Written for sherylyn, for her birthday on 30 November. Sherry, thanks for being such an awesome beta and amazing friend!
Him
When Harry met Ginny, he'd been trying to find his way to the Hogwarts Express. His uncle had taken him to King's Cross, dropped him off, and driven away without even saying good-bye, leaving him to find his way alone.
She was with her family, the whole lot of them with red hair and freckles. He remembers feeling a little bit jealous that they all had each other—and more than a little grateful for their help.
He remembers watching her chase after the train, her red hair trailing behind her.
He wishes now that he'd paid her more attention.
Her
When Ginny met Harry, she'd been begging her mum to let her go to Hogwarts. She was there with her family, preparing to send her brothers off to school and leaving her behind. Again.
He was standing by himself, looking lost and bewildered and alone. She remembers how her mum helped him through the barrier, how Fred and George helped him with his trunk, how her heart swooped into her stomach when she learned who he was.
She remembers chasing after the train as it pulled out of the station, wishing more than anything that she was on it too.
Him
The second time he saw her, she was in her nightgown. He remembers a flash of white muslin and red hair, a startled "Eep" and the pounding of footsteps as she ran up the stairs.
He remembers her at Hogwarts that year, too, how she grew pale and worried looking, how she always carried that diary with her, everywhere she went.
He remembers finding her, deathly white, on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets; he'd never been more relieved in his life than when she woke. He'd been amazed at her strength.
He still wishes he'd paid more attention.
Her
She'd thought going off to Hogwarts would be the best thing ever. Sure, she'd embarrassed herself in front of Harry (more than once) but Tom had assured her it wouldn't matter. She'd believed him—Tom would never lie to her.
But he did lie, and her first year at Hogwarts wasn't anything like she'd thought it would be. She never got to know Harry like she'd wanted to. And she started losing parts of her days.
She woke to find herself on the cold, wet floor of the Chamber, Harry hovering worriedly over her.
She'd been amazed at his bravery.
Him
His third year, Ginny was there, but only in the background. Looking back now, he wishes he'd spent the time to talk to her then. She'd been just as affected by the Dementors as he'd been—she had her own share of nightmares, after all—and surely could've benefitted as much as he had from learning to cast a Patronus. In his own defence, he'd had other things on his mind—not only did he have a murderer out for his blood, but when it came to girls, he'd been looking elsewhere. He knows now he had been spectacularly thick.
Her
Ginny's second year was different...sort of. She wasn't under Tom's control anymore. But there were Dementors, and Harry (and Ron and Hermione) still didn't pay much attention to her.
And she was still worried about Harry. Tom wasn't after him this year, at least not directly. But Sirius Black, Tom's right-hand man, was. She wanted…needed to protect Harry, but she didn't know how. She started watching him, whenever possible, just to make sure he was safe.
She wishes she hadn't been watching when the Dementors attacked at the Quidditch match.
She also wishes she knew the real story about Sirius.
Him
He doesn't blame himself for not paying her much attention in his fourth year, although he probably should. But he'd had other, more demanding, things on his mind: the whole school (or so it seemed) hating him; dragons and mermen; the Yule Ball and Cho and an obnoxious reporter; a Death Eater impersonating his Defence teacher.
None of that excuses anything, but it makes him feel a little better, especially when he's reminded of how she believed his story, even when the evidence was overwhelmingly against him. She always had been loyal to a fault. He admires that about her.
Her
She'll never understand how he could have such rotten luck. First, he found himself entered in the Triwizard Tournament. Then he had to face a dragon, mermaids, and Rita Skeeter.
And then there was the last task, where he'd been kidnapped and attacked, where he'd watched a friend's murder…where he'd met Tom face to face once again.
She doesn't know how he does it, time and time again, how he can not only face Tom, but beat him and escape, bringing back Cedric's body and the knowledge of Voldemort's return, even if the Minister of Magic would never admit it.
Him
His fifth year was definitely not his best, not by any stretch of the imagination. Isolation. Anger. Confusion. He'd been ignored by Dumbledore, baited by Snape (the greasy git) and tortured by Umbridge.
Ginny had been the only one who hadn't been afraid to stand up to him that year, the only one who'd known what to say and how to say it in order to get him out of his funk and focussed on something other than himself.
When they'd fought in the Ministry, she'd been brave and amazing and powerful, a true Gryffindor.
Someday, he'd stop underestimating her.
Her
She'd given up on him. Not got over—never that—but she'd moved on, buried her crush deep down inside. She'd learned that she was strong and brave and didn't need him, even if she wanted him.
She'd learnt more about the real Harry, too, the Harry who was lonely and stubborn and noble and had a hero complex a mile wide. She hadn't been surprised when he'd wanted to go rescue Sirius. It was who Harry was, the same boy who years before had braved a basilisk and an evil madman to save a little girl he'd hardly known.
Him
She was going to be the death of him, and she would never even know it. Because he couldn't tell her, could he? He couldn't tell her that his eyes and heart were finally opened, that he'd finally seen what he'd been missing as he looked the other way.
He'd had his chance, and he'd let it—let her—slip away. She was seeing someone else and he was left watching and waiting and wanting to hex himself for being a blind idiot.
He shoved down on the monster trying to escape from his chest. It wasn't his time yet.
Her
There's something different about him this year, something that's more open and yet… still hidden. She notices, of course, because she notices everything about him, but she still can't figure it all out.
It's not until after the Quidditch match and the kiss—that kiss—in front of their housemates and friends and her brother (and Merlin knows who else) that she knows what he's been hiding all year.
She wishes she'd known earlier. There's so much they could've done, so much they could've seen. They could've had days… weeks… months…
But they're together now, and that's all that matters.
Him
She was his reason for living.
Yes, he wanted to kill Voldemort, and certainly revenge came into it, at least a little, but he did it for her. Ginny, with the fiery red hair and sparkling brown eyes and the sprinkling of freckles, just there. Ginny who was beautiful and bold and audacious and courageous and loving, who stole her brothers' brooms so she could learn to fly, who could put him in his place better than anyone, who taught him the meaning of love.
He died for her, so she could live.
But he also came back for her.
Her
He was a stupid, noble git. It's why she let him walk away from her after Dumbledore's funeral.
It's also why she kissed him on his birthday, to remind him of what would be waiting when he returned.
So when she finally got a chance to see him after it was all over, when she could touch him and listen to his voice and reassure herself that he was really there, she didn't slap or punch or yell.
She snuck into his bed and held him.
He was a stupid, noble git. But he was alive, and he was hers.
Them
When Harry met Ginny, she came to him with bright smile and blazing look, and Ron had to hold him back to keep him from going to her and dragging her to his side.
And when Ginny met Harry, when she took his hand and looked into his eyes, and when they pledged themselves each to the other and became husband and wife, she had to pinch herself to remind herself it was real.
And Harry met Ginny with soft whispers of discarded clothing, and Ginny met Harry with loud cries of passion, and each met the other with love.