HARRY

Harry had endured plenty of miserable experiences in his life. Of which getting friendzoned by Ginny Weasley was now one.

Friends.

You fucking coward.

The conversation replayed in his head, but this time the right way:

"Look, if you don't want to, that's fine-"

"No, I don't want to be friends, Ginny. I want to be more than that. You talking to me has not been nice. It's been fucking brilliant. The absolute best thing. And when you weren't speaking to me, I thought I might disappear. I want you to come sit next to me every night at dinner, not Dean. I want to hug you good morning and kiss you goodnight. I want to walk around the castle, just talking to you about nothing and everything. I want to be close enough to smell your hair and it not be weird. I want to kiss you so badly, everywhere, and touch you…"

He slammed the Half Blood Prince's book closed and chucked the quill in his hand. It unsatisfactorily fluttered back down to the table. Harry yanked his glasses off and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars.

Friends.

He didn't want to go without talking to her anymore. So desperate was he, so afraid of losing her again, that he couldn't force himself to ask her for more.

Pieces of their conversation the night of the owlry replayed often in his mind. It felt so good to have an innocent excuse to be alone with her for that uninterrupted amount of time. One whole shining hour where talking was easy and she was by his side.

"Building a bit of muscle never hurt anyone."

That was the only part that haunted him. Did she like blokes who were more burly? He could do more push ups. What if it hurt his speed while seeking? He didn't care, it'd be worth it. Tomorrow he'd start doing push ups everyday. In fact, he should start right now.

Harry got down on the floor and did as many push ups as he could until his arms burned. Several other late studiers in the Common Room peered curiously at him, but he didn't care.

Fucking hell. What are you doing?

He stopped and climbed back into his chair. Dean could probably do more. Dean was taller. Dean had bigger arms. Dean was an adequate Chaser, of adequate intelligence, of adequate humor. Again, what the hell was it about him she fancied?

For the millionth time, Harry thought about how Ginny had once fancied him. Back when he was too stupid to care. What he wouldn't give to have that back. Could she ever think of him that way again?

A dark thought struck him. Maybe it was just because of the Boy-Who-Lived. After all, she'd only liked him when she couldn't speak to him. Likely once she got to know him she saw that he wasn't anything special. Not worthy of his own clothes, his own friends, or his own room. Just a scrawny kid in a cupboard with an ugly cut across his head. Just Harry.

Not worthy of the most popular girl in school who had the most lovely hair and light brown eyes. The way she would smile and laugh left him with a deeply felt warmth, like laying too long in sunshine. He admired that clever, mischievous look she got knowing she'd outsmarted the other Chasers. It was the same one she had when helping him speak to Sirius.

He could easily remember what it looked like when she wore shorts over the summer. Without realizing it, he'd memorized the shape of her bare legs, traveling up to her hips, chest and hair. Now even when she was in school robes or Quidditch kit, he could imagine it all and wanted to know more.

He dropped down for another round of push ups.

Now sweating, he wiped his forehead on his tie and put his forehead against the cold windowpane. He tried to clear his mind, like in Occlumency practice. But he'd always been shit at that too.

You fucking wanker, he told himself. Then he closed his eyes more tightly still at the truth of it.

"You alright, mate?"

Harry jumped and reached for his wand. But realizing it was Ron, he slumped back in his chair and reached for the Prince's book. "Yeah, fine."

"Looked like you were going through something there," Ron said, looking concerned. He sat down across from Harry. "Was it about Ginny?"

"W-what?"

"Her wanting to know about Dumbledore's lessons?" said Ron.

"Oh… no. We sorted it out," he said.

Friends.

"Good, because the team was starting to get worried." Ron said. "So, you're alright?"

"Mhm. Yeah, fine."

"Your scar was hurting again, wasn't it?"

"Oh, erm, kind of prickles. Not a big deal."

Ron nodded wisely. "Must mean he's up to something. Planning, you know. You haven't started getting dreams again, have you?"

"Nope, none like last year," Harry cleared his throat and grasped for a change in subject. Ron looked disheveled himself, two buttons of his shirt undone and face flushed. "You just with Lavender?"

"Blimey, yeah… I dunno, Harry…" he said, rubbing his face in his hands.

"What?"

"If I'm being honest, when I got with her I was just looking for…"

"A good snogging?"

"Well, yeah," Ron acknowledged. "It was great and all at first. But now it's gotten to the point that I'll do anything to stop her asking when she'll meet my mum."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Amused, he smiled and asked. "Anything, huh?"

Ron blushed furiously and quickly said, "That's not what I meant, bloody hell. No, no we haven't… you know."

"Well, I don't know. But yeah I know."

"You and Cho never did anything like…? Ah, nevermind."

"No, I told you. We kissed once."

"Right."

"Yeah." They descended into an awkward moment of silence. Ron looked like he wanted to say more but had thought better of it.

Harry made to open up his Potion's book when Ron suddenly blurted, "Lavender and I got close before Christmas."

"Oh?"

"It didn't end too well."

"Ah, I'm - er - sorry."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Ever since then she's been all over me."

"And that's … bad?"

"I don't know. Hasn't really been the same after that night."

"Oh."

"After you'd all left for the Slug Club Party, we went to one of those abandoned classrooms … Thought we'd try to get it in before we left for the break."

Harry sniggered.

"Shit. That's not what I - I just meant -"

"Yeah, I got it."

Ron burrowed his face in his hands again. When he spoke again his voice was muffled.

"Anyway I wasn't one hundred percent invested, if you know what I mean." Harry furrowed his eyebrows. Ron looked up and gestured vaguely. "Didn't - erm - rise to the occasion…"

"Ohh…"

"Yeah…"

"And she got… upset?"

"No, worse. Much worse."

"Oh?"

"She giggled," he said as if testifying in an ongoing investigation. "She giggled at me, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes and bit down painfully hard on his lips.

"Don't laugh," pleaded Ron.

Harry shook his head quickly and attempted to cover his whole face with his hand.

"You're laughing," Ron said matter-of-factly. Harry forced his eyes more closed still, now feeling tears on the rims of his eyes.

"You can't tell anyone. Blimey, especially not Hermione."

Harry took a deep breath to recover and cringed. "What kind of relationship do you imagine Hermione and I have that we would talk about your-"

"Just, promise."

"I promise." The two were silent for a stretch. Ron's forehead was in his hands and Harry looked on with pity before realization struck. "Hang on, you said this was the night of Slughorn's Party?"

"Yeah…"

"The party where Hermione took McLaggen as a date?"

"Well…"

"Fucking hell, Ron," said Harry, ducking his head and shaking it side to side.

"What?"

"Were thinking about Hermione taking McLaggen to the party?"

"Well I just couldn't figure out why she'd take him!"

"She wanted to go with you, you dolt, before you took up with Lavender!"

"I couldn't go with her, not after she snogged Krum!" Ron nearly yelled, then scanned the room to ensure no one had heard.

"That was years ago."

"Still. She did it, didn't she?"

"You're mental."

"What am I supposed to do, Harry? She won't even talk to me now."

"Ditch Lavender, for starters."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"She'll expect me to apologize for everything. But that means I have to tell her about what Ginny said about her snogging Krum. So even if I split up with Lavender, she'll still be cross with me."

"I reckon Ginny's already told her," said Harry matter of factly.

"You do?"

"Sure, girls talk like that. Don't they?"

"I suppose… I just never thought of Ginny as a proper girl though."

"As opposed to what? A house elf?"

"I dunno. Whenever I look at her I just see the little kid who made us draw Chocolate Frog Cards out of mum's witch's hat. She made us dress up and put on these mock duels."

An easy smile slid across Harry's face as he imagined it.

That's adorable.

"What? We all had to do it. Mum and dad let her take over the entire first floor of the Burrow."

Harry couldn't think of an adequate response, so he stared back down at his copy of the Prince's book. His mind strayed again to his conversation with Ginny before Ron had shown up. He tried to push it out of his mind, knowing it would just come back to replay itself over and over again. What if he had just said he wanted to be more than friends, how would she have responded?

"You really fucked up, mate."

"Yeah, I know," said Ron, sounding dejected. "Can I ask you something, Harry?"

"Sure."

"You and Hermione…?"

"We're friends, Ron. We're just friends."

Friends.

There were many things about death that his friends couldn't understand. If they did, they wouldn't accuse him of having a "people saving thing" like it was anything other than a reasonable response to having lost so many. They didn't get that when someone dies, it's not only the person you lose but the tangibility of their presence in the world. New and present manifestations of that person were lost forever. You couldn't send a letter and expect a response. You couldn't make plans and look forward to the next time you'd see them again. You couldn't feel them hug you without having to relive it in an incomplete memory.

All his life, he longed for some unknown family member to come save him from the Dursleys. Some long lost person who did actually want him, but just couldn't get to him somehow.

That person was Sirius.

Meeting his godfather at thirteen was an actualization of fantasies thought up in a dark cupboard under the stairs. Finally, there was an adult that was just his. Someone to which he could belong. Someone that understood him because their life was similarly destroyed after James and Lily's death. But Harry's chance had now disappeared through the Veil. He'd gone and irreparably fucked it up. There was no longer hope for him to have some semblance of family for his own. Now he had to navigate this world without that type of love once again. He was back to being the odd one out. An orphan. Aimlessly unattached and unwanted.

There were times when the grief demanded to be felt, yet he had to go about pretending to be normal. Playing his part in a deeply depressing play. Shower. Brush teeth. Do homework. Go to meals. Go to sleep - or not. Repeat.

Distraction, that was easiest. Tailing and investigating Malfoy. Flying faster and faster so the sound of the wind was all that filled his ears. Watching Ginny's hair and all the ways it moved to catch the light. That's why he loved when she kept it down, it was so mesmerizing to watch.

Sirius' words would catch him at the most unpredictable times: "It's cruel that I got to spend so much time with James and Lily, and you so little. But know this; the ones that love us never really leave us. And you can always find them in here."

He should have asked Sirius more questions about his parents. He should have asked about every little detail. What did they talk about? Did they have any inside jokes? What were they? Had they been happy? Maybe this summer he could sit down with Lupin and ask more questions.

That night in the graveyard, was it actually them? Or had it been just a memory of them? A reflection of what they might say, but not truly them. Were they watching? Could they see? Did they know how this might end?

He wished even for just one conversation with them. Or maybe he didn't. Because with his parents, he'd never known it - palpable love. He could imagine what it would have been like, but it was all a contrived daydream. With Sirius, he had known it and lost it. And it was his fault. He didn't want to find them just in his heart, he desperately desired to find them outside of himself. To have them guide him where to go next. To be around him, surrounding him with comfort he'd never fully known.

So when they levitated Ron's limp body onto the stretcher for the hospital wing, it wasn't hard for Harry to imagine the earth shattering grief that would have followed if not for the bezoar. After stuffing the little stone down Ron's throat, he'd sprinted to the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey. Luckily it was not far from Slughorn's office, and when they arrived back McGonagall was leaning over Ron's limp body casting various spells. Professor Slughorn continued to be in a state of shock, but had carefully moved the bottle of mead clear across the room.

Harry numbly followed McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and Ron laid out on the floating stretcher to the hospital wing. His mind blank, heart racing and stomach curdling. He didn't know how he would navigate this world, the world without him.

Ron was his most important person. His first and best friend. His brother. None of this was possible without Ron. He brought Harry outside of himself - and his spiraling internal monologue - to make him laugh and feel whole. Losing Ron wouldn't be something he could come back from.

He'd dive into the lake every day - or stuff a bezoar down his throat - to save Ron if he had to, because anything else would be impossible to live with.

"I'll go retrieve Albus," said McGonagall.

"And Ginny… And Hermione?" Harry asked. She nodded and placed a steadying hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Potter, you'll have to wait out here," said Madam Pomfrey. And without waiting for his response, she shut the entrance to the hospital wing with a flourish of her wand.