A/N: And here we are with the last chapter of the first story in the series! It's meant to bridge the time between the Final Battle and the epilogue for The Changeling and the beginning of Ginny's 7th year, but I am in no way done. Far more Harry and Ginny to come in future stories! Many thanks again to Bethany and TimeShifter and Sorcerer's Muse for being awesome betas and sounding boards and for making this story so much better.

Chapter 12

Antonia looks up as Ginny enters, gesturing her vaguely towards the back of the shop before returning her attention to the stooped old witch at the counter.

Ginny ducks into the back room. Tilly is already there, sitting at a small table while Theodora stands off to one side.

The two are a study in contrasts-Tilly small and delicate with slightly wavy dark hair, while Theodora is tall and pale and regal. She seems to loom as large as she always has in Ginny's mind, blond hair no longer pulled back in a tight ponytail but rather an intricate chignon, nails carefully manicured, and robes exquisitely tailored of fine fabric. She can't be much more than twenty-two, but still manages to feel somehow very grown up. Professional.

Ginny tells herself to take that as a comfort, that it means she'll be able to help.

"Ginny," Tilly says. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," she says, squeezing Tilly's fingers before sitting down next to her. "Hello, Theodora. It's been a long time."

"It certainly has," she says, setting her cool gaze on her. Ginny can't shake the feeling that the former Mistress is trying to take her measure. Ginny merely looks back at her, letting her get her fill.

It isn't too long until Antonia joins them. She sweeps in looking a little out of breath. "Sorry," she says. "I have never had a more indecisive customer in my life. Cabbages are apparently serious business."

She sits down on the other side of Tilly.

"What have you found?" Tilly says, looking expectantly at Theodora.

"He has no legal recourse," she says, voice blunt and matter-of-fact.

Tilly deflates. "What?"

"Legally his loss of magic renders him mentally incapable of making his own decisions about his health care, his money, and his property."

"He's lost his magic, not been mentally impaired!" Ginny says.

Theodora looks back at her with a dispassionate expression. "There is no distinction between the two in our current legal code."

"That's barbaric," Ginny says.

"Well," Tilly says, voice bitter. "We must keep the wealth and property in magical hands, now mustn't we? Or what's next, Muggle overlords?"

Antonia reaches over and squeezes Tilly's hand. "So there is nothing standing in the way of his parents completely disowning him."

"There is one thing," Theodora says.

Tilly leans in. "Which is what?"

"His legally binding betrothal to an of-age witch."

"Yes," Tilly says, sounding impatient. "But I don't have the right to make decisions for him either. You said that."

Theodora lays a copy of the betrothal papers on the table. "This agreement doesn't just propose the marriage of two people, but also a merging of their assets." She looks at Tilly. "His assets have been promised to you."

She frowns. "Does that mean I can protect him? I don't know, take them and then give them back to him?"

"Certainly," Theodora says. "If you marry him."

A stunned silence fills the room.

Tilly is the first to break it, letting out a harsh laugh. "So this is what I get to decide. Marry him and protect him from losing everything he's ever had, or break the betrothal and let them toss him aside like he's nothing."

Ginny leans in, mind running through the implications as fast as she can. "Can she marry him, sign everything over to him, and then divorce him?"

Theodora shakes her head. "Married or not, he has no legal right to control assets. If she divorces him, he goes back to the care of his parents. Unless he chooses to live like a Muggle. But Squibs and Muggles are treated the same under the law. Neither have the right to magical inheritances or properties."

"Meaning she would have to stay married to him?" Antonia asks.

"Yes."

"That's—" Ginny starts to say.

"The legal facts," Theodora smoothly cuts across her, and Ginny doesn't understand how she can appear to be so unmoved by all of this.

Ginny turns to Tilly. "Do you love him?"

"Does it matter?"

Ginny doesn't have an answer for that. It feels like it should matter, shouldn't it?

Tilly shakes her head. "If it were just down to me, I am as opposed to this arrangement as ever. But that's not what this is about anymore, is it?"

Ginny refuses to accept that. "Tristram will never agree to this." Trapping her into a sham marriage just to keep his birthright.

The look Tilly gives her is ruthless. "He doesn't have the right to agree or not, remember?"

"Tilly," Ginny says.

She shakes her head, pushing to her feet. "I just need to…think about all of this."

Theodora holds out a sheath of parchments. "Everything is detailed in this report. You should look it carefully over."

Tilly takes it. "Thank you, Theodora. For everything."

Theodora nods.

Tilly tucks the file into her chest, sweeping up the rest of her things. "I'll see you all later."

"Let us know if there is anything you need," Ginny says.

She nods distractedly and disappears out the door.

Antonia lets out a breath, leaning back in her chair. "I don't envy her that choice."

Theodora picks up the remaining papers, tapping them efficiently on the table. "It's simple enough. She's just being too emotional. It should be a decision of economics. She has a lot to gain from the arrangement."

Ginny looks up at her. "They're people, not bank accounts."

Theodora regards her a bit like an annoying bug, and Ginny has to remind herself that she's not a thirteen-year-old girl anymore. They're equals now, and Ginny has been through things she couldn't dream of.

"Decisions must be made with facts and consequences, not emotions. Or have you still learned nothing after all these years?" Theodora slides Antonia a look, and it's the first time Ginny considers that Theodora didn't necessarily agree with Antonia's choice of her as Mistress.

"Excuse me?" Ginny says, voice icy.

Theodora looks unimpressed. "I suppose I should be surprised only one sister died on your watch."

Vaguely Ginny hears Antonia suck in a breath, too busy drowning in a wave of pain and rage, a strange white noise buzzing in her head.

Theodora just stares back, completely unapologetic, and something at the back of Ginny's mind is telling her not to take the bait, but right now that is all just noise.

Ginny stands, calm and methodical in her movements despite the rush of blood roaring in her ears.

"What I've learned, Theodora, is what I'm willing to become, and what I'm not. And if emotions make me weak, so be it. That's a consequence I can live with." She squares her shoulders, affecting an expression of boredom despite the roiling emotions in her chest. "Not that it's particularly any of your concern. Your time has passed."

There's a flash of something in Theodora's eyes that Ginny could almost call surprise, but she honestly doesn't care one way or the other. She's not here to be tested or play anyone's games.

"Lovely seeing you again, Theodora," Ginny says, voice smooth and cutting.

Theodora merely nods in response.

"Antonia," Ginny says in farewell.

"Ginny," she says, putting out a hand to stop her.

She pauses.

Antonia darts a glance at Theodora before looking back at her. "I hope you have a nice birthday," she says a little weakly.

Ginny smiles. "Thanks. I'll see you later, okay?"

Antonia nods.

Arriving back at the Burrow, Ginny walks straight up to her room. Glancing around the empty space, she decides the last thing she wants right now is to be alone with her thoughts. Turning back for the stairs, she goes up and up until she's standing outside Ron's door.

She knocks.

"Come in!" he shouts.

She pushes open the door, finding Ron and Harry sitting on his bed while off to one side Hermione is elbow-deep in a suitcase.

Packing. Wonderful.

"Hey," Ginny says vaguely in greeting before petulantly heaving down between Ron and Harry.

"What's up with you?" Ron asks, budging over to make room for her.

She flaps a hand, still feeling too riled to even attempt to explain. "Just annoyed."

"At me?" he asks, looking scared.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Hermione?" she calls out.

She lifts her head from the disaster that is Ron's suitcase. "Yes?"

"You'd better follow through with Magical Law. Because it's a giant mess and I'm really going to enjoy watching you browbeating it into shape. Or better yet, burning the entire bloody thing down and starting over from scratch." With that pronouncement, she flops back on the bed, covering her face with her hands.

"Don't worry," Ron says, patting her knee awkwardly. "There's nothing Hermione can't bend to her will."

From across the room, Hermione lets out a yelp.

"Other than that suitcase, apparently," Harry says, voice dry.

"What do you even have in here?" Hermione demands.

"Whoa, hey," Ron protests. "That's very important!"

The bed shudders as he scrambles up to his feet, off to rescue his belongings from Hermione, no doubt.

"All right there?" Harry asks, voice barely a murmur as he nudges her leg.

She looks up at him between her fingers. "Just having an I-hate-everyone kind of a day."

His eyebrows lift. "Should I be worried?"

He's hardly everyone, but she's also not going to actually say that. "I thought you were supposed to be brave in the face of danger."

"Well," he says, "wrestling a skrewt is one thing, getting on your bad side another altogether." He mock shudders.

She can't help but smile at his stupid antics. "Merlin. Just shut up, will you?"

Instead of being offended like he should be, he just makes a ridiculous little mime of zipping his lips shut, and how is he even real?

"Ugh," she complains, closing her eyes. "Stop making it hard to be in a bad mood."

She can practically hear him smiling, the git.

Across the room Hermione and Ron continue to bicker, and Ginny does her best to let the day slide off of her. The only problem is that as her anger fades, all she's got left is this horrendous sadness.

She blows out a breath, feeling it all welling up. She cracks an eye open, and Harry is still there, looking down at her like he isn't at all sure what to do.

"Just keep sitting there, okay?" she tells him.

"Yeah," he says. "I can probably manage that."

His knee presses into hers and doesn't move away.

Ginny doesn't wake up on her birthday and just start using magic indiscriminately. She doesn't make her dishes walk themselves over to the sink or put a glamor on her hair to make it look slightly better than usual. As much as she is so insanely relieved to finally have the option, she isn't interested in silly tricks.

The only thing she asks for is her dad to take her into the Ministry with him first thing so she can take her Apparition test. No one asks why, and she's glad not to have to explain the importance of it, the need to have every tool in her arsenal. Apparition is more than just a quick escape. It's another level of control. A way to move freely through the world.

She needs it.

So after a special birthday fry-up, they leave Ron and her mum working on her birthday cake, and Hermione and Harry outside setting up the garden for the evening's celebration.

Arthur drops her off at the Department of Transportation. "Want me to wait with you?"

She shakes her head. "No need for you to waste your morning."

His eyes twinkle. "You'd be saving me from paperwork."

She knows he's joking, lifting up and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll find my own way home, Dad."

He hugs her tight. "I know you will."

After an hour and a half of waiting, she passes on her first attempt. Which is great not only for expediency's sake, but also because she can lord it over Ron that she still has two eyebrows.

She Apparates to Diagon Alley, meeting Neville, Luna, and Hannah at a pub for lunch. She hasn't spent much time in public this summer, but knowing she has the right to her wand and the ability for a quick escape make it far more enjoyable than it has been in the past.

They talk about their plans for the upcoming term and make a huge fuss over her birthday, and she starts to feel like maybe she'll be able to do it; go back to that school.

She Apparates home to Bill and George lounging near the front walk, the two of them giving her a lazy round of applause and rating her Apparition skills.

"A bit loud," Bill says. "Never going to sneak up on anyone like that."

"Good," George says. "Slytherin are sneaky enough. Ginny in particular. We should put a bell around her neck so we always know where she is."

"How did you know what I got her for her birthday?" Bill asks with mock shock.

Ginny crosses her arms over her chest. "You two realize I can use my wand with impunity now, right?"

They look at each other.

"Did you just hear Mum calling us?" Bill asks.

George nods. "Definitely."

They scramble to their feet and flee.

Dinner is held out in the garden, the table laden with all of Ginny's favorites. There's also a pile of sweets from her brothers, a couple of paperbacks from Tobias and her dad, and an assortment of barrettes and more practical headbands from Fleur. Hermione hands over a book of everyday advice for NEWTs revision.

"It's never too early to start planning," she says.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ginny says, trying to look enthused.

Harry nudges a parcel towards her. "Hermione stole my idea, so I had to go with this instead."

Hermione shoots him an exasperated look.

Ginny takes the package with a smile, pulling the paper off. Inside is another book called Seriously Offensive Quidditch Drills.

It's not one she's read, but it's written by Sheldon Mosul, one of the best Chasers ever to play for the Magpies. She opens it with interest; only the second she cracks the cover, an illustration of the famous Chaser charges onto the page and rather thoroughly and lewdly curses at her.

It's only then that Ginny remembers he is only slightly less famous for being one of the most foul-mouthed Chasers ever to play for Britain.

Now get off your arse and let me show you how to make your opponents look like a bunged up group of manky arsemongers in your grandfather's tutu!

There is a moment of stunned silence at the table before Ginny bursts into laughter, completely taken by surprise.

Mosul shouts at her again, questioning her parentage and wondering if she's always been this much of a lazy tosser.

Ginny slams the book shut, looking up at Harry. "Thanks."

He shrugs. "I figure if I can't be there for you bounce ideas off of, this would be the next best thing."

She opens the book again, a string of rude curses floating out. "Yes, it reminds me of you quite a bit."

He grins.

"Ginny, put that away!" Molly says. "I will not have such foul language at the dinner table!"

"Hey, we're all of age here now," Ginny points out. "There's no delicate ears to protect."

"Well," Molly says primly. "My ears still need to be protected." The effect is ruined a bit by how misty her mum looks at the reminder that her youngest child is all grown.

Ginny dutifully puts the book away, stacking it on top of the others.

Molly gets to her feet, crossing over to stand near Ginny. She pulls a small box out of her apron. "And there's just this."

Ginny gets up too, taking the small box from her. Inside there is a small teardrop-shaped timepiece hanging from a delicate gold chain.

"Mum," Ginny says, running her fingers over the fine engraving. "It's beautiful."

Molly takes it from the box, settling it over Ginny's head, fiddling a bit with the chain to make sure the pendant sits perfectly. "It was my mother's," she says, her finger nudging it. She looks up at Ginny. "I've been saving it for today."

"Really?" Ginny says, looking down at it, the elegant numbers and slender dials.

Molly nods, squeezing Ginny's shoulders. "It's not every day your daughter becomes a woman. And what a wonderful woman you've become."

Ginny feels her throat close up. "Thanks, Mum," she manages to say, giving her a tight hug. They both cling to each other long past what is probably necessary.

"Well," Ron says after another protracted silence. "Is this a party or not? I want some of that bloody cake. It took long enough to make."

Ginny's grateful for the distraction, she and her mum pulling away from each other and trying to discreetly wipe away any tears.

"I definitely want some cake," Ginny says. "But if you made it, I hope it doesn't poison everyone."

"I'll tell you what I think of that," Ron says, picking up the Quidditch book and putting a sonorous charm on it.

Soon foul language is echoing across the garden, only to be outdone by Molly's shrill threats of extra chores and bedtime with no cake.

The night before their flight, Molly comes into Harry's room.

She holds out a sweater to him. "You weren't here at Christmas, so I never got a chance to get this to you."

It's his Weasley sweater, a bright scarlet 'H' knit into rich brown wool. He takes it from her, his fingers tightening on the soft cable knit. He feels a litany of apologies rise up in his throat—for last Christmas, for this new departure—but forces himself to swallow them back down.

"Thanks, Molly," he says instead.

She nods, taking it from him and crossing over to his suitcase, zipping it open to place it inside. "It will help keep you warm. Honestly, winter in August. What kind of place is this?"

She clucks over his things and pulls everything out to repack it. Harry opens his mouth to protest, only to close it again, knowing that if Molly wants to repack his suitcase there is very little he can do to stop it.

"Do you have everything you need?" she asks. "Socks? Dress robes? You never know what occasions might arise, after all."

Harry just nods, letting her fuss over him. "Yes, Molly," he says occasionally.

He reminds himself just who has been doing his holiday laundry for him the last seven years and refuses to be embarrassed as she refolds his pants.

Eventually she seems content, or simply runs out of things to ask him about.

She turns to look at him. "I want you to know, Harry, that this room will always be waiting for you. No matter where you go, or what happens. You have a home."

Harry feels pressure in his throat. Somehow he manages to nod. "Thank you," he very nearly croaks. "For everything."

She smiles at him, touching his cheeks before pulling him into a hug.

After a moment, he hugs her back, pretending not to notice the tears she wipes away as she bustles out of the room.

That evening, despite the fact that they all need to be up insanely early, they all linger in the sitting room long after everyone has gone up, like they don't want to waste their last hours home in sleep.

Hermione triple checks packing lists and tickets and maps, Ron eventually pulling her back on the couch, folding her into his side. "It's all going to work out," he says against the top of her head. "You'll see."

Hermione sighs and relaxes against him.

Harry glances over at Ginny where she is curled up in a chair. She's watching the two of them with a fond and slightly forlorn look on her face. As if feeling his eyes on her, she looks over at him, giving him a bracing smile.

They all fall into subdued silence, no one saying a thing for what feels like at least half an hour.

"Well," Ginny says, pushing to her feet, "I'm going up. I'll be up bright and early to see you lot off properly."

Something in her tone has Ron instantly on alert. "What did you do?"

She gives him an overly innocent expression, eyes wide. "Why, I have no idea what you're talking about, Ron."

He curses. "Did you do something to my suitcase? Because Hermione spent ages packing it."

Ginny sighs, taking pity on him. "I didn't do anything."

He relaxes.

"Yet," Ginny adds.

"Ginny!" he complains, and Harry can't help but think that this is Ginny's way of sending her brother off, like she wants her fill of tormenting him. Ron just mutters under his breath about little sisters and nightmares like he isn't going to miss her just as much.

Ginny looks at Hermione. "You coming?"

"I don't think I could sleep," Hermione says, fingers twisting in her lap.

"You should at least try," Ginny says. "Being exhausted is just going to make tomorrow even more of an ordeal."

Hermione shakes her head.

Ginny turns to Harry. "What about you, Potter? Going to be a good role model?"

"What?" he asks, caught off guard. He looks over at Ron and Hermione. "Oh, right. Yeah, I think I'll turn in."

They all mumble their good-nights, Harry and Ginny turning for the stairs together in silence. On the landing, they pause, neither immediately moving towards their rooms.

He leans back against the wall, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, still reluctant for this night to end.

To his relief, Ginny moves so she's leaning next to him, her arms hugged across her chest.

"I was wondering if you would do something for me," she says.

"Of course," he says.

She rubs her hand up and down her arm. "Promise me that while you're gone… Promise me that you'll live your life."

"What?" he asks, not quite sure what she means.

Gnawing on her lip, she says, "Promise me that you won't let the things you're leaving behind here hold you back. Forget the trials and the Ministry and the war. Forget people expecting things of you. You don't owe anyone anything. Just…live your life."

She looks up at him, that fierce look in her eye, and it makes him want to promise her anything. But he also knows what she's really saying: for him not to wait around, not for something she can't promise ever to be again, like that's a weight she's not sure she can handle having to carry around.

They don't know what's going to happen. Or where they'll be by the time they see each other again. And he's already decided to give her whatever she needs.

"Only if you promise me something in return," he says.

"What?" she asks, looking wary.

"Win the Quidditch house cup."

She lets out a startled laugh. "Yeah?"

"I mean it," Harry says. "Like, completely eviscerate them. I won't accept anything less."

"Rooting against your own House there, Potter?" she says, turning towards him and pressing a hand to her chest as if comically shocked.

"I know," he says with a wince. "I'd appreciate you keeping that to yourself."

She smiles, her head resting against the wall near his shoulder. "A Slytherin never tells, remember?"

"So I've been told," he says. Without thinking, he reaches up, his fingers barely brushing against the piece of hair stubbornly hanging across her eye.

Her smile slowly fades. He's hyper-aware of how close she is, the two of them alone in the dim space of the landing. It would take nothing to lean across that last space, to tell her that he's not expecting anything, but that he has every intention of waiting anyway. And he wants to. He really, really does.

But even if he did, it wouldn't change anything. He's still leaving tomorrow. She still has that haunted look in her eyes some days. They still decided to be friends. And it feels like all he's ever done is kiss her goodbye.

So instead, he drops his hand. "I expect to get the play by play after every match."

"Deal," she agrees, easing back away from him.

"Good," he says, giving her the best smile he can manage.

"See you in the morning," she says.

"Night," he says, and lets her go.

The Burrow is hectic long before dawn.

Mum is yelling and Ron is yelling back, and Hermione still seems to be last-minute deciding which books and quills to bring. Dad is grinning madly over a road map spread across the kitchen table. Ginny avoids it all by escaping out front.

Outside it is still nearly dark, dawn nothing but a faint glimmer on the horizon.

Harry is sitting on the front steps, clearly just trying to stay out of the way as well.

Ginny regards him for a long moment before lowering herself on the step next to him. "Hey."

He turns to look at her. "Hey," he says with a small smile.

She pulls her bag around in front of her, digging through it. "I've got something for you," she says.

"Yeah?" he asks, peering into the bag with interest. "What's the occasion?"

She pulls the gift out of the bag, pressing it into his hands. "For your trip."

Harry stares down at the tangle of brightly colored yarn.

"It's a hat," Ginny says, knowing it probably isn't immediately obvious. "It'll be winter in Australia, right?"

Harry nods, still staring down at the hat, his fingers plucking at the multicolored yarn. "Did you…knit this?" he asks, and she isn't sure if he's more incredulous by the idea of her knitting or her spending actual money on it.

Taking it from him, she pulls it down over his head. "It's actually kind of fun."

He grins back at her. "All that hiding from your mum for nothing."

"Who knew?" she says with a shrug.

He lifts his chin, tilting his head this way and that. "So how does it look?"

She takes in the yarn disaster on his head, the black hair sticking out at odd angles through the occasional large hole, his glasses slightly askew.

"Hideous," she says.

They both start laughing, his arm pressing against hers.

"You don't actually have to wear it," she says.

He shrugs. "Wouldn't want to catch a cold."

They regard each other for a long moment, his imminent departure seeming to rise up between them.

He looks down at his feet. "I'm coming back," he says.

"Yeah?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I actually get to say that this time."

She nudges his shoulder. "Okay."

"What the bloody hell is that?" Ron says.

Ginny turns to see him and Hermione coming down the steps. "Don't worry, I didn't leave you out."

She pulls a scarf out of the bag, getting up to wrap it around Ron's neck.

"This is the ugliest scarf I have ever seen," he says, lifting the ends up to peer at the uneven knots.

"Well then," Ginny says, kissing him on the cheek, "it will go with your face."

He scowls at her, but doesn't resist when she pulls him into a hug.

"I love you," she says into his shoulder.

"Love you too," he mumbles.

She smiles at him. "Have a good trip."

She moves over to Hermione next, pushing a scarf in her hands. "I tried mittens, but it was a complete disaster." She looks at the scarf. "I mean even more of one."

Hermione smiles, but Ginny can tell she's nervous.

"Try to keep the boys out of trouble, will you?"

Hermione snorts. "I always try."

Ginny hugs her. "You did what you had to. They'll understand."

She doesn't know if Hermione finds that a comfort or not.

Her dad bursts out of the house, trunks and suitcases hovering before him and almost mowing them all down.

In the chaos, Ginny turns to Harry, hugging him.

He's stiff for a moment as if he isn't expecting it, but then he is hugging her back, his arms folding around her.

She should probably say something. Like have a nice trip or don't get into too much trouble or take care of yourself, but all she can do is squeeze him tight.

His fingers press into her back, and she thinks she feels his face lower to the top of her head.

Then there is a crash as two suitcases bang together, and Ron is howling about something, and they pull away without so much as looking at each other.

Ginny moves back to the safety of the porch, standing next to her mum, waving as Arthur finally drives them off.

They stand there as the dust settles, long after the car has disappeared around the bend. Ginny glances at her mum, and she's clearly trying not to cry.

"They're coming back," Ginny says, wrapping her arms around her mum's waist and hugging tight.

"Of course they are," she says, voice just the tiniest bit wobbly.

"And you still have me."

Molly reaches out and smooths down Ginny's hair, hands framing her face. "Yes, I do." She presses a kiss to her forehead. "Now, shall we see to breakfast?"

When Ginny gets back up to her room, there is a package sitting on her bed. The brown paper is a bit wrinkled, the twine lopsided, like someone painstakingly wrapped it by hand.

There's a little folded note taped to the top.

Ginny-

I thought you might be able to put this to much better use.

–Harry

She unwraps it to find the Marauders' Map inside.

She smiles.

.fin.