The castle doors open with a bang as Neville shoves through them. Ginny, Luna, and Hannah are right behind, escaping out into the warm spring sunshine of the Hogwarts grounds.
Properly, they should all still be in their DADA lesson for a couple more hours, but Professor Merriweather's let them out early again, purportedly because they are getting plenty of practice through the DA, but more likely because he doesn't have much to teach them. He's a decent professor more or less, does a good job with the younger students in particular, but is well out of his league with the seventh years. He definitely knows it too, not trying to talk down to them or pretend to know something he doesn't. Instead he gives them room to practice the things they will need for their NEWTs and otherwise leaves them to direct themselves.
They're more than used to directing themselves by now.
Still, responsibility has its time and place, and right now they are too tired of homework and revision, meaning that rather than practicing they lounge near the lake and do pretty much nothing. From where Ginny settles on the grass, she can see Dumbledore's tomb sparkling in the distance, the Battle of Hogwarts Memorial lost to the shadows.
Next to her, Hannah sucks in a deep breath, her head tipping back so her face is bathed in warm midday light. "I'm so ready for this all to be over."
"Merlin, yes," Neville agrees from where he's lying in the grass nearby. "Though I've been thinking. What do you think will happen to the DA? You know, after we're gone?"
Ginny's been considering that more and more herself. It's too important of a thing to let die—both as a place for students to control their own learning and for them to decide for themselves what they want Hogwarts to be.
"We could each select someone to replace us," she suggests. If not just to make sure that it carries on next year.
"No," Luna says, peeling off her socks and pressing her toes into the grass. "If they are going to have new leaders, they should decide for themselves."
"Like an election?" Hannah asks.
Luna shrugs.
Neville picks a piece of grass, twining it thoughtfully through his fingers. "The DA is supposed to be about us deciding things for ourselves."
"True," Ginny says, not opposed to the idea. "But there should still be four. One from each house." Both to share the load, but also to make sure the school never gets so fractured again.
"Definitely," Hannah agrees.
Neville pushes up on his elbow. "We could take those dratted tattle boxes from last year and turn them into ballot boxes. One for each house. Student with most votes becomes a DA leader."
"Whether they want to be or not?" Ginny asks.
"Don't remember being given much of a choice ourselves," Neville says with a snort.
That's not entirely true, of course. Everything they did was a choice, even if just a choice among a sea of bad options.
"I do love the symbolism," Hannah says. "That thing we hated so much being used for our benefit."
"Yeah," Ginny agrees.
Neville looks around at each of them. "So we're all in agreement?"
"Yes," Luna says. She gets to her feet, putting her shoes and bag near the base of a tree and tucking her wand up behind her ear. "I'm going to go for a walk in the forest now."
Luna's always loved being outside, but this last year it's become something more, her need to be outside the heavy castle walls as often as possible. She doesn't talk much about her time in the Malfoy's dungeon. But none of them have forgotten it either.
Neville looks up at her in alarm. If Luna has coped by spending time in the Forbidden Forest, Neville has reacted by rarely letting any of them out of his sight, Luna most of all, like he's still never forgiven himself for letting her be taken.
"You should come with me," Luna declares, looking straight at Neville. Without another word, she walks off.
"Um, alright," he says, scrambling to his feet and nearly tripping over in his haste. The back of his neck, Ginny notices, has gone red.
He waves rather awkwardly at them in farewell, and breaks out in a jog to catch up with Luna.
"What was that?" Ginny asks, looking over at Hannah in bewilderment. Interestingly enough, she's looking a little pink in the face as well.
"I think," Hannah says, voice lowered to a whisper, "she may have propositioned him."
"Propositioned him?" Ginny says with a laugh. "You make that sound like you mean she…"
Hannah lets out a pained sound, closing her eyes as if to block out this conversation.
"Oh my god," Ginny says. "You do mean what that sounds like."
Hannah nods miserably, her eyes still closed as if she can't look at Ginny and talk about this at the same time. "She came to me, a few weeks ago. Told me she found herself curious about…"
"Sex?" Ginny asks.
"Oh, Merlin, yes," Hannah says in a rush. "She wanted to know what I thought would make good criteria for selecting a, you know, partner ."
It seems completely unreal except Ginny can see that conversation happening with perfect clarity. "And what did you say?"
Hannah dares to peer up at her. "That it should be someone she trusts. And ideally someone she loves."
"A good place to start," Ginny says.
Hannah seems relieved to have Ginny's agreement, or maybe just needs someone to talk to about this but hasn't been able to work up the nerve. "Luna said she also understood that it should be someone she personally found aesthetically pleasing."
Ginny glances over to where the pair disappeared into the trees. "So…Neville, huh?" She has to admit from a completely objective point of view that Neville has certainly…grown the last year. Definitely more aesthetically pleasing than one might have expected back when she first met him.
"She was careful to say that while she both trusts and loves all three of us, she currently finds Neville slightly more aesthetically pleasing."
Ginny laughs. "Well, that's good to know. I'll try not to take it personally that she thinks Neville is more fit than me."
Hannah smiles. "She did seriously consider you, just so you know. But she seems to be under the impression that you are not available, no matter how aesthetically pleasing."
Her gaze, Ginny notices, has become rather appraising. Too appraising. "Maybe she's assuming I'm not attracted to witches."
"Hmm," Hannah says noncommittally. "That must be it."
"What about you?" Ginny says, turning it back on her.
"She did ask if I would be interested," Hannah admits. "I told her I didn't think I could do that with someone I didn't feel…more for? That the way I love my friends isn't the same way I'd want to love someone I did… that with."
Ginny nods. "And how did she take that?"
"I don't think she quite understood the difference." Hannah sighs. "I'm not sure I do. It's not like I'm really in a position to explain myself all that well. I just know I don't feel that way about her."
"Well, knowing that is a good place to start," Ginny says, leaning back on her elbows. "So is there anyone else you've propositioned lately?"
Her eyes widen. "Ginny," she scolds, even as she laughs.
Ginny doesn't really know what is or isn't going on between Hannah and Tobias. It's not like she's in a position to interrogate either of them, particularly when she has her own secrets to keep. She is fairly certain Tobias has been banking on that particular fact the last few months.
"Curiosity is perfectly healthy," Ginny says.
Hannah bites her lip. "And if I'm not?"
"Curious?" Ginny asks.
"Yeah." Hannah is looking down at her hands now, like she's too scared to see Ginny's reaction.
"Well," Ginny says, pausing to give herself time to choose her words carefully, "there's nothing wrong with that."
"You don't think so?"
Ginny shrugs. She's honestly never gave sex much thought herself, there always being far more pressing things to focus on. Like surviving and breathing and not turning into a gibbering mess. But now, lying here in the sun, the war behind them, things feeling settled and possible … Well, she can imagine being curious. Maybe even very curious.
But it doesn't mean everyone is. Or should be. She certainly never was before after all.
She thinks back to her relationship with Thompson. He'd been her first serious anything. While she enjoyed kissing him well enough, it never made her particularly curious. She never anticipated it. She always assumed that was because she never really felt that way about him, and maybe she never did, but she'd also been very young, as much as she would have vehemently denied it back then. Fortunately Thompson was always incredibly careful with her—she can see that now, looking back with a lot more understanding of these things. He may have taken things a little past kissing, but he never pressed for more.
Unlike Michael. He was far less careful, very happy to push ahead with whatever he could get away with, which at the time she'd appreciated on some level, not being treated like a little girl, but after a while that only made it feel like she had to be on constant high alert, ready to stop him or fend him off at any given moment. And when she did try to put him off, he always made her feel like there was something wrong with her for that, her lack of interest in doing any of those things with him.
But there isn't, she realizes. Hadn't she just told Hannah that?
It wasn't right, the way Michael made her feel, the way he still does some days. The way he comes around and pesters her. She'd done absolutely nothing wrong in breaking it off with him. By not wanting to be with him. He's in the wrong for not taking no for an answer.
She feels stupid, to just realize that now. It makes her want to jump up and find him so she can hex him properly like she should have months ago. Or maybe make it a special presentation at the DA, spells for girls to give boys the message that they aren't welcome, using him as the test case. She entertains the fantasy for a moment, imagining it in perfect, satisfying detail.
She won't do it, of course. But it certainly doesn't hurt to know that she could.
Not that she thinks she needs that sort of practice these days. Harry has never pushed, or made her feel uncomfortable. Even if he ever did, she trusts that he would listen if she said something. She can't imagine him trying to blame her or guilt her the way Michael did.
Besides if Harry were to want to take things a little further, well, she wouldn't be against that. She's pretty sure she'd welcome it at this point, and that is definitely different from how she's felt in the past. She smiles, brushing her fingers absently across her lips. Maybe she should find a way to tell him that the next time she sees him. See if he might be a little curious as well.
Of course, if he is, she might just need to master a different set of spells at some point.
She frowns, something occurring to her. She rolls towards Hannah. "Did you and Luna talk about, you know, contraceptive charms?"
Hannah's mouth drops open. "Oh, no. Do you think we should worry?" She looks towards the trees like they might run in after them, shouting about charms.
"I don't know," Ginny admits.
Luna's mother died long ago after all, and Neville only has his grandmother. Ginny imagines these are not the kind of conversations that happen around the Longbottom dining table.
Ginny gnaws on her lip, considering. "Maybe they talk about it in Ravenclaw? I mean, in Hufflepuff, have you…" She isn't sure how these things work in other houses. It seems a rather important topic to have not considered before.
"Oh," Hannah says, cheeks pink. "Um. Yes. Professor Sprout. She collects all the second, third, and fourth year girls together and tells them. There's even a pamphlet."
Ginny looks at her in surprise, that not being at all what she meant. "You get it three years in a row?"
"She wants it to really sink in, I suppose." She turns to Ginny, eyes wide. "Professor Snape never…"
Ginny laughs, shuddering at the thought. "Merlin, no. We take care of it ourselves. The older girls telling the younger." Mostly whispers in the dark of the dormitories, or quiet side conversations in the common room. Unspoken knowledge of who to go to if you ever find yourself in real trouble. But only, Ginny realizes, if one is brave enough to ask.
"I'm trying to imagine Professor McGonagall sharing that now," Hannah says. "Or Flitwick!"
They both fall back laughing.
Only now this has Ginny really thinking about it, and not just because this is stuff she might need to know herself. "Does Sprout only teach you about the charm?"
"Oh, no," Hannah says. "She talks about potions to help with, you know, cramps or such. Contraceptive charms. Protection charms. A few hexes if a boy doesn't take no for an answer. She even talks about…well, things you can do without a boy. Or a wand."
Ginny's eyes widen, trying to imagine dozy old Sprout talking about all of that. "Really?"
Hannah nods. "There's even a tea, instead of the charm. Moon tea. Kind of complicated, but she says it can be more effective long term."
Ginny sits up, looking down at Hannah in amazement. "I've never even heard of that." Her mum has had rather red-faced and brisk discussions of the basics, but nothing as involved as that. "What else did she tell you?"
Hannah's brow furrows as she tries to remember the salient details. "Not much else. Oh, except that Muggle methods aren't very effective when used by wizards and witches."
That seems like a rather important detail, especially for any Muggleborns who might try to use them.
"What are Muggle methods?" Ginny wonders, trying to imagine a machine or something, but having no idea how that could be even remotely feasible. It doesn't seem like a part of your body you'd want to have elektricity near.
"I have no idea," Hannah says. "My mother never really got around to…"
Ginny feels her stomach drop, remembering that Hannah's mother was murdered at the beginning of her sixth year. She reaches out, giving Hannah's fingers a squeeze.
Hannah's lips press together, and she shakes her head, clearly not wanting to talk about it.
Ginny lays back in the grass, staring up at the trees to give Hannah a moment to collect herself. She thinks about the whispered charms passed from girl to girl in the Slytherin dorms. She thinks about all the information Hufflepuff girls have, and wonders what the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students may or may not know. She doesn't like the haphazard nature of all this information travelling about, no matter the topic. Or maybe especially because of the topic. If last year taught her anything, it's that knowledge is a weapon like any other, one that can all too easily be used against you. She won't stand for being told what she's allowed to learn and what she isn't. Especially when ignorance can hurt students.
"What exactly are you plotting?" Hannah asks. "You've got that look on your face."
"I'm thinking maybe we should teach this at the DA," Ginny says, the idea crystallizing in her mind.
Hannah makes a choking sound. "You're joking."
"I'm perfectly serious. The DA is about teaching us the things the school seems to think we shouldn't know, but that we know we need, isn't it?"
Hannah looks as if she's trying to imagine it, a DA lesson about how to properly cast a contraceptive charm. "Everyone?" she squeaks. "Even the boys?"
"Of course the boys," Ginny says. "Why wouldn't they need to learn too?"
"Well, they don't have anything to worry about, do they?"
She sits up, looking down at Hannah in surprise. "Of course they do! How exactly do wizards think witches get pregnant? And it's not all just about pregnancy." Maybe if Michael knew girls were armed with proper hexes, he would have acted much differently from the start.
"Of course," Hannah says. "I didn't mean… I just meant…"
Ginny crosses her arms over her chest. "If we have to worry about it, they should too."
"I'm sure you're right. I just don't think I can …" She looks horrified, trying to imagine standing in front of the rather large group that is now the DA.
"We can have Neville talk to the boys," Ginny concedes. Maybe break everyone into smaller groups by age or something. She'll need to carefully think this through.
"I'm sure he'll appreciate being delegated that."
Ginny laughs. "We can talk about it when they get back."
Hannah covers her face with her hands. "I'm kind of wishing I never brought this up now. I should have suffered in silence."
Ginny pats her on the arm, deciding to take pity on her. "Okay. Let's talk about transfiguring the ballot boxes to set up in the DA room for the elections instead."
"Thank, Merlin," Hannah says, clearly happy for the change in subject.
They sit out in the sun for a while longer, discussing what types of transfigurations and charms to use, how to get the box to automatically do the counting. They both agree they'll need to consult with Luna to get it exactly right. But definitely sometime when she is less…busy.
By the time they head back inside for their next lesson, Neville and Luna still haven't returned. When they do finally show up to Charms, Hannah and Ginny carefully don't look each other in the eye as they pretend not to notice the leaves stuck in Neville's disheveled hair.
"Have a nice walk?" Ginny can't resist asking Neville.
He flubs the charm he's working on, the corner of his notes catching fire.
Ginny helpfully puts it out for him.
"Er, thanks," Neville says, looking a little red again.
Yes, Ginny decides. They definitely need to add a few things to the DA curriculum. Just in case.
Harry waves to the neighbor who is once again in her yard clipping her rose plants. Harry knows from unfortunate experience with his aunt's roses that they do require a lot of onerous care, but the Muggle honestly seems to live outside. He might think she was unduly doting on them if he didn't know the look of someone keeping an eye on the neighbors.
From the outside, the Grangers' house looks perfectly normal. There's not a single visible clue that there is an active potions station in the kitchen, that the sitting room fireplace will soon be connected to the Floo Network, or that three wizards have been spending their afternoons revising for their upcoming wizarding exams inside.
Despite that, the Muggle neighbor still looks suspicious as she lifts her hand in response to Harry's greeting. Then again, Harry's used to being gawked at by neighbors like he's a delinquent.
Pushing thoughts of the neighbor away, Harry lets himself in the front door. He's later than usual thanks to a required change of clothing after a rather disastrous morning watching Teddy. His shirt may never be the same. Following the sounds of voices, he wanders back into the dining room. The table is loaded with parchment and books and quill trimmings that would have sent Kreacher into profane mutters and banged pots in the kitchen, or so it had the few times they tried to revise at Grimmauld.
Mrs. Granger is there talking with Hermione and Ron, seemingly undisturbed by the mess. "Oh, Harry," she says. "Good timing. We're just making summer plans."
"Yeah?" he asks, swinging his bag to the floor and looking at his friends faces for any clues about these sudden plans.
Hermione looks vaguely uncomfortable. Ron lifts his shoulders in response like he's just going along.
"We've let a house for a week at the beach," Mrs. Granger says. "We've invited Ron and his family, and we would very much like for you to come as well. A bit of a graduation gift, if you will."
"Wow," Harry says.
Mrs. Granger's smile slips, her hands twisting together in front of her. "It is our kind of place, uh, Muggle, as you'd call it. But that shouldn't be a problem, should it?"
"I'm sure it will be great, Mrs. Granger," Ron says in a way that makes Harry suspect he's started using his Failsafe Ways to Charm a Witch on Hermione's mum as well.
"Yeah," Harry says. "It sounds great."
"Excellent," Mrs. Granger says, looking really pleased. "Now why don't I fix you all a snack? You can't learn on an empty stomach!" With that, she disappears back into the kitchen.
Hermione looks a little embarrassed. "I think they miss the ocean," she says, looking miserable, and he isn't sure if that's because of the proposed trip or everything that happened in Australia.
"Then we should definitely go," Ron says, smiling bracingly at her. "Sounds like fun, right, Harry?"
Harry nods. "Yeah. Sounds fun."
Hermione gives them a tremulous smile, like she knows perfectly well they are mustering all this excitement mostly for her.
"Besides," Ron says, "I'm practically an expert at passing Muggle these days."
Harry and Hermione share a look. At the very least, it will be an interesting trip.
"I just hope Ginny will come along," Hermione says. "She shouldn't have to feel like she has to stay behind."
"Mum would never let her stay home on her own, seventeen or not."
Harry tries to imagine it, a week at the beach with Ginny. He decides summer can't come quickly enough.
They turn to their revisions then. Hermione has set them to a regimented routine in the weeks since the memorial. Harry doesn't mind all that much. It's helped dispel the rather aimless quality of his life these last few months, not that he will ever admit as much to Hermione. It also keeps him busy, which helps him not focus on how much he misses Ginny. Another thing he obviously isn't going to admit to Hermione or Ron. Still, it's not like revising is fun.
Harry spends his mornings with Teddy and Andromeda while Ron helps George in the shop and Hermione spends time with her parents and revising for the two additional subjects Ron and Harry aren't sitting for. In the afternoons, they mostly revise at the Grangers'. They've completely moved in now, and Hermione seems reluctant to spend all her time away from her parents, especially since they've started showing some interest in magic, rather than being wary of it like they were right after leaving the hospital.
Harry wonders how much of her parents' insistence on letting them use their home to study is trying to show they are fine with Hermione's 'other life' and how much is Hermione trying to keep them involved in all aspects of her life. It doesn't really matter—their home is as good as any to revise. Mostly because revision is awful no matter where they have to do it.
In the evenings, they tend to end up at the Burrow or Grimmauld, as practical revisions in a Muggle neighborhood are slightly more problematic than just studying texts and making flashcards.
By dinnertime that evening, Harry is starting to get a headache. Putting down his quill, he rubs at his temples. He isn't at all convinced he'll ever be able to squeeze any more information into his brain.
Across the table from him, Ron is resting his chin on one hand, his face slack as he stares off at nothing.
"Well, tomorrow we can—" Hermione starts to say.
Harry sits up, shaking off his lethargy. "I'm, uh, taking the day off."
"Yes," Ron says, flipping his book shut. "Brilliant idea."
Hermione looks scandalized. "There are only two weeks left until we have to sit the exams! We don't have time for a day off!"
"Hermione," Ron whines. "I have blisters, I've been revising so much!"
"You do not," she says, folding her arms over her chest.
He gives her a pathetic look, and Harry can see her start to bend, just the slightest bit. Normally he'd mock her for that, but he's far too happy to see it working.
Ron definitely notices he's making progress as well, his voice softening. "It's a Saturday. Didn't you want to go Diagon Alley? Look at that new quill? It could be like old times."
Harry nods enthusiastically.
"Just the three of us," Hermione says, looking a little misty.
Harry feels a bolt of alarm, wondering how this has gone so disastrously wrong so quickly. He darts a look at Ron and sees a similar look of dismay on his face. It occurs to him that Ron and Hermione probably have had a hard time finding any time together since they returned. He can sympathize with that, even if he dearly never wants to think about it.
"It's always just the three of us," Harry says. "You go just the two of you."
Ron sends him a blinding look of gratefulness. Harry wonders how grateful he would be if he knew his real motivations. "Yeah, Hermione. Harry's probably had his fill of us."
Hermione looks torn between the idea of a day alone with her boyfriend and not wanting Harry to feel left out.
"Honestly," Harry says, "I'm sick of the sight of you two."
Hermione eventually reluctantly agrees, but as he leaves that night, she pulls him aside.
"Don't think I don't know that you're hiding something from us, Harry. You know I'll figure it out eventually."
He doesn't doubt it.
Ginny is not a fan of NEWTs.
She understands the necessity of them. Even if she's pinning her hopes on a Quidditch career, she still can't afford to just blow them off, no matter how much she'd like to. Plans and backup plans and contingencies, she reminds herself.
Despite that, Friday evening finds her sitting in the common room without a textbook, flashcard, or notebook in sight. Instead, she's happily losing herself in her letters. Mostly she's finalizing vacation plans with Smita and Tilly. Admittedly, it's challenging to focus on the summer when she isn't at all certain how she's supposed to get through the next month. But it's still nice to try.
Setting aside her letter to Tilly to send off with an owl in the morning, she glances at the clock. Fortunately she has yet another pleasant thing waiting to distract her from NEWTs because tomorrow is the last Hogsmeade weekend of the term. Of her time at Hogwarts all together.
It isn't quite nine yet, but close enough. She pulls out her parchment from under the stack of letters and writes, Did you manage to get tomorrow away from Ron and Hermione?
It doesn't take Harry long to respond. Yeah. It was a near thing though. Convinced them to take a day alone with each other.
She bites back a laugh, having a pretty good idea how that must have gone. How kind of you. Such a good friend.
I'm amazing. Now for more important things. How are we going to do this? I'm not particularly keen on a repeat of last time.
She rolls her eyes. Leave it to Harry to not even have considered the logistics of all of this until the night before. You don't want to check in with all your old school mates? she can't resist teasing.
They can all go to blazes for all I care. I only want to see you.
Ginny's breath catches in her throat as she reads and re-reads his words. His bluntness tends to catch her off-guard still, the way he can fumble around and struggle to say what he wants and then just throw something like that out there. When he doesn't immediately scramble to take it back, she knows he completely means it.
It just makes her plans for Saturday seem like an even better idea.
Well then, she writes, feeling warmth spreading across her chest. I suppose I should just come to you.
To London?
Yeah. Easy enough to Apparate from Hogsmeade.
The distance is a bit far, so she plans on breaking it into a couple quick hops just to be safe. She isn't keen on splinching herself. But it definitely won't be a problem. She's even already chosen the locations. Besides which, between the two of them, she actually has a license to Apparate. Not that anyone has bothered to ever say anything to Harry.
What if you're caught? Harry writes, predictably concerned about anyone taking a risk who isn't him.
I'm going to choose not to take that personally. I don't get caught, remember?
Right. My mistake. Please forgive me, oh sneaky Slytherin one.
She rolls her eyes. I'll consider it. Anyway, if somehow I do get expelled, you'll just have to take me in when Mum and Dad chuck me out of the house.
Deal.
Is ten-thirty too early? she asks.
Make it ten, is his immediate reply. I mean, if that's okay.
She'll have to get up early and slip out of the castle earlier than planned, but it won't be too much of a problem. Not if it means more time with Harry. It might even mean she'll miss the bigger crowds, making it easier to get away.
It's perfect, she writes. I'll see you then.
Great. See you tomorrow.
Night.
Setting aside her stack of letters, Ginny picks up her knitting, returning her attention to the conversations around her. A group of fifth-years seem to be moaning about their OWLs, and that should help her ignore the buzz of anticipation ghosting her skin.
Ginny smiles to herself, finding everything charming and amusing at the moment. "At least you're not taking NEWTs," she points out.
They groan.
"You seem so calm," one of the fifth years says to Ginny. "How do you seem so calm?"
"It's the knitting," she says, lifting her latest project. Harry's matching scarf. She peers at it critically. It's probably not quite ugly enough. She's gotten far too good at this, clearly. Maybe she should add in another color. A nice clashing purple, maybe.
"Any OWL advice?" Nicola asks from where she is revising with some of her classmates nearby. "You know, besides taking up a craft."
"You know I never actually took them, right?" Ginny asks.
"What?" another boy asks. "How did you swing that?"
Ginny's smile fades. "It was the year Professor Dumbledore died."
An awful quiet falls over the room. Meaning that it is quiet enough for everyone to clearly hear a student on the other side of the room mutter, "Well, if someone wants to murder McGonagall and get me out of these exams, feel free."
A hard-edged chill seems to settle in Ginny's chest, the last of her good mood flickering and dying.
Across from Ginny, Astoria shifts in her seat. "A lot of people suffered and died so you could sit there and bitch about exams without having to worry about being tortured or disappeared or killed," she says, voice calm and cutting. "Show some respect."
Everyone in the room is watching by now, a painful expectant silence hanging in the air.
"Sorry," the student murmurs, apparently realizing the misstep, if not the danger of antagonizing these particular students.
Astoria darts a glance at Ginny, and she somehow manages to nods her thanks. Taking a breath, she loosens her hold on the now mangled project in her lap. She's dropped more than a few stitches. Maybe it's ugly enough now.
Turning to Dale next to her, Ginny asks her what she's working on.
Dale still looks a little wide-eyed over the confrontation, but dutifully starts explaining her latest project.
Slowly the room once more fills with voices.
A few minutes before ten, Harry pulls open his front door, shifting impatiently from foot to foot as he waits for the minutes to tick by. He tells himself he's only hovering here out of respect for Ginny's punctuality, but it's also possible that he's somewhat anticipating her arrival. Maybe a lot.
Right at the planned time, Ginny appears on Harry's stoop with a soft pop just inside the disillusionment charms.
"Hey," he says, stepping towards her.
She doesn't look particularly surprised to see him out here waiting. "Hey," she says, lifting up to kiss his cheek.
"Any problems?"
"Of course not." Running her hands over her face, she says, "I'm pretty sure I've still got both my eyebrows and everything."
He laughs, lifting her hair as if checking that she has both her ears. "Yup, you still seem pretty symmetrical."
Rolling her eyes, she swings her bag over her shoulder and shoves it into his arms. "Here. Carry this and be disgustingly chivalrous, will you?"
"What do you have in here?" Harry asks, pretending to stumble back under the weight of the bag.
"Just the essentials," she says over her shoulder as she walks inside.
Harry kicks the door shut behind him and follows after her into the sitting room. Inside the doorway, she stops and glances around the room in a slow exaggerated sweep, leaning around the couch to look behind it.
Fleur hasn't made any new changes to this area since Ginny was last here, so he isn't sure what has earned this careful scrutiny.
"What are you looking for?" he asks.
"No Hermione?" she asks.
He frowns. The entire point is to be alone today. "Why would—"
She slides him a look and it takes him a moment to realize she's teasing him about the bloody Prophet article and his supposed affair with Hermione. He lets out a sound of complaint and she breaks out into a wide grin.
"I'm glad you're still enjoying this so much," he grumbles.
She shakes her head. "I'm just happy to see you. It's so much harder to mock you by letter."
Dropping her bag on a chair that somehow manages not to collapse under its weight, Harry grabs her around the waist. "Well, if you'd rather mock me than—"
She doesn't let him finish, lifting up and kissing him. Not a quick brush of her lips, but a thorough proper hello that Harry is more than happy to repay in kind. He's amazed every time, both by how easy it is and how good it feels.
She drops back on her heels, the two of them just kind of stupidly grinning at each other. He can't believe she's actually here.
"I brought you something," she says.
"Yeah?" he asks, having completely lost the thread of their conversation.
She nods. "A super special present."
"My scarf?" he asks. She's been threatening him with that ever since their first date.
"No. Still working on making it ugly enough."
"Good," he says. "I don't want it until it's the ugliest thing that's ever existed."
With a soft huff, she reaches into her pocket, pulling out an envelope. There's something in her expression that has him instantly on alert. He takes it, half-expecting a framed copy of the horrible Prophet article, but there's only a photograph inside. It's one of Ginny with Reiko, both of them swathed in Slytherin green and smiling broadly as they jump up and down in celebration.
Ginny edges closer, peering down at the photograph. "I didn't realize how few pictures I have of myself until I tried to find one. This was the only halfway decent one I had." She gnaws on her lower lip, shifting a bit on her feet. "I mean, if you were serious about, you know, wanting to see my face."
"I definitely was," he says, knowing he shouldn't be surprised that she took their conversation to heart. That she found some small way to help even weeks later. "This is great. Thank you."
She smiles, clearly relieved. "I can even come up with a sensational headline for you if you want to pretend it's from the Prophet."
"Oh really? Astonish me."
She taps her chin, pretending to think hard. "How about Salacious Secret Sapphic Slytherins!"
"What?" he asks, choking out a laugh.
"I suppose you missed those rumors about me back when I got my first win as captain."
"That you and Reiko were…together?" He thinks he would have remembered something like that. He'd been rather invested in her dating habits at the time, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.
She shakes her head. "No. That the only reason I made captain in the first place was by sleeping with the entire team. Reiko included."
"What?" he demands, anger flooding his chest. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that Ginny is an amazing Quidditch captain. Sure she struggled a bit at the start, but she deserved it. She earned it.
Ginny laughs, maybe at his reaction, he isn't sure. "It was a long time ago," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Harry doesn't find it particularly funny. "Who would have said that? Let alone believed it?"
"Oh. Crabbe and Goyle, I imagine," she says, her voice strangely flat.
He looks down at the photograph, Ginny's shining face and Reiko's clear glee. "Well," he says. "They clearly had no idea what they were talking about."
She shrugs. "Nothing to be done for it now." Certainly not with one of them dead and the other in Azkaban.
The mood has definitely shifted, even if Harry isn't completely sure why. Ginny steps away, reaching for her bag and flipping it open to reveal a stack of books. "The bad news is that I am so far behind right now that I'll have to do at least some work."
"No problem," he says. "I can help you. Hermione has us practically revising in our sleep."
She turns to him, waggling her eyebrows. "Oh, really."
Harry dutifully makes a sound of complaint, happy to have her back to teasing him if it means that haunted look is gone from her eyes.
They spend the rest of the morning revising for Charms. Harry is completely unsurprised to find that studying with Ginny around is both a lot more fun and a lot more distracting.
"Argh," she says after a couple hours, throwing down her quill in disgust. She flops back against the cushions, lifting her arms above her head in a big stretch. Harry watches with interest the way her shirt pulls up to reveal several inches of skin.
Ginny catches him at it, smiling at him before jumping up to her feet and walking around the room as if trying to work the kinks out of her back.
She stops by the table in the corner covered with a mountain of letters. "Getting a bit behind in your post?"
Harry groans. Ever since he got back, the Ministry started delivering a load of screened and 'safe' mail at least once a week, all of it from total strangers. Only now does he realize just how much the Weasleys must have done to shield him when he stayed there. He only opened a few before he gave it all up as a lost cause.
Ginny leans down, picking up an open letter that's fallen to the floor, and it's only as she looks at the bright red paper with interest that he remembers what that particular letter says.
"Wait."
Only it's too late, Ginny's eyes widening. "Is this…a marriage proposal?" She waves the parchment in front of her nose, breathing in deeply. "That's some perfume."
Harry scrambles over to snatch it from her, but she pulls it out of his reach. "Not so fast," she says. "Have you decided your answer yet?"
"Ginny," he says, reaching for the letter again, only for her to dart out of reach. He frowns at her, and she smiles back.
"Come on, Potter, I thought you used to be a Seeker."
Oh, now it's on. He lunges at her, and she dances away with a shriek.
It's a miracle neither of them manages to knock anything over as they chase each other around the room like maniacs. Eventually he catches her, or more likely she lets herself get caught, backed into a corner next to the letter-laden table where this all started.
But Ginny doesn't give up, shoving the letter behind her in one last childish move. Her face is flushed with pleasure, both of them breathing heavily as much from laughter as from running around the room. He isn't convinced this tightness in his chest is all from being out of breath.
Rather than reaching for the letter, he leans down and kisses her, couldn't resist doing that if he tried.
She smiles as he pulls back. "Trying a change in tactics?"
He looks at her in surprise, not having considered that approach. "Would that work?"
Her chin lifts. "Only if you think I'm really that easily—"
He doesn't let her finish her sentence, kissing her again. She hums against his lips, the letter fluttering forgotten to the floor as she lifts her arms up around his shoulders.
He doesn't even bother celebrating his apparent victory, too busy making up for all their weeks apart. Merlin he's missed her just…being here. Being able to touch her really. Even just to be touched by her, the way he doesn't mind it, even looks more and more forward to it. Misses it when it's gone, and that's something new too.
As usual, her hands aren't wandering from his shoulders and chest, moving slowly and predictably with intent he knows is anything but accidental. He'd startled once when her hand closed unexpectedly around his forearm, fingers tight—too tight and too unexpected. He normally wouldn't have reacted that way, but he was so distracted by other things—Ginny—that he was taken by surprise.
She didn't say anything about it at the time, but he can tell how careful she's been ever since. He wishes she didn't have to be, wishes he weren't so weird and stupid. That he could just have a snog like a normal person.
He never thought about it until she pointed it out. Never really noticed consciously that this is another way he's not normal, as if needed one. So, yeah, he doesn't particularly like being grabbed at. Not that he ever minded when it was Ron or Hermione or Teddy's enthusiastic grip. Those always feel more like comfort and warmth and belonging, he supposes. With Ginny, it's that too, but also…more.
She would probably tell him it isn't a big deal and she just wants him to enjoy their time together without worrying about any of that. Despite wishing otherwise, it does help, that firm, warm press of her hands in predictable ways. Besides, her hands may be careful, but that doesn't mean every part of her is. She isn't kissing him like he's a fragile thing, but rather like she's putting everything her hands want to do into her lips. And that's great. Really, really great.
Her tongue slides along his and all those thoughts and worries seem to scatter, his body folding into and around hers as he makes a sound he might derisively call a whimper if he actually cared about anything other than Ginny kissing him.
Her mouth opens wider under his and without thinking he presses his advantage, backing her up against the table until their bodies are flush against each other, and, Christ, that feels amazing. Her fingers press into his shoulders in response, keeping him close, and he can only hope that means she likes it too.
She feels so small like this, pressed up against him, the way he has to duck down to kiss her, a stark contrast to how large she looms in his mind. His hands slide down the smooth curve of her back, mapping the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, and he just can't stop touching her, marveling at how different her body feels than his own.
One of Ginny's hands leaves his shoulder and he spends half a moment tracking its disappearance, but then her other hand is trailing down to the middle of his chest. It takes him a moment to realize she's pushing him gently back away, like she needs more space.
He pulls his mouth reluctantly from hers, looking down at her in concern, an apology already building for his embarrassing eagerness.
Ginny's face is flushed, her hair mussed—did he do that?—and before he can say anything, she's smoothly pulling herself up onto the table, settling her weight on the edge of it. Her hand curls into the front of his shirt and then she's pulling him back towards her, her knees brushing on either side of his hips.
"I thought this might be better," she says, voice soft and somehow deeper than he's ever heard it before and it does things to him. Wonderful things.
His hands settle on her waist, this new arrangement bringing her face nearly level with his. "Much better," he manages to agree.
She smiles, hands settling on his shoulders again even as her foot hooks behind his knee, reeling him in closer.
He's definitely been not-kissing her for far too long at this point, his mouth back on hers and taking advantage of the new angle. His thumbs catch the bottom hem of her shirt and slip under to brush against her skin. She makes a small breathy sound that makes Harry's skin feel tight and warm all over.
He turns his face slightly to the side, lips near the corner of her mouth. "Okay?"
"Yes," she says, and pulls his mouth back to hers and kisses him fiercely enough that it takes him a moment to even remember his hands.
He eventually does, slipping them under the hem of her shirt. Her skin is so so soft, warm under his fingers. His hands feel rough and clumsy in comparison, but she doesn't seem to mind to judge from the way she's kissing him, the way her hand slides around the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair.
He skims up over her ribs, feeling each slight dip and rise, hesitating when he bumps up against the fabric of her bra.
"You can," Ginny murmurs against his lips, face still too close for him to see her expression clearly.
"What?" he asks, brain a bit fuzzy.
"Touch me," she says. "If you want."
He clears his throat, fingers tightening. "Do you? Um, want me to?"
She leans back, eyes intent on his face. "Yes," she says, looking embarrassed but certain.
"Okay," he agrees, probably a little too quickly.
They both stand there another moment, neither of them moving, before Ginny smiles at him and leans back in to kiss him in that way that makes thinking seem rather impossible. He honestly has forgotten how absorbing she can be, way more dizzying than any amount of firewhiskey or Muggle concoctions could ever be.
It takes him a little while to realize he still hasn't moved his hands, his thumbs aimlessly rubbing gently along the curve of her rib cage. He slides them higher, skimming up over the soft swell of her breasts. He keeps his touch light, paying just as much attention to her reaction—the way she's started making a soft sound at the back of her throat that he likes nearly as much as touching her—as to the sensation of her under his palm, the thinness the of fabric.
After a while, this doesn't seem to be enough for Ginny though, because she leans into his hands, and he takes the hint, touching more firmly. She mutters something too garbled to catch, but the intent of the words is fairly easy to interpret, and Harry's flushed with the knowledge that he is doing this to her, making her arch into his touch and kiss him breathless, making him forget any self-consciousness. Her teeth graze his lower lip, leg tightening around his thigh, building warmth washing over his skin in reaction.
Wrapping one arm around her waist, he drags her closer, his teeth almost clanging against hers as the kiss morphs into something else. This is no lazy, content snog in a dark hallway, but something energetic and swelling, more like a ramping up of a coming match, a Snitch just out of reach. It feels a lot like he's teetering on the edge of a really tall cliff and all he wants to do is dive screaming down the other side.
He shifts, trying to get closer, just needing more, and in his eagerness he bangs his hip into the table, the entire thing shuddering under the impact. There's a huge rush of noise that has them breaking apart with a jolt, breathing ragged and faces flushed as they look around for the source.
It takes a moment to realize the sound was the enormous pile of letters getting dislodged and avalanching to the floor. He relaxes, letting go of his wand still stowed in his back pocket and returning his attention to Ginny.
She hasn't reached for a wand, maybe always knowing it was the letters. Instead her hands are fisted in his shirt like she's trying to keep him close, or maybe just keep herself steady. Her own shirt is still rucked haphazardly up showing a lot more than a small strip of skin.
Harry carefully withdraws his hand, sliding down over her ribs, and she bites her lip, letting out an unsteady sound.
He rests his forehead against hers. "You okay?"
She nods her head. "Yes," she says, which he'd believe more if her voice weren't quite so uncertain. "Maybe a little..."
It's not like things haven't been intense between them before, but this was something else entirely. "Overwhelmed?" he guesses, having a hard time getting his own thoughts together.
Her lips twitch. "Yeah."
"Yeah," he agrees, still trying to will his heartbeat back to something even remotely normal. He isn't deluded enough to think that's all because of the unexpected noise of the falling letters.
Ginny's fingers loosen, one of her hands reaching behind her to brace herself on the table. "Not that being overwhelmed is necessarily a bad thing," she says. The smile she gives him feels like a physical touch.
He rests his hands on her waist, his thumbs already itching to feel her skin again, wanting to kiss her again, and what is wrong with him? "I'm sorry if I…"
"If you what?" she says, tilting her head to the side.
He blows out a breath, tamping down the insistent urge to drag her up against him again. "I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable."
"You didn't," she says immediately, like she doesn't even need to think about it.
He nods, reaching out and touching her hair, twining a strand between his fingers.
"Really, Harry, you didn't," she says, face leaning towards his fingers. "It means a lot that you asked."
He frowns, not liking the implication that someone else may have not asked.
She pulls herself back into him, face pressing into his neck as her hands settle warm and firm on his chest, and he feels himself finally relaxing at the contact. They stay there together for a long moment, Ginny's fingers absently playing with the topmost button of his shirt, occasionally brushing against the skin underneath, and god, that is in no way distracting.
"Harry?" she asks, voice slightly muffled by their proximity.
"Hmm?" he says, attention caught up in the feel of her touch.
"Have you ever…?"
When she doesn't finish her sentence, he opens his eyes, pulling back just far enough to see her face. "Have I ever?"
She bites her lip, giving him a pointed looked.
"Oh," he says rather stupidly as it occurs to him what she's talking about. "You mean…"
She nods, looking relieved that he's caught on. "Yeah."
"No," he admits, knowing that's probably painfully obvious. That he is already way out of his league at this point. "I haven't."
She blows out a breath in something close to relief. "Me either."
They share embarrassed smiles. It doesn't really matter, one way or the other, but it's kind of nice to know they're in this together.
Ginny leans back on her hand, giving him a fond smile. "Though I suppose that means neither of us really know what we're about."
He grins back at her, just so happy to be here with her. "Oh, I have faith in our ability to figure it out," he says without thinking.
Her eyebrow lifts.
Harry feels warmth flood his face. "Not that we're going to… I mean, I wasn't implying…"
She's laughing at him now, but that's okay, because her heel is still hooked around his leg, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt like she can't quite stop touching him and he is definitely okay with that.
"I'd like it to be like this," she says, a determined glint in her eye even as her cheeks are pink. "Us talking about it. Even if it's…"
"Mortifying?"
A laugh leaves her in a rush. "Merlin, yes. I'd just…I'd like to know, what we're comfortable with, what you…like." She seems to lose her nerve then, leaning back into him to hide her face. "Oh, god."
He wraps his arms around her. "I'd like that too." As unbearable as it sounds, he's long since learned that with Ginny it's better to outright ask than just bumble around and inevitably muck it all up.
Her body relaxes. "Good."
He slides his hand into her hair, hugging her tight, and she presses her face into his neck, lips brushing against his skin. He sucks in a breath at the contact, and she kisses him more deliberately.
"For the record," he says, voice quiet. "What I like, is you."
Her only answer is her mouth opening against his throat, tongue tentatively darting out to taste his skin.
"And that," he says, fingers tightening. "That too."
She smiles against his neck and does it again.
They're halfway through lunch before Ginny finally stops feeling flustered. A good flustered, certainly, but a little disconcerting anyway.
Their…interlude was eventually interrupted by Kreacher, who'd happily made lunch for them. And that wasn't at all awkward. But part of her honestly hadn't cared, too tied up in what was happening. She isn't sure which one should disturb her more.
She glances across the table at Harry, watching him take a drink of water. She's seen him do that a thousand times probably, but she's caught staring at his neck, remembering what it tastes like.
"Gin?" Harry asks.
"Hmm?" she says, snapping her eyes back to her plate and praying she doesn't look as flushed as she feels. So much for not being flustered anymore.
His foot nudges hers under the table, and she forces herself to look at him. She'd feel awkward about the probably stupid smile on her face if he weren't wearing an identical one.
She clears her throat, spearing a bit of meatloaf on her fork. "So. I have a serious question."
His smile slips. "Yeah?"
She leans an elbow on the table. "Exactly how many marriage proposals are there?"
He pulls a face. "I have no idea. I stopped opening letters after the first few."
She finds that hard to believe. "Aren't you curious?"
"How many there are?" he asks, pushing the remnants of his lunch around his plate with his fork.
"No," she says, not sure if he's trying to be funny or just deliberately obtuse. "What they say."
He shrugs. "I've read enough to know what to expect."
She wants to press in on that, to know what else he's read in there to make him look like these letters are something to be avoided at all costs, but he clearly does not want to talk about it. So she bites her tongue, even as she wonders if he will ever manage to reconcile himself with his fame.
Finishing lunch, they clear their plates, setting them to washing themselves in the sink. Heading back up to the sitting room together, Ginny looks over at the letters still strewn about everywhere, evidence of their rather enthusiastic snog.
"Should we pick that up?" she asks, forcing herself not to be embarrassed.
"Trying to avoid revising, huh?" Harry tries to tease, but she can tell his heart isn't really in it.
"Come on," she says, taking his hand and tugging him across the room.
Harry conjures a large box, and they kneel down next to each other, scooping the letters up into it.
Ginny doesn't try to read any more of them, knows they aren't really her business. But that doesn't stop her mind from passively cataloging the types of envelopes and missives as she drops them into the box. There are a lot more letters with fancy envelopes and loopy lettering, some with perfumes. If she didn't know for a fact that the Ministry has screened all of these, she would worry about love potions.
She tries to shovel them in without looking at them, the same way Harry is. One catches her eye though, a rough edged envelope with large childish writing on the front. She can't help but smile when she notices that the 'a' in Harry is written backwards. When she flips the envelope over, she finds a crayon drawing of a stick figure with overly large circular glasses and a jagged lightning scar under a mop of green hair.
It's utterly charming, and Ginny finds herself imaging some kid somewhere painstakingly writing to Harry.
Biting her lip, she considers the wisdom of it before finally holding the letter out to Harry.
He turns towards her, automatically taking it. His lips twitch upwards in a smile at seeing the drawing, but it doesn't stick. He carefully turns it over in his hands, ducking his head as he takes in the details like it's something dangerous.
She tries to read his expression, but his eyes are hidden behind his lenses, and it feels a lot like that day out in the orchard so many years before—Harry struggling with the weight of everything everyone needs him to be. Maybe, she considers, for him these letters just feel like one more thing he can't escape.
She reaches out, fingers touching his fringe where it falls over his frames. It's getting long again. She tugs gently at a lock.
"Now green hair is an interesting idea," she murmurs.
He lets out a huff, his frozen immobility seeming to break.
Ginny scoops up the last of the letters into the box, and Harry places the child's letter carefully on top of the pile before shoving the entire box under the table and out of sight.
Ginny reaches over, taking Harry's hand in hers. His fingers squeeze tight around hers, the two of them sitting side by side, neither of them moving.
"We should probably get back to revising," she eventually suggests, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge.
Harry perks up at that, turning to look at her with far more eagerness than studying deserves. "Okay."
Ginny shakes her head, giving him a stern look. "You will be sitting on the other side of the room."
"Of course," he says, clearly trying to look innocent.
If Ginny manages to learn anything at all about Potions that afternoon, she has no memory of it.