It's already ten o'clock in the evening when Harry opens the door to his and Ginny's house, kicks his shoes off his feet and throws his keys on the chest of drawers right by the entrance. If he was lucky, Ginny had cooked something for them. If not, he would order something to eat. Sniffing, he stretches his nose into the air, but since he can't smell anything (apart from the burnt toast from this morning), he has to assume it's food he's ordering.
Also fine, he thinks, shrugging as he slips his coat off his shoulders, about to hang it up.
"Ginny, are you home?" Harry actually knows the answer as he shouts this question into the corridor—after all, there was a light on in the living room.
But there is no answer.
Harry freezes in mid-motion, his coat still in his hands, about to slip over the hook. Very slowly he hangs it up, very slowly his hand moves to his waistband, where—in a holster—his wand is. Harry pulls it out as quietly as possible, turns towards the long corridor in the direction of the living room, casts non-verbal a dampening spell on his body and moves soundlessly towards the source of the light. He then casts "Homenum Revelio", without a word. A thin, silvery thread breaks from the tip of his wand and moves into the living room at lightning speed.
Harry is not alone.
One horror scenario after another plays out in his mind, his heart rate skyrockets, the blood rushes in his ears. He can take part in a hundred arrests, he can have hunted down hundred dark witches and wizards, but when it comes down to it, the adrenaline rushes through Harry's veins. Every single time.
He is only a few steps away from the living room, his wand slightly raised, his ears pricked, his nerves on edge.
Light is on in the living area. There's not a sound to be heard.
Where is Ginny?
In Harry's mind's eye, she's lying on the living room carpet, motionless, her limbs stretched out, her gaze going nowhere.
He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. Pull yourself together! He enters the living room, trembling. To his right is the couch, behind it a small table made of light-coloured wood and on the wall hangs a large television. At first, Ginny was sceptical about the Muggle thing, but now she's really enjoying it and is partly thrilled and partly horrified by what Muggles mean by entertainment.
Although the dampening spell works perfectly, Harry moves very slowly and deliberately towards the couch, his wand raised. When he is finally close enough to glance over the backrest, he flinches involuntarily.
Ginny is lying sideways on the couch, her legs drawn up, snoring softly.
Harry exhales audibly, not even realising that he's been holding his breath the whole time. Very slowly, the tension falls away from him.
"Ginny?" he says softly, reaching across the couch and touching her gently on the shoulder.
She hums quietly, reaches for his hand, squeezes it gently and sleepily opens her eyes. "I've been waiting for you ... For so long ..."
Harry smiles tiredly. "Sorry about that. It's been a long day."
She slowly sits up, stretches, massages her neck and takes a closer look at Harry. "What do you want with the wand?"
It occurs to Harry that he hasn't put it away and is still holding it in his hand. "Oh, er... Well... I called for you when I got home, you didn't answer, so..." He faltered, not wanting to have to put into words to her that he thought some former Death Eater had gained access to her house and given Ginny the Death Curse. It sounds kind of silly now, he thinks.
Ginny sighs, shaking her head. "But don't want to believe me that you need a holiday ..."
"Aurors are at the top of the list when it comes to things like this," Harry defends himself contritely, puts his wand away and sits down next to her on the couch. Smiling, he reaches for her hands, takes them gently in his and squeezes them. "How was your day?"
Ginny blinks slowly and strokes the back of his hand with her thumb. "Fine. It was just practice today. It went well. We're all in shape, no dragon pox, no broken limbs and no 'we nicked your team mate' prank."
Harry nods. "Sounds good. Sounds ... successful."
"How about you?"
"Got bitten by a kettle."
"Is that good?"
"Seamus said it's good luck."
Ginny raises an eyebrow and smirks. "I've never heard of that."
Harry rolls his eyes. "I didn't say anything about it. Some days I still feel like I just stumbled into the wizarding world yesterday."
Ginny nods, then the two hold hands in silence. After a while, Harry can see Ginny's mouth narrow and she frowns—he recognises that face.
"We've both had a long day, don't you think?" he begins quietly. He can see that Ginny wants to talk, but Harry doesn't feel like it today. But if he's being honest with himself, he never feels like it—and Ginny knows it.
Her features harden. "Yes. But I've been waiting for weeks. All in all, at least we've had a good long day today."
Harry lets go of her hands, leans back and runs his hands through his unruly hair. "All right, then."
Ginny leans back as well and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I don't even want to talk about Quidditch."
Harry gets a clammy feeling. Quidditch has been an issue for a few months now. He too rarely manages to watch her important matches, doesn't muster enough interest and or enthusiasm and so on. Which Harry has always kept to himself: Ginny, in his opinion, brings pretty little interest to his work in return. When he thinks about it, at least Hermione wants to know pretty much everything about his wacky cases—and she's the only one. Because Ron has had enough of it too.
"Harry? Are you listening to me?"
He jolts out of his thoughts, looks at Ginny sheepishly and slides back and forth on the couch. "Yes, yes, I am."
"And what do you intend to do differently?"
Crap, lies have short legs. "Okay, I'm tired and I was lost in thoughts ..."
Ginny sighs annoyed, Harry understands. He's annoyed with himself, too. "I'm sorry, really."
"All you do is work! We hardly do anything else together. The fact that we eat together is a lot and even that doesn't always work out!"
"Yeah, it's just ..." Harry grabs the back of his neck, this isn't going to go well. "My boss is happy with my work. I know my promotion is within my grasp."
Ginny visibly grinds her teeth. "And that means?" she asks tensely, although she already knows the answer.
Harry raises his hands in defence. "Just a month, maybe two. Then I'll have it in the bag!"
"And then you'll have time again, is that it?" Harry could hear that Ginny doesn't believe that even if he were deaf.
He sighs deeply. "Then I'll have time again."
"You won't. We've been at it for two years now ..."
"Auror isn't a job with regular hours ..."
"No, but it's also not a job where you work twelve hours or more a day or have to suddenly get out of bed in the middle of the night! Every week!"
Harry opens his mouth to contradict her, but unfortunately Ginny is right. No one has explicitly asked him to do so, even though his boss appreciates his efforts, especially since Ron and Dean quit the job. Magicians don't become an Auror just like that, the number of suitable witches and wizards is limited. His boss has to think carefully about who is allowed to cast unforgivable curses in an emergency without having to reckon with legal consequences.
Maybe he should be honest with her, like he is with Hermione. Maybe that would help.
"I need this, in a way. I can't really explain it, but it feels right."
Ginny rubs her face. "'Overworking' isn't right."
Harry shakes his head emphatically. "That's not what I mean. I mean, I just need this work. I need to feel needed ..."
She leans forward, puts her hands on Harry's shoulders and looks him straight in the eye. "I need you. I've always needed you." She lets go of him again, moving away from him, sadness overshadowing her face. "At least that was the case for a very long time."
Harry's heart tightens painfully. "What do you mean ...?" he whispers softly.
"I can't wait for you any longer, Harry ..."
Without thinking about it, he leans forward and tries to reach for her, but Ginny pulls away.
"Harry. I get on with him, you know."
"Montague," Harry says through clenched teeth.
"Yeah. I've been trying to get you two to meet for a month now."
"I don't want to meet him," Harry hisses, crossing his arms stubbornly in front of his chest. He knows he's being childish, but he just doesn't want to see Montague. It's a complete mystery to him anyway, what Ginny suddenly sees in the former Slytherin Quidditch captain.
Ginny leans her head against the back of the sofa, exhausted. "Don't be silly, you're not students anymore! He's changed, I don't know anyone who plays fairer than him. Just as an example. Graham is getting to grips with the Muggle world, he's beginning to realise that they're not our enemy and that Muggle-borns are not a threat to the wizarding world. He has grown up with this view of the world, but Graham is beginning to realise that it is wrong—full of fear and prejudice. He'd like to have a chat with you."
Harry snorts. "But I don't want a chat with him! Fine, he's changing, good thing, but in a way he's obviously staying true to himself anyway ..."
She blinks and lifts her head again. "Pardon?!"
"You know what I mean ..." Harry mumbles. He doesn't want to have to say it.
"What do you mean?" Ginny hisses and her eyes take on that look that Harry knows, if she were an Auror, her counterpart would meekly surrender immediately.
"You know exactly what I mean," Harry finally grumbles defiantly and looks away, annoyed.
She stands up—he takes a deep breath.
"Graham isn't friends with me because I'm a pureblood!"
Harry now jumps to his feet as well. "Oh yeah, and how do you know that so well? He pretends to be a Muggle friend, but in the end the fisherman sticks to his nets!"
"What a load of bollocks! Now you sound like a pureblood fanatic! By the way, I know all this because we've been playing in the same team for a while and I've been seeing him for months. I talk to him more in a day than the two of us do in a week!"
"How great for you! And have you decided whether your children will go to Slytherin or Gryffindor?!"
Ginny's face turns red with anger. "How can you accuse me of something like that?! As if I'd ever cheated on you! You have no right to say that! You don't come to me with your problems anyway, but ..." Ginny stumbles, takes a step back and looks like she wants to grab the coffee table and throw it across the room.
Harry has to pull himself together not to beat her to it. "But?" he picks up her last sentence in a trembling voice, out of breath.
Ginny turns her glowing eyes back to him. "But to her."
Harry admits, now a little taken aback. His anger fades a little and he frowns slightly. "Her?"
"Hermione!"
"What about Hermione?" Harry now looks at Ginny stupidly.
She, in turn, looks like she'd like to smack Harry. "What do you mean, what about Hermione? You're pouring out your grief to her, I know that! You don't talk to me about your past but with her! You tell me you slept okay but tell her about your nightmares! You tell me your day was okay but you tell her that your last assignment reminded you of the war!"
"I'll tell you that too, or ... I told you, but Hermione understands me!" Harry bursts out.
Ginny yells back. "And I don't understand you?"
"No! You don't understand! Not like she does! Because you can't!"
The very moment these words are out of Harry, he would do anything to take them back.
The anger in Ginny ebbs away, he can see that. And the anger is replaced by pain, deep pain and deep disappointment.
"I didn't mean it ..." he says meekly.
"Yes, you did," Ginny counters in a hoarse voice. "That's exactly what you meant."
They stand facing each other for a moment. Harry looks at her ruefully, Ginny deeply hurt. Finally, she turns round slowly and walks towards the bedroom. As she pushes the door open, Harry is horrified to realise that her trunk was already packed. Ginny had expected this. She had already planned to leave him with a packed suitcase today and he had provided her with the perfect template.
He has been honest with her, but not in the way he had intended.
"Where ... Where are you going?" Harry asks in a pleading voice and follows her, stumbling.
Her hand closes around the handle of the suitcase. "You know that."
"That ... You can't do that ..."
"Well," Ginny says in a quivering voice, turning to Harry with trembling lips, "he understands me."
"Not to him ..." Harry pleads, reaching Ginny and placing his trembling hand on her shoulder.
"Why not? I just want to be understood, just like you. I'll go to him. Why don't you go to her ..."
Before Harry can say another word, Ginny has disapparated and he is left behind in the bedroom.