On the first night after he left, Ginny couldn't sleep. She was afraid that Tom Riddle might visit her again, but the sun rose and he didn't come. She was alone.

The days rolled into nights, that turned into colourless days, Ginny's heart empty as she muddled through each of them. Her hair braided messily, dark rings under her eyes, her skin porcelain pale, and, above everything, a heavy sense of nothingness.

Her results became lousier as the weeks trundled by, matches and training sessions she couldn't remember. That's bad form, Weasley, her teammates would grouse. Are you sick or pregnant or just had it up to here with Quidditch, her manager would say, palm horizontally at her throat and disappointment in her eyes. To all this, Ginny simply shook her head, and remained silent.

On her days off, she slept - all day, a lot, more than she needed, almost taunting him to come after her, almost coaxing evil out of where it hid. But nothing did, and she slept on, the only ghost haunting her dreams the one that made her skin hot and her breathing heavy; a dream within a dream within a dream, the white nights living only in her mind now. She was retched without him.

Harry missed the first briefing on a big case, Ron had written to tell her, and she instantly scoffed as she read. Bloody Harry missed a bloody briefing on a bloody big case. But immediately she regretted it and read Ron's letter once again, gulping down water in big, thirsty sips as she did so.

Dear Ginny,

Harry missed the first briefing on a big case yesterday. He also offered to cover all of next month's shifts, weekends and all. No visits, I take it? I mean, he's always been a little extreme, Harry, but reckon this time's different. You two had a row or something?

Hermione sends her love. Mum and Dad do too. Come home, if you want to.

Ron

Her guilt turned quickly into rage. Come home, if you want - if you want! As though they didn't expect her to, as though they doubted that she wanted to. How could they? How could they not know?

The words, the letters, they stared back at her, scorching like a slap across the face. She wanted to grab her quill and cross them out, she wanted to rip Ron's letter to little shreds, she wanted to write back and tell him that she'd yearned, she'd dreamed for years to return back home, but she never really could, could she? Riddle might be there, and he'd come for her, for them, for Harry and her family. He might use her again, and she'd put them all in danger just because she had been weak and wanted to see them. She could not be trusted.

But, Ginny remembered suddenly, the war was over. Harry had won the war. Then -

She had repeated all the thoughts that came before this so many times, for so long, it all still felt very real. Like a smoker in withdrawal, moving his hand to his mouth, although it was empty, although it no longer held a cigarette; a gesture that's been done for thousands, millions of times, a gesture that needed just as many reinforcements that it was no longer needed.

Slowly, as though looking at herself through fogged glass, Ginny realised that nothing from her past would come chasing her now - she had somehow leaped over that bridge and left behind the terrifying, grim nights, the nattering voices, the power Riddle had once exercised over her. Had she also left Harry behind?

The glass nearly dropped from her hand at the thought, water sloshing over her front.

'Fuck it,' she slammed her glass on the counter and went to pack her bags.

The door opened on her third knock, and she looked at him as she panted from the seven flights of stairs, her things carried in heavy trunks that sat sprawled at her feet.

'Hi,' Ginny said in a meek voice that was not at all her own.

Harry's eyes fell to her trunks and he raised an eyebrow. She wished he would just let her in, but it was probably fair to think he wasn't exactly thrilled to see her - or what appeared to be her ready to move in with him, which was in itself ridiculous; she felt like an idiot.

'I'm not moving in, it's not what this is,' she started, panicked, but stopped instantly as his shoulders sagged.

'Or I am, if you want me to,' Ginny tried again, fully aware that she was spiralling. She clutched her wand in her pocket, desperately searching for something that might steady her.

Still, Harry didn't say anything, but simply stood there in his faded trunks and the white shirt with a small hole near its neck.

Ginny shut her eyes. 'Fuck it, Harry, I'm word-vomiting here,' she sighed, and wished she could stick her wand in her mouth and bang her head against the wall.

She honestly thought he would turn and leave her there, but then he nudged his head; Harry opened the door wider, and she stepped inside.

Ginny heard him summon her trunks and wanted to thank him, but he still didn't face her, caught between the kitchen and the narrow hallway leading to his bedroom. She saw herself, naked and pressed against his window, saw as he lifted her and carried her to the opposite wall and how, on their last morning together, he had held her very gently, spoke to her very softly. Why had she feared and fought this feeling for so long?

She walked quickly after him.

'Harry,' Ginny said as she gripped his hand. He stopped, and slowly laced his fingers with hers, his bright green eyes boring into hers. He kissed her hand.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him too, that she'd been too afraid to acknowledge or even recognise her feelings for what they were - afraid that he might not return those feelings, afraid that he may never love her back. But he kissed her and she didn't say any of this, letting him undress her instead.

Harry loved her so gently, so tenderly. He took his time and kissed her, truly, deeply kissed her till her head spun and her breath came out in little shudders. He loved her in his bed and moved carefully with her, holding her in his arms, the scarred tissue on his forehead pressed against her cheek, her neck, her own forehead as he gently built their rhythm.

Oddly, she didn't want him to move faster, found she wasn't craving for the brisker, harsher touches or the hungry, rushed kisses. It was a different kind of magic, this, and her heart swelled with it.

It was love, Ginny suddenly thought.

'I love you,' she told him as he rolled his hips a little faster, his lips tender on her neck.

'What?' he breathed on her skin, as though he didn't hear, hand slipping under her to lift slightly as he gently pushed.

'Oh, shush,' she moaned, locking her arms around his neck. 'You heard me.'

Harry's head finally turned to look at her, and on his lips he had a broad, wide grin. 'I did.'

'You cheeky -'

But Harry had wrapped his arms around her and had started kissing her with such enthusiasm, Ginny swiftly forgot what she had wanted to say.

There would be enough time to figure out this new life's specifics and technicalities later, she supposed. Now, though, she very much wanted to enjoy him.

Epilogue, again

Ginny watched him as he prepared breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast. The coffee cup was pleasantly warm in her hand, its distinct, cinnamon-heavy scent tickling her senses awake. She lounged languidly in the chair she'd moved by the window, and yawned.

'Alright there?' Harry turned his head slightly and asked her, hands busy fussing over the stove, at the heated pan, shaking it as he ground some pepper over.

'Mhm,' she stretched, coffee cup now pressed to her sternum, 'still waking up.'

He looked over his shoulder at her again, and she offered him a lazy smile, long, red hair pushed back over the crown of her head, woolly socks tugged all the way up for warmth. When the plates landed carefully on the table, Ginny dragged her chair there and joined Harry, the clatter of forks and elbows moving on the wooden top the only sounds in his kitchen; their kitchen.

'Percy's told me your transfer's been approved,' Harry took a gulp of coffee and said, his smile sly. 'Ran into him at the Ministry yesterday.'

Percy and his big mouth, Ginny thought, but really didn't feel annoyed at all. Secretly, she was rather pleased her brothers were getting involved, proud of doing it even, so proud they couldn't shut up about it. Their sister, finally home. The prodigal sister, returned.

'Didn't want to jinx it,' Ginny shrugged as a form of apology, and took another bite of egg. Her fingers split the remaining toast into two, and she dabbed one piece into the runny yolk spread across her white plate. 'Technically, I'll only be Holyhead's reserve Chaser.'

'For now,' Harry said, and it was with such finality he said it as he rose from the table, Ginny found herself reaching for his hand; she kissed the back of it, lips brushing over the old scar: I must not tell lies. She mustn't either.

Ginny pushed her head back and let him kiss her, fingertips brushing over his stubbled jaw, his cheeks. There was coffee on his lips still, and warmth from his sleep.

'I'll see you at The Stag later?'

Harry winced, hand at the back of his head.

'I'll go with Ron and Hermione, you can meet us there later,' she followed, lopsided smile on her freckled face. She knew, she understood him instantly - that he'd forgotten and he'd had a new case that had drawn him in completely; that he didn't want to disappoint them, but he'd been too focused, too preoccupied. He always was, and she loved him for it. Ginny could appreciate it now: it came to her gradually, until it simply was - love.

Harry leaned over her again, and kissed her more deeply this time, fingers under her jaw.

'Thank you,' he whispered against her lips. Ginny saw herself reflected in his bright, green eyes, her heart thrumming faster.

'Don't thank me just yet,' she grinned as her cheeks flushed pink, 'I'll make you work for it later. Now go, I don't want another Howler from Robards.'

Harry grinned back and stole another kiss. As she watched him leave, crimson robes and rumpled hair, his taste still on her lips, Ginny finally felt safe, and finally at ease.