A/N: Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I hadn't realized I'd be without internet last night. Also a warning: we are approaching the part where the story will start to earn its M rating.

Harry maintained his vigil even after she'd fallen asleep. It wasn't enough that she'd managed to settle into unconsciousness - it was a fitful slumber at best.

Her body tensed in his embrace. His own expression turned into a grimace as he took in the lines that creased her forehead, looking unnaturally deep across her usually smooth skin. He made a soothing sound and brushed his fingers over the skin there, brushing her hair back as he went. He repeated it until the expression smoothed into the softness of her usual slumber.

He didn't stop his ministrations after the second occurrence, aware that if he did, she would fall back into the clutches of whatever haunted her dreams that night. It was a small sacrifice to make if it meant helping her fight off her demons.

It wasn't a hardship at all, really. The scent from her hair drifted up and infused his senses. It wasn't quite right then - his usual crisp scented shampoo mixing with her floral one - but it was soothing none-the-less. It never failed to remind him of those simpler times when he would fall asleep at the Burrow, clean and warm in the rays of sunshine and surrounded by the scent on his favorite chair.

He let his eyes drift shut as he remembered, now wondering what it would have been like had he known it was her scent. What it would have been like if she'd been less shy or him more encouraging and they'd become friends his first summer at the Burrow.

He could still picture clearly what she looked like at eleven - small, but bright-eyed with a wide smile the few times he'd managed to watch her interact with her siblings unseen - and could easily place himself in those memories now.

Things could have been so different.

He could see himself being amazed, watching the little version of her embarrassing her elder brothers in front of him, showing off the graceful way she swam in the pond, and attempting to keep up in all their competitions. In his mind, he saw her pout with frustration when she failed to throw the gnomes as far as her brothers before determination settled in and she tried again. He could see himself letting her win eventually, just to see her happy.

He smiled to himself, allowing further visions to form.

Maybe, if he'd paid attention to her, he would have caught her flying one night. He would have been impressed, he knew. She had a natural talent that must have been undeniable even then. He could have joined her and taught her all the tricks he knew. They could have been friends, just the two of them.

She could have shown him the garden that she tended herself or her favorite hiding spots in the Orchard. The small tree she used to climb that her brothers were too heavy to follow her up in. He was small back then too. They could have sat hidden in the leaves together.

There was so much he could have learned about her back then, the twelve-year-old self in his mind thought as she ran down the path toward the trees ahead of him, bright sunlight reflecting a kaleidoscope of red and gold of her bouncing hair.

Had they been friends, she would have been included, would have had her brother to support her, and wouldn't have felt alone. She wouldn't have turned to that horrible diary in her isolation. She wouldn't carry the scars she did now. She wouldn't be…

Who she was.

The eleven-year-old version of Ginny morphed into her present-day self before disappearing into thick trees of the suddenly dark wood. The temperature dropped in sync with the light and a chill ran through him. Ginny was gone. The scent and the constant warmth within him that represented her was just gone.

Panic began to swell. There was something sinister lurking here. He could feel it. She was in danger. He needed to find her, immediately, before something else did. He started running, searching frantically until he started at the sound of her voice.

"No!"

Harry startled awake with wand in hand, Ginny's refusal ringing in his ears. There was no threat he could see, though. There was no one. Ginny wasn't there. She was gone, just like in the dream.

She was -

Mrs. Weasley's soft voice floated through the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Ginny was talking to her mother, just in the hallway. She was there, perfectly safe. He stilled, allowing his heart rate to settle as he focused on thinking about her.

They were talking about him, he realized. He listened closer and his chest constricted at the worry and sadness in her tone. She was right - if it came down to it, he'd give his own life to ensure they could live theirs safely. They were all he'd ever known of what family should be, of what it felt like to be loved, and he couldn't stomach the idea of them not continuing to do so. They needed to live and carry on, even if he didn't. Ginny deserved a full and happy life, even if he couldn't be part of it.

He tried not to think about the story of Sirius's ancestor whose betrothed had died and how she'd never recovered...

The ice that had begun to spread through him cracked at the fire in Ginny's voice. "I'd never let him face it on his own."

He decided it was time to make his presence known and stepped into the doorway where she would be able to see him. "I know you wouldn't," he said, voice still thick with sleep. A wet trail down her cheek glistened in the dim light. It hurt to see, even more so because he thought he may have been able to prevent it had she woken him instead. "What are you doing out here?"

"I didn't want to wake you," she said guiltily. Her lips turned down in concern as she looked at him. "You didn't look like you'd gotten much rest."

He shook his head at the ridiculousness of it. His sleep was of little importance when she was so clearly suffering. He offered her a hand up. Warmth chased away his lingering nerves when she took it and fell easily into his embrace. He hadn't realized he'd been worried that she was running from him until he felt the relief that she hadn't.

He felt bad when Mrs. Weasley began speaking. He'd forgotten she was there entirely. She didn't give him a chance to apologize, however, and dismissed them with an understanding smile.

Harry led them back to bed, where Ginny settled against him, perfectly aligned. The stress of the previous day must have been getting to him, because the thought that she fit him like a puzzle piece flitted across his mind. He wasn't usually so absurdly sentimental and he felt the urge to shake off the emotions. The feeling couldn't be denied, however, when she kissed over top his heart and breathed against his chest as if he himself created the air she needed to breathe fully.

After several minutes it became clear that she was relaxed, but not asleep, and he broke the silence to apologize. "I'm sorry I fell asleep."

He felt the slight shake of her head against his chest. He couldn't see the eye roll, but he imagined it being there none-the-less. "Don't be ridiculous. You needed the sleep obviously."

"Still, I wish I'd been awake when you woke up. I could have told you it wasn't real." A shiver shook her frame and her grip around him tightened. He held her more firmly in response. He didn't want her to feel alone anymore.

"It was though," she said meekly. "Real, I mean. It did happen. I was in one of his memories."

He hesitated. He didn't know how to comfort her without knowing what she'd seen, but didn't want to make it worse. "We can talk about it, if it will help. Or we can sit here just like this, and I'll stay awake this time. Whatever you think will help."

Her exhale penetrated his shirt as she pressed her face into his chest and began telling him about her nightmare. His revulsion grew with each detail she revealed. He'd always known Voldemort was sick, but he'd never imagined that the twisted fascination with power and pain had manifested so early. Ginny's nails had begun to dig into the skin at his side, but he ignored it in the interest of providing her with whatever comfort he could. He was having trouble hearing without having had to witness it too.

"...the worst part about it is that when I think about it, it feels like my own memory. I see it the way he saw it, feel what he felt…" she said painfully as she shook in his grip.

"It's not, though," he said reassuringly. "He might have lived through you for a time, but he isn't you and you're not him." He rubbed her arm. "Just think about how it makes you feel to think about now. He'd never feel the upset or guilt that you feel now, even though you didn't do anything wrong and he did."

She took a deep breath, and seemed to weigh her words before she began speaking again. "When I started remembering… Merlin, my whole first year feels like a blur between me and him. He was me. But I wasn't him… it's hard to explain. You're right though. Because I wanted to vomit when I remembered killing Hagrid's roosters, but he was disappointed he had to kill them quickly, that he didn't have time to enjoy it."

Disgust surged, but he pushed it back. He wouldn't allow his own reactions to dominate the conversation. He wanted her to keep talking about it. Dumbledore had told him that Ginny likely repressed these memories. She needed to get it out if she was going to heal and move forward.

"I bet you pissed him off a lot that year, fighting back like you did." It was meant to be light and encouraging, but even he could hear the pride that leaked into his tone. He was sure he'd never get over how strong she was. The feeling spread to pride for himself as well when he felt her cheek lift into a small smile.

"Merlin, he hated me by the end," she breathed in disbelief. The small laugh that accompanied it was at odds with the words. "Damn near as much as he hated you. I don't think he expected a little girl to be so difficult. Especially because of how our relationship began… me feeling so alone and leaning on a memory in a diary as my only confidant." The humor he was so proud to have achieved faded out into sadness and regret.

"I'm sorry -" an elbow to his side had him cutting off. He huffed a breath. "I mean it… I was just thinking before I fell asleep that if any of us had handled things just a little bit differently, then maybe everything could have been different. You may not have turned to the diary… your whole first year could have been everything you always wanted it to be. Maybe we could have become friends for real years ago." He tried for some levity again and teased, "I feel like I've been cheated, you know. You're pretty fantastic, and I've missed out on years of knowing that."

She laughed freely, like he intended, and he felt the feeling of warmth spread over him like sunshine. "Oh, I'm sure. You must be completely heartbroken."

"Don't mock. I am," he said, but he knew she heard the smile in his voice.

Her laughter trailed away. "You know, as much as I would have appreciated more of your company…" she trailed off before contemplatively asking, "Is it strange if I say I wouldn't want the diary to not have happened?" She tensed a little and her next words were a rushed explanation. "I know it sounds terrible and I don't like what happened. I wouldn't wish the damage I nearly did on anyone, but we all survived and... I wouldn't be the me I am now if it hadn't happened. It's been difficult - impossible sometimes - to work through, but… I like who I am. As twisted as it is, fighting Tom Riddle is part of that. You know?"

She sounded so nervous that he stopped to think before responding. He wanted to be honest with her. She'd never believe vague reassurances.

He had already come to the conclusion that she wouldn't be who she was without those experiences, but he still wished she hadn't gone through all of it. Seeing how the memories had affected her earlier that night made it difficult to remember that.

He tried instead to think about how he felt about it. If he would rather not know the things he did.

There were things he knew that you could only learn firsthand. Darkness that was too deep to understand unless you'd been in its presence yourself. It was why Ginny could relate to him on a level that even Ron and Hermione couldn't.

His first instinct was to say that of course he would give it all up. Be normal. Not be haunted by terrible memories.

But that wasn't his reality. In this world where he was the center of a prophecy against Voldemort, he needed the lessons he had learned in each of their meetings. The knowledge of what Voldemort was truly like was invaluable.

It was a part of him. Just like it was part of her.

"I understand," he said, letting the weight and truth of the statement come through. He still loathed all that she had been through, though. Things were different for her. There had been no need for her to end up in the middle of the mess that was his life. He couldn't help asking, "You don't think you would've ended up learning those things anyway?"

"Maybe… but not in the same way or in the same time." She paused to think and he felt the shift in her posture when she found the words to explain. "Take Ron and Percy for instance. Ron holds all this resentment toward him for his ambition, but I've seen what true malicious ambition is like. It makes it easier for me to forgive him, because I'm certain Percy isn't like Tom was and would never do the things he's done."

He hesitated and had to clear his throat before he could ask his next question. He forced his voice to remain even as he spoke. "It's not just the memories from when he was controlling you or what he showed you, is it?"

"No," she said reluctantly.

He didn't want to ask, but he knew these were the memories that she needed to talk about most. He forced out the question, "How much do you know?"

"More than I thought," she replied heavily. "It's… in the end, he couldn't hide things from me, but I've never looked at the memories all at once before. I still don't want to, not really. But there's something there."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have his memories, just impressions. I just know things associated with the memories from when he was possessing me. Like with the ring Dumbledore had… Tom always wore it. He looked at it when we were in the Chamber. He was proud of it." Disgust leaked into her tone. "It had been his maternal uncle's, proof that they were descended from Salazar Slytherin. Tom kept it as a souvenir after he killed him. He kept a lot of souvenirs. The paw of a rabbit he strangled, a stone from the cave with those children..."

"The diary for the Chamber?"

She nodded. "That one was for Myrtle, obviously. He had the strangest fascination with her death. He'd already killed his uncle, but the man was related to his mother, so Tom discounted him as weak, the same way he did her. But Myrtle was like him, in a sense. Raised by muggles and being taught proper magic. She shouldn't have been so easy to kill, by his estimation. It's what started his obsession with death, or, rather, how to avoid it." She must have sensed the anticipation in him, because she quickly added, "I don't know what or how he did it, but I know he was looking into dark, hidden things. Something foreign maybe? Or to do with runes? I can't tell exactly, but definitely not the kind of thing we'd find in Hogwarts: A History, you know?"

He knew better than to have expected her to have the answer - if she had, she would've said something immediately - but disappointment washed over him. Not in her, of course, but just in general. Knowing what steps he'd taken would have given them a huge advantage.

"Hopefully Dumbledore can figure it out," he said. "I figure that's what the point of collecting all these memories is." If there's anything to find…

Ginny seemed to share his doubt. "Do you think he can? I mean… what if Tom created his own method? Some spell or ritual that was never documented…" she trailed off uncertainly.

He heard Voldemort's words to his Death Eater's once more. He claimed to have "gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality". There was no denying that he was talented and powerful enough to have created his own method.

Ginny had begun to shift nervously against him, pulling him out of his revery. He refocused on comforting her and rubbed her back.

With a confidence he didn't truly feel, he said, "We just have to hope he didn't. I don't think he'd risk anything that hadn't been done successfully before, even if he did something to change it. Dumbledore will figure out what that is, and we'll figure it out from there, one way or another."

"Yeah," she replied. He couldn't ignore the mournful undertone.

"We will," he promised. "I'm not going to let him win."

She didn't say anything to contradict him, but the silence between them was enough to convey her doubt.

"Gin…"

"I know you won't," she said tersely, " but you can't promise that it will all be alright. No one can guarantee that."

The conversation he overheard clawed at his conscience. He knew what she meant and it wasn't something he could promise. "You're right," he admitted, but he offered what he little he could. "But even if… even if the worst happens, I promise I won't ever want to leave you. I'll do everything I can to stay with you."

"Don't promise me anything you can't stick to I know that you'd never want to leave us, but it's just your nature -"

He quickly cut in, wanting to be clear. "Not you as in 'all of you'. I mean you, Gin. I don't plan on doing anything unless it's to protect you. I'm not going to give up this, not unless I have to."

For the first time since they'd returned to bed, she pulled away from him, and sat up, bracing herself on one arm. Her other hand rested limply on his chest as she stared at him with wide eyes. When he realized how close he'd come to saying something far too heavy for their newfound relationship, he tried to redirect, latching on to the first thing he thought of, "I mean, can you imagine what Sirius would say? He'd kill me all over again as soon as I crossed over."

His heart pounded beneath her touch and his now empty hand went to his hair, mussing it nervously, as he waited for her to say something. She stared at him for a beat longer before exhaling heavily and blinking.

Her voice was shaky, but she offered him a strange smile. "I wouldn't need Sirius. I'd find a way to haunt you."

"Pretty sure the living can't haunt the dead, Gin."

She laughed, still a bit off, but more like herself than before and laid back down against him. "I'd find a way," she assured him, maintaining eye contact. "Sirius would help."

"He would," he said, chuckling in relief. He felt much better with her back in her proper place against him. He resisted the urge to add that she wouldn't need to - he'd find a way to be near her no matter the cost. She'd caught and carried his clumsy attempt at levity, however, and he wasn't about to ruin it.

Instead of giving in and letting escape the emotional words that were at the tip of his tongue, he shifted down to kiss her softly. There was so much he wanted to put into it, but he held back. They would have time for that, he assured himself.

She returned the tenderness, but it was sweeter coming from her. She was a constant bundle of contradictions that combined perfectly to make her the best person he knew.

"How are you so perfectly balanced?" She scoffed, but he carried on. "Honestly, you're delicate and strong, compassionate but unyielding, funny but serious," he lightened his tone, "temperamental and thoughtful... how the hell do you manage that?"

"You're ridiculous," she said, but there was no admonishment in her tone. If anything she sounded bashful. "I'm really not that great."

"I think so. Sirius did too, obviously."

"You know, when we first went back to school, I wrote him three letters in the first two weeks. When I didn't get one back, I started to think that maybe he'd just felt bad for me when we were all here. Or he only talked to me at night because no one else was around. I knew how often he had written you the year before - Hermione told me when I asked - so I stopped writing."

"Clearly that didn't last long. I saw how many letters you sent him."

"No, it didn't." He could hear the smile as she spoke. "He wrote me after a week, indignant that my parents were still getting letters and he wasn't. So I went back to writing him too, even though he only wrote back about once a month, if that." Both fondness and exasperation penetrated the words, as well as sadness. "I knew he cared though, even if he didn't say it much. I don't think he told you enough, either. His world revolved around you, you know."

He knew it, now at least, but he hadn't been fully aware of it when his godfather was alive. Most of their time together had been dark and stressful, but Sirius had always been there for him when it counted. He'd always tried, despite his shortcomings and limitations.

"I wish we'd had more time together."

"Me too. I can't believe I only knew him, really knew him, for less than a year," she sighed.

"How weird was it meeting 'Sirius Black: wanted murderer'?" he asked. It was one story he'd never heard before, nor had he seen it in Sirius's journal. That time period had been dedicated to Order business and his frustration at not being able to talk to Harry.

"It was fantastic!" He was caught off guard by how enthusiastic she sounded. "I felt so damn smart. The twins were completely stunned, jaws hanging open, but I jumped up and yelled how I knew it!" She started laughing. "And the boys all started to say that I didn't, until Sirius stepped in and said I called it years ago. I was so proud that I didn't think to be worried about how amused he looked. That ended real quick when he shifted into Padfoot and back. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

He couldn't hold back his own laughter as he pictured it, the smug, humorous look Sirius no doubt wore when he transformed clear in his mind, as well as her shocked reaction. "What did you do to him for that?"

"Once my heart restarted? I cornered him at the first opportunity and threatened to neuter him if he ever told anyone about my second year," she said plainly, as if it was no big deal.

"Merlin, Gin," he said through laughter, "how many times did you threaten his anatomy?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently. It was impressively done - if he didn't know better, he may have believed it.

"I mean, the day before we went back to school last year, Sirius came down the stairs laughing his arse off. He'd been so moody the days before, I couldn't figure out what had happened. He said, 'Ginny just threatened to cut off my balls for waking her up,' before you came down the stairs looking pissed and mimed a cutting motion at him."

"Well, what he didn't tell you is that he woke me up by jumping on my bed as Padfoot and licking my face. It was disgusting!" she exclaimed. "I told him that if he wanted to act like my pet, I'd treat him like one."

"I didn't say you were in the wrong."

"No, but you men are rather fond of your balls," she said flippantly. "I just assumed you'd take his side."

"They're an important part of my anatomy, you know." He couldn't help chuckling again. He was rather surprised by how much laughter there had been, given the day they'd had. He loved that about her. "You know, when we first met, I never imagined we'd be sitting in bed one day talking like this."

"You mean eleven-year-old you didn't imagine having late-night conversations in bed with the blubbering ten-year-old girl? Shocking."

"Stop it. You know what I mean," he said, emphasizing it by tickling her side. She squirmed pleasantly against him. "And I didn't notice the blubbering so much as I did the hair."

"It was a mess. Poor Mum tried her best, but I couldn't be contained long enough to let her do it properly," she said nostalgically.

"It was pretty, even back then," he insisted.

"If you say so, you nutter," she joked. "I know what you mean though, I noticed your eyes, even through the broken glasses. I'd never seen anyone with eyes that green - still haven't, actually. I talked about it so much that Mum made my Christmas jumper that exact shade of green that year."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Eyes as green as fresh pickled toad?"

She groaned. "Oh Merlin, you just had to bring it up, didn't you?" She swatted his chest. "I was eleven. Let's see you try writing poetry. Right now, in fact. Go on. Wow me with your literary ability."

"Hey, I never claimed I could do better!" he defended.

"Then, hush you," she scolded playfully.

Amusement hung in the air between them and Harry soaked it in gratefully, glad the days of misunderstandings and embarrassment had passed. The freedom to just be who he was, and know she was as well, was incredibly liberating. A pleasant silence settled.

Eventually she yawned, and he was forced to face the reality that it had gotten quite late. They both needed to sleep.

"We should get to bed," he said regretfully.

He felt her tense before she pulled away to look him in the eye. She tried to sound petulant, but he heard the concern beneath as she asked, "Do we have to?"

"Unfortunately we do. Lay back. Do the Occlumency exercises. I'll be here," he said encouragingly.

Despite the grim exhaustion that marred her face, her lips still quirked up into a small smile. "I know you will."

His fingers found her hair unconsciously and he rubbed the scalp there. She let out that little sound that he loved so much - the one that reminded him of a cat - and he felt himself relax too. As much as his intent had been to comfort her, he couldn't deny that it centered him as well and made going through his own Occlumency exercises much smoother.

He had no doubt he would need them tonight. He'd definitely have nightmares without it.

It had been terrifying to see her lose control when Dumbledore asked her to focus on the memories. It was even worse to see that Dumbledore himself was concerned. He'd felt so helpless, just sitting there and watching her instead of doing something to help. And then she recoiled from him.

He shied away from the thought. She's here now. Right here, he reminded himself firmly. Her warmth bled into his, her scent and his mingled in the air he breathed, and the taste her kiss lingered… he let the sensations ground him and focused on how he could feel her, not just physically, but deeper.

She was his.

Not in a way that he thought he owned her. It was more that she was intrinsically a part of him. When he focused like he was at the moment, he could feel all the ties that bound them and the swirl of magic shared between them. Part of him was overwhelmed by the pure communion between them, but the greater part was enthralled and consumed by how wonderful it felt. She'd always been there, but embracing it gave the connection new life.

He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to hold onto it with both hands.

When her breathing evened out into that of a peaceful slumber, he finally allowed himself to drift off once more. Once he got past the worst parts of the evening, his Occlumency attempts became half-hearted at best and he quickly sank into unconsciousness surrounded by a vortex of happy thoughts with Ginny at the center. When he fell into a new dream, he recognized it for what it was immediately.

He was back in the orchard at the Burrow, following a Ginny who looked like she did now. She turned and smiled at him, taking his hand as they walked in the direction of the pond. He noticed the light had returned to the area, even brighter than it had been in his first dream.

He took a moment to appreciate how right everything felt. The sights, sounds, and scent hanging in the air were perfectly balanced, the pace Ginny set just enough to reflect the eagerness he felt without rushing it.

His eyes fell on Ginny herself next. She was beautiful, as always, but better yet, she was happy, unlike she'd been when they were awake. He could tell by the relaxed set of her shoulders and the way she bounced slightly on her toes. He couldn't look away, nor did he try, following blindly where she led and trusting her to get them there safely.

For all that he'd been watching her, he still found himself surprised when they arrived at the bank of the pond and she went to disrobe. He hadn't noticed til now that she was only wearing the worn shirt she always wore to bed. He could see through it enough to know that she wore green knickers and no bra.

His mouth went dry as she lifted it and he saw they weren't just green, but the exact shade of his eyes. Then the pale expanse of her back was exposed, the shirt briefly pulling her hair aside to expose the freckles of her shoulders before it fell back into place in long waves of red. He watched in fascination as she shook her head and fanned it out with her fingers before turning around. The long tresses hid the details of her breasts, but he was painfully aware that she'd be exposed if he just reached out and pushed aside like he frequently did in their waking hours.

Part of him insisted that it was wrong to look, even in a dream. Especially after everything they'd just been through. He couldn't force himself to stop looking, but he did resist the urge to reach out, keeping his hands firmly to his sides.

The Ginny of his dreams had no such compunctions and reached out for his hair. Hers shifted, giving him the briefest glimpse of a rosy nipple before he was distracted by the words she whispered.

"I love you."

It was on the tip of his tongue to say it back. Here in the realm of his dreams, it seemed so obvious and easy to do, but then the world tilted and the image dissolved.

He found himself awake once more, Gin's blurred image above him. No part of him could regret the change in surroundings, however, glad to be with the real her again.

He definitely didn't regret it a few minutes later when it felt like he had returned to his dreams once more.