Photograph

Loving can hurt sometimes; but it's the only thing that I know.

When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes.

It's the only thing that makes us feel alive.

We keep this love in a photograph. We made these memories for ourselves.

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen still

-Ed Sheeran

"Shh, shh, it's all right."

Ginny knelt beside the pale first year, cradling her head. The girl's whimpering eased a little, but she didn't speak.

"What's your name?"

"E-Ellie," she whispered finally.

"That's a pretty name. Now, I know you've been through a lot just now, but I need you to stand up."

With effort, Ginny helped her to her feet.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Ellie trembled more violently than ever. "I – I was studying in the library but then I fell asleep."

Tears overflowed, but she didn't seem to notice them. "And … and I realized it was after hours, so I tried to hurry … but then…" she shook so hard that Ginny almost didn't catch her next words. "Then they – they found me."

Ginny's heart sank. "Who? Who found you?"

"Two big seventh years. I've seen them hurting others before."

Ginny was impressed to hear the note of anger that entered the girl's voice. She'd rather this girl be angry than broken.

"That'll be Crabbe and Goyle. They're evil."

"Yes – yes, they …" the girl's voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands.

"You don't have to say it," Ginny whispered. An increasingly familiar knot of revulsion twisted up her insides. She reached out and pulled Ellie into her arms. The small girl trembled and wept. Ginny thought she heard footsteps, though, so she held Ellie at arm's length. "What house are you in?"

"H-Hufflepuff."

"All right, Ellie, I'm going to perform a disillusionment charm on you and I'll walk you back."

The girl nodded. "How did you find me?"

"We patrol the corridors any chance we get – you're not the first person Crabbe and Goyle and some of the other Slytherins have terrorized and left trapped behind tapestries or in broom cupboards."

"Who's we?"

Ginny gave the girl a grim smile. "Dumbledore's Army."

The girl's eyes widened. "You're part of that?"

"You better believe it."

They made their way through the corridors and passed the kitchens. The girl showed Ginny where the common room entrance was, and Ginny quickly performed the counter spell to her disillusionment charm. Ellie stopped resembling the wall behind her.

"Thank you so much," Ellie whispered. "D'you think maybe … maybe I could join up …?"

Ginny was already shaking her head. "No – Ellie, I think it would be best if you try and keep your head down. Follow the rules. Stay safe. We're handling it."

Ellie's eyes welled with tears again. "But … but what if it never gets better?"

"It will."

"How do you know? Do you reckon … d'you reckon that Harry Potter's really going to fix it all?"

Ginny felt the same pang in her chest she experienced when anyone mentioned Harry's name – which, of course, was often. "You know, Ellie, I happen to know Harry Potter."

The girl looked appropriately amazed. "You – you do?"

"Yes – and I'll be the first to tell you, if there is anything Harry does, it's fix everything."

"WHO'S OUT OF BED?"

Ginny's heart plummeted. "Go, get inside," she hissed, and the girl looked terrified.

"But what about –"

"I'll be fine, get inside now!"

The girl disappeared without another word, just as Goyle rounded the corner.

"Weasley!"

He was blasted off his feet and into the wall behind him before he could say another word. Ginny's silent Impedimenta had done the trick, and she wheeled around, already sprinting in the direction of Gryffindor tower. She did not stop until she sat in her bed, curtains drawn around her.

She waited only until her breathing evened before sitting back and pointing her wand at a shelf across the room. "Accio sweater," she said, and an overlarge, green sweater with a golden snitch embroidered on the front hurdled towards her.

The sweater, Harry's last Christmas gift from her mum, had been left at the Burrow with a few of his other belongings when he, Ron and Hermione set off last summer. After placing a permanent fragrance charm on it so that Harry's smell didn't fade, she'd slept in it every night since.

Then, as she did every night, she leaned over her bed and pulled out the only other possession of Harry's she had. A rumpled photograph she'd found on his night stand – she, Harry, Ron and Hermione from the summer before her fifth year, all grinning and clutching broomsticks. When it was first taken, Ginny and Harry stood on either end. Now, Harry and Hermione had traded places so that the tiny image of Harry stood on Ginny's right side – most of the time they gazed sappily at each other or laughed at some shared secret.

Ginny traced a finger over his mischievous face – the sparkling, emerald eyes looking down at her own, the unruly, impossible-to-flatten hair.

She thought back to the moment the photo was taken – just after one of their two-on-one matches of Quidditch. Harry and Hermione had won that one – well, Harry won. Hermione didn't do much more than hover fearfully several feet from the ground while Harry, Ginny and Ron zoomed around her. She closed her eyes and remembered it all. She remembered how Harry had complimented her flying, she remembered how heartily he laughed at her teasing Ron, she remembered the way he looked on his firebolt, happier than usual, backlit by the light of the sun. She remembered one moment of strange, confusing thrill when she caught Harry staring at her with a look she'd only ever dreamed of seeing on his face.

She looked at the photo again and smiled fondly. Picture Harry slid an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. The tiny Ginny grinned and leaned further into him.

Ginny was addicted to this – the few moments of quiet each night she was able to pull out the photograph – she'd hold the image in her mind, close her eyes, and lose herself in his smell and her memories. She'd fall asleep like this, images of Harry burned clearly into her mind, and her dreams would pick up where she left off – a world full of careless days by the lake, detours between classes, sneaking behind tapestries and into empty broom cupboards. A world full of Harry – a world full of hope.

And the next morning, she'd wake up in the real world of darkness, fear and pain, and she'd be ready to face it.

Dust to Dust

You've held your head up

You've fought the fight

You bear the scars

You've done your time

Listen to me

You've been lonely, too long

-Civil Wars

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continue to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Ginny, like everyone else in the great hall, stood transfixed. The moment Voldemort's voice faded, the hall filled with screams and mutters. Nothing existed in Ginny's body except dread, and yet she still managed to say fiercely, "He's bluffing."

A flood of survivors headed in the direction on the entrance hall, and she followed, Luna in tow. She elbowed her way through clusters of people, and felt a sickening blow as she heard a horrible, feral wail from someone already at the front of the crowd.

Moments later, "No! No!"

She finally broke through, and the scene before her was an utter impossibility – the most horrific image of any today – "Harry!" she shouted, and she fell to her knees because the boy before her was dead. But she could not accept it. He couldn't be. "HARRY!"

He did not respond, and great, heaving sobs shook her frame. Horror like she'd never known constricted her heart and lungs – she couldn't breathe or move.

Chaos ensued – Neville's bravery, and then the battle broke out once more. She fought with a fierce, fiery determination that she'd never known before, and it was as though she knew every move her attackers would make before they did. Others that she saw on the good side seemed to have been instilled with this same, bolstering force, and teachers and students alike brought down death eaters on all sides. Harry, even in death, had given them all the strength they needed to resist once more – she nearly collapsed with her grief at the thought of him – but saw Bellatrix's wand pointed directly at Hermione's heart, and rushed forward, wand raised.

"STUPEFY!" she shrieked, and missed her target by several feet. She'd achieved the desired effect, however, as Bellatrix fixed her livid stare and her wand on Ginny's face.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione screamed, and Bellatrix was forced to turn her attention. Ginny darted forward, and Luna followed, all of them shouting curses at the witch before them. Even as they fought, side stepping and retaliating to the best of their ability, Ginny could feel how useless their efforts were. Bellatrix easily exceeded them in power and agility.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

In spite of herself, Ginny spun around at the sound of her mother's voice. She looked quite demented as she freed her arms and raised her wand.

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

She shoved Hermione, Ginny and Luna bodily from her path and began to duel with Bellatrix with skill that Ginny had never before seen from her mum. Still, shaking herself out of her shock, she rushed forward.

"No! Get back! Get back! She is mine!"

They dueled with incredible speed – their wands slashed so rapidly through the air that it would have been foolish for anyone from either side to try and intervene. Ginny gazed, horrified and yet blazingly proud of her mum.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you? When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

"You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!"

A blast of purple flames seemed to explode from Molly's wand – it collided with Bellatrix's chest and, with a gasp of shock, she crumpled to the ground.

"NOOOO!" the screech was high and terrible, and they all turned as those fighting Voldemort were blasted away, and he directed his wand to Molly with the speed of a snake.

"PROTEGO!"

Ginny barely had time to register confusion at the familiar voice – for a moment later, Harry appeared in the middle of the hall, standing, and very much alive.

"HARRY!" she shrieked, and tears of pure joy and relief sprung to her eyes. However, she said nothing more in the oppressive silence that followed.

"I don't want anyone else to try to help. It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

In that moment, Ginny knew without hesitation that he was right. And it terrified her.

Harry and Voldemort circled each other, and Harry spoke with majesty that commanded their rapt attention: instilled their deepest confidence. As he explained everything to Voldemort and, by default, the watching crowd, she knew that she was not the only one mesmerized as he dropped bomb after bomb of information, shocking truths that no one doubted because Harry spoke them with such powerful finality.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does … I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

Ginny's jaw dropped. She saw Voldemort raise his wand and point it at Harry. She wanted to rush forward, but some unknowable force stopped her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The force of it shook the hall and their ear drums – a burst of golden light shot towards Voldemort, hit him, and then he smacked into the floor, unmoving.

No one moved for a split second, and then everyone was cheering and laughing and sobbing and Ron and Hermione had broken free of the crowd and sprinted towards Harry with tear tracks running down their faces. Ginny, Luna and Neville were close on their heels. When she reached him, Ginny threw her arms around his neck and reveled in how solid he felt. However, she was quickly pushed aside by the hundreds more who wanted a chance to touch Harry Potter, their savior, vanquisher of Lord Voldemort.

Ginny remembered very little of the hours that followed. She was lost in a haze of repairs, comforting words, healing wounds and pure, overwhelming exhaustion. She stayed close to her family, but watched Harry from a distance. He was surrounded by people with adoration in their eyes, but it was painfully obvious to her that he felt more isolated than they would ever understand. She wished she could go up and talk to him, to hold him, to pull him away from the crowds, but was afraid she would only make it worse.

By late afternoon, she could barely handle the crowds anymore.

"Mum I'm … I'm going to help…" she didn't bother finishing. Her mum was already nodding, a glazed look in her bloodshot eyes. Ginny pressed a kiss to her cheek and then all but ran from the room.

She inhaled deeply in the entrance hall. She sidestepped several weeping knots of people and wondered where she could go. She wondered if the common room might be clear – her dormitory, at the very least.

She reached the portrait and sighed to see it empty.

"Here you are, dear," said the tired voice of Violet, one of the fat lady's old friends. She walked into the fat lady's portrait and swung forward so Ginny could enter.

She was relieved to see that the common room was vacant. She walked over to start a fire, and then spun around at the sound of a noise behind her. Harry stood at the base of the boys' dormitory stairs. He looked trapped.

Ginny appraised him boldly – his shoulders were slumped, his eyes were ages older than she remembered, and there were apologies in every line of his stooped frame. He opened his mouth, she presumed, to voice them all, but she shook her head, and he closed it again.

He broke her gaze to stare at his feet, and it acted as a sort of catalyst. How dare he act bashful? She didn't want his shame – she wanted him. And she needed him to know.

Hesitance gone, she took three strides forward, and threw her arms around him. Harry froze – she felt his arms stiffen – and wondered how long it had been since anyone had held him. Then, as though recovering from being stupefied, his arms constricted so tightly around her it felt as though he may never let her go again. She hoped as much.

Harry buried his face in her neck and he inhaled a great, shuddering breath. She felt something in herself begin to repair – her shattered insides felt for a moment as though they had a hope of becoming whole again. Warmth – intoxicating, glorious warmth, spread from the places his arms touched her body, up through her chest, down to her toes.

One of his hands clutched her hair, one of them held her waist against his stomach. After an endless stretch of time and perfect silence, she pulled away slightly so that their foreheads touched, and his hand moved to cradle her face. She stared into his wet eyes.

He opened his mouth, and Ginny wondered what he'd say – would he try to apologize again? Tell her they still couldn't be together – that he had some other mission? Would he ask her to leave?

"You're alive."

She smiled sadly. "We're alive."

They leaned in simultaneously, and it was a kiss very different than any they'd shared previously. This was a kiss with nothing – not Ron, Harry's doubts, Voldemort, Cho, Michael, Dean – nothing to stand in the way. The future was as open as they wanted it to be, and he kissed her accordingly – without reservation.

He held her hair, her waist, her face, her hands, and she kissed him hard, held him closer, stumbled backward until her back was against the wall, then his, then hers again.

They pulled apart to catch their breath, and Ginny couldn't help but smile.

"Well. That's settled, then."

Harry laughed. "Yeah … I mean – er – if that's all right."

"It's all right."

He looked immensely relieved.

"Did you expect me to say no?" she asked, curious.

"I – well, no, I suppose not. I just … I reckoned you'd be angry."

She sighed. She was angry. So angry that it pulsed through her blood and threatened to consume her if she thought about it for too long.

"I am," she said truthfully, and his face fell. "But not at you. I'm angry for you. I'm angry that it had to be you. I'm angry that it couldn't be me, too. I'm angry …" she paused and blinked rather quickly. "I'm angry that it had to be Fred. I'm angry that we missed so much time and I'm angry that I didn't get to personally string up and hex apart every bleeding death eater that ever touched the people I care about. But I'm not angry with you."

He sighed. "You could be."

"Maybe. But what good would that do? I want to be with you. Not angry with you."

He smiled. "I want to be with you, too."

She exhaled and nodded. "Good."

And then he held out his hand. She took it, and followed him out the portrait hole, back to the grand staircase, and into the great hall where, ignoring the pointed stares, the outbreak of muttering and pointing at the sight of their entwined hands, they confronted the day together.