"Ginny, it's been six months," Hermione told me sadly. "I don't know what you're expecting, but by now it would almost have to be a miracle."

She was right, I admitted to myself, sighing as I pushed the last book onto the top shelf. I was expecting a miracle, I mean, what person would give up a life of carefree whims for a life of responsibilities.

I stepped down from the ladder and dusted off my pants. I'd given up working at the Quibbler once Hermione bought a bookshop in Muggle London. Lizzy and I had moved to the flat above it, so I opened up in the morning, Hermione, who was pregnant, could come in whenever she wanted and I'd be the one to close up. The arrangement worked well enough, I didn't have to pay a babysitter for Lizzy and it was like having a library all to myself, besides the books Hermione chose to take home.

Unfortunately, this is Lizzy's first Christmas, and besides the monthly support checks, I haven't heard a word from Harry. When he left the first time, he wrote me a one thousand pound check, but I donated it to one of the wards at St. Mungo's. It just wasn't the same. It was like saying, 'Sorry I don't care enough to be there, hope this money makes up for it.' It just isn't the same, despite the intention behind it. So far I've kept the checks he had sent in an old shoebox in the back of my closet, not a single one cashed.

Hermione, Neville and Luna are the only ones who know about the second chance I gave Harry. My brothers, no matter how well meaning they may have been, wanted to kill Harry after he left me the first time, so I figured telling them may not be the smartest thing. I knew I'd have to tell them eventually, but until I knew for sure, I wasn't going to say anything.

I sat at one of the café tables by the window and watched as the snowflakes drifted down before getting camouflaged by the rest when they hit the ground. Hermione pulled a chair up next to me. "Do you think he's coming back?" she asked softly, handing me a cup of herbal tea.

"I honestly don't know."

We sat in silence until she asked again, "I don't understand what you did. I mean, I loved Harry to death, being as he was my best friend, but he walked out on you. On the life you could have led. How can you even begin to imagine forgiving him?"

Suddenly, I felt older, wiser. Like I had walked a thousand lives before this. "I'm never going to forgive him," I replied, trying to find the right words for how I was feeling. "But, I have to look at the bigger picture. Elizabeth deserves to know her father, I mean, how is she going to feel when she sees her cousins with their fathers? She at least deserves to get to know him."

"She had her uncles," Hermione retorted. "I know Ron wouldn't have thought twice about being a father figure to her."

"But it's not his job," I reminded her. I reached out and patted her slightly protruding stomach. "It's his job to be a father to this one and an uncle to mine." I avoided her questioning gaze and began to trace the rim of my cup with my fingers.

Hermione didn't say anything after that, even though I know she opened her mouth more than once. After a good fifteen minutes of silence, I stood, said my goodbyes and kissed her cheek before going upstairs. I watched from the stairs as she slowly gathered her things and left. I ran back downstairs to lock up, and then shut off the lights and went back up to my flat.

I continued up to Lizzy's room, watching as she slept. At nine months old, she had began to walk, meaning I had to chase her every which way she went. The only upside was that she slept so much better now that she could wear herself out. She slept on her stomach, thumb in her mouth, auburn curls spread out around her. I knew that if she was to open her eyes, they would sparkle in such a way that would put light reflecting off snow to shame. She was beautiful, my little girl.

I couldn't imagine my life without her. Sure, it probably would've been easier, but I wouldn't change a thing. I reached into the crib and pushed her hair aside, letting my fingers linger on her hairline. I pulled the handmade blanket Mum used to tuck me into bed up around her before leaving. I kept her door slightly ajar, as I did every night. She was my alarm clock, waking me at five AM every morning. If the door was shut, I wouldn't hear her.

It was particularly cold tonight, so I pulled on a pair of heavy flannel pyjamas and crawled into bed. I wasn't surprised when I couldn't fall asleep, so I lay there, staring at the ceiling. The lights from the street danced across the ceiling, highlighting the cracks. My eyes traced them, from one side of the room to another until my head ached from the concentration I was exerting.

I stumbled out of bed, desperate to cure my insomnia. Pulling on a fuzzy blue dressing gown, I tiptoed down the stairs and poured me a cup of water. I heated it and steeped the tea bag in the hot water and watched the steam curl up from the water and fade away.

Almost like my relationship with Harry.

I knew it was too far gone to even attempt to fix it. Too much had been said and done, and it was all unforgivable. He wasn't going to come back into my life without a miracle, and that wasn't something in the near future. My daughter did, however, have the right to see him, so he would have access to her life. I had to set boundaries so I'd know when he went too far. If he ever got here, that is.

My mind began to wonder to the things I only thought about when no one else was around. If I hadn't had that interview with him that day, would he have felt the same way? Would he have even come looking for me? Or would he have just regarding me as another skeleton in the closet? These questions made my stomach clench and my head ache. Was a single man really worth this?

Before I could answer the question, a soft knock on the door greeted my ears. It was so soft, I wasn't even sure I had heard it until it was repeated.

I shuffled across the cold floor, placing my cup on the counter before unlatching the door. Snow breezed in and melted on the floor as I pulled open the door.

"Hi."

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Both hands were shoved into the pockets of his black wool coat, and it was obvious he hadn't shaved in two or three days. Snowflakes clung to his hair, and he pulled a hand out of his pocket long enough to run it through his hair nervously. We must have stared at each other for five minutes before he asked, "Can I come in?"

I shuffled aside, granting him access. He stepped in, head down hands in his pockets. I shut the door against the cold wind. He turned around as soon as he was three paces in, and I scuttled to the coffee machine and quickly made him a cup. I waved my hand in the direction of the table and chairs I had been sitting at earlier, and when I heard his footsteps moving towards it, I placed my hands on the counter to steady myself. Breathe.

I grabbed the cup and shakily made my way to the table. He was slumped in the chair, tracing invisible patterns into the surface. I placed the steaming cup in front of him before collapsing into the seat across from him.

He took the cup and took a sip before beginning. "Did you get the checks?"

I nodded and he continued. "I wanted to make sure she could have everything she needed."

"Thanks," I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

He took a deep breath. "I visited one of those therapists in America."

"And?" I was slightly amazed by the calmness of my voice. "What did she say?"

"That I was too worried about the future and wasn't concentrating on the present. I was too wrapped up in myself and how I would have to deal with everything instead of looking at the bigger picture." He paused, as if trying to find the right words. "She was very, um, blunt about things. She said unless I confronted my fears about parenthood, I would always remain a coward and completely withdrawn from reality. She told me that just because I was famous, that didn't excuse me from anything. I still had to face the facts and deal with consequences."

"She sounds wonderful," I replied sarcastically, reaching for my long forgotten cold tea. I mumbled a quick warming spell and it was steaming again. I took a sip and watched as he fiddled with the worn cuffs on his coat. "So are you ready to accept it?" I wasn't quite sure what 'it' was. The fact he had a daughter or the fact our relationship was completely non-existent. I guess it could be either.

He didn't reply right away, and my heart sank. He wasn't ready. I should have known, I mean, if he was ready, he'd be in Lizzy's room, he'd wouldn't look so lost. Leave it to me to get my hopes up and then have them crushed mercilessly. But if he wasn't ready, what the hell was he doing back?

"I think I am."

My head shot up. "What?" I stammered, trying to grasp what he had just said.

"I think I'm ready," he repeated. "I'm ready to see her."

"Are you sure?" I asked cautiously. "Because after this, there is no going back. You can't just take the easy way out after this, because I just might kill you."

He nodded. "I understand, and right now there's nothing more I want to do than see my daughter. Our daughter," he amended quickly. "I want this Gin."

"Don't call me that," I snapped, my patience suddenly disappearing. There were too many memories associated with that name, and every time he said it I wanted to jump into his arms. I wasn't about to let my guard down. Yet. "Just because I'm letting you into her life doesn't mean I'm going to let you back into mine. You've done too much, and frankly, I think you lost the right to call me that when you left."

"I'm sorry," he replied softly, bowing his head. "You're right, I just…" he trailed off, raising his head so his eyes met mine. "I just want things to be okay between us. I don't expect things to be like before I left, but I want things to work out. For Lizzy's sake," he added quickly, not breaking eye contact.

I didn't reply for two reasons. The first being, if I was to reply, I'd lose all self control and break down hysterically. The second being, I wanted things to work out too, but not for Lizzy's sake. The truth was I missed having him in my life. I missed everything about him and I knew he was sorry, but sometimes sorry isn't enough. I guess sometimes love isn't enough.

I regained my composure and tried to smile. "Come on," I said, standing. "I think there's someone you should meet."