It was the third night of Harry's stay at the burrow, and he and Ginny were setting the table for dinner. Harry was grumbling about Mum working him like a house-elf, and Ginny could barely contain her smirk. He was usually was so nice to her; it was nice to hear that he got just as frustrated as her children.
"I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and planning, she'll be able to delay you leaving," she said when he stopped for a breath.
"And then what does she thinks is going to happen? Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she's holding us here making vol-au-vents?"
Ginny stopped stock-still, but Harry kept partnering spoons and knives on the wrong side of the plates; he hadn't realized what he said, but she did, and it terrified her more than she'd like to admit.
"So it's true? That's what you're trying to do?"
"I—not—I was joking," said Harry evasively.
Ginny stared at Harry, scared for his future, but also delighted by his memory. The days they spent together at Hogwarts, walking along the grounds, sitting beside the lake; she was remembering them all. Though the memories made her happy, they also made her worry, because in light of his current revelation she was afraid those would be the only memories they ever had
These emotions conflicted in her mind so severely that she jumped when her Dad, Kingsley, and Bill walked in. She set down the remaining spoons in her hand and went up to her room to change for dinner.
She grabbed a brown sweater out of her closet, threw it on the bed, and turned to face the full-length mirror beside her nightstand. She was reminded, as she always was when she saw her reflection, of the days in her first year when she'd frantically seek a mirror, desperate to see her own face staring back and not the smooth, cool features of Tom Riddle. She closed her eyes as the memories flooded back to her. Voldemort; she remembers her possession as if it were yesterday. The scared, anxious feelings that originally accompanied it still plagued her, and she doubted very much that she would ever be completely rid of them.
After that year, she promised that she would be stronger, that she would be able to protect herself, and that she would never be vulnerable again. Yet here she was, left behind as Harry set off to defeat the man that was no longer a man, the one who had plagued her and Harry's families from the beginning, and she could do nothing but listen and wait.
But even more than it infuriated her that she could do nothing, it terrified her that Harry was doing it. She loved him, and sure, he had survived Voldemort's attacks on countless occasions, but he never went looking for him. Ginny wasn't entirely sure what Harry's plan was, but she could bet it would be dangerous, knowing him. Her thoughts were interrupted by a yell calling her down for dinner, so she threw on the sweater and headed down the stairs.
The table was crowded; the only seat left was next to Harry, do close she couldn't imagine how they would cut their chicken without bumping elbows. She thought about their positioning, and how this could be the very last time she was this close to him. Her breath fluttered just once, and it returned to normal as her mother began to speak.
"Ginny, all these forks and knives are on the wrong side! Honestly, you'd think I never taught you to set a table."
"Sorry Mum," she said with a quick smirk at Harry. He smiled back, and that relaxed her a bit. There was nothing left to do but go on with her life; it would be hard, but she would have to do it. She would be strong and vigilant, and she would wait for the day when Harry needed her, and when he did, she would be ready to fight for him.