Chapter 2: Bad morning gone awry

It had all made so much sense at the time. Harry knew his fate, destined to face off with Voldemort once and for all to determine which of them would live and which would die. Neither could live while the other survived, after all. In each confrontation, Harry had faced his archenemy alone. Ironically, it had been Voldemort, the villain, the man who trusted no one, who knew nothing of love or friendship, who had been surrounded by allies during their battles: Quirrell, Pettigrew, various Death Eaters. When he imagined the final showdown, he saw Voldemort standing at the top of a dark set of stairs with Snape at his right hand, glaring down at Harry who stood surrounded by the remaining Death Eaters. Though he knew that Ron and Hermione would help him prepare and that the Order could help him find the other horcruxes, in the end, he was certain he would be alone.

Given that, how could he have done anything else? He could not risk Ginny. Some dark nights, he dreamed of the battle with Voldemort, but instead of the way he typically envisioned it, this time Ginny lay strapped to a stone table while Voldemort held a long knife over her heart. If Voldemort ever found out how special she was to him… The thought of anything bad happening to her made his stomach churn and his heart clench. It hurt more now to think of it than it had back then at Dumbledore's funeral. Strangely, his feelings for her had intensified since then. When they'd been together, he had been so swept up in the initial rush of it all, that he hadn't had time to really think about much other than when he would see her next.

Harry thought back to the walk they had taken after their first kiss. Neither had spoken a word until they had made it outside the building. Instead, they'd simply held each other's hands, occasionally turning to smile happily at one another. Even in the gardens, they had not spent much time chatting.

Ginny leaned back against the soft, cool grass, gazing at the starlight reflecting off the lake before them. Harry shiftted slightly to face her and looked down. Her beautiful auburn hair had spread out framing her face perfectly. For the first time in months, he could linger while staring at her without fear of someone noticing his interest. He wondered at her beauty, barely able to remember the child she had been when they had first met or the scared young girl he had saved from the basilisk. Yet, as he lost himself in her eyes, he saw those memories and every other they had shared, from that magical first day when she had run after his train car at King's Cross Station. Before he could lean down to kiss her, however, she spoke the first words either of them had uttered since that kiss.

"Took you long enough, Potter." Ginny smiled playfully and reached up to run her hand through his hair. "I was starting to think I'd have to drop an anvil on your head."

"An anvil?" Harry replied with a coy grin.

"Well, a pink one. With flowers and the words 'Get on with it then' carved into it."

"I'm not the one who was snogging in hallways all year long," he pointed out archly.

"No, that was Won-Won," she giggled. "Why don't we make up for lost time, then?" Gripping the back of his head firmly, she pulled him down to her.

Some minutes later, Harry sat back up and sighed happily. "Thanks, by the way," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me completely. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out how perfect you are."

Ginny did not reply, instead blushing deeply and dropping her eyes to the ground. After a moment, she once again reached up, stroking his cheek lightly. "It was worth the wait," she said finally.

Harry simply nodded and leaned down to kiss her once again.

Reluctantly, Harry lifted his eyes from the worn photo in his hands. Neville had taken it for him about a week before the Cave and the Tower. It showed him and Ginny standing in front of the lake, not too far from where they had been that glorious night. They both smiled and waved happily, his arm around her back and hers reaching up to lay across his shoulder, occasionally fluffing his hair. He set it carefully back on the table by his bed. If there had been electricity, he could have lost himself in music or television. If he'd been allowed to do magic, he could have lost himself in training, practicing hexes and counterspells from sunup to sundown. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed and alternated between his fears about Voldemort and his misery about Ginny. Just to mix things up, he occasionally felt guilty that he wasn't spending enough time missing Ron and Hermione or mourning Dumbledore or Sirius.

Mostly, though, he remembered how Ginny had made him feel and how much he missed her now. He thought about all the times that she had been there for him, to listen to his problems, to offer help. He smiled remembering how she'd been unafraid to stand up to him when he was angry, or to shake him out of bad moods. He recalled watching her fly through the air on her Quidditch broom, her long red hair streaming out behind her like a comet's tail, her golden laugh ringing across the pitch. He had never known how much he needed someone, how much he needed her in his life until she was gone. Gone because of his own stupid, noble reasoning.

Rising slowly from his bed, Harry cleaned up breakfast and debated whether or not to shower and change his clothes. In a decision he would eternally be grateful for, he decided to do so, despite the fact that the lack of electricity meant a painfully cold experience. Years of neglect from the Dursleys had trained him to wash his own clothes in the sink with cold water only, though he had briefly contemplated summoning Kreacher to do his laundry for him. The thought of the nasty, treacherous creature seeing him in his current state, however, was too much to bear.

Some time later, he pulled on an old t-shirt and jeans, just in time for the doorbell to ring. Jenkins, most likely. The weeks of gloom had so far only been punctuated by the occasional visits from Jenkins. The foul little man reminded Harry of Mundungus. He implied that for some unspecified number of quid, he might be made to overlook certain improprieties. He had been genuinely disappointed to find that Harry had done nothing wrong and seemed to have no desire to do so. Fortunately, he didn't come by often and didn't stay long. Harry did not like the interruptions to his melancholia. Hoping this would be the last time he'd have to deal with the sour person, Harry strolled downstairs. When he reached the landing, he wondered why Jenkins hadn't let himself in by now. Usually, he rang once or twice and then barged right in. The puzzled young wizard strode to the door, threw the bolt and opened it cautiously. All at once, the blood drained from his face and his breath came short. Finally, he gathered himself just enough to speak and slowly open the door wider.

"Ginny?"