A/N- I have another chapter almost ready. i am looking for opinions would you like to see some more chapters from Ron perceptive or should I stick with Harry/Ginny?
They still flew sometimes, in those pearl-gray hours before dawn. But now it felt different – less like an escape and more like a choice. Ginny noticed how Harry no longer raced to outfly his nightmares, how sometimes he'd just hover and watch the sun paint the clouds in colors that reminded her life could still be beautiful.
This morning, though, was unique. For the first time since the battle, Harry had slept through dawn. Ginny had woken at her usual time, hand already reaching for her broom, when she'd heard his steady breathing from Ron's room. She'd smiled and crept back to bed, understanding that this too was a kind of healing.
When he finally appeared in the kitchen around mid-morning, hair sticking up worse than usual, he looked almost shy. "I missed our flight," he said, sliding into the chair beside her.
"Good," Ginny replied, pushing a cup of tea toward him. She'd been keeping it warm with a charm, knowing he'd come down eventually. "You needed sleep more than you needed another sunrise."
Harry's fingers brushed hers as he took the cup, and neither of them pulled away. These casual touches were becoming more frequent, more natural. Like they were slowly remembering how to exist in each other's space without the weight of war and prophecy between them.
"It's strange," Harry said, staring into his tea. "Ever since I told Kingsley no, I've been sleeping better. Like... like letting go of what everyone expected from me made room for something else."
"Something better?" Ginny asked softly.
Harry looked up at her then, and her breath caught at the openness in his expression. No masks, no careful distance. Just Harry, with all his scars and hopes and uncertainties.
"I think so," he said. "This morning I dreamed about teaching – not Defense Against the Dark Arts, but flying. Teaching kids how to feel free in the air, how to trust themselves. It wasn't about fighting or surviving. It was just about..." He gestured vaguely with his free hand.
"Joy," Ginny finished. "It was about finding joy again."
"Yeah." Harry's smile was small but real. "I'd forgotten what that felt like."
Ginny thought about her own dreams lately – not the nightmares about the Chamber or the Carrows, but actual dreams. About playing Quidditch professionally, maybe, or writing about it. About finding her own path that had nothing to do with being someone's sister or girlfriend or survivor.
"We're allowed to want things for ourselves, you know," she said. "Even if they're not what people expect."
Harry's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arm. "When did you get so wise?"
"Probably around the same time you got brave enough to disappoint the entire wizarding world," she teased, but they both heard the pride in her voice.
Harry laughed, and the sound made her heart soar. When was the last time she'd heard him laugh like that – free and unguarded, without the shadow of guilt or grief?
"Come on," she said suddenly, standing and tugging him up with her. "Let's go for a walk."
"Not a flight?" His eyes sparkled with understanding.
"No," she said. "I think we've both had enough of trying to out fly our problems. Besides," she added, leading him toward the door, "some things are better experienced with your feet on the ground."
They walked through the orchard, past the makeshift Quidditch pitch where they'd spent so many summer days before the war. The morning dew was just burning off the grass, and the air smelled of apples and possibility.
"I've been thinking," Harry said as they reached the far end of the property. "About that empty space inside me – the one where the horcrux was."
Ginny squeezed his hand gently, encouraging him to continue.
"It doesn't feel so empty anymore. It's like... like it's filling up with new things. Small things, maybe, but real ones. The way Ron grins when he talks about Auror training. Hermione's ridiculous color-coded career research charts. Your mum trying to teach me her secret treacle tart recipe." He paused, looking down at their joined hands. "The way you look at me like you see just Harry, not The Boy Who Lived."
Ginny stopped walking and turned to face him. The morning sun caught in his messy hair, making the few gray strands at his temples shine silver. He looked younger somehow, the weight of destiny no longer pressing down on his shoulders.
"Just Harry is all I've ever seen," she said. "Even when I was that silly little girl with a crush on the famous Harry Potter – I think I was really falling for the boy who looked so lost at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, who just wanted someone to show him how to get through the barrier."
Harry's free hand came up to cup her cheek, and this time there was no hesitation in his touch. "I'm still that lost boy sometimes," he admitted. "Still trying to figure out how to get through barriers. But now..." His thumb brushed along her jawline. "Now I've got someone showing me the way. Someone who understands that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stay on the ground."
Ginny leaned into his touch, letting herself believe in this quiet moment, in this version of them that they were building together – not in spite of their broken pieces, but because of them.
"We'll figure it out," she promised. "Day by day. No flying necessary."
Harry's smile was soft as he leaned down to kiss her, and Ginny thought that maybe this was what healing really meant – not soaring above their pain, but learning to walk through it together, creating something new from the ashes of who they used to be.