---

He stood in the kitchen, staring listlessly out of the window.

She heard Ron and Hermione in the sitting room, sitting closely together on the battered, worn sofa, their hands entwined and their heads close together.

She envied them. Once, she and he had been like that.

Now he didn't even look at her.

It was New Years Eve, the first after the war. The house was quiet, all celebrations muffled and subdued. The gaping hole that was Fred's death still had a hold on their lives.

But this was the dawn of a new beginning. It was a time for them to celebrate, finally, a New Year free of evil and the ever imposing danger.

She scoffed at herself. Since when was she good with words?

The past few months had been hectic, a whirlwind. She had had barely a moment to stop and think-- but she was grateful too. At least she didn't have the time to be swallowed up with grief about Fred’s death.

Once the general delirium and joy had faded to a content peace, the day on which Voldemort had finally been defeated was forever marked in Wizarding history. Harry was a hero.

It had been hardest on Harry then.

After electing Kingsley as Minister for Magic, the Wizarding world began to put itself back together again and Harry was there every second to find the pieces. He worked tirelessly to round up the last, remaining Death Eaters, helped the Ministry to regain its hold on the Wizarding world, and he worked the hardest to finally restore Hogwarts to its original state.

She knew why he threw himself so eagerly into everything. It was a distraction, a way of not letting the guilt seep through the walls he'd built. Harry was like that. He blamed himself for the loss of so many lives. It was so very Harry.

Even she couldn't get to him. No matter how hard she tried, he seemed distant, and wary.

She had thought-- well, what had she thought? That she could just run into Harry's arms, right there, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts and expect things to be how they were before? Even she didn't believe that. She hated being so unsure of things, and worst of all, so unsure of herself. Some tiny part of her still hadn't forgiven him for leaving her and to go off to save the word. To go back to the dark times when she would scream and sob into her pillow each night at the loss of him and the fact she had missed him so terribly was still painful.

But she didn't think it'd be like this.

She had tried to talk to him, when he had first arrived at the Burrow days after Voldemorts defeat. He had seemed off, and brushed off her attempts to talk. He had then avoided her.

Why? Did he not feel that way about her anymore, was that it? Was that why he was avoiding her, so he wouldn't have to tell her?

The rational side of her knew that was wrong-- Harry wasn't like that; bashful and as bad as he was with words, Harry wouldn't do that to her. It was silly.

But as days turned into weeks, and he still hadn't spoken to her, she despaired. Finally turning to the only person who she thought could help, Ginny sought out Hermione.

"Ginny, I'm sure Harry just seems a little distant, but really--"

"He hasn't spoken to me Hermione." Ginny said bluntly. "He hasn't looked at me, hasn't managed to stay in the same room as me for more than two minutes. Hermione, he's avoiding me, he just won't even. . ."

She trailed off as her eyes pricked and her lashes grew wet. Her throat tightened but she blinked the tears back furiously.

She would not cry. She had cried enough tears over the boy-- Harry had never liked weepy women. And Ginny had never been weepy anyway.

"Give him time, Ginny. You're just gonna have to wait."

But Ginny was done waiting. She was tired of feeling so confused and messy inside.

She watched him now as he stood at the windowsill, looking out of the window. Her mind reeled, and her hand had a slight tremor. Was this what the war had done to her? Had it made her lose her fiery edge?

Her lips clamped into a thin line. No.

She was Ginny bloody Weasley.

He was still at the window, absentmindedly twisting a dish cloth between his hands. She took a deep breath.

"Harry?"

He turned, and instantly she saw his eyes close off, the emotion hidden away except for a wary caution.

Any other night but tonight, she would have felt the same harrowing emptiness in her gut just by that look and heeded Hermione’s words, but she had finally had enough.

"Ginny, I--"

"No, I need to talk to you, and you will listen." She stood with her back to the door and faced him resolutely.

"First off, you have to stop wallowing. No one, no one whatsoever blames you for Fred’s death. Damn it Potter, if we did, you'd know about it. But you need to let this go and live with this now, like the rest of us are trying to do. But I won't say it anymore, because even I know that if I can't get through to you, no one can. I used to think I meant something to you, Harry. I don't know. . . I just--" She took a breath and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, Harry was staring at her, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

"I don't know why you stopped liking me. I don’t know why you stopped feeling that way about me. Maybe it was just something you decided while on the run. I thought. . . I thought that maybe we would get back together some day.

"I thought it would be OK. But I'm done waiting for you. You won't even look at me anymore. I think it's better that I don't know why it is that you don't want to, you know. . . I've had enough hurt for a lifetime."

She flinched, not only thinking of Fred, but of the time when Harry left her.

"You don't have to worry about it anymore, Harry. I'm done waiting for you, because waiting for you was hurting too much. I'm sorry."

She didn't even feel the first tear roll down her cheek until it splashed on her blouse. Her vision swam. She blinked quickly and turned skirted round him, out of the back door and into the back yard.

From above her came the sharp crackle of a firework—she looked up to see a huge, glittering golden swirl light up the black sky. It came from the Muggle village and many more soon shot up into the air like stray rockets.

The tears dampened her blouse, and as she struggled for breath, she felt a hand on her arm and she was spun around.

She was facing a wild looking Harry, who stared at her intently with those green eyes of his. She struggled and hastily tried to swipe away the tears.
"Harry, don't--"

"You think I don't like you?" he demanded, his voice low and shocked.

The tears were flowing free and fast down her face. Ginny scolded herself for getting this worked up. "Yes." she whispered, only managing to choke out that one word.

"No!" Harry said, looking fearful. "Oh God, Ginny-- no! How could I ever stop liking you?" He brushed away one of her tears with his thumb as he cupped her face. "I never stopped thinking about you. How could I?" he repeated. He stared determinedly at her.

"When I was on the run, I used to get out the Marauders Map and just stare at the little dot with your name above it every day. When we were at the Lovegoods, I wanted nothing more than to just come down to the Burrow then, just so I might see you.

"I. . .� He looked down, ashamed. "I've been avoiding you, because. . . I thought that you had stopped liking me. I was convinced you’d never forgiven me for leaving you. I thought you blamed me for Fred’s death. I couldn’t even look you in the eye. I thought if I stayed around long enough for you to talk to me, you would tell me that you didn't love me anymore. I never gave you that chance.

"What have I done to deserve you, Ginny Weasley? You're the best thing that has happened to me, and you thought I didn’t think of you like that anymore?" he laughed, and it was a relieved, happy laugh.

She frowned. "It's not funny! These past few weeks. . . you've made me all emotional Harry Potter! You've made me a wreck! A crying wreck!" she seethed, scrubbing at the tears.

He grinned. "Really? I did that to you? I have that much power over you. . .?" he breathed, an unfamiliar cocky tone to his voice. He moved closer until their breath mingled.

She replied back witheringly, "You wish," but as she did, he kissed her. It was a passionate kiss, unlike the modest, chaste kisses Harry usually gave—it was filled with the regret of what they had missed out on. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Something seemed to lift inside her, and she felt happier than she had in weeks. Her hands tangled themselves in his hair. They felt at home there.

The fireworks from the Muggle village splattered the sky with a spectrum of colours, and as the Weasley family oohed and ahed, Ginny broke apart from Harry and said, her voice barely audible over the crackling fireworks: "You know, Harry, I think I could love you one day. I missed you.�

He smiled into her lips, his fingers winding comfortably in her hair. "I missed you to. And I think that I kinda may love you already.� He glanced up at the fireworks. “Happy New Year, Ginny.�

She smirked. "Happy New Year, Harry."

She knew he meant it. She wasn't about to give him up for anything- she was sure this was the beginning of more New Years Eves with Harry to come.