This moment has been written so many times - there has to be something between the last chapter and the epilogue of Deathly Hallows. I've realized that my Harry and Ginny are a bit more cynical and so this take is more flawed. I can never tell if I'm writing out-of-character or not, so I ask you to forgive me. I'm just trying to write a real version of what happened after the final battle. There are so many things – the many deaths, the press, the cleanup after the war, the emotional trauma of the last battle – that could separate Harry and Ginny. That said, I am a full-fledged H/G shipper. I just want their story to be as realistic as possible.
Thank you for reading and if you enjoy it (or not), I hope you'll review.
Please note that I own nothing but the plot, and that I am deeply indebted to JK Rowling for creating this amazing, magical world for me to putter about in.
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Ginny took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. She was terrified and she couldn't think why. This was Harry, she reminded herself. She knew him. She knew what it was like to kiss him, she knew what his favorite color was and she knew what his deepest ambitions were. She'd spent hours talking to him, hours kissing him, hours with him.
But she was scared she didn't know him anymore.
The door opened and he was standing there. Tall as ever, black hair messy, green eyes lightly obscured by black-framed glasses. He looked handsomer than she'd ever seen him, too. But mostly, he looked tired.
"Ginny," he said. He sounded surprised. "Nice to see you."
"You too." She smiled.
They stared at each other, neither one moving.
"May I come in?" She finally asked.
"Oh. Yes, of course." Harry opened the door wider and she walked into his new flat.
It was nice, she supposed. Big. Gleaming wooden floors and elegant furniture. It didn't really look like him. Harry needed a cozy house somewhere, maybe in Godric's Hollow where his parents had lived, or in Hogsmeade. Somewhere full of wizards and families and laughter. Not this pristine apartment.
"Do you want anything to drink?" He asked.
"No thank you." She wandered into a well-appointed living room and sat down on one of the couches. He followed her and sat across from her. A large mahogany table separated them.
"How have you been?" She asked. She'd seen him a few times when he'd been at the Burrow, but they hadn't been alone. Not once in the month since he'd vanquished the Dark Lord.
"Fine." He gave a thin smile. "Press is finally starting to leave me alone."
"That's great." She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. This is Harry, she reminded herself.
"How's the family?" He asked.
"They're…they're all right. Mum has stopped crying so much. George is pretty quiet but he's gone back to the shop."
"That's good."
Conversation was exhausted. They sat there, quietly. Ginny knew it was time. She did. It was just hard to begin.
"I wanted to talk to you," she finally told him. "About us."
"Oh. Right." He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. The apprehensive butterflies started up in her stomach again.
"Is…is there an us?" She asked softly.
"I don't…" Harry trailed off and looked at her. "I'm sorry Gin, I don't know."
"You don't know?" She felt very small and foolish. Despite her nervousness, she'd harbored a secret little fantasy in the back of her mind: Harry would take her in his arms, kiss her senseless and tell her he was a great big idiot for not coming to her sooner and asking her to marry him. Evidently that was just a dream.
"It's been hard," he said. "I'm not who I was."
"You're still Harry," she whispered.
"Gin – dying and coming back to life. It changed me. I think – I think I still love you, but I can't…I can't be that guy right now. I can't do that right now."
"When?" She asked.
"I don't know." He shrugged.
"I can't wait forever," she replied sadly.
"Then – somebody else…"
"I don't want somebody else!" She could feel tears trickling down her cheeks – idiot – but she kept talking because she had to say this, she had to do this now. "We were apart because of You-Know-Who, I understood that when he was alive. He's dead now, Harry! You killed him. Why is he still between us?"
"Gin – " But they both knew he couldn't say what she needed to hear.
She stood up. "I think I'll go now."
"Okay." He stood up and followed her to the door.
They said good-bye in the doorway. As he closed the door behind her, Ginny stood in the hallway, trembling.
She would be off for school in a few weeks. The castle was nearly rebuilt and everyone was eager to be back to normalcy. Not Ginny. She only had until then to make Harry understand that he needed to fight for her. For them. If she lost him – if she didn't see him until Christmas or maybe until the spring, well, that would be it. Their story would be over.
She'd lost so much. Fred – sometimes she thought her heart would break when she thought about him, when she thought about George and her parents and what the family was going through. And Remus and Tonks, who were so young and wonderful together. She didn't want to lose Harry too. She couldn't bear it.
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It was a week later when he came to the Burrow. He'd been by a few times, mostly to see Ron or Mrs. Weasley. The Burrow wasn't quite the same. Fred's death had seen to that. It wasn't quite as cozy, quite as perfect. Ginny stayed away as often as she could, spending most of her time in the fields beyond the house, just thinking.
But this particular day there was a fantastic lightning storm and Ginny had decided to curl up with a book on the couch in front of a fire. It was pleasant and would have continued to be if she hadn't heard them, talking.
"I'll go and look for it dear," Mrs. Weasley was saying. "Not sure if I can find it but I'll give it a go."
"I don't want to be any trouble." That was Harry's voice. "If it's too much…."
"Too much? Don't be ridiculous!" They were getting closer. "I'll be back in a moment. Why don't you go wait in the living room?"
"Thanks," Harry said.
And only one set of footsteps continued on into Ginny's little haven.
She knew the exact moment he noticed her because the footsteps stopped.
"Ginny," he said.
She sat up, feeling a total wreck, and looked at him. Tall and handsome as ever. Somehow, every time she saw him, she thought he would change. Become less attractive. Maybe even ugly. But no. He was just as devastatingly gorgeous. If anything, better looking than he'd been just a week ago. Not as tired, perhaps.
"Hello," she ground out.
"I'm just – your Mum is lending me something." He looked apologetic.
"Do you want to sit down?"
"Thanks." He gave a half-hearted smile and perched on an old, overstuffed easy chair.
Silence again. She hated this. They'd been so close, back in her fifth year. They'd shared everything. They'd been able to talk for hours. Now conversation was just stilted, awkward, uncomfortable.
"How have you been?" He asked.
"Fine." She turned back to her book. She tried to make a big show of it, to show him that she wasn't interested. She wanted him back – god, she did – but she wanted him to want it. She wanted him to move.
"Good book?" he asked.
She gave him one of those you're-disturbing-my-reading glares, hoping he'd take the hint. "Wonderful," she managed. It was terse.
She looked at the page she was on but the words weren't quite in focus. She started the paragraph over again but couldn't make sense of it. All she could think about was him, about the way he smelled and the way he looked.
"What are you doing here?" She blurted, finally. It was a bit rude, she knew, but he was just sitting there as though nothing was wrong.
"I told you." He gave a small smile. "Your mum is lending me something."
"And you had to come by today? Now?"
"I didn't know you'd be here," he said quietly.
"And if you'd known you wouldn't have come? Is that what you're saying?" She raised her eyebrows.
"God, Gin, what do you want me to say?" He stood up as if the explosive tone of his voice had forced him out of his chair. "I thought perhaps we could be civil toward each other. I thought we could start over."
"Harry." She put her book on her lap and stared into his green eyes. God, they were beautiful. "We can't start over. We've come too far for that – don't you see?"
He opened his mouth, as if to respond, but Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to bustle in. She had a small brown bag in her hand which she handed to Harry with a smile.
"Here you are, dear," she said cheerfully. "You two catching up, then?"
"Actually, I have to go." Harry gave an apologetic smile. "Thank you very much." And then he was gone with a little pop.
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Then there were two weeks. They were dull weeks, to say the least. Ginny finished four more books and had begun a fifth. She'd rearranged her room three times. She'd cooked the Muggle way because it was more time consuming. She'd helped George a bit with the shop but she just wasn't cheerful enough to man the counter. When she yelled at a customer for the seventh time, her brother fired her.
So it was back to the fields beyond the house. She napped in the soft grass for hours at a time (after a protective Insect Repelling charm, of course.) She watched the butterflies and wished she was one of them, carefree and bright.
She'd just dozed off on a particularly warm afternoon when she heard was awakened by footsteps coming over the hill. She could feel the vibrations through the ground and sat up quickly. The War was over, she knew that, but there were some things a person never took lightly and an intruding stranger was one of those.
She scooted back so that she could lean against a tree, casually positioning her wand by her side and picking up the book she'd brought with her. She pretended to read it, her eyes angled slightly over the top so she could see who was approaching.
Of course it was him. Of course.
"Your mother said you'd be here," he said by way of greeting.
She stared at him stonily.
"I think we need to talk."
She kept staring.
"Right." He sat down across from her.
"You're not going away, are you?" She asked, cautiously lowering her book.
"No."
"Fine." She scrambled up onto her feet using the tree as support. The rough bark scraped her back, but she didn't care. Did he want to torture her?
Unfortunately, he did. He had managed to pull his wand from nowhere and was pointing it at her, muttering something under his breath. And then suddenly she was back on the ground, legs crossed, leaning against the tree.
"Nice trick," she said with a glare.
"I just want to talk to you, Ginny."
"Shoot." She crossed her arms.
"Fine." He took a deep breath. "When you came to my apartment that day – I couldn't react, Ginny. I wasn't ready. I don't know if I'm ready now. If I'll ever be ready. But I thought maybe – maybe we could try. Together."
"What are you saying?" She asked quietly.
"I want to be with you, Gin. I still love you. I never stopped. You know that." He scooted closer and tried to reach for her hands, but she kept them crossed.
"So we can be together when you're ready?"
"I didn't mean it like that…"
"I know what you meant. A few weeks ago you said you couldn't handle it. And now, suddenly you can? I'm not just some toy, Harry, I'm not just sitting here waiting for you to say 'go.' I don't need you anymore."
She stood up, half-expecting him to pull out his wand and put another spell on her that would keep her from leaving. But he did no such thing. He let her walk away.
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There were only a few weeks left before school started. There was a lot of talk in The Daily Prophet and on the street about how Hogwarts would be. There had been immense rebuilding over the summer, but scars would remain. Powerful magic left marks. People whispered that a lot. It always reminded Ginny of Harry's scar, but she kept that to herself.
The summer had brightened midway through. Ron and Hermione had gotten engaged and were living at the Burrow while they searched for their own place. George had begun to heal too and was seeing a girl – though he wouldn't tell anybody who. Bill and Charlie had come by for visits and Mrs. Weasley had even let Ginny spend a weekend at a friend's house.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even close to perfect. It was still sad and strange. But it was better. Livable.
She hadn't forgotten about him, of course, but she'd pushed him to the back of her mind – way back. There was so much else to think about, really.
"Ginny!" Her mother's voice cut through her thoughts. "I need your school robes if I'm going to wash them before you pack!"
"I know." Ginny looked at her mother, who was leaning casually against the doorway to Ginny's room.
"Bring them downstairs when you're ready," Mrs. Weasley said, turning to leave. "And don't take all day. I have a lot to do."
"I know," Ginny said again, watching her mother leave.
School robes – bottom drawer? No. Ginny opened her closet, staring at the mess. She hadn't bothered to sort everything when she'd unpacked at the end of the year. She'd just shoved everything messily where it would fit.
Suddenly, there was a loud slam. She whipped around and saw – though she was almost not surprised – Harry standing with his back to her door.
"We have to talk," he said. He sounded almost like the old Harry, as though he was planning some new lessons for the DA or a trip to Hagrid's hut.
"We already talked," Ginny replied. He had her cornered now, true, but she didn't need to be cordial.
"No. We said things. We didn't talk, Gin. We haven't talked properly in a long time. A couple of sentences here and there – relationships are harder than that. The first time was my fault – I know that. I wasn't fair to you. I was expecting you to understand things that I didn't understand myself. But you haven't been completely fair with me either. You haven't let me explain myself or try to make things right."
"So we both messed up." Ginny sat down on an end of her bed. Harry perched on the opposite side.
"We both messed up."
"What do we do now?" Ginny traced the pattern on her bedspread with an idle finger. "Do we fix it?"
Harry scooted closer so their thighs were nearly touching. "Do you want to fix it?" He asked gently.
"I thought you didn't want to." Ginny stared at her lap. "I thought – "
"I know. God, Gin, when you left my flat that day I felt like such an idiot. I wanted to run after you, tell you that I didn't mean it – but I realized that wouldn't be enough. So I decided to wait. The day I was over here, with your Mum, she gave me this." He pulled a small blue velvet box out of his pocket and opened it. A gorgeous ring gleamed inside: a gold band with a sparkling blue sapphire surrounded on either side by tiny white diamonds.
"What?" Ginny ran a finger over the ring, lifted her head and stared at Harry.
"Your great-grandmother's engagement ring. I don't have any heirlooms like this. And your mother was only too happy to give it to me. And now I want to give it to you. If you'll take it."
"Are you proposing to me?" Ginny whispered.
"I'm not perfect Ginny, but neither are you. We both have a lot of things to work through, scars that need to heal. But wouldn't it be better if we did that together? I love you, Ginny." He got off the bed and knelt on one knee in front of her. "Genevra Weasley, will you marry me?"
"Harry?" She lifted out a hand and pulled him back onto the bed. "I'm seventeen. I've got a year of school left. And I love you too. But all I wanted was to be back in your life."
Harry was silent for a moment, and then abruptly snapped the ring box shut. "Bit overhasty, wasn't it?"
"A bit," Ginny replied with a smile.
"So then just dating is fine for now?"
"More than fine," Ginny said and leaned in eagerly to accept his kiss.