Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter, though I was admittedly shocked that Snape got to be the sexy good guy I was rooting for all along! Thank goodness Rowling did that, since she killed my FRED! ºoº

Chapter 21

He wasn't exactly thrilled to see her, Ginny knew. Harry had been nervous enough having to ask her the dreaded, knee-bending "marriage" question. Now, as he stood before her, arms across his chest, his hair more wrecked than usual from rough sleep, Ginny realized his anxiety was only growing. They hadn't been alone together since he'd asked for her hand earlier, and this wasn't quite how she had imagined their next time alone together being. The worst part, though, was that she only had herself to blame. Well, herself and her busybody brother.

"Ron's such an arse."

Earlier…

Ron dashed up to wake his best friend immediately after catching Ginny with the diary. Flustered, the young man was nearly impossible to understand. Harry struggled to comprehend the words, as he was being shaken awake.

"HarrywakeupantakethisbeforeGingetsaholdofitagain!" The whisper was harsh, the words fairly unintelligible as they burst from Ron's lips in one, ragged breath.

"What, mate? And try it in English this time." Harry shifted up reluctantly, leaving his cozy spot under the blankets, and immediately regretted the move as a cool draft pushed through the doorway, raising goose bumps on his bare shoulders. He positioned himself on the edge of the bed, snatching his glasses from the nightstand so he could at least to pretend to focus on the jumpy redhead in front of him.

Ron heaved a sigh, trying to calm himself. "Here." He finally ordered, thrusting a worn, leather book at his friend. Harry gasped; Hermione's diary! "Ron! What in the name of Gryffindor were you THINKING, you crazy git?!? Dumbledore'll have a fit, mate!"

"Oh, come off it, Harry!" Ron's tone was insulted, bitter. "I didn't bloody read it. I caught Gin with it downstairs, and I know she read at least a few entries. I thought you'd rather I brought it to you than Dumbledore. The old man would keep Ginny out of everything, then. She'd be crushed."

His face was crimson with embarrassment and anger, and Harry felt instant remorse for his hasty assumption. "I'll take it, Ron. Calm down, though, or you'll wake the whole lot."

The restless man, who had begun pacing rather noisily, stopped and nodded, handing Harry the book eagerly. Harry knew Ron must have been horribly tempted to read those weathered pages. He could see it in his nervous friend's eyes. "It's too much for him, though, no matter what he thinks."

Harry had read the final entry, and he sincerely wished he hadn't. The desperation, the depression…he still couldn't get the words out of his mind. "What about Ginny, then?" His mind plagued him mercilessly at the thought. If Ginny had gotten to the last few entries, and she knew about her best friend's former anguish, Harry knew she'd be torturing herself all night.

"Ron?" His friend, now sitting on the opposite bed, staring blankly at the floor, glanced up. "Yeah?" His voice was rather lost, as if he'd had to summon it up from where it had been sleeping for centuries.

"I think you'd better send Ginny up here. I need to discuss something with her."

Harry had hoped to give Ginny an entire night to herself, to mull over his proposal. She'd left him no choice, though, and he steeled himself for the worst as Ron slipped out of the room and down the squeaky staircase.

"You could at least say something, Harry." The young woman was uneasy, and the messy-haired man's silence wasn't doing anything to help. The weighty gaze she'd been receiving from his two emerald eyes was certainly no comfort to her nerves.

"What do you want me to say, Ginny? That it's alright, even if you broke a serious rule? That I don't mind, even if you snuck around me to get at that silly book?"

His tone was accusatory, but underneath it, Ginny knew that what she was hearing was hurt. She'd betrayed him, in a way, and she cringed at the realization. Sensing pity in her gaze, Harry spoke before the sorrowful woman in front of him could start a string of apologies.

"I don't need an explanation, Gin. I'm sure you felt like it was worth it, to know what Hermione went through and all that rot. All I want to know is whether or not you got to the end of it."

Harry never sounded so removed or businesslike, and Ginny's curiosity was immediately piqued. There was something in the last entry? If Harry was that serious about it, it had to be extremely significant.

"Well, what if I did?" Ginny opted to remain ambiguous. If there was even the slightest chance of her getting a peak at it, she knew she couldn't claim either option. Unfortunately, the irked man in front of her was in no mood for clever ploys.

"Gin, I'm serious. Just tell me, okay?" Harry's glance was probing, apprehensive. He was worried about what she'd read, the young redhead concluded, not what she hadn't. Judging from the way it had him on edge, Ginny felt certain it had more to do with concern for her than fury at being manipulated. Deciding on an honest approach, she took a slow breath before answering.

"No, Harry. Ron got to me before I could get to the last few entries. Why?"

She hadn't relented, whatever her tone, and Harry could see she had no intention of dropping the subject any time soon. He stood up, the diary in hand, and made a motion for the door. "That's all I needed to know." If Ginny hadn't read it, she certainly didn't need to, and Harry was ready to walk out the door and hide the diary somewhere no one else might run across it.

Something stopped him, though, and he turned to take a look at Ginny as he lingered by the doorway. Her eyes were on him, curious as ever, and even though she seemed to sense the finality of his decision, it was apparent that she still had some hope in her.

Ginny's glance was both beseeching and wary. Harry found it pathetic that that was all it took to break him. "Gin, the last few entries aren't exactly a fun read." The young redhead nodded, her eyes bright and eager. Harry went back to sit beside her on the bed.

"But I'm going to break the rules, too. My instincts say you need to see the last one, at the very least. You're her friend, you should know a few things."

Ginny couldn't wipe the smile from her face, as Harry held out the worn, leather book in one hand. She gingerly latched onto it, feeling as though she was being handed some great treasure. "Oh, Harry, thank-you so-"

The messy haired young man was shaking his head, causing her to pause. "I don't want thanks, Gin. You've got the book, so read what you need to read. When you're finished, I'll be here."

Harry sat down then, reclining a bit to rest his back on the pillows and headboard. Ginny shifted onto the floor by the bed, wanting to make enough distance to keep her experience "intimate."

Cracking open the spine gently, the eager young woman flipped to the back of the many weathered pages. With only a few sheets left before the back cover, Ginny knew she was looking at the last inscription her friend had made before being…recycled.

With an appreciative glance at Harry, the man who loved her enough to understand it all, Ginny began what she hoped would shed some light on how to help her best friend.

There was no date on the page, and the inked lines were not up to Hermione's usual, somewhat manic neatness. Ginny felt certain that this last entry was a rushed, if not overly emotional, one.

I'm afraid to write for very long. He's so unstable right now, and if he found this, I'm convinced he'd be further agitated by something in these ramblings I've written. I've concluded that it would be best to hide this book, and I think I'll sneak it home to do it. But I must, for my own sanity, leave one last impression. After all, there's no one else I can turn to, and there are these remaining pages. Leaving them empty, when I feel like a release will prevent my imploding, seems a shame.

Tom, or "Voldemort" as his little cohorts refer to him, has finally let his rage go too far with me. He stormed in, and he saw that I'd packed a few things into cardboard boxes. I'd promised Demeter she could have a bit of the stuff I don't use so much, and the rest of the boxes were mostly my old books, which I meant to take home weeks ago. I just thought that, in the situation we might need to leave quickly, having only a few of the necessary possessions would hasten the process. And let's be honest: Tom's goings-on have become a bit eccentric, often dangerous and illegal. He won't let me know much, but I'm no dimwit: I'm quite positive that he has enemies of a darker sort by now.

When he walked in, he seemed tense, as per his usual mood as late. But when his eyes took in my boxes, the mere five of them, he was livid. He yelled, he cursed…and we fought.

"You're LEAVING me?!?" He'd asked, and I couldn't help but reply sarcastically. "Are you JOKING?"

It was the wrong retort, as I realized a bit too late. He called out a strange phrase…"Crucio," I believe. Never have I felt such pain as I did then. It was brief, as I know now, but that fire that coursed through me felt like it had been there for years, ere he called it off. And yet, this was nothing.

Ginny grimaced. The next page had tear stains, as well as a jagged line that ran lightly through the words as it traversed the length of the page: a path that Hermione's tears had traveled.

There was an interrogation. Tom commanded that I tell him who I was leaving him for. Naturally, I waved him off as being jealous too easily. "Tom, you KNOW you're the only man I've ever been with." Yes, I'd had many friends that were seemly young men, but whenever they tried to move beyond friendship, I ALWAYS refused.

Tom didn't believe me, as usual. "Don't lie to me, Hermione! You've packed most of your things, and I WILL know who it is you've opted to leave me for!!!" And with that, he raised his wand again. His eyes were blazing, an unearthly red.

I drew my wand, growing afraid for my life. His fury had left bruises and scars before, but the last time he was accusing me of INFIDELITY, it was much worse. I still shudder to think it…though it haunts me in my dreams: I couldn't let him rape me again. Oh, he would regret it, as he did last time, I'm sure. But, looking into the furious features that faced me, I knew it wouldn't be any time soon.

He shouted a curse, then. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

I knew this one, mostly from my listening at keyholes when he had strange visitors. I couldn't counter quickly enough, my reflexes seemed disconnected. My thoughts, which I feared to be my last, were simple, urgent: "Please, Please…Don't end it this way." And I knew, somehow, that my prayer wasn't really for me.

In that instant, I lost all feeling. There was no pain, no sight; no worry. There was a light all around me, although I'm still uncertain as to how I sensed its presence. All I could think about was living, surviving. I had to make it for Tom, as his smiling face was all I could conjure from my memory. I wanted so desperately to see it again.

When it all finally faded to a familiar darkness, the deep black of sleep, I felt all my other senses returning as well. I was aching, like I'd fallen from a broom while soaring far up towards the clouds. My face was damp, but I knew the streaks weren't any crying of mine. I opened my eyes cautiously, and I glanced up. I was being held, cradled even, and my guardian had a pair of sad, dark green eyes. They were weeping, and I recognized the wetness on my cheeks as Tom's tears. He was murmuring something, through sobs, as he waved his wand over my body. The pain in my legs ceased, and I gathered the mumbled words were part of some healing charm. At last, as I was willing to admit being fully conscious, I allowed an audible sigh. The pain was lessening with every shallow breath I took, and I felt safe speaking.

"Boy, why are you crying?" My words to him, shaky as they left my lips, were the same I had spoken when first we met. The phrase from our youth seemed to make Tom's guilt overflow, and I felt the sob as a tremor in his arms.

"Oh, Hermione. I didn't mean…I just can't hold it back anymore and…I'm sorry. And you had to use those powers against me…" As he cried, I noticed the stain on his shirt, a brown-red streak from where the blood had dried. It was stuck to him partially, and I hated myself for the lengthy gash across his white torso s it peeped through the rip in the fabric.

I'd attacked him. Somehow, without even aiming or thinking, I'd wounded him. Granted, Tom had completely lost it, trying to beat me down, or even…kill me. But the thought never occurred to me that I might have to attack him to protect myself…and here he was, bleeding as he tried to revive me. My body seemed to have gone against my mind, or my heart, for that matter.

For in that moment, as I stared into his face, I knew as I never had before; I could never leave Tom, not matter what happened. It was inevitable, I realized, that our union would utterly destroy at least one of us. That didn't matter, even though I felt it must be me if it came to that. No matter what he did, no matter how he might fight against me, I had to stay with him. Tom was so desperate to keep me, to keep "us," that the chaos in him took over at the thought of being without.

As he sniffed back the tears from falling further, I made a feeble attempt to whisper, "I love you." I reached my arms up, wrapping them around his neck in order to hoist myself up. He needed to be consoled, pardoned in some way. Tom kept trying to apologize. I nodded once, to show my forgiveness, and then put my fingers to his lips to ebb the flow. I didn't need beautiful words and earnest speeches of sorrow: I loved him.

I know it isn't my Tom that hurts me, or anyone for that matter. No, whatever powers we have been "blessed" with, his are contaminating his soul. My abilities, too, are tainted. My "gift," as I've been working with it, seems to be intended for healing and balance. Thus, I find myself empathizing, trying to help the distressed. I've grown too soft in my heart, and my wit fails to govern my actions. Tom's innate powers are bent on destruction, control. His soul is chaotic and angry, in opposition with mine. I fear that his outbursts stem from his inability to contain something that's bent on containing him.

I love my Tom, and for his sake, I'll never leave him. He needs me, though his inner nature opposes mine, and to abandon him while he's being tortured like this would break me. After assuring him I would be alright, in spite of the marks and pains that remained, he let me explain the stupid boxes. His eyes, devoid of tears at last, teamed with guilt. I had to tell him of my resolve to remain with him, always. His smile at my promise was a sad one.

" I wish I could just let you go, Hermione." That was my Tom speaking, and I believed him completely. "I want to tell you to leave, to run away from me and never look back."

His chest rose and sank with an abrupt sigh. I felt the regret seeping into me, and I was moved to pity him further. "But," He broke the silence at last, "I cant. I'm selfish, I know, but I can't let you be anywhere without me."

And I kissed him; I kissed my enemy, and I kissed my love. I understood, and I urged in my kiss my reply; I couldn't be without him, either. And so we ended our feud, for this night anyhow. I told him I was going to take those boxes to Demeter, that I'd be back as soon as I could manage. He was fine with all of that, naturally, and so went to rest up in my room for a bit.

And now, I'm sitting here, letting my mind wander, pen on paper for the last time in this book, as I watch the sun rise. I've resolved to stay this course, and nothing will alter my mind. But, as no more may be said of it hereafter (I've spent all the pages of this darling journal), I think it prudent to say that I finally know myself, and I would never alter what has happened, or shall happen, for this feels like a most natural conclusion to a prologue of my life. I hope to make the rest something worth reading, even if it never makes it onto paper by my hand.

And, with an all too familiar signature, so ended a diary of a young woman who never made it beyond the beginning of her own story. It was poetic, Ginny realized, but not sad in the way she'd expected. "She loved him, Harry. Really loved him."

The surprise was evident in the voice of the beautiful woman beside him. "Yeah, she did. But, Ginny, I think it's sorta more important to see beyond some foolish choices she made. We now know how dangerous they are together; why a repetition of the past would be detrimental to them both."

Harry's hand reached to take the diary, still open on Ginny's lap, just as Ginny stood suddenly and let it hit the floor. As she spun to face him, Harry recognized an all-too-Weasley expression: anger, disappointment. "It isn't a foolish decision to get passionately involved with someone. To put them above all else, even the rest of the world, is a sweet idea!"

"But to the point of reckless abandon? Her own family warned her about him, Gin! Don't you think she owed them some sort of consideration? They loved her more than he could!" It was difficult staying cross enough to argue from his somewhat reclined position on the edge of the bed. Almost as if on impulse, Ginny backed slightly to yield enough space for Harry to stand and spar with her.

"But it's endearing, what she was willing to give up to help him. Can't you imagine loving someone so much you'd walk away from anyone and everything else just to make them happy?" Something in the eyes of the red-haired beauty before him caused Harry to hesitate. The fire feeding her argument was smoldering in the green orbs, but Harry's was already extinguished. He shifted closer, slowly, gauging her reaction as he tentatively lifted his hand to her shoulder.

"I'd never ask that of you, Gin." As he leaned in to wrap his other arm around the Weasley woman, Harry felt the rest of the tension slipping away from her stance. With a sigh, and a silent chuckle, Ginny allowed herself to be embraced. Her hair smelled of flowers, light and sweet, as Harry nuzzled her neck. This was home, when he had her in his arms, and for a moment he began to understand what Ginny saw in Hermione's former willingness to sacrifice herself. Harry couldn't imagine upsetting Ginny if given the power to do otherwise, and he felt quite sure he'd lay down his own life instantly if it meant more of this feeling, this moment of completion.

"But you see," Ginny began, drawing back only a little, as to look up into her fiancé's eyes, "You ask that of anyone once they love you, even if you never say it out loud. And I love you, Harry, so you'll have to accept that it's a strong emotion, and once it tethers you to another, there is no ending it."

And Harry kissed her, steeling himself to hold in his tears while his arms held fast to the woman he'd never known he could love so much. Until now, he realized, he'd accepted the probability of being alone, always, as any impending doom concerning Voldemort would make it necessary to avoid risking others' safety. He couldn't truly bear it now, though, the idea of going back to being happy on his own. The idea of going back to a time before Ginny was beyond comprehension.

As their mouths and tongues mingled, and blood flowed readily through their limbs and faces in response, there was a sense of understanding each other; of knowing what it meant to be in love, and to be loved, and how those two could be very different things. Ginny pulled back from Harry's eager mouth, and his eyes flew open in mild alarm. Had he done something wrong?

But the glowing expression on his partner's face reassured him quickly. "To answer that question you asked me earlier, Harry…I think you and I both know it's a definite yes." And without another word of ceremony or exclamation, the radiant young woman grasped both of Harry's hands from behind her neck and back, pulling them in front of her as she dragged him over to the bed. Lips met lips again, then, and parted only as sleep claimed them, leaving them quite comfortably nestled in each others' arms.

A/N: Thank-you to all still reading/considering reading further…I've had a rough time with this fic, among other things, and I really haven't been motivated after attempting some reworking of the first ten chapters….I really am going to overhaul them a bit. I'm not a good author, but I'm much better now than when those were penned, so I'd like to reapproach them. It might not be until the summer that it's finished, but there ya go. I am also in sore need of a beta…or a beta who isn't super busy, as I love my current, and it's for her birthday that this is being posted. (Love you, Toner) Anyhoos, I actually have an amazing artist who's offered to do some illustrating for me (and when I say amazing, I MEAN freakishly amazing). Her first few sketches will knock you for a loop if she posts them on deviantart, and I'll be sure to post a link or something like it in the author's note for chappie 22.

OH! And much much more Tom, Mione, and even some Bellatrix to come shortly...so don't get all icked out with the Ginny/Harry nonsense. It happens. ^_^

Okay, am done, and THANKS for reading! ºoº