Disclaimer: Harry ain't mine.


Ginny never regrets loving Harry.

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, sometimes, and then she spends hours holding him until he stops shaking, but she doesn't mind losing a little sleep.

He embraces her a little too tightly, a little too long, but the pain is mild and fleeting, and she reckons she isn't always gentle, either.

And maybe there's more desperation than tenderness in his kisses, but the end result is the same: Harry needs her, and she'll be there for him until the end of time and quite possibly beyond.

Because sometimes when they make love, when they're gasping and whispering endearments, when they're joined together so perfectly that Ginny forgets that they were ever apart, he looks at her and she meets his gaze...

...and it's like time stops, like they're living, moving inside a heartbeat, and her entire world becomes the passion in his eyes, passion and heat and love. And she draws in a ragged breath and leans down to trace her lips over his cheekbones, his temples, the hollow of his throat, tasting his skin and his sweat and the tears she's never really sure which of them shed...

...and he runs a hand through her hair, presses his face against her neck, murmurs quiet words of love and need...

And it's perfect, because it's Harry and it's her, and when she's with him she's complete.

She never regrets lost sleep, because she's living her dream.