I love this piece. I think it is a perfect embodiment of my writing and I just adore it. We just finished reading Romeo and Juliet in English class so I'm a bit stuck on this idea of love conquering all obstacles and what love has ever seen more obstacles than Harry and Ginny's? I don't think this is a new idea, per say, but I think I wrote this from the heart. I cried while writing this, I hope you do too, not in a mean way, but just because I hope this is one of those pieces that just make you feel. Enough rambling, remember to comment and critique! Well, happy reading!

If he closed his eyes he could see her, like a negative from a photo she was imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. He could see the skin only a shade darker than milk, he could see freckles dotting her skin (sun kisses, he thought with a smile), he could see pink lips that stretched into the most beautiful grin, and, of course he could see hair redder than fire. Her beauty was that of the moon, when shined upon she glowed. At first inspection, when he had only just received his letter to Hogwarts, she seemed plain and naive. Now he knew he had been the naive one, to have missed such a beauty at first.

He remembered the feeling of her body pressed tight up against his during dark stolen hours. How she moved so that so much of that pale flesh was in full contact with his skin, sending electric tingles of white hot shock through his system. She always did that to him, sent a current up his skin. Sometimes he suspected that she knew of her effect on him and was using it to her advantage. His fiery haired beauty could do no wrong in his eyes, even her small teasing and her abuse of vulnerability gave her an air similar to that of a kitten, adorable when angry but relatively harmless. That was not to say that she was harmless, quite the opposite, he smiled on the memory, she was such an accomplished witch, so able to cast spells but so unwilling to hurt those close to her. Like a kitten, he thought again, she was fiercely loyal and had the tendency to think that she could do anything if she just tried hard enough.

Flashes of images from days long gone passed through his head. He was being suffocated by the strength of the memories. Her hair, the texture of corn silk and the color of fire; her lips, soft and giving under his own; her body, once possessed by another but regained and carried with quiet dignity.

Images of an imagined future now hammered at him, Ginny in a wedding dress, the white making her glow in an ethereal way; Ginny holding a little child with red hair and green eyes; Ginny sprawled on a bed, clothing carelessly tossed to the carpeted floor. The force of his longing almost knocked him into a position that would mirror his imagined wife, the only difference being the lack of a bed and the addition of his clothing.

He wanted her; he wanted her so bad it hurt. It took every once of his concentration not to lunge at her still form. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and shower her with love.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…" A voice droned. Harry ignored it, instead favoring the burning feeling of longing he still held in the pit of his stomach. She was so close; if he leaned just a little forward he could reach out and touch her.

The warm air was fragrant with the scent of her flowers, lilies, he thought, her favorite. The sunlight that filtered down through the trees, dappling once it hit the grass-covered earth lit up her skin, making it glow. With a smile he realized that she had never looked this beautiful before. The curse had left no physical mark to be seen.

"To mourn the passing of Miss Ginerva Weasly." He wanted to grab the small man and shake him, tear him limb from limb. Miss? Miss? Had he not been running late, had he only come home a little faster, she would be Mrs. and, she would be alive. Wracked with guilt and shame and longing and more shame because of the untimely longing, he hunched over himself. Pitiful noises filled the space around him, sobs and hiccups and the kind of sniveling that should only be done in private. He could not identify the source of these noises; the mourners around him seemed to be holding themselves together. Impatiently, he wiped the salty wetness from his cheeks, realizing only when Hermione caught him in an awkward half embrace that he was the one sobbing. The only one. Once again he was wrought with the desire to hurt the people around him, the ones who weren't crying, did they understand that this was the last anyone would ever see her beautiful hair? Why weren't they mourning the eternal loss of her smile? Did they not love her like he did?

Looking around, he realized that they were all staring at him, not at the girl lying on the pedestal that they had all come here to mourn. They were watching him. Their eyes were accusatory, they were blaming him for her death, he knew.

"And now those closest to her would like to speak a few words." That was his cue, he knew it and yet he remained seated. Hermione, eyes glistening with tears, nudged him as if she believed he had simply forgotten to move. Oh, he hadn't forgotten to move, he had forgotten how to. Robotically, he stood. His legs felt stiff and alien to him as he traversed what, moments ago had seemed like mere inches, now seemed like miles. He came to a jarring halt right before the open coffin. From afar, she did look especially beautiful today, but, up-close he could see the aura of fakeness that exuded from her lifeless corpse. When she was alive, he thought painfully, she was always moving, playing with his hair, running, flying, fingers moving fast over an open notebook trying to make ideas and reality meet into one. Now, still, she looked like a fraud. A silly idea struck him, what if this was all a joke, what if the corpse he saw was just as puppet like as she appeared, when would the really Ginny pop out and yell, "Surprise!"?

"Go on, Harry," Hermione whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to a more tangible place. He could see the anticipation coming from the assembled audience; its glow lit them all with malice. Hermione nodded once more.

"Well," he started, the crowd collectively took a big breath of air, the sudden intake causing him to feel slightly light-headed, as if they took away all of the air that he was supposed to breathe. "Well, Ginny, she's gone." Tears were prickling his eyes, "she's gone and I hate that, I keep feeling like she's still here somewhere if I look hard enough. I think it's because she had this glow, she radiated happiness and energy. If she was really gone I feel like I would have felt it.

"I loved her. I did. And, I think she loved me. I was going to propose. On the night she was," for the first time his voice faltered, "on the night she was murdered. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her because she is the best person I have ever met. She is so kind, intelligent, thoughtful, playful, caring, and sympathetic. She loves; I mean loved, to fly, she always looked so free. Most of you know Ginny was an excellent competitor, not somebody you'd want on your bad side. She is, was, also so loyal and proud and sometimes too damn stubborn for her own good. Ginny never cheated, never lied. She was so transparent in that she never deceived. I wish everyone was like that.

"When I first met Ginny she was like a shadow, just flitting about. I wasted five years not noticing her. I looked right though her. One day I stopped and saw her. I've been in love with her since. I hate that I wasted her time. She didn't have much of it and I feel like my behavior towards her was unforgivable. Even before, even before she died I regretted not loving her every single day since the day I met her.

"I've lost a lot in my life, and I think it's taught me something. I think that I've learned nothing is forever and if we take too long we lose it. And, and that's a damn shame because when people like Ginny, when people like Ginny die it's like a candle being extinguished. No matter how many more flames you light none are going to burn quite like that. And Ginny burned so bright. I've lost a lot in my life; I think it's taught me how to love. Ginny didn't need to lose anyone to know that, I guess I'm just thicker than her. Ginny didn't need to lose anyone to learn how to love. Now, now we've all lost Ginny so we have no excuse. We all need to love. Ginny would have wanted it."

Slowly the applause started, he looked over at Mrs. Weasly's plump form to see the woman who was the closest thing he ever had to a mother hunched over, crying but clapping a smiling. His head ached with confusion, why was she so happy when it was such a sad time. Then he looked to the mass of heads assembled before him and saw watery smiles on every face. People were hugging, kissing, crying, and making declarations of love that, for some reason, did not seem inappropriate for the setting. Around him, people were learning the love. Ginny, he thought with a smile, Ginny would have wanted this.