II.
On May 2nd, Bill and Fleur's baby came squalling into the world, five weeks early.
Ginny and almost all the Weasleys were there in St Mungo's, an anxious wall of family sitting and standing and pacing in the waiting-room of the Dilys Derwent Delivery Ward, as if by their physical presence they could form a shield against all the unseen dangers of premature birth.
Magic is powerful, but not a cure-all. And Death is always lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce at any opportunity.
Ginny was the worst of the pacers, a constant vortex of nervous energy, getting up and walking around the hospital and sitting down – and repeating the cycle two minutes later. Neither Harry nor Ron were there. The Auror Office promised to let them come over the moment they could.
Well, perhaps the talisman of group worry worked, because after several harrowing hours, the Healer appeared and said with a worn-out smile, "Congratulations, Weasleys..." The rest of her words were drowned out by a loud cheer from George.
Ginny looked around, exchanging grins of relief and elation with her family. She was so excited! This baby, this was the first of the next generation of Weasleys, this unseen little girl whom the first-time parents still couldn't decide would be named Camille – voted by Mum, Charlie, Ron, and Ginny – or Emma, as preferred by Percy, George, Hermione, and Harry. (Dad refused to give his opinion; he was far too canny to be drawn into this debate).
Hermione would say it was her nesting instincts acting up; Ginny, all of nineteen and not at all thinking of babies, scoffed at the idea. But for some indescribable reason, she wanted Harry to be here, not just to be with her family, but to share this moment with her, and… he wasn't.
Bill appeared, and got his share of back-slaps and hugs, as if he'd done anything particularly strenuous today other than hold Fleur's hand and fret. "Fleur's a bit tired," he said, "so why don't you all come back tomorrow? You can see them both then."
Behind Ginny, the doors to the waiting-room eased open, and Ron poked his head in. "Are we late?" he said with a big grin. "Sorry, got held up at work." His red Auror cloak was stained and singed, despite the obvious signs of a hastily-applied Scourgify, and he'd missed a patch of soot on the tip of his nose.
Ginny pushed past him.
Harry was out in the corridor, bearing the same hurriedly-concealed signs of deadly struggle, only with a spattering of magically-healed scabs across his cheek like a directional spray of acne, and a huge rip in his jeans that would need proper darning, not a swish-and-flick quick-fix. Underneath that, there was surely a big slash; the edges of the rip were flecked with dried blood where the Cleaning Charm hadn't got all of it off.
"Oh, Harry," she said, and very gently traced the triangular spatter of scabs on his cheek with one fingertip.
"Hogwarts Day festivities," said Harry grimly. "Some people just had to make their presence felt."
It seemed so selfish now, for Ginny to wish Harry had been here with them, with her. Of course she couldn't say anything like that. Of course she was just happy her Harry was here now, and in one piece. Deep inside though she felt unsatisfied.
Oh well, he's here now, and that's what matters.
The doors of the Dilys Derwent ward slammed, and George stormed out and past them without saying a word. Ron followed, stopping only to say "He'll be alright, we're just, uh, going for a drink. I'm going to make sure he's okay."
"What happened?" Ginny asked his back.
Over his shoulder, Ron said, "Bill and Fleur are naming her Victoire. George, well..." He didn't finish, ran to catch up with his brother – the single twin, to whom today would never be a victory of any kind.
Ginny buried her face in Harry's chest, listening thankfully again to the reassuring life beating within.
June was a sigh of relief, of sorts, that April and May and all its sorrowful associations were safely past.
A sense of renewal and promise filled the air – perhaps that was why, Ginny thought, it stung more somehow when the commonplace disappointments of life disrupted the sleepy susurration of summer.
She was tired from a heavy mid-season training session, dispirited after disappointing personal performance at a 'friendly' against a visiting Indian team, and feeling generally manky with the onset of her period. All she wanted was to crawl into bed… and that was when Harry bounced out of the Burrow's fireplace, ready for a date night.
"Ten-pin bowling!" he exclaimed. "I heard of this place in Lewisham that sounds pretty interesting, it's full of Muggle students and does pizza and hot dogs and everything."
As if she wasn't already completely exhausted, this particular evening, the thought of greasy, cheesy, American-style pizza turned Ginny's cramping stomach, as did the prospect of facing huge crowds. "Sounds terrible. I throw around a ball all day for work, Harry, I don't want to do it in my off-hours," she snapped.
Harry stopped short as if he had run into a brick wall. "But… I thought you seemed quite excited about the idea, the other day," he said, sounding both surprised and disappointed.
Had she been? She couldn't remember. "You must be joking!" Ginny humphed.
"Well… what about just having some takeout, then?" Sampling the vast array of cuisines available out in the Muggle world was part of Harry and Ginny's great love for life, and that included the simple takeout available in London in all its myriad forms and tastes.
Ginny could feel her resolve weakening, but she had to keep up her training and diet regimen, or her scores would slip further. All part and parcel of the professional athlete life. "I'm on a strict training diet this week, Harry, I really can't."
"Oh, you've had cheat meals before haven't you? Come on," wheedled Harry.
Oh that was enough! "I said no, Harry!" she snapped. "This is part of my work, I have to take my diet more seriously! You should too!" Ginny jumped up. "I'm not feeling well, I'm going to bed," she said shortly. And practically ran upstairs. Without saying goodnight.
The last thing she saw, glancing down the Burrow's winding staircase, was Harry watching her go with a look of blank hurt in his eyes.
It didn't happen, they both tried to convince themselves.
Harry was neither exaggeratedly cool nor cheery to her the next week, at the Burrow. He just tried hard, as she did, to pretend that everything was fine, everything was normal. But the incident rankled, in his head – Ginny could tell. He was just a hair quieter than usual, turning the thing over in his head, chewing it over.
Ginny tossed her red mane of hair sharply, like a horse getting rid of a fly. She had been feeling poorly anyway, he couldn't blame her for that! He had always known, somehow, had always read her mood well. He could always tell when she was sad, anxious, or her monthlies were upon her, and did thoughtful things like bring her stuff, buy her favourite flavours of sweets and choccy, and tuck her gently into bed. If he hadn't noticed it this time – that was his bloody problem, wasn't it?
In any case, they made up with a whole day out wandering around Covent Garden, marvelling at the sheer volume and variety of Muggle ingenuity on display. Talented street performers, artfully crafted knick-knacks, verdant hidden city gardens, infinite combinations of food and drink – all the ways they made magic out of not-magic.
And thus life went on, and Ginny and Harry made the best out of these wonderful moments, and forgot the cares and concerns.
But even so, it was getting harder to make up for the long silences in between. Something felt amiss, and Ginny couldn't quite put her finger on it. She only knew she wasn't quite as in tune with Harry as before, and though they tried their best, quality couldn't always make up for quantity.
"No, the 25th isn't good, we have a team day out and you can't miss those," said Ginny. She threw the quill down. "Looks like our next date is next month." She stalked around the kitchen of the Burrow, staring moodily at a batch of muffins – verboten under her training diet. It was late at night, and she was having an acceptable evening with Harry after the family dinner, after which Mum and Dad had gone upstairs and left them nominally alone… but it wasn't the same as proper alone time, of course.
"Mm." Harry looked up from apparently staring at the opposite wall. "That's okay. I'll take what I can get."
Ginny patted his hand, and he squeezed hers a little absent-mindedly. "What's got you so distracted?"
Harry shook his head. "S'nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Of course I'll worry about it, you prat, you're in the thick of it," said Ginny. And I'm not, she didn't add, because you're leaving me out. As usual.
"Well," said Harry, sounding as if every word was being dragged out of him by wild Abraxans, "There's something going on that involves the vampires, and we can't figure it out. It's doing all our heads in, even Ron's…" He trailed off into silence and looked down.
The reference to Ron somehow ate at Ginny more than the fact that it seemed she and Harry couldn't arrange a dinner date in all of sodding July, and that he couldn't leave off thinking about Auror work when they were here, now, on one of the increasingly-scarce occasions they could find time together. She shut her planner loudly.
Harry jumped at the sound and looked round irritably. "What on earth's the matter with you?"
"Ron seems to get along fine with Hermione, I don't know why it's so hard for you to get time off," she snapped. "What is it with you, are you slower than him at work, or what?"
"Low blow, Ginny." Harry's right fist clenched, so that scar from that Umbitch made its faded appearance. In the past it had always marked Harry's getting angry at something or someone, usually some Death Eater revivalist wannabe who was about to learn just how well-deserved Harry's reputation was. It pained Ginny deep inside to see that little tic directed at her… but she didn't let herself think about that now. "Look, there's some very serious stuff going on in the Office now, just trust me, alright?"
" 'Just trust you', is that all the answer I'm ever going to get?!" snarled Ginny.
"Well, don't you trust me?! Is that the problem?"
"Do you remember two years ago, when you first joined the Aurors? You said no more secrets. You said you'd walk away if I asked you to."
"Really, Ginny? Is this it already, you're pulling that card already? Are you asking me to walk away from the Aurors just because you want me not to miss any of your matches?! Cause I find that pretty damned selfish of you, Ginny!" Harry slapped the table. "You know what we do in the Office, you know how dire it is out there, Ron and I've brought you in, we've shown you! Trust him at least, even if you don't believe me," said Harry bitterly.
"I just want us to have a real life together, not just bits and pieces on random days of the month, but you can't let go, can you? You're always having to chase off after something else! You're always having to save someone else!"
"I'm trying to save us! I'm trying to make it possible for us to have thatlife we want!"
"You made me promises, Harry! Did you mean any of them? Or were you just leading me on?!"
Harry jumped to his feet. "Of course I wasn't, dammit! Fine, I'll make more time for your matches! Happy? Is that the answer you want?!"
"Yes! No! I DON'T KNOW!" Ginny yelled, then stormed out of the kitchen and into the garden, where the stupid ducks, disturbed from their snooze by the water's edge, glared at her as if about to lodge a noise complaint.
A few minutes later Harry joined her silently by the pond. He chucked a crumb of muffin at the nearest duck, which looked at it disdainfully and glared at Harry in turn as if to say and you can piss off too. Wanker.
After a while Harry said, "I love the Burrow's garden. Just about every memory I have of this place is wonderful. Your parents – they really made this feel like a real home. Like this was a real family." Not like Privet Drive, he left unsaid.
Ginny nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"And I do want to build something like that of our own, believe me, I do. I just – I don't know how, yet. There's so much we have to do. It's not safe out there, it's not the right time. But I'm finding my way, and we're working towards a better world. I just need a little time. Then I'll hang up the Auror cloak and, I dunno, find something else to do."
Will you? Will you really, Harry? Ginny sighed, and let herself fall a little sideways, leaning into Harry's shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, and she felt unshed tears sting the backs of her eyes.
"Oh, Merlin. What's happening to us, Harry?" she said forlornly. "Drifting apart, rowing… Are we… are we done?" Was it all a stupid fairytale that's come finally to an end?
Harry shook his head. "Nah. We're just tired, and – and out of sorts. You and I both. We're still good. It'll all get better." He said this with a shadow of his usual confidence, and gave her a decent approximation of his smile – the confidence that had inspired teenagers to fight as an army, the smile full of the sincerity that marked his character.
Ginny tried her best to believe him.
Ginny's nineteenth birthday was disappointing in its mundanity.
It was a Friday, but also a designated rest day for the match against the Tutshill Tornados the following afternoon. They had some very light formation work and then Gwenog made them all go home and rest. Ginny had to stick to her diet, so there was not even the suggestion of cake, nor could she even pig out on Mum's hearty British cooking – it was brown rice, grilled salmon, fresh greens and fruit, as Coach ordered. Healthy stuff. Boring stuff.
Harry was there, and they, well, made as much of it as they could under the eyes of the Weasley family. But there was a gap between them – a gap made up of words unspoken, grievances unaired, questions about each other in their minds. Ginny felt it in the slight stiffness of their bodies, the careful choice of words, the just-slightly-so tight smiles. And then the next day, Harry couldn't attend the match, or make plans for dinner afterwards. She tried not to feel resentful.
It would have been bearable, just, if the bloody Tornados hadn't oh-so-skilfully picked apart the Harpies.
Ginny and the Harpies gave it their all, but Tutshill showed just why they were at the top of the table. Every move, every tactic, every decision was just a hair better than the Harpies, and the little differences added up. Snitch! magazine called the match a 'virtuoso display of top-tier professional Quidditch'. Gwenog Jones called it a lot of very loud and unprintable words.
Harry was there at the Burrow, the day after the match. It was a belated birthday lunch of sorts, and an allowed 'diet-off day', and Mum made all her favourites. But for Ginny, the taste of shepherd's pie and chocolate cake mixed with the ashes of defeat, and of Harry's not even being there to console her after. Harry must have sensed her disappointment; when he followed her up to her room afterwards, he wasn't expecting birthday kisses – he was ready with apologies.
"You weren't there."
"I'm sorry, there was an emergency," said Harry. "I… I tried."
"You always try," said Ginny. "But you never actually do. We see each other, what, twice a month? We make plans every week and half the time you blow them off because something comes up."
"Well, I don't do it on purpose, I want to be with you. But you know how Auror work is like, Ginny. There was an emergency all-hands…"
Yes, yes, she knew. Magical crime did not work to a fixed schedule. And Harry was trying his best. "It's just really frustrating, us not being able to catch each other," said Ginny. She patted the bed, and Harry came to sit beside her, relaxing slightly. "And, well… I don't know if I should continue with this Quidditch lark."
She poured out everything that she had bottled up then, the fears and concerns. There was a distinct disparity in Quidditch pay between the top, the middling, and the bottom. If you played for England or was at least in the First Seven on the top four teams, you were comfortable. If you were decent, you made average pay, like any other shopkeeper or Ministry desk jockey. And if you were at or near the bottom of the League – like the Cannons – then, well, you played for love of the sport, and eked out whatever incidental benefits you got by fixing Floos five days a week.
Harry made all the right noises, listening to Ginny as they sprawled across the quilt in her sunny, comfortably familiar bedroom, their feet on the floor. Mm-hmm, yeah, she was on a bee-line to the top of the League, for a second-stringer, but that didn't mean she would definitely make the cut. And if not, what then? And even if, what after? Professional Quidditch careers didn't last long. Was Ginny throwing it all away? Maybe she should quit now, while she was young, still able to put her all into a different career without much time wasted…
Somewhere along the way, Harry's eyes closed.
"You're not listening to a word I say, are you?" said Ginny. Why was her voice wobbling? "Harry!"
He woke with a start, then rubbed his eyes guiltily. "Sorry, I drifted off. Been working late nights, on top of yesterday's to-do. Well, I've always said, if you love Quidditch, go for it. You just do what you want, Ginny." He paused, then added, "That's what you've always done, anyway."
Ginny sat up. "What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply.
His answering chuckle had a sardonic edge to it, she thought. "You've just gone and done whatever you wanted, whatever anyone else thinks. 'Anything's possible if you've got nerve', right? You'd pursue any career you fancy. Even professional Quidditch." Harry shrugged. "Well, it's just Quidditch anyway. It's not life and death."
" 'Even'?" Ginny jumped up and faced him, hands on her hips. " 'Just'? Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter? When did you not care about Quidditch? This is important to me, don't you realise? This is my career! This is my life!"
"But you were just going on about how much you hated it," Harry pointed out. "If you hate it so much, just leave it. Find something else to do."
"This isn't what I wanted to hear from you." Ginny scuffed angrily at a sudden tear in the corner of her eye. Where had it come from?
"Then what is it you want?" pleaded Harry. "Look, I'm just trying – help me out here, Ginny, you know I'm not good at this reading girls' minds stuff, I'm trying to be a good boyfriend and all, but…"
"Are you though?" snapped Ginny.
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
She ignored him and stumped out of her own room.
No, Ginny did not have a good nineteenth birthday.
After that, the idea of seeing Harry became inextricably mixed with something hot and angry, inside, and often Ginny thought she would rather just not bother.
In the second half of the year's Quidditch League season, Ginny was once again thrown every which way at once – fixtures all over the British Isles, training at Holyhead, rest and increasingly-rarefied sleep at the Burrow. There were few hours she truly had for herself, and true, some of that time she tried her best to make those hours not hers, but hers-and-Harry's, to try and fix whatever the hell had happened. But sometimes, she felt completely worn-out and just wanted to curl up in a corner with no company but herself.
Besides, Ginny decided, it was high bloody time Harry could get a taste of what she got from him. It would do him good, thought Ginny, to have her tell him no for once. Have it going the other way round for a change.
Her chance came a couple of weeks later.
"Hey?"
"Hey." Ginny didn't look up from her paperback novel.
"Listen, uh. Nev and Sue and the gang wanted to check out the new dance club that opened in Knockturn Alley."
Despite herself, Ginny's interest was piqued. She looked up at him under the guise of reaching for her tea. Harry stood there uncomfortably in the Burrow's living room, his hands in his pockets. "Uhuh."
"It's not really a work thing, though of course we're scoping the place out, for future… y'know. But Sue thinks it'd be fun, and I thought…" He tried for an awkward smirk. "Place is called 'Pixie Dust'. Can you believe that?"
She suppressed a grin. Harry Potter and dance clubs do not go together, Ginny knew that. She knew he wouldn't really have fun at such a place unless she was there. She knew he was trying to make up for everything that had happened. But she was tired, and she wasn't ready to kiss and make up yet. She wanted to make a point. "No," she said stubbornly, though she really wanted to say…
"Can't you just…" Harry bit off the sentence in frustration, ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe it's not your sort of thing, it isn't my cup of tea either, but we can just shove off in a corner and just drink and, I dunno, talk, right?"
"No," said Ginny, staring down at the page and not reading a word. "I'm tired. You go ahead."
Harry stood there for a while, but she ignored him. "Okay," he finally said tonelessly. "Take care."
Ginny went to bed with a sense of hollow victory, that vanished the next morning when she came down, fixed herself tea and toast, and picked up the Daily Prophet.
Potter Pecks Petite Pretty Popsie at Pixie Dust Premiere!
And there she was. Harry, and Cho bloody Chang, their faces practically touching, smiling at each other over a couple of pints.
Ginny didn't have to read the rest of the article, but she did anyway. Then she flung the paper out the door of the Burrow, whipped out her wand and blasted it to pieces, sending a couple of gnomes diving for cover.
When he called her out again, she was astounded at the way he tried to sweep it all under the carpet, like everything else.
He must know I know. He must know I'm off-the-wall mad. No, this one, this one we are not avoiding!
She was ready, she'd spent all the intervening days gathering her weapons, the words, the scornful looks, preparing every muscle of her body as if for a Quidditch match.
"No, not this week, or the next, I'm busy with important stuff. Why, is Cho Chang unavailable?" she fired back.
In the days running up to this moment, she had imagined with vicious satisfaction the expression of guilt and contrition that would bloom on his stupid face as the words struck home. The reality of Harry's bewilderment didn't live up to anywhere near her fantasy had. In fact, he looked a little hurt and disappointed, and she had to fight down an instant's urge to wipe away that hurt with the touch of fingers and lips.
"Cho?" said Harry quizzically. "What about her?"
"I don't know, 'what about her?' " mimicked Ginny. "How is she these days? Did you have a good time at Pixie Dust?"
Harry laughed, he actually laughed! Was he not taking her at all seriously?! "That was nothing, she happened to be there and we got to talking about Quidditch, school, what she's been up to..."
"That was 'nothing', was it? 'Nothing' looked really cosy to me in the photos."
"Come on, Ginny, you know these tabloid shots always make things look different. The place was deafening, we had to get close and shout just to have a proper conversation." Harry ran a hand through his hair in irritation. "Look, I specifically blocked time off from the Office this weekend, I don't often have a whole free evening these days, why don't we have dinner at that Italian place Hermione showed us, you rather liked that one."
This wasn't going at all as Ginny had imagined. Mutinously, she replied, "I said I'm busy. Lots to do. I'm a professional Quidditch player you know, we have very busy schedules, unlike whatever Cho's doing..."
Finally, a reaction; Harry's face darkened angrily. "If you're pissed with me, Ginny, over whatever it is, have the decency to leave Cho out of it. She's had her share of bad press too which she does not deserve, you don't have to add to it. Be fair, Ginny."
"I'm being unfair?" said Ginny loudly. "You went out with her! To a nightclub! And ended up practically necking the night away!"
"I said nothing happened! I was with the rest of the team from the office, and Neville and Sue and Ron was there as well! Besides, I asked you to come along and you said no!"
She knew it, she knew it, this was what it was all leading up to. Ginny only blamed herself for not seeing it earlier. And why not? She was his type, after all – had once been his choice, after all… She thought about Harry doing things with Cho that he only did with her, and the jealousy pierced her to the core. "So Cho was your backup date, was she? Is she your backup shag as well?!"
"That's not what... this is ridiculous, Ginny!" Harry clenched his fists and looked around wildly. "You know what? You're tired, you're tired and stressed out, that's why you're jumping to crazy conclusions. That's fine. But don't you bloody well take it out on me, I have a pretty damn stressful job myself, it's not a bloody lark looking at dead people all the time!"
"Oh, so my job isn't as difficult as yours, that's the problem here eh, Mister Big Bloody Auror Tight-Arse?" snarled Ginny.
"Yeah, let me think, throwing a ball around, or chancing my arm looking for murderous Dark wizards, I wonder which one is worse!"
She lost it, she completely lost it, Ginny saw blood red. "YOU NEVER HAD A PROBLEM WITH THAT BEFORE!" screamed Ginny. "It's always been YOUR job that's the problem with us...!"
"Oh, we have an 'us' now, do we, we're seeing each other now, are we...?!"
"I don't know, ARE WE?! You're never around when I need you, you miss almost all my games, arranging for a fucking dinner together's like planning for the World Cup, what do you think? Merlin's rock, I might as well not have a fucking boyfriend, what difference would it make!"
"Well alright then, if you think that way, let's just bloody well call it all off!"
"FINE!"
"FINE!"
And Harry stormed out of the Burrow, slamming its door for probably the first time ever.
Angry tears spilled out of Ginny's eyes, and she cursed them for tearing up when she clearly meant to be angry, not heartbroken. A moment later the enormity of what had just happened hit her – we've broken up, we've broken up, I've broken up with Harry! – and Ginny felt sick, actually physically sick. She pressed her hand to her mouth, and sank to the floor, wrapping her arm around her tummy as if she could hold in the sobs suddenly shaking her body.
"Ginny." It was Mum, standing at the door clutching her dressing-gown, a look of sympathy on her face.
Ginny gave a wail and pushed past her and fled up the stairs to her room, where she huddled into a tiny ball under the covers and wept.