Harry POV. Please review!!

Disclaimer: If I was J.K. Rowling, I would be doing something much cooler right now than posting fanfiction.

The sound of his footsteps echoed hollowly as he climbed the staircase towards Gryffindor common room. All around him was silence, the type of silence that just rests in the air and blows across your cheek, peaceful and calming. He could still hear the faint sounds of the mourning and celebrating that was taking place in Great Hall, but he felt entirely disconnected from it now, as if he was a hearing it from a great distance away. His exhaustion weighted against him, refusing to be ignored any longer, and he felt a mixed sense of relief and sweet remembrance as he climbed through the portrait hole: The door was ajar, the Fat Lady nowhere to be seen.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he slept, truly slept. The last time he let himself rest with the knowledge that there was nothing that needed to be done the next day—nowhere to flee to, no one to fight.

His hands were black with dirt and bloodied, and his stomach growled distantly, filling him with blissful images of hot showers and steaming plates of food sitting on the countertops at the Burrow.

He smiled as he reached for the doorknob, pushing into the room.

His breath caught in his throat like a rope pulled taut, and he stopped in his tracks.

It was dark in here, despite the glowing morning outside, because of the thick dark drapes that hung in the windows. A single ray of light reached in through a crack, falling across her face. She looked up at him from where she sat on the floor in front of his bed and her hair fell in front of her eyes, catching the light.

They stared at each other.

"Hi," he said finally.

She smiled, but just barely. Harry could see the streaks left from tears on her cheeks.

"Hi, Harry."

Tentatively, he walked towards her. She remained impossibly still, a girl of shadows, seemingly less than substantial. Her hair glowed rebelliously in the half-darkness.

He had reached her.

He couldn't think.

"It's over," she said without looking at him.

Harry sat down beside her.

"I know."

"He's dead."

"He is."

"And you… You're alive." Her eyes were on him now.

"I am."

His hand rested beside hers, about an inch away. Harry looked at her again.

"You look beautiful," he said without thinking.

"You're unbelievable!" Ginny exploded.

She bolted up and spun around, her hair whipping the air. Harry sat in the same position, shell-shocked. It only took him a second and then he was standing, facing her.

"I knew it! I knew it was you I heard in the woods! It was, wasn't it Harry?! You were going to him—you were going to die—"

Tears poured down her face.

"Ginny, listen to me, I need you to understand—" He reached for her, but she jumped away.

She backed away from his hand until she was pressed against the wall. Her eyes wide, she stared at him as if she had never truly seen him before.

"Ginny, please—"

The words tied themselves to the inside of his throat, his breath cut off. He found himself standing silently in the darkened room across from her as she slid down the wall, curling her knees into her chest and hiding her face.

"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Numbly, he moved across the floor towards her, and sunk down to where she was crying into her arms.

Harry had rarely seen her cry before.

"Gin," he whispered. He touched a finger to her cheek. She froze, lifting her face.

"No, I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm so…so…"

His words were cut off with a searing kiss.