Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated in over 2 years ***
As Ginny beings to write a book on her husband, she also begins to remember how she became Mrs. Harry Potter. The story of how our favorite couple fell in love.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Post-Hogwarts, Post-OotP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2007.06.10
Updated: 2007.06.20
Index
Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter 2: Biscuit Talk
Chapter 3: Sunlit Days
Chapter 1: Prologue
Author's Notes: I can't exactly remember how this story got started, but I think I was feeling very much like Ginny one day, and decided to write a book on what it would be like for her to become Mrs. Potter. Unfortunately, I only got as far as the italics, but it was enough to get the ball rolling.
Becoming Mrs. Potter
Ginny Potter is a name that I’ve been dreaming of calling my own ever since I was old enough to understand what it meant.
I think I’ve always known that I was going to marry the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Loved, and any other titles that he may currently hold. But to me, he was always Harry. Just Harry.
When I was a little girl, I made my mum tell me stories about Harry, and when she was done, I told her that I was going to be the girl he married some day. Of course, she laughed and told me that every little girl was dreaming the same thing.
But I was firm in my beliefs that I was going to be Harry’s wife, and until I was eleven, I did everything I could to make sure that he would notice me. I thought out and memorized what I would say when I first met him (for numerous occasions, mind you, because I wasn’t sure where I would meet him). I planned our wedding and named our future children after his parents, Lily and James, and then gave other names, such as Rose and Chris and Kara and Tristan. I made myself as pretty as possible every day, because I never knew when I might meet him.
I idolized Harry, but not in the way that everyone else did. I didn’t see him as this grand hero who would come in on a white horse and sweep me away. As much as I wanted to be the damsel in distress and have him save me, I realized with each telling of his story that he wasn’t a hero. He was just a kid, like me, who was trying to find out who he was.
The day we met is a day that I will never forget. It was September 1st, 1991, at King’s Cross Station.
I have six brothers, all older, and the youngest, Ron, was starting Hogwarts. I was sad, because it was the first year that I was going to be all alone in the house without a playmate. But it was only a year until I could go, so I wanted to wish Ron the best of luck.
I was holding Mum’s hand watching my twin brothers, Fred and George, go onto the platform when a small “excuse me” came from behind us. We turned around and found a small, nervous boy standing behind us. He had dark, unruly hair that stuck up in the back, and the most amazing green eyes that I had ever seen. He looked a little lost.
I smiled at him when he asked how to get onto the platform. (Actually, he just sort of stuttered it, and Mum asked if he needed help getting on.) Following Mum’s instructions, he started at a walk and finally broke into a run before disappearing through the barrier.
Ron went, and then Mum and I went through. I watched curiously as Fred and George helped the black-haired boy with his trunk and then stare at him with amazed expressions. After a few more moments, they waved goodbye to him and made their way over to say goodbye to Mum.
They told us that the boy was Harry Potter… the Harry Potter. Immediately I begged Mum to let me go and see him, so I could say one of my memorized lines to him. But she wouldn’t let me, and I understood why. He didn’t need people gawking at him and asking for his autograph. I suddenly pitied him.
As I was a ten year old girl who was being left all alone with her mother for an entire year without anyone around, I began to cry. I caught sight of Harry through the window, sitting with Ron, and I started to run after the train as it began to move out of the station. Half-laughing and half-crying, I waved goodbye to the two of them and finally fell back when I couldn’t keep up.
That night when my dad was tucking me into bed, I told him all about Harry. “His relatives must be really horrible to him,” I told him firmly. “He had a look about him that made me sad, because his eyes were so lonely and lost. He must not be very loved.”
My dad smiled at me. “Don’t you love him?” he asked, and I assured him that I did. After a kiss, my dad left my room, and until I drifted off to sleep, I thought of Harry, and wondered if he would ever let me show him how much I did love him.
--
Harry Potter looked up from the parchment he was holding in his hand and smiled at his wife of five years. “This is really good, Ginny.”
“You think?” Ginny Potter asked, giving him a shy smile. I finally had some peace today to start it. I’m so glad we let Lily stay at Mum’s this week.” Harry chuckled and kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, making her shiver.
“So very glad,” he whispered, and Ginny answered with a giggle.
Later, as they cuddled together in front of the fire, Ginny glanced a the discarded piece of parchment on the coffee table. It was the opening paragraphs to her book.
Ginny had wanted to write a book on her husband for a long time. She had wanted to let the public know what Harry was really like, and not the Boy-Who-Lived.
It was yesterday when Molly Weasley had Flooed over to their cozy little house and asked to take their daughter for a week. Ginny, at the time thinking how nice it would be to have the house all to herself, immediately agreed, and Lily was sent off to her Nana’s and Papa’s for seven, glorious, free days.
This morning, realizing that she had an entire day alone ahead of her to get some shopping done, sat down to make a list. But that list turned out to be the things that led up to her being Mrs. Potter. Seeing that list in front of her had inspired Ginny to start her book.
And so there she sat, wrapped in her husband’s arms, looking at the first page and a half of her new book, the warmth of the fire hot against her face. She smiled and closed her eyes, remembering the very first time that she allowed herself to dream after five years of waiting.
Chapter 2: Biscuit Talk
Author's Notes: Chapter 2 already. I really like this chapter, because cookies (or biscuits, as the British call them) are some of my favorite things to make. I think one of the reasons why I like Ginny is because sometimes hse acts a lot like me - even though, sometimes, I make her act like me. :)
Ginny Weasley stared out the window as rain fell from the gray sky, wondering how much longer she had to survive in this house. It had been raining at the Burrow for almost three days, shutting everyone inside and wrapping them all in thick socks and sweaters. The rain made it unusually cold for the middle of July.
Ginny sighed and pressed her forehead against the cold glass and wrapped her blanket around her tighter. She was glad for the big sill on her window so she could sit there and dream the dreary day away…
“Ginny?” The redhead looked up and found Hermione Granger in the doorway, a dark maroon sweater handing off her frame, looking suspiciously like Ron’s sweater. “Your mum said to come down for lunch.” Ginny nodded and slid out of her warm cocoon, shivering as she pulled her yellow Weasley sweater over her head and following Hermione down the stairs into the bright, warm kitchen.
A bowl of hot, creamy onion soup was placed in front her, a specialty of Mrs. Weasley on a cold day. Her stomach rumbled pleasantly as she scooped up a spoonful and let the hot liquid trickle down her throat, warming her up.
“Bread, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked, and Ginny nodded, her mouth full of soup again.
Ron and Hermione were whispering together again. After a rocky start of their sixth year, the two had finally gotten their act together and admitted to fancying each other in late April of that year. They had now been dating for almost three months, and they were closer than ever. They still fought, but not as often, and not quite so loudly.
But Ginny still wondered what they were talking about in their hurried words and late night conversations. It had to be about Harry.
Harry. The name brought a small smile to her face as she sipped her soup. After five years of him not noticing her, they had become close friends over the past year. With everything happening with Ron and Hermione, both needed an extra friend, and the two were a perfect match. Ginny couldn’t recall how many times they had spent just talking in the common room after everyone else was asleep, both of them grateful for the chance to escape the world for a while.
He had helped her so much during her O.W.L.S, even going so far as to begging Hermione to lend Ginny her notes so she could have an easier time. Ginny had never been more grateful, although half the time she couldn’t understand Hermione’s notes. But, she reminded herself as she finished the last of her soup, it was the thought that counted.
He was such a sweet boy, Ginny thought wistfully as she filled the sink up with soapy water to wash the lunch dishes. He always knew the right things to say when she was feeling lousy and down. She would talk and he would listen, and then he would talk and she would listen. They didn’t give advice unless it was asked for. Most of the time, they both just needed someone to listen to what was going on in their heads without having to worry about someone trying to analyze it, or trying to sort it out for them.
Besides, sometimes listening was even better than talking. Just to know what he was thinking was enough for Ginny. So he didn’t have to love her, or even like her that much, for that matter. The only thing that counted with Ginny was trust, and he trusted her with secrets that he hadn’t even told Ron and Hermione.
And that was even better than love.
--
While the rest of the Weasley’s went to Grimmauld Place the next day to help clean, Ginny opted to stay home and do the chores. She wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to spend the day alone.
She set her alarm for early so she could get a head start on things. She was finished with her chores around eleven o’clock, giving her plenty of time to waste her day.
But instead of wasting it, Ginny decided to bake. Baking always soothed her, and she soon got so concentrated on measuring flour and sugar for her cookies that she forgot everything, even the fact that it was still raining.
She dug out some old Witch Weekly magazines and turned on the Wireless, smiling when Days of Destiny came on. She settled back and began to read an article called “Getting the Perfect Skin”. Merlin knew she had enough freckles, and no tan could take them away.
As she was pulling her first batch of biscuits from the oven, there was a loud knock on the door. Ginny peered out the kitchen window, trying to see who was on the porch, but the only thing she saw was a cloaked figure, dripping with rain. Biting her lip with uncertainty, she opened the door slowly -
Only to find the uncertain face of Harry Potter looking back at her.
Her face immediately brightened. “Harry!” she cried, and threw the door open, pulling him into a tight hug. Harry laughed and hugged her back, while Ginny marveled at how warm he was even when he was soaked.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling away to smile at him.
He grinned sheepishly. “I suppose I should have owled first, but I couldn’t stand another day in that house. I got permission from Dumbledore to stay here… if that’s alright with your parents.”
Ginny swatted him on the arm. “Of course it’ll be alright. You know Mum loves you.” She tugged on his cloak. “Now come inside, before you catch cold. Give my your cloak, and you go change into something warm.” He tugged his trunk inside and hug his cloak on the hanger before disappearing up the stairs to Ron’s room, presumably to shower and change.
By the time Harry got back, Ginny had hot tea waiting and a plate of still warm biscuits for the two of them to share waiting in front of the fire. He grinned at her and pulled his emerald sweater over his gray t-shirt before plopping down on the couch next to her, snatching up a biscuit in the process.
“These are good,” he commented once he swallowed. “Did your mum make them?”
“No, I did.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.” He looked surprised.
She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah. I love to cook. Well, bake, mostly, sweet things, because people always gobble them up, and it makes me feel good. Mum taught me how to bake almost anything before I turned eleven.” He laughed and took another one.
“So, what happened that drove you away from your aunt and uncle?” Ginny asked, nibbling on a biscuit.
Harry shrugged, taking a long drink from his tea. “They were just… I don’t know, just being themselves, I guess. I couldn’t take it anymore.” He looked over at her with a small smile. “But now I won’t ever have to see them again.” Ginny laughed.
The timer went off in the kitchen, signaling another batch of biscuits done. Ginny excused herself to go get them, but Harry followed her into the kitchen.
He stole a piping hot one from the cooling rack as she placed it there, juggling it between his fingers. “I don’t know what you put in these, Ginny, but they’re really good. I can’t seem to stop eating them.”
“Maybe there’s some addictive ingredient I put in there, and you just don’t know about it,” Ginny said evasively, knowing exactly what was in those biscuits that made them different than the ones he probably had at the Dursley’s.
“What is it?” he asked, his mouth full.
She shrugged shyly. “Friendship and love,” she answered quickly, not turning from the cooling rack. “I don’t think you get much of that at the Dursley’s.”
She heard him sigh. “No, not really.” his voice was soft.
She turned and immediately felt guilty for putting such a lost expression on his face. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Ginny, it’s alright,” he said, effectively cutting her off. “You didn’t mean anything by it. I’m glad you made them with friendship and love.” He grinned at her and popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. She let a small smile slip onto her face as she finished the last batch of biscuits. The continued talking until they were done, and Harry looked at Ginny slyly.
“Ginny.”
She looked up at him. “Yes?”
“Teach me how to make biscuits,” he said, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “With friendship and love. Aunt Petunia never let me make sweet things, because she thought that I would eat them all.”
His eyes would have never let her say no. Her face fell into a grin as she nodded. What could the harm be, teaching him how to make biscuits full of friendship and love?
Chapter 3: Sunlit Days
Author's Notes: Lot's of drama and fluff in this chapter. I had fun writing it. Yes, I did use a quote from the sixth book. I love it too much to leave it out.
Ginny assembled her necessary baking ingredients as Harry watched her. She handed the pan to him so he could grease it, which he did carefully, trying not to get any uneven spaces.
He had grown up a lot over the past year. He now towered over Ginny, standing at 6’1”. His shoulders had broadened as he filled out, his torso and arms now full of muscle. His jaw was square, and his nose straight and strong. His hair was still ridiculously messy, but it was longer now, and curled innocently at the nape of his neck. Sometimes she just wanted to reach out and wrap her fingers around it. She smiled slightly at him.
After the pan was back, she went through the steps one at a time. He listened intently as she talked about breaking the eggs and pouring the salt, but was very confused when she didn’t measure the sugar and just started pouring.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and she stopped pouring.
“I’m measuring my sugar, Harry,” she said in a patient voice.
He frowned. “That’s not measuring. That just pouring in a senseless amount of sugar.”
“Why do you think they taste so good?” Ginny shot back, her eyes twinkling. “That’s the Weasley way to make everything. There are specific things that you measure, like salt and eggs, but otherwise it’s all up to you. You make them as sweet as you want, or as doughy as you want, or with as much chips as you want-” she poured in a liberal amount of chocolate chips “-because you’re making them the way you want them to be made.” She popped a chip into her mouth and grinned at him.
“So that’s the Weasley secret,” he mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. I’ll have to try it sometime.” Ginny laughed and continued to pour.
She finally handed the bowl to him and instructed him to mix it all together, very carefully, and not to spill any. She worked on cleaning up as he leaned against the counter, stirring slowly. Finally, he looked up at her thoughtfully.
“You know, I like this,” he said. “Cooking with you.” He gave her a bittersweet smile and continued stirring. “It helps me relax, I think. You help me relax - help me forget the world for awhile.”
Ginny smiled at him and absentmindedly toyed with the latch to the box of chocolate chips. “That’s why I love to bake when things are going wrong. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Mum after my first year. I think that’s what helped me get over a lot of what happened.” She looked faraway for a moment before looking back at him. “You get caught up in measuring and stirring that you forget what’s happening in the world around you, and by the time you’re done baking, you forget what you were worrying about earlier that day. It just makes you forget.”
The two shared a smile, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. After a moment, Harry gave a small laugh before returning to his mixing, while Ginny bit her lip and disappeared into the pantry to put the ingredients away.
She straightened up from where she was storing the flour on the lower shelf and turned, only to find Harry standing over her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing the strange look on his face.
He reached out and fingered a curl that had escaped from her braid. “Did you really give up on me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Are you really over me?”
She couldn’t move. Not with him looking at her that way. His eyes, had they not been hidden by his glasses, would have melted her in an instant. His breath was hot on her face as his other hand sought hers out, capturing it in his palm, rough from years of Quidditch. She couldn’t think when he was looking at her like that….
She nodded.
Immediately his face showed defeat. He opened his mouth.
The roar of the living room fireplace cut Harry off. He jerked his head up, startled.
“Ginny, we’re back! Mmmm, you baking biscuits? They sure smell good!” Ron’s voice drifted into the pantry, creating a rift between her and Harry. She looked up at him with sad eyes before brushing past him and entering the kitchen again, plastering a smile on her face.
“I’m in here, Ron, you don’t have to yell,” she said calmly, picking up the mixing where Harry had left off. She began to drop balls of dough onto the baking pan as Ron came in, shortly followed by Hermione.
Harry came out of the pantry, and Ginny immediately felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. What had possessed her to say yes? To say, Yes, Harry, I am over you. Why would she say that? His face was flushed, and his eyes downcast.
“Harry!” Hermione cried, and immediately rushed to throw her arms around his neck. Harry grinned and smothered her in a hug. As Ron greeted him, Hermione sidled up to Ginny, looking at her curiously.
“When did Harry get here?” she asked softly.
“About an hour ago,” Ginny answered, not taking her eyes from the bowl. “He said that he was sick of his aunt and uncle, and wondered if he could stay here. I told him he could, and we’ve just been talking for awhile. I’m teaching him how to make Weasley biscuits.”
“That’s not all, is it?”
Ginny sighed and turned to Hermione. “No, it’s not, but I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” She pulled on her oven mitts and picked up the pan, carefully sliding it into the hot oven. She set the timer and watched as Mrs. Weasley greeted Harry, claiming, “Oh, Harry, dear, you’re far too thin. We really must get some good food into you.” Harry had laughed at this.
Biscuits were soon baking, filling the room with the smell of cinnamon and chocolate. Mrs. Weasley gave Ginny a knowing smile before kissing her daughter’s temple and giving her a tight squeeze. Ginny felt herself getting teary eyed before excusing herself to the loo.
But she ran up to he room and flung herself onto her bed, instead. For a moment she only lay there, and then she was screaming into her pillow, pummeling her bed for all it was worth. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t - no, wouldn’t - cry over him again. Not after five years of him ignoring. She wasn’t going to waste her tears on him if he wasn’t going to love her.
But hadn’t he just asked, in that low, husky voice, if she was really over him? He had looked ready to convince her otherwise.
“Tell me what happened.” Hermione was suddenly sitting on her bed, looking sympathetic.
Ginny sighed and sat up, blowing the hair out of her face. “We were making biscuits earlier, and we were talking and having a good time, and I sent him to mix the ingredients. I went into the pantry to put things away, and I turned around and he was standing there. He started playing with my hair, and then he asked if I was really over him.” Ginny felt tears well in her eyes. “Oh, Hermione! I told him that I was! That I was over him!” She gave a pitiful moan and buried her head in her pillow again, squeezing her eyes shut tightly.
Hermione patted her back comfortingly. “What did he do?”
“Nothing,” came Ginny’s muffled, but obviously bitter, voice. “He just looked at me with a stupid expression on his face. And then I heard Ron, and so I left him in the pantry and started talking to Ron. He hasn’t looked at me since.”
Ginny finally flipped over and sighed, her eyes red and her cheeks still wet. “Oh, look at me, sobbing all over the place.” She sat up and hiccoughed , wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She gave Hermione a water smile. “You must think I’m so childish.”
Hermione pulled the younger girl into a hug. “You’re not childish. You have every right to cry.”
Ginny nodded and hiccoughed again, her face buried in Hermione’s shoulder. Closing her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of his breath on her face, the rough feel of his hands as he held hers… the fire that danced in his eyes as he looked at her.
“Alright, enough moping,” Hermione said suddenly, pulling away from her and standing up. “Let’s paint our nails, and then we’ll watch Ron pummel Harry at wizard’s chess.” Ginny laughed, feeling better already.
--
“Checkmate,” Ron announced, grinning cheekily at Harry. Harry sighed and shook his head ruefully at Ron.
“Someday, Ron, someone is going to beat you at chess, and you’ll get off your high horse,” Harry answered, throwing a protesting pawn at the redhead. Ron laughed and scooped up the pieces, storing them in their box.
Ginny smiled slightly at the pair and glanced out the window. To her surprise, she found feeble rays of afternoon sun peering through the clouds. She gave a cry of delight and jumped up, speeding though the kitchen and slipping out the back door.
The grass was wet and sticky, and clung to her bare feet and the bottoms of her jeans. She bent and rolled them up, smiling up at the sun.
“Finally. A break from all the dreary rain!” Hermione said, stepping out to join Ginny. She, at least, had the common sense to put shoes on before venturing out. Ron and Harry followed; Harry, however, lingered near the door, his face skyward.
Ginny waiting until Ron and Hermione began to walk off together towards the lake before she moved back towards Harry. She mimicked him, looking up. “Something wrong?” she asked casually, folding her arms over her chest. He shook his head and didn’t answer.
She couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you angry at me?” she blurted. He looked at her surprised. “Because it you are, I’d really like to know what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything, Ginny,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and causing it to stick up even more.
“Then why are you-”
“You didn’t do anything!” he shouted, finally looking at her with a fire in his eyes again. “Nothing,” he said bitterly.
She fell silent, her eyes displaying the hurt that she felt. He sighed and shook his head before turning on his heel.
But then, he stopped. Ginny could only stare as he turned, a funny expression on his face. His eyes bright and his jaw set, he moved back towards her again. He placed his hands on the sides of her face and brought his mouth crashing down onto hers.
His lips were soft and warm against hers. As he moved his hand, she reached up and caught it in her own, marveling at how smooth they could feel when he was holding her hand. She felt him smile against her mouth as he kissed her.
After several long moments - or it might have been half an hour - or possibly several sunlit days - they broke apart. He rested his forehead against hers, sighing. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling.
“How long?” she whispered, searching his face for answers. “How long have you been feeling this way?”
He opened his eyes and straightened, smoothing her hair away from her face. “Since Christmas,” he answered. He grinned faintly. “I remember seeing you on Christmas Eve with mistletoe in your hear when you came down the stairs, but then Ron took it out… he took away my chance to kiss you. I wanted to, you have to know how much I wanted to, but I thought that Ron would overreact, or you would.”
She looked at him, unbelieving. “Seven months? You’ve fancied me for seven months and didn’t tell me?” He looked embarrassed, but quickly frowned at her.
“What about you? You said you were over me,” he reminded her, confusion taking over his eyes.
She groaned and let her head drop to her chest. “The entire schools knew that I had an enormous crush on you in my first, second, and third year. When people saw that I went to the Yule Ball with Neville, they wondered if I still liked you. I told them I was over you, and now it’s just been a natural response. I didn’t want word getting back to you that I still liked you.” She looked up, her eyes bright and her mouth set in a shy smile. “I’m not over you, though. I think my brain just shut off and went on autopilot.”
He laughed at her. “You’re forgiven, then.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a searing kiss, one that gave him a silly grin.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she whispered, grabbing his hand again. Harry followed, and together, they walked away, towards destiny.