A/N: I guess I'm changing the style just an EENSY bit with this story. You will see more flash forwards, like the present and stuff. At least in this chapter you will. Sorry for the ten-month wait with this. I'm very sorry. Like my friend says: Life got in the way. BTW, I dedicate this story to the late Adrienne Shelly (I know, I'm two and a half years late). Enjoy…

Chapter Four: Growing Love

"Harry, come back to bed."

I snapped out of my reverie and looked at my sleepy wife. She'd stood up and was wrapped in the sheets like a toga. She walked lazily over to me, and wrapped her arms around my middle, her chin resting on my shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?"

"When I first fell in love with you, and everything after that."

Ginny laughed. It was a beautiful sound, sexy and magical all at the same time. "How long have you loved me, Harry?"

I smiled at her in the reflection of the vanity and her eyebrows lifted in question.

"I've always loved you and I fell in love with you many times, Ginny." I was serious and she smiled warmly, her eyes closed. "Over and over again, I fell deeply in love with you."

We were silent for a moment, both of us thinking back to how it was in the early stages of our romance to the rough times and to the happy times. "Do you remember that summer?" I asked her. She rolled her eyes.

"We had many summers together, Harry. Which one?"

"The earliest you can remember," I suggested.

"Ah…" She pondered for a moment. "I was seven going on eight…and you and Ron decided to go swimming…That's not the earliest I remember. But…"

Oh, yeah. I smiled at her in the mirror, and she blushed bright red.

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I remember how hot it was and how not even kiddy pools could not take the heat away. The trees, those ancient trees in the forest beyond the orchard and the make-shift Quidditch field were the only true refuges. Their canopies stretched high above everything, providing the perfect shade.

I was a week from being nine years old, and adamant about being around Ron. Our bond had grown stronger over the past three years, being that much older and that much wiser about the world around us. In that course of time, we'd both discovered our magical abilities, Ron through a traumatic event when Fred and George decided to turn his teddy bear into a spider, something Ron feared above all else as a child. Mine came about in an unhealthier manner.

I'd found out about my stepfather's true hatred for me, which he hid from my mother. The frustration and hurt and anger and hatred that flared up inside of me was too much to contain. I felt as if I were going to explode – and did nearly that. It was right before dinner one night that he let his feelings of resentment toward my existence slip (while my mother was, of course, occupied in the kitchen), and by the time I witnessed the fake side of his personality at dinner, the casserole in the middle of the table erupted all over the ceiling.

Severus was furious but my mother was elated. I was seven, just as Ron was.

This, I think, brought us closer together. We shared this secret together, as well as other hurts. He comforted me from the immense hurt I felt at this utter betrayal of my step father, and I stood by his side whenever his brothers picked on him or his mother seemed to overlook his feelings. We especially found comfort in each other when his insecurities and mine seemed to coincide.

Well, anyway, it was a very hot July afternoon. The morning had been rather cool, with the sun not yet beyond the clouds. My mum and her husband had gone off for a couple's retreat, or so they told me. I wasn't old enough to understand marital problems and counseling. I was staying with the Weasleys for the next month and the hottest day of the summer so far hit us without warning. Mrs. Weasley was currently spending her last summer with Charlie who would be entering his last year of Hogwarts in the fall and preparing the twins for their first year. To say the least, she was a bit emotional and likely to snap. So she let Ron and Ginny roam about wherever they wanted, really, feeling they were old enough to not need over supervision. The only catch was that Ginny pretty much had to tag along with us wherever we went. This annoyed Ron, but I didn't have much complaints.

We went for a walk that afternoon to get out of the sun and the stuffy air of the Burrow, not knowing that Ginny wasn't far behind. We didn't even bother with the broomsticks, knowing we would probably pass out from the heat. But there was a pond hidden by the trees that we wanted to swim in. I was a great swimmer, but I stayed away from the deeper end. As I was going in for my tenth cannonball, a flash of ginger caught my eye. When I resurfaced, I saw Ginny peeking her head from behind a tree, and as she saw me, she ran away.

I don't know why I didn't tell Ron that I'd seen his sister when he shouted after me as I began to pursue her. I guess it's because I knew he'd spoil the moment. I told him I'd be back soon real quick. My plan was to ask her to join us, to please stay.

It never got to that.

"Ginny!" I called after her. She only ran faster. Or she tried. She ended up falling over a tree root, and the fall straight to the forest floor knocked the air out of her. I was so scared that she'd hurt herself. As it turned out she had a few scrapes on her knees and elbows. Nothing serious, although she cried a bit. "Are you okay?" After a moment she nodded and then I did something that surprised us both. I kissed her scrapes. Every one of them. The feeling I got as I did that reminded me of the time I'd accidentally witnessed an intimate moment between my mother and stepfather. I looked at Ginny, a confession on the tip of my tongue when I really saw her, and all my previous thoughts eluded me.

In the four years since we first met, Ginny had grown so much into herself. She'd thinned out quite a bit, as well as grown a whole foot and some odd inches taller. I wouldn't have described her as womanly, as there still were no curves, but she was so pretty. She could fit her clothes much better, and things were nearly perfectly proportionate to her head. Her eyes were still big and doe-like. As she sat in front of me in that moment, with her arms behind her supporting her weight and her knees pulled up nearly to her chest, with her bottom lip poking out and her eyes red from crying, her cheeks wet also… my breath was taken away.

I leaned forward and her eyes widened. I kissed her on the mouth, and it wasn't the way she had kissed me on my sixth birthday.

It seems so ridiculous, now, to hear of two children under the age of ten behaving this way, but what we did after that… well, hasn't every child played Healer or House in their back yard? I'll show you mine if you show me yours? Curiosity seemed to get the better of us that day, and quite a few after that. We weren't very shy at that age, but we were caught and a stop was put to it.

"What are you two doing?!"

My mother was horrified to see me lying naked with Ginny in her bed a few weeks later on her eighth birthday when we decided to get married. Mrs. Weasley came in seconds later, shocked to silence.

"Mummy, we're married!" said a delighted Ginny. "Like you and Daddy!"

I imagine now how embarrassed our mums must have been. Mine certainly was much more careful around Severus than usual and she couldn't look at me the same way until she was sure I was past this stage.

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"And now we really are married," Ginny murmured into my skin. "That's when I fell in love with you, Harry. Now come back to bed. This honeymoon isn't over yet." She didn't have to ask me twice.

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Even though we stopped with the sexual misconduct altogether and eventually became embarrassed by it, we were pretty much inseparable. The three of us had the Burrow to ourselves, and even the cottage and Grimmauld Place once the twins left for Hogwarts. Ron was both jealous and happy and Ginny was going to miss her brothers. They were sweetest, after all, to their baby sister. Mrs. Weasley, I'm sure was happy with her semi-empty nest.

Things really fell into place for us that year. The three of us grew closer than ever and despite the sour parts of my life, they made my childhood the best anyone could ever ask for. And even though we were very young, Ginny and I fell in love.

One of my favorite childhood memories of her was about a year later, our last year together before my first year at Hogwarts with Ron. It was actually early November and the colored leaves were at their most vibrant. Ginny, who really loved autumn, led me to youngest part of the forest, the edge, with her new painting set.

"Isn't it beautiful, Harry?" She was smiling widely and the urge to kiss her, even then, was overwhelming. It really was breathtaking, the way she stood there with her jacket on and her paints under her arm, her long straight nose red along with her cheeks and lips from the cold… and her gingery-orange hair which stood out even more bright and vibrant with the complements from the leaves of the transitioning trees. Her chocolate eyes, clear and doe-like, rested on my face and I think she felt the same urge as me. But she looked away, blushing deeper.

"Yeah," I said. "They make your hair stand out."

"Thank you." She sat down on the forest floor and looked up through the thin canopy and began to draw what she saw. I sat across from her, watching and talking about nothing in particular. The sketch only took a few minutes before she started painting, starting with red, then orange and finally yellow. She used thin strokes of dark brown for the stems and whatever branches she'd drawn and when she was finished, revealed her work to me. It was a very precise painting and far beyond the level of your ordinary nine-year-old. But then, Ginny had always been creative and when she put her mind to something, she excelled at it. She put her heart into this, and I could see that.

"You're amazing, Ginny," I said and she smiled warmly at me, a smile she'd been using lately just for me. She sighed and lay back on the ground, staring up at the canopy. I lay next to her, thinking about what we used to do last year and looked over to see if she was having similar thoughts. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were still red, but I wasn't a mind reader.

"I'm cold," she said after a while and we sat up. She grabbed her painting and her paints and we walked back to the Burrow for lunch.

Inside the kitchen, where we ate homemade chicken noodle soup with hot rolls and butterbeer, although Ginny decided to drink tea instead. Autumn sunlight shined into the homely kitchen and upon Ginny. Her ginger-orange hair almost glowed, flowing over her shoulder and chest and arms. I couldn't stop staring at her for the life of me.