Ginny

In the past, I've sat with my head in my hands, wondering why I'm so pathetic. Why could I never move on, even when I made the best effort to? I guess the answer was staring me in the face the whole time, but I was too dumb to see it.

I could feel Luna's eyes watching me as we sat in the slightly overgrown grass by the lake. Without the battle blazing behind us, it was strangely, wonderfully quiet, and that silence filled me up with a balmy peace that was better than phoenix song.

The battle was over. We had won. Voldemort was dead. In all honesty, it hadn't really sunk in yet, not with the thought of Fred weighing heavily on my heart, pressing down on my lungs, an insistent reminder of a loss I hadn't had the opportunity to mourn yet.

My thoughts were less than words, but somehow more. Rather than the pain, I thought of the only image that could bring me any form of peace. A pair of almond-shaped, bright green eyes, blinking at me from my mind.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Luna murmured, and for once, I was too exhausted to pretend that I didn't know who she was referring to.

"Yeah," I whispered back, my voice as light as the breeze that ruffled my long, red hair.

"He was looking for you earlier, but I think everyone else pulled him away before he had the chance to find you."

"I know," I sighed. I had watched him being shepherded away by the survivors, monopolised by the eager mass that had made it their mission to congratulate him at every opportunity.

"If I were you, I think I would find the attention a bit too much," Luna admitted airily. Sometimes, I had wondered the same thing myself. "But, I guess, it's something you have to get used to, if you're in love with Harry Potter."

I smiled at her blunt use of the phrase I had spent so many years trying to deny to myself. In love with Harry Potter…

"Why do you put yourself through it?" Luna continued, as though she had no idea the effect her previous words were having on me. "He's a pretty dangerous person to love. Well, not now, I suppose. But still…"

I considered this. Seriously considered it. I appraised my best friend, thinking about all the reasons why I shouldn't love Harry Potter.

He abandoned me. He dumped me. He left without saying goodbye. He didn't even think to check on me, or my family, whilst he was in hiding. He spent years throwing himself thoughtlessly into danger. He tried to keep me from lending a hand, he constantly kept me in the dark. He didn't think I was strong enough.

But did I really believe that?

He hadn't abandoned me, not really. He'd only gone so that he could protect us all. He'd dumped me, like I had said myself, for a stupid, noble reason. He was all about nobility. Honour. Valour. Courage. He didn't have the chance to say goodbye, and even if he had, he wasn't very good at them. Everyone he had lost had never given him a goodbye.

And was I really naive enough to think that he didn't want to check on me, or my parents, or my brothers? He was carrying on the fight, doing what only he could do. There was barely time for a social call.

As for throwing himself thoughtlessly into danger – I could hardly call that a character flaw, could I? He had followed me down to the Chamber of Secrets at twelve years old, without a second thought. He had saved me from certain death at the hands of Tom Riddle. He could have died. He nearly did.

He was the reason it was all over. The reason Voldemort was dead.

And keeping me in the dark, it was all part of his misplaced sense of chivalry, wasn't it? He was worried, and protective, and there were much worse qualities to have in the man you loved, weren't there?

I thought back to how I'd behaved the very first time I had ever seen him. That fateful day on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters when Ron had sat in his carriage on the Hogwarts Express. I'd seen him, skinny, scared and all alone, and all I could feel was a desperate, burning desire to let go of my mother's hand and take his instead.

I wanted to hold his hand and never let go.

When he saved me from Riddle, from the basilisk, when he was crouched by my side, all covered in blood, holding the sword of Gryffindor, all I could see were his eyes. He was in pain, and the only thing I cared about was making him feel better.

When he kissed me, that first time, it felt as though I was falling, falling at a thousand miles an hour, but as long as he held me, I would never hit the ground. I was safe, as long as Harry was with me.

And when he walked away, my heart felt like it would break into a million jagged pieces. But I didn't cry. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew that it wasn't really over.

Until I saw him lying at Hagrid's feet. Beaten, broken. The greatest hero that had ever lived, whether he had been chosen or not. I thought I would never survive the heartbreak. For one moment, I wished that Voldemort would kill me, too. My heart was dead, and useless, and would never beat for anyone again.

But when he'd pulled that cloak off… when he reappeared… my heart pounded back into life. He had been down, but not out. And he was back.

When he'd found my gaze through the sea of people rushing to touch him, to be near him, to share in the moment of triumph and glory, his eyes were full of joy. And I knew, from the second our eyes met, that he would never leave me again. Suddenly, the apology I had been half-wishing for was obsolete, because he was looking at me, Ginny Weasley, in a way that I had never seen before. Like the world had stopped turning. And suddenly, I knew what I wanted.

The only thing I wanted from The Boy Who Lived was forever.

I looked at Luna, my heart fluttering madly. "There are a million reasons, Luna. I can't even put them into words."

"I can," she surprised me by saying. "For you, Ginny, it's always been Harry."

Yes. That was the only way I could describe this feeling. First love, last love, and every love in between.

It's always been Harry. And it always will be.