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Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3 TTPD Several Sunlit Daylights challenge.

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I. lesson of my life

Every illusion Ginny has ever had is shattered over the course of a single night.

She doesn't go into the chamber willingly. She claws, and scratches and fights against Tom's commands with all her might. She cries, and she struggles, but in the end it makes no difference. She isn't strong enough. As the darkness swallows her up, her final childish hope is for a rescue she knows isn't coming.

When she opens her eyes again it doesn't feel like a miracle. The cold from the stone floor has seeped through her skin, a chill has settled deep in her bones and she knows, with absolute certainty, it will never fully go away.

Of course Harry is there, holding a mighty sword, a dead monster behind him. The very image of the conquering hero she's always fantasised about, but this isn't like one of Ginny's fantasies. He's covered in blood, and his eyes are wide with the same terror that's taken root deep within her soul. There's no triumph in this moment, only horror.

This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare. One that Ginny won't fully wake up from for a very long time.

She learns many lessons that night, but the most important one will come later. After she's spent weeks, months, years putting herself back together, because Harry might have rescued her from the chamber, but, as Ginny will come to realise, the only person who can really save you is yourself.

II. light of my life

Harry's never known a darkness like this. It starts when he watches Sirius fall through the veil, tiny tendrils of black slowly leaking out from his heart, unfurling with increasing urgency until he's overwhelmed by a cold, empty abyss that he's sure nothing will ever penetrate again. How can it when Sirius is never coming back?

He doesn't even notice the first ray of light. It happens so quickly. He's in the hospital wing, trying very hard to let Hermione's commentary on the latest news from The Prophet distract him from the aching chasm in his chest, and the unbearable weight of the prophecy, when it happens.

Luna says something completely ridiculous about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – whatever they are – Harry can feel Hermione's exasperation from across the small gap that separates her bed from Ron's. Ginny's chocolate eyes meet his, and something happens that he'd assumed would never happen again.

Harry smiles.

It's fleeting, lasting less than a second. There's very little time to dwell on it before they're looking away from one another, and the grief washes over him again, a tidal wave that steals the air from his lungs.

That's just the beginning though… or maybe the beginning had been years ago. Maybe the blush he'd once thought of as the setting sun had actually been the opposite; Ginny's light rising, her warm, rosy glow beginning its ascent into his life.

She continues to rise that summer, forcing the darkness back with her sheer brightness. Her smile turns black to grey; her laugh is powder pinks and bright oranges; the jokes she coaxes from him are pure, cloudless blue.

When she runs at him across the common room months later, she's blazing, burning red. When she reaches him, when Harry finally kisses Ginny, the sun reaches its apex and his whole life is awash with bright, brilliant gold.

For a few shining weeks there are only sunlit days.

III. loss of my life

Fittingly, they're at a funeral when it happens. Ginny always knew he had great comedic timing. She's not laughing, however, as Harry lays out all his stupid, noble reasons why they can't be together. She's not crying either, though; that feels like a small mercy. The only one she's going to get for a while.

She does cry when she finally makes it home. It's silly, she knows. Silly, foolish, naive Ginny Weasley, a familiar, cold voice whispers through her mind. For once, she doesn't try to argue with it, but she doesn't try to stop either.

Instead, she buries her face into her pillow and lets herself sob until her eyes run dry. Her tears aren't just for her broken heart, but for everything Ginny's already had to sacrifice; her childhood, her innocence.

It isn't until weeks later that she realises the true magnitude of what she stands to lose.

“And then what does she think's going to happen? Someone else will kill off Voldemort while she's holding us here making vol-au-vents?”

The fork Ginny is holding almost slips from her grasp. Her heart falters in her chest. Harry playing his flippant comment off a joke does nothing to return it to a steady rhythm.

It plays round and round in her mind that night. Her knuckles are ghostly white where they grip her bedsheet. Vaguely, she'd known what he'd planned to do, but vague notions and knowing with absolute certainty are two very different things. The task Harry brought up so nonchalantly in the kitchen is nothing short of a suicide mission. It hits Ginny with the force of a barrage of stunning spells, knocking the air from her lungs; Harry might not come back to her.

Two days later, when she kisses him in her bedroom, it doesn't feel like she's saying happy birthday, it feels like she's saying goodbye.

When Harry follows Ron out of her bedroom door, he takes a piece of Ginny with him, one she prays she hasn't lost forever.

IV. longing of my life

She haunts him like a ghost. What was once screaming colour and pure unfiltered brightness is now just a memory, a pale imitation permanently stuck on repeat in his mind.

Harry moves stoically from one hiding place to another and, though they're separated by miles, Ginny follows him to every single one.

He can hear her laugh in the wind that shakes the canvas sides of the tent. He can see her smile in the sunlight that penetrates the thick canopy of the forests they move between. At night, when he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend the sheet brushing against his skin is her fingertips.

It's worse when he has the locket on. Then, he's tormented with visions like the one he'd imagined on his birthday; of her moving on. Finding someone else. Living a life that can never be his.

Horcrux or no, he can't stop himself thinking about her. Aching for her. Longing for her.

He clings to memories of Ginny like scraps of driftwood, the only thing keeping Harry afloat when he's been set adrift.

V. lament of my life

It's like the chamber all over again. Ginny's whole world is flipped upside down in the space of a single night.

She doesn't see Fred go. She doesn't know the last time she sees her big brother that it's the last time.

“Take care of yourself,” he'd shouted over his shoulder as Ginny had gone hurtling down a corridor in pursuit of a Death Eater.

“Don't I always?’ she'd called back.

What if she'd told him to do the same? Would he have listened? Would he still be there?

There's very little time to dwell on such questions in the middle of a battle. Especially not when every passing second brings another devastating loss.

Lupin. Tonks. Colin.

Ginny's heart shatters into a million little pieces until it doesn't exist at all. Or so she thinks, until she sees Harry's body cradled in Hagrid’s arms.

Then she knows she still has a heart, because it's in unbearable agony. She doubles over from the pain of it. His name escapes her lips on a scream, as though she might be able to call him back to life through sheer desperation.

Tom Riddle talks; for the second time in Ginny's life, she's unable to hear him, but this isn't like the Chamber at all. This time Ginny wishes she was dead.

When the battle resumes, she jumps straight into it with wild abandon. Ginny's lamentation is not filled with tears, or wailing. It's fire and rage for everything that's been taken from her. Tom Riddle already stole her past. Now he's taken her future. She will take everything she can from him, or die trying.

VI. lowest of my life

He's never truly let himself imagine what it might be like to actually defeat Voldemort. If he had, Harry doubts he would have pictured it like this.

If it's a win, why is there so much loss?

He doesn't know whether the grief or the hope is more overwhelming. They mingle together, like waves in the ocean, swelling and breaking, threatening to pull Harry under.

He can feel it crash over him as he stands in the great hall the day after the battle. The bodies are still there; all the people who don't get the second chance Harry does are laid out in front of him. Lifeless eyes staring, unseeing, up at the enchanted ceiling.

The guilt and the pain sweep through him like ice water, filling his lungs; rising up in Harry's throat until there's no possible room for air. He takes a step back, desperate to flee somewhere he can sink down into the cold, lonely depths.

Before he can, a hand, small and warm, slips into his, pulling Harry back to the surface. He releases one, long, deep breath before looking at her.

Ginny's attempt at a smile is tinged with sadness, sunlight peeking through dark grey clouds.

Only hours ago, he'd contemplated all the things he needed to say to her, but now no words are exchanged at all. Only a look. It's all they need. All they've ever needed. Everything has changed. But he's still Harry, and she's still Ginny.

Instinctively his arm comes around her. Ginny buries her face in his chest, sagging slightly against him, as though she was waiting for this moment to let herself rest. Like she needs him as much as he needs her.

Harry's head rests against hers, the floral scent of her shampoo is faint, lingering beneath everything that's happened. It makes his heart falter anyway. He holds her tightly to him, something he never thought he'd get the chance to do again. As he's come to expect, time seems to stop for her. They stay like that for what might only be seconds, or possibly an entire lifetime passes.

Eventually, Ginny pulls out of his grasp. It takes less than a second for her hand to find his again, fingers entwining. She pulls gently, silently commanding him to follow her. Harry almost asks where they're going, but he doesn't really need to. He's free to go wherever he pleases now. He'll follow her anywhere.

Ginny looks up at him as they walk towards the double doors. He can still see the embers of her blazing light smouldering in the dark depths of her eyes. He was right, there will be hours, days, and years in which to talk, but he doesn't need her to say a word now to know where she's taking him. He lets her pull him forward, lets her light guide him to a future he's still not sure he deserves to have.

VII. loser of my life

For a while, Ginny thinks she'll never recover from the loss, from the grief and the heartache. It's not the first time she's felt this way, but this time she doesn't have to face it alone. Once she has Harry back, he doesn't leave her side again.

They fall back together naturally. They stitch themselves back together slowly until one day, years later, the sun is blazing brightly in the sky, the pleasant summer breeze is ruffling the grass beneath her feet, and Ginny feels whole again.

“Ready?” Her father asks, holding out his arm out to her.

“Ready,” Ginny agrees, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow. Holding her colourful bouquet of wildflowers in front of her with her free hand.

There have been times, in her darkest moments, when she wished she was someone else. A girl who hasn't dwelt in a darkness that most people don't ever see even in their worst nightmares; a witch who hasn't looked into the eyes of evil and refused to bend, refused to break; a woman who hasn't lost things that can never ever be replaced.

Now, as soft music begins to swell in the summer air, and her gaze locks on Harry, waiting for her at the end of the makeshift aisle formed by the rows of chairs that have been put out in her parent's orchard, Ginny doesn't regret any of it. Everything she's lost is a step she's taken towards this.

She can feel dozens of heads turn towards her, but Ginny only has eyes for Harry, and he, it appears, only has eyes for her. His smile makes the sun look dim in comparison. Still, the corner of his mouth trembles; even from a distance, Ginny can see emotion well up behind his glasses.

‘Don't you dare,' she mouths, feeling her throat tighten as she does. Her arm stretches out, lifting her bouquet like it's a wand, miming hexing him. She's closer now. She can hear the tremor in his laugh as he puts his arms up in mock surrender.

It's too late; the laughter she's coaxed from him doesn't stop the tear that slips down his cheek. Of course, one of her own escapes only a half a second later.

“We look like such losers,” Ginny informs him, shaking her head, as her fingers slip from her father's arm into Harry's awaiting hand.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, quietly enough for only her to hear. He's still smiling as another tear slides unconcernedly down his face. His free hand reaches up, his thumb swipes away the ones that are currently leaking traitorously from Ginny's eyes. “But you're my loser.”

It takes her a moment to regain her breath. A fleeting second in which she can't quite believe they're here; that they made it. Then she smiles even wider than before. “Not officially – not until we get through this ceremony.”

Harry's gaze holds hers. Ginny almost forgets they have an audience. The world reduces down to just the two of them, grinning madly at one another. Harry's fingers squeeze her hand. “We'd best get on with it then.

VIII. legacy of my life

Books are filled with what many consider to be his finest achievements. Tales of thrilling battles, speculations on unsurvivable curses, and records of great victories are inked across the pages of history.

As are the many titles thrust upon Harry; The Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Saviour. To him, they're little more than noise, assumptions from people who don't really know him, and never will.

When he slips the wedding ring onto Ginny's finger, Harry gets the first title he's ever chosen for himself: husband. Her husband.

Not long after, he gains another one, this one unplanned, but no less momentous. James, tiny, and so precious, is placed into his arms, and Harry becomes a father.

His real legacy begins there. It's not just his, it's hers too. Their legacy.

It's recorded in baby books and photo albums rather than history books. It's memorialised in finger paintings and handmade Christmas ornaments (made under Ginny's expert supervision) instead of plaques and statues. It's hundreds of little memories of their family that will never see the inside of a newspaper, but that doesn't make them any less noteworthy, not to Harry, who'd never dared to imagine that this life could be his one day.

IX. love of my life

“Dinner!” Her mother calls from the back door of The Burrow, her voice ringing out across the garden.

The sun is setting, dipping below the topmost branches of the orchard. The sky is a tapestry of pinks, purples and golds, stretching out for miles above them.

“What do you think?” Ginny asks as her feet meet the ground, dismounting from her broom. “Could I make it as a pro?”

Harry lands beside her. His eyes sweep appraisingly over her. Ginny's stomach swoops like she's still in the air. “I don't know,” he says thoughtfully. “The League is brutal. It requires rigorous training.”

Ginny shrugs unconcernedly, hoisting her broom onto her shoulder as she does. “Do you know any Quidditch captains who might be interested in helping me with such an undertaking?”

“I know one who might be able to make some time for you this summer,” Harry says as he falls into step beside her. He inclines his head towards her broom.“I can take it for you?”

Ginny's eyes narrow, prepared to tell him she's perfectly capable of carrying her own broom, but, when she turns, the way he's looking at her makes her heart race, and the words die on her tongue. without her permission, her expression transforms into a grin. “Very chivalrous of you.”

A weight is lifted from her as Harry settles her broom beside his on his shoulder. “That's kind of what I'm known for.”

“Only ‘kind of’?” Ginny's eyes wander to the quickly darkening sky above them as she laughs. “In that case, I'll be sure to let people know of this latest act of heroism – personally, I don't think you get enough attention.”

“Well, if that's how you feel, you could always give me more.”

Ginny stops midstep. Her head turns sharply back to Harry. She should keep walking, the words that are on the tip of her tongue will lead to something that neither of them planned for on this particular summer evening.

Harry's eyebrows rise upwards; even in the dusk, Ginny can see the challenge sparking in his eyes. Unbidden, she takes a step towards him. “Are you flirting with me, Potter?”

He doesn't back down, but he doesn't make a move towards her either. The brooms he's holding clatter together as he shrugs with just a bit too much tension in his shoulders to be truly nonchalant. “I might be.”

Ginny's blood thrums in her veins as she takes another step towards him. “Need I remind you that I'm spoken for?”

“How could I forget?” Harry's head lowers despite her reminder, until he's so close Ginny can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “I suppose he's deeply in love with you?”

“Yes,” she nods with absolute certainty. “And I feel the same about him.”

Harry's head dips lower, the determination in his eyes making his intention clear. Ginny rises on her tiptoes, unable to fight the pull that always inevitably beckons her to him.

Barely an inch of space remains between them. Her heart flutters wildly–

“Oi!” The loud, obnoxious shout comes from the far end of the orchard, making Ginny jump. She turns towards it and finds a lanky figure glaring at them from where he leans against the fence. “When you're done being disgusting, Nanna says to hurry up – dinner’s ready and the rest of us aren't allowed to start without you.”

James doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and marching back towards the house.

Ginny rolls her eyes at her son's retreating back. Her hand slips into Harry's, the most contact they're getting, at least until after dinner. “Remind me again why we had children?”

Harry sighs, allowing her to lead him towards the gate James has just departed from. “You said they'd be cute.”

“Well, they used to be,” she says fairly as she pushes the gate open with her free hand. “I wasn't thinking as far as them becoming teenagers.”

Harry nods seriously. “Really, who could've predicted such an unforeseeable outcome.”

Ginny looks up at him as he follows her through the gate. Brown eyes meet green through the burgeoning twilight. Two identical smiles bloom like flowers in spring.

“Certainly not you, judging by your appalling Divination grades.”

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