She Was His

She would never let him go.

She never could.

No matter how many drinks she gulped down to ease the pain. No matter how many times she would cry herself to sleep. No matter how many people were hollow as they just watched the girl die a little every day.

She would never let him go.

They should've lived a blissful life together. As loathe as he was to admit it, it was true. If it weren't for that fateful day in Muggle London, she would've been happy, never without a smile...like she deserved.

It sickened him that he couldn't help her, he couldn't save her. That was supposed to be his area of expertise. It was almost laughable.

But what sickened him most was that he was almost pleased when it had first happened. That disgusting part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, she'd see him differently now. Maybe he'd be able to have her for himself.

He was wrong.

She would never be anyone else's but his. That damn Malfoy. She was his.

He went to her flat like he did everyday, bringing her breakfast before he went off to work. She didn't work anymore. She had lost the will to do anything anymore.

"Ginny?" Harry called as he entered the flat. He had gotten a key since she would never answer if someone knocked on the door. "Ginny!" he called a little louder.

He looked around. The place was a mess. No surprise there since the only time things would be clean around here was when Hermione came over once a week to tidy up. She doesn't seem to be in, Harry thought. That was when he heard the shower running. Normally, he would've left it alone, just placed his care package on the kitchen table and wait for her to finish. This time, however, things just seemed different. Like they were out of place. An eerie feeling shot through him. He took small steps towards the bathroom. "Ginny, is everything alright?" he called a third time, keeping the slight tremor that threatened his senses out of his voice.

He had reached the door. All sanity screamed for him not to open the door, that he would never recover from what he was about to see. But he could not hold back. He loved her too much.

Harry turned the knob and pushed the door open. He breathed a sigh of relief when he immediately noticed that there wasn't any blood covering the floor. She was safe, at least, he thought.

But then he heard her.

It was not a shout of agony. It was not a shriek of excruciating pain. But it was enough.

He ran towards the entryway of the shower and saw her crouched in a fetal position. The water blasting down upon her mixed in with her tears. But her scream pierced all.

It was loss.

It was pain.

It was death, and all its ghastly devices.

She screamed not for herself but for him.

It was then, as he gazed down at her, naked and as beautiful as she ever was, that he realized it: there was no hope left for her. No savior to rescue her from her woes. No life left for her to lead. There was no hope left for her. There was nothing left.

She was too far gone.

So he did the only thing that he could. He dropped to his knees. He gathered her in his arms. He whispered comforting words. He stayed.

He stayed since that Malfoy bastard couldn't, dying in that blasted car accident.

But Ginny didn't notice.

She would never know.

She would never be Harry's.

She would never be anyone else's.

She was his.

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