So put your sun in my silver sky,
Put your rain in my river dry,
Put your words to my lullaby,
And I’ll dream

"Now, I know Carl is going to ask you what he should get me for Christmas — he better, if he knows what's good for him, considering the fact that he's absolutely dreadful at picking out presents — and tell him to come here, okay?" Annie said.

I nodded, giving her a smile. "What are you hoping he'll get you?"

"Anything in this place looks good to me," said Melody. I had to admit she had a point: Hewitt and Hornby Jewellers was one of the fanciest jewellery stores I had ever been in. These sorts of stores were never my cup of tea, though; they were too expensive and made me too wistful.

Annie had insisted we stop in, however, and as Melody and I had forced Annie to wait while we tried on clothing for nearly two hours at a store she detested, we couldn't really deny our friend.

"How much do you think Carl is willing to spend?" Melody asked. "This place is rather pricey." She was eyeing a diamond necklace.

"He better be willing to spend a lot if he expects to keep me!" Annie declared. Melody caught my eye and we exchanged a grin. Despite her talk, Annie would still be with Carl is he were dirt poor, but her antics never changed.

Five minutes later, I was bored out of my mind. I could only look at gorgeous jewellery I could never afford locked behind glass display cases for so long. "No, no, that's not right," said someone on the other side of the store. My gaze was drawn at the sound of frustration in the man's voice.

He was facing the opposite direction, bending over a display and talking with a store employee. He had been there when we'd entered the store, and if I had to guess I'd say he'd been there for a while. "She's . . . she's very picky," the man told the employee. "Could I see that one?" He pointed at the glass.

The employee, a tall, balding man who seemed to have patience only because he was hoping to make a large sale, took out something from the case and handed it to the frustrated customer, who ran a hand through his messy hair. "No, that's not right, either. . . ." The employee took the ring back.

The man turned away from that display case to look at another and I caught a glimpse of his face, of his eyes and round spectacles, and I knew it was him — "Harry?" I exclaimed, surprised beyond belief. The man turned to me, his green eyes going wide with shock similar to my own.

It was definitely him. I hadn't seen him since I was eleven, but he had a rather distinct look about him. It was hard, after all, to forgot that black hair that stuck up in the back and the bright green eyes behind those glasses. And the scar — I had always thought it neat to have a scar shaped like a lightening bolt. At the same time, however, he looked so different.

He had grown up . . . but there was more to it than that, more to it than a growth in height and a broadening of shoulders. He was still thin and had a long face, but he looked less . . . gaunt, less sad and less lonely. He wasn't attractive by any regular standards, but there was something friendly about him, and he was cute in a dorky way.

"Do you remember me?" I asked, feeling as if he knew he remembered me but couldn't exactly pinpoint who I was.

"Er . . . I think — Janie, right?" he guessed hesitantly. No one had called me Janie in ages.

"That's right!" I smiled. "Jane Martin. I haven't seen you since primary school ended. You look good!"

"You, too," he said, giving a small smile. I stared at him, still trying to process that he was here and I was talking to him. I'd gone off to boarding school in Ireland and somehow I'd never run into him on breaks. I knew that he'd gone to that school for difficult boys, but I had no idea what happened after that — no one did. He left when he was seventeen and never looked back, as far as Little Whinging was concerned, at least. I had no idea if he stayed in contact with his family.

He looked as if his life was rather normal: he wore khaki slacks and a blue button up shirt, one which was rolled up to his elbows. He had no piercings or tattoos or spiky jewellery or any of the things my mother would say pointed to a delinquent teen. I supposed his hadn't been a teen for a few years now.

"How — erm, how have you been?" he asked awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. I must have been making him uncomfortable by staring — Dad always said I needed to work on that.

"Oh! I've been fine. Finished college last month and got a job at my uncle's firm. Boring stuff, but good for my resume. I'm thinking about going to some sort of graduate school."

"That's great," he assured, smiling again.

"What about you?"

"Oh . . . I've been — I — the police. I work for the police. I finished the academy last year," he said. I was impressed. Perhaps he had really managed to turn things around. Good for him. I had never thought he was all that much of a delinquent when were little, just shy and a little abnormal. I'd never known him as a teenager, though.

"Jane, you must come look at this. It's gorgeous," Annie crooned. "If Carl really loves me, he'll get me this!" I glanced at her and then back at Harry.

"It was good to see you," he told me.

I nodded. "Yeah." He turned away; his attention already back on the jewellery. He was looking at rings; that was obvious now. That meant there must be a girl. . . .

"Jane!" Annie exclaimed impatiently. It was an anklet she wanted to show me, one made of diamonds intertwined within white gold vines. It was pretty, of course, but probably cost as much as my car. Fat chance Carl Brown, much as he adored Annie, would be getting her that.

I glanced back at Harry, who was observing another ring with the employee hovering around him. How much money did Harry have? I couldn't imagine the pay was great right out of the academy, and it wasn't as if he'd received money from his aunt and uncle. I had never really know the Dursleys, but everybody knew they didn't like their nephew; it had been common gossip among the ladies in my mother's knitting group, although I'm sure if what I heard about Petunia Dursley was true, she would have died at that knowledge.

It didn't really matter. Annie wanted to try on the anklet and I focused my attention on that.

An hour later and we were still in that store. Annie had found the earring stands, and she refused to leave them. Melody was chatting with an older woman there about the proper way to clean opals, and I was watching Harry Potter again. He seemed to have narrowed his search to three rings, and he was staring at all of them with a great deal of concentration, as if at any moment one would speak to him.

It was then that I noticed he wore black converses. For some reason, I thought that was cute. I remembered suddenly that he had never tied his shoes when we were younger. Our teachers used to yell at him about how his laces were always dragging or knotted terribly. He would shrug and say nothing under the disapproving glares, and he never did tie his shoes until we were nearly ten.

It occurred to me now that perhaps he had never actually learned how to tie his shoes until he was nearly ten, and he had always been too shy to say anything about it.

Glancing at Annie and the earrings, I judged she could spare me for a few minutes. "This must be a pretty important decision," I said as I came to stand beside Harry. The three rings sitting on top of the glass in front of him were most certainly engagement rings.

He looked at me sheepishly. "I really want to pick the prefect one," he admitted.

"How long have you been with the girl?" I asked.

"Since school," he answered. "I've wanted to marry her since I was sixteen."

I frowned. "You went to school with her?" He nodded. I had thought he went to a school for all boys. . . .

"She was a year younger than me, but I still saw a lot of her because she was my mate's little sister," he explained. His eyes were back on the rings.

They were all white gold with silver diamonds and they all looked wonderful to me. I'd be happy to have any one of them. I told him as much, and he only gave a small, crooked grin. "You could try a solitaire," I said, noticing that all of them had multiple diamonds.

"She doesn't like that," he said, not hesitating.

"What about one with a little colour? Maybe one with an emerald or ruby?"

"She thinks engagement rings should be simpler. All diamond," he replied.

"And I'm guessing she only likes white gold?" I asked wryly.

"For engagement rings." Noticing the look on my face, he added, "She's kind of opinionated."

"I gathered as much," I replied. He had this look on his face when he spoke, one which made me suddenly wish I hadn't been so focused on school the past few years and had instead spent my time trying to find someone who would have a look on his face like that when he thought of me. "Well," I finally broke the silence, "why don't you ask her which one she'd like? Girls like to pick."

He shook his head. "I want it to be a surprise. Besides, she says that a man should be able to pick out a woman's jewellery himself if he wants to spend the rest of his life with her."

"That's a good point," I said. I glanced at the rings, then looked down my hand, at my empty left finger. Harry was back to gazing intently at the rings, and very hesitantly, he reached forward and removed one from the running.

"Maybe I should ask Hermione . . .," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. What do you think?" he asked, nodding at the two rings. They looked nearly identical to me, but I gave them my best evaluation. I really couldn't choose.

"Picture her wearing each one," I said. "Which one looks right?"

He nodded in understanding, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, trying to do as I'd instructed. It was a bit adorable. It was then that I noticed the scar on his hand: I must not tell lies. Where on Earth had he gotten a scar like that? My mind flashed to the Dursleys, but I dismissed the thought. If they had done something like that to him, there would have been a lot more gossip concerning the small family than the little attention they received for not liking their nephew.

Harry opened his eyes and picked the ring on the left. "It's this one," he declared. "I know it." There was a glimmer of triumph — and clear relief — in his eyes. The employee who had been assisting him earlier had left him to help someone else, but the bald man quickly returned at the sight of Harry clutching one ring.

"Have you made a decision, sir?"

"This one," said Harry, holding out the ring. "Very good! — I'll wrap it up for you." The employee looked positively thrilled, which meant that ring had to cost a fine sum. When the man — who's name tag I now saw read "William Wright" — returned with the ring in a small black box, he gave the price.

My eyes bulged out of my head. Harry, however, merely produced a debit card proudly. "Hermione set it up for me last week," he told me, as if I had asked. He started to hand the card over only to hesitate. "Can you . . . can you get the ring engraved?" he asked.

William Wright nodded eagerly. "What would you like it to say?" he questioned.

"Silver lining," Harry replied. I didn't understand how that could possibly be of significance, but I said nothing. The employee disappeared into the back with the ring and Harry turned to me. "Thanks for your help," he said, giving another small, lop-sided smile.

"Sure," I replied.

"So . . . what are you thinking of — er — studying?" he asked kindly. "I mean, in graduate school."

"Literature," I told him, gushing a little as I went on, "the great works. Russian literature, in particular, is my favourite, and —"

"Harry!"

We both looked over to see the woman that had just entered the store and shouted his name, and Harry's eyes went wide. "Ginny!" he squeaked. The woman was coming towards us now, her bright red hair in a pony tail and her face rather exasperated.

"Have you been here the entire time?" the woman named Ginny asked. "You leave me in that book store with Hermione after some vague excuse about having something to do and then I'm stuck there while Hermione sniffs books trying to find the perfect one and, Merlin, it was boring," she ranted, leaning up on her tip-toes to give Harry a quick kiss.

I guessed that this was his girlfriend, the one to whom he planned on proposing.

She was definitely pretty, a small, quick girl with bright brown eyes and freckles all over her face; the very way she carried herself exuded confidence, and I could see how the shy Harry I knew as a child could grow up and fall in love with someone like that.

"I was just — I — " Harry seemed unable to come up with a proper response.

"Three hours, Harry," said Ginny, "three hours. I finally went looking for you and its a good thing I noticed you through the window of this place; finally that hair of yours comes in handy." She smiled brightly before glancing around and furrowing her brow a little. "Um, Harry, what are you doing in here?"

"Just . . . browsing," Harry replied, swallowing thickly. He was a bad liar.

"For what?" asked Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

"I, ah — this is Janie!" He pointed to me at his abrupt introduction. "Janie Martin. We went to primary school together."

"Hi," I greeted, holding out my hand.

"Ginny Weasley," she replied, shaking my hand and smiling. "I've never meet anybody who went to primary school with Harry." Before I could say anything in response, she was facing Harry again.

"Are you here for anything in particular?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "No!"

"So you've spent the last three hours browsing a jewellery store for fun?"

"No, no, I was — I only came in here a few minutes ago," Harry lied, running a hand through his hair. "You just happened to see me here." He gave a nervous smile, but it was a rather poor attempt; he was too nervous to make it much more than a grimace.

"Well, why did you come in here in the the first place?" Ginny asked. She looked suspicious, and I had to admit that there was reason to be; Harry wasn't the most suave of people. I smiled a little at the interaction, despite Harry's obvious discomfort.

"I was — there was this — I saw a sign and I — wanted to . . . er, you know get a — a present!" Harry finally declared. "For Neville. Because its his birthday next week."

Ginny stared for a moment. "You came into an expensive jewellery store to get a present for Neville? What, exactly, were you planning on getting him?" There was a bit of amusement playing on her lips now, but with her hand on her hip and her eyes wide awaiting an explanation, I had to admit she looked a little intimidating.

"A p-pocket watch," Harry answered, swallowing thickly.

"Neville already owns two pocket watches," Ginny replied matter-of-factly.

"Right. So I thought that he must collect them," Harry said. "So I thought he'd like a third one."

"Hmm, very logical," Ginny replied. There was a brief silence before she asked, her eyes twinkling, "you're buying something for me, aren't you?"

"No!" Harry protested. "I told you: I'm getting a present for Neville."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry," she dismissed. "Were you really trying to pick something out for me all by yourself? Don't you usually try and get Hermione to help you?"

"I — "

"And you know that I don't like it when you get me excessive gifts. Or are you already shopping for my birthday? Because that's okay. For the record, I'd like some earrings." She smiled sweetly up at him and he only gaped a little, as if there were no words. Seeming to take pity on him, Ginny chuckled softly and grabbed his hand. "Let's go. I'm hungry."

Harry nodded. "Sure. Ah, bye, Janie. It was good to see you." He looked at me with wide, bulging eyes, as if I should help him. I only smiled in reply.

"Bye, Harry. It was nice to see you, too."

"You know what?" Harry asked Ginny a moment later. "Why don't you go on ahead and — ?"

"What?" asked Ginny, frowning a little. "Why?"

"Well, so I can — I can — catch up with Janie!" Harry answered, ruffling his hair a little in what I was beginning to suspect was a nervous habit.

"Oh," Ginny glanced at me, "right." She smiled. "Why don't you come to lunch with us? You can tell me embarrassing stories about Harry when he was little." Harry looked pained at this statement. For a fraction of a moment I considered accepting the invitation and going to lunch with Harry and Ginny. She seemed like such a fun person and I suddenly had a thousand questions for Harry about his life and what had really happened after primary school.

Then again, what was I supposed to tell Ginny about Harry's childhood? That he always played by himself because everyone thought him too odd and too quiet, not to mention the fact that Dudley Dursley was always tripping him and breaking his glasses and no one was courageous enough to risk receiving the same treatment? I couldn't very well imagine the redhead taking that very well. And I couldn't exactly abandon Annie and Melody, both of whom were standing on the far side of the store and I now saw were watching us.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry, Ginny, and I all turned at the sound of his name to see William Wright standing behind the counter once more, the small black box with a blue ribbon and bow in his hand. "Are you ready?"

"Harry . . .," Ginny said softly, her eyes narrowing in on the box. "Did you buy me a pair of earrings?" There was something in her voice, a kind of catch, that made me think she had a very good idea that what was inside the box was not a pair of earrings.

Harry took a few hurried strides to the counter and handed the man his debit card, taking the box. The employee looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny but he didn't hesitate in using the card and charging the large sum of money. "Can we maybe go outside?" Harry asked Ginny.

"No. What's in that box?" Ginny's voice was soft.

"I — I had wanted to do this somewhere better and I — I actually talked to McGonagall about stopping by and doing it under our tree but — I guess, er, here's good, too." He glanced around the shop, his eyes landing on an older man a little ways away, a gaggle of thirty-something women, and Annie and Melody. He pulled at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably.

"Harry —?"

"I love you. And I'm not really good at making speeches or at talking at all, really, and I was planning to say all this stuff about how you're the best thing in my life and you are — the best thing in my life, I mean — but I . . ." He paused, letting out a deep breath. "Ron and Hermione are a brother and sister to me, but you're my family, Ginny. You're everything I dreamed of when I was little and you're . . . I don't know what's gonna happen in the future, but I know that I need you to be there. I want you to be there."

And with that, Harry got down on one knee. For the first time since he'd begun I looked away from Harry's face and saw that Ginny was staring at him with wide eyes and a white face, as if she couldn't believe what was happening.

There was an awkward moment as Harry tore the ribbon off the box, but soon he had it open and the ring twinkled up at Ginny. "Will you marry me?" he asked, and he looked so insanely nervous that I was glad boys were traditionally the ones to propose — I could never see myself having the guts to do it.

Slowly, Ginny lowered herself to her knees. She reached out and took Harry's face in her own and before he could say a word, she kissed him. Her fingers curled into his hair and he, after his shock wore off, pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her. His right hand clutched the box and the ring, which was now pressed against the small of her back.

When they broke apart, Ginny pressed a few more soft kisses to his mouth. "Yes, Harry," she breathed. "Yes, yes, yes. It's always been yes. It's been yes since I was fifteen years old. Yes."

People in the store began to clap, and I looked over at Annie and Melody to see that Annie was actually wiping tears from her eyes even as she tried to clap, and I shook my head at her, grinning. She was ever the sappy romantic. I looked back at Harry and Ginny to see that he was slipping the ring on her finger. "I hope you like it," he said. "I kind of spent a while picking it out."

She only kissed him again.

I knew that right at that moment Annie was imagining how Carl would propose to her. I knew that Melody was probably thinking about her own boyfriend, Sam. I knew that the old man might be remembering when he proposed to his wife and the older woman were probably fondly recalling when their husbands got down on one knee.

All I could think of right then, however, was ten-year-old Harry with overgrown hair, taped glasses, baggy jeans and a t-shirt that seemed to swallow him up. I wished suddenly I could go back in time and assure that timid, friendless little boy that everything would work out for him, that it would all be okay and he would get a family and he would get the girl.

And I thought of a class assignment when we were eight, an assignment which required us to draw pictures of our family. Harry had gotten in trouble, because he'd drawn a picture of himself and only himself.

It wasn't that way any more.

‘Cause to know you is to know love,
And to know love is to know enough,
To walk with you, through this life,
From now until the day I die,
‘Cause what better way is there to live than to live with you?

Fin.