Hi, my lovely and adoring fans. (Hey, everyone has a fantasy, let me have mine.) In this chapter, we have a POV change, because I have a very short attention span. If you don't like this, I'll go back to Hermione's point of view, but I plan on making each chapter different. If you hate that, I'll make it different.

Erica (whom I couldn't write this without) you'll note that the BLOODY QUESTION MARK IS THERE. So leave me alone. You're so amazing that I could just go on with this praise of your amazingness for hours, but my fingers would get cramped, and people might get a bit distracted from my story… Anyhow, I'm so sorry I accidentally deleted your shoutout in the first chapter (it's there in my copy…) so just know that I love you. Also, the bit about the screaming watch is from her amazingful story Prince Charming, and I'd link you there if I had ANY idea how. Praise the OraNge.

It's almost like the hard times circle 'round
A couple drops and they all start coming down
Yeah, I might feel defeated,
I might hang my head
I might be barely breathing - but I'm not dead
Tomorrow's another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain
No, I'm not gonna let it get me down
I'm not gonna cry
And I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight

I stared at myself in the mirror, perfect as always. Who was I kidding? I was far from perfect. The red hair that branded me as a Weasley all my life had faded to a dull auburn. The scar that I'd always bear on my thigh from having a Death Eater hurl glass at Harry, and having terrible aim. The tattoo I'd gotten after Voldemort's defeat in tribute to everyone who died- a tiny dove in white ink, faint, but beautiful in its own right.

No, I wasn't perfect, but I did look decent enough to venture outside my apartment for a lunch date with Hermione. She'd owled me at midnight last night - this morning, really - asking if I wanted to meet her at Agrippina's for a late lunch, and since she owled me at midnight, I could only assume this wasn't an ordinary meeting.

Hermione had been so distant lately; she wasn't herself at all. Once she was out of hospital, she became so reclusive; it was hard to tell that she had been discharged! In all truth, I was worried about her. Since she'd graduated Hogwarts she'd thrown herself into her work, and while that was very much like her, it was unlike her to drop her friends. She refused to go out with us, citing, "I have so much work to do, I'll go with you next week," although next week never came. She barely left her apartment, and the only one who ever saw her was Charlie.

In any event, this was a major event, not to be taken lightly. I walked out of the flat, muttered, "Oculto," and watched the door vanish. Turning on her heel, I walked down the street to Agrippina's to meet Hermione.

"Hermione!" I practically shrieked as I saw her waiting at a table in the back of the restaurant. "Your hair? It looks fantastic! How have you been?" she laughed, embracing me, and we sat down.

"Hi Gin, you like it? I needed a bit of change." She shook her head, her short, defined curls bounced off of her shoulders.

"It looks fantastic! I really like the layering; it's like nothing I've ever seen you wear before."

"Thanks, Gin. And nothing's new; I'm still living with Charlie."

"Oh really." I said, arching an eyebrow questioningly at her. She abruptly changed the topic away from him and blushed slightly crimson.

"Have you heard from your mum lately? I know that she and your father went to visit Bill in Egypt, but I haven't heard a thing from her since we had tea together."

"Oh, she probably just got caught up over there. Bill's still broken up over Hazel… something. You remember her, that blonde twit from Slytherin, mum and dad've been trying to get him out of that slump." I bit my lip, Bill deserved so much better than Hazel. Sure, she was gorgeous, but that was about all she had going for her.

She'd deliberately broken Bill's heart, because he wouldn't give her the address of the Burrow. I'd always thought she wasn't exactly the innocent face that she portrayed, but Bill had always brushed me off. It was terrible that he only believed me once he had been threatened with the Cruciatus curse. He kept trying to talk mum and dad into letting him visit her in Azkaban.

"Have you heard about Harry?" Hermione asked, interrupting my train of thought.

"I heard from Angelina this morning. Fred and Angie went to visit Harry yesterday. It isn't looking good for him." I ran a hand through my hair worriedly. Even these days, my heart still fluttered for him.

"Has Dr. Northwood said anything about him being permanently hurt? Could the hex have been misdiagnosed as short-term when it wasn't?" Hermione's voice sounded unusually strained, even for Miss Work-Until-You-Collapse-Then-Get-Up-And-Work-A-Bit-More.

"No, Hermione, they haven't said anything to that extent to us. I was planning on visiting him tomorrow, do you want to come?"

"I'd love to. I've been meaning to go for a week now, but I haven't brought myself to go… I hate seeing him like this, Gin."

I sighed, understanding how she felt. "I know, do I ever. I'm still holding onto what they said in the beginning, though, that he'd be okay in the end. All we can do now is hope."

'Too bad that there isn't much of that left,' I thought. I'd deliberately left out the rest of what Angie had told me about Harry's state. That he'd stopped responding to tests, that his heart rate was slowing down by the hour, that he didn't wake any more. If something drastic didn't happen soon, there was going to be a big problem.

I walked out of St. Mungos, looking as though I ought to have stayed there as a patient. Harry had never looked worse, Angelina had definitely underestimated.

Pale, gaunt, and comatose, I felt as though I was at a funeral parlor, which wasn't something any of us wanted to think about. Hermione had taken it surprisingly well. She'd taken charge, grabbed the first nurse she'd seen and threatened to hex her into oblivion unless she got some information, and there were no doubts in my mind that she would have.

Lucky for the poor nurse, Dr. Northwood had taken that moment to make her entrance. She'd told us that it was perfectly normal for a patient to experience some… regression with this type of an attack.

"For every three steps forward, there are two back." Those were her words. But it didn't seem like we'd gotten any farther, just that we were sliding backwards uncontrollably. Hermione had left after fifteen minutes, looking as though she was in mortal anguish. I couldn't blame her, though. I didn't want to see Harry in that state any more than I wanted to cut off my right arm and offer it to Malfoy as a token of my undying devotion.

Dr. Northwood had grabbed my arm on the way out and said, "Ms. Weasley-"

"Please call me Ginny. I've been here more than I've been at my flat these days, and it's not as if we're strangers." I thought back to the first time I'd encountered Dr. Northwood, in my sixth year, when Goyle had added Jobberknoll feathers to my test potion and landed me in St. Mungos, under Dr. Northwood's care.

"Ms.- Ginny... You have to understand that with such severe wounds as Mr. Potter has... well, he may never fully-"

"Wake up. That's what you mean, isn't it? He may never open his eyes again, never walk or fly or play Quidditch again. I understand, Doctor. Just do your best to save him. That's all I can ask."

I walked dazedly down the street, trying to estimate how long it would take me to apparate to Diagon Alley, and whether or not I'd splinch myself in the process. I felt my pockets for my wand so I could call the Knight bus, and found it in my back pocket.

"You'll blow a buttock off like that, mark my words. Great wizards have done it; you don't want to be next." I remembered Moody saying that to me, way back when. I also remembered Tonks inhaling the cider she'd been drinking when he responded to my question of who it exactly was who'd lost a buttock, by saying in an offhand manner, "Me," and having to pound her back for twenty minutes so she didn't die.

I chuckled to myself, we'd all been so happy back then; Ron had fallen off his chair laughing and smashed his head on the table trying to get back up, Harry was looking out the window in mock fascination of Fred and George's game, shaking in silent laughter, and even my mother was chortling a bit at the idea.

My watch glowed red and started shrieking. Most people would be a bit perturbed by this, but I was used to it by now. I had never taken that watch off, since the day Harry had given it to me.

"GINEVRA WEASLEY GET OFF YOUR BUM RIGHT NOW, YOU KNOW BLOODY WELL THAT YOU HAVE TO MEET YOUR BROTHER FOR DINNER IN AN HOUR. YOU GO RIGHT NOW BEFORE THE WHOLE STREET HEARS ABOUT THE TIME YOU ACCIDENTALLY FL-" I closed the watch quickly and smiled innocently at the crowd of bystanders staring at me.

I raised my wand into the air and stepped back a few feet as the bus came roaring up to the curb.

"Hello Mizzus Weasley, do you need help with yer bags or are ya okay on yer own?" Oh yes, things were definitely back to usual.

I opened my eyes sleepily to a knock on my door.

"What do you want…? I mean, who is it?"

"Harry," the voice responded. My eyes got wide.

"Harry? What are you doing here? What happened? Where are my manners, come in!" He walked into my room awkwardly; my heart skipped a beat at his slightly chagrined smile.

"Nothing's going on, everything's fine. I just wanted to... You know, wish you a merry Christmas and to, ah, give you a present before everyone else got up." His hands were held behind his back, apparently holding a present. "This needs a bit of explaining, so I wanted you to open it more privately. I mean, if you want. I don't mind if you want to wait until later and open it with Ron and Hermio-"

"I don't mind at all, Harry." I saw him glance at me and quickly away. He handed me a small box wrapped in sparkling paper, the same emerald colour of his eyes, that was singing, "Deck the Halls," cheerfully.

"Nice bit of magic on that, where did you get it?"

"Oh, you know. Here or there," he said, avoiding my eyes. I carefully unwrapped the box, putting the paper aside as I eyed Harry.

"You can sit down, you know, I don't bite...much. And that once was only because Ron stole my toy broom." He laughed; I brightened a bit, more awake. Not that I was glad that I made him laugh or found him attractive or wanted to lay him down on that bed and… No. I didn't. I pulled the top off of the box and gazed down at the exquisite silver watch. "Oh, Harry, it's gorgeous! I love it!"

"Now Gin, this is no ordinary watch. Whenever you set a meeting with someone while wearing this watch, it will store that time in its memory, and will remind you in an... unceremonious manner that you're late."

"Okay, Harry," I said, all the while staring at the watch. I took the watch out of its box and turned it over to peer at the mark on the back. "What is that?"

"Oh that?" He looked at the tiny symbol engraved on the back of the watch, "That's just the maker's trademark. C'mon, Gin, let's go wake up the lazybums; it is Christmas, after all!" He bounded out of the room, calling over his shoulder "You coming, Gin?"

"I'll get Hermione up, and meet you downstairs in forty-five," I responded. I took off toward Hermione's room. I tripped on the rug, and grabbed the doorframe to Hermione's room to regain balance.

"Psst! 'Mione! Get up, this is really really important!" She tossed off the covers.

"Like I wasn't awake after that LOVELY welcome you gave me, Twinkletoes. What's going on?"

"Was that a bit of sarcasm I hear? My, my, Hermione, we're finally getting some uncommon sense into you!" I jumped onto the foot of her bed and held out my hand for her to see. "Look! Aaaaaaah!" I squealed.

"What am I looking at? Are you engaged?"

"No, you prat! Look at what Harry got me!" I rotated my wrist slowly.

"Gin, that's lovely. And he gave that to you? Wow. Do you mind if I see it for a second, though?"

"Sure," I replied, unfastening the clasp. She stared at it hard for a minute, as if trying to remember something. Then she turned it over.

"Oh, Gin. Oh Gin!"

"Uh oh. I never like sentences that start with 'Oh Gin…'"

"Gin, this watch belonged to Harry's parents."

"What!" I screeched, snatching it back, "How do you know? Why did he give it to me?"

"I know," she said calmly, taking it back, and pointing to the symbol on the back, "because of that. If you look at it, it's an intertwined JP. What are the initials of Harry's father?"

"James Potter. JP! Bloody Hell, and don't tell me to watch my language! Why- How- Who- Where?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Confusion lined her face; I wasn't used to seeing her so lost.

"Where did he get it? From who? How? Why did he give it to me?" I asked. "You seem to know so much, enlighten me."

"Well," she said, repositioning herself on a pillow, "Dumbledore gave it to him, back in our sixth year. Apparently it went off in Professor Haberson's class… Don't look so lost, that's the Snape of their day, it got confiscated, given to Dumbledore, and they never remembered to go retrieve it. Dumbledore decided that Harry should have it to… What were his words? 'Give to the one you adore as your father did your mother, if you so desire.' And I guess he wanted you to have it." She finished, her eyes sparkling.

"And what do you mean by, 'he wanted you to have it,' exactly?" I questioned, noting the sparkle in Hermione's eye.

"Oh, nothing…" she smiled then. "Didn't I hear Loverboy scream something about meeting for presents?"

"Not unless you heard from Ron before I woke up." I retorted.

"Oh, you are so in for it now," she threatened, advancing on me with a pillow.

I rummaged through my wardrobe, tossing dresses and robes on the floor in disgust. I couldn't wear the blue because it clashed with my necklace; couldn't wear the red because it clashed with my hair; couldn't wear the green because it clashed with Rick's 'blasé elegance.'

The only reason I was even going out with him was as a favor to Erica. She had a date with her beau, Tom, and needed to shove her really arrogant cousin off with someone. At least I learned my lesson about asking people with undesirable single relatives for favors.

I settled for a simple black dress and neutral makeup. Pulling it down in the back, since I didn't want to expose that much to the creep, I grabbed my purse and headed to the door, when I heard the crackle of fire coming from behind me. My mother stood in my fireplace. She always seemed to appear in my fireplace as I was leaving for a date, it's as though she had a new choice put on the clock stating "Leaving for a date, so feel free to go and make her a few minutes late for no reason at all."

"Muuuuuuuuum! I'm leaving for a date, okay? Remember, you told me to date more? I'm dating someone and if I don't get out of here within the next ninety seconds I'll be late!"

"Ginny! Oh, Merlin…"

I turned on my heel, feeling my chest constrict like someone had punched me. "What is it, mum? Is everything okay? What's going on?"

"Harry's…" she stopped, bursting into tears.

"What happened? Is he-"

"Ginny, Harry's dying."