A/N: This story was originally published on 9 October, 2003 to the now defunct Checkmated HP fan fiction web site.

It had been especially cold this autumn season, a fact that had only added to Harry's gloomy state of mind. It seemed to him that the days of early sunset had come sooner than he'd ever remembered before.

Between the darkness, the extra studies foisted onto Sixth Years, and the omnipresent weight of his responsibility to save the wizarding world, he'd had little time for Quidditch or anything else he considered fun.

Halloween was historically not a great holiday for Harry. The day marked a terrible tragedy for him, one he was too young to remember experiencing directly. The events of that night had made his life what it was and had affected the lives of countless others.

Each year since he'd learned about his past he tried not to dwell on the day's significance. But he always felt a little depressed and lonely. He didn't understand how he could miss people he never really knew.

In spite of his personal reflections, Harry had been looking forward to the annual Halloween feast. He would finally have a chance to sit and relax with his friends and enjoy a little distraction. Rumour had it that Dumbledore was especially tightlipped about this year's entertainment. It should be interesting. Maybe this year would be different.

The Great Hall was stunning. The enchanted ceiling crackled with lightning. As usual, thousands of bats filled the cavernous room, screeching as they circled. Hagrid's giant pumpkins were a traditional part of the decoration and Harry was happy to see them glowing in the corners.

While the streamers streamed and skeletons danced, all was merry along the Gryffindor table. The golden plates had been stacked with delicious foods. They'd all done their best to eat the castle out of stock but there was always more.

Although the students were already full to bursting, the supper remnants vanished only to be replaced by loads of choices for pudding. There were candied apples, pumpkin pies, barnbracks, and mountains of other sweets.

Harry allowed himself to be absorbed by the conversations around him. He'd noticed that he did more observing than participating these days. The grueling events of last year had matured him somehow. He knew now that he could not escape his fate. Whether he liked it or not, he was perceived by some as an icon. A saviour. He wasn't sure what being an icon really meant, but he reckoned they would probably do more listening than talking.

Ron sat on his left discussing Quidditch with Seamus and Dean, who were seated across the table. Boasting loudly of the recent success of the Chudley Cannons in their match against the Wellington Warlocks, Ron's enthusiasm was barely contained. More than once Harry feared for his glasses as Ron's hands flew about wildly while reconstructing the winning play for his audience.

Hermione sat directly across from Harry while Ginny sat next to her. Hermione was explaining some aspect of Druid history to Ginny. Although she listened attentively, Harry could tell Ginny was not particularly interested in the subject; he'd seen a similar expression on Ron's face many times and it made Harry smile.

Slowly, almost unnoticeably, the corners of Ginny's mouth turned up. She knew he was watching her.

Suddenly, Harry felt funny all over. He'd realised some time ago that his feelings for Ginny had begun to change. More of the growing-up process, he figured. She was a very cute girl and full of spirit. She was a great Quidditch player, a good student, loads of fun and even a bit fresh. He loved her family. She'd been there the whole time, even crushed on him, yet he hadn't seen it.

She'd long since stopped following him around and moved on. No doubt her feelings for him had as well. Harry sighed inwardly. It didn't matter anyway. Icons probably weren't allowed proper girlfriends anyway.

He had to stop. These were the kinds of thoughts that depressed him. Dragging his gaze away from Ginny, he tuned in to Hermione's ongoing mini-lecture.

"The word itself, Halloween, owes its beginnings to the Catholic Church. It's a contraction of All Hallows Eve, you see. Back in the Celtic dark ages, the holiday was called Samhain in Irish or Nos Galen-Gaeaf in Welsh. It was one of four major holy days celebrated by the Paleopagan Druids – the others being Oimelc, Beltane, and Lughnasadh. Lughnasadh should interest you, Harry," she said, hesitating momentarily to sip her pumpkin juice.

"Why's that?"

"Lughnasadh is celebrated on your birthday – July 31st," she said.

Harry was less than enthused that there was yet another freakish connection between him and the magic world. "Really," he said vaguely.

"Yes, but Samhain is really the most important of the Fire Festivals," said Hermione sagely.

"Fire Festivals? What's that got to do with Halloween?" asked Ron, joining in the conversation.

"They're called that because to the ancient Celts, fire was a physical symbol of divinity, holiness, truth, and beauty, Ron. It was a natural choice."

"Of course. What was I thinking?" said Ron sarcastically.

Hermione put her nose in the air and continued. "The Muggles of that age believed that the disembodied spirits of those who had died throughout the year would wander freely in search of living bodies to possess – so they could live again. It was believed to be their only hope for the afterlife."

"There's a cheerful thought," said Ron.

"They believed that the normal laws of space and time were suspended during this one day, allowing the spirit world to overlap with the living. Naturally the living did not want to be possessed so on the night of October 31st, they would douse their hearth fires to make their homes cold and unpleasant. They would masquerade as ghouls and the like, making as much noise as possible to frighten away the spirits looking for bodies to possess."

"Hermione," said Ron between his gritted teeth, "what on Earth makes you think anyone wants to hear this now?"

She ignored him. "Of course it was nothing more than a false Muggle superstition. No one comes back from death."

Something inside Harry snapped. He wanted to be alone. He rose from the table and was met by three upturned faces.

"Harry, you all right?" asked Ron.

"Yeah. Just want — I'll come back. Just give me a tic, okay?"

"Sure, mate."

Harry abruptly dismissed himself. As he walked away from the table, he could hear Ron berating Hermione for her choice of conversation. But it wasn't that, exactly. Harry knew it was his own problem, that he was just feeling sensitive.

He left the Great Hall and made his way outside. It was bitter cold and he wasn't wearing his heavy cloak, but perhaps the chill would do him good. For a while he strolled around with no particular destination in mind.

He wound his way along the edge of the forest and found himself at Hagrid's hut. Hagrid himself was at the feast with everyone else, but his small home was like a warm and inviting magnet in the freezing darkness.

Harry sat on the step and leaned against the heavy wooden door. A golden light shined from the windows and formed a small halo around the cabin. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he was unable to see anything in the dark beyond it. He didn't realise anyone had followed him until he heard the crunching of boots on the frozen grass.

A glint of red appeared in the halo. It was Ginny.

"What are you doing here?" said Harry, his breath making a small plume of fog in the cold.

"You left before you'd had any pudding. I brought you some." Ginny came to stand at the edge of the step and looked down at him. "Any room for me?" she asked, indicating the tread.

"Sure," said Harry as he scooted over.

"Take care or you'll get a splinter in your bum," she said, smiling as she sat next to him. "You don't want to bare it for Madame Pomfrey, do you?"

"No, not really," he said through a smile. His heart was a bit lighter already although he had no idea how she'd done it.

"I don't have to stay if you'd rather be on your own. I just thought you might want to talk. It's a rotten day for you, I know."

Harry turned to look into her eyes. He wanted to thank her for noticing, for realising, but he didn't know how. He turned away again and leaned his head back against the door.

"You're right. I really hate this day." He sighed. "And not just because it's the anniversary of my parents' murder. Strange things always seem to happen to me on Halloween. I suppose it makes me nervous."

"Strange things? Like what?" Ginny shivered. She lifted his arm and ducked under it, settling herself against him as if it were a long-standing arrangement.

Harry felt a blind thrill and swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"Well," his voice faltered a bit before he steadied it, "in First Year it was the troll – Ron and Hermione and I were lucky to escape with our lives. Second Year we went to Nick's Death Day Party – now that was a weird experience – and then we found the message about the Chamber—" his voice trailed off as he felt Ginny stiffen. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Harry." When he didn't continue she prompted him. "And then?"

"Hmmm. Let's see, the next year I missed the first trip to Hogsmeade. Everyone was still afraid of Sirius then." He went quiet again.

Ginny shifted, encircled him with her arms, and laid her head on his shoulder. "You miss him terribly, I know."

"Then Fourth Year," he pressed on, unwilling to recognise the raw emotion he still felt from Sirius's death, "my name came out of the Goblet of Fire and I was forced to compete in that ruddy tournament. Then last year—"

"Harry?" Her breath was warm on his neck.

"Yeah?"

"Why won't you talk about him?" Her voice was soft and gentle.

"I don't know. I just can't. Not yet."

"Is it because of how he died?"

"Maybe. It's just that — I don't know what really happened to him. I suppose that's why what Hermione said bothered me earlier. All that talk of disembodied spirits and restless souls walking the earth. I can't stand to think of him like that — lonely and disconnected. He had enough of that in life."

"I'm so sorry, Harry. Sirius loved you. It's a shame you had so little time to know each other."

"Yeah, well, it's the recurring theme of my life, apparently. First my parents, then Sirius — who's next?"

Ginny reached up and turned his face to her. "Harry, not everyone who loves you is going to die. You can't go around thinking that."

But at that moment, it wasn't what he was thinking about at all. He was thinking how good it felt to be with her. How beautiful she was. How close her lips were to his. She must have read his mind because when he looked in her eyes again, they told him everything he needed to know.

Harry brushed a wisp of hair from her face before he kissed her. She was so soft and warm and wonderful. He never wanted to stop kissing her and for a long time, he didn't.

Finally breaking apart for a full breath of air, he opened his eyes to the sound of Ginny's giggle. He couldn't see her though, as his glasses were entirely fogged up.

"Stupid glasses," he said with a laugh. He removed them and wiped the condensation on his robe sleeve.

"Oh stop. I think they're dishy," she teased. Ginny grabbed the glasses from him and put them on. Her eyes bugged out. "See? Don't you agree they're dishy?"

Although he could see her fairly well at that short distance, Harry thought it a brilliant excuse to get close and kiss her again. After a few minutes, he pulled away and Ginny let out a blissful sigh. The glasses were fogged up again. "Sorry," he said, "you're definitely dishy, but the glasses are not."

Ginny gave him a dazzling smile and handed him his glasses.

"Now remind me. Why did you follow me out here?"

"I was only bringing your pudding," she said slyly.

"Right. Well, let's have it then."

Ginny fished in her robe pocket for the two barnbracks she'd taken from supper. She unwrapped the square of table linen and handed Harry one of the cakes. Harry broke his apart and found the hidden prize straight away but didn't say anything at first.

"What did you get?" he asked Ginny.

"I got the ring," she said. Her face was flushed but her attention remained on her barnbrack. "And you?"

"The same." Harry didn't believe it meant anything. It couldn't mean anything. It was just a silly ring in a silly Halloween treat. "Let's see."

Each shoved their ring on a pinky finger and compared them side by side. Identical. Harry looked in her eyes again but neither said a word.

"I suppose we should go back before we catch cold," she said abruptly, standing and brushing the crumbs from her robes.

Harry did likewise but grabbed her arm as she turned toward the castle. "Ginny, wait. Thanks. Thanks for — for everything." He felt awkward. He wanted to kiss her but suddenly it all seemed different and he was afraid again.

Ginny stepped closer, slipped her hands into the pockets of his robes and leaned against him. "The pleasure has been all mine, Mr. Potter."

"Well, not all yours," he said. It was the encouragement he needed. He kissed her again, a little more deeply this time.

Hand in hand, they walked in silence back to the warmth of the castle, the silly and meaningless toy rings clinking against each other.

Something strange always happened to him on Halloween. This year was no exception. But for once, it was strange in a good way. He had to think that maybe his luck was changing. Maybe this was part of the growing-up process too.

Maybe an icon could have a proper girlfriend after all.