Harry spent five hours in bed that morning, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom.

He was currently living in a tiny flat in a tucked away corner of London where no one but those he wanted to see would find him. Right away at least. This was his seventh in twelve months – the Prophet writers just didn't seem to get the hint.

It was the one year anniversary of the victory over Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The Ministry was holding some ball to mark the occasion and everyone was expecting him to be there. And make a speech that represented everything the world had gone through and how they were stronger than ever now.

The scar on his hand burned, as if it was mocking him.

Sure, maybe the wizarding world was stronger in the eyes of those that were wearing rose-coloured glasses. It took them only a year to romanticize everything they had gone through, to build him up into some undefeatable hero. They couldn't see that he was a broken eighteen-year-old whose parents died to give him that 'power' that defeated Voldemort. That his life wasn't his own anymore – was never his own – that the wizarding world was watching his every move at every second of every day.

Sometimes he wonders why he bothers getting up in the morning.

It was mornings like this that he can't snap himself out of whatever he was feeling. The weight of something heavy sitting on his chest, tears pricking his eyes but refusing to fall. Wondering why the world was cruel enough to forget that he was just a teenager despite legally being an adult. Every movement felt like he was chained to boulders, fighting his way through simple movements he had done a million times before.

Five hours to the ball and he managed to get out of bed, take a shower, brush his teeth, and pour himself some cereal. Halfway through his breakfast the door flings open and even though he knows there are only three people that would walk in without knocking, his hand still jumps to his wand.

"Sorry I didn't make breakfast, was running late," Ginny apologized as she moved to dump her bag beside their mustard-coloured couch. He watched as her fiery red hair swayed with her movements.

A year ago he thought he would never get to see her again, see how the light bounced off her hair or how she laughed, tossing her head back and letting the sound fill the room. Emerald eyes closed when it became too much, remembering fights in tents and a broken house, the feeling of dementors and the green of a killing curse hitting him in the chest–

"Avada Kedavra-"

"Harry?"

Eyes snapping open he tried to breathe but it was too much, there was so much wrong, something was going to happen and take away everything from him. It happened to his parents, to Sirius, to the Weasleys, it was going to happen to him all over again and it would be Ginny's body instead of Fred's on the floor.

When did the room get fuzzy?

Brown eyes and freckles filled his gaze as his girlfriend moved closer to him. "Harry- breathe. I'm going to hold your hands and help you focus, okay? Tell me if it's not-"

"O-okay, its f-fine."

She moved to take his hands gently, brushing her thumbs over his knuckles. It was only then that he realized that he was shaking. "Just breathe, alright? In and out. . . In and out. . . there you go. What's wrong?"

Harry just shook his head and stayed silent, looking down at their hands. She was here with him. This was real. But for how long? How long would it be until someone took revenge on him and stole away everyone he loved?

"Harry- breathe deeply. I'm here to help you," she whispered, ducking her head to meet his eyes. She let him stay quiet, listening to Harry's breathing and talking about mundane things like their grocery list, voice as soothing as she can make it.

"Sometimes I wish I was dead," he says after minutes have gone by, his voice barely above a whisper. He's stopped shaking and Ginny takes it as a good sign but when he says those six words her heart freezes.

She barely registers Harry pulling her close until they're hugging and he's sobbing into her shoulder and she's fighting back tears of her own. Its days like this where the war is over for the world but is raging in their minds, taking what they loved over and over again. Its days like this that Ginny can't look at a diary without shivering, that she can't walk down Diagon Alley because the joke shop is too colourful and the name Fred is on her lips but there is no Fred anymore.

"I know," she says at last and the two stay like that for what seems like forever, clutching to each other like someone was going to walk in and tear them apart.

There are nights where Harry wakes up in a panic, sweat gleaming off his forehead and Ginny calms him down, holding him close as he explains what he dreamt of. Despite that, she knows that she will never understand what he went through when he left, what he went through his whole life.

Ginny understands of the war that looks over her shoulder, waiting for the perfect moment to cripple her, but she wishes she could understand the war that haunts Harry.

They sit in silence, finding solace in the breathing of the other. In, out. In, out. The war couldn't put them in the ground but it did kill a part of each of them, pawns in a game of chess that older people played, toying with their lives.

Neither could make the other whole again, return what was missing in the other's life. They didn't want to.

Harry couldn't take back the torture that Ginny faced, the agony of seeing her mother cry to sleep and her father lose his smile for months. He couldn't fix the worry that paralyzed her when he had left with Ron and Hermione, when Luna went missing. Seeing his body carried by Hagrid and having her heart shatter.

But waking up to emerald eyes eased the pain. Having coffee waiting on the counter just how she liked it made life bearable on the days it all came rushing back. Seeing his stupid grin when he goofed off with Ron or quoted that horrid valentine she sent him, the special smile he saved just for her reminded her what it felt like to be alive.

Ginny couldn't erase the pain of losing his parents and not getting to know them, only seeing pictures and listening to second hand stories. She couldn't understand what it felt like to have two father figures taken away from him in as many years. Her smile didn't take away the pain of seeing all those dead in the hall, of realizing that Teddy was now orphaned like him, because of him.

But it did cause a flutter in his heart. Seeing messages written on the mirror in steam when he stepped out of the shower reminded him that he was loved. Watching and cheering her on during a game, sitting in awe of the vibrant woman that chose to love him, not the boy-who-lived or the Chosen One. Just Harry. It gave him hope that maybe one day it would hurt less.

"Want to ditch the party after the speech and go out with Ron and Hermione?" she asked.

"Definitely."

A year later and the war was still being waged inside their minds. But they were navigating through it together.