DAY EIGHT

Taking a deep breath, Ginny knocked on the door. With Ron's cheery permission, she let herself in, noting the smell of the ghoul. It just would not go away, no matter how many charms her dad cast. It was the first thing Ginny noticed. The second, of course, was Harry, sitting cross-legged atop the camp bed.

"Since when do you knock?" Ron said, incredulous.

"Since I came to ask a favor," said Ginny.

"What do you want?"

"Not from you," Ginny scoffed. She jerked her chin to Harry, who sat up a bit straighter. Their attempt yesterday to talk about his experience in the tent had come to a quick end when Bill had arrived at the Burrow and asked her help. Five minutes had not been enough, so when Arthur had asked her for a favor, Ginny knew exactly who she wanted to help her out.

Harry unfolded from the cot, grabbing his wand. "What is it?" Was that a thread of hope she heard in his voice?

"Dad asked me to figure something out for dinner," she said. "Mum's still not up to cooking, and..."

"You want some help in the kitchen?" Harry offered.

"Actually," said Ginny, "I was going to get dinner from the Leaky... I'm not up to making something for all of us, I don't know what we have..." She plucked at her soft shirt. It would be the first time either one of them were out in public since the battle. It hadn't occurred to her until just now. "Unless you don't want to be out and about. I'd understand. That's going to be a lot of attention."

"For you, too," said Harry.

"Why'd Dad want you to go, anyway?" Ron asked. "You're the only one of us here who can't Apparate in and out of Diagon Alley."

"Dunno if Dad thought about it," said Ginny, lifting her shoulder. Her words were followed by a quiet moment. It had been little more than a week; they were all scattered and grieving, and her dad had probably just found the nearest redhead who wasn't her mother and asked for help. The air thickened; it took a moment for Ginny to realize it wasn't the oppressive scent of the ghoul thickening like soup around her, but grief.

"Yes, well... yeah," said Ron, awkward.

"Maybe we should just skip dinner," said Ginny.

Ron's stomach gave a loud growl at that, as though on cue.

"We could take the Cloak," said Harry. He was sliding his feet into the shoes under the camp-bed. "I don't think starving Ron is going to be a good idea."

"I could always go out in the orchard and look for mushrooms," said Ron.

They both let out a little chuckle. Ginny looked back and forth between them, wondering what the joke was, wondering if it was funny, or if it was survival stuff. But the chuckle lasted only a moment, then Harry was grabbing his Cloak, and they were clattering down the stairs. Above them, the ghoul started wailing, a habit he'd taken up while they were at Auntie Muriel's, and had not given up. Ginny couldn't blame him, not entirely. He'd always acted up when things got too quiet, and the Burrow was not as boisterous as it had been.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Blinking, Ginny realized they were just outside the wards, and Harry was holding out his arm to her. She took it, and he swung the Cloak over both of them.

The twenty minutes it took to get their dinner was not a date. The Leaky was nearly empty, holding only a few witches and wizards, all silent and dazed, none of them noticing there were two people were invisible in their midst, let alone that one of those people was Harry Potter. Old Tom the barkeep was sitting on a stool, shoulders slumped, when the found him. Ginny ducked out of cover, and whispered a greeting.

"Tom!" she said. "Have you got enough food for me to grab enough for — for all of us?"

"Miss Weasley!" his lined face was suddenly wreathed in smiles.

Ginny held a finger to her lips, passing a surreptitious look around. No one was looking at her. But she was very aware of the warmth of Harry's body behind her, as she had been since she'd got under the Cloak with him. It was not the first time she'd been invisible with him. The back of her neck was hot. Honestly, it was better to get him home, wasn't it? Out from under the Cloak, no longer hidden and pressed all along her? "Dinner, Tom?" she said. "Please?"

"For the Weasleys, anything," he said.

Ginny nodded her thanks, feeling awkward as she did. It was decidedly odd to have a taste of Harry's fame served up with dinner from the Leaky Cauldron. They wended their way back to the little alcove tucked in the back where Tom promised she could wait and have a bit of privacy. She walked swiftly, knowing Harry was just a step behind her. She kept scanning the crowd, tapping her foot, and hoping Tom would hurry. Harry remained invisible, but she could judge where he was.

"Sorry I'm hiding under here like a berk," he said.

Ginny shook her head. "You aren't a berk. Anyone would hide."

"Maybe not Gilderoy Lockhart," he mused.

This startled a laugh out of her. It began in her belly, a loose fluttering unleashed, and she laughed, free and unfettered. "Oh, he would," she said. "He absolutely would like it."

"All of it," confirmed Harry. "He'd frame all the stupid articles Rita Skeeter wrote about him."

"Merlin," said Ginny, beaming, "he would, wouldn't he?"

Harry stepped closer to her, and gripped her by both shoulders. Her laughter died a little, but that little loose fluttering in her belly remained, though somewhat altered by his close presence. Warmth spread through her, the type she hadn't felt for nearly an entire year. And then, unbidden, little memories of herself and Harry, younger, kissing each other anywhere and everywhere they had at least a bit of privacy.

Ginny licked her lips, cursing the Cloak.

"Your dinner!"

Ginny scrambled back, whirling, finding Tom holding a large basket aloft, wide grin splitting his face. The moment was punctured, slipping away as quickly as her laughter, and Ginny allowed it. Now was not the moment, not in a smoky room, not when they were on an errand for her family. Now was not the time.