Title: "Seeking Ginny"

Author: Casca

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Through Goblet

Classification: Post-Hogwarts H/G, Post-HBP AU

Summary: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 

Author's Note:

 

Okay, I have gratitude to hand out. First off, to everyone who ever reviewed Seeking Ginny, including my faithful naggers. You all kept me going for – how long? – let's not count. Thank you, very much for all the reviews, the supportive comments, the not-so-supportive comments, countless nags, praising emails, threatening emails, song inspirations, outtakes, and just about any form flattery and encouragement. You all rock hard.

To Splatt, for helping this fic sound a helluva lot more British. Brian thanks you for not letting me turn him into an All-American jock and for giving him something stronger to drink than gingerbeer. ;)

To Emmyjean, without whom this fic would be a great deal longer (read:crappier), and who read, fixed and commented on every single draft of every single chapter, including the last one while she sat at my desk (sending me gleeful looks as she hit the delete button) eating egg rolls from the same restaurant where this fic was born… er, how many years ago? Again, let's not count.

The idea for this final chapter came with the very first version of this fic and throughout the ma-a-any drafts of the story, I always found a way to keep it in, because I love it so much. It certainly moved around, though, starting out at the beginning of the fic and changing to various parts of the middle, and is now, fittingly, in the final chapter. I hope you enjoy the ending to this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. There will be an epilogue in the near future to tie up loose ends left behind by all the side characters who made this story so fun to write. But make no mistake, this chapter is about Ginny finding what she seeks, the true aim of the fic.

On a final note, I can’t say enough how much it has meant to me these past few months, writing these final chapters, racing against time to finish, and knowing that getting to the end would mean the ultimate reward: book seven. The reason Harry Potter fanfiction is so rewarding is because it gives fans something to help soothe the wait for the next book and I feel both happy and sad to say that Seeking Ginny provided me with that up until the very end.

So here's to this weekend. The wait is over, my friends.

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

The warm summer air skimmed over Ginny's skin, rustling the strands of hair that had come loose from the haphazard knot pinned on top of her head. She scrawled her name across the parchment and sat back in her chair to read her short note, barely hearing the hum of chatter and clanging dishes that surrounded her. It was the sort of cloudless, sun kissed day that caused every witch and wizard in the city of Lacasse to flock outdoors and the little outdoor café, which overlooked a bright, trendy shopping quarter, was bustling.

Reaching out to nibble on a buttery croissant, she glanced up as Maurice hooted and stuck out his leg, blinking at her expectantly. As though he had sensed that his mistress would be needing his services, he had joined her at the café not ten minutes after she'd sat down, his beak full from the previous night's hunt. He was a smart owl, she thought to herself, petting him where he liked it. But even as he hooted again, perhaps to let her know that reading the three short sentences more than ten was times was a bit foolish, Ginny merely continued stroking the top of his head, and let her eyes find the beginning of the letter again.

The note was simple and scrawled casually on a small piece of plain parchment. It had been an impulsive thought this morning as she had rolled out of bed and saw the date on her calendar. After stopping at the bakery to pick up a small box of sweets to attach to the note, she'd settled herself at the café with parchment and quill and let the impulse lead the way. But nearly thirty minutes later, as she ran the plum feather across her chin thoughtfully, she remembered that having an impulse to do something and actually doing it were two very separate things.

How often she forgot that.

A distraction arrived then in the way of a laughing group of teenagers, passing through on flashy-looking broomsticks. Ginny let herself watch them as they tried to eat melting ice cream cones while riding in speedy circles around the quarter, shoppers darting out of the way and vendor owners shouting after them. Giving a little laugh, she finally cast her eyes back down to the letter… and her smile faltered.

"It's Harry's birthday today," she mumbled to Maurice. "Should I send him a birthday wish? Or should I just…not?"

But her owl merely turned his head to peer at her upside down.

"I know it's stupid to be so conflicted." She chewed on her lip. "I mean it's only a small gesture on his birthday. Nothing more."

Maurice hooted then, and it sounded like a low purr. Ginny studied him for a long moment… and decided to stop thinking. She attached the note to a small box of sweets and, ignoring the nervous twist in gut, tied everything to Maurice.

"Be fast, all right?"

With another encouraging "hoo!", her owl dipped his wings and set off into the clear blue sky.

Pushing aside the uneasy jolt in her stomach, Ginny took another bite of croissant. It was okay, she reminded herself. It was just a birthday wish… and a rather big step, she acknowledged with a little twinge of pride.

Unable to stop the sudden smile, she nodded when a server came around and offered to refill her lemonade. Nestling further into her chair, she took a long, draining sip of the refreshing drink and closed her eyes briefly.

Work had been hectic over the last few weeks and she was beginning to feel the repercussions on her body now, during the two day reprieve her team had been given to recuperate from their heavy July schedule. After months of touring only local lakes and rivers, Ginny's team at the Ministry had finally been assigned research assignments outside of France. There had been several excursions to various bodies of water during June, but the two explorations that had been lined up for July had been the longest and most intense yet.

The first had been in Ireland where the team had spent nearly ten full days touring the bottom of the Celtic, where they'd met some of the most disturbing-looking merpeople Ginny had ever seen. The second assignment had been accompanied with a great deal more excitement than the first, with the opportunity to spend more than two weeks on the beautiful island of Santorini, Greece.  

Visiting Ireland had been a fantastic experience, and Ginny had instantly felt at home in the pubs and small inns that reminded her very acutely of England… but Santorini had been an experience unlike any in her life. Work had been tough, the hours long, but nights had been open for the team to do as they pleased and she had taken advantage of every single evening. She savored the wonderful food at dinner, felt the foamy waves of sea crash against her feet during walks on the black pebble beaches, and basked in the salty sea air on her little balcony before bedtime.

As the teenagers circled around again, distracting a nearby toddler who decided it would be fun to try and grab hold of one broom's bristles, Ginny rubbed a finger absentmindedly along her nose where the sunburn was already beginning to peel. She spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the shops and vendors and after a few hours of wonderful laziness, she paid a visit to the grocer to pick up something to fix for dinner, then hopped on her magically-enhanced bicycle to fly home.

Her flat was located on a road called Rue Perenelle, in a historical section of the city. It was named after Perenelle Flamel, who had occupied a flat there in the fourteenth century. Due to its history, the area often overflowed with crowds of tourists gazing up at buildings, referring to leaflets and walking slower than normal to take in the architecture.

"Have we another live 'un, then?" came a formal, gruff voice as Ginny sealed her bicycle to the fence with a tap of her wand and glanced behind her.

"Hello, your grace," she said, smiling at the translucent, pearly ghost who had spoken. 

He had introduced himself when Ginny had first moved in as his grace, the Duke of Poldark, reminding her that even though he was not among the living anymore, he was still a nobleman and should be addressed as such. He quietly haunted the basement of her building, and spent most afternoons entertaining tourists outside.

"The sky and the crowds suggest a lovely summer day," he said pleasantly. "I see the sun agreed with you in – where was it, then? Ah, yes, I remember. The Greek Isles, is that right?"

Ginny grinned as she walked up the cobblestone path to the stairs leading into her building and stopped for a moment to chat about her trip. An hour later, she remained in the same place, now seated on a cool stone step, regaling the ghost with bit by bit explanations of her voyages below the sea as the sun made it's slow descent into the distance. It was reassuring to know that she did not have to work the following day, although there was quite a bit of sleep she needed to catch up on if she didn’t want to pass out at the bottom of Lake Lachrymose during her next dive.

"Any news on the Apparition Laws?" she asked when she was left with no more stories to tell.

The Duke nodded importantly. "They're saying that the rumors are true… by autumn, all of the International Apparition Laws will be collapsed."

Ginny stared. She had thought it was just a rumor… but apparently, it was looking as though to be true. No more Apparition Laws meant no more queues and that meant visiting home in the blink of an eye. The thought should have caused her a great deal of joy… but she felt an odd sort of apprehension that the barriers between France and England would soon vanish.

Before excusing herself, she asked the duke, "Do try not to let any live 'uns near my dragon flowers. I haven’t fed them yet and they tend to… erm, bite living flesh when they're hungry," 

The duke peered down his nose at her small patch of dragon flowers and other various plants that she'd been attempting to keep alive all summer. It had been an ambitious project and hadn’t gone over too well, considering that she hadn’t been home to supervise them for nearly all of July…not to mention that one particular flower kept eating the others.

Her apartment consisted of only one room aside from the tiny kitchen and even tinier bathroom. But there were nooks and areas were the ceiling sloped to create small crannies, offering charm and, more importantly, places to put her things. Her bed occupied the largest alcove and another nook held a small round table and three mis-matched chairs - her very first dining room. Huge shafts of light poured in from the high windows, reflecting off the different angles of the ceiling, and casting an almost golden glow to the dark wood floor and red paneled walls.

Her favorite part, however, was the wall leading towards the kitchen. She had started pinning photographs to it when she'd first moved in and a few months later, nearly the entire wall was cluttered with moving faces of all the people in her life. She liked the little flat because it was her own and the things inside of it – such as an overstuffed chair Brian had given her from the old flat, and a bookshelf from her bedroom at the Burrow – made it a culmination of all of her worlds in one crammed, inviting space.

Later that night, after showering and just before climbing into bed, Ginny went down to feed her dragon flowers, hoping that they hadn’t eaten all of the other flowers. But alas—

"You rotten scoundrels, you've killed my purring petunias," she exclaimed, taking in the horrid sight of the slaughtered petals lying in a heap on the dirt. Little red bulbs shaped as dragon snouts straightened at once when she spoke and began aiming angry snaps at thin air. "Oh, the poor, innocent—well, I'll have you know that I fully realize where the problem lies in this little garden," she said to the dragons, who reared up at her tone, "and it's you lot—ouch!"

She cried out as the dragon flower launched, planting two razor-sharp teeth into the flesh of her hand.

"Right, that about does it," she said furiously, yanking out her wand, but something on the walkway caught her eye. A dark figure was standing just behind the gate… looking directly at her.

Startled, her heart clapped once against her ribs and for a moment, she merely peered down the little pathway, wondering if she should call out. But then her eyes adjusted… and from across the small path, through the slits of the tall fence, sure enough, her eyes found his.

There was a silent, momentary pause, and then,

"Hey."

Her eyes closed briefly. His voice.

"Hi," she found herself calling back a moment later, sounding dumbfounded, and after another lengthy pause in which a view of herself in her ripped Cannon's shirt and mismatched pajama shorts flashed painfully in her head, she hurried down the walkway, careful of the cobblestone beneath her bare feet, and approached the gate.

He was right there, her mind screamed, as she reached for the lock and tapped a code against it with her wand. She could literally feel him through the fence as though his body exuded some sort of palpable energy. The lock sprang free at once and she pulled the heavy, wrought-iron gate open with a long creek.

His eyes. They weren't supposed to be in Paris, she though dimly, as he spoke again with a simple,

"Hey. All right?"

"Yeah," she said, returning his nervous smile…and because it was all she could think to say, "Happy Birthday."

A warm light came onto his face. "Thank you." He paused. "I hope you don’t mind my showing up here. I got your note and the sweets…thanks for that, by the way… and I just decided to come by and… see you."

Her heart rate quickened a bit at his choice of words. "Oh… no, it's fine," she rushed to assure him, stepping back to let him through the gate. It closed with a resounding bang. "I was just surprised, but then… you don't need to wait in queue to Apparate, do you."

"Right and… well, it was either come here, or let Fred and George drag me to every pub on High Street to celebrate, and I've, er… done that one time too many this month."

"Have you?" she said on a laugh.

He nodded. "It's… not something I enjoy reliving, but yeah."

She smiled, and tucked her hair behind her ears. "D'you want to come in?"

"Oh, no, I don’t want to put you out or anything, we can just… it's nice out here."

"It is," she agreed, feeling more than a little relieved as she gestured towards the stairs.

"You just came back from Greece, right? Yesterday?" Harry asked as they walked up the pathway and Ginny looked up at him, and asked,

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Your mum. It's been the talk of the Burrow. Everyone is really jealous."

"Ah," she said, sinking down onto one of the steps, "Yeah, it was really beautiful. The work was hard, but it was worth it."

Harry didn’t join her on the steps, but merely stood with his hands in his pockets, and peered up at the building. "Your new flat?" he asked, glancing down at her.

She lifted a brow. "I take it Mum has been talking about that as well?" she asked. "She does go on, doesn’t she, that I'm living in a strange city with nobody to protect me."

"Actually, she's had only good things to say about you. I asked her for your address after my birthday dinner tonight."

"Ah," she said again, flushing for some reason as she imagined that conversation, then drew her knees up to wrap her arms around them. "Did she make all your favorites?"

"She did," he nodded, watching her. "D'you miss her?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "But don’t tell her."

Smiling, he took a seat next to her on the step. "I won't."

They looked out to the road, where a group of people passed by, their eyes roaming over the building as they muttered something about the architecture. After a while, Ginny summoned some iced butterbeer from her cupboard upstairs, and a somewhat easy silence slipped between them as they drank from the dark bottles.

"Things have been… okay here?" he asked after a while, finishing off his drink.

She had been playing with the red polish on her toenails where it had chipped a bit, and she looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah… they have. Work has kept me really busy."

"D'you like the people you work with?" he asked, and she nodded, and told him about her team of five linguists. 

It was odd, she couldn’t help thinking as they chatted back and forth about things ranging from work to the family to the Quidditch World Cup which was approaching … but she and Harry seemed almost… at ease together. Of course, the moment she thought it, his elbow accidentally brushed hers and sent electric jolts shooting through her body. But that was to be expected. It was just comforting, she decided, to know that even though things were still awkward and probably would always be a bit, they could still do simple things like…drink a butterbeer together. 

"I'd like to take something back," she said suddenly and he turned to look at her curiously. "Something that I said to you in my bedroom that night."

His eyes changed at the mention of it, and she looked down, brushing a little fly off her knee.

"When I said that we… can’t be friends…" She trailed off carefully, trying to think of a way to put it. Suddenly, she wanted him to know everything she had been vowing to herself. How she had done away with her rules, how she knew that she had been hiding from him and she wanted to stop. And most of all she wanted him to know that if he felt the urge to stop by her flat in Paris, he didn’t have to search for an excuse to do so.

But when she glanced up at him, he looked her with quiet understanding in his familiar face… and she knew that she didn’t have to explain anything. It was Harry and there were some things that he understood. So she looked back down to her toes, and said simply,

"I want to take that back."

There was a momentary pause, and then he said, his voice a bit strained, "Right, well… it's not something that you can control is it?" he asked, and she looked up to find his gaze fixed unwaveringly on something across the path. "I mean… we just sort of … are what we are. Nothing can change us, can it?"

He brought his eyes back to hers and a delicate chill crept down the back of her neck. It was absurd, and yet…the deadpan look on his face and the unwavering tone of his voice made her feel oddly challenged.

"I suppose not," she said finally. She wanted to be frightened by the sudden shift in energy between them… but she found herself meeting his gaze head on.

"There's something I've been thinking about," he said abruptly.

It was difficult, but she kept her eyes steady on his as he paused, and then continued, "It has to do with something that you told me… when I was in the hospital that night… after Devon Forthwright was killed."

She tried not to swallow as her mind flew back to that time. But it was nearly impossible to think about the things they had talked about in that hospital room…especially while his eyes were on hers.

"You said something about… about that museum in France… the Louvre?"

There was a moment where confusion leaked in, and then she murmured, "What?"

He looked down, and Ginny watched him pick up his empty bottle and twirled it between his hands. "You said that you've always wanted to go in there at night," he muttered, "After they closed, without the hassle of the crowds… didn’t you?"

"I…yeah, I suppose I did."

He waited a beat. "Right, so…why don’t we go?"

Ginny looked at him. "To the Louvre?"

"Yeah," he said, and she watched him continue his slow twirl of the bottle back and forth between his hands… until his hands weren't touching it anymore but merely floating it between them. "Why not?" he asked, glancing up at her; the bottle dropped as he turned his eyes away from it, and he caught it between two fingers.

"I… of course we can go," she said, and her heart began to pound. "When?"

He looked up at her, his turn to be confused. "Er… now?"

Her brow snapped together. "Now? But…" And then, as though he had placed an enchantment on her, she understood at once. Her heart increased its tempo rapidly. "Oh… oh, you mean… d'you know someone who can let us in after hours?"

 Harry cleared his throat. "Well, not exactly. I looked into it before I came here, and the security system seems rather simple to bring down from the outside. Once we're in, I can reset the parameter alarms and—"

"Wait." Her eyes widened. "You mean… break in?"

"For… lack of a better phrase…."

"And if… by some chance, we happen to get caught breaking into this very, very important museum…?"

He looked stung. "We won’t get caught."

Ginny simply stared. He wanted to break into the Louvre—the Louvre, whose security was supposedly tighter than that of the Ministry's—because she had once made an offhanded comment about visiting after closing? It was absurd, and yet…

"You want to go, don’t you," came his voice and Ginny realized that he was watching her with a knowing smile in his eyes.

She did. And she realized that the shocked bewilderment that had taken her over was covering up quite a bit of fear.

"I … I don’t know, I…" It was all she could manage because that… thing was creeping in suddenly… that ugly, familiar thing that always made her so ashamed to be tempted by him. It always came back, she realized dully, and wrapped her fingers around her pendant at her neck. No matter how deeply she vowed not to listen to it anymore, no matter what she told herself…when faced with Harry… it was always came back. 

"Hey."

She jumped. He had nudged her arm lightly. She realized that she had been staring into space and was certain that the look on her face reflected the increasing doubt that was tightening in her chest.

"Go on," he said, his voice like a low, gentle caress that somehow managed to reach her despite her internal struggle. "Put on some shoes. Let's go."

There was a momentary pause where she stared blindly at the bottle dangling from his hand… and then, quietly, she nodded.

"Okay." 

 

~*~

 

The nagging doubt or guilt or shame or whatever it was that tried to change her mind about coming with Harry didn't cease until Ginny made a conscious decision to ignore it… and even then, it still lurked about, ready to pounce should she want an excuse to go back. When they appeared on the grounds of the Louvre, however, she knew that she wasn't going back.

 She had been to the Louvre several times while studying in Paris but that didn’t stop her from being taken aback by the beauty of it at that moment. They Apparated right into the Tuileries, a vast park that surrounded the Louvre. Ginny looked around at the tall lampposts that dotted the grounds, illuminating the many grand gardens, the mazes of shrubbery, the tree-lined paths, and hundreds of sculptures. Beyond the park, against the night sky, was the palace of the Louvre, its ornate wings in colors of cream and pale blue stretching out across the massive grounds.

Nighttime cast an eerie spell over the place, she thought to herself. The surrounding atmosphere seemed almost ethereal with the fountains still bubbling brightly, the lampposts casting pools of light over the greenery, and the windows of the palace glinting invitingly. 

No, she wasn't going anywhere, she decided at once. The decision seemed somehow easier to make here.

"There's supposed to be a separate entrance to the magical wing, something about a carousel?" Harry asked, looking around and Ginny lead the way around an enormous round pond. In the daylight, groups of people would be milled around it, sailing miniature sailboats attached to sticks that were available to rent from a colorful cart, now packed away for the night.

"Peering across the river, as though she might see a stray sailboat floating across its surface, but the reflection of something else caught her eye… and made her stop short. 

"Harry, there are guards over there," she whispered. "The park is opened later than the Louvre, but it must be closed by now—"

"I know," he said, keeping his voice light, and she barely caught the flashes of light sparking from his wand, which he held loosely at his side. She stared in awe for a moment before he urged her,

"Where's the carousel?"

"Oh, right." She whirled around. "It's down there."

After what seemed like a very long walk, with Harry modifying the memory of every guard in the park, the carousel's glowing lights came into view, appearing as though it was a figment of imagination, its painted horses oddly bright against the dark sky and the trees that surrounded it. But they didn’t have much time to be enraptured by the beauty of carved horses. 

Once inside, Harry quickly became aware that the security systems were a bit more complex than he had thought. While he hastily worked through the interior barriers, Ginny waited in a long hall filled with hundreds of life-sized bronze sculptures of centaurs. They were moving sculptures, charmed to follow the occupants of the room with their pointed arrows. Since she was the only person in the room, every single centaur pointed their respective arrow straight at her head.

This could be rather damaging to a young child, she thought to herself, testing them by crouching down suddenly. The bronze figures flew into position, their faces furious, as they slashed downward with their arrows, aiming directly towards her. Slowly, she stood… and slowly, they followed her.

"Right, we're not going to be able to go into the Muggle section," came Harry's irritated voice, and when he walked crisply into the room, half the centaurs flew up on hind legs to take aim at him. He cast them a look, and continued to rant about something called laser beams that he would not be able to disarm without backup.

"But we can walk around the magical section without a problem?" she asked.

"Yeah, I've managed to bring down the entire wing, so we can see the lot. But damn…we came all the way here..."

"Look, Harry, we can come back to the Muggle section another time. We won’t even be able to get through half of the magic part tonight, anyway. So...what shall we see first?"

He huffed out a breath, looking as though he wanted to continue complaining, and then peered at the map he had opened.

"It's a lot of art," he commented after they had stared at the complex pages for several silent minutes. She looked at Harry and saw that he still appeared a bit riled from the security hassle, so she grabbed the map from his hand and folded it up. 

"Here's a thought - why don’t we chuck the maps and have a go on our own? In fact…" She trailed off, tucking the map in the back pocket of her jeans, and stepping cautiously towards one particular centaur that she hadn't noticed before. The bronze figure was the only one in the two long rows of centaurs than did not have its arrow pointing between her eyes. It was the only one that didn’t move, she discovered, waving her hand over his face. It was frozen, its arrow aimed directly to the floor.

She stepped forward and crouched down, and as the sculptures followed her with their arrows, Harry remarked,

"These things are creepy."

"I know there are secret passages to hidden rooms," Ginny muttered, her eyes roaming over the stone tiles of the floor. "There's actually an entire map devoted to how to get to them… I wonder if…" On a whim, she tapped the slab of stone beneath the frozen centaur's arrow with her wand… then leapt back. She and Harry watched it glow red for a moment… and then twist and turn as a wide opening appeared.

"It's a staircase," he said, peering down.

"Well, let's go then," she urged and he looked back at her, his eyes wary.

"Right, stay behind me, then," he said in a resigned voice, as they descended the steep, wooden steps that creaked beneath their feet. He glanced behind once and said, in a bit of a scolding voice, "Where's your wand?"

"Why?" she asked in surprise. "Are there guards on duty at night?"

"No, but…just have it at the ready, will you?"

She didn’t know if he was being overly-cautious or just plain smart, but she pulled her wand out to make him happy and they continued to descend until their feet landed on firm ground. The sight that greeted them caused them both to stand stock still, in complete and utter amazement.

They were in a forest … a vast jungle of massive thicket and winding paths that cut through bunches of soaring trees and across babbling brooks. The branches on the tress, and the leaves that littered the floor moved in a soft wind that Ginny could literally feel on her skin as overhead, birds of all sizes flew from branch to branch against a ceiling that was bewitched to look like an endless night sky.

The fact that a forest of this magnitude had appeared underneath a hall, inside a museum was not why Ginny was breathless with amazement or why Harry muttered a soft, "Whoa," as his eyes scoured the place. The true magnificence of the room was that every single tree that towered above them, every flower blooming from the bushes, every flittering bird and even the cluster of unicorns that peeked out from behind a massive tree trunk were entirely carved in glimmering, white marble.

 A plaque stood under a willow tree near a small creak made of smooth, flowing marble that looked almost like shimmery milk, and Ginny stepped up to it, her eyes scanning over a description of the work and Italian sculptor who had created it.

They stayed in the forest for nearly an hour, such was the sheer size and fine detail of the room. She had just stepped into a small glade where the white trees made a sort of cocoon filled with intricately carved fairies zooming around a glistening pond, when Harry found her.

"We should probably move on." He sounded rather reluctant and Ginny didn't blame him. She would gladly spend another hour traveling through the white forest, but there was still so much more to see.

After they returned to the centaur hall, they wandered around, now feeling as though they were in a proper art museum. They passed through rooms filled with sculptures, busts, and wall carvings depicting things that ranged from famous battle scenes to magical creatures and famous witches or wizards. A massive fountain of black stone portrayed a particularly famous goblin rebellion and took up a handsome, high-ceilinged room of gold paneled walls. Many rooms, laden with lavish antique furniture dated from many different centuries, appeared as though they were actual rooms in a grand palace; she and Harry walked across a magnificent ballroom, a billiard room, a conservatory bursting with genuine greenery, even a bedroom, with a canopy bed of pink chiffon that was as tall as the ceiling.

There were paintings, of course, of many sizes and shapes, some covering entire walls, some very tiny and packed in with hundreds of others. Many of the portraits spoke, but most were strictly formal and charmed never to speak, travel to other frames, or make sudden movements. They entered a particularly dark room with medieval torches flickering against gray stone walls, and the paintings were spaced evenly throughout in opulent frames.

"It's famous castles," Ginny commented, when she noticed a common thread in each one. "I wonder if—"

"Here it is," Harry said. She turned and looked where he was pointing…he'd known exactly what she'd been hoping to see.

There was Hogwarts, immortalized against an oil-stroked night sky, all solid structure and sheltered fortress. The wave of homesickness she felt surprised her as her eyes roamed over the familiar turrets and grounds, up to Gryffindor tower and the flickering lights inside, then down to the tall oak doors. In her mind, she walked through them, flew up the main stairs, skipping the trick step, and opened the tapestry to take the familiar shortcut to the Fat Lady. It was such a vivid image in her head, it seemed incomprehensible that she would never do it again.

"Have you been back recently?" she asked Harry, glancing at him from the corner of her eye and noticing that he, too had left the Louvre and was somewhere inside the castle.

He shook his head, muttered, "No… not for… a while."

"Hmm… you know, perhaps next time I take a trip home, I'll pay a visit. I'd like to see the professors and have tea with Hagrid." She sent him a smile. "Pretend like I still live there."

He smirked. "Play Quidditch."

"Oh," she breathed, "Yeah…Quidditch."

"D'you know that I never fly anymore?" he asked, shaking his head at himself. "It’s a ruddy shame."

She chuckled, then agreed, "It is a shame. I fly on my bicycle all the time, but it's just not the same as a broom."

A sudden slow grin appeared on Harry's face, and he slanted her a peculiar look. "The same bicycle your dad made for you?"

"Yeah… why?"

His shout of sudden laughter rang out in the dark room. "I remember when he was putting that bloody thing together. I installed the Invisibility Booster, does it work all right?"

Ginny's eyes lifted in surprise. "You helped him make my bicycle?" 

"No, I only added the Invisibility Charm. He always had trouble with that," Harry smirked. "So… you ride it along the roads in Paris, do you?"

Lifting a brow, she merely said, "Right, I know when you're trying not to laugh, so have at it, then. Tear the mickey out, you're practically dying to."

"Sorry, but it's funny because… well, there's this film—"

"Yes, yes, Sarah told me all about it, the witch who rides around on a flying bicycle in the sky and… cackles or something—"

Another loud crack of laughter issued from him.

"Anyway, I don’t have a yellow face like she supposedly—"

"Green," he corrected her. "She had a green face,"

"Well, I don’t have a green face, either!" 

Harry's grin was a mile wide. "Hey, d'you know what we should do? Next time you're home? We should arrange a game. With everyone."

Her lips parted in surprise. "A Quidditch game?" She stared at him for a moment before letting out an astonished laugh. "I would love to have a game," she finally exclaimed. "But a real game, mind, not the rubbish we used to carry on with in the glen—"

"We can arrange two teams, no problem," he said.

"Oooh, we can make a day of it, have a party afterwards for everyone—"

"We can even set up seating and invite people to the game—"

"Or—wait." The adrenaline in her system reared. "What if we did it once a month or so? You know, we can plan the games ahead of time, so everyone can clear their schedules. I would absolutely wait in queue once a month if it meant Quidditch."

Harry shoved his glasses up his nose, his eyebrows high. "Like… a league or something?"

"Yeah," she breathed, a familiar thrill racing up her spine. "A league. Ron would wait in queue once a month also – or d'you think he and Hermione will be home soon?"

"Another year or so, they think… but - Ginny, didn’t you hear?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up. "You won’t have to wait in queue anymore, the laws are being lifted."

Through the excitement, Ginny felt a dip in her abdomen. "So…it's really true, then?"

He met her eyes, and after a moment, he said, his voice soft, "Yeah… yeah, the laws will be gone by the end of next month."

The end of next month? The duke had said it would be Autumn. Ginny stared for a moment and then let out a low whistle, her eyes shifting in thought. "Wow."

"Yeah, it's… well, terrible news if you're an auror or a member of any type of magical law enforcement," he said dryly. "But if … you're someone who lives far from home…" He paused and she saw that he knew exactly what prevented her from being completely thrilled. "It'll change everything," he finished.

"Right… it's fantastic news," she nodded as though trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter that the distance barrier between herself and Harry would completely vanish. She had already vowed to herself that she would be active in eliminating any remaining barriers between the two of them anyway, hadn’t she?

Harry had gone quiet and turned to look at the castle again.

"It will be great," she said, following his gaze to Hogwarts, her eyes lingering on the black lake. "I can visit home whenever I want… have breakfast with Mum before work… come to Sunday tea… " She sent him a sudden grin. "And be star Chaser of the biggest up and coming Quidditch league of the century."

Harry looked at her and slowly his grin grew until it matched hers.

 

~*~

 

"Harry, I'm going to go in this room on the left – Wizards of Eminence," she called to him a bit later, after touring several more rooms. Not very keen on standing with him while he stared at a large portrait of half-naked veela, she ventured off on her own, stepping into a massive, octagon-shaped room, its cathedral ceiling made of pale aqua glass that glinted from the candles in one enormous, floating chandelier. Each side of the octagon was carved with a deep alcove where titanic-sized portraits of distinguished witches and wizards floated in mid-air.

She walked slowly through, gazing up at some of the biggest paintings she had ever seen, so enormous, their occupants were almost twice her size. She stopped to read the plaque of a portrait that depicted an ancient-looking wizard wearing a white wig, who was riding a horse with a scaly dragon hide hanging off. She came to a halt, however, at one of the more lavish alcoves where four paintings hung, each depicting one of the four founders of Hogwarts, all favorably depicted in glorious frames that matched each founder's house colors. 

And in the very front, a single painting that was larger than the other four hung magnificently, and a surprised smile came onto Ginny's face. She allowed herself a lingering look at the white-bearded wizard with twinkling blue eyes and half-moon spectacles, before deciding that she needed to go and retrieve Harry. She didn’t want him to miss this room.

But when she entered the large octagon, something towards the side caught her eye and she had to look twice at it before her she came to a crashing halt.  It was another portrait displayed alone under a magnificent arch as though its occupant was being honored.

For a moment, all she could do was stand there, frozen, as though someone had issued a blow to her insides…and then her legs began to move. Her shoes clunked on the floor as she walked down the corridor until she was staring up into the artist-rendered eyes of Tom Riddle.

He wore robes of silver and green with a Slytherin crest glinting on his lapel. Sitting poised and perfect against a simple silver backdrop, he looked older than his years, which was around seventeen, according to the antiqued silver plaque floating beside it.

But Ginny didn’t see any of that. The cold, composed smile on his handsome face was evoking something so deeply forgotten that all she could do was remain completely motionless in its wake.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, alone, staring up into the face of the teenaged boy who had once possessed her body and her soul. All she knew was that there was no force on earth that could move her. She had to stand here. She had to look at him. The magnitude of it surpassed everything.

Some time later… it could have been minutes or hours… an incredible strength came from somewhere. She fought to understand what it was before a vague recollection came over her. She wasn't alone. Harry was here.

A few heartbeats later, something warm began to seep into her body, and it took her a long time to realize that his strong hand had come up to grip her shoulder.

"I'm okay." Her tiny voice deceived her words. "I am."

"I know," he said, keeping his hand where it was.

Her eyes stayed on Riddle. She couldn’t move them for anything. But Harry's hand was solid and fought for the connection that existed between herself and the teenaged boy in the portrait.

Thoughts were creeping through now. Words rang in her mind. They were scrawled across a page, but she heard them, too, almost thundering, as though they had once been shouted at her. She saw a small girl sitting on a four-poster bed, trembling from head to toe, trying to keep her hand steady as she wrote… and the same girl was waking up covered in something that looked like blood.

She flinched inwardly… and her body moved a fraction, her back connecting with his body. His hand tightened. She found a power much greater than the one she couldn’t drag her eyes from.

"Ginny."

Her name was a low murmur that finally accomplished what the presence of his hand on her shoulder had been fighting for. It broke the connection. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, turned around. His hand slid away and the loss of it caused the first real emotion to sweep through her since she had laid eyes on the portrait. But then she saw bottle-green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and the sight was so familiar, so welcoming, that she held onto it like talisman against whatever had held her captive a moment ago.

"I'm okay," she said again, when she saw apprehension swimming in his eyes. She mustered a small smile. "It's just a painting, right?"

His voice was hard when he said, "It shouldn’t be here. I had no idea it was here."

"Well, why shouldn't it?" She swallowed the bitterness in her throat. "He's a wizard of eminence, isn’t he? The young man who would become Lord Voldemort?" And to prove that she could, Ginny brought her eyes back to Riddle, allowed her breath to come out in a slow exhale. "I suppose a portrait of Voldemort himself wouldn’t be the best thing to put in a public museum. They probably thought this was the only way to depict him without terrifying their guests… right?"

When she brought her eyes back to Harry, something inside of her hollowed out at the way he was looking at her. "Yeah… yeah, I suppose."

A long moment passed between them.

"We should… move on," she said weakly. As transfixed as she had been by the portrait, she was suddenly just as anxious to be away from it. And from Harry's eyes.

He didn’t motion to leave, however, and merely shifted his gaze to Tom Riddle where it stilled. "Can I ask you something, Ginny?"

She hesitated. "Of course."

"Do you ever think about it? That year?" His tone was distracted, as though he had suddenly become captive himself.

"Erm, not often," she answered. "I used to, of course, but now… well, not often. Do you… ever think about it?"

She had never before asked him that.

Something raw came into his eyes. "I-I have been… recently."

"Oh." She stared at him. "Why?"

A silent breath escaped him. "I've just been…you know, thinking about things. Things that you and I…things we've been through together."

"Oh," she said again, feebly. Tom Riddle flew from her mind. She couldn’t look away from Harry if she wanted to.

He cleared his throat and his eyes searched the painting as though he was looking for something. "It's funny, how… you think you know yourself… but then…something happens and you realize that… that someone else understands you even better."

She blinked. "Sorry?"

He swallowed hard and continued, "I mean…you think… you think you understand a relationship you have with someone, only you don’t understand …because as it turns out, they had it right all along… and you were the one who… who didn’t see it for what it was."

He turned to her, finally. Her eyes wide, she stared into his for a long time. Harry looked back carefully, as though choosing his words, biding his time until, after a moment of stillness, he said,

"Ginny, there's something… something I've been thinking about lately. Ever since our – " He cleared his throat, "– our talk in your bedroom. I want to be honest with you and… well, I'm going to say it and—"

"No," she interrupted him before she could stop herself, her heart slamming against her ribs, pure panic rising in her throat. She wasn't going to let him do this. "Harry, you… you can’t do this," she said unsteadily. "You don’t know what you're saying—"

"I do know what I'm—"

"No," she said carefully, "You don’t."

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I see. Right, so… in other words… you never want to face it, what's between us."

There was a long moment of silence, and then, "Face it?" she asked, her voice hushed. "I have faced it. There is nothing between us, Harry. That's the point, that's all there is to face."

There was a prolonged silence and then,

"Really."

There was an edge there, as though he'd been somehow prepared for her response and was ready to fight her on it. She closed her eyes.

"Yes, really."

"You know, I suppose you're right," he said. "There isn't anything between us. How could there be? You've been running from it for years."

A dull flush rose on her face. "I've been running? What do you call looking you in the eye and telling you that I love you? Do you call that running?"

"No…but you were gone not five minutes later. And you're still gone. You would rather spend years torturing yourself… avoiding me, moving away… when all you needed to do was tell me… talk to me. And you're still doing it. You're still running – you're still hiding—"

"Hiding?" she exclaimed. "I'm here, aren’t I? In this empty museum, in the middle of the night, alone with you—"

"Yeah, and you were bloody terrified to come even though, not seconds before, you said that we can be friends after all. It's rubbish, Ginny. You're going round in the same circle you've always done, only what happens next time this pesky thing that's between us rears it's head again?  And make no mistake," he said, his eyes finding hers. "There is something between us and always has been... even if you don't want to face it or I'm too daft to recognize it for what it is. Where do you go then?  Do you run to Paris yet again? Maybe further away, like Marseille or Nice? Or maybe further yet, to Cambodia or Peru next time?  The farther the better?"

His words hit her as though he had thrown them with full force at her. As though the her insides were growing into stone, Ginny felt an unyielding pressure inside her chest.  Blindly, she lifted a hand to somehow ease the intensity of it, but all she found was her pendant lying against her breast. She closed her fingers around it, holding tight.

"You… you told me to go," she whispered. "You said that I should go. Do you know how much it meant for me to hear those words from you? You were the only one who supported my decision…and now you're taking it back?"

Her voice broke and Harry's eyes dropped. They stood there, both breathing heavily, and then he said in a voice that sounded almost sickly, "I wasn't strong enough to say anything else to you that night. I thought it was the only thing I ever did - in the fifteen years we've known each other - that might be good for you, but—"

"I don’t want to hear this," she cried suddenly. "This whole time I've been thinking how perfect you were to me that night, and now—"

"Well, you have to hear it, because I'm not going to sit back and make this convenient for you anymore.  Not after what I've realized about my own feelings," he snapped.

The pressure was intesifying; she shook her head and snapped, "I told you that you don’t know what you're feeling, Harry. You’re confused, you’re guilty, whatever it is, it's not what you think, okay? And I can't listen to it."

But before she could turn on her heel, Harry cut in front of her. Breathing heavily, she stepped to the side, knowing that he was going to match her movement, and when he did just that, she huffed out a frustrated breath, which he ignored.

"Right, the way I see it, you have two choices, Ginny. You can walk out of here and never – and I mean never – talk to me again, or you can deal with me right now." He took a step towards her, and his voice dropped dangerously as he bent his head to look her in the eye. "Because you and I… we need to have this out. We need to get to the bottom of this… this poison that has been between us our entire lives—because I want it gone. Understand? I want to know what makes you so goddamned afraid to let me in."

With each syllable, leaned further into her until they were practically nose to nose. Heart thudding, she tried to step back, but he followed her, matching her steps, practically stalking her.

"Because I've let you in," he said between his teeth, and his voice shook with the emotions that glowed in his eyes. "You can come to my aid when I need you, you can make me strong, so why is it that I was never offered the chance to do it for you? Why can’t I ever be good for you?"

Immobilizing shock and the pure force of his proximity had her staggering backwards. Her back connected with one of the cold, tall pillars. Denial was trying to cut in and make her believe that it was veritably impossible for him to be standing in front of her, reciting the secrets of her soul. But he was. He was. She stood quite still, staring up into Harry's eyes for longer than she could ever remember doing so, only dimly aware that she was gripping her pendant so tightly, her nails were digging into her flesh.

As though he could read her thoughts, his eyes dropped to her hand. Ginny watched him stare down at the fist that was pressed against her chest. Several tense moments passed between them before he brought both of his hands up and wrapped them with painstaking care around her tight fingers, prying them open so that he could twine them with his.

The tears were frozen in her throat as she stared down at their hands, as Harry said in a barely audible whisper, "Look at me, Ginny."

Her vision blurred. There was nothing she could do, though, no way she could move her eyes from his hands engulfing hers, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. 

"I didn't come here to thank you for a box of bloody sweets," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I came here for you—"

"No, no," she said hoarsely. "You can’t do this, okay? You don’t really feel this, you can’t. You only think you feel it because your you're worried about me. I know that. I know it was difficult to hear me say those things to you in my bedroom. But… you don't care that this is killing me—?"

"Really?" he said fiercely, and she hadn’t known she'd been trying to pull her hand away until he yanked it back. "Difficult, was it? Oh, right, how could I forget? You’re the expert on how I feel, aren’t you? Right then, go on and tell me what I'm supposed to feel for you."

"Harry—"

"Better yet, let me know how I should have felt after leaving your bedroom that night. Tell me how I didn't stay awake thinking about a girl I've known my entire life who finally told me that she loves me… and how it made me feel, maybe for the first time in my life, like I’m worth something because of who I am and not because of what I've done. But I can’t think about how she makes everything better in my life…or how good I feel when I'm around her… because she hates herself when she's with me."

Ginny's eyes slammed shut. "That's not true—"

"It is.  Look at yourself right now…you can't even stand to have me touch you! Ginny…I want to know what he said to you in that diary. Was it something about me?"

Her eyes flew open, a blind sort of confusion poking into the haze surrounding her brain. "What?" she managed at last. "Are you… d'you you mean Riddle? What does he have to do with this?"

Harry's brow lifted. "What does Riddle have to do with your insecurities?"

"I cannot blame Tom Riddle for my problems, Harry—"  

"Ginny, he poisoned everything he touched! Do you honestly think there can’t be even a trace of insecurity left inside of you from him? Something that you might not even recognize because it's been there so long, you've just accepted it as the way things are?"

But she was shaking her head so violently, she barely even heard him. "I don’t want to talk about Riddle, Harry."

"We've never talked about him." His voice had turned quiet, almost eerily so. "Never, Ginny, do you realize you've never told me anything about that year?"

Stunned, she said, "Of course I have–"

"Once. In fifth year, you yelled at me for not asking you what it felt like to be possessed by Voldemort. But that was the only time and that wasn't even…" He shook his head. "For two years after that, you listened to everything I needed to vent about, but never once did you talk about Riddle or the diary or anything you went through that year."

Her eyes must have exuded the open alarm that rang in her chest, because his own eyes darted away from her. After a prolonged moment, he swallowed, and asked,

"Have you ever thought about why you constantly run away from me?" He took another step towards her, his hand still swallowing one of hers. "Because you're not the type of person who runs away. In fact, you're the polar opposite. When you want something, you go after it, and you don’t apologize for wanting it. But…when it's me you want, things are different. You hide from me, you find excuses to stay away, you…you put everything you have into convincing yourself to stay away. You’re ashamed of it… and I can't stop thinking about it, okay?" He swallowed. "About the way you looked that night in your bedroom. I know what shame can do to a person, what it's like to feel horrified at the things you've done and the look on your face… like you deserved to be punished … because of a kiss…I can’t get it out of my head," he whispered.

Ginny had to look away from his eyes. "Of course I’m ashamed of it," she whispered. She lifted her free hand to rub at the back of her neck. "Because, Harry, do you even… you can't understand what it's like to… be in love with someone who doesn't…love you back.."

His hands tightened around hers. "So tell me. Talk to me."

"Talking about it… isn't going to…to help," she managed. "I've told you everything I needed to say already, and now I want to try and move on."

"No." His hands jerked, pulling her closer by the hand he held captive. "Ginny for the love of—it doesn't work, keeping everything in, you’re the one who's told me that so many—honestly, I spent years trying not to let anyone in, and look where I am! Alone. Do you know what he said to me in that Chamber, Ginny?" he asked, changing the subject sharply. "He recited your entries. That's right, he bloody quoted you. On everything. Things you had written about your brothers, about me …."

A wave of nausea came over her, but Harry wasn't finished.

"He talked about how you opened your heart to him… and that it was all he needed to take you over."

"Stop… stop, it doesn’t matter, Harry… it doesn’t matter what he said, it's what I choose to believe and I know everything he said was rubbish, I know—" she whispered. "I know it's not true—"

"Ginny, " he pressed, his voice crippled with desperation. "Rubbish!? It’s not rubbish, it's poison. He mocked the way you opened you're heart to him and that is exactly what you’ve been terrified to do with me for all these years."

"Harry, please, you can’t think that—"

 "I can’t think what? All I can do is think about you, and what it felt like to hear you say those things to me…" he whispered. "Like… like I've been waiting for years for you to say them, waiting for you to… to finally open that door, so we can leave behind everything bad in our lives. Ginny, we can… we can be good for each other, can't we?" he asked, his voice very near pleading. "I can be good for you, too, can't I?"

Tears erupted in her eyes as arrows of blinding pain sliced through her body. She had to get away. She had to run. Now. He wasn't saying these things. He couldn’t be. They felt too good, they felt too right, they felt real when he said them and they weren't… they weren't real… they couldn’t be.

She had to go, she thought wildly. She had to get out before she started to believe them… before….

But she couldn't move. His face was centimeters away, his eyes gentle and pleading and shining with something that she couldn’t dare believe. His breath was warm on her face, his hands soft on hers. All she could do was stand there, frozen, with only a single moment to realize that his green eyes shined with a sort of need that she never imagined she would see there, before the room tilted and the beginnings of a misty fog began to cover her brain—

And on primal instinct, she shot away from him as though he had slapped her.

Terror… pure terror flooded into her heart and it was reflected in Harry's eyes as they stared at each other, the ability to move or think or speak expelled them at once.

"No," came his low voice, tearing from his throat as he watched her take a stumbling step back. "Ginny – wait."

"No," she said, her throat clogged with frozen tears. "Harry, I can’t do this… it's too hard."

"It's not too hard," he said in a low, fierce voice. "Stop fighting yourself, Ginny, I can’t stand to watch you do this to yourself—"

"Harry, stop!" she finally shouted. "I can’t breathe…"

His eyes slid closed. There was silence for a long time, only her horrible, shuddering gulps of air echoing in the room… and then,

"Okay," managed his shaken voice a few moments later, sounding completely defeated. "Okay."

The feelings raging inside of her were fighting so hard, all she could do was remain still, staring blindly at the other side of the huge room, her eyes landing with dull exhaustion over the gilded frame of one of the other portraits.

After a while, her eyes began to focus again… her brain began to clear… and the war inside of her came to a slow halt. Her eyes widened. Beside her, she felt Harry turn to follow her gaze… and she knew he saw it as well when his body stiffened.

As though her legs were out of her control, she began to walk across the great room, until finally, she stood before the painting that also depicted another boy of around seventeen. He wore robes as well, not of silver and grey…but of maroon and gold.

A wizard of eminence, she thought weakly, as she stared at the breathtakingly real portrait of the boy who lived.  He was larger than life, his green eyes burning through the barrier of art and life as they stared into the nearly empty portrait hall.  Harry Potter was immortalized on canvas, standing victoriously with his hand resting on a great silver sword with a ruby-encrusted hilt that bore the name "Godric Gryffindor", his portrait positioned in the room so that he was perpetually facing the dark wizard he had eventually vanquished.  It was a stunning and reverent tribute done by a skilled hand...but it was the expression on his face that positively floored her. The artist, whoever he was, had somehow managed to capture in that painting the internal struggle that was always raging inside the Harry she knew…in the viridian green brushstrokes that brought his eyes to life, she could see his soul.

"It's you," she said quietly, her voice trancelike, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat. "This is how I remember you…just like this."

It was the Harry she remembered when she thought back to some of the best times of her life… the very same Harry who had existed in her mind's eye while over the years, her feelings for him had changed from a worshipful crush to a deep, overwhelming  love.

"I remember what it felt like to wake up in that Chamber…" she whispered slowly, her voice thick with the tears she had shed, feeling as though the words were being dragged from the depths of her most neglected and hidden memories. "I thought I might have been dead… and there you were… standing over me, telling me that it was all right, that Riddle had gone… and then you helped me up." She pressed a hand feebly over her heart. "You have no idea how I held onto that. All summer. I used your voice, your face against my nightmares…and it worked. You made it so easy to be brave."

She sighed softly, feeling it begin inside of her, that sweet ache that started in her chest and spread through her abdomen, both hurting and comforting at the same time. It was a feeling she had felt so many times, but one that she would never, in her lifetime, get used to.

As though Harry's portrait was just as hypnotizing as Riddle's, Ginny had to drag her eyes away to look at the real Harry, standing a few pace away. She saw that he was staring at her… but his eyes… his eyes caused her already wet eyes to fill even more. They were empty, she saw, and completely turned into himself as though he was too blind by his own demons to even see her.

He was hurting, she thought, her heart tightening… he was hurting because of her. She stared back at him, her hazy mind falling onto the beginning of the night where they had sat side by side, drinking butterbeer, unaware of what would transpire between them. What would have happened if she had refused to come with him? Would he have insisted? Would he have tried to tell her his feelings then, and if so, would he have fought for her as hard as he had in front of Riddle's portrait?

Her fingers curled into her chest to pull at her pendant again as a fresh bout of shame enveloped her. But it was different this time. It was a shame that was born from realizing that the person she loved most in this world had put up the fight of his life to show her what was in his heart… and she had pushed him away.

"Harry."

He started, shifting his eyes to her face. She barely had a moment to register his jaw tightening and his eyes turning fierce as she walked blindly towards him, felt his sharp intake of breath, and threw her arms around his neck.

A low, muffled noise broke from his chest, and he stood quite still, his shoulders stiff with shock… until… before she knew what was happening, his arms came around her, slowly enveloping her, until he positively clung.

Years of pent-up emotions poured out of her in that single, heart-stopping moment and she burrowed into him, pressing her face against his neck, pushing her body into his. Never had she held onto something so tightly, with such complete force until now, until Harry.

"I'm sorry," she muttered against him, in a tiny voice. "I'm sorry."

And she said it again… and again, holding him fast to make sure he knew just how deeply she meant it. His arms came tighter every time she said it, his hands reaching further until it was more than she could take, and she just couldn't speak anymore. She breathed him in slowly, shockwaves of pure feeling shooting down her spine.

Harry's voice came then, and it was the same haunted, angst-ridden voice she had heard countless times when it was he who needed saving.

"I want you," it murmured into her throat. "Ginny…I can't stop thinking about you… ever since… your bedroom…."

She clung blindly, feeling his words and allowing him to crush the doubt that might have crept in if there had been any room for it. The emotions in his voice sent panic racing through her. What if she never heard it again? What if he pulled away and everything went away? She grasped him to keep him close… to keep him like this forever.

"Thank you for saying those things to me that night," he whispered and on an anguished moan, she reached up and pressed her cheek against his, standing on tiptoe to hold him.

And suddenly she knew that without that cold, winter night in her bedroom, this moment could never have been possible between them… and if all the years spent hiding had lead them to this moment, right now, then every single, agonizing second had been worth it.

As it was, there was nothing between them now…no barriers left. She had never before felt so vulnerable, so open…and it was he who saw her like this… he, who had even known such a place existed inside of her. She knew in that moment that she could trust him. That she could place her life and her heart in his hands. 

He turned his face further against her neck, into her curtain of hair, his chest raising as he drew in her scent… and his hand slid lower on her back as he whispered, "I never thought… it's like it's always been there…but I didn’t …I couldn't…I'm sorry, Ginny, if I ever hurt you, I'm sorry…"

"Don’t," she managed. "Don't."

Whether it was seconds or hours later…as though they had somewhere, somehow turned into one unit…something changed between them. Ginny felt it spark inside of her as Harry's body tightened. It was as though they were waking from a dream to suddenly realize that every part of their bodies were touching.

Their hands contracted… then softened as the flesh beneath burned. It was heady and manic to feel a strong, masculine hand moving over the nape of her neck, and know that it was Harry who touched her, Harry who's hands moved lower, Harry who held her in his arms. And then… she was experiencing a sensation like none other. He was slowly, dragging the side of his face across her cheek, the shadow of his beard scraping against her sunburn before his mouth collided with hers.

It was gentle, deep…and painfully slow. Her faint whimper was muffled against him as he kissed her, as his fingers curled into her, pulling her as far into him as she could go…. 

She wouldn't remember how long that endless kiss lasted or who ended it … but she would remember walking with him away from his portrait - a portrait that would have destroyed her if she'd seen it a few years ago – through the dark, vacant museum, and back out into the Parisian night with their fingers entwined, stopping every once in awhile to taste each other again.  It was new and unbelievably exciting, and they couldn't get enough….but it was the familiarity that made it perfect, as though they should have been doing it for years.

A lifetime later, the dewy morning air rustled Ginny's hair so that it flapped gently against her arms. The sloshing water splashed against the base of the bridge below them and she looked out at the golden light of the emerging sun. It was just after dawn. She and Harry had made their way to the empty bridge, few words passing between them as they allowed the weight of the words that had already been spoken to sink in.

Ginny sighed, rubbing her bare arms against the cool breeze that brushed over her skin and the movement caused her arm to touch Harry's slightly. She jerked instantly away… before remembering. She didn't have to move her arm from his. She could touch him… she could turn and bury herself against him if she wanted. He wanted to touch her.

Her eyes glazed on the water at the thought and then they slid closed as the reality of that coursed through her. It was difficult… so difficult to believe what was happening right now. Her mind felt as though it might never catch up to the blinding thrill of having Harry in the way she had always dreamed about. And though it was terrifying to think about what it had been like before she had felt him touch her like he had in the Louvre… it frightened her even more to go forward.

"It's nice here."

His voice was low and dull, as though he, too, was deep in thought. She made a noise of agreement, found herself murmuring, "I used to come here all the time… to read letters and to write home…it actually reminds me of home a bit."

"Yeah?"

She nodded slowly, her throat becoming restricted. "I used to think about…" She stopped herself. That was the past and she shouldn't think about the past… no more past tonight.

"About what?" he asked, and it was a few moment before she felt his eyes on her.

"You," she answered, and waited for the tension, for the discomfort to slip between them. But all she felt was Harry's arm against hers, its pressure increasing as he leaned into her a little.

"Yeah?" he asked again, and his gentle voice slipped into her blood, easing away the doubt.

"Yeah," she sighed, and rested against him, and everything went still again.

After a long time, because her eyes couldn’t manage to stay away, she glanced at him as he gazed out to the water. The light from the peeking sun was trickling over them, turning his eyes into a silvery, liquid green that she couldn’t help but stare at in awe for a moment…and then he looked her. A slow smile came onto his face, a smile that she found herself returning as she realized that she didn’t have to look away anymore when he caught her watching him.

The wind picked up and Harry lifted a hand to brush a few strands of hair from her face, his thumb moving delicately over her cheekbone. After a long moment, his eyes glazed and his hand slid further into her hair at the nape of her neck.

"I have to tell you something," she muttered, because she knew she had to say it now before he kissed her again.

His eyes became focused with apparent difficulty, and his hand dropped to her shoulder as he waited. His thumb moved absently against her collarbone. She managed a shaky breath.

"I'm a little… scared of what's happening between us. It's like… things are moving so fast that I can't… I can't keep up. Harry, I…I have a tendency to… overreact about certain things."

Very slowly, a ghost of a smile came over his face "Is that a fact?" he asked, tilting his head, and Ginny couldn’t help the smile from tugging at her mouth.

"Don’t tease me."

"I can tease you if I want," he said, and his eyes lightened in a way that sent a sweet, aching jolt through her body. 

"I love you," she whispered because she couldn’t help herself, and because, in a way, her fears were right there, in those three words.

The laughter vanished from his face. He straightened, his eyes darkening, his throat tightening.

She had to swallow before she could continue, "You need to know that, because… I am going to fight this thing…this insecurity that I have." She paused, and looked out to the misty water. "I don't know if it's from the diary or if it's something that came about from all the years I told myself you just didn't… couldn't… feel the same. We can… we can figure that out together, like you said, though, can't we?" She looked at him.

"Y- yeah," he managed, nodding. "Yes."

Her smile was shaky. "Good…because I want to be with you, Harry."

As though it had scared her to say the words, she moved closer to him, needing to feel his strength against her. If it was possible, his eyes went even darker, and his hand gripped her shoulder tightly… same as he had in front of Riddle's portrait. Her throat was constricted when she said,

"I can't hold back anymore." Her whisper turned fierce. "I refuse to hold back from you. So I need you to know that if …if things start to become difficult… if I make things more difficult, it's because it's going to be hard for me to get rid of this doubt. I've lived with it for so long. It's a part of me and I need to know that you won't… give up on me."

There was a long pause where Harry looked at her, and then he moved his hand from her shoulder, to course very lightly down her back so that it rested at her waist. "Do you know," he asked, "what I was most afraid of when I came here tonight?"

She shook her head quietly, and he continued,

"I thought that you wouldn’t believe me when I …said how I felt about you. I thought you wouldn’t think it was… good enough, because I knew that I couldn’t say it how I really meant it. I still don’t know if I said it right… or…" he muttered, almost to himself. "The words are just… they're hard for me… and…"

He looked away as though searching for the very words he struggled with, as Ginny tried to comprehend what he said. How could he think anything of the sort? He had to know he was everything to her… didn’t he? But it occurred to her suddenly that she almost hadn’t let him believe that he wasn't good for her, and the thought was so scary that she reached blindly for his hand, and twined their fingers.

"Words aren't the most important thing," she whispered and watched his eyes go still and she knew that her saying this meant everything to him. "I don’t need words from you, Harry."

His fingers tightened over hers. "I know. And I knew that I was going to have to get past what you've put between us, but it didn’t worry me because… I know how to fight that. I know what it is, because it's inside of me, too, only mine… mine comes from …losing people—"

He broke off, and Ginny automatically moved closer to him.

"My point is," he continued, his voice unsteady, "that I know it's not going to be easy, but… I wasn't prepared for you to let me have you without a fight."

It was a long time before she could speak. She knew that after this night, things would be difficult. When she wasn’t standing with him on her bridge, looking at a perfect sunrise… there would be doubts… there would be a great deal of past demons trying to creep in. It would be a struggle… a constant struggle perhaps… but –

"It's like you said in your bedroom that night," Harry whispered. "We're survivor's, after all... aren’t we?"

The corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Yeah…yeah, we're survivors."

And because it was silly, really, to keep talking, she lifted her chin and, reeling that she was allowed to do it, let herself kiss him. After several long, lingering moments, they broke apart slowly, their eyes fluttering open, their breaths mingling between mouths that were still touching, as though they couldn’t bare to break the contact completely. 

After what seemed like a lifetime of motionless contentment, he brought his hands up to frame her face, smoothing her hair away, running his thumbs across her sunburned cheeks. Slowly, his green eyes roamed over every inch of her face, as though memorizing her, lingering finally on her eyes.

"Hi…" he finally muttered in a lost, wondrous voice, as though he was seeing her for the first time. All she could do was stare into his eyes with the same aching wonder, feeling just as lost… but finding something inside of her she hadn’t known could ever exist.

"Hi," she whispered back, her heart weak. A quiet stillness was settling inside of her… because she knew deep down that he saw her. Harry saw her.

And knowing that, she let herself reach for him…and found him right there.   

 

 

 

The End

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