Wearily, Ginny opened her eyes. Sunlight was desperately trying to penetrate her curtains, casting glints of morning light across the worn, biscuit-brown carpet. Still only half awake, she forced herself to get out of bed, leaving the comfortable softness of her quilt behind. Stumbling over to her wardrobe, Ginny found herself smiling as she remembered Harry's comforting words from the night before. They had filled her up with sort of warmth, which stopped all her feelings of despair in their gloomy tracks. Apparently, this was enough to buy Ginny one precious night's sleep, which came with a calmness she barely recognised. After this unexpected but overly necessary rest, Ginny was refreshed, and she dressed and headed to the kitchen in higher spirits than she had felt for a while.

Since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Fred's death, Molly Weasley had taken to busying herself in an attempt to not have time to grieve. On entering the kitchen, Ginny noticed her mother hurrying about the room in search of things to clean or tidy. She seemed almost excited on realising that George had finished his breakfast, because it meant she could wash up his plate. Ginny scanned the room. George was sitting at the kitchen table, finishing off his cup of pumpkin juice, and Mr Weasley sat opposite him, reading the Daily Prophet. Hermione was standing against the wall, near the window, reading a rather heavy looking book, glancing out the window occasionally. There was however, no sign of Ron or (to Ginny's great disappointment) Harry.

"Hey Mum," she said, heading towards the table and taking the seat next to her father, "Where's –" As if on cue, Ron trudged into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. His feet shuffled noisy along the floor, his orange dressing gown cord dragging along behind them.

"Whasabreakfast?" He grumbled, looking up at his mother, who had begun whisking eggs at an alarming pace. Instead of the answer he had hoped for, his reply came in the form of a question from Ginny.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, trying to sound casual as she sipped her juice. Ron lumbered over, collapsing lazily down on the chair by George.

"Dunno," he said, "He left a few hours ago." He paused to stifle a yawn. "But he took his broom. He'll probably be back in a bit. What's it to you anyway?" Blushing slightly, Ginny shrugged, and became suddenly interested in the plate of eggs Mrs Weasley was bringing towards her. On setting down her children's food, Mrs Weasley seemed to become rather jittery on not having anything to do. She took to brushing lint from the suit her husband was wearing which, evidently, made him somewhat disgruntled.

As morning blurred into afternoon, Harry was still absent from the Burrow, unaware that Ginny anxiously awaited his return. His presence alone made her feel better. He was like a flicker of hope in a dying fire. A diminutive cinder, refusing to be put out. She sat at home, longing for him to make his way through the door, so that she could run to him, throw her arms around him, let him tell her that he would help her to get through. Through the progression of the day, Ginny watched her father leave for work, worry lines creasing his forehead, dark rings underneath his sunken eyes. She put up with her uneasy mother, who was still bustling around, readjusting every cushion and straightening every picture on the wall. She saw George sulking, wallowing in his own misery, at not being able to share the day with his departed and sorely missed twin. She envied Ron and Hermione, who spent every waking moment with their fingers intertwined, whispering softly to each other. Afternoon faded into the darkness of evening. The sky was draped in deep purple velvet, but not a single star shone through. Only the moon, in all its solitude, glared coldly down at Ginny, almost completely smothering the tiny light of optimism. A blast of cold wind slapped Ginny in the face, catching her attention. She turned towards the door to see Harry wander in, clutching his Firebolt.

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, taking all her effort not to fling herself at him.

"Hi, Ginny," he said, a little surprised at her enthusiastic greeting. He smiled at her, then headed towards the hallway.

"Hey, wait," Ginny called, following him. He turned back towards her. Ginny, all of a sudden, could think of nothing to say. She wanted to say how much she wished she had been with him, or how much she had missed him in his absence. She wanted to tell him that she didn't want him to ever leave, and then pull him over to her so they could sit together by the fire. "D'you want a game of Exploding Snap?"

For the remainder of the evening, Harry and Ginny played Exploding Snap, as well as a game of Wizard Chess, which Harry won. They both laughed and joked, enjoying the games. After a second game of chess, when Ginny's queen refused to step onto the board again, suffering from some severe neck injuries, they cleared away, and sat talking. Ginny forgot about her sorrows once more as she giggled with Harry. Harry told Ginny that he had been flying his Firebolt in the woods behind the Burrow, but had flown into a tree when swerving to avoid a bird. He'd pulled up his trouser leg to reveal a dark purple bruise on this ankle, which Ginny fixed for him magically, laughing at him. Thanking her, Harry stood up and stretched.

"Night, Ginny," he said, picking up his broom. Ginny stood up with him.

"Thanks, Harry, you always seem to make me feel better," she blushed, but kept his gaze, then broke it to kiss him. She felt happiness spread warmly through her body, as though someone had switched the blood in her veins with hot chocolate. Breaking apart, Harry smiled at her, a faint, dusty glow in his bottle green eyes. Ginny only realised then that Harry had his arms wrapped around her.

"Night, Ginny," he repeated, a lot quieter than before. He left without another word. Ginny leant against the wall. Stop it; she thought to herself, You're smiling too much – you only kissed, that's nothing new. But Ginny didn't care. The miniscule glimmer of light had intensified into a miniature flame. Miniature, but fighting to grow.