fire & the flood

Harry’s suppressing his snort, and a bit of horror, at the line when Ginny leans in close, eyes sharp. If Boy Band knew what was good for him, he’d pay more attention to Ginny’s blood thirsty look than the fact that she’s drawing close. But honestly, Harry can’t fault him too much - for getting distracted that is - because one whiff of her hair and the simple warmth of her as she draws near still sends Harry’s heart pounding. That’s about where Harry’s ability to relate to Ball Cap begins and ends.

As expected, the content of Ginny’s low whisper is less ‘want to get out of here’ and more ‘guts for garters’ because the pick up artist is soon backing away with a shocked expression, stumbling over barstools and an innocent busboy.

With a grin, Harry steadies the busboy on his feet and swipes a paper napkin to drag the bulk of the gum from his boot. He doesn’t break stride as he tosses the napkin in a bin and makes his way towards Ginny, who has returned her attention to the menu and the tiny red straw between her lips.

Somehow, he doesn’t end up sprawled on the floor when she twirls it, or when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, or even when the waitress returns with a new drink. Instead, he keeps pace to end up with one arm draped around Ginny’s shoulders just as she’s left alone at the high top table. “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past you again?”

Ginny snorts, nose crinkling as she stabs at the ice with her straw. “Reckon I’m sticking with the other bloke tonight.”

Harry frowns even as he claims the free stool closest to Ginny. “His pickup line wasn’t as good as mine,” he swipes her drink, ignoring her indignant ‘Oi!’ and takes a sip, “Just saying.”

“How about get your own drink, Mr. Just Saying?” Ginny grumbles, though the blow of her grousing is softened by the quick press of her lips to his.

“I can’t decide between the burger and the stew.”

Harry raises his hand in the hopes of beckoning someone with relevant resources to bring him a pint. He receives a nod from behind the bar and soon turns his attention back to Ginny. “Is the new Firebolt nearby?”

Ginny tears her eyes away from the menu. “Pardon? No - we’re on the Cleansweep - ”

“Oh,” Harry shakes his head, “Must’ve just been my heart taking off.”

“If you promise to shut up I’ll do that thing you like so much,” Ginny manages to mutter with a roll of her eyes, pausing only once the waitress arrives with Harry’s drink. He takes a long sip while Ginny orders - apparently having decided on the burger. When the waitress turns to him he gets the same - though changing medium rare for medium well. Plus he adds, “And can we have the stew to share? With some bread.”

Once they’re alone again, Ginny nudges his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You got me all hyped for it too,” he shrugs and slips his arm back around her, “Besides, I’m not above asking for a takeaway box.”

“Glad you seem to know the real path to my affection, that line was bloody awful. Time to move on,” Ginny winks, “I’ll keep my promise.”

“No, no. You said Boy Band had better lines than I do and now I’m proving you wrong,” Harry takes another swallow and swipes at his upper lip. “I’ll earn that thing I like the real way.”

“Which is?”

“Wooing.”

Ginny sighs. “You won’t let it go, will you?”

“Nope,” Harry pops, sitting a little taller in his chair.

“Anyhow,” Ginny says, fiddling with his fingers, “How was the meeting with Kingsley?”

“Relatively unnecessary,” Harry shrugs, “At least I think so. But you know how they like to get input and whatnot. Which means lots of almost shouting and then Kingsley puts on that face and says, ‘You’ve all given me a lot to think about.’”

“Does he change his mind much, pre to post meeting?”

“Depends who offered alternatives,” Harry answers, taking another swallow of his ale. “Which is for the best. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit people say.”

“What did you ever do to make Robards hate you so much?” Ginny asks with a chuckle when Harry’s forehead connects with her shoulder.

“I dunno, but he must. Either that or he really values my ability to half take notes and mostly doodle magical creatures.”

“Do you take requests? I want my face on the body of a harpy.”

The din of the crowd briefly increases and Harry leans close enough that Ginny’s soft flowery scent overcomes the smell of stale beer and miscellaneous fried foods. “Gin, your face is already on the body of a Harpy.”

“Har-har, you know what I mean.”

Harry shakes his head and tips so his nose nearly touches Ginny’s. “There’s something wrong with my eyes,” Ginny perks up, rapidly searching him for any injuries she neglected to notice and he continues, “There must be. Because I can’t seem to take them off you.”

She groans, shoulders slumped back against her barstool. “Harry, you have terrible eyesight. And that might have been the worst line yet.”

“Noted,” Harry nods like she’s just given him a tip on a case, “I’ll keep trying.”

“Please don’t.”

“I love a challenge.”

The waitress returns with their admittedly overdone dinner order and Ginny nearly spears Harry with the prongs of her fork. “Do not make me sick up, this smells too good to waste.”

Harry scofs. “Right. We both know you’re tougher than that. Should I remind you that your secret weapon was the Bat-Bogey Hex - a hex largely based on snot?”

“And it still is,” Ginny grins after she swallows an impressively large helping of her food. “Talking about gross, though,” she follows, eyeing Harry sideways, “any specific plans for my brother’s stag do? And don’t tell me you’ve cracked under pressure and let George organise it.”

There’s something very Molly Weasley-eque in her expression as she says it, freckles alight and splattered over her cheeks and nose in a way that always has Harry’s insides twisting and burning, without failure. So he smirks, leaning in closer.

“Which brother is that?”

Ginny kicks at his shin, wobbling on her barstool. “The one with the big nose and lanky limbs?”

“Oh, that one,” Harry widens his eyes in mock realisation. “Right, yes. No, I’m doing it."

“And?”

“And?” Harry parrots, sipping another spoonful of stew.

“Remember the bogeys, Harry,” she scowls, huffs away a red strand of hair falling on her cheeks.

His elbow planted firmly on the bar, Harry offers her his most dazzling smile, green eyes glinting mischievously behind his round glasses. “Aw, Gin, it’ll be nothing much. Just your regular boys’ night out - a little bit of getting pissed, a little bit of going to a strip club.”

Ginny laughs throatily, her head leaned back and her long, red hair grazing over her waist, eyes closed shut. “Can’t wait to read Skeeter’s take on you visiting a strip club. Honestly, Harry?”

“Nah. But we will get pissed at George’s though.”

“Figured. Good for you, you deserve it,” Ginny smiles and tops it off with a bite of warm bread. “Thanks for the laugh.”

“I aim to please,” Harry smiles back and, for a while, they both eat in contented silence, the pub’s buzz fading in the background as they enjoy each other’s presence and the feeling that they’re safe, and seen, and loved.

Later, there’s a clatter as Harry pushes his empty plate further up the bar and scans Ginny promptly before he says, “Alright, hear me out - one last try.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, bored, swishing her spoon in his direction. “Shoot.”

Harry clears his throat.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but Snape was so fond of me he tried to adopt me, right?”

Ginny’s forehead promptly connects with the bar top.

“That’s it,” she grunts, ginger hair pooling over her arms, spread over the black countertop, “we’re leaving. Check, please,” she raises her head to speak, voice heavy with distress.

“Women,” Harry pretends to roll his eyes, “nothing ever pleases them.”

Ginny sticks her tongue out in response. She then hops off and strides towards the loo, hair flicked over her shoulder.

Harry shakes his head, grinning; he rummages through his pocket, thumbs brushing over the hardwood of his wand, feels the cold metal of the coins piled in there. Five silver ones rattle along the counter and the barman nods his thanks.

A whiff of flowery scent floats near him, her lips suddenly close to his ear as she whispers, low, “You must be absolutely knackered, because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

Harry dips his chin slowly, green eyes connecting with her mischief-laden brown ones, a wide, playful grin on her face. “Ginny Weasley, was that a pick-up line?” Harry whispers back.

“Sue me,” she winks.

“No way. I’m rather turned on, actually.”

“Good,” Ginny follows, evilly, her lips still close to Harry’s ear. “Bathroom? There’s a private space in the very last one.”

They demolish the shared dessert pretty quickly and before long their bill is paid and Ginny’s snuggling underneath Harry’s arm for the walk home. Harry lets out a contented sigh as Ginny’s fingers slip between the buttons of his shirt, the band of her ring cold against his bare skin. He presses a kiss to her forehead. “So it’s summer hols too.”

“Ted can come with us no worries,” Ginny concludes as they pause at the crosswalk, only light traffic trundling over the streets shining with shallow rain puddles. “Now that we’ve squared that away - ”

“Should I not point out how very far we are from being squared away?”

The lights change and they trot across the street still arm in arm. “Harry, there are times for squaring away and there are times for - squaring away,” Ginny says, the pitch of her voice lowering as she rises on tiptoe to murmur in his ear.

Harry sucks in a breath as they leave the busier city streets behind for the quiet avenues near their home. Out of habit borne of about a decade of light sleeping children living in his home, Harry slowly slips his key into the lock and is gradually pushing it open when Ginny’s hands find their way around his middle. “Nobody’s home, dear.”

And it really is good that the boys are currently at a Grandma and Grandpa Weasley sleepover because Harry’s self control when Ginny’s nipping at his ear and her fingers are working at the buttons of his shirt is really close to nil. 

“Gin - oh hell you make me hate buttons.”

She hums and as soon as they’re inside, pins him against the door. Luckily she has enough sense left to flick the lock before continuing her torturous efforts with hideously slow and exact movements. Ginny grins. “I love them.”

“Should I be offended that you,” Harry pauses as Ginny finally works his shirt open and nips at his collarbone. “That you assume all it takes is a good meal for me to put out?”

“Am I wrong?” Ginny mutters.

“I need to be wooed.”

“Do you now - ah!”

In the midst of their repartee, Harry managed to somewhat regain his senses. At least enough to grasp around Ginny’s waist and lift her off her feet. She tips forward onto his shoulder and grunts. “How he-man of you.”

“I’m very macho.”

Ginny gently scratches at his back as her heels slip from her feet, suspended mid air as they are. “Yes, you are. Plus I’m getting what a view right now.”

Chuckling, Harry pauses at the foot of their bed. “Shall I clench a bit before I set you down?”

She lightly jabs his side and in response he drops her to the mattress with a bounce. While he tosses his shirt aside and works his trousers down and open, Ginny wriggles until she manages to drag the zip down on her dress. 

After the deep purple garment of temptation is tossed aside, her hands go for the waistband of her tights. Which apparently does not meet Harry’s approval. He grasps her wrists and lifts them over Ginny’s head, pushing them into the mattress with a brief squeeze. “Let me?”

Ginny’s eyes flash and she lifts one foot to rest against Harry’s bare shoulder. “Have at it.”

With gentle drags of his fingers, Harry pulls the dark tights - and the lacy underthings hidden beneath - down Ginny’s legs, over the tips of her pale toes.

Soon his teasing kisses follow the same trail upwards with warm, teasing presses. A sigh rushes past Ginny’s lips, one of her trembling hands finds its way to the tangled mess of Harry’s dark hair while the other slips into her own red locks. 

“Harry - ”

He lifts his head just enough to smirk at her and would resume his earlier efforts without Ginny’s insistent tugs at his hair, shoulders, and anything else she can reach. “Up here then.”

Harry’s smile is softer, that familiar tilt that Ginny thinks of as the pure embodiment of her best friend. Over time she’s realized that the heat of their attraction hasn’t faded, at least not in any way she regrets. But it has matured, deepened into something she can’t quite name. The younger version of herself might have been immature enough to think love was some stopping point. Now she can’t even quite put words to what it is but instead something she knows deep down better than she knows her own mind.

He brushes his nose along her cheek. “You’re suddenly distracted. Where’s that one track mind that almost had me half naked in the street?”

“So terribly sorry,” Ginny says quietly against Harry’s lips, “Forgive me?”

Harry settles over her - comfortably, familiarly - and laughs softly. “Why of course.”

And then she focuses on making up for it, leaving Harry in a glowing, sweaty heap tangled between white cotton sheets some hours later, and herself grinning, catching her breath sprawled against his chest. 

***

“Not fair!” 

Harry glances over his shoulder, eyes scanning the dim-lit room to see James’ small mouth stretched into a pout, a rather Ginny-like crease on his forehead as his feet pound impatiently under the duvet, into the mattress. “What is?”

“You always tuck Al first,” the little boy sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest, a sulky air about him. Apparently the ‘sulk easily’ Potter gene was inherited by his eldest just as evidently as Albus got his eyes and rumpled hair.  

“That’s not true, James. You know very well that we take turns and tonight it happened to be your brother’s. Tomorrow you’ll go first, like you did yesterday and two days before that,” Harry explains patiently, leaning in to kiss his youngest son’s forehead, push his messy fringe out of his emerald green eyes. “Night, Al.”

His son yawns in response and shifts to his side, snuggling into his pillow, fluffed dinosaur squeezed tightly at his chest.

“Actually, before you two fall asleep, Mum and I have some news,” Harry says and stops in the middle of the room, stealing a glance at the small heads popping from the duvets on both beds.

A very long and annoyed sigh sounds from James’ side, his head raising and hitting the pillow hard, huffing.

“Not another brother.”

Harry stifles a chuckle. “No, not another brother, but nice to know your thoughts on the topic.”

“What then?” James says impatiently. In his own bed, Al stirs, rumpled head appearing from behind the green dinosaur.

“We’re going to Egypt. For the summer, I’ll have a new dig and -”

“Is Teddy coming?”

“Will there be mummies?”

“Can I push Al into the hole you’ll dig, Dad?”

“Dad, James is mean again,” Al sniffs and disappears under the duvet.

Harry feels his head throbbing with the many questions and knows it’ll take some good work to get them both appeased and ready for bed again. In hindsight, it might have not been his best idea yet to spring the news on them at bedtime. You live and you learn, apparently. 

On the other side of the house, a slightly different scene unfolds.

“Help me with the rest of the plates, Ted?” Ginny asks, hands under the warm, sudsy water, focused on rinsing the plates. She’d always found it easier to gather her thoughts, collect them and spread them before her as though they’re on display, as though she needs to see them to be able to choose her words, ever careful.

“Sure, right up,” Teddy chimes and nearly bumps into Ginny as she spins to relieve him of the plates. Fortunately, besides a small clatter of china and some soapy water in Teddy’s eyes, not much damage is done.

“So,” Ginny smiles, wipes her hands on a kitchen towel. She takes a moment to regard Teddy, his recent growth spurt still taking her by surprise. He’d only been a little over her knees when he’d glued his toothy grin to Ron’s doughnut glass case and now he’s ten and so tall, already so much like the father Ginny’d only glanced in Harry’s old photo albums, auburn hair and big, kind eyes.

Teddy’s brown eyes grow larger as the seconds pass, apprehension and a little dash of excitement in their depths.

“Are we sharing secrets?”

“Not really secrets, but there’s some exciting news,” Ginny winks, claims the nearby chair as Teddy bites his lips, eyes fixed on her. “We’ll be spending the summer in Egypt. What do you think?”

“I need a moment.”

Ginny stifles her laugh, mind wandering briefly towards Teddy’s small but growing Egypt obsession, books and figures and encyclopedias stacked in an ever growing pile in his room - something Harry likes to point out she’s solely responsible for. As far as Ginny’s concerned, all she’d done was watch The Mummy with Teddy on a Friday night, when Harry was away for a conference and her boys were on grandparents Potter care.

Honestly there are worse things than Teddy enjoying an adventure film with occasionally questionable accuracy when it comes to Egyptology. It’s not like Ginny kept Harry from giving Teddy The Talk. That is, the ‘it’s super fun but not super accurate’ talk. 

Beyond their mutual enjoyment of the movie, Ginny and Teddy also shared quite a few ‘don’t laugh he’s being serious’ glances over the course of the evening.

Ginny’s not quite sure why The Mummy is so different from Indiana Jones to Harry. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t told him about her fantasies related to The Mummy yet. Maybe she’ll save it for when they’re on location - she can just throw some period clothing in a carry on.

“So I was thinking - ”

Ginny blinks and refocuses on Teddy, who luckily appears to have been on his own little rabbit trail. “Yeah?”

“Well. Do you think Harry would be offended if I said he was like Evie and you’re like O'Connell?”

“Did you say this to Harry?”

“Yes! And then he got all weird,” Teddy says, cheeks flushed and fingers gripping his serviette. “I tried to tell him Evie is amazing!”

Ginny sighs, pulling a bag of frozen dough from the freezer. She’s domestic enough that she’ll slice up pre-made dough from her mum instead of buying it in the frozen section. Home made by proxy.

“Ted, grab the wax paper?”

Soon enough they’ve got the oven pre-heating and they’re lining the sheet with frozen dough scoops. “I’ll have a chat with Harry about the film.”

Teddy nods, eyes not leaving the sheet as he carefully sets another dough scoop carefully on it, his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth. By the time Ginny’s finished the dishes, Teddy’s cookies are ready to go in and the oven has dinged. 

Ginny splits one of the smaller scoops and gives half to Teddy while the egg timer begins ticking away. Teddy takes a bite and darts his gaze to Ginny a couple of times before he finally says, “The mummies don’t actually - uh. Maybe Harry’s worried I’ll get into trouble with the artifacts.”

“I can have a chat with him,” Ginny says as she ruffles Teddy’s hair, “Let him know there’s no danger of us starting any trouble with the undead since I can scientifically confirm they’re highly and permanently dead.”

Teddy nods. “Okay. But if he’s real worried we could just get a cat or two. That seemed pretty helpful when they were in Cairo. Why didn’t they just bring them - oh!”

Ginny smiles. “Another question?”

“Does Harry speak Egyptian like Evie?”

For a minute, and perhaps not to her credit, Ginny’s mind wanders a bit at the thought of Harry and his ability with languages. It might sound weird but one of her things is Harry speaking in languages she doesn’t understand. Especially when he murmurs things that must be sultry and delicious against her ear. 

“Ginny?”

Clearing her throat, Ginny tries to smile and will the flush from her cheeks. “Some - he probably has a bit of a working knowledge of it since it’s not his main specialty.”

He nods again, digesting the information until he startles at the egg timer’s ding. Ginny pulls the cookies from the oven. As she sets them to cool, Ginny grins again, for real this time. “All I know is I’ll be devastated if we don’t have at least one camel race.”

The weeks before Junes comes around, threatening to bring July sooner than any of them can realise, roll between meetings for both Harry and Ginny, impulsive shopping, bouts of uncontrolled enthusiasm from the boys and then some uncontrolled tears, impromptu visits from Molly (who seems to have become convinced that if she doesn’t feed them as much as possible before they leave, they might all starve) and general mayhem. 

Harry sighs wholeheartedly when there’s only three days left, eyeing the ridiculous amounts of boxes, fully crossed lists and then fresh, new lists lying across the house. At least he won’t have to spend the evening in their company.

Happy to swap boxes with the warmer presence of his mother plus father and Sirius, Harry straps all three boys onto the backseats of the family car, smiles at Ginny as she applies her lipstick with help from the rearview mirror, and turns the key twice, wheels soon rolling against the gravel.

“So what exactly are you planning on discovering in Egypt?” Sirius asks with a tone that clearly states all groundbreaking discoveries have already been made and all that Harry’s getting from this trip is biceps from all the digging he’ll be doing. He pushes his chair backwards a little, lazily shifting so James, who’d been perched on his knee since the moment he entered his grandparents’ house, can better reach Snuffles’ scruffy tail with his toy fishing rod.

“More dead people,” Harry drawls. “Ted, check on Al, please,” he adds, turning his head over his shoulder to where Teddy plays with a new set of Lego and Al is clearly...not there anymore. He’d developed a new sense for perceiving when his sons are sneaking away somewhere over the years, he no longer needs eyesight for it.

And a good thing too, since it’s completely shit.

“Fascinating,” Sirius grins, bouncing James a bit on his knees to his namesake’s delight. “Are you visiting Hamunaptra?”

Harry frowns. “Now you’re making things up.”

“The Mummy,” Sirius scoffs, offended. “The City of the Dead? The ancient lost city that served for many centuries as the resting place for the Pharaohs of Egypt and their wealth?” he continues when Harry’s frown deepens, his eyebrows nearly blending into his hairline. 

“Never seen it,” Harry shrugs.

“You’ve never seen The Mummy?” Sirius exhales loudly, his chair shifting enough to startle poor Snuffles and put a sad end to James’ fishing game - who quickly regains his composure and hops off to announce himself the new leader of Teddy and Al’s Lego game.

“Shush,” Harry grunts, alarmed, his eyes speedly scanning the room. “Ginny doesn’t know that.”

Sirius stares at him. 

“We watched the movie at the beginning of our relationship and - er, I fell asleep probably ten minutes in. It seemed to mean a lot to her that I watch it, she thought it mandatory for any Archaeology student, I don’t know,” he sighs, speaking in hushed tones. “She took me by surprise when she asked if I loved it the next day and somehow I said I did and then it was too late to take it back.”

“And you’ve been lying to your wife for over a decade,” Sirius snorts, leans closer to Harry.

To this, Harry’s expression turns positively alarmed. “It’s not like it’s come up in conversation much.”

“She’ll find it out,” Sirius pats Harry’s knee and stands up. “And as much as I’d like to be there and see it unfold, I’m really too afraid to be close as vengeance is inflicted upon you. Death will come on swift wings,” he laughs, leaving Harry staring after him in horror.

“What do you mean?” Harry calls after his godfather, but Sirius only laughs louder as he makes his way towards the dinner table.

“Watch the movie, Potter.” 

But Harry’s biting retort is lost when his father slams the living room doors open and strides in with a pyramid-shaped cake, exultantly announcing himself the proudest dad. This outward expression of fatherly feelings is followed by a more reserved Lily, who treads happily to Harry’s armchair, kisses him on both cheeks and tugs him to the table.

“What’s all this?” Harry asks, very much surprised by all the preparations and the speed with which they’ve gone through - but then Ginny smirks at him from the other end of the table and Harry just knows she’d had her hand elbow-deep in this. 

“If we’re to miss our son’s birthday, we said we’d at least try to make up for it,” Lily smiles at him as James grins widely, and Harry’s immediate protests die with the sound of the door bell. “Oh, Hermione and Ron are here. Sirius, could you -?”

“I think this one beat me to it,” Sirius grins at a waddling Al, hurrying as fast as his small feet can take him to his cousin Rose. “I swear that sprog is like a bloodhound.”

“I prefer to say he has his father’s instincts about who and what is where and why,” Harry says with a raise of his chin. 

For herself, Ginny rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of her lemonade. “That’s not what you preferred when he sniffed out your chocolate digestives and ate half the pack last week.”

When Harry murmurs something about the sanctity of the marital relationship, Sirius laughs under his breath and before he can get beyond half-whispering ‘The Mummy’ in pig latin, Harry’s boot is planted firmly in his shin. He finds his dad’s gaze across the room and though his laughter is genuine, it decidedly does not reach his hazel eyes.

In a particularly mature reaction, Sirius sticks his tongue out at Harry and folds his arms. Lily, who catches most of the interchange and perhaps manages to fill in the blanks through her years of careful study of the Potter and Black men throughout the ages, shares a commiserating grin with her son.

It can’t progress beyond that once the group is in a joyous uproar that always seems to come with the entrance of another member of their ever growing family. In this instance, the dramatics seem tripled based on the entry of three Granger-Weasleys at once.

As Harry’s come to expect over the years, Ron immediately pounces on the teasing energy still floating in the air and soon dinner and dessert pass by in a beautiful, wonderful, mad haze of laughter and family.

After, when Harry’s helping his dad clear the table, James lets out a long sigh and finally gives voice to whatever’s been troubling him over the evening. “I know it’s a bit hypocritical - let me begin with that.”

Harry lets out a low laugh and swipes another dish dry. “I give you permission to proceed without comment.”

James nudges his son with his shoulder. “I - I know it’s short and we were gone over a year but.”

“You can say you’ll miss us, Dad. I won’t flay you alive.”

“I was a bit whiny last night and your mum did let me have it,” James says with a snicker.

Harry laughs, knowing full well how completely a wife can hand a husband his proverbial head for hypocrisy or whatever other increasingly annoying behavioral act is currently flourishing. It’s funny when observing it in his parents, and even looking backward in his own life. Admittedly in the moment he can become something of a bear depending on what mood gave rise to the aforementioned behavioral act.

“How’d it go with the Weasleys?”

“We really drove home the whole ‘it’s only for the summer’ bit,” Harry says with a grimace. “It fever pitched in drama when Molly realized we’d be away for Ginny’s birthday.”

“Nobody gets into a strop like Molly Weasley,” James says with a grin, “And I will deny I said that ‘til the day I die.”

Harry grins and wraps his father into a light hug before he catches a glimpse of gray flecks of hair peppering his old man’s rumpled mane all over. His grin stretches wider.

“So should I fear turning fifty? I see it hasn’t treated you all that well,” he smirks, green eyes fixing on James’ hair, then swipe down to his very offended pout.

Luckily, the Potter senior recovers his good wits soon. “Nah, I’d say you should worry ‘bout turning forty. I’m much more handsome than you.”

A familiar firm hand on his shoulder squashes whatever else he was about to say and Lily smiles at Harry so kindly, so beautifully, a mother’s love brimming so evidently in her emerald green eyes, Harry’s heart leaps. His mind suddenly strays to Ginny and the way she looks at their own children when she holds them, when they’re sleeping, on the day their cries first pierced the world.

“You’ve always been the most handsome boy in the room, dear. Except for poor eyesight and unruly hair, you’ve probably inherited all else from me anyway,” Lily winks and quickly turns on her heels to help prep her grandchildren for the trip home, her soft hand brushing Harry’s cheek as she passes by him.

James simply stares besottedly after her, a look in his eyes that sends Harry’s food back up instantly. He doesn’t even know why he bothers making up an excuse for quitting the scene as fast as possible, his father couldn’t have heard him anyway.

“Potters and Lupin,” Ron booms as they’re ready to part ways in the parking lot outside, his hands rummaging in his pockets as Hermione squeezes Rose tighter to her chest. Three pairs of eyes fix him expectantly, excitement concealed poorly in Teddy and Al’s cases, and not at all, in James’ case.

“I have searched far and wide for what I’m about to offer you,” Ron carries on importantly, “but fear not - it has all been worth it. I can now give you,” he stops a bit, tongue popping out at the right corner as he hands each boy a toy cat, “a talisman for your protection.”

Ron finishes with a flourish of both hands and Teddy nearly trips over his feet in his haste to both hug Ron and the cat till their lungs die out. James and Al, on the other hand, do not look much convinced but Ginny - and here’s Harry's true surprise - seems to battle herself in a fight against her better, motherly instincts: to snatch a cat for her own self or behave.

“Cats aren’t protective shields against evil, Ron,” Harry whispers over Teddy’s head, his arms around both his boys’ shoulders, subtly removing them from Ginny’s near vicinity. 

But she does hear, sharp hearing as she’s always had, because she promptly replies, “Ugh, sorry, but they are. It was in The Mummy, remember?”

“Of course I do,” Harry chuckles nervously and begins to stir his family towards the car. “Come now, everyone, there’s packing waiting for us at home. Ron, Hermione,” he dips his head a bit, gives Rose a kiss on the forehead and hurriedly makes to jump into the car. “See you in September, goodbye.”

Ron manages to land a sharp flick to the back of Harry’s ear. “I’d wager there’s only more packing because Dr. Potter can’t say no to a book.”

“Should I defend Ginny’s honour?”

“I hate when you’re deliberately obtuse,” Ron snorts, “Bring me back a canopic jar, Evie.”

Harry manages to flick Ron off and help Ginny shepherd their brood into the car.

Luckily, it’s Teddy who leads the conversation on their way home, chattering away about mummies and cats and Evie with so much gusto he often forgets to breathe. 

“I see the boys are now partial to cats too,” Ginny giggles as she closes the door to James and Al’s room later, tiptoeing her way to their own bedroom. “I think they’ll enjoy Egypt very much,” she adds, kisses Harry’s cheek as she snuggles next to him under the covers.

“Believe me, I’d be as giddy if there wasn’t half the house left to pack tomorrow,” he yawns and wraps his arms around her.

“Can’t wait to be there,” Ginny whispers and Harry can feel her toothy grin spreading wider. He pulls her tightly to his chest, nestles his chin in the dip between her shoulder blade.

Ginny winks. “I’ll take your speechlessness as a compliment.”

While he wages an internal battle mainly filled with conflicting thoughts of ‘run away, drown yourself in the toilet’ and ‘sweep her in your arms and let her ravish you like she wanted to yesterday,’ Harry somehow manages to also drum up coherent language and grind it out into audible words. Mostly.

“You - well, I’ll say you’re the best I’ve seen a Weasley look in dress robes.”

Ginny fiddles with the zipper, “Wow, Harry. Flatter a girl. I'll tell you your hair looks better than Aunt Muriel’s, how about?”

Harry can’t keep the laugh from bubbling out of his chest, can’t ignore the pang at how very happy he seems to be when Ginny is around. He ruffles his hair. “Dunno, Gin. I think Muriel’s a fox.”

Absently, perhaps operating on some instinct he can’t control, Harry steps forward and drags the zip up her back, the tiny catches clicking together one by one.

Ginny draws in a sharp breath and her lip seems to tremble in time with the stutter of his heart. Her voice is a bit dry, strangled, when she answers, “Don’t let her hear you say that or you’ll be my great uncle before you turn 18.”

It’s like a heavy weight falls into the pit of Harry’s stomach, seeing Ginny’s eyes shutter, considering how he might not see his next birthday; the minimal hope he has about having Ginny be part of his life in that hazy future.

And even with the gloom that seems to have settled over them in this little moment carved out from the world, Harry can’t help but marvel that someone seems to understand. And not because he’s screamed his lungs out or sulked his way into a sympathetic ear. He can see in her gaze that Ginny feels that darkness looming.

Yet there’s a part of him, perhaps a stupid idealistic part, that thinks she’s still the silver lining. That maybe his hope isn’t completely lost.

Ginny smiles softly and winks. “Don’t worry. I’d rescue you before Muriel whisked you away.”

Harry clears his throat, voice low when he answers, “My hero.”

“Well Gryffindor chivalry and whatnot - you know how it works.”

A laugh rises in his chest, short like Sirius sometimes let out. Harry wonders if it was because Sirius was as surprised as he is now to feel happiness, even just a little. “Of course.”

Ginny quirks her brow. “Perhaps too well.”

Shrugging, Harry ruffles his hair. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

To his surprise, she doesn’t laugh, doesn’t tease. Instead she steps close enough to cup his jaw, look at him in that way that not too long ago meant her lips would slant on his. Her thumb brushes against his skin gently while she gazes up at him. “Nah, just a blessing,” her smile is a little sad, “Or at least I think so most days.”

And then her lips are on his cheek, so briefly he almost thinks he imagined it. She doesn’t linger, flitting away like the summer breeze while he stares after her, feeling a bit like she’s taken his heart with her.

***

It is exactly three o’clock in the afternoon on August 1st and Harry is queueing up in front of the great wedding marquee, wearing another man’s appearance and a very heavy heart.

Even in his sleep, images he’d crafted of him and Ginny happily dancing at Bill and Fleur’s wedding keep creeping up, haunting him viciously. He doesn’t even know how to dance, a smidge of reality that makes all his pining and moaning after ‘what it could’ve been’ all the more ridiculous.

Fortunately, his angsting and brooding time is quickly cut short when gaggles upon gaggles of guests arrive and Harry jumps to show them to their seats, the twin image of Molly Weasley and Fleur mentally prodding him to move faster and get to it.

Harry’s in over his head and practically sweating by the time the last guest is comfortably seated and he can finally enjoy some good Weasley humour and a seat of his own. The laughter is bubbling out of their little party as they listen to Fred and George swap family anecdotes, Ron is pleasantly engrossed in Hermione’s presence, and Harry doesn’t feel all that lonely - which, to his mind, is the real success of the day.

Just as he’s beginning to relax, the music plays and in walks Ginny with his soul, heart and mind, glowing like the sun in her golden dress, long red hair cascading down her shoulders in a way that has Harry almost springing from his seat to touch it, caress it, feel its flowery scent. His gut wrenches.

Old Aunt Muriel comments on the amount of cleavage she’s revealing and Ginny briefly winks at him, which really doesn’t do anything to ease Harry’s situation but rather drops a whole new kind of problem on him than his sad, aching heart.

Harry subtly shifts in his chair to hide his current situation and simultaneously thanks the heavens for Ron’s smitten expression, blue eyes glued only to Hermione, and parlays with his little buddy to go back, sit down.

“Come on, mate, you’re not invited to this wedding,” Harry grumbles under his breath, willing his eyes to stay away from Ginny and, quite frankly, focus on literally anything else.

But if they were still together and if Voldemort wasn’t a looming threat and if there wasn’t a war tumbling over their lives - if, if, if, then Harry would’ve asked her to dance and he would’ve felt her body press into his and he would’ve whispered into her ear, tell her how incredibly beautiful she looks, what she does to him, how she has bewitched his mind. And maybe, maybe, maybe - ah, maybe later they would’ve stumbled into her room or possibly somewhere at the back of the orchard, hidden by a copse of trees and the darkness of the night, and maybe, maybe, maybe - ah, maybe then they would’ve taken that mind-numbingly brilliant snog further, so much further until all barriers would simply disappear between them, bodies melting into each other until they become one.

“Oh, isn’t it simply beautiful?” Hermione sniffles next to him and Harry jerks out of his daydream.

“Yeah...brilliant,” he sighs and lets his eyes travel over Ginny once more before he rips his gaze away, numbing his mind to drift to a blank space, to complete nothingness until the ceremony is over.

Later, Harry watches her dance with Lee Jordan, unable to not notice the many pairs of eyes staring. The old chest monster roars, enraged.

He’s got no claim over her but somehow - somehow he can’t fight the anger, the utter jealousy that burns out of him whenever someone touches her or ogles her or even talks to her, eyes lingering a second too long on her radiant face.

He’s got no claim, Harry knows, but it’s only him who’s ever counted all the freckles on her smiling face, it’s only him who’s ever held her, skin touching skin on their misery filled chests, it’s only him who’s ever really loved her.

And there it is: he loves her, of course he does. Of course he does, the miserable sod.

Harry’s one step closer to drowning himself or just getting spectacularly drunk when Viktor Krum, of all people, voices his intentions of charming Ginny and Harry immediately finds Ron’s beheading of his Krum miniature acceptable. Harry himself is ready to behead the real thing actually and he considers it in everyone’s good fortune when Krum quickly gives up.

“Something wrong, Harry?” Bill quirks an eyebrow at him as they bump into each other on the corridor to the men’s room.

“No, it’s great, brilliant actually,” Harry hurries to chime in with a tad too much enthusiasm to sound natural. Some days he wonders why he even tries, it’s not like he can fool any of those people. They’ve witnessed his awkward teenage phase, goddammit.

Bill studies him for a heartbeat before he sighs, hand unconsciously flying to arrange his ponytail. “Are you about to drag her into whatever it is that you’re planning?”

Harry’s heart sinks.

“I’m assuming that’s a no,” Bill grins a bit before his brows furrow once more. “So it’s just my brother, then?”

“Look, I’ve told him and Hermione to stay here -” Harry starts, tone rapidly drifting up into anger, but Bill’s hand is on his shoulder and it’s squeezing him in a sort of calming yet firm way.

“Harry, shush. No one’s blaming you for anything. Just be careful. And Harry?”

Harry’s emerald eyes rise to look into Bill’s stern, scarred face.

“First you win the war, then you come back to her.”

And just like that, Bill turns on his heels to walk right back into his wife’s warm arms while he, Harry, stares after him, all remaining bits of hope cracking in Bill’s wake.

But then everything happens very fast and Harry cannot ponder on Bill’s words, cannot obsess over them, over their meaning. Win the war? Come back to her? Will she be waiting? Why would she be waiting, she has so much life to live. Why? His thoughts revolve around, frantic.

Everything happens very fast.

Grindelwald.

Dumbledore.

Horcruxes.

Ginny dancing with somebody else.

Ginny watching him over her freckled shoulder, brown eyes sad as they linger on his face.

Ginny wrenching herself out of someone else’s arms, quickly disappearing in the dark.

Harry’s heart breaking.

Kingley’s Patronus.

And the Ministry is falling.

The Ministry is falling.

THE MINISTRY IS FALLING.

Harry grabs Ron and Hermione, alarms ringing deafeningly in his ears. It’s the war, it’s started, it’s really started this time.

Be safe, be safe, be safe, he whimpers as the three of them spin and spin and spin until they reach the Forest of Dean and nothing else matters anymore. It’s a war and they’re just soldiers and they’re here to fight.

And Harry plans to fight, until his final breath, until his last struggling heartbeat, until he knows that they are safe and Ginny’s safe and the entire world is safe. He steels his resolve and gets to work. There’s so, so very much to be done.