A/N I have next chapter mostly done just need to finish it and have my Beta Reader check it.
Ginny watched the Snitch vanish into the dawning sky, her heart hammering against her ribs. She'd followed Harry out here on impulse, unable to let him retreat into solitude again. But now that he'd actually joined her, actually smiled at her, she found herself almost afraid to breathe wrong and break whatever fragile thing was happening between them.
The familiar weight of her broomstick steadied her nerves. Flying had always been her escape – from being the youngest, from being a girl, from the nightmares that still haunted her about Tom Riddle and that cursed diary. During that terrible year at Hogwarts, she'd snuck out to fly whenever she could, letting the wind blow away the sounds of screaming from the dungeons, the memory of Amycus Carrow's sneer as he'd asked her to practice the Cruciatus Curse on first years.
A glint of gold caught her eye near the apple trees. She dove without hesitation, feeling rather than seeing Harry follow. The rush of acceleration pushed away the darker thoughts, replaced by the pure exhilaration of the chase. This, at least, hadn't changed – the way they could read each other's movements in the air, anticipating turns and dives like they were two parts of the same creature.
She cut sharply around an apple tree, hearing Harry's robes whisper past leaves just behind her. The sound of his unexpected laugh made her stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with flying. When was the last time she'd heard him laugh like that? Before Fred, before the battle, before...
No. She wouldn't think about that now. Instead, she focused on the way Harry was matching her move for move, his flying as natural as breathing. He'd always been beautiful on a broom, but there was something different now – a controlled power in his movements that spoke of everything he'd survived.
"Getting slow in your old age, Potter?" she called over her shoulder, surprising herself with how normal her voice sounded. How light.
"Just giving you a sporting chance, Weasley!" he shot back, and for a moment she could almost pretend they were back in her fifth year, when their biggest worry had been getting caught snogging in the corridors.
The Snitch led them through the orchard in a complex weaving pattern. They were flying so close now that she could hear Harry's sharp intake of breath each time they barely avoided collision. She found herself laughing, really laughing, at the pure joy of it. When was the last time she'd felt this free? This alive?
The Snitch suddenly shot upward, and they followed in perfect sync. Higher and higher they climbed, until her ears popped from the altitude. The orchard below blurred into abstraction, and Ginny felt something loosen in her chest. Up here, she didn't have to be Strong Ginny, the one holding everyone together while George stared at walls and her mother burst into tears over odd socks. Up here, she could just be herself, whoever that was now.
She glanced at Harry beside her, saw the intensity in his expression that she remembered so well from Quidditch matches. But there was something else there too – a spark of the old Harry, the one who used to look at her like she was sunrise after endless night.
The plan formed in her mind without conscious thought. She laughed and rolled her broom directly into his path, forcing him to swerve. The move – one he'd taught her himself – gave her just enough advantage to snatch the Snitch from the air.
"That's cheating!" Harry called out, but he was laughing too, really laughing, his eyes bright behind his glasses.
"That's strategy," she corrected, holding up her prize. Her heart skipped at how close they were now, hovering face to face. "Besides, you're the one who taught me that move. Summer before my fifth year, remember?"
She watched the memory hit him – those golden days when everything had seemed possible, before prophecy and war had torn them apart. She'd been so young then, they both had. Sometimes she caught herself missing that girl, the one who believed love could conquer anything. But maybe that wasn't fair to who they were now, to what they might become.
"Ready for round two?" she asked softly, careful to keep her tone light. She wouldn't push him, wouldn't demand more than he could give. But she wouldn't let him run away either, not when she could see him fighting to stay.
Harry was looking at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. She wondered what changes he saw in her – the new scar on her jaw from Alecto's ring, the shadows under her eyes from nights spent sitting with George. But his gaze wasn't pitying or afraid. It was like he was really seeing her, all of her, for the first time since he'd died in that forest.
"Two out of three, remember?" he said quietly. "I'm not giving up that easily."
Something warm bloomed in her chest at his words, at the meaning layered beneath them. Because this wasn't just about Quidditch – it was about them, about healing, about finding their way back to each other through all the broken pieces.
She released the Snitch, watching it disappear into the brightening sky. "Good," she said simply, pouring everything she couldn't yet say into that single word. "Neither am I."