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Just some drabble about Harry/Ginny from Ginny's P.O.V. This is intertwined with my story Having Heart Is Full Of Pain and its prequel Come On, Sweet Catastrophe, so you could read those too, if you liked this.
.x. Falling From The Sky .x.
Love should be something explosive, something out of a fairy tale book with princes and princesses and dragons and happily ever after. I have learned, however, that happily ever afters don't come true—at least not for me. There was a time that I believed they existed. There was a time when a hero rescued me from the clutches of evil, ruby-encrusted sword and all. There was a time when I loved him and he loved me. But I am alone now.
The last words he said were "I love you too," but I wish that could be enough. Is there ever enough? Do you ever get to hear it enough? I should consider myself lucky that I even got a goodbye, but instead I feel slighted, cheated by Fate. He was so young… Only seventeen…
I was his from the beginning, when I first laid eyes on him at the tender age of ten. He couldn't figure out the trick to getting into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. I thought it was cute. I liked him, more than I would ever have told anyone. I had always fancied the notion that the biggest hero in our world would save me, much in the same fashion as young girls fantasize about their favorite actor knocking on their door and sweeping them into a passionate kiss. Though, I suppose, the kissing scenario isn't quite right—ten-year-old girls aren't interested in kissing yet.
The next year—his second year at Hogwarts, my first—I fell even harder. It was hard to believe that a boy so…idolized…could be so normal, but he was. I suppose being locked in a broom cupboard for the greater part of ten years had something to do with it. That was the year he saved my life. He followed me down into the fabled Chamber of Secrets. He fought for me. He nearly died for me.
I saw very little of him the next year. In his fourth year, I watched him struggle through the Triwizard Tournament. I watched him as he came back from the graveyard after seeing Lord Voldemort return. I watched him after he saw somebody killed in front of him for the first time. And I felt his pain, his hardship—I really did.
In his fifth, I saw his battle of wills with Umbridge. He trained me in DA lessons. I watched as he shared his first kiss with Cho Chang. I felt my heart crash and burn as it broke. I cried for joy when things ended between them, even if Harry was hurt.
In sixth year, he kissed me. He loved me. And, at Dumbledore's funeral, he broke up with me.
Now it is the final goodbye. There is no body; only an empty casket, in which lies a set of his Gryffindor robes. They lower it, and suddenly, there is no hope. He will never come back.
My sobs cause my body to rattle, and Hermione puts a comforting arm around my shoulders, but it is no use. There is no cure for the ache caused by loss. There is no cure for this pain that consumes me, that threatens to undo me completely. And I wish it would. I really wish it would.