meet his gaze.

"Harry," she croaked.

"Ginny." Harry spoke just as tightly, but she kept her eyes trained on the white linen. "Ginny," he said again, and she imagined he was licking his lips and raking a hand nervously through his hair. She could feel him gazing at her, but she refused to look up. Everything would be lost if she did.

"Ginny . . . I have to tell you something."

This is it. You can't let him say it. It'll be easier that way.

"I'm so sorry this happened," he burst out. "It's my fault you were captured! If I hadn't said that, you wouldn't have—"

"It would have happened sooner or later, Harry," Ginny said quietly. "Voldemort wanted me, you can't stop that. I'm just glad it happened sooner rather than later. I'm impatient."

Harry was silent for a long minute, and Ginny wondered if he would leave it at that. But then he spoke, and she gathered herself for the inevitable.

"About . . . that night," Harry said hoarsely, suddenly reaching out and grabbing her hand. Ginny hurriedly averted her face to the left, so as not to see any part of Harry. He was going to make it so hard! "That night I said . . . well, I didn't mean—I didn't—well, the thing is, what I mean is—I—"

"Harry." Ginny sat up fast, but did not look at him, and her words came fast from far off. "Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?"

"What?"

"We're just friends. It was a mistake. You're right. I acted silly. It was nothing." Please, please, just go! Say "okay" and leave! Don't fight me, Harry, please just don't fight me!

~*~*~

Harry stared at Ginny's turned face, struggling for words. She looked sorry as she spoke to the basket of Chocolate Frogs beside her bed. Her body was rigid, her voice seeming to come from somewhere else, carefully casual.

"You . . . you don't . . ." Harry couldn't finish it. All he could see was the pain and hurt in her eyes that fateful night in the common room. How she trembled as he told her the worst lie ever; how he didn't feel that way about her, even though every part of his being was screaming at him to kiss her again. "You want to pretend it didn't happen?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"I don't believe you." It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Had she not said the same thing to him? Harry held his breath as Ginny's stopped. She didn't move, but stared unblinkingly away from him. "Ginny, look at me!"

Ginny's eyes closed. When she opened them again, she turned her head, and Harry wasn't sure what to expect. They were dull. She pulled her hand out of his.

"You wanted to forget it the other night, remember?" She smiled wanly. "It's simple. We agree to forget about it. We're just friends."

"Right."

Harry wasn't sure he head heard right. Part of him was sure she was only saying it to punish him for his stupidity, but he couldn't understand why she would do it, if she wanted him as he wanted her. It wasn't as if she need to protect him from Voldemort. There couldn't be any other reason but that she didn't feel that way about him. She had once, but it was gone.

"Right," he repeated, grappling for something, anything.

"You better go, Harry," Ginny said softly. She turned away from him again.

Harry did not move. He was still trying to make sense of it all. He had come to tell her the truth, that he lied, but it had never happened. Something had happened, but it wasn't what he had expected or wanted.

"Right," he said for the third time. It was time to go. She didn't feel that way about him. He had hurt her too much for that.

Blinking hard, Harry stood up and turned to leave. He didn't look over his shoulder. It hurt too much. By the time he reached the infirmary desk near the door, he was running. He ran until he reached his four poster bed, where his discarded Firebolt lay. More than anything he wanted to scream or cry, but he did neither. Ron and the others would be up soon, and he couldn't let them know what had happened.

He couldn't forget about it, but Harry could pretend it had never happened.

~*~*~

She heard his footsteps quicken and echo. She heard the door slam with harsh finality. Sitting perfectly still, Ginny tried to fight back the tears, but she was too exhausted and weak. Lying to Harry had exhausted her, and she closed her eyes, hoping sleep would claim her before the crying did.

"Good-bye, Harry."

Tears spilled down her face, blurring her vision, but Ginny did not cry out, did not let her body shake with sobs. When Madam Pomfrey checked on her an hour later, she found Ginny sound asleep.

The End

A/N: Well, I guess I should apologize. This story was never intended to be happy. However, there will be a sequel that begins two years from when this one ended. It'll have a happy ending.