Hermione left early with her parents. And now, the three of them were at the Burrow's dinner table. 

"No fucking way!"

Ginny and Ron were arguing. About what, Harry had long forgotten.

"I'll beat you so bloody bad that you won't get out of bed for days!"

Harry downed the rest of the firewhiskey and slammed the bottle down on the table, startling both of them.

"Ask Harry!" Ginny told Ron.

Ron nodded vigorously and asked, "So, who do you reckon, Harry?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to tell them he wasn't following their shouting match.

Ginny saw his confused look and explained in a far sweeter tone than she used on Ron, "Ron and I are arguing about who knows you better. Tell him that it's me, Harry." She looked at him expectantly with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Like hell it is!" Ron slammed a fist on the table, looking at Harry. "He's my best friend!"

"And he's my fiancé!"

Harry was sure they knew him almost the same amount, though Ginny might have an edge.

"Ok, how old was he when he first had ice cream?" Ron asked, looking at Ginny with determination.

Ginny's expression matched her brother's. "Seven. You have to be better than that, Ron."

Chocolate, he thought fondly. Charles from school was always friendly to him. On his birthday, Charles’ parents brought ice cream to school, and Charles distributed it to the whole class. He remembered to give him his ice cream away from Dudley.

"What was the first thing Tonks got Harry?" She smirked, knowing that Ron wouldn't know this.

Ron smirked back, and Ginny's smile faltered. She thought he wouldn't know this. "A toy Hippogriff. Harry was three months old."

Sirius told him this. He was surprised that Tonks knew him as a baby.

Ginny's jaw dropped. "How the fuck do you know?"

"Sirius told Harry. Harry told me. What did Harry call it?"

"Giff!" She shouted back at him, frustrated.

She didn't have to think about her next question. "What does Harry think about those horrid orange posters in your bedroom?"

"He thinks they're hideous." Harry turned to Ron to try to deny it, even though he knew it was spot on.

Ron shook his head at him and said, "You're just too good to say so." 

Harry relaxed back in his chair now that it was settled.

"When will Harry be made Deputy Head Auror?" Ron leaned back in his chair too. This was classified.

Ginny grinned proudly at Harry. "The first of September."

"Harry!" Ron turned on him. "That's classified!"

"Not to Ginny, it isn't," he smiled.

"It's your fault," Ron accused her playfully.

"I hate you too, Ron."

Ginny took a sip and asked, "When are we getting married?"

"December 18th."

"Nuh-uh," Ginny wagged a finger. "16th."

Harry looked at Ron apologetically. "We wanted two more days for the honeymoon. We haven't told anyone yet."

Ron grumbled that he was mad that his sister and his best friend didn't tell him, the person who was the most excited about their wedding.

"Who says we can't get married now?" He heard Harry telling Ginny.

"Yes!" He beamed. 

"You just want me to be wrong," she accused.

"No," he frowned. "It's not because of that. I know you two wanted to get married since before you started dating - "

"Exaggeration," Harry and Ginny said at the same time.

He waved them off, and barrelled on, "Besides, I know you're frustrated with all the wedding planning. I'll be your witness." He reached for both of their hands and held them in his.

"That's an idea," Ginny said, after a moment.

Before their drunk selves could actually get up to go to an official, they heard Molly calling for them.

They quickly shot up, and Harry reached for the hangover potions in his pockets, Ginny charmed away the smell and cleaned the table, and Ron disposed of the bottles, and both he and Harry moved around the room to get rid of any other evidence of them drinking. Ginny moved towards one of the cupboards to make a show of searching for the cutlery that her mother had sent them for in the first place.

They did this so swiftly and in tandem that, to an onlooker, they had been practising this for years.

Harry nodded. "We can hide the body."

"What?"

"I know you—if you murdered someone, they probably deserved it. Better not confess to an Auror next time, though."

Ginny laughed, some tension leaving her shoulders. "It's not grave, remember? I'm just—embarrassed, that's it."

"Embarrassed as you sending a dwarf to sing a Valentine's card?"

"Embarrassed as I might hex my fiance if he keeps making fun of me." Her words were threatening, but Ginny was smiling again. "And that would look extremely embarrassing for you, Mr. Auror."

Harry pretended to zip off his mouth. Ginny got closer, allowing for him to place his arms around her shoulders and bring her closer.

"Embarassed as do you remember before the Battle, when you needed to go to the Ravenclaw Common Room and I insisted that Luna should go with you, instead of Cho Chang?"

It took a moment for Harry to recollect the exact memory. "Oh, yeah. You sounded fierce, very protective."

"I sounded stupid," she disagreed. "We were at the edge of the war, Voldemort was coming and I got jealous. But I thought—hey, I was young and naive. I wouldn't do that again."

"But then—"

She sighed. "Then we were at the Leaky Cauldron tonight and Cho showed up for our meeting, I wasn't expecting and—and I told her we are engaged."

"Oh." Harry blinked, confused. "That isn't a crime."

But Ginny shook her head. "I haven't even told most of my friends yet, and then—ugh, why do I still feel like a teenage girl unsure of everything around her?"

"I have no idea." He placed a kiss on her forehead, eyes closing when the smell of her shampoo overwhelmed him. "If anyone should be self-assured and arrogant, it should be you. You—you are perfect."

She laughed, not taking him seriously. "I'm not. I'm—it's pathetic, actually."

Harry twisted the handkerchief. "If it helps—when we were discussing the guest list, I almost asked you not to invite Dean."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know. And worse—I wanted to include Viktor Krum in the list."

"Viktor Krum? Other than annoying Ron, I don't see—"

"He was attracted to you."

"I don't remember meeting Krum—"

"Bill and Fleur's wedding." Harry fought an urge to hide his face. "We were sharing a table, he didn't know who I was, and then he asked if you were seeing anyone because you were very good-looking. And I said you were, a jealous type, big guy, one he wouldn't want to mess with."

Ginny blinked. Twice. And then a grin took control of her face as she moved to give him a kiss that Harry wasn't sure he deserve, but he wouldn't complain ever.

Harry jumped, shocked to be interrupted, knocking over the inkwell that was balanced carefully on his leg. Scattered in his lap were several crumpled up pieces of paper splattered with ink drops and words crossed out, the quill still in his hand. 

“Sorry!” Ginny yelped, “Here let me.” A quick scourgify cleaned up the ink spill. 

“Thanks,” Harry muttered. He gave a wave to welcome Ginny to sit. Ginny gave a small smile to Harry. Slipping her bag off of her shoulders and throwing it on the coffee table, she took the spot on the floor across from Harry. Ron always laughed at her for preferring to sit on the ground, but she always found it comfortable. 

Looking up from the mess in his lap, “Where are you coming back from so late?” Harry questioned.

“Detention with Umbridge.” grunted Ginny. “She had me write lines for hours. Stupid really.” Ginny continued, rolling her eyes at the pointless detention. Harry however, whipped his head to face her like she said Umbridge used the cruciatus curse for punishment. He glanced down at her hand, eyes filled with concern.

“Just lines? Are you okay?” Harry whispered.

Ginny looked down at her writing hand, wringing her wrist. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just a crampy wrist.” waving her hand in dismissal, “It’s only going to make this essay for Flitwick just a little more difficult to write. No big deal.” 

Harry still looked a little doubtful, but did not ask any further questions. Instead he picked up another blank parchment and started to write again.

Ginny pulled out her Charms book and her own parchment, starting her essay on the difference between healing charms and their effects on different parts of human anatomy. Ginny was no healer, she did not understand why healing an ear was so much more challenging than growing back a fingernail. Two feet was going to be a challenge. Maybe if she asked nicely, Hermione might share her essay from last year with her. 

Just as Ginny wrote the conclusion to her opening paragraph, Harry let out an exasperated sigh, crumpling up another parchment and throwing it in the nearby fire. Flames grew as paper turned to ash. Both of them stared at the fire as the flames dwindled back down. 

Ginny turned back to Harry, “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Harry just scoffed and rolled his eyes at her, but she could tell his annoyance was not directed at her but rather the project he had just turned to ash.

“What are you working on anyway?” Ginny asked, curious and looking for a distraction.

Harry looked over his shoulder and then at the group of 6th years over in the corner. He leaned forward so they wouldn’t be overheard. “It’s Sirius’s birthday tomorrow, and I realized I didn’t give him a present. So I was trying to write him a letter.”

“A card is a great idea!” exclaimed Ginny. 

“You are the expert in card making as far as I am aware.” Harry said leaning back into the couch. “Especially singing cards.” Harry continued, giving a lopsided grin.

Ginny’s cheeks pinked. “I am going to pretend you are not teasing me, because I am proud of my ability to make a mean singing card, and I was going to offer my services and assist you.”

“Me? Tease? Please, Gin. I would never tease you over one of the best cards I have ever received. I still have it! Although I think the singing voice has worn out. It sounds a lot less angelic and more like a mermaid on land.” Ginny laughed into her sleeve, and tried not to think too much about the way “Gin” sounded coming out of Harry’s lips. 

“You can’t tease me for making singing cards, but - er - you can tease me for this.” Ginny said as she started to dig through her bag. At the bottom was a small amount of her craft supplies, only slightly squashed from the books. She pulled out blue, gold, and red streams of ribbon and colored parchment, tossing them on the table between her and Harry.

Harry stared wide eyed at the decor in front of him. “You keep your card-making supplies on you?” not even attempting to hide the playfulness in his voice.

“Okay, okay. I know I deserve it!” Ginny defended herself, “But, in my defense, it was Michael’s and mum’s birthdays last week and I needed to make cards for both of them. And I was just too lazy to take the supplies out of my backpack!”

Harry threw his hands up in defense. “Hey, you were the one who gave me permission to tease you for it, and those are valid reasons. Although, I am a little hurt because I now understand it is not that rare to get a special Ginny Weasley Card.”

Ginny grinned up at Harry, “A little full of yourself.” 

Harry just grinned back. He picked up a red piece of parchment and started to draw on the front. Ginny turned back to her essay for Charms, trying to tune out the sound of Harry scribbling above her. 

She  made up some conclusion that the reason cartilage heals slower is because it grows much slower than fingernails. She had no clue if that was true or not, but it sounded like a good enough reason to use a stitching charm instead of a bandage charm. Harry cleared his voice above her. 

“Okay, don’t laugh.” 

Harry brandished the front of his card. Ginny had to suck in her cheeks to keep herself from making a noise. The cover had a black blob with 5 sticks coming out at all angles, and maybe that was a head on the left? Ginny had never seen a Thestral before, but that had to be the thing Harry drew, because she had never seen any animal that looked like it before.. 

“Is it rude for me to ask what that is?”

Harry stared at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “A big, black dog, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Ginny nodded. 

“This was a stupid idea.” Harry sighed in defeat, tossing the card back onto the table.

“No it’s not, you can just cover up the front with a big bow! I have some gold ribbon!” Ginny said, brandishing the ribbon out of the pile. Quickly tying the ribbon into a knot, she glued it down to the front of the card with her wand, covering up the Grim. 

“Perfect! Thanks, Gin!” Ginny made a quick mental note to herself that was the second time he called her that tonight. “I will just write a quick Happy Birthday message on the inside and send it off.”

“No no!” Ginny giggled. “If your card is going to be a Ginny Weasley approved card, it needs to be a poem that sings and rhymes!”

“Is that why you called Voldemort the Dark Lord? Just so you can rhyme with blackboard?”

“I am going to ignore the fact that you memorized one of the most mortifying moments of my life, and just try to help you with your card.”

“Don’t you have an essay to write?” Harry asked. 

“Yes I do. Anyway, what rhymes with Sirius?”

Harry gave out a laugh. “Curious?” Harry suggested.

“Delirious,” Ginny responded.

“Mysterious.”

“Imperious.”

“How the hell am I supposed to incorporate an unforgivable curse in a birthday card, Ginny?”

“With creativity, Harry.”

A snort escaped from Harry. “Yes, because I am known for my creativity. The Sorting Hat almost put me in Ravenclaw because of my brilliant mind.” teased Harry, eyes twinkling over at Ginny.

Ginny stared at Harry, watching him try to stifle a grin at her. “I am not that gullible, Harry. I bet that hat spent one second on top of that head of yours and sorted you right into Gryffindor.”

Harry shook his head at her. “Something like that,” he muttered. With a sigh, he continued, “Okay. Poem. Let’s do this. We also probably shouldn’t say Sirius just in case the card ends up in the wrong hands.” He leaned forward across the table and whispered down so Ginny had to lean forward to hear him. His woodsy scent that reminded her of a mix of broom polish and crisp autumn air filled her lungs.  “He wants us to call him Snuffles.”

“Snuffles?” Ginny asked, her voice coming out a little higher than intended. “Why?”

“I-,” Harry paused, thinking. “I honestly don’t think I want to know.”

Ginny threw her head back and laughed. Her heart filled with warmth. She enjoyed the banter her and Harry had. Back and forth. She was glad she made the decision to join him tonight. Listening to Hermione when she told her to relax around him was the best advice she had ever given. Smartest witch of her age indeed. 

“Hmmmm…” Ginny hummed to herself. “Wait, how old is he going to be?”

Harry paused, doing mental math in his head, “uh, 36 I think. I hope.”

Ginny nodded to herself, “Okay, and what are some things you appreciate about him?”

This gave Harry a pause. He leaned back into the couch and stared into the embers of the slowly dying fire. Ginny could almost hear the thoughts whirling around in his head. She almost felt like she was intruding on a moment for him. “Er,” Harry said, clearing his throat, “I like that he is so obviously a Gryfindor. I appreciate his humor and wit, but also the way he supports me. I- I never really had a father figure that I can remember, and Sirius, well he guided me through the shitstorm that was last year and this year now too.” 

Ginny reached under the table and gave Harry’s ankle a gentle squeeze of encouragement. Smiling up with reassurance, “That’s really nice Harry. I am glad he can be that person for you. Why don’t we start with something like… “

Witty, brave, and supportive, what a great mix.

Cheers to the man turning 36.

To celebrate, I made this card with bows and ruffles

Happy Birthday to my dogfather, Snuffles

Harry laughed as he wrote the final line of the poem. “Brilliant, Ginny! Ravenclaw would have fought for a mind like yours.”

“Nah, Ravenclaw probably took one look at my mind and thought that it was too vulgar. I don’t think I have ever heard a Ravenclaw swear, and I say shite and fuck way too much to be censored.” 

“Well I am glad Gryffindor appreciates your vulgar mind.”

Ginny beamed up at Harry, cheeks flushing with happiness at the compliment. “Okay, so now the poem is written, I will need you to sing it!”

“Wait, what.”

Ginny stared blankly at Harry’s now pale face. Holding her grin in. Letting Harry really think that he would have to warm up his vocal cords. Harry stared back, his bright green eyes widened with fear. Ginny could swear she could see hues of gold intermixed with the green in the flickering firelight. A beat passed between them, and Ginny felt like the air evaporated from her lungs. 

“I am totally shitting you, right now. It is just a spell.” Ginny said, voice only slightly breathless. She ignored the rush of blood in her ears, and pointed her wand at the card, “Verba Cantorela.” 

“Fuck you,” Harry laughed, lightly kicking Ginny under the table. She joined, laughing with him. The card started to sing their poem back at them in a beautiful chorus. 

This was something she could get used to. Hanging out with Harry. Laughing with Harry. Ginny was sure if Harry would ever like her in the way she used to want. But that is fine because she is totally, 100% over him. Yet moments like this, where she felt warm all over and her heart, she could pretend. And Harry had an air of carefreeness about himself that she had not seen most of term. 

The warmth she felt faded when she looked over at her unfinished essay.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Hmm?” 

“How much do you know about healing charms?” Ginny asked, hopefully.

“All I know is that I don’t trust Gilderoy Lockhart performing them.”

“Honestly, Professor Flitwick might accept that. I only have about…” Ginny picked up her parchment and squinted at it, “oh, a foot left. I can just ask Hermione at breakfast tomorrow morning and finish it during the first period. I don’t have Charms until after lunch.”

“I can try to help,” Harry said sheepishly. “In theory, I did this assignment last year at some point. What are you working on?”

Ginny pulled out her planner from underneath the collection of ribbon scattered on the table so she could read the essay prompt. “Healing charms for small body parts, and the best time to use each one. The example Flitwick gave was healing missing fingernails, broken noses, or missing ears.” Ginny said. “Personally, I can understand losing a fingernail or breaking a nose, but I want to meet the witch or wizard that manages to get an entire ear chopped off.”

Harry tugged at his messy mop of hair. “Probably the unfortunate side effect of a hair-cutting spell gone haywire.”

Ginny’s eyes twinkled up at Harry, “You would know all about unfortunate haircuts.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed at her, but the grin did not slip from his lips. “Rude. I thought you wanted my help.”

“I do! I just need some help coming up with another healing charm or two. I’ve exhausted everything I know about the bandage and stitching charms.”

“As someone who has visited Madam Pomfrey their fair share, Episkey is a fantastic spell.” 

Ginny nearly banged her head on the table. Episkey was the first spell they learned in this unit, she handed in a 3 foot essay on that charm alone last week. “Oh duh! Thanks Harry, you’re a lifesaver!”

Harry grinned at her, “Hermione does say that I have a saving people thing. So I am glad someone appreciates it.”

“Of course I appreciate you, Harry. I think I can handle the rest of the essay.”

“In that case, I think I might head up to bed.” Harry yawned. “Night, Gin. Thanks for the help with the card, I really appreciate it.”

-----

That first night in their little flat, they were too tired to do anything but flump down on their too-hard new mattress and fall asleep. Ginny dreamt she was signing a contract with the Kestrels, big ridiculous ceremonial quill in her hand, the fluff of it tickling in her nose, eyes watering from all the sports-reporter flashbulbs. She touched the quill to the big scroll of parchment and signed her name.

Good evening, my dear, the contract wrote back. It's been such a very long time. Are you still wondering if you'll ever learn to do a Cuban Eight on your broomstick? Is your brother still nasty to you about it?  I know—

She woke with a hiss of breath and cramps shooting up her calves. Panic hammered through her veins—dark. I'm hurt—until she remembered where she was and that she'd made about twenty trips up and down the stairs with boxes yesterday, thinking it'd be nice to get a leg workout in before tryouts.

She rolled on her side, rested her head on the crook of her arm, bit down on her middle fingernail and watched the slow swells of Harry's breathing. They hadn't hung the curtains yet and the bare bedroom wall was stained with the swapping colours of the traffic light outside: green, yellow, red. She took a breath and held it to slow her heartbeat. Tonks had taught her how to do that. She crammed that useless thought down into the dark cellar storage inside her, along with the sick lingering unease of the dream.

This view of Harry, the narrow shoulders in silhouette and that mess of black hair against the pillow: she'd seen it before, but today in their flat it was exhilaratingly new. This was going to be her every morning, this was going to be her middles-of-the-night. She was going to get used to it. How absolutely mad.

Later, in the faint blush of sunrise, Harry took a long deep breath and stretched his arms over his head. When he turned to face her, his skinny legs tangling in the sheets and that slow squinty smile spreading across his face, Ginny forgot all about the panic and the cramps and my dear and just climbed on top of him, thinking only this is how it's supposed to be, you and me, every day.

------

Ginny felt silly getting so excited for their first big shop. She was uncomfortable amongst all the muggles in the plasticky brightness of Sainsbury's, but Harry pushed the trolley down the overstimulating gauntlets of every-colour packets and tins with a bored confidence that looked weird on him. 

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Aunt Petunia used to drag me along and make me carry the big thing of serviettes that wouldn't fit in the bags."

The muggle snacks were nasty-looking and there weren't even any pumpkin flavours, but Harry grabbed boxes of biscuits and crisps and assured her she'd understand when she tried them. He piled the trolley with fruit and veg, spinach and carrots and apples and bananas.

"You know I can't cook like Mum, right?" Ginny huffed.

"Yeah, I dunno—you've got tryouts and I've got the Auror Academy physical coming up—thought we could try making smoothies or something—you know—grown up, healthy—" He shrugged and ruffled his hair with his hand.

Making smoothies for breakfast with the boy who lived, in their bright little flat that smelled of his cedar trunk and soap. Ginny was stricken, for an instant, by an idea that seemed stupid but dizzyingly true at the same time—that she'd never understood before what it must have been like for Harry to suddenly find out he was a wizard when he was eleven, but maybe it was something like these last few days: the buoying relief of having survived her old life long enough to see her new one, and the unmoored thrill of all the future discoveries unknown, undreamt-of. 

She pressed a kiss to the crescent of skin behind his ear as he counted out the strangely-coloured muggle banknotes, and she could feel the warm flush in his skin where her lips touched him.

------

Of course the smoothies never happened.

Harry was in meetings with Minister Shacklebolt and his transition team most days, and Ginny spent afternoons practicing for tryouts with Bill, swooping over the seaside cliffs like starlings and hurling his battered old quaffle over the peaked roof of Shell Cottage. 

The spinach wilted in the cupboard and the bananas sat unbothered in the fruit bowl, mottled with brown spots. Harry and Ginny ordered pizza and ate it in knackered silence. All the singing nerves of the day they'd moved in together had subsided under the heavy disappointing drone of the neighbour's telly through the wall. Harry would rub Unknotting Unguent into Ginny's spasming back and then she'd crawl into bed and fall asleep listening to the scratch of his quill as he revised for the Auror Academy exams. It wasn't anything like she'd imagined. It wasn't anything. It was like the time just before winter holidays or her birthday, the dragging, drudging lope of days spent waiting for something exciting—but what? This was it. This was supposed to be it.

Her mum and dad dropped by while Harry was out, and while Molly managed to hold her tongue at the stack of pizza boxes next to the bin and the gnats buzzing round the fruit bowl, Ginny could see on her face that she wasn't impressed. She looked so old, all of a sudden. Arthur did too, but at least his face lit up with a boyish glee when he wandered through the flat flipping all the lightswitches. Ginny pulled the chain of the the ceiling fan for him and he giggled like a little kid.

"Has Angelina been round lately?" Ginny asked them over chipped mugs of tea. She knew better than to ask directly about George.

"She's in Freiburg, actually, consulting with Ellerby and Spudmore," Arthur said. That sounded dead grown-up. Ginny couldn't even imagine. With a cautious glance over at her mum, he added, "I gather they're on a bit of a break. George has been... in one of his moods, I think. We don't hear much."

He was speaking in that hushed, apologetic tone he'd been using ever since all the funerals.

"Oh," Ginny said.

"I've been to the Tonks house this week," her Mum cut in. Her dad pressed his lips together until they went white.

"Did you see Teddy?" Ginny asked, setting down her half-eaten shortbread. She and 

Harry hadn't been to visit him in the last few weeks, with the way all their time was eaten by moving out and practice and exams and just everything, every thing.

"He was having a little kip—" Molly started, but then she stopped and took a big slurp of her tea, the way she always did when she was about to deliver hard news. 

A brand-new understanding thumped in Ginny's chest: that steadying tea-slurp was her mum's need to soothe herself, the way Ginny would peel off slivers of fingernail with her teeth. Somehow it was both startling and obvious. She'd been watching her mum do it for almost nineteen years.

"He's been having a bit of trouble—er, sleeping and that—" Arthur filled in for Molly with a weak chuckle.

"He won't sleep in his bed," Molly blurted out, "he's afraid something's underneath and trying to get him. Andromeda tried to make him tell her what he thinks is under there—you know, he's barely two—and all he would say was 'Mummy and Daddy'—"

Another slurp of tea. Arthur reached out to stroke Molly's upper arm.

Hours later, when Harry came home, he didn't ask why Ginny was lying on the sofa with her eyes all swollen. He just sat next to her and laid his hand on her cheek. She didn't start crying again, but it was a weird comfort to just lie there and throb with his quiet warmth at her side.

------

The neighbours downstairs had a party so loud Ginny could feel the bass vibrating in the mattress springs. She and Harry cast every muffling and white-noise charm they knew, but the beat pounded through the very frame of the building. It invaded Ginny's head like a commanding voice and made her legs twitch with electric, frustrated rage. 

"I'm going to go downstairs, curse the door off the hinges and hex every single one of them and their—their muggle—music box or whatever—"

Harry turned over and squinted at her in the dark.

"You can't get arrested, they'll disqualify you from tryouts," he croaked.

Ginny kicked all her covers off and rolled in a ball on her side, clutching her stomach.

Harry managed to fall asleep with his head sandwiched between two pillows, but Ginny laid there in spiraling despair until the police came to break the party up. The curtains were still in a wrinkled lump on the bedroom floor, so the flashing lights made a red-and-blue lightshow on the bedroom wall. Harry didn't even move. When the music finally shut off, Ginny closed her eyes in exhausted relief, but it seemed like the moment she fell asleep the sun was shining red through her eyelids and the pipes were groaning with Harry's morning shower.

The browning bananas curved like a smirk in the fruit bowl. Ginny blankly spooned Harry's weird muggle cereal into her mouth. Her thoughts were the same slow pointless drip as the broken tap in the kitchen. Harry leaned down to kiss her neck on his way out the door. He followed her gaze to the bananas.

"They're getting almost as freckly as you," he murmured into her ear, smacked another kiss on her cheek, and left. Ginny sat in the abrupt calm of the flat for a moment, blinking, then threw her spoon into the bowl with a clink and flooed over to Bill's, where she slung the quaffle so hard and so wildly it broke the weather vane off the roof and sent it spinning into the kitchen garden. Fleur came running out the back door at the noise, wiping her hands on a tea towel and cursing in French. Bill pulled his broom up alongside pinkfaced, panting Ginny and gripped her shoulder with his big rough hand.

------

Harry sat up in the dead of night with a gasp like he was coming up from underwater and touched his fingertips to his scar.

Ginny sat up too, so fast it made her abs twinge. "What is it? Does it hurt?"

"No," Harry said, "not really. Only in the dream."

He sat there blinking for a moment, red traffic light painting his face, then flopped back on his side and pulled the covers up to his neck. Ginny felt suddenly very alone in their bed.

"I have weird dreams too," she whispered.

She didn't think Harry had heard her at first, but after a moment, muffled by the duvet, he said, "Do you?"

"Yeah."

He turned over to face her. "Like what?"

"I dunno," she said. She didn't know why she'd even said it, because she didn't really want to talk about it now. "Like I made it on a Quidditch team but I don't want to play anymore."

Harry was quiet for so long she thought he must have gone back to sleep, but then he slid over and rested his forehead against her thigh. It had taken him so long, when they'd first begun seeing each other, to start giving her little touches like this. She didn't suppose the Dursleys had been touchers. She wove her fingers into his hair.

"I haven't felt like myself lately," she blurted out. "I mean—not just lately—but especially—I dunno—"

She took a breath and the hitch in it repulsed her.

Harry didn't say anything, but she could feel his eyelashes blinking against her leg. The light from outside turned green and painted the rumpled sheets that pooled around the both of them.

"I just—we never even made smoothies. The bananas are all rotten now. The curtains are still over there on the floor. How long is it going to be like this? How long can I not feel like myself before I have to admit that this is just how I am now?"

She shoved her thumbnail in her mouth. Warm stupid tears were leaking down her face and dripping all the way down her neck to her collarbones. She'd normally have scrubbed them away with the back of her hand and gone somewhere to collect herself, but she wanted them, weirdly, to prove how pathetic this dumb fucked-up feeling was. Mum's coppery hair was coming in white, poor Andromeda had to think about dead Tonks crawling out from under the bed, George was aching alone in his filthy bedsit, Fred was in the ground turning into something unrecognisable, and Ginny was sat here crying like an idiot over some fucking brown bananas.

Harry sat up and looked at her. "The bananas went bad?"

Ginny laughed through her noseful of snot.

"They're nearly black now," she sniffed. "Its so stupid, I just hate to waste—"

Harry suddenly swung his legs out of the bed and walked in his stiff morning way out of the bedroom.

The traffic light was yellow now. Ginny got up and followed him into the kitchen.

Harry was holding the bunch of bananas betwen two fingers. A tenacious fruit fly looped circles around them. He broke one off the bunch with a nasty squishing noise.

"I'll eat them right now," he said. "Zero waste."

He pulled the black peel back from the banana. A fermented smell came off it and stung the back of Ginny's nose. Webby strings of goo stretched between the fruit and the skin, and they caught the light from outside and shone with it like tiny filaments of neon.

"Er—" Harry started, his brow furrowing.

"You don't have to eat it," Ginny said quickly.

Harry stared at her for a moment with such intensity that she thought he might take a bite just to shock her.

Then he turned around and chucked them into the kitchen bin.

"We'll go to Sainsbury's in the morning," he said. Ginny's face was itchy with drying tears. Harry wiped his hands off on the seat of his pyjamas and brushed past her into the bedroom.

"Come on, I'll rub that stuff on your back if you want," he called over his shoulder.