Ginny liked dancing. It was one of the few things he'd found out about her through their limited contact during the war. From time to time, he was told to make contact with her, and she'd always had the same slow, sweet smile for him, coupled with a sharp wit and acid tongue. So he tried to make it interesting. "Ten new recruits here," he'd written one September. "Guards doubled around eastern perimeter. Goyle trying to do crosswords but failing miserably, as can't spell. Favorite Weird sister? –D" As he encoded the scrolls, he always wondered what she thought of his very obvious attempts to make conversation.
Or sometimes they'd talk in person, and he'd tell her everything he knew about the spells the researchers were working on, and whenever he paused for breath, she'd answer all the questions his letters had asked and put a hand on his cheek and murmur a healing spell under her breath, then smile up at him. She told him about Christmas at her family home and playing pranks on her twin brothers and taught him some of the slightly ridiculous but vicious hexes she knew, like that Bat Bogey one from long ago, one of the few things he remembered about her from school.
Sometimes, she'd scold him for taking unnecessary risks, and once in a while she'd yell at him after a meeting if he'd been particularly short-tempered or antagonized Potter more than necessary.
"Are you seeing anyone?" he'd asked rather cockily after a rendezvous in late August to deliver maps of new holding cells as he helped her into her coat.
She'd actually giggled and had the temerity to kiss him on the cheek. "Wait till the war's over, Don Juan."
So he worked, and he waited.