"No!"

Her scream tore through the air and Ginny lunged forward, tears already glimmering in her eyes. The messy mop of dark hair on the lifeless form in Hagrid's arms could be seen from hundreds of metres away, and yet she noticed it instantly. It was the body of the Boy-Who-Lived and the Chosen One, one third of the infamous Golden Trio, the one who always had a plan and whose recklessness could have gotten them all killed time and time again… and yet, to her, he was so much more than that.

Harry was the man whom had held her in the nights when she couldn't bear it. Sometimes at the Burrow after her sixth year, she could climb into his bed at night and cling to him. Hermione had known as soon as she left the first night, but had promised never to tell anyone. The love that Ginny bore for Harry was something that had never been distinguished throughout all of her years of childhood, and she hadn't even known him then, and after that she was nothing but Ginny Weasley, his best friend's little sister.

But somehow Harry had come to see her as more than that and had come to love her irrevocably. The idea that he was dead, that her love hadn't been enough, drove her too far.

"Come on, Ginny," her father's arm was wrapped tightly around her struggling form, his voice soothing in her ears as she fought harder to get to the only man that she had ever truly loved. "Come on. It's alright."

Deep down, Ginny knew that it wasn't alright. She had loved everything about Harry. She had loved the way that her hands would thread into his messy, jet black hair and he wouldn't mind because it didn't change its state anyway. She loved the way that he would stare at her with those green eyes and no words would have to pass between them, because every possible emotion and conversation he could have spoken with her about was already in her mind because she could read him like an open book. She loved the way that his arms would tighten around her and hold her there. She loved his soothing, rough baritone voice in her ears in the dark in the middle of the night, wrapped in her sheets after a nightmare that would wake her screaming.

But most of all she loved his smile.

Harry's smile was a crooked grin, one that was purely genuine and couldn't be faked. His facial expressions were so easy to read for her – when he was upset she knew, when he was angry she knew, when he was in pain she knew, when he was worried she knew. But she also knew when he was happy, when he had come to the realisation of how much love he harboured for everyone around him. But she also loved the content expression that would appear on his face and the smile on his lips that would move her whenever she pulled away from a kiss.

Harry Potter was dead.

And he would never smile at her again.

I just wrote this randomly. Hehe. I have absolutely no idea where this idea came from. I was thinking about James/Hermione prompts for the next chapter for MWWD and then I thought - wait a tic, I haven't written much on Ginny, why don't I write something and then blah, blah, blah bam! I have a story...

Okay then. Glad we got that straight.

Thanks for reading. Please review and tell me how much you despise/like/love it.

Love,

Marlene