A/N: An exploration of Ginny and Harry's early post-war courting days, as told from Ginny's point of view. Written for BrightlyBound, whose Twenty-Two Days and meet-cute AUs I do heartily recommend. With many, many thanks to TheDistantDusk for beta-ing a couple of sections, writing advice, and organising the exchange.
This is a completed fic themed around Christmas, but I think it works for Valentine's too. Do please drop a review and let me know what you enjoyed, what worked for you, what you didn't!
I.
In the wee hours of February 14th, 2000, the blue-gray sky of dawn was just beginning to lighten the dark of night.
Ginny Weasley traced one small finger across the chest inches from her face, and she pressed first her lips, then her cheek to the firm flesh, listening to the reassuring thudding of the gloriously, oh so gloriously alive heart beneath.
Harry Potter stirred slightly. "Awake already?"
Ginny shook her head, wild red hair rustling across his shoulder. "Not really. M'gonna go back to sleep."
"They'll be missing you at the Burrow if you stay much longer," said Harry more than a little ruefully. "Will you Apparate back, or risk the Floo?"
It wasn't a dismissal; he'd like nothing more than for her to stay longer here at Grimmauld Place with him, she knew. But Arthur and Molly Weasley were old-fashioned parents, and Ginny was still nominally pure, unsullied, living under their roof like a good little girl. Ginny snorted lightly; after the Sunday match yesterday – the first League game of the year – they had celebrated with a dinner date, and then done quite a bit of sullying last night. It was a habit that was taking on something of a tradition, ever since Ginny had started playing for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Team.
Ginny nuzzled her head into Harry's side and twined a lazy leg around him, wriggling comfortably as Harry rolled a little and wrapped his arms around her, the fingers of one hand carding gently through her long bed-mussed locks. The warmth of his body was like a hearth-fire on a bitter winter night, an all-enveloping blanket of safety, acceptance and love – a sanctuary she never ever wanted to leave. "Five more minutesswfzh..."
"Okay." She didn't have to see the grin, she could hear it in his voice.
Thirty minutes later, the sky was dangerously blue, and Harry checked his watch as he scrambled eggs and toasted breakfast muffins. Ginny slowly woke up at the kitchen table over a large mug of warm milk, two sugars, and a splash of tea. Just the way she liked it.
"It's Valentine's Day. Are you sure Gwenog won't let you off for dinner?"
"A Monday's a Monday to that madwoman," shrugged Ginny. "You know how it is."
Harry nodded. Oh, he knew. The Auror Office was even more demanding than Gwenog Jones on his time, on their time. Extra practice was onerous but at least usually came with a week's warning; when evil wizards cooked up Dark magic or terrorised Muggles, it could happen at any time, and Harry had to jump up and respond, holidays, family occasions, and girlfriend notwithstanding.
A couple made up of a professional Quidditch player and an Auror; it was hardwork finding time together. But then… there were perfect moments like these in between the long days apart, and it almost made up for everything else.
Almost.
Ginny ate one eggy sandwich in four huge bites before Harry was halfway through his first, and reached for another. "I'm going to be really busy the next three weeks," she said apologetically. "Gwenog's pushing us hard, especially those of us on the Second Seven. And I've just been promoted, I need to do really well to show I'm committed, and I'll have to spend mealtimes and a good chunk of overtime with the team as well. There's going to be hardly any personal time for anyone..."
"Will I still see you weekends at the Burrow?" Time shared with the rest of the family and under Mum's supervision wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.
"Yes," said Ginny, leaving the but not otherwise unsaid.
Harry shrugged, hiding his disappointment matter-of-factly. "Things are picking up at the Office too, anyway," he said. "Something big is brewing." He didn't elaborate, and Ginny didn't ask for details. If it was important that she should know, she knew he'd tell her. In Harry, she trusted. "I'll try to drop by the Burrow some nights, but..." He grimaced.
Ginny leaned over and kissed him softly on the downturned corner of his mouth. "We'll make it work."
"Yeah, of course."
Hand in hand, he walked her to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, from which she would Apparate to the Burrow's back garden and climb into bed to pretend she had been there all night. Every step, Ginny could feel the heat of his nearness receding, the distance between them growing, the shutters going up. On the front step the chill winter morning wind cut through them, seemingly blowing the last of their connection away.
But she turned, and there was Harry, her Harry, smiling warmly at her and kissing her goodbye. Until we're together again, said his smile. Reassured, Ginny let go, and Apparated.
March raced by in a whirl of matches and training.
Ginny plunged herself headlong into the sweet hurly-burly of life, enjoying every hectic second of it. Things happened so fast she could barely remember what she did two weeks ago without checking her diary, and it was all fun fun fun.
The first half of the British and Irish Quidditch League season began in February, lasted four months, then took a two-month 'mid-season break' for the summer, during which some teams competed in European tournaments and the top players in the World Cup. The second set of fixtures were played from August to November. This was Ginny's first year on the Second Seven, just promoted up from the raw, untried pool of hopefuls collectively named 'the Reserves'; and the first year she would shoulder real responsibility for the team's match performance.
Counting League games and 'friendlies' together, Ginny played professionally at least once a week. But her work was only half on the Quidditch pitch, the other half was off it. There was training and practice; workouts, techniques, formations and plays. Typically she got home to the Burrow at nine o'clock at night, often later, and was too tired to do more than take a shower and flop down on the sofa. Half the nights she didn't make it to her room, and slept right there on the sofa till morning.
The pace was even more frenetic for Harry. The Auror Office was still short-handed after the war. His work day began at seven and often ended fifteen, sixteen, even twenty hours later. There was constant training for him too, in magical investigative techniques and to keep physically fit to duel Dark wizards. But a lot of his time was spent interviewing witnesses, collecting evidence, putting the pieces together and coming up with a solution to a puzzle often involving several peoples' lives at stake. That sort of thing never ran according to a schedule. Try the best he could, Harry didn't always make it to Ginny's games.
But when she scanned the Top Box and saw that distinctive mess-and-glasses-topped head, and then partway through the match Gwenog gave her the alert to sub in, and she streaked out of the Player's Tunnel – oh the fireworks that burst inside her then! Ginny wriggled all over on her Firebolt Premier and couldn't stop grinning a big old watermelon-sized grin. And it was no coincidence that that was when she played her best – for the Cup and for the Team and for herself, but also for the watching Boy in the stands...
"Well that's that," said 'Tabby' Lewis, walking out of the last post-game interview, "first round of drinks on me, ladies!" and everyone cheered.
"You girls go on ahead," said Ginny. "I've, uh... someone's, y'know..."
Mumbling excuses to her grinning team-mates, she slipped out a side-door with only a few catcalls in her wake – they knew the form by now. Weasley always skived off the post-victory piss-ups when her famous boyfriend was in town.
And then there he was, waiting just inside the stadium's 'Backstage', standing tall and proud and beaming.
Ginny fairly jumped into his arms, squealing "Let's go, let's go, let's go now!" as he Apparated.
They just about made it past the front door of Grimmauld Place. Then her mouth was on his, her hands ripping off his jacket and shirt in a spray of buttons. They sank down on the floor of the hall, fighting to undress each other while savouring their first kiss in weeks, and it was too long to wait to take everything off, so Ginny just shimmied out of her flying trousers and knickers as she unbuttoned Harry's jeans and slid him out. She aimed, and slid down on him with a long, low moan. Together and one again at last, at long last.
Not that they lasted long, either of them. She had missed this too long, was much too impatient, and drove hard, slammed Harry down, took his thrusts and gave it back with ample interest. Harry slid one hand up her jersey and into her sports bra, warm fingers and thumb stroking chilled skin stiffened and sensitised by long hours of wintry flight and lone anticipation; then he grunted, mumbled something barely intelligible and squeezed her close, other arm wrapping around her shoulders and pulling tight; and it was the familiar heat around and inside her and Harry's final, urgent rapid-fire strokes that sent Ginny steadily up the peak and then over the edge as well with a guttural, teeth-gritting "Fuckkk..."
Gasping for air, every muscle trembling, Ginny rested her forehead on his and stared into those mesmerising eyes, themselves dilated wide and flickering with mad love, and managed a small exhausted smirk.
"That you, Harr... oh for Merlin's sake!"
Startled, Ginny's natural instinct was to leap up, but Harry had just a little more presence of mind; he squashed her hard against him and held on tight, betting that the outraged Ron Weasley would glimpse less that way. Craning her head back, Ginny glanced up; Ron ranted incoherently and gesticulated wildly with his back turned, while just behind him, Hermione had the heels of her hands pressed firmly over her eyes.
"First in the kitchen, now the hallway – my own sister – no common bloody decency...!"
Her face afire all the way to the tips of her ears, Ginny quickly tugged her shirt down and scurried back into her trousers, grinning sheepishly at Harry as he pulled up his own, apologising all the while to his house-mate, his best friend, her brother: "Sorry mate, got carried away, no idea, won't happen again..."
"That's what you said the last time! Dammit, Harry, we made an agreement, with rules and all... Hermione, tell them!"
"Um... are we seeing you for dinner?" squeaked Hermione, her hands still over her eyes.
"Hermione!"
Dinner for the Four it was, in a quiet little Italian restaurant tucked away in a corner of Highgate. It was a post-match meal and Ginny was a Weasley after all; she'd have inhaled in an instant the grilled octopus, rabbit ragu tagliatelle and even the giant block of tiramisu, if not for the fact that she had to eat one-handed, her other hand curled around Harry's waist and tucked underneath his shirt. Harry in his turn kept his arm around her shoulders. Ginny had showered and changed into a sleeveless blouse, and the skin of her upper arm tingled where his fingers just rested.
Through dinner, Hermione went on and on about her brand-new internship at the Ministry's Office of Wizarding Law, and Ron about the latest round of Auror training and general gossip about what their erstwhile schoolmates were up to, half a year out of Hogwarts. Ginny zoned out halfway through pudding; Quidditch and food and wine and the afterglow of their all-too-brief encounter was stoking a fire inside her that was getting harder to ignore every passing minute. She turned a meaningful glance at Harry, who caught her eye.
"Right, um, Ginny and I have to, er, buy something at the shops," said Harry quickly. He handed some Muggle pound notes to a smirking Hermione, as Ron made noises of disgust.
They practically ran, hand-in-hand, out of the restaurant.
Dropped by the Burrow just long enough to say hi to Mum and Dad, talk to them about the match for five minutes, then disappeared again, ostensibly for late-night drinks with Ron and Hermione – who would cover for them, and vice versa. Then it was back to Harry's room at Grimmauld Place.
Now with the edge taken off the driving hungers, they took their time. In the dark, illuminated only by the moon filtering through the curtains, Ginny and Harry knelt on the bed and undressed each other slowly, pausing to fondly caress and kiss each revealed part as blouse, shirt, jeans and underthings came off. There was more exploring, reacquainting, tender grins and even giggles; the climax later coming almost as an afterthought.
Ginny settled herself comfortably in the crook of Harry's arm, pulling the covers over them. She glanced up at his face; Harry was gazing thoughtfully out the window. He looked happy, content... but just a tiny bit distant.
"How are things at the Ministry?" she ventured.
"Getting better," said Harry. "It's definitely not as bad as it used to be. Kingsley's doing the best he can, and just wait till Hermione's found her feet, they won't know what hit them."
"There are still a lot of attacks aren't there?"
"Yes. Mainly on Muggles." It was harder for the Aurors to protect the huge non-magical population of Britain, Harry had explained to Ginny before, and more work all around investigating those crimes, cleaning up the ugly aftermath, and bringing the perpetrators to justice. By their nature, more than half of these cases would never be solved – the perpetrators would usually be long gone by the time their bloody acts were discovered, and it was all too easy for them to destroy what little evidence they left.
"When do you..." Ginny hesitated, then went on, "when do you think it will end?"
Harry scowled. "Probably never. There'll always be wizards out there who see Muggles as easy prey, or who resent them for some stupid reason or other." He gave her a reassuring squeeze, brushed his lips across her forehead, and his eyes settled back down on her. "Let's not talk about it. How's Quidditch? You played brilliantly, I thought…"
And you'll always be fighting them, won't you? That wasn't the answer she wanted, at all. Ginny understood well the importance of Harry's job. She'd always understood, even back when that meant fighting Voldemort, when survival had been so much more uncertain. And she had given her assent, of sorts, those tumultuous first two years after the war, back when Kingsley had offered Harry the Auror job. She'd agreed. But that didn't mean she didn't want Harry, Harry by her side, Harry not always leaving her behind, a Harry that didn't sequester her from such a big part of his life, damn it.
But maybe now wasn't the time to tell him so, not when everything was so gloriously, scrumptiously, exuberantly happy.
Ginny left Grimmauld Place reluctantly at around midnight. She didn't dare risk sleeping over too often.
April was a good month, despite opening with the still all-too-raw wound of a Twins' Birthday that was missing Fred.
This, the second anniversary since that loss, would set the pattern for years to come.
On the 1st, the Weasleys came together in something that was not quite grief, and not quite celebration. Everyone got misty-eyed, and George put on a brave show through the day, then went and got drunk with Ron – the brother he had somehow latched on to help alleviate the loss of the irreplaceable other. Hermione fretted, squabbled with Mrs Weasley over the correct brewing of home-made hangover potion, and then went back to her parents'. Ginny, depressed, went on a long broom flight with Harry, her saying nothing, and him letting her fly in silence.
She loved that Harry knew when to just be there.
That is, when he was there.
Nonetheless, they did manage to cadge a few good days together out of their pitiless work-weeks.
Spring flowered and bloomed, and the pace at Holyhead and at the Auror Office eased a little so they found more time to fit in dates around Britain, lazy afternoons in the Burrow garden, playtime with Teddy Lupin, and unchaperoned interludes in Grimmauld Place.
They were good for each other, Ginny knew. Having faced death so often and for so long, Harry found a simple joy in life that helped Ginny see the best side of everything. The mere fact of being with Harry buoyed her up irrepressibly, made food taste better, made music resonate deep inside, the stars sparkle brighter. Life was so much more alivewhen she was with Harry. At the same time, her own natural exuberance helped him out of his gawky social shell, lifted him from his occasional black moods – an inescapable consequence of his vocation.
One evening, as they watched the sun go down from Stoatshead Hill, lying on a blanket amidst the remnants of a picnic, Ginny blurted: "I wish we could just stay here forever."
Harry chuckled. "Nah, you think you could, but you wouldn't," he said. "There's so much to do out there – places to go, things to see, League Cups to win..." He pulled up a primrose from the carpet of shy pale yellow blossoms around them, the very picture of happy innocence.
"If we had a simple life though, out here in the country, away from everything… away from London…" Ginny rolled over onto her front and looked up at Harry through drowsy half-closed eyes. "We could just forget it all… let everyone take care of themselves." She found herself thinking of the Burrow, but not the Burrow… thinking of a Burrow-like house in the countryside, but done the way she liked it, and filled all day with Harry, and with children running around like how she remembered herself and her brothers, but they were indistinct amalgams that would look half like him and half like her, somehow...
"That'd be nice," said Harry, in the same drowsy tone, and for a moment they were dreaming together, and Ginny again felt like they were one.
Then: "But not right now... that's not possible," he said. "Even if we don't go looking for trouble, trouble comes looking for us." A little resignation crept into his voice. "We have to be prepared."
And thus, the moment was gone.
Oh stop it, Ginny berated herself. She tried to be practical. "We're playing Falmouth this Saturday," she hinted.
"I'll try to make it," Harry said. "We've got extra training this weekend, but we might finish the session early."
He didn't sound optimistic that it would, though, Ginny noted. "We don't actually spend much time together, do we?" she said regretfully.
"Make the best out of what we have," said Harry.
"True," admitted Ginny. "But..." But this isn't going to be how it is moving forward, right? I'm not going to spend all my days seeing you twice a month, am I?
He must have seen the doubt in her eyes, because Harry leaned up on one elbow and said earnestly, "Things are just a little busier now, but it won't be forever. It's because of the new intake, we have four Trainees this year including Parvati; and Neville and I are helping out in the training programme..."
"Okay," Ginny smiled. It won't be forever.
On Saturday the Harpies played the Falmouth Falcons. Ginny scanned the crowd and saw no sign of Harry, shrugged, and joined the team for post-victory drinks. Because she had her own life to live too, didn't she? He did show up for lunch the next day at the Burrow, and they both fell asleep afterwards full of Sunday roast, too tired to talk, snoozing hand-in-hand on the sofa in the living room.
It was something.