A/n: For Harry/Ginny ship week on Tumblr because I'm certifiable H/G trash once again! I haven't written HP fic since like 2007 so here's my test drive.
The initial plan had been for Harry and Ginny to rise alongside the sun.
She'd specifically left her heavy window drapes pinned back last night, trusting that the sun would rouse her at an ungodly hour as it did every other morning. Harry had semi-neatly thrown his clothing over the back of her desk chair, so he could dress quickly and creep back up to Ron's room before anybody else in the house noticed he'd become misplaced between bedtime and breakfast. She'd even paid special mind to the pressure of her mouth on his skin, to ensure that Harry didn't return to Ron's room with a few souvenir love bites that'd be fairly difficult to explain. They'd thought of everything—except that nothing ever truly went according to plan when Harry Potter was involved.
"George!"
Her mum's panicked shriek ripped Ginny from a deep sleep—quite unlike the way she'd planned on waking: gently stirred by the brightness of the sun, with Harry's skin warming hers. She sat straight up and inhaled sharply, her hand immediately diving towards her pillow, for the wand she'd stashed beneath. Instead, her fingers made a cracking collision with Harry's face, hard enough to wrench a cry from lips and leave her fingers throbbing. Within the span of two seconds, she was staring at the tip of his wand, aimed between her eyes in a blind panic. Her eyes crossed in their quest to focus in on the threatening object and her heart skipped a few, panicked beats.
"Harry—" she whispered, concerned, right as he said:
"Sorry. Ginny. Sorry."
The wand was now quivering. He quickly dropped it down onto the top of Ginny's quilt, and when she instinctively reached for his wand hand, his palm was clammy.
"I thought—I'm sorry."
His eyes were wide and aching, his words still slurred by sleep. Ginny felt her body recline back down beside his by instinct.
"No, it's fine, I'm—" her own apologies were cut off by her mother.
"Arthur! Arthur! I can't—where's George?! I can't find him!"
Had this happened two months ago, Ginny would've been racing throughout the house, panicked and calling for George, too. But it was not two months ago. And it was not new or necessarily alarming for any of the Weasleys to wake to find Molly in a panic. She was predictable, now more than before. She'd wake around seven thirty. She'd peak into every room and count every red-and-black-haired head. And if she came up short one…
"Molly, I'm sure he's just gone out into the—the garden again," her dad's voice carried through the thin walls and ceilings, despite how tired and small it was. The garden. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't necessarily the truth either. George spent most of his day at the edge of the garden, which was home to more beneath the ground than carrots or potatoes. Ginny swallowed roughly and glanced back down at Harry, who was drifting slowly back to sleep now that he remembered there was nothing more to be afraid of, his face now pressed into Ginny's bare shoulder and his fingers weaved through her tangled hair. She focused tiredly on the softness of his cheek against her skin, chained in place by her exhaustion and anxiety. Until she realized the full picture of this situation.
"I'll go find him," Arthur continued tiredly. "You go check on the others, dear."
"Damn," she breathed. She hated to disturb Harry, but she was equally uninterested in her mother finding her naked in her bed with a nude Harry Potter. They were meant to have roused an hour ago. He should've already been upstairs in his camp bed in Ron's room by now, and she should've been showered and dressed, waiting to head downstairs to help her mum with breakfast. Her mum would check Ron's room next. And then she'd check Ginny's, on her way downstairs to the kitchen—
"What—? Ronald! Ron! Where's Harry?!" Molly shrieked.
It was loud enough to wake whoever might still be snoozing within the house. Ginny cursed vehemently beneath her breath, her heart rate increasing.
"What? Mum—get off! What?! Ouch!" Ron yelled. "Stop shaking me! He's right—" he stopped. "Oh. I dunno. Toilet?"
The thundering footsteps above them sent both Ginny and a newly-awoken Harry into a flurry of action. She quickly kicked her quilt off of their bodies and rolled off the bed, landing deftly on the worn carpet below. Harry's wand went flying across her room with the force of her quilt-toss, but he ignored it, choosing instead to shove his glasses onto his face with fumbling hands and grasp messily for his clothes atop the back of her chair—
"He's not here!" Molly cried.
"C'mon, Mum! He's probably with—with George, or…" Ron trailed off. Ginny's heart stopped. "You know, I'll bet he's with Ginny."
"Ginny?" Molly's voice was sharp. "Why would he be with Ginny?"
Ginny resisted the urge to scoff. It seemed, no matter how much she hung around Ron, Harry, and Hermione, she'd never be an assumed member of their group by her mother.
"I dunno, Mum, they play Quidditch in the morning together sometimes, don't they? Can I go back to bed now?"
Ginny had her knickers on and one leg into her jeans when the footsteps descended the stairs. She quickly motioned for Harry – half dressed, panicked, his pants on backwards—to stop. She hurried over, grasped his arm, and pulled him over to stand beside her bedroom door. She yanked her jeans on all the way, threw her dressing gown on over her bare chest, and managed to knot it right before the footsteps reached the first level. She mimed for Harry to keep quiet and then opened her bedroom door.
"Mum?" She called, stifling a fake yawn. Her mother stopped in place at the foot of the stairs. Her hair was wild, her face pale. Ginny felt a momentary stab of guilt. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"
"Ginny, have you seen George or Harry? I can't—I can't find them, they're not here." Her mother wrung her hands in a gesture that was almost heartbreakingly young. For a moment, Ginny could easily see a small girl standing where her mother was standing, but it passed quickly enough.
"Have you checked outside? I think I heard their voices a few minutes ago, but I'm not sure…I was asleep." She stifled another yawn. "I'm sure they're okay, though, Mum."
Molly's eyes drifted towards the stairs. "Will you come down and start breakfast while I look?"
Ginny nodded quickly. "'Course, Mum. I'll be down in a moment."
"Don't be ridiculous," Molly snapped, suddenly as fierce as always. "You'll come right now. I can't have everybody waiting around for breakfast, starving."
Ginny faltered. "Can I at least get dressed?"
"I'll wait."
It occurred to Ginny, as she gently cracked her door behind her (knowing shutting it fully would be too suspicious), that perhaps her mum couldn't bear to walk into the empty kitchen alone, unsure of what she'd find. These days, it was the absences that were scariest.
Ginny met Harry's eyes as she hurried over and quickly grabbed one of her knitted jumpers off of the floor. She tugged it over her head, forgoing her bra for lack of time. Harry parted his lips and almost said something—but Ginny shot him a look so fiery that he immediately stopped, his expression tortured. He tapped frantically at the center of his chest as she hurried towards the door, but she didn't have time to indulge in whatever objection he suddenly had to her going bra-less.
"Okay," Ginny sighed, stepping out into the hall. She gently shut the door behind herself, hoping Harry would manage to find his way outside without being seen before her mum got out there. She looked up at her mum after pulling her long hair free from the collar of the jumper. Her mum was staring at her, an odd look in place. "Mum. Ready?"
She pursed her lips tightly. Ginny stared at the line of her mother's mouth, wondering who was about to get torn into by Molly Weasley. Surely not her mourning brother and surely not the 'savior of the wizarding world'?
She followed her mum downstairs warily, unsurprised to find Ron dozing at the breakfast table, obviously having been unpermitted to return to bed. His eyes opened sleepily as they entered, but he let them drift back shut moments later, obviously uninterested in who'd just joined him. Ginny walked over to the hob, desperately hoping nobody could read the thick anxiety coursing through her on the lines of her body. She grabbed a heavy pot, glancing towards her mum out of the corner of her eye as she did. She was standing at the kitchen window.
"He's out here, Molly. In the—garden." Arthur's voice broke on the last word. He cleared his throat roughly. "What's wrong?"
Moments passed without a response. Ginny was beginning to feel extremely exposed and antsy. She continued with her task of making porridge, her movements a bit more desperate.
"Can't find 'Arry." Ron answered finally. He yawned deeply, allowing himself to drift back off once he answered their father.
"What?" Her dad's voice was sharp this time. "What do you mean? You don't think he's run off, do you? He seemed to be doing better, I thought. Ron, when's the last time you saw—"
"Would you like tea, Arthur?"
Oh, damn. The forced calm in her mother's voice was very bad news. She knew—and Ginny didn't know how she knew—but she did. There was no mistaking the eerie switch to her tone.
"Tea? What about Harry—"
"Ginny, dear," her mother called. Ginny paused mid-stir. She glanced back over her shoulder, hardly noticing that the movement sent a few strands of her hair dipping into the pot of sticky porridge in front of her. She stared at her mum and her mum stared back, hard, her gaze stifling. "Would you make your father some tea?"
"Erm. Yes." She could hear the uncertainty in her own tone, and she hated it. She quickly abandoned the porridge and reached for the kettle. She hated when her mum did this; she could handle being yelled at just fine, it was this eerie-calm-before-the-storm that bothered her. It made her uneasy to know that her mum was angry with her for something, but to not know exactly what that something was (or to know the extent of her mum's knowledge about a supposed wrongdoing).
She'd just put the kettle to boil when the back door opened. Harry's voice was out of breath.
"S-sorry, hi, good morning," he greeted thinly. "I was—with the brooms, you know. Polishing—and such."
"Oh, good morning, Harry," her mother greeted, her voice now dripping with sarcasm. "It's so good to see you up and out so early."
"Mate," Ron's tired voice finally called. "What've you done to your jumper? Did you try to put it in the—the muggle drying box? In Australia? At Hermione's parents' house?"
Ginny's head flew around to glance at Harry so quickly that something pulled painfully in her neck. She hissed in pain and reached up mindlessly to knead at it, but then stopped. She stared at Harry with a dry mouth, her mind whirling. He tugged uncomfortably at the hem of the too-short jumper, trying to hide his bare midriff. The sleeves reached mid-forearm on him. It was clearly Ginny's jumper; he'd put it on inside out to attempt to hide the G, but it was still easy to see, albeit backwards from the underside. Ginny guessed he'd made an escape from the window, assuming Ron was still upstairs, and assuming both her parents would be with George in the—the garden (graveyard), and that he'd be able to sneak into the utility room to grab a shirt from the basket of clean clothes without anybody seeing…
"Oh." Harry finally said, as if he'd just realized his jumper was too small. He pulled at the hem and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Well. I think the laundry got a bit…mixed up."
Ginny—desperate to get the attention off Harry—grabbed the kettle and carried it over to the table, where the teapot was waiting. She poured the water in over the tea, watching the color bloom from clear to toffee in a matter of seconds.
"Right, Gin?" He pressed.
She looked up. It was at that moment, facing her parents, Ron, and her secret boyfriend, that she realized she was drowning in a jumper with sleeves too long. She glanced down at her chest and stared at her H. She looked back up, everything suddenly making complete sense.
"Oh, bollocks." She sighed.
"Ginevra!"
Ron was looking between Ginny and Harry with his lips parted, confused and a bit sickened.
"But—" he stopped. "You two aren't—you ended things. Over a year ago."
"Ended things?" Arthur repeated, baffled. He too was looking between Ginny and Harry, at a speed decidedly unfriendly for his neck. Ginny's gave another twinge of pain at the thought, as if reminding her she'd wounded it. "I wasn't aware there was ever anything to end."
His voice was a bit sharp. Ginny guessed she'd been right to think he wouldn't be entirely thrilled that her boyfriend had been living underneath the same roof as her, on and off, for a while.
"We got our laundry mixed up…" Harry attempted again, but his own voice was feeble and dejected, like he knew there was no point.
Ginny burst. "Honestly, Mum, it's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal! You're sixteen! You're—you're—" she trailed off, floundering for words in her shock. Ginny was certain she wanted to yell you're my baby!, but had thought better of it.
"I'll be seventeen in less than a month."
"I don't—this isn't about—" she broke off, her lips pursing back into that thin line. Her face was growing redder by the minute: a dire sign. Molly Weasley tended to fly off the handle much more volatilely when she wasn't certain what to feel or how to react, and discovering that her daughter was sleeping with Harry Potter seemed to fall into that category of uncertainty. Ginny braced herself for impact, and Harry was slowly stepping back into the shadows…when the door opened once more.
"Morning!" George greeted. His ordinarily flat voice was fuller than usual, and it was such a difference that everyone immediately switched their eyes to him. He must've been standing outside the door for a few minutes, because he didn't look confused at all at the scene in front of him. In fact, he was looking between Ginny and Harry with a decidedly mischievous glint to his eyes. A glint they hadn't seen even a shadow of since Fred's death.
Without a second's pause, he walked over, stood beside Harry, and grasped his hand. He swung their joined hands between them in a schoolgirl fashion. Harry stared up at him apprehensively. His expression hardly had time to change as George reached down and gave his bum a teasing—albeit firm—pat. "Stealing my jumper—you're such a naughty boy."
Before Harry could process what he'd said—let alone respond—he'd turned to Ginny. She watched her brother carefully, laughter brimming at the back of her throat.
"Good." He nodded approvingly. "Glad you got him back, Ginny. Keep stealing those jumpers on my behalf."
Without another word, he walked from the room whistling, an air of such casual confidence about him that—for a moment—Ginny's parents looked genuinely convinced that George and Harry were involved. But as the previous reality set back into the room, as everybody remembered that, despite George's teasing, it was clearly Ginny's jumper that Harry had on…George's apparent approval seemed to tint everything. Ginny felt warm and accepted, like the twins always used to make her feel as a girl. The anxious lines on her dad's face smoothed out all at once. Her mum's pursed lips parted.
"Bloody mad, honestly…" Ron muttered underneath his breath, after a long pause. "He's not even funny anymore…"
But Ginny's laughter burst from her all at once, filling the room and the anxious spaces between them with warmth. Harry seemed comforted by her reaction and let out a few chuckles himself, his eyes locked on hers. Arthur was valiantly biting back an amused grin.
"Yes, well," Molly began, her face still red and her hands a bit shaky. She cleared her throat. For a moment, Ginny was certain she saw the corners of her lips rise. "Oh—Ginny, you've let the porridge congeal!"
Ginny hurried over to the pot alongside her mother, and by the time everybody was eating, the nerves and the emotions within the kitchen were much calmer. Ginny set her bare feet atop Harry's from beneath the table, biting back a smile every time he traced a ticklish line up the arches of her feet, dutifully eating her own ruined porridge. George was downstairs again, picking at his meal, but every few minutes he'd either wink at Harry (much to Harry's horror), or exchange mischievous smiles with Ginny.
"So." Her mum finally said. George's first joke in weeks upon weeks had significantly softened her mood, to the point that Ginny could've probably told her she was pregnant and Molly would've began a baby jumper right away. She would take full advantage of this gift that George had given her. "When did…"
She trailed off, looking between Ginny and Harry. Harry—never one to be open about his personal life—stared intently at Ginny, willing her to answer.
"For a while," Ginny hedged. Molly must've seen from the secretive smile Ginny shot Harry that she wasn't going to get a play-by-play at the kitchen table (and perhaps never). There had been something undeniably lovely about keeping Harry secret, something comforting and sacred, and she wasn't sure she was ready to give it up completely. After a post-war month of being harassed by reporters and civilians, they were both quite eager to keep each other to themselves.
Ron was staring holes into the side of Harry's face, but he wasn't paying him much mind. He was too busy toeing up the cuffs of Ginny's jeans, his head bowed and his lips curled up in a semi-bashful smile.
"This started in Ginny's fifth year, Mum," Ron blurted. He'd been bursting to share that news with their parents for over a year; Ginny hadn't wanted him to when she and Harry briefly dated at Hogwarts, out of concern of how weird Harry's visits would get if all her brothers knew (and especially if she and Harry ended things and her brothers knew Harry 'broke her heart'. Even Ron hadn't taken too kindly to that, so she hadn't much wanted to see what some of her more protective brothers would do).
Her mum and dad exchanged surprised, wide-eyed looks. Harry didn't look too nervous anymore, and Ginny didn't feel nervous, either. Somehow, they knew it was going to be just fine.
"Oh. Well, that's— that's—" her mum stopped, turning to look at her dad.
"Brilliant. It's brilliant." Arthur said, firmly.
"Lovely." Her mum finally decided.
Ginny beamed, victorious. Her mum backtracked quickly, her expression going stern.
"But don't take my general approval as a blanket approval, young lady. I certainly do not approve nor condone bedroom-switching in the dead of night! And you!" She rounded on Harry once she got going. He shrank back slightly. "Sneaking out of Ron's room, never mind the reason! What were you thinking? You frightened me nearly to death, Harry! I know the war's over, dear, but I'm still—we're all still…getting back to normal, and it isn't kind to—to sneak off, when I don't know where you'll be, because then I'm worried that you…that you…"
She was probably ten seconds away from tearing up. Harry was horrified. He leaned forward and reached towards Ginny's mum helplessly.
"Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry, I planned on…" he trailed off, realizing a bit late that saying I planned on sneaking out of your daughter's bedroom before you woke was probably poor form.
"Beds empty—two beds—three—my children not where they're supposed to be—" her mum reached a shaking hand up to her face right as Ginny's dad reached for Molly's other hand. If anybody else noticed that Molly had just referred to Harry as one of her children, nobody commented on it.
"I really am sorry," Harry whispered, horrified. "Please don't cry, Mrs. Weasley."
"Yeah," George piped up. "If he's not in Ron's room next time, you'll know to check Ginny's bed."
"George!" Molly shrieked. It was the first time she'd scolded him since Fred. George looked oddly comforted by the sound of it. Ginny realized, looking between George and her mum, that maybe the best thing to do now—for all of them—would be to move forward. Instead of clinging backwards for a ghost.
Molly looked back at Ginny and Harry, her cheeks scarlet again.
"To be—to be clear, Harry and Ginny," she began. "Ginny's still not seventeen, and I won't—we won't—" she looked sternly at Arthur until he began nodding "—have…rendezvous like this again underneath the Burrow's roof. Understood?"
Ginny met George's eyes. Both their lips quivered. She looked back at her mum.
"Does the broom shed count as underneath the Burrow's roof, Mum?"
"Ginevra!" She exploded. George cackled and Harry tentatively followed suit, clearly amused but unsure whether laughing would get him another Molly scolding.
"Sorry," Ginny said with false contrite, laughter still spilling from her lips every few moments. She hadn't laughed this much at once since before the war. "Yes, Mum. I understand."
"Me too." Harry said quickly, once Ginny's mum turned her sharp eyes on him.
"Good." She nodded firmly, a bit flustered. "Good. Ron!"
"What?" He groaned.
"Come help me with the washing, Hermione will be here tomorrow and the camp bed isn't even put out yet and…"
Ginny tuned her mum's voice out, focusing instead on Harry. He gave her a sheepish grin from across the table. She beamed back. The sound of Ron's arguing faded away as he stamped from the room – ("Why am I the only one that has to help?! Ginny's been—and I'm the one who—" "She's your girlfriend, Ron! She's not Ginny's!" "Good thing she doesn't want her to be, because I'm sure if she did you'd pass her right on over to darling Ginny—" "Ronald Bilius Weasley!")— and Ginny was breathlessly relieved when it was almost just her and Harry left. Her father stubbornly stuck around, peering up at them from over the top of the Quibbler every few minutes. Ginny cleared her throat and rose.
"Fancy a match?"
Harry rose eagerly. "Yeah. I'll go change and meet you by the shed."
It was the wrong thing to say. Arthur's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"For…to get…for the brooms." A pause. "Actually, y'know, just get your broom and meet me at the back door?"
"Right."
They hovered above the Burrow, their brooms side-by-side, their bodies leaning into one another's. Ginny yawned deeply, still a bit exhausted from being torn so abruptly from a deep sleep. She smiled tiredly as she felt the soft pressure of Harry's lips atop her head.
"Do you think this counts as underneath the Burrow's roof?" She asked.
Harry laughed, amused. "I don't really want to figure out what happens if it does."
"Fair enough. They took that nicely, wouldn't want to give them a reason to change their minds."
Ginny yawned again. She lifted her head from his shoulder and peered up at him.
"Shall we start another game? I never tire from beating you."
"Ha, ha," he rolled his eyes. But Ginny caught the curve of his lips as he looked in the other direction. He was quiet for a moment—just peering out over the Burrow's surrounding land as they floated in place. "This is nice." He finally said. He turned and looked back at her. "Y'know—this. Being together. Laughing."
Ginny smiled softly. Their time together used to be spent in quite a different way. She'd held his shaking, post-nightmare body against hers innumerable times before they'd reached a place where he could be held while laughing. He'd sat quietly beside her as she cried—sat with her, really—more times than Ginny could've ever recounted. It had been a long time coming for the both of them.
"Yeah. This is nice." She agreed. She reached over and took his hand. "Beating your arse is always nice."
He laughed loudly, and before she'd even turned to look up at him, he'd circled in front of her and leaned forward, capturing her lips with his. Ginny held his face in her hands and smiled into their kiss, so he knew that she understood. And that this relationship was as healing and comforting for her as it was for him.
"Hey, I shook Mum, fancy a game of—arg! This is getting ridiculous! I can't wait 'til Hermione's here." Ron groaned, having just flown up alongside them. Harry pulled back.
"For more reasons than one, I'm sure." Ginny quipped, without missing a beat.
Ron's ears turned bright red. "Are we going to play, or not?"
Without another word, he sped off towards the goals. Ginny wasted no time speeding after him, and the joyous laughter she heard both Harry and her brother succumbing to throughout their match mended something inside of her that she'd feared was forever wounded.
That night, Harry obeyed her mother's rules—as Ginny figured he would. She crept up the stairs (an invisible creak in the old house, nothing more), slipped into Ron's room as her brother stepped out to go to the toilet, and then tiptoed her way towards Harry's bed. He let out a muffled exclamation of surprised as she immediately collapsed down on top of him, hurriedly tucking the pilfered invisibility cloak around him, too.
"You left this in my room. Why you didn't just grab it this morning, I'll never understand. And you left this." She prodded him gently in the side with his forgotten wand. She murmured an incantation underneath her breath, laughing quietly as she sent a burst of warm air up the side of his shirt. He squirmed and laughed, prying the wand from her hands.
"I was flustered." He defended himself. "And shush, if Ron catches you, we're dead."
"Eh, let's get out of here."
"So your Mum can find me in your bed and disown me? Not a chance."
"She'd never disown you; you're her only black-haired son." She leaned up and kissed his lips. "But suit yourself. I just wanted to see you, really. And I guess return what's rightfully yours."
"I'm glad you did." He smiled. His fingers wove through her loose hair. "You know, I hardly even realized I'd left my wand in your room. I think this is the longest I've been without it—and felt safe—in years."
Her heart swelled. She leaned forward and kissed him one more time, hoping he felt the affection in her kiss. Hoping he knew just how much she cherished him.
"Harry, I was thinking, what if—Harry? Merlin's beard, not again." Ron grumbled, stepping back into the room.
Harry reached up and carefully pulled the cloak down, showing his face.
"Sorry, here."
"What the bloody hell are you doing underneath that?" He demanded. He looked suddenly wary. "Never mind. Forget I asked."
Ginny carefully rolled off of Harry and then flung it off of her as well.
"Hey, Ron." She greeted cheerfully. Her brother glowered. "I was just returning Harry's cloak."
"Yeah. Sure." He looked abruptly resigned. "Just…don't be so obvious, all right? Some of us want to be able to go entire days without vomiting."
"Is that permission to steal Harry away from you, Ron? Harry, I think I've got permission to kidnap you."
"Ugh." Ron glowered one more time before throwing himself face-down onto his bed, mumbling something that sounded like Hermione, one more day, and grand sacrifice. Ginny didn't bother to try and piece that together.
She met Harry's eyes again, and from just that brief glance, she knew they weren't going to push their luck. She gave him a swift kiss (Ron groaned at the sound) and then hopped down from his bed.
"Night, Harry. Night, Ron."
"Goodnight." Harry called.
She met his eyes again at the doorway, her heart squirming with longing, but settled on another warm smile. They'd have years and years now to spend the nights together, after all. She could wait.