Ginny kicked off the ground, hard. She had just finished a two-lap jog around the pitch, and was ready to fly now.
It was already dusk. Even though it was only the second week of September, it felt like the days were already getting shorter and shorter.
She looked off into the distance at the peaks and valleys of the highlands and breathed in. Somehow, she had always been able to find peace on the pitch, and she was taking every advantage she had as team captain getting ready for tryouts. Unlimited access to the pitch at free periods had its perks. She knew the exercise and fresh air did her good, especially when it came to letting off some energy and steam.
Week two, no owl. She had already written Harry four times and still, no owl.
Sometimes it scared her how angry she became, especially when Hermione was opening owl after owl from Ron. At breakfast, she had literally thrown her toast down and hurried back to the common room because she was surprised at how much it hurt. Besides that, she was still so clueless when it came to what Harry meant at their final good-bye two weeks prior and his reaction to what she had said. At least she was getting news of him from Mum and Ron, but it wasn't enough. She really wanted him to write to her, just one note, a simple hello to let her know he was thinking of her.
She missed him, even though she thought he was being a git at the moment.
Ginny straightened up on her broom, blinking furiously. She hated crying and refused to do so over silly things like Harry not writing to her which, surprisingly, made her angry and sad. So, tucking the Quaffle under her arm, she bent low over her broom handle and shot through the air toward the goal posts at the far end of the pitch. As she neared the three hoops, she focused on the centre ring, positioned the ball and with all her strength, forcefully sent it soaring past an imaginary Keeper—who incidentally looked like Harry—and into the left hoop… a perfect feint.
Satisfied, she hovered on her broom, redid her ponytail, and threw two more goals, each with more force than the first, and all three accurate as a thread through a needle. All that two-a-side in the summer had given her a good head-start on the season.
It was far easier to be patient with Harry when they were physically together. At least then she could see his facial expressions and be there to understand.
Was she just being a nutty girl? Could Harry really have had a change of heart in two stupid weeks? Or did he not want them to be okay and was trying to tell her something? No, that couldn't be. Not after that last week of summer.
But why wasn't he writing to her?
Ginny began flying laps around the pitch. She picked up speed as she leaned forward, trying to focus on her speed and distance, but her thoughts kept straying back to Harry. Finally giving it up as a lost cause, she tried to remember why she was being so patient, and what it was like for them in the summer to try and sort herself out. A history of summer, so to speak, starting with the beginning, while she continued to shoot Quaffles for practise and did laps around the pitch.
May was wrought with memories.
Harry had become sick after the final battle. It hadn't been expected since the adrenalin still coursing through his body had pulled him through the hours after the battle, had let him stand and talk and shake hands with all the people who just had to have his attention. Yet, when that wore off, he dropped. For two whole days after the war, he was ill with high fever. He didn't wake up to eat. When he did have spells of lucid moments, he would just open his eyes for a few seconds and then close them again. The Healers didn't want to have him moved from the Hogwarts dormitory. Besides the matrons and Healers, Mum had also cared for him, despite her pain. It had given her something to put her mind to, during those first forty-eight hours without Fred.
Ginny had stayed close by the entire time; she had stuck by the common room, hoping for news when she could. Once she had gone in with Hermione to see Harry, but that was uneventful and she had left quickly. He looked awful, pale, sick and scarred from the battle, and it scared her to see him in that wrecked state.
Will you ever be whole and happy again? she remembered thinking.
When they brought him home to The Burrow, there had been an entire week that Harry had spent every day in bed and had not come out of the twins' room. He was recovering slowly; sleeping and waking up to eat and then sleeping more. Harry, Ron and Hermione were all hungry, weak and tired that first week home, yet Harry had the worst and longest recovery. He didn't even try to get out of bed unless it was to use the toilet; Mum wouldn't have it. It was Mum's mission to make sure he recovered well; Mum, over-mothering the poor, handsome orphan that she had always over-mothered. He seemed grateful though because someone cared about him or loved him enough to tell him to say, "get back into bed at once, young man." He listened, too, and seemed to appreciate Mum's over-mothering. Ginny heard it in his voice as she listened from the top of the stairs.
It was within those first few days that her mum would force her to bring Harry his meals. Ginny had protested and whinged, but her mum wouldn't hear it.
Those memories still made her cringe.
Walking into the room with the tray for the first time was absolutely horrible. She didn't know what to expect. She remembered the look on his face when he saw her the first time. It was so hard to read. She remembered setting the tray down and sitting on his bed next to him.
I'm glad you're feeling better.
Thanks. His voice was weak.
Mum thought you might want to eat enough for an army. I think you've got at least sixteen eggs and forty-three layers of sausages here.
He laughed.
It went on just like that for a few days. How are you? Can I get you anything else? See, it's Tuesday. Mum remembered you love Chelsea Buns on Tuesday. She hadn't seen him in a year and the sight of him made her want to curl herself up and cry into his lap until morning, but instead she was making him laugh into his breakfast. Humour was always her best defence mechanism.
They were hardly alone for long, anyhow. Ron and Hermione would follow close behind her. Ginny remembered sticking around and listening to the three of them go back and forth for a few moments before she made her escape. It was hard to stick around so long; Fred's old bed sat and stared at her. More than once, she had wanted to run away and vomit and more than once she had. She had cried like a baby in bed those nights; even though she knew Fred wouldn't want her to, she couldn't help it. Ginny squeezed her eyes closed again, missing her brother and thinking of those days and that fresh feeling of loss.
Harry had got up once at the end of that first week home to attend Fred's funeral. According to Hermione, he had stared at her the whole time. Hermione had whispered this in her ear after the ceremony, but Ginny had hardly noticed, or cared. She was in such a state that even Harry's affections had no impact on her. She had only thought of it afterwards, after the horribleness of that day, while she lay awake at night and hoped that it was only a matter of time before they reconnected. He was staring at her. That was a big sign that he was thinking of her. That's what he used to do when he fancied her at school. She had checked her pocket mirror for spots or something stuck in her teeth or dirt on her face, and she had none of these. His staring at her meant something, didn't it? It had the first time.
The second week home, Harry mostly spent the days in Ron's room or the attic with Ron and Hermione, but he began taking his meals with the family. Ginny was glad for this as she no longer had to be the wait service.
She would sit, curled with her legs underneath her on the bench, trying to sip her soup or eat her dinner as slowly as possible so she could just watch him without his noticing her.
Harry wanted to keep his long hair. Mum kept offering to cut it and he kept declining. Ginny grinned, thinking of how she used to admire the new long-haired Harry from her place at the table. It was the same shade of black always, except instead of sticking up in the back like it did when it was short, it would kink up at that very place and not lie flat. That, and there were these curls at the bottom of his neck that Ginny wished very much to run her fingers through when she had the chance.
He was eating more and more now that he was at the dinner table. Not just his first plate, but third, and sometimes fourth, servings. Even after such a short period of time, he was beginning to look more like himself; thin as always, but not starved, and not as weak. His physical wounds had all been healed, although there were new scars on his arms and neck that never were there before, and after a week of lunches and dinners, Ginny had nearly memorized them all, wondering when he would tell her the story behind each one.
He would sit there quietly at dinner those nights, be over-polite to her mother, as if he were a guest, and listen to her dad speak in low whispers about what was going on in the Ministry. Those suppers, she thought many things of Harry but she often remarked on how he really listened. He never grew impatient or bored, or if he did he was too polite to show it. Ginny loved that about him. That, and everything else that made him special to her. Yet there was no rush, really. He was there with them, after all, after everything. That was enough for her at that moment, it really was.
Her quiet spying ending when he looked her way and caught her staring. She was so startled that she dropped her spoon. It clattered into her soup bowl and splashed onion soup onto the table, getting Hermione on the blouse.
Ginny had looked away quickly to tend to the mess and willed her face not to turn red. It was a horribly embarrassing moment, but for some reason it made her smile now, thinking on it, knowing what had come next.
Sod waiting for Harry to come around. The next night at dinner, she boldly sat and stared at him and when he looked towards her, instead of turning away, she feigning dropping her spoon and rolled her eyes at him. He chuckled a bit. They locked eyes. He gave her a grin that was so sweet, like relief was watching over him and she shrugged and grinned back, then broke the stare and went back to her dinner as if nothing had happened. For a few happy moments it felt like old times. It was exactly the same type of glance they used to share in the Great Hall at meal times.
Turning point number one.
Ginny mindlessly, but more powerfully than she expected, launched the Quaffle past imaginary Harry again and straight into the goal-hoops.
Her mum even commented to her later, while they washed dishes, that Harry had eyes for her at dinner. Ginny had laughed it off, and then played innocent. Mum knew. On a day when she was so depressed she'd felt like jumping out the window of Muriel's house, Mum had asked her what was wrong, and how she felt for Harry had come out of her like a gushing geyser. It had all come out of her, everything she had held inside all those months since Bill's wedding when she knew Harry was gone and might never come back. She had proceeded to get all weepy and told her mum how she loved him and what he meant to her and that he was going to die anyway and life wasn't fair.
Now they were having eyes for one other at dinner. How bizarre and wonderful. Her mum probably thought so, too.
After dinner that night, and most nights afterwards that week, everyone began to sit in the lounge in the evenings; Ron and Hermione, she and Harry, Mum and Dad. That was nice. Even if things were bittersweet, they were all together and it felt like things were going to get better.
Lupin and Tonks were buried towards the end of that week, and during the ceremony Harry held Ginny's hand.
Turning point number two.
It wasn't in a romantic way, really. By luck, or Mum's happy accident, they had been seated together and it was in a shared grief way, a friendship way. The way you turn to a person next to you at a funeral for comfort because you both knew that person well. She didn't remember who had grabbed whose hand first. She supposed it had been her, out of a gut reaction to comfort Harry in a time of need, but he hadn't objected.
At one point in the service, he let go. Someone had passed baby Teddy into his arms. Ginny remembered studying the look on Harry's face as he held his godson for the first time. She remembered thinking at that moment, very shyly, about how she wanted to give him babies one day. She knew that it was a very mature sentiment at sixteen, but it wasn't the first time she felt it; it could have been the fact that he was tenderly holding a baby in his arms, but this time it was surprisingly strong. Watching him with Teddy, his beautiful green eyes filled with a mix of sadness and wonder, made Ginny nearly pass out with the desire to just up and snog him. After he passed the baby back to Andromeda, they were back to holding onto one another tightly by the hand. She had tried so hard to show him love, just by holding his hand, which was very hard, considering.
By the third week, she and Harry were becoming more comfortable with each other again. They were talking now, and it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. They were spending a lot of time together in the evenings, when Ron and Hermione would go off to snog. In fact, it was very similar to the way they had acted in the common room at school before they were together. He asked what she was reading and they would get into a conversation about the subject which would last maybe an hour or so, until he became tired and they would quickly hug and say goodnight.
Of course, Ginny knew that in order to speed Harry along, she would need to ignore him, especially at times that he wanted to speak with her the most. For a few days, she began diligently helping Mum around the house to busy herself. She would get up suddenly and cut off their conversations, and go to feed the chickens or gather the wash. A few nights in a row, she even retreated to her room after dinner time, instead of going to the lounge.
It was a good thing she only had to do this for so long. She and Hermione began daily walks and outings to the pond or river, completely ignoring the boys and going off together. Harry began casually going outside with Ron to locate Hermione and Ginny noticed. The old signs were there. He was always standing to her left. He was doing that little half grin, and laughing at all her jokes and they were giving each other eyes all the time; sarcastic eyes, rolled eyes, hi-gorgeous-let's-get-out-of-here eyes. He was constantly including her with Ron and Hermione, which she appreciated. He even asked her to come with them to his aunt and uncle's house to get his old things and she had. And they had held hands again that whole day, without even talking about it.
Turning point number three. She was over the moon by that point.
Ginny gripped her broomstick handle, and did a swift series of rolls through the air, remembering how it felt to know that Harry wanted her back after all that time.
The day after they had come home from Surrey, he found her walking back from the pond. She had been about halfway home, on her way to get lemonade for herself and Hermione, and she was paying attention to her feet. Suddenly, she heard her name and looked up. He was quickly approaching her and when he did, he just kissed her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was so eager that soon they had fallen down in the long grass. Either way, he didn't protest that she was kissing him and clinging to him like he had been gone a whole year and she was making up for it. And even though it wasn't quite the reunion she had imagined during the war—him waking up after the last battle and finding her and launching himself at her with the most romantic kiss of all time—it was theirs. It was a beautiful sunlit day in early June, and the war had been won.
After that kiss, the weeks passed by uncounted. Life was beginning again. Ginny was passing the days, one by one, revelling in the heat of the summer sun, the cool of the pond, the rushing of the river between her toes. She especially enjoyed the way she fitted, curled up in his lap with the comfort of his arms around her, and the way he kissed her on the side of her head and breathed in her ear.
There was more to remember: his wet blue-black hair glinting in the sun as he surfaced near her at the pond; the unique sound of his laughter, which had been so rare previously; the taste of lemonade and shortbread on his tongue; the steady feel of her hand in his and his lips on her neck.
It wasn't until the beginning of July that she began to worry how he felt. They hadn't talked about what was going on between them at all. Whereas, when they were at Hogwarts he was anxious to talk about it straightaway, to make her his 'girlfriend' that first afternoon as they walked the lake, now he wasn't even asking. She wondered if it was because, here, he had no competition. At Hogwarts, she had a few admirers and Harry was keen on brushing them aside. Either way, Harry wasn't talking about how he felt. She had nervously woken from her sleep in the middle of night several times and would stare up at the ceiling until the sun came up, wondering whether Harry would turn and say something to her soon. Anything. She hoped he would talk about how he had missed her while he was gone, or if he had thought of her, or that he had realized he loved her while he was off saving the world. When he was next to her, she was so anxious to tell him how she felt for him, yet she wouldn't want to begin that conversation, would she? She definitely had nerve, but she would need a lot more to blatantly tell Harry she loved him without knowing for sure that he felt the same.
There was a day in early July that Ginny remembered well as another sort of turning point in her attitude and her patience.
They had just learned the day before that Hogwarts was going to reopen September first and Hermione and Ron were already fighting.
Harry went missing after lunch. Hermione, who was stretched out on the extra camp bed in Ginny's room that usually stood empty, had no idea where he was nor did Ron, who was stomping about in his own room. She checked the bathroom, the attic, and all the upstairs bedrooms, her dad's shed and the garden, and then figured he had gone somewhere and hadn't told her.
Ginny looked back on how she had reacted; she had almost panicked. Hadn't it occurred to her that he might want to be alone or he had somewhere to be that he didn't want her to know of? She wondered, looking back on it, if she was worried that perhaps Harry had disappeared. That he had just had to go off for awhile and he hadn't told her. She knew he was having trouble coping, because—besides the day-to-day living during the war—he never wanted to talk about last year when she brought it up. It seemed like he had closed many pages of his past in every way possible, but it wasn't healthy. Ginny knew that because it was what she had done. Every time she asked for more stories to understand what had happened and where they had been and what he had done to end things, Harry politely refused to discuss it.
Even now, all she knew of what had happened to the three of them last year she knew from Hermione, who was slowly whispering the stories to her in the library and late at night in the common room. She had already led her through their preparation and told her about the Horcruxes, but they had only come to the part about the siege on the Ministry because nine minutes out of ten Hermione was studying and said she wouldn't talk. At this rate, it would probably take her all year to tell the whole story.
Getting back to that day, after searching for Harry to no avail, she decided to visit Fred. It would keep her mind off Harry and by the time she returned he would be back home, she told herself.
With her luck, it began raining on the long walk there.
When she came upon the small wooded cemetery, she stopped short.
Harry was kneeling at the headstone in the dirt in the rain. There was a blank look on his face, a sad and regretful look. There was loads of blame there, too.
She was so relieved at seeing him there, but she felt suddenly embarrassed, as if she had come across something private. She didn't want him to think she had followed him out here! She didn't know whether or not to just tiptoe away and leave him alone or not, but he noticed her. She felt frozen and hugged herself over her rain-soaked jumper as he walked to her.
When they met he glanced towards Fred's grave, gave her a heart-wrenching look that said without words, I'm sorry for your family Ginny, I'm sorry this happened because of me.
Her family was in pain. You could see it on everyone's face every day. Mum walked around with a handkerchief. George was suffering. And Harry was blaming himself. He was grieving too.
Oh, Sweetheart, it wasn't your fault. Please know that. She said this inside her head but she knew he was listening to every word. She fought him with her facial expression, with the way she touched his face and hugged him. We'll be alright. We just love you and want you to be okay.
They held each other for a long time, and walked home holding hands in silence.
She comprehended what was going on at that moment. She understood Harry. It didn't matter. He was coping with what had happened to him and she could understand that. It just made her feel horribly guilty though. It made her fretting about her feelings and his romantic thoughts for her sound silly. All that was insignificant right now. He just needed her there in the meantime to make him happy and try to help him through. Sooner or later he would appreciate that enough to look at her and realize that he loved her because she understood him, was patient while he struggled to cope and for loving him enough to let him work things out for himself on his own time.
The rest of the summer after that, Ginny had a different perspective. She stopped caring what he said or didn't say. Every moment was an opportunity to make him laugh, to distract his mind from straying into dark places or bad memories. Every day she would tell him nice things that she liked about him, or tell him interesting stories about herself or pull him close to her and kiss away all his worries. Every second they had together was amusing and funny, light and sweet.
And it wasn't hard to go on this way. They were as close as quickly as they had been before. It was odd between them; they only had such a short time together, yet they acted like they'd been together for years. Whether she was whipping his arse at two-a-side, or they were swimming together in the pond, or taking walks into town to get ice cream, they were comfortably content to be sharing each other's company. Many nights, they continued to go back and forth with interesting and witty conversation about anything until midnight, even if it was about something stupid, like arguing over Mum's top five best dishes, or where each would like to travel to one day, or which pro Quidditch team they'd be the least or most happy to play for.
Of course, whenever they had alone time, they were learning about other parts of one another as well.
Ginny felt hot in her core, as she did one final, fast lap around the pitch. Her heart beat faster remembering one night, a few days before she left for school, in her room behind lock and charm. She had wanted those things to happen. In fact, she was glad they had happened. They were going to be apart for awhile, and she was keen on giving him something else to remember her by again. It had been a very nice event, to say the least. She felt closer to him, and was sure that perhaps by Christmas, and judging by both of their levels of eagerness, she would have to ask Hermione for some friendly advice on birth control potions. When they made love, things would be different. They would be more serious, wouldn't they? They would have to be. She knew Harry. He would take something like that very seriously and he would look at her differently afterwards. Maybe it would be a turning point for them?
She felt better and decided to write to him again. Harry had kissed her that night with as much eagerness and passion as she had given him all summer. He would write to her soon and everything would be fine.
Although, Ginny wondered as she touched down on the damp ground why, out of everything in her life that she was sure of and confident of—her friends and classmates, her schoolwork, Quidditch—it was Harry that, deep inside, often made her feel the least settled, the least confident, and worst of all, the most helpless.
She knew why. It was habit. Her whole life, since she met Harry, had been spent yearning for him, for his acceptance, his attention and his love. Even as his girlfriend, she was searching for all those feelings in other ways.
When would she just give it up? She had come this far with him, hadn't she? For now, it didn't matter. They were happy when they were together. She was fine with things the way they were, with him the way he was. Their relationship was complicated. Ginny shrugged and flipped her hair over her shoulder as she walked back to Gryffindor Tower to put her broom away. Why care what he said or didn't say, whether he wrote or didn't write? In all honesty, she shouldn't be feeling badly for herself! Things were working out better than she ever imagined they would. Harry had chosen her out of every other girl at Hogwarts when they were at school and now, after the nightmare she never thought would end, he had chosen her again. And they were perfect together. They were so happy.
The only problem was whether he was happy with their strange long-distance non-arrangement. He hadn't written, which still hurt. And when it came to his true feelings, she was about as up in the air as she had been five minutes before.
*
A/N. A flashback may not always be necessary, but I felt it was important here. It explains Ginny's extra patience, her want to understand Harry, and why the summer was such a special time for them both. Of course, this is only the beginning of a less than perfect fall term! Reviews and feedback are always appreciated. Thanks for the beta work, Arnel! If I knew how to bake, I would pay you in Chelsea Buns.