Ginny's Snowflake
Now some may call me naïve, but I, for one, believe in miracles. Of course, I also believe in love at first sight. And I believed in Father Christmas until I was nine years old.
I blame my brothers for that. They lead me on.
Still, nothing in my life has lead me to believe in the impossibility of miracles, and trust me, I've seen it all. I was once possessed by the darkest wizard in the world, you know. If I can live through that and still believe in miracles, anyone can drop their cynicism. Hey, I didn't say I believed in honesty or innocence! Just miracles.
Especially at Christmas.
I know, that makes me even more childish. As for me, however, I don't see how people can ignore that certain feeling in the air, the tingle of music everywhere you go, the softly glowing lights and smiles of passerby, candy canes and gingerbread houses, presents and carols, mistletoe and angels.
At Christmastime I forget the war. I should, I suppose, seeing that it ended six years ago. It's only in December, with the crisp wind blowing the snow around the hurried shoppers, that I don't have to remind myself at every waking moment that Voldemort is dead and there is nothing to fear.
Hardly anything to fear, anyway. Death Eaters are cursed stubborn and refuse to admit they've lost, even with their leader dead and gone. Oh well, that's life I suppose.
I do not, however, forget Harry.
Which brings me back to my topic of miracles. It's been seven years since Harry left us, and even Ron and Hermione have given up hope of his return. They won't admit it of course, but ever since he didn't show up for their wedding, even though they did everything possible to reach him and tell him about it, they've known he isn't coming home.
Well, I believe Harry will come home, when the time is right.
Really, one can't blame him for leaving. We all saw how the war consumed him, his dead eyes and bitter voice. Revenge took over his being, his soul, and when he defeated Voldemort...it was as if a part of him had died as well. His revenge was complete, and his life no longer had meaning.
I think Dumbledore was afraid it would happen. He knew, before any of the rest of us, the toll that heroism was taking on Harry Potter. When one spends one's entire life seeking revenge, it tends to have a negative effect on one's emotional stability.
We know he's alive, thank Merlin. He left a lengthy letter with Ron, which he found the day after their graduation. Ron's never let anyone read that letter, not even Hermione. He just got us all together in the living room and told us in his calmest voice that Harry was leaving for a while to sort some things out.
That's not what the letter said. I could see it in Ron's eyes, hear it in his voice. Harry had no intention of returning. Ever.
I don't know where he went. None of us do. For all I know he's out shopping, buying a new diamond necklace for his beautiful wife and a play broomstick for his little boy.
But I try not to think about that. I don't know what I would do if Harry had really found a new wife...life, I mean.
It's not that Harry and I are or were or even ever intended to be married. To this day, I don't believe he's ever truly noticed me as anything more than a younger sister. But I suppose I've imagined myself as his to have and to hold so many times that I sometimes forget that it is fantasy and not reality.
It is terribly cliché, I know. I can't help it. What girl in her right mind ISN'T in love with Harry Potter at some time in her life? Not that I love Harry because he's the Boy Who Lived or the hero who defeated Voldemort. It's the real Harry I love, the kind, intelligent, resourceful, brave, loving, shy little boy with messy hair and taped glasses I saw for the very first time fourteen years ago wandering King's Cross all by himself with a huge trunk and a snowy owl. See, I believe in love at first sight because I've experienced it myself.
Don't scoff at me like that! I know it's ridiculous, the idea that a ten year old girl in pigtails (was my hair in pigtails that day?) could fall in love with some random eleven-year-old boy in the middle of a crowded train station. And of course, it wasn't love. Not really. Just a little crush.
The crush really was littered with all kinds of problems right from the start. First, there was that annoying fact that I was his best friend's little sis, never an attractive feature. Then there was that whole Tom fiasco which I would prefer not to recount. Not to mention that's the same year of the embarrassing valentine incident. Then the Cho thing. And Michael Corner...and Dean Thomas...and Colin Creevey...more stupidity on my part.
But lets not dwell in the past.
Okay, okay, you talked me into it. One last story. You see, there's a reason I believe in miracles at Christmas, just like I believe in love at first sight. After about halfway through third year, I convinced myself that I was over that silly little girl crush on my brother's hero best friend. That's when I started to get involved with other guys, let loose, and be myself around Harry, who, I think, was quite relieved. We were, from then on, on friendly, brother/sister terms.
Until Christmas of fifth year.
My fifth year, of course, his sixth. It was actually the day before Christmas Eve. Ron and I were staying at school because Mum and Dad were so mixed up in the order we wouldn't have hardly seen them at home anyway. Ron and Hermione were off... studying... (And if you can't read between the lines you are truly dense). Hermione and I had decorated the common room with Dobby's help. Garlands, holly, Santas and reindeer made a homely, comfortable atmosphere. At Hermione's insistence, there were also a few pieces of mistletoe hung in various places, which she and Ron took full advantage of whenever possible.
Well, I certainly hadn't planned to take advantage of it myself. It was all very harmless, really. Harry and I were alone in the common room, playing gobstones. I won, of course, I am a champion at gobstones. In retaliation-Harry is a terrible loser, you know-he jumped up and began tickling me. Have I ever mentioned that I am EXTREMELY ticklish? Well, I am. And my brothers know it, and they obviously took the liberty of passing this information on to Harry. Cursed annoying, six older brothers.
So anyway, Harry's tickling me and I'm screaming and laughing and trying to run away, which is practically impossible seeing as Harry always was fast. Using a tricky little more I learned at Quidditch practice I got away for a few seconds before he caught me.
Well, there we were, his arms around me, both laughing and out of breath and having a perfectly wonderful time. And it was then, of course, that we noticed the innocent little mistletoe hanging forlornly above us.
Well, you HAD to see that coming, didn't you?
Well, I was totally expecting him to challenge me to another game of gobstones. Or tickle me some more. Or say something in that teasing, brotherly tone. I didn't even think he had NOTICED the mistletoe...and for all I know, he didn't. All I know is that he kissed me, right there, on the day before Christmas Eve under the mistletoe in the Gryffindor Common Room. And I stood there like an idiot, my eyes wide open, totally unresponsive in my shock. He broke away, blushing, and started to apologize. Realizing he thought I was uninterested, I kissed him again to make him realize I was interested. Very interested.
Okay, so I remember every little detail. So sue me!
Anyway, the point is, it was a miracle. I don't care what anyone else says, the fact that Harry Potter noticed me, Ginny Weasley, is nothing short of that. And at Christmastime, of course. After that, we officially became "Harry and Ginny" which I certainly liked. I realized, of course, that my feelings for Harry had never gone away, really. Just changed. And now they were back, stronger than ever.
I still love Harry. I always will. I've tried dating other men since he left, even Ron has encouraged it, but none of them come close to Harry.
I'll admit, I was a trifle offended when he disappeared and left a letter for Ron. However, Ron's been Harry's right hand man through everything from Quidditch to saving the world, so I guess it makes sense to the reasonable mind.
I never claimed to be entirely reasonable.
However, just when I thought he really didn't care for me, Christmas came along. I was in seventh year, and I was feeling lonely, seeing as everyone I was really close to had graduated. It was the day before Christmas Eve when I spied a very familiar owl pecking against the window. I honestly could not believe it was Hedwig. The owl I refused to admit was Hedwig dropped a package and a card at my feet, hooted, then turned and flew away.
The package was contained a necklace similar I had once admired in Hogsmeade before Harry left. It was, however, even more beautiful than the one I remembered, made of delicate crystal, and there was a blue and silver snowflake hanging from it which twinkled in the soft glow of the fire, and a small note in Harry's sloping handwriting saying "Never forget, Ginny, that you are special. I love you exactly the way you are, more unique than any snowflake. Never change. Love always, Harry."
I'll admit, I cried. Who wouldn't really? I was sure it was a sign Harry was coming back.
I haven't heard from him since, and it's been six years.
Christmas time is approaching again, my seventh Christmas without Harry. Yes, I keep very careful record of such things. However, my heart is light and sugarplum fairies dance in my head as I stroll down the street lined with little shops and friendly faces, window shopping and keeping an eye out for something to interest Hermione. They're Muggle shops, of course, but then again Hermione's Muggle born, and I could always enchant something if need be...as long as I don't tell my dad about it.
I'm in a quaint Muggle town in Wales. I was actually there covering a story for the Daily Prophet concerning Gilderoy Lockhart's marriage to Celestina Warbeck, but that nightmare was over thank God. They wanted a private ceremony, so only half of Britain-including the press-had been invited of course. I love being a journalist, don't get me wrong, but there are some things I just do not find at all entertaining, and two narcissistic celebrities fawning all over each other falls into that category.
I hum We Wish You a Merry Christmas and play with my snowflake necklace, which was very appropriate for the season, and which I wore all the time, snow or summer, rain, shine or snow.
The shop catches my eye from the other side of the street. It seems to glow more than the others. The sign above it reads The Glass Menagerie. Curious, and I cross the street and peered inside, and gasp.
Everything's lovely. Crystal of all colors and shapes line the walls. Jewelry's on display. I'mlooking at it appreciatively, gazing at the myriad of shapes. Everything has a little name. "The Sweethearts Ring", "The Friendship Bracelet", "Aphrodite's Earrings", "First Kiss Set" and so forth. It's all quite charming. And I'm about to continue with my shopping when my eye catches something that makes my heart quite literally stop.
It's my necklace, the one Harry had sent me all those years ago, the one I'm still wearing. It's EXACTLY the same, every bead, every color. I know, because I memorized every single detail of Harry's last gift to me. Next to the necklace is a small piece of silver paper, just like the others, with gold print, just like the others. It reads "Ginny's Snowflake".
I close my eyes and literally have to lean against the glass to support myself. I have never been so shocked in all my life, even when Harry kissed me. After a few moments I pull myself together. I consider walking away-running would be a more appropriate word for what I had in mind, actually-and pretending it had never happened. However, I know if I left and never looked back I would regret it for the rest of my life. So I summon all that courage we Gryffindors are supposed to have and that I always feel I was shorted in and walk into The Glass Menagerie.
A small bell tinkles as I walk inside. The soft electric light makes the glass and crystal sparkle and shimmer with colors. I look around, feeling about six years old and lost when I hear footsteps. Turning, I see a man emerge from a doorway, obviously the owner. He looks vaguely familiar, but it is not until he speaks that I recognize him.
"May I help you, miss?"
My heart stops again and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll even survive The Glass Menagerie. I must be dreaming, surely. But I cannot be mistaken. I would know that smooth baritone anywhere, the messy black hair and deep green eyes behind round glasses, a thin face and tall, lean frame. I can even make out the lightning bolt scar hidden behind his messy bangs.
"Miss?" he repeats. I blink. Surely, he recognizes me! Surely he know who I am! He has to know! Has to remember! All those years, all that time we spent together...I haven't changed that much in seven years, I know I haven't. I'm still me, still Ginny. Still Harry's Ginny.
"H..." I try to say his name, but my voice doesn't seem to be working properly at all. "Harry..." I finally manage to stutter. His eyes widen.
"Ginny?" he almost whispers incredulously. My name comes from him easily, even in his disbelief. I can hear it, the familiar way my name is pronounced, as if he has said it a hundred times every day we've been apart.
Okay, maybe my imagination is getting carried away with me. I warned you that I am not entirely reasonable, didn't I?
"Yes, Harry it's me," I reply, relieved that he recognizes me.
"What are you...how did you find me?" he asks in disbelief. Now that my shock is wearing off, I'm slightly annoyed. Here I've been at home, waiting for him to come back to me, worried for his life, and he's running a bloody glass shop for tourists in Wales.
"I wasn't LOOKING for you, Harry," I snap. "I was actually looking for a Christmas gift for Hermione, as if you even care. I wouldn't be the least surprised if you didn't know who Hermione is! I just happened to pass by your LOVELY shop when I noticed a very familiar necklace bearing my name and came in to have a look."
"I know who Hermione is," he replies in a defensive, sullen tone.
"Really," I reply, rolling my eyes. "Hermione Weasley?"
"Yes," he nodded. "I heard she and Ron were married. I'm sure it was a lovely ceremony."
"Lovely cere...lovely ceremony..." I echo, hardly able to believe what I am hearing. "Harry, they WANTED you to be there, they tried every means of communication they could think of, driving themselves mad. Hermione cried ON HER WEDDING DAY when you never showed. And all you can say, in a wistful tone of voice, is you're sure it was a lovely ceremony?!"
"Look, Gin," he tries to explain. I cannot decided whether his abbreviation of my name is setting butterflies loose in my stomach or annoying me further. "I wanted to come. I really did."
"Then why didn't you?" I demand, meeting his eyes. This was not at all how I imagined our reunion. I imagined kisses and presents and stories of his capture by Death Eaters keeping him from returning to me. Of course, I never imagined him owning a glass shop either.
"Because I...once I had left I couldn't face everyone...I couldn't face you," he replies. This serves the sheer purpose of flaming my temper even more.
"So you're blaming me for this?" I ask, resisting the urge to stomp my foot.
"No!" he cries. "No, Ginny, I'm not blaming anyone but myself. I just...after what I had done with Voldemort, after killing him, I saw what I had become. This dark, selfish shell of a person consumed with hatred and resentment of the world. And Ginny you deserve so much better than that. So I left and I went back to the Muggle world to try and refocus myself, relearn what's really important in life. But I still knew I'd never be good enough for you."
"Harry," I say, shaking my head in exasperation. "You are so stupid sometimes." I walk briskly to where he is standing, take his head in my hands, and kiss him.
Now, this is more like I had imagined. Much better.
"You're coming to the Burrow for Christmas," I inform him as we break away. He looks down at me in disbelief.
"You can't possibly expect me to just walk right in after seven years," he replies.
"Can't I?" I respond, raising one eyebrow. It's an ability Harry has always found particularly irritating, because he can only raise his eyebrows together, he can't just prop one up like I can. He knows I'm doing it on purpose and grins.
"Of course you can," he says, his forehead press against mine. He looks down, and pulls away from me suddenly. I pout, because personally, I had been expecting another kiss.
"What?" I ask.
"You're wearing my necklace," he says, as if this is the secret to the universe.
"Of course," I reply, feeling somewhat uncomfortable and fiddling with the snowflake. "I always wear it."
"You always..." he echoes, his eyes meeting mine hopefully. I smile.
"Always, Harry. Always."
He goes to kiss me again, then laughs. I stare at him, and do stomp my foot this time.
"What is it NOW?" I demand.
"Look," he replies, gesturing. I look up, and sure enough, there's mistletoe hanging above us. I look at him in disbelief.
"This is a Christmas Miracle," I say faintly. He smiles and shakes his head.
"Ginny, you are so naïve sometimes," he says, before finally kissing me again.
Harry may call my naïve, but I, for one, believe in miracles.
Now some may call me naïve, but I, for one, believe in miracles. Of course, I also believe in love at first sight. And I believed in Father Christmas until I was nine years old.
I blame my brothers for that. They lead me on.
Still, nothing in my life has lead me to believe in the impossibility of miracles, and trust me, I've seen it all. I was once possessed by the darkest wizard in the world, you know. If I can live through that and still believe in miracles, anyone can drop their cynicism. Hey, I didn't say I believed in honesty or innocence! Just miracles.
Especially at Christmas.
I know, that makes me even more childish. As for me, however, I don't see how people can ignore that certain feeling in the air, the tingle of music everywhere you go, the softly glowing lights and smiles of passerby, candy canes and gingerbread houses, presents and carols, mistletoe and angels.
At Christmastime I forget the war. I should, I suppose, seeing that it ended six years ago. It's only in December, with the crisp wind blowing the snow around the hurried shoppers, that I don't have to remind myself at every waking moment that Voldemort is dead and there is nothing to fear.
Hardly anything to fear, anyway. Death Eaters are cursed stubborn and refuse to admit they've lost, even with their leader dead and gone. Oh well, that's life I suppose.
I do not, however, forget Harry.
Which brings me back to my topic of miracles. It's been seven years since Harry left us, and even Ron and Hermione have given up hope of his return. They won't admit it of course, but ever since he didn't show up for their wedding, even though they did everything possible to reach him and tell him about it, they've known he isn't coming home.
Well, I believe Harry will come home, when the time is right.
Really, one can't blame him for leaving. We all saw how the war consumed him, his dead eyes and bitter voice. Revenge took over his being, his soul, and when he defeated Voldemort...it was as if a part of him had died as well. His revenge was complete, and his life no longer had meaning.
I think Dumbledore was afraid it would happen. He knew, before any of the rest of us, the toll that heroism was taking on Harry Potter. When one spends one's entire life seeking revenge, it tends to have a negative effect on one's emotional stability.
We know he's alive, thank Merlin. He left a lengthy letter with Ron, which he found the day after their graduation. Ron's never let anyone read that letter, not even Hermione. He just got us all together in the living room and told us in his calmest voice that Harry was leaving for a while to sort some things out.
That's not what the letter said. I could see it in Ron's eyes, hear it in his voice. Harry had no intention of returning. Ever.
I don't know where he went. None of us do. For all I know he's out shopping, buying a new diamond necklace for his beautiful wife and a play broomstick for his little boy.
But I try not to think about that. I don't know what I would do if Harry had really found a new wife...life, I mean.
It's not that Harry and I are or were or even ever intended to be married. To this day, I don't believe he's ever truly noticed me as anything more than a younger sister. But I suppose I've imagined myself as his to have and to hold so many times that I sometimes forget that it is fantasy and not reality.
It is terribly cliché, I know. I can't help it. What girl in her right mind ISN'T in love with Harry Potter at some time in her life? Not that I love Harry because he's the Boy Who Lived or the hero who defeated Voldemort. It's the real Harry I love, the kind, intelligent, resourceful, brave, loving, shy little boy with messy hair and taped glasses I saw for the very first time fourteen years ago wandering King's Cross all by himself with a huge trunk and a snowy owl. See, I believe in love at first sight because I've experienced it myself.
Don't scoff at me like that! I know it's ridiculous, the idea that a ten year old girl in pigtails (was my hair in pigtails that day?) could fall in love with some random eleven-year-old boy in the middle of a crowded train station. And of course, it wasn't love. Not really. Just a little crush.
The crush really was littered with all kinds of problems right from the start. First, there was that annoying fact that I was his best friend's little sis, never an attractive feature. Then there was that whole Tom fiasco which I would prefer not to recount. Not to mention that's the same year of the embarrassing valentine incident. Then the Cho thing. And Michael Corner...and Dean Thomas...and Colin Creevey...more stupidity on my part.
But lets not dwell in the past.
Okay, okay, you talked me into it. One last story. You see, there's a reason I believe in miracles at Christmas, just like I believe in love at first sight. After about halfway through third year, I convinced myself that I was over that silly little girl crush on my brother's hero best friend. That's when I started to get involved with other guys, let loose, and be myself around Harry, who, I think, was quite relieved. We were, from then on, on friendly, brother/sister terms.
Until Christmas of fifth year.
My fifth year, of course, his sixth. It was actually the day before Christmas Eve. Ron and I were staying at school because Mum and Dad were so mixed up in the order we wouldn't have hardly seen them at home anyway. Ron and Hermione were off... studying... (And if you can't read between the lines you are truly dense). Hermione and I had decorated the common room with Dobby's help. Garlands, holly, Santas and reindeer made a homely, comfortable atmosphere. At Hermione's insistence, there were also a few pieces of mistletoe hung in various places, which she and Ron took full advantage of whenever possible.
Well, I certainly hadn't planned to take advantage of it myself. It was all very harmless, really. Harry and I were alone in the common room, playing gobstones. I won, of course, I am a champion at gobstones. In retaliation-Harry is a terrible loser, you know-he jumped up and began tickling me. Have I ever mentioned that I am EXTREMELY ticklish? Well, I am. And my brothers know it, and they obviously took the liberty of passing this information on to Harry. Cursed annoying, six older brothers.
So anyway, Harry's tickling me and I'm screaming and laughing and trying to run away, which is practically impossible seeing as Harry always was fast. Using a tricky little more I learned at Quidditch practice I got away for a few seconds before he caught me.
Well, there we were, his arms around me, both laughing and out of breath and having a perfectly wonderful time. And it was then, of course, that we noticed the innocent little mistletoe hanging forlornly above us.
Well, you HAD to see that coming, didn't you?
Well, I was totally expecting him to challenge me to another game of gobstones. Or tickle me some more. Or say something in that teasing, brotherly tone. I didn't even think he had NOTICED the mistletoe...and for all I know, he didn't. All I know is that he kissed me, right there, on the day before Christmas Eve under the mistletoe in the Gryffindor Common Room. And I stood there like an idiot, my eyes wide open, totally unresponsive in my shock. He broke away, blushing, and started to apologize. Realizing he thought I was uninterested, I kissed him again to make him realize I was interested. Very interested.
Okay, so I remember every little detail. So sue me!
Anyway, the point is, it was a miracle. I don't care what anyone else says, the fact that Harry Potter noticed me, Ginny Weasley, is nothing short of that. And at Christmastime, of course. After that, we officially became "Harry and Ginny" which I certainly liked. I realized, of course, that my feelings for Harry had never gone away, really. Just changed. And now they were back, stronger than ever.
I still love Harry. I always will. I've tried dating other men since he left, even Ron has encouraged it, but none of them come close to Harry.
I'll admit, I was a trifle offended when he disappeared and left a letter for Ron. However, Ron's been Harry's right hand man through everything from Quidditch to saving the world, so I guess it makes sense to the reasonable mind.
I never claimed to be entirely reasonable.
However, just when I thought he really didn't care for me, Christmas came along. I was in seventh year, and I was feeling lonely, seeing as everyone I was really close to had graduated. It was the day before Christmas Eve when I spied a very familiar owl pecking against the window. I honestly could not believe it was Hedwig. The owl I refused to admit was Hedwig dropped a package and a card at my feet, hooted, then turned and flew away.
The package was contained a necklace similar I had once admired in Hogsmeade before Harry left. It was, however, even more beautiful than the one I remembered, made of delicate crystal, and there was a blue and silver snowflake hanging from it which twinkled in the soft glow of the fire, and a small note in Harry's sloping handwriting saying "Never forget, Ginny, that you are special. I love you exactly the way you are, more unique than any snowflake. Never change. Love always, Harry."
I'll admit, I cried. Who wouldn't really? I was sure it was a sign Harry was coming back.
I haven't heard from him since, and it's been six years.
Christmas time is approaching again, my seventh Christmas without Harry. Yes, I keep very careful record of such things. However, my heart is light and sugarplum fairies dance in my head as I stroll down the street lined with little shops and friendly faces, window shopping and keeping an eye out for something to interest Hermione. They're Muggle shops, of course, but then again Hermione's Muggle born, and I could always enchant something if need be...as long as I don't tell my dad about it.
I'm in a quaint Muggle town in Wales. I was actually there covering a story for the Daily Prophet concerning Gilderoy Lockhart's marriage to Celestina Warbeck, but that nightmare was over thank God. They wanted a private ceremony, so only half of Britain-including the press-had been invited of course. I love being a journalist, don't get me wrong, but there are some things I just do not find at all entertaining, and two narcissistic celebrities fawning all over each other falls into that category.
I hum We Wish You a Merry Christmas and play with my snowflake necklace, which was very appropriate for the season, and which I wore all the time, snow or summer, rain, shine or snow.
The shop catches my eye from the other side of the street. It seems to glow more than the others. The sign above it reads The Glass Menagerie. Curious, and I cross the street and peered inside, and gasp.
Everything's lovely. Crystal of all colors and shapes line the walls. Jewelry's on display. I'mlooking at it appreciatively, gazing at the myriad of shapes. Everything has a little name. "The Sweethearts Ring", "The Friendship Bracelet", "Aphrodite's Earrings", "First Kiss Set" and so forth. It's all quite charming. And I'm about to continue with my shopping when my eye catches something that makes my heart quite literally stop.
It's my necklace, the one Harry had sent me all those years ago, the one I'm still wearing. It's EXACTLY the same, every bead, every color. I know, because I memorized every single detail of Harry's last gift to me. Next to the necklace is a small piece of silver paper, just like the others, with gold print, just like the others. It reads "Ginny's Snowflake".
I close my eyes and literally have to lean against the glass to support myself. I have never been so shocked in all my life, even when Harry kissed me. After a few moments I pull myself together. I consider walking away-running would be a more appropriate word for what I had in mind, actually-and pretending it had never happened. However, I know if I left and never looked back I would regret it for the rest of my life. So I summon all that courage we Gryffindors are supposed to have and that I always feel I was shorted in and walk into The Glass Menagerie.
A small bell tinkles as I walk inside. The soft electric light makes the glass and crystal sparkle and shimmer with colors. I look around, feeling about six years old and lost when I hear footsteps. Turning, I see a man emerge from a doorway, obviously the owner. He looks vaguely familiar, but it is not until he speaks that I recognize him.
"May I help you, miss?"
My heart stops again and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll even survive The Glass Menagerie. I must be dreaming, surely. But I cannot be mistaken. I would know that smooth baritone anywhere, the messy black hair and deep green eyes behind round glasses, a thin face and tall, lean frame. I can even make out the lightning bolt scar hidden behind his messy bangs.
"Miss?" he repeats. I blink. Surely, he recognizes me! Surely he know who I am! He has to know! Has to remember! All those years, all that time we spent together...I haven't changed that much in seven years, I know I haven't. I'm still me, still Ginny. Still Harry's Ginny.
"H..." I try to say his name, but my voice doesn't seem to be working properly at all. "Harry..." I finally manage to stutter. His eyes widen.
"Ginny?" he almost whispers incredulously. My name comes from him easily, even in his disbelief. I can hear it, the familiar way my name is pronounced, as if he has said it a hundred times every day we've been apart.
Okay, maybe my imagination is getting carried away with me. I warned you that I am not entirely reasonable, didn't I?
"Yes, Harry it's me," I reply, relieved that he recognizes me.
"What are you...how did you find me?" he asks in disbelief. Now that my shock is wearing off, I'm slightly annoyed. Here I've been at home, waiting for him to come back to me, worried for his life, and he's running a bloody glass shop for tourists in Wales.
"I wasn't LOOKING for you, Harry," I snap. "I was actually looking for a Christmas gift for Hermione, as if you even care. I wouldn't be the least surprised if you didn't know who Hermione is! I just happened to pass by your LOVELY shop when I noticed a very familiar necklace bearing my name and came in to have a look."
"I know who Hermione is," he replies in a defensive, sullen tone.
"Really," I reply, rolling my eyes. "Hermione Weasley?"
"Yes," he nodded. "I heard she and Ron were married. I'm sure it was a lovely ceremony."
"Lovely cere...lovely ceremony..." I echo, hardly able to believe what I am hearing. "Harry, they WANTED you to be there, they tried every means of communication they could think of, driving themselves mad. Hermione cried ON HER WEDDING DAY when you never showed. And all you can say, in a wistful tone of voice, is you're sure it was a lovely ceremony?!"
"Look, Gin," he tries to explain. I cannot decided whether his abbreviation of my name is setting butterflies loose in my stomach or annoying me further. "I wanted to come. I really did."
"Then why didn't you?" I demand, meeting his eyes. This was not at all how I imagined our reunion. I imagined kisses and presents and stories of his capture by Death Eaters keeping him from returning to me. Of course, I never imagined him owning a glass shop either.
"Because I...once I had left I couldn't face everyone...I couldn't face you," he replies. This serves the sheer purpose of flaming my temper even more.
"So you're blaming me for this?" I ask, resisting the urge to stomp my foot.
"No!" he cries. "No, Ginny, I'm not blaming anyone but myself. I just...after what I had done with Voldemort, after killing him, I saw what I had become. This dark, selfish shell of a person consumed with hatred and resentment of the world. And Ginny you deserve so much better than that. So I left and I went back to the Muggle world to try and refocus myself, relearn what's really important in life. But I still knew I'd never be good enough for you."
"Harry," I say, shaking my head in exasperation. "You are so stupid sometimes." I walk briskly to where he is standing, take his head in my hands, and kiss him.
Now, this is more like I had imagined. Much better.
"You're coming to the Burrow for Christmas," I inform him as we break away. He looks down at me in disbelief.
"You can't possibly expect me to just walk right in after seven years," he replies.
"Can't I?" I respond, raising one eyebrow. It's an ability Harry has always found particularly irritating, because he can only raise his eyebrows together, he can't just prop one up like I can. He knows I'm doing it on purpose and grins.
"Of course you can," he says, his forehead press against mine. He looks down, and pulls away from me suddenly. I pout, because personally, I had been expecting another kiss.
"What?" I ask.
"You're wearing my necklace," he says, as if this is the secret to the universe.
"Of course," I reply, feeling somewhat uncomfortable and fiddling with the snowflake. "I always wear it."
"You always..." he echoes, his eyes meeting mine hopefully. I smile.
"Always, Harry. Always."
He goes to kiss me again, then laughs. I stare at him, and do stomp my foot this time.
"What is it NOW?" I demand.
"Look," he replies, gesturing. I look up, and sure enough, there's mistletoe hanging above us. I look at him in disbelief.
"This is a Christmas Miracle," I say faintly. He smiles and shakes his head.
"Ginny, you are so naïve sometimes," he says, before finally kissing me again.
Harry may call my naïve, but I, for one, believe in miracles.