A/N: DaftDruid, Sorry, love! I'm back home and dreadfully busy, but I'm not ignoring you. I haven't found time to reply, yet. I have an influx of messages that are slowing me down, and I'll try to get back to you shortly.

Disclaimer: Last line taken (almost) directly from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone, the scene before Harry wakes up in the hospital wing at the end of the book.

It had been about seven weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, and seven weeks since Fred Weasley departed his beloved family for the very last time.

Ginny laid in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, and willing her tears to squeeze right on back through her tear ducts. She usually didn't cry so much anymore, and it was a nice realization, she thought. Most of the time, it was the sound of Fred's laugh that helped her trudge on through the misery he never meant to leave behind. She knew he wouldn't stand for her crying, and would want her laughing… and happy… at all times. As he always did.

And that was the biggest thing Ginny knew Fred had left. His laugh. It would always be with her, and that was how she managed to smile in the last few weeks with her friends and family. However, every day was a battle, wasn't it? Some days you win… other days, you lose.

That day, Ginny had lost.

So she allowed herself a few hours to feel bad about everything, knowing tomorrow would bring with it more time to carry on… and live the life Fred had lost. She'd do it for him and, more than anything, the people she knew he held dear to him as well. She often felt bad for crying about Fred, knowing it was almost an insult to his memory to still be doing so after a month… Perhaps seldom tears were all right, but not reckless sobs like she had produced hours earlier. She knew if he were there right now, he'd have told her to get a grip on herself with a crack of a crude joke, thought up just for her. And she smiled. She wondered for a moment if George was still up. She looked at the clock on her bedside cabinet.

3 a.m.

She knew he was probably fast asleep by now. And she didn't want to bother him, not when she was certain she'd be feeling better in the morning. But something about George's energy was incredibly comforting to her… How he had handled everything. George was amazing… and she had never felt more proud to be related to him than ever. She often pondered where he got his strength, suspecting it had to do with the fact that he was Fred's twin. During her and the family's first stages of grief, she was convinced George being his twin was an absolute, rotten curse. To have to wake up every morning… and look into the mirror… only to see looking back at him the ghost of his other half… much like she felt when she gazed at George, seeing the lost phantom of her brother, and admittedly, not George himself… But now she realized being Fred's twin must have been a blessing.

It was like Fred was living through George, and it showed brightly.

George was living two lives now, and he didn't think it right to live half of them mourning. He had told Ginny that he'd see Fred soon enough, so in the meantime, he'd live the life he thought Fred would've wanted. George had said that, after all, Fred wouldn't be pleased if George met up with him at the pearly gates without a few more legendary jokes given and learned. And he was determined to find those wild stories to share with Fred… and continue Fred's legacy. He'd do it all for his best friend.

That had made the entire Weasley clan laugh with tears… and Ginny couldn't help but thank George for his astonishing example.

She turned in her bed and looked out the window above her desk, staring at the moon; in that moment, she knew in her gut that Harry was awake too.

Harry.

Ginny's smile deepened. He had been amazingly wonderful as well… His strength was nearly identical to George's, though in different ways. She was sure she wouldn't know what to do without either of them. Harry had gone through more personal deaths than anyone in her family, so he seemed to always know the exact words to say to her… Though perhaps this was because he was her Harry that he did it so well… He was considerably less awkward around her when it came to things like that. Plus there was the added factor that he understood her more than anyone, and often told her he felt the same way about her. Indeed, that was always nice to hear…

She suddenly wanted to see him. It had been a few days since she last saw him. He was always so busy, especially with the Ministry. But he always managed to make time for her, finding hours to spend with her most days, even if they were usually strained and involved only sitting quietly together, not speaking. Still, it was more than she could've asked for… and simply being around him seemed to soothe her soul. She liked to think she soothed his, too. Regardless, he'd been more busy than normal lately, and couldn't make it to see her in the last week. She didn't mind, as she hadn't seen Ron or Hermione just as much. So she knew he wasn't avoiding her.

After the war, she and Harry had never spoken about their relationship… How could they? There was so much going on, and they both figured they now had more than enough time to discuss it later… now that they were both free. And she appreciated Harry even more for that—for giving her the time to simply wallow in her brother's death and not confuse it or have it mixed up with their relationship. That way, Fred's death would never be able to taint it, and Harry wouldn't have to face more guilt for feeling like he was taking advantage of her vulnerable state, as she knew that was where his mind would go if he did try to fix things between them soon after Voldemort's defeat… More than that, perhaps they both thought it was already tainted enough by other things, not unlike the relationships they shared with others.

An image of Harry floated through her mind, wanting to know what he was doing at that moment. He was awake, of course. She had already established that. And she knew why. Much like she knew why she often found Ron lying awake in his bed. It was only when Hermione came over that he ever seemed to be able to sleep. The death of Lavender Brown had been a strange shock for everyone… but Ron took it particularly hard, considering he used to snog her with Hermione in mind. It made sense only Hermione could understand him in that respect, as the brilliant witch knew right away his guilt stemmed from the immense feelings he had for herself. All Ginny knew was that she and Harry didn't understand Ron's perspective. Then again, if Ginny really listened to Hermione's explanations, she could understand in some ways. Hermione was right: If Ron wasn't so in love with her, his guilt towards Lavender would probably have just been a passing sadness that he'd be over by now.

Ginny thought Ron was very lucky to have such a smart and understanding person by his side… to enable him to sleep well most nights… and at this thought, Ginny flung her blankets off and sneaked into the living room. She stood in front of the fireplace… Her mum would not be pleased, she knew… but Ginny had been secretly sneaking around the Weasley family's rules for years now… That's how she got so good at Quidditch, wasn't it? Yes, it was. She'd never get anywhere with what she wanted if she always followed everyone's orders… Besides, she would be of age in nearly two months! Fred and George would be proud of her sneaking off… And with that in mind, she threw some Floo powder into the fireplace without another moment's hesitation.

When she stepped out into the kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place, she tiptoed quietly against the wooden floorboards, wondering how she should go about seeing Harry… He didn't like people sneaking around him, after all. Luckily, she didn't have to figure anything out, because she soon heard a low voice say, "Nearly gave me a heart attack, Ginny."

Ginny turned around and there was Harry, staring at her from the kitchen door. Two seconds later, he had closed the gap between them and pulled her into a tight embrace. He was smelling her hair deeply before he moved slightly away and asked, "What are you doing here?"

She shook her head against his chest, not entirely sure herself. "I dunno," she said quietly, "…today was a bad one… couldn't sleep."

Harry hauled himself away from her completely to look down into her eyes. He was thankful she wasn't crying, appreciating it like he had so many times before. He nodded his head, familiar with her choice of words. "Did something happen?" he asked. "A trigger, maybe?"

Ginny shook her head again. "No… just woke up feeling… odd."

He sent her a half-smile. "I know what you mean."

She hugged him once more and almost laughed. "Of course you do."

"Do your parents know you're here?"

She stilled, and then shook her head. This time, she actually did laugh, hearing Harry groan.

"You've any idea how much trouble you just got me into?"

Ginny pulled away, her laughter growing and her eyes twinkling. "You'll live, Harry. You always do."

Harry gave her a pointed look. "Glad to know you think I'm immortal," the boy-who-lived said darkly. After a beat, he asked, "How'd you know I was here? I just got back about an hour ago… Wait a minute—" He looked at the clock in the kitchen. "How'd you know I was awake?"

She frowned. She had no idea. "Just a feeling," she said honestly, moving towards one of the chairs at the wooden table and leaning on it. "I just knew you were."

This made Harry smile. "I forget how well you know me."

Ginny smirked and appeared to be thinking of his statement in mock-ponder. "Well, I have had nearly… let's see… I was five when I first learned about you… so that would make it about twelve years of knowing you! Practice makes perfect, isn't that right?"

"How lucky of me," said Harry dryly.

She giggled a bit before turning to look around the kitchen. "Did you eat, Harry?"

He nodded, following her eyes. "Yeah, before I got back."

She felt a bit guilty then, taking in his appearance. He really did look like he just got in. "You must be exhausted… I'm sorry to bother you so late…"

Harry laughed. "You're never a bother, Gin. You said so yourself, you knew I was up."

She smiled at him before a wave of nerves suddenly flew through her. This was the first time she had been alone with him outside her family since, well, forever. Sure, they had their alone time at the Burrow, but there was always someone around the house to check up on them and open up the door… Usually it was Ron, but the realization that Ron wasn't there tonight hit her hard. She felt her body tingle in excitement. She cleared her throat. "Are you going to sleep?"

Harry blinked once and it seemed the same realization collapsed onto him too. "Er," he said nervously. "Yeah… I was about to…"

She moved from the chair and took one step towards him.

Harry cleared his throat, his eyes now looking anywhere but at her. "Are you?" he asked stupidly, staring at some shiny pots Kreacher, his house-elf, must've scrubbed spotless recently. Where was Kreacher, anyway? With my luck, he'd be making his appearance right about now, he thought. But Kreacher was nowhere to be found, and Ginny was moving closer towards him. He cleared his throat again, and her brown eyes were all he could see. "Er, Ginny?"

"Yes, Harry?" asked Ginny gently, trying to peruse his face.

Was he ready for this? They had barely touched since… well, in the way he would've wanted… since his seventeenth birthday. He wasn't sure what to do, feeling like a kid all over again. And he hadn't felt like that in a very long time. In fact, most days, Harry felt much older than he should be feeling…

He'd certainly been thinking of that moment for a long time… but now that the moment was there, he became aware of the fact that he was at a loss as to how he should go about handling it… But he didn't have to know. Because not long after, and like many times before, he was suddenly being reminded of all the things he loved about Ginny when he abruptly felt her lips against his. She made the decision for him, and he was delightfully grateful for it. Strange how agonizing yet wonderful it felt to have his hand in her hair again, feeling his mouth on hers. It was like a collection of longing within him he hadn't known was that large had awoken and he couldn't keep his hands off her.

After a few moments of heavenly blankness, Ginny pulled away, smiling at his dazed face. "Didn't realize just how much I missed doing that," she puffed.

Harry remained silent, his thoughts still lost somewhere way up high above them, and he could only nod fervently in agreement. He blinked several times and seemed to have finally come to; he peered down at her, seeing she looked to be struggling with something. "What?" he asked.

She swallowed hard and looked him straight in the face. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

He blinked again, rather stupidly. "What?" he repeated, though in a different tone.

"Can I sleep here," she said once more, offering him a smoldering look.

"Er," said Harry, breaking into a sweat. "Like in my bed?"

Ginny allowed herself a small explosion of laughter, seeing his perplexed face. "Well, I hadn't gotten that far… but maybe… yes."

"I don't think that's such a good—"

"Don't worry about my parents," she interrupted. "I can handle them. You know I can."

He shook his head. "That's not the only thing I'm worried about, Ginny."

She grinned, trying to reassure him. "I promise I'll behave myself," she said jokingly. When he laughed uncertainly, her face suddenly turned serious. "I can't sleep," she said quietly. "I doubt I'll stay for so long… just a few hours… I don't want to leave yet."

Harry considered this. He himself couldn't deny his own sleeping problems… Maybe having Ginny around would help him, too. Things were still so early in their relationship, he assumed there wouldn't be any issues in that sense… it's not like they were both ready for anything beyond sleep, he thought. And he'd slept with Hermione in a tent, albeit a fairly large tent, for a while… He supposed it couldn't get anymore awkward than that… Besides, it was Ginny! But that was the frightening part, wasn't it? He wasn't in love with Hermione… his mind never wandered to her in that way when they had fallen asleep together in the tent. Also, he wasn't so sure when he'd ever get an opportunity like this again. His schedule was always so unexpected and fragmented, and he found it quite easy to forget about Ron and the rest of the Weasleys with Ginny's divine flowery scent in his nose like that. "Er… all right."

Ginny nearly pounced on him, breaking into a bright smile, and Harry was glad he could do just that for her.

Twenty minutes later, they were making their way into Harry's bed. He absently thanked Kreacher for cleaning his room while he was gone before he felt Ginny pulling him towards her with her small, delicate hands. He was tense and nervous, not sure of what he was doing. However, Ginny didn't look like she knew what she was doing either, and that calmed him for some reason.

"Just lay down, Harry," she ordered him. "We've laid down together before, you idiot!" she said, laughing affectionately.

He laughed a bit with her and did what she said. She was right. They had lain down together before. Why was this so different, then? He shook his head with that sticky anxious feeling still stuck in his throat. "Erm, yeah, sorry. Yeah…" Before he knew it, he was holding Ginny again and it felt more natural than he thought it'd be… Her breathing had evened against his neck, and his own breathing fell into hers, the heavy tug of slumber gripping at his eyes.

They both fell asleep easier than they had in the longest time that night, wrapped in each other's arms, neither of them knowing what exactly they were in for… just as long as they weren't awake anymore, staring up at the restless ceiling and wondering selfishly where their lives had gone wrong… both feeling like they had just won another battle.

D-D-Derailment. Harry's head is derailing the moment he walks outside from the Burrow and into the lawn. All tense and nervous, and he can't relax. He looks at the long wooden tables and sees there is only one seat available.

Of course.

His eyes shift to Hermione's and narrows. She is obviously trying to keep a smile off her face, and his mind derails again. It's no coincidence that the only seat left happens to be right next to Ginny. Before his stumbling thoughts can figure out what exactly Hermione is up to, Mrs. Weasley is already out of her chair and ushering Harry to his, fussing about how sickly and thin he looks. He sits down dutifully and Mrs. Weasley is sloshing out heaps and heaps of food onto his plate.

"You will eat all of it, Harry, dear," she says forcibly in a tone that is oddly kind but no-nonsense all at once.

All tense and nervous, and he can't relax. He pales, but manages to bob his head along with Mrs. Weasley's on-going rant of concern about his health, ignoring Fleur's unnecessary nods of agreement. He feels even more nauseous, twitching and jittery. The need to vomit rises in his throat as he takes in an overwhelming whiff of garlic. He's sure the smell is now attached to him, consuming his senses. He's fidgeting in his chair when he hears Ginny speak next to him.

"I'm glad you came, Harry," she says quietly.

Harry gulps involuntarily and crams a mouthful of potatoes between his lips, only nodding in response.

"Won't you talk to me?" asks Ginny, staring at her untouched plate.

"Er," says Harry. "Wh-What's there t-to talk about?" he stutters stupidly, inwardly cringing at his expression. Damn, a dark voice in the back of his head says. How weak. Indeed, Harry is feeling weak. Insignificant and worthless. Much like he was in the cupboard, he has never felt so powerless. Power, the voice says.

Ah, yes, power.

Harry tries to steel his mind and determines he's in a power play. With who, he's now finding out.

He sees Ginny blanch and glare, and he does nothing to make her feel better. He instead looks directly across the table at Hermione, who is no longer stuck in a discussion with Bill. His eyes flicker to Ron, who is bobbing Teddy on his lap and laughing as he jams mashed potatoes in the unsuspecting toddler's face. And Harry knows then that Ron would be of no use to him if he were to ask about Hermione; the thick redhead hadn't the foggiest clue what his girlfriend was up to…

Hermione.

This is all Hermione's fault, the voice says. She's meddling and the reason you're feeling weak—

H-Her and the g-girl next to you, his own stammering voice adds nervously.

Ginny makes him weak and he spears a piece of roasted chicken with his fork. He forces his thoughts away from the now fuming girl next to him and catches Hermione's eye once more. There g-goes that evil flash of a s-smirk again. Just what is she up t-to? No way Harry is going to let Hermione have all the power. He will not stand for her teasing. But Harry feels timid and keeps his mouth shut. WEAK, the voice in the back of his head repeats.

Harry's mind derails again and he starts questioning his initial, ridiculous ideas about good and evil, because if Hermione was his good friend, why did she suddenly feel like an evil enigma he had to rid himself of? Could he really stand up to her in his current, twitching voice? Damn!

But there is no good and evil. Those do not exist. There is only power.

And Harry needs to find it.

He thinks quickly now, his inner voice still spluttering stupidly within him as he listens to the enthusiastic murmur around the table. And though Ginny is still pale and glaring beside him, she manages to answer any and all questions thrown her way about her return home after being gone for an entire year as part of her training for Quidditch. Harry tries not to listen, but he hears every word of her last year; he's able to deviate from having to join in the conversation with all the food he puts in his mouth that seems to be never-ending. He stuffs the heaviness of cream and garlic down his throat, and after ten minutes, he's sure Mrs. Weasley is somehow sneaking more food onto his plate. He doesn't mind, though. He looks entirely busy, and the rest of the family appears to be sated with not speaking to him, letting him eat.

In fact, they all look relieved. And Harry enjoys this a bit, feeling he has gained some control of his actions… He's also enjoying the fact that Hermione was now glaring at him, her eyes darting from his still-chewing mouth to Ginny's unhappy fork movements.

He nearly grins, his face stuffed with food. The smell of garlic is still overwhelming, but he can care less. He is in control. All the power was his. But then, Ginny says something to him in a low voice, and he grips his fork violently.

"Will I be seeing more of you?" she asks carefully, though it sounds rather polite more than anything.

Harry chokes on his green beans.

Ginny ignores this, staring at him expectantly, and he doesn't blame her. All tense and nervous, and Harry can't relax. He's in a power struggle with Hermione, and Ginny is interfering. He finally allows his eyes to look at her, and he regrets it, suddenly sensing he might be in a power struggle with her, too. He's not sure why, but he feels like she's glowing somehow, and he has to look away. He jams bread into his mouth, seeing Mrs. Weasley smile pleasantly through the corner of his eye, and he chews slowly, stalling and trying to come up with an answer. After a few minutes, Ginny's eyes have not left his face, and he finally swallows. "G-Ginny…" he stammers feebly. He thinks he knows what she wants… Or at least, he thinks he knows what she wants to hear, because he wants the same things… When he realized in the cupboard that she had been keeping tabs on him—but nothing has changed, and he tries to tell her this. "I-I—"

Power.

Harry wants the power she has over him, and he's unable to find a grip.

"Yes?" she asks, placing a hand on top of his as if out of habit.

Harry immediately hisses loudly and recoils away from her touch. The look of surprise on his face matches Ginny's, and he doesn't hear the table around him go silent. His thoughts are going nuts now, stumbling over each other in hyper speed, s-s-stammering—d-d-derailing—th-they won't make sense, two voices going off wildly in his head. What the hell was that? What's going on? Why did that hurt so badly?

Ginny looks affronted, watching him stare at her as if she had just assaulted him. What did she do? Was she really that repulsive to him, now? She tries to shake it off, and goes to touch him again.

Harry nearly yelps, his legs snapping together as he stands to his feet. His reflexes are so fast, his wand is already in his hand and he thoughtlessly points it at her. He blinks once, seeing the look of pure confusion, fear, and hurt in her eyes. He puts his hand down and shakes his head roughly. "I-I'm sorry," he stutters earnestly, gently. He looks at everyone else, finally acknowledging that they are staring at him. "I-I didn't mean t-to—" He looks at Ginny, and feels himself crumble.

His mind is deteriorating now—d-d-derailing. Because the image he glimpses reflecting in Ginny's wonderful brown eyes:

It's like he's staring into the Mirror of Erised all over again, seeing his heart's desire. Except the image has changed. His dearly beloved of the departed are still there… his parents… the relatives he's never met… but with some new faces now… Sirius… Dumbledore… Remus… Tonks… Fred… even Moody (Harry's ears ring, and he hears himself and Ginny laughing as she jokingly says, "Constant Vigilance!" in a memory)… they're all there… living through her. He can see them. He has always known he'd find them once more in her… but at this moment, she is all he wants; his greatest desire. He sees himself having it. Having it all. It's the clearest vision he's ever seen, and he can't do a thing about it. Weak.

WEAK.

Harry wants it so badly, and knows that self-interest keeps him from having it. Selfishness.

Because he thinks he will use it.

Use her.

WEAK.

"Men have wasted away before it, not knowing if what they have seen is real, or even possible," Dumbledore had once told Harry of the Mirror of Erised.

Is this Harry's fate? To waste away before her?

WEAK.

His brain snaps and unfolds.

"I-I'm sorry," he says again, barely a mumble. "I n-need a moment," he turns his head and stares directly at Hermione, "don't follow me."

And he stalks away from the table. From the food. The looks of shock and confusion. The brown eyes. The questions he can't answer. The feelings he does not know. He finds himself at one of the trees by the house… It's familiar to him. He used to sit with Ginny under this tree, and his insides freeze as the memories make their way before his eyes, uninvited. The searing pain in his hand where Ginny had touched him twice just now starts to fade, and he collapses against the tree. He tries to figure out where the pain had come from. All tense and nervous, and he can't relax.

Why. Why is there a sting? Not emotionally or mentally like he's used to… but a real, agonizing sting that steals his breath, reminding him he is human and alive. Why is he feeling like he had just ran his hand through a burning turbo shot of scary, white-hot fire and held it there for a full minute? Since when does Ginny touching him physically hurt? What does it mean? There was something oddly familiar about being burned by… well, for lack of a better word, love. "Mate," Harry hears beside him. He looks up from where he's bent over on the tree.

It's Ron.

Sweet, non-evil, non-scheming, unknowing Ron.

And Harry relaxes.

There is no power struggle here. Not with Ron.

Harry tries to send him a weak smile, but is only able to muster a grimace.

"You're not all right," says Ron.

Harry knows this, and nods his head, moving his hands away from the tree to clutch his stomach. The smell of garlic overwhelms him again, and he tries not to hurl.

"What was that?" asks Ron.

Harry shrugs his shoulders, his eyes shut in concentration, willing himself to stomp out his jitters. "Dunno," he finally manages to puff.

Ron looks scared, his face turning pink. "I think you should leave," he says quietly, holding a breath.

Harry's eyes shoot up and he stares at Ron. "What?"

Ron nods his head, a look of regret on his face. "You haven't slept in days… Your nerves are all mucked up! Hermione…," he doesn't see Harry scowl, "she says you need to sleep, or you're going to drive yourself mental… She, er, mentioned something about how Muggles are affected by… erm, insomnia? Didn't—er—pay much attention to that part… but she did say the effects must be even more hazardous for wizards… She says your magic is unstable in this state…" He seems to have gained his confidence, because he stands taller and says firmly, "And I agree. You're a danger to yourself like this, Harry, and to us. And I know it's not your fault… but just get some bloody sleep, mate."

Harry cringes. Hermione, through her words, still has power over him. And obviously, over Ron. He's all tense and nervous again, and he can't relax. "I-I can't," he admits weakly. "I've been trying…"

Ron sighs and scratches the side of his face, thinking. He glances behind him, then back at Harry. "Then stay. Sleep here. Mum'll feel loads better if you did, anyway. Just… stay away from Ginny, all right?"

Harry looks irritated. "What do you think I've been trying to do?" he snaps.

Ron promptly puts his hands up. "I know," he says, trying keep his voice controlled, "I didn't mean it like that—just try harder, will you?"

"I am! I would be well off right now if it wasn't for Hermione!" argues Harry, now glaring at Ron.

Ron flushes a deep red and loses control of his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demands loudly.

Harry cringes again, j-jittery and n-nervous. "S-Sorry," he stammers tensely, not wanting to fight with his best friend, "I don't even know—can't think straight."

"Clearly," mutters Ron. "C'mon," he says moodily, moving towards Harry to help him up.

Harry flinches brutally at the contact, his last vision being that of the terrified, confused face of Ron. Ever sweet, non-evil, non-scheming, and unknowing.

It appears no sleep has caught up to Harry, and he feels neither good nor evil. Only a loss of power.

He's wasting away.

He wrenches his arm from Ron's grasp, knowing all power is lost, and falls into blackness, down… down… down…