GINNY

Ginny pressed the omnioculars to her face, focus fixed on Michael as he hurdled towards the goal posts. It seemed treacherous to be pulling for Slytherin, but at this point she didn't have much choice. If Ravenclaw lost, the Quidditch Cup was as good as hers.

Theirs, she corrected herself. The Cup would be theirs.

Michael shot a sloppy, somewhat risky, entirely uncalled for Chelmondiston Charge.

Across the pitch, the crowd of blue and silver erupted.

"SCORE! Fifty - ten, Ravenclaw!"

Ginny cursed, kicking the seat in front of her. She never should have taught him that. She zoomed out the omnioculars, fast forwarding through his smug celebrations.

Suddenly, there was movement to the north side of the pitch. Chang and Harper, racing shoulder to shoulder. They made a hard swerve right, Chang just barely ahead. Ginny gripped the omnioculars tightly.

The Snitch swerved, then dove. The Seekers tucked and rolled, but lost sight of it. The crowd gave a collective sigh of frustration.

Chang circled, searching for it nearby. Her perfect, shining, meticulously braided hair streaming behind her. As if she were planning to attend another Yule Ball after this. Impractical for a Quidditch match. But Ginny figured Seekers had more time for elaborate braids on match mornings, seeing as they didn't need to review formations or study plays. At least it gave the crowd something to look at while they flew around in boring circles.

Focus.

Ginny returned to normal speed replay, Slytherin now in possession of the Quaffle.

Harry wasn't as useless as most Seekers. He could be a fantastic Chaser, if he wanted. He'd just need to sharpen his shots. More of a defensive player, sure. But she carried the offense anyway. They'd make a good team.

"Hey, may I sit?"

Ginny turned and came eye to eye with Harry grinning and gesturing towards the empty seat beside her.

"Good of you to show," she said, scooting over to give him more space to sit.

"The line was long."

"Didn't realize chips took precedence over the match."

"Guess you won't be wanting any then," he quipped back.

She looked at the plate in his hand, piled high with crispy, golden chips.

"Fine," she said defiantly, then pressed the omnioculars back against her face and switched to replay.

The mouthwatering smell of the chips hit her. Warm, salty.

Focus. Focus on the match.

Bradley had the Quaffle now.

She remembered the first time Ron had written home about Harry making the Quidditch team that first year. How all through dinner (and washing dishes, changing into pajamas, tucking into bed), she'd tried to get her mum to understand just how good someone had to be to make the team. And their first year .

She'd laid awake that night, staring up at the cluster of glittering glow-in-the-dark stars clustered near her ceiling, when it'd hit her. How growing up with Muggles, Harry never would've even seen Quidditch played. Or been to a professional match. He wouldn't have a Quidditch team to support. Maybe she would help him decide which one he liked best.

Maybe they'd even go to a match together. It'd be her first one too. She'd give anything for it to be a Harpies match. If he didn't like the Harpies, then he was an idiot. But she'd probably forgive him.

Maybe he'd even hold her hand during the match.

And maybe, she'd squirmed excitedly under her covers at the thought, he'd have such a brilliant time that he'd give her a kiss on the cheek.

"You can have one, you know," Harry said, breaking her out of the daydream.

"What ?" Ginny reeled around to look at him.

"A chip. I was just kidding, have as many as you like," Harry said, waving his hand over the greasy pile of chips again, licking the salt off his bottom lip as he said it.

"Oh, erm, no," Ginny forced out. "No, thanks." She tried to swallow, but forgot how to use her throat.

Ginny returned to watching the live play, now positively slamming the omnioculars into her eye sockets.

"Malfoy's not playing, is he?" Harry asked darkly.

"Nope."

She hadn't been back to Myrtle's bathroom since the night Harry met her there. But he had been checking in each morning with a glance, asking if she was okay. She'd smile back. Because it was true, the nightmares had been less since. But now replaced by hours laying awake to replay their whole conversation on repeat.

How he'd sat down so close to her, like he had just now. How she could feel his warm, steady gaze on her face. How he'd even complimented her hair.

It was getting harder and harder to deny what Dean and Hermione saw. He certainly was acting… differently.

But Ginny held to her resolution not to go there. Slam the brakes, stop the broken cycle, slam the brakes, stop it, don't do it, just … stop.

And fucking focus!

Chang and Harper were chasing the Snitch again, Chang stretched out her hand, leaning forward, made a dive and …

The crowd gave a second disappointed sigh. A near miss.

"That's the second time she's botched it."

"Good for us, though," Harry said.

"Probably had another one of her famous 'hand cramps'?" Ginny replied sardonically. "How'd you ever manage to hold her hand without triggering one?"

"Never got around to much of that," Harry said, flushing slightly and readjusted his glasses. "Was more afraid I'd run out of tissues, wasn't I? All she did around me was cry."

Ginny watched him, sleeves rolled up, picking at the chips. She reached out and helped herself to a few. "What do you expect? Taking someone on a date to Madam Puddifoot's."

"Hey, that was not my idea," He laughed, bringing the plate closer to her. "I'm not too keen on little dressed up dwarves. "

"Don't I know it. "

He snorted and bit down on his lip, trying, failing not to laugh. Ginny felt the familiar heat creep into her face at the mention of her Valentine's poem, but it felt nice to finally joke about it with him.

"You don't happen to have a copy, do you?" Harry asked, eyes shining. "I'd like to hear it again."

"You missed your chance when you ran like Fang after hearing himself bark."

The corner of his mouth pulled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He returned his focus to the match but said, "I hope that's not true."

Blood rushed in her ears. Surely he didn't just… She felt as though she'd been simultaneously punched in the gut and swallowed a Wildfire Whiz-bang. Should she ask him what he meant?

But the seconds ticked by, and they didn't speak much after that. Only to comment on the match, passing the omnioculars back and forth. Dean showed up eventually with his own plate of cold soggy chips. He sat down beside her, and placed a moist kiss on her cheek. Ginny wiped it off when he wasn't looking.

By then, Slytherin was losing badly and Harry's knee started bouncing, making her tense. She resisted the urge to steady it with her hand. Even if Slytherin caught the Snitch now, the match would still go to Ravenclaw. Looks like she'd have to flatten Michael for the Cup.

Hope he's gotten better about losing.

Ginny remained quiet throughout the entirety of dinner that evening. She was saved from giving an explanation as the the mood at the Gryffindor table was generally somber; Ravenclaw's defeat of Slytherin that day meant that her team would have to win the next match by three hundred points to win the Cup.

But she could deal with that later.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as Ginny gripped her by the elbow, pulling her away after dinner. "What's happened?"

Ginny directed her to the pair of armchairs in the far corner of the common room, whispering, "I think - and believe me, it pains me to say this, but - I think, just maybe, that you were right."

"About what?"

They settled into the cushions, Hermione leaning in closer to hear, and suddenly Ginny felt a rush of giddy nervousness. She tried, and failed to fight back a grin.

"About Harry? That's your Harry grin! What'd he say?!"

"Shhhh…" Ginny looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. Hermione waved her wand, casting a nonverbal spell. "What'd you just do?"

"It's so no one can overhear us. Go on!" Hermione urged impatiently.

"Wait, I wanna know what -"

"I'll tell you later, just tell me what Harry said!"

"Pushy you are," Ginny said, still smiling despite herself, and told Hermione what Harry had said at the match, ignoring her gasping reactions. "So he didn't say anything … not exactly…" She paused after finishing the story, realization popping her bubble of excitement, doubt rushing in to take its place. "Oh, Merlin… Fucking hell…"

"No! Don't do that!"

"Hermione, this is bad."

"No, no, no, no, this is good!"

"It's been years. I can't go back to doing the same thing. I can't get my hopes up about this again." Ginny couldn't fathom going back to analyzing his every movement, deconstructing every word he said, only for it to end the same way it always had before. What if she was only seeing what she wanted to see?

"It's different this time," Hermione insisted.

"What if it's not?"

Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Truthfully he's rather obvious about it all… He's never had much of a poker face."

"Poke who's face?"

"I just mean," Hermione said, shaking her head. "He fancies you. I know it."

"But he and I are such good friends now -"

"Very good friends," Hermione said, along with an intentional eyebrow raise and cheeky little pursed lip smile.

Ginny dropped her forehead on the arm of the chair. Talking with Harry really was too good to lose. Not only because it was Harry. But he was the only one who treated her like a person when she spoke about the Chamber. Not a wounded animal. Not something to fix. Not a porcelain doll.

"So? What are you going to do?"

"I have a boyfriend," Ginny stated firmly. "A perfectly acceptable boyfriend who is by all reasonable standards fine. Absolutely fine." Hermione flicked her. Actually flicked her. "Ow!"

"Listen to yourself," she hissed. "God, You're just like Ronald. You don't actually want your reasonably fine boyfriend, do you?"

"What?" Ginny said, sitting back momentarily, feeling a rush of irritation. "Hermione, you were the one who told me to date other people!"

"Only so you could relax around Harry," Hermione countered. "And it worked, didn't it?" She sounded smug, as if proving a professor had made a mistake.

"But how is this any different than that? Date Dean, get over Harry. Right?"

"Because," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and pausing for emphasis. "Now you can be with Harry."

"Be with Harry?"

"Well, don't you want to?"

"I - I guess I never really let myself … consider it…" Ginny's stomach swooped like when making a sharp dive on her broom. For a moment, unable to control it, she let her thoughts get swept away… "If you're wrong about this, Hermione, I mean it, just finish me off, feed me to the Giant Squid or something (and I'm taking you down with me), because -"

"He fancies you. I'm sure of it."

Ginny resumed banging her head against the armrest.

"Well, Easter Break should be interesting," Hermione said, sounding obnoxiously amused.

The next evening, Ginny found herself stuffed at the far end of the Burrow's kitchen table with the wedding planning committee. Every few minutes, throwing begrudging glances at Ron and Harry as they laughed with her older brothers at the other end. Fred and George wore matching birthday party hats that emitted a continuous fountain of Flame-Safe Sparkers.

When she thought she could endure table seating deliberations no longer, the conversation shifted briefly to her studies for O.W.L.s. before Fleur cut her off, going on about how Beauxbaton's had much more 'practical examinations'.

"Zat eez why ze Tournament was such a génial opportunity. To test our skills in ze real world."

"Oh, yes," Ginny nodded in mock agreement. "Perfect practice for when your unconscious sibling ends up at the bottom of a lake because you accidentally handed them over to a pack of merpeople."

Ginny avoided her mum's warning look, but her dad chuckled lightly, "And yet, that was not the most shocking letter we've received from Professor McGonagall."

Fleur seemed to be ignoring them all and was now smiling fondly at the opposite of the table. "Oh, but Ron eez looking more and more like Bill, no?" she said, as Bill was recounting curse-breaker stories, arms gesturing animatedly, mimicking an explosion; Fred, George, Ron and Harry hanging on his every word.

"Yes, well, you can only have one, dear," Ginny's mum said, giving Fleur a forced smile. Fleur responded with a tinkling laugh, not taking her eyes off Bill.

"How's Quidditch, Ginny?" Her dad interjected.

Ginny gratefully latched onto the change of topic. Recently in one of her letters home she'd finally gathered the courage to mention trying out for a professional league. If Ginny hadn't deduced her mum's skepticism from a lack of acknowledgement, it was confirmed now by the resigned look on her face. But Ginny felt a rush of appreciation when her dad suggested they start saving for a new broomstick for her seventeenth birthday.

"And your boyfriend, Dean, 'e eez on ze team?" Fleur asked with a hinting smile.

"Yes."

"Will 'e be attending ze wedding?"

"Oh, erm… I haven't thought to ask," Ginny responded honestly.

"Perhaps he should come, dear. Your father and I would like to get to know him."

"Yes… Might be, uh, about time I had a chat with the ole chap," her dad said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Dad!"

"Oh, are we talking about Ginny's boyfriend ?" Fred asked, piquing attention from the other side of the table.

"We'd just like to know who our children are involved with, is all, dear," her mum said, reading Ginny's reaction.

"Oh, really?" Ginny said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fine, I'll bring Dean to the wedding... if you can tell me what Ron's girlfriend's name is."

"Girlfriend?" Her mum asked, shooting a look down the table to Ron. "This is the first I'm hearing about any girlfriend," she continued forcefully, speaking to the top of Ron's head as he focused on rearranging his peas. "Since when, Ronald?"

"Since before Christmas, wasn't it?" Fred offered.

"You two knew?!"

"Ginny told us," George said, deflecting the blame back to Ginny.

Ginny's mum rounded on her, an incredulous look on her face.

"I know, I can't believe it's lasted this long either," Ginny said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Their mum scanned her children's faces, as if searching for an ally in an audience of traitors. "And none of you felt you could tell your father and I about this?"

"I wasn't… hiding it, or anything, Mum," Ron mumbled, finally taking his eyes off his plate, ducking his head and shrugging, like a turtle retreating into its shell. "I just … didn't mention it." Their mum clicked her tongue, shaking her head in a We'll be discussing this later sort of way.

"Come now, let's not get all upset," said Fred. "Honestly, we should be celebrating."

"Yeah, it's not every day Ron can find a girl willing to stick around this long."

"Now that you mention it, George, I can only think of one other girl who has," Fred said, meeting Ron's murderous eyes with a mischievous grin. "Tell us, Ron, will Hermione be joining us this break?"

"Ah, oui. I remember Ron 'as trouble speaking with ze women," Fleur said with a delicate giggle. There was an awkward pause where Ron's face turned a deep scarlet. Harry's wide eyes sought Ginny's, then turned away, stifling a laugh.

Bill broke the silence. "The trick is, Ron, you've got to be able to talk yourself up. The only reason I got a second date with Fleur is because I told her the story of narrowly escaping that collapsing tomb in the Pyramid of Giza." Bill and Fleur exchanged sappy looks that made Ginny sick.

"Wait, you told us that story," Ginny interjected. "Wasn't there a small cave in, and you just didn't want to move on until they'd cleared it?"

"Oh! But 'e was running out of air! And 'e only survived because 'e lowered 'is 'eart rate with ze power of 'is mind. It took an 'our before 'e was saved," Fleur said, patting her hand over her heart, gazing at Bill adoringly. "When I zeenk zat 'e might 'ave died before we ever met…"

"I was caved in too!" Ron said loudly, as if defending himself. "Remember, Harry? When we went to the Chamber of Secrets and I had to clear it so you and Ginny could make it back?"

"Oh yeah, but we should learn that heart rate thing," Harry said, hiding his amusement, but only just. "Sounds useful."

–-

The next day, Ginny woke to the cool morning breeze carrying the soft clucking of chickens through her open window. She took her time selecting her outfit, washing up, and getting ready, eventually giving up on her third attempt at braiding her hair without leaving it crooked.

"No more secret societies this year, I hope?"

Harry's light laughter drifted up from the kitchen. "No, I've got enough to be going on. With Quidditch and all…"

Ginny froze on the first step off the landing. Her pulse quickened, she held her breath to hear her mum and Harry's conversation in the kitchen below.

"Ron says you've been doing well in Potions," her mum said as she made breakfast, bacon sizzling in the pan, dishes clanging. "It wasn't until he said something that I remembered how, in the old Order, Lily was always the one people went to when they needed a potion whipped up. Wasn't always easy to access a Healer in those days, you know. Fabian said she'd make this sweet tasting Pepperup Potion. No side effects, either. I'd always meant to send for the recipe…" Ginny's mum was quiet long enough that Ginny wondered if she'd left the kitchen. "I hope you don't mind me saying, dear."

"No, not at all," Harry said quietly.

Ginny would've sat there longer to eavesdrop if Ron's heavy footsteps three stories above hadn't forced her down the stairs to join her mum and Harry. There were dark hand-painted rain clouds drifting across the decorative plate above the kitchen sink window, forecasting rain all day. Doubly unfortunate because it wasn't easy to be stuck in a cramped house with the object of one's affections, which were historically unrequited affections, which now might be requited affections, but also not the affections of the object she should be requitting them from.

In other words, she was highly aware that she still had a boyfriend.

But Harry was so distracting. The way his voice carried through the house, the way the ground shook when he entered a room, the way she felt every beat of her heart when he looked at her.

To occupy herself, Ginny hid away in her parents' room with her mum, helping with the eternal task of "clearing out the closets." Which mostly turned into long hours sitting on the floor, sorting through forgotten items, discussing repurposing possibilities for said items before returning them to their place in the back of the closet.

There was a photo on her mum's nightstand of when her parents first moved into the Burrow. Back when it only had two stories. Her dad carried her mum in his arms, swaying gently side to side, her long dress billowing in a gentle breeze. Every seven seconds, they'd kiss, then look back at the camera smiling.

Throughout her life, Ginny had spent hours memorizing the photo. Enough so that whenever she thought about moving away from home, she still imagined it might look something like this. As imaginations do, hers had gotten carried away a few years ago. And it wasn't easy to scrub the face she imagined in her own photo one day.

It was dark before the rain finally let up. But eager to stretch their legs out of the confines of the Burrow, Ginny, Harry and Ron carried a bundle of blankets and a thermos of hot cocoa into the orchard.

Under the clearing night sky, they laid on blankets in a triangle. Harry told Muggle ghost stories ("But why would you be afraid of ghosts? They can't even touch you!"), they made up astrological Divination predictions for each other, throughout which Ginny and Ron honored a pact from last summer to steer clear of "war talk" for Harry's sake.

"What's going on with you and Lav-Lav, anyways?" Ginny dared to ask, making Ron groan and drop his face into his hands. "Why don't you just end it already?"

"It's not that easy."

"And you think avoiding her forever will be easier?"

"She wants to stay together," Ron said miserably. "How am I supposed to tell her I don't want to?"

"'Hey, Lavender, I think we should break up'."

"Thanks, Harry," Ron replied flatly.

"He's right, though," Ginny said, even as she felt a strange twinge of sympathy for Ron. "You just have to … get it out. It'll be worse if you avoid it. Like a Howler."

"And that's what you did with Michael, is it?"

"Well, that was mostly mutual," Ginny replied honestly. Ron raised up his palms to the sky, as this made his argument, and proceeded to pick nervously at the blanket. Ginny looked to Harry, who shrugged, as if to say: We tried. She peered back at Ron, studying him, suddenly reminded of all the times they'd argued, she'd slam her door in his face, swear to never speak to him again, and later find his favorite stuffed white rabbit at the foot of her door as a peace offering. And as far as screwing up the nerve to break up with someone? Well, she could empathise with that. "Look, think of it this way… She'll be better off with someone who actually wants to be with her…" Ron nodded vaguely, chewing the inside of his lip. Ginny laughed and continued, "That and if Hermione can turn down McLaggen and Viktor Krum to their faces, I'm sure you can handle Lavender Brown."

Harry laughed, "And don't forget punching Malfoy in the face."

"I'm still furious I wasn't there for that," Ginny grumbled. "Maybe she can reenact it one day."

"Actually, both Harry and Hermione had a go at him," Ron seemed to realize. "So, it's my turn next, isn't it?"

They spent the next half hour fantasizing scenarios for exacting six years of revenge on Malfoy. And it was well past midnight when on their way back, Ginny dared Ron to Apparate to the very edge of the pond's dock. After several practice turns, Ron's attempt resulted in him splashing out of the pond, wringing pond water from his shirt.

"You will not tell Fred and George about this," Ron shot at Ginny. "Or Hermione."

"Whatever you say," Ginny said cajolingly, but then whispered to Harry: "But you will won't you? I'll pay you my life savings of three knuts, a half-eaten sugar quill and some pocket lint."

Harry beamed, his teeth bright against the darkness of the night, nodded. "I'll take the half-eaten sugar quill," he whispered back, walking close beside her. "I've been needing to get something for Dudley's birthday."

Only the small kitchen light was still on when the three of them crept in the house to the familiar groan of wooden floor boards, shushing each other, giggling as they sneaked treats from the snack cabinet. They went about their nightly wash up routines, whispered "goodnights", and shut their doors with soft clunks.

Her dad's Silencing Charm must've worn off on the ceiling that separated her room from Fred and George's, where Harry now slept. Ginny could hear him cross the room above her. Even his footsteps were polite. Although, most probably were compared to Fred and George's. The only upside being that she'd learned to sleep through just about anything.

It was the getting to sleep that was the hard part.

She crawled into bed, curled onto her side and pulled the pillow over her head. There had been nights after her first year where she'd lay awake just like this, fearing that her small body couldn't contain the vastness of her guilt and embarrassment.

During the darkest nights, Ginny's mum would lay under the covers beside her, running a hand through her hair, retelling stories of when she was little.

Sometimes they'd even create safe, serene imaginary worlds together. Ginny had always added at least one cute animal that could talk, and her mum, about twenty different types of wildflowers. Ginny had tried doing this with her dad once, but he'd missed the point. Wouldn't it be dangerous to put so many Pygmy Puffs in a motorized speedboat? What if they hit a wave?

When her mum wasn't there, Ginny imagined her own worlds. Ones where she'd go help Charlie take care of the dragons. Or desert adventures with Bill, riding camels, solving mysteries in the sand dunes. All the possibilities where she didn't have to go back to Hogwarts.

In some worlds Harry would join her in a grassy field of wildflowers. He'd sit down crossed legged, facing her; she'd be capable of speaking to him and he'd answer all her questions. Or just listen.

She had always wished she could think of a more grown-up question, but the one that had echoed most often was: What did he say to you about me?

She'd almost asked him directly in the Chamber last week. But after all this time, she still didn't know if she could bear to hear the answer.

What if the poison in Tom's words had reached Harry's mind too? Making it so that he would never, could never, think of her as anything more than the girl that led him into a trap and befriended the person who killed his parents.

Because Tom hadn't been entirely wrong. It was pathetic, wasn't it? To pour her desperation into a book in return for a sense of belonging in a world away from home.

She allowed his words to make her a vessel in his acts of violence. And her words nearly supplied him the power to return to skin and bone.

The opening of the Chamber of Secrets might've been Tom's fault. But until she had written in it, Tom's diary had only ever just been an enchanted book.

–-

"I think you should know that we're on an even playing field now," Ginny said on the third day of break. Patches of storm clouds still gathered overhead, but they'd been out enjoying a few rain-free hours.

Harry gave her a look, asking: What do you mean?

"It's easy to be the fastest on the team with a five hundred galleon broom."

Harry inspected George's old Cleansweep, turning the handle over in his hand. "Oh yeah? Shall we test it out then?"

Ginny snorted. "What, race?"

"Scared, Weasley?" He asked, leaning infinitesimally closer.

There was an irresistible challenge in his eyes, the hint of a daring smile on his lips, and Ginny's heart began beating faster in anticipation.

"Just of seeing the look on your face when you hand over the Captain's badge."

So the route was set. Whoever was first to make it over the small hill, around the far cluster of trees, and pass between the makeshift hoops won. Absolutely no cheating would be tolerated.

They started off even, but Ginny pulled ahead as they neared the patch of trees. Laying flat out on the handle of her broomstick, she chanced a glance back at him. He was braking, readjusting for the turn.

Ginny pulled up on the handle, braking from top speed, straining to decelerate before the turn, when the broom began to halter violently and suddenly the world spun out of control, filled by disorienting streaks of colors until she lost grip of the handle.

Her foot landed first, twisting in a direction it shouldn't. The rest of her body slammed into the ground, tumbling endlessly until she lay on her back, eyes open to a swirling sky.

A second later, a blinding pain erupted from her ankle.

She tried to sit up, but the world continued to rotate around her. Harry was calling her name, and his face swam into view above her.

She saw him pull out his wand and point it at her ankle. "NO!" She yelled, "It's not worth it." Ginny pulled up the leg of her trousers, her entire foot was starting to swell. She tried to lift it, but winced sharply, "Fuuuuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck…"

"Here, I'll carry you."

"Just go get Mum!"

Ginny felt raindrops begin to fall, they both looked up at the gathering storm clouds.

"It'll be faster if I carry you," he said quickly, making moves to pick her up.

She swatted him away. "No! Just leave me here! I'll be fine!"

"I'll get Ron from the pitch, he can mend it."

"That's a joke. You must be joking."

"C'mon Ginny, don't be stupid," he said, now sounding irritated. "Just let me help you."

Her ankle gave a strong, consenting throb. She nodded and he bent down and made to scoop her up under her knees.

"No!" She practically screamed. The last thing she needed was to add fuel to her new home daydream. She pulled up on his arm instead, standing on one leg and braced her hands on his shoulders. With a single leg hop, she clambered awkwardly onto his back.

Entirely unsure of where to put her hands, she felt herself slipping as the rain began picking up, wetting the sloping path back to the house. Every so often the side of her head made contact with his, pushing his glasses slightly askew.

His hair smelled the most like Harry. Warm, almost salty from the Quidditch earlier, mixed with something more…She inhaled deeply, trying to identify it, and instead became acutely aware of the feel of his hands gripping the underside of her knees, the throaty rushing of his breath from the effort of carrying her up the hill, the way it felt to press her thighs against his waist, and it all suddenly became too much .

"WAIT! Stop it! Stop, stop! Put me down!"

"But we're nearly there!"

"For fuck's sake, Harry Potter! Put me down !"

She began to fight against him as he tried to gingerly lower her to the ground. "What the - Ginny, are you okay?"

Ginny collapsed onto her back, ankle held high above the ground, and closed her eyes as a steady stream of raindrops fell, turning to steam as they hit her face.

"Just trying to…" she said, covering her face with her elbows, working to steady her breath. "Lower my heart rate."

–-

Ginny was six when she first started breaking into the broom shed and teaching herself to fly.

At the time, she'd never thought to be afraid of the dark. So she'd crept silently down the stairs, out the back door, short cut through the garden to the old broom shed. She'd placed her hand on the rickety wooden handle and paused.

One last glance at her parents' window.

There are decisions that a person will remember for the rest of their life. Ones that can be identified as "the day that changed everything."

And that was one of them.

Lights still off.

All clear.

Her brother's brooms had been propped up along the wall of the shed and she held her hand up towards the smallest one. She'd seen her brothers do it a hundred times now.

How hard could it be?

"Come!"

The broom had instantly zoomed into her outstretched hand. She realized she'd never held one without her mum yelling a caution at her and her brothers. Maybe that's why it was so exhilarating to hold.

When her parents inevitably found out, they were furious. And many years later, Ginny could admit they had a right to be.

But the shouting, slammed doors, tears, and grounding had been nothing compared to her first flight, first real flight. When she'd lifted off from the ground, air pulling her hair behind her, wind seeping through her jacket and making her eyes water.

The first time she'd realized what it was like to be completely free.

After that, her parents had tried to gift her a used training broom, one that skimmed pathetically over the ground with a built in height limit. A safe, stable, risk-free broom. Ones babies used.

They hadn't understood, and maybe still didn't. Part of the thrill was the height. Where she could twist, turn, roll without coming anywhere close to the ground.

She loved the rush of peaking down, feeling that momentary stab of fear. Then overcoming it by focusing forward, speeding ahead until all thought of it vanishes. There was never time for thinking. Only reacting. Letting her reflexes take over, discovering what she, herself, was capable of. She'd have to land eventually, that was part of it. But for a while, she could pretend the earth below didn't exist.

The carrying incident seemed to have crossed that unspoken physical boundary people keep. Because that evening (her ankle healed in an instant), despite her most wholesome intentions, Ginny couldn't help feeling herself drawn to Harry. Some new, charged, gravitational pull.

It was in the little things. The way they brushed shoulders when passing in the hall, despite plenty of room to avoid it. Sitting near each other in a room full of empty seats. Gentle nudges with a foot or calf when playing games, or in response to Ron saying something stupid (which was quite a lot).

All too familiar to be comfortable.

At night she could rationalize these touches away as platonic. Just two friends surviving a near death experience. Again. It'd be too hazardous to hope they were anything more.

What if it was still only her that felt it?

And oh yeah, she had to… For the Dean of it all.

Dean had been a good boyfriend, the best. Safe. Stable. Risk-free.

But by the fourth day of the holiday, Ginny knew she'd need to end things. And no, not just because one look from Harry did more to her nerves than any kiss she'd shared with Dean.

Now that she'd been away from him for several days, she could appreciate the lack of his constant breeze-like touches, making her feel trapped in a cocoon of gentleness and false safety. She could still vividly remember the way her hand turned to ice at his reaction to the Chamber of Secrets. Their relationship was frozen, suspended in one place. Perhaps it'd been for months now.

As soon as they got back from holiday, she'd end it. She'd go about this the right way, Dean deserved that. So each night, as she lay awake in bed, she swore to avoid Harry the next day.

Easier verbalized than cast, however, because he made no effort to do the same.

The back door to the Burrow closed, and Ginny turned to see Harry approaching with hands in his pockets.

Her head snapped back to the issue of Quidditch Times, making the hammock sway lightly. Heart instantly began hammering in her chest, her mind whirred, trying to think of how to avoid him.

"Hey."

"Hey… where's - er - where's Ron?"

"He fell asleep listening to the Canons match," Harry said, pointing a thumb back to the house.

Ginny nodded. "Easily done."

His eyes scanned over the open Quidditch Times in her hands. He gave her a lopsided smile, "Sorry," he said before turning on his heel to go.

"Wait… Stay," Ginny heard herself say. Her traitorous heart continued to beat wildly in her chest. "It's normally only big enough for one, but…" She curled her legs up beneath her, making space for him to sit.

He shoved his hands further into his pockets, and looked determinedly at the ground. Ginny's stomach sank, twisting in its humiliation the longer he took to respond.

"Okay," he said finally, making eye contact briefly before climbing in, as if giving her an out, and sat sideways across the hammock.

Ginny tried to focus on a broomstick maintenance article for the entirety of the time it took the hammock to stop swinging. Her eyes flicked up over the top of the pages, and she caught him looking too. They both looked away, smiling.

He shifted more, and entirely of its own accord (no, honestly), her foot slipped and pressed against his side.

"How's your ankle?" Harry asked, laying a palm over the bare skin of her ankle, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes fluttered closed, she allowed herself to relax into him.

"Better," she said, not bothering to tell him it had been the other ankle.

At that moment, one of the metal clasps of the hammock gave a great, heaving groan. Before she could turn to inspect it, she was in free fall.

Ginny fell first, landing with a jolt. Air forced from her lungs.

Harry landed hard beside her. Eyes wide in shock.

They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter simultaneously. Ginny wondered briefly, as she rubbed her sore lower back, whether she should take falling around Harry as some omen of things to come. She pushed the thought away, figuring it would be worth it to keep seeing him smile like that.

The next morning Ginny's parents went on a walk of the garden's perimeter to adjust the protective enchantments in preparation for Hermione and her parents' arrival later that day.

"How are you doing that?" Ginny asked, stifling a yawn. Harry had been making a breakfast of eggs and sausage when she and Ron came down.

"You see, when there's a heat source, you can -" he broke off laughing, having earned a stab in the side with a spatula for his cheek. He shrugged and continued, "I used to cook a lot at the Dursley's."

"It's just the only man I've seen cook without burning something is Charlie," she said, sitting down at the table to take in the full view of him with his chaotic morning hair, wearing her mother's apron, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, muscles of his arm flexing while shifting the frying pan.

"Well, see if you like it first," Harry said, placing a plate in front of her and Ron.

"Oh, I like it."

The kitchen went silent apart from the sizzling of the frying pan. Ginny stared at her fork, hoping she was mistaken. Hoping that she'd only said the words in her head.

Ginny sat resolutely still, hoping if she didn't move, neither of them would notice her. She'd surely get a sunburn from the heat spreading across her face and neck.

Harry sat down across from her at the table and cleared his throat.

"Pass me the butter, Gin?" He asked. "It's just there, near your elbow."

Her eyes shot up like lightning to see Harry staring at her, green eyes sparking. Wearing an honest-to-Merlin smirk.

She aimed a sharp kick at his leg under the table.

"Ow!" He laughed loudly, and ducked under the table to rub his shin.

Across from her, Ron's eyebrows were raised as high as his hairline, wearing a bemused smile, tilting his head in a silent question. Ginny returned Ron's look with a rude hand gesture before shoving the butter dish across the table to Harry.