A/N: Here is the first chapter of an entirely new story. It's been battering around in my brain and I finally decided I had to write it. About halfway through Charming Ginny, I realized I'd made a mistake not being more up front about what effects the charm had on Ginny and those around her. This time, I'm giving you most of the basic information up front. I intend to make this really a story about Harry and Ginny and an impossible situation. Yes, it will be quite sexy in spots. My working title is "Yer a Horcrux, Harry", but I'm really calling it Servant of Death.

Harry was angry, really, really angry. Ron had seen Harry upset before, had even seen him throw something of a tantrum or two, like that summer at Grimmauld Place before their Fifth Year, but this was different.

First off, the target of Harry's anger was Hermione. This was unusual; Harry didn't tend to get mad at her. Annoyed or frustrated sometimes, yes, but never really mad. He had always been able to simply roll his eyes at her more Hermione-ish behaviors and then move on, ignoring the study schedules, the SPEW buttons, even the few tactical errors she had made during the Horcrux hunt. He was much better at letting those things slide than Ron was.

Harry's voice interrupted Ron's thoughts.

"How the hell did you not think they were important, Hermione? Please, try to explain to me again why you didn't bother to give them to me right then when you collected them, when it might have done some good?" Harry was pacing around their old Charms classroom; blasting away any of the desks that hadn't been destroyed during the battle.

"I didn't think . . ." Hermione's voice was hesitant and whatever else she'd been about to say was drowned out by Harry's continued rant.

"You didn't think? Holy shit, Hermione, almost seven years I've known you, and the only useful thing you've ever done is think. And now, when my life depends on it, you suddenly don't?"

That was unfair, and Ron needed to say so. He jumped up. "Harry, come on, mate. She didn't know. None of us did." He walked over to Hermione and tentatively put his arm around her, conjuring a handkerchief to wipe away her tears. He glared at Harry. "Snape was already dead when we got there, remember? No way to tell us to hey, 'show these thoughts to Harry right now, they're super important for his fight against Voldemort.'" Ron huffed. "For all we know, you might have ignored him, even if he'd been able to tell you." He absently kissed Hermione's hair. "And if we'd gotten there two minutes later, it would've been too late anyway. The thoughts would have already disappeared and Hermione wouldn't have been able to gather them at all, and you would be in the exact same place. Or worse, probably." Ron gestured to the Pensieve Harry had brought from the headmaster's office, still glowing dully on Flitwick's desk. "At least we got the see them . . . eventually. So we can understand what we're up against."

Harry's jaw tightened, and Ron knew his words had penetrated, but Harry wasn't ready to recognize that yet. He stopped his pacing in front of Ginny and buried his face in her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, and Ron could see the stricken look on her face behind the dirt and tears. "What the fuck am I going to do?" he mumbled. "This was supposed to finish it."

"I don't know," she said. Ron saw her arms tighten around Harry's back. "But whatever it is, I'm doing it with you. You aren't going to be alone." Her voice was fierce.

"Me too, Harry." Hermione had stopped crying and was looking at him. "I'll do absolutely anything I can to help . . . to fix this." Her voice wavered. "If . . . if you'll let me."

Harry raised his head. Ron could see that the fire in his eyes was gone, and he responded in an uncharacteristically formal voice. "I know you will, Hermione, thank you." He sagged in resignation. "We'll just have to . . . figure something else out."

"And we will," said Ginny in that same, fierce voice. Harry turned to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Really okay?" He brushed a hand across a bruise on Ginny's cheek. "I couldn't really see how it happened, at the end. He didn't touch you, did he?"

Ginny shook her head in an impatient gesture Ron recognized from his many years as Ginny's brother. "I'm fine, Harry. You're the one who threw himself in front of the fucking Avada Kedavra for me." She shook her head, and a note of pain crept into her voice. "What were you thinking?"

"That I'm in love with you, Ginny." Harry's words were soft, probably only meant for her, but Ron heard them anyway. "I couldn't let you die." He leaned down and kissed her. Ginny kissed him back; she put her hand on the back of Harry's neck and pulled him closer to her, lips moving desperately. Ron was reminded of Harry's words to him earlier, when he and Hermione had kissed after retrieving the Basilisk fangs. Is this the time?

Ron shrugged and turned towards Hermione. "I guess they're entitled; I just don't really want to see it," he said.

Hermione nodded. "I'm going to figure this out," she said quietly. I owe it to him."

Ron personally disagreed that anyone owed anything to anyone else at this point, but now was not the time to keep talking; Ron could see that Harry was swaying with exhaustion and the rest of them weren't much better. Harry and Ginny stopped kissing, and when Ginny's face crumpled, Ron knew that Fred's death had just come rushing back to her from wherever it had been hiding. He shook his head, his brother at the top of the long list of things Ron wasn' ready to think about yet. He took Hermione's hand.

"I need . . . I mean, we need, to find mum and dad and the rest," he said. He looked at Ginny and Harry. Whatever uncertainty had existed between the two of them before the battle had been irrevocably swept away when Harry had jumped in front of the killing curse meant for Ginny and then she'd returned the favor by finishing off Voldemort herself while Harry had been . . . dead, apparently. Ron still couldn't get his head around the sound of the Avada Kedavra coming out of his sister's mouth as she stood over Harry's lifeless body. His mum doing it to Bellatrix made sense, but Ginny was another thing entirely.

"We need to be with George," Ginny agreed. She didn't let go of Harry and it was obvious he would be coming too. Ron thought that was appropriate; Harry, not surprisingly, looked unsure. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't, Harry," said Ginny sharply. She spoke in a voice that boded no argument but ran her hand down Harry's cheek at the same time. "You know they wouldn't let you stay away anyway."

As Ron watched, Harry nodded and leaned into his sister. "Thank you," he said simply. Ginny's eyes softened.

"I'm taking you to Gryffindor Tower," she said. "Everyone's there," she added. Ron didn't ask how she knew; the events of the last hours were a jumbled mess.

They were almost out the door when Harry put up his hand.

"Wait," he said, and his voice sounded hoarse and shaky. "Before . . . before we see everyone." He took a deep breath. "I don't think anyone else should know," he said.

"About anything?" Ron asked. Personally, he thought that maybe they'd need help with this, but now was not the time to say so. Harry nodded firmly.

"About the fact that I'm a Horcrux or that Voldemort may not really be dead," he said. "Or that I talked to Dumbledore while I was . . . gone. We don't need to cause panic while we figure things out."

"We may need some help eventually," said Ginny quietly. Ron was glad she'd said it.

Harry nodded. "I know. But just not . . . yet," he said. "I need to figure some things out first."

Hermione finally spoke up. "We need to do something with all that, then," she said, pointing to the Pensieve and empty vial lying next to it. Snape's memories still swirled around inside the bowl, although Ron doubted anyone would be looking at them again. Her voice trembled.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." Ron could hear the tears threaten and he pulled her close. "I should have realized . . . but Snape was already dead. It didn't . . . occur to me that you might need . . . I just took them because they were there."

"I know, Hermione, I'm sorry I yelled." Harry's voice spoke the truth, although his eyes didn't meet hers. "And at least we know what really happened now, right?" He waved his wand and the Pensieve disappeared, likely finding its way back to the headmaster's office.

Ron relaxed a fraction. At least that's one source of tension gone. Just about a million others left. He pushed open the door. "Let's go."

HPHPHPHPHP

Harry didn't speak all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, glad for the excuse of exhaustion to ignore everything around him except the feel of Ginny's hand, leading him. If they passed anyone else on the way, Harry didn't know it. His thoughts swirled uncomfortably, but even they couldn't pierce the haze of not sleeping for nearly two days. It was with dull surprise that he felt Ginny tugging him through the portrait hole much sooner than he expected, and the roar of voices that greeted them didn't register at first.

And then he was enveloped in a soft embrace that could be no one else but Molly Weasley, and the blur of movement and noise and red resolved itself into the rest of Ginny's family. Ginny's hand slipped out of his as she was similarly hugged and celebrated and questioned, and the loss of contact was jarring. Harry took a deep breath. He forced away the numbing exhaustion, forced himself to find some semblance of consciousness for the only people to whom he'd give it right now. It was with no small measure of relief that Harry was finally released enough to sit, heavily, on one of the common room sofas. Ginny was next to him, whispering in his ear to just give them a few minutes, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek, using the pain to keep himself awake. He nodded, and then said the words he knew he had to, before any else could talk about Harry's actions instead.

"I'm so sorry. About Fred." The words sounded sluggish and inadequate. Harry wanted to say more, to apologize for not figuring things out sooner, for not giving himself up at the start. He looked blearily from face to face, finding landing on George. He shook his head at Harry.

"Don't," he said harshly. "I know what you're thinking, and just . . . don't."

"But," Harry began, unsure of what he even meant to say. George raised his hand. "I'll let you prostrate yourself before the shop later on if it makes you feel better, but don't ever expect me to accept an apology you don't need to make." The words were blunt, and conveyed a mountain of pain behind them.

"I watched you take the killing curse for my sister, Harry. I suspect you've done other things nearly as reckless for her. For all of us, probably. "George gestured around at his family. "And probably others too, the entire fucking wizard community, even those who don't know it or wouldn't understand." George's voice was bitter. "But you did it anyway, not for fame or glory, but just because it was the right thing to do."

Harry started to speak, but George held up his hand. "And yes, some . . . some died," he said, more quietly. "And we're going to . . . to miss them, to more than miss them, forever." George swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "But a lot lived too. Because of you."

His words exhausted, George sunk into silence.

The rest of the Weasleys were looking at him and Harry could tell they agreed with George. He didn't know what to say to explain to them just how much his actions had been pre-determined for him. He was just barely coming to understand it himself.

It's not just that it was the right thing to do, I didn't actually have a choice.

Those last images from the Pensieve assaulted him; Dumbledore telling Snape that Harry carried a piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him, that Harry must willingly face the Killing Curse, that Voldemort must be the one to cast it. And most importantly, that doing so was the only way to finally and absolutely kill the dark wizard. He shook his head. He couldn't tell anyone else – not even the Weasleys; it had to stay with him and Ginny and Ron and Hermione. Harry couldn't imagine the crazed panic that might erupt if the wider world knew that Voldemort was not actually dead. There were Death Eaters, and their sympathizers, on the loose, any of whom might relish the chance to bring back their lord. No, that bit of information had to remain a secret, at least until they had a plan. He shook his head anyway.

"It's what any of you would have done," he mumbled. "You've all been helping too, this year." He looked at Molly. "You killed Bellatrix; that saved a lot of people."

"And you saved my daughter," Molly said fiercely. "You . . . did what your mum did for you. For my daughter." Her voice broke and she looked about to rush across the room to where Harry and Ginny sat. Bill's voice interrupted.

"You're not dead, though," he said. "How is it that you aren't dead?" Harry could hear the curiosity in Bill's question; his curse-breaker's mind was churning through the possibilities of Harry's survival.

Harry couldn't reveal much; like the fact of Voldemort's continued existence, his role as a container for a piece of Voldemort's soul, or even his conversation with Dumbledore in that place in-between that looked a lot like King's Cross station. Harry wasn't sure he was ready to examine the uncharacteristic despair in his former headmaster's voice when he found Harry and explained what was supposed to have happened. But then the common room slipped away and Harry couldn't help but remember.

"Harry, Harry, is that you?" Dumbledore sounded more frantic than Harry had ever heard him before. It was disquieting to hear. The man striding toward Harry through the mist had two unblemished hands and looked somewhat younger and more vibrant than when Harry had last seen him, just before being blasted to his death off the Astronomy Tower. The man's face was serious, and Harry felt a strange prickle of fear.

"Am I dead? He certainly expected he must be; Voldemort's Killing Curse had hit him right in the chest, almost in the exact place the scar from wearing the locket Horcrux still stained his chest. He looked suddenly around, half expecting to see Ginny running towards him, for certainly Voldemort would have turned his wand on her next.

"She not here," said Dumbledore, guessing his thoughts, Indeed, she is battling quite valiantly even as we speak here. Your death lit quite a fire in her."

"So I am dead," Harry said. "Voldemort killed me, and my mum's protection was not enough to save me this time because . . . because . . . Voldemort used my blood to resurrect himself. Right?

"Well, yes and no," said Dumbledore, sounding a bit more like himself. "It's true that your mum's protection is not enough to save you a second time because Voldemort now has some of that protection inside him, but at the same time, that very blood tethers you to life. The man looked sad. "You are free to return, if you wish.

Hope swelled within Harry. "But that's a good thing, Isn't it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It is. But . . . am I correct that you never spoke to Professor Snape tonight, before you saved Miss Weasley by taking Voldemort's killing curse for her?'

"Snape? No, Snape's dead," said Harry. "We found his body. It looked like Nagini had just killed him; his body was still warm."

Dumbldore rubbed at his eyes behind his half-moon glasses. "This is a . . . complication I did not anticipate."

Harry was confused. "Why? The man was a traitor – he killed you for Merlin's sake!"

But Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus had certain information that you needed to have, before your final confrontation with Voldemort. Your failure to walk willingly to your death - as opposed to taking the instinctive actions that saved Miss Weasley's life - has repercussions that will make your task ahead trickier. Had he been able to deliver the information to you, you would have learned just how loyal Professor Snape actually was to me. And to you."

And Harry listened in horror as Dumbledore explained what had been lost when Snape was killed. The rarest of rare, that human Horcrux that forged a connection between Harry and Voldemort , had needed a knowing sacrifice to be destroyed. And one had not been forthcoming.

With this final, horrible knowledge. Harry nevertheless let himself return to the Final Battle, waking up just in time to see Ginny, her face streaked with tears of sorrow and anger, scream the Avada Kedavra and send a jet of green light right at Voldemort's chest.

Harry shook off the memory of that moment, and of the many crowded and exhausting ones afterwards, and came back to the common room and Bill's question. He shrugged. "I guess it's something related to the reason I survived as baby; we may never know for sure." Bill did not look satisfied with that answer and started to open his mouth, but Fleur put her arm around him and whispered something that sounded like not now, and Bill grew silent. Harry carefully didn't look at Ron or Hermione or Ginny, who all knew the truth, but leaned more heavily into Ginny, his energy depleted.

There were sleeping bags spread over the floor but Harry could only think of the quiet of his old bed; he hoped it was still upstairs. Without thinking about it, he took Ginny's hand and led her to the staircase, not caring who watched them go.

"Stay with me," he slurred as they climbed the stairs together.

"Of course," she said.

"Need a . . . need a shower," said Harry when they reached the landing to his dormitory. He pointed vaguely at the door to the loo.

"It can wait," assured Ginny. "We're both equally dirty."

Harry wanted to disagree, wanted to wash some of the death and destruction off himself as soon as possible, but he simply didn't have the strength.

He collapsed instead on his old bed - the bed he hadn't seen in nearly year - and was only half aware of Ginny quietly muttering a few wards around them to keep out the noise and light. He felt her curl up next to him and her presence was the final comforting weight Harry needed. But before sleep could finally overtake him, a last horrible thought fell from his lips, and he tightened his arms around Ginny to try to keep it away.

I'm a Horcrux, Ginny. Voldemort's not dead. What are we going to do?

With no answer to his question, Harry gave up, falling into a heavy sleep not even penetrated by dreams.