Ginny remembered the first time she had ever seen Harry Potter. She was ten at that time, still a young girl, naïve in many aspects, especially about matters of the heart. But the moment that her eyes landed on the skinny boy with jet-black hair and bright-green eyes, everything changed. She hadn't known he was the boy-who-lived at that point; what had captivated her that he was alone with only a trunk beside him. There was no mother smothering over him ("Geroff me, mum!" Ron exclaimed when Mrs Weasley tried to wet a handkerchief to clean the spot on his nose.), or a proud father standing next to him. In fact, no one was there to send him off at all.
She wondered how he felt, so alone. Having a large family herself, she had never experienced what 'alone' truly was. The boys were always barraging into her room at all times of the day for even the seemingly smallest of reasons. Hence, feeling 'alone' was definitely not an option for her. Ginny longed to be that person to ease his aloneness; that motherly instinct was already innate in her being.
"Ginny!" Fred's voice pulled her out from her thoughts. His eyes followed her gaze. "That's the boy-who-lived!" he exclaimed. His shout caught his twin's attention and the two turned away, discussing future prospects that this titbit of information could bring them.
Ginny turned back to look at him. But now, she saw him in a different light. This was the boy that had survived You-Know-Who's killing curse at the mere age of one. The one curse that had effectively disseminated so many other full-grown wizards and witches, all who were many times more powerful that him. It was still a mystery to the Wizarding world, and at her age, the amazement she felt was a hundred times more than what the adults felt. Her eyes searched his forehead for the famed lightning bolt scar, but his messy hair was covering it.
Suddenly, his head lifted, and for a moment, their eyes caught each others. Ginny flushed furiously and dropped her gaze. She grew hot at the thought of being caught by the Boy-Who-Lived staring.
"Here are your lunches boys!" Mrs Weasley began handed out sandwiches wrapped in cling foil. "Percy, Fred, George, Ron," she recited easily as she distributed them. The Hogwarts Express emitted a puff of red smoke then, indicating that it was ready to go. Mrs Weasley waved her hands anxiously.
"Ron! Up the carriage you go!" Mrs Weasley encouraged her younger son.
"I'm not nine anymore mum, I can get on by myself!" retorted a very annoyed Ron as he clambered into a carriage.
Ginny's eyes strayed in the direction of the Boy-Who-Lived again, only to discover that he was gone. She was disappointed. Glancing back at the train, she waved to her brothers dutifully, wishing that she could board the train together with the rest of her schooling siblings, for reasons more than one.
"Be a good girl, Ginny! Don't play any pranks while we're gone okay?" Fred stuck his head out from a carriage window, his grin disappearing when he caught sight of his mother disapproving frown.
"Honestly! What am I going to do about them? They'd better not been influencing you!" Mrs Weasley huffed, though Ginny could tell that her mother was already missing her brood. She was too. It would be a dull time at home, until they could all come back for Winter Break.
As the train set off, Ginny noticed her mother's eyes grow moist and drew closer to her. She knew how her mother was feeling right then. By this time next year, no one would be left to accompany her mother home…
---
Harry Potter's head was in a whirl. First, there had been those letters that kept coming, through every possible opening into the house. Next, in the middle of a storm, this giant-of-a-man banged down the door to the hut his uncle had rented to get away from the never-ending stream of letters, telling him that he was a wizard. Then, there had been that trip to Diagon Alley. If that had not been overwhelming enough, then there was that bit about walking through a solid metal barrier to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. And now, he was on the train to Hogwarts! That is, if such a place really existed. But now, he would almost believe anything and everything. He had settled in an empty carriage and was wondering what to do next. His thoughts wandered over to the pretty, auburn-haired girl he had seen earlier and how her cheeks had turned beet-red when he had looked at her.
"Mind if I join?" a redhead poked his head in.
Harry shook his head and gestured to the empty seat opposite of his.
"Are you really…" the boy started. "Harry Potter?"
"Yeah…" Harry swept away his fringe to reveal his scar. He wondered why everyone was making such a big fuss about it. Aunt Petunia had always called it a vile thing.
"I thought Fred and George were having me on again, saying that Harry Potter was onboard the Hogwarts Express," the boy said.
Their conversation continued from there, only interrupted by a boy who had lost his toad, a bushy-haired girl and a pale-skinned boy with a sharp, pointed face, who Harry didn't like all that much. And the blushing redheaded girl was promptly forgotten about.
---
Ginny peeked out from the stairway. She couldn't believe her eyes. Harry Potter was in her house! She looked down at her attire - a faded pair of pyjamas and threadbare slippers. She was just about to head back up to change into something a little less casual…
"Ginny! Breakfast is ready!" Mrs Weasley's voice resonated about the house.
Ginny's head fell. Slowly, she began trudging her way to the minute kitchen. All her brothers, save for Charlie and Bill, were seated at the table, eating breakfast. Ron was talking animatedly to Harry Potter. The fact that his mouth was full of egg didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Ginny wondered what Harry Potter thought of her brother's eating habits. Her eyes wondered over to her seat… which was directly opposite Harry's. She quickly sat herself down, her long hair making a curtain across her face to hide her flaming cheeks from Harry. Her eyes darted in front, only to see Harry's curious gaze on her, and shot back down. She awkwardly reached for the cutlery and let out a small eep! when her elbow landed in the butter dish, knocking it over with a conspicuous clang.
Ginny dove under the table to retrieve the fallen dish, her face glowing like the setting sun. Under the table, she resolved to never embarrass herself like that in front of Harry Potter again. Ginny quickly finished her breakfast and practically ran back into her bedroom. After all, avoidance is the best way against embarrassing confrontations right?
---
Harry was surprised when he first saw that redheaded girl at the Burrow hours just after he'd reached. It hadn't occurred to him that the girl from the train station last year was related to the Weasleys, though their familial red hair had been striking. But now, it all made sense.
He thought her to be a little strange, always darting away from him. He had just wanted to ask where the washroom was! And that incident with the butter dish which he had politely pretended not to notice. But over the days he stayed at the Burrow, he gradually got to see the other sides of her character as well.
When Fred and George, the pranksters of the Weasley family, had set off a firework in her room, just moments later after their Quidditch match, the twins' room was abuzz with very angry garden gnomes. There had to be at least a good fifteen of them. That was quite spunky of her, Harry had to admit.
It was a pity that each time he tried to strike up a conversation with her, her face flamed redder than her hair and she seemed nervous, or even frightened of him. So generally, Harry avoided her during his time at the Burrow.
---
"Ginny!" Hermione ran up to her, engulfing her in a hug. Ginny was glad Hermione was here at the Order headquarters, even if she got bossy once in a while. Finally, she had someone closer to her age to talk to. Lunch was just over, so they wouldn't have anything to do until it was closer to dinnertime.
Ginny helped Hermione unpack her belongings, mainly volumes of thick books that Ginny would never read.
"So… Dumbledore's picking Harry up on Friday," Hermione said as they unpacked. Ginny felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of him. It wasn't as bad as when she had been eleven, but her heart still pounded faster and butterflies would flutter.
"Oh?" Ginny tried to play off her nervousness.
"Look, it's no use trying to hide it from me; I know you still like Harry," Hermione stated bluntly. Ah… typical Hermione. "Ginny, just be yourself around him. It's no use always ducking and avoiding him. He and Ron are best friends; he'll always be present somehow or another."
Ginny turned to face the older girl.
"It's just so hard to squash down all those feelings that spring out of nowhere when he comes you know, Hermione." Ginny put Hermione's most-prized Hogwarts: A History on the desk.
"Just relax. Talk to him a bit. He doesn't bite. The more you talk to him, the easier it will be in the future. Who knows, you might even become friends," Hermione said logically.
Ginny nodded slightly, unconvinced.
"I'll try."
And then Michael Conner asked her out, though deep down, who she really wanted to ask her that question would never ask. Or so, she thought.
---
"I can't believe it's been ten years," Harry murmured as he lay next to Ginny. His fingers were intertwined with hers under the blankets.
"Me neither." Ginny snuggled closer to him.
It had been a wonderful night. Harry had taken her out to dinner at some fancy Muggle restaurant, knowing long ago that she loved Italian food, and then, they had taken a stroll down the street, finally reaching home at ten. Ginny sighed blissfully, remembering in the summer of her forth-year how she never would have imagined that Harry Potter would have asked her out. And they had many other dates after that. She yawned, tired.
"Go to sleep, love," Harry told her. "We have to get to work tomorrow." He pressed his lips against her forehead for a goodnight kiss.
"Goodnight, Harry," Ginny murmured sleepily. "Happy Anniversary."
"Happy Anniversary, Ginny," Harry said, his eyes closing as well.
---
In the room next to theirs, a small baby boy, with jet-black hair, already unruly like his father's, lay in a crib, sleeping as well. And the house was quiet and peaceful.