The months that passed until summer were painful, to say the least, but however painful they were for Ginny, she knew that it had to be that much more so for Harry.
It seemed the whole Wizarding World felt that he had not given them enough in stopping Voldemort. No, he must pay his respects at all the funerals of those who had died in the final battle as well as memorials for fighters, saboteurs, and others who had aided the resistance. Some of them Harry knew - like Colin Creevey, and Remus and Tonks - but most he did not. After those funerals, however, Harry seemed to mourn the dead he had not known just as much as the dead he had. He lost a great deal of weight and spent most of his time in his room at the Burrow.
Mrs. Weasley had insisted that Harry stay, despite his protests that she had enough to be going on with without a houseguest. But Ginny felt - and suspected her mother agreed - that the worst thing anyone could do was leave Harry alone. As it was, he seemed alive out of duty. They were killing him, those oblivious survivors, who pushed upon Harry the lives of their sons, their daughters, their mothers and fathers. And Harry bore it all with dignity, and feeling, and he knew the names of the dead as if engraved on his skin and he spoke at every graveside. But only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny could see how the memorials and tombs and guilt and death were slowly eating away at him.
The memory of that summer that would never fully fade for Ginny was Fred's funeral. Every detail, from what she wore to the crack in the wood of the pew that she sat in could be called up at the slightest reminder. Yet she found, as time went on, that though she never stopped missing Fred, her rememberances of him balanced out the sadness. She would never be fine, she knew; but perhaps she would be okay.
Slowly, the stream of funerals became a trickle, and then stopped altogether.
Her father stopped staying late at work. Her mother stopped sleeping through entire days. And Harry, ever the survivor, began to come back to them.
And then, suddenly, it was Harry's birthday. He'd gotten the Chocolate Card with his face on it from Ron (his face when he opened it), a book - surprise, surprise - on Aurors from Hermione, and a collective gift from the Weasley family of assorted sweets. Ginny had been at a loss as to what to get for him. In the end she settled on a snitch, a decent one, second-hand, but added to that the promise of a two-a-side Quidditch game with Ron, who had needed no convincing, and Hermione, who had needed quite a bit of convincing.
It neither too hot nor too cold that afternoon, when they all clambered onto their brooms. Harry accelerated and zoomed around the make-shift pitch, whooping and for once looking his age. Ron, surprisingly at ease with his blossoming relationship with Hermione, was hovering beside her, giving her tips and patiently waiting to drift off until it was time to begin.
Ginny herded Hermione to their side of the pitch, ignoring her friend's muffled squeaks of fear. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, Bill and Fleur watching with Charlie. She shot sparks up into the air with her wand, Ron hurled the Quaffle as high as he could into the air, and the game began.
Harry, naturally, immediately shot off towards a glint of gold that she could barely see. Hermione managed to catch the Quaffle, and, delighted that she had made this small victory, wobbled unsteadily on her broom without moving, leaving Ron to snatch it from her hands with a half-apologetic laugh. Hermione jerkily sped after him, looking shocked, but amused, and Ginny dogged Harry.
They must have played for hours, starting over whenever Harry inevitably caught the snitch, ignoring the shadows deepening and the purple sky. Their spectators had multiplied, however, with the arrival of Andromeda and Teddy, who had come over for lunch, and the rest of the Weasley clan. Even George cheered when Hermione, by some miracle, scored a goal.
Harry was getting a bit cocky, she could tell, which was good, as he hadn't been properly cocky in a good while, but that didn't mean she was going to catch the snitch at least once. A plan, an evil, evil plan formed in her mind.
This time when the snitch was released and the Quaffle launched into the air, she didn't let Harry gain an inch on her. She was behind him, yes, but invariably by only half a foot. When he stretched out his arm to catch the little blur of gold yet again, she shot forward and kissed him. The hand he was stretching out gripped his broom for balance and Ginny, grinning against his lips, reached her arm out and deftly caught the snitch.
"THAT'S CHEATING!" she could hear Ron bellowing, but she could hear Fleur's distinctive voice egging her on. Harry jerked back, his face comically surprised, but it relaxed into a grin and he laughed a real laugh which easily beat the feeling of sneaky victory. She glanced at her family, suddenly sheepish, but only Percy looked particularly taken aback. Meanwhile, Charlie was howling with George and Bill, while her father smiled, his arm around her mother.
They retired then, after coaxing Hermione down from the air, as she had somehow managed to point the broom upwards, where it stuck, and where she kicked her legs uselessly, imploring pitifully, "Can we go inside now?" Harry and Ginny lingered back from the rest of the group with the excuse of putting up the brooms.
"Thank you," Harry murmured, and he kissed her cheek. Ginny grinned at him, feeling lighter than air. She bumped him with her hip. He bumped her back. She bumped him again.
"You're welcome," she replied and despite a great deal of meandering and distractions, they managed to put up the brooms and walked back to the Burrow, hand in hand.
Here is a picture of innocence: a note, a flower, and the blush of a girl who finds them on the table for all to see.