memento

The sun was just beginning to rise; it’s light trickling in through the window. Ginny sat in bed, her feet tucked beneath her, leaning over Harry, just watching him sleep. She reached out and caressed his cheek, even in his sleep he turned slightly toward her touch. She smiled softly at that reaction. He looked so peaceful; serenity was something she rarely saw in his eyes. Pain, ache, and sadness were what she usually observed. Ginny leaned down and placed a soft kiss on lips. Then, sighing deeply, she stood up and began to rummage through her dresser for clothes. After a moment she walked around to the bathroom.

The hot water beat down on her body, washing away the scent of the night before. Ginny rested her head against the tile, letting the water cleanse her. She held her hands in her face as tears slowly made their way down her cheek, mingling the water. She hated this… the constant fragile feeling – as though she were made of glass and could break any minute. She was tired, so tired. She turned of the tap and stepped out of the bathtub. She stared at her pale complexion for a moment. Her eyes were red and puffy; silently, she cursed herself for being so weak. She tried to stop the tears but they just kept coming. Wrapping a towel around herself, and hoping that Harry was still asleep, she walked back into her room.

Ginny smiled thankfully when she saw that he was sleeping. She finished dressing, and sat back down on the bed. “Harry. Harry…” she whispered, her hand running down his face softly, trying to wake him. “Harry,” she continued.

“Mmm…” he moaned in response, his eyes still shut.

“Harry,” she mumbled.

His eyes opened and he smiled drunkenly and the hazy figure leaning over him. He instinctively reached for his glasses, but they weren’t beside him. “Glasses?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, and running his fingers through his rumpled hair.

Ginny turned and grabbed the glasses that sat on her dresser. She carefully put them on for him.

Harry smiled again when he could see her. “What time is it?” he questioned, pushing her wet hair away from her face.

“It’s 7:00,” Ginny answered, sighing as she let her hand play against his chest.

“You’re dressed already,” he noted.

“Mmm… yes, I am,” she replied softly.

“Why?” Harry asked, sitting up.

“Because it’s time…” she began.

He broke off her response with a kiss. She moaned against his lips as he pulled her back on the bed. She sighed, opening her mouth almost immediately so his tongue could dart between her lips, tasting the inside of her mouth. He rolled over, pushing her down on the bed and covering her with his body.

“We’re going to be late,” Ginny muttered as he began to undo her robes.
He was drowning her in his warmth, his taste, his scent, his passion. She closed her eyes and let the sensation of his touch run through her body. It was easy for her to forget the reality of her situation with the way he demanded her attention. It was easy to put off telling him of her situation.

* * * *
“Harry, he ran the other way!” Seamus shouted, pointing down a seemingly vacant alley.

Harry ran, pushing aside the trashcans that crowded the street. Seamus and Ginny were close behind him, stumbling on the litter that was being thrown about in front of them. The man they were chasing was only a few feet away, but still running.

Ginny suddenly fell to the ground. Her hand grasped her heart as pain seared through her body. Seamus stopped, turned back, and knelt beside her, but Harry, didn’t notice, kept running.

“Keep going!” Ginny shouted breathlessly.

“What’s wrong?” Seamus asked, ignoring her demand.

“We’re going to lose him,” she stated, not answering his question.

“Ginny?” he questioned again, his concern rising.

“Go,” she insisted.

Seamus shook his head slightly - it was against his better judgment to obey to her, but he did. Hesitantly, he ran off in the direction Harry had gone. Ginny was left alone. She was shivering slightly; she ached for someone to hold her. To comfort her. She didn’t like feeling so alone; she didn’t like being so vulnerable. The cobblestone beneath her felt cold, but it couldn’t be… it was August. Maybe she was just cold.

Slowly, Ginny pushed herself up, to lean against the wall. Her chest hurt, and her breaths were coming in short pants. She waited for the familiar nausea to set in, and, without disappointment, it began to take over her senses. She groaned slightly as the world around her began to spin. With a sharp indrawn breath the coughing started. Her lungs felt as though they were about to explode, and her throat was parched, raspy. Hot liquid filled her mouth easing the dryness – blood.

It was over soon after a few agonizing moments. Her heart was slamming against her chest, and her face was wet with sweat.

“What happened?” Harry asked, appearing out of nowhere. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. “Ginny?” he whispered, kneeling down beside her.

“I tripped,” Ginny answered, swallowing the blood that lingered in her mouth.

“Are you okay?” he questioned, eyeing her body for any obvious signs of injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, forcing a smile.

Harry reached up and stroked her face gently. “You sure?”

“Mmm…” Ginny moaned in response. She moved to lift herself up, keeping her hands concealed from his view. Awkwardly, he helped her up. His hands rested on her shoulders, gently massaging. She still felt nauseated and the circular motion of his rubbing was making her ill.

“We should get going,” she whispered in a coarse, breathless voice as she pulled away from him abruptly and began walking down the street.

Harry frowned slightly, and ran to catch up with her. He tried to grab her hand to stop her, but when he touched her, his hand made contact with something warm, wet. He stopped suddenly and looked down at his palm; his skin was tainted with blood. Ginny had stopped too; she stayed, with her back facing him, waiting for him to say something. She couldn’t look at him, and she didn’t have to, she knew what his features looked like with out even glimpsing back.

Harry grabbed her wrist with his clean hand. She had coughed up blood… that was the first thought that ran through his mind. He stood staring at her hand for a moment, a desolate, shocked looked etched across his face. He tried to say something but the words just weren’t coming out.

Finally, he looked up into her eyes, he breathed deep, “What the hell is going on?” he asked forcefully, not wanting to hear her excuses or postponements.

Ginny turned her face, refusing to look into his eyes, “It’s nothing, Harry. We have to go,” she said quickly, attempting to pull away from him.

“It’s nothing?” he repeated her words incredulously. He lifted her bloodstained hand, “This is nothing?” he asked, shaking her slightly.

He was angry; she could see it in his eyes. The mingled frustration, rage, and recklessness in his features frightened her somewhat.

“You have to go to the hospital, Ginny,” he continued, his voice shaking slightly.

“They can’t do anything. It won’t help, Harry,” she whispered in a hopeless voice. “Just let go of me,” she demanded forcefully, trying again to pull away from him.

“What do you mean it won’t help?” Harry asked sharply, holding her wrist to keep her from moving.

“It won’t help,” Ginny repeated, her anger rising.

“Damn it, Ginny,” he muttered, shaking his head.

They stayed like that for the longest time, neither of them speaking or even moving. Her head rested against his shoulder; he could smell the scent of her shampoo. He hated this. He hated the way she was being so closed, the way she was being so distant.

“I’m sick,” she whispered after a moment, keeping her head bowed.

Harry let her hand go, and stepped away.

“Harry,” Ginny whispered taking a step closer to him. She reached her hand up to touch his cheek. He opened his eyes and just stared at her for the longest time. “Harry?” she whispered again.

“What do you want me to say?” he responded, his voice shaking slightly.

“I don’t want you to say anything,” Ginny replied softly, “It’s not that terrible, you know. I’m dying; people everywhere are going through the same thing,” she said quietly.

He didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to hear her talking like that.

“I’ve had a happy life. Twenty one years, really, I’m not sure what I would do with a hundred more,” she continued sadly, though she was trying to sound lighthearted.

What could she do with a hundred years? Harry couldn’t believe she actually said that. His breathing was shaky. He looked hurt, defeated.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny whispered, suddenly regretting not telling him. His shoulders, usually held so proud, were slumped down – he looked broken. Without a word, not wanting to hear anymore, he pulled her up against him and just held her, burying his face in her hair. Her small body suddenly seemed so weak, fragile.

“We should get going,” she muttered after a moment.

“No,” Harry answered coarsely, pulling her tighter against him.

“Harry,” she chastised, though she didn’t try to move away.

“I want to see Neville,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why?” Ginny asked, pulling away from him.

“Why?” he repeated in disbelief. “Because I want to know what’s going on,” he continued, “You’re not telling me anything, Ginny. You can’t just stop one day, tell me you’re sick, and then expect me to understand that.”

“There’s nothing to understand. I’m sick, and there’s nothing that you or Neville or Ron can do to help me,” she said forcefully.

“No, there has to be something,” he replied.

“Magic can’t fix everything, Harry. I’m sick. There’s no cure,” Ginny yelled.

“There has to be something. Medicine. Anything,” he continued as though he hadn’t heard her words.

Ginny shook her head lightly, “They don’t help.” She smiled slightly in bitter resignation.

She was giving up. He couldn’t believe that. Harry’s face seemed to drain of all color as her words sunk in. He looked down at his own hands which were covered in her blood, it was smudged on the front of his robes, hers too. It brought him back to reality, out of the emotional reverie he’d fallen into. She reached up and touched his face, cringing slightly at the sight of her blood streaking his cheek.

“We have to go, Harry,” Ginny whispered.

“We have to go to St. Mungo’s,” Harry continued relentlessly.

“Would that change anything?” she asked harshly, “Would hearing it from Neville make anything different?”

He bowed his head for a moment, “Yes,” he answered in a defeated tone.

Another deep breath activated the cough that always seemed to be just on the verge of taking over her senses. Harry pulled her against him as she began coughing. Ginny’s body was convulsing as though it were trying to rid itself of the illness. It was hard for her to breathe. But that would pass, it always did. She felt her body shake as her eyes focused and unfocused. She could feel herself slipping on the verge of consciousness. Everything sight and sound around her seemed to be strangely amplified. And the last thing she heard before she collapsed was the sound of Harry’s voice.

* * * *
A wave of nausea was the first thing Ginny felt when I woke up. She felt it even before she could open her eyes. The thoroughly clean scent of St. Mungo’s filled her lungs. It was an unnatural smell that made her stomach churn. She opened her eyes and looked around the room, everything was a ridiculously blinding white… Why are hospital rooms always white?

A sudden gasp came from the corner. Her parents were there, Ginny smiled slightly at that realization.

\"Hi, sweetheart,\" Arthur said softly.

Ginny was about to ask how long they had been there when the next wave of nausea rolled over her, and she barely had time to reach for the basin beside the bed before she began throwing up.

Molly jumped up and came to stand beside me, doing what she always did when Ginny was sick as a little girl - she put her cool hands on the back of her neck and held her daughter’s hair back. She vomited some bile and then dry heaved for a while, tears filling Molly’s eyes as she did. Ginny always hated throwing up - it had terrified her because she couldn\'t stand the choking feeling.

\"It\'s okay, honey,\" Arthur comforted.

Once she stopped heaving, she tried to look around the room, but was so disoriented and tired that she couldn\'t focus.

Molly sat at the edge of her bed, tears glimmering in her eyes as she tried to find the words to say. “Everyone’s out in the hall, they’re worried about you,” she began, “We’re all worried,” she added quietly.

“I know you’re worried,” Ginny whispered, tears quickly forming in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Ginny?” Arthur asked, sitting on the bed beside his wife.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny breathed, tears filling her eyes, not answering his question.

Tears streaked down Molly’s face, she pulled her daughter closer, wrapping her arms around her tightly as she sobbed. “Don’t you talk like that,” Molly reprimanded.

Arthur patted his wife’s back consolingly, he opened his mouth to say something but before he could there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” he called, abandoning the words he was about to speak a second before.

Neville opened the door quietly. “How are feeling?” he asked softly, walking toward the bed and pulling up a chair.

“I want to go home,” Ginny answered as Mrs. Weasley pulled away.

“Ginny, you have to stay here, in the hospital, so you can get help,” Molly chastised frantically, cutting off any reply Neville may have had.

“Molly,” Arthur whispered in a low tone, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“No, mum, I’m going home,” Ginny replied forcefully.

“Neville, talk some sense into her,” Molly snapped, looking to the healer expectantly, hoping that he could convince her daughter.

“This is Ginny’s choice,” Neville responded flatly, not looking at Mrs. Weasley but at Ginny.

“Arthur!” Molly turned quickly to address her husband.

Arthur bowed his head for a moment, he took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly, then proceeded, “He’s right, Molly,” he replied staring at his wife sadly, “it’s Ginny’s choice,” he looked back to his daughter at the last part, frowning slightly.

Molly’s heart rate quickened and she couldn’t seem to breath properly. “Oh, Ginny,” she muttered, again wrapping her arms around her daughter.

Neville his face away, giving them semi-privacy, and shook his head despondently when he saw the basin of vomit beside he bed.

“Everyone is waiting outside to see you, Neville said they can come in pairs… would you like that?” Molly questioned, her words muffled by her stifled sobs.

“I’m a bit tired, mum, can it wait till I get home,” Ginny answered, her voice cracking slightly. She couldn’t face them all now; she didn’t want them to see her in the hospital, she felt too weak.
“Of course,” Molly replied, sounding somewhat disappointed.

After a few moments everyone was gone, leaving Ginny to sleep. It wasn\'t easy. Physically she was fighting a losing battle and emotionally she was exhausted. She wrapped the sheets around her tightly; she wanted someone to hold her, to comfort her. But everyone was gone. She wrested her body back on the bed and closed her eyes.

* * * *
Harry sat slouching, his face rested in his palms, in the waiting room beside Mrs. Weasley. Everyone else had gone home a few hours ago, but Molly insisted on staying the night.

“I’m going get a cup of tea, would you like some, dear?” Molly asked wearily, putting her hand over his in a motherly fashion.

“No thanks, I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry answered, nodding his head tiredly.

“It’s nearly twelve, why don’t you go home and get some sleep?” she persisted.

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling slightly in reaction to her motherly instincts. “Ginny’s probably sleeping, is it alright if I go see her for a minute?” Harry asked uneasily.

Molly eyed him sadly, “Neville did say to let her rest…” she began.

“Just a minute, I won’t wake her,” he interrupted.

“I think that would be okay, just make sure you don’t disturb her, Harry,” Molly said warningly.

* * * *
Harry enters the dark room, quiet not to wake her. Slowly, apprehensively, he walks toward the bed. “Ginny,” he whispers, touching her face. He takes a quick, painful, indrawn breath and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered shakily, gently grasping her hand. He sat down on the chair and rested his head on the bedside; tears that he had held back forced their way from his eyes.

“Harry,” Ginny breathed, running her fingers through his hair.

Harry quickly wiped his eyes, “Did I wake you?” he asked concernedly, lifting his head.

“I wasn’t asleep when you came in,” she answered softly, her hand lingering on his face.

He nodded his head. “How do you feel?” he questioned, reaching up to hold her hand.

“I’m fine,” Ginny replied, frowning slightly.

“You told me you were fine a million times, Ginny, and half the time you weren\'t. You never wanted to admit that you needed my help. Or anyone\'s, for that matter,\" Harry said bitterly.

She turned her head away, not wanting to face him. “Do you want to know the truth, Harry?” Ginny snapped, but didn’t give him a chance to respond… “The truth is that I’m tired, I’m tired of fighting a losing battle. I just want it all to stop, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Don’t talk like that, Ginny,” Harry said reproachfully.

“It’s the answer you wanted, isn’t it?” she replied cynically.

He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment, “I should go,” he announced, standing up.

Ginny turned and watched as he walked toward the door, she didn’t really want him to go. She sat up abruptly, “Stay,” she called.

“You want me to stay?” Harry asked skeptically, his hand grazing the brass doorknob.

“Please…” she whispered.

He sighed and walked back to sit down on the chair. He didn’t speak, his hand reached up and pushed the hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she soothed, stroking his face as he leaned down against her chest.