One Month Later

She had settled in nicely. The latte machine was more complicated than coffee had any right to be, and the telly that had come with her flat kept going all static-y—Dean used to complain about electricity doing that around him, and now that she had decided to live like a muggle, she sympathized with how incredibly annoying it was.

Currently, she was the only person working behind the counter of the cafe. There weren't many customers, and she was just wiping up a puddle of milk on the counter from when she had been too busy to do it. The rush had finally died down.

She heard the bell above the door ring weakly, and glanced up to observe the customers.

"I get that, Dud," the dark-haired man was saying. "But Aunt Petunia doesn't like it either, and I shouldn't have to sit and let her insult my birth parents all night!"

"Harry," the second man to enter, while perfectly fine-looking, did not attract much of Ginny's attention. He was larger than the other man—not fat, but just bigger. Broad shoulders, thick limbs, heavy muscles. In contrast, the other man was whipchord-thin. He had messy black hair and sparkling green eyes. "She's my aunt."

"Yeah, and Lily was my mother," the dark haired one shot back. "And she's dead. What sort of person with common decency sits at the dinner table and insults a dead person, in front of that dead person's only surviving relatives? Plus, my parents were your aunt and uncle, too."

"Harry, I get that she's offensive, all right. But she does want to come and celebrate your birthday! She seems to laud the fact that you turned out 'all right' in spite of your parents. I'm still not entirely clear on what your parents did that was so wrong, but."

"No, even Uncle Vernon hates to talk about my parents," Harry sighed heavily. "Besides, it's only May. I don't know why Aunt Petunia needs to plan these things so far in advance."

Ginny was staring, to her embarrassment, and when the one called Harry looked up, he locked eyes with her. Then he smiled. He had been attractive before, and that smile just lit up his entire face. "Hi!"

"Oh," Ginny said. "Hi. What can I get for you?"

"Just coffee," the other man—Dud, Harry had called him. Ginny assumed that that was a nickname for something, though she couldn't possibly figure out what.

"Tea, please," Harry said. "Earl Grey."

Ginny rang their orders into the till and poured hot water into the cup for the tea. Then she poured coffee for Dud, and handed over both of their drinks. Dud thanked her and went to find a table, but Harry stayed where he was, eyes locked on hers.

"Thank you," he said.

Ginny blushed, a mentally cursed the Weasley genes that made her turn so red so easily. "It's just tea," she protested weakly.

"I mean for brightening up my day," he said. Ginny blushed further, and Harry blushed as well. "Sorry, that sounded like a pickup line, didn't it? I just... Hi. I'm Harry Potter," he introduced himself, face still heated.

"Ginny Weasley," Ginny replied, meeting his offered hand and shaking it.

"Nice to meet you. Did you want to go out for coffee some time?"

Ginny looked up, hardly daring to believe it. Usually when people asked her out, they were obnoxious about it. She'd had to chase Dean, her most recent serious boyfriend, and convince him that Ron wouldn't beat him up. But here was someone—practically a stranger—who liked her—for her. He didn't know her family. He didn't know that she was an international Quidditch sensation.

She met his eyes cautiously, and searched them for any sign of maybe a muggleborn who had recognized her and was pretending not to, someone who was trying to take advantage of her fame rather than wanting her company, but she just found honest curiosity in his eyes.

So what if he was a muggle? That didn't mean that she couldn't go on a date or two. Even if her mother would kill her for getting involved with a muggle (not that her mother had anything overtly against muggles, but she still held the passive belief that muggles were somehow incompetent, unintelligent buffoons that only had the things that they had to make up for the startling and horrifying deficiency of being born without magic. Ginny's month in the muggle world—she had tried to get by without magic as much as possible, if only so that she could say that she had—had taught her differently. At first, she had thought that the telly was magic, and she still thought that—just a different kind of magic. The muggle world had magic too, because all that something needed to be magical was to fill you with wonder inside), but if anything, that was all the more reason to do it.

"I'd like that," she said shyly.

"Well, if you give me your number, I can call you?" He offered.

Ginny's eyes widened. She had honestly meant to get her mobile set up, but with no real use for it, she just hadn't gotten around to it. At work, they were already used to the eccentricity, and were fine with it as long as she was on time to her shifts.

"My mobile broke last week," she used the excuse that she had already offered to anyone else that wanted her number. "I haven't gotten it replaced yet, and I don't have a landline in my flat. The way of the future, you know?" She joked, repeating a phrase that she had heard a co-worker use last week. "Why don't we just pick a time and place and meet then?" She suggested, glad that she had thought of it. She didn't want to miss out on the chance to date like a normal person, with an attractive guy that seemed really nice.

"That works. Tomorrow night?"

Ginny mentally reviewed her work schedule, confirming that she didn't have to work tomorrow evening. "Sounds good," she agreed.

"We could just meet here?" Harry ventured. "And then go to dinner? I know a nice little Italian place that's about twenty minutes away. We could walk, or maybe take a cab. We can meet at six-thirty?"

Ginny was glad that he was making all of these suggestions, because she didn't really know etiquette for dating muggles.

"Okay, sure. Let's walk," she added. "I like to walk in the evenings."

He grinned delightedly at her, and Ginny couldn't help but smile back. "So do I," he said. Then he picked up his tea and moved to sit with his friend at a window seat, and Ginny ducked into the back storage room to do an excited little happy-dance. Jenna, her co-worker who had just arrived for the evening shift, stared at her.

"I've got a date," Ginny informed her. Jenna laughed indulgently.

"That sounds nice," she said.

"Yeah," Ginny breathed dreamily.

/

"Hello," the girl said.

"Guh," Ron replied. He had always had trouble around pretty girls.

"My name is Hermione Granger—I had an appointment with the Weasley twins?"

"Oh, sure," Ron said. "Fred! Wait, hang on. Hermione Granger?"

"Yes?"

Shaking off his fear of pretty girls, he looked closer. She did indeed resemble the eleven year old know-it-all that had been in his class at Hogwarts—at least until a careless comment on his part had nearly gotten her killed by a troll, and landed her in St. Mungo's for nearly a month. When she had gotten out, the last thing that he had heard was that her parents had transferred her to Beauxbatons.

He gathered every ounce of Gryffindor courage. He had tried to apologise for his mouth after the troll attack, but nobody had been willing to take him to see her in St. Mungo's, and she hadn't come back to Hogwarts.

"It's Ron. Ron Weasley. I just... I need to say, that I'm sorry. For that comment that I made, that led to you crying in the bathroom in first year."

Hermione looked surprised. "Oh. I had... honestly mostly forgotten about it. Thank you, though. I wasn't as nice as I could have been when I corrected you, either, and if that troll hadn't gotten in, we both probably would have forgotten about the whole incident a week later."

Ron nodded in agreement. "But I nearly got you killed. At least I learned to be more careful with my words," he commented, hoping that she would be pleased with this admission.

Hermione smiled cautiously. "Well, Ron, it's nice to see you again," she said. "Now, I really do have an appointment with Fred and George. It's about potions quality, so..."

"Oh, sure. This is their office. Fred! George! Someone here to see you!"

The twins burst in and took Hermione's attention. Ron didn't realize it, but Hermione had made him feel happy in a way that he hadn't when he was with Lavender in a long time. And her smile made his stomach flutter.

/

There were about eight different mobile companies with stores that were within walking distance of her flat. Ginny decided that, since money wasn't an issue and she just wanted a phone fast, she wouldn't shop around to compare prices. Instead, she ducked into the first one that she came across, and walked out forty-five minutes later, having set her bill up to pay automatically from the muggle bank that branched into her Gringotts account. She was holding a shiny new Samsung Galaxy S3—apparently a top market phone. The screen seemed huge, and it apparently didn't just call people—it did about a hundred other things as well.

Then she set about memorizing her number as she went back to her flat to get changed for her date. She had had the opening shift at work—4-12:30. She hadn't had too much difficulty getting used to the appallingly early hour, because some of her training schedules had her on the pitch just as early. Luckily, though, she didn't have the early morning shift at all for the rest of the week—which meant that she could stay up late tonight on her date and not worry about getting home and to bed.

At her flat, Ginny showered, and cheated on her hair—she found that she hadn't quite been able to get it to do what she wanted to using muggle methods, and dried it with her wand instead. Then she emptied the contents of her closet onto every piece of furniture in the room and contemplated them all.

She quickly came to the conclusion that none of them were right. She wanted something that said sophisticated, but not trying too hard. She wasn't sure what sort of restaurant Harry had had in mind, so needed something that wouldn't be too formal for a casual place, but something nice enough that it wouldn't be out of place if he were taking her to fine dining.

It had been ages since she had cared enough about making a positive impression to care about what she wore, but right now, it was tantamount. She decided that she needed reinforcements—the sort of reinforcements that only a gorgeous French girl who had spent her life looking like she had grown up on a runway could provide. Of course, Ginny knew that it wasn't so much the clothes that Fleur wore as the way that she wore them, but she was sure that her sister-in-law would be able to help anyway.

Shell Cottage was secluded and gorgeous, parked just a little ways away from the beach. She apparated onto the front lawn. Bill and Fleur's place had no fence, just grass that stooped down to give way to smooth, uninterrupted sand and then the ocean. Mid-May, the ocean was starting to calm from the grey fury of the winter months, but it still didn't look like it would be a fun plan to swim in it. She could just imagine Bill and Fleur's future children—red-haired little boys (because Weasley genes would always win in that regard) and fair-haired girls (because even Weasley-red couldn't win the fight against Veela traits in girls) playing on this beach, and she was happy for her brother's happiness.

"Ginny!" Fleur Weasley—formerly Fleur Delacour—was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, and she rose to greet Ginny as she came towards her. Fleur had taken some time off of work at her boss's insistence. Apparently, goblins valued children more than anything else, and the idea that Fleur would work through her pregnancy until weeks before she was scheduled to give birth was unthinkable to them. Fleur wasn't heavily pregnant yet, but it was definitely obvious and visible—her protruding stomach, the delighted glow that lit up even the part-Veela more than she usually was.

Fleur came down the front steps to kiss both of Ginny's cheeks. "Bill is at work, but I can floo him for you?" the blonde offered.

"No, no," Ginny said, waving it away. "Actually, I came to see you."

"Oh?" Fleur arched a perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrow, brushing a strand of silvery hair away from her face in a single smooth motion. "I 'eard about your fight with your mother," she added. "I was under the impression that you were breaking off contact with your family for a few months?" Fleur's accent had improved by leaps and bounds in the six years since she had married Bill, after getting a job at Gringotts to improve her English, but it did still come through on a word here and there.

Ginny rolled her eyes and followed the French beauty indoors. "I mostly just said that for mum's benefit," she said. "She wants me to be her, and it frustrates her so that I don't seem to want to! Not that there's anything wrong with being her," she added hastily, knowing that Fleur's mother had stayed at home during her and Gabrielle's childhood. "But I'm not all that interested in husband-hunting right now."

Fleur made a sympathetic clucking noise. "Come in then, and tell me what you need," she invited. "Can I get tea?"

Ginny immediately moved into the kitchen to help Fleur. "Tea would be wonderful, but I'll get it," she said, pulling the kettle from Fleur's hand. "You sit down."

Fleur made a face. "Not you too, Ginny," she protested. "I am pregnant, not disabled. I am perfectly capable of working my desk job, doing laundry, and making tea—between Bonegrinder and Bill I am going to go mad—I do not need this from you as well."

"Humor me," Ginny requested. "We all just want for you and the baby to be okay, Fleur. The first of many nieces and nephews. Fred and George are going to try to turn this little one into a prankster. And Mum is going to spoil them rotten."

"Victoire," Fleur said suddenly, resting a hand on her protruding stomach.

"What?"

"Bill and I 'ave decided. We found out the other day—it is a girl, according to the healer. And we 'ave decided on Victoire."

Ginny understood that she was the first person that Fleur had told this vital piece of information, and smiled, touched. "Victoire is a beautiful name, Fleur." She was unable to put the French accented tilt to the name that made it so elegant in Fleur's mouth, but that didn't seem to matter to her sister-in-law, who smiled like Ginny had just given her the world. "A beautiful name for a beautiful baby girl," Ginny added at Fleur's stomach.

She and Fleur had not always gotten along—when Bill had first brought the French girl home, Ginny had been jealous of her looks, and she had assumed that the girl didn't have a brain in her head. Add that to the age difference between Fleur and her brother, and Ginny had assumed that Fleur was a shameless gold-digger who would break her favourite brother's heart. It was only after the wedding that Ginny had started to get over this belief, and get to know her sister-in-law better.

When they were finally settled down with tea—Ginny had helped Fleur prepare it—Fleur cut to the heart of the matter.

"What did you come to see me about?"

"I have a date tonight," Ginny admitted.

"Oh?"

"He's... attractive. His name is Harry." She paused, and looked up to search Fleur's eyes. "He's a muggle," she murmured. She wasn't ashamed of the fact that she was going on a date with a muggle, but at the same, time, there were obstacles that would need to be overcome if it ended up getting serious. "I've been working at a cafe in the muggle world, and he was a customer. He asked me out for coffee, but then we said that we'd do dinner."

"Does he know that you're a witch?" Fleur asked.

"No," Ginny said. "It's only the first date—a little bit early to be seriously considering breaching the statute of secrecy."

Fleur nodded in understanding.

"But I have no idea what to wear!" Ginny burst out. Fleur laughed.

"Oh, ma chére," Fleur said. "Come along, and let's find something."

Ginny sighed gratefully.