Chapter 7

It seemed to Harry like it had been an eternity since he had left Ron and Hermione in his apartment (in actuality it had only been a few hours), but he had no way of checking the time since he had left without thinking, and had promptly forgotten both his watch, and shoes. Contrary to what his friends had thought, he had not apparated immediately to Ginny. While sitting in that chair, being watched by his two hawks – ahem, friends, he panicked. He needed a place and some time to think, so he apparated to a beach he had seen in a Muggle postcard once. He had no idea where he was, really, all he knew was that the beach, though crowded and noisy, was helping him think. He supposed it was the anonymity that allowed him space. Because it was so crowded, he was really alone... If that makes any sense, he thought.

He had spent the whole time on the beach trying to figure out what he wanted to say to Ginny... and trying to muse over the truth that was in what both she and Hermione had said. He sighed – admitting the truth to himself seemed to be almost as hard as admitting the truth to Ginny, when the time came.

The war had been hard on him... after Sirius died, he closed up for some time in his sixth year, but his friends had drawn him out of it just in time to prepare for the upcoming battles. After he had finally defeated Voldemort after his seventh year, with help from Ron and Hermione (Ginny had been stunned, and couldn't help with the final stage of the battle – something which she greatly regretted, though Harry certainly didn't as he didn't want her to be in harms way because of him), he was left to deal with the fact that he had killed a number of people during the battle. It took him months to come to terms with that, and he guessed that was when his friends assumed that he hadn't been talking to them. He had actually come to the very beach that he was walking on now a lot during those months right after the battle, in order to get away from the magical public, and prying eyes.

As for not talking to Ginny at all for awhile... he hadn't done it intentionally. Assuming her careful actions around him were because she was either afraid of him or because she hated him, Harry had avoided her, afraid that the strain of not being able to be open with her would make him admit something to her that he didn't want anyone to know, let alone the person who it was about.

At some point in his depression, he was asked out by a very beautiful witch who he vaguely recognized from his school days at Hogwarts, and decided to go out with her. After a couple of dates, half drunk (but not enough to tamper with his memory), he lost his virginity to her (though she hadn't known that – think of the publicity it would have cost him to admit it to her), and his subconscious buried all his feelings about Ginny underneath the dates, parties, and sex that he threw himself into with great enthusiasm soon after.

Harry sighed audibly, earning him puzzled glances from the various families that were enjoying themselves on the beach. Tired, he sat down a little away from the others, and tried to empty all thoughts from his mind as he watched the happy people splashing in the water. A little boy with hair reminiscent of Harry's own, at most only three years old, toddled over to him and offered him a shovel in the impressionable way that children do, smiling at Harry cheekily. Harry couldn't help but grin at this welcome distraction, and gently held out his hand for the toy. Alas, something out there wasn't letting him forget what he really needed to think about, because just as he was about to take the shovel to play with the little boy, a call was heard from not long away. "James! Come here, stop bothering that nice man!" Both black-haired boys raised their heads to look at the owner of the voice.

It was a muggle woman, dressed in beach clothes, who couldn't be too much older than thirty, and was walking up to the two of them to pick up her son. "I'm so sorry, children will be children."

Harry quickly closed his open mouth, and smiled indulgently. "Yea, they will be."

The woman returned the smile, picked up her son (who stuck his tongue out at Harry before he was carried off), and walked over to her blanket which was located very near to where Harry was sitting.

Harry was utterly flabbergasted. She had looked almost exactly like what he might have pictured Ginny to look like in ten years – the red hair was identical. And sitting on the blanket, smiling at her, holding his arms out for little James, was a black-haired man with glasses... clearly her husband. Also on the blanket, sitting near her father, was a red-haired girl, probably around seven years old. The woman handed her son over to his father, and joined her daughter in the sand, making a castle.

Harry continued to watch them for a moment, before realizing what he needed to do. As he stood up, and started walking to find a place where he could apparate without being seen, he realized he had no idea what time it was. He looked frantically at the sky, for any hint of the time, but then realized that he had no idea where he was, and the time was probably different. Desperate, he asked a nearby muggle family where he was, not caring if he seemed like a lunatic.

Luckily for him, they assumed he was lost, and a lady who reminded him distinctly of an older Hermione, replied warmly, "This is Elton Beach, dear."

Harry breathed with relief – he was still somewhere in England, the time would be the same. "Thank you! Do you have the time?"

"Oh, it's five-thirty-five, dear."

Harry gasped. Ginny had said that she was leaving at night, which, judging by her drinking hours, could mean that she had left already. He started to run, and called "Thank you so much!" back to the woman.

Frantic, Harry ran all over the beach, looking for a spot that was secluded enough that he could apparate away safely. Of course, now the beach fills up. Thoughts that made him absolutely terrified flew through his mind. What if she hasn't left yet? What am I going to say? But what if she's left already? He finally spotted a cluster of porta-potties, and sprinted towards them, and leapt inside the first one. Making sure no one had seen him go inside, he closed but didn't bother to lock the door. As he apparated away, one thought filled his mind. Have I already lost my chance?

A/N: If Elton Beach doesn't actually exist, sorry!! I just made it up. :)