A/N: This is one of those drabbles that started off simple enough, but then escalated into a drabble-story. Anyway, I was writing a very tedious something else when I suddenly felt compelled to write a drabble from Harry's perspective. So I did, and I got this. I kind of like it, at least it's all right. It's hard to write from Harry's perspective, but he's writing this when he's older anyway, so he's matured up a little. Just a little, mind you - he's still the loveable Harry that I fell in love with backin Phlilosopher's Stone. Anyway, on with the story!

Disclaimer: I own nothing... especially not Harry Potter

Happy Reading!

A Very Harry Drabble

I guess you could call me a heroic. I never knew it would turn out this way, or that I was born a marked man, but it was so, and I had to deal with it. I always had a thing for saving people or 'playing the hero' as Ron and Hermione have said. At first, I was in denial. Now, I can understand what they meant.

I don't know if I ever claimed that life wasn't fair, probably because I knew it wasn't, and I knew it couldn't be. Whoever said life was fair should be hanged, anyway; it's not nice to keep a little kid's hopes up only to crash them down with the statement that everyone hears at least once in their lives.

"It's not fair!"

"Yeah, well life's not fair so deal with it and bugger off."

It doesn't rain, but it pours.

I've always wanted to fit in like everyone else. Now, looking back upon the day I got my letter and even further back, it's easy to understand why I didn't fit in. Being different in those days was like having a contagious illness, one that is so terrible not even Healers want to come near you. Or, in my case for the first eleven or so years of my life, doctors. Doctors. Oh boy. Healers and doctors are really one in the same. They have the same basic principles, the same diplomas that they feel they need to hang on the walls, and the very same, world-famous quote that makes both women and men alike rather queasy.

"Turn your head and cough."

I shudder at the thought, I really do. Almost like I shudder when I dwell upon the war that changed everyone, especially me. I shudder as I remember the destruction of my own not-so-innocent innocence, and as I question myself just how, how, how did the whole Weasley family manage to survive? I suppose Bill's wolf-like reflexes helped him, and Charlie's uncanny knowledge of all that dark stuff. Percy had the whole ministry protecting him, Fred and George were too funny to die, Ron was in love, and Ginny…


What do I say, and where do I start to say it? I remember how Dumbledore told me once that it was funny how being invisible made you nearsighted. I, however, was not only nearsighted, but farsighted, heresighted, theresighted, and everywheresighted. In all honesty, I did not, and cannot, truly explain what Ginny saw in me. Me, Harry Potter, with my knobby knees and out-of-control hair. I had nothing to me except for a famous name and a feat I couldn't remember. Maybe it was the fact that my eyes are as green as a, well, a 'fresh-picked toad' or that I had saved her life. Come to think of it, I've saved her life more than once. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to sound proud, because she's saved me loads of time, too. Mentally, physically, the whole nine yards. After the war, I had a particularly hard time getting back into the swing of things. I could hardly look at my wand without remembering the dreadful deeds I had inflicted upon people with it. I mean, Death Eaters and even Voldemort were really supposed to die and whatever, but killing is killing. No? Anyway, Ginny, as well as the rest of the family that had taken me in as the black-haired Weasley, helped me to cope with myself and everything that I could now do.

I was free from the moment the war ended and the rest of the Death Eaters had been rounded up. I was free! It was really an amazing thing, now that I look back upon it. Only, at the time, I had a rather terrible commitment more important than relishing freedom. More important than knowing that I could now love and be loved without fear and doubt. My problem was that love itself was in critical condition at St. Mungo's.

Yes, Ginny. And this is where I talk about pacing back and fourth in front of the emergency room doors with the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione. They, too, were bearing the telltale signs of recent battle; cuts, bruises, heavy bleeding. And then the Healer came out of the room and took off his silly face mask and rung it in his hands like you might see on television. I knew at that moment that Ginny was dead for sure. There was no doubt about it. The Healer opened his mouth and I was sure that I was going to hear that one of the people I had fought to protect most was dying there in that horrible room with white walls…

Ginny was alive. Unconscious, but alive.

Instantly, the whole room seemed to have taken a huge breath and we fought to get inside that right room, knocking that Healer right onto the floor in the process. That was the last time I went to St. Mungo's for a long time. In fact, it was the last time I went to St. Mungo's until now, where I sit here with my quill and parchment, writing about nothing in particular as I impatiently wait. And wait. What am I waiting for? Well, I still have a bit of explaining to do first.

So, a month passed after the war. Then another. And one night, as I lay fitfully tossing and turning in the bed I had in Grimmauld Place, the door opened. I sat up instantly to see none other than Ginny Weasley standing in my doorway. Donned in pajama bottoms and a pink tanktop (I honestly can't say how I remember all of this), she asked if she could come in. Well, she was already in, so I laughed and motioned for her to step forward.

I'd like to take a moment to point out that I really hated living alone, as much as I liked to be by myself a lot of the time. A lot of the time my house was where order members, random redheaded Weasleys, and especially Lupin when he wasn't with Tonks, came to stay for a night or two. I wasn't accustomed to Ginny showing up in the middle of the night, however, and especially not wearing her pajamas. I sat up and motioned for her to sit down on the edge of my bed. She complied slowly, never taking her stunning eyes off mine. I couldn't help but notice the way her hair, set in curls from the day, well down her shoulders in a way so elegant I didn't think possible. She sat down and I saw a faint scar on her chest from the wound that had put her in St. Mungo's. Coincidentally (or maybe not), the scar was in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Ginny told me that she had been having a hard time sleeping and that her scar had been tingling again. This was not unusual, as the medication she was taking caused tingling in the healing area. I told her to join the club, since my scar had been known to tingle from time to time. Before I knew it, she was asking me personal questions about my feelings. I was never really one to talk about my feelings, but there I was. She asked me if I had ever considered getting back with her, and I said I had. In fact, it was the subject that had been keeping me awake. I didn't mention that, though; she already seemed somewhat uncomfortable.

And the next thing I knew, Ginny had somehow gotten over to where I sat and started kissing me. And before I knew it, I was kissing her back and we were, well, kissing. This was the beginning of Harry and Ginny part two: The Chest Creature Strikes Back.

When I woke up, Ginny was in my arms. Thankfully, we were both fully clothed, but she was still sound asleep, looking like something out of a dream. Like out of someone else's life…

Months passed. On the anniversary of the downfall of Voldemort, I proposed to Ginny Weasley. She burst into tears and started kissing me to the applause of everyone around, and I took that as a 'yes'.

And here I sit, a year and a half later, sitting only because Ron thought I might wear down the ground from pacing back and fourth so much. Ron had shoved this parchment and quill into my shaking hands and told me to write, and so I began this little biding of my time. Remus and Tonks, now married, are watching me with small smiles on their faces. Tonks' abdomen is round and full, which is not strange at all since she is due any day now. Ron and Hermione watch me as I write this, and I can't help but notice that Hermione's engagement ring is sending little pinpricks of reflected light onto the page, and it's driving me absolutely insane. My temper is short. I put the parchment own, then pick it back up. I can't think. I will finish this later.

The Healer came out of the little room and told me that I was now a father of a healthy little boy. I passed out on the spot and woke up a minute later from Remus fanning me with his newspaper. Ron and Mr. Weasley pulled me to my feet and shoved me through the door so that I could say hello to my wife and the new edition to my family. Upon entry, I almost passed out again, but one look at Ginny and I suddenly felt very much stable – she looked as if she had just run a marathon, only a more painful one. I officially had nothing to complain about. I gingerly took my seat next to the bed and kissed her, then looked into the bundle for the first time.

The emotions one feels when seeing their child for the first time are not those that can be explained, so I won't waste my breath trying to. It – he – had the trademark Weasley hair and my eyes. It was so strange, just sitting there, staring with a kind of ridiculous smile on my face. After a brief conversation, we decide on a name.

In just a few days, Ginny, Ronald Sirius Potter and me were home.


It's still amazing to look back on all of this, to take out this letter and squish this little tidbit at the very bottom of the paper. Little Ron, or Red as we call him so we don't get confused with the original Ron, is five years old. His best friend just happens to be little James Lupin, a metamorphmagus with wolf-like reflexes and a knack for trouble. The relationship between Ginny and me has not been without its ups and downs, but we still manage to pull through every time. Love has a funny way of doing that, you know.



A/N: And there you have it.