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Remembering Love | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts, Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General, Humor, Romance Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 14 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. Hitcount: Story Total: 16223; Chapter Total: 4867 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. |
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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. |
| Reviews 14 |
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