Interlude –Things We Lost in the War

The smell of the wet summer grass. Her furtive glances toward the windows, one watchful eye trained on the Burrow at all times. The familiar 'snick' of the woodshed door as she opened it.

She had perfected the routine by now. For the past six years she had been sneaking down to the woodshed to borrow her brothers' brooms. She was careful not to use the same one too many times – if a broom was ridden too much, the wear and tear became noticeable. Tonight she emerged from the shed grasping Fred's Cleansweep in her hands.

The thrill of kicking her feet off of the ground, of rising into the air. The swoop in her stomach as she pulled into a steep dive. The adrenaline rush as she flattened out six feet from the ground and banked sharply left.

Ginny had a dream, you see. Ginny wanted to be the best Chaser Hogwarts had ever seen. It wasn't a ridiculous dream either. She had talent. She had guts. She had the focus, the drive, and the determination.

When she was younger, her brothers would never let her ride their brooms. She's old enough now that they probably would, but that is no longer an issue for Ginny. She's keeping her flying skills a complete secret for one purpose:

To shock them senseless. She could picture it – her tryout. Her brothers gaping in awe as she left the competition in the dust. Harry Potter beaming in admiration and surprise as she outflew every last person. Her House's exhilaration when Ginny helped lead her team to victory. She would not settle for second best. That was just not part of the dream. As she flew higher and higher still, her confidence radiated to every pore of her being. It was going to be great being first.

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Formally they are referred to as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Less often they are called Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. But Harry is always first, because he is Harry. And Ginny is always last, because that is simply the way things are.

Amongst family and friends it is worse. There are a thousand variations on the same theme:

"Oi, you lot! And Ginny! Do you want to play four-a-side Quidditch?"

"Neville, would you go ask them if they want any butterbeer? And ask Ginny, too."

"No, Lee, they won't want to go to the concert. Ginny might, though; ask her."

Do they want… Ask them if we should… Are they in the courtyard? As if there is only one opinion between the three of them. As if they only physically travel as a unit.

The worst part? How true it feels.

It is not that Ginny has harbored any illusions of seamlessly fitting into their lives; of instantly turning the Golden Trio into the Gryffindor Four. She has always, however, thought that it would be less apparent that she is an outsider.

After all, Ron is her brother. Harry is her boyfriend; the love of her young life. Hermione is one of her closest girl friends. Why should she be considered an afterthought?

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Even with the chaos of Operation Reparo – even with Ron monitoring them closely and glaring disapprovingly - Harry and Ginny have been able to spend a decent amount of time alone together. She thinks this is mostly due to Hermione, who initially tried lecturing Ron on the importance of letting Ginny make her own decisions - but quickly gave up and settled for distracting Ron by snogging him senseless whenever Ginny and Harry go off by themselves, a strategy which has proven much more enjoyable for all parties involved.

They have been taking things fairly slowly; but even so, at this point she can confirm that Harry definitely does not have a Hippogryff tattooed on his chest – but he does have a galleon-sized red phoenix tattoed on the back of his left shoulder.

She is entranced, gently tracing her fingers along it, running her lips against the skin. "When did you get this?"

Harry's shoulders palpably tense. "Shortly after. It was just something I did. Most of the things I do involve me trying to… forget… but in this one weird way, I wanted to make myself remember."

"Oh."

Harry's tone is not on that invited further questioning, so she drops it. However, last night it had been hot enough that even modest Hermione had shed her thin summer robes and eaten dinner wearing denim Bermuda shorts and a tank top. And as Ginny had walked over to their table to sit next to Harry, she had seen it: an identical red phoenix on Hermione's shoulder. Her stomach had knotted.

She knows without needing to ask that Ron has one, too. She can't help it: It stings. The fact that they have done this together – recently – and that none of them asked her if she wanted in or even TOLD her about it, for Merlin's sake.

Ginny brings it up to Harry in what she sincerely hopes is a casual tone: "I saw Hermione's tattoo. I can't believe you and Ron talked her into it."

Harry appears vaguely surprised. "Oh. Actually, it was her idea."

Ginny is astonished. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Just – out of the blue? She suggested it?"

Harry frowns, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Uh… well, it was when you were visiting your Auntie Muriel with your mum. We were just talking about, you know, a lot of stuff that we hadn't been able to talk about." Because I was always there, she thinks. That's what you really mean. You couldn't talk about these things because I was always there. "So anyway, Ron went out and bought some Firewhiskey and the three of us got – pretty pissed, actually. And we just felt like we wanted to do something… sort of extreme, you know? Something permanent. To commemorate everything that had happened. So Hermione said the three of us should get tattoos and Ron and I thought it sounded good – and we did. We went to a place in muggle London and had them done. And afterward, Hermione enchanted them with a few protective spells and then a Modified Empathy Charm."

"A what?"

Harry smiles thinly. "Yeah, I didn't know what they were before, either. Basically it sort of connects us to each other...telepathically. A little."

The bottom of Ginny's stomach drops out. "What do you mean by 'It connects you telepathically – a little?'"

Harry blushes. "Okay, yeah, this is why I didn't mention it before. Seriously, it's nothing. It's not like we can read other's minds or anything."

No more than you already could, anyway, thinks Ginny. "But you can read each other's… emotions?" she asks with a sense of dawning dismay.

"Umm… in a way," he says cautiously. "Like – right now I'm not feeling anything. The vast majority of the time I don't. If I reeaaaallly try, if I put a lot of effort into it, I can feel a little bit of what one or both of them is feeling. But it's draining, not to mention intrusive, so I don't ever bother. But if one of us WANTS the others to know what we're feeling, we can kind of send a signal. No matter how far away we are. So if I wanted to let them know I was scared or pleased or excited, or that there's a problem or an emergency, I could do it easily and they'd know straight away."

Ginny is silent. She toys absently with her wand, tapping it lightly into her palm, fearful of saying anything lest she say everything – and drive him away in the bargain.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," says Harry. "And I – I reckon I should have asked you first. What you thought about it. Or if you wanted to get one. You still could, you know?" Ginny shoots him a dark look and Harry grimaces. "Yeah, I know, I know. I just thought I'd ask."

He takes her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it lightly.

` "It's fine," she says finally. "You've had enough to worry about lately, Harry."

She leans in; pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his mouth. She pretends that she is the first girl to have ever done this and the pretense soothes the ache inside her slightly.

"I love you," she tells him, and she means it more than she has ever meant anything in her short life. His lips quirk upward against hers, and he pulls away from her.

"You know you're only the second girl to ever tell me that?" he said, still grinning. "It's brilliant, hearing you say those words."

Once again, her heart sinks. "Second." It is not a question.

Harry doesn't notice her disappointment. "Hermione was the first, of course, but she just meant it as a friend. When I said it back to her, I think it was the first time I ever said"-

Shut up, she thinks angrily. She kisses him again; to make him.

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A week later, Ginny wakes up in her hammock early in the morning while everyone else is still asleep. She wonders if she should try and get back to sleep or if it's late enough that she should wake up and enjoy having the showers to herself for a change. She won't get a watch until her seventeenth birthday - which is in three weeks – so she simply summons the nearest clock. The nearest clock is on Harry's nightstand.

"Accio," she whispers. It zooms into her hand. "Lumos." Her wand lights, and her eyes study the dials. At first she thinks she is simply too tired to focus, that her brain is too jumbled to make sense of the numbers. It takes her a moment to realize.

It is the clock that sits in the Weasley's kitchen. Except it is not. Ginny blinks again. There, on the center of the clock face, are scripted three sets of initials: HJP, RBW, and HJG. Three dials (Gold, Red, and Orange) emanate from the center, each pointing to one word: Sleeping. There are words around the edge of the clock. In gold script (Harry's dial is gold) is written: Grimmauld Place, Sleeping, Traveling. In red script (Ron's) is written: The Burrow, Quidditch, and (Ginny has to smile) Carousing. In orange, there are three words: The Granger House, the Ministry, and (of course) Library.

The Ministry? thinks Ginny. She supposes Hermione has accepted that position in Magical Law Enforcement after all. She stares down at the clock for a good long while. She feels a peculiar stinging sensation between her eyes that reminds her of Fred's funeral. She hadn't cried – but it had been just as bad, maybe even worse, being on the verge of it the entire day. She had needed to be strong for her parents; for her mother especially who had fainted as soon as the service had begun and for George, who had rushed forward and tried to hex the minister as he'd closed the casket lid for the final time. When they had begun lowering the casket into the ground, George had tried to jump in as well. He'd eventually needed to be restrained and sedated.

The constant pricking sensation she is feeling now reminds her of that day. It actually helps put her problems in perspective. There has been so much grief; so much loss. Here she is, worrying because her boyfriend cares deeply for his friends. As though that's a problem that needs to be fixed. As quietly as she can, she returns the clock to Harry's nightstand, lies back down, and attempts to get back to bed. Unsurprisingly, sleep eludes her.

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Despite Ginny's best efforts not to let these small and silly things bother her, the inevitable explosion occurs a few days later when Hermione remarks to Harry and Ron within earshot of Ginny: "and of course we'll have to add 'our flat' to our clocks."

Ron laughs. "You want to label it 'our flat?' Why don't we give it a name, like The Burrow? We can call it…" he chances a glance at Harry. "Hero House?"

Harry glares at him. "Sorry, mate. We can call it Won-Won's House if you like."

Ron blushes.

Hermione clears her throat. "Actually, I had been thinking that we would just label it as…'home.'

The three of them stop walking and stare at each other wonderingly. Harry smiles first, followed by Ron and Hermione. "Yeah," says Harry. "Yeah, I reckon that sounds about right."

Ginny hasn't spoken. The pounding in her ears would drown out anything she has to say. She waits until she and Harry are alone. Then she unleashes.

"You're moving IN with them?" she shrieks. "The three of you are getting a flat together?"

Harry looks shocked. "Well, yeah. I mean, your mum isn't very pleased, but we've all got job offers and everything, so... I mean, you've still got another year of school left and – and we'll be in Hogsmeade. So you'll be able to see us when you lot come visit it on weekends."

Ginny can't see straight. "You're going flat-hunting in Hogsmeade," she states.

"Er, well, no," Harry says nervously. "We've – I mean, we've sort of already gone flat-hunting. We signed the lease a few weeks ago. It's – it's really cool. I think you'll like it."

There is silence for a full thirty seconds. "Excuse me?" she says finally. "You – you did this without letting me know – without asking – telling – HINTING – that you might be even THINKING about it. Just – just who the hell do you think you are?"

Harry looks taken aback. "What are you going on about? I'm telling you now, aren't I?

"No. No, the only reason I know is because I overheard Hermione talking about it. You didn't say a word and you weren't planning to, either."

"Look, Gin, I WAS planning on telling you. I just sort of forgot. It wasn't really on my mind. I wasn't keeping it from you or anything, I swear."

She doesn't trust herself to say anything.

"Ginny?" he presses. "Do you believe me?"

She laughs bitterly. "Do I believe you? Yes. Yes, I really do."

"Okaaay," he says uncertainly. "So what's the problem?"

She shuts her eyes angrily. "The problem is that I believe you. If you'd been lying to me, that would be one thing. At least I'd rate high enough in your thoughts that you'd be worried about my reaction. But the fact is that you couldn't even lie to me. You just… forgot to tell me. Just didn't think I was important enough. You care about them so much more than me, Harry. You always put them first. Look me in the eye and tell me that's NOT true."

When she finally opens her eyes, it is to find a pair of angry green eyes staring right into hers. "Of course it's true," he says flatly. "Of course I always put them first. For seven years they've put me first; they've literally kept me from dying more times than I can count. And you know what? In order to do it, they've had to put their petty little problems and hang-ups and insecurities on hold. Which is apparently more than you're capable of."

He may as well have slapped her in the face. She opens her mouth to say something – she has no idea what – but Harry isn't done. And the expression on Harry's face, her beloved Harry's face, is actually such that he's giving Draco Malfoy a run for his money right now. A mocking smile is on his face as his green eyes give off sparks:

"You want me to lie to you, Gin? Sure, I'll lie to you: Gee, I'm great at this relationship stuff. After all, I've always grown up watching my mum and dad be tender and romantic toward each other so it should be easy for me. And I'm great at communicating; no - I really mean it! I'm always open and honest and forthright. The adults in my life have always been open and honest with me; they've never hidden secrets from me or manipulated me into doing what they wanted, so I've never had to resort to lying to get what I wanted. And since we've been so close to each other for so long, Ginny – since I've never, ever thought of you as a younger sister who needs to be protected and coddled - my very, very first instinct when I'm hurt or scared will always be to run to you. "

And with that, Harry suddenly and violently kicks the courtyard statuette next to him. It topples and shatters as it hits the hard flagstone. "Dammit, Ginny, we all lost things in the war! Not just you. Maybe I've lost my chance to have a normal relationship with anyone. Or maybe we've just lost our chance with each other. I don't know. Or maybe we just need more time."

He looks upset, more with himself than with her now. He shakes his head in frustration and, without a word, heads back into the Entrance Hall.

Ginny kneels down on the flagstone and points her wand at the broken statuette. "Reparo," she says quietly. She watches as the pieces fly back together and coalesce. She stares at it for a moment. It looks whole now. It looks worse than it did before it had broken, but you'd have to be looking for the flaws to find them. She thinks maybe the average person wouldn't notice.

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A week later, she and Harry are lying naked in each other's arms outside on a blanket under the moonlight, basking in their mutual afterglow. Harry has apologized twice a day every day for his outburst and by this point Ginny has stopped forgiving him and started simply rolling her eyes.

Harry breaks their companionable silence first. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," she says.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

The million-galleon question. "I'm okay," she says simply. "Really. It was wonderful."

He lightly skims his fingers through her hair, over her face, swirls them down her torso, and traces the contours of her breasts.

"It was worth it," he says meditatively. "Waiting. For me, anyway. I hope for you, too. Doing that with each other… first."

She smiles and kisses him. "What we just did is worth everything to me," she says, her eyes spelling out her love for him. She nestles into the crook of his arms, sighing contentedly. His happiness is tangible, and the vulnerability he displayed during that last declaration makes her feel all the more protective of him. Protective enough to hide from him the truth:

That he is not her first. That her virginity is simply one of the many things Ginny has lost in the war.