Notes: This will have one more chapter, then a sequel, and maybe another sequel or something. I am such an ardent H/G shipper that I doubt this will be my last H/G story. It'll be like an epic, I guess, so this is the beginning. Maybe I'll even do a little Prologue sometime with the day Harry left on it. Would be interesting, no? So, please review!
As Ginny surveyed the room, she could feel tears filling her eyes. This was what she'd wanted to forget. She'd been in this room with Harry, and he'd roused her out of bed here the morning he proposed. Her diary…she lifted the mattress and checked. It was still there. Cautiously, even though she was afraid of it, she pulled it out and turned to the very last page.
Dear Diary,
Harry proposed yesterday morning, and now he's gone. We've tried to send Hedwig to him, but she won't go. It makes us think something's wrong with him. Maybe he's hurt? I can't live my life without him! He just has to be safe! I thought he'd write a letter or something, but he just left without a trace. Well, not completely. There was a red heart on my mirror with our names on it, and I can only assume Harry left it as George and Fred were also home during the summer. I think I shall have to start over. I love you, Harry.
Ginny
She threw the diary down in disgust. Did she love Harry, or was it just the crush she'd had on him before? She had felt like the luckiest girl in the world when he proposed, but now she felt like the worst.
"Ginny?" Bill poked his head in her room.
"Yeah?" She tried to surreptitiously wipe her tears away, but Bill noticed.
"Oh, Ginny," he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Everything will be okay. Harry will come back, safe, and you can get married. Okay?"
Ginny nodded, because she didn't trust herself to say anything.
"All right." Bill smiled. "Then, Mum sent me up to tell you it's dinner time, if you'd care to join us. I know for a fact that she made your favorite chicken and something very sweet for dessert!" He laughed, and Ginny managed a feeble chuckle.
"I'll come," she said.
* * * * * *
It felt odd to be sitting with her family when she was so used to dining alone. Fred and Angelina, George and Katie, Percy and Penelope, Charlie and Morgan, Bill and Susie, Ron – alone – and their parents. She felt out of place, especially as the dinner topic turned to marriage and dating.
But Ginny was feeling apprehensive. It was dinnertime, December 1st, and it was dark out. Harry should be home by now, shouldn't he? Oh, did she want him home? Wouldn't it be better if he just died?
No, it wouldn't. Ginny knew that she'd cry if he died. Still, it would be easier than dealing with a live Harry.
"So, Ginny," Morgan's blue eyes focused on her for a minute, bringing her out of her reverie. "What have you been doing in the Muggle world, lately?" Morgan was a muggle, but she had a sister who'd gone to Hogwarts in Charlie's year. That's how he'd met her.
"I've been a reporter," Ginny said absently, "for the Observer. Covering local events and stuff."
"But without magic!" Morgan seemed fascinated. "Tell me, Ginny, aren't you very conditioned to use a wand to solve problems? Was it very hard to have to do things by hand? I just started working for the Ministry of Magic, you see, as their Muggle Advisor, and it seems like a very hard thing to do, to convert like that."
Ginny shrugged. "Guess it is. I didn't really notice." Everyone else at the table looked down, almost embarrassed. Good, Ginny thought. They were right where they wanted to be, with their husbands and wives.
"Well, we must chat sometime." Morgan smiled.
"Sure," Ginny mumbled. She felt sick all of a sudden, like she wanted to throw up. She wanted to die, right there, so that she wouldn't have to deal with Harry.
And then, right then, there was a knock on the door. Ginny didn't need a crystal ball (she'd failed that part, actually) to tell her who it was. Three sharp raps, strong footsteps – it was Harry.
Mrs. Weasly rushed to the door and wiped her hands on her apron, before opening the door.
It was Harry. He had come home at last.