He would never have believed it possible, but she looked even more beautiful than he'd remembered her. She stood framed in the doorway, a light rain falling down around her from a grey sky. He'd forgotten how much smaller she looked in Muggle clothes. A light jacket kept the rain off a charcoal-colored sweatshirt that hung loosely over her black jeans. Ginny met his stare with a wry smile before finally asking, "May I come in out of the rain at least?" Drops glistened on her hair like dew on fallen autumn leaves.
Her dry tone and wet hair shook Harry out of his reverie. "Oh yeah, sure, come on in," he said skittishly, glancing up and down the block. There was no sign of Jenkins, but Harry did see a strange car parked across the road. He thought he recognized the bushy hair of the driver.
"Is that Hermione?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah," Ginny replied in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. "She gave me a ride. She got her driving license this summer."
"Why doesn't she come in?"
Ginny's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Two reasons, really. First, she's going to keep an eye out for the Muggle watchdog your Uncle left you. We really don't want to get you in trouble, Harry." The nervous boy sighed with some relief.
"The second reason is that I asked her to."
"Asked her to what," Harry replied, still in a state of shock. He couldn't believe Ginny was here. On the one hand, it was like a dream come true. On the other, he had no idea what to say or do now. He'd missed her so much, but now that she was here, he recalled why he'd broken up with her in the first place. He also recalled the last time he had seen her and felt his pulse race even faster. Ginny's hollow laugh grabbed his attention back again.
"I asked her... for a lot really," Ginny said with a heavy sigh. "I asked her if I could come to her house and visit with her and her family. Thankfully, Mum didn't have a problem with that. I asked her to listen while I ranted and raved, even though it killed her not to offer advice on what to do. And then I asked her to bring me here. Finally, I asked her to wait outside, when I know she's dying to see you, to talk to you." Ginny stared out the door, which Harry had forgotten to close. "She's a good friend, Harry, and a good person."
"Will she be all right out there?" Harry found that asking easy questions was helping hold off the hard ones.
Ginny laughed again, with some feeling this time. "She brought some books to study. Depending on how things go, she might get to come in, too." Harry felt a sudden foreboding. He closed the door and turned back to find Ginny shrugging off her jacket and slipping off her damp shoes. Harry felt his heart planted firmly in the top of his chest, beating rapidly. Just having her near was almost more than he could stand. Ginny looked up at him expectantly, but he could not trust himself to speak to her yet.
"So, may I sit down?" she asked after the awkward pause, gesturing towards the plastic covered couch in the nearby sitting room.
"Oh yeah, sure." He followed her as she strolled into the room, noting how she examined everything with great interest. The walls were covered with photos of Dudley and the furniture was covered in plastic wrap. Harry felt suddenly ashamed. Ginny said nothing, however. She simply sat and waited quietly until he sat down himself.
He stared at the floor between them, unable to find anything to say. His chest tightened and he pressed his arms close to his sides, as if trying to prevent himself from flying apart. When he finally gathered the courage to look up, he found her staring at him with a mixture of pity and enjoyment.
Once again, Ginny took the lead. "I'd wondered what I'd do when I saw you next," she said conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather. "Would I kiss you, would I slap you? Would I scream? Would I cry?"
"I guess it's None of the Above," he answered quickly, a small smile forming. The sound of her voice washing over him after so many weeks of solitude had filled him suddenly with joy.
Her eyes, however, narrowed quickly and her cheeks flushed. "Don't you dare think you can pretend that nothing's happened, Harry James Potter. Don't you dare!" He quickly dropped his gaze to the ground again, tightening his grip on his sides. He dearly loved her fierce emotions, her inner fire, but not when it was directed at him like this.
"Why did you do it?" she demanded. "Why!" She jumped up from the couch and began pacing in front of him. Her tone forced his eyes to meet hers and he knew she'd not let him look away until she got a satisfactory answer.
"I told you, Ginny. I didn't want to see you hurt."
She shook her head violently. A light mist sprayed his face as her hair tossed from one side to the other. "Not that, you great prat! That, I understood. It's stupid, it's condescending and don't think for one moment we aren't going to talk about it again, but that's bloody well not what I meant and you bloody well know it!"
Harry had thought he'd be able to make it. For the entire fortnight, he'd succeeded. He'd spent the train ride from Hogwarts by himself. Normally, his friends would have been more concerned, but everyone had grieving to do. It had seemed like everyone had withdrawn a bit into themselves after the funeral. The train had been unnaturally quiet the entire trip. The trip back to the Burrow had passed in similar silence. Gradually, though, the pending wedding had given the Weasley's something on which to focus their energies and attention. Ron and Ginny each had roles to play during the ceremony, so their time had been taken up with fittings, rehearsals, and other such things. Harry had spent his time with Hermione for the most part. Six years of practice avoiding her questions and worried glances served Harry well and she quickly gave up on trying to get him to talk about either Dumbledore or Ginny. Instead, they talked about horcruxes and about R.A.B. A few days into their stay, Hermione had found some old books of Bill's on lost magics in a storeroom and had begun studying them looking for anything that might help. They would sit in the garden, ostensibly to stay out of the way, and pass the days when Ron was busy. Hermione would read, sometimes aloud, usually to herself. Harry would nap or watch the clouds go by, trying not think of anything. When Ron was free, he'd join them, sitting close to Hermione and reading over her shoulder until his boredom outweighed the pleasure of her proximity. Then, he and Harry would horse around, skipping stones in the pond or tossing a Quaffle about. Ron never asked about Ginny and never mentioned Dumbledore and Harry had never loved him more than he did for this. As for Ginny, Harry had barely seen her for more than a moment or two. He knew her well enough to know that this was not a coincidence.
And so, the weeks had passed until the wedding day. He felt both relieved and depressed. The Dursleys had agreed, reluctantly, to pick him up at the Burrow. Harry figured they'd rather gather him on their own terms than risk having him fly into the neighborhood in broad daylight with a bunch of freaks. Today would be his last day with his friends before his annual exile to Little Whinging. It would also be his last day near Ginny. He thought it would be for the best. Having her so close, yet being unable to talk her because of his own decision, tore at his insides on a daily basis. When he'd broken up with her, it had gone as well as such a thing could go. She'd understood why he was doing it. She hadn't really seemed too surprised by it, actually. Of course, he hadn't thought about what would happen after that moment. Looking back, he should have known that there was no way they could go back to being 'just friends' and pretending nothing had happened between them. Every time he saw her, he ached to hold her again.
The sun shone down gloriously through a cloudless azure sky. Bill and Fleur's families had outdone themselves with the decorations. Harry caught up with many members of the Order, sitting with Lupin and Tonks on the groom's side of the aisle and then chatting with anyone he could find during the reception that the Weasley's had arranged in their gardens. Evening fell slowly. Harry had never been to a wedding before, but even he could tell that this one was a bit more somber than most. Everyone smiled and seemed to be having a good time, but the music and dancing were a bit slower than one might have expected. No one drank too much and conversations were held in low tones. Harry sat at a table at the distant edge of the dance floor that had been laid down on the soft grass. The Dursleys would be here soon, so he found himself drinking in as much of the atmosphere of the Burrow as he could.
Bill and Fleur had departed together for a honeymoon on the Mediterranean a short while before. Most of Fleur's family had left as well. Harry could see someone beginning to gather up some of the band's equipment. Still, they played on for the last few couples out there, a slow ballad that Harry had never heard before. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley danced in a stately, formal way. He noticed that Mrs. Weasley had finally stopped crying. Remus and Tonks danced together as well. He clearly sought to emulate the Weasley's, but Tonks had simply pressed herself against him, laid her head on his shoulder and begun to sway slowly back and forth. Ron and Hermione spun lightly in circles, also pressed close together, though not as close as Tonks was to Remus. Harry could see Hermione's lips moving ceaselessly. Her eyes shone brightly and her cheeks flushed pink as she chatted at Ron. When they spun around, Harry chuckled to himself. Ron had laid his head down on top of Hermione's and his eyes were closed. If he hadn't been moving his feet, Harry would have thought him asleep. He smiled dreamily and Harry doubted he had ever seen his best friend happier.
Maybe it was the sight of his best friends letting themselves be happy together after so many years of fighting what had been obvious to everyone but them. Maybe it was the fact that he knew the Dursleys were on their way and that the good part of his summer was over. Maybe it was the music, or the soft glow of the fireflies in the warm summer night. Whatever the reason, he found himself standing up and moving around the now empty tables. He found her exactly where he knew she would be, where she had been all night. He'd known at every moment exactly where she was, though he'd not been aware of it until now. She sat alone at the end of the main table; the dim lights floating in the air made her hair smolder. He tried to ignore the streaks on her cheeks. He spoke never a word. He simply extended his hand to her and waited. As he'd known she would, she took it and let him draw her out to the dance floor. So lost was he in the moment, that he failed to see Mr. Weasley's gesture to the band or Hermione's excited poking at Ron. He saw nothing but Ginny. He even forgot that he didn't know how to dance.
When they reached their destination, he laid his arms gently around her waist and drew her close. She closed her hands around his neck and laid her head on his chest. The smell of her hair intoxicated him as he rested his cheek on her auburn locks, still slightly crunchy from the spells used to hold it in place for the ceremony. The music went on forever. They barely moved, trembling as much as swaying. Just as their first kiss had, their first dance lasted for days and just for mere moments. Finally, all to soon, the band stopped playing. All around them, their friends and family watched in anxious silence as Harry and Ginny pulled slowly away from each other. Harry looked down into the starlight bouncing in her moist eyes. Unable to take his gaze from hers, he tilted his head gently and leaned down to place his lips against hers. As he did, he whispered the first words he had spoken to her since Dumbledore's funeral.
"I love you, Ginny."
"BOY! GET OVER HERE!"
Uncle Vernon's shouts roused everyone out the moment. Harry jumped back as if he'd been shot and fled towards his uncle's voice, desperate to get him out of there before he ruined the wedding. All eyes watched him go and then turned back to Ginny, alone on the dance floor. Her expression was unreadable as she strode inside and up to her room.