Summer ended and became fall, which in its turn then gave way to winter. Ginny had been at school, and the consistency and structure kept her sane, although she couldn't eat in the Great Hall anymore. She had been extremely reluctant to go at all, but in the end her father had convinced her. He had been right, of course, though she still worried. As holidays approached, however, she realized that she was just as nervous about returning home as she had been about leaving.
Harry and Hermione had been reluctant to visit, but Mr. Weasley had insisted. Ginny was beyond grateful. Not only was it wonderful to see both of them after so many months, but discreetly and without fail they both were invaluable around the house.
This was particularly helpful as the Weasleys had finally hit the inevitable brick wall. Gone was the joyous messiness of spring and summer, and with the Christmas season came a renewal of grief. George, who had seemed to have started to adapt to life without a twin, retreated to his room, along with Mrs. Weasley. The pang of a blank where a person should have been infiltrated the entire Burrow. They had taken a step forward, only to be dragged three spaces back.
It took more than a bit of pleading and pushing to get Harry out of the house, but at last Ginny did it. Part of it wasn't really out of concern for Harry, but a desperate need to free herself from the Burrow, to get away from the struggling efforts of decorating spearheaded by her father. She supposed this meant she was a bad person. She found that she didn't care.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked for the umpteenth time. He had been relatively quiet as Ginny led him farther and farther away from the Burrow, heading towards a little hill, but as the minutes stretched into an hour, he seemed less patient.
"Almost there," Ginny replied, glancing back at him. Perhaps this wasn't what he needed; perhaps this was what she needed. Perhaps this was just being selfish. She shrugged that off impatiently, surprised at the sting in her eyes that she knew had nothing to do with the cold.
By the time they got to the hill, Ginny had given up.
She sat down in the snow, looking over at the what seemed to her the whole, wide world, white, empty, and very cold. It had seemed such a good idea, but she should have known it was going to be a wasted effort. Sitting on a stupid hill, getting away from the Burrow, dragging Harry along with her - none of it was going to make her forget the fact that Fred really was dead and that her family was never going to be able to recover from it.
She closed her eyes, trying to regain the optimism that had fueled the outing, but it sputtered and died. The awful, tell-tale twinge in her nose began.
"Well, this is it," she announced as brightly as she could muster, not turning around. It was so silent that she could hear Harry's every breath.
"This is it," he repeated after a beat. The twinge in her nose intensified and spread to clench her throat. He was trying very hard not to sound disappointed, but she wasn't an idiot. She gathered her will, preparing to make the long trek home, and stood up. She turned around.
And was met with a snowball to the face.
Wet, slushy, freezing snow sliding off her face, she gaped at Harry who had an odd expression on his face, a combination of mischief and surprise at his own daring. They stared at each other for a moment.
"Well, are you just going to take that?" Harry challenged at last. Immediately Ginny scooped up a snowball of her own and shot it at him with the unerring aim and force of a Chaser. It splattered on his nose and without warning they were both heaving snow at each other, running and sliding and charging.
Harry penguin-slid down the hill, into a bit of dense brush, followed quickly by Ginny. She reached the bottom with a tumble and popped up immediately, expecting an ambush, but Harry was nowhere to be seen.
She carefully scoured the area, but there was nothing, not a crunch of snow, not a flash of color, not a patch of footprints. She began to advance.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called, snowball raised and ready to fire. She heard a quiet and wicked, "Heh, heh, heh," and turned to see three magically propelled snowballs zooming towards her. One smacked her in the shoulder, another blinded her, while the other whizzed away harmlessly. Wiping her eyes clear, she spotted Harry, who had doubled back behind her, grinning.
He shot off quickly, and she ran after him, laughing. She suspected he let her tackle him to the ground, although there was some honest resistance when she threatened to pack snow down the back of his neck. There was no resistance at all, however, when she kissed him.
"Thank you," she whispered. A shadow passed over them.
"It might be a little early for that," Harry said with a grin, and he flicked his wand. An enormous mound of snow dropped on top of them. Ginny, shrieking, flailed out of it, while Harry laughed at her from the ground, having escaped most of the snow. She collapsed back in the snow, stuck her tongue out, and stared up into the blank, grey sky.
She watched the snow drift down towards her, listening to Harry chuckle a bit. She began to laugh, feeling as if the ground would lift off with her with it. She laughed and laughed and laughed until she began to cry.
And then Harry was beside her, and he drew her into his arms while she sobbed.
"I know," he said. "I know." And he did.
They lay there for what felt like an eternity, but what really must have been a half-hour at most. And somehow, by the time they had gotten back, Mr. Weasley had finished decorating, and George and Mrs. Weasley had emerged, and Ron and Hermione were bickering, and although it was not perfect, the imperfections were what saved them. Charlie could still enthrall them with stories of the dragon reservations. Percy could still bore them to tears. Celestina Warbeck's voice could still drive Fleur up the wall. And Bill was still (and there was no other word for it) cool.
Christmas passed, and Ginny returned to school. She graduated. She returned home. And then, with the persistent spinning of the earth, summer came.
It was funny, for Ginny couldn't remember the exact moment when life as it was became normal. Not the way it had been, but a new kind of normal. The wheels and gears of her family found a way to work without one of the pieces.
In its odd little way, life nudged them along.
Here is a picture of beginnings: a family table filled with laughter.