Monday Afternoon

It had been months since he had last seen her; perhaps it was as much as a year by now. They had slipped apart slowly and painlessly. He hadn't thought of her for so long. But now she was here, sitting in a chair in his living room, and despite the long past they had shared he was at loss to what he was supposed to do.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked finally.

She looked up, her brown eyes just as deep and kind as he had thought they would be.

"Yes, please," she said. "Just some wine, if you have it."

She crossed her long legs, and her short summer dress slid up to reveal part of a tanned thigh. She was just as beautiful as he remembered her. Her deep red hair hung loose over one shoulder, and the summer sun had made freckles appear over her entire face.

He opened a bottle of white wine, and poured them both a glass. She lifted a slender hand with un-manicured nails and accepted the glass from him. On one finger was the faded mark where a ring used to be. It was barely noticeable, as it had been a long time since the ring had been removed, but Harry saw it anyway.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he asked.

He regretted his words at once. They sounded so pompous, so distant. She made him feel like a little schoolboy again. She smiled at his small wince.

"I was in London because of work. I figured I might stop by. See how you were doing."

She twirled the glass in her hands. Her nails were clean, something which had been a rare occurrence back when he used to know her well. He guessed the few brothers she had that were still living weren't as interested in spending their summers playing Quidditch with her anymore. The dirt would probably come back if she ever had kids. The thought of her having children with someone else still pained him in an indefinable way. It wasn't that he wanted to be the father of her children; it was just that for so long he had expected to be.

"I'm doing well," he told her, and added honestly, "It's good to see you."

"I heard you got promoted," she said, stopping her twirling.

"Yeah." He wanted to add something, but he didn't know what.

"That's good," she commented, clearly lacking words as well.

"Yeah," he said again, feeling dumb.

She looked around his apartment. He hadn't quite unpacked everything, so boxes were still scattered around on the floor. He had only moved back to England recently, after spending three months on an assignment in Scotland. Her eyes came to rest on a picture lying on top of his piano. He saw her eyes becoming unfocused and thought he knew why. It was given to him by Charlie.

"You should hang that up," she said. "It's a beautiful picture."

"Yeah, I was going to. I'm just not completely settled in yet."

Charlie had made it himself. It consisted of dragon scales put together in an image of the Northern Lights. When the light changed, the colours seemed to dance, making it seem moving, real and alive. He had made it his last summer, when he studied cold-blooded dragons up in the mountains of the Norse countries.

Ginny had cried in Harry's arms that following winter; long, desperate sobs coming from the bottom of a shattered heart. It was the first time she had experienced that kind of all consuming grief. It wasn't the last, but it might have been the strongest. She had believed her family invincible, eternal. She was proven wrong then, and during those last dark months, she was proven wrong again too many times.

"If you wanted help with it, I'm always up for some decorating," she offered, looking around at his bare walls.

He appreciated her offer, although he knew he would never take her up on it.

"Thank you. I'll probably just do it over the weekend; it won't take that much work. Neville is set on having me throw a party to celebrate my return, so it should be ready before then at least."

"Oh."

"You're of course invited, if you want to come," he said, noticing the unasked questions. She no longer assumed she was included in his life. Of course, it was the truth. He wouldn't have invited her if she hadn't come to visit him just now. Not because he didn't want her there, he just wouldn't have thought of it.

"I'll see if I can stop by," she replied. "Things are crazy at work, though."

He didn't think she was lying, but he doubted that would be the real reason for her absence if she didn't show up. It wasn't that they avoided each other; it was just that they didn't have anyone in common any more. Their link had been Ron, mostly, and now Ron was gone.

They both knew each other's friends, and Harry liked visiting with Ginny's family, but that didn't mean they saw much of each other. They both had their own circle of people that they interacted with, and the circles didn't overlap anymore. It had been too easy to just not bother to try.

"The new guidelines weighing you down?" he asked, ignoring her decline to his invitation.

"Yes. It's amazing how difficult some small resolutions can make my job," she answered, and added bitterly, "Idiotic ministry employees."

"Hey, hey, now," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh that's right," she laughed, looking down at the floor. "But it's not like that's what you work with."

"No, it really isn't. Fortunately"

Their conversation stopped again, and he used the pause to refill their glasses. She thanked him, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her hair had always been his favourite feature of hers. On Ron it had looked awkward and a little childish, but on her it looked stunning.

"So Hermione's getting married?" she asked, trying to start the conversation up again.

"Yeah," he answered. "To Richard. Have you met him?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "One time. I didn't really get to talk to him much, but he seems okay."

"He is. I think she's happy. I really hope she is, because she deserves to be."

"Yeah. Yeah, she does."

She looked down and up again, drawing her breath.

"You haven't found anyone new yourself?" she asked tentatively.

He shook his head.

"I guess you're a hard act to follow," he said, smiling.

She smiled sadly back at him. "You weren't so bad yourself."

He gave a small laugh, but didn't know what to say next. Instead of answering, he looked down at his own hands and saw the same small hint of a white mark as he had noticed on hers. It was so long ago now that seemed like a dream, seemed like another life. In another year, all trace of it would be gone.

She drained her glass. Harry reached for the bottle, but she stopped him, placing her hand over his.

"I've got work in the morning," she explained.

She withdrew her hand and looked at the clock on his wall.

"It's getting late," she said. "I guess I should get going."

While getting up, she swiped her robe around her shoulders. She had really learned to dress as time passed by. The small red detail on her otherwise flowing white cloak seemed to set off her hair and make it brilliantly red. His heart ached, without any real intensity, at the thought of how many times he had played with that hair, of how many times he had his hands though it.

She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Stepping back, she sighed and looked at him sombrely, as if wanting to take him in one last time before saying goodbye. He didn't know when he'd see her again. She closed her eyes for a moment before looking at him again.

"I'll always love you, you know," she told him. "Years may go by, but that will never change."

He smiled genuinely.

"I know," he said.