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Author: Wild Magelet Story: Justice Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 8 Words: 33,705
Disclaimer: Everything familiar belongs to J.K. Rowling. A/N: Thank you to Mistral, my incredible beta, who is still putting up with my random commas and who can rearrange even the most awkward sentence. :)
A curl slipped loose from Ginny’s wand, springing to rest at an unnatural angle. Muttering a mild curse beneath her breath, and shouting a much worse one in her head, she jammed a clip into the left side of her hair. According to The Modern Witch’s Guide to Glamour, Fleur’s slightly insulting present on her last birthday, her hair ought to be “a cascading waterfall of ringlets” by now. Which it most definitely was not. Just stood under a waterfall, maybe. She glared at her reflection. Makeup was fine. Fleur could raise her perfectly tilted nose all she liked; Ginny was in full agreement with Hermione that “zose seelly bottles et powders of ze Muggles” did their job. Dress was great. It might have cost a week’s pay, and it might be true that she’d rather go flying with Harry than shopping for clothes with Tonks, but the shortest, silkiest, sexiest black dress in England was worth it. Besides which, shopping with Tonks did have its advantages. When Ginny had thrown aside the forty-fourth outfit and dropped to sulk on a couch, her friend had taken inordinate glee in morphing into her own face and figure. Pseudo-Ginny had spent the rest of the afternoon modeling possible ensembles for her “twin”, enthusiastically returning the forced smiles of shop assistants and prancing about with a ludicrous hip-sway, until both redheads fell hopelessly into laughter and onto the floor. Now, Ginny sighed. That had been a few months ago – the silly Tonks she loved so much had been in rare existence lately. They both needed to blow off some steam, and Ginny was determined to do it tonight. All of the Juniors had been given two days off for Christmas, and no one intended to waste them. “Ginny? We should get going in a few minutes.” Harry’s voice came through from the bedroom, where she’d heard him pacing for the last quarter-hour. “Coming,” she called back, for the third time. Giving up, she yanked at the clips and picked up her wand again. A Quick Fix-it spell returned the mess of curls to her usual long, straight hair. Poking through her meager collection of jewellery, she briefly considered wearing Ron’s “My Sweetheart” necklace, which Harry had rescued from the rubbish bin and given to her as a joke. Ron hadn’t shared their amusement. She suspected that Lavender Brown, who was certain to be there tonight, wouldn’t find it funny either. Grinning, she scooped up her favourite piece – the Golden Snitch pendant Harry had bought for her eighteenth birthday – and fastened it carefully about her neck. Hermione had remarked to her once, in exasperated undertones, that it was exactly what a clueless Quidditch-mad boy would seize upon as an ideal gift for his girlfriend, but, truthfully, Ginny had never loved anything more. “I meant to ask,” Harry said suddenly, the words muffled. She could hear rustling and hoped that he was packing up the presents. “How’re you doing with those files?” The frustration, temporarily off the boil, began to bubble in Ginny’s stomach again. “Two hundred and twelve,” she replied, sounding every bit as annoyed as she felt. “Two hundred and twelve what?” She couldn’t tell if his tone was confused or preoccupied. “Two hundred and twelve cases that involved all of the victims in some capacity. And bloody Roderick wants the name of every other person mentioned, down to the boy who delivered the sodding sandwiches, probably!” With one last glance at the mirror, Ginny wrinkled her nose and pushed open the bathroom door. Harry, for reasons known only to himself, was standing with his head stuck in the wardrobe. The wrapped parcels for their friends were still strewn over the bedcovers. “Harry?” “What?” He jerked upward and swung around, panic written over his features. “Oh, right. Well, that’s…” He stopped abruptly, mouth hanging open, eyes widening as they moved from her face to the clinging little dress. His cheeks pinked, and Ginny let a smug smile grow. That was a good sign. Harry was always noticeably embarrassed when thinking dirty thoughts. It was actually rather sweet. He cleared his throat a few times before finding his – slightly husky – voice. “Are you wearing that?” Her smug smile vanished. “Why?” she asked, a dangerous glint, the one that every male Weasley shrank from, appearing in her eyes. She smoothed the lovely material over her hips and glared at him. “What’s wrong with it?” “Er.” Harry didn’t seem to share her fascination with the pricy silk; his gaze was instead focused where the material dipped and ended. As he encountered her scowl, he made a hasty attempt to collect his wits. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” The deep edge to his words backed up that statement, and Ginny felt a warming sensation in her middle. “It’s just – there’s going to be a lot of blokes at the party, you know.” She rolled her eyes and edged past him to reach into the wardrobe. “Well, thank you for that blatantly obvious observation, Harry.” “What are you doing?” he asked quickly. She lifted down a black shoulder bag, nudged the door closed with her foot, and turned to frown at him. “I’m getting a bag to carry the presents. What’s with you?” “I’ll help,” he offered, ignoring the question and gathering the boxes with rushed, awkward movements. She watched, bemused, as he forced the fastenings over the bulging canvas. “Ready, then? Ron owled before; he and Hermione are meeting us there.” “I think so.” Ginny hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Harry, are you…” “Late,” he blurted out. “Yes, we’re late.” He pulled his wand from its holster and straightened his glasses, casting a nervous glance her way. “You know the coordinates, right?” “Yes, I think I remember the way to Seamus’s flat,” she said, lifting one eyebrow. “Although I think maybe you should walk, if you don’t want to leave something behind.” He raised the heavy bag. “I’ve got the presents.” “I mean part of you. Or have you conveniently forgotten about that night in Highbury-on-Sea? When we all realised that getting pissed and attempting to Apparate is a bad idea?” Harry looked surprised. “What?” “Aren’t you drunk?” “No.” “Not even a little?” “No!” She crossed her arms. “Then why are you acting so…shifty?” “I’m not acting shifty!” Harry retorted, clearly offended. His eyes flickered in a way that Ginny considered decidedly shifty. She looked at the clock and gave up. They really were late. “Fine. Just – take it slowly, yeah?” His look was slightly frosty. “Don’t worry, I’ll try not to fall arse over elbow when I get there.” “As long as you bring your arse and elbows with you, I’m happy.” She grabbed her wool coat and Apparated before he could retort. &&&&& The street outside Seamus’s building was crowded with party-goers, last-minute shoppers and levitating parcels. Ginny took a step back on the slippery pavement to allow a harassed father to pass. His five children, joined in a line by their mitten-clad hands, toddled behind and wailed for treats from the confectionery next door. Snow was still falling lightly, and the air was crisply cold. Wrapping her coat tighter as she waited for Harry, Ginny inhaled the scent of pine and sugar. It even smelled like Christmas Eve. Without the smallest pop, Harry appeared on the steps, clad in the winter coat that had once belonged to Sirius. “In one piece,” he said, rather pointedly, and she smiled at him. “Point taken. And I’d completely forgotten about the food, so thank you.” The old Weasley tuck box was barely holding on under his arm, and she reached to take it. Seamus had shamelessly dropped by the Burrow earlier in the week to charm her mother into catering his annual Christmas party. She’d peeked earlier, and the box was jam-packed with sandwiches and cakes, ready for delivery. Ginny carefully navigated the icy steps and pushed the buzzer by Seamus’s name. The door swung open at once, and Harry shook his head. “Brilliant security, there.” “He has an open-door policy for his parties,” she explained, leading the way up to the first floor. They could already hear a base beat thrumming through the ceiling. “Why doesn’t he just leave the door open, then?” Harry sounded pensive again, as if his mind were elsewhere. Ginny shot him a concerned look. “Dunno. Says he wants to preserve the niceties, whatever that means. Harry, are you sure you’re okay? Not drunk,” she continued quickly, as he turned an impatient gaze on her. “But – are you okay? You’ve been really distracted this week.” They paused outside the door of the flat, Harry avoiding her penetrating stare as he shuffled his feet. “Ginny,” he said finally. “I’m - ” The door suddenly swung open, releasing a loud burst of music and laughter. “Oh, hallo!” Parvati Patil, wavering on stiletto shoes, grinned at them. She looked very pretty with her hair looped into fancy curls. Ginny eyed them enviously – obviously some people had mastered Fleur’s book. “I was coming out to look for my boyfriend. He went outside for a smoke. Come in, come in!” She grabbed each of them by the arm, hauling them into the warm room. Ginny gazed around, impressed beyond her high expectations. Although Seamus aimed for bigger and better every Christmas Eve, he’d outdone himself this year. The luxurious flat, already enormous considering its single owner, had been magically expanded to accommodate the two hundred-odd guests he’d invited. The open-plan living area was crowded with people, at least half of whom she didn’t recognise at all. Around the huge Christmas tree, former Hogwarts students mingled with big names from the wizarding wireless. Famous musicians chatted with Quidditch stars by the fireplace, and Ministry employees gathered at the bar, tapping their feet to the upbeat carols of the band. Seamus really got around. Parvati, waving at another newcomer, homed in on their parcels. “Food and presents, yes? I’ll take those,” she trilled cheerfully. “And throw your coats on top; I’ll stick them in the bedroom.” “Seamus should’ve hung on to you,” Ginny commented, passing her things over with a word of thanks. “I never understood why you two split up.” She meant it sincerely. Parvati had thrown off her silliness and grown into a genuinely nice girl after the war. The other witch laughed. “Oh, I do. Believe me, our little trip down that road was a disaster. It’s nice to see you both – and I see some more people you know!” She nodded behind them and twirled away toward the kitchen. Ginny caught a whiff of familiar gardenia perfume, right before Hermione caught her up in a hug. “Ginny! Happy Christmas! What a lovely dress.” Ginny hugged her back. “Happy Christmas, Hermione. And Ron,” she added, catching sight of her brother. Ron looked a bit uncomfortable in his dress shirt and trousers. He’d probably made an effort under duress from Hermione, but even Ginny had to admit it was effective. Both he and Harry looked very tall and adult tonight. “Happy Christmas, Ginny,” he said, surprising her with a quick hug before he slapped Harry on the back. “’Bout time you got here, mate. There aren’t enough blokes in this place.” “Ron, what are you talking about?” Hermione scoffed, taking a glass of wine from a passing tray. “There are men everywhere. Good heavens,” she said in surprise. “Even Colin Creevey is here. I thought he was on assignment in Africa.” Ron obviously couldn’t care less about Colin’s whereabouts. “I’m talking about blokes. Real blokes,” he emphasized, giving a passing disc jockey a disgusted once-over. Undaunted, the blond man cast them a shining white grin and smoothed invisible stains from his cream velour suit. Ginny giggled. “And what do you call him? A snappily-dressed poltergeist?” A handsome olive-skinned man, slightly piratical in appearance, intercepted Ron’s piercing gaze and winked in return. Blanching, her brother seized Harry by the sleeve. “C’mon. I saw beer over there.” Harry was hustled in his wake, looking bewildered. Ginny joined in Hermione’s laughter. “What on earth’s up with Ron?” Hermione grinned and nodded toward the ‘pirate’. “That’s Lucas DeSpira, the artist. I’m afraid Ron rather caught his fancy when we arrived.” She tried to smother her giggles with her hand as DeSpira peered through the crowd, obviously searching for her errant boyfriend. “I wish you’d seen Ron’s face when he finally caught on. Now he’s convinced that half the men here fancy him. He keeps trying to hide behind me.” Thoroughly entertained, Ginny watched as her brother handed Harry a beer and cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. “I don’t think Ron’s having the best night,” Hermione continued, her mouth twisting with a distinctly unsympathetic smirk. She smoothed her red jumper and took a sip of wine. “And you?” Ginny asked, smiling. “Oh, loads of fun!” “That’s what we like to hear!” Seamus, an askew party hat slanting into his eyes, tottered around the food table and returned their greetings with tipsy enthusiasm. He was propped up on two brunettes, his arms dangling around their necks, a half-empty glass held loosely in each hand. One of the women was old enough to be his mother, a fact which didn’t seem to concern him in the least. “Nice party,” Ginny said loudly over the music, shaking her head in resignation. “Too bloody right.” Seamus released his girlfriends, dropped the drinks and lunged forward to seize her in a sloppy embrace. Face close against hers, he beamed, the customary wicked grin only marginally blurred by whatever had been in the glasses. “How about a Christmas kiss from my gorgeous partner, then?” “How about not?” Harry returned pleasantly, as he lifted Ginny easily away. He still held his beer, the bottle cold against her collarbone as he wrapped an arm about her. “Harry, mate!” Seamus shouted gleefully, undisturbed by her boyfriend’s scowl. “Merry New Year!” “Or something,” Harry agreed. He nodded at the pouting brunettes. “Lost something, Seamus?” “Whazzat?” Seamus spun around in a dangerously lopsided turn. Focusing on the simpering women, he immediately drew them close. “Hallo, beautiful,” he said, although it wasn’t clear to anyone whom he was addressing. As he escorted them off, leaning heavily - and probably one firewhiskey shot away from passing out completely - Ginny heard his husky voice drawl, “Why have we never met before?” “Give it five minutes, and I reckon he’ll be snoring in the corner,” Ron ventured as he joined them, still looking a bit hunted. “If that,” Ginny said, grinning. She leaned into Harry, resting her head on his shoulder, and he put his drink aside to hold her properly. “How’s your admirer? He looks pretty keen.” “Oh, ha-bloody-ha,” Ron muttered, reddening. “I’m glad some people can get a laugh out of this.” “A laugh out of what?” The new voice was bright and interested. Ginny pressed her lips together as her brother barely held his groan. Padma Patil was smiling at them expectantly, her red Santa’s hat perched at a jaunty angle above her shining black braid. Behind her, curves balanced precariously in a filmy pink dress, Lavender Brown was airily ignoring them all. “Ron’s breaking a few hearts tonight,” Ginny said lightly and without thinking. Even before Lavender released an unladylike snort, she’d realised it wasn’t the most tactful comment. “How are you, Padma?” Hermione asked politely, after an awkward pause. “And Lavender,” she tacked on belatedly, carefully avoiding the blonde girl’s sneer. Seven years had passed, but they suddenly felt all of seven minutes. They might have been back in the Gryffindor common room, for Merlin's sake. “I want a drink, Padma,” Lavender said loudly, raising her chin. “Are you about done here?” “In a minute,” her friend replied, looking embarrassed. “I’m fine, Hermione, thanks. I’ve got a job with the Magical Research Trust.” Hermione leaned forward, gaze brightening. “Really? How fascinating. I’ve heard a lot of good things about…” “Padma,” Lavender interrupted, teeth clenched. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and smiled silkily at them. “I have to meet my fiancé.” “You’re getting married? That’s great! Er – congratulations.” Ron’s relief was palpable and clearly offended his school girlfriend further. “Yes. He’s fabulously wealthy and so handsome,” she purred, scanning him with nasty eyes. “Well, I’m going to get some wine…then maybe we can leave this dreadful party. I can’t think what’s got into Seamus. Such mixed company.” With that shot, she flounced away, leaving Padma to apologise. “I’m sorry. It’s absurd, isn’t it? That was such a long time ago, and I don’t think she’s really angry about it. She just hasn’t been quite the same since…well, you know. She lost a lot of family.” Hermione exchanged glances with Ron, who shuffled his feet awkwardly and threw Lavender a somewhat guilty look. “We didn’t know that,” she said quietly. “How awful.” “I hoped she’d be happy now,” Padma went on hopelessly, watching Lavender bat her eyes at the bartender. “But her fiance’s about three times her age… I know she looks like the trophy wife type, but she’s actually pretty smart. Anyway,” she said after a pause, her tone determinedly upbeat, “You all look very well. I understand you work as Aurors?” “Well…junior Aurors,” Ginny admitted ruefully. She tilted her head at Hermione. “And she works for the Ministry in…another Department.” Hermione nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t offer a word of elaboration. “Sounds exciting,” Padma said, shooting her a curious glance before assessing Ginny and Harry. “And you’re still together? Romantically, I mean.” Harry’s hand tightened on Ginny’s arm, and she met his eyes, caught by their warm glow. They stared at each other for a moment, a new tension in the air. “Well.” Padma coughed, her lips curving despite themselves. “I suppose that answers that question! It’s funny – for some reason I thought you’d split up.” Startled, Ginny jerked her gaze to the Indian girl, who blushed. “Oh, dear,” she said. “That wasn’t very tactful, was it?” “Why would we have split up?” Harry sounded a bit annoyed. His fingers spread on Ginny’s midriff, pressing down in an instinctively possessive gesture, although he seemed unaware of the action. Padma looked distinctly ill-at-ease. She smoothed the folds of her violent pink sari before replying. “I really don’t know. I suppose I must have heard something, but I was obviously mistaken. And I suppose I thought…well, school romances and…war-time relationships don’t often last. I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “It was a stupid comment.” Ginny smiled and shook her head, but wasn’t really sure what to say. Memories unfolded – the ones that, no matter how many years she lived, she would never need a Pensieve to remember. She didn’t like thinking of that awful time after Dumbledore’s funeral. In an oddly insensitive moment for such a smart witch, Hermione had once suggested that she must feel some vindication, at least, that Harry had eventually come to notice her in the way she’d always dreamed he would. Strangely enough, she hadn’t. She’d been fifteen years old when she’d first heard the words, “Oh, that’s Harry Potter’s girlfriend.” She’d already felt much older. Long before Harry had snogged her breathless in front of the entire common room, she’d also felt whole. She was a complete person in herself, and she always had been. She could have done with realizing that several years earlier. When Harry had distanced himself from her in the graveyard, she’d been neither angry nor surprised. If he hadn’t walked away then, they wouldn’t be together now, because he wouldn’t be the person she’d loved for half her life. But she’d never considered them ‘over’, and it had never crossed her mind to feel vindicated in any way. Vindication implied a resolution, as if things had come to a head the moment Harry thought of her as Ginny, without first adding the words, “Ron’s little sister”. That hadn’t been an ending, as far as she was concerned. It wasn’t even a beginning, just another step in each of their lives that felt right. After she’d beaten some sense into him, they’d got back together in her sixth year, and Ginny had never questioned since what they had, not seriously. They weren’t a “school romance” or a “war-time relationship”. He was Harry, and she was Ginny. He wasn’t her whole life, but he was the constant factor in it. It was a little disconcerting to realise that, to other people, they were just another Hogwarts couple, hanging on a little longer than most. A strange, doubtful sensation crept through her body, and she didn’t like it. Harry had also remained silent and looked more cross than anything else. He didn’t seem to share her sudden concern, anyway. It was Ron who broke the increasingly tense quiet, and all three women jumped at his overly-loud voice. “Not likely these two would break it off,” he said, grinningly oblivious to their preoccupation. “I’d have to hex Ginny into next week if she ditched my best mate. Besides, Harry’s - ” He stopped talking so abruptly that his teeth clicked together. A ruddy surge of red suffused his cheeks, and Hermione lowered her wine glass in surprise. Harry’s body had stiffened behind Ginny, and she stared at him, astonished by the ferocity of his glare. Her brother was literally wriggling under its intensity, and Padma was visibly fascinated. More serious twin or not, she had her sister’s nose for gossip. “Er, yeah,” Ron garbled, swallowing hard. “Brilliant party, this. Did you lot see Gwenog Jones? Reckon she ought to avoid Mum’s sandwiches, eh?” “She’s pregnant, Ron,” Hermione told him, exasperated. Her eyes flicked between his stammering breakdown and Harry’s furious silence. “It was in the Prophet last Friday, remember?” “Oh, yeah.” Ron darted a nervous glance at Harry. “So… Christmas Eve. Came around fast, didn’t it? I mean, it’ll be New Year's soon and…” A strangled sound issued from Harry’s throat, and Hermione set down her empty glass with a thump. “What on earth…” she began, eyeing the men suspiciously. Ginny, though thoroughly taken aback, almost felt sorry for them. Whatever secrets they were hiding so badly were about to come out. Both Ron and Harry had proved utter failures at resisting Hermione’s bloodhound instincts in the past. She’d underestimated the lengths to which Harry would be prepared to go. “Want to dance, Ginny?” he asked shortly, not waiting for her answer before seizing her hand and tugging her toward the band. “You hate dancing,” she protested, entwining her fingers with his. “Yeah,” he agreed frankly, stopping in a space between two swaying couples. He pulled her into his arms. “But you love it.” It was a blatant attempt at distraction, but also true, and Ginny wasn’t above taking advantage of the opportunity. Looping her arms about his neck, she breathed out slowly and nuzzled her nose into the soft skin at his throat. It was completely dark outside now, and the only light came from the hovering candles. Seamus had deftly switched the party mood from rowdy to seductive. She rested her head against Harry’s shoulder, feeling the pull of his lean muscles as they shifted under the shirt fabric. He sighed into her hair and leaned to brush his lips against the curve of her ear. “You know,” he said, suddenly and huskily, “this is the song that was playing at the Yule Ball. When you were dancing with Neville.” Ginny’s laugh was quiet and involuntary. “It was not!” she said, more out of surprise than actual disbelief. “How would you ever remember that?” She shook her head. “You didn’t even notice me that night.” “It’s the same song,” Harry insisted. “I dunno. Some things just…stick with me. There’s some memories I’ll never need to put in a Pensieve,” he added, unconsciously echoing her earlier thoughts. “And I’ve always noticed you, Ginny.” Which was a complete lie, she considered as she tightened her hold on him, but it was a very sweet lie. The song ended with a flourish, and the band immediately launched into another one. She recognised it as a Muggle carol; it was slow and soothing, but she didn’t know the name. She stifled a yawn and relaxed into Harry. She really was exhausted. It would have been a better idea to get an early night, given the number of people crowding into the Burrow tomorrow, but they never missed Seamus’s party. Largely because nobody else did either. Over Harry’s shoulder, she could see a few of their school friends. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott were seated on either side of a smiling Neville; the three of them were often out together, and Ginny still had no idea which of the women was his girlfriend. Even Harry claimed that he didn’t know, and Neville was strangely tight-lipped about it. Susan was chattering away, gesturing with a shot glass and looking rather under the weather. Hannah was playing with a strand of blonde hair and watching the dancers. She was permanently subdued and sad-looking; her personality had altered completely after her mother’s death. Ginny felt awful for her; she’d always liked Hannah. Justin Finch-Fletchley was standing in the corner, deep in conversation with Ernie Macmillan. Hearty laughter creased Justin’s golden face as he spoke; Ernie was more restrained, nodding seriously in response. From what she could remember, both men worked for Gringotts. She suspected that their smiling, fair-haired companion might be Ernie’s partner. Justin, on the other hand, always appeared in Teen Witch’s Eligible Bachelor polls and would probably remain eligible for the next hundred years. He had more lovers than Hermione had books. He’d also inadvertently caused an uproar in the Weasley house last Christmas when Fleur had discovered his affair with Gabrielle and thrown an absolute fit. As a result, the usually slick playboy now scampered like a scared mouse if he saw Fleur coming, and Gabrielle was refusing to leave Beauxbatons for the holidays. Harry’s fingers were gently stroking her hair and the lines of her back. Ginny shivered and eyed the door to the hallway. She wondered if she could drag him into a cupboard somewhere without anyone noticing. Probably not. To distract herself, she asked the first question that bubbled at her tongue. “What’s happening on New Year's?” She’d been curious about Harry’s reaction earlier, but not consciously aware that she was pondering it. Any surprise that she felt at asking, however, was nothing compared to Harry’s shock. He jerked back at once, staring wide-eyed into her face. “What?” His voice cracked, and he coughed loudly. “What do you mean?” “You’re not planning a party or anything, are you?” she asked hesitantly. “Because I sort of promised Mum we’d have a family one this year.” “A party,” Harry repeated blankly, still gaping at her. Ginny glared at him. Honestly, if his jaw locked any tighter, it’d break. “Harry Potter,” she said loudly, not caring who might be listening in. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, right now…” She’d always hated being left out of things. And Harry, like her brothers, had come to respect the explicit threat in her tone. He stood completely still for a moment before sighing. “Bugger it,” he muttered. He grabbed her elbow and began striding in the direction of the door. “Come on, then.” Ginny almost tripped over her heels as she trotted behind him, returning Hermione’s frown with a shrug as they rushed past. Harry dragged her into the hallway and pulled out his wand. “Here, take my hand,” he said, avoiding her gaze now. His face was terribly pale, except for the two patches of nervous colour high on his cheekbones. “Are we leaving?” she asked, obeying without thinking. “We’ve only been here for…” The rest of the words were dragged back down her throat as her stomach sank in a rush of nausea. Her body simultaneously lengthened and heaved, as if she were being crushed on all sides. Air rushed at her face and up her nose. Just as the pressure began to peak into serious pain, the unpleasant sensation ceased, and she was left shivering from cold and adrenalin. She slowly cracked her eyes open. Still clutching Harry’s hand, she was standing ankle-deep in snow in a very familiar backyard. Ginny cast a hasty glance back to make sure that her mother wasn’t watching them from the kitchen window before focusing her glare elsewhere. “Harry!” she snapped. “I’ve asked you to warn me before you do that. Side-along Apparition is horrible if you aren’t ready for it.” “Sorry.” His reply was automatic, but she was annoyed to see he wasn’t even listening, was instead furtively watching the Burrow. “I assume there’s a reason you’ve brought me here at this time of night,” she said with saccharine politeness. “Are my parents involved in the big secret, then?” “God, I hope not,” Harry said fervently, finally looking at her. He pressed his lips together, breathing in audible gulps. “Harry, what’s going on?” she asked, becoming concerned. It didn’t appear that this surprise would be an enjoyable one. Bloody hell. If he was ditching her on Christmas Eve, he wouldn’t be leaving hospital until Valentine’s Day. “Harry?” She hated how scared she sounded. He squeezed her hand. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure her or alleviate his own nerves. “Ginny, can we…” He gazed around. “Can we sit? There’s a bench by your dad’s workshop, right?” She could have protested that it was cold, that it was late and that the only light came from the stars above. Hardly the ideal conditions for whatever he had to get off his chest. But she recognised when he was being serious, so she kept her mouth shut, traipsed through the snow to the garden seat and applied the strongest warming charms that she could remember through her growing anxiety. Sitting next to her, Harry moved restlessly, playing with her fingers and shifting from side to side. He’d apparently lost the will to speak, and the silence stretched tautly. When Ginny couldn’t stand the tension anymore, she burst out, “Harry, would you please just say whatever you want to say? Please.” Before her anxious eyes, he seemed to come to a decision. Determination flooded his face as he sat up straighter. She’d seen that particular look only once in the past, right before he’d gone to fight with his head held high. He moved to face her, gripping both of her hands strongly. “I was going to do this on New Year's Eve,” he said quietly. “It was supposed to be a surprise, so I bloody well shouldn’t have told Ron first. I don’t know why I did. It just slipped out, and I s’pose it seemed right, in a way, that he should know. But it’s not really a surprise anymore, is it? And it should be a special night, so this is as good as any.” Ginny stared at him, utterly lost, and he cracked a smile. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to do it, but I wanted it to be somewhere…somewhere that means something to both of us. A place where we’ve both been happy. I thought about sneaking into Hogwarts, but I didn’t reckon it’d be very romantic if we were sprung by Filch and Mrs. Norris.” His grin was sudden and brief. “And I didn’t want you to remember this night because of some stupid rhyme that Peeves made up about it. I…I tried to write stuff down, you know, but it all sounded rubbish. And it doesn’t take many words, anyway, to say that I love you. And I do, Ginny. I love you. You’ve always been there for me, even when I was total git and didn’t deserve it.” He shook his head, frowning at her. “Even when I asked you not to be.” And in one terrifying, beautiful moment, Ginny realised what he was trying to do. “Harry,” she squeaked, interrupting his halting speech. “Are you…proposing?” He studied her. “That depends,” he said carefully. “If you’re crying ‘cause you think it’s a really bad idea, then, no, I’m not. But if you might be…okay with that, then…I am, yeah.” A hundred possible reactions occurred to Ginny in the space of a single second. She went with her instincts and threw herself at him. They tumbled from the bench under the force of her body and landed on the ground. The impact knocked the breath from them both, and they emerged, gasping, from the kiss. Harry laughed as he pushed back her hair with shaking hands. “Is that a ‘yes’?” he asked unsteadily. “Or a really, really nice ‘no’?” Ginny fitted her palms to his jaw, lowered her head and kissed him again, soundly. With their faces surrounded by the curtain of her hair, she gave him a smile that started somewhere in her heart. “Yes.” His mouth returned to hers with considerable force, and they lay like that for some time, clutching at one another and ignoring the wet chill of the snow. At last, Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking at her, white flakes caught in his long lashes. They were grinning foolishly at one another, and Ginny couldn’t seem to stop it, or help the slow tears that stung her eyes. “I guess we ought to get up,” he said reluctantly, drawing her into a tight hug. “Before your mum’s radar switches on, and she comes looking. I hope…she approves,” he finished self-consciously. Ginny snorted. “Are you kidding me? Harry,” she said, shaking her head, “she’s been preparing for this since the day Fred and George spilled the beans on us. And I wouldn’t put it past her to have had thoughts the time we first met at platform nine and three-quarters. Believe me, she approves of you. I rather think she likes you better than the rest of us sometimes!” Harry shook his head again, blushing a bit. She swiped at her damp cheeks and smiled at him. “I can’t believe this.” “Me, either.” He looked slightly miserable all of a sudden. “That was a bloody terrible proposal, wasn’t it? I had this big thing all planned.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “That was the best proposal ever,” she said and meant it. Another piece of the evening’s puzzle fell into place. “And you can get the ring from the wardrobe when we get home.” His mouth fell open. “Did you find it?” he asked accusingly. “Bugger it all, Ginny! I knew I should have carried it with me. You’re as bad as Ron, scavenging for presents.” “I don’t scavenge!” Ginny retorted, affronted. “And I didn’t find it; you’re just rotten at keeping secrets. You don’t usually show so much interest in our furniture or nearly tackle me to the floor when I go near it. I honestly don’t know how you ever passed your stealth trials.” “Well, I did. And with more marks than you.” He cupped her cheek and tilted his head, leaning close. His lips were warm and familiar against hers, his fingers gentle on her skin. She inhaled his unique Harry-scent and buried her hands in his soft, ruffled black hair. He wanted to marry her. Merlin’s Beard, they were getting married. “When you were dreaming of this big plan,” she mumbled into his smooth jaw, “what happened next?” His breath was hot and uneven against her neck. “Oh, that’s the best bit,” he promised huskily. “And it lasts a really long time. So I think we should go home. Right now.” “Yeah?” She felt a bit light-headed. “Trust me, Ginny,” he said, his expression wicked, “your mum definitely wouldn’t approve of this next part.”
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