Author's Note: If you're reading this, I want to make sure I first say thank you. I haven't posted on here in a long time, to the point that I almost forgot what I had created this account for in the first place. I wanted this to be a space where I finally shared all of the fanfics I'd hidden in my phone and written only for myself. I found this story hidden in my Notes and I had to post it. It's one of my favorites. This is a short fic dedicated to one of my many theories about Harry and Ginny's relationship after the war. I hope you enjoy it!
Harry knew that he would up end here.
There was no moment that he had consciously decided to walk to Ginny's door; it was simply the way that his feet led him. He'd started walking, attempting to tell himself that it was a mindless stroll, but allowing his body to lead him the familiar way to Ginny's room. The first time he'd stood in her room was nearly a year ago, and despite the fact that it had involved her kissing him, the memory only ever made him feel slightly guilty as if he had been indulging in something he didn't deserve. He felt a bit of that guilt settle in now as he stood, his hand awkwardly hovering an inch from the door. What if Ginny didn't want to see him? Who was he to think that nothing had changed?
In fact, everything had changed, even down to the Burrow. The house, usually overflowing with guests and noise, was still, each member staying on their own. Fred's absence seemed to fill every corner of the house, to take over the purpose of every conversation. He hadn't even spoken to Ginny since Hogwarts.
With this in mind, Harry dropped his hand, letting it fall limp at his side. No sense in messing with the past. Who was to say that Ginny had not moved on? How could she not? She was Ginny after all.
Charming and witty and intelligent and funny and—
Behind him.
She was standing behind him with a smirk on her face, lifting up the freckles around the corner of her lips. She cleared her throat dramatically, the tip of her nails tapping the edge of his shoulder.
Harry's heart dropped to his knees.
"I was wondering how long you were going to stand there."
Flustered, Harry simply stared.
"I went downstairs to grab something," she explained. "But I'm here now. You know, if you need anything."
"Right."
She was looking at him now quizzically, the smile on her face only growing, her eyes settling with what looked like hope. He held onto that. That was real. That was present.
"Well, I— I just— Hermione fell asleep in Ron's bed."
"Fully clothed, I hope?"
"As far as I could tell." He let out a little laugh. "I just wasn't ready to fall asleep."
She nodded, and they stood in silence for a few seconds, only causing Harry's anxiety to rise. Now that he thought of it, there was no reason he couldn't have gone downstairs and sat in the living room or something.
"So…? What? You came to bother me?"
Harry laughed awkwardly, unsure of what the answer was. He supposed yes.
He settled with, "More or less."
Somehow it worked. She slipped past him, her flowery scent reminding him of that moment in sixth year— the first time he'd known his feelings without admitting it to himself— and pushed open the door, allowing Harry to step in. Everything was still the same. It provided him with a small sense of comfort. So much had changed about him and her. He wondered if they still stood a chance, or if time had simply slipped by, gifting him with no more than the memory of those lost sunlit days. But her room, at least, was still the same.
"You can sit on Hermione's bed if you want," she announced casually, pointing to the bed in the corner. The directive felt like a slight rejection. He tried to focus instead on the difference between the beds. There was no need to point out that it belonged to Hermione. It was so clearly hers— neat and untouched. Ginny's was ruffled, the bedsheets tangled in the center.
He sat down in Hermione's bed awkwardly, trying to both stare at and avoid Ginny at the same time. She flashed him a small smile, before suddenly speaking again. "I didn't think they'd ever get together."
Harry shook his head, happy for the opportunity for conversation. He'd walked in here with nothing to say, and yet knowing that she was precisely the person he wanted to speak with. At least this was safe. Over the years, he and Ginny had shared several glances behind Ron and Hermione's back as the two of them danced around their feelings for each other.
"Neither did I," he agreed. "But they finally kissed during the battle."
Ginny's jaw dropped dramatically. "What? Tell me what happened."
He began recounting the story, to which she went along with enthusiastically until he got to the Basilisk fangs. The detail slipped out before he had a chance to choke it back and Ginny was no longer smiling, set again in confusion.
"Basilisk fangs? Were they in the Chamber of Secrets? What for?"
He sighed. "Long story."
It was decidedly not the right thing to say. Ginny's face had momentarily scrunched up in an emotion he could not place. Annoyance. Frustration. Disappointment. Perhaps all three. She turned from him, forcing a small grin. Before he had a chance to remedy his mistake, however, she'd already continued speaking.
"Mum won't be pleased with the switching rooms."
He nodded. It seemed like an inopportune time to admit that he hadn't necessarily planned on staying.
Silence overtook the room. She was no longer looking at him, and Harry took the chance to observe her. It had been over a year since he'd had this much of Ginny to himself. But that Ginny in his memories felt distant from the girl who sat across from him. Did he really need to have broken up with her? It didn't seem to have protected her much. Her brother was still dead, and Ginny needed no help drawing her own attention from Death Eaters. Harry felt guilt overtake him.
If not for him, he would be sneaking into her room to be like how Ron and Hermione were. How different things were now that of all people, Ron and Hermione had more or less figured their relationship out, and Harry and Ginny were left sitting quietly in her room, trying to figure out what to say. And it was all his fault.
Harry sighed, ready to do what he knew now he'd been planning since he began walking to see her.
"I'm so sorry, Ginny. For—"
"Are you seriously about to apologize for saving the world?"
Although Harry had seen Ginny angry before, he'd never been on the receiving end of it. He'd watched her yell at Ron and Fred and George, and even her parents. He knew it was something to fear, the way her eyes would narrow at you, the way her red hair would seem to blaze in her frustration. He felt suddenly unnerved as she stared at him, anger taking over her voice.
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say the world."
His lame attempt to lighten the mood felt embarrassingly— well, lame under her gaze. She rolled her eyes.
"If that's why you came in here, I'd rather you leave. I don't want to hear it. I might not know everything, Harry, but I know what you did was important."
Harry closed his mouth. He could not be completely surprised at her reaction. Ginny was not the type to accept his apology. Oddly enough, he found himself smiling at the realization. Clearly, not that much had changed.
"What?"
Harry chose to be honest. "I missed you."
She stared at him, and for a second he thought she might start arguing with him, but she didn't— she laughed and it felt like the way he was used to her feeling: like sunlight and summer and music.
She rolled her eyes, and Harry smiled as he watched a tinge of red appear on her face. "I missed you too, Harry."
They sat there for a minute, grinning at each other soundlessly. Ginny broke the silence.
"So I take it you didn't meet any Veela?"
He laughed again. Although it had only been days, it felt like it had been ages since he was able to laugh this freely.
"You didn't have to worry about that, you know?"
Before he had died, it was her he had thought of: her blazing look, and the feeling of her lips on his. He didn't know how to voice this, but he knew he would tell her one day.
She smiled, looking pleased with herself.
"I know."