Harry lifts a large box from the back of the moving truck, carefully maneuvering his way across the sidewalk. Catching a neighboring Muggle peering curiously over the hedge, he tries to give them a friendly smile.
Nothing to see here, he thinks. Just some completely normal people moving in.
The Muggle doesn't seem particularly convinced, quickly dropping back out of sight behind the foliage.
Adjusting his hold, Harry crosses into the house, passing through the entryway and into a room that will more than likely be the dining room. He's almost made it when he hears the first ominous sound of tape giving way.
He lets out a curse, the bottom of the box ripping open. Somehow, before the carefully wrapped china can hit the floor, the plates freeze mid-air to hover perfectly inches from the ground.
"Careful!" Hermione admonishes, flicking her wand. The plates lift up in a smooth arc to settle in an orderly pile.
Harry gapes at her. "You said no magic!" They have, after all, spent the last three hours schlepping boxes inside for her parents for a reason.
Hermione pushes her hair back from her face. "Yes, well, that was a special case."
"What? You know that makes no sense." Anyone could have easily looked in a window, after all. That nosey neighbor for one. She already lectured him for what felt like an hour about the importance of her parents making a good impression on the new Muggle neighbors.
"It makes perfect sense!" she says, voice going shrill.
It's not that Harry isn't very happy to have his friends back, that he wasn't nearly giddy when they first arrived. But Hermione been like this, tightly wound and nearly manic, nearly the entire time since.
They'd come by plane with her parents, Harry meeting them to help get everything moved into the nice home, even if it's in a different town than the one the Grangers lived in before.
We don't want to be where we were, we want to be where you are, her parents apparently said.
And maybe that's part of it, this new move and new place, and her parents being back, but not really. They may have their memories back, but they aren't the same people. Not exactly. Then again, he supposes none of them are.
Ron sticks his head in to see what the fuss is about, and Harry is definitely relieved to see him, silently pleading for him to handle the situation.
Ron just lifts both of his hands and disappears, apparently not wanting to tempt his barmy girlfriend's wrath.
Harry makes a sound of disgust. Leaving them alone for that long has clearly ruined Ron.
"These go in the kitchen," Hermione says, hands on her hips.
"Can't you just levitate them there?" Harry mutters under his breath.
"What was that?" she asks, scarily reminiscent of McGonagall.
"Nothing." Leaning down and picking up the stack of plates, he obediently carries them into the kitchen.
"Thank you, Harry," Mrs. Granger says, giving him a fond smile from where she carefully unloads flatware into a drawer.
"'Course," he says.
They finally take a break in the early afternoon, the three of them eating slices of pizza around an unopened box. Now that he isn't lugging boxes around or being yelled at by Hermione, he's able to really appreciate how nice it is just to be here with his mates.
"When did you join an Aussie Quidditch team?" Ron asks.
"What?" Harry asks.
Ron passes a section of the paper he's reading over to Harry. There's a picture in it of him with Gwenog Jones from his trip to Hogwarts last weekend. It's hard to tell who looks the most uncomfortable between the two of them. The article below reports that Harry secretly joined an Australian Quidditch team while he was away and really came back just to size up new recruits from the Hogwarts teams.
Maybe that explains Gwenog's strange animosity. She thought he was trying to steal Ginny away to another team.
It's a ridiculous rumor on many levels, but he supposes he doesn't have a better explanation for being at the match that doesn't involve him just wanting to see his girlfriend.
He pauses.
His girlfriend.
It feels strange to think of Ginny that way, even though clearly that's what she is. Right?
He smiles.
"You seem...happy," Hermione says, sounding almost wary.
Harry laughs, dropping the paper back to the floor. "What, you expected me to be all sad and mopey without you lot?"
"Well," Ron says. "Yeah. We did." He peers at Harry, as if inherently suspicious of a happy Harry.
"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry says, looking down at his pizza.
Ron waves it away. "I'm sure you'll get back to normal soon."
Harry feels a prick of conscience. Keeping his relationship with Ginny quiet seemed almost a lark when it was just sneaking around the Burrow and Hogwarts and dreaming up ways to steal time with each other. With Ron and Hermione around…it feels so much more like lying.
He tells himself that Ginny will be back from Hogwarts in less than two months. Everything should be settled enough by then for him to bring it up.
And if out of guilt, he is a bit more patient with Hermione's mood, they seem to chalk it up to him missing them.
"Absolutely not," Harry says, red-hot anger roiling in his chest as he shoves to his feet.
"Harry," Kingsley says. "It's important to—"
"I don't care," Harry cuts across him, a few people in the stuffy meeting room gasping with shock at his nerve. But frankly, Harry doesn't care if he is talking to the bloody Minister of Magic. "You want to pin some medal on me in front of everyone—"
"The people need their heroes, Mr. Potter," Macmillan says, voice calm and unruffled, every hair perfectly in place as if Harry's anger can't reach him. "Don't you think they deserve that? Something positive in the midst of all of this?"
This, of course, meaning the war, the dead and missing and a giant stone monument with names carved on it as if that somehow can fix anything.
"The people deserve truth," Harry says. "Not lies and pageantry. Or have you all forgotten how we got here in the first place?"
Kingsley has the grace to look a little embarrassed, but the other officials just give Harry unimpressed looks.
Harry leans his hands on the table, glaring around at the room full of officials staring at him. "I don't do anything without Ron and Hermione there with me. You want heroes, they're the real heroes. Pinning some medal on me and not them is a lie."
"They aren't candy to be handed out at your will, Mr. Potter," one of the wizards says.
Harry turns on him and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask him exactly where he'd been during the war. Hiding in a mansion somewhere? Sitting right here, not making any waves? How many of the wizards in this room did that?
"Besides which," someone says, voice barely audible. "Miss Granger is…"
"Is what?" Harry says, spearing him with a hard look. "A Muggleborn?"
The man's face flushes deep crimson. "Of course not. I mean, yes, but I wasn't insinuating…"
"That a Muggleborn can't be awarded the Order of Merlin?" Harry finishes for him. "Surely she wouldn't be the first."
The wizards all give each other uneasy looks, and Harry realizes with alarm that she probably is.
With difficulty, he swallows back his disgust, returning his attention to Kingsley. "They gave up everything to help me. Hermione was tortured, had 'Mudblood' carved into her arm rather than betray the cause. Ron saved my life multiple times, nearly losing his own in the process. And both did just as much as I did to destroy Voldemort, if not more."
Almost everyone in the room flinches, and Harry still can't believe how many people can't even bear to hear the name.
He straightens, shoving his chair back into place, the table shuddering under the impact. It's time get out of here before he really loses his temper. "I don't need this bloody medal. Frankly, I don't even want it. But if you think the people need it for some reason, fine. But it's all of us or none of us."
He strides out of the room, barely restraining himself from slamming the door on the way out.
He's near the lift when someone calls out his name.
"Harry."
He forces himself to come to a stop, and if it were anyone other than Kingsley, he wouldn't have even done that.
"Harry," he says. "I understand how you feel."
"Do you?" Harry shoots back.
Kingsley regards him, his expression set.
Harry blows out a breath. Yes, of course he does. Kingsley risked a lot, he was right there with the rest of them fighting. And he, unlike everyone else in that room, actually knows what Ron and Hermione helped him do.
"I'm sorry," Harry says, dragging a hand through his hair.
Kingsley waves away the apology. "I know we all want the world to be a certain way, Harry. But the truth is, things are still tenuous. More tenuous than I'd like."
He's aged, Harry can see. There's something worn about him now that isn't the war, but a year in this job.
"It's important to show a united front," Kingsley says.
I must not tell lies.
The anger crawls back up Harry's throat. "If you're worried I'm going to run out and make a scene over this with the press, I don't think you know me very well."
With a sigh, Kingsley nods, conceding the point.
"I've said what my terms are clearly enough. Goodbye, Minister."
Kingsley flinches at the formal title, just the tiniest bit. Harry tries to feel bad about that, but he's not going down this path again. He isn't a bloody symbol. He's a person.
"Goodbye, Harry."
When he gets home, Harry pulls out his parchment, spilling out the entire story.
Did I do the right thing?
I think you already know the answer to that, Ginny replies.
He lets out a breath, leaning back in his chair. She's right, of course. He may not even begin to fathom how politics work, but he bloody well knows what's right.
I just wish I could have been there to see it.
Harry smiles. He considers it for a moment, having Ginny by his side, her having his back the same way she had during Slughorn's terrible dinner.
I wish you could have been too.
At the end of the week, owls arrive for Ron and Hermione, informing them that the Ministry will be presenting them with the Order of Merlin, First Class at the upcoming May 2nd memorial.
"Blimey," Ron says, eyes wide.
"Well deserved," Harry says, clapping him on the shoulder.
Hermione gives Harry a long look, but doesn't ask.
At the sound of polite applause, Ginny jerks back to her surroundings, glancing around The Parlor. She belatedly joins in on the applause. Somehow she's missed Nicola's entire demonstration, her attention having wandered way off.
"I'm sorry," Ginny says to Nicola after, certain that the girl wouldn't have missed her lack of focus.
"It's okay," Nicola says with a strained smile. "We all know what day it is."
"Yeah." The entire castle has felt strange today, people quiet at dinner, huddled into small groups. "Could you show me again?"
"Of course," Nicola says, picking up the little metal machine.
Long after most of the girls wander off to bed, Ginny finds herself still wide-awake. She stares at the wall where the passageway to the Room of Requirement used to be, long since having disappeared along with the room itself.
A year ago.
It's near midnight when she finally slips out of The Parlor and through the dark and empty common room. Rather than going to her dorm, she heads out into the castle.
When she gets to the DA room, she's unsurprised to see Hannah, Luna, and Neville already there, seated at a small table together.
"Hey," she says, taking the empty seat waiting for her.
Hannah reaches out and squeezes her hand. "Couldn't sleep either?"
"Didn't try," she admits.
"Yeah," Neville agrees, looking nearly worn as she feels. "It's hard to believe it's been a year already."
"It feels like longer than that," Hannah says. "But also…"
"Less," Ginny says, knowing what Hannah means. The battle feels like lifetimes ago, but also fresh and raw and like it's just one moment away from flaring back into reality. She can feel it all bubbling just under the surface, the panic and fear and cold determination to just keep moving forward.
"At least we're all here," Neville says. "You know, together."
Luna smiles at him.
"I wonder where we'll be next year?" Hannah asks.
"Here," Neville says. "I mean, if we can. We should always try."
"Yeah," Ginny agrees, even as she wonders if there will come a time that they won't feel the need to mark it. Not because the people and sacrifices have stopped meaning something, but that the terror of the event will have finally lost its power. Like maybe May 2nd being a day like any other might be the greatest remembrance.
But not this year. And probably not for many, many years to come.
"Part of us will always be here," Luna says.
"Yeah," Ginny agrees. "I suppose so."
"I thought I might find you four here," a voice says.
Ginny turns to see McGonagall standing in the doorway.
"Sorry, Professor," Neville says, looking alarmed at being caught. "We just couldn't sleep."
Only McGonagall doesn't look particularly concerned that curfew is long past. "May I join you?"
"Of course," Neville says, scrambling to his feet for another chair to add to the table.
Hannah looks to Ginny with wide eyes, as if wondering if she knows what to make of this. Ginny just lifts a shoulder in response, not having a clue.
McGonagall settles on the chair, adjusting her robes as they all wait in silence. "I know none of you are particularly fond of public attention, so I thought this might be a better time than at dinner."
"A better time for what?" Ginny asks.
McGonagall folds her hands on the table. "I understand that I don't begin to know the extent of what the four of you did that terrible year to help your fellow students." She shakes her head when they give each other alarmed looks. "And I am not asking to know."
Ginny feels her shoulders relax.
McGonagall's expression softens, her eyes gazing off in the distance. "We perhaps became too comfortable, too set in our ways here in Hogwarts, so much so that we forgot what this school should be." She looks around at the four of them. "You have shown that to us. In many ways the four of you represent the best of Hogwarts. Your cunning, your creativity, your bravery, and above all your kindness and refusal to give up. I am not the Minister, I don't have to right to bestow medals upon you, but as many of your classmates have reminded me this past week, I do have the right to do this."
She pulls herself up, clearing her throat.
"Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, and Ginny Weasley, for dedication and risk above and beyond any standards of bravery, I award all four of you with a Special Award for Services to the School, as well as my sincere thanks."
With a wave of her wand, a large plaque appears in the middle of the table, shiny brass with their names clearly inscribed next to their houses. "This will go in the awards case in the hopes that it will help us never forget again the lesson you have taught us."
Hannah's grip on Ginny's hand is nearly painful. She looks to Neville who is staring at the plaque in mild astonishment, and Luna, who is smiling in pleasure, mostly likely at her friends' accomplishments being acknowledged.
"Thank you, Professor," Ginny says. "But we didn't do any of it for honor or glory or awards."
They didn't even do it for each other. They did it because it had to be done. Because it was painfully necessary.
Ginny wishes to Merlin it had never been necessary.
"Yes, I know," McGonagall says. "But it is all I have to give."
"And we appreciate it," Hannah rushes to say. "Thank you so much."
"Yes," Neville belatedly says. "Thank you."
McGonagall nods, the plaque disappearing with a swish of her hand. "Now, if you'll come with me," she says, pushing to her feet.
They all warily follow her out into the hall, surprised when instead of leading them to the closest common room, she takes them to the Great Hall.
Inside are dozens of students, a table of food on one side, piles of squishy purple sleeping bags on the other.
"Apparently you four were not the only students who could not sleep," McGonagall says, voice wry. "I trust I can rely on you to keep an eye on things?"
Neville nods, grinning at her. "Of course, Professor."
"Good. Then I shall retire. Goodnight."
Voices lift in greeting as people notice them.
"This feels right," Hannah says, smiling at the room of students.
"It does," Neville agrees.
Luna takes his hand, leading him towards the table loaded with pudding.
"I'll be right back," Ginny says to Hannah, before following McGonagall out.
"Professor," she calls, quickening her step to catch up.
McGonagall pauses, turning back to look at her. "Yes, Miss Weasley?"
"In the awards case," she says, feeling slightly out of breath, "there is another special award for services plaque…" One nearly fifty years old, providing glory for a name that deserves none.
McGonagall's forehead creases as it takes her a moment to realize which one Ginny is talking about.
Tom Riddle.
"I shall have it removed," she promises.
Ginny nods, thankful not to have to speak the name, not tonight of all nights. "Thank you."
McGonagall reaches out, her hand firm on Ginny's arm as her fingers squeeze gently. "Your house should be very proud of you. As we all are."
Ginny swallows back against the tightness in her throat. "Goodnight, Professor."
"Goodnight."
Turning back for the Great Hall, Ginny joins her schoolmates to wait for dawn to break and the sun to rise once more.
The one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts falls on a Sunday. Inside the Great Hall, now clear of sleeping bags and a long night's worth of detritus, the students sit at tables quietly eating breakfast. Part of that is exhaustion. But maybe some of that is respect for the heavy feeling of the day ahead of them.
Ginny sits next to Tobias, trying to work up the appetite to eat anything. Tries to think about food and simple actions and not the burn of smoke in her nose and the feel of Tobias' blood on her shaking fingers.
He shoves his mostly untouched plate back. "Can we just go outside?"
"Yeah," Ginny agrees, getting to her feet.
She winds her arm through his, the two of them walking silently through the halls now completely repaired. Through the entranceway she once dragged him across.
Outside, the sky is clear, the crisp spring winds having finally given away to warm sunshine. A beautiful day for a truly horrible event.
Ginny takes in a deep breath, trying to let the smell of grass and pollen and clear air wash it all away.
Rows and rows of chair stretch down the lawns towards a stage built up near the lake. It viscerally reminds her of the day of Dumbledore's funeral two years before. Only now there is a large stone monument towering above the pale white of Dumbledore's tomb.
Groups of people are already gathered here and there, a stream of more arrivals walking up from the gates. Ginny supposes there are carriages running people up from Hogsmeade. The Hogwarts Express made a special trip from London to bring the Muggle family members of victims and students alike. Even the Muggle repellant charms were dropped for the occasion.
Further down near the lake, they run into the Creeveys, pausing to say hello. Dean is hugging a woman in greeting that Ginny can only assume is his mother, Justin Finch-Fletchley leading around a pair of rather awestruck-looking adults.
"If it's always been this easy to arrange, you think they would have let Muggle parents tour the place with their kids before they sign them up," Tobias grumbles.
Ginny squeezes his arm. His own family is not coming today, the official excuse being Mags's health, but to judge from his mood lately, she suspects it's actually something more.
Glancing around, Ginny can't see any sign of Harry. She supposes they are hiding him away somewhere before the ceremony starts. It's enough of an utter madhouse as it is.
She does spot Hermione, however, and it's the first she's seen of her since she left for Australia.
"Come on," she says, tugging Tobias' arm.
"Ginny," Hermione says when she catches sight of her. She pulls Ginny into a tight hug. "How are you?"
"Fine," Ginny says. "You?"
Hermione just kind of waves a hand, looking more than a little flustered. She turns to the couple standing next to her. "Mum. Dad. You remember Ginny."
There is an awkward pause, Hermione's face seeming to pale as her unfortunately word choice registers.
"Yes, of course," Mr. Granger says, reaching out to shake Ginny's hand.
She smiles. "It's been a few years. I probably looked a lot younger last time you saw me."
"Yes, of course," Mrs. Granger says, something like relief flashing across her face as she leans in to hug Ginny. "Nice to see you, dear."
Hermione is wringing her hands as she watches them, her eyes intent on her parents as if looking for any sign as to what they think of all this. It must be unsettling, these two distinct parts of her life colliding in such a spectacular way.
Ginny knows this is part of the new trust they are building, Hermione bringing her parents entirely into her life, both her past and her present. Harry's told her how much she's been struggling with it.
"Is Ron here?" Ginny asks. She hasn't had a chance to see him since he got back either.
Hermione frowns. "Oh, yes. I think he's with Harry. I should probably…" She glances at her parents.
"I'll stay with them," Ginny offers. It may be nice to have something else to focus on.
"Thank you," she says, looking frazzled by everything. "I was going to ask your parents, but I haven't…"
"It's okay," Ginny says. "We'll find them."
Hermione walks off, and Ginny introduces Mr. and Mrs. Granger to Tobias. He eagerly questions them about dentistry while Ginny looks about for any sign of her parents or brothers.
"This way," Ginny says, spotting them. "I think they're saving us seats."
Molly hugs and kisses Ginny, only releasing her to make a big fuss over Tobias, and at least that finally puts a smile on his face.
"Thank you so much for the sweets on my birthday, Mrs. Weasley," he says.
"Of course! We were so sad not to see you over Christmas. You will come see us much more often this summer to make up for it, won't you?"
"Well," he says. "Only if Ginny is lucky."
Ginny rolls her eyes, dragging him over to take a seat. She ends up next to Hermione's father.
"This award…" Mr. Granger says as everyone around them starts taking their seats.
"Order of Merlin," she supplies.
"Yes," he says. "Is it…"
He doesn't seem to know exactly what to ask, but Ginny wants him to know, to really understand that the things they've been through, the sacrifices, none of it was a lark. None of it was any less than devastatingly necessary.
"It's the highest honor we have."
He smiles. "Like the Nobel Peace Prize."
Ginny doesn't have any idea what that is, other than the peace part. Maybe they should have an award like that.
Kingsley takes the stage then, an expectant hush rippling across the crowd.
It's the kind of speech one would expect from a Minister. He talks about acts of heroism and sacrifice, about the future of Britain, the faith in a new generation of students and leaders. Hope for a future without war. Ginny tunes most of it out, instead watching Mrs. and Mr. Granger's faces as they listen. They occasionally ask for clarification, and she quietly explains as best she can.
He finishes by reading the fifty names of the fallen featured on the memorial.
Ginny sits, staring straight ahead, and listens to the names go on and on and on. Tobias takes her hand, his fingers squeezing tight.
"We knew it was bad," Mrs. Granger murmurs to her husband. "I just didn't realize…"
After he's done, Kingsley gives a few posthumous awards to surviving family members, including Andromeda with Teddy in her arms, accepting for both her daughter and her son-in-law. Doubtless the first werewolf to ever have the honor.
Easier, Ginny supposes cynically, to give that out when he can't live to flaunt it.
Only then does Harry take the stage, Ron and Hermione by his side. A rush of noise builds in the crowd as people notice.
"That's Harry Potter," someone nearby hisses with amazement.
"I thought he'd be taller," another voice comments.
Mr. Granger looks at Ginny as Harry's name continues to build in the crowd like a buzz. "I didn't realize Harry was…"
"The most famous wizard in England?" Tobias supplies.
"Is he really?" Mrs. Granger says like she can't quite imagine it. "He's such a sweet, polite boy."
Tobias lets out a vaguely dismissive sound at this description of Harry, and Ginny nudges him in the ribs in retaliation.
Up on the stage, Harry, Hermione, and Ron are given their awards, the gold medals pinned to their robes. Kingsley gestures for Harry to step forward. After glancing back at Hermione and Ron, he shuffles forward a few steps, staring out over the enormous crowd.
Ginny knows he's been dreading this, trying to think of something to say. For all that Harry has the ability to say the exact right thing when the stakes are high, when the pressure is on, when it's a matter of right and wrong, he has a much harder time with the quiet times, with the political, with the emotional. Being put on a stage isn't the same as fighting a war.
What am I supposed to say? he wrote to her when he found out he would have to speak.
They both know he is probably supposed to talk about what an honor the award is, to say something like Kingsley did about heroic sacrifice and the greater good.
But today is not about the Ministry or making anyone feel better, about spinning glorious tales. Ginny asked him instead what he would want someone to say to him in this situation. What he thinks really matters. Not to the reporters or the politicians, but to the students sitting out here still trying to understand what happened. To understand what comes next.
Harry lifts his wand to his neck, his voice amplifying.
"Albus—" he starts, only to stop and clear his throat. "Albus Dumbledore once told me, 'Don't pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living.' And I do. I pity us having to live without them. The people we lost. But I know why they died. I know they died in a fight they chose, both for people they loved and people they didn't even know. They fought so we could live, and have the chance to live without fear." He pauses, his eyes sweeping out over the crowd, lingering on the Ministry officials and press. "We owe it to them not to let our grief make us hard, to make us angry. We owe it to them not to let fear lead us to make the same mistakes again. But to do better. We have to do better."
He seems to falter for a moment.
Ginny hasn't looked away from him since the moment he started talking, and he meets her gaze, like he's always known exactly where she's sitting.
Just pretend you're talking to me, she wrote to him last night. His shoulders seem to square.
"Don't pity the dead. Pity the living, Dumbledore said. And above all, those who live without love." Harry pauses, glancing at the gleaming monument, the list of names. "They were loved."
Ginny swallows back against the thickness rising in her throat, keeping her face carefully blank. Behind her, she can hear the sound of her mum crying.
On stage, Harry lowers his wand and starts walking off the stage, Ron and Hermione sharing a glance before quickly following after him.
A startled clatter of applause starts as people realize he's done already, lasting barely a fraction of Kingsley's speech.
Then off to one side someone stands, shouting, "Thank you, Harry!"
Other voices rumble in response, people saying Harry's name or thanking him, another person standing and a few more, until the students of Hogwarts are rising to their feet in a wave, arms lifting.
Light flares from the wands held high in the air, flashing brilliantly despite the already bright sunlight.
Harry pauses on the edge of the stage, turning back to see the sea of people saluting him. He seems frozen, unsure what to do, until Ron steps forward to wrap an arm around his shoulders, leaning closer to say something to him.
She sees Harry relax slightly, hesitantly lifting a hand in response.
Mrs. and Mr. Granger look around in wonder, and Ginny pushes to her feet, lifting her wand in the air, Tobias only a moment behind her.
Ginny touches the gold medal on Ron's chest, thinking of everything it really represents and wonders how heavy it must feel.
"Great, Ron," she says. "Way to set the bar impossibly high for the rest of us."
He smiles at her. "I can't help being as amazing as I am."
"Wanker," she says, pulling him into a hug.
He squeezes her back, the hug lingering, both of them aware of how much they lost this day last year, how much more they almost lost. She is so grateful he is here. She's missed him more than she'll ever admit to him.
When they finally pull back from each other, Ron has an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. "You should probably get one too," he says, gesturing at his medal. "Putting up with the Carrows."
Ginny shakes her head, feeling everything inside her chest go cold. There are some things she never wants to touch again, to be brought out into the light. "Medals are for heroes," she says.
Ron gives her a look. "Exactly."
"Ron's right."
Ginny turns to see Harry standing with Hermione, the two of them finally having made their way through the crowd. The look on Harry's face is a painful blend of bleakness and self-recrimination, like he doesn't deserve any of this and would rather be anywhere else in the world.
Ginny forces her voice to be light. "Haven't you learned, Harry, that we try never to tell Ron that he's right? It makes him an unforgivable prat."
Ron gives her a pinch, and she does her part, giving an exaggerated yelp. "I'm telling Mum."
"Never mind," Ron says. "No medals for tattlers."
Hermione gives them both prim looks, and Ginny steps forward and hugs her. "I'll behave, I promise."
Hermione snorts. "I'll believe that when I see it." She still holds Ginny tight for a long moment.
Hermione moves to stand next to Ron, her hand slipping into his with easy comfort as Bill and Percy come up to congratulate them.
Ginny looks at Harry. "Congratulations," she says, feeling protected enough by the crowd of her family around them to risk giving him a hug.
His hands tighten in the fabric of her robe, arms firm around her.
"Cloister?" she whispers.
He nods.
"One hour," she says, before pulling back, giving him a neutral smile.
She stays near him, close but not touching, as her family continues to mill about, keeping the press away from him.
Harry wonders if it's possible to break your hand just from having it clasped and shaken too many times. He tries not to flinch every time some stranger or bare acquaintance pats him proudly on the arm or wrings his hand and asks for a photo.
Ron and Hermione stick close to his side, thankfully. Still the hour seems to stretch into days.
Ginny is never far either. Never within actual reach, never in talking distance, but always within sight. Enough that he assumes she is doing it on purpose, though whether for him or for herself, he can't hazard a guess. He finds himself watching her, the way she talks to people, the way she holds her body. Something about it reminds him of her the summer before, and he doesn't like it.
It's another glimpse of that other girl, the one people whisper about. But he wants the Ginny he knows.
When the appointed time finally comes, he glances up to see Ginny slipping out of the hall.
Turning to Hermione, he says, "I think I'm going to see if I can escape for a bit."
Ron is still talking to a secretary of something or other nearby, his hand tight in Hermione's. She turns her body towards Harry, touching his arm, her face concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Harry says, patting her hand. "I just…need a minute."
She nods, knowing how much he hates all of this. "Do you want company?"
"No. Thanks." He thinks Ron and Hermione deserve every moment of this attention. "I'll be fine. Maybe go say hi to the Fat Lady."
In any other circumstance he may have actually liked the chance to wander the old familiar halls, but he is far too intent on seeing Ginny, on getting even five minutes alone with her. He's convinced if he can just talk to her, he'll be able to handle the rest of this.
You always make me feel steady, he told her once, and knows it's true.
He smiles at Hermione, squeezing her fingers, and she smiles back. There's a flash of cameras, and Harry sighs.
He gets waylaid three or four times on his way to the door, making him far later than he would like.
He's finally out in the hall when he pulls on his invisibility cloak to avoid having to talk to anyone else. Not a moment too soon, as two ministry officials wander by, one of them, realizes, Trenton MacMillan.
"Interesting little speech Potter gave," he's saying.
The other wizard snorts. "Dumbledore trained him well."
Harry feels his hands clench. A very useful tool.
"Brainwashed him, more like. He's nearly as insufferable too."
"All the more reason to get him and his tongue under control."
"In due time," MacMillan says dismissively. "After all, he'll cut a dashing figure as an Auror, don't you think?"
"And that's a good thing?" the other asks, voice clearly incredulous.
"It's not like he'll ever be in the field. He's too valuable and Robards knows it. But he'll make a brilliant public face for the new magical law enforcement. And isn't that all that really matters?"
They pass back out of hearing.
Turning, Harry strides off in the opposite direction, pulling off the cloak once he's in a more deserted part of the castle. His chest feels like a horrible tangle of fury and sadness and embarrassment and he just wants to get there .
When he first walks into the cloister, he thinks he's missed her. Only then Ginny steps out behind a pillar. She's discarded her robes, just wearing her uniform, a black skirt with silver stripe, a white button up shirt, and a green and silver tie tugged casually down in a crooked knot. In that moment she seems to evoke every good and comfortable memory of school, what this place meant to him. Skiving off and cramming sessions and uniforms and Quidditch matches and laughter.
He crosses the space as quickly as he can, pulling her tight up against him. She hugs him back just as fiercely.
"How are you?" she asks. "And don't feed me some bollocks about being fine."
"I'm—" he says, only to break off at the unexpected tide of emotions. "I'm really happy to see you."
Her fingers tighten on his back. "Me too," she whispers, her voice thick.
He doesn't like thinking about any of this. The battle, Voldemort's body on the ground, Snape's blood as it poured out over his hands. Doesn't want to think about the history the Ministry is trying to rewrite. The uses they would like to put him to.
He just wants to stay here, in this quiet, safe place, and hold her.
"You did such a good job up there," she says.
He shakes his head. "I'm just glad it's over."
"What you said," she says into his shoulder. "It was perfect."
He leans his cheek against the top of her head. "Someone gave me some good advice."
She sucks in a shaky breath, her shoulders tight. He remembers her in the crowd, her face perfectly composed, moving between her family members, being exactly what other people needed her to be.
He pulls back to look at her. "How are you?"
"I…" For a moment she looks like she's trying to pull herself back together, her face slipping into that haughty mask she wore out there.
"And don't feed me some bollocks about being fine."
She looks away and all he can think of is being in this cloister with her a year ago, the grief and year of separation like a solid wall between them.
Only today she doesn't pull away, but rather folds into him. "I miss my brother," she confesses, barely a whisper. A tear squeezes out, and she bats at it impatiently like she's annoyed with herself for allowing it.
"Ginny," he says, cradling her face. He doesn't know how to do this, just wants her to stop trying to be so strong all the time. "It's only me. There's no one else to see."
Her eyes well up, and then she's burying her face in his chest, her fingers tightening on his back.
He holds her while she cries.