Disclaimer: all characters and places belong to J. K. Rowling. All lyrics from "When You Were My Girl" belong to Anthony Callea. I claim no ownership nor rights them.

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When you were my girl,
There were times you'd look at me
And I knew exactly,
What it felt to be loved.



Harry sat up, the early morning light sifting through his barely-there curtain and casting an orange-pink glow on the room, due to the colour of the cheap material. He reached instinctively for his glasses, putting them on and letting his eyes adjust.


His eyes sought out the two people sleeping on the floor on threadbare mattresses, and a wane smile appeared on his tired face. Harry rubbed the back of his head, feeling his black hair mess up, and it made him smile more. Ron and Hermione looked entirely peaceful, and Harry knew they wouldn't wake up for a while. But that was okay.


Harry brought his knees up towards his chest, knees that were still knobbly after all these years. Harry hugged them through his blanket, still smiling. He had had a dream just before he woke up, and he let his mind, still fuggy from sleep, drift back to the dream.


Harry had dreamt of Ginny. Ginny, with her wild hair and wild temper. Ginny, with her caring touch and soft hands. Ginny, with her sparkling eyes, a rich brown. Ginny, who Harry cared for so much he felt like his chest would explode just because he was thinking of her. Oh yes, Harry deeply cared for her, and deeply missed her mere presence. The dream had been one of the few so far in this summer that had been calming for Harry’s mind, body and soul, and Harry was glad for it.


Ginny had simply been looking at him in the dream. Harry knew it was silly to smile because a person looked at him, but with Ginny it was different. It wasn't just because she represented everything he wanted right now, and it wasn't because he could see her eyes calling out to him, telling him everything was going to be alright. It was because every time she looked at him like that, back before the world had shattered with Dumbledore's death, Harry had known exactly what it felt to be loved. It was just as he had told her, it was like something out of someone else's life, as during his life, Harry had been on the receiving end of very few of these looks. He had given many, but to receive a look like the ones Ginny gave him, it made the world a much better place.


Ginny had given him this look every single day when they were…Harry didn‘t know what to call it, but he supposed the word “together“ fitted here, even though he‘d been near her for years…years wasted. Sometimes it was when they were doing homework, and she'd just look up at the same time as he did, and she would smile at him. Sometimes it was when he made the special effort to meet her outside her classroom after class, or when they were laughing when something funny happened, she would look across the group and give him that look, or by the lake when they stood hand in hand, appreciating being together, or even once or twice, she would just look at him and tell him those words he'd so wanted to hear.


I love you.


What did those three words mean? Dumbledore had said Harry's mother had loved him so much she had died for him, but did that mean Ginny would die for Harry too? Harry hoped not, because with Ginny dead, he didn't know what the point of being alive would be. But when she looked at him, Harry understood it completely, because love was a feeling. Love wasn't a word, it was the way she held his hand, the way she kissed him, the way her eyes looked at him.
Harry smiled again, the picture of Ginny smiling at him filling his heart with hope.



When you were my girl,
I don't know if I'd told you
But whenever I'd hold you,
It scared me so much.
You were all that I needed,
You were all that I had
The one I could turn to,
When the world had gone mad.



Harry missed Ginny Weasley terribly. He glanced over the edge of his bed at where his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, still slept, their faces both smiling gently. He smirked at Ron's hand, which was on top of Hermione's on the hard floor. Well, it was more like holding her hand, really.


It reminded Harry of her. He had loved to just hold her in his arms, when they were together. More than having her look at him, he had always wanted to touch her. Having her in his arms was bliss for him, but it made him feel complete more than anything else. Although he felt terrible for admitting it, when he was with Ginny, Harry needed no one else. He didn’t need Dumbledore, Sirius, his parents or even Ron and Hermione. She was the only one who loved him like she did, he was sure of it. Nobody else just wanted to be around him so they could smile at him, so they could hold him. And in return for the way she loved him, he loved her equally back. He didn't know he could feel so much until she had been in his arms.


She had hugged him before he left. Ron and Hermione were by his side, defiantly leaving behind everything so they could accompany him to the Dursleys, and then beyond. Harry had expected just to turn...and well, he hadn't expected to go back. He had turned his back on his Ginny, because they were apart by then.


Then she had hugged him, holding him close to her chest. So much was happening, there on the platform and in the world in general, but she had stopped everything just so they could be near each other. Harry hadn't really cried during his life, but in her arms he had. He had sobbed silently, and Ginny had made sure nobody saw except her, for which he was glad. He cried for his parents, his Godfather Sirius, for Dumbledore, but mostly for himself. For a selfish moment he wished he could never leave her arms, the only place he felt completely safe in this mad world. He hadn't told her why he was crying, and thought for a moment about whether he should have.


Harry hugged his knobbly knees closer to his lean body sighing. How he wished he could hold her again.



And I guess I just wanted for you to know that
Not a day goes by I don't think of you
(Do you...ever...think...of me when you're alone)
Or I don't ask myself why
(Do you...ever...wonder how things have gone)
If everything's so perfect now
(Do you ever...think of me and start to cry)
Why do I cry all the time...
I didn't cry
When you were my girl - oh
When you were my girl



"We can't be together," he whispered to himself, echoing the words he had told her. His perfect Ginny had understood. Any other girl would have told him they would stand by his side forever and always, but Ginny knew him better. She knew he couldn't bear to have her in danger. Only Ginny knew what was best for him. They had parted on that platform, and here was Harry. At the Dursleys with only thoughts of her as his comfort.


Every morning since they'd gotten here, to Number four Privet drive, Harry awoken before the birds, to think of Ginny. Whether it was after a horrid nightmare, or a blessed dream such as today, thoughts of her made him smile, and cry. He would start by thinking if she thought of him the same, somewhere alone and private. Did she cry? Did she laugh, as he did sometimes?


When he thought of her, Harry didn't think of what might've been, or what he wished for. Well, not much. Mostly, he thought of what had been. He thought of when he first met her, a confused first eleven year old with no friends when he had barely more of a glimpse of a tiny ten year old girl with flaming red hair, racing after the train and crying. He thought of her as a blushing eleven year old with her elbow in the butterdish. A twelve year old tricked by a diary, sucked of her life force, mainly because of her unrequited love for him. A thirteen year old cheering for him as he faced against impeccable odds in the Triwizard Tournament. Fourteen and joining him in Dumbledore's Army. Fifteen by the time she fought along side him in the Department of Mysteries. Still fifteen when he began to realise he'd been blind for five years. She was sixteen now. She was the same age as him. Not for long, though.


Did she think of him as often as he did of her? Did it rip a hole in her heart? Probably not. Ginny was the strongest girl Harry knew- she was probably soldiering about the Burrow, helping with preparations for the wedding. Harry smiled, chuckling very quietly to himself as to not disturb his two friends. Yes, he could just imagine her huffing about, complaining to her mother about doing things for "Phlegm". Or maybe Ginny had grown out of that. Harry didn't know. He hadn't seen her cry as he had done on the platform, and he hoped he would never cause her to cry like that. It would hurt him too much to cause her pain like that.
But at least she would be safe. Harry had no idea what he was going to do after he, Ron and Hermione went to Godric's Hollow, but he was praying that the place of his parent's deaths might reveal some answers to that question. What ever happened, Harry had no doubts it would prove dangerous. Ginny was perfectly safe when she wasn't with him.


If only it didn't hurt so much.


Alone in his bed, holding the only thing he had close to himself. Himself, Harry Potter, the boy who just wanted to be loved. A lone tear crept unwarranted out of the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek, landing wetly on his sheets.



When I was your man,
if I took you for granted
Please understand it was my foolish heart.
Girl you were my best friend,
Baby your love complete me
I loved you completely, just as you are.
And if you couldn't feel that, then how I regret
That I never told you, all the things I should've said
But I guess that's the one chance I'll never get.



All those times he'd taken her for granted. All those years he'd just thought of her as his best friend's sister, a girl with a crush. Later on, a friend. A friend to turn to when Ron and Hermione were acting just plain weird. Someone he could play chess with, talk with. One of the few girls he could talk to without either getting confused or having the whole school population turn on their heads. She had been a friend before she became what she was to him now, a friend that, unlike Ron and Hermione, he wasn’t completely obligated to, but still spent time with her because she was a good person to be around.


He'd seen her in all forms- at the Yule Ball, where she had seemed like a divine princess (he kicked himself for not realising then what an amazing girl she was); in her pyjamas first thing in the morning at the Burrow. He'd even once seen her sprinting from the bathroom to her bedroom in the Burrow. He'd thought nothing of it then. But now, all those little memories, feelings, words, snippets of when their lives had entwined, made him yearn for her all the more. He wondered if she felt this pain, this pulling in his chest, something he wanted but didn't have. But every time he thought of her, it made him feel better, as if she were actually with him again, and he wasn't missing something. Like he wasn't missing her.


If she missed him, he hoped she thought of him, and hoped it made her feel better. If she didn't know how much she meant to him, then she wasn't the girl he thought she was. However, Harry knew that Ginny knew that. He knew she had felt it when they'd first kissed. It wasn't like finally getting something you've been waiting your whole life for, but like being reacquainted with a treasured possession that you can't breathe without. Although, at times, he could barely breathe around her.


He just wished he could talk to her. Tell her how much he missed her. He'd tried to write letters, but they'd all ended up corny and in the wastepaper bin. He wanted to talk of how special she was to him. Strangely enough, he even wanted to talk about Quiddich with her! He berated himself for not telling Ginny all these things when they had been together.


He knew, that when they saw the Weasleys again for Bill and Fluer's wedding, he would get tongue tied. He wouldn't be able to say a word. That was, if he didn't hold her first. He was doomed if she looked at him with that look. He resolved to keep a safe distance. It was sad, that he wouldn't be able to get a chance to talk to her, be near her, if only for a few hours.


Harry glanced again, down to Ron and Hermione. Ron was smiling broadly, his hand holding Hermione’s tighter. Harry smiled at the pair, hoping that maybe, they would get the chance He and Ginny didn't have. If only they would stop being so...confusing around each other!



Not a day goes by I don't think of you
(Do you...ever...think…of me when you're alone)
Or I don't ask myself why
(Do you...ever...wonder how things have gone)
If everything's so perfect now
(Do you ever...think of me and start to cry)
Why do I cry all the time...
I didn't cry
When you were my girl
When you were my girl



Harry stretched out his legs, grimacing at his knees cracked. The light coming through his pinkish-orange curtain had grown stronger, the feeble rays just managing to land on the tip of Hermione's nose. Looking at his two friends, who had vowed to go with him all the way, he grew annoyed with himself.
"This is what you want," he ordered himself.


He wiped the last tear from his eye, angry and confused about how he was acting. Silently, so he wouldn't wake his still sleeping friends, he sat at his small desk, pulling a piece of parchment and a quill to himself, to go through his ritual of trying to write to Ginny.


As he wrote, he spoke the words. "Dear Ginny," Harry peeked at Hedwig, his snowy owl, for inspiration, "not a day has gone by when I don't think of you. I was thinking of-" here Harry scratched out the last four words. "How are you? Hopefully Phlegm’s not being to annoying for you."


Harry paused, sucking the end of his quill. He'd never been good with words, but then again, he'd never really had anyone to make an effort for, or at least not in the way Ginny made it.


"Several times I asked myself why I went away from you because I miss you so much, Ginny, but then I remember. It's for the best.


"I'm sure you're wondering about your brother, Hermione and myself, I guess. We're all perfectly ok, except the Dursleys aren't too pleased with Hermione being in the same room as us- and you should've seen my aunt Petunia's face when Hermione told Petunia that she was a Muggleborn, just like my mother.
"Not much else has happened, and before you know, we'll be at the Burrow with you for the wedding. I miss you very much Ginny, but I'll see you soon."


Harry stopped to read the letter, then with a flourish ended it the way he'd ended all his previous letters.


"Goodbye, my girl, my Ginny, and stay safe,
"Harry."


He read the letter again, his brow furrowing. Did it sound corny? It definitely didn't say even half of what he wanted-no, needed-it to say. He considered scrunching it up and putting it in the bin, but he was pretty certain Hermione had noticed the growing amount of parchment in the bin, and was sure to comment sooner or later. His stomach squirming, he woke Hedwig, her hooted softly, sticking out her leg.


"Give this to Ginny, ok?" he said, opening the window. Hedwig was just out of the window when Ron groaned, roused undoubtedly by the sunlight coming in. Ron struggled to sit up, snatching his hand off Hermione's, his ears growing pink with embarrassment.


Seeing the open window and the empty owl cage, Ron opened his mouth to speak, but yawned instead. "D-did-"


Harry stood abruptly, for some reason not wanting to talk about it. Rubbing his cheek, praying the signs that he'd been crying didn't show, he threw Ron a shirt. "Get dressed before Hermione wakes up," he said in a low voice, leaving the room, the door shutting behind him with a snap. Ron looked at the shirt in his hand in confusion.


It was Hermione’s shirt.



I didn't cry
When you were my girl.



The next morning, no light came through the curtain. But Harry didn't mind. The world outside was grey, and rain drizzled down the pane of glass like tears.
Harry drew his knobbly knees up to his chest, rubbing his thin arms, cold. He felt as cold as the weather outside, and just a miserable. Catching sight of Ron's hair, which was falling into his friend's eyes, Harry began his routine. Like every other morning, he though of a girl with simular hair. He thought of Ginny.


He glanced at his window again. Someone-probably Harry himself- had forgotten to close the curtain after sending Ginny the letter the previous morning. Harry watched the raindrops with interest.


A tap came at the window, the tap of a beak. Harry's green eyes widened at the sight of Hedwig, her feathers drenched. Fast as he could move, he unlatched the window, tugging his familiar in before closing the window again. Harry peered over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione. Hermione’s hand was holding Ron's, and they were, thankfully, asleep.


Harry.


That was the name on the envelope. Harry knew it to be Ginny's writing. The r's looked like i's, and the y had a pretty loop at the end. Definitely Ginny's writing. Harry slunk back to his bed, pulling his grey blanket over his legs to keep them warm, and leaned against the headboard. He took a deep breath, and opened the envelope, unfolded the paper and began to read.


Harry's face softened to a smile, yet he didn't realise that this was the first morning since they'd gotten to the Dursley's that he hadn't cried. He whispered the last lines to himself.


"And I am still your girl,
"Ginny."


Ron and Hermione wouldn’t wake for a while yet. Harry wouldn't see Ginny for two weeks. He was about to go on a perilous journey, of which he wasn't sure he'd survive.


But that was ok. Ginny was his girl.

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Harry Potter Obsession Disorder Sufferers Unite!