lionhearted girl.

Cheat Sheet❗

GHOSTS, GHOULS, AND OTHER ALLITERATIVES / OPEN [EVENT]

Given Harry’s rather unfortunate ability to amass a crowd wherever he went, he didn’t go outside much. Someone charitable might say this meant he kept to himself; in reality, he lived under a rock. Even he, however, knew about the All-Hallow’s Eve thing in Diagon Alley – call it masochism, but he had the Prophet delivered every morning and hate-read it over his coffee – and so he’d clumped together a series of disguise charms and turned up, red-haired and freckled, to heaving crowds of tipsy mayhem.

Harry procured a cup of spiced rum and entertained himself by people watching. He was lurking in an empty doorway, safely away from the tide of people calling to one another and laughing. A few too many had opted for billowing black cloaked costumes that made his heart beat a little too quickly. 

It must have been the rum, because when someone bumped his shoulder and came to rest beside him in the doorway, he shot them a smile and, on impulse, said, “D’you think they’re dressed up as Death Eaters or Voldemort? I can’t tell which one is worse.”

Technically, Ginny wasn’t even planning to be here. She’d been on her way to a costume party thrown by the friend-of-a-friend who happened to be completely non-magical and live on the other side of London, which might explain the “ironic” homemade witch’s costume, complete with pointed hat, black cape-like cloak, broomstick thrown over her shoulder and the obviously necessary black cat at her side...Except said black cat was nowhere to be found.

Nox was an ordinary house cat, but since Ginny had taken him in, he’d taken a liking to the wizarding world in strange ways. He liked to chase the Golden Snitch she’d nicked from the training grounds and one of his favorite games was trying to catch Ginny’s Patronus around the flat, so while she’d Apparated just a few steps from The Leaky Cauldron, the cat had somehow managed to bolt through the opening to Diagon Alley behind some children dressed like trolls and centaurs and...was that a house elf? 

“Nox, don’t be such an ass,” Ginny called after the bolting feline, much to the annoyance of the parents of the children she’d just almost bowled over chasing her pet. She threw a Sorry! she didn’t quite mean over her shoulder as she scanned the crowded street for the black cat, but he blended in with the dimly lit street. Shoulders slumping and wand out, she was on the verge of just Summoning the cat to her (which he’d obviously hate, but sometimes things needed to be dealt with!) when she spotted him. 

He was trotting down the cobblestoned road with his tail raised like a question mark. Suddenly, the cat veered to the left to wind through a stranger’s legs. Only, when Ginny got close enough to the redhead, Ginny realized it wasn’t a stranger at all. Her wand hand dropped but her grip on it didn’t loosen as Nox wound between Harry’s legs.

TURNING TABLES / @0nlydaughter·

5th October 1999

Ginny,

Look, I know cocked things up when you came ‘round. As I said when you were here, I’ve got no excuse. But I’m still sorry. You’re completely right and I shouldn’t have been so pig-headed about the whole breaking up thing. And I’m sorry I still don’t know how to say that in a way that doesn’t trivialise what we’ve been through. I’ve never been good at expressing how I feel.

It’s ironic that I’m the one now sending you letters… so I understand if you don’t reply. You’ll probably do one better than me, though, and at least read this, so that has to count for something (?).

I hope that we can be friends again. Not now, and not even any time soon. I’m just putting it out there. I totally get it if you’d rather hex me into next year.

See you around I hope

She had read it, but not right away. Harry’s letter had come by an unfamiliar owl and her house cat had spent the better part of a Thursday afternoon trying unsuccessfully to catch it, but when it became clear that Ginny wasn’t going to respond, the nondescript bird had taken flight by nightfall.

The letter stayed on Ginny’s entryway floor for a week until she’d ripped it open one evening after a particularly bad training session with the Harpies (and one too many drinks). She’d scanned the letter, her brow furrowing more with each line, laughed humorlessly, and left the parchment on top of the desk in her study while she and her roommate went out.

It was now Nox the cat’s favorite place to nap. He often sprawled out over the parchment in a patch of late afternoon sun and complained at Ginny whenever she paused to reread the letter (which wasn’t often, alright, but sometimes she got a bit sentimental. It was Arthur’s fault.)

The blaze orange stripes he’d painted across his cheekbones were smeared. Ginny made him swear he wouldn’t dress like a Cannons fan, but alas - he was a Cannons fan and she wasn’t the boss of him. The smudged and thinning paint was partially due to the torrential rains that battered the pitch and spectators alike; but, Ron’s exasperation might have also had something to do with it, considering the number of times he’d covered his face in shame.

But, all told, he was proud of the Harpies. It was hard to be cross about the Cannons losing when his sister was the one who beat them, and he let the urge to curse slide by when the match was over, replacing it instead with a grin. Ginny and the rest of the girls had earned their win, and, as a Cannons fan, Ron was all too used to defeat. Still, he couldn’t say he was looking forward to the ribbing he was in for at the after-party, and the idea of purchasing Harpies robes felt like a sick betrayal. He had to hold up his end of the deal though, so it was with a heavy heart and his tail between his legs that he apparated in front of The Tipsy Troll, a wizarding pub the Harpies had rented out for the evening.

It was clear upon entry that the barkeep wasn’t enthusiastic - this wasn’t Harpies country, after all - but as a girl with sense she wasn’t a Cannons fan either. This was evident by the way she looked Ron over in his orange regalia, stifling the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You know the Harpies rented us out for the night,” she warned, glancing warily at the team chatting near the center of the pub. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. My sister’s on the team,” Ron replied. He leaned on the bar, using his high vantage point to try to spot Ginny in the throng. “If she wasn’t I’d’ve been torn to shreds by now.” Then, lower: “Still might be.”

@0nlydaughter

They’d won, which was expected but still welcome. After all, stranger things had happened in Quidditch. Ginny had even scraped out a double double, earning her tenth assist on the final goal just before Gwen had caught the Snitch to put the Cannons out of their misery. While she hadn’t gotten a chance to see Ron in the mass of orange (Chudley fans were extremely loyal, despite the team’s recent results), but he was easy to spot from her place in the middle of her teammates as almost all of the supporters and media in the bar were decked out in green and yellow. 

“What does that bloke think he’s doing?” Their captain wanted to know. 

“That’d be my brother.” There was a bite to Ginny’s voice to suggest that if anyone other than her gave Ron shit for his clothing choice, they wouldn’t be immune to a Bat Bogey Hex later on. “I’ll take care of it.” Before taking care of it, she took a shot from one of the beaters and made her way through the crowded room to the bar. “Hi,” she said, flashing the woman behind the bar a grin. “Could you do an old fashioned for me?” It was usually her drink of choice in muggle company, but this particular pub wasn’t always wizarding community only, so she was pleased when the bartender nodded and turned to mix up the drink. “And get this one whatever he wants on me.”  She elbowed Ron in the side as she spoke. The team wasn’t paying for any of this, of course. The front office was, which was why Ginny was being so generous.

“Hello. You look awful,” Ginny said by way of greeting, sizing Ron up and digging her wand out of her pocket. “Let me just...” She flicked the wand almost lazily, smirking when the orange paint faded steadily until it turned a Harpies green with yellow accents. The robes were a little less brightly green, but Transfiguration had never been her best subject in school. Ginny replaced her wand and pretended she hadn’t used it at all when the bartender turned back around and gave her a look. A sign over the bar read Keep your wands to yourselves.

“He’s my brother,” she said conversationally as she took a drink from the glass placed in front of her...and promptly almost choked at the burn of it. “Is there whiskey in this?” 

The woman behind the bar looked unimpressed. “You asked for an old fashioned, didn’t you?”

They had all gone mad. Every single last blasted one of them. Perhaps save Weaselbee. Draco truly thought her brother would be the first one to go after Potter. There was no way in which someone could exist in Granger’s orbit and not be on the wrong side of batty. Draco made no attempts to shuffle backwards, not with muggles pressing closer and closer into his personal space bubble on every side. 

Humor was not gone from the insane, it seemed, even if he couldn’t find anything funny about the situation at all. “You don’t know anything about why people were on the wrong side of the war.” How dare she. Growing up in a hovel with far more mouths than galleons in her parents’ pockets. She had no idea what his life had been like, was like all because of his family and their shared last name. The weight of societal expectations and customs. The importance of reputation. 

The color of Draco’s cheeks shifted from pink to red as his anger took hold, not that he believed Ginerva was serious. It didn’t matter. The slight was felt. Just as quickly as she have invaded, she was back to standing next to him. Off-putting as ever. Draco muttered out his order for four and stared a hard glare into the side of her face, wondering when Merlin and the gods above had decided his life was in need of this particular brand of redheaded excitement. He sniffed, gaze traveling off of her and away onto the crowd until it landed back on the direction of where he had came from. “Is it?” He tried his best to sound unbothered (as he was the only one who seemed to be bothered) while his gaze landed on a bobbed dark haired head, gesturing wildly to him and his bartender whispering companion. 

“I’m not–” He interrupted, turning to stop her from using his tab, but it was too late. The flippant man tending their drinks already gone. “Don’t get used to it.” Taking a sip of his own drink, Draco began the process of grabbing the other three. His arms awkwardly clutching all the glasses (and one ridiculously decorated martini glass) as he desperately wished for a place where he could be welcome to use a quick leviosa. “As much fun as dancing with you, in the same club as you where there’s room for both of us,” He pointedly looked down at the glassware in his grip and back up to the obviously intoxicated quidditch player. “I’ll have to pass. What a disappointment that must be for you.” 

“It is a little disappointing,” Ginny agreed with a wry smile. “Only because I’m not sure you’ve any coordination off of a broomstick. Maybe you do. I don’t know. It was great talking with you, though.” She lifted her glass in the air in a mock toast as the wave of people on the dancefloor effectively separated them. She watched the back of his head for a second or two before her teammates seemingly reappeared out of nowhere (and she wouldn’t put it past them to Apparate in front of muggles, actually) and her attention floated far, far away from Draco Malfoy and his habit of visiting muggle clubs.

Half an hour later, she found herself back at the bar looking for refills and a humorless laugh tumbled from Ginny’s lips as she looked to her right and noticed who was standing next to her again, immediately recognizable by his platinum blond hair. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she joked, bouncing up on her toes and leaning against the bar. The bartender was busy tending to a bachelorette party and Ginny wondered, vaguely, if she could befriend them for some free drinks later on.

Hermione offered the red headed witch a soft smile before taking a sip from her glass, “ Have you spoken to Harry lately ? “ She had known that the two of them weren’t seeing each other in terms of dating but she was unsure if they had kept in contact following the war. It was something Hermione never thought to ask Harry about in fear of pushing him over the edge but they weren’t speaking now so it didn’t exactly matter. However, the witch didn’t want to make Ginny uncomfortable, “ If you don’t want to talk about it, I will drop it, “

“ You sound extremely busy. I hope that you’re also having time for yourself, “ Turning Ginny’s words around and directing them at the red head. “ How is Neville ? I actually caught up with Luna the other day. Is Charlie still in Romania ? Doing well ? “ Hermione would rather be talking about anyone else but herself. However, she was genuinely curious on how both males were going. “ Are you trying to talk about into doing something fun on Sundays ? I might take you up on that. New Hermione and all, “

Had she spoken to Harry lately? Well, technically, there was a pile of unopened letters from 12 Grimmauld Place sitting on her writing desk at home. Ginny tipped her head slightly as she traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “Hasn’t he told you about it?” That didn’t surprise her. Why would Harry Potter want to tell anyone that his not-girlfriend showed up unannounced on his doorstep and wrung him a new one? “That’s a funny story, but I’m going to need another drink for it.” With that, she promptly downed the rest of her drink and pushed out her chair to go and grab a refill if only to put a bit of space between herself and this conversation. Just for a minute. Just to gather her thoughts. She was still smarting from the “breakup” a bit. And she was definitely still angry. But Hermione, Ron, and Harry were kind of a package deal so she had to tread carefully...probably.

With a new Old Fashioned in hand, Ginny threw herself back into the seat across from Hermione, took a long pull, and sighed. “I actually...took a page out of your book, to tell you the truth.” She grinned at Hermione from over the rim of her glass. “Showed up to Harry’s doorstep unannounced, you know, because we never talked about it all after it ended. And I’d written him about ten letters and never heard back so...” She shrugged and leaned back in her seat, nursing the drink in one hand.

i’m gonna try and get some replies/plotting/posts up this weekend; been a wild week at work.

HOWEVER i’m in the middle of a HBP re-read (or re-listen, really) and is anyone else still so pissed that the shitty author of this series had a PRIME way to debunk harry’s auror dreams bc he didn’t get the O in potions/had a reason to transition him to teaching at hogwarts and didn’t or is that just me????

His cheeks reddened, having nothing to do with the amount of drinks he had over the course of the night and everything to do with his previous words being thrown back in his face while he stood in a club entire too muggle to ever see the likes of a Malfoy before. It would be easy to fall back into an old role and parrot words he had heard growing up, to pretend he had no idea of the meaning or consequences of people who thought like he was taught to. That words were just that regardless if you had to stomach to follow through on the situations they created.

“If you’re going to mock me–” He glanced down at the shot pushed into his hand, struck not by how Weaselette managed to get drinks with a much quicker frequency than he did (he wasn’t the one showing so much skin after all) but the fact that she was even offering him something at all. “–do it correctly.” He followed her lead, a shooter he never tried leaving his expression pinched in more than just confusion. Draco, too, flipped his shot glass and pushed it beside hers, looking up and down the bar for his order and seeing the bartender chatting up another customer instead. 

Her laughter, mocking and loud, drew a scowl on to his face. “I know you are. All of you.” Why else would the month be full of Gryffindors? “You’re telling me this is a coincidence after running into that– Granger and your quaffle-addled brother? Like bloody hell it is.” There was no need to prove he was here to have fun, that someone who could trace their ancestry back ten centuries of purity (because half-bloods were never counted) was capable of winding down in a place where magic was regulated to amateur acts on the stage. “I found this place first. I like it here.” He wasn’t going to stop showing up simply because Weasley found the appeal of the red velvet interior, though to her it must be tasteful instead of gaudy, as well. “I won’t be run out by the likes of you.”

“Alright, you caught me.” Ginny had to lean fairly close to him so that he’d be able to hear her. It wasn’t as weird as she thought it might be. That would be the alcohol. Her voice was slow and more serious than usual. “My job as a professional Quidditch player is all a cover-up and my true life’s work is to track down people who were on the wrong side of the War for family reasons.” She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing but one side of her mouth curled up in the ghost of the traditional Weasley smirk. 

“What are you trying to order?” Ginny asked him after a moment. Her glass was half empty by now. She’d want another before braving the dance floor again, and the too-short miniskirt and crop top combo meant she’d probably get the barkeep’s attention before Malfoy would. Sure enough, when the bartender’s gaze swept toward their corner of thee bar, his gaze seemed to flick right past Draco and land on her. She stood back on her toes to order herself another and tacked Malfoy’s drink order onto it, too, before settling back onto her flat feet and redirected her attention back to him. 

The crack in Ginny’s voice madeHarry wince guiltily. He was never good at tears. If Ginny started crying -which was unlikely; she was too angry - but if she did, he’d certainly cement himself a reputation asthe most unfeeling sod who ever got to snog Ginny Weasley.

Harry bit his lip and stared at his cooling tea, resisting the urge to mentally monologue and instead convert his feelings into words. This had never been his strong suit. He couldn’t tell herthe truth. Not yet. But some version of the truth would be enough for now.Maybe later, when he was brave enough to admit his feelings to her, she’d beable to understand. He hoped.

“I can try to explain,” Harry started, voice pitched low andearnest. He looked up into Ginny’s eyes and tried to focus on the flicker ofsadness he glimpsed there. Because, at the heart of it, they did care for eachother. It was just too adolescent and premature to ever be something more.Harry steeled himself.

“After the Battle, I couldn’t think straight. I volunteered foreverything because I couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts. The nightmares– What I saw in the Forest,” Harry said abruptly, picking his way betweendreams and reality as if he were a shadow in the fog, “stayed with me in away that I hadn’t anticipated. It fucked me up, Gin. So, for a while, all Icould do was keep myself busy. But then everyone kept asking my opinion on –on everything. What to do about Hogwarts, the trials,Kingsley always going on about how fantastic an auror I’d be… It pissed meoff,” he admitted, “and it was a lot of bloody pressure. No one seemed torealise that I was exhausted. Fucking exhausted. I needed time and spaceand no one would give it to me. So, I had to take it for myself.”

Harry motioned at the kitchenaround them. “Sirius left me this place. I didn’t find out for a few monthsafter the Battle. It’s horrible. I’m pretty sure the house hates me orsomething… but it’s the only place I can be alone.” Harry heard the quiverin his voice and hated it. “And what I need, right now, is to be alone, just soI can figure out what the hell I’ve gone through. I’ve never stopped andwondered about what saving the Wizarding World meant,” Harry confessed, “untilI did it. And then I realised what a monumental mistake on my part that was. ProfessorDumbledore…” The name made his heart twinge painfully. “I realised that he onlyever told me what I needed to know. He basically kept me in the dark. Everyonethinks – or thought, whatever – that I have the answers. But I don’t.” He wassurprised to find that his eyes were prickling, and he grit his teeth against analarmingly strong tide of frustration at his inability to keep it together. “Idon’t know anything.”

A short silence settled over them. Harrybroke it first, staring at his hands as they twisted together on the table infront of him. “I don’t want to say it because I wish it weren’t true. I wouldgive anything for it not to be, Gin, and I hope you know that.” He willedhimself to meet her gaze. “We can’t be together because I will never be able tobe who you want or deserve. And please don’t say it’s a stupid excuse,” headded, anticipating an interruption. “I know how it sounds. Okay? I’m not thatdaft. But I’m telling you. Honestly.”

The thing that pissed Ginny off the most wasn't what he was saying or that it had taken him ages to say it. What irritated her the most was that despite how angry she was, there was still part of her that ached when Harry ached. Her right hand twitched slightly where it rested on the table and if she wasn't thinking about it so hard, she knew she would have reached for one of Harry's without meaning to. As it was, she curled that hand into a fist to take away the temptation and rapped the wood with her knuckles just for something to do with that hand.

 I don't know anything.

"You can say that again." Her voice had evened out again. It was like actually hearing it from his mouth had made the situation real. It wasn't like Ginny had showed up on his front porch expecting things to be fine. She knew from very early on that it wasn't. But that didn't make it any easier. 

She did want him. Even after everything they'd been through, separately and together,  Ginny wanted him. Not Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, but just Harry, the boy who'd captained their Quidditch team to a second straight championship, who made her laugh until her sides her, who told Ron once that he couldn't stop them being together if they wanted to be. She shouldn't want him now that he was the man who ignored her for the better part of a year, but her stomach was twisted in on itself and her heart was in her throat anyway. It sucked. Pushing off with her hands, Ginny stood so abruptly that she knocked her chair over. He'd said something that made the switch flip from brewing melancholy back to fiery anger, and for that she was kind of grateful.

"Right," she said, staring down at him from behind a curtain of red hair. "Whatever it is, it's not something that had to wait all this time. I wasn't waiting around for you or anything. I'm not stupid." She watched him for another moment before turning to go, pausing only to reach for her wand so that the chair she'd upturned righted itself. It was easier to say it when she wasn't looking at him. "Next time you break up with a girl, do it as soon as you decide you don't want to be with her, alright?" 

Anger radiated from Ginny in waves. It’d always been like this: stand too close to Ginny and you usually started to burn. Harry had loved it, once. Now it was more than a reproach; it ignited something akin to animal fear in Harry, as if they were two magnets at opposite poles. It was his fault that she didn’t understand what was going on with him.

The clink of china punctuated her point. Harry met and held Ginny’s brown eyes. His hand tightened around his cup, and he could feel his pulse thump nervously in his throat.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. If he cocked this up now, he could wave goodbye to any sort of friendship with Ginny. Of course, that was being charitable, given that once she found out why he they couldn’t be together, he’d also probably be waving goodbye to the whole Weasley clan. Mrs Weasley, eyes gleaming as she made coy remarks about wedding bells; Mr Weasley, calling him son. Harry couldn’t lose any of that. If he did, he would be an orphan all over again. And Ron - Merlin help him, Ron. Ron would string him up and use his rib bones to beat him black and blue. If Ron ever, ever realised that Harry was not only gay, but that he’d inadvertently been stringing Ginny along out of his bloody cowardliness, they would never speak again.

Harry had been silent for too long. God knew how that was playing out for Ginny; she probably thought he was constructing some kind of eloquent break-up speech. As he searched her face with increasing trepidation, awkwardness built between them. This is torture, he thought in panic. I’m dead no matter what I do.

“You’re right,” Harry said quietly, still holding Ginny’s gaze. “I am only ignoring a few people. But it has nothing to do you, and everything to do with what I can handle at the moment. I’m –” Harry cut himself off, irritated.

“Sorry. I’m trying – I know you don’t want excuses. I just need to figure out how to explain…” Fuck, no. Abort. Don’t go there. “What I’m trying to say is…”

Was breaking up with Ginny the smartest move available to him? What else could he possibly say? ‘Sorry, Ginny, turns out I’m bent’? A clean break would be easier to deal with than the truth. And Mr and Mrs Weasley might hate him, but they’d come ‘round. They had to. Mrs Weasley loved him. Didn’t she?

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose with one quivering hand.

“Yes.” The word sounded big and frightening in the quiet kitchen. “Yeah. We should break up.”

“Explain then. I’d love an explanation. I deserve one. You kissed me because we thought we might die and then you disappeared on me.” Ginny stared at Harry.  She held his gaze. She felt like she deserved what Ron had gotten. It might nott have been easy, but at least her brother knew where he and Hermione stood. Ginny had spent months wondering. And as those months dragged on, she’d begun to realize that their fairy tale ending was probably just that- wishful thinking. The world wasn’t as simple as it was in the stories her Mum and Dad used to read her when she was small. It was more complicated than that. There was war and loss and pain and they all had to deal with that. Just because Harry had kissed her before running off to maybe die trying to save the world didn’t mean that they were destined to be together, much as Molly may have wished it did.

Still, Ginny wanted him to look her in the eye and just tell her...what he wanted. Being in limbo like this wasn’t doing anyone any good. Her parents asked about him sometimes and she didn’t know what to say to them. Her frieends knew her well enough not to ask, mostly, but her new teammates? They were curious. She’d brushed them off pretty easily by saying they were on a break, which wasn’t even a lie. Not really. But when media members started asking, she’d lost her temper. Asked if they asked players on teams that weren’t all women about their love lives. The manager had barred her from taking interviews for a while after that.

She didn’t need to know everything that was going on in Harry’s head, but she did need to know what they were doing. Or not doing. Ginny’s tea was going cold as she watched him processing. 

Harry looked younger just then. Like the boy she’d first caught sight of on the platform while seeing her older brothers off to school. Godric, things had been so much simpler then. When it was just a schoolgirl crush that had no chance of going anywhere, Ginny was safe. Once she caught real feelings, it was harder to deal with. She could have loved him. (Maybe she did. Maybe she does. She doesn’t like to think about it too hard.)

“See?” She laughed humorlessly. “Was that so hard? You could have put that in a letter, you know,” Ginny said, irritated that her voice cracked a bit on the end. She was not going to cry in front of Harry Potter. She was old enough that a breakup shouldn’t make her feel so terrible about herself, but, then, she’d always been the one doing the breaking before. Her cheeks were definitely splotched red, too, and she felt the telltale pressure behind her eyes. She pressed her palms flat on the table and made to get up but hesitated, looking across at him, resignation written across her face.

Ginny’s presence was overpowering. Harry had almost forgotten how potent it felt to be near her - the luminosity of her skin, those warm brown eyes, her coppery hair. Even her stare - which reminded him instantly of Mrs Weasley - made him ache in some odd, nostalgic way… which was stupid, because they were both alive, both here, and already Harry felt regretful and guilty, and he hadn’t even said anything yet.

The familiar handwriting on the topmost letter made Harry burn with shame. A cowardliness he’d rarely felt descended upon him like a shroud; he could only hold Ginny’s gaze for a second before he dropped his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to say - what? I’m sorry? Forgive me? No, nothing less than a proper explanation would do. Even if the idea of sitting down with Ginny for any period of time made him want to run for the hills. It was just her. She was intense; a wild fire. Some measure of self-reflection had told Harry that a strong reason why he had been attracted to her was the extent of her self-possession. Ginny took no prisoners. That was addicting to be around. When everyone looked at Harry for answers, it had been a relief, even for a while, to look at someone else.

Harry wordlessly gestured for her to go ahead, and he followed her down into the kitchen. Tea. I can do that. He cleared his throat again and pulled out his wand, casting a series of silent spells: a kettle soared through the air and landed on the hob, which sparked and ignited; water from the end of his wand; and, because no hard conversation should be done on an empty stomach, a plate appeared with a series of biscuits that - Harry realised with a pang - were actually from Mrs Weasley herself. Harry lowered his wand and glanced guiltily at the plate in the middle of the scrubbed wooden table.

“She sends them to me,” Harry explained defensively. Before Ginny could respond, he turned away and gathered plates, cups, a bowl of sugar, and plonked them down. He busied himself with the kettle until there were no more excuses. Pouring two steaming cups of tea and sitting down at one side of the table, Harry focused on keeping his hands steady and his head straight. His heart, however, beat nervously in his throat, high and quick as a trapped bird.

“Please, sit,” he said, sounding every inch as strained as he felt. Harry made himself look into Ginny’s face - a face he had, not so long ago, thought he’d be waking up to every morning. “I…” Harry closed his eyes briefly and gathered himself. “I’ve been a coward,” he admitted, not anticipating that she would accept this at face value, but hoping that the honesty was evident in his voice. “I’ve been inside, mostly, for about a year. In here,” he clarified, feeling the oppressiveness of Grimmauld loom around them. “I’ve barely seen anyone. Ron, mainly. Sometimes the others. I’ve just been alone. I haven’t… I sleep.” The admission sounded incredibly sad. “A lot. And I walk. I go to the pub. And I… ignore people. As you’ve found out. Because I’ve been too cowardly to reply to a single owl.”

Harry swallowed and frowned at himself. “That doesn’t excuse anything. I know. But it’s - it’s a start?”

“I know. She sends them to all of us who don’t live at home anymore. Hasn’t Ron told you?” There was a little bit of an edge in her voice. Of course Ginny knew that her youngest brother had still been seeing each other quite frequently. It was a bit of a sore spot for her, given that Ron had been her best friend first (at the tender age of ten, sure, but it still mattered!) and that Harry was, well, Harry and that Ginny’s feelings for him, albeit a confusing mess right now, had been there for just as long. She’d always been a bit jealous of the pair of them and how close they were and it had only really calmed down when she found her own group of friends to restart secret organizations with. It still kind of bugged her, though.

Ginny busied herself with preparing her tea, adding so much cream and sugar she wouldn’t be able to taste the bitterness of the leaves. There was enough of that emanating off of her as it was. She paused with a sugar cube halfway to her cup when Harry said he was a coward, only dipping her chin slightly to acknowledge that yes, he had been. Her first instinct was to cut him off. Growing up with six brothers meant that she sometimes never got a word in edgewise during an argument, but she and Harry were alone now. She could let him say his piece before jumping all over him. Probably.

Even though she was still angry with him, there was a little pang in her chest as he fumbled through an explanation. That just sounded so lonely. Ginny couldn’t imagine it. Being alone now was just asking for trouble, dreams of basilisks and boys who wrote pretty prose in diaries, Death Eaters and fallen friends. She avoided it at all costs. She couldn’t wrap her head around wanting to be by yourself. She almost said so.

Instead, Ginny lifted her chin from her arms, sat up straight, and took a sip of tea before saying “You only ignore some people, from what I can gather.” Behind the fiery words was a bit of sadness. Harry had been (was still...) important to her. And she was beginning to realize that maybe the feeling wasn’t as mutual as she’d once thought.

The curly haired witch decided to stay silent on that particular area of topic; she didn’t have anything against anyone who liked to fun. Hermione usually wasn’t the kind of woman to embrace her sexuality; preferring a good book over flirting with random men. 

Nodding her head softly, dark refocused on the red head woman in front of her, “ I have seen you mentioned in a few articles. It seems you’re doing really well, “ offering a small smile in congratulations. “ Anything interesting on the horizon for you ? “ Talking about Ginny was a lot easier than having to talk about herself. Honestly, she was tired of talking to or about herself. “ Oh, you know the usual. Been quite busy in the department, barely have time for myself these days, “ just the way the witch liked it.

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows, a wry smirk turning her lips. “Yeah, but it’s hard to tell if those articles are because of my goal-scoring or because I may or may not have been snogging The-Boy-Who-Lived. I’ll take it, though. What’s that saying?” She stirred her drink and took another sip, savoring the way it burned a little bit. “All press is good press. Right?”

Leaning back in her chair, she kept an eye on the wizard who’d bought her drink as she held the conversation with Hermione. He was already chatting someone else up, so her shoulder relaxed as Ginny eased back into the conversation. “Work, mostly. Ron’s going to come see me play in Chudley later this month.” She didn’t linger long on her brother if only because she wasn’t totally sure where Ron and Hermione stood. The last thing she heard, they were on some kind of break. But at least they’d discussed it properly post-War, unlike some people. “There’ll be dinners with Luna and Neville. And, actually, I’m dying to visit Charlie again, but it’ll have to wait until the off-season, you know?” It occurred to Ginny that she was -and planned ot be- busy, too. She passed her glass from one hand to the other idly. 

Ginny,

Nobody told me I look good in Cannons orange, especially not the twins. It’s just a fact that EVERYONE looks great in Cannons orange, so there you have it.

Yeah, I know you did, sorry I missed you. But I’m not sorry I missed meal-packing - it’s about time one of you showed up and made yourselves useful. I’ve been carrying that load on my own for ages, so…sorry. I don’t owe you fuck-all.

But yeah, it’s going well. It’s getting tougher, but we’re in the homestretch so that’s to be expected. I’ll be a proper Auror in December if I can survive the next couple of months. Late October is when we’ll start shadowing field missions, which will be brilliant. Mum doesn’t know that bit, though, so…don’t tell her. Hope I can manage. 

Ron

Ron,

Everyone? Like Goyle would look good in Cannons orange? I dunno about that. I’m sure I could pull it off. Wait, actually, how about a little friendly wager then? If we win you’ve got to buy a Harpies replica. It doesn’t even have to be mine. I’ll direct you to one of the single girls on the team. If, by some wild chance, we lose, I’ll buy a Cannons one and wear it to media one day. Deal?

I’m sorry you missed me, too. Mostly because I wanted to use the fact that we haven’t seen each other in ages against Mum and skip out on all of that. Next time.

You’ll manage. You got into the program on your own merit, Ron. I hope you know that. Kingsley wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t believe that. But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do okay? 

So I’ll see you on the seventeenth. I’m looking forward to it! Don’t get Vanished at work or anything, alright? We kind of need you in mostly one piece.

“I must be if they’re letting anyone in here.” He hardly thought before he spoke, muscle memory taking over and spitting out words while all he wanted was to be left alone from any single member of the merry band of heroes. But Draco bit back the retort his mind supplied, Malfoys weren’t unemployed. They were independently wealthy. Influential. What a load of dragon’s dung that was now. “I asked you to remove your hand.”

With the arrival of the bartender, the blessed arrival, Draco ignored the ginger menace beside him in favor of placing his own order of drinks along with a shot. He would need it to wait beside the orange terror who was still gripping onto him. “I don’t believe it’s any of your business if I’m lost or not, Ginerva. You never seemed to care for my wellbeing before so let’s not start that up now, hm?” He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder to see if any one of his friends could tell he was suffering and would be coming to his rescue. Pursing his lips Draco turned back, his expression souring further upon seeing Weasley still standing by his side and still clutching onto him. 

He tore his arm away from her, not caring if he bumped against any of the muggles who had no idea who in Merlin’s name he was or what weight his past actions carried in the world. “Humor me. What in the world is your problem? All of yours problem with me? Why now? Do I not get one, ˆjust one, day of peace from you people? I don’t know if this is your or your little Scarheaded boyfriend’s idea of fun but I’ve had enough of it.” His voice had raised, tone growing higher. Draco leaned in closer as he dropped to a whisper, not intending to cause a scene as his anger got the best of him. “I don’t have anything to offer your lot. I’m following what the Ministry says. Enough of this song and dance. We’re not in school any longer. Leave. Me. Alone.”

Ginny was so surprised to see Draco Malfoy, of all people, here that it took her a few moments to catch up. It was only when he spewed out her given name that the alarm bells went off in her head and she scoffed at him. "It's just a little strange," she said as she leaned across the bar, palms flat upon the sticky surface as she ordered a couple of shots as well. She had to prop up on her toes to do it, so she dropped back to her flat feet, took her hand back to wrap around her glass. "What was it? You'll be next..." She wouldn't finish the sentence herself. The Weasleys had as pure a blood as the Malfoy Family did. They were related some generations back, even. But her family didn't support the old ways. And having gotten close to Hermione over the years, she'd never utter the word.

When the shots came, she slid one into Malfoy's hand without a word. She took hers like a champ, only after clinking her glass against Draco's. She licked her lips and leaned against the bar, a pleasant buzz building. Normally, she would have wandered back to the dance floor by now, but something kept her rooted to the spot. When he mentioned Harry, her first instinct was to come to his defense. But that surge of protectiveness was mixed with a lot of hurt. She and Harry weren't together. In fact, they were barely on speaking terms. Ultimately, Ginny ignored that particular jab as she flipped her shot glass over and slid it back across the bar.