She stands in front of the large bay window. Soft rays of sunlight dance across her face and hair, casting a false sparkle in her amber eyes. Her hands are pressed against the glass, long fingers seeming to glow.
"Say something," he whispers.
She traces a fingertip across the window but does not look at him.
"What would you like me to say?"
Her voice is softer than he remembers. She sounds calmer, more subdued.
She sounds wrong.
He takes a step toward her. She doesn't seem to notice, or at least, she doesn't acknowledge it.
"Just talk to me. Like we used to. Don't you remember?"
She shakes her head. The sun is momentarily hidden by clouds and the false light in her eyes is gone. He can see now how empty and haunted they really are.
"No. I don't."
He sighs. Of course she doesn't. It was such a long time ago. Before school, before she changed and they both grew up.
"Do you remember when we kissed?"
The question cuts through the air like a knife. Like the razor blade she used to use on her pale skin.
"No," he says, even though he can still feel her lips on his, even now. Still taste her, like cinnamon.
"Of course not. I didn't expect you to. After all, you and I..." She pauses, as if to think. "Well, we're different, aren't we?"
"What do you mean?"
"You don't remember because you don't want to. And sometimes that memory is the only thing keeping me sane."
He feels a twinge of guilt.
"We're not so different."
"As different as siblings can be. We grew up under the same circumstances, shared so many things. But we didn't share him. We couldn't share him."
He knows of whom she speaks. The living shadow that crept under her skin and made her its slave.
"And that's when things changed. But you were too busy to notice. Too busy and too blind."
He looks at her then. Really looks at her. She is wearing one of his old tee shirts and a pair of sleep pants printed with stars. Both are too large, and her small figure is clearly visible. She has gained back some weight but the disease is not gone and it shows. Her red hair has lost its shine and hangs limply to her shoulders. Her arms are crisscrossed with too many scars to count. And he realizes that he lost her long ago, and it's too late to repair the damage now. His little sister, the girl with the bright smile who made tiaras from daisies and had in-depth conversations with dolls is gone. The girl before him is broken and bruised and bears the wounds of battles he cannot begin to understand. A war that required no weapons or soldiers. A war that she waged on herself.
And he thinks perhaps he loves this girl more.
"I love you, Ginny," he says suddenly.
She turns to look at him then, for the first time since he has arrived. She tears her gaze from the window and fixes her large amber eyes on him.
"And I loved you, Ron."
*~*fin*~*