Chapter Summary: Harry finds his footing.
Note: This chapter is dedicated to all of you who kept reaching out, leaving comments, liking related posts, and letting me know you were still interested in this story even after all this time. Without you, I don't know whether this chapter would be here. I seriously can't believe it's been over a year since I've updated, but here it finally is (after throwing away six previous drafts).
I intend on finishing this story. I just can't promise by when, but what I had planned to write continues to grow and mature in what I believe and hope is a better story than what I had originally planned. Thank you all for sticking with me!
"No, no, not like that." The Muggle instructor interrupted Harry and Hermione mid-waltz. Their inharmonious movements made their shared haggard look all the funnier.
"As if you were any better," Harry shot at Ron and Ginny, who were sniggering in the corner.
"Oh? Who's the one still practicing?" Ron gloated. The instructor had decided to pull Harry and Hermione aside when they both still couldn't get the movements right.
Harry's classic sullen look only made Ginny laugh harder.
Their eyes caught, his sullen look shifting to something else. She bit her lip as a low heat stirred in her. She subconsciously smoothed a hand over her skirt. He followed the movement, his gaze ghosting over her body and making her skin tingle as if he were touching her. As he had last night when she had stopped by, late in the sheath of night.
"Harry!" Hermione warned just as Harry nearly led them into the boxy Muggle music device with the strange giant bug eyes.
"Careful, that's my future wife!"
"Stop distracting us," Hermione scolded, even though she seemed pleased.
Harry flushed deeply and seemed keen on looking anywhere but Ginny. She smiled, that initial heat melting into warm affection.
"Perhaps you should start here," the instructor said, directing them further away from the machinery. "Let's try a different song." She fiddled with the device, and soon a new cheerful and theatrical stringed melody filled the space.
Ron and Ginny continued to watch in amusement as the other two tried once again to master the proper steps. Ginny leaned back against the wall, the sunlight filtering through the large studio windows warming her almost as much as seeing Harry and Hermione stumble through the dance another time. It was nice seeing him like this, normal and carefree, that weight on his shoulders lifted, even if it was only for a moment.
"You've been home a lot."
She startled at Ron's voice, her heart skipping a beat. She reluctantly slid her eyes away from Harry and Hermione to her brother. Ron held himself a little awkwardly, but there wasn't anything in his posture that seemed to indicate that he might know of the few extra, private trips she had made recently.
"Is that a problem?"
"You know that's not what I meant," he bristled. "Merlin knows you've pulled Hermione out of a planning frenzy more than a few times. It's just…You've attended more Burrow dinners recently than all of last year."
"I was busy."
"Busier than being a starter?"
"Yes, busy training my arse off," she snapped, wrapping her arms around her chest. She didn't appreciate the reminder of last year, of feeling alone and lost in Holyhead. All she had was training, of constantly getting back on her broom, tossing Quaffles until her fingers bled.
"I suppose," he said slowly.
Ginny's stomach churned. An unfortunate side effect of avoiding weekends with Dean had also meant missing her family. But it hadn't been all Dean. After her parents had helped get her settled into her small flat and left, she had stood in her empty room, lost. She had tried to distract herself with unpacking, the buzzing under her skin crescendoing until the next thing she knew, she was sitting at her desk with a quill in her hand, a dark circle of ink swelling on the blank parchment.
Ginny had bolted, her legs carrying her directly to the training field. It had been easier to beg off and spend her weekend on the pitch, driving herself to exhaustion so as not to give her a chance to face the cacophony of feelings storming in her.
But being home watching Mum forget what she was doing, probably unaware of how her gaze fell on the family clock, seemed even more unbearable.
"Hey," Ron said, a frown furrowing his brow. "No one's bothering you on the team, are they?"
She blinked. "No. Why?"
He shrugged, turning to peer out of the window. His ears started to redden. "Nothing. That's good."
"I can handle myself, Ron." She wasn't sure whether her annoyance or affection was winning out.
Ron huffed, giving her a look. "Your contract must have some stipulation about hexing people."
"You say that like I'd get caught." Ginny dug her elbow into his rib.
"Oi!"
"Play nice you two," Hermione called from across the room. Harry and Ginny's eyes met once again, his face bright and amused by their antics.
Ron righted himself while Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. "I almost forgot how annoying you can be."
"And you're a bundle of joy."
"Annoying," he reiterated. "So annoying. One-of-a-kind annoying." He rubbed his nose, looking away. "The kind that people notice when it's missing…"
Grief sharply tugged at her. She knew immediately where his thoughts had drifted. "I'm not going anywhere."
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tightening momentarily. She leaned into his side, the physical contact more comforting than any words.
"I reckon there are some perks to having you around. Hermione making cottage pie, for instance."
Ginny snorted, remembering how excited he had been at dinner last night.
"And it helps with Harry."
Her stomach flipped.
"Oh?" She glanced at Ron out of the corner of her eye, but his expression appeared guileless.
"Yeah, you give him some company."
"I'm here to babysit Harry?" She resisted the urge to pull away, irritated on Harry's behalf.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't be daft. It just helps, you know. Since I left the Aurors and the engagement, Harry can't – he hasn't…" Ron shrugged. "We try to include him in everything, but he can be so stubborn sometimes, thinking he's in the way. He's less of a stubborn git when you're around."
"Hmm," Ginny said, her throat tight. She wasn't sure how to take that, whether or not to let herself think those traitorous thoughts that were, admittedly, cropping up more and more, despite her best efforts.
He had suggested dinner last time. He was more willing to come out when she was around.
It was just really good sex, she reminded herself forcefully. It didn't mean anything.
Except that it was getting harder and harder to remember that.
Ginny swallowed hard as she refocused on Harry and Hermione dancing. He had looked so worn down when she arrived last night, she'd almost changed her mind. But there had been something in his expression when he saw her, something more than relief, something that had made her insides quiver. But then he had pulled her close, drawing her into a kiss that obliterated all thoughts.
She frowned now, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes that were often obscured by his glasses. He had fallen asleep almost instantly after they'd finished. The rare peaceful look on his face in the near dark had made her weak. Lying beside him in the sheets, their limbs still tangled together, she let herself pretend that maybe she belonged there until the slow rumbling of day began to trickle into the room before she finally slipped away.
"He looks worse than usual, doesn't he?"
Ron nodded. "He's exhibiting all the telltale signs."
"Of what?"
"One of those cases."
Before Ginny was able to ask, the song ended dramatically. The instructor clapped brightly, even though her smile was a little strained.
"A bit more practice and I'm sure you will get the hang of it," she assured Harry before turning to Hermione. "I do believe we should use the rest of the time to practice the main dance?"
"Oh yes, you don't mind, do you, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Not at all," Harry said, looking relieved to be free from the instructor's attention.
Ron surprised Hermione from behind, spinning her into his arms. She looked alarmed but immediately relaxed into his embrace, pink dusting over her cheeks.
"While we work on the first dance, you may practice in the meantime," the instructor advised Harry.
Harry made a face at her retreating back.
"You really seem to hate this," Ginny observed.
"I don't dance," he said, that sullen look returning to his face.
"I don't know, you weren't so bad at Bill's wedding," she said without thinking. Immediately, she fought the urge to blush at Harry's surprised expression. "Or I'm sorry, is it just cousin Barney who knows how to dance?"
Harry laughed, making her shiver from head to toe. Even after all this time, it still surprised her a little when she made him laugh. She hadn't realized how much she missed being able to talk to him like this.
"Come now, youngest Seeker of the century, Dark Wizard vanquisher, Potions professor sasser"–Harry snorted–"defeated by a waltz?"
He shook his head, still smiling.
The music started playing again, this time something slow and sweet. Across the room, Ron and Hermione were being gently guided through new dance moves.
"Come on, what have you got to lose?" She would hate it if he spent Ron and Hermione's wedding brooding.
"I don't know," Harry said softly, even as he stepped closer. She wasn't sure if it was because he had been shorter before, Polyjuiced to be nearly her height, but her pulse jumped as she looked up at him.
"Think of it as flying. Think of your partner like your broom – lead and I'll follow," she blurted, and oh Merlin, why did his proximity and height make her nervous enough to babble?
Harry's cheeks flushed slightly, and of course he picked up on the innuendo, but he seemed to take her words seriously. "Trust my partner."
"That's right," she soldiered on, refusing to show her embarrassment. "Follow your instincts. The music is the rhythm of a Quidditch game. Pick a target and head there, avoid the other dancers, like Bludgers."
"Right, well…" He coughed. "Would you be my Firebolt?"
He raised a hand out to her, grinning while Ginny laughed. Despite the flutter in her chest, slipping her hand into his felt like the most natural thing in the world.
She shivered slightly when his hand wrapped around her waist, where she could feel the warmth of him through the cotton material of her dress.
Why did this feel so much more intimate than when they were touching skin to skin?
"Try listening to the music," she said, trying to distract herself from how she could smell something woodsy that inexplicably reminded her of Potions class, mixed with soap – soap that she had used in his shower. Great, good job, Ginny. Excellent.
Harry nodded, seeming to struggle with concentration himself. "Like a Quidditch game."
She smiled at him, humoring her. "That's right."
"Lead and trust you'll follow," he seemed to say to himself.
They began to move together, his foot forward, her foot back, her foot forward while his went back to the rhythm. It started stilted, a tenuous rhythm between them in the uncertainty of their steps.
One-two-three, one-two-three… she counted along to the beat until the numbers drifted away as they fell in step with the music, his hand on her waist guiding them past other invisible dancers.
"Not bad, Potter," she murmured as he led them to the other side of the room. "I thought you couldn't dance."
"I can't," he said, his voice rumbling in her ear, somehow sounding deeper. She could hear his self-deprecating smile.
"Don't let the Prophet find out. I'm sure it's hard enough keeping the witches and wizards away already," she joked, not at all nettled by the image she painted.
He didn't immediately respond. Her stomach clenched when he continued not to speak. Had he sensed her underlying jealousy? Was he going to remind her that, whatever the physical attraction (because he couldn't deny it now, could he?), they were just friends?
His grip around her waist tightened.
"Maybe I didn't have the right broom." He seemed to search her eyes for something.
Her chest gave a painful squeeze. He couldn't mean…
She stumbled over her own foot, but Harry grabbed hold of her before she could fall. Her heart hammered in her chest. Their eyes met, and suddenly she was transported to last night, when he paused, his breath ghosted over her skin, before he leaned in, his lips brushing against her cheeks, jaw, neck, down to her collarbone as he –
"Ginny? Are you okay?" Harry asked, his green eyes flashing with concern.
"Sorry," she said, a giggle spilling from her lips without her control. She brushed away hair from her face, hating that she could feel the heat against her fingers. "So much for being the right broom."
"I don't know, still the best one so far." Despite his joke, there was something a little vulnerable in his smile that made her chest ache.
"Splinters and all?"
Harry chuckled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
They smiled at each other, and though everything should have been awkward, it wasn't.
He hesitated a moment before offering his hand again. "Try again?"
"Yeah," she said.
They began dancing again, this time quietly. Ginny was more than a little lost in her thoughts, a part of her still not having recovered from his words. Had he meant it the way she was thinking?
Was it his way of trying to preserve their friendship or was it something more?
Harry's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"When do you think you'll be back next?" He tensed, looking as if he hadn't intended to say that. "Er, if you want to tell me."
"Need another pick-me-up?" Ginny tried to joke, because that's all they were doing for each other. Right? Right.
Harry's step faltered. "That's not – I just meant—"
She took mercy on him. "With the season starting soon, this may be my last trip for a while."
He cast his eyes downward, focused on fixing his foot movement. "Oh?"
"Gwenog banned us from traveling until after the first game." She felt her stomach twist at the reminder. Truthfully, she shouldn't even have come, but the dancing lessons had meant a lot to Hermione. Plus, if she were honest, she had wanted a reprieve from all the pressure after the latest articles speculating on the Harpies' decision to gamble on a rookie.
"That's right, your first game!" Harry beamed at her, looking awed in a way that made her flush with pride. "Against the Tornados."
"You know?" Was it silly to feel so pleased that he was following her games, even if maybe it was just him being a general Quidditch fan?
"You'll be brilliant. You are brilliant," he said. "If you don't believe me, believe George. He's started a betting pool for how many points you'll score."
Ginny grinned. "I believe you."
"My first game, I was so nervous. Couldn't eat a thing," Harry reminisced. "Seamus kept piling on ketchup over morning sausages, and the sight just made me sick to my stomach."
Ginny laughed, feeling the knot inside her loosen.
"Must be nothing compared to going professional." Something in his expression made her feel strangely exposed.
She let out a deep breath, then admitted something she hadn't told anyone else: "Can I say that I am absolutely ready and simultaneously may throw up?"
"If anyone can do it, it's you. You single handedly won us the Quidditch Cup. I had let everyone down, I had let you down," he said, shaking his head.
"You turned out to be right," she reminded him, that fierce desire to defend him resurfacing. "Malfoy was a Death Eater."
"Yes, well…" Harry said, "I still couldn't stand that I had jeopardized the game. But against all odds, you did it. You caught the Snitch."
The way he was looking at her made it hard to breathe.
The memories swirled in her mind, that unyielding determination to win. Rallying the team, coaching the Chasers, flying past Cho. Her entire body so keenly aware of the instant Harry had stepped into the common room, his stunned expression – the way his eyes had sought hers.
I won that game for you, she had never told him, but something shifted in his eyes, as if he seemed to hear her now.
"Anything is possible if you have enough nerve," Harry said, sounding strangely winded.
Something beat wildly in her chest at the familiar words, something dangerously like hope.
Had she forgotten that herself?
"That's right," she said, unable to look away.
His eyes darted over her shoulder, to where Ron and Hermione were, then back to her. "After your game, can I take you out to celebrate?"
"That confident I'll win?"
"Yes," Harry said. "What do you say?"
His eyes were unusually bright and vulnerable, as if he were leaping off a cliff and looking back to see if she'd jump too. It was hard to think, let alone remember all the ways that what reflected in those eyes was nothing but friendship. Harry wouldn't ask her out of guilt or misplaced gallantry, would he? Could she really be enough for him?
Don't risk it, an icy voice hissed inside her.
But she could hardly feel the cold in Harry's arms. Reckless hope blazed through her.
Fuck if Ginny Weasley didn't have more than enough nerve.
"I guess I'll just have to win," Ginny said, her voice confident despite her feeling dizzy with the ramifications of jumping.
Something flashed in his eyes (relief? guilt?) only for a devastating smile to break over his face. She found herself grinning to match him, wanting nothing more than to pull him down to her lips—her brother, Hermione, the game be damned. Anything to make him keep looking that way.
"You'll pummel the Tornados."
She laughed, unburdened and warm like the sunlight streaming over them. "Something to look forward to."
Harry felt like he must have drunk a vat of Felix Felicis, which was all the more surprising given his mental and physical state not twenty-four hours prior, poring endlessly over notes and clues. Preparing himself for another night of tossing and turning before Ginny had showed up at his door. And then pulling her close, desperate for her touch, not letting her go even as they slowly divested themselves of clothing, falling back onto his bed in the dark, everything fading into blissful oblivion, before waking up alone to find Ron, Hermione, and Ginny ready for their scheduled dance lesson, Ginny looking as if they hadn't had mind-blowing sex several hours prior.
And now, now –
Ginny had said yes. Yes.
Well, contingent upon her winning the game (why oh why did he do that?), but this was Ginny, so there was a very good chance.
His chest swelled with anticipation, feeling like it could burst. He glanced at Ginny out of the corner of his eye, as if that would dispel the pressure. Clearly, he wasn't subtle because her lips quirked up.
"Careful," Hermione said, catching him just as he was about to careen into a waste bin. She gave him an odd look.
"Thanks." He tried to school what must be a ridiculous expression on his face.
"I reckon you can give the dancing a rest now, mate," Ron guffawed.
"Nargles in the way?" Ginny asked, her eyes glinting. Harry was more than fine with that.
"Must be it," Harry said, unable to stop the grin on his face.
Hermione hushed them, gesturing toward their destination. "Don't forget that this is a Muggle pub."
"After you, my future wife," Ron said grandly, bowing as he held the pub door open for Hermione. She shook her head at him but looked pleased all the same.
It was a cozy pub that looked like it hadn't changed in decades, with low ceilings and dated furnishings. Its likeness to the Leaky Cauldron made Harry feel right at home despite the television displaying a rugby game. Several patrons seated at the counter groaned in unison when someone missed a penalty kick.
"Is that a telly-vision?" Ron asked, pointing.
Hermione shared a wry smile with Harry before answering. "Yes, Ron, but it's tele-vision, not telly-vision. Or just a telly."
"Dad would love this, wouldn't he?" said Ginny, entranced. Harry's stomach did a little flip, wondering if maybe he should take her to other Muggle destinations. Like on a date.
Harry really had to stop staring before Ron noticed.
"He'd go mad for it," Ron confirmed, pulling out Hermione's chair for her.
Hermione smiled at Ron as she sat. "We ought to bring him sometime."
"What sport is that?" Ginny asked, sitting down. Harry took the seat beside her.
"Rugby," Hermione confirmed.
"Just one ball?" Ron asked, squinting. "That sounds way too simple."
One of the teams scored, and the onlookers cheered.
Ron shook his head affectionately. "Muggles."
"Say what you will, but I wouldn't mind Quidditch being broadcasted on one of those things," Ginny said, scanning the menu.
"That's right! Your game," Ron said. "You've got extra tickets, don't you?"
Harry's heart stumbled in his chest. Tickets. He didn't have tickets!
He had been planning on buying them, but then the Cranleigh case had landed on his desk. How was he going to celebrate her win if he wasn't allowed in the stadium? The image rushed into his mind – him at the gates, locked out of the stadium, and Ginny deciding to celebrate with ticket-wielding wizards who had had the foresight to buy season passes.
"Just the few they gave us for friends and family," Ginny said. Was it just Harry's imagination or did her gaze linger on him a beat longer than necessary? "But a teammate had secured a bunch of spares for family visiting from America, but something came up and can't come anymore."
"What rotten luck," Ron said gleefully. Hermione frowned at him. "What? Why let those tickets go to waste, am I right?" He turned to Harry for support.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, hopefully not too eagerly.
"Do you want to come?" Ginny asked him, something careful in her voice.
"Yes, of course," Harry said instantly. His cheeks heated at his earnestness. "That is, if you want me to."
"Yes, I have enough for everybody," Ginny said, smiling softly at him. The urge to pull her close surged in him.
"I'll be there," he reaffirmed stupidly.
"Ah-ha!" Ron said, making Harry jump in his seat. "I knew it. Next time we want to drag Harry away from work, we get him Quidditch tickets."
"I'll take it," Hermione said, her eyes shining as she smiled at Harry.
Harry snorted, lifting the menu to hide his face until his flush subsided. "What's good here?"
"They're supposed to make a very good Scotch egg here, so how about starting with a few of those?" Hermione suggested.
"Sounds good to me," Ginny said.
"Don't forget the pints," Ron said. "I was promised pints. You promised me pints, Hermione."
Fifteen minutes and one explanation of Muggle darts later ("but what's the point if they don't explode every once in a while?" Ron had asked), Harry bit into his scotch egg, halved and slightly runny, with a generous smear of onion chutney. Hermione was right; it was very good.
"Say, Ginny," said Ron, who had finished both halves of his scotch egg and was beginning to eye Hermione's plate.
Ginny automatically shielded her plate with her free hand. "Not a chance."
Ron huffed in indignation. "I was only going to ask when is your Portkey."
Harry's fork stopped briefly in midair as he glanced at her.
"In a few hours," she said, checking the clock on the wall. Only a few more hours before he wouldn't get to see her for over a month.
"What do you say to a friendly game of Quidditch after this?" Ron asked.
Harry perked up instantly, even as Hermione groaned.
"Only if Hermione wants to," Ginny said fairly.
Harry and Ron turned to Hermione, faces eager. With his promotion and the Cranleigh case, he hadn't had the chance to fly in ages.
"I'll be on your team," Ginny told Hermione. "You'll barely have to touch the Quaffle."
Hermione's gaze slid from Ron's face to Harry's, neither of them deterred by facing a professional player if it meant a scrimmage.
"Fine," Hermione said finally, and Ron openly whooped. She shook her head at him fondly. "Finish your pint," she said, slicing her remaining egg and depositing half onto Ron's plate. "You've got twenty minutes before happy hour ends if you want another round."
Ron stared at his plate with open wonder. "See, this is why I'm marrying you," he said, turning to gaze at Hermione in a way that made Harry terribly aware that he was single. Hermione blushed and tried to conceal her smile.
Harry picked up his pint at the same time that Ginny reached for hers. She rolled her eyes at him over her drink, and he grinned back at her before taking a long draught.
"I see why you like me around," Ginny said to Ron. She leaned closer to Harry conspiratorially. Her arm pressed against his, sending goosebumps up his arm. "Making poor Harry suffer in his singledom all alone."
"Beats the bickering and unbearable sexual tension." Harry snorted. Ginny turned her head into his shoulder and laughed. He felt warm and light inside, almost like he could float away any second. "Aside from constantly trying not to die, the majority of my time was spent in a 'will they, won't they' conundrum."
"You needed something to take your mind off of Trelawney's constant death predictions," Ron said.
Harry lifted his hands in defense. "Without you both, they may all have come true."
They all dissolved into laughter as they recounted their Hogwart days. Harry couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. Their table was cozy and comfortable, the atmosphere bolstered by a recently lit fireplace. He was suddenly overcome with nostalgia, the pub and company reminding him of the Gryffindor common room, and those days they'd come back from Quidditch practice, laughing and bantering with Hermione, who had been working on homework. He glanced down at Ginny, the coppers and gold of her red hair glowing in the firelight and lovely face bright with cheer, not unlike the ways he had watched her then, his chest warm with emotion and yearning.
She seemed to sense his gaze and looked up at him, a shimmer of something unnameable in her eyes.
"Should we get more drinks?" Ron asked.
"Hm?" Harry turned his attention to his best mate. A familiar fear flashed through him. What would Ron think if he really did go on a date with Ginny?
Merlin, forget a date – what about all the activities they'd already done? The events of last night flashed through his mind, Ginny rolling on top of him on his bed, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.
Harry stood up so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. He felt his face turn hot when they all looked at him in surprise. "I'll get them. Drinks, I'll get the drinks."
"I'll help," Hermione offered.
She and Harry confirmed everyone's orders before weaving through the crowd toward the bar. Harry leisurely scanned the rest of the pub as they waited for the bartender. It was much busier than when they had arrived, many groups and couples enjoying a weekend night out. He found himself watching a family with two small children, the toddler seeming very keen on pointing out the big dog outside to his dad's, even as the parents tried to tend to their fussy baby. The parents had that look of exhaustion accompanying most parents with young children, but the dad turned to his son, grinning and ruffling his hair.
"Harry?"
The bartender and Hermione were looking at him. "Sorry?"
"Did I get everything?" Hermione listed off the drinks and food order clearly the second time.
"Yes, that's right," Harry said. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
When the bartender left to fill their order, Hermione peered up at him. "Everything all right, Harry?" Her eyes slid from him to the family he had been watching.
"Yes, fine," he said, embarrassed to have been caught staring.
"How are things going with the Cranleigh case?" she asked, something soft and knowing in her voice.
Harry shook his head, his chest tight. Three wizarding families had suddenly vanished within the span of two months in the parish of Cranleigh, where recently more Wizarding folk had decided to live amongst Muggles. Rumors were floating around that maybe this was a resurgence of old Pureblood prejudices, from people who weren't so keen on the latest push for more Wizard–Muggle relations.
He didn't have to look at the photo he carried in his wallet, the one of the third family he received a week ago. He had already memorized it from all his staring, the endless loop of the Bakers, the youngest family to go missing. Mrs. Baker cradled her newborn, her husband's arm secure around her shoulder, the two of them oscillating between waving and smiling down at their daughter.
"Maybe after Ginny's gone, you can share some of those notes of yours," Hermione said. He could tell she knew he was in a rut, having fixated on the clues by himself long enough to know he wasn't getting much further on his own.
Harry smiled, gratitude tugging at him. "That sounds great, thanks."
"You know," she said tentatively. "I know this case is really important to you and you've been so busy with work, but have you…have you given any more thought to dating again?"
"Er," said Harry, resisting the strong urge to glance over in Ginny's direction. "Yeah, maybe."
Hermione beamed at him, positively ecstatic. "Oh, that's wonderful! Do you have someone in mind? Is she someone we know? Is there any way we could help? If it's that new girl in the Improper Use of Magic Office, you know, the one helping with the Cranleigh case, I could put in a good word for you, you know I would."
"Er," said Harry.
"Or," Hermione said, her eyes suddenly shining with tears. "Or…is he someone we know? Because that would be perfectly fine with us too, you know. The magical world is surprisingly forward-thinking when it comes to—"
"No, I—the, no, no she's definitely a she," Harry sputtered. "But thank you," he added, feeling oddly moved.
"So who–"
"It's just a thought. And probably nothing to act on until after the case," he rushed on, grabbing hold of a reason to evade her questioning. After all (and this time his eyes nearly watered under the immense effort not to look at Ginny), nothing would happen until after her game. Hopefully, the case will be resolved by then.
Hermione squinted at him, but the bartender returned, saving Harry from having to answer anything else. They took the drinks and made their way back to the table, where Ron and Ginny were flicking small wads of paper at one another, clearly trying to see who could hit the other more.
Ginny smiled at Harry when he handed her drink to her. Her fingers brushed against his, sending sparks through him.
Harry's heart skipped a beat when he noticed Ron looking at him funny. "What?"
"I really thought you'd be more…" Ron waved his hand flippantly. "Wound up, with everything going on at work."
"I have more than work," Harry said. Apparently not very convincingly because Ron and Hermione share a look.
"Anyway, you look good," Ron said finally. Hermione nodded, smiling brightly at Harry.
"Thanks?"
"Don't get me wrong, you still look pretty knackered, but much better than usual," Ron continued cheerfully.
"It must be the Quidditch," Ginny said, her eyes gleaming with mischief over the rim of her glass. Under the table, her knee lightly pressed against his.
"Yes," Harry said, struggling and failing to contain the way his lips curved up, the warmth of her presence radiating through him from where they touched. "That must be it."
"Blimey, say something and we'll play more often," Ron said. "Next time we can get George and Bill."
As Ron continued making future Quidditch plans, Harry pressed back against Ginny's knee, a bittersweet mixture of contentment, longing, and anticipation flaring through him. He closed his eyes, savoring the assuring pressure of her touch, the comforting noise of the pub, Ron's enthusiastic chatter and Hermione's indulgent responses, and the delicate promise that hung in the air for the next time he would see her.