Ginny wakes in the early morning to a series of loud thumps, muffled swearing, and a spectacular crash. She darts into the living room, wand raised and dressing gown clutched tight to her chest, to find—
Harry, sprawled out on the floor, wincing and scowling as he rubs his knee, where a dark bruise blooms.
She sighs and lowers her wand, turning back to the warmth of her bed.
"Where the devil did that come from?" Harry exclaims sulkily behind her.
She turns back to scan the room in surprise. Nothing seems out of place.
"Where did what come from?"
He jabs a finger at the coffee table. "That… menace. Who in their right mind would put a table there?"
She frowns, wondering absently if he'd hit his head when he fell. "Harry," she says, exasperated, as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and strives for patience, "you put that table there when you bought it. Remember? It's been there six months, at least."
His mouth falls open, then closes with a startled click. "I… I haven't been gone six months, surely?"
She purses her lips, considering. "No-o, but you've not stayed for more than a day in at least that long. I'm not surprised you didn't remember the coffee table was there. Are you coming to bed, or shall I ask Breezy to make breakfast?"
He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding meeting her gaze. "I, uh, actually only have a minute. I just stopped by to get something out of my desk."
"All right, well, I trust you know where that is. I'm going back to bed." She rubs her eyes, yawning widely.
"Oh, and Harry—"
She peers back around the doorframe just in time to see him apparate away.
She sighs. She can't help it. "Say hello to Malfoy for me," she mutters, then flops back into her too-large bed.
I wonder if Astoria has any plans today… she thinks blearily, as her eyes drift closed and exhaustion rushes in to replace the fading adrenaline.
Ginny stares down the length of the empty table, waiting for Harry.
After the war, Harry had spoken at Malfoy and his parents' trials. He'd refused to tell her what he'd said, and the whole thing had been kept disgustingly confidential, but whatever it was was enough to tip the scales in the Malfoys' favor. Oh, they hadn't gotten off completely, of course — they'd been forced to spend nearly all of the vast Malfoy fortune on reparations and rebuilding. And they'd done so with a surprising lack of complaint — with grace, even. They'd give up the Manor too, deeding it to the War Memorial Foundation, to be used as a museum of Wizarding History, leading up to the war.
Malfoy'd told them later that it wasn't a hardship — none of them had wanted to live in the manor, after Voldemort's occupation. Still, even Ron had been impressed at their willingness to move forward. She supposes that's what had led, indirectly, to Harry and Malfoy's odd partnership.
Malfoy had turned his persuasive powers, clever brain, and shrewd business acumen to rebuilding the Malfoy fortune by selling off his family's antiques. Harry had been directed to him when he decided to sell off the more… questionable things he'd found in Number 12 Grimmauld Place and the Black and Potter vaults, and, somehow, a simple business transaction had blossomed into a strange sort of friendship and then a partnership.
It suits them, she thinks wistfully, this life of madcap dashing about, chasing hints of hidden treasure and Dark artefacts. She just wishes, sometimes, that Harry would look up and really see her, instead of memories of the girl he thought he knew in school. Wishes that his eyes weren't always flitting away from her, seeking the glitter of golden wings. It hasn't escaped her notice — though she rather thinks it has his — that he and Malfoy are still dancing around one another, chasing a hint of gold.
She remembers the puzzled frown that had creased Harry's forehead when he'd told them all of his new business partner, at one of her mother's dinners.
"But," Ron had spluttered, face going blotchy and eyes wide, "you hate him!"
Harry had shrugged. "Well, yeah. But… he's Malfoy."
As if that explained it. And, perhaps to him, it did.
She frowns around the empty room, at the plates of uneaten lasagna on the table, cold, now, and thoroughly unappetizing.
She thinks of calling Breezy, and then vanishes the lot with a tired sigh, wondering if Astoria feels like company. Perhaps if she brought a bottle of wine… She doesn't think she can stomach another long evening alone, just now.
She's so sick of this empty house. Ginny isn't used to having so much space to fill, doesn't really feel up to the task of filling it. She's always been surrounded by people; as the youngest of seven children, she's never truly been alone.
Now that she has, she finds it's not an experience she cares to repeat. And yet, here she is, facing an unending string of solitude, broken only by fleeting appearances of Harry.
Not for the first time, she looks into their future together and is not sure she likes what she sees.
She grabs a handful of floo powder and tosses it into the fire before she can change her mind. She needs to get out of this house or she'll go mad.
For a long moment, there's no answer, and her swift-beating heart sinks through the floor. Then Astoria's head appears in the flames.
"Yes, hello? Oh, Ginny, dear, it's you. How are you?"
She tries to speak, but the words die in her throat as the panic and loneliness catch up to her, and no sound passes her lips. A hot tear splashes to the mantle beside her, then another, as she stares, horrified and helpless to stop them.
"Oh, you poor dear," Astoria says gently. "Here — come here. That's it."
Ginny allows herself to be coaxed into the flames, stumbling into the Malfoy's comfortable sitting room and sagging into Astoria's waiting arms.
"S-sorry," she sniffles, scrubbing the edge of her sleeve across her face. "I don't know what came over me. I just felt so…"
"Alone?" Astoria asks gently, patting her back and then leading her to a sofa. "I know. Me too."
They share a sad, knowing smile.
"But, you're here now," she says, brightening, "and you're welcome to stay as long as you like. I'm not fond of being alone, either. Tea?"
Ginny nods gratefully.
Astoria snaps her fingers and calls "Elly!"
A petite house-elf appears, looking… well, prim is the word that springs to mind. Ginny eyes her severe black dress, starched apron, and frilly cap and smiles.
"A free elf?"
"Yes, miss," Elly says, as she pops back in with the tea. "I is a free elf, and I is very grateful to Miss Granger for this opportunity. I is saving my wages, you see. Mistress Tori treats Elly very well indeed, and I will reach my goal even before I had hoped."
Ginny relaxes into the couch, accepting the cup of tea Elly offers her. "Thank you," she says, and then, "What are you saving for, if you don't mind my asking?"
Elly draws herself up proudly. "I is saving up to go to school, miss."
Astoria smiles fondly as she accepts her own cup, then dunks a biscuit into it. "Elly is very smart — we're happy to help her save for her goal. And we're very grateful for her help while she works toward it."
"Thank you, Mistress Tori." She smiles. "Is there anything else I can bring you?"
"No thank you, Elly. But maybe set another place at dinner?"
She looks questioningly at Ginny, who nods. "Thank you. That would be lovely."
Elly nods and disapparates, and Ginny turns to Astoria, amusement lighting her eyes.
"Tori?"
Astoria grins. "Ah. Childhood nickname. I prefer it, when not in proper company, and Draco doesn't mind. His parents humor me"
She leans forward conspiratorially. "I hate my name, you see. Can you imagine a more stuck-up, pureblood name than Astoria?"
Ginny snorts. "Try 'Ginevra.'"
Astoria blinks. "I suppose you can imagine it, at that. That's why everyone calls you Ginny?"
"Yeah. Though I really prefer Gin. It feels just a touch naughty." They grin at one another.
"Well, I'll call you Gin if you call me Tori?"
"Deal." She looks down at her hands. "Shake on it?"
Astoria shrugs. "You're the one with brothers. Don't we have to like, spit on our hands first or something?"
Ginny laughs, startled. "I am not spitting on my hand and then shaking yours! That's disgusting."
"Ah well. I suppose a standard handshake will have to do." Astoria's lips quirk and Ginny feels some of the weight on her chest lift.