Well HBP beat my other story out. But I don't mind really 'coz … WE WE'RE RIGHT! They are meant to be.

A word to the wise: This is paying no attention to HBP so don't expect spoilers and honestly if you haven't read the book WHAT are you doing here, go, shoo, read!

Anyway those awaiting the secret to the story will get it at the end of this the last chapter, but read the story first, okay?

They will fight their foes, fight one another, but can they stand to fight their love?

The Grass crunching beneath his shoes he walked on. He paid no head to the many ominous growls off the path. And finally he found it almost concealed in the bramble. A clearing in the heart of the forest, unnaturally shaped by Grawp who had taken lodging here a year or so ago. He sat down on an uplifted tree drawing something from his long cloak. A deep red velveteen book sat still in his palm. The way the young man looked at it you may have thought that this book may hold some magical property, which being as this boy was Harry Potter and a wizard, would not surprise. But in fact this book was not magical at all, or at least not in the 'usual' fashion. He sat there, his thumb stroking the soft spine nervously. He should not have it.

One might ask whether he had stolen it? But another might argue that feelings are impossible to steal. It is the heart that is stolen. So perhaps he was guilty of that.

He flicked through the now familiar pages and paused at the page he had looked upon more then any other. On this particular page was a poem, it was not especially well written but it had a truth about it that no one could deny. He did not bother reading the poem, he already knew it by heart, he instead concentrated on the way the page was blotchy indicating the way tears had fallen thick and plenty.

He had always wondered how she had made the poem that had started so innocently – with a common question – so dark and sad. But he had long since condemned it as the thing that had ruined their short friendship, it's calm words and tear stoked page causing him to wonder… why. Why had he let her go so many years feeling that way, why had he not consoled her himself? Could he not have told her that he would never feel the same way and that she should forget him and move on?

Could you say that now?

But could he, without lying, could he honestly say that he felt nothing other than friendship towards her?

But that didn't matter now. She wasn't talking to him anyway. The last time he had said anything to her was on the train to Hogwarts, but that had been a month ago. He knew why she was angry, knew she had every right, but could not help hoping that somehow Ginny would forgive him.

Harry heard a near by bush rustle and wondered numbly whether the centaurs had tracked him down. Though he didn't bother looking over his shoulder, more thoughts were flitting across his mind. But he could not ignore the petite figure immerging from the bush, her red hair gleaming in the October moonlight.

"Well?" She said it as though he had raised a point and then dropped it without elaboration, and when he continued to look at her disbelievingly, she added, "You said we needed to talk. Here I am. Talk."

Harry's brain worked overtime trying to process it all, Ginny here talking to him. He composed himself.

"Why are you here?"

"I saw you coming into the forest." She said dismissively.

"I didn't ask you that."

"I need to know once and for all… What did you think of the poem?" She said it off handily, as if it had no importance.

"What did – I? What?"

"Did you think it was sappy or what?" she said with a slightly twisted smile.

"I don't understand what you're asking?"

"It's pretty simple. I just wanted to know, considering that you're the only person ever to read it except me. What did you think?" her eye twitched ever so slightly and her comfortable smile faltered.

"I thought it was…" he started but he was unable to finish, but she assumed his answer.

"That bad huh?" and she turned to leave, but Harry shouted out for her to stay. And stay she did. So he explained to her all the things that he'd wanted to explain. About not realising that it had been him that had made her first year so hard. About not realising she had felt that way, loved him.

"But that isn't true." Ginny said calmly, but when Harry continued to look slightly sceptical she explained. "Maybe I felt strongly about you. But it wasn't love. How could it have been? I didn't know you then, you didn't know me. I don't deny that sometimes love can be one-sided. But, for it to be love I would have had to at least see what you were truly like. I didn't know then. So no Harry I didn't love you then." Harry gaped at her. So she hadn't … not even a little? But what he couldn't understand was why he felt so disappointed.

"Sometimes I wish it was though." She said more to herself than him. She'd never before voiced this. "It's all better to have lost love than have never to have loved at all that way. But no, all I had was devotion, kinda fanatic if you think about it."

"No." said Harry quietly. "It's not fanatic. Not really. You weren't really the president of my fan club, were you?" he smiled reassuringly.

"So you understand?" she asked.

"Well no." said Harry honestly. "I don't understand how you got over me. The poem looks so happy and then so sad, why."

"Because I was, happy and sad, all the time. The 'love' I felt for you was always a sad love, 'coz I always knew that was all it could ever be."

It took him a while to comprehend this.

"Then how did you get over me?" he asked. She shook her head and looked around to check that they were well and truly in the forest and nobody else was around.

"See that book you've got." Harry picked it up and dusted the dirt of it. "Have you read it all?" He hadn't, he'd read the poem and that had made sure he didn't want to read anymore. He shook his head.

"The back page. Read it." She sat down and waited as Harry, hands shaking opened the book at its last page.

I should probably let him go. I bet I could. It wouldn't be hard. Just stop. But I know I won't. I can't help myself; I know he'll never feel that way. That I'm being irrational. But the fact is, I just don't care. I don't care that I don't really know him, that he's got a girlfriend, that he might even love her. Because honestly I know it will never happen. I'll never tell him. One day he'll find out he may even ask me about it. I'll just deny it or say, "I'm over that." I may well be. But it will still hurt. It's like rubbing salt in a healing wound. In fact that's how I feel when I see them together. I'll just grit my teeth and smile.

But don't get me wrong it's not love. How could it be? We hardly talk; I don't really know him. But it still hurts. My friends say I'm crazy especially the ones who actually know him.

They probably are made for each other. They'll probably stay together their whole lives. I don't mind; I'm not waiting.

Because for me to be waiting; I'd have to have hope. Hope that he could feel something for me; hope that we could be together and that, that is irrational.

I don't know why I like him. Maybe I've fabricated him a whole different personality out of things I want him to be.

So maybe I should let him go. Just not now. Maybe I do have hope. I don't know.

There were no tears on this page.

"That was written last year," she said in a whisper, but the silence of the forest carried it to his ears. "Just after I found out about you and Cho, I went to get some stuff from the Burrow."

"So you never did…?"

"No I never got over you, I learnt to live again, but no I never really gave up hope."

"So you still…?" Ginny nodded, words beyond her, she turned away.

Harry began to step towards her, the scrapbook fell to his feet but he ignored it, he turned her around.

And for once in his life, nothing mattered. Not saving the world, not the poem, nothing. And he kissed her - without thinking - he kissed her. For love may be a lot of things, blind, beautiful, or even fanatical. But at that moment; to those two people. Love was everything. And everything was love.

I once heard someone say that there was no such thing as a happy ending but maybe happy endings aren't such good things after all. Some things should never end. Love should never end. And now I can tell you that there's never will. Many years after they have gone, there story forgotten. Words will remain, so my favourite colour will always be the blue of the last inky word I have written.

Well that was a hard story to write! Emotionally of course. (See secret) But gah soppy ending huh?

The long awaited secret is… this story is plagiarized. BUT WAIT! It's plagiarized but barley… actually no the story's original. Ginny's feelings are plagiarized, but from me. I'm not making much sense. Okay I'll explain, the poem wasn't written for the story, the story was written for the poem. I wrote the poem many months ago and it's about my own life, my love, my Harry. I didn't change it even the bit about the green in the eye. It just fit… So there's my secret. And the scrawl of a diary entry was actually my own again.

I don't know what has possessed me to post my feelings onto a website, but I started writing and it just worked, I didn't plan to post my diary entry though but I ran into difficulty and it saved me.

Even though you all think I'm rally strange now I'll still thank you for reading.

This chapter has about 1700 words in it. So do me a favour and type a review (which probably has an average of like 25 words!)