Disclaimer: As before, and I'm certain you're all surprised by this, NONE OF THIS BELONGS TO ME. I'm sorry for those of you that thought I was J.K. Rowling in disguise. (Giggles) Right.

August 2, 1987

"Tell me again, Bill, please?" a seven-year-old Ginny Weasley pleaded with her oldest brother.

"Gin, you've heard the story a million times," Bill sighed, tucking the blankets in around her small frame. "Two million times."

"Tell it again," Ginny begged. "Tell me about Harry Potter."

Bill sat down on the edge of her bed, and she grinned. She had him wrapped firmly around her littlest finger. He picked up one of her hands, wrapping it in his big warm one.

"You know how the story starts out," he said. "With James Potter and Lily Evans."

"Mummy says they hated each other in school," Ginny said knowledgeably.

"That they did," Bill agreed. "But, like always, they grew up."

"And James got nice," Ginny added.

"And they fell in love," Bill finished. "So they did the only thing people in love can do."

"They got married!" Ginny said excitedly.

"Exactly," Bill said. "Then they had a son. I bet you could never guess who their son was."

"Harry Potter!" Ginny yelled, bouncing a little.

Downstairs, Arthur and Molly Weasley heard their daughter's joyful yell. They exchanged sad smiles.

"He's telling her again," Molly said on a sigh.

"She should know," Arthur pointed out.

"I don't want her having anything to do with that time," Molly said. "The war was terrible. She seems so fascinated by it."

"I think she's more fascinated by a hero her own age," Arthur said reasonably. "Harry Potter is her hero."

"He shouldn't be," Molly said, tears in her eyes. "Her heroes should be those who gave their lives. Her uncles, for one."

"They are," Arthur assured her, reaching out and taking her hand. "But Harry is a hero she identifies with. He's so close to her age, Molly. You and Lily were in St. Mungo's together, you remember. She can't help but idolize him."

"She'll be going to Hogwarts with him," Molly said darkly. "I hope she's not disappointed."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked.

"I just hope he's half the hero she thinks he is," Molly said sadly. "If he's not, her whole fantasy world will be crushed."

"She'll learn to put her faith in those that can carry it," Arthur said. "But I think she'll be fine. And Harry will, too."

"I hate the war," Molly said, for probably the two millionth time.

"I know," Arthur said soothingly.

"So one night, someone tells You-Know-Who where the Potters were," Bill said.

Ginny gasped. Though she knew the outcome of the story, this part always made her eyes go wide.

"On Halloween," Bill continued, "You-Know-Who went to their house. He went inside, and he killed James and Lily."

Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "Why?"

"Because he's a bad, bad man," Bill said spitefully. "They tried to protect Harry from him, so he killed them."

Now Ginny was mad. "That bad, bad man," she echoed.

"He walked over to Harry," Bill said, "he raised his wand, and he muttered the Killing Curse."

"He didn't!" Ginny said, glaring darkly.

"He did," Bill said with a nod. "But it backfired."

"How?"

"No one knows," Bill said. "It killed Voldemort, and left a lightning bolt-shaped scar on baby Harry's forehead."

"But Harry lived!" Ginny said jubilantly.

"Yes he did," Bill said. "And that's why we call him the Boy Who Lived. The end."

"Bill?" Ginny asked, as he re-tucked the covers around her. They tended to go every-which-way when she was excited.

"Yeah, little bit?" he asked.

"Where's Harry now?" she wanted to know.

"He lives with his aunt and uncle," Bill said.

"Can we go visit him?" Ginny asked next.

"No, little bit," Bill said fondly. "I don't know where they live."

"I wonder if he misses them," Ginny mused, a half-frown on her small features.

"Who?"

"His mum and dad," she said. "It must be very sad for him."

"I'm sure he doesn't even remember them," Bill said comfortingly.

"It just seems a shame to me," Ginny said on a yawn.

"What does?" Bill asked, already headed towards the door.

"He doesn't have a mummy," Ginny explained sleepily. "Do you think he could come live with us, and share our mummy?"

"I don't think so," Bill said, twisting her doorknob and opening the door.

"Then I'll be his mummy," Ginny said blearily, already mostly asleep. "I'll take care of him."

"You do that, little bit," Bill said softly. He closed her door and headed for his own room.

"I'll take care of you, Harry Potter," Ginny whispered to the air, before falling fast asleep.

"I'll take care of you, Harry Potter."

Harry, alone in his cupboard under the stairs, shot awake. This wasn't the first time someone had spoken to him. At first he had feared ghosts, but then figured that ghosts wouldn't promise to take care of him.

He laid back down, half-hoping and praying that it was his mother's spirit; hoping that she and his father were watching over him.

July 31, 1996

"Ginny, what're you doing?" Hermione asked, as Ginny crept out of bed and put on a dressing gown.

"I'll be back," Ginny said as she rummaged through a small box on her dresser. She found what she wanted and closed her hand over it.

"That's not what I asked," Hermione said immediately. "Are you going somewhere out of the house?"

"No," Ginny said distractedly, heading towards the door of the bedroom they shared. "Don't worry so much, Hermione." She slipped out of the room, silently as a breath of wind.

She crept down the hallway, edged up the stairs, and ended up in front of the door to the bedroom shared by her youngest brother and Harry Potter. Clutching the object in her fist, she slowly twisted the doorknob and eased the door open. She walked into the room, stepping directly onto the floorboard that creaked. She froze at the noise.

Ron turned over, and she caught her breath.

"Don't go wif him, 'er-mi-nee," Ron mumbled, and Ginny realized that he was still asleep. Filing his words away to mull over later, she crept over to Harry's bed and sat down on the edge of it.

"I tried," she said softly. "I tried to take care of you. But you grew up on me, Harry Potter. I couldn't stop you from doing what you chose, so I went with you. We lost Sirius; not because of anything you did, not because of anything I did. I wish I could take care of you through this, but you've got to deal with him being gone, and you've got to do it yourself. I will help you as best I can, but I can't do it for you. I want to so badly, you have no idea. So I'll leave you with a promise, a promise to help you do whatever it is you need to do. To help you save the world. And I'll leave you a kiss."

With nimble fingers, she opened one of his hands and dropped the item she'd been holding into it. A thimble.

"Sleep well," Ginny whispered. "I'll take care of you, Harry Potter."

She left the room silently. Not ready to go upstairs and face Hermione's knowing gaze, she descended to the ground floor and walked into the living room. Asleep on the couch was her brother, Bill.

She sat down on the floor, leaned her back against the couch, and let out a long sigh.

"Something bothering you, little bit?" Bill asked suddenly.

She whirled towards him. "Bill! I thought you were asleep."

"I woke up when you came in," he said. "What's the matter."

Ginny gave him a sad smile. "It turns out that being Harry Potter's mother is a lot harder than I thought."

"You don't want to be his mother, do you, Gin?" Bill asked, amusement evident in his voice.

Ginny blushed. "Possibly not," she admitted, staring at the ceiling.

"Ginny, look at me," Bill said. Ginny obediently turned to look him in the eye. "You really love him, don't you?"

"I don't know," Ginny said. "I think I could love him."

"I think you already do," her brother said, in that annoying all-knowing way of his.

"I think you're right," Ginny said in a defeated tone, resting her forehead on her knees. "I do love him. It hurts to love him, Bill; his spirit is so broken."

"It hurts to love, regardless," Bill said, a weary note in his voice. "But sometimes you can't help it. You just have to play with the cards you've been dealt."

"What if I don't want those cards?" Ginny asked desperately. "What if I want to call it a misdeal, because the dealer's dealing from the bottom of the deck?"

"You can't get a new hand anyway," Bill said wryly. "You just get a new dealer."

A creak on the stairs hushed them both up. A few seconds later, Harry himself came into the room, his hair tousled and his eyes sleepy.

"Good evening, Harry," Bill said with a smile. "So nice of you to join us."

Harry gave them an amused look. "Having a midnight pow-wow?"

"Nonsense," Ginny said, grinning at him. "It's not a pow-wow without you."

"I heard voices," Harry said, coming over and sitting on the floor beside her. Ginny went very, very still. "So I thought someone might be down here. Then I heard you two talking about cards, or poker, or something and came in to ask if either of you could explain this." He held out his right hand, revealing a small thimble laying in his palm.

"Looks like you got a visit from Peter Pan," Bill said. "Although I hope it was Wendy who gave you the kiss."

Harry looked confused.

"Peter Pan didn't know what a kiss was, and Wendy wanted to give him one," Ginny explained. "So she gave him a thimble and told him it was a kiss."

"Do you know where it came from?" Harry asked, examining it closely.

"Crookshanks was playing with it, most likely," Ginny lied easily.

"Probably so," Harry mused. "Otherwise I don't know who's been snooping around in your bedroom."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"It's got your initials on it," Harry said, holding it out for her inspection.

Ginny snatched it from him, bringing it close to her face. "So it does."

Bill fell into a coughing fit on the couch; Ginny was quite sure he was concealing his laughter. Her own face was arranged in perfectly schooled puzzlement, having picked up acting as a direct result of her mischief making. Sometimes it was vital to be able to successfully pull of an innocent, doe-eyed expression.

"Well, I'll just have to lock my sewing kit better," Ginny said flippantly, returning the thimble to him.

"You can sew?" Harry asked curiously, his long-fingered hand closing automatically over the silver thimble.

"Mum taught me," Ginny said with a small smile. "I never sew if I can help it, but if you should ever be in dire need of a nicely darned pair of socks in some life-threatening situation, I'm the one to call."

"I'll remember that," Harry said almost thoughtfully, giving her his first genuine smile in weeks.

She made a mental note of that. Harry needed to smile more, and if her clowning did the trick, so be it. The three of them sat in companionable silence for a stretch of time that seemed both long hours and quick seconds to Ginny, seated as she was in such a close proximity to the object of her reluctant affections.

"The both of you should go back to bed," Bill said eventually, adding dryly, "Separately."

"Bill!" Ginny and Harry exclaimed as one, twin blushes racing across their faces and tingeing their cheekbones pink.

"Off with you both," Bill grumbled. "It's gotten so a man can't get any rest at all."

"Oh, stop your whinging," Ginny scolded, hopping off the floor. "Honestly, one would think you hadn't slept in days the way you carry on."

"I've stopped listening to you," Bill informed her quite placidly.

"Fine then," Ginny said with a sniff. "I see how it goes. You used to have time for me, but the all-grown-up Bill has not a moment to spare for his dearest, only sister."

"Not unless you'd like to hear a bedtime story," Bill said. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a fine offer; to Ginny it was a dire threat of severe embarrassment.

"I'm going, I'm going," she muttered, stalking out of the room and up the stairs. Another set of footsteps followed her almost immediately, and she and Harry ascended the stairs in silence. When they reached the door to Ginny's room, she turned and smiled at him.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said softly, for fear of waking Hermione.

"'Night, Gin," he replied, matching her quiet tone.

Her heart beat faster in her chest, and for a moment she entertained the fleeting thought of giving him a proper goodnight. She imagined his arms wrapping around her, standing on tiptoe as his lips descended towards her own.

Only for a moment did Ginny allow herself to picture this. Then she mentally shook herself, and turned to open the door.

"Wait," Harry said, his hand suddenly on her arm. Her heart, which hadn't slowed from her previous flight of fancy, sped up another notch.

"What?" she whispered.

"Don't you want this back?" he asked, holding his hand out and offering her the small silver token.

She looked up at him, summoning all the bravery she could muster, and opened the door as she simultaneously shook her head, making her mane of red curls bounce.

"Keep it. I want you to have it."

She disappeared inside, leaving Harry gaping after her. Had she been suddenly able to see through the wooden door, she would have witnessed something that would make her longing-filled eyes dance.

Harry solemnly examined the thimble still resting in his palm. Then, grinning a little, he closed his fist over it, and with his other hand blew a kiss at the unfeeling wood that separated him from her.

His mind filled with whirled thoughts, he tread softly to his own room. Ginny hopped into bed, smiling as if she hadn't a care in the world. For one hour, she had made Harry forget his troubles.

That was all she could do. All she could offer of herself. Her heart and a timeless symbol of a kiss. As she drifted off to sleep, she smiled contentedly and whispered words so familiar to her in their endless repetition.

"I'll take care of you, Harry Potter."

Author's Notes: I've been reading Gone With the Wind, and it's making me wax poetic. How odd. Glomps to Meg, Izzy, Slim, Siri, Joy, and everyone else on the S.S. Gryffindor Pride! Dedication goes to Joy, because of our mutual understanding on the subject of rabid attacking plot bunnies (Such as this fic).