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Gift of the Magi
By BrowneyedWeasleyGirl

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Category: Alternate Universe
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Sexual Situations
Rating: PG
Reviews: 6
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 since 2006 ***

Ginny and Harry struggle, unable to give each other what they really want for Christmas...
Hitcount: Story Total: 4061

Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.

Author's Notes:
Many thanks to my terrific betas, melusinahp and wandrin_dreamer.


Harry slumps into a chair, exhausted. He’s supervised the first flights of new brooms, played endless games of wizard’s chess and exploding snap, mended boo-boo’s, attended tea parties, and even changed a new baby doll’s nappy. He is, without a doubt, the favorite uncle of all twenty Weasley nieces and nephews.

I am on the floor, the good aunt who keeps them from getting in trouble. Gathering up discarded wrapping paper and ribbons strewn around the Christmas tree, I put away already forgotten toys and presents that just hours ago they couldn’t wait to tear into.

My siblings and their wives have all gone upstairs to herd their broods to bed. The whinging to avoid bedtime has become a cacophony of cries and tantrums.

I look over at Harry. He scrubs his face in his hands underneath his glasses and gives me a wry smile with a shake of his head. I silently return the sentiment with a roll of my eyes.

He thinks I’ve looked away when I see a shadow of sadness and regret cross his face. The pain in his eyes is too much to bear. In an instant it is gone, replaced only with an expression of fatigue. But it’s too late. I’ve seen it, and my heart feels like lead and sinks painfully into the pit of my stomach.

My back is to him, so I know he can’t see the tears that are making my vision blurry. I thrust my jaw forward, determined not to ruin another Christmas by revisiting what we’ve come to accept and can’t do anything about.

“Are you OK, Ginny?” he asks, and I crumple the cast off papers loudly as I put them in the bin, pretending I can’t hear him. If I am forced to answer, I know my voice will betray my pain.

I jump at the touch of familiar arms wrapping around me and pulling me back into his chest where I fit so perfectly, nestled under Harry’s chin. He kisses the top of my head, and I sigh, knowing he knows.

“You know I love you,” he whispers softly. “You’re all I need.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice thick with restrained tears. We’ve had this conversation hundreds of times, and I know we will have it hundreds more.

“My life has never been fair, Ginny. You know that. But it’s you that makes me happy. Without you, none of it would matter anyway.”

I reach up and squeeze his hands in silent acknowledgement. But it’s Christmas. And in this season that fills everyone’s hearts with joy and hope because of the gift of a child, I can’t help but feel the crushing ache in my chest at how the absence of one completely breaks my own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I enter the lounge and she’s there on her hands and knees, picking up the remnants of what recently were the prized possessions of her nieces and nephews. Just as she always does, she is doing this to keep them from getting in trouble. Whether it’s mediating arguments, sneaking them biscuits or sweets, keeping secret confidences, or distracting their parents while they’re up to no good, every one of them knows that no matter what nefarious scheme they get into they have nothing to fear. Aunt Gin will always come to the rescue.

I sink into a chair as the weeping and wailing over bedtime echoes down from upstairs. Ginny looks at me, and we smile at the drama of it all. But before she returns to her chore, I see it, and my heart breaks at the sadness in her eyes.

Despite her feigned indifference, I know she’s wishing we were upstairs, settling in our own contribution to the Weasley clan. She somehow thinks it’s her fault, and there is nothing I can seem to do to ease her pain.

At first, we were glad not to be bothered with kids. Ron and Hermione had found themselves with an “oops” and had rushed to get married before Mrs. Weasley AK’d them both. Ginny and I often felt a bit guilty for traveling all over the world on this holiday or that, while they were tied to home and getting up at all hours of the night for feedings and troubles with a fitful sleeper.

And then Ginny started the Healer’s program at St. Mungo’s. For four years she worked eighty hours a week or more, and barely had time to eat or sleep. We still made time for each other though, and consequently, had a bit of a crisis when she missed a cycle. Although I admit I had hoped for children of our own someday, both of us had been incredibly relieved when it turned out to be a false alarm. It just wasn’t the right time.

But then, we decided with wanderlust sated, Ginny’s job now less demanding, and my lust for sex anytime, anywhere with my gorgeous wife indulged enough, we were ready to grow up and become responsible parents. And then…nothing.

Through Ginny’s connections at hospital, we were able to be evaluated discretely. Both of us were poked, prodded, and probed in ways I never knew imaginable, with the final result again being…nothing. The healers told us there was nothing wrong, nothing to fix, and absolutely nothing they could do about it. They just smiled sadly, expressed their condolences, and sent us on our way.

Ginny has turned her back to me, and I see her shoulders heave with a sigh as she’s filling the rubbish bin with the brightly colored paper and ribbons. She’s putting on a brave face, but I know she’s hurting. My own shoulders feel the weight of her burden, and I would give anything to be able to take it away.

“Are you OK, Ginny?” I ask. The reply is simply the rattle of crumpling papers. She thinks she’ll ruin my Christmas if she tells me what is really pressing on her heart. What she can’t seem to believe is that her sorrow is the only thing that really causes me pain.

I move down to the floor behind her and pull her back into my chest. I want to reassure her and convince her that the only thing that matters is that she is happy. “You know I love you. You’re all I need.”

She sighs again and answers, her voice fighting back tears. “I know,” she says simply.

I tell her what I always say, hoping somehow, this time, she will understand. “My life has never been fair, Ginny. You know that. But it’s you that makes me happy. Without you, none of it would matter anyway.”

She squeezes my hands lying over her heart, and I know it’s my cue that I’ve said enough. In the silence, I feel her begin to cry softly, and my insides scream out, berating me that I can’t seem to make her understand.

In the end, Dumbledore had been right. Love had defeated Voldemort, and Ginny had been the means for me to make it happen. Every day that I am alive is a gift, because without the unending love from this woman in my arms, I wouldn’t have survived.

Since I was eleven and discovered the truth about my family, I never expected to have a family of my own. The truth is, Ginny is my family. What I someday hope to make her understand is that what she has already given me is enough. She has already given me the precious gift of life---my own.

Reviews 6

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