Gone

The light wind ruffled Harry's black, unkempt hair as he waited for Hermione to arrive. It was now 11:15 and she still wasn't here. This in itself was unusual as Hermione was never late to anything, especially when she was the one who organised it. Harry was already extremely annoyed and Hermione's absence wasn't helping matters.

Harry was about to turn and leave when he spotted something on Ginny's grave. A single red rose. Aside from a quick glance when he arrived, Harry had refused to look at the grave for all the time he'd been there. It was just too painful. However he was sure that the rose had not been there when he arrived. He bent down and gently picked the rose up.

'Oh Harry, they're beautiful!' Ginny gushed as she brought the twelve red roses to her nose and inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes and a small smile played on her lips. Harry also smiled to himself as he noted how her hair was almost the same shade as the roses.

'I'm glad you like them' Harry grinned as he moved the roses away from Ginny's face and moved his head towards hers and trapping her lips in his.

Harry had given Ginny a dozen red roses for their one year anniversary. He reminisced as he stared at her grave, allowing himself to divulge in memories he had refused to let himself dwell on.

Suddenly Harry's head shot up and he wiped his blurry eyes, looking quickly from left to right. No, it couldn't have been...but he could have sworn...don't be so ridiculous, it's impossible.

Harry sighed and hung his head. Great, now he was hearing voices too. Maybe it was time to leave - he would write to Hermione and explain why he wasn't there. He was about to place the rose down when his head shot up again.

This time he was sure. He had definitely heard her. His thoughts flicked briefly to a certain bushy haired bookworm. Was this her idea of a joke? If it was, she had become very twisted in the past few weeks. Harry shook his head, reprimanding himself. How could he think that - Hermione could never be that cruel, she cared about him too much. But then who? It couldn't have been her. Could it?

'Y'know Harry, it's polite to say hello to someone you know.' Harry almost had a heart attack at hearing her voice. His head snapped up to look at the grave. And there, sitting casually on top of the gravestone as though it was an everyday occurrence was -

'Ginny?' Harry said weakly. His mouth had gone dry. His legs seemed to have turned to rubber and were refusing to hold him up. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet though his legs were still shaking violently.

'The one and only,' her smile was exactly how he remembered it. Her lips were as red as the rose clutched in Harry's hand and they were stretching across a set of perfectly white, even teeth. Her chocolate eyes held a spark like they always did when she smiled.

Solid. Not transparent like ghosts, but real. If he hadn't been afraid that she would disappear if he did, Harry would have reached out and touched her. How would it feel, just to touch her ivory skin one more time, to hold her for a few seconds?

But he couldn't, she was supposed to be here, she was supposed to be ...dead.

'How?' Harry's voice was shaking. He was still having trouble processing what had just happened.

'It doesn't matter.' She waved her hand dismissively. Her hand. Solid. 'What matters is why I'm here.' She stepped towards him and placed her hand on Harry's cheek. Her finger tips were warm as they caressed his skin. Harry closed his eyes and allowed for a moment of weakness. It had been so long since he'd felt her hands on his skin...too long. 'Harry, I can only be brought here if someone won't let go.'

Harry opened his eyes and looked into Ginny's. She was no longer smiling. Her eyes were filled with the pain that had consumed Harry for years. Her eyes were boring into him and Harry had the distinct feeling that she could see right through him, into his soul. But then she had always been able to tell what he was thinking. Over the years Harry had learned to mask his feelings and everyone had just assumed he was fine. After all he was Harry Potter, he took everything in his stride, and nothing fazed him. Only Ginny had seen through the façade. She was the only one Harry had felt safe revealing his feelings to - except for Ron and Hermione but there were some things he couldn't even tell them.

'Harry, you have to listen to me, it wasn't your fault, you couldn't have done anything.'

Harry looked up into Ginny's face. She should be blaming him for everything. It was his fault she was dead. 'How can you say that' Harry finally found his voice. 'If I hadn't have been so slow you would still be here and -'

'No! Harry, don't ever think that. It's Voldemort fault. Voldemort knew you loved me and that's why he came for me. You couldn't have prevented it.'

'How do you know? If I hadn't hesitated when I saw what he doing to you in the Great Hall you might still be alive.'

'Harry, you need to understand. If I hadn't been killed then you wouldn't have defeated Voldemort. We can't choose how destiny works Harry. You just have to accept it and move on.'

'But there would have been some other way; we would have found it...' Harry pleaded, but his voice lacked any conviction. He was slowly realising that what everyone had told him was the truth - it didn't make the pain any less, but it helped.

'Harry, I love you more than anything else in the world, but even that can't change what's happened. Everyone had their part to play in the war and this was mine. You couldn't have changed it Harry.'

Harry nodded. He was slowly accepting it as truth. He turned to look at Ginny, to let her know that he was at long last moving on - but she was gone. Harry found himself staring at thin air. He looked down at his hands. The red rose he had held moments ago was also gone. There was however, a small scratch on his index finger where a thorn had pierced his skin.

Harry's thoughts suddenly turned to the letter he had received earlier and he momentarily wondered if Hermione had anything to do with this before he at last allowed the tears he had been holding back for three weeks to consume him.