A/N: There must truly be something wrong with me, because I am usually anti-angst and anti-songfics. Oh well, this was begging to be written because it was the only way I could think of to get this song out to you guys! It's by a Canadian artist that too many of us in the states have never heard of.

If you don't like songfics, that's okay. I myself often skip the lyrics and just read the story. However, if you are like me, than please skip the story and read the lyrics! That's where all the talent lies.

I'm also trying a whole new style here, so bare with me. Love, Miss Corker

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and 'Perfect' is Maren Ord's. (You can hear a sample of it on )

The blazing mid-July sun beat down on the black-clad group making their way up Castor Hill to the wizard's cemetery.

Ginny could feel sweat beginning to form between her shoulder blades and almost wished for the dark, drizzly cliché usually associated with funerals. This is a day for some Quiddtich, not a burial.

Harry greeted them wordlessly, accepting hugs from Ginny and her mother, pats on the back from the men of the family. Remus Lupin was already there, standing behind Harry, one hand resuming a place on his shoulder. Ron stood at his right and Ginny took the left, scooting in as close as she dared.

After Hermione, Tonks, and a few others had arrived, Dumbledore began the service. Ginny really didn't get much out of it; she was too busy watching Harry. He seemed calm and collected, his face a stony mask. 'Mask' being the operative word here. What really worried her though, were his eyes.

They were closed, separating him from the people around him, from those who would help him, if he allowed it. Ginny wondered if he was punishing himself, or merely trapped in his memories.

Don't close your eyes,

They may not open.

What if they open,

Would you be alive?

Either way, he needed rescuing.

Slowly, so no one would notice, Ginny closed the few centimeters between them, allowing her arm to brush against his, forcing him to remember the world around him.

She felt Harry stiffen slightly at the contact, but she ignored him, and stared at Dumbledore, pretending to listen to his words.

Everyone falls,

But not everyone rises.

Why don't you get up?

And rise again for me.

Harry shifted slightly, and Ginny suddenly felt his hand in hers. This not being the reaction she had envisioned, she couldn't keep her eyes from darting to his. They were opened now, and looking at her.

Unable to bear the wealth of pain she found in them, Ginny felt the tears that had been threatening all day finally break free and fall, unchecked, from her own eyes.

She did not break eye contact though, instead she merely smiled at him, and squeezed his hand, unashamed of her tears. He did not smile back, but returned her squeeze. After a moment he turned back to Dumbledore, closing his eyes once more.

But he did not let go of her hand until the service was over, and the party began its journey back to the Burrow.

The luncheon at the Burrow was a somber affair, but the food was good. Ginny was grateful to be indoors, and in a familiar, comfortable place. There had been some talk of holding it at Grimmauld Place, since it was mostly Order members in attendance anyway, but the idea had quickly been thrown out when Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley teamed up against it. That was a duo no one had been willing to argue with.

Ginny glanced across the room at Harry's lifeless expression. He was greeting guests, and accepting condolences with dignity and politeness, but Ginny thought he looked about ready to burst.

All afternoon she had tried to catch his eye, hoping to encourage him with another smile or quick nod, but he would not look at her. He wouldn't even acknowledge her presence.

Finally, tired of being ignored, she gave up and went to her room, deciding that solitude was just what she needed to get the lyrics down that had been swimming through her head all day.

When everyone was gone, she would get Bill's old guitar out of the attic and figure out the melody.

What if the world,

Were a little more perfect?
Would you stop crying,
or would you take the leap?
What if the world,

Were a little more perfect?
Would you open your eyes...?

And blink again for me.

When Harry was finally allowed to leave the Dursley's, and return to the Burrow, he was aloof and uncommunicative, spending most of his time doing homework, or flying. Ron had tried to entice him in to an actual game once or twice, but it was apparent that Harry had no patience for strategy—he only wanted speed.

Ginny wasn't upset with the way Harry had treated her on the day of Sirius' funeral, no one was at their best on a day like that, but she was a bit confused.

Letting his behavior be her guide, they went back to the simplicity of being more than acquaintances, less than friends.

Simple, but not necessarily satisfying.

The night before the start of her fifth year, Ginny awoke at two o'clock in the morning from a terrible nightmare about a dark-haired boy with a sickly sweet smile and a giant snake. My life is completely predictable. I even get to have the same nightmare every night.

Knowing she would not be able to get back to sleep any time soon, Ginny headed downstairs in search of a warm cup of hot chocolate.

Harry was sitting at the table with one of his own.

It's now or never. "Fancy meeting you here," she began.

When Ginny returned to her bed, she could not sleep. Instead she played bits of her conversation with Harry over and over in her head.

"Sorry to surprise you like that, I'm more surprised that we haven't run into each other before now..."

"...Harry, you can't just keep pretending we don't exist, you don't have to go through this alone."

And his harsh response, "Don't assume things when you don't have all the facts! What's going on with me is none of your concern. It's about me, and me alone, and I will bloody well deal with it ALONE!"

She had tried to reason with him, tell him how ridiculous he was being, but it didn't work. It just made him angrier and angrier until he stopped making sense and started spouting off something about the prophecy, and Voldemort and...

It still didn't make much sense, but Harry's final comment was grimly simple.

"It's up to me.

"No matter what happens, in the end I will face him. Alone. I will do what everyone expects and fight him. I will either fail or become a murderer. And I will do it ALONE!"

What about friendship?
What about friends?
You said the whole world
was against you
it all had to end.

She had tried to get him to listen, tried to tell him how blind he was being, but he left his half finished cup of cocoa on the table and headed upstairs without a backwards glance.

What about love?
What about family?
What about all

that you have to live for?

Ginny finally fell asleep a little after five, with nothing to show for it but a second verse.

What if the world,

Were a little more perfect?
Would you stop crying,

Or would you take the leap?
What if the world,
were a little more perfect?
Would you open your eyes?
And blink again for me.

For me?

The next morning Harry and Ginny completely ignored each other. They arrived at platform nine-and-three-quarters early, and Ron and Hermione headed off to the Prefect's compartment.

Unwilling to even look at him until she could sort out her emotions and worries, Ginny headed for the nearest empty compartment and began stowing her things.

Gradually her friends arrived, Colin and Luna followed by Neville and then Dean and Shamus. Lavender (who went wherever her boyfriend did) and Parvati finished the set, and Ginny couldn't help but wonder who was left to sit with Harry.

Over the course of the next few weeks, the Gryffindors settled back into the routine of school, and soon started noticing that something had changed between Ginny and Harry.

She pretended not to care.

Harry only spoke to her at Quidditch practice and, even then, only when absolutely necessary. He lost his summer moodiness, but grew more and more withdrawn. Ron and Hermione were constantly trying to distract him with Quidditch and Homework, but didn't have much success.

The more Harry separated himself from his friends, the angrier Ginny became. It frustrated her to no end, knowing exactly what was bothering him, yet not being able to do anything about it. She didn't even dare tell Ron or Hermione, in case he hadn't told them already. She couldn't betray his secret.

Finally, one evening in the middle of October, everything reached a head. Snape and McGonagall had given unethical amounts of homework to the fifth years, and Ginny felt like her head was going to explode. Slamming her textbook shut, she gazed across the room, hoping for something, anything, to distract her.

The only thing she saw was Harry, staring at her.

What is it with him!

Ginny stood and fled the commons room, not caring if it was after curfew because, if she didn't get away instantly, she would have to kick something—or someone, and that would get her into trouble anyways.

After fifteen minutes of aimless wandering, she ended up in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. Please let it be empty.

When she opened the door, she found a small room with cozy couches, a warm fire, and a guitar in the corner.

It isn't easy!

Here without you.
Why did you leave me?
What am I supposed to do?

Without you?

"I didn't know you played the guitar."

Harry's voice so startled Ginny out of her little world, that she did not bother wondering why Harry Potter was in the Room of Requirement, and suddenly speaking to her again.

Instead, she continued strumming and tried to act nonchalant, "Bill bought one to impress a girl, summer before his seventh year. But he didn't stick with it and it ended up in the attic when he moved to Egypt." She shrugged, "I found his old chord charts and have been fooling around with it here and there."

Harry looked impressed, "You mean you taught yourself how to play?"

Ginny kept playing so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes, "Bill gave me a few tips, and it helped cure the boredom over long summers." The music stopped as she pulled her left hand away from the frets, "This is the hardest part," she told him, waving her hand, "tiny fingers."

As Ginny started playing again, Harry walked across the room, and sat next to her on the couch, clutching the Marauder's Map in one hand. He knew I would be here. Was he looking for me?

"What's that you're playing now?"

Ginny froze. "Uh...nothing, just a song."

But he wasn't going to let her get away with it, "Really? I've never heard it before, what's it called? Did you write it?"

Trying to hide her surprise at Harry's nervous chatter, she nodded, "Yeah, it's just something I've been messing around with this summer." After a moment's hesitation, she continued, "It's called 'Perfect'"

Harry leaned back into the couch, trying to get comfortable, "I like it. Are there words?"

Please go away! If this is your way of apologizing, it's only going to make it worse! Blood rushing to her face, Ginny found she could barely speak, "Yeah," she whispered.

"Wow. Would you sing it for me?"

Harry, Harry, what do you think you are doing! "I don't think you'd like it much."

He seemed to be gaining confidence, "Why wouldn't I like it? I'll bet it's really good."

"No, I meant...uh, well...it...it's about," Ginny's head was pounding, and she knew her blush was deepening, "you."

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, Ginny could see his own face growing red. Ha! Serves you right.

But Harry, apparently, had a death wish, "That's okay. I...I still want to hear it."

Ginny now stared at him openly. Oh Merlin. Harry Potter has lost his mind!

Completely out of excuses, and fully realizing that Harry was probably expecting a sappy love song about 'emerald green eyes', Ginny tried one last warning, "Okay, if you're sure. I...I mean, I started writing this the day of S...Sirius' funeral."

She glanced at Harry, giving him time to change his mind, but he merely settled back, closed his eyes, and motioned for her to begin.

So she did.

What if the world,

Were a little more perfect?
Would you stop crying,

Or would you take the leap?
What if the world,
were a little more perfect?
Would you open your eyes,
And blink again?

When Ginny was finished singing, she left her hands on the strings and stared at them, too afraid to look up at Harry. When no explosion came, she slowly brought her eyes up to look at him, and found that he was in the same position, with his eyes still closed.

Ginny didn't know what she'd expected. She had taken everything she'd been trying to explain to Harry for three months, and put it into one song. She had bared her own personal thoughts and grief to him, hoping that it would help him, change him. Say something, Harry, anything!

But he just sat there, still and unmoved. She knew he wasn't asleep, his breathing was too intense, but his eyes remained shut.

Finally, feeling tears start, she put the guitar down and stood to leave. However, before she could go, Harry's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

Then he spoke up in a cracking whisper, "I'll try."

She stared at him for a moment, and then sat beside him.

His eyes opened and, for the first time in a long time, Harry smiled at her.

"For you."

What if the world,

Were a little more perfect?
Would you stop crying,

Or would you take the leap?
What if the world,
were a little more perfect?
Would you open your eyes?
And blink again for me.

For me?

I hoped you liked it, but even if you didn't, please review!