Search Home Read Write Forum Login Register
Harry Potter was always good at counting. He counted everyday, actually. When he said the words, the words that showed the he was counting, my heart fluttered every time. It didn’t matter if he counted to 10, 100, or 1000; my heart always beat faster. I remembered the first time he started to count the days…

It was the first day of our marriage. I was twenty-two, and he was twenty-three. As I snuggled closer into his arms while we lay in our bed, he whispered in my ear, “It’s been one day since I’ve married you, and I still love you.”

That was the first time I heard it. He had stared into my chocolate eyes with so much passion burning in his own emerald eyes. That was the first moment that I had realized that it was the first day of the rest of my life. I was married to the man that I was so madly in love with since before I even met him and my eyes lighted with happiness.

As the words left his mouth, I had kissed him with so much passion and love that he was momentarily surprised. His body recovered from the shock quickly and he had wrapped his strong arms around my slim frame and had kissed me back with just as much passion.

The memory is still so strongly imprinted into my mind.

We had been on our honey moon that day.

The second day of our honey moon, he said it again. It was early in the morning, as we sat on the front porch staring out over the horizon. The pinks and oranges of the sun peeked out above the horizon causing the sky to be a beautiful mixture of light colors. He had leaned over the table and whispered in my ear, “It’s been two days since I’ve married you, and I still love you.”

I remember, I had giggled. He had pulled me out of my seat and onto his own lap causing me to shriek. I slapped his arm lightly and scolded him, “Don’t do that, Harry!” He only grinned and buried his face in my hair. I can still remember that feeling. It was a blissful oblivion. We had sat like that feeling absolutely comfortable admiring at the rising sun.

During the next years of our life, he had said it every day.

Even when we had been over a year married, he still said to me every morning, “It’s been 390 days, and I still love you.”

And every time he said the phrase, my heart would dance. I never grew tired of him saying it, and apparently he hadn’t either.

When it had been over two years since we were married, I had excitedly told him the news that I was pregnant was James Potter (II). He had had the look of utter happiness on his face, much like the day of our wedding day, and he pulled me close to him and kissed my nose. He spun me around and when he kissed me, I heard him mutter, “It’s been 744 days since we’ve been married and I still love you.”

When I was giving birth in the hospital to my first son, James, I had said words that I’d rather not repeat. You can’t blame me. I was growing through a painful time. Yet, Harry still whispered in my ear repeatedly, “It’s been 837 days since I’ve married you, and I still love you.” He cradled my hand and tucked away my stray strands of hair.

It was like he had given my strength every time he said those words. In the end, I had been able to give birth. I had been able to give birth thrice with Harry right there by my side, always.

Each and every time I had given birth to my three children, Harry would always be there whispering those precious words.

On our twenty-fifth year of marriage anniversary, I was forty-seven. My sweet children had all grown up to be young wonderful adults. My mischievous James had grown up into a proud Auror. My innocent Albus had grown up into an Unspeakable. And finally, my angel Lily had grown up into a Healer. I was deeply proud of my children, and I was rather protective of them when they had moved out.

Harry had taken me out to a restaurant that night, nothing too fancy.

“It’s been over 9,000 days since I’ve married you, and I still love you,” he had said to me again as he sipped his wine.

“Mr. Potter, have we forgotten the number of days already?” I had jokingly scolded him for not remembering the precise number of days we had been married. I had known the exact number of days, out of habit of hearing Harry recite the phrase everyday.

He had chuckled, “Of course not, Potter. It’s been 9, 125 days. The question is though, love, do you still love me?”

“If I didn’t, I would have ditched you years ago,” I said nonchalantly. Even at the tender age of forty-seven, I would always be a teenager inside.

“I don’t know, Gin… 9, 125 days is a lot of days,” Harry said his grin uncontrollable.

I grinned too, for his grin was also very contagious. “I admit it Potter, I don’t love you anymore. In fact, to show how much I hate you, I’m going to divorce you and take all of your money,” I teased him.

Harry shook his head smugly and said, “You can’t do that, Potter.”

I questioned him, “Why is that?”

He said matter-of-factly, “Because, Potter, I’d hold on to you too tight so you can’t run away from me, even if you wanted me too. You know that you can’t overpower me.”

I snorted. “Well, you don’t have to hold on to me, because I’m right here.”

Harry had kissed my fingertips.

Harry never lost count.

Even when he had grown into old age, Harry never lost count. He always forgot things; such as where he had placed his glasses, when he had to take his pill, or even where he had last placed his wand. But he never forgot the number of days we were married. No, he never forgot.

When he had the stroke, I visited him everyday at St. Mungo’s for over a month. He had his last moments of his life with me.

He was one hundred fourteen. It’s amazing the number of years a wizard’s life span is, isn’t it?

“Ginny?” his voice sang out to me. It was weak and croaky.

“Hm?” I had said distractedly, my back turned to him. I was pouring him some of the homemade soup I had made out of the container into a bowl.

“Look at me, please.”

I set down the bowl carefully onto the table, and I turned to him while giving him a thoughtful look. “What is it, love?”

“Do you know how many days it’s been since we were married?” he had asked.

I smiled. I remembered. “It’s been 33,215 days, love.”

Harry nodded, “I know.”

Today was our 91st anniversary.

“I still love you, Ginny.”

“I love you, too,” I said kissing his cheek.

“It’s been ninety-one years. I’ve loved you every minute of every day of those years. I’ll never stop loving you. I’ve had 33,215 happy, amazing days with you, Gin. Even when you made me sleep on the couch because I annoyed you, I still loved you. When you fell asleep, it was like watching an angel in my arms. When you’re laughter rang through my eyes throughout my whole life, it was like a sweet angelic song. I don’t regret any one of those days,” he said his voice shaking slightly. The pauses between his sentences were unbearable as he tried to collect his breath.

Why was he saying this? And then it hit me as if I had been hit with the Killing Curse.

I gasped and my eyes widened. I knew what was going to happen. I shook my head at ever so slightly and whispered, “No.” My whole body was shaking.

“Ginny, I’ve been married to you for 33,215 days, and I still love you. Always,” he spoke with his voice much softer and weaker than before and his breathing became ragged.

I croaked out with tears in my eyes knowing what he was trying to say, “I love you, too Harry.”

And then suddenly his eyes closed and he smiled weakly. His hand slipped from my own and landed with a soft thud on the mattress.

And my heart stopped.

The tears fell from my eyes in big and fast-flowing droplets. I shook his cold body and shouted at him, “Stop playing with me, Harry! It’s not funny! It’s not funny, Harry! STOP IT! I love you, oh Merlin, I love you.”

And then the Healers burst in, their hearts dropping at the sight of Ginny Weasley weeping over the body of Harry Potter.



The following weeks had been a huge blur from me. That last thing I remembered was Ron and Hermione’s arms around my shoulders. My three children, now grown adults, stood in front of the casket where a body lay. We were at Harry’s funeral. I pulled away from my brother and my best friend’s warm embraces and gave them a small smile. They nodded their eyes swollen from tears.

I walked over to the casket where Harry lay. As I approached, my three children turned around and gave me a weak smile. Lily, her eyes dripping with tears, hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek while whispering, “Mum, I miss daddy.” She had said it like an innocent little child, vulnerable and missing her father. Her brown eyes, so much like my own, had such a streak of sadness in them that I hugged her tighter and patted her back. Lily and I didn’t need words. We both needed the bond that only a mother and a daughter shared. She backed away and left, giving me another kiss on the cheek, before taking a seat next to her husband.

James and Albus both hugged me next and cried, which was a rare occurrence. James’s normally vibrant brown eyes, with streaks of Harry’s emerald green eyes looked so hopeless. Albus’s green eyes that reminded me so much of Harry didn’t have its usually spark. I kissed their foreheads, an act that an adult could never get tired of from their mother, no matter what their age was. One of a mother’s best talents was, after all, giving kisses to make the world slightly better. They both left wordlessly to their spouses.

I turned around again and I peered into the casket and saw Harry’s peaceful body which lay unmoving. His small but beautiful smile that he had given me before he died was still softly etched on his face. A single salty tear landed on his cheek from my own eyes, and I brushed it away.

I don’t wish that Harry was alive again; it was his time to go and who was I to prevent that? I do miss him dearly, but I knew that in time, it would be my turn to go… and soon I would be able to be with him again. Right now, I know that Harry would want me to continue living my life… or what’s left of it. I have Hermione, Ron, and the rest of my family. I love Harry, but I know he’s still waiting for me. And he’s counting the days.

I whispered into the cold, crispy air while looking up toward the gray sky, “It’s been 33, 220 days, and I still love you.”

A gentle, warm wind swayed the trees and ruffled the leaves. I felt my tears dry up, and I knew that Harry was wiping away my tears, just like he would if he were still here.

Track This Story: Feed


Write a Review

out of 10

JOIN HARRY POTTER FANFICTION


Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.

Register Today!
Need Help Writing Your Fanfic?

Write Your BEST Fanfic EVER In Our FREE 10 Day Fanfiction Writing Jumpstart Program!

  • Introduce Your Character Like A Rockstar! 🤘
  • Build GUT-CLENCHING Suspense 🔎
  • Drop into an Action Scene 💥
  • Develop a POWERFUL Romance 😍
  • How to Land an Ending 🍻
  • How To Make Writer's Block Your Best Friend ❤️
  • ...And more!
“The lessons that were offered helped me enormously. Suddenly it was easier to write scenes, imagine them and bring suspension and romance in it. I loved it! ​It helped me in a way other bloggers couldn’t and still can’t.” - Student