AN: Ok ok, here's the second to last installment. I might add on a "deleted
scenes" type thing of like flashbacks or something from the past. or maybe
I'll write a prequel. we'll just see. lemme know what ya'll think about a
prequel or something of the like! Thanks. ~JillyWillyBean AKA: Jill
PS: this chapter is a lil gushy, so if you aren't in touch with your emotions you might not wanna read on. Just kidding, well it is gushy, but read anyways!!! Thanks! ~Jilly
PPS: Thanks for all the reviews! Wippeee. I cannot believe I've gotten 18 reviews already! Thanks. and if you decide to review again, lemme know what you think of the prequel. Ok enough authors notes, ON WITH THE STORY!!!
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Harry re-entered his once favourite home again. It was no longer a comforting place for him. Ginny was gone, and no one in the house had bothered to tell him, call for him, before it was too late. His Ginny. His sweet little Ginny, gone from him forever. The kitchen was a tense place to be at the moment, but Harry let Hermione lead him in there and sit him down. Ron, Molly and Fred Weasley were all at the table, sipping cups of tea quite morosely. No one said anything as a red faced Harry sat down. If someone had walked in right then, the silence would have been deafening. Every so often a chair would scuffle slightly, or a sniff could be heard, but otherwise, mouths were kept shut and apologies forced back. In silent frustration and guilt Mrs. Weasley made up another cup of tea for Harry. The steaming liquid sat untouched in front of Harry's running nose. The mug that held it had little cracks and other signs of wear covering it. Harry sat there, blandly wondering if Ginny had sat drinking tea out of this mug at one time. His thoughts became very sentimental and lovesick as he held the poor mug in his hands. Not thinking, Harry rose, making the chair he was sitting in fall to the floor with a thud. He shook with fury. He knew that he had screwed up and it was partly his own folly, but these "friends" of his should have called him back, before. before it was too late. Angry thoughts were rising in Harry's mind, and the mug in his hands practically broke under his tight grip. Letting all rational thoughts flee from his mind, Harry chucked the mug as hard as he could across the wall, and fled from the scene of the crime.
Angry and wobbling legs managed to bring him up a flight of stairs and into a very familiar bedroom. Harry slammed the door behind him and then flung himself onto the quilted bed. It was the bed of a little girl, a little girl who had become a woman, a woman who he had fallen in love with. The yellow daisies that sprayed the worn linens were faded into a creamy yellow. Everything smelt of her, of vanilla and roses. Of sunshine and summer. That's what Ginny was. She was fiery, hot tempered, and gorgeous. But she was soft, sweet, caring and full of love. Harry let hot tears soak through to those mellowed daisies. A finger or two played with a frayed edge of the quilt. This room was uniquely Ginny, and he almost dared not touch anything as if to disturb her lingering presence.
When his angry tears had ceased, Harry dropped the frayed corner, and sat up. The room was orderly and neat, but untouched. It looked as if no one had been in there for a while, for dust covered the worn desk and shelves that lined the room. Getting up, Harry gingerly smoothed the coverlet and walked towards a particularly worn bookshelf. Its shelves groaned under the amount of books that it held. Ginny had never been an obsessive studier like Hermione, but she had had a ripe passion for novels, both muggle and wizard written. Letting his fingers wander, Harry traced slightly the words the decorated those precious books covers. Titles like "Pride and Prejudice" and "Treasure Island" were found among other classics. Contemporaries filled the third shelf, and wizarding books the second. Harry smiled weakly as he discovered her unique organizing system. After lingering among the shelves for some time, Harry made his way to other parts of the room. Her closet was open, the many worn robes and muggle clothing still hanging in their spots. Each article of clothing was pressed and hung neatly, though all smelled of must and idle use. Harry flipped through the garments, remembering each and every one of them. When the dust finally got to his sinuses, Harry pulled away. A chest of drawers stood inside the closet (which looked suspiciously magically enlarged.) Little knick-knacks were on display. Figurines of animals, a very old Ireland National Team rosette, a vase full of dried flowers, every one of these items, and more, was covered in a thick layer of dust. Not wishing to disturb his loves handy work, Harry left the dresser untouched and proceeded over towards the desk.
Her desk had been Ginny's favourite piece of furniture. Harry had known that as long as he had known her. She would sit there for days at a time scribbling down poems, stories and songs. Drawing had always been a fancy of hers; so many hours were also spent there laving over sketches or unfinished portraits. Harry often times would sit on her daisy covered bed and watch his little artist at work. The look of pure devotion and concentration that would come over her face was enough to make his heart break for her ten times over. Harry stopped right in front of the beloved desk. Papers littered the many nooks and crannies of the desk. Quills and ink pots were strewn all over the desk top, giving it a very homely look. A few small drawers were opened slightly, due to the many papers crammed into them. Harry gazed down lovingly at the desk. It held so many memories and so much Ginny that he thought his mind would burst. His eyes scanned the papers that lay artistically before him. A certain aged envelope caught his eye making him look twice. It was a good thing he did, for the envelope read:
"To my beloved Harry"
With trembling hands, Harry reached out to pick up the aged letter. His hands brushed across the stiff envelope, handling it gingerly so as not to crinkle the already brittle sheaf. Tears, hope and anxiety clouded Harry's face as he broke the wax seal. The seal bore the stamp of a rose, Harry remembered receiving many letters bearing that crest. Sighing slightly, he finished the task of unsheathing the letter, taking it's pages into his hands. Harry gulped back a few tears before he opened the scented pages. Vanilla and roses, it was Ginny all over again. As Harry opened the letter, he recognized the eccentric handwriting at once as Ginny's. The letter read as follows:
"My dearest Harry,
It saddens me to know you are reading this, not because you've discovered the letter, but because I can't be there to welcome you home. Obviously, if you're reading this, I'm gone. I'm sure Mum has clued you in on the happenings of the last three years, but if not, let me explain. My mother never was one with words. Her emotions she made quite clear, but I'm not sure she has explained everything in the proper way, and order it should be. I'm not a poet, nor an author, but try and let these words soothe you a little. If you loved, love me as much as you have claimed in the past, then there's no doubt you're shocked, upset even, over my death-"
Harry paused here.
"Of course I bloody loved you, and that line was the biggest understatement I've ever seen." Harry thought. Brushing a few tears away, and biting his lip, hard, Harry continued to read.
"It seems strange to write about things that haven't come to pass yet, for me at least. But strange as it is, it must be done. Sometimes the hardest thing is just letting go, it's something that I've learned to do these last three years. Don't get me wrong Harry, I love you more then life it's self, but I've learned that I can live without your daily presence. It was hard at first, I thought 'Why the hell can't he just get his act together, I need him so much.' and sometimes I still wonder that. But then I realize how selfish I am being. It's not my place to try and improve your life or force you into something that you don't need or want. I still need you Harry, still want you more then anything. If there's a god, and if he'd grant me one wish, it'd be that we could spend just one more day together. Just one more peaceful-no-worries lazy summer day together. Just you, me, and the sunshine. I try not to forget all the good times we had together, and I find that is as easy as kissing you. It just comes naturally.
I remember back to when I was 11. You came to stay for the holidays, and I almost wet myself at the site of you. Even back then I knew it was love. Eventually I lost my obsession over you, but not my love for you. Not once. It seems a bit silly to think of falling in love so young, but whatever the fates choose I guess. Then there was the first date. Finally you got some brains, and as Hermione would put it, you "realized I was a girl". That was one of the happiest days of my life. Just walking down the streets of Hogsmeade with you, ignoring the sniggers of the slytherins, and the whoops that the gryffindors let out. I remember how sweaty your hand was when you nervously grabbed mine. I think we were both shaking then. Damn those Weasley ears, mine turned bright red when we sat down to butterbeers together. Then, when you tried to kiss me at the end of the date but missed by a mile, yes Mr. Potter, my eye truly appreciated your kiss. A little later on in life, and many kisses later (hardly none of them reaching the proximity of my eye,) I remember you and I slipping away in the moonlight. The lake was eerily beautiful, and you told me not to spoil the moment. You were the first and last man I ever gave my body to, don't you feel special- "
Harry brightened a bit at this, 'So she hadn't found a new lover,' he thought. His mind dwindled back to the "Loving Mother" that sat on the little tombstone.
"That night is definetly up there on my list. Ah, then the turmoil begins. You left school a week later, and I was left to think of how lonely the next school year would be without the dream team, but more importantly, without you. You made an effort though. Each Hogsmeade weekend held an exciting thrill for me, and Christmas and Easter holidays were never long enough for me. Then, we grew up. We grew apart it seemed. I never stopped loving you Harry, but in all honesty I felt disgust, revulsion and hatred towards the character you were becoming. I wanted to save us, save you and me. It had to be a dual effort though. When you proposed, god, my life brightened immediately. I thought you still cared, I thought, everything would be ok now. Those three months were some of the best times of my life. Waking up next to you in the morning was the best feeling in the world for me, it was like getting a present each day. Then depression hit you, and alcohol, and I got scared. God, this letter sounds like such a guilt trip, but it's not. Please don't take it that way; please don't think I'm blaming you. I just need to get my thoughts down on paper; I need you to understand what I was feeling. So then there was the classic breaking up fight. I was so scared that night, so nervous, so anxious. All my fears seemed to be confirmed when you told me it had to end. I fell apart after that Harry. I thought I'd died and gone to hell. There was no more warm body to wake up next to, no person to talk to until all hours of the night, no one to kiss just for the hell of it. Sure my family loved me, but no one could or would ever replace you in my heart.
After a long and trying time, my weeping state ended. The sadness I felt quickly turned to anger and bitterness, and I hated you. I hated that what you had done. I hated the thought that you could be so selfish. I hated myself because I couldn't understand why. I hated that you were scared, that you were unsure of who you were. Instead of being there for you, I turned against you, and I did it on purpose. I wanted to make you hurt and suffer like I had. It didn't bring me the pleasure I thought it would, because I still loved you. If you know me, which you do, you know I cannot stand to see anyone I love in pain. Do you want to know a secret? Even though I put on an angry act in front of you, I still wore an old shirt of yours to bed every night. It smelled like you, and though I wouldn't admit it to anyone, your very scent was a comfort to me.
Anyway, so then you came back into my life. God, your eyes made me melt into a puddle of mush. You looked aged beyond your years, but still beautiful and perfect. I had to put forth A LOT of effort to glare at you that one night you came to dinner. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven this time when I saw your eyes. Your beautiful perfect eyes. Then, after the argument we had at your flat, I was surprised to see you kept your end of the "bargain". Sure I said I didn't want you to hurt my family, which is partly true, but truthfully, I didn't trust myself around you. I knew I'd fall for you again if you came around, so I tried to scare you off. Then you shimmied off to Hogwarts, and I breathed a sigh of relief. However, I found myself pining for you daily. It was unbearable. My Mum noticed right away of course, she's not daft whatever you might think. Only kidding there, I know you love my mum. What a sneaky old gal she is, she knew I'd fall for you again if I spent some one on one time with you. Well it happened. Then, I saw only too clearly you were falling for me again too. Call it women's intuition. So then I figured 'Give Harry the ring back and he'll get that you aren't ready to surrender to him again'. Let's say that has not been one of my more brilliant plans. It hurt me more then you'll ever know to see that I had punctured you in such a way. I'm sorry. I really and truly am sorry. That next year brought so much joy into my life. I got to see you every weekend if I wanted, no strings attached, no hearts to be broken. But I wanted more, I wanted more then just a friendship with you, and I wanted it badly.
Well, you know what happened next. You distanced yourself, I wallowed in self pity, and then you returned. A jumble of emotions ruled my life that night you returned. I wasn't sure if I should be angry, happy, or sad to see you. I suppose I was all three. I knew right away what you had been up to. The stench of alcohol gave it away. However, I let that next day happen, without confronting you first, because I had wanted it to happen for the last 3 and one half years. It was bliss, just being there with you, in our spot. I used to wander there daily after you left. That day was the very best and the very worst of my life. I knew I was causing myself pain when I slept with you, because I knew the talk we'd have to have afterwards, but hell I didn't care. Call it lust, call it desire if you will, but it wasn't. It was a lovesick girl wanting desperately to be back in the arms of the only man she had ever belonged to. Then I told you to leave, the obedient puppy you were, you complied, leaving a heartbroken girl in your wake. It wasn't your fault, so don't think it was. I should of waited, it was my fault, not yours. Then, well, then a few weeks later I came up with a perfectly good excuse to have you come crawling back to me. I was pregnant-"
"What the bloody hell?!" Harry said aloud. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he re-read that line. Fury overtook him once again as thought of how no one had had the decency to beg him to return. Tears quickly replaced his fury as he realized on what he had missed out on and given up on.
"Are you crying now? Shouting in disbelief? Trembling in rage because no one told you? Don't be mad at them Harry, I told them 'No, he'll come home in his own time,' and they obeyed me because they knew I was right. Better late then never, eh? Sorry, my pitiful attempt at a joke. Oh the irony of it though. Yes, well. back to my story.
So here I was, a scared and confused (still lovesick) young woman, and on top of that all I was carrying my lovers' child. Whew, what a mouthful. I'll admit, it was such a comfort to know I somehow still held a piece of you with me. The pregnancy was miserable though. I wished that I wasn't so stubborn, because I would of called you back right then. Ron, however, informed me of your "state" of living, and I knew that I didn't want my, our, child to have to grow up knowing that. No offense Harry, but alcoholics don't make the best fathers. So then our son, Harry James Potter the second, was born on May 26 at 12:32 pm. He is a beautiful child Harry. Mum reckons he looks exactly like you would have at that age, I highly agree. He has your eyes, and your unruly hair, and your love of mischief.-"
"I have a son." Harry whispered. Biting his lip no longer helped, tears leaked through anyways, slipping onto the already dampened parchment.
"I'll try not to bore you too much longer with this overly long letter, but I had to tell you all of this, I want you to understand. Don't be angry with me for keeping all this from you, please. And please try and forgive my family, it's not their fault that none of them said anything. Blame it on me if you must, but please try not to be angry.
Anyway Harry, Harry Jr. is so precious, he quickly became my reason for living. (That and the thought that maybe you'd come home soon.) I spent many weeks in the hospital however, even though the birth was a very easy and short one. Apparently I had a seizure of some sort, and blacked out. When I woke up, I was in one of the "critical condition" units at St. Mungo's. Tests were run, potions and spells tried, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, my parents took me to a muggle doctor. After something called "x-rays" I was diagnosed with a brain tumour. It was inoperable the doctor said, and the healers at St. Mungo's didn't know how to deal with it either. So, that left me to the inevitable. I was going to die. I'll admit, I was terrified at first. They gave me a few months to 2 years. 'That's very generous' I thought sarcastically. I fell into depression for a long time, thinking thoughts like 'why me?' 'why not someone old and worn?' things along that line. Then I realized I had to be strong for our little Harry. I put everything I had into making sure the memories we made together were good ones. He's sitting here on my lap as I write this, looking at a photograph of you. He's only one and one half right now, but I think he understands you're his papa. Please promise me that you'll tell him about us when he's older-"
"Anything for you Gin." Harry's voice faded as a dry sob overtook him.
"Tell him about all the good times we had, and the bad. Make him understand what true love is.
I hope, Harry, that you'll be able to go on living life. Don't sink into depression on my account; I'm not worth it. See other people, go out, live life to the fullest, Carpe Diem my love. Anything it takes to make you happy, just please don't forget what we had. We'll see each other again one day, and if I'm not entirely satisfied that you lived your life fully, I might just not speak to you. You know I'm just teasing. I love you I love you I LOVE YOU! Do you get it? Is it in your brain yet? I'm sorry for being such a prat, I'm sorry that we didn't have more time together. What we had was good, great, perfect even. Remember Harry, "The heart that truly loves never forgets." I'll never forget you, wherever I am.
I love you my beloved,
Forever yours, Ginny"
Harry sat there in stunned silence for a moment. A few hours passed as he re-read the precious parchment a few more times over. Before he decided to head back downstairs, the parchment was thoroughly soaked with a salty liquid known as tears. Harry couldn't get Ginny's beautiful face out of his head, or the fact that he had a son. A sudden urgency pressed on him; he needed to find his son now. Harry wondered if Harry Jr. were in the house also. Rushing down the stairs two at a time, Harry Sr. made his way into the not deserted kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley looked frightened when she saw Harry come in at such an urgent rate. Her frightened look softened, however, when she saw the pain and remorse in Harry's eyes.
"Molly, I'm, I'm terribly sorry for my rash behaviour earlier. I was being a terrible prat," Harry didn't have to say anything more. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Molly Weasley was hugging him through tears and assuring him it was alright.
"Dear, it was only a mug." the old woman said as she embraced her long lost son tightly.
"No, I was being a prat, I shouldn't have gotten angry. I just, just read a letter from Ginny, and I understand now," tears threatened to come again at the mention of the letter. Mrs. Weasley drew back in realization.
"So, you know about Harry then?" she said in a quiet whisper. Harry Sr. nodded, smiling vaguely. Mrs. Weasley let out a small squeak of a sob and promptly scooped Harry into her arms again.
"Where is he?" was all Harry asked. Drawing back again, Mrs. Weasley smiled a bit and pointed towards the stairs.
"His room is up in Fred and George's old room," that's all it took to send Harry bounding towards the stairs again. Those seated at the table watched with smiles as they saw the eager father retreating to his long lost son.
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A little boy of almost three sat on the edge of a well-worn bed. Grandma had told him to go play upstairs because an important visitor had come. She said she would call him down for supper later. Harry Jr. had obeyed without a word, being sent to his room, he knew, was not a punishment. After playing quietly for a few hours, he began to worry if his grandmother would ever remember that his stomach was growling like crazy and that it was getting dark. At quarter past 7, Grandma had brought him sandwiches, and promised he could come down soon. At 8 o'clock the little boy heard someone hurry down the stairs. Ten minutes later someone clamoured back up the stairs, and from the sounds of it, they were headed towards his room. The footfalls stopped directly outside of the little boys room. Someone knocked lightly.
"Come in," he squeaked. Harry Jr. watched as the door creaked open slowly. A tall man with raven coloured hair, and the same eyes as him walked into the room. Realization dawned on the little boy and his eyes widened in shock. He looked over to one of the many photographs on his table and then back to the man.
"Pa, papa?" the boy asked in shock. Tears welled up in Harry Sr.'s eyes and he nodded his head weakly. Needing no further encouragement, the little boy ran and flung his arms around the knees of the man he had heard so much about. Dropping down to the toddlers level, Harry (the original) pulled the little boy closer to him, stroking his unruly hair gently.
"I'm home little one, I'm home."
AN: sniff sniff. ok ok I know this chappie was a really emotions focused one, but I thought it'd be important. Ok so next chappie is gonna be like a return to the grave and what not. Lemme know what you think! Thanks! ~Jill
PS: this chapter is a lil gushy, so if you aren't in touch with your emotions you might not wanna read on. Just kidding, well it is gushy, but read anyways!!! Thanks! ~Jilly
PPS: Thanks for all the reviews! Wippeee. I cannot believe I've gotten 18 reviews already! Thanks. and if you decide to review again, lemme know what you think of the prequel. Ok enough authors notes, ON WITH THE STORY!!!
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Harry re-entered his once favourite home again. It was no longer a comforting place for him. Ginny was gone, and no one in the house had bothered to tell him, call for him, before it was too late. His Ginny. His sweet little Ginny, gone from him forever. The kitchen was a tense place to be at the moment, but Harry let Hermione lead him in there and sit him down. Ron, Molly and Fred Weasley were all at the table, sipping cups of tea quite morosely. No one said anything as a red faced Harry sat down. If someone had walked in right then, the silence would have been deafening. Every so often a chair would scuffle slightly, or a sniff could be heard, but otherwise, mouths were kept shut and apologies forced back. In silent frustration and guilt Mrs. Weasley made up another cup of tea for Harry. The steaming liquid sat untouched in front of Harry's running nose. The mug that held it had little cracks and other signs of wear covering it. Harry sat there, blandly wondering if Ginny had sat drinking tea out of this mug at one time. His thoughts became very sentimental and lovesick as he held the poor mug in his hands. Not thinking, Harry rose, making the chair he was sitting in fall to the floor with a thud. He shook with fury. He knew that he had screwed up and it was partly his own folly, but these "friends" of his should have called him back, before. before it was too late. Angry thoughts were rising in Harry's mind, and the mug in his hands practically broke under his tight grip. Letting all rational thoughts flee from his mind, Harry chucked the mug as hard as he could across the wall, and fled from the scene of the crime.
Angry and wobbling legs managed to bring him up a flight of stairs and into a very familiar bedroom. Harry slammed the door behind him and then flung himself onto the quilted bed. It was the bed of a little girl, a little girl who had become a woman, a woman who he had fallen in love with. The yellow daisies that sprayed the worn linens were faded into a creamy yellow. Everything smelt of her, of vanilla and roses. Of sunshine and summer. That's what Ginny was. She was fiery, hot tempered, and gorgeous. But she was soft, sweet, caring and full of love. Harry let hot tears soak through to those mellowed daisies. A finger or two played with a frayed edge of the quilt. This room was uniquely Ginny, and he almost dared not touch anything as if to disturb her lingering presence.
When his angry tears had ceased, Harry dropped the frayed corner, and sat up. The room was orderly and neat, but untouched. It looked as if no one had been in there for a while, for dust covered the worn desk and shelves that lined the room. Getting up, Harry gingerly smoothed the coverlet and walked towards a particularly worn bookshelf. Its shelves groaned under the amount of books that it held. Ginny had never been an obsessive studier like Hermione, but she had had a ripe passion for novels, both muggle and wizard written. Letting his fingers wander, Harry traced slightly the words the decorated those precious books covers. Titles like "Pride and Prejudice" and "Treasure Island" were found among other classics. Contemporaries filled the third shelf, and wizarding books the second. Harry smiled weakly as he discovered her unique organizing system. After lingering among the shelves for some time, Harry made his way to other parts of the room. Her closet was open, the many worn robes and muggle clothing still hanging in their spots. Each article of clothing was pressed and hung neatly, though all smelled of must and idle use. Harry flipped through the garments, remembering each and every one of them. When the dust finally got to his sinuses, Harry pulled away. A chest of drawers stood inside the closet (which looked suspiciously magically enlarged.) Little knick-knacks were on display. Figurines of animals, a very old Ireland National Team rosette, a vase full of dried flowers, every one of these items, and more, was covered in a thick layer of dust. Not wishing to disturb his loves handy work, Harry left the dresser untouched and proceeded over towards the desk.
Her desk had been Ginny's favourite piece of furniture. Harry had known that as long as he had known her. She would sit there for days at a time scribbling down poems, stories and songs. Drawing had always been a fancy of hers; so many hours were also spent there laving over sketches or unfinished portraits. Harry often times would sit on her daisy covered bed and watch his little artist at work. The look of pure devotion and concentration that would come over her face was enough to make his heart break for her ten times over. Harry stopped right in front of the beloved desk. Papers littered the many nooks and crannies of the desk. Quills and ink pots were strewn all over the desk top, giving it a very homely look. A few small drawers were opened slightly, due to the many papers crammed into them. Harry gazed down lovingly at the desk. It held so many memories and so much Ginny that he thought his mind would burst. His eyes scanned the papers that lay artistically before him. A certain aged envelope caught his eye making him look twice. It was a good thing he did, for the envelope read:
"To my beloved Harry"
With trembling hands, Harry reached out to pick up the aged letter. His hands brushed across the stiff envelope, handling it gingerly so as not to crinkle the already brittle sheaf. Tears, hope and anxiety clouded Harry's face as he broke the wax seal. The seal bore the stamp of a rose, Harry remembered receiving many letters bearing that crest. Sighing slightly, he finished the task of unsheathing the letter, taking it's pages into his hands. Harry gulped back a few tears before he opened the scented pages. Vanilla and roses, it was Ginny all over again. As Harry opened the letter, he recognized the eccentric handwriting at once as Ginny's. The letter read as follows:
"My dearest Harry,
It saddens me to know you are reading this, not because you've discovered the letter, but because I can't be there to welcome you home. Obviously, if you're reading this, I'm gone. I'm sure Mum has clued you in on the happenings of the last three years, but if not, let me explain. My mother never was one with words. Her emotions she made quite clear, but I'm not sure she has explained everything in the proper way, and order it should be. I'm not a poet, nor an author, but try and let these words soothe you a little. If you loved, love me as much as you have claimed in the past, then there's no doubt you're shocked, upset even, over my death-"
Harry paused here.
"Of course I bloody loved you, and that line was the biggest understatement I've ever seen." Harry thought. Brushing a few tears away, and biting his lip, hard, Harry continued to read.
"It seems strange to write about things that haven't come to pass yet, for me at least. But strange as it is, it must be done. Sometimes the hardest thing is just letting go, it's something that I've learned to do these last three years. Don't get me wrong Harry, I love you more then life it's self, but I've learned that I can live without your daily presence. It was hard at first, I thought 'Why the hell can't he just get his act together, I need him so much.' and sometimes I still wonder that. But then I realize how selfish I am being. It's not my place to try and improve your life or force you into something that you don't need or want. I still need you Harry, still want you more then anything. If there's a god, and if he'd grant me one wish, it'd be that we could spend just one more day together. Just one more peaceful-no-worries lazy summer day together. Just you, me, and the sunshine. I try not to forget all the good times we had together, and I find that is as easy as kissing you. It just comes naturally.
I remember back to when I was 11. You came to stay for the holidays, and I almost wet myself at the site of you. Even back then I knew it was love. Eventually I lost my obsession over you, but not my love for you. Not once. It seems a bit silly to think of falling in love so young, but whatever the fates choose I guess. Then there was the first date. Finally you got some brains, and as Hermione would put it, you "realized I was a girl". That was one of the happiest days of my life. Just walking down the streets of Hogsmeade with you, ignoring the sniggers of the slytherins, and the whoops that the gryffindors let out. I remember how sweaty your hand was when you nervously grabbed mine. I think we were both shaking then. Damn those Weasley ears, mine turned bright red when we sat down to butterbeers together. Then, when you tried to kiss me at the end of the date but missed by a mile, yes Mr. Potter, my eye truly appreciated your kiss. A little later on in life, and many kisses later (hardly none of them reaching the proximity of my eye,) I remember you and I slipping away in the moonlight. The lake was eerily beautiful, and you told me not to spoil the moment. You were the first and last man I ever gave my body to, don't you feel special- "
Harry brightened a bit at this, 'So she hadn't found a new lover,' he thought. His mind dwindled back to the "Loving Mother" that sat on the little tombstone.
"That night is definetly up there on my list. Ah, then the turmoil begins. You left school a week later, and I was left to think of how lonely the next school year would be without the dream team, but more importantly, without you. You made an effort though. Each Hogsmeade weekend held an exciting thrill for me, and Christmas and Easter holidays were never long enough for me. Then, we grew up. We grew apart it seemed. I never stopped loving you Harry, but in all honesty I felt disgust, revulsion and hatred towards the character you were becoming. I wanted to save us, save you and me. It had to be a dual effort though. When you proposed, god, my life brightened immediately. I thought you still cared, I thought, everything would be ok now. Those three months were some of the best times of my life. Waking up next to you in the morning was the best feeling in the world for me, it was like getting a present each day. Then depression hit you, and alcohol, and I got scared. God, this letter sounds like such a guilt trip, but it's not. Please don't take it that way; please don't think I'm blaming you. I just need to get my thoughts down on paper; I need you to understand what I was feeling. So then there was the classic breaking up fight. I was so scared that night, so nervous, so anxious. All my fears seemed to be confirmed when you told me it had to end. I fell apart after that Harry. I thought I'd died and gone to hell. There was no more warm body to wake up next to, no person to talk to until all hours of the night, no one to kiss just for the hell of it. Sure my family loved me, but no one could or would ever replace you in my heart.
After a long and trying time, my weeping state ended. The sadness I felt quickly turned to anger and bitterness, and I hated you. I hated that what you had done. I hated the thought that you could be so selfish. I hated myself because I couldn't understand why. I hated that you were scared, that you were unsure of who you were. Instead of being there for you, I turned against you, and I did it on purpose. I wanted to make you hurt and suffer like I had. It didn't bring me the pleasure I thought it would, because I still loved you. If you know me, which you do, you know I cannot stand to see anyone I love in pain. Do you want to know a secret? Even though I put on an angry act in front of you, I still wore an old shirt of yours to bed every night. It smelled like you, and though I wouldn't admit it to anyone, your very scent was a comfort to me.
Anyway, so then you came back into my life. God, your eyes made me melt into a puddle of mush. You looked aged beyond your years, but still beautiful and perfect. I had to put forth A LOT of effort to glare at you that one night you came to dinner. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven this time when I saw your eyes. Your beautiful perfect eyes. Then, after the argument we had at your flat, I was surprised to see you kept your end of the "bargain". Sure I said I didn't want you to hurt my family, which is partly true, but truthfully, I didn't trust myself around you. I knew I'd fall for you again if you came around, so I tried to scare you off. Then you shimmied off to Hogwarts, and I breathed a sigh of relief. However, I found myself pining for you daily. It was unbearable. My Mum noticed right away of course, she's not daft whatever you might think. Only kidding there, I know you love my mum. What a sneaky old gal she is, she knew I'd fall for you again if I spent some one on one time with you. Well it happened. Then, I saw only too clearly you were falling for me again too. Call it women's intuition. So then I figured 'Give Harry the ring back and he'll get that you aren't ready to surrender to him again'. Let's say that has not been one of my more brilliant plans. It hurt me more then you'll ever know to see that I had punctured you in such a way. I'm sorry. I really and truly am sorry. That next year brought so much joy into my life. I got to see you every weekend if I wanted, no strings attached, no hearts to be broken. But I wanted more, I wanted more then just a friendship with you, and I wanted it badly.
Well, you know what happened next. You distanced yourself, I wallowed in self pity, and then you returned. A jumble of emotions ruled my life that night you returned. I wasn't sure if I should be angry, happy, or sad to see you. I suppose I was all three. I knew right away what you had been up to. The stench of alcohol gave it away. However, I let that next day happen, without confronting you first, because I had wanted it to happen for the last 3 and one half years. It was bliss, just being there with you, in our spot. I used to wander there daily after you left. That day was the very best and the very worst of my life. I knew I was causing myself pain when I slept with you, because I knew the talk we'd have to have afterwards, but hell I didn't care. Call it lust, call it desire if you will, but it wasn't. It was a lovesick girl wanting desperately to be back in the arms of the only man she had ever belonged to. Then I told you to leave, the obedient puppy you were, you complied, leaving a heartbroken girl in your wake. It wasn't your fault, so don't think it was. I should of waited, it was my fault, not yours. Then, well, then a few weeks later I came up with a perfectly good excuse to have you come crawling back to me. I was pregnant-"
"What the bloody hell?!" Harry said aloud. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he re-read that line. Fury overtook him once again as thought of how no one had had the decency to beg him to return. Tears quickly replaced his fury as he realized on what he had missed out on and given up on.
"Are you crying now? Shouting in disbelief? Trembling in rage because no one told you? Don't be mad at them Harry, I told them 'No, he'll come home in his own time,' and they obeyed me because they knew I was right. Better late then never, eh? Sorry, my pitiful attempt at a joke. Oh the irony of it though. Yes, well. back to my story.
So here I was, a scared and confused (still lovesick) young woman, and on top of that all I was carrying my lovers' child. Whew, what a mouthful. I'll admit, it was such a comfort to know I somehow still held a piece of you with me. The pregnancy was miserable though. I wished that I wasn't so stubborn, because I would of called you back right then. Ron, however, informed me of your "state" of living, and I knew that I didn't want my, our, child to have to grow up knowing that. No offense Harry, but alcoholics don't make the best fathers. So then our son, Harry James Potter the second, was born on May 26 at 12:32 pm. He is a beautiful child Harry. Mum reckons he looks exactly like you would have at that age, I highly agree. He has your eyes, and your unruly hair, and your love of mischief.-"
"I have a son." Harry whispered. Biting his lip no longer helped, tears leaked through anyways, slipping onto the already dampened parchment.
"I'll try not to bore you too much longer with this overly long letter, but I had to tell you all of this, I want you to understand. Don't be angry with me for keeping all this from you, please. And please try and forgive my family, it's not their fault that none of them said anything. Blame it on me if you must, but please try not to be angry.
Anyway Harry, Harry Jr. is so precious, he quickly became my reason for living. (That and the thought that maybe you'd come home soon.) I spent many weeks in the hospital however, even though the birth was a very easy and short one. Apparently I had a seizure of some sort, and blacked out. When I woke up, I was in one of the "critical condition" units at St. Mungo's. Tests were run, potions and spells tried, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, my parents took me to a muggle doctor. After something called "x-rays" I was diagnosed with a brain tumour. It was inoperable the doctor said, and the healers at St. Mungo's didn't know how to deal with it either. So, that left me to the inevitable. I was going to die. I'll admit, I was terrified at first. They gave me a few months to 2 years. 'That's very generous' I thought sarcastically. I fell into depression for a long time, thinking thoughts like 'why me?' 'why not someone old and worn?' things along that line. Then I realized I had to be strong for our little Harry. I put everything I had into making sure the memories we made together were good ones. He's sitting here on my lap as I write this, looking at a photograph of you. He's only one and one half right now, but I think he understands you're his papa. Please promise me that you'll tell him about us when he's older-"
"Anything for you Gin." Harry's voice faded as a dry sob overtook him.
"Tell him about all the good times we had, and the bad. Make him understand what true love is.
I hope, Harry, that you'll be able to go on living life. Don't sink into depression on my account; I'm not worth it. See other people, go out, live life to the fullest, Carpe Diem my love. Anything it takes to make you happy, just please don't forget what we had. We'll see each other again one day, and if I'm not entirely satisfied that you lived your life fully, I might just not speak to you. You know I'm just teasing. I love you I love you I LOVE YOU! Do you get it? Is it in your brain yet? I'm sorry for being such a prat, I'm sorry that we didn't have more time together. What we had was good, great, perfect even. Remember Harry, "The heart that truly loves never forgets." I'll never forget you, wherever I am.
I love you my beloved,
Forever yours, Ginny"
Harry sat there in stunned silence for a moment. A few hours passed as he re-read the precious parchment a few more times over. Before he decided to head back downstairs, the parchment was thoroughly soaked with a salty liquid known as tears. Harry couldn't get Ginny's beautiful face out of his head, or the fact that he had a son. A sudden urgency pressed on him; he needed to find his son now. Harry wondered if Harry Jr. were in the house also. Rushing down the stairs two at a time, Harry Sr. made his way into the not deserted kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley looked frightened when she saw Harry come in at such an urgent rate. Her frightened look softened, however, when she saw the pain and remorse in Harry's eyes.
"Molly, I'm, I'm terribly sorry for my rash behaviour earlier. I was being a terrible prat," Harry didn't have to say anything more. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Molly Weasley was hugging him through tears and assuring him it was alright.
"Dear, it was only a mug." the old woman said as she embraced her long lost son tightly.
"No, I was being a prat, I shouldn't have gotten angry. I just, just read a letter from Ginny, and I understand now," tears threatened to come again at the mention of the letter. Mrs. Weasley drew back in realization.
"So, you know about Harry then?" she said in a quiet whisper. Harry Sr. nodded, smiling vaguely. Mrs. Weasley let out a small squeak of a sob and promptly scooped Harry into her arms again.
"Where is he?" was all Harry asked. Drawing back again, Mrs. Weasley smiled a bit and pointed towards the stairs.
"His room is up in Fred and George's old room," that's all it took to send Harry bounding towards the stairs again. Those seated at the table watched with smiles as they saw the eager father retreating to his long lost son.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A little boy of almost three sat on the edge of a well-worn bed. Grandma had told him to go play upstairs because an important visitor had come. She said she would call him down for supper later. Harry Jr. had obeyed without a word, being sent to his room, he knew, was not a punishment. After playing quietly for a few hours, he began to worry if his grandmother would ever remember that his stomach was growling like crazy and that it was getting dark. At quarter past 7, Grandma had brought him sandwiches, and promised he could come down soon. At 8 o'clock the little boy heard someone hurry down the stairs. Ten minutes later someone clamoured back up the stairs, and from the sounds of it, they were headed towards his room. The footfalls stopped directly outside of the little boys room. Someone knocked lightly.
"Come in," he squeaked. Harry Jr. watched as the door creaked open slowly. A tall man with raven coloured hair, and the same eyes as him walked into the room. Realization dawned on the little boy and his eyes widened in shock. He looked over to one of the many photographs on his table and then back to the man.
"Pa, papa?" the boy asked in shock. Tears welled up in Harry Sr.'s eyes and he nodded his head weakly. Needing no further encouragement, the little boy ran and flung his arms around the knees of the man he had heard so much about. Dropping down to the toddlers level, Harry (the original) pulled the little boy closer to him, stroking his unruly hair gently.
"I'm home little one, I'm home."
AN: sniff sniff. ok ok I know this chappie was a really emotions focused one, but I thought it'd be important. Ok so next chappie is gonna be like a return to the grave and what not. Lemme know what you think! Thanks! ~Jill