Not About You

Harry stood in the doorway of the sitting room, watching Ginny uncertainly. She had her back to him, resting against the arm of an old broken down couch, and her feet balanced against the other arm. Her face was half concealed from him, but from what he could tell, her expression was stormy. He knew the look well, as he had worn it often himself over the past few months. Being in Grimmauld Place seemed to do that to all of it's inhabitants after a while. The gloom was almost tangible at times, and contagious to the unwary. Today, outside of the windows was as stormy as Ginny's countenance, and he stood, trying to think of a way to bring a smile to her face. Not that he was ever allowed out there.

He wasn't sure how long he had stood in the doorway, leaning up against the jamb, watching her staring into nothingness. It wasn't until he heard a noise from her, mixed in with a sudden rumble of thunder, which sounded suspiciously like a moan, that he stood up properly. He took a tentative step into the room, not sure what he would do if she were crying. Cho had done so much of that last year, he felt that he should be a pro at dealing with tears by now, but he was lost every time.

"Ginny," he said softly, approaching her chair.

He stopped when she buried her face in her raised knees and let her hair obscure her face. He looked for telltale signs of weeping, but found no shaking shoulders or muffled sobs to indicate tears. He tried again.

"Ginny?"

He edged closed, and knelt down on the carpet in front of her chair.

"Go away, Harry," Ginny said quietly, without lifting her head. "Please."

Harry stood, intending to honor her wishes. How often had he gotten angry because others wouldn't just leave him the hell alone when he asked? Still, he wanted to make sure that there was nothing he could do before leaving her to her feelings.

"Ginny," he said cautiously. "Did I do something to…?"

Her head came up from her knees then, and he could see that her eyes were red and wet, but that she hadn't let the tears come just yet. Perhaps it was an internal battle that she was fighting to keep them at bay.

"Sometimes it's not about you, Harry."

Her words stung him and he almost lashed out, out of instinct, but he reigned in his temper and nodded. "I'm sorry." It was all he could think of to say. Her eyes seemed to be boring into him, and he reckoned that she was waiting for him to leave. He followed an impulse without thinking about it, and raised a gentle hand to briefly touch her shoulder; a simple sign of support and commiseration, before turning toward the door, intending to retreat.

"He left a piece of himself inside of me," she said suddenly.

Harry turned to look at her, and found that her eyes were trained on the opposite wall. Perhaps it was easier for her to talk that way – without having to look at anyone.

"I know," Harry answered.

She lapsed into silence again, and he was unsure of what to do. Was she simply letting him know what was causing her misery? Was she asking for a shoulder, or a listening ear? He stood and waited to see if she might expound of this statement, and felt terribly sorry for her. It had been nearly four years since Tom Riddle had deceived an eleven-year-old Ginny, and taken over her body and soul for unknown amounts of time. He knew that she must have had a hard time dealing with it, but had been so wrapped up in his own troubles, that he hadn't given it much more thought than that. She has seemed fine when he had seen her again in the fall after the Chamber of Secrets, and he had selfishly moved on with his life, not stopping to see if she could do the same. He didn't really feel he had the right to pry about it now.

The silence stretched on just long enough that Harry decided that she had made her statement as a form of dismissal. She had given him the reason she was upset, so he could just go and leave her in peace now, thank you very much. He had taken a step toward the door once more, when she broke the silence.

"I can still feel him sometimes."

"I know," Harry answered again. It was true; he knew that feeling better than anyone.

"Do you think it will ever go away?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice. She had finally turned her eyes back to his, and they were haunted and bleak.

"Yes," Harry answered simply. "I intend to make sure of it."

"You might die," she whispered. So softly that he almost didn't hear the words.

"We all might die," he said, going to kneel before her chair again. He took one of her hands in his, and noticed the way she had painted her nails a bright and cheerful pink, despite the fact that they were bitten practically to the quick.

"I meant sooner, not later," she said, managing a weak chuckle at his practical tone.

"So did I," he said, giving her hand a little squeeze.

Strange, he thought, how tiny her hand seems in mine.

"We might as well go down fighting, then." She sniffed and wiped at her damp eyes with her free hand.

"That's the plan," he smiled gently. He reached up to push a stray fiery strand of hair from her face, and tuck it behind her ear. "In the mean time…" He kissed her hand softly, and looked her straight in the eye. "Take what he left behind, and make it yours."

"What he left behind scares me," she said seriously, clinging to his hand tightly

"Welcome to my life," Harry joked weakly. "Would you say that what he left inside me made me less of a person?"

She shook her head vehemently.

"It doesn't make you less of a person either."

She studied his honest gaze for a few moments, and then nodded, finding whatever answer she needed in his eyes. He helped her to her feet, and she adjusted her shirt a bit, and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Let's go and see if Ron left us any ice cream," Harry suggested, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"Not very likely," Ginny said with a sniffle.

They walked toward the door once more, and Ginny grabbed his hand to stop him and pleaded, "Don't tell my Mum, okay?"

Harry understood what she was asking of him. Mrs. Weasley would worry herself into a terrible frenzy if she knew her daughter harbored such dark feelings still.

"I won't." It was a promise.

"One more thing, Harry," she said, a little desperately.

"What is it?" he asked concerned.

The concern melted away when her arms came around him. He leaned into the hug, and held her close, soaking in her warmth and offering his comfort. If things worked out in the end, he thought he might offer her more. But for now, this was enough.