Had Harry been capable of giving it any thought beforehand, he might have imagined the six or so months after Voldemort's final defeat going differently than they did. By the end, of course, he had not been able to see anything but his old enemy: Surviving had not been part of the plan, only ensuring Voldemort didn't. Memory of the first weeks after the battle were clouded by exhaustion; Harry scarce remembered leaving Malfoy Manor, let alone arriving at the Burrow – or was it Grimmauld Place that had been his first destination? It hadn't been St. Mungo's, that was later, but…
Exhaustion segued into grief, which had been possibly even more debilitating. Great weights had settled on his shoulders, making it difficult to breathe, to do tasks, to think of anything but the rows of the dead.
It was not until Christmas that he'd noticed a bit of cheer: Fred and George had charmed a pair of Ginny's slippers to serenade her. Harry had found himself smiling, then, a moment later, had wondered at how foreign the gesture felt. Later, Harry had found himself thinking that he ought to be more cheerful now that the long shadow over his life had been vanquished at last. He'd started forcing himself out: his first time to buy a new Firebolt after he lost his old one just outside the cave where they'd thought Voldemort had kept his locket Horcrux. That was a month ago, and he'd been out twice since, a fact for which he felt a small amount of pride.
Well, unless he counted the Burrow. In that case, he'd gone out many times. For, underlying the grief and exhaustion, the cheer and the pride, there was a potent combination of worry and guilt and something brighter, though he didn't allow himself to dwell on that last one any more than he could help. In the beginning, Ginny had been so pale and colorless, victim of a curse meant for him. It was your protection that ultimately saved her life, Arthur had reassured him. But Harry couldn't help the guilt any more than he could help having green eyes and hair that would not lie flat. And it helped to sit beside her bed.
One wan day in February, which was nearly as colorless as Ginny had been those first months, Harry was there at the Burrow. He was not exhausted so much as distracted, staring out the window of her small room. It was cracked open – just a tiny bit – at Ginny's insistence. The wind whistled past it, blowing in the promise of snow and the scent of damp earth.
"Harry? Harry!"
"Hm?" Harry blinked, turning his head. He'd fallen into a bit of a trance, watching the wind in the trees outside, and it was not without difficulty that he turned his attention to Ginny. "I'm sorry, Gin. What did you say?"
"I asked if you wanted more tea," she said, holding up her own tea cup. "Mum's just sent up a fresh pot… you completely missed it."
"Yeah, I was… a bit—"
"Distracted?" she suggested.
"Well, yeah," he said.
She reached for the tea pot, hand shaking, but Harry beat her to it, glaring until she subsided against the pillows. The last three months since Voldemort's defeat and her injuries – his fault – were nearly healed. The curse that had torn through her was fading, at last, due to a strict regime of potions and cautious exercise. And as the curse faded, Ginny herself came back into focus. Her hair, which had gone a pure white, was regaining its red. Her cheeks had filled in, her eyes no longer had the glassy, deadened look, and her healers were optimistic about how few weeks there were left of her fighting the curse. Perhaps his favorite was that there were freckles across the bridge of her nose again now she wasn't so ghastly pale… His hand faltered, sloshing a bit of the tea out of his cup and onto the bedside table they were using for their game of wizard's chess. The knight shook his fist at him, shouting angrily in his tinny voice, but Harry ignored him.
"Ginny, I—"
"Do not say it, Harry Potter," she snapped. Color flooded her cheeks. "I know what it means that you've got that look on your face. You have apologized enough."
"But—"
"Enough."
Harry heaved a sigh. "Maybe I would stop if you ever – just once – let me get the words out."
"I let you get them out plenty in the beginning," she protested.
"Only because you were unconscious!"
"I could still feel them. I knew you were working yourself up into a lather, that's why I woke up sooner than the healers thought I would."
"You did not," he retorted, "You woke up because you like to surprise everyone. And because you don't like anyone telling you what you'll do, even healers."
"That is not—"
"Especially healers," he said firmly.
She eyed him, twisting her hands in her bedclothes, releasing a floral scent he suspected was charmed to her sheets. With the roses in her cheeks and the cheeky sparkle in her eyes, Harry felt a surge of optimism so intense it near took his breath away. She was healing; she would be fully healed. And soon. This time, the feeling in his stomach was much more pleasant: a flock of butterflies stirred there.
"Now that look I can't read," she told him, lips pressed tightly together.
"As you shouldn't," he said, stern.
"Keeping secrets?" she asked.
"A bloke's got to have a few," he reminded her.
"Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes. "All you blokes think you're fooling everyone, but we all know what you've got going on. It's all about wandwork."
Harry gaped at her. "Ginny!" he said.
Her little smirk near undid him.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat, and sitting back in his chair, trying to ignore the blatant innuendo she'd just made, but knowing his neck and probably his face had gone scarlet. "You're certainly feeling better."
Her chuckle was a rich thing, warming the room, seeming to fill it with a sunlight that simply did not exist in Devon in February. "It's been a while since I got you to blush. I suppose we weren't on Gryffindor's Quidditch team together long enough for you to get used to me."
"And it's been years," Harry murmured. It was true, though: Ginny's broom jokes had been legendary.
"Dean always hated it, too," said Ginny.
"I don't hate it," Harry said hastily, not wanting to be compared to Ginny's only long-term boyfriend, no matter how long ago they'd broken up. "But anyway," he said, deciding this was the right moment to bring out the surprise he had for her, "speaking of Quidditch, I got permission from your healers to take you up on a broom today. If you want to, I mean, we don't have to. Oh, and it's got to be with me – or – or, if you'd prefer, I can send a patronus to Ron… or you can send a patronus—"
"I get to fly?" The intense whisper had the rest of his words caught in his throat. "Harry – did you say what I think you said? I get to fly?!"
"Just with me," he said.
For a moment, her eyes were teary: the bright brown developed a sheen. Her lips wobbled, even, but at the last second – he watched her call them back. That's Ginny, he thought, with a swell of pride, absurd though that was, then ducked his head, not wanting her to read what it was he was feeling written across his face. The chess pieces seemed to realize they were being abandoned: the king flung down his crown and stomped on it.
"Well… do you want to go?"
"More than anything," she said. "But I need a bit of privacy, Harry."
"Privacy?" he asked blankly.
"Yes, privacy," she said, with exaggerated patience. "I'm not going to tell you what I'm not wearing under these covers, but I assure you, I'm not dressed for—"
"I get it, I get it," he said. Aside from the shirt he could see, was she naked? Actually naked? His mind had conjured up an image of – Stop it, Harry, he ordered himself, catching the thought by the scruff of its neck and tossing it aside, treating it the way his Uncle Vernon had once treated him. He got to his feet, shuffling out the door, his thoughts somewhat still askew. In order to straighten them out again, he avoided looking at her, the pale white shirt peeking above the bedclothes, or her long, long hair spread out against her pillow. "I'll just be, you know," he mumbled, and fled out the door.
Her chuckle followed him out.
Whatever additions to her outfit were required for her to be in public, they did not take long. Within ten minutes, he heard her light, tentative tread on the stairs. He walked to the bottom, staring up at her: she leaned most of her weight on the rail, each step a process. "D'you want—"
"No, Harry, I've got it," she said sharply.
"Right," he said, backing away, raising his hands.
When she finally stepped off the last stair, then, breathing heavily, took a moment to recover, she gave him a little grimace. "Sorry," she said. "I've just got to do everything myself that I can do myself, you know?"
"I know," he said.
She wiped sweat off her brow.
"We don't have to—"
"I have to," she told him. "I have to get in that sky again, Harry." She jabbed her hand toward the nearest window. The sky in question was a pale grey, with pockets of pewter.
"All right," he said, holding out his arm for her. "Let's go."
He was not a complete fool. The healers had given him several instructions, all of which he minded, more careful to follow directions than he ever had been in his life. Ginny, who was not as anxious to follow every bit of advice, grimaced when he handed her two potions she was meant to take. "Two more potions?" she moaned. But she tipped them back, one at a time, handed the bottles to Harry, who settled them on the window sill with a silent reminder to himself to dispose of them later, and wrapped her arm tightly through his. Together, they left the Burrow.
"Oh!" he said, stopping halfway across the yard. "I almost forgot – here, put these on." He withdrew a pair of fuzzy violet earmuffs from the deep pocket of his robes. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he settled them on her head himself, taking care with tucking her red hair behind her ears. "There you go."
One of her eyebrows twitched. "Well… thank you," she said, puzzled.
"I brought my firebolt," he said, looking away from her, speaking quickly and slightly loud. "I thought that would be best, since, you know, I know it better than your brothers' brooms… or yours… which one is yours again?"
"A Comet 360," said Ginny. Her tone had warmed. "Dad got it for me when I made Quidditch captain – short-lived though that was."
"Right," said Harry, who had known perfectly well which sort of broom she flew. "Would you rather that?"
She huffed out a breath. "Oh, no, Harry, I know you're more comfortable with your own… broom."
"Just don't say things like that when we're up in the air," he told her, "I might drop you."
A light squeeze on his forearm was her only reply. Probably the walk across the yard was wearing her out. Mindful of that, he slowed his footsteps, kicking himself for not just taking his firebolt up to her window and letting her climb aboard from there. But by the time he had the idea, they were nearly to the broomshed, where he'd stashed his own, and it was too late.
Despite that, once they were in the air – and he was watching her face very closely, so saw the change come over it, like the sun was coming out after a long night. He'd sat her side-saddle, and cradled her in his arms, and the smile slowly blooming was enough to make his heart jolt in his chest. It might have been impossible, but he could have sworn he watched the white threads yet in her hair transform into a brilliant red.
"Your hair's changing!" he crowed. Their feet brushed the branches of the trees. One caught at his cloak, and he paused to disentangle himself from it. "I can see it!"
"Yes, yes," she said, amused. "Every day I get a little bit more color—"
"No, I saw it change just now," Harry told her.
"Impossible," she said. She touched his chin; a frisson of awareness – like a shiver, but not from the cold – went through him, and he was grateful he'd thought of turning her sidesaddle. "If you don't keep your mouth shut, you'll get flies in your teeth."
"I'm not too worried," he said, "it's February in Devon."
"You say that like we're in the north of Scotland, and all the little beasties are asleep until May."
"You know what I mean…"
They were flying again, bantering lightly as they did. But she kept at it enough that Harry paid more attention to her words than to what they were doing. It was important that he keep up with her; he couldn't lag behind, or get caught up in the smooth curve of her cheek, with her ghostly freckles peeking at him, or the shell of her ear, behind which she kept tucking red and white hair. The broom dipped toward the ground, and he tightened his grip around it and her. They were flying through the orchard now. Instead of the top branches of the trees, their feet skimmed the ground.
They were slaloming slowly through the orchard when Harry turned the broom sharp enough Ginny fell lightly against his arm.
"What is it?" she asked, squeezing his forearm.
"Just ahead," he said, jerking his chin. He'd seen a figure waiting for them at the edge of the tree line, a figure with a cloud of dirty blond hair, enormously large spectroscopes, and garish green robes. "Look, Luna's here!"
"Oh!" said Ginny. "Luna! If you go faster, we can—"
"No," said Harry.
"But—"
"I'm going exactly the speed the healers recommended," he said repressively.
"Spoilsport," she muttered under her breath.
It stung, surprising Harry. "Hardly!" he said.
"My grandmother flew faster than you—"
"Your grandmother didn't nearly get you killed—"
"And neither did you," Ginny said through clenched teeth.
Their words snapped between them. Harry had fully stopped the broom, and was staring down at her; his lips near glued, they were pressed together so tightly. "Look," he said, trying to pull it back. "I didn't mean that. But I am going to follow what the healers say, if only so they let me take you out again. In the air, I mean. I just don't want to risk it."
Her nostrils flared. It was easy to forget, with her still pale and exhausted and, well, cursed, that her temperament was nearly the same as before. "All right," she said, finally. Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, I just… want this over with."
"I know," he said.
"And it will be."
"Soon. And—"
A voice, amplified ten times by a Sonorus Charm, then bloomed just behind Harry's shoulder. "IF YOU TWO ARE DONE ARGUING I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU."
Luna. Harry'd nearly forgotten that's where they were headed.
"Luna," Ginny said on a groan. "Let's go see what brought her here."
In fact, after a flurry of greetings, Luna turned out to have brought them an invitation. It was folded in the shape of a dragon, and emitted sparks from its mouth when she handed it over. Her eyes were popping with excitement, and she hardly seemed to breathe she was talking so fast. "—there you are, I have this for you!" The paper dragon was thrust into his hands. A second one joined it. "Both of you are invited, of course! Everyone is!"
"To what, Luna?" Ginny asked.
"Well, it's his birthday, Newt Scamander's, and with the war over, we thought we'd see about a proper celebration. Daddy idolizes him, you know, and who wouldn't? Imagine how little we'd know about the fantastic beasts all around us if he hadn't decided to write a book? Oh! And not only is it his birthday, but it's the anniversary of the publication—"
"Breath, Luna," Harry suggested.
She gulped in a breath of air. Beside him, Ginny shook slightly, as though laughing. "It's a proper masquerade, even, and we've got it all figured out! The Magizoology Society of Europe – the MSE! – is helping with the organizing, they've told Daddy they'll help, they were quite eager to. Daddy almost didn't let them because they keep rejecting his findings on the Crumple-Horned Snorcack, but at the last minute, we're letting them. And Hagrid, of course! It was Hagrid's idea to have it at Hogwarts, did I tell you that?"
"But Luna," Ginny said, laughing, "what exactly is it?"
"It's a masquerade ball!" she said. "It's on February 24th, Newt Scamander's birthday, and we're throwing him a masquerade ball!"
"Erm," said Harry, "doesn't that mean… costumes and masks and things?" How did he feel about attending a party where everyone would be masked? His brows drew together. Luna answered his question with a resounding yes and then hurled more information at him with breathtaking speed. Meanwhile, the paper dragons climbed out of his hands, up his robes, to tangle themselves in Ginny's hair.
By the time Luna left – with very little warning, and a pop! of Apparition – his head was spinning. This time, he was more solicitous: He flew Ginny up to the window of her room instead of making her walk across the frozen yard, dodge the gnome holes, and climb the stairs. With a wave of his wand, the window opened upward, leaving plenty of room for Ginny to clamber through. But instead of doing so immediately, she sat on the sill, legs pointed downward, lifting her face to the slightly brighter clouds that hid the sun, and let out a long breath.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked.
"I think it's supposed to snow again tomorrow," he said, with great reluctance. "But when it's clear, we can go out again."
Her eyes cracked open. "I didn't mean about that," she said, amused. "I meant the ball."
"The – ball?" He asked, surprised.
"Well, aren't you going?"
"I thought… no?" It was one of Xenophilious Lovegood's madcap schemes, wasn't it? Just as he had that thought, one of the paper dragons bit his arm through his robes. He pried it off of him and opened it, just to keep it from biting again. The ink was the color of dragon flame, making his eyes stream.
"I think it sounds fun," she said.
"Fun?" Harry asked.
She poked him in the shoulder. "You need to get out more."
He gestured. "I get out plenty!"
"Just here," she said. "Just to the Burrow." Her eyebrows drew together in her pale face. A breath came out of her, long and slow and even. "As much as I lo—like the company, Harry, you need to see people besides me, don't you?"
"Not really," he said honestly.
"The ball will be good for you, you need to engage more."
"But—"
"C'mon, Harry," she said, pleading now. "It'll be fun. You have to go. If you don't, it'll disappoint Luna."
Harry found himself agreeing to go. Heat bloomed in his hand: The paper dragon had burst into flame, sparks flying everywhere, then forming the word Y E S in the air, before it blew away to the hill where Luna and her dad lived in a house shaped like a rook. "I guess… I just sent back my RSVP?" he asked, turning back to Ginny.
But she was climbing into the window and collapsing onto her bed. "Good," she said, in a very sleepy voice. "Shut the window when you leave, would you, Harry? I'm cold, and I think I want a nap… thank you… for that, and for the flying…"
It was an invitation for him to leave, but Harry lingered a few moments longer. The dragon-shaped bit of parchment – the one that had not dissolved into a shower of sparks – leapt nimbly from the windowsill to where the chess set sat on the table beside her bed. The knights brandished their swords at it, and got blasted with a bit of flame for their trouble. But most of his attention was on Ginny, and how she'd made a hollow of blankets and sheets and wrapped herself in it. Only her hair peeked out. Her comments lingered, cloaking around him.
There were certain things that Harry did not like to do, and acknowledging this particular truth was one of them: with all its complications and obstacles and a history that had to be painful for her, it was uncomfortable to think of all the reasons why he wanted to be here at the Burrow with her rather than elsewhere with anyone else. Even so, as he bobbed in the air outside her window, guiding the window shut as slowly as he could, he chuckled at the irony of her telling him he needed to get out more, to engage, to leave her.
But it eventually became too cold to engage in that sort of humor, and Harry guided his broom straight up into the gunmetal grey sky, deciding to race the storm home to London.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The invitation to the masquerade ball was shoved under her pillow and out of sight, but Ginny could feel the heat of the fiery little dragon against the back of her neck. It made the air around her take on the scent of singed flowers as the charmed dragon competed with the charmed sheets. Even the slight burn, however, was preferable to the strong smell of potions that the healers brought with them. Today, there were two of them: one was exceedingly tall, one was very short, and both smelled like they'd rolled in the essence of St Mungo's.
"So," she said, once their ministrations were done, "how long is it, exactly, until I'm well again?"
The female healer paused.
"We can't know for sure," the male healer hedged.
Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "I would like an estimate," she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded thready. "A date, if possible."
"Miss Weasley," said the healer, who drew himself up as much as he could — he was not a tall man. "Miss Weasley, what you perhaps do not realize is how terrible a curse it was that you suffered. Your internal structures all but turned to parchment, all of you faded. You were at the very precipice of death: had He Who Must Not Be Named held his wand upon you but one instant more—"
"Yes, yes," said Ginny, waving her hand. "Yes. I understand. Though I think the fact I remain among the living is due to Harry's sacrifice, not anything Voldemort—"
The witch squeaked.
"Sorry," Ginny muttered. "But honestly — he's been gone six months. Which is how long I've been sitting in this bed." Her fingers twisted in her bedclothes. The aroma of honeysuckle wafted up, billowing around her. It did not help her mood.
"What he did to you—"
"Yes, I know." Ginny snapped. She had wondered for years whether Voldemort had been aware of what the diary had done with her and to her during her very first year at Hogwarts. At the final battle, she'd had her answer. If Tom Riddle had not been at least somewhat aware of his diary Horcrux, he would not have done what he had done, would not have used the curse that he had. Instead of using the Killing Curse, he'd tried a different way, one that harkened back to their shared history. The thought was weighted upon her. "I know what he did." If Harry had not died to save them, she would have been like the little folded dragon under her pillow: animated, but not alive. "I know how badly off I was. But — there is a party at the end of the month. And I… want to go."
"And we want you to remain healthy."
"Wait. Nadir."
Ginny caught the woman's eyes and sank back onto her pillow with relief. There was compassion, there, and a stubborn lift to the woman's chin. She came to stand beside the bed, towering over both of them, her shadow darkening the room by several degrees.
"When is this party?"
Ginny sighed. "It's on the 24th."
"Nadir, if we double her strengthening potion…"
"Hmm," he frowned.
"Can't we try?" Ginny asked.
"It can't hurt. She's nearly done, anyway. These last few weeks will show immense progress. We know that."
"I do not know if I like this."
"Look at her, Nadir. It's partly her heroics that we ourselves are alive. All she wants is to—"
"You already let me fly," Ginny pointed out.
"All right, all right," Nadir sighed.
A few minutes later, they left, leaving behind a row of vials. Ginny vowed to take every single one. If she wanted – really wanted, and she did! – to be free of this room and the last remnants of her curse, she needed to follow every protocol. And so, instead of sipping at her strengthening potion, she tipped it all back at once, the way it was meant to be taken, though it kicked like a horse. Gritting her teeth, pressing her head against her pillow, she focused on what she wanted: to go to that damn party…
Her eyes closed, she dreamed it up, adding formal decorations to the familiar landscape of Hogwarts. There would be music there, surely; as eccentric as Luna and her dad were, surely they'd thought of adding a musical component to the party. The Weird Sisters, perhaps? No… no, this masquerade would be nothing at all like the Yule Ball, not in any way. Let some other wizarding band play…
Ginny was in the Great Hall, peering up at the night sky overhead, when Harry came in. Lazily, she cracked open her eyes. "I thought I told you to get out more," she teased, but was in truth happy to see him.
"I have been," he said, "look at how I'm dressed."
Opening her eyes wider, she took him in. They'd been on the Quidditch team together, briefly, before he'd touched that damned necklace and landed in St. Mungo's for three months. So it wasn't like Harry in a Quidditch uniform was something she had never seen before. But the air around her heated. These were not the old Gryffindor uniforms. These were crisp and new and fitted him very tightly. Her mouth went dry.
"I went and joined the Appleby Arrows," he told her. And she saw the team logo embroidered over his chest. "You told me to get out more."
"The – what?"
"I did it," he said. "Puddlemere United took me on straight away. I didn't even have to try out!"
"But… Puddlemere?" Ginny said. "Didn't you just say Appleby—" But she cut off her own words when she saw that, instead of a trio of apples, it was two crossed bulrushes. Ginny blinked, hard. "Oh, yes, Puddlemere." That made sense, didn't it?
"Right," he said. "Wimbourne Wasps and the Harpies wanted me too—"
"The Harpies!" Ginny burst. "But they're a girl's team!"
There was a definite sparkle in his emerald green eyes. "Perhaps they like my wandwork?" he suggested.
A flush spread across her cheeks.
"I did it!" he crowed. "I was finally the one to make you blush. Well, aside from when you were little. You were pretty much a constant sunset back then."
"A what—"
"But look, Ginny, we've got to find your wand, you know," he said. "How're you meant to get out from under your curse without your wand? I'll help you, don't worry." And he proceeded to tug down her bedclothes, revealing that she wore only an old shirt and a pair of blue knickers. His hand was clasped firmly on her thigh, now.
"My… wand," said Ginny, thickly. She reached down to cup herself, but the way he was staring… desire crept up on her, hard and fast, stealing her breath. "Why do you need my wand?"
"Well, I don't," he said. "You can always just borrow mine." And – to Ginny's shock – he held up his wand... but it was growing thicker and harder as she watched. It lengthened in his hand. A spell was cast; between her legs, she grew hot. "I'm always happy to lend you my wand. You know that. I want you to have it... I want to give it to you."
"Do you, Harry?" Ginny asked. There was a heavy weight upon her chest, pinning her down. It stole her breath. "Do I? Merlin, is this finally happening?"
"Is what finally happening?"
"You know. Puddlemere United. This. The wand." Every word she said stumbled out of her mouth with great effort.
"What?" There was amusement in his tone now.
"Or… was it… Appleby?" Sand grit at her eyes as she opened them. Oh, my eyes were closed.
"I think you were dreaming," said Harry, smiling at her. "Maybe still are…"
"I was… asleep?"
"Yeah," he said.
Ginny took him in. While she missed the tight fit of the uniform, there was something about him in his old robes that relieved her. His hair was messy as ever – perhaps even messier – and she couldn't help the fondness rising within her from spreading into a smile. But still, her dream tugged at her, and it was all she could do not to flick her gaze down to below his waist. Merlin, is it finally happening?
"What did you mean, though?" Harry asked. "About what finally happening?"
"Oh…" said Ginny. "I…"
"You probably don't remember," said Harry, when her pause stretched onward.
"No… probably not," said Ginny.
"I came by to see if you wanted to play some chess," he told her, "or listen to the Puddlemere United game, but I think you need some rest. You're all flushed, too, do you want me to send Molly in with a fever remedy?"
"No," said Ginny, shaking her head sharply against the pillow. "No. No, I'm fine. I just… need more rest. Yeah. Just rest."
When he left, she rolled over onto her side, tucking her legs up. It had been a while since she'd had a dream of that sort about Harry. This was not due to anything other than her curse. Hope wobbled inside her. It was good that she was feeling real, heady desire again… it meant that she really was nearly recovered. Her body was healthy enough to catch up with her mind… and with Voldemort gone—
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Ginny," she murmured.
But still. It was a bright thing inside her, that hope.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Over the next week, the buzz of excitement surrounding the masquerade ball grew so that even Harry noticed it, though he remained confounded by the idea. Despite what Ginny had goaded him into saying, he was not certain he would go. He'd popped into Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley to pick up a set of books it was recommended all Aurors read, and in that hallowed store, not a single witch or wizard spoke of books. The Magizoology section – small and dingy though it was – had been completely cleaned out. "We even got rid of all those copies of Invisible Book of Invisibility. Dunno how the mob even found them, but they did! And it's only got the one chapter on invisible creatures!" It was sure to be a crowd, and Harry was not at all certain he wished to have anything to do with such a crowd.
"It's madness," Hermione said on Friday, though she was beaming as she did, "I can't believe how many people read The Quibbler! Everyone at work was talking about it today, even the hags down at the other end of the office."
The next day, it was Ron who mentioned it. "Blimey," he said. "Are you sure we don't have to come up with some sort of costume ourselves?"
"No, they said it's 'handled'," said Hermione.
Ron chuntered darkly under his breath. "And why is it I don't entirely trust Luna and her dad with 'handling' that sort of thing?"
"Because you have some common sense?" Harry observed.
By the time Sunday rolled around, and Sunday dinner at the Burrow with it, Harry had decided he was not going to trek out to Hogwarts on a cold February night. There were many other things he would rather do: clean Hedwig's cage, for one; for another, it had been a while since he'd seen the bottom of his trunk, it might be time to clear out all the detritus from there. Not to mention, there were still nooks and crannies of Grimmauld Place that needed a thorough scouring…
Despite the fact he had all but decided he was not going, no one else around the table had the level of disinterest that he did. Molly dashed in and out of the small dining room, bringing in plate after plate of food, to her sons's delight, and it was then that the subject inevitably, perhaps, turned to the Scamander masquerade ball.
"I heard even the mermaids are going," said Fred.
"Hagrid says he's bringing Grawp; bless him, he's so excited," said George.
"I'm deeply impressed old Xeno was able to gather up these kinds of crowds," said Arthur, leaning back in his chair. His plate was untouched.
"And I heard that while it might have once been Xeno Lovegood's idea, the Magizoology Society of Europe took over entirely," said Percy, waving his spoon about while he pontificated. "It was they who secured the premises at Hogwarts, they who arranged for the catering—"
"And how do you know all this, Perce?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food.
Ginny's light touch on his forearm distracted him from the conversation. "I don't know about my brothers," she said, "but I think Luna and her dad would've planned an unforgettable night."
Harry smiled down at her. "I think that was their aim." Privately, he was slightly relieved, as he did not know what sort of event the Lovegoods would plan.
"I think it's for the best that the MSE took over, don't you?" Ginny asked, following along with his thoughts. "I know Luna'll be disappointed, but—"
"—I don't quite fancy having an erumpet horn explode over dinner," Harry finished for her. He narrowed his eyes. "And I'd be the one who has to deal with it. You're the one who goaded me into going, and you get to stay here all—"
"No, I'm not," said Ginny, in a low, conspiratorial tone. "I'm going."
Harry froze. Ginny was going? Excitement fizzled through him, followed swiftly by worry. Her healers claimed she was nearly better, but still… the end of February was so close, was she that close to being free of her curse at last? His gaze shifted from the stubborn point of her chin, to the dust of freckles across the bridge of her nose, to the warm, rosy color in her cheeks. There were strands of white in her hair, still, including a thick chunk over her left ear, but the color was bright… was she really so close? Could she be?
It was the gleam in her eye that had him looking to the left and the right. "What?" he whispered. "You're going?"
"Yes," said Ginny, "I replied back with my yes… my pillow nearly caught fire… but yes, I said I was going. How'm I meant to miss a masquerade ball, I ask you." Her voice rose, as did the color in her cheeks. "It'll be the most fun anyone's had since the Yule Ball—"
"Which wasn't all that much fun, to be honest—"
"So of course I said yes."
Between them leapt a curious excitement. It washed over Harry, warming him, then heating him. Her teeth caught at her lip. Harry's gaze dropped to it and held. With great leaps and bounds, his mind was throwing all sorts of scenarios at him: old fantasies drew to the forefront, there and gone again, swift and sure. Gooseflesh erupted on his arms as he realized things might change at the ball. If Ginny was healthy and well—
"Ginevra Molly Weasley." A new voice cut in. Both Harry and Ginny jerked with surprise. When Harry glanced around once more, all the eyes were on them. "What did you say?"
Ginny's chin jerked upward. "I said I was going to the ball."
"Absolutely not," thundered Molly. "You're still not well! The healers have still got you on the potions! The ball will be too late… it's much too cold in February at Hogwarts. Your lungs were turned to paper. I'll not have it. You aren't going."
There was an unpleasant squirming in Harry's midsection. It was much too windy to eat outside, so everyone was crammed in the Burrow's small dining room, which was lit by candlelight. It cast strange shadows about the room, catching on the familiar faces of the Weasleys, settling over them long and dark. If any of them had been able to perform Legilimency, Harry was in trouble.
"That is up to my healers," Ginny said.
"And your healers would agree with me," Molly retorted.
"Ladies," Arthur said, clearing his throat.
They ignored him.
George let out a chuckle. "I haven't seen them have a go like this in ages."
"Quiet, George," said Percy.
"Oh, come off it, you toff," George said, affectionate.
Molly and Ginny were hitting their stride. Just in case, Harry scooted his chair away. There was no chance he wanted to get caught in whatever crossfire could occur here. Ginny was arguing to be let go to Hogwarts in a voice that was louder and stronger than it had been in six months, ever since she'd taken the curse. Despite the situation, he found himself grinning wider and wider. She really was nearly better… there was a chance she very well could be fully healed by the time of Newt Scamander's birthday celebration… and everything could change.
A throat loudly clearing itself tore Harry's attention away from that happy circumstance and to the other side of the table, where Fred and George peered at him, heads cocked to one side, contemplating him as though they had never seen him before.
"What?" Harry asked. A guilty prickling crawled up his neck.
The twins exchanged a look, one heavily laden with suspicion. George opened his mouth to speak—
It was fortunate just then that a mighty crash interrupted whatever George had to say. Molly had slammed the roast down with what Harry privately thought was unnecessary force. Juice from the meat spilled onto the daisy-covered table-cloth; this was gone in a quick swipe of Arthur's wand.
"I do not wish to discuss this just now," she said, lips shaking. "But you will do everything your healers tell you to do, do you hear me? I do not care how 'of age' you are." This, she said in quotes so fierce that Harry winced. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Mum," said Ginny.
But there was a gleam in her eye that Harry recognized. Long ago, she'd said something that had stuck with him: "Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve." The words echoed between them; Harry caught them in the little smile she wore before she tucked into her meal. She was going to go to the ball, Harry knew.
And so was he.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Author's Note: MAN, have I missed writing a long fic for Harry and Ginny. So glad that this little idea came to me.
I'm also writing a long oneshot for our Harry and Ginuary Big Bang event. If you'd like to participate, please go to my tumblr for the link to join our GinnyLovers discord server.
Thanks to sweet, midnightelite, and Lily for your thoughts. Heart you guys.