PART II

They rescheduled their date on two separate occasions because that was adulthood and life was unfair. At first, it was on Ginny, who'd been stuck with a dreaded double shift (on account of Verity calling out sick), and knew there was no way she could keep herself awake through a late film. Then it was Harry, who'd fallen down a flight of stairs chasing a perpetrator the night prior, and while he miraculously hadn't broken anything, Ginny could hear the pain in his voice as he apologized a dozen times over for canceling on her.

Finally, after a month of texting and long, late-night phone calls, a date was set and the day dawned without incident. The sky was clear and bright, the birds outside her window chirped gaily. It would have been a great indication for how their rendezvous was likely to go, if only she wasn't literally sick with nerves.

Ginny lingered in bed until late afternoon, nibbling on ginger biscuits and sipping chamomile tea in hopes her stomach would settle. When she forced herself to get up, it felt like she was walking in slow motion. Tiredness gripped her so savagely that she almost fell over getting into the tub, and she dozed in the warm, lavender scented bath until the very last minute.

It took her longer than she'd care to admit deciding on what to wear and what accessories to don, how to style her hair and exactly how much makeup she was willing to wear, partly because she was indecisive, but mostly from an abnormal lack of focus. When she finally slipped into the sunflower printed dress that Luna had bestowed her last Christmas and stepped into a pair of strappy leather sandals, she still had to wait an agonizing twenty minutes for Harry to arrive at the predetermined pickup time.

She would have begun to pace, but nausea quaked her stomach, and she collapsed onto the living room sofa to take deep, steadying breaths.

Hermione, curled up on a squashy armchair with an unopened book, watched her with an amused glint in her eyes.

"Do you think he'll expect sex at the end of tonight?" Ginny blurted. She raised her arms to stare at her trembling hands.

God. She should have canceled again. She was a mess.

Hermione sat up and frowned worriedly at her. "I don't think he's like that."

"How would you know, anyway?" Ginny snapped. She ran her fingers through her hair for something to do and promptly trapped her peridot pinky ring in her hair. "Fuck."

"You asked, didn't you?" Hermione said patiently. She reached over and untangled Ginny in two easy flicks of her wrist. "I met up with him and Ron for lunch the other day."

"That so?" Ginny tried in vain not to sound jealous.

Hermione shrugged a shoulder. "He seems like a decent bloke. He even asked Ron permission to take you out."

Ginny felt very hot and cold all at once. "He asked Ron what?"

Hermione looked like she desperately wanted to laugh.

"I thought it was sweet."

"It's not," Ginny said firmly. "I don't-he doesn't-why would he do that? I'm not some… some possession!"

"Look," Hermione explained, "when it comes down to it, he and Ron have to work closely together every day. Hiding something like this wouldn't bode well for their partnership."

Ginny worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Why were boys so stupid?

"I suppose. But asking permission?"

Hermione smacked her on the arm. "Stop biting your lip!"

"Shite! Did I mess up my lipstick?"

Ginny hurried to the hallway mirror just as a knock sounded at the door. She jumped and whirled to look at Hermione, her heart slapping hard against her ribcage.

"What do I do?" she whispered, on the verge of being violently sick. "What do I do?"

"Did you pack any condoms?"

"What?" she squawked.

"Just in case!"

Ginny grabbed her soft brown purse from the overcrowded coat rack. "Yes, yes," she answered frantically, peering into the bag.

Hermione flapped her hands at the door. "Then answer it!"

A deep breath. Another. Then, Ginny reached out to turn the knob.

Harry stood in the open doorway, looking like a dream in dark rinse jeans, light blue oxford (rolled perfectly at the elbow), and his charming, albeit nervous grin. He held a bouquet of red roses, and Ginny took them shakily, her heart going a mile a minute.

Don't pass out. Don't pass out.

"Hi," said Harry.

She exhaled hard. "Hi."

His smile widened, and he gestured in her direction. "If I'd known you liked sunflowers that much…"

It took her a second to realize what he meant by that.

"Oh!" She went to press the flowers up to her nose, then thought better of it. "The dress was a gift. I've never worn it before. I thought today should warrant something new."

"It looks nice. You look nice. Pretty! Very pretty."

She didn't realize her shoulders were so tense until they dropped, and she giggled as his face darkened with color. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek for his troubles.

"Thank you," she said. "For the flowers… and the compliments."

"You're welcome," he said earnestly.

They beamed at each other for what felt like an eternity. If it wasn't for the soft cough Hermione supplied, it might've lasted that long.

Harry blinked as his gaze shifted over to her. "Hermione! How are you?"

Hermione's lips twitched. "Noticed I'm here, have you?" She turned to Ginny, eyes twinkling. "Want me to put those in water for you?"

They left quickly after that, Hermione waving them off with a Cheshire-like grin and shooting Ginny an exaggerated wink.

They stepped out of her building, and Harry couldn't contain his laughter any longer.

"Caught that, did you?" Ginny said, squinting through the sudden sunlight.

Harry snorted. "She's not exactly subtle."

"No, she's not," Ginny responded fondly. She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder while Harry fished around in his pocket. "I reckon that's why Hermione's perfect for Ron."

"They're great together," Harry agreed. He dug out a ring of keys from his jeans. "I'm just up the street. Ready?"

She nodded and risked taking his hand. He looked staggered but pleased all the same.

"Hermione mentioned you had lunch with her and Ron the other day?" she said by way of conversation, skirting a tuft of weeds on the pavement.

"Yeah, we were patrolling near her building when Ron's stomach started going off, so we decided to stop at the pub on the corner. Have you been there before?"

"The Leaky Cauldron? Yes, I have," she said. "I work just two streets over."

There was a small bite to her words, and she hated herself for it.

Harry shot her a startled look and said, "I… Ron didn't know about us."

She slid her hand out of his and tucked a strand of hair more firmly behind her ear, then crossed her arms over her chest.

Harry reached out and gently pulled her to a stop. "I would have invited you along if he had."

Ginny refused to meet his eye. There was a long silence in which she concentrated on the feel of his thumb caressing her arm. She knew she was being an idiot, and Christ, they hadn't even made it to his car yet, but she was worn-out from work, felt like the biggest pile of dung, and her emotions were all over the place; the only thing she'd wanted since she'd met Harry was to have him all to herself.

"Are you upset with me?"

"No," she said, finally looking up at him. "I… sorry, I'm being stupid."

"What's wrong?" His eyes searched hers, his countenance drawn with concern.

A breeze blew her hair into her face, and she impatiently pushed it aside.

"I didn't want to share you. All right?"

"What?"

"Like I said, it's stupid." Her ring got caught in her hair again, and tears of frustration burned at her eyes. "I'm stupid."

"Ginny, you're not stupid."

She managed to yank herself free, gritting her teeth against the sharp pain in her scalp.

"Selfish, then," she muttered.

Her chest was tightening now; she knew exactly what was coming and had no way to stop it. Two triggers in a row… and tipping back in time was as quick as a gunshot.

Her ears rang with screams, her mind's eye swam with the vision of Fred's pale, bloodied face.

Selfish girl, a high-pitched voice taunted in her aching head. Now, look what you've done.

The hairs on her arms stood on end.

From what sounded like a great distance away, Harry said, "Stop." The word echoed until she managed to shake herself out of the past. "Don't you think I've wanted you to myself, too?"

She blinked up at him, momentarily blinded by the sun's glare on Harry's glasses.

No one had ever said anything like that to her before.

Ginny felt herself sway back dangerously.

Harry slipped his arm around her waist, keeping her upright.

"Ginny?" he said with alarm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she insisted, but the next time she blinked, it took her a staggeringly long time to open her eyes again.

"I'm calling an ambulance." He sounded as if he were underwater.

"You'll do no such thing." She pressed her forehead to his chest, and Harry pulled her close and rubbed her back with heavy strokes. "You made reservations."

"Don't be ridiculous."

They stayed that way for several minutes, Ginny taking even breaths, Harry running his fingers through her hair. He smelled good. Fresh and clean, like warm linen. She felt herself melt against him, her heartbeat return to normal. All she was left with was the queasy, weird feeling in her stomach and quivering legs.

Ginny pulled away from Harry and looked up into his eyes. They traced her features worryingly, the green in them like a forest after a rainstorm.

"I haven't eaten all day," she muttered. "I've been so nervous about tonight. I'm—"

"Don't apologize," said Harry. "We're on the same page now, right? You like me, and I like you. There's nothing to be nervous about."

"Right," she said, nodding.

There was that smile again, soft and sweet and just for her. And then he was holding her jaw with delicate fingers and pressing his lips to hers.

"Let's get some food in you," he said when they pulled apart.

Ginny had just enough energy to laugh. "You're speaking my language."

They made small talk as Harry drove his gleaming black Bimmer to the McDonald's off the A30. He congratulated her on the birth of her niece again, (as he had yet to in person), and she proudly showed him a picture of Victoire in the wonky pink cap she'd knitted for her; Harry had the decency not to tease her woebegone attempt, but he looked on the verge of laughter.

In turn, he told her all about his godson, who he looked after on most of his days off. When she asked him if he had a photo of him, Harry handed her his sleek and up-to-date mobile, told her the seven number password to unlock it, and let her scroll through the album that was chockfull of pictures of a chubby-cheeked one year old with soft brown hair and amber eyes.

She grinned at the one of Teddy smearing blue paint right across Harry's face.

"I have a feeling you started that," she said, flashing the screen at him. There was a perfect, large handprint of blue on Teddy's onesie.

Harry glanced over and smiled. "I did, but he took it to another level."

"D'you want your own someday?" she asked just as they were pulling into the drive thru.

The words came out before she could stop them, and she winced. This was definitely not appropriate first date material to discuss, and if she could rewind the clock, stuff the question back into her mouth, she would have done so in a nanosecond. Asking a loaded question like this was digging a grave for a relationship that hadn't even started yet.

It's all Victoire's fault.

Her niece had enthralled her, filled her heart with need, set her mind whirling with the silliest thoughts, occupied her with ideas of having children, and how many she wanted, and how to raise them, and what they would be like. Granted, Ginny only visited these thoughts in the fog between sleeping and waking, but sometimes they were still there upon opening her eyes every morning.

"Yes," was Harry's reply, not sounding the least bit offended by the invasive query. "I've always wanted a family."

The inexplicable, vice-like pressure around her chest eased, and she threw him a winning smile.

Over fries and a chocolate shake, Harry told her about being raised by his aunt and uncle and how he was never accepted by them. He didn't go into much detail. It was left unsaid what had happened to his parents, but she knew from his tone and the way he avoided her eyes that it was something terrible.

"What about you?" he said, crumbling a napkin in his hands. He had finished his food in a matter of minutes.

"Me?"

"You've had the opposite upbringing of me. One of seven, right?"

"Yeah."

"Turned you off to kids?"

Feeling contented after a handful of fries and several large gulps of her drink, Ginny shook her head, leaning back into the leather seat. "Nah. I'm the youngest, and the only girl, so I got plenty of attention. We went without, growing up, but only material things. There was plenty of food and love."

"So, seven for you, too?"

"For fuck's sake, no."

By the time they made it to the seaside town of Sidmouth, Ginny felt like herself again. Her nerves and stomach had settled, the nausea cleared off. Harry showed her to a little restaurant with a pretty rooftop garden, and they were seated just in time to watch the sun set over the sea, the sky a brilliant kaleidoscope of marigold and rose before darkening to indigo. Café lights were slung above them, and a large candle held in a hurricane vase upon their table sent flecks of gold shimmering into Harry's eyes.

While they awaited their food, Harry indulged her in a rapid-fire round of childish first date questions. It was a silly thing, but she was pleased that he had readily agreed to act like a twit with her.

He's perfect, she thought at once.

Shut up, shut up. Do not get attached!

She knew it was a little late for her to continue that argument in her head.

"Right," Ginny said, clasping her hands and morphing her face into one of serious contemplation. "I believe my twelve year old self would like to know what your favorite color is first."

"Red. Everywhere. All the time," said Harry innocently, without missing a beat.

She squinted at him shrewdly, her cheeks heating. "How can you keep such a straight face with that filthy mouth?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, all right," she said dubiously, but internally, she was screaming. And hot. So, so hot. "Favorite movie?"

"Isn't it my turn?"

"Fine."

"Right. What's your favorite movie?"

"Hey!" she protested, right as their server set a small charcuterie board on their table. Ginny dove straight for the bread and soaked it in the dish of oil and herbs. "That was my question!"

"Still my turn, and I can ask what I like, thanks."

"Pride and Prejudice," Ginny said instantly. "2005."

"2005?"

"You have to clarify which Pride and Prejudice! There are so many to choose from!"

"And what makes that one better than the others?" Harry said, then popped a piece of salami and cheese in his mouth.

"The hands! The hands, Harry!"

Harry's mouth quirked up at one corner as he finished his bite. "Dare I ask about the hands?"

She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon. "They're so good. What exemplary flexing on Matthew McFadden's part." She dropped her fake faint to tear a bite of her bread. "What about you?"

"Hot Fuzz," he said. "It never gets old."

She gulped back her food to hastily respond, "That's such a good movie! The part where he drop-kicks the only lady-"

"Yes, exactly!"

"Yarp, exactly."

They snickered, and Ginny found herself leaning forward, wishing he were closer. As if he could sense her desire, Harry stood without preamble, walked around the table, and slipped into the chair beside her.

"This all right?" he asked her.

Without answering, Ginny tucked herself into his side and shyly looked up at him, her mind going into a hazy, warm place now that he surrounded her with his scent and touch and deep voice.

Safe. I'm safe, she thought with his eyes flickering over her face, lingering on her mouth, and meeting her gaze again.

She had felt this way the last time she was in his presence, when he had grazed her collarbone with delicate fingertips, as if mapping her, as if making sure she was real. When he'd held her to him in her bed, sleepy and sweaty and satisfied. When he'd squeezed her hand on the ride back to her flat from the disastrous dinner at the Burrow. She wondered now, as she rested her chin on his shoulder, if it would always be this way.

She certainly hoped so.

"Don't look at me like that," said Harry suddenly.

"Like what?"

Harry groaned. "Like that. All sweet and innocent and—fuck. It makes me want to—"

He broke off abruptly, but Ginny knew exactly where his mind had wandered.

"Oh."

Her heart began thundering beneath her breast, and her whole body felt like it was being consumed by wildfire. She went scatterbrained for a moment, wondering how quickly they could get back to the car so that he could pull her into his lap and have his way with her...

She pushed the ruminations firmly away. "I don't want to have sex tonight," she forced herself to say.

"I'm sorry," said Harry hastily, looking contrite. "I didn't—I don't expect it, and I shouldn't have said—"

"No, it's okay," she said, squeezing his other hand. "I like it."

He inhaled slowly and deeply, as if trying to calm himself, and squeezed her hand back.

"I just think, if we're trying to have a go at a relationship, maybe we should see how we do. Without sex."

Ginny bit her lip, awaiting his response.

"I completely agree," said Harry at once.

Minutes later, they were openly snogging.

Their server appeared out of nowhere, while they were right in the thick of it, and cleared his throat. "Would you like me to pack this up for you?"

Bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, Harry and Ginny left with their steaming meals in takeaway cartons. Upon dropping the food off at the car, they took another moment to snog some more. Harry pinned her against the door with his body, and she had never been dizzier in her life. This was mad. This was too much. She'd never been affected by a man like this before. He held her face delicately in his hands, his thumbs brushing the apples of her cheeks with the softest strokes; he was being so gentle with her, and all Ginny wanted to do was push her knickers aside and—

She gasped and pulled away, bunching his shirt in fists. "I'm dying."

"What?" said Harry hazily, staring down at her through crooked glasses.

"I mean, you're killing me. This is killing me." She gestured wildly between their bodies.

Harry nodded, lips pressed firmly together. "Same," he said heavily. "Let's go for a walk."

They strode hand in hand alongside the clump of shops on the seafront, the whistling salt air whipping their hair into a disarray. Soft, tinkling music of a street band played in the distance. Ginny cooled down, frazzled nerves fizzing out, and hugged his arm to her. Harry dazzled her with a smile, and she was gone again, tiptoeing up to kiss him because fuck if that dimple wasn't the sexiest thing she'd ever seen…

"Dance with me?" she said as she drew away from him, feeling light, giddy.

She giggled as he pursed his lips. "Don't you remember me mentioning—"

"That you don't dance?" she finished. "Yes, of course."

She fluttered her eyelashes in exaggeration, and he laughed.

"Please?"

His eyes roved over her face, and she tilted her chin up, hoping to entice him into a kiss. "Do you really want to?"

She nodded, and kept her eyes open, half-lidded, to watch him as he met her lips with his. She already knew that he surrendered himself to her every time they kissed, but seeing the expression behind it, the utter tenderness he exuded, was the most magical thing she'd ever witnessed.

They crossed the street and stepped lightly onto the cool sand of the beach. Ginny stooped to remove her sandals, and Harry took them from her hands, hooking his arms around her waist as soon as she stood again. She curled her arms around his shoulders, pressed herself against him, and together they began to sway to the music that drifted over them in the breeze.

"Not so bad, is it?" she asked him sometime later, lifting her head from his chest to gaze up at him and the stars above.

"No," he admitted softly, ducking slightly to kiss her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then her cheeks. She reached up again, quickly closing the space between their lips.

When they broke apart minutes later, she was gasping and floating on air.

"What's your favorite flower?" said Harry softly.

Ginny blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

His right hand drifted up from her waist, to the back of her neck, then to her shoulder, where he fingered the strap of her dress. Ginny shifted her shoulder forward so that it slipped down her arm, and Harry's fingertips immediately spanned over the skin she'd exposed to him.

"I need to know what to get you next time."

"Oh." She peered up at him, barely making his features out in the darkness. "Is that your clever way of asking me out again?"

He looked away, over her shoulder. "Unless you don't want to?"

Ginny had the urge to roll her eyes at him. Hadn't he noticed what he did to her?

"I'd love to go out with you again."

They ate the takeaway on the hood of his car, and shared an ice cream before leaving the little town behind for home. Harry parked a ways from her flat in the first available spot and turned off the ignition in slight resignation. They sat in silence for a moment, just staring at one another. Then Ginny leaned over the center console and kissed him so thoroughly she surprised even herself with the intensity. Harry responded in kind, moaning into her mouth and unbuckling both of their seatbelts with fumbling fingers.

She climbed into his lap, holding his face with both of her hands as his arms wound around her to steady her, pull her closer, and settle her tightly against him.

She pressed urgently against him, shaking all over, her brain clouded with desire.

"I don't want to have sex," she said through her gasps of pleasure. "I want to have a… a proper first date, with a proper ending."

"Proper?" he said, tearing his tantalizing mouth away from hers to blaze a trail of hot kisses down her throat.

She groaned, rolled her hips hard, and spluttered with laughter when Harry swore against her chest.

"You're going to have to get off of me," he said, his hands still gripping her arse. "I'm not pushing you away. I can't."

She stilled and let her forehead fall against his. "You're torturing me."

"I'm torturing you?"

Harry walked her to her door after they smoothed their rumpled clothes and hugged her tightly under the darkened awning. She buried her nose against his shirt and breathed him in, hoping to ingrain his scent into her very being.

"Next Saturday feels like a lifetime away," she mumbled against his chest. They'd settled on the same place and time for next week, with Ginny demanding to treat him for their second date, to which Harry had agreed to with a breath of exasperation.

"It does," said Harry. He pressed a kiss to her hairline, against her temple, and lingered on her cheek before his arms slackened.

She stepped out of them completely before she lost herself, threw herself at him, begged him to follow her upstairs.

"I guess this is it," she said glumly.

"Yeah," he said, equally miserable.

They stared at each other for several minutes.

"Goodnight, Harry," she finally managed.

"Goodnight, Ginny."

.~*~.

The following Saturday found Ginny utterly incapacitated. She spent the entire morning in the bathroom, vomiting so much that she feared the next thing that she'd spew would be her very intestines. The last thing she wanted to do was cancel on Harry, but it was already half past four, and she was only just beginning to feel marginally better.

Hermione fetched Ginny's mobile while she loitered in the bath. She felt like she was going to pass out any minute as she reached for it, and as if sensing this, Hermione sat on the edge of the tub and frowned down at her.

"Harry?" she said into the phone when he picked up.

"Hey. I'm just getting off work. Is everything all right?"

His voice sounded so lovely that she wanted to cry.

"I'm sick," she croaked. "I'm sorry this is such late notice, but I don't think tonight is a good idea."

"What's wrong?" he said, sounding alarmed.

Ginny did not get to answer him. A bout of nausea rose tsunami-like within her. She thrust her phone at Hermione, leaned over the tub, and dry heaved into the wastebasket. Distantly, she heard Hermione explaining the situation. When Ginny felt like she could remove her head from the bin again, Hermione was placing the mobile on the counter.

"He's coming over," Hermione said, shoving Ginny's shabby towel at her.

"What?" she cried. She hurried to stand from the bath, but froze as her stomach contracted. "Fuck."

Ginny gagged and went into a coughing fit. Hermione managed to help her from the tub, grumbling about leftover takeaway and self-control and just like Ron. Ginny had only just thrown on her soft, gnome-printed nightgown when there was a knock at the front door.

Harry stood in her bedroom doorway a minute later, still in his bobby uniform of standard black trousers and a button-down white shirt. He held a brown paper bag carefully in his hands.

"I brought you soup," he said, offering her a gentle smile.

Ginny burst into a bout of unexpected tears.

.~*~.

She woke slowly, reluctantly, from the best sleep she'd had in recent memory. Cocooned in several blankets, unsure which way was up or down, Ginny nuzzled a particularly warm bit of fabric that she'd clenched in her fists, intent on falling back into her deep slumber when something hard and unwelcome bit into her cheek.

"Mmph."

A weight she hadn't noticed before shifted up and over her side. Her eyes fluttered open at the movement, and she met the deep and calming evergreen gaze of Harry.

"Hi," he whispered, his voice gravely from sleep. She felt his hand sift gently through her hair and tingles ran down her spine. "How are you feeling?"

She shifted closer to him, and he wrapped her tightly in his arms.

"Better," she murmured into his shoulder. "Thank you for staying with me."

He pressed his lips to her temple in reply.

They drifted in and out of sleep a little longer, and it was nearing seven when Harry rose to warm some soup for them both. Ginny wondered how she'd gotten so lucky, and when she convinced him to stay the night, she thanked him again.

"You don't—fuck, Ginny—you don't have to do that."

"I want to," she said, lips trailing over his hipbone, muffled by the duvet.

She heard his breath hitch when she ran her hand over him. "But you aren't feeling well."

"I feel so much better now, actually, thanks to your wonderful mothering skills."

"But—"

Ginny rolled her eyes and went still. "Do you really want me to stop?"

Silence.

She giggled and resumed the task at hand.

.~*~.

The next two weeks were a blur of lunch dates, double dates, dinners and films. Harry and Ginny fell into a remarkably easy relationship, one bursting with fun and laughter and pure happiness. For once, Ginny wasn't always the first to call or text, and she didn't have to beg her boyfriend to spend time with her. He always wanted to be with her, and she found that to be astounding. He liked her, and she liked him, and anyone who looked at the two of them together could probably feel it.She'd met Teddy, who took to her immediately, and Harry was introduced as Ginny's boyfriend to family last Sunday, to which everyone approved of quite heartily. Everything was going so perfectly, so smoothly.

Ginny should have known better.

Through a raffle at work, Harry won two tickets to the Great Spring Show. They traveled to London by train on a wet Saturday morning, made it there with enough time to drop their bags off at the hotel and stare longingly at the large bed, then climbed into a taxi for the show, hiding yawns behind cold hands.

After being admitted into a grand marquee, Harry left her at the first display (of a giant teapot suspended in midair, pouring violet geraniums) and returned with two paper cups of tea. She snuggled up underneath his arm, and he kissed the crown of her head as they ambled to the next display.

"This is amazing," she declared, gaping at two people in hedge trimming costumes. They waved at Ginny, and she waved back, delighted. "Have you ever been before?"

"No," he said, smiling at her and pulling her closer. "Another first for us. Do you like it? We could come again next year."

Ginny felt very warm, and it had nothing to do with her drink.

She peered up at him. "Next year?"

Harry flushed but met her eyes and held her gaze. "Yeah."

"Okay," she said, and tiptoed up to kiss his stubbly cheek.

They passed bushes of blood red roses trimmed down to resemble hearts and a pair of doves made up of powder white peonies before stopping at a small chapel constructed entirely of pink hydrangeas.

"Can we go in?" Harry asked the elderly man standing by the flower archway.

The man permitted them entry. Inside, the scent of flowers was thick and heady. Behind velvet ropes, four pews of woven branches sat in the nave and faced an altar made of moss. A small group of old women passed them on their way out.

Harry and Ginny were alone.

"You're not going to propose, are you?" said Ginny jokingly.

Harry's eyes widened. "Er, no. Not that the idea didn't immediately cross my mind."

She choked on the sip of tea she'd just taken.

"You okay?" Harry said, patting her back.

"Yes," she said in a rasp. "Yes, of course."

Harry smiled at her nervously. "I do have something… something important to tell you. Talk to you about. More than one. Yeah."

Ginny absolutely adored it when he got all flustered.

"You have several important things you wish to discuss with me?" she interpreted.

Harry's tense shoulders drooped slightly in relief. "Yes, exactly that."

She had no idea what he had in mind, but he seemed so serious, and nervous, that a shot of anxiety flooded her veins. Unfortunately, a family of four entered the tiny flower chapel, and the solitude was broken with the piercing, jubilant exclamation of a child.

"Later?" she said.

Harry nodded.

They continued to peruse the show, and went outside when the drizzly rain had finally ceased. The smell of wet earth made her stomach churn, but she inhaled and exhaled slowly, and managed to push the feeling aside long enough to finish the show. Harry watched her worriedly the entire time. Even while paying an astronomical price for a potted hybrid tea rose bush, he threw her glance after glance at her over his shoulder.

"We didn't have to stay so long," Harry said to her as they waited for a taxi, frowning down at her as she pressed her hand over her mouth.

She squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of nausea crashed and clawed its way up her throat. Harry rubbed her back in long, slow circles with one hand, and frantically waved his other at a black taxi ambling towards them, the bag containing the rose bush swinging wildly at his elbow. She couldn't tell for sure if it was the bout of sickness she'd been fighting for several weeks now, or the anticipation of her talk with Harry, but one thing was certain: She was getting awfully sick of being sick.

The inside of the cab did not provide her any relief. It smelled horrible, all cigarette smoke and grease soaked into the seats, the air stale, stuffy. She winced with every bump, every sharp turn. Ginny ended up hiding her entire face in Harry's coat, her breath rattling against his sternum.

"You canceled your doctor's appointment last week, didn't you?" There was a hint of resignation in his voice. He ran his fingertips through her hair. "Ginny…" he sighed.

She concentrated on the feel of his blunt nails raking over her scalp as the cabbie took a sharp left turn.

"I had to cover," she mumbled. "Verity's grandmum passed away, and George was out of town."

"I think I'm going to have a talk with your brother."

She shifted enough to look up at him. "What for?"

"He needs to hire more workers. You're going to kill yourself at the rate you're going."

Ginny did not feel the need to mention that George had already spoken to her about getting more help for the shop and how absolutely against it she was. She owed it to George, and to Fred, to pull her weight, especially after everything that had happened, after everything she'd done.

She'd been targeted because of her smart mouth, but it was her selfishness that had gotten Fred killed. She insisted upon a member of her family always attending her matches, and Fred was up. He'd flown in from a business meeting in Scotland, arrived just as the game started, wearing her jersey and a smile, perched proudly in the very first row. And then…

"It's just food poisoning, Harry," she insisted, wrenching herself out of the past.

"You can't diagnosis yourself," said Harry sharply. "And that was weeks ago. This has to be something else."

"I'm fine," she said stubbornly.

They arrived at the hotel and climbed the stairs to their room in a surly silence. The plan had been so simple when they'd arranged this trip: Check in, see the show, and finally, finally break the sex fast Ginny had been adamant on maintaining since their fateful first night together. Now, the idea of getting into bed and sleeping off this strange feeling curdling in the pit of her stomach was the only thing on her mind.

She toed off her low, sensible heels, let her coat pool on the floor by their luggage, and began turning down the sheets. Indifferent to the copious wrinkles her day dress was about to acquire, Ginny climbed halfway into bed. She looked over at Harry, still standing by the door, watching her and shifting from foot to foot.

"What's up with you?" Semi-jokingly, she added, "You don't have some secret lovechild I need to know about, do you?"

The words that left her mouth jogged something in the back of her brain, but the elusive thought slipped away before she could further analyze it.

"What?" he said, eyebrows drawing together with confusion. "No, of course, I don't."

"Then what is it?" she said.

"You stopped playing football."

She fell the remainder of the way into bed, almost in a spasm. The memory of That Night banged and rallied to be with her again.

"And?" she said tightly, her fingernails digging into the bedsheets, trying to remain present. The screams were vibrating between her ears.

"Why did you quit?"

"You must know about it." Her hands were trembling now. "Ron must have said something to you."

"All Ron told me is that you used to play football professionally." Harry paused, an uncertain look on his face. "I just… look, I put it together a few weeks ago. I can't believe it took me so long. And… I wanted to let you know that I was there. The night of your last game."

Ginny froze. "To watch or…?"

"Not to watch, no."

"So..." She stared at him. "You were security?"

He nodded and said no more. Maybe he wasn't allowed, maybe he wanted her to come to the conclusion herself, maybe he couldn't bring himself to say it. But he was being so cryptic that everything pointed to the possibility that he saved my life, he killed Riddle.

"I've been hoping you'd bring it up. That Night. I've been giving you opportunities left, right, and center."

"My brother died," she whispered, "right in front of me. It's hard for me to talk about. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course, I do," Harry said. "But you almost died, too."

"And you saved me?"

"I got the order."

"The order?"

"To take the shot."

~.*.~

The boom across the stadium resonated in her head, rebounded in her chest. She could feel the heat of the blast against her back, and smoke quickly filled the column of her throat. She ran towards the madness, choking, eyes stinging. Fred was there. Fred was there!

Her ears were still ringing when she finally found him, covered in blood and debris. He looked at her, felt his hand grapple with hers just before his eyes went blank, and then…

Her scalp was on fire; it was Riddle. He twisted his long fingers in her hair and yanked, rambling at her, breath hot in her ear as she fought against him and screamed.

"Stupid girl."

"Think you can best me."

"Should've kept your trap shut."

"Selfish girl."

"Now, look what you've done."

He slammed the heel of his hand against the base of her skull. Ginny cried out, the corners of her vision growing dark as he drove her out at arm's length and forced her to survey the damage, the carnage.

"This is your fault, you—"

She felt the wind, the thrust, the splatter of hot, sticky blood against the back of her arm before she registered the thundering crack of the gun. Riddle was still gripping her hair as he flew sideways, tumbled, dead in an instant, and the momentum knocked her over, hard, all wrong, her knee bending, then snapping, as she fell, too…

~.*.~

"You looked so familiar, even in the darkness at Lee's party that night," Harry said.

Ginny pressed her eyes shut hard, focusing on the sound of Harry's voice to launch herself out of her worst memory.

"I was going to ask you," he continued. She heard his feet shuffle nearer, felt the bed sink beside her. She scrabbled for his hand and anchored herself to Earth, to Harry. "Maybe we'd met before, crossed paths a long time ago. But then you drove me to utter distraction. And then that dinner at your parents' happened. And then…"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I never meant to keep any of this from you."

"I'm not mad," she said. She turned towards him, looked at him. His face was drawn with concern, a furrow just between his eyebrows. "You don't have to apologize. Really. I just… I go there a lot, to That Night. My mind just takes me there. Leaves me there. It's hard to come out of it."

Harry nodded. "It happens to me, too."

They eased themselves into bed. Ginny found it hard to move in her day dress. Harry helped her strip out of it.

Ginny unbuttoned his shirt, returning the favor.

Their eyes locked as fingers found pulse points, sharp jawlines, lips. Ginny ran her index finger down his long nose, up again, then traced over the scar on his forehead. He winced, but didn't pull away.

She withdrew her hand anyway. Harry caught her fingers and began kissing the tips.

"Does it hurt?" she asked. "Your scar?"

He pressed his mouth to the middle of her palm.

"No," said Harry. "Just a phantom pain every now and again."

"How did you get it?"

"Riddle killed my parents," said Harry.

A bolt of horror shot through her, and Ginny hitched herself up on her elbows. She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say, what to do.

"What?" she finally exclaimed. "He what?"

"When I was little, he staged it to look like an accident. I was in the car with them…. The details are scarce, but he picked the perfect night. The road was slick with rain, and there's a sharp, twisting road in Godric's Hollow—"

"But why? Why would he kill them?"

Harry gave her a look. "They were famous detectives back in their day, linked a string of murders to one of his advisors. And they spoke out against his ideologies to the media."

Ginny shrank back. She remembered the reporter who'd started it all, clear as day: pale, taunting face, and slicked back platinum blond hair. It was the first conference of the season, and she had been on edge all day, hoping to make a good impression.

She'd definitely made an impression.

"What's it like to be the only white, English player on your team?" the man had shouted from the front row.

The buzz in the room cut off, as if someone had hit a mute button.

"Well, I'm not a twat, white supremacist like that shite politician Riddle," she'd said, leaning into her mic, "so I think it's fucking amazing, yeah?"

She'd drawn nervous laughter from the crowd, and that was it. That was all she'd said. And it had painted a bright red target right on her back.

"How did he get away with it?" she asked him sometime later, when her brain had done what it could to process this horrible connection she and Harry had.

"He paid off the right people."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"Why me though?"

"What?" said Harry.

"Plenty of people have said worse," she elaborated. "So, why me?"

"I think he was just… unhinged. Everything set him off." He gave her an apologetic smile, his gaze somber. "You were the last straw on the camel's back."

"I'm sorry," she said, settling back into bed, curling into him like a cat desperate for a stroke, "about your parents."

"I'm sorry about your brother."

He kissed her on her forehead and pulled her closer.

They stayed that way for a while, until Ginny became restless and stretched out so that their legs could tangle, and she could align with him, beating hearts and quick, eager mouths. It wasn't supposed to start like this, or end like this, or be anything like this at all. But then his hand drifted over her hips and between her legs, and he touched her just how she liked. She couldn't say no, wouldn't say no. This was the perfect escape. Just her and Harry and a soft bed.

She plucked his glasses from him and sighed into his mouth as he rolled them over and settled, skin to skin, in the space between her thighs. Her knickers were at the end of the bed, his boxers discarded long ago. How long had they been kissing, drawing gasps, moaning into each other's bare, heated flesh? Ginny threw the glasses aside and looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

Harry's brown face was flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark from pupils blown with desire.

"I need you," he said. "Fuck, Gin."

He was unraveling, fast, with just a teasing shift beneath him.

Ginny felt hot all over. This was not going to last long.

"Condom?" she said breathlessly, diving a hand between them to give him a hard tug.

"Fuck," he said again. "No. I thought you were on the Pill?"

"What gave you that idea?" she asked him, the cloud of longing beginning to thin…

Harry gave her a quizzical look. "Our first time together. You said we didn't need a condom."

"What? Harry, why would I say that?"

"Because… because you're on the Pill."

"I'm not on the Pill."

They stared at one another, and the shoe was beginning to drop. Several times. All over them. Right onto their faces.

Ginny pushed Harry off of her. "What the fuck, Harry? What the fuck?"

"I asked you! I asked you if you wanted a condom, and you said no!"

"No," Ginny said, shaking her head, shaking everywhere. "No. You asked me if I had any condoms, and I said no."

They stood on either side of the bed, naked, panting, gaping at one another because…

"You're pregnant," Harry said through a delirious laugh. "You've been sick for weeks. You're pregnant."

She began to shake her head. "No way."

"Yes."

"There's no way."

"Ginny."

She was, she was, she was.

"Oh my god."

Harry began to throw on his clothes in a mad frenzy, stuffed his glasses onto his face. "I'm going to the chemist."

Ginny, trembling like a leaf, started to tug on her clothes, too. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to. I'll get the test, I'll—"

"It's my body," Ginny said forcefully. "I'll take it wherever the hell I want."

Harry paused to look at her, one hand on the bed, the other tugging on a trainer. "Yeah. All right. Let's go."

The walk to the chemist was a quick five minute jaunt. Harry and Ginny's hands clung together the entire way there, through the family planning section, to the register, and finally, towards the loos at the back of the shop. A box of freshly bought pregnancy tests was tucked beneath her armpit.

"We could do it at the hotel," Harry said urgently under his breath.

"I can't stand to wait," she hissed back, and turned to the bathrooms.

Harry pulled her back to him. "Whatever the outcome," he said, "whatever you want."

She nodded at him, suddenly tearful. "Okay."

He kissed her, then let her go.

~.*.~

"Listen, About That Night—"

"It was brilliant. This is brilliant."

Her hand fluttered to her stomach, to settle over Harry's.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A/N: I planned on writing more on this ending, but it's simple, and sweet, and I like it like that. Thanks again to the wonderful thedistantdusk who beta'd this and made it a hundred times better. And thanks to everyone who read and left such lovely reviews!