A/N- takes place just after the war. Ginny seeing Harry for the first time.
Kind of deep, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I do things like this because I feel all cool and philosophical and life has been rough and it helps get my emotions out. So beware.
“Harry,” Ginny breathed, her voice floating through the empty, destroyed, Great Hall. She was feet away from the boy she loved, the Boy Who Lived, and the second he turned around, she threw herself at him, wrapping shaky arms around his neck.
“You’re alive,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she held the soft, dirty cotton of his t-shirt in her hands.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” Harry replied, bringing his fingers to her back and slowly rubbing circles into her tense muscles. Ginny cried harder, her tears creating damp patches in his clothes.
“I thought you were dead….And then you defeated him….The emotional turmoil!” She yelled, evoking a soft chuckle from Harry.
“It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” He finally said, voice soft and warm and caring.
Ginny buried her face into the crook of Harry’s neck. He smelled like a hero.
And so Harry held the small girl in his arms, and he felt a warmth course through his veins that only existed when he was touching her. He felt alive and happy and content and safe.
“Ginny,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair.
“Ginny,” he said again, because the word itself gave him hope and strength and a sense of love. The very sound of her name tied him to the ground during a raging storm.
He didn’t reply, not right away. He waited a moment, pulled away from the embrace, and met her eyes. He was lost but the second he looked at her, really looked at her, he was found.
He had so many things to say, a mind of words and phrases, a thousand things he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t concentrate. His focus was wavering and he could only think of one thing, the only thing that was truly important, and everything else was sucked out of his body. He could feel her hand against his and the other around his wrist and he wanted to say that he loved her, something he had been waiting to say for so long now but he knew he didn’t need to. Her name and her body and her face and her words and her everything were what gave him hope and love and light and laughter and he didn’t need to say anything more than what was on his mind because it all meant the same thing. She filled him with a sense of love and safety and god, he knew that she was why he lived. It was all her, the girl that saved him, and although he wanted to tell her, he could only manage one word, the word that had kept his heart beating and his lungs breathing and-