Harry's plane touches down at Heathrow late in the evening. Late enough that by the time he gets his bags and takes the Underground into London proper, it's nearly midnight. Grimmauld is dark and very, very cold when he gets there, though he can't be sure if he's just become too used to the heat. The house is clean though, and surprisingly free of dust.
He hasn't told the Weasleys he was coming back, made Ron and Hermione promise not to either. He wants to give himself a chance to settle in at Grimmauld Place, partly because he knows if he spends even a single night at the Burrow he'll have a really hard time getting away again. Or wanting to leave again.
Besides, it's far past time he stopped depending on them. Isn't that why he's here? To prove he can do this on his own?
Dropping his bags in the entryway, he blearily checks the basic wards.
The Fidelius is still technically in place, but rather ineffective considering every person ever told of this place is now a secret keeper themselves. Harry remembers some mention of Lupin spending time reestablishing the safety of the place to be used as a safe house again during the war. Not that it really matters one way or another. No one knows he's even here. Well, besides Ginny, and he doubts she's going to show up or try to murder him.
Convinced it's safe enough for a night, Harry falls into a bed.
After a fitful night's sleep, he finds himself a bit at sixes and sevens, poking around the depressing house. There're still some of their things scattered about from when he stayed here with Ron and Hermione at the beginning of their search. They never had a chance to come back for any of it.
He pushes the thought away because he keeps expecting one of them to walk into the room.
He wonders what they're doing right now.
Then he remembers how dubious the two were about him being on his own, like they weren't sure he could do it, and forces himself not to think about them.
Poking through all the rooms, Harry finally settles on which one he's going to claim as his own, stowing his things before going out and buying some basic groceries for the kitchen at a local Muggle market.
In the afternoon, he heads over to Diagon Alley.
Apparently he's gotten too used to being nobody, because the way everyone stares at him is jarring. People just come to a stop and stare, whispering to each other as he passes.
"Is that—?"
"It can't possibly be."
"I think it is!"
"Merlin, wait until I tell Iris! She'll be green with envy."
Harry pretends not to hear, picking up his pace. He can just imagine Barina and Gerard giving him shite. Not that famous, my arse!
Striding up the alley, he heads for the garishly lit store near the end. He pushes open the door and it lets out a foul sound that coaxes a reluctant laugh out of him.
Inside, there are only a few people in the shop. One of them is a young boy who drops the box of Canary Creams he's examining when he spots Harry. His mouth gapes with astonishment.
Harry gives him an awkward smile and then turns his attention to the witch behind the counter.
"Uh, hi," he says.
She doesn't respond, just staring back at him with wide eyes.
"Is George here?"
She waves vaguely behind her.
"Poppy, have you seen my—" George walks out of the back office, stopping mid-sentence as he spots Harry. "Blimey, look what the kangaroo dragged in!"
"Hey, George," Harry says, glad to see someone who can actually speak around him. "How are you?"
"Good, good," he says dismissively. He peers past Harry. "Are my brat brother and his paramour with you?"
Harry shakes his head. "I came back early."
This seems to surprise him. "Finally got tired of them?"
Harry laughs. "No. Just ready to come back, I suppose. They won't be much longer. They're working out the logistics of getting Hermione's parents moved."
George snorts. "Ah. No wonder you came back."
Harry smiles, not particularly wanting to try to explain the restlessness that's been building in his chest.
"Well," George says, coming around the counter. "Give us a proper hello." He wraps an arm around Harry, slapping him heartily on the back.
Behind them, the door rumbles rudely again, small groups of people sidling in one after another. They whisper and glance quickly between the shelves and Harry.
"Word of your miraculous return has apparently made its way around the Alley," George notes as the shop begins to fill with people. "We'll be overrun in no time."
"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I didn't think…"
George waves it away. "You'll probably double my sales." His brow furrows. "Wish I had more staff on hand today though."
"Can I help?"
George considers him. "Sure. But we should probably get you behind the safety of the counter. Poppy!"
She blushes furiously. "Y-yes?"
"Don't let him get away," George tells Poppy as he maneuvers Harry next to her by the till. "Mum would kill me if I let you out of my sight without bringing you back for dinner."
"Uh, okay," Harry says.
George climbs up on the counter. "Oi! No looky-loos. Only paying customers! But ten percent off everything in celebration of the Chosen One's return!"
The crowd lets off a cheer, everyone rushing to pick things up off the shelf to bring up to the counter where Harry is. It's so busy that he doesn't have time to be embarrassed with the way people stare at him. Even Poppy stops being flustered after a while, ordering him about, even as she continuously apologizes for doing so.
The hours seem to fly by, but Harry is left exhausted by the time George flips the sign over. "We can afford to close early today." He looks at Poppy. "Do what you can to restock the shelves. I'll be back in the morning."
She nods, looking around at the decimated store.
"Come on," George says, taking Harry's arm. "We might as well Floo rather than risk the Apparition point."
As Harry isn't exactly keen on going back outside, he obediently follows George up to his flat and into the small fireplace.
They appear with a sooty whoosh on the other side, Harry reaching out to steady himself on the mantle.
"Look what I dragged home with me!" George announces.
"Oh my goodness! Harry!" Molly exclaims, rushing over to fold him into a hug. She pulls back to look him over, brushing ashes off his robes. "But when did you arrive?"
"Yesterday," he says.
Molly sets her hands on her hips. "You should have let us know! How did you get back from the airport? And where are you staying?"
"Er, at Grimmauld."
"What?" Molly says, sounding horrified. "Is it safe?"
"It should be fine," Harry says. "I checked the wards."
Molly frowns, not looking particularly convinced. "Arthur!" she yells.
Arthur sticks his head in the kitchen. Upon seeing Harry, he kind of blinks. "Well, hello." He looks at Molly. "Did I get muddled again? Should I have known Harry was back?"
"No, dear. He didn't let us know he'd returned. And he's staying at Grimmauld . All by himself." She gives him a look like she expects him to fix it.
"Oh," Arthur says, looking back at Harry and smiling. "All set up okay, then?"
Harry nods. "Yeah."
"Well, then. Seems all right." He pats his stomach. "Are we eating?"
Molly lets out a sound of exasperation. "Oh for goodness' sake. PERCY!"
Percy appears in the doorway, giving Harry an almost comical look of surprise. "Harry, when did—"
"Yes, yes," Molly says briskly. "Harry is back and we didn't know and he's staying at Grimmauld. Set another place will you?"
Percy seems to absorb that before going for the cupboard. "Yes, Mum."
It's chaos, shuffling around and food flying over to the table and everyone talking over each other, and Harry's flooded with how much he missed all of this.
"I'm sure the Ministry will wish to be informed of your return," Percy says as they all settle at the table. He eyes Harry like he wants to be the one to inform the Ministry but isn't sure if he should.
George snorts. "No need to torture yourself over the moral dilemma, Perce. They'll know one way or the other by morning, I expect."
Harry's brow furrows. "Will they?"
"Didn't you see the photographer in the shop? It'll be on the front page of The Prophet by morning, no doubt."
Harry sighs. "Lovely."
George claps him on the shoulder. "Welcome home, mate."
Harry rolls his eyes.
After promising to drop by and visit again quite often, Harry Apparates to the front stoop of Grimmauld Place with an enormous container of leftovers clutched to his chest. He pauses when he sees lights on in the front room. Setting the container aside, he pulls his wand, silently casting Homenum Revelio .
Nothing registers.
He carefully eases the front door open, sliding his body inside.
Kreacher is standing in the front hall.
"Kreacher," Harry yelps.
The House Elf stoically regards him. "Welcome back, Master."
"Um. Thank you," Harry says, still looking cautiously around the space. "There's no one else here?"
"No, Master," he says.
Harry stows his wand. "Please don't call me that," he says.
"If Sir insists."
Not quite what he had in mind. "I, uh, thought you were at Hogwarts."
The elf nods. "Kreacher comes here to clean as well, sir." His eyes narrow. "Sir should have let Kreacher know he intended to return. He would have been here to properly greet Sir."
Harry has zero intention of letting Kreacher serve him hand and foot. "You don't have to… I mean, you can stay at Hogwarts."
One of Kreacher's ears droops. "Is that what Sir wishes?"
Harry tries not to lose his patience. "What do you wish?"
Kreacher peers up at Harry. "Kreacher's place is with Sir."
"Fine," Harry says, split between being uncomfortable with having a House Elf and not particularly wanting to be completely alone in this giant pile. "But you can go back to Hogwarts whenever you like. Go anywhere, really. You don't have to ask me or anything. Okay?"
Kreacher nods.
Still, it doesn't particularly sit well with Harry. He briefly considers giving Kreacher some clothes so he'll at least have the choice, but remembers Winky drinking herself into oblivion and knows there is no easy answer. He stares at Regulus' locket still hanging around Kreacher's neck and wonders if that counts.
After all, this place is more Kreacher's home than it is his.
So Kreacher stays, Harry deciding he'll just have to make a concerted effort to treat him like some sort of cousin. Only one he likes , more or less.
Mostly that means asking, not demanding. Talking with him, no matter how mystified Kreacher looks when he tries. He wonders how long it will take to convince him to take Regulus' bedroom for his own.
One way or another, they'll have to learn to not just exist together, but to live together, as awkward as it may be.
Harry isn't exactly surprised when Bill shows up the next morning.
"I've been told to check your wards," he informs him. "Mum's orders."
Harry pulls the door open wider, letting him in.
Bill glances around. "Still as homey as ever, I can see."
Down in the cellar, Harry watches Bill check the wards. He declares some of them shoddy lost causes, dismantling them and then building them back up from scratch. Harry tries not to bother him, but eventually he can't help but ask exactly what he's doing and why.
If Bill minds all the ceaseless questions, he doesn't let on, patiently answering them all as he works.
"Here," Bill says, jabbing his finger at the magical nexus of the ward. "Can you feel the difference?"
Harry scrunches up his nose, trying to put a name to the sensation crawling across his skin. "It's…uh…smoother?"
"Yeah," Bill says, looking impressed. "Not bad. That's the Unplottable one. Totally different than the energy of a Muggle repellent ward. And nothing like the tang of a Anti-Apparition barrier. Incidentally, I can't imagine why you would want to, but you'll still be able to Apparate within the building itself. You know, in case you get too lazy to walk down to the kitchen."
Harry laughs. "Good to know."
Bill turns back to his work, making incredibly complicated movements with his wand. Eventually he sits back on his heels. "And that is something a little extra. Don't tell. Not strictly legal, but really bloody useful when it comes to keeping unsavory elements out of your hair."
"Like the Ministry?" Harry says.
Bill laughs. "Exactly. No one is going to be able to eavesdrop or observe you in here. Not that you are anything less than a paragon of morality and heroics, but it will at least keep the Prophet free of pictures of you in your pants."
Harry snorts. "Wonderful."
Bill gets to his feet, brushing his robes off. "Okay. I have to get back to work."
"Right," Harry says, not intending to have taken up so much of his time. "Sorry about that."
Bill dismisses his apology with a wave of his hand. "Like I was going to say no to Mum. Goblins have nothing on her."
At the front door, Bill turns back. "Oh, and Mum also asked me to remind you that she may have conceded your living arrangements, but members of this family don't miss Sunday dinner on pain of Howlers."
"So noted," Harry says, feeling stupidly warmed to be included in that rule.
"See you Sunday then, yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry promises.
He smiles at Harry. "Welcome home." He Disapparates with a barely audibly pop.
Left on his own again, Harry putters around, moving from room to room. He unpacks all of his things, which isn't much really, but passes the time.
That evening, he finally pulls out his parchment, sitting down with it at the kitchen table.
Ginny? Are you there? he writes.
The chances that she happens to be looking at her parchment are minimal. Still, there's always a chance. When staring at the blank sheet gets too aggravating, he paces around the kitchen, pulling open random drawers and nudging glasses straight on the shelf.
He spins on his heel when he hears the familiar soft hum of an arriving message.
Hi! Still there? it says.
Yes. Hi, he writes back. It's awkward with the tapping constantly between brief sentences, but he kind of thinks it might be awkward even without it.
Well, Ginny writes back, this is different, being in the same time zone.
He smiles. Same side of the world and everything.
Finally all your letters aren't coming upside down anymore.
He frowns down at the parchment, and her next message comes before he manages to write anything.
Merlin, you are totally sitting there thinking about that, aren't you? That was what we, in England, call a joke.
Not a very good one, Harry writes back before he can stop himself.
There is a long pause this time, long enough that Harry begins to worry he's offended her. Only the next message isn't words, just a poorly drawn stick figure that seems to be crying tears.
Your drawings aren't much better, he points out .
You couldn't have stayed in Australia?
He laughs, something inexplicably easing in his chest. How are you?
Good. You?
Still getting over my jet lag and drowning in leftovers from your mum.
Sounds about right.
He sits back, gnawing on his lip before picking up his quill again. It's time to stop avoiding the purpose of this conversation. Is this a Hogsmeade weekend?
It is. Thinking of coming for a visit?
Yeah. If that would be okay. He stares down at the parchment a moment before adding, I don't want to get in the way or anything.
Of course it's okay. I'm sure everyone will be over the moon. Except Tobias. But try not to take that personally. He hates everyone equally.
That's big of him.
There's a long pause then, and he doesn't know if she's writing or if someone came by to talk to her or what, his thoughts tumbling about in his brain as he waits.
The runes finally darken.
I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then, she writes.
Yeah, Harry writes. I'll see you tomorrow.
Stowing his parchment and quill, he goes up to his room and stares up at the canopy for a long time.
The door to The Three Broomsticks swings open and Ginny looks up, craning her neck slightly to look around Neville. It's just a clutch of gossiping fourth-years. She sits back in her seat.
Tobias eyes her. "What's with you? You're like a Kneazle in a room full of liars."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ginny says, forcing herself to relax her hands and take a casual sip of butterbeer. "Then again, I doubt anyone ever has a clue what you're on about."
Across the table from them, Neville snickers.
"Watch it, Longbottom," Tobias says.
Neville doesn't look even remotely cowed, just rolling his eyes. Hannah gives them both repressive glances and then turns to Luna, asking about her latest post-Hogwarts plans.
Ginny tries to listen, she really does, but sitting here surrounded by her friends as her nerves eat away at her is torturous . She keeps trying to remind herself this isn't a big deal, but it feels like one.
Ernie passes by, giving her a bland smile that she perfectly mirrors. It's a timely reminder that this could be worse after all. It could be last Hogsmeade weekend.
The door opens again, and this time, Ginny forces herself to not look up, pretending to be listening very carefully to Luna.
Neville is the one to turn in his chair as students' voices get louder, squinting as he stares towards the entrance to the pub. "Is that Harry?"
"What?" Hannah says, looking around as well.
"I think it is," Luna says. "Though one can never be too certain."
In the ensuing ruckus, Tobias slides Ginny a look. "What an amazing coincidence," he mutters so only she can hear.
She elbows him in the ribs.
"Violence is a sign of a disorganized mind," he says, rubbing the spot with a scowl.
Ginny ignores him, allowing herself to finally look up. There's a crowd by the door, people laughing and talking all at once. Then someone steps aside and there Harry is, nose red from the cold, hair windblown, lanky frame bundled in a corduroy coat and a scarf.
He's smiling, head canted down to listen to something Dennis Creevey is saying, but looking distracted, eyes darting around the space.
"Shall we go say hello?" Tobias asks. "Or just sit here and stare?"
Ginny tears her eyes away from Harry, regarding Tobias with alarm, only to find the rest of the table emptied, Hannah and Luna having followed Neville over to say hello.
Tobias is giving her a knowing expression. She ignores him, pushing to her feet and moving towards the door.
She's about halfway across the room when Harry looks up and sees her approaching. Abandoning the other people, he crosses over to meet her.
"Hey," he says, coming to a stop right in front of her.
Looking at him standing there, solid and real and close enough to actually touch, Ginny decides she remembered him wrong. Or just hadn't quite remembered what it feels like to be the focus of his attention.
"Welcome home," she somehow manages to say around the hard lump in her throat.
Those simple greetings seem to exhaust their supply of words, leaving them awkwardly standing in silence.
"Uh," Harry eventually says. "How are you?"
"Good," she says, nodding a bit ridiculously. "Really good."
He nods back at her. "You look good," he says, only to immediately look like he's swallowed his tongue, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I mean, uh, you know, happy."
"You look right side up," she blurts.
He lets out a surprised huff of laughter, seeming genuinely amused by her completely stupid joke, and for some ridiculous reason that makes it feel just the tiniest bit easier to breathe.
Behind him, the door opens again, another group of students arriving.
Harry winces, shuffling to the side like he's trying to get out of the way when clearly the crowd is rushing towards him. "I wasn't really expecting…" He glances around the pub. "This."
She shakes her head. "You really thought the Hero of Hogwarts reappearing after all this time would go unnoticed?"
Harry's jaw seems to tighten, and she knows he isn't happy with the title, even after all this time. Despite how he may feel about it, it's how people see him. She doesn't imagine hiding away halfway around the world has helped any with that.
"People are happy to see you," she says, trying to soften the blow.
"Are they?" he asks, his eyes intent on her face.
"Harry!" someone bellows. It's Seamus, charging towards Harry as if the crowd is nothing, Dean a few steps behind, a wide grin on his face.
"Case in point," Ginny says.
Dean and Seamus descend on Harry before he can respond, smacking him on the back and asking a million questions.
Hannah looks around at the crowd with concern. "Maybe we should get Harry safely into a seat before he gets trampled."
"Probably a good idea," Neville says.
Neville and Hannah maneuver Harry over to a large table at the back so he has the table between him and everyone else. Harry, she can't help but notice, looks both overwhelmed and frustrated. Maybe she should have warned him, but honestly didn't think she would need to.
In the shuffle, she ends up sitting across from him, not quite close enough to talk comfortably.
Dean grabs the seat next to Ginny, leaning into her while Seamus is distracted.
"The package came." He shows her a small parcel tucked into his robes.
"Oh good," she says. "You owe me."
He laughs, patting her on the shoulder. "Don't I know it."
Looking back down the table, she finds Harry watching her, only to look away when someone says his name.
Ginny listens impatiently as Harry answers the same half a dozen questions over and over again (When did you get back? A few days ago. How was Australia? Good. Strange. Did you come back alone? Yes. Where are Ron and Hermione? Still there. Both doing fine. What are you going to do now? I have no bloody idea.) until everyone finally seems to settle down.
"The DA is still meeting?" Harry asks when someone mentions it in passing.
"Yeah," Neville says. "Not so covertly anymore. And not in the Room of Requirement. It never really recovered, you know. But McGonagall gave us a space to meet in."
The DA is still about defense lessons, but even more than that, it's a place every student is welcome, a place where abilities and house and family lineage don't matter.
"It was Hannah's idea to keep up with it," Neville says, giving her a smile.
Hannah ducks her head. "Ginny and Luna too," she says, deflecting attention away from herself as always.
Harry looks over at Ginny. "Yeah?" he asks.
Ginny lifts one shoulder. "We all know how Hannah can be when she gets it in her head to do something."
Hannah pokes her tongue out at her. "Like you're one to talk."
Everyone laughs appreciatively. Ginny glances at Harry, their eyes catching, and she feels a ridiculous smile spread over her face, feeling stupidly giddy.
The conversation rumbles around for a while between talk of the DA and the Quidditch standings, which Harry is kind enough to pretend he doesn't know anything about.
"Ginny," Flora says from the next table.
"Yeah," she says, turning to look at her.
Flora cants her head towards the front of the pub.
Dorinda is standing by the door, her eyes on Ginny.
She feels her stomach drop. Bugger. She should be elated that Dorinda is finally actively seeking her out, but she's too busy bemoaning her timing. Could she have picked a more inconvenient moment? She lets out a breath. There's nothing to be done for it.
Ginny pushes to her feet, Harry immediately looking over at her. "I'll be right back," she says, giving him a fleeting smile.
Working her way back across the pub, she tells herself she's got to be imagining that she can feel his eyes on her.
"Dorinda," Ginny says.
"Hi," she says, glancing around the room. "Can we…talk?"
"Of course." Ginny gestures outside, assuming she won't want to stay in the crowded pub.
Once outside, Ginny forces everything else from her mind, focusing on the girl in front of her. They walk down the main street and eventually out into the woods near the Shrieking Shack.
Ginny doesn't push, no matter how much she'd like to, just walks quietly and waits for Dorinda to speak.
She eventually breaks, blowing out a frustrated breath. "Can you promise that if I was hideous you'd still be inviting me to The Parlor?" she says in a rush.
Ginny stops walking and turns to look at her. "No."
"What?" Dorinda says, looking horrified. "But you said…"
Ginny knows what the girl wants to hear, but this can't be about partial easy truths. "Being beautiful is part of who you are. If you weren't, you'd be someone different. And I don't know if I would have invited that girl or not. Maybe I would. But maybe I wouldn't."
Dorinda is back to looking at her with suspicion, and Ginny thinks how exhausting that must be, always wondering about people's angles. It makes her think of Harry, besieged on all sides.
"You know, you actually remind me of someone." Somehow the similarities feel bizarrely obvious for all that she's never considered them before. "People have always wanted things from him, but only the parts they find important or useful. I think it makes it hard for him to trust people."
She never intended to share anything like that, never even really thought about it that way, but that's Harry; always throwing a wrench in things when she least expects it, even when he's not actually here.
Only he is, she remembers, heart thundering away. For a moment, she wants to be back in the pub so badly it scares her.
Shaking her head, she forces herself to focus on Dorinda. "I'm not interested in pieces of you, Dorinda. We want all of you. And the truth is that if you weren't beautiful, you'd be missing part of yourself. So, no, I can't promise that. But this really isn't about my promises anyway. It's about you deciding if you're willing to trust."
"You make it sound so easy," she complains.
Ginny smiles. "Oh, there's nothing easy about it."
She turns, leaning against the fence surrounding the Shrieking Shack as she gives Dorinda time to think on that.
"Don't you find it rude?" Dorinda asks.
"What?"
"That I'm being so…"
"Hesitant?" Ginny supplies.
"Yeah."
Ginny shakes her head. "It only makes me more certain."
"Because I'm playing hard to get?" she shoots back.
"Because if all you cared about was the prestige of the sisterhood, you would have joined immediately. Now if you ever do join, it'll be easier to believe it was for the right reasons."
Dorinda looks like it never occurred to her that Ginny might be worried about her motives. "I can't answer you now."
Ginny shoves her hands in her coat pockets. "I don't need you to."
"Okay," Dorinda says.
Sensing that she has asked everything she wanted to, Ginny decides it's time to give her space. "I'm going to head back."
"Okay," she says again.
Ginny leaves the girl standing, staring off at the shack. She stops a short distance away though, turning back to look at her. "Dorinda."
She looks up. "Yeah?"
"Even if you never join," Ginny says, "I'm still here if you ever want to talk. About anything."
Dorinda stares back at her, but doesn't say anything.
Ginny smiles and heads back towards Hogsmeade. She glances up, squinting against the glare of the sun low on the horizon. Her buoyant mood evaporates. She's been gone far longer than she intended. There aren't many students milling about the main street anymore, and she can see a steady stream of them heading back up to the castle for dinner.
She quickens her steps, her chest tight as she nears the pub.
She pushes the door open, and inside is nearly empty. A few students are milling about, picking up coats and pulling on gloves and hats. But no one else.
"Damn it," she breathes, feeling almost sick.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when someone touches her shoulder. "Ginny."
She spins around and there Harry is, bundled up and looking ready to leave but still here .
"You haven't left," she says in a rush.
He shakes his head. "I didn't want to go without saying goodbye."
The relief makes it a little hard to think.
"Everything okay?" he asks, gesturing towards the door. "You know, with…"
"Oh," she says, wondering what he made of that. "Yeah. It's fine. Just the usual school drama. You're really missing out."
He's watching her closely, lips barely twitching at her pathetic attempt at humor, like all of their earlier camaraderie is gone. Damn, damn, damn.
The pub is emptying completely, the last of the students walking out, but not without giving them curious glances. Ginny feels ridiculously exposed, looking down at her toes.
"You have to go, don't you?" he asks.
"Oh, yeah. Probably," Ginny says.
She kind of wants to let out a long string of curses, to be honest. She glances back up at him. Seven months. Seven months and now he's here. She's not wasting it.
"Walk me back up to the castle?"
He straightens. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course." He smiles, something bright and genuine that makes Ginny really glad she risked asking.
Outside the shadows have lengthened, only a few shafts of dull late-evening light hitting the patches of snow. They walk in silence as they head up the street, the snow underfoot a churned-up mess of dirt and slush.
She casts about for anything talk about. "Did you have fun?"
He pulls a face. "It wasn't quite what I imagined."
She wants to know exactly what he did expect, but she still feels all weirdly edgy and can't bring herself to ask. "So," she says instead, "just like usual then."
He lets out a huff, but doesn't deny it.
She isn't really paying attention to where she's putting her feet, far too focused instead on what she wants to say and what she should say, and how they aren't necessarily the same thing. The path up to the school is cast in deep shadows by the towering trees on either side. As they step out onto it, she hits a newly formed patch of slush-turned-ice. Her foot tries to go in a different direction than the rest of her body, and she lets out a ridiculous squeak as she fights to regain her balance.
Harry immediately grabs for her, and she briefly wonders if she's going to manage to take both of them down, but he sets his feet firmly and halts her momentum. Her upper body sort of bangs against his arm and then she's leaning against him, sure that her face must be blazing.
"Sorry," she mumbles.
"S'okay," he says.
Merlin, she's not usually a clumsy person. After a moment, he lets go, the distance between them widening again, and she finds herself wishing she were.
Despite that ridiculous thought, she does concentrate on picking her path far more carefully from then on. Because honestly, it's nice just to be here, walking with him.
"I'm really sorry," she says.
He cants his head towards her. "For what?"
She grimaces. "Basically disappearing on you during your welcome-home party."
"Oh. It's fine," he says like it's no big deal, but she kind of thinks it is. "I knew you would…have things. You know. A life." He gives her a bracing smile.
I don't , she very nearly blurts. She bites it back because she actually does, of course. She has responsibilities. People. She's worked hard for it. This life.
"It was really important," she says. "Or I wouldn't have…"
His smile is genuine this time. "Really, Ginny. It's fine."
She stops pressing. Not because she feels any better about it, but because she thinks it might be weird if she keeps at it. She notices that their pace has definitely slowed, and she spends a few seconds analyzing that before forcing herself to stop. She doesn't have enough data to go off of and it will only make her even more anxious at this point.
"So," she says, glancing down at her feet. "Any more trips planned?"
"What?" Harry asks. "Oh. No. No more trips."
She looks up at him. "A tour of Africa, maybe? Coast-to-coast broom ride across the Americas?"
"Walking tour of the Great Wall of China?" he says, voice dry.
"Yeah," she says. "Anything like that?"
"No," he says. "I've had my fill of traveling."
"Okay," she says.
He looks away. "So what was Dean's troll-brained plan?"
"What?" she asks, nothing further from her mind than Dean Thomas.
"You, uh, mentioned it in a letter a while back," he says, back to being awkward.
"Oh, yeah," she says, trying to remember what exactly she said. "It was nothing really. He got me to help George track something down that he wanted to give Seamus for his birthday. Apparently it was super important. It was a hassle, but at least now he owes me a favor."
"Ah," Harry says.
"It just came in today," she says, remembering Dean showing it to her earlier.
"I hope Seamus likes it."
She smiles, thinking of all the time Dean spent on it, how excited he was to surprise Seamus. Adorable, really. "Oh, I'm sure he will."
Next to her, Harry stiffens, his step faltering. They've turned the bend, the gates in view now, and there is a rather large group of students loitering there.
Ginny looks at Harry's expression of barely masked dismay and takes his arm, pulling them both off the path and out of sight.
He doesn't resist, just looks at her in question as they move into the trees.
"We should just say goodbye here," she says.
"I don't mind walking you all the way up," he says immediately.
She smiles at him. "No need for you to get mobbed again on my behalf."
He lets out a breath, like he's annoyed and grateful all at once.
"Really, Harry," she says, "it's okay."
He nods.
They stand in the quiet space under the trees, and neither of them seem certain how to say goodbye as it gets later and later.
"You're going to the Burrow for break?" Harry eventually blurts.
"Yes," she says. "In two weeks." That somehow seems like a tremendously long time and also far too soon.
"We'll see each other then, right?" he asks.
"Been roped into Sunday dinners already, have you?"
He smiles. "Upon pain of Howlers."
"Good," she says, feeling a rush of relief knowing he's being taken care of, that he isn't, well, disappearing or anything like that. She can trust her mum to look out for him.
"I guess I'll see you then, then," he says, rubbing awkwardly at his hair as he takes a small step back.
But she can't let him leave, not until she knows really, so she steps into him and hugs him. Despite the unexpectedness of it, he somehow manages not to fumble or hesitate at all to hug her back, his arms closing around her.
She waits for it—the panic, the discomfort, any of it-but all she feels is the press of corduroy under her cheek, the warmth of his arms tight and comfortable around her.
She breathes out. "It was really nice seeing you again, Harry," she says into his chest.
"You too," he says, chin brushing the top of her head.
She forces herself to step back, because there is a new kind of panic buzzing in her mind now, one she hasn't bothered preparing for.
His hands slide down her arms before dropping away with what might be reluctance. "Bye, Ginny," he says.
She tries to give him the warmest smile she can manage. "Bye."
He takes two steps back and then he's turning, disappearing with a soft crack.
She feels her smile slip, the cold of the evening seeming to rush back in. She stares at the empty spot where he stood, footprints still visible in the snow, but there aren't anymore clues to be found here, no more answers.
Turning back for the path, she carefully chooses her footing. She passes up through the gates, Tobias falling into step next to her.
"Alright?" he asks, his shoulder barely bumping hers.
She nods. "Yeah."
And if that isn't completely the truth, well, she has two weeks to figure out what she wants to do about it.