On Easter Sunday, the whole family goes to Auntie Muriel's. It's a break in tradition, but traditions aren't what they used to be, and it's a bit of a relief not trying to pretend that they are.

Still, it's bound to be a trial.

After they all spend the morning visiting with Teddy and Andromeda, Harry lets himself get roped into coming along for dinner. She tries to warn him off, but he'll have nothing to do with it.

"It's our last day together," he says. "I don't care if your aunt is a troll."

"She's worse," Ginny mutters, even as she's pleased to have earned a few more hours in his company.

Now as they all stand in the entryway, Harry glances around at the enormous house. "What, they were out of the really big mansions the day they were buying?" he murmurs.

George snorts.

The House Elf shows them into a huge parlor where Muriel waits for them, already seated on a chair like a throne. She watches them all as they file in, Mum and the boys dutifully giving her a kiss on her cheek.

Her eyes fall on Harry. "You make an uneven number," she says by way of greeting.

"Um," is all Harry manages in response, glancing at Bill next to him. Fleur makes a tutting sound under her breath, clearly unimpressed with Muriel's rudeness, which is saying something, honestly.

Muriel ignores them, turning to Molly with clear displeasure. "Beside which, it isn't appropriate for Ginevra to be bringing beaus to family dinners."

George snorts, though whether at the idea of Ginny having a beau or Muriel's hypocrisy after pushing for arranging a betrothal for her the year before, she can't be sure. Still, Ginny happily nudges him in the ribs in retaliation all the same.

"Oof," George says, escaping her reach by settling on a settee.

"This is Harry, Auntie," Molly says, voice calm to the point of patronizing. There's history here that Ginny has never quite understood, something that ties her mum to Muriel despite how unpleasant the older woman can be.

"I know very well who he is," Muriel says, watching Molly as she walks Harry over to sit down next to George as if to get him out of range. "What I don't know is how long he's been dallying with Ginevra!"

Ginny takes a seat next to her dad, trying to stay calm. There is no way Muriel actually knows anything. She's just being her usual unpleasant self. Ginny risks glancing over at Harry, and he's staring at Muriel in horror, looking like his whole body has been petrified.

"No need to look quite so sickened by the idea, Potter," Ginny says, trying her best to salvage the situation.

Harry looks over at her, belatedly gathering up his tattered composure, his mouth snapping shut.

Next to her, Bill snorts. "Just shows that he may be brave but he isn't stupid, being interested in a nightmare like you."

Ginny smacks him with a cushion.

Molly gives them a quelling look. "Harry is Ron's friend, Auntie. He's family."

Muriel pins Harry with a gaze that feels just a little too knowing. "Just as well," she sniffs. "The Potters have always been an eccentric lot."

That seems to finally shake Harry out of his embarrassment. "Did you know my parents?"

"Your parents? Heavens no, child. I knew your namesake. Henry Potter." Her nose wrinkles. "Quite the rabble-rouser during that little squabble the Muggles had early in the century. You have him to thank for the ignoble status of the Potter name." She harrumphs. "Help the Muggles. What could he have been thinking?"

Her dad opens his mouth as if to interrupt, but Harry looks so enthralled that Ginny puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

Muriel happily blathers on. "Fleamont was just as bad. Hiding out in the countryside, doing whatever he pleased with no account for duty."

"Fleamont?" Harry echoes.

"Henry's son. Your grandfather," she says with some asperity. "Honestly, boy. Don't you know anything about where you come from?"

Ginny feels indignation climb her throat. Like Harry chose to be orphaned and raised by horrid Muggles?

Muriel snorts rather inelegantly. "Of course, if my ancestors married so willy-nilly I'd probably rather not know either. Not that Euphemia wasn't pretty enough. You know, for her sort. A pureblood at least."

Ginny's eyes narrow. "Her sort?" she asks, voice hardening slightly in warning.

But if Muriel notices it, she clearly doesn't care. "Oh, you know, daughter or granddaughter of some raja. Immigrated early in the century." Her nose wrinkles. "With their strange manners and unorthodox magics."

Ginny's mouth falls open in outrage, and it's her father's turn to put a cautioning hand on her arm. She silently fumes, arms crossing over her chest.

"Auntie," Molly scolds, looking horrified.

Muriel waves a dismissive hand. "Not that Fleamont cared. A foolish alliance, everyone knew. A love match," she scoffs as if it is incomprehensible to her. She gives Harry a beady stare. "But then, Potters always seem to have more passion than sense."

It's only through great discipline that Ginny keeps her face from flushing. Out of the corner of her eye she can see that Harry isn't quite so successful.

Muriel stands then, rising like a thundercloud, as if her interest in such things has abruptly waned. She hollers for the House Elf, demanding to know if dinner is finished yet. "I specifically said that we were to be seated at a quarter after!" she says, stamping her cane in displeasure.

At the door, Muriel turns to Molly. "Well, when they do get married, don't look to me to borrow my tiara. Last time I very nearly did not get it back!"

Fleur looks incensed.

"Why do we submit ourselves to this?" Bill mutters.

George rubs his hands together. "I don't know what you're talking about. This has already been far more fun than I ever could have hoped."

"Boys," Dad says mildly.

"Come on, Harry," George says. "Let's see if you have enough sense to find your way to the dining room."

"If he had sense," Bill says, "he never would have agreed to come in the first place."

Ginny lets out a breath.

At dinner, Ginny ends up at the very end of the table on the opposite side from Harry, the entire table organized by strict rank. Rank that no one but Muriel seems to understand. Molly at her right hand next to Arthur (Prewetts being superior in all ways to Weasleys), with Bill at her left hand next to Fleur.

Harry gets the next spot on the right, probably some strange nod to his fame. But still unmarried, which in Muriel's eyes puts him below Bill even if he married 'an unpleasant French émigré.'

Ginny, as the lowest ranked—a single female, good lord!—sits on the distant left next to Percy and across from George. Which has the benefit of being far from Muriel's attention, if not stuck with Percy for conversation.

Harry looks situated well enough diagonally from her, tucked between Dad and George. She gives him a bracing smile before settling herself in for the ten-course extravaganza that even Ron probably would have a hard time with.

Somewhere in the middle of the sixth course, George leans into Harry, saying something that makes Harry choke, looking up in alarm. He turns and looks at Muriel, and Ginny follows his gaze, almost choking herself.

Muriel's hair is currently slowly changing color, from a stately grey to a violent purple leopard print.

Ginny lifts her napkin to her face, stifling a laugh.

George looks across at her with a gleam in his eye. "No need to let an opportunity for testing to pass me by."

Their mum's face is turning a deep shade of red as they all do their best to pretend nothing at all is awry.

"Brilliant," she hears Harry breathe.

She glances at Percy, expecting him to be horrified, but instead he just raises an eyebrow and says, "I'm surprised she doesn't have the House Elf taste all her food first."

George lets out a startled laugh.

"What are you laughing about down there?" Muriel demands.

"The name Fleamont," George blithely lies, winking at Harry.

Bill plays along. "Lucky you weren't named after him instead."

"He could have gone by Monty," Ginny suggests.

Harry grins at her. "Not Fleamy?"

George cackles. "Well, now that's what we're going to call you!"

Muriel, clearly unhappy to have lost her position as the center of attention, loudly stomps her cane and demands for the next course to be brought in. The elves comply, not caring that Percy still has a bite on his fork as they sweep away his half-finished plate.

The rest of the meal is less eventful if not still seemingly endless. Even eventually escaping dinner doesn't bring any relief, all of them heading back to the sitting room to listen to Muriel ramble on about whatever topic captures her attention. She spends time on the usual topic of the 'great families' and their latest foibles. It's not quite as fertile ground as it has been in the past, considering many of those families have fled England, suffered deaths in the family, or are serving time in Azkaban.

"Ginevra," Muriel says at one point. "Why don't you sing for us?"

Ginny smiles pleasantly. "Because if I did, I am fairly certain you would all turn to stone."

"If we're lucky," George says.

Muriel's lips press together, looking like she's caught whiff of a really bad smell. "How you are ever supposed to be able to find a husband, I do not know."

Ginny shrugs, knowing that Muriel's ideas of female accomplishments are as out of date as her fashion sense. "I guess I always figured I would just hex one and drag him back to my cave on the back of my broom."

Bill snorts, somehow managing to turn it into a cough. They are all more than used to Muriel harping on them, Ginny most of all. Knowing she barely listens, let alone is hurt by it, her family just lets it go. Pushing back against Muriel only insures it will last even longer.

Muriel turns to Molly. "Then you're still allowing her to play Quidditch, I see. A most unladylike activity."

"She's brilliant," Harry abruptly blurts, breaking his rather long silence. He doesn't look embarrassed, just incensed.

Muriel's eyes flash dangerously at being so blatantly contradicted, in her own home no less, but seems incapable of blasting a guest, let alone the great hero of the wizarding world. She settles for harrumphing loudly and pointedly changing the subject. Which for a while means picking on Percy and his Ministry ambitions.

Once Muriel has her fill of picking on all of them, they drift apart, some people pretending interest in paintings just to get away from Muriel, others 'stretching their legs.'

"Where did Harry get off to?" Molly asks.

Ginny noticed him leave, of course, and has just been biding her time, looking for the right opportunity.

"Probably got lost trying to find the loo," George says, clearly unconcerned as he flips disinterestedly through the pages of a book.

Ginny pushes to her feet. "I'll find him," she says, like it's a chore. "He can't have gotten far."

"I just hope he didn't stray across the banshee in the east wing!" Muriel says, sounding more gleeful at the thought than worried.

As she suspected, he isn't far away at all, just in the portrait gallery a few rooms over.

She watches him peer up at the Prewett ancestors. "You don't look particularly lost," she says.

He turns, smiling. "Figured you'd find a way to be the one sent to find me."

"Sneaky," she says.

He shrugs. "Motivated."

She crosses over to him. "I'm sorry about Muriel," she says.

He shakes his head. "Hey, next to the Dursleys that was almost pleasant."

Ginny has no idea how that is supposed to make anything better. "She had no right to talk that way about your grandparents."

"I'd never even heard of any of them before this. I mean I always knew I had to have…"

"People?"

He nods. "Now it actually feels real."

"Like you didn't just hatch out of a dragon egg?"

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Miss Weasley."

Ginny turns to see one of the House Elves standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Your father is ready to depart."

"Thank you," she says.

He nods, disappearing back around the corner.

Ginny turns back to Harry, the two of them looking at each other. Pressure rises in her throat, knowing these will be their last moments together for a long while. First thing in the morning she'll be speeding back towards Hogwarts. She has the bizarre thought that this last week has been some sort of dream that will evaporate the second they say goodbye.

She reaches for his hands, squeezing them. "I'll try to find out more about your grandparents," she promises, wanting to give him something, anything. She can get Mum to ask Muriel.

Harry gives her an intense look like she's just offered him the world. "I'll make it to that match, I promise."

She nods, trying to give him a bracing smile even as her fingers itch to touch him.

Impulsively, and before Ginny can remind him of the risk, he ducks his head and kisses her. She knows she should pull back, keep it quick, but instead she's leaning into him. She considers that maybe the Potters are contagious, wonders if Euphemia once felt this way about a young, impulsive Fleamont.

Her heart is pounding away in her chest when they finally break apart, and very little of it about the risk of being caught.

His hands cup her face, his eyes intent on her features. "I'm going to miss you."

She squeezes his wrists, nodding. "Me too."

"Ginny," a voice says, sounding much closer.

Ginny steps back, Harry's hands dropping from her face.

She heads down the hall so it won't look like they've just been standing about, hearing Harry following after her, and a second later, Bill comes around the corner.

"What are you two doing?" he says. "Planning your elopement? Muriel really wouldn't approve."

"Hey," Ginny says, voice mild. "I'm not the tiara thief here."

Bill groans. "I thought Fleur was going to curse her before that meal was done."

Ginny huffs. "I'd pay to see that."

"We all would," Bill says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Ah, the joys of family."

Bill looks at Harry, and she can see him wince at the thoughtlessness of his words.

"Come on, Harry," he says. "Let's get you home."

"Yes," Harry says with enough asperity to impress even Muriel, "because otherwise I may forget how."

Bill laughs. "You're such a little shite, Harry. It's no wonder you fit in with us so well."

"High praise," Harry mutters, but Ginny can tell he's pleased.

Bill presses a hand to the back of his head, pushing him forward. "Come on then."

At the doorway, he glances back at her, and she raises her hand in silent farewell.

Hugging her parents goodbye, Ginny boards the Hogwarts Express for her final trip out to the castle. Her last term. It's a bit hard to believe, really. One last term dedicated to endless NEWTs cramming and one final Quidditch match.

Stowing her trunk, she takes a seat in a compartment with a mix of DA members. She waves out the window to her parents. It occurs to her how old they look standing there—her dad tall with thinning hair and lines deepening on his face, her mum tucked into his side, grey beginning to mix in with the red. It must be even weirder for them, having brought at least one child to this train every term for the last seventeen years.

The train pulls out of the station, smoke and distance obscuring them from view.

"Ginny?"

She turns to look at Hannah.

"Everything okay?" she asks.

Ginny smiles. "Yeah," she says. "Just thinking about time."

Hannah nods, settling back in her seat. "It's hard to believe we're almost finished." As long as it's felt for Ginny, this is technically Hannah's eighth year.

"Just think, no more homework," Terry says, eyes closing with bliss.

The girls laugh.

"More importantly, no more exams!" Hannah says.

Terry snorts. "Yeah, but first the NEWTs."

"Don't remind me," she says, looking a little green even at the idea.

Hannah always remarks that she feels rather silly, still having such extreme anxiety over something as mundane as sitting a test. Ginny just thinks they are lucky to have such normal things to worry about for once.

Throughout the compartment, students are having reunions after their week apart. Reiko is talking rather intensely with Dennis and Nigel about something, the two boys looking almost frozen in place. Demelza seems to be pointedly ignoring Martin. Neville is sitting with Susan and Luna. In the back corner, Dean and Seamus have their heads lowered together.

There's been no sign of Tobias yet, but Ginny isn't particularly surprised. This is going to be the term she no longer lets him get away with this avoiding the DA nonsense.

"Did you have a nice break?" Hannah asks her.

"Yeah," Ginny says, feeling a smile spread over her face. "I really did."

She thinks back to the message Harry sent her first thing this morning.

I hope you have a great term, Gin. And you'll be back in no time.

"Yeah?" Hannah asks with interest.

Ginny just presses her lips together and looks out the window.

For a moment she lets her mind wander off into imaginary summer days. Early mornings in the pasture on her broom, dates spent exploring Muggle London, and long, uninterrupted afternoons at Grimmauld. It at once feels completely out of reach and so tantalizingly near.

"Ginny," Demelza shouts, dragging her back out of her thoughts. "Come over here and settle this argument, will you? You're way better at dealing with idiots than I am."

Giving Hannah a long-suffering look, she gets to her feet and goes to say hello.

A few hours into the ride, she squeezes Luna's arm. "I'm going to stretch my legs." She wants to check in on her sisters, and maybe figure out where Tobias is hiding.

"Alright," she says.

Ginny gets up, stepping out into the hall. Flora and Ernie are out there talking. Flora gives Ginny a sheepish smile and Ginny grins back at her, but doesn't linger, quickening her step to give them a bit more privacy.

"Ginny," someone calls out as she crosses into the next car.

She turns to see Ritchie catching up to her. "Hey," she says.

He smiles at her. "You enjoy the hols?"

"I did," Ginny says. A bit of an understatement really, but she has no intention of elaborating or letting herself get derailed again by the memories.

"Think you're ready to face off with Hufflepuff?" Ritchie says.

She refocuses on him. Quidditch. Right. "Definitely," she says.

"Yeah?" he says, looking skeptical. "Not even a little nervous?"

She shrugs. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

His eyebrows lift. "You think you've cracked them, huh? Care to share?"

"Not a chance."

He laughs. "Worth a try, I suppose."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he gives her a not-so-subtle look, and Ginny feels dread fill her stomach as she stupidly, belatedly realizes what this is.

He takes a deep breath, shoulders squaring. "So, I was wondering if maybe you'd—"

"Ritchie," Ginny says, cutting across him before he can actually say it.

He snaps his mouth shut, regarding her for a long moment. "You're not going to go out with me, are you."

It isn't a question, and she supposes his blunt honesty deserves some in return. "No."

He nods. "I didn't think so." He gives her a fleeting smile. "Figured I'd give it a go anyway. Spent the whole break working up my nerve."

That doesn't particularly make her feel any better.

It would be easy to explain that she's already with someone, that she's very happily with someone, but that might lead to difficult questions. Besides which, even when she could have dated him earlier in the year, she still didn't, instead going out with Michael and Ernie. The truth is, she was never going to go out with Ritchie. No matter if he reminded her of him at times, he isn't Harry. He never could be.

Ginny braces herself for Ritchie to ask why or what he did wrong, but he doesn't, instead just giving her a half-hearted smile and backing away. "Okay. I'm going to…" He points vaguely down the hall. "Retreat with as much dignity as possible."

It all just makes her like him even more.

"I'm sorry," she still feels the need to say.

He waves a hand. "There's plenty more witches where you came from. Some of them are even decent Chasers."

She rolls her eyes. "Go away, Ritchie."

He gives her a little salute. "As you command."

She watches him retreat, vaguely hoping this doesn't make it weird for either of them. Setting him firmly from her mind, she continues on her way. In the next car she finds the compartment where the Parlor sisters have gathered. Minus Flora, of course, who is more than likely still flirting outside the DA compartment.

The first thing Ginny notices upon entering is that Hestia has chopped off her hair and dyed it a rather intense shade of violet. She thinks there is probably a story here to be had. This is not the only surprise waiting for her though. Because even more startling is who's sitting next to Dale, helping her with what appear to be rather complicated makeup charms.

Dorinda.

She looks up at Ginny, something a bit defiant in the lift of her chin like she's daring her to make a big deal of it.

Biting back a smile, Ginny just nods slightly at her and settles down next to Nicola to ask after her break.

Yet another piece falling into place.

The train pulls into Hogsmeade before Ginny manages to find Tobias. She catches sight of him in a departing carriage, so she at least know that he did come back. She's more than a little annoyed with him by the time she tracks him down, sitting down next to him at the Slytherin table.

"There you are," she says.

He gives her a look like he has no idea what she's talking about, which only makes her more certain that he's avoiding her. She has no intention of letting him get away with it.

"How are you?" she asks.

"Fine," he says around a mouthful of mash. "You?"

Her eyes narrow. He's being weird. She looks him over intently, but he pretty much looks the same as far as she can tell.

"Ginny," Reiko says, sitting down on her other side. "I have some ideas I've been thinking about over the break." She pulls out a notebook, slapping it on the table and nearly upsetting the settings.

"Ugh," Tobias complains. "If this is going to be Quidditch shite, I'm out."

He picks up his plate and moves to another seat further down the table with some other boys from their year.

Trapped by Reiko, Ginny lets him go, resigning herself to dealing with him after the meal.

It ends up not being as difficult as she prepared herself for because as she walks out of the hall, Tobias falls into step next to her. "Think we could go to the cloister for a bit?"

"Sure," she says, and they take a turn, going against the flow of student bodies towards their common rooms.

"What is going on with you?" she demands the moment they are safely inside.

He walks further into the space, settling down in their normal spot. He stubbornly keeps his mouth shut, just looking up at her as if expecting her to sit as well.

Biting back a sigh at his dramatics, she sits down next to him and waits for him to speak.

He pulls out a small box from his robes, holding it out to her.

She looks dubiously back at him. "What's this?"

"Go on, take it," he says. "It's for you."

"For me?" she asks, taking it. She cautiously pulls off the lid, parting the tissue inside.

It's a miniature occamy carved from an opalescent stone. She picks it up, its body cool as it slides across her palm, winding around her thumb. Absolutely beautiful, but she still has zero idea why Tobias is giving this to her.

"Where did you—?"

"She wanted you to have it. Found it in some marketplace somewhere, but didn't trust enough to send it by post."

Ginny's mind trips over the pronoun, automatically thinking of Mags, but only for a moment. Because this is not from Mags or Tobias's mum or any of the women he should have been visiting.

"Who?" Ginny says, voice hard, because she thinks she has an idea, but that can't possibly be right.

Tobias winces. "I didn't go home for break. Never had any intention of it really."

Her hand closes around the figurine. "You went to Tawang."

"I did," he admits.

She stares at him in shock. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugs. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

Didn't want to make a big deal? Is he out of his mind? He traveled halfway around the world to see Smita for the first time in two years. How could that not be a big deal?

He's still warily watching her as she sits there and silently rages.

She knows they've been writing, but nothing beyond that. Tobias clams up whenever she tries to broach the topic, and Smita adroitly avoids addressing it in her letters. She remembers how he was at end of term, full of fractious energy. On edge. Moody.

"Are you two…" she manages to ask.

He gives her a look like she's being naïve. "Embarking on the world's furthest long distance relationship after not having seen each other in almost two years? No, Ginny. We're not."

"But you went there," she says, still trying to catch up.

He sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "I had to go, Gin. I just…needed a real ending, I guess."

"Did you?"

He shifts, almost squirming as if in discomfort. "Do we really need to talk about this?"

Part of her wants to force him to, to make him give her every tiny detail. Only this thing between Tobias and Smita has never really been any of her business, not hers to demand about. He's still her friend though, and she needs to know at least one thing.

She reaches out for his hand. "Just tell me that you're really okay with whatever's happened. That you aren't just…deflecting."

"I am," he says, his expression for once completely open. "Honestly, Gin. It was…what it needed to be."

She finds that she believes him. "Okay."

He relaxes, clearly relieved that he's not going to be given the third degree. They sit next to each other in silence.

"Is she happy?" Ginny eventually asks, her voice sounding small even to her own ears.

"Yeah," he says, a smile playing about his lips. "She really is."

That will have to be enough for both of them, Ginny supposes.

He nudges her shoulder. "Completely in her element, and even more frighteningly competent than before."

Ginny smiles fondly. "Good. That's good."

He slides her a look. "She wanted to know if you were too. You know, happy."

Ginny looks down at the small figurine, running her finger down its back. "And what did you say?"

"I said I wasn't sure, but that you seemed to be moving in that direction at least."

She looks down at her hands, biting down on the inside of her lip.

"Was I wrong?"

"No," Ginny says. "I am. Moving in that direction."

"Yeah?" he asks, peering at her closely.

She's fairly certain her face warms, but she doesn't care. It's not that putting things right with Harry has fixed everything, but that so many things had to be okay, to be better , for them to even have a chance at it, to even get as far as they have.

"Definitely," she says.

He loops an arm over her shoulders. "We don't need to talk about that either do we?" he asks, voice pained.

She laughs, leaning her head back against his arm. "Merlin, no. I know how much you would hate that."

They would pretty much burn the world down for each other, and that's more than enough. The rest is better left unsaid, for a myriad of reasons.

"I would though," he says, his finger tapping against her shoulder. "Just so you know."

"Hate it?" she asks, craning her neck to look up at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Listen. If you need me to."

Even if he loathed every moment.

"I know you would." She reaches up and pats him on the cheek. "But we wouldn't want people to think you'd gone soft."

"Ugh," he says, pushing her away. " Never ."

She laughs.

Later that night in her dorm, she ignores Bridget and Helena's cautious greetings, her eyes lingering instead on the empty bed. Smita's. And for a while Nadira's. But now empty once more. Climbing up on her own bed, Ginny closes the drapes, barely noticing the swirling patterns on the dark cloth. She lifts the occamy, letting it slide up and wrap around her bedpost.

She curls up on her bed, the sounds of the lake a constant murmur in the distance, and breathes in the cool, humid air. All of it is familiar and comforting and a lot like coming home.

Pulling out quill and ink, she takes a moment to feel the heavy texture of her parchment under her fingers.

Have time to chat? she writes.

Harry's response doesn't take long to come.

Do you even need to ask? How was your first day back?

Let me put it this way, she writes, it definitely wasn't boring.

Yeah? I'm all ears. Or eyes, I suppose. Technically. Ugh. You know what I mean.

She laughs, smiling down fondly at his ridiculous, messy words. Not slick and precise, not whispered and insidious and perfectly crafted, but bright and garbled and warm and right. So, so right.

Carefully inking her quill, she tells him all about her day.