DISCLAIMER: Don't own him. Not trying to steal him. (Shh, Harry! Trying to prove something here...Stop struggling!)
A/N: By the way, this is based on the song Must Have Done Something Right by Relient K...So I don't own that, either. This is basically a letter from Harry to Ginny the day after the war. Enjoy!
A/N: Another thing I wanted to mention: I recently got an anonymous review mentioning the fact that in this story, Harry does blame himself a bit. Well, I just wanted to clarify: It's not that I think Harry SHOULD blame himself. You have to look past me in these things - look at the character. It would simply be OOC if he DIDN'T feel somewhat guilty. Thus, I needed to put it in.
Oh, and to said anonomous reviewer (if you ever happen to come across this): You said you skimmed the story. Skimming a story, reading a couple sentences out of context, and proceeding to send me a review with "criticism" is not helpful. You don't even know what you're criticizing, and it is simply irritating and insulting to the author. I hope I don't sound absolutely horrid and ungracious, but since I couldn't PM you...
~Ari
"If anyone could make me a better person you could, all I gotta say is I musta done something good! You came along one day and you rearranged my life, all I gotta say is I musta done something right!"
~Must Have Done Something Right, Relient K
My Ginny,
I won't lie: This past year, I've been to hell and back. Honestly, the only reason I know I'm back now is because you're here.
But then, Bill always called you a little devil, so...
But that's really not the point. The point is, there is so much to tell you and so much to sort out. Just so much everything.
I feel sick thinking of the bodies being carried past me as I sit in the Great Hall (lost in the turbulence of all the horrors overcome, and all those waiting for us in the near future as we pick up the pieces) writing this letter. I'm trying not to look up, but I do every time another stretcher passes me. Each is covered with a neat, clinical white sheet, and I wonder morbidly who is who: Is that Colin Creavey, the annoying little boy who followed me around with that bloody camera my second year? Or is that, perhaps, Remus Lupin, the last of my father's best friends? Or - and it pains me to even mention it - could that be Fred? Fred, who was kind to me, Fred, who believed me, Fred, who made me laugh when I was at my worst, Fred, who cared, Fred, who joked, Fred, who understood you perhaps the most out of your brothers? Fred, who is now gone forever because I wasn't quick enough.
Yes, Ginny. I am blaming myself. I know what you and your family and Hermione...and everyone...will try to tell me: "It's not your fault, Harry."
God, I've heard that so many times. Doesn't it seem that I've heard it enough that I'd start to doubt it? It's not my fault, yet I must be told it isn't. Over. And over. And over again.
Because, you see Ginny, it is my fault in a way. If I had just got up the guts to walk into that forest sooner...But I'm getting ahead of myself.
There is no way I can explain the past year - well, really, the past seventeen years - in a letter. Besides, I think you might hex me if I tried. The least you deserve is for me to tell you everything, to sit down with you and explain. I hope you'll hear me out. I hope you can save your anger until you know the extent of what has happened.
There are other things I want to say, too, though. About you. About us.
Like how I'm sorry I didn't figure out how bloody amazing you are before my sixth year. I'm so sorry for breaking up with you. I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for not telling you everything. I'm sorry for not standing up for you in the Room of Requirement when your parents didn't want you to fight. I'm sorry for being a complete git and trying to protect you when I know perfectly well how fiercely capable you are.
Ginny, I never stopped loving you. Somehow, it's easier to write it than to say it...I know I'm a coward. I love you. The only thing that stopped me from just giving the ruddy hell up this past year was the idea that you would maybe, possibly wait for me. I spent hours when I was supposed to be on watch outside the tent staring at your dot on the Marauder's Map and reveling in the fact that you were alive. That you had stuck in there another day...week...month...That I could come home and see your smile and look into your eyes and run my fingers through your hair and kiss your lips and -! God, Gin, if Voldemort weren't so effing dead set on killing me, I would've died thinking of you. I just didn't want to give him the satisfaction of...well...me dying.
Perhaps it's foolish of me to think that you waited, or that, even if you did, you'll still want me. But I still want you, more than anything, and I swear to Merlin I won't mess it up this time.
If you love me, if you ever loved me, if you'll consider giving me a second chance, then...well, I suppose if you can love me, I must have done something right.
Yours with love,
Harry
P.S. I would appreciate if you kept this letter from your mother. Somehow, despite her little run-in with Bellatrix Lestrange, I doubt she'd take kindly to my…er…language in a good deal of it. Eh?
A/N: This was a completely spontaneous thing, actually. It's very rare that I have inspiration to write and access to a computer at the same time these days, so usually my stuff is stored in notebooks and folders and come across days/weeks/months later, typed up, and posted. :) But this just worked out...so I hope you liked it! Reviews are kind of addictive, so anything you have to offer in the form of criticism, comments, and praise is lovely.
Also, I figure if people like this, some are going to want a second chapter with Ginny's reply, Harry and Ginny's reunion, or something of the sort. I really am not considering that at all. It simply doesn't feel right for this story. So, before you ask, it's not going to happen! :)
~Ari
