Disclaimer: HP 'tis not mine. Truly.
Lying pale and vulnerable in an infirmary bed, Harry Potter had never looked less like a hero, and Ginny Weasley had never loved him more.
She sat by his side the whole night through, holding his hands in hers, willing his eyes to open. She couldn't lose him, she just couldn't.
God, how she loved him, far more than she would have ever thought possible a few years ago. She'd been so certain she was in love with him when she was eleven and twelve, but that had been nothing but a silly crush. What she felt now as opposed to what she'd felt then...well, it was like comparing a first year's lumos to a forest fire.
He wasn't a hero. He wasn't the Boy Who Lived. He wasn't the Golden Boy, or the Man Who Defeated Voldemort. He was Harry. Harry, the brave little boy who'd faced a basilisk to save his best friend's annoying little sister. He was Harry, so full of strength and anger and love that it was a wonder he didn't explode with it all.
He was her pigheaded, stubborn, rash, moron of a boyfriend, the boy she spent most of her time yelling at or snogging, the boy she'd do anything for, including grow up.
What she felt...it wasn't soft and fluffy, like Neville and Luna's relationship; it wasn't full of spite and aggravation, like Ron and Hermione's. It was hot and cold and fierce and it hurt like she'd never have imagined, but it was everything to her. When Harry looked at her, she blazed with his reflected light; when Harry smiled at her, she wanted to throw her head back and laugh in the sheer joy that came of his presence. When Harry touched her, she felt fit to combust, her heart got so full.
She loved him, really and truly.
And she couldn't lose him.
Ginny didn't cry, that night. She sat at his side hour after hour, pale and unwavering and strong, just like Harry had always been. She knew Harry, after all, and he wouldn't want her to cry. He'd want her to be smiling when he woke.
And he would wake up, no matter what Pomfrey and Dumbledore said. They didn't know Harry half as well as she did, and she knew without a doubt that he would never, ever give up. He'd promised her, anyway, that he'd always be there. Harry didn't go back on his promises.
His heart stopped beating at dawn.
Ginny didn't cry then, nor did she call the nurse. She clutched Harry's hands and gritted her teeth and willed him to wake, willed his lungs to draw breath, willed him to live. She gave everything she had- all her love for him, everything she'd ever felt for him- and then a little more, and somehow she wasn't surprised to feel the magic flowing from her, through their joined hands, and into Harry.
His body shimmered gold for a moment, and his chest rose and fell.
Ginny didn't cry when his eyes opened, because of course she'd known all along that he would return to her.
"Gin..." he whispered hoarsely, before his eyes fell shut and he fell back asleep.
And Ginny smiled, and tears filled her eyes and spilled over, and then she was sobbing into her Harry's chest. Because when all was said and done, a person with faith always has a little doubt mixed in, even if they ignore it.
But she didn't cry again, because Harry was alive and he was breathing, and everything would be all right.
From that day forward, she blazed with her own light, one that was just as bright as Harry's.