(A/N: I feel depressed. I'm not usually so depressing. But, for those of you who prefer tears and tragedy, this is one of my few stories that will in itself fulfill your need. Though my other stories are like that in small bits.)
Ginny gazed at the burning flames before her. Tears ran down her face. She should be rejoicing. Voldemort was gone. Forever.
But at such a price.
She could say Voldemort's name now. Harry had told her to. There was nothing to be afraid of, especially now.
Ever since she'd been a little girl, she had wanted to say his name. But her parents and her brothers had told her not to. Eventually, she just became afraid of Voldemort and his name.
But he had taught her differently, and, in a way, she was free.
The cool, soft breeze that passed should have felt pleasant, comforting. But, in Ginny's eyes, it just spread the fire further, like the burning in her heart.
She stepped into the clearing. The flames weren't as high as they had been before. She tiptoed her way through the mass of dead bodies, until she found the one that she'd been looking for.
He had grown up isolated, she knew, from all the rest. Then, when he finally felt at home, he was still alone. Still different.
He had been the love of her life. He had lovingly stroked her hair, and kissed her in ways she would never forget.
He had protected her. He had saved her from Voldemort when Voldemort had tried to take all of the life out of her to go to full power. When they had officially been going out, he had ended it for her. He knew that Voldemort would kill her if Voldemort found out about their love.
He had been the final horcrux. In order for Voldemort to be killed, he had to be killed as well. Then someone else had finished the job.
Her vision blurred. She blinked, and her tears fell onto his dead body. She collapsed, and she thought her life would be taken from her. She didn't care. She would be with her love once more. He had spoken so much about the veil. She would join him there, and they would be forever. An insane idea came to mind.
"Harry? Harry, please . . . wake up. You're there, aren't you? You have to be." She whispered to the body before her.
There was no answer but her own echo, taunting her, torturing her. She fell to her knees, put her head in her hands, and wept.
She wept for love, she wept for fire, and she wept, most importantly, for Harry.
