DAY FOUR

Harry came to find her a couple hours after the funerals were over. There was an old, old swing her dad and hung in the branches of a tree when Bill and Charlie were small. Ginny sat on the wood, arms twined around the ropes. The numbness was back, had been creeping over her since she'd taken a moment in her room. After sitting together, closer than they usually did, all of her family had gone their separate ways once home at the Burrow. At first, Ginny thought to nap, but then she'd come out here, to the site of much childhood fun.

"I'm not looking for his ghost," Ginny muttered, kicking her foot, making herself spin in a lazy circle. "His ghost wouldn't be here, anyway."

"I don't think Fred would stay," said Harry.

Ginny spun herself back to her starting position. Harry stood in front of her, new robes clinging to him, and somber wizard's hat askew. "I didn't know you were out here," she said with numb lips.

"I saw you," he murmured. "Did you want privacy?"

She had, but only because she'd forgotten that having Harry with her was an option. They hadn't sat next to each other at the funeral, somehow she had been squished in between her mum and Bill. It was for the best, Ginny thought, thinking her thoughts would have flickered to another funeral at which she had sat beside him. "I'd rather you were here," she said, standing, arms still twined with the ropes. "I'd really rather you were here."

"Me too," said Harry.

But still, neither moved for nearly a minute. Ginny shuffled about, scratching the back of her neck, looking around at the trees as though she'd not seen them before. Her bum was numb from sitting on the wood, but the last thing she wanted to do was to return to the house.

Harry took over, drawing his wand and pointing it at the swing. It lengthened, nearly doubled in size, and he came to sit on it. Ginny stared at him, slightly open-mouthed. Something unfurled in her, tender and warm, and the numbness was no match for Harry, sitting there on the swing, long legs pointed toward her. He looked at her without speaking, inviting her to sit with him, and Ginny sat with a sigh. His warmth pulled her in, and she lay her head against his chest. He let go of the rope and wrapped his arm around her, cuddling her close. Both of them kicked their feet, swinging in a slow arc.

"Did you play out here often with him?" Harry asked.

"Whenever it was sunny enough," said Ginny. "When we were little. We weren't allowed anywhere near the river back then, so we'd play here, in the orchard."

"It's sunny today," Harry murmured.

"I noticed," said Ginny. "It feels—"

"—wrong," said Harry. "It should be raining."

"I agree," said Ginny, turning to look up at him. Her fingers found his jaw. It was clean-shaven and very smooth. Her thumb brushed along it and his muscle jumped. "It should be dark and dreary."

"Instead, the sun decided to stay out," said Harry. "The weather in England is truly perverse."

"It is," Ginny agreed. But then, for a few minutes, she let her thoughts wander to those days long ago, warm and sunny, and full of laughter. Fred had always been the one to climb the highest. He'd perch up there and shake the trees until the apples hurtled down like hail. And he'd always been the one to push her the highest, laughing when she squealed and clutched the ropes.

Fred always liked sunny days.

Ginny curled closer to Harry, inhaling his scent. Her eyes managed one more tear, and it dripped down her cheek and onto his robes. He didn't say anything, but held her tighter.

Exactly the way she needed to be held.