The week after Easter, Harry's first inclination is to sit around the house and mope. Fleur and Kreacher are doing something in the dining room that he's sure he'd rather not know about. He's tired of the circus he causes by going anywhere near Diagon Alley, and Muggle London just doesn't have the same appeal anymore.
He's pathetic.
The one saving grace, as always, are the parchments. He chats with Ginny in the evenings when she has time. Usually about Quidditch and the DA and the latest gossip gleaned from Burke. Other times she just jots off random messages between classes that he'll stumble upon later like little presents.
Why is Binns so terrible?
Oh Merlin, McGonagall almost made Vaisey piss himself today with just a look. Life goals right there.
I miss you.
It's not the same as having her here, of course, but it certainly makes it more bearable. It also helps remind him that it's real. That this is really happening.
When he's not caring for Teddy or thinking fondly of the last week, he considers everything Muriel said about his grandparents. It occurs to him how little he knows. Bill has been bugging him to take a look at his accounts, to deal with the estates he has been left with, but he's been reluctant. Now it sounds like an interesting challenge. At least something to keep his mind occupied for a while.
He honestly isn't sure how welcome he will be at Gringotts these days though. Breaking into a vault and freeing a dragon and destroying half the building in the process may have made Harry far from the goblins' favorite person.
He owls Bill about his intentions, only to get an answer back that he'll need a few days to speak on Harry's behalf to the goblins.
At the beginning of the next week, he gets the all clear. But only in exchange for returning some dusty ancient goblin artifact that he didn't even know he had in his vault.
Bill meets him at the entrance, and Harry is pretty sure he isn't imagining the rather frosty looks from the goblins. Then again, in his experience, goblins have never been all that warm to begin with.
"You're lucky they didn't confiscate your entire fortune," Bill says as he shows Harry into his small office at the back. "They probably still would have if it wouldn't have terrified the rest of their wizarding clientele."
Harry shrugs, because it's not like he had a choice about what happened. Instead he looks around the office in interest.
Bill gestures at the seat across from his desk. "Can I get you tea? Coffee?"
Harry gives him a strange look. "Um, no. I'm fine."
Bill pulls a face. "Sorry. Habit. I have to be on my best human behavior when there's clients about. There's a reason the Goblins keep me, after all."
"Okay," Harry says, but it puts him on edge all the same, being treated like this by Bill, of all people.
Bill opens a drawer, pulling out a set of files and a ring of keys. He walks back around the desk, casually mussing Harry's hair, and that's better, if not totally annoying. Harry ducks his head and scowls.
"Come on," Bill says. "Let's go down to the vault. It'll be easier to explain by just showing you."
The nearly vomit-inducing ride down to the vaults is familiar by now, if not slightly more relaxing knowing he doesn't have to worry about being caught. He has every right to be here today. Plus, the whole not trying to steal anything is probably a bonus.
The cart pulls up in front of Harry's vault, Bill lifting the wards and opening the doors. Harry walks in, Bill lounging by the door.
As a kid, Harry never really had eyes for anything other than the piles of gold, which now seem significantly larger despite how much Harry himself has grown. He realizes with a squeeze of grief that this is because he's inherited the Black family fortune as well.
He'd be embarrassed about Bill seeing this, but working here he probably already has a very clear understanding of Harry's finances. Better than he himself does, really.
He forces his eyes onto the other things, the boxes and objects. Papers. There isn't all that much. He leans over the closest box, full of what looks like old record albums. He casually flips through them, not recognizing a lot of the bands.
"I looked into it," Bill says. "Fleamont and Euphemia had a vault as well."
He looks up from the box. "It didn't all just come here when they died?"
Bill shakes his head. "The money did. It's enchanted to automatically follow legalized wills. Makes it harder for people to steal. But ordinary objects, papers, furniture, and the like, those have to be transferred, mostly because some of them can be volatile. Don't want a strange cursed item accidentally melting all your currency."
Harry huffs under his breath. "No, I suppose not."
He glances helplessly around at the last material remains of his parents' lives. Over in the corner he thinks he sees a trunk with a peeling Gryffindor crest.
"Do you want to see the other vault?" Bill asks.
"Yeah, sure," Harry says. Passing by the pile of gold, Harry scoops out a modest amount into his coin bag so he won't have to come back here for a while unless he wants to.
Back on the cart, they travel even further down into the caves, not quite near the Lestrange vault, but pretty close.
"Have they replaced the dragon?" Harry asks, hearing a distant grumbling sound emanating from deep below them.
"Officially?" Bill asks. "Yes, of course. Nothing but the best security."
"And unofficially?"
"It's actually a bit of a challenge to come up with a dragon these days, and Charlie and his pals have their eyes on this place. He told me You-Know-Who is gonna come back again before he lets us abuse another dragon down here."
"Right," Harry says.
Bill winces, looking at him. "Bollocks. Sorry. Just a figure of speech."
Harry shakes his head, not particularly disturbed by the reference. "That just means there will never be another dragon down here."
Bill smiles. "Good to hear."
They climb off the cart, torches on either side of a vault door flaring to life as they approach. Bill opens the vault.
As he warned, this vault has no money. Harry thought that would mean it'd be pretty empty. But it is filled to the brim with furniture and boxes and what looks like art. Some of it looks old. Really old.
Harry blinks at it all. "I didn't think it would be so full."
"Yeah, well, this is pretty much the entirety of the Potter estate. Generations worth."
Generations. It makes it feel stupidly real, that Harry does have a family, a lineage, a past. Walking to the closest pile, he pulls a dust cloth off an ornate gilded table. He wonders who bought it. Did they eat breakfast at it? Write letters?
"Might look nice at Grimmauld," Bill says.
Harry smiles. "That would be up to Fleur and Kreacher."
Bill laughs. "Yeah. She'd probably kill to get access to some of this."
It's a nice idea, actually, having some of these things around him. But for now he really just wants this to be his. Just his.
Wandering further in, Harry peeks under dust cloths. He stops when he uncovers two portraits in ornate gilded frames. The people in them stretch and yawn, blinking up at him in interest.
Smooth metal placards beneath each image say Fleamont and Euphemia in elaborate engravings.
Harry's heart pounds in his chest as he looks at his father's parents for the first time. His eyes are hungry as he takes in the details—the unruly mop of hair above Euphemia's sparkling dark eyes, her skin a deep warm brown. Fleamont is almost plain-looking in comparison if not for the curve of his lips in a slightly challenging smile that feels familiar.
"Your grandparents died right before your birth," Bill says, looking down at them.
Which means they never got to meet him, but also that they didn't have to see what happened to their only son and his wife.
"And by that time with the war, I suppose your father never got the chance to deal with his parents' estate."
Harry squats down in front of his grandparents. "Can I take these?" he asks.
"Of course," Bill says. "I can have them wrapped and sent to Grimmauld."
"Yeah," he says, liking the idea of having them with him. It's hard to move away from them, to force himself to move on to other things.
"You don't have to stay," Harry says, aware of how much time has passed. "I mean, you must have other things to do."
"I'm good," Bill says, giving Harry a lazy grin. "Beats having to do actual work."
Harry doesn't completely buy that, to be honest, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Bill's expression shifts. "Unless you'd rather be on your own."
He's clearly here to keep an eye on him, to make sure he's okay. That should probably bother him, feel overbearing. He thinks a year ago it probably would have.
"No," Harry decides. "It's okay." The thought of all of this is a bit overwhelming, and it's nice to have company.
He wanders for a bit, picking up random objects. Bill settles into a throne-like chair with purple velvet upholstery, one leg kicked up over the arm.
"Do you miss it?" Harry asks.
"What?"
"Curse breaking."
"Oh," Bill says. "I suppose. It was quite the thrill. Got to see a lot of the world. But there's a time and a place for mad adventuring, you know?"
"Is there?" Sometimes it feel like mad adventuring is all he's ever known.
Bill shrugs. "It's lonely work. Hard to set down any real roots." He smiles, something wide and suggestive. "And let's just say that the sedentary life definitely has its advantages."
Harry looks away, feeling his face warm. It's perfectly clear what Bill is referring to, and Harry has no intention of letting his mind wander that in that direction. Certainly not with Ginny's brother sitting right there.
"Speaking of sedentary," Bill says, "there's a house too. On some land."
"What?" Harry says, setting back down an ornate set of salt and pepper shakers.
Bill nods. "Out in Somerset. There's a family living there on a long-term lease. Generating pretty good income. But if you want…"
He shakes his head. That's way too much for right now. "I had no idea there was so much."
"Yeah, well, apparently Fleamont made a fortune off a potion he developed."
"Did he?"
Bill looks at Harry, and for some reason he seems amused.
Harry's eyes narrow, having a pretty good nose for when a Weasley is amused at his expense. "What was it?"
"Sleekeazy's Hair Potion." Bill's eyes deliberately travel up to Harry's as always unruly hair.
"You're making that up."
Bill laughs, leaning forward on his knees. "If only I was, Harry."
The only person to take more merriment out of the news is Ginny. She clearly finds great pleasure in teasing him that his family fortune is from a potion he never bothers to use.
Probably because the product will lose popularity when people realize it has met its match.
Do I have to pretend you're funny now just because we're together?
Face it, Potter. You're not the funny one in this relationship.
You keep telling yourself that.
He finds himself grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day.
As the Slytherin Quidditch match approaches, Harry arranges to attend. It's actually fairly easy to pull off. True to his word, he even lets Robards know his plans. Hogwarts is safe enough that he doubts an Auror babysitter will be necessary, and fortunately Robards agrees, so long as Harry Floos straight into the Headmistress's office. McGonagall is more than happy to accommodate him.
Harry honestly doubts he'll be able to wrangle more than a few minutes with Ginny and only in the middle of a giant crowd, but that will still be more than worth the trip.
On Saturday, he gets up early, spending some time getting ready, thinking about what kind of pre-game rituals Ginny must be running through at the moment. He has to go into the Ministry to use their Floo connection to Hogwarts. Fortunately it's pretty empty as it's a Saturday, though the Magical Transport Department is still full of wizards arriving and departing through the International Floo Network.
Harry causes a mild stir when he arrives, but even that can't penetrate his nervous excitement. He begins to regret breakfast by the time it's his turn to Floo to McGonagall's office, his stomach twisting. He's far more nervous than he ever was when it was him playing.
He spills rather inelegantly out on the other side, nearly stumbling to his knees. When he rights himself, he's looking up into the sternly amused face of McGonagall.
"Professor," he says.
He swears she rolls her eyes a bit. "Mr. Potter. It's nice to have you back at Hogwarts."
He glances around the office, noting that it hasn't changed all that much from when it was Dumbledore's. There's a new portrait on the wall. In it, Snape is snoozing, looking arrogant and unpleasant even in sleep. Next to him, Dumbledore opens his eyes just long enough to give Harry a conspiratorial wink.
"I, uh, appreciate you letting me come," Harry says.
"Well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says, chin lifting, "you will always be welcome at Hogwarts."
"Oh," he says, feeling unexpectedly warmed by that. "Thanks."
She clears her throat. "Shall we head down? The match is set to begin at 10."
It feels weird to walk through the corridors with McGonagall, like he's on his way to detention or something, but it does have the added bonus of no one waylaying him or trying to mob him. The few students still in the castle just whisper and watch him as he passes.
"It's unfortunate you did not return early enough to attend the Gryffindor match last month." Her expression hardens. "Or perhaps fortunate."
Harry winces, knowing that Hufflepuff unexpectedly stymied Gryffindor in the last match, beating them rather handedly.
"There's still a chance for the Cup thought, right?" Harry asks.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Potter. Always a chance." She eyes him. "Though it would be more likely if you had come back for your last year."
He gives her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Headmistress."
At the base of the Gryffindor box, McGonagall stops, gesturing him up the stairs. "I'll see you back in my office after the match, Mr. Potter." After giving him a smile that almost seems fond, she leaves him, no doubt heading for the professors' box.
He trudges up the stairs, stepping out into the box only to be greeted by Seamus letting out a roar. "Harry!"
Everyone turns, voices lifting in greeting. So much for slipping in unnoticed.
He ends up surrounded by his old Quidditch team, all of them asking him questions at once.
"Just thought I'd come see you lot and check out a match," Harry says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So how's the season?"
It's Ritchie, of all people, who spends the next ten minutes filling Harry in on the current Quidditch standings and what the Gryffindor team needs to happen to keep their Cup dreams alive. Harry reminds himself as he listens that Ritchie has done nothing wrong in being smart enough to notice that Ginny is amazing.
Still.
"Been a strange season," Ritchie concludes. "No clear front runner."
Harry nods, knowing all four teams have struggled to rebuild themselves.
Demelza grunts. "Not helped by those bloody clinics."
"Yeah?" Harry asks, as if he hasn't heard all about them from Ginny.
"Cross-house workshops for people in each position, you know?" Jimmy explains. "Like all the Seekers got together and talked and practiced and bounced ideas off each other."
Ginny told him that she got the idea from that time he helped Reiko with a few pointers. He was still in Australia when she'd confessed that, things between them murky and confusing at best, so he hadn't felt comfortable admitting that a lot of him helping Reiko had been him looking for any excuse to be around Ginny, and not some noble altruism or anything. He wonders what she would say if he told her now. Laugh at him, probably. But maybe also get that look on her face she does sometimes, the one that makes him feel like anything at all is possible.
"Barmy," Demelza says, bringing Harry back out of his thoughts.
"You helped set them up!" Jimmy reminds her.
"Yes, well," Demelza says, arms crossing over her chest, "Ginny can be bloody convincing when she wants to be."
"Bloody terrifying, you mean," Jack Sloper says, pulling a face.
Harry glares at him, biting back a nasty retort that at least Ginny's never bloody knocked herself unconscious with her own bat.
Ritchie is the one to smack him. "Hey. Be nice."
Sloper rolls his eyes. "Oh, I'm so sorry to insult your girl."
Ritchie's skin darkens with a blush. "She's not my girl, but that's still no excuse for being an arse."
"If you two are quite done being idiots," Demelza says, "we're talking about Quidditch, not your pathetic non-existent dating lives."
"So who do we want to win?" Harry asks loudly. He knows he's going to be rooting for Ginny no matter what, but he'd really quite like the conversation to move on to something else before he can decide if he's more annoyed with Sloper or Ritchie.
Half of them shout Slytherin while the other half shout Hufflepuff, and they're off on another debate about points and percentages.
"Hufflepuff has more victories than anyone else!" Seamus points out, shoving his way into the conversation.
"Yes, but the scores have been so low in those matches it doesn't really matter," one of the new Chasers points out.
"We're only 100 points behind Slytherin right now. And we're playing Ravenclaw next. We can definitely beat them."
Everyone seems to forget their differences long enough to abuse Ravenclaw for a while.
"Honestly, it doesn't matter who wins. They're both ahead of us right now," Demelza says. "We just need Hufflepuff to stuff Slytherin like they've been doing to everyone else this season. Keep the score low. That's all that matters."
"Keep the score low?" Dean says. "With Ginny out there? Ha. Never going to happen."
Sloper makes a dismissive sound. "No one's scored more than a few goals on Hufflepuff all season! It's going to take more than Weasley to overcome that."
Harry snorts, thinking Sloper is even more hopelessly stupid than he remembered.
Everyone turns to look at him. Whoops.
"What?" Demelza demands.
"As someone who has played against her," Harry says, trying to sound casual, "I can tell you that only an idiot would underestimate her."
From nearby, Neville laughs. "Yeah. That's pretty much never a good idea."
The debate doesn't end, just gets interrupted by the teams walking out onto the pitch.
Harry feels a broad smile spread across his face as Ginny walks out into the sunlight, fully kitted in her Quidditch leathers, hair in a braid down her back, and broom over her shoulder. He's not sure how, but she's even more beautiful than he remembers. Two weeks, he decides, is far too long to go without seeing her.
He's staring, he knows, but just can't look away as she warms up and shakes the Hufflepuff captain's hand.
Once the match starts, most people pretty much lose interest in Harry. Or maybe he just stops noticing. Either way, he's able to immerse himself in the excitement of the match, the joy of watching Ginny do something she so clearly loves. Intellectually, he's always known how good she is, but it's only now, watching her not as an opponent but as someone distant from the game, can he really appreciate just how spectacular she is. How absolutely fearless she is. She makes a few dives he never would have considered risking even in his stupidest moments, and he thinks for a supposedly cautious person, she really, really enjoys pushing the limits.
Harry winces and gasps along with everyone else when she cuts it pretty close. He has to bite back a laugh when she stops playing long enough to give one of her Beaters a thorough tongue-lashing. The infamous Karl, he can only suppose.
She swings near the Gryffindor box at one point, and this close he can see her expression, face set with a mix of fierce determination and cool competence that fills him with warm, buzzing pride. He shouts encouragement as she passes, and he's probably imagining that she shoots him a smile.
Narrowly ducking under a well-aimed Bludger, Ginny grabs the Quaffle tossed to her by Vaisey and streaks towards the goals. She makes a feint towards the left ring that the Hufflepuff Keeper doesn't fall for, only to immediately shift her weight. The Keeper lunges for the far goal, but Ginny is already following through on her original throw, hooking it through the leftmost ring even as her body heaves off in the other direction.
"Slytherin scores!" the student announcing the game shouts. "That makes six goals for the ferocious Weasley, bringing the score to 90 to 10. It seems Slytherin is the first team to finally crack Hufflepuff's impressive defense."
"What's got into her today?" Demelza moans.
"She must have heard you, Sloper," Jimmy says, giving him a shove.
Dean covers his face like he can't bear to watch. "This is terrible!"
"Hey, better Hufflepuff have to deal with her than us," Jimmy points out.
"Someone catch the damn Snitch!" Ritchie yells, leaning out over the railing.
But the Snitch seems determined not to be found today, and the game carries on, a brutal defensive contest as the Hufflepuffs try to pull themselves together and Slytherin continues to batter them.
Ginny scores again, and the Hufflepuff Beaters are starting to get frustrated, concentrating their attention on her. She's dodging Bludgers as best she can, but one manages to get her in the arm. It doesn't seem to faze her much, though she has to be in pain.
She's in the middle of passing the Quaffle off and avoiding getting her head knocked off by a Bludger when one of the Hufflepuff Chasers plows into her from behind, nearly unseating her.
"Foul," Harry roars, getting only angrier when the call isn't made. "What is Hooch playing at? That was clearly blatching!"
There's a rumble of agreement from a few people around him, but Harry's too irate to notice.
"Hey, if it keeps her from scoring, who cares," Demelza says.
Harry's about to tell her off, but Ginny's already getting her revenge out on the field, intercepting a toss between the Hufflepuff Chasers, and he doesn't want to look away long enough to do it.
"If someone doesn't get the Snitch soon, I'm going to get a bloody broom and do it myself!" Demelza declares.
Movement just below the Hufflepuff goals manages to drag Harry's attention away from Ginny. He feels his heart rate kick up because he's pretty sure it's the Snitch. Reiko seems to think so too, to judge from the way she takes off across the pitch.
"There," Harry says, pointing. "Reiko's got it."
"Really?" Demelza says, shoving forward to the edge of the box.
The Snitch takes Reiko on a bit of a merry chase, giving time for Vaisey to score again. The Hufflepuff Seeker gets in the chase as well, but Reiko has clear advantage, very nearly crashing into the Professor's box in her determination to get the Snitch first. A handful of Professors have to hit the decks, but then Reiko is pulling up, arm held triumphantly above her head.
"Sibazaki has the Snitch!" the announcer roars. "Slytherin wins! Final score 40 to 290."
Out on the field, the Slytherin team is in a triumphant pile, the Hufflepuff team commiserating with each other nearby.
The Gryffindor box is quiet in their misery.
"It could have been worse, I suppose," Jimmy eventually says. "Now all we have to do is win by 390 points."
Ritchie groans. "At least it's Ravenclaw. They're terrible."
Everyone's spirits seem to lift again.
"I don't care if it's weeks away," Demelza declares. "We are doing double drills every damn day!"
"Harry," Ritchie says, turning to him. "Have I mentioned today that I miss you being captain?"
Despite himself, Harry finds himself laughing with his old teammate.
"Please," Demelza says. "He'd be just as annoyed by how much you all suck."
"Maybe, but at least he was always too distracted for double drills!" Dean says.
"Yeah, well, I leave dark wizards to others to take care of, so you're shit out of luck."
She leads a still grumbling Gryffindor team down out of the stands. The pitch below is swarming with students.
"Have fun?" Neville asks.
It's clear from his expression that he hasn't missed Harry's enthusiasm. "Yeah," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "That was fun. Haven't got to see a match in ages. Unless rugby counts."
"Rugby?" Neville asks, looking confused.
"Australia is a strange place," Harry says.
Neville nods as if that makes sense.
Looking back down at the pitch, Harry's eyes skim over the students. A bunch of people from various houses have stopped by to congratulate Reiko. He finally locates Ginny just to the side of her. Demelza is talking to her, a scowl on her face as Ginny laughs.
Harry wants to go down there with a fierceness that is hard to resist, but doesn't particularly trust himself to be remotely discreet.
"I might stay up here until it clears out a bit," Harry says to Neville.
"Yeah," Neville says, like he doesn't blame him for not wanting to be mobbed. "It was nice seeing you."
"You too, Neville," he says with a smile.
For a while Harry contents himself with watching Ginny from the safety of the box, what snatches of her he can see through breaks in the crowd. Eventually he makes his way down. From ground level, he loses her in the crowd, but lingers around the stadium a bit, hoping to at least catch a moment together.
This is how he gets caught out by Slughorn.
"Harry, my boy!" he says, looking incredibly pleased to see him. "I'd read you were back in the country, but I had no idea you would be here today!"
That, of course, had been the idea. To slip in as quietly as possible.
"Hello, Professor," he says, giving him a polite smile and already looking for a way to escape.
But Slughorn takes his arm, turning to the imposing woman standing with him. "You no doubt know who this is, Harry. Have you ever had the pleasure of meeting Gwenog Jones?"
"No," Harry says, holding out his hand. "I haven't. Ms. Jones."
She shakes his hand, grip just slightly past polite in its firmness. "Mr. Potter," she says, and he doesn't know if he's imagining it, but she seems distinctly unimpressed.
It's actually kind of refreshing.
"Well," Slughorn says, "if you will wait here, I will be right back!"
With that he disappears, leaving Harry and Gwenog standing awkwardly together. He has no idea what they are waiting for or why, so he doesn't feel like he can just walk off.
Gwenog is the first to break the uncomfortable silence. "I hear you were a decent Seeker, Potter," she says, voice brusque.
"Decent," he acknowledges, because this is a professional player he's talking to, one of the greatest Beaters ever to play. A couple school matches seems a bit insignificant next to that.
"Have you considered playing?" she asks.
Harry looks at her with surprise. "Professionally? No." For him, Quidditch was always about simple joy. Escape. Being just a normal kid for once. He can't really imagine it as a job.
She eyes him like she's trying to judge his sincerity. "Well, there's no denying you'd put arses in the seats."
It's clear that she means because of his fame and not his skills.
"Never much enjoyed being a mascot," he says, voice mild.
Gwenog snorts, but doesn't comment further, the two of them standing about in uncomfortable silence until Slughorn reappears, Ginny in tow.
Harry straightens up, watching her approach with a dawning sense of panic. Has he somehow given himself away?
"Hi, Harry," Ginny says, something pointed in her tone.
Harry forces himself to take a breath. "Hi. Great match."
She smiles, and god, he wants to touch her, tangled hair and sweat and all. "Thanks."
Slughorn gives them a distracted smile. "Yes, yes. But here she is!" Taking Ginny's arm, he maneuvers her around Harry to where Gwenog is now standing, a frown still on her face, and Harry realizes Ginny's presence here has nothing to do with him.
"Harry," Slughorn says, taking his arm and moving him away from the women. "It's so fortuitous that you are here! I am having one of my little dinners this very evening. As a former member of our club, I would love for you to attend!"
"Oh," Harry says, already feeling the automatic need to find any excuse at all to get out of the stuffy dinner, fueled even more so by his desire not to be shown off like a prize pony.
If Slughorn notices his hesitation, he doesn't let on. "Oh, yes! Ms. Jones will be there. And Miss Weasley, of course. And I'm sure you know many of the students from your time here."
That catches Harry's attention. It may be worth sitting through a dinner if it means spending some time with Ginny. He tries to look properly interested and not overly eager.
"I'm not sure I'm allowed on the grounds after the match has ended," Harry says. He's probably already supposed to be in McGonagall's office.
Slughorn waves a hand like the rules of the castle are just a simple inconvenience. "I'll work it out with Minerva, don't you worry. See you in my rooms at seven?"
It only occurs to Harry then that he's not only been given a chance to see Ginny at the dinner, but also the seven hours until then to hang around Hogwarts.
"I look forward to it, sir," Harry says, never feeling more warmly inclined towards Slughorn in his entire life.
"Call me Horace, Harry! You aren't a student anymore." With that last pronouncement, he crosses back over to where Ginny still is speaking with Gwenog Jones.
Ginny looks over briefly enough just to catch Harry's eye, and he smiles at her. Pushing her hair back from her face, she gives him a quick smile before turning back to Gwenog.
He heads up to the castle to have lunch in the Great Hall, content with knowing that Ginny will find him when she gets the chance.
Ginny surreptitiously looks past Gwenog's shoulder to see Harry heading back up to the castle. Disappointment swells in her stomach at not even getting a moment with him on her own. Having him here watching her match made her feel downright giddy, but it was no replacement for a proper hello after two weeks apart. For a moment she's filled with the rash impulse to run after him, keeping this a secret be damned.
Swallowing back a sigh, she forces herself to focus on Gwenog, knowing how important it is that she's even here. It doesn't mean she doesn't also resent it just the tiniest bit.
This is your future, Ginny, she sternly reminds herself.
By the time she makes her way back into the castle and down to her common room, she knows Harry is more than likely long gone. She still roots around her trunk to pull out the Marauders' Map just to be certain. Her heart leaps a bit when she sees his dot in the Great Hall, sitting at a table with a bunch of his former housemates. She isn't sure how he swung that, just hopes this means she'll be able to catch him before he leaves.
Impatiently, she tugs off her uniform and rushes into the bathroom.
By the time she's showered and changed, Harry is no longer in the Great Hall. But he is in Hagrid's hut. She smiles, not knowing if he's deliberately hanging about because he knows she'll have team things to do. She hopes so.
The rest of her team is already lazing about in the common room. They've even managed to get a bunch of food. She falls onto it with gusto.
"Oh-ho, still willing to eat with the common people, are we?" Martin says.
Reiko snorts. "Thought she'd be eating in some fine establishment with her new famous friends!"
None of them missed her being whisked off to talk to Gwenog Jones. Or have any intention of letting it pass without comment.
Ginny sends them a two-fingered salute and helps herself to another sandwich.
"Well," Martin says. "You are very welcome for making you look so good today."
"Oh, please," Rosier says. "That shot Florian got in on you so was so weak a ghost could have stopped it!"
Ginny rolls her eyes and listens as they all razz each other, reliving all of their greatest moments.
"Don't you have anything to add?" Reiko says, looking at Ginny.
Ginny shakes her head. "I think my job here is pretty much done."
Her last day as their captain. No practices or planning or strategy meetings. She'll never play another match at Hogwarts. It hits her a little harder than she expects it to, busying herself with more food to cover.
She looks up to find them giving each other shifty looks.
"What?" she asks.
They all look to Vaisey. He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Look. We just…wanted to make sure you know how much we appreciate it, you know. You being our captain."
Ginny carefully puts down her sandwich. "Oh," she says.
Vaisey takes a breath and plows on, just as back-footed as Ginny feels, she imagines. "You can be…well, you know, focused and all, and a bit of a tyrant. You expect a lot from us and never let us forget it when we fall short, but even then, you know... Well." He looks helplessly at Rosier.
Reiko seems to take mercy on him. "I think what he's trying to say in his stupid boy way is that you are a great captain and we're going to miss you and those of us who are still here next year, we'll try to do you proud."
Martin points at Reiko, nodding. "What she said."
The rest of the team nods in agreement.
Ginny blinks, opening her mouth but not really sure what to say, feeling a horrid sort of pressure building in her chest.
"And for putting your faith in us," Rosier blurts, not looking at her. "Even if we didn't always live up to it."
"We all make mistakes," Ginny says carefully. "Merlin knows I cocked up that first match."
Martin groans as if in pain at the memory of his own dismal performance.
"You all pretty much sucked that match," Reiko says, looking disgusted. Her own performance was, of course, completely above reproach. "Fortunately for all of you, we're still going to get the cup. I can feel it."
"Yeah," Ginny agrees. "I think we have a pretty good chance." It will be nice to finish her career here like this. Even if she never did get to beat Harry fair and square.
"Just to be sure though, maybe we should slip the Ravenclaw captain a few pointers," Reiko says. "Make sure they know all of Gryffindors' weak spots."
Spoken like a true captain, Ginny thinks with a smile.
"Or maybe we could just get Martin to keep Demelza thoroughly distracted," Nettlebed suggests.
"Yeah, that's not going to happen," Martin mumbles.
"Oh-ho," Nettlebed says. "Trouble in paradise?"
Martin just shrugs.
"A Slytherin and a Gryffindor?" Vaisey says. "Sounds more like a match made in hell."
The boys break out into laughter, Martin giving them a pained grin.
Reiko leans into Ginny. "Is it just me, or are they stupider than normal today?"
Ginny chooses to hold her own counsel on that particular topic. When she has a chance though, she pulls the map out again, laying it on the ground next to her leg where only she can see it. Harry's dot is sill in Hagrid's hut.
She checks back periodically as they continue to talk and work their way through the piles of food. It's been about an hour when she glances down to find his dot missing.
"Damn," she mutters, flipping through the leaves until she finds him again. He's on the move, just passing through the main doors back into the castle.
Watching carefully, she tries to work out his destination. It soon becomes very clear. Ginny scoops up the map, tucking it under her arm. "I have to go deal with something," she says.
"What? Already?" Reiko says.
Martin snorts. "She probably has some people to intimidate. Hasn't made a first year cry all year long."
Ginny gives him an arch look. "Fairly certain I can make you cry without even trying."
"Well, yeah," he says. "Remember last week?"
Ginny rolls her eyes. "I'll be back in plenty of time for the celebration. Though I do have Slughorn tonight."
That riles them up again, all of them loudly ribbing her for her high and important friends. She wonders if maybe she should have one last practice, just to make them all run a million bloody laps.
She pushes to her feet and leaves, but not before Martin waves a metal flask at her in farewell.
Oh, Merlin. It's going to be one of those days.
Slipping out of the common room, she follows the familiar path to her favorite hiding spot.
Leaning her way through a porous wall, Ginny steps out into the cloister. A broken marble beam still slants across the space, but over the last year a soft carpet of moss and grass has spread across the scarred floor. She's caught Tobias napping with a book face down across his chest here more than a few times.
Harry sits on a stone block, head lowered as he flips absently through one of Tobias' paperbacks. The same stone they last sat on together the day after the battle.
"You're still here," she says.
His head lifts with a jerk, a bright smile blooming on his face. "Yes, well, Slughorn decided he couldn't live without having me at his little dinner tonight."
"Brilliant," Ginny says. That is hours and hours away. Even better than she could have hoped.
He sets the book aside, getting to his feet. "Who knew being collected could be so useful?"
She smiles, content for the moment just to take her fill of looking at him and him being here.
"You were brilliant," he says, all full of earnest awe.
She feels her cheeks warm with pleasure. "I was, wasn't I?"
He shifts on his feet, and for a moment everything feels weird and scary, like they don't quite remember how to do this. They've been writing to each other, but this is the first time they've seen each other since that one magical week that somehow seemed like something separate from real life.
She crosses the space, stepping right up to him and winding her arms around his neck.
"Hi," he says, his hands finding her waist, his posture seeming to relax.
"Hi," she says.
Harry's hands tighten on her waist, and he leans closer only to hesitate, like he isn't quite sure if this is okay. Ginny tilts her face up to his in implicit permission, her fingers sliding across the back of his neck, but letting him come to her.
After another awkward hesitation he does, kissing her gently—a cautious hello that quickly morphs into something more intent and focused, his hand flat and firm against her back as he presses nearer. Like usual, once Harry gets past his initial fumbling, he really knows what he's about.
Ginny feels like all the nerves in her body are fighting for attention at once, like the clash of the high from her match and her excitement over seeing Harry again is layering on top of the rush of sensations conjured by the slide of his mouth against hers.
"Well," she says when they reluctantly come up for air. "Glad to know I didn't imagine that."
"Just to be sure," he says, and kisses her again.
She eagerly kisses him back, and if she weren't already dead on her feet, she would gladly never stop.
"Come on," she says. "Let's sit. I'm exhausted."
"Of course," he says, immediately letting go of her. "Sorry."
She shakes her head, pressing her lips to his again just for good measure. "Never apologize for kissing me like that."
He smiles, his hand settling on her hip. "Okay."
They find a spot on the soft patch of grass, talking about Quidditch, pulling the match apart piece by piece for a long while.
They end up stretched out on their backs, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. It's lovely, feeling like there is no one putting demands on her, looking to her for answers or guidance or whatever. Just the two of them, being here together.
She stares up at the light filtering down through the broken marble, letting out a long breath.
"That was a heavy sigh," Harry says.
Her hand bumps against his leg. "It's just nice to relax like this for once." She glances up at him, smiling. "Anyone ever told you that you make a great pillow?"
He smiles. "You'd be the first."
She rolls until she's pressed up against his side and props herself up on an elbow. "Good."
He's got one arm tucked back up under his head, looking relaxed and fit and completely distracting. He brushes a piece of hair back from her face. "Something going on?" he asks.
She leans into his fingers. "Oh, just a decision I need to make."
"About Quidditch?"
Ginny frowns. "Quidditch? No. Thank goodness that is over." The season ended for Slytherin just in time. She doesn't envy Gryffindor and Ravenclaw the stress of three more weeks of practice. "As much as I love it, I need the extra time to focus on these bloody NEWTs."
"Oh. Then what?"
She shifts, her fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt, tracing over the design on his t-shirt. "I can't really talk about it."
"No?" he asks, expression shifting.
"It's nothing," she's quick to say. "I shouldn't have even brought it up."
"Is this about The Parlor?" he asks, lowering his arm from behind his head to trap her hand against his chest.
"Yes," she says, having mentioned it enough in passing that he has a vague idea what that is. As much as anyone outside it does. "Which is why I can't really talk about it."
"Oh," he says. "You mean because you're Mistress?"
She looks down at him in alarm because that is something she has definitely never mentioned. It's not like it's a secret, but it's also not something people tend to speak openly about. "How did you know that?"
He shrugs. "I heard some people call you that once." He looks at her. "It's one of those things that seem to follow you wherever you go. Like Quidditch Captain and DA leader and—" He stops abruptly, but she still knows exactly what he was going to say.
"Heir of Slytherin," she supplies.
"Yeah," Harry says, looking uncomfortable. "I suppose."
She isn't sure of the wisdom of bringing up an old boyfriend, but says it anyway because she wants to know what Harry thinks. "Thompson said those things make me terrifying."
He slides her a look, his fingers tightening around hers. "Maybe to people who don't know you."
Ginny bites back a smile, the way he makes it sound like he clearly knows her better than Thompson ever did.
He waves his hand in the air. "It's like this Chosen One nonsense, right? There's who people assume me to be…and then there's just me." He gives her a self-deprecating smile. "Far less impressive."
She doesn't know about that, but isn't quite willing to shatter Harry's delusions about being a normal person. "So you don't think I'm terrifying?"
"Oh, no," Harry says, laughing. "I definitely think you are."
She pushes at him playfully, and he catches her hands, tugging her towards him. She ends up half draped over his chest, and in no way minds.
Harry's eyes travel over her face. "But not because of a bunch of titles people choose to associate with you."
There are a lot of scarier things between them than that.
It's probably not a sane sort of thing to feel, but she finds it strangely comforting that he's maybe as scared of all of this as she is.
She leans down and kisses him, his hand slipping into her hair.
Far too soon for Harry's taste, Ginny has to return to the Slytherin Common Room.
"I need to keep an eye on things," she says with a grimace as she gets to her feet. "Martin smuggled something in for the celebration. And with Tilly graduated there's no way to know how awful or potent it will be."
He nods. "I suppose I'll visit the Gryffindor common room," he says, trying to muster some enthusiasm when he would much rather just stay here with her.
"You should go down to the pitch."
"Yeah?" he asks, following her back to the entrance to the cloister.
"They've been having pickup games. Neville and Dean and the others. It could be fun."
"Okay, sure," he says.
"And we'll see each other at dinner. Which isn't that far away."
"Yeah," he agrees.
Despite that, he can't help but reach out and grab her arm right before she steps out of the cloister.
She looks back at him. "Harry?"
Pulling her around, he leans in and kisses her. He knows she needs to go, he's just having a bit of a hard time letting her go.
But rather than protesting, she lets out a soft sound, her entire body seeming to relax into him. She seems equally reluctant for the kiss to end.
"You know," she says, "it's probably a good thing you didn't come back this year."
"How's that?" he asks, thumbs brushing her jaw.
"I never would have gotten anything done at all."
He smiles. "Good point."
"I'll see you at dinner," she says, finally stepping back away from him.
He gives her a few minutes' head start before he slowly wanders his way down to the pitch, feeling fit to burst with contentment.
There are a dozen students gathered there, but not a broom in sight. Two rather wonky looking goals are set up at either end of the pitch, a confused gathering of students standing around a single ball. When Ginny said pickup games, he sort of assumed she meant Quidditch, not football.
"Harry," Neville calls out, waving him over.
Harry crosses to where he's standing with two younger students. "Hey."
Neville gestures at the girl by his side. "This is Devon. And that's Tim."
"Hi," Harry says, nodding at them.
The boy gives him an awkward half wave, the girl just looking at him speculatively.
"So football, huh?" Harry asks.
Neville nods. "Devon thought it might be nice to have something a bit more familiar for the Muggleborn students."
"You grew up with Muggles, didn't you?" she asks.
"Yeah," Harry confirms.
"Did you play?"
"A bit," he says, not particularly wanting to remember his primary days of never being chosen for teams and getting deliberately run over by Dudley and his brutal mates. He clearly remembers being clumsy, and he isn't sure if that was just him not being particularly coordinated, or if wearing shoes and clothing three times too big for him had gotten in the way.
She looks relieved. "Anything at all would be helpful honestly."
"I do at least know the rules," he says, frowning as someone asks loudly where the other balls are.
"Only with our feet?" another student asks.
Neville waves a hand towards the Quidditch changing rooms. "There's some spare stuff in there if you want."
"Yeah, sure. I'll be right back."
Harry walks in, vaguely recognizing the tall form of a shirtless Dean Thomas on the other side of the room.
His greeting dies rather squeakily in his throat when he realizes Dean is not alone. In fact, he very clearly has someone backed up against the lockers.
Not just anyone, he realizes a moment later.
"Uh, Harry!" Seamus says, pushing Dean away.
They both look thoroughly kissed and more undressed than not, and Harry's brain kind of fizzles a little. He belatedly averts his eyes, gesturing vaguely back towards the showers. "Uh, I'm gonna…"
He turns and definitely doesn't run, disappearing behind the curtain hanging in the doorway.
He wonders for a moment how he could share a dorm with the two of them for six years and never notice. He shakes his head, focusing back on the task at hand. Football. Clothes.
Sure enough, there is a basket of clean but worn old shirts and abandoned Quidditch trousers. Harry digs out some that fit, changing before setting about Transfiguring his shoes into something a bit more appropriate.
If he lingers overly long at it to make sure to give Dean and Seamus time to clear out or finish or whatever , he tries not to think about it.
When he gets back out, only Dean is still there, fully clothed now and sitting on a bench, clearly waiting for him, one leg bouncing up and down.
Harry weighs the chances that he can sneak by without him noticing.
"Harry," Dean says, popping up to his feet.
So much for that, he thinks, forcing himself to stop. "Yeah?"
"I'm, uh, sorry about that," Dean says, vaguely gesturing back towards the lockers.
Oh, god, they were really going to talk about this. "It's fine."
"You don't particularly look like it's fine," he says.
Harry rubs at the back of his head, feeling very uncomfortable and strangely nettled. "Yeah, well. I wasn't exactly expecting… You know."
"Right," Dean says, something hardening in his expression.
"Okay," Harry says, desperately hoping this can be the end of it.
Dean stays firmly planted, crossing his arms over his chest. "We haven't really told very many people." His chin comes up. "It's not like we're hiding it or anything. But it's kind of nobody's business really. After the war it just…"
Harry can definitely relate to that. It also explains why he hadn't heard about this. He's kind of glad to know he isn't that unobservant.
"Look, would you mind just…keeping this to yourself?"
"Oh," Harry says. "Sure. Of course. No problem."
"Great," Dean says, but he doesn't sound particularly pleased. In fact, he kind of looks angry. But he also finally turns and leaves, and Harry's very glad to escape.
Once they're outside, Harry notices Seamus send Dean a concerned look. Dean just shakes his head, Seamus' expression hardening as he looks at Harry. Almost as if Harry has done something wrong.
Or been mean to his boyfriend.
It kinda clicks in Harry's brain then, somehow managing to break through his discomfort. He grabs for Dean's arm, pulling him to a stop.
"Harry?" Dean asks, sounding wary.
"It's important," he blurts.
"What?"
"You know," Harry says, floundering a bit, but definitely not wanting them to get the wrong impression. "Um, after the war. Holding on to the things—the people—that matter."
Dean seems to study Harry's expression for a long moment. "Yes," he says. "Exactly."
"So that's good. Right?"
"I think it is," he says.
"I do too," Harry says. "Honestly."
Dean's shoulders finally relax. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Harry gives him a sheepish smile. "I just don't particularly like walking in on people snogging. It was bad enough living with Ron and Hermione."
Dean looks intrigued. "Oh, really? Do tell."
Harry pulls a face. "Can we stop talking about this now? Because I want to see just how ridiculous wizards trying to play football is."
"Oh my god," Dean says, slapping him on the shoulder. "You have no idea."
The football match is a bit of a mud disaster by the end, but still probably the most fun Harry's had in a while. He isn't even half bad, especially considering the wizard-born portion of the group kept tripping over themselves. Still, as fun as it was, he's very eager to get to Slughorn's dinner, speeding through a shower and a change so he can arrive at Slughorn's room right at seven. He plans on taking advantage of every moment with Ginny he can.
Unfortunately, Ginny is not quite so punctual. Which means Harry gets another chance to stand about with Slughorn and Gwenog in the most awkward conversation he's ever had, which is saying something really. It'll be worth it, he reminds himself.
Any small annoyance Harry may feel towards Ginny disappears completely the moment she (finally) walks in the door.
She looks absolutely amazing. He's fairly certain the dark, kinda pink robes she's wearing are the same ones she wore to Muriel's on Easter, but that doesn't lessen the impact. She's done something to her face too, her lips a deeper color than normal which only reminds him of how she looks when she's been thoroughly kissed.
Suddenly this dinner seems like a terrible idea.
"That is Miss Dorinda Hale," Slughorn says.
Harry drags his eyes away from Ginny, looking up at his old professor. "I'm sorry, sir?"
Slughorn gives him a knowing smile. "Quite possibly the most beautiful witch to grace these halls since Rowena herself."
It takes Harry a moment to realize he's talking about the girl standing next to Ginny.
"Oh," he says, honestly not having even noticed the younger witch. "Right."
She is rather pretty he supposes, attention already returning to Ginny.
Ginny catches his eye, giving him a warm smile as she brushes her hair back from her face in a gesture of careless annoyance like she would much rather have it pulled back. He grins at her before forcing himself to listen to whatever new thing Slughorn has started nattering on about.
Neville and Luna arrive not much later, and Harry takes it as a chance to escape. He nearly gets waylaid by a much younger student who stares at him like he's something astounding. When the boy doesn't manage anything other than stuttering a few unintelligible syllables, Harry smiles distractedly at him and keeps going.
"Hi, Luna," Harry says as he steps up next to her. He's happy to see her, and not just because she's good company. She wasn't part of the Slug Club back in his school days. It raises Slughorn in his estimation a bit if he finally realized how brilliant Luna is. "How are you?"
"Quite well," she says, smiling up at him, the strange mushroom-looking things hanging from her ears swinging wildly.
"All recovered from the football match?" Neville asks.
Harry laughs. "Yeah. That was fun."
"Sports have never really been my thing," Neville says with a wince—he'd definitely fallen down his fair share. "But it's nice to see the Muggleborns get a chance to share part of their culture."
"Yeah," Harry asks. "I hadn't ever thought of that."
Neville shrugs. "Tobias and Hannah, you know. On a bit of a rampage about it. Making Muggleborns feel more welcome."
"Are either of them coming?" Harry asks.
Neville shares a look with Luna, his lips pressing together. "Well, Slughorn was quite keen on getting the 'full set'."
"Full set?" Harry asks.
"You know, the DA leaders," Neville says, voice a bit dismissive. "Me, Luna, Ginny. But Hannah refuses to be collected. I think she finds all the fuss a bit alarming."
Luna makes a small humming sound. "She doesn't believe she's done anything special enough to deserve the attention." Her eyes find Harry. "Quite like you."
"Well," Harry says, pulling at his collar.
"I honestly don't know why I keep coming either," Neville admits. "I never know what to do."
"Because the pudding is quite good," Luna points out.
Neville laughs. "Of course." He smiles fondly at Luna, and Harry wonders if maybe he keeps coming so Luna won't have to be on her own.
"And Burke?" Harry asks.
"No," Neville says, looking amused. "Slughorn did apparently want him. But Tobias refuses to do anything that doesn't serve his purpose, he's always quick to say, and Slughorn's got nothing he wants. Even Ginny can't get him to come."
Harry glances over to where Ginny is standing with the Carrow twins. One of whom has chopped her hair and dyed it a rather alarming shade of violet.
"Well then," Harry says, "I suppose it must be an impossible task then."
"Look who we have here," a voice drawls.
Harry tears his attention away from Ginny to see that Blaise Zabini has joined them, Melinda Bobbin on one side and a younger brown-haired boy Harry doesn't know on the other.
"Zabini," Harry says with the barest level of civility.
He was one of the few Slytherins in Harry's year to return to Hogwarts other than Malfoy. While completely cleared of any wrongdoing during the war, Harry still doesn't find himself feeling particularly charitable towards him.
"Potter," he returns. "The greatest jewel in Slughorn's cap. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here. Come to soak up some adoration?"
"Mostly I was just looking for an excuse to spend the day at Hogwarts. See some good friends." Harry looks at Luna, and she gives him a bright smile
"Well, lucky you, getting to skive off," the guy next to Zabini says. "Suppose they're just giving you your NEWTs."
Harry's eyes narrow.
"Aren't you and Ron and Hermione coming back to sit them in June?" Neville intervenes, giving the wizard a hard look that is actually impressively intimidating.
"Yeah," Harry says, voice tight. His attention is caught by movement on the other side of the room. Ginny is watching them from across the room, her eyes coolly assessing. "We are."
"Made special accommodations for you, of course," he responds snidely.
Melinda laughs, something light and tinkling but no less vicious for it. "Crispin," she says, addressing the boy, "didn't you know that one must always make way for the great savior of the wizarding world?"
Okay, Harry decides, that's it. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but Neville gets there first.
"Yes, one must," he says. "So why don't you make way by buggering off?"
Zabini looks delighted. "Oh, Longbottom. I'm impressed. Got your knickers in a bit of a twist?"
"You an expert in wearing knickers, Zabini?" Harry says.
Luna lets out a completely unsubtle belly laugh, arms wrapping around her middle as if this is the funniest thing she's ever heard. Nearly everyone in the room turns to look.
Their three antagonists look confused by this sudden outburst, but Harry knows with absolutely certainly that he's going to start hexing people if they turn their snide remarks on Luna.
Before anything can escalate further though, a high chime sounds, signaling the beginning of dinner. With one last dismissive look, Zabini and his mates turn for the table.
"Can't tell you how happy I am to be back," Harry says.
Neville makes a sympathetic sound before following Luna to the table.
Harry looks around to try and find Ginny. But Slughorn is already in the process of seating her next to Gwenog, the girl Dorinda claiming the seat on her other side. Slughorn looks to Harry next, clearly hoping to have him easily within reach for maximum mortification. He scrambles to grab a seat next to Neville, but that leaves the seat next to him open.
The young, starstruck student from earlier beelines for the open seat.
Harry sighs, reminding himself that this is all worth it. Just to get to watch Ginny smile and eat her dinner.
He's clearly completely lost his mind.
He looks over at Ginny just in time to see her make some sort of a signal with her hand to someone. The next thing he knows, someone is sliding into the seat next to him. Only it isn't the overly eager young student.
The Carrow twin with the bright purple hair turns to him, holding her hand out. "Hestia," she supplies.
He fumbles to shake her hand. "Uh, Harry," he says.
"Yes," she says, lips twisting with amusement. "I'd worked that out, strangely enough."
"Right," he says, feeling stupid.
Hestia, it turns out, is a pleasant enough dining companion. Mostly in that she doesn't ask him a lot of annoying questions and keeps the overly enthusiastic second-year on her other side from fawning over Harry.
Unfortunately, there is absolutely nothing to keep Slughorn from booming loudly down the table about what an honor and a pleasure it is to have Harry here. The distance between them seems to not be a deterrence at all. Not that he probably would have spoken more quietly even if Harry were directly next to him.
Slughorn turns to Gwenog with great theatricality. "On top of all his enormous feats of bravery, he also has a dab hand at potions. Like a dream. I taught his mother, you know. Such a lovely girl."
He sighs a bit, looking at Harry with sad eyes.
Harry clenches his jaw, looking down at his plate.
"But Harry," Slughorn says, recovering himself. "Mark my word. He'll go places. Wouldn't be surprised if he were Minister of Magic one day!"
Harry considers it an enormous feat of self-control that he doesn't tell Slughorn that being Minister of Magic sounds like the last job on earth he'd ever want.
Of course, the arsehole from earlier just takes this as more proof of Harry's arrogance, sniffing dismissively.
"Nice to have things handed out on silver platters, I imagine. Some of us, of course, will have to earn our way." He slides a glance in Harry's direction.
Harry's hand tightens in his napkin, feeling his tenuous hold on his temper finally beginning to give.
"Some, meaning you, Crispin?" Ginny asks, voice mild.
She hasn't spoken particularly loudly, but everyone at the table still stops what they're doing, all side conversations instantly quieting.
Next to Harry, Hestia leans forward, expression watchful.
Crispin's eyes narrow as he regards Ginny, but Harry can't help but notice that he looks a little wary. "What are you insinuating?"
Ginny smiles, something all knowing and completely devoid of any real warmth. "Nothing. After all, I suppose it is hard work, having to pay Laughton five galleons apiece to write your Potions essays for you."
She drops this factoid casually out onto the table like she's talking about the weather, calmly talking a sip of her drink, even as her eyes keep the poor git pinned in place.
Crispin's face drains of color, eyes darting to Slughorn in horror.
From next to Ginny, Dorinda lets out a low whistle. "You better hope that thick-witted Gryffindor you have writing your History of Magic essays doesn't realize you're short-changing her."
"That is a lie," he belatedly stutters.
"You pay her five galleons too?" Hestia says, blinking with faux confusion.
"No! That's not what I—" He looks to Zabini as if for help, but he just turns casually to Melinda on his other side and starts a quiet conversation, effectively abandoning him.
Ginny leans back in her chair. "Remind me, do your parents pay you a quarterly allowance or do you have to earn all that money?"
For a second Harry thinks Crispin going to explode at Ginny, his hand already inching towards his wand just in case. Ginny just sits, utterly relaxed, and gazes straight back at him as if she knows with absolute certainty that she will win this battle—not with wands, but with words and knowledge and blinding nerve. It's a bit like watching her play Quidditch. The way she has carefully and thoroughly eviscerated her opponent.
This, Harry realizes with sudden clarity, is the girl people talk about in half-swallowed whispers.
Gwenog is watching Ginny very closely, a small smile playing about her lips.
The guy collapses back in his seat, looking small in his defeat.
Ginny doesn't smirk or let on at all that she knows she's won, instead turning to Gwenog. "Oh, Ms. Jones," she says. "Your drink is empty. Let us get that fixed for you."
There is a pregnant pause at the table, and for a moment Harry foolishly wonders if he's supposed to fetch it, but then a few people get up at once, refilling drinks and starting up new topics of conversation like nothing at all happened.
Harry doesn't think he's imagining that no one is daring to so much as look in his direction anymore.
He leans towards Luna and Neville. "Are these dinners always this exciting now?"
Luna shakes her head. "No. I think this has something to do with you, Harry."
Neville laughs like this is a joke, but Luna just gazes steadily back at Harry, and he can't help but think she's quite serious.
"You should have seen what she did to Higgs when he said something particularly nasty about me last week," Neville say, voice lowered. "Not that she'll ever admit it was her."
Luna gives Harry a serene smile. "Ginny is very protective of her people."
Rather than touching that comment, Harry turns his attention back to his plate, blindly shoveling some food in his mouth.
For the rest of the dinner, no one floats even a single comment in Harry's direction that isn't scrupulously polite, no matter how ridiculous Slughorn gets.
Ginny casually glances around the room, not letting her eyes linger when she finally spots Harry safely tucked away in the corner with Luna and Neville. Originally she planned on joining them after Gwenog took her leave, but thanks to her little display at dinner she thinks it's probably wiser to keep her distance.
She bites back a sigh.
It was hardly subtle, the way she dealt with Crispin, but then again, cunning is really about knowing what tool is required in any given situation. A blunt hex between the eyes seems to be exactly what Crispin needed. He's been becoming more and more of a problem the last few months-belligerent with younger students in the halls, even being stupid enough to get handsy with Dorinda once. He may generally wield his intellect rather than his fists, but it doesn't make him any less of a bully. And Ginny will not stand for another bully getting comfortable at Hogwarts.
No matter what.
The fact that on top of being a bully he's also a hypocrite, well, that's just a beautiful way for his own shortcomings to be his downfall. Whatever ends up happening to Crispin, he deserves it. Ginny doesn't plan on losing any sleep over it.
"Lord," Dorinda says, looking very satisfied by this evening's events. "If you promised to eviscerate someone every time Slughorn hosted one of these, we'd all enjoy them a lot more."
Hestia snorts into her drink. "Well, it's important for people to remember that being a prat comes with a cost."
Melinda chooses that moment to sidle up to the group of girls. "Merlin, Slytherin are so bloody dramatic. Always nattering on about everything having a cost."
"Because everything does," Flora says, eyes narrowing.
"I suppose you'd know that better than most," Melinda says with a sly look.
Flora flushes.
Melinda may not be the empty windbag Crispin is, but dangerous or not, Ginny isn't going to stand by and let her perpetuate this Carrows nonsense.
"Melinda," Ginny says, voice calm. "Go away."
Melinda looks distinctly unimpressed, but still takes a step back. "Gladly," she sniffs as if she is well rid of their company.
Only once she is clearly out of earshot does Dorinda joyously observe, "What a bitch."
Ginny shakes her head, turning to the girl next to her. "Flora," she says, touching her arm.
Her chin comes up, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. "Yes, I know. People's perceptions of me only matter when they are useful to me," she rattles off.
Still, it doesn't make it hurt any less.
"Especially the perceptions of idiots and arseholes," Ginny reminds her.
Flora lets out a shaky laugh, Hestia squeezing her fingers.
Inexplicably, Ginny feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise in a wave, followed closely by the slight pressure of a hand against her arm. Sliding her eyes to the side, she is unsurprised to see nothing but empty space.
A quick glance over to the corner confirms that Harry has disappeared. She's actually impressed that his patience lasted as long as it has.
"Well," Ginny says. "I think I'm going to turn in."
"Had enough excitement for one night?" Hestia teases.
"Something like that," she says with a smile. She presses a kiss to Flora's cheek. "Goodnight."
After thanking Hestia for her help tonight and waving goodbye to Neville and Luna, Ginny slips out into the hall. She slowly walks down to a nearby corridor, one less prone to foot traffic at this time of night.
Coming to a stop, it's only a matter of moments before Harry pulls her under the cloak with him.
It's lighter than she expects, air seeming to easily flow through the silky material. It doesn't make it feel any less intimate, tucked under there with Harry, so close after spending the last two hours keeping her distance and pretending not to notice him. It's a little overwhelming, if she's honest. Glancing down, she notices that the cloak is hovering a few inches off the floor.
"They'll still be able to see our feet," she points out, finding that little detail easier to focus on at the moment.
"No one is going to be looking for our feet," he says, voice amused, but still guides her into a nearby alcove. He adjusts the cloak, pinning the edge of it to the wall above her head, letting the bulk of it hang down behind him to shield them completely from view.
"Better?" he asks.
"Not quite," she says, and lifts up on her toes to kiss him. Having to sit across from him and not speak to or touch him was harder than she expected.
Harry very eagerly tries to kiss her back, the cloak starting to slip as he reaches for her. With a curse, he grabs for the edge, trapping it against that wall again. She laughs at his antics, feeling something warm rise in her stomach.
"Sodding cloak," he mutters, wrangling it back into place.
She watches him struggle with it, his forehead creased with annoyance. It reminds her of how uncomfortable he looked through nearly the entire dinner. She reaches out to rest her hand on his chest, feeling the moment it takes for him to relax under the touch.
"I'm sorry that was so awful."
His expression clears, his attention once again focusing on her. "It wasn't that bad."
She gives him a look of disbelief. Anyone could see how miserable he was.
He lets out a breath. "Okay," he concedes. "Dinner was awful. But definitely still worth it."
The look he's giving her leaves little doubt just what made it bearable for him. Her fingers press into his chest, the shared space under the cloak seeming to close tighter around them despite the fact that he hasn't moved.
His smile is warm. "The second half in particular was almost downright pleasant. People were so polite to me."
Ginny lowers her eyes, fixing her gaze on one of the buttons on his shirt. "Were they?"
This time, he does actually step closer. "You know," he says, voice lowering, "you didn't have to do that for me. Back there."
"Of course I did," she says. If someone wants to come after Harry, they're coming after her too. That's just the way it is. "He had that coming long before he started being an arse to you, I can assure you."
Though, if she's completely honest, that was not exactly the way she imagined taking him down a peg. It may have been effective, but it wasn't particularly planned. She remembers the icy burst of anger she hadn't been able to control. She supposes she's just lucky she didn't make more of a spectacle of herself than she had.
Harry is just grinning at her.
"What?" she asks, feeling flustered in a way she rarely does when she isn't around him.
He shakes his head. "You're just amazing is all."
"Hardly."
"Amazing," he insists. "Whether you are kicking arse on the Quidditch pitch or making idiots piss themselves or just…eating toast."
She can't help but laugh. "Eating toast?"
His nose scrunches up. "Yeah, I stumbled on that last one. Doesn't make it any less true though."
She leans back against the wall, smiling up at him. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I eat toast."
"You should," he says, ducking his head and kissing her. He manages to free one hand without dislodging the cloak, wrapping his arm around her waist, pressing close.
She doesn't know if it's his looming departure or their approaching separation, maybe the way she is firmly backed against the wall with the cloak close and quiet around them, but there is something about this kiss that only increases the sensation that she is losing control.
She has no idea if she is supposed to find that as exhilarating as she does.
Resting his forehead against hers, he says, "I don't want to go."
She doesn't want him to either, her fingers curling into his shirt. "You'll be back."
His shoulders stiffen. "That will be different."
She winces, feeling stupid for speaking so thoughtlessly, because while it's true that he's coming back in only two weeks, it's also for something nowhere near as pleasant as a Quidditch match. Or even Slughorn's dinners.
In two weeks it will be May 2nd.
They consider each other, the heaviness of that event falling between them, thinking about where they each were a year ago. She was hiding in the Room of Requirement, trying desperately to think of a way around her Trace, her rapidly narrowing options. The inescapable wonder of where Harry was. How it might all end.
He was probably still at Shell Cottage, watching Hermione recover from being tortured by Bellatrix. Struggling and planning a way to get the next Horcrux, maybe already suspecting what was hiding inside him all along.
She leans forward, resting her cheek against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart.
"I'm so glad you're here," she says, and they both know she means more than just visiting her today.
He's here.
He wraps his other arm around her, letting the cloak flutter down about their heads as he hugs her tight. "Me too," he says.
The castle is quiet around them as the hour stretches later and later.
Neither of them move.