Declarations

Outside the window, the sun shined brightly on the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts. Harry had been staring at the scene below for some time now, but he saw none of it; his mind was far from the beautiful view.

He had come to this small scarred table in an obscure corner of the library to be alone and try to forget what had happened, the pain he had caused. Unfortunately, all he could do was remember.

"Valentine's Day," he muttered bitterly to himself before once again lapsing into ominous silence.

On the lawn, a largish group of students started a snowball war. As the glittering white ammunition flew back and forth, a peal of joyful laughter rang out through the chill winter air.

Harry sighed. He felt no joy, and it was all because of this stupid day. This stupid day and what it made people say, what it made them do. He had at least been somewhat prepared for Ginny, had had some forewarning, but Hermione...Without warning, Harry's thoughts slid all too easily back to the start of it all.

**********

When Harry woke up, he could sense that it was very early. Even with the curtains drawn close around his bed, he felt the pre-dawn darkness heavy around him. For a few futile minutes, Harry tried to return to sleep, but a disturbing feeling of foreboding began troubling him, and he gave up on sleep.

Very quietly, so as not to wake his fellow Gryffindors, Harry eased himself out of bed, grabbed his robe, and silently shuffled from the room and down the stairs to the common room. Even at this early hour, a cheery fire blazed in the fireplace. The sight of it was comforting somehow, and as he settled himself on the floor in front of it, it eased his baleful feelings.

"Harry?" queried a soft voice from the corner of the room.

Instantly, Harry turned towards the sound and noticed what he had previously overlooked - a figure curled up in a chair to his far right.

"Oh, Ginny. It's you. What are you doing down here so early?" Harry asked as the flickering fire alternately illuminated and masked her features.

"I couldn't sleep, probably the same as you," Ginny replied.

She shifted slightly in her chair as she said this, and, for the first time, Harry saw that she was holding something in her hand. Something red and slightly shiny. The uneasiness he had been feeling before returned with greater strength, and with a tightening of his heart, he realized its source. It was Valentine's Day and, judging from previous years, not a day he would enjoy. Harry started to panic.

"I'll just leave you then," he started to say as he got up off the floor.

"No," interjected Ginny. "No. I'm glad you're here. I wanted to talk with you. Alone."

Harry fidgeted. "Uh, Ginny..." he began.

"Shhhh," she insisted. "Just give me a minute. Please Harry."

Feeling more uncomfortable with each passing moment, Harry hesitated. He wanted to get away, away from Ginny and this conversation, as soon as possible. However, he knew Ginny. Once she decided to do something, she made sure it happened. If he left now, it would only prolong the inevitable. The longer he thought, the clearer it became that he had no real choice in this matter.

"Okay," he breathed quietly as he tried to prepare himself for what he feared would come next.

A troubled silence filled the common room following his reply. The fire popped and crackled with a hollow cheerfulness. In the quiet, time became immeasurable. Careful to look anywhere but at her, Harry waited. There was nothing else to do. Sit. Breath. Wait. Just when Harry thought he couldn't stand the waiting anymore, Ginny sat up in her chair, casting her upper body into deep shadow, and half-startling Harry.

"I can't let it go on like this, Harry. With everything unspoken."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and, when he made as if to speak, Ginny again silenced him.

"No Harry. No. Don't speak. Just let me talk. I need to say this, but it'll never get out unless you let me."

Harry knew better than to try and reply to this new onslaught.

Ginny drew a slightly shuddery breath and continued. "There's just no point in trying to deny it or hide it anymore. I...have feelings for you, Harry. I care about you very much - maybe even love you, but...Wait 'til I'm finished!" She half-screamed at Harry, who, immediately upon hearing the word "love," had started toward her. Harry froze and stared at the mass of shadow that concealed her face.

"Wait until I'm finished." Ginny repeated, much quieter this time. "I have this emotion for you, but I've realized that it's time I quite deluding myself. I knew you don't feel the same about me. Never have and probably never will." She rushed on, as if fearful of another interruption. "But that's OK. I mean, obviously I'm not thrilled about it, but I've...I've come to accept it. I think I'll likely always love you. How can I help it? I can't. Just like you can't help how you feel..." She trailed off and wilted into her chair.

Silence descended on the common room once again. However, this silence lacked the tension of earlier, and while Harry's terrible feeling of foreboding wasn't entirely gone, it was greatly lessened. In its place was a multitude of emotions, including the sense of being spent, as if Ginny's confession had severely wearied him. Almost surprisingly, Harry also felt relieved. Now that Ginny had finally said the words aloud, he could stop worrying about it. She knew; she understood; she expected nothing from him. And Harry was glad, because when it came to things like this, nothing was all he had to give. He exhaled the breath he hadn't even known he was holding and looked again at Ginny.

Her declaration appeared to have tired her as well. For a few minutes she rested limply, wrapped in shadows. Finally gathering herself, Ginny slid to the edge of the chair and rose. She took a few short steps and stood in front of Harry.

"I have something for you, Harry." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Something to remind you. Remind you of what could be yours, if you should ever want it."

Ginny's voice broke on her last words, and, after hastily shoving something into Harry's hands, she fled up the stairs to the safety of her dormitory. Harry stood unmoving, staring after her, long after she had shut the door behind her. He could have remained that way for hours, but the crash of a log falling in the fire broke his self-induced spell of immobility.

Harry looked down at the thing in his hands. The 'present' from Ginny. He turned towards the fire, using its light to examine the parcel.

It was about the size of his hand, very flat, and wrapped in shiny red paper. Curious and fearful of what was inside, he tore off the paper.

The red wrappings slid from his hand to the flood, and he realized it was a wizard photograph of himself and Ginny. He didn't remember it being taken; he was smiling, Ginny laughing. Ever so often, Ginny would lean over and rest her hand lightly on Harry's arm, her fingers dancing gently over his skin.

As he held the photograph couched in his palm, he rubbed his thumb along its edge. The edge was soft and worn, making Harry think that Ginny must have held this picture, just like he was doing now, countless times before. And now she had given it to him.

Remind you of what could be yours... Her words echoed in his memory, and, suddenly, he couldn't bear to look at the photo a moment longer. He shoved it forcefully into the pocket of his robe.

A shiver shook his body; he knew it had nothing to do with being cold. Nevertheless, he positioned himself near the fire, futilely seeking a modicum of comfort in its warm glow.