In search of horcrux - 8

He knew Voldemort feared death. He wanted to live simply because he dreaded the alternative, not because life was offering him something rewarding. Harry felt a brief flicker of sympathy for Tom Riddle, never having experienced the extraordinary fullness someone like Ginny could have made him feel.

Still, even if that would help Harry defeat Voldemort in the end, it didn't solve the problem of the piece of Voldemort's soul that still resided inside him. He knew Hermione was right – the objects containing Voldemort's soul could be left intact after destroying the Horcrux. He still had all the artifacts to prove it, except the locket. It had sunk to the bottom of the lake with the Inferi whose neck it had been wrapped around. Still, Harry had seen it as the Inferi slipped beneath the water and knew it had remained whole.

So, the artifacts had all survived, battered and worn, but he couldn't see a way to get a Horcrux out of him without taking his own life. He tugged at the rope bracelet he wore around his wrist. The aquamarine stone tucked inside was warm and comforting against his skin.

Harry sighed, the image of the Veil that had taken Sirius from him flickering in his mind. He wondered if it had been painless. The idea of using the Veil haunted his thoughts, but he was held back by the idea of leaving Ron, Hermione, and particularly Ginny behind with the same vivid nightmares he had of losing Sirius.

He glanced over at Ron and Hermione, both sleeping soundly in the other bed. Ron was sprawled with his arms open wide, taking up much more than his half of the bed. Hermione, wearing the blue kerchief she still used at night when she removed her wig, was snuggled next to him, using his arm as her pillow. Harry had watched her awake each morning, blindly reaching for her red wig the same way Harry reached for his glasses.

With time slipping away, Harry felt he really should write each of them a goodbye letter, explaining how much they all meant to him. It was something he would've liked to have had from Sirius, and he knew he'd never be able to vocalize his feelings for them. Still, putting his thoughts in writing made the whole thing so much more real and…close.

He shuddered involuntary, and Ginny's eyes fluttered open. She blinked a few times, orienting herself to where she was, before looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

"Morning," she said, burrowing into the warmth of his body.

"Morning," Harry said, leaning over to kiss the crown of her head. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um-hmm. I like sleeping with you," she said.

Harry felt a flush of warmth fill his chest. "I like sleeping with you, too – even if we really are sleeping," he said cheekily.

He felt Ginny's body tremble as she chuckled. "Don't let Ron hear you, he'll jump into this bed and lie between us."

"Eww," Harry said, screwing up his face. "Nice way to ruin a fantasy, Ginny."

"A fantasy," Ginny said, laughing. "Am I in your fantasies, Harry?"

"You've been starring in my fantasies since long before we even started dating," Harry said, chuckling as he remembered fervently hoping he hadn't talked in his sleep while sharing a dormitory with Ron.

"Hmm," Ginny said, looking extraordinarily pleased. "Good."

"Good?" Harry asked. "Good? So, you like that, do you?" He rolled over so she was pinned beneath him and begin tickling her sides until she was gasping for breath.