Three years to the day after the Battle at Hogwarts, two people wandered around the grounds, reminiscing about that night and all that it had meant. As they approached the sun drenched fields near the Forbidden Forest, they came across something that seemed to sum up the meaning of the day.
"Look at this, Ginny. I wonder what it's doing here."
"Oh, wow. Is that … Dad's old car?"
Harry laughed. "It sure is. I'm surprised you didn't recognise it, after all the time you spent with it."
Ginny punched him fondly on the arm. "Prat," she smiled. "It looks nothing like it did in those days, and you know it."
* * *
The first time she had noticed that Harry was a boy, and not, you know, just 'a hero,' she had been squished up beside him in the back seat of the Ford Anglia. Their legs didn't brush together the way the heroes' and heroines' did in her mum's stories. Rather, they were mushed uncomfortably, jolted against each other in a sweaty, almost unpleasant, way. The one thing those romance books had got right, though, was the awareness of difference the contact created.
Ginny couldn't understand it. She had sat next to her brothers in this car numerous times, and that contact had never made her so attuned to the difference between boyness and girlness as this one trip with Harry had. They were boys too, just as sticky and sweaty as Harry was, just as rumpled, and exuded just as much 'boyness' as he did. But they didn't generate the same feelings of otherness, of separateness, in her that Harry did.
The idea was so puzzling, and so strangely enthralling, that it took several long minutes before Ginny realised that she had left her diary behind.
"My diary!" she shrieked, all thoughts of Harry slipping out of her mind as her father turned the car back towards home.
* * *
Harry walked around the car, marvelling at the way it had worn. It had been several long years since he had last seen it, and those years hadn't been kind to the elderly car. Its tyre rims were dented, the tyres themselves having long since shredded away to nothing. The car itself seemed to be rust held together by metal, and Harry was fairly sure that only dogged determination could have made the car stay in one piece for as long as it had.
He felt inexplicably sad as he put one hand out to touch an empty headlight socket. Ginny laced her fingers in his, feeling a similar sense of loss as she saw the wreckage of something that had been so important to both of them.
* * *
The first time he had noticed Ginny as herself and not, you know, just as 'Ron's little sister,' she had sprung herself on him unexpectedly during a reckless flight in the car.
The wild Anglia in the forest had become almost legend at Hogwarts by the time Harry had reached his fourth year. Few people had seen it, apart from Harry and Ron, but new stories of what it was doing in there came back to the common rooms every week, each tale more absurd than the previous one. No-one had, however, heard the story of how Harry Potter had taken it for a late night fly, and Ginny Weasley had tagged along for the ride.
Harry had come out of the castle, amidst the overwhelmingly negative attention from the student populace, and taken refuge on the edges of the forest. He prowled there as often as he could, spending time in his own company rather than focusing on what Ron might be doing and as a way to avoid spending too much time in the library.
A few days before the first Triwizard task, Harry met Mr Weasley's old Ford Anglia on the edge of the forest. Dusk was falling, and the headlight seemed to wink at him in the dim light.
"You want a fly, don't you, old boy? Want me to take you up?"
He was sure it wasn't his imagination; that the car was wiggling a little, as if in excitement. Harry grinned. He slid into the front seat, reminded of the last time he had sat there with Ron. That hadn't been a good day, but this – he was recklessly eager to fly it again, to escape just for a little.
By the time he had it in the air, he was sure the car was enjoying being out and about again. To the car, not being able to fly must, he mused, be kind of like a wizard not being able to use magic. You could survive, but you'd miss it dreadfully.
He shouted in alarm as a flailing hand touched the back of his neck, and in return heard a muffled shriek.
"Bloody Hell! You freaked me out. What are you doing in here?"
"What the hell …? Harry? Where are we?"
Taking a look around her, as she struggled to sit up after waking in the back seat, Ginny blushed her customary red. She realised that she was alone, in a flying car, with Harry Potter of all people. She determined to make the best of it, however; Hermione's advice to 'be more herself' rang in her ears, and in the freedom of the air, she discovered that she could let 'herself' out for a few moments.
"I visit the car all the time, keep it company. I must have fallen asleep." She fixed him with a steady gaze and said, "but that doesn't explain what you're doing here … in my family's old car … in the air."
Harry blushed under her scrutiny, and said something noncommittal about wanting to help the car have a fly again. Understanding why Harry might want to 'have a fly' himself, and not wanting to push him on it, Ginny turned to the window and wound it down.
She stuck her head out, revelling in the feel of the wind rushing past. Wisps of bright hair whipped around her face as she laughed gaily.
"Can you make it go faster, Harry? This is fantastic; you should try it."
Laughing, he did as she said, giving the car a pat and telling it to stay on course. They said no more to each other before they landed, and neither referred to the flight again, but the memory of Ginny's enthusiasm for the adventure stayed with Harry. From that moment on, he knew for sure that she was more than just Ron's little sister.
* * *
"You poor old thing," Ginny said, gently running her hand over the marred surfaces. "It's been a hard old life, hasn't it? But a good one, I bet, running free in the forest for so long."
Harry squeezed her hand, and they bent to open the door. The rust was so ingrained that it was a struggle, even with the car feebly trying to help. Eventually, they got the door far enough ajar for them to peer in. The interior had fared no better than the exterior. The seat covers were cracked and peeling, and there was an air of mustiness. Both recoiled from the odour.
"Poor thing. It never smelled that bad before," said Ginny reminiscently.
* * *
The first time she knew they were really boyfriend and girlfriend, and not, you know, just people who had snogged in front of a whole roomful of housemates, was a few hours after that monumental kiss. Hands still tightly clasped together, they wandered aimlessly during that too-short afternoon. They talked of everything and nothing, and did a lot of snogging in between.
It was a hot day and after a while she wanted some shade, somewhere to sit down … where they could, maybe, get in a bit more of that snogging. They were close to the edge of the forest, so they aimed themselves haphazardly in that direction. Focussed only on each other, they didn't notice the car until they almost fell over it. It revved its engine huffily, and Ginny immediately patted its hood.
"Sorry, buddy. I didn't see you there." Harry snorted, and she turned a glare on him, which he stepped back from in mock alarm.
"My prat, here, was helping me look for some shade, so we were distracted."
"What my girlfriend is trying to ask, is whether you'll let us shelter inside … from the heat …"
The car doors immediately sprang open, and Harry held out his hand to her, but Ginny didn't move.
"Girlfriend?" she whispered. "You really mean that?"
"Don't you want to? I thought …" Suddenly, he was doing a good impression of a Weasley blush.
She leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him. This kiss could not rightfully be called a snog. This kiss was gentle, passionate, caring. This kiss poured all her feelings into him, and when it ended he let out a soft, "ah." Then, after a moment's lengthening silence, he added, "So we are boyfriend and girlfriend, then."
She chuckled, and this time it was she who held her hand out to him and they both clambered inside the car, waiting patiently beside them.
* * *
The car's attempts to move were disheartening. It had got itself out of the forest and into the sun, but seemed too spent to get any further. There was clearly very little fight left in the old thing. As they watched, the remaining headlight flickered once and then died.
Ginny's hand quivered a little in Harry's as they watched the car slowly losing power. It had once been such a constant, solid presence in their lives that it was hard to remember that it was old and hadn't had any proper care in years. Ginny squeaked out a laugh. Her dad would be devastated if he knew what had come of his prized possession.
She said as much to Harry, who grinned and said, "Probably … but I bet he'd have been just as bemused by what this car saw in its heyday. Or maybe he'd have got out the pitchforks."
* * *
The first time he knew this was a real relationship, and not just, you know, a short-term high school fling, he was kissing her. Or rather, he'd just finished kissing her. Usually when they kissed, it was brilliant; about as brilliant a thing as Harry could ever remember doing. This time, though, the most brilliant thing was the way she filled the space in him after they'd kissed. It was the first time he'd noticed that just being with her was as amazing as kissing her.
She lay back against the cool seat of the car, head resting on his shoulder, tracing delicate lines along the knuckles on his hands. There was a sense of peace in the car, with no need to talk. She spoke volumes to him just by being there. He realised, with a kind of delighted awe, that she was the person he enjoyed spending time with the most in the world, whether they talked or not, or were kissing or not. Being with her felt right. His breath let out in a deep, happy sigh.
She tilted her head and smiled up at him.
"Knut for your thoughts, Mr Potter?"
Unwilling to admit to the soppy direction his thoughts were taking him, he merely said, "I was just thinking how I don't want to leave here. Bloody Snape is waiting, though …"
She sighed, and twisted to him. She brushed his lips with her own, and said, "I know. I swear that bloke is out to keep us apart, Harry. Vindictive swine. Oh well – study calls, I guess."
She started to move away, and he pulled her back. "Can we stay just a little longer? I'm not ready to face Snape yet. I'd rather be with you."
Laughing, she shook her head. "No way! I'm not giving Snape any excuse to give you more detentions. Now, come on."
Reluctantly, he slid out of the car after her, and they headed slowly back up to the castle.
* * *
The thrumming sense of 'something' in the car finally disappeared. It looked no different than it had a few short moments before, but both watchers knew that the indefinable essence that had given the car its wild life had gone. It was now nothing more than a rusted out old wreck; its silence was deafening.
Even though she knew it had only been animated by a spell, and that it had always essentially been a lifeless object, Ginny felt immensely saddened that the old thing had once more become a Muggle artefact.
The devastation of its once-fine body reminded her far too forcibly of all the bodies she had seen, broken down and lifeless. Far too many bodies. Harry squeezed her hand, and they both patted the car and said their goodbyes.
* * *
The first time she knew that she was in love, and not, you know, just in a relationship, she had found him, curled and emotionally broken after Dumbledore's death.
She had looked everywhere, but he had isolated himself in the immediate aftermath. No-one had seen him, and she was worried about him. He took far too much on himself, and blamed himself for far too many things that were not his fault. She had no doubt about what he was doing this time.
In a last-ditch attempt to track him down, she went to the car. She didn't really expect him to be there, but needed to have checked every avenue, for her own peace of mind. It had parked itself on the edge of the forest, barely visible through the trees. It might have been her imagination, but she thought it … winked at her.
Approaching the door, she saw a light flick on and a dark figure huddled on the back seat. Relieved that she had found him, and with a pang of satisfaction that he had at least sought out 'their place,' even if he hadn't come to her, she opened the door.
"Harry," she said softly, and he stirred and opened his eyes.
Staring into the green depths, Ginny had a realisation. He looked so broken, lost and alone, that her heart ached for him. In fact, her heart ached far more than she would have expected of herself. Ginny was strong; she coped when people went through this sort of thing – heck, she'd coped herself, but seeing him that way affected her more than it should.
It suddenly hit her that she was in love with him. How it had happened, she didn't know, but there it was.
This was definitely not the time to go into that, though, so she crawled into the car with him and took him in her arms. He pressed into her shoulder and she felt it grow wet. Tears ran down her own cheeks, and they stayed that way, huddled together, until the tears ran dry and they were both able to face other people again.
* * *
As he turned away from the wreckage of the old car, Harry was forcefully struck by the knowledge that life is fleeting, and how important it was to make the most of the time you have. That was something that Harry had lived with for a long time, of course, his life having been almost cut short far too many times to count; but it wasn't until he saw it from the perspective of something that had chosen its own life, and lived exactly as it wanted to, that it really hit him.
"Ginny … I know this car is just … well, just a broken down Muggle car now."
He looked at it with a new expression on his face, and a new tone in his voice. She glanced up at him, the sadness in her eyes turning to puzzlement as she saw the muted joy that was reflected down at her.
"I want to – to get your dad to help me fix this up, make it look the way it used to. Then I want to park it in our garden and have it as a place where we can go together."
"Our garden? What garden? We don't have … oh!" Her confusion dissipated as she figured out what he was saying.
"It's the end of the road for this old dear, but why can't it be the start of another? We've had loads of adventures with it. Why not try for some new ones?"
* * *
The first time they knew they were going to be married and not, you know, just stay in a long-term relationship, they were standing by the wreckage of an old car. On the anniversary of one of the bleakest days in their lives, and near the place where he had once walked to his death, they chose to follow the old Anglia's example and walk towards the life they wanted – together.