Disclaimer: If I owned HP wouldn't I be, oh I don't know, swimming in a tub of pudding somewhere in Europe instead of doing this.
A/N: I've been in something of a rut recently and have been writing nothing but these four hundred words things that are short even for me.
It seems fitting somehow that they'll die together now the way they almost did not too many years ago: His grimy hand over her pale one, strained in scarlet blood like ink.
And they're in the same forsaken chamber, still alone and frightened with only the smallest flicker of hope burning in her heart before she closes her eyes.
"Harry."
It's all that she says, all she's ever had to say to tell him everything. His hand is cold over her own, and he's labored breathing rings in her ears as much as it does off the dipping ceiling and filthy walls.
She's crying though she's not sure why.
Some part of her is crying for her family, wishing, but knowing otherwise, that her mother wouldn't take it too hard, as she's not sure her heart can handle it. And she's weeping for her brothers, all six of the red haired rascals she's grew up with and won't see again. She's crying because she's dying in the dark dank chamber that's haunted her dreams since she was eleven and the irony of her situation isn't lost on her.
Another part of her is crying for the man who lies besides her, whose hand lays protectively over hers even as he's life slowly ebbs away. She whispers his name again, getting no response again and she weeps harder, for him, her knight with knobby knees and horrid hair and the inability to accept when a cause has lost all hope. She weeps for the poor boy that was born to play a part to big to manage on his own, yet constantly forced to.
And some small part of her that thinks too often in her hearts cries because she knows that as soon as he stops breathing, as soon as her own body gives into the poison in her blood, she'll have to bury away the pictures in her mind, the hopes of a future, a house, a family with him.
"Ginny…" He struggles with her name on his lips, but it escapes his mouth weighed down by blood and sadness. He shifts besides her, holding himself over her with his will alone.
He's hand is shaking with his effort.
Hers is numb.
Everything hurts.
She forces her eyes open for him, taking in his hair, matted with mud and blood, and the cursed mark on his forehead. She tilts her head and presses her mouth against it weakly.
She says he's name one last time before the pictures melt away.
A/NII: I blame this story on a still I saw from CoS of Harry's hand over Ginny's. Anyway the way I see it, this story is a bit like the game Clue, minus the clues that is. And if it shouldcomfort anyone: It was Dobby in the common room with the pipe.