DISCLAIMER: All the good stuff belongs to JKR, not me.


Ron stared at the leather-bound book. Ginny's diary was in the box of things she'd left him after leaving the country. It was from a Muggle shop--probably, she wasn't going to risk anything wizard-made after that horrible affair with Riddle's diary, so long ago. He hadn't even known she'd started keeping a diary again.

He pulled his chair closer to the window, running a finger through the dust on the cover of the book. It looked like a relic from a distant past, even though it had only been in the box for four years.

Four years. It was so strange, when he thought of it. Four years since he'd seen his baby sister. Four years since she'd given him this box. He hadn't even asked what was in it, just set it up in the attic, swearing to give it back when she returned. Even then, he'd suspected that she never would. Oh, she was still alive, and the letters she wrote seemed happy enough. He'd stopped asking when she was coming back, though. It was one question she would never answer.

Not that he could blame her. He didn't even know why he had hauled the box down this afternoon, while Hermione and the children were visiting his parents. He was supposed to be at work today, and Hermione was going to kill him when she found out he hadn't gone.

He supposed he was just in a strange mood. He should have just stayed at the office, tried to distract himself. Even though it wouldn't have done him much good. He flipped through the pages idly, not really intending to read them, when the date on the last entry caught his eye. The twenty-fifth of July, nineteen ninety-eight. Two days before Ginny left the country. A week after his best friend had died.

Before he knew what he was doing, Ron bent over the page and began to read.

25 July 1998.

They had the funeral yesterday. I didn't go.

Nobody really expected me to, so it doesn't much matter. We'll be having our own private memorial some other time--later, when the pain has faded, when the hurt of losing him has become a little less real. Like that'll ever happen.

Ron and Hermione didn't go either. Dumbledore did, of course, because that's what internationally famous wizards do: go and give heart wrenching speeches when other internationally famous wizards die. It was a good speech, I guess. The Daily Prophet printed it.

The Daily Prophet. Kind of makes you want to laugh, really, when you remember all the nasty things they've said about him. I guess I'll get over it, though. He did, eventually. He forgave them in the end--said they were just scared. Them and everyone else.

They don't deserve what he did for them.

I'm glad he's not around to hear me say that. He'd give me that reproachful look, solemn-faced, but with a hint of humor in his big green eyes, to let me know he wasn't really mad. I can even hear him. "Don't be like that, Ginny. Besides, I'm not just doing it for them. It's for everyone--your family, Hermione's, all those Muggles who've never heard of Voldemort, or Harry Potter, or wizards in general. I mean, they don't deserve to die just because some prats printed rude things about me, do they?"

Only I can't really hear him say that. I'll never hear him say anything, ever again. He did have a "saving-people-thing," much as he tried to deny it. It wasn't heroism, really. He never thought about how he looked to anyone else. It's just that he could never see someone in pain without needing to do something, could never hear of a wrong without trying to set it right.

None of us deserved him.

He was too good for this world. I suppose everyone who loses someone says that, if only to make the loss hurt a little less. I really think he was, though. There was something inside him that none of us could ever understand, a strength, an ability to see what needed doing and then do it. How else did he survive his aunt and uncle, the rumors, the deaths, the blame...who else could have known for a fact that he was the last real hope we had, and still managed to live a normal life?

No one, that's who.

It makes me so angry sometimes, the things they write about him now. I guess I should have seen it coming. I mean, of course there were going to be books about him. There were already books about him. Somehow, it's worse now. Because he's not here to laugh about them.

I guess they see this as their way of making it up to him, as if they ever could. Write a tribute to the Boy Who Lived, the hero who saved us all, and maybe you'll feel a little less guilty. I think they should feel guilty. We all should. Why is it that we murder our heroes?

They have no right to write about him. They didn't know him--most of them don't even know what he looked like, owing to a tendency his photographs have to hide behind the borders of the picture. That used to make us laugh. It was so like the real Harry.

That's why I'm writing this, I guess. I don't think it'll ever be published, but someone needs to write it. Someone who actually knew him. Hermione would, of course, but she's still in St. Mungo's with bandages all over her face. Ron's with her right now, probably feeding her Chocolate Frogs when the Healers aren't looking. They're so sweet together it's almost sickening. They haven't had an argument in days.

Dumbledore could write something, and would probably do a better job of it, but he's busy. He's coordinating the Order to hunt down the rest of the Death Eaters, and of course going around making inspirational speeches about Harry.

Inspirational. What a strange word. Who is he trying to inspire?

There's no one else who knew Harry well enough to write about him. I mean, they could spout off a list of facts--black hair, green eyes, glasses--don't forget the scar!--orphaned and raised by Muggles, good at Quidditch. He was a nice bloke, they'd say. Good Seeker.

What they don't know is how he was when no one was watching. He hated broccoli, did you know that? He was awkward, and bad with words, and girl-shy. Hermione told me once that he had a crush on me for a year before he asked me out. I wish I'd known. Anything that could have given us more time together...but it's too late to think about that now.

He hated his hair, and he was growing it out long so that it would stop sticking up. His glasses were always crooked. He was so skinny that you could count his ribs when he had his shirt off, and his nose had a bump on it where his cousin broke it when they were little and it never got set properly. Yeah, someone actually dared to break the Famous Harry Potter's nose.

He got his first real kiss when he was fifteen, from Cho Chang. I don't think even Cho knows about that. I mean, she knows she kissed him, obviously. But I don't think she knows it was his first. He was blushing when he told me that. We were playing Truth or Dare--a Muggle game Hermione taught us. God, was he red. You could practically feel the heat coming off of him. He kissed me for the first time in that game, too. Ron dared him. He probably wouldn't have done it if he thought Harry would actually kiss me, but he did. You should have seen Ron's face.

That was the best kiss of my life, and not just because I'd been hoping for it since I was eleven. He wasn't blushing when he did it, either. He had this very serious look on his face, like it was the most important thing he'd ever done. That was at the end of my fifth year--his sixth. We weren't even dating then.

I honestly thought Ron was going to hex him right then and there.

Harry used to have nightmares. The last time he was over at the Burrow, he woke me up with his yelling. We went down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to make hot chocolate, and ended up sitting on the couch, talking, for hours. Neither of us wanted to go back to bed after that, so we fell asleep there, curled up under one of Mum's crocheted throws. It was wonderful to wake up next to him, even if the twins did tease us for weeks. At least Mum never found out.

That was last summer, just after he turned seventeen. Two days before his last year at Hogwarts. Less than a year ago.

It seems like forever.

He asked me out that morning. I guess that was what it took for him to figure out that I was still interested in him. Even so, he was so shy.
***

"Ginny, can I...can I talk to you for a second?"

She glanced up from her breakfast. Harry was standing next to her, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Across from her, Ron snorted loudly and opened his mouth, then winced. Hermione must have kicked him under the table. Ginny smiled at Harry, trying not to let on that her heart was pounding frantically against her ribcage.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Are you done eating? I kind of wanted to ask you something. In private," he added, glancing at Ron, who was looking on avidly.

"Sure," she repeated, getting to her feet and following him outside, into the garden. He didn't say anything until they were well away from the house. By then, Ginny was beginning to worry--when Harry was in a mood like this, it generally didn't bode well for anyone. They stopped under one of the lilac bushes, surrounded by its intoxicating fragrance. Harry still wouldn't look at her, so she touched his shoulder.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm just...nervous, I guess."

"Nervous about what?"

He took a deep breath and met her eyes. "Ginny, I was wondering if you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me in September."

She almost laughed with relief and delight, but restrained herself. "I would love to," she replied, just as solemnly. His thin face broke into a wide grin, and before she knew what he was doing, he had grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up, spinning her around and around. By the time he put her down, they were both breathless with laughter.

"Thank you," he said seriously, but there was a twinkle in his emerald eyes that he couldn't quite hide.

"No, thank you," she said, just as seriously. On an impulse she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, right on the mouth.
***

No one even knew about it until we came back late from that Hogsmeade visit. McGonagall wanted to kill both of us, I think, but she settled for giving us both detention. It was worth it. Ron kept threatening to turn Harry into a giant slug, but I think he was pleased. He'd never admit it, though. I think Harry was the only one my overprotective big brother would ever trust with me.

Stupid of him really, since Harry was the one who was in the most danger. I guess we never really stopped fooling ourselves. Ron wouldn't let himself think that his best friend, his almost-brother, could die in this war, and I wouldn't let myself think that I could lose the one person I ever fell in love with. It's easier to say we were being stupid from the outside, because when you were with Harry, he wasn't the Hero Who Will Die To Save Us All. He was just Harry.

Just Harry.

He defeated Voldemort, of course. People still call him "You-Know-Who" even though he's gone for real this time, as though the name is going to bring him back. It makes me want to scream.

Of course, just about everything makes me want to scream now.

I wasn't there. Hermione was, and Ron, and Neville, and Luna, and everyone else. I would have been there, too, but I was out cold in the hospital wing. It wasn't even from some kind of attack. It was a stupid Quidditch accident. I got hit in the head with a Bludger, so I was unconscious in the hospital wing while Harry was dying. I didn't even get to say goodbye.

They keep trying to talk to me about it, but I don't want to hear. I don't want to picture his death. I want to remember him as I last saw him, diving toward the Snitch on his broomstick, cheeks flushed, hair flying everywhere, with that maniacal grin he always wore playing Quidditch. He was so happy then.

He came to see me in the hospital wing before they left for the Riddle Mansion. Hermione says that he held my hand and told me he loved me. That was the last thing he said to me, that he loved me.

The last thing he said to me that I could actually hear was that I was the most brilliant Chaser in the world and that he knew I could win the game all by myself.

Not the most romantic memory, I guess, but I'll treasure it for the rest of my life anyway. He'd called an emergency time out because Ron's finger had been broken by the same Bludger that knocked me out. Ron insisted on playing anyway, and Harry yelled at him. Then he turned to me and told me that even though I had an idiot for a brother, I was still the best Chaser he knew. He kissed me on the nose and told me to get back up in the air and win the game for him.

We won the game; Harry caught the Snitch, right after I was hit. Ron was crying when he told me. It was so strange. Ron never cries.

This Christmas, Harry asked me to marry him. We were going to announce it after I finished school. No hurry, he said. I don't have a ring, or anything. I don't know if you could even call it a formal engagement, but it was real. I haven't told Mum, or anyone else. I can't stand to see the looks on their faces. Maybe I will eventually.

It's funny about wars. They drive people to do things we never would ordinarily--good and bad. Harry and I had only been dating for four months. He loved me--I know that and I knew it then--but if there hadn't been a war, he would have waited. I think he just wanted something to hold onto...for when it was all over.

God.

It was still the best Christmas present I've ever had.

Harry left all his money to my family. We didn't even know that he wrote a will, but he did. The summer after his fifth year. I guess he knew how it had to end, even then. Dad was the executer.

I haven't told the rest, but I'm not going back to Hogwarts for my last year. I just can't, not now. I'm going to travel for a while, I think. Maybe I'll go to Egypt with Bill, the way me and Harry were going to this summer. I just need to get out of England for a while. Clear my head.

After that, who knows? Maybe I'll come back.

Maybe.

Love,

Ginny.

Ron shut the book, realizing with distant surprise that there were tears running down his face. Ron never cries... A weak laugh escaped him. How little you knew, sister mine.

He wiped the dust off of the cover and put it back into the box, among what he realized now were Harry's things. He'd always wondered what had happened to them. He should have known Harry would leave them to Ginny.

They were going to get married. Why didn't he ever tell me? That was just Harry's way, he realized. He hadn't wanted to say anything until the war was over.

Any other thoughts were put off by a noise in the living room. Ron got to his feet, wiping his face on his sleeve, and peeked inside just in time to see his wife step out of the fireplace, holding a squirming toddler on each hip, with a sleepy baby strapped to her back and a shopping bag dangling from each hand.

Ron ducked back out of sight, but it was too late. He'd been spotted. Two identical carrot-topped balls of chaos flung themselves across the room at him, yelling. He caught his twin daughters up, one under each arm, and spun around and around.

"Daaaaddeeeeeee!" squealed Helen, from under his right arm, "Put me dooooooown!"

Grinning, Ron set Helen and Janine down--on their heads. They both rolled onto their backs, giggling maniacally, and attached themselves to his legs.

"Well, look who's home from work already." Ron looked up and grinned, a little guiltily, as Hermione stepped into the room. "Since you got them all riled up, sweetheart," she said, dropping a kiss on his cheek, "you can feed them while I put Harry to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly. She gave him a proper kiss then, while their daughters made disgusted noises.

"I'll be back soon," she said, and left. Six-month-old Harry blinked at him sleepily over her shoulder.

Ron had just managed to get the girls settled down at the table when Hermione returned and gestured him into the living room.

"So, what were you up to all day?" she asked, dropping onto the couch with an air of exhaustion. Ron sat down next to her, and she snuggled into his shoulder. He dropped a kiss on top of her head, smoothing down the frizzy curls that had escaped from her French braid. Hermione smiled into his shoulder. "And don't even bother telling me that you went to work. Neville dropped by looking for you."

"Was it anything important?"

She yawned. "No. But I am curious."

Ron was silent for a long moment. "I don't know," he said finally. Something about his voice must have sounded odd, because Hermione pulled away and frowned up at him.

"Are you all right?"

He sighed. "Yeah. It's just...I don't know. I was feeling jumpy. Figured I'd probably hex the first person who looked at me funny, so I'd best stay home." He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "It's been four years today, you know."

"I know," she said quietly. "Was that why?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," he groaned, leaning his head back against the cushions and closing his eyes. "I brought that box of Ginny's things down from the attic."

He opened his eyes and looked at Hermione to see what effect this pronouncement had on her. She simply looked back at him, brown eyes soft and solemn.

"What was in it?"

"Harry's old things, mostly," Ron said, looking down at his hands, which were clenched in his lap. "His Invisibility Cloak, that knife Sirius got him, the Sneakoscope..." he laughed without humor. "I didn't even know he kept that thing. There were a bunch of photos of his parents, books, things like that."

"I'd wondered what she did with them when she left," said Hermione. "She never said anything."

"Her diary was in there, too. I--I read it," he admitted. "Just the last page. The date caught my eye. July twenty-fifth."

"The day after the funeral," Hermione said, with perfect understanding. "No wonder you looked upset."

"She--" Ron realized that there was a lump in his throat again. "So many things, she never told us. They were going to get married, did you know that? Her and Harry. He asked her at Christmas, and neither of them ever said a thing." The words tumbled out, and he wasn't even aware of what he was saying anymore. "And she said that the last time she ever saw him was at that stupid Quidditch game, and about how he asked her out at the Burrow, and...and..."

He was crying again, he realized. Hermione drew his head down onto her shoulder, making soothing noises. He buried his face in her thick hair, breaking down entirely.

It seemed like hours later when he finally managed to pull away, but it was probably only a few minutes. He could still hear the girls jabbering at each other out in the kitchen. Hermione produced a handkerchief out of thin air and wiped his cheeks with it, exactly as if he was a toddler himself. The gesture made him laugh, weakly.

"I love you," he said. She smiled, and he realized that she had been crying as well.

"I love you, too." She settled her head against his shoulder again. "I heard from Ginny today," she said after a while. "She sent an owl to your mother."

"Oh? What did she say?"

Hermione smiled up at him. "She wanted to know if I could put in a good word for her with Professor Dumbledore. She wants to make up her last year at Hogwarts."

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again as the implications of this occurred to him. "Then..."

"Yes," Hermione said softly. "She's coming home."