About That Night

Harry/Ginny, Romance/Drama, Rated R/M

Modern, muggle AU.

Trope: Accidental Pregnancy

Prompt: We hooked up randomly at a party once and it turns out you are friends with my brother

A/N: Written for the 2019 Tumblr Trope Challenge. (I picked a prompt at random from a list I also found on Tumblr.) Shout out to thedistantdusk who beta'd this fic like a boss, and to my hubby, who puts up with my love of Harry Potter fanfiction and gave this a read-through, too.

PART I

It was muddled and lukewarm, but Ginny threw back the remnants of her drink anyway and stumbled out of the writhing crowd, blood bouncing through buzzing veins, head hazy and spinning. She dropped the plastic cup into an overflowing bin, finished, and thought in mild, drunken disbelief, staring down at her empty hand, what the actual fuck?

This simply would not do. She was not for a second supposed to be empty-handed at a party with free drinks.

Through horrible strobe lighting that pierced the smoky darkness, Ginny lurched dizzily in the general direction of the drinks table she'd come across on several occasions now. Electronic dance music boomed from several towering speakers, and the bass made her heart thrum and jump hard in her chest.

For a moment, she felt more alive than ever, and her breath caught.

Another drink. Just get another drink.

Maneuvering as carefully as her inebriated body allowed around a heavily snogging couple, Ginny spied it only feet away: that glorious, beat up dining table littered with quaking liquor bottles. She started towards it, determined to get rid of this boiling in her lungs once and for all. Then she caught sight of Dean Thomas dragging his new boyfriend onto the makeshift dancefloor and stalled in surprise.

It didn't hurt, seeing him so completely over her, but avoiding him at all costs just seemed like the proper, British thing to do. She skirted roughly between two protesting blondes, putting space and bodies between them. It'd been six months since they'd broken up, and she was happy for him, thrilled she hadn't fucked him up. But would it have been so bad if she'd found someone to bring along to this thing, too, so that he could see her so completely over him?

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Her shoe caught on a wad of chewing gum, and she crashed out of her thoughts.

"Damn it!"

"Are you all right?"

A shiver flittered down her spine at the low, pleasant voice in her ear, and Ginny whipped around and craned her neck to meet the eyes of a tall, dark stranger. Her hair was in her face, and her vision had gone blurry around the edges, but this man seemed like quite the specimen, even with concern drawing at his lips, and his glasses slipping down his nose.

"I… yeah, I'm fine. Just stuck."

"Stuck?"

She nodded and pointed down to her foot. "I think I stepped in gum."

The man winced apologetically. "Would you like some help?"

"Oh. Yeah. Okay."

He held out his hand, and she swallowed thickly as she slipped hers into it. His large, broad fingers wrapped around her smaller ones, and she willed herself to focus on getting out of this sticky situation rather than the strange and sudden influx of butterflies in her stomach.

With little fanfare, she wrenched her high-heeled shoe free and hobbled over to the dining table, assisted the entire way by her handsome savior. There was one point where he'd had to pull her against him, thank you, empty beer can, for rolling into our path, and her heart was still hammering to be let out of its ribcage when she plonked down onto a wonky chair.

"Thanks," she said, reluctantly letting go of his hand.

His smile seemed easy, and there was another flutter just behind her navel at the sight of it.

"You're welcome." He pointed to the liquor beside them. "Want anything?"

She hesitated. The thick fog that had settled in her brain was enough to last her a while longer, and she wanted to remember him and his sweetness in the morning. If she stopped drinking now, she just might.

"I probably shouldn't." The hem of her dress slid dangerously high as she crossed her legs and tugged off her shoe. "I've mixed far too much together, too many cups, can't remember how many. And it's hot in here."

The man's gaze darted to her thighs, then back up, and he flushed, guilty, when he noticed she was watching him.

He cleared his throat. "I know just the thing. Wait here."

She waved her gummy shoe at him and said,"I'm not going anywhere."

He cracked a wide grin at her over his shoulder.

Before he disappeared entirely through the kitchen door, Ginny's eyes dipped (almost) of their own accord to check out his bum. Heat rose to her already burning face, and she blinked hard to dispel the image her mind had immediately conjured, of him naked and sated and wrapped in her mismatched bedsheets. She let out a pitiful moan and pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks, trying in vain to cool herself down, but then he was back, holding out a tiny bottle of water and a wad of napkins. She took both gratefully, her face positively on fire.

"I've finally met my hero," she said and took a mouthful of the cool, refreshing water.

Something in his expression flickered, but it was gone before she could analyze it.

"Hero?" he said tightly.

Water clung to her lips, and she wiped her mouth along her wrist. He stared at her without blinking, his face closed off and half-hidden in shadow.

Ginny shrugged. "Everyone could use one now and again."

She'd had a hero once, a real one from an elite tactical unit complete with a sniper rifle and a clear shot, one she never did get to meet, even after the dust settled. They'd explained to her that revealing his identity would be a security risk, and that was fine; she didn't want to put anyone in danger. It was enough knowing he was out there, roaming the streets and ridding the world of evil. But anytime she revisited That Night, and the breath leaving Fred's lips, and the needles of pain that erupted over her skull as she was forcibly dragged away from him by her hair, all she could think of was an alternate reality in which her hero did not exist, where Tom Riddle continued to terrorize the country, where she did not survive.

"Well, you've got the wrong guy," he said adamantly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

She cocked a brow at him. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Harry."

"I'm Ginny." She would've held out her hand for him to shake, but it seemed silly, considering how he'd helped her, and pressed her into his side, if just for a moment. "Don't let me hold you up," she said, nodding towards the dancefloor.

He shook his head. "Oh, no, I don't dance."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"Apparently being your hero," he said dryly.

She began to pick at the wad of gum on her shoe with the napkins he'd provided her, barely holding back a smile.

"Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night."

"Not with this view, no."

It took a second for his words to register. When they did, Ginny nearly snapped her neck to look up at him. His expression was a combination of stunned and shy. He clearly hadn't meant to say what he had, not aloud anyway.

"Are you drunk?" she asked him bluntly.

"Barely," he said with a wince. "Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"No, don't apologize," she said. "I like what you said."

The instant the words left her mouth, the air around them became stifling and electric charged. A tense muscle jumped in his jaw, and Ginny stared, spellbound.

"Are you here with anyone?" he said, his voice nearly an octave lower and floating over her like a gentle caress.

"No." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, drawing his gaze to her neckline. "You?"

"No," he said. "I just moved here, from London."

"Needed a break, did you?"

"It's quiet here," he agreed.

There was a roar from the crowd of dancers as one song transitioned to another, more popular one. Ginny snorted.

"Not here, here, obviously," he finished.

"I lived in London for a bit." She paused and thought about Fred again. "Didn't care for it much."

Ginny concentrated hard for a moment, hoping to bury the past again, and yanked most of the offending glob from the bottom of her shoe. She slipped the heel back on, and stood up quickly. Too quickly, for she swayed and would have stumbled, if not for Harry catching hold of her arms.

She was nose to chin with him, even in heels, and before she knew it, she was mouth to mouth with him, kissing him for a full heartbeat before he began to kiss her back. It was all soft, gliding lips and teasing nips, and god, the feel of his stubble, long enough not to be overly prickly, felt so lovely against the inside of her palm.

It'd feel even better between my thighs.

Her insides pooled to jelly at the thought, her bones and ligaments mush, and whatever was left of her was a pile of useless goo; someone was going to have to scrape her off the floor at this rate. Ginny took utmost precaution and wrapped her arms around Harry's neck to keep herself from sinking if her knees were to give out, and Harry tightened his hold on her in kind.

When they pulled away from each other, Ginny dropped back into herself and remembered exactly where she was, and that her brother had people everywhere. But then Harry rested his forehead against hers and looked at her with the most striking pair of green eyes she'd ever seen, and how exactly was she supposed to concentrate on getting them out of here now?

"You're beautiful," she said to him.

A breath of laughter fluttered from his perfect lips. "Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"

Ginny didn't need veneration in regards to her looks. She did, however, want to tease him a little.

"I dunno, maybe?"

This earned her another laugh, and Harry skated a hand up her back, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and tilted her chin up to press his smiling mouth to hers. "You're beautiful."

The next time they broke apart, she leaned against him so that every inch of her was touching him: toes and knees and pelvis and chest. Her whole body was tingling with anticipation, and she hoped she was enticing enough for him to take home.

"My flat's just up the road."

"That's… interesting information." He drew away from her enough to run a hand through his fringe, momentarily revealing an interestingly shaped scar just above his brow. It left his hair in such a magnificent disarray, as if he'd just been thoroughly fucked…

She clamped her thighs together for some respite.

"Come home with me."

"Are you drunk?"

"A little," she answered truthfully.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to, or that I'm pressuring you, or-"

She almost choked on a laugh. What an endearing pillock.

"No one can make me do anything I don't want to do. I learned that lesson the hard way, and here I am. Come home with me."

He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, so she helped him along. One kiss on the tip of his chin, a nibble at his earlobe, a tiny love bite just beneath his pulse point…

"Christ," he groaned, sinking his fingers into her hair and tearing her gently away. He brought his mouth back to hers for one searing second, kissed her so thoroughly she saw stars behind her eyelids, and murmured, "You're mad."

"You're not the first to say so."

His eyes were piercing as he studied her, scanning her face with utmost scrutiny. "Do this often, then?"

She bit her lip as a burst of nerves hit her like a speeding lorry. "No, never."

"Never?"

She could do nothing to stop the blush that flared up her neck and settle on her cheeks at his implication. "No, I mean… I've never been with anyone I just met."

"Right," he said in a sigh that ghosted over her flushed face. He bent towards her, grazed his lips along the apples of her cheeks, and hovered over her mouth. "You're mad," he repeated. "This is mad."

"I know." She nudged her nose with his. "Are you going to take me home now?" She tried to sound casual and confident, but her traitorous voice trembled.

"Only if you want me to," he said.

"Please."

~.*.~

All she could think was ow, and that was rather the understatement.

Her head throbbed as she turned away from the sunlight glaring at her in vicious slits across her face. Last night had been… so much. Too much. She smacked her desert dry lips together and grimaced at the smell of her own breath. God, god. This happened every time, and yet here she was, again, having to refrain from making any movements until the overwhelming urge to vomit mostly passed.

She tried to think, then decided against it. Her brain was clunking along too slowly to be of much use at all. Still, it wasn't long before Ginny noticed that the spot beside her was cold and empty…

Gloom blossomed in her chest, heavy and malevolent, as she staggered out of bed, every muscle in her body furiously protesting. She fumbled on her wrinkled housecoat and hurried to the loo just across the hall, stomach churning, and kneeled gingerly before the toilet.

Throwing up was the worst.

"Good morning," came a cheerful voice from the doorway.

Ginny didn't bother to grace her flat mate with even a glance.

"Not now, Hermione," she moaned.

"Did you have an enjoyable evening?"

Ginny doubted she could forget the latter part of her night anytime soon, and even though she was on the verge of being terribly sick, she fought to keep a smile from her face.

"The best, actually, thanks for asking."

"I hope you drank enough for the entire year."

She could hear the thinly veiled venom dripping from Hermione's lips but chose to ignore it.

"Hardly," Ginny said, finally managing to look up. Hermione had her arms crossed against her chest, glowering down at her. "And if I get one more lecture from you, I swear I'll—"

Ginny did not get to finish her sentence. She retched into the toilet instead.

Several minutes later, she felt a cold compress against her forehead and a wave of affection for her best friend.

"Thanks," she croaked, pressing her eyes shut as tears slid down her cheeks.

It'd be a year next weekend, but it still felt just like yesterday…

Hermione made a small, sympathetic noise and ran her free hand over Ginny's knotted hair. "Anytime."

Ginny showered, dressed in worn denims and a loose-fitting t-shirt, and ate a hastily put-together breakfast of toast and leftover ham while standing over the kitchen sink. Hermione protested, at one point even tried physically pushing her into a chair at their tiny dining table, but Ginny was running terribly late.

"I hate that George has you working all day Sunday," she said, handing Ginny her battered mobile phone and small, bright blue wristlet.

Ginny laughed. "You sound like Mum. And it's nowhere near 'all day.'" She looked around the floor of their messy living room in search of her favorite worn flats. She found them under the little black dress that had been so hastily discarded the night before and easily stepped into them.

"It looks a bit like a hurricane came through here," Hermione said, eyes lingering on the piles of scattered clothes. She sighed. "I go to Ron's, and I clean. I come home, and I clean."

Ginny smirked. "Now you really sound like Mum."

Hermione grimaced.

"It's mostly mine," said Ginny, rueful. She always did have trouble picking up after herself. "Just leave it, and I'll do it after dinner tonight."

"It's alright. I've got nothing to do until Ron swings by to get me."

Ginny hugged Hermione at the door. "You're a lifesaver, you are."

Hermione hugged her back, eyes sparkling. "You owe me for this."

"Whatever you want," Ginny agreed.

She caught a glimpse of Hermione's victorious expression as she turned back to wave at her from the ground floor. Ginny felt an irrational stab of fear.

"I'd like an explanation, actually," Hermione called down, casually leaning over the balustrade, the mischievous look on her face rivaling that of George's.

"Okay," Ginny replied cautiously. "Of what?"

"Of what transpired between you and the man I saw sneaking out of the flat at eight this morning."

Ginny's face flooded with color. She was never going to live this down. "Fuck."

From the time she arrived at Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, to the moment she flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED, Ginny did not have a single thought that was unrelated to work. She operated the register when Verity was otherwise indisposed, kept the shelves straightened and stocked, and assisted customer after customer in choosing the right Whiz-Bang for their budget. It was the busiest Sunday she'd ever worked, and she should have seen it coming.

She slumped against the door, unpeeling her shirt from the base of her sweaty spine. Verity caught her attention from the register, waving a thick wad of colorful notes.

"I think we made nearly as much as we did New Year's Eve!"

Ginny did not respond, throwing the shop assistant a hard smile as she trudged to the backroom in search of the broom and dustpan. There was nothing she could say that wouldn't make Verity out to be an utter clot. The one year anniversary of That Night was days away; people had been slaughtered at her football game, her brilliant brother Fred included, and it was sickening to think that they were making money off of it.

This is what they'd wanted, this is what they'd spent years perfecting, these fireworks that lit the sky like a thousand suns, and they could not celebrate their success, not this time.

Fred would be proud.

The bang of the backroom door slamming shut behind her made her jump. Her knee erupted in pain, and she became immersed in the memory once again…

Everything went out-of-focus. Her ears filled with high-pitched ringing, then screaming. The smell assaulted her nostrils next, all sulphur and charcoal and smoke. Acid was climbing up her throat. She coughed, gagged, flailed until she slammed her arm hard against the wall. And then, in an instant, it all went away, and Ginny was left crouched on the floor, shaking, crying.

The vision of Fred's dead eyes stayed with her for a long time thereafter.

Half an hour later, done picking up shop, Ginny hauled herself into Angelina's truck and waved goodbye to Verity through the half-opened window as if nothing had happened.

"How was work?" Angelina said by way of greeting as they ambled along a charming, cobbled street.

"Fine."

A heavy silence settled over them, a departure from their usual jovial and loud weekly trip to the Burrow. The music was so low today that Ginny strained to hear it, and there was an odd look on Angelina's face as she concentrated on the road ahead.

Ginny waited. Angelina obviously had something to say, and the outspoken woman hardly ever let her thoughts go unheard.

Ginny glanced at the clock on the dashboard, marking the time.

"How did it go last night?" Angelina blurted after a stretch.

Ginny glanced at the clock again. "Seven minutes," she murmured, impressed. "I thought it'd be four, maybe five tops."

"What?"

"What?

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Did you hear me?"

"Hear…?"

"The question I asked you!"

Ginny shook her head and relaxed into her seat, crossing a leg beneath her thigh. This was more like it.

"I said, how did it go last night?"

A cog snagged, clicked, and Ginny stiffened, blood rushing to her head at what she hoped was an innocent question.

"I uh… had a wonderful time," she said carefully, avoiding Angelina's hawk-like eyes. "Thanks for taking me."

There was a short pause, then, "Oh my god."

Ginny cringed.

"Ohmygod, you didn't!"

Ginny tried to school her features into one of mock bewilderment. "Didn't what?"

Angelina glowered at her. "Don't try that look on me! Don't you remember who I'm married to?"

For the second time that day, Ginny hung her head in embarrassment and buried her face in her hands.

"How?" she mumbled through her fingers.

"How what?"

"How do you know?"

"Ginny," Angelina said in a sigh, "we were at Lee's house, your brother's best friend's house. Someone we knew was bound to see you. I wouldn't have believed any of it myself if I hadn't heard about it from Alicia, and Oliver, and Katie." She threw her an exasperated look. "And then I got your text. Your text! 'Met up with a friend. Getting a ride home.' I mean, really? Really?"

Ginny winced and massaged her throbbing temples with nimble fingertips. What was she going to do now?

The proverbial cat was out of the bag. She could deny that anything untoward had happened, she could say she'd stopped by a pub on the way home, had a drink and chips with the guy, and then gone home alone. But she couldn't lie, not to Angelina, and certainly not to Hermione, who would undoubtedly pester her later on that evening about this very subject.

Before she could divulge anything, however, she had to know, "Did you tell him? Did you tell George?"

Angelina made a noise of outrage. "You know I wouldn't!" Ginny looked up at her, equal parts thankful and relieved. "But I give it two, maybe three days max before George finds out."

"What? Why?" she whined, slouching against the door and letting her forehead thunk against the window.

"Lee's house!" Angelina reiterated. "George's best friend's house! Everyone who was there knows someone who knows Lee or George."

They were almost at the Burrow now, judging by the amount of trees flashing by, all bathed in late afternoon sunlight. She exhaled, fogging the window for a moment. For the first time that day, Ginny finally allowed herself to sink into the warm, fuzzy memory of the late night (and early morning) she'd shared with the green-eyed stranger.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"How was it?" asked Angelina.

"Awkward," Ginny answered honestly. "But just at first, just for a minute. And then it was good." A giggle escaped her lips before she could smother it down. "Really, really good."

She watched the scene play over in her mind's eye, toes curling, a spike of heat bursting deep in her abdomen. They'd gone to her flat at her insistence; Ginny had forgotten the state she'd left it in but hadn't cared once his mouth was on hers again. Then they'd stumbled onto her couch (partly from of their alcoholic daze, partly from the dozens of shoes that littered her living room floor) where he did nothing but kiss her and touch her, until he found every one of her weak spots, every one of her turn-ons, until she was literally begging him for more. And he had delivered, again and again and again…

"He was attentive, and sweet, and fit, so bloody fit I wanted to strangle him."

Angelina sniggered. She turned onto the Weasley property, and Ginny sat up so her head wouldn't bump the window from the rough trail.

"I'm glad that you didn't kill him," Angelina said wryly. "Although, it would've been a great story- hey!"

Laughing uproariously, Angelina jerked the steering wheel to avoid Ginny's swatting hands.

"Are you going to see him again?" she asked once Ginny had settled back into her seat.

"Probably not. We didn't get to talk much." She tried for indifference even though her stomach clenched from regret. "Anyway, he was gone before I woke up."

She should have asked him for his number during the lull between their first and second time, in which they'd done nothing but smile at each other reverently as they caught their breath.

Angelina watched Ginny carefully as they passed the orchard and crept up the last hill before the Burrow. "I could try to find out more about him for you, if you'd like."

The smile Ginny threw at Angelina did not reach her eyes. Even if she managed to track the man down, Ginny was rather resigned to this one-night stand business, and she wasn't going to chase after someone who didn't want to be caught.

"I'll think about it."

When they entered the Burrow, Bill was in the sitting room, rubbing the back of his heavily pregnant wife. Ginny kissed him and Fleur both on each cheek then turned to hug George after he released Angelina. She ducked into the kitchen, waved stiffly at Percy and his new girlfriend Audrey, who were completely engrossed with each other and barely noticed her entrance, before being embraced hard by her mother.

Mum thrust her out at arm's length and looked her over with a critical eye.

"You look peaky today. Are you alright? Have you been eating? Of course you haven't, not properly. You really should move back in, dear. Enough with that drafty, overrated flat. You can save up for a cottage just outside of town. There's one for sale a few minutes away. I reckon you can afford it soon enough if you just-"

"Mum, Mum, Mum." Ginny took her mother's face in her hands and forced her to look into her eyes. They smiled at one another. "I'm fine, I love you, and no."

Her mother patted her on the cheek. "It was worth a shot," she said. "And I love you, too."

Ginny helped to complete dinner, as she did every Sunday, donning a frilly apron and tying her hair up into a messy ponytail. She covered the roast pork with foil to keep it warm as soon as it left the oven, stirred the buttered carrots and set them artfully onto a serving platter, and dumped heavily seasoned roasted potatoes into two heaping bowls. In the process, her father came quietly in through the back door, kissed her on the head, and filched a small spud. She was nearly finished setting the table when she heard Ron's beat-up Ford Anglia come roaring over the hill and towards the house.

"Right on time, per usual," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

Her mother ignored this and peered into the oven, where three treacle tarts were browning up nicely. "This should be finished soon." She took off her apron and smoothed her hair into place, then held out her hand towards Ginny. "Come now, take off that apron and go brush your hair."

"Brush my hair?" she said absentmindedly. She did a silent headcount of the place settings. "Mum, why do we have twelve-?"

But she never got to finish that sentence. The back door flew open, crashing and rebounding against the wall, and Ginny, along with every other occupant in the room, jumped a foot in the air. Hermione stood in the open doorway, her eyes frantic and searching, until she caught sight of Ginny.

"Bloody buggering hell," she said, sounding eerily like Ron. "Don't you ever answer your mobile?"

Ginny's eyes widened as Hermione grabbed her hastily by the arm and pulled her towards the stairwell.

"What in the world…?" Mum said as they dashed past her.

"So sorry, Mrs. Weasley. It's wonderful to see you again. And you, Mr. Weasley." She nodded her head in greeting to a stunned Percy and Audrey, then whirled back to Ginny and hissed, yanking her up the stairs, "Have you looked at it at all? Your mobile? I've only left you twenty messages!"

"I don't think I've had a chance since last night, actually," she said as they came upon her old bedroom.

Hermione wrenched her in and shut the door behind them, looking the very picture of harried.

"What is it? What's going on?"

"I tried to warn you."

"Hermione, what-?"

"The bloke… the bloke you were with last night. What's his name?"

Ginny's eyebrows rose in incredulity. "Can't we talk about this later?"

"No," Hermione said. "I mean, yes, of course we can, but I need to know his name. I need to know his name so that you can know if Ron's new partner is the same bloke you shagged last night."

"I… wait-what?"

"I think it's him! I think he's Ron's partner, and he's downstairs-"

"Downstairs?" she squeaked.

"-and I only caught a glimpse of him this morning so I can't be sure, but he mentioned going to that stupid house party last night while we were on the way over, and I tried to text you to find out if his name is the same as the name of the guy you were with last night, but you never answered me back! If the names match up- if the names match up- then it must be the same bloke. Ron's new partner must be your shag partner."

Oh, fuck.

The possibility that Ginny had a one-night stand with her brother's colleague broke her out in a cold sweat, and something sick swirled in the base of her stomach. She pressed a trembling hand to her head and stared at Hermione.

"His name's Harry," Ginny whispered.

The color drained from Hermione's face, enough confirmation for Ginny.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. "Fuck!" she cried.

"Ginny," Hermione said weakly. "What are you going to do?"

Ginny threw herself onto her old single bed, the springs protesting from months of disuse. What was she going to do? She had slim pickings when it came to options: she could climb down the drainage pipe and make a run for it, she could have Hermione distract everyone in the kitchen, sneak into the sitting room, steal someone's—anyone's—keys, and hightail out of there… or she could go with her third and final choice, the I'm-An-Adult choice: force a smile, have dinner with her family and their guests, and get the night over and done with. (Though, if she was completely honest with herself, she did not possess enough luck in the entire galaxy for that plan to go swimmingly at all.)

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I have to go down, don't I?" she said miserably, staring up at the familiar cracks of her childhood ceiling. She spotted the one that looked like a horse and drew strength and resolve from it. "This is my punishment. This is my punishment for thinking with my vagina."

Hermione let out a peal of laughter. "You know what they say: The vagina wants what it wants."

When Ginny descended the stairs and stepped into the kitchen, wringing her apron in her hands, her hair shining down her back from its recent brushing, only her father, Fleur, Percy and Audrey (who hadn't moved since her arrival), were seated. Her entrance went mercifully unnoticed long enough to get a good look at Ron's new partner.

It took her maybe half a second to confirm, without a doubt, that the man she'd had a leg over with last night was standing in her parents' house, mere feet away from her. She recognized the hair immediately, raven black and sticking up in the back, and the line of his shoulders, shoulders she'd gripped hard in ecstasy, bitten down upon, rested her head on. Her eyes had just run the length of his body a second time when he turned.

His eyes met hers and lit up in instantaneous recognition, his mouth dropping open for a tick before snapping shut.

One of Hermione's cool and reassuring hands was on her back, pushing her forward as the other ripped the apron out of Ginny's fists.

She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans as Ron bounded over like an overexcited puppy. His new friend dutifully followed, though with much less enthusiasm.

"Harry, this is my little sister—"

"Little sister," Harry muttered with a subtle shake of his head.

"—Ginny. Ginny, this is Harry Potter. He's my new partner on the service."

Ginny stuck out her hand stiffly.

"Hi," she said, raising her eyebrows. "It's nice to meet you."

Don't say anything, don't say anything, she thought frantically, hoping her brainwaves would supersede his.

But she needn't worry. Harry played along perfectly, took her hand in his like they'd never crossed paths. His grip was as warm and comforting as she remembered, covering her smaller one almost entirely. She shivered as she thought of the two of them intertwined even more tightly than their hands were now.

"The pleasure's mine," he said, all innocence and polite smile.

Hermione made a strangled noise from behind her, and Ginny hastily withdrew her hand to turn an unexpected bout of hysterics into a coughing fit. She retreated to her seat at the table, where her mother patted her roughly on the back. When Harry sat across from her, grinning, she looked hastily down at her plate, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

"So, Harry," her mother started up as soon as the roast had been sliced and served and the dishes began to float around the table. "Ron tells me you've been on the force for two years already."

"Yes, ma'am, that's right," he said as he took a single bread roll from a deep basket and passed it along to Ron.

Mum looked positively pleased by his manners. "You must forgive me for saying this, dear, but when I first met you, I was worried they hadn't put Ron with someone a bit older, a bit more experienced. It makes me uneasy, his profession, so it's good to hear he hasn't been stuck with a complete novice."

Ron's ears turned maroon, and he began to protest, but Ginny cut him off and pointed from her mother, to Harry, and back again as it dawned on her. "Wait, when did you two meet?"

"Last week," she answered jovially. "Ron forgot his lunch, and you know he's saving up for Hermione's—"

"Mum!"

"—er… birthday present? Yes, yes, that's right." Ginny refrained from pointing out that Hermione's birthday was over four months away. "Anyway, they were just coming out of a meeting with that dashing new Commissioner Shacklebolt, whom I got to meet, as well," she added in excitement, "and I invited them both to dinner. Of course, the Commissioner had prior commitments, he's such a busy man."

"And you didn't have any?" Ginny turned to Harry casually while taking the bowl of potatoes from Audrey and spooning some onto her plate. She passed it to her mother. "Prior commitments?"

Besides the exchanging of names, and the encouraging words they'd shouted to one another in the throes of passion, they hadn't gotten around to discussing their personal lives last night. Ginny was curious and much more anxious than she ought to have been as she awaited his answer, her lungs lead-filled as she struggled to remain impassive.

"Oh, yes, Harry, have you? Any girlfriends-or boyfriends—"

"Er," he said.

"—that you care to share with us?" Mum finished.

He looked vaguely uncomfortable, and Ginny took pity on him. "You don't have to answer my mother, Harry."

"Excuse me, young lady," Mum said with a hint of a glare.

"I don't mind," he said, taking some potatoes for himself. Everyone was served and began to eat, the din in the room lowering only slightly. Harry regarded Ginny instead of her mother as he said, "No girlfriend. Haven't had one since I joined the service."

Mum was absolutely beside herself at the news. "A handsome man like yourself, and no girlfriend?"

Harry took a bite of pork and chewed it slowly, his cheeks ruddy. He swallowed hard. "I've… been busy. Working."

"He finally went out last night," said Ron, budging into the conversation. "To Lee's house. We would've gone, too," he indicated himself and Hermione with a forkful of food, "but we'd made plans with her parents, and I had to cancel on them last weekend when Harry and I were called out unexpectedly."

"They understood," Hermione said, patting Ron's arm.

"Was that you, then?" came George's voice from down the table. "At Lee's last night? I knew you looked familiar. I think it was Oliver who introduced us the first time 'round?"

Ginny froze with her hand tight around her glass of water. Had everyone met Harry before she had?

"Er, yeah," Harry answered, looking down the way.

"You know Oliver?" Ginny demanded. She'd known Oliver since she was in nappies. "How?"

"My mate Neville is his cousin," Harry said, glancing back at her. "I met him a few years ago at a birthday party, I think."

Ginny sagged back in her chair, body going numb and brain slugging to a stop. The world was too small, she decided faintly, and alcohol wasn't liquid courage, but liquid stupidity. How had she thought this wouldn't get out, her one night of recklessness? She wondered in vain how long it would be before her mother found out, before she had to do some serious damage control, before she was locked up in Ron's attic bedroom and never allowed out again.

I'm a grown woman, she thought firmly, straightening up. I'm a grown woman with idiot tendencies and a lovely, lonely vagina. A vagina that hasn't had company over in a very long time and deserved a night out.

Was she really giving her vagina its own entity?

Lock me in the loony ward and throw away the key.

"Dean was there, Ginny," George called over to her, head cocked and smile verging on cruel.

Ginny stiffened and threw a pleading look at Angelina, who frowned apologetically.

"Did you happen to see-?"

Angelina cut him off. "I don't think it matters, George."

"The nerve of him!" said Mum incredulously. "He should've known you'd be there!"

"I'm sorry, who's Dean?" said Harry, turning towards Ginny with a quick, jerky movement.

Ginny looked at the fork in her hand and wondered if the tines were sharp enough to stab herself with. If she aimed for a major artery, she could die within minutes, and wouldn't that be a perfect exit?

"My ex."

"Oh," said Harry.

"He's gay now," Mum inserted mercilessly.

Audrey's silverware clattered against her plate beside her.

"Oh my god," said Ginny, briefly shutting her eyes in horror.

"What? It's true, Ginevra."

"First of all," Ginny started, carefully placing her fork down to face her mother with blazing eyes, "he's bisexual, and he didn't just become it out of the blue." The room was deathly silent, and she stood up before she even realized what she was doing. "Second, he stayed with me for months after Fred died even though we were on the verge of breaking up right before That Night happened. We were miserable together," she said. "He didn't break my heart, we just fell apart. And if you have anything to be angry about, it should be that the two of us didn't stay friends."

Ginny tossed her napkin onto her plate and swallowed past a lump in her throat. "I'm not hungry anymore."

She hurried to the back door, blinking her stinging eyes furiously, and wrenched it open.

"Are you happy, George?" Bill said heatedly. "Feel better now?"

"Bill." Dad's voice was a low warning.

She choked on a sharp sob before she slammed the door behind her.

.~*~.

It was nearly pitch black out when he finally approached her. He'd been watching her for some time now, his figure just in her peripheral vision as she rocked on the old tire swing at the edge of the garden.

"They couldn't've sent you," she contemplated aloud, pressing her temple against the frayed rope and closing her eyes, the wind lifting her hair to and fro. "They don't know about us, save for Hermione, and probably Angelina, but the rest of them… they don't know that we…"

"Yeah," he finished quietly.

"Why are you out here?"

"Because I want to be."

Her heart stumbled at his words.

"You left." She finally looked at him. He was closer now, an arm's length away when she swung back, a few inches when she swung forward. He had a rueful look on his face. "You left this morning, and I thought, maybe, since we'd had such a good time…"

She cinched her mouth shut. She didn't want to sound pathetic, or desperate, or lonesome, but she'd promptly sunken into a depression, and all she could think about were sad, painful things.

Harry caught the ropes above her head with both hands, bringing her to an easy stop. "I left my number in your phone."

She didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but never in a million years would she have guessed that.

I really have to check my mobile more often, she concluded inwardly before another, more pressing thought suddenly occurred to her.

Ginny stared up at Harry in confusion. "But… wait. How could you have done? My mobile—it's password protected!"

"I watched you punch it in on the way over to your flat last night." He shrugged as she gaped at him. "It's only four numbers."

"I… wow, okay."

"Still, it was a bit cowardly of me. I should've asked you out last night."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "We did have that break between the first and second time."

His face lit up with mirth. "I thought that was after the second time and before the blow job, which was fantastic, by the way. Kudos to you."

She laughed hollowly, and he moved his hands to cover hers on the ropes.

"Harry," she protested thinly, even though she moved her fingers to interlace with his. "Everyone will see."

"Nah, too dark," he said, shifting closer. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek, and her eyelids felt inexplicably heavy. He pressed his lips against hers, just for a second, just long enough for her frozen insides to begin to thaw. "Go out with me? Next Saturday?"

"The Anniversary. I can't."

There was a flash in his eyes, and he clenched them closed. "Right, how could I forget?" When he opened them again, they were steady and bright as ever. "What about Saturday after next?"

"Okay," she said, and he kissed her again.

The trip back home was very quiet. She caught a ride back to her flat, as she did every Sunday, with Ron at the wheel and Hermione at his side. The seat beside her, usually empty, was taken up by Harry, his right knee burning against her left, and his hand, every now and again, straying over hers in the darkness.

"Thank you," she said when he held the door open for her. He shut it behind him, and she stared at him. "What're you doing?"

He inclined his head back towards the car. "Giving them a moment."

Her nose crinkled in revulsion. "Oh."

"Have you checked your mobile yet?" he asked shortly, smiling at her.

She shook her head, struggled with her wristlet, and tugged out her bulky mobile. She unlocked it with sure fingers and beamed. The first screen that popped up was Harry's new contact file.

"Call me," he said.

"I will."

"No," he said patiently. "I mean right now."

"Right-? Oh."

She grinned, hit the tiny green phone symbol, and only had to wait a second before a soft buzzing noise came from Harry's pocket. He answered it and pressed it up to his ear.

She laughed.

"Hello?" he said into the phone. "Hello?" He waved the phone at her. "No one seems to be on the line."

She snorted, put the phone to her ear, and said, looking Harry straight in the eye, "You're barmy."

His voice drifted through the earpiece with half a second delay, "Tell me you don't love it, and I'll stop."

She gazed at him, the corners of her mouth creasing up in sheer content and happiness. She felt lighter than air, and couldn't wait for the next time he kissed her.

The arrival of Victoire Delacour Weasley (just after midnight on Saturday, May 2nd) was the sweetest healing balm for Ginny and her broken family.

Mum didn't apologize for last Sunday dinner, but she hugged Ginny fiercely, kissed both of her cheeks, and whispered, gazing into her eyes, "She looks just like you did when you were born: perfect, just perfect."

Victoire was placed gently into her arms, and Ginny felt big, old, rough, much too rough to be handling such a delicate, tiny human being… and yet curiously, she did not want to let her go, did not want to lose sight of her plump cheeks and wispy, strawberry blonde hair, the hazy blue eyes that danced over her features, the rosebud mouth that puckered up at her. This sweet baby was newness and brightness and promise and future, and for the first time in a long time, Ginny felt a strange pull of longing in her heart, quite similar to the feeling she'd been consumed with after watching her first live professional football game at the age of thirteen. She wanted this so badly it hurt, and it stunned her so thoroughly that she could not object when Hermione drew Victoire gently away.

She pushed the thoughts firmly to the back of her mind, and for the remainder of the day, she was quiet inside her head. She went to several memorial services, rested bright, obnoxious flowers on Fred's tomb, and cried until she had no tears left to shed.

I miss you, she sent Harry via text later that evening, all tucked into her warm bed, lightheaded and tired.

She smiled when he replied less than a minute later with,

I miss you too.