Eventually You

~August, 1996~

Ginny sat opposite Harry at one end of the kitchen table, surrounded by milling Order members and attendant extras; her mother was fussing over dinner, a cheery Tonks and a studious Bill were being shown a map of someplace-or-other by the eternally patient Kingsley, Lupin was nursing a cup of tea a little further down the table, and the kitchen was overall a hubbub of activity. However two voices were rising above the general chatter, and grew and grew in intensity until eventually their only accompaniment was silence, the inhabitants of the kitchen slowly turning their attention towards the ruckus.

Ginny risked a glance at Harry, and caught his piercing gaze. He was showing a rare spurt of awareness and interest, and seemed to be trying to catch her gaze as well. She shared a quick understanding grin with him before turning her attention, like her companion, back to the hour's entertainment; Ron vs. Hermione, round... she had lost count long ago. Their bickering - which had seemed to have tapered off over the previous school year - had taken a dramatic upturn since Hermione's arrival ten days prior; the pair had quarrelled over everything, from Voldemort's plans to the importance of matching socks. Most people paid them no mind anymore, dismissing it as either teenage squabbling or repressed true love (Ginny's inner romantic and insider knowledge definitely favoured the latter), but this new battle of Grimmauld Place's own epic war seemed to be attention-worthy. Ginny decided that this sudden interest must come from the fact that Ron appeared - quite amazingly - to be winning, while Hermione floundered. She watched, entranced, as the bickering continued, the duo apparently blissfully unaware of their tacit audience.

"Hermione, you can't do that! You just can't! What if someone reads it? What if You-Know-Who gets it, huh? Then what?"

"Ron! Nothing's going to happen! I'm not even sending it, I told you-"

"Damn straight you're not going to send it! As if it wasn't bad enough that you still talk to the duck-footed tosser-"

"I'm perfectly within my rights to speak to who I want, Ronald Weasley, and it's none of your concern-"

"His teacher was a Death Eater, Hermione! He went to Durmstrang! He's the enemy, he can't be trusted, don't you get it?"

Hermione's murderous, reddening face made it clear that she did not get it, not at all.

"You know what?" Ron continued, careless of the imminent explosion, "Just go on! Go back upstairs and finish your letter and get us all killed. It'll be alright, I'm sure Vicky'll still l-"

"DON'T CALL HIM VICKY!"

The aftermath of the explosion was awful. No one had ever heard Hermione sound quite like that before; hiss, sigh, bewail and bemoan over the years, but never - ever - had she been heard to shriek. She stood there, eyes furious, cheeks aflame, and as Ginny looked uncertainly between the fury of Hermione, the draining anger and dawning terror of Ron, the anxious concern of Harry, and finally the shocked faces of the general kitchen populace, she felt faintly nauseous. She pulled her knees up until she was curled in her seat and raised a hand to fiddle anxiously with her bottom lip.

No one moved, no one spoke, even the very brickwork of the house seemed to be holding its breath, all afraid to worsen the dire state of affairs. Ginny couldn't bring herself to look away as Hermione and her brother stared each other down. Ron lost the battle for dominance, looking away to the table where she and Harry sat, a desperate plea for help evident. But neither could - or even would - help him out. The hatred and terrible jealousy of Viktor Krum had always been Ron's, and Ron's alone. Hermione, growing aware of her circumstances as if just waking up, started slightly, gave a small squeak, and fled the room as if a rabid invisible Hippogriff were chasing her.

Ron sank down beside Ginny, his head in his hands, looking perfectly wretched, and Ginny gazed at him for a few seconds, worry clouding her eyes. The youngest Weasley turned to Harry, who was staring at Ron in a manner quite similar to her own had she only known it, and raised an eyebrow; a wordless request to stay with her brother. Harry nodded, brows slightly furrowed as if this were obvious, and jerked his head slightly toward the kitchen door through which Hermione had fled. Ginny nodded and, sliding to her feet, took off after Hermione.

She eventually found her, and even then it was only thanks to Crookshanks; the faithful cat had obviously decided that his mistress needed more help than he could provide and when Ginny returned to their bedroom for the second time she had found the ginger feline awaiting her, an impatient look on his face as though she had kept him waiting, and done it on purpose to boot. The young redhead let him lead the way, following the bottle-brush tail up the stairs, and she finally found Hermione sitting on the large windowsill of the living room (as they had presumed it to be). On their arrival the previous summer it had contained a few moth-eaten sofas, a rotten cupboard, and several vicious ceremonial plates which seemed to have been Hexed into attempting to behead anyone who touched them resting upon the mouldering mantle. The room had been cleaned up considerably since, and it had been decorated in a decidedly favourable way, in Ginny's opinion. Pity that it still lacked furniture, though.

She crossed the wooden floor, knowing full well that the elder girl knew she was there, despite a complete lack of acknowledgement. Instead she stared out of the window, her gaze edged with fury. Ginny stood in front of her, not speaking - she wouldn't have had a clue what to say, anyway. She knew that Ron had been horrible lately, and said some vile things, but what if he was right, at least a little bit?

Ginny stopped that train of thought dead - now was not the time for internal debating or sibling loyalty. Sometimes being a girl was more important than being a sister, and this was most definitely one of those times. She came back to the present when Hermione curled her feet under, giving Ginny room to sit facing her, which the younger girl did, albeit with trepidation.

Ginny allowed Hermione to sulk in the silence for a few minutes; the redhead was making it perfectly clear that she wouldn't try to make the older girl talk. She knew, from experience, that the brunette would only talk candidly when she was ready. Ginny watched her friend fiddle with her hair, continually pushing the bushy mass behind her ears, her eyes slowly losing their fury. She eventually sat up straighter, looking Ginny full in the eyes as if laying a challenge, before bursting out, "Boys are so dense, aren't they?"

Ginny felt that nodding was best at this juncture, and let the impassioned Hermione continue with, "No matter how simple the matter, how plain, they see it their own way and won't change. It makes me so-"

"Angry?"

"Yes! And..." The indignation drained from Hermione's face as if Ginny's interjection had pulled some invisible plug. She dropped her chin into her hand, a frustrated puff of air emphasising the motion and causing a lock of ever-wayward hair to dance in the slight draft created. "I'm fed up, Ginny. I don't want to fight all the time, there's enough to deal with already, but he just won't let things go, and-" Another sigh, this one more epic than a mere exhalation, and Ginny leaned forward with a comforting hand.

"You know, I don't think Ron really cares about the safety thing, not in the way he was carrying on about, at any rate. I think it's..." Ginny was extremely reticent to carry on here - the fight after the Yule Ball of her third year was a sore subject, "...almost like third year, with the Yule Ball? When he picked out all those faults because he was... maybe... perhaps... jealous...?"

"But he's not jealous, Gin." Her friend's voice was tired. "He's not, because even Ron's not dense enough to think that this could help things, and this is how it's been for years now-"

"Ron doesn't think." Ginny quirked her lip into a half-smile. "In fact, I think Percy stole Ron's brains very early on - it's the only explanation I can find."

The quiet interruption and subsequent quip shut the elder girl up. She looked at her friend and long-time confidante for a second, then let forth a small giggle and a smile, already looking much calmer and happier.

When they had settled down, both girls hopped from the windowsill as if by common accord, and wandered back to their own room, where Crookshanks was waiting for them. They resolved to stay there for a bit, and as Ginny shut the door and settled herself at the foot of Hermione's bed for a longer chat, Ginny reflected on the sheer stupidity of boys in general, and her brother in particular. She only hoped that Harry had at least prevented Ron from doing anything even more stupid... but her expectations were not high. He was, after all, only Harry.

~~~

Harry stared at Ron after Ginny left, his thoughts whirling as if he had inhaled a Giddiness Potion - Snape's latest, particularly nasty invention. Had the circumstances been different Harry would have thought that fairly likely, given Snape's predilection for tormenting him, but the continuing presence of Ron and the bustle of the Order persuaded him otherwise.

He stayed there for interminable minutes, watching the top of Ron's head with mixed worry and anxiety - he didn't like to see his friend so obviously upset, but what he was meant to do about it he had no clue. He knew even less about handling this than how to handle himself since the affair of the Department last term, but he resolved to make an effort - it was the deal; whenever a fight had occurred this summer which resulted in Ron or Hermione storming away (and it was usually Hermione) Ginny would comfort her while he dealt with Ron. But right now, after a fight which had somehow seemed to be just that little bit more than their usual fare of verbal sparring, the Boy Who Lived was suddenly the Boy Who Was Clueless. He could almost imagine the scathing newspaper headlines in his head, Merlin only knew he'd seen enough of them the past few years.

Harry's gaze was suddenly unable to focus on the crown of red hair any longer, as Ron had raised his head and lowered his hands, assuming a more normal sitting position. He looked dully at Harry, his face still a mixture of terrified, furious and thunderstruck which in almost any other situation would have been comical. But, like Harry's earlier thoughts of Snape, the dire straits Ron seemed to have landed himself in forced Harry to concentrate on his companion, dismissing his own tempestuous temper and inappropriate humour in the face of his best friend's anguish.

Ron seemed to be making a concerted effort to find his voice, and when he did, it sounded rather shell shocked, in Harry's opinion, and decidedly disjointed. "She - did...? Did she really - yell-?"

"Yes," Harry provided, nodding to make sure the answer got through to Ron. This did not improve the giddy feeling of moments before, however, and he stopped the movement very quickly.

"But..." Ron seemed confused. "Why? I didn't... She said... I only meant - as usual - missed the point..." And with that somewhat less than coherent sentence imparted, he sank his head onto the tabletop. Harry watched in silence, then carefully tried to start again.

"Er... What was the point, exactly?" He felt stupid for asking, but it was always best to check in these situations. Truthfully, the answer was more for Ron's benefit than Harry's.

Ron's head shot back up, and he mouthed like a fish out of water. Harry simply sat there, hoping his face portrayed open curiosity and not anything which could make Ron bolt, shout, or both. The mad urge to grin at Ron's aghast expression and continuing denseness, for example.

"Well - I..." Ron floundered, gaping and gesticulating vaguely, "Point? Well... the thing is - she..." An enormous sigh as if the huge exhalation would provide answers. "Girls, mate. I will never understand them."

"Neither will I," Harry said, feeling slightly safer now, as the non-understanding of girls was something of a specialty of his - proven most recently by Cho, although if girls were as complex as they led all men to believe then he had plenty more head-bashing sessions to come.

The two boys shared a rueful smile, before Ron stood and shook off the confused, mournful look, mercifully replacing it with the Ron that Harry could handle - smiling and clear-eyed.

"So, mate," said the newly-cheerful boy, "Fancy a game of chess?"

"Alright."

~~~

It was just after twelve that night that Ginny awoke, echoes of her eleven-year-old self still ringing in her ears. She often had muddled dreams of her first year, even all these years later, and always she awoke with a start but not a cry, hearing her own pleas fall on the deaf ears of a darkly beautiful boy. She may have moved on from the horrors of Tom, but she had never forgotten, even if others had.

Knowing from experience that she wouldn't sleep any more at the moment she swung her feet to the floor, standing and crossing the room with feline stealth, before inching the door open, her glances alternating between the hallway beyond and the quietly sleeping Hermione. Finding nothing amiss with either scene, she crept out of the room, sneaking the door closed and already counting the floorboards - she knew the seventh one after the portrait of Merciless Meredith of Morecombe creaked, and prayed that the horrid portrait was asleep. If she decided to start talking (or more accurately sneering in a manner eerily similar to that of Draco Malfoy) then she wouldn't shut up and Ginny would be mother-henned back to bed which was sure to only irritate her. No, what this Weasley needed was a cup of sweet tea and to curl up by the kitchen fire, which always burned merrily in its grate.

Passing the gently snoring portrait with great care, the redheaded girl crept speedily to the kitchen, her bare feet growing cold; she must remember to put socks on if this happened again, or she'd develop blocks of ice instead of feet, which would prove most impractical.

Swinging the door at the end of the hall open, she sighed at the pleasant prospect of the burning fire, but her relief was short-lived as she spotted the unmistakable shadow of someone's profile upon the wall. Knowing that if it was an adult running would only anger whoever it was further, she slowly turned to see who was casting the shadow, and sighed with near-joy at seeing Harry sitting at the table, and not Moody or, Merlin forbid, her mother. He seemed to be having a similar reaction; his eyes were slowly returning to their normal size and his posture relaxing somewhat.

She almost skipped across the room, partly out of relief and partly to touch the freezing flagstones as little as possible, and sat opposite him, just as they had seated themselves earlier. She had not seen either him or her brother since the squabble earlier, as Hermione had requested that the two girls eat in their room; Ginny had managed to convince her fussing mother that her friend would be fine as long as she stayed in the quiet for a bit and that yes, the two girls did want dinner please, thank you very much. The pair had chatted and commiserated until they had grown sleepy and crawled into bed, only for the younger of the two to rise barely two hours later.

Remembering her initial desire for tea, and noticing that Harry had no drink, she quickly jogged over to get some water boiling, continually bouncing from one foot to the other in a way she was sure her companion must find decidedly strange. She was eternally glad when the water was ready and she could return to the table with two steaming mugs, and was pleasantly surprised to find that Harry had seen her intentions and fetched milk and sugar from the pantry. Grinning, she handed over one of the mugs as she sank down, curling her feet up and feeling their coldness seep into her legs through the fabric of her pyjamas and dressing gown.

Harry had taken the mug and was looking at her in sympathy. "Cold feet?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes. I must remember some socks next time - how about you?" she asked, eager to start a conversation, even if it was over something as banal as socks.

Harry pointed to his own feet, encased in knobbly grey socks and angled towards the fire. "The only thing these socks have ever come in useful for... except muffling that sneakoscope Ron gave me."

"You mean the one you gave to Crookshanks?"

"I wouldn't say gave, exactly. He more... took it." Harry looked over at her, smiling slightly. "He doesn't like me or Ron very much, so I don't argue with him."

"I don't think he dislikes you, really..." Ginny mused, propping her chin on her hand in a meditative manner. "I think it's more that he sees you as..." She paused, afraid to set off his phenomenal temper and ruin the pleasant atmosphere of the late-night kitchen.

"What?"

"Well, he is part Kneazle, so it's nothing personal, but I think he sees you two as being kind of... well... stupid." She grimaced apologetically, taking a sip of her tea to give her something to do in the wake of her assessment.

Harry looked vaguely amazed, before pushing his glasses up his nose - a habit he did so often that nobody really paid it mind anymore - and wrapped his hands around his teacup again. "Great," he intoned, staring down at the table, "I'm looked down upon by a cat."

Ginny couldn't help it; she let out a snort of laughter. Completely inappropriate as she knew that she should be trying to cajole Harry into cheering up a bit, but his tone had been so dismal and cataclysmic that the phrase he had uttered had sounded immensely funny to her in the subdued ambience of the room.

Harry stared at her, shocked again, and although Harry didn't speak much these days Ginny had the distinct impression that her sudden laughter had rendered him speechless. The idea made her grin wildly at him across the table, tossing her long ponytail back over her shoulder as she did so. After a few seconds of silence in which Harry blinked owlishly and Ginny smirked in an uncanny imitation of the twins, the pair both giggled into the quiet. The moment ended and the late-night atmosphere seeped back into the room, surrounding the pair once more with its quiet and flickering firelight.

"So..." Harry said, as if unsure how to continue. Ginny raised her eyebrows inquisitively, waiting. The dark-haired boy shrugged, not knowing how to continue. Finally, he settled upon, "How's Hermione?"

Ginny's eyebrows lowered, her lopsided grin making a brief appearance before she answered. "Oh, she's fine now - but tell that stupid brother of mine to watch it, will you? After what she did to Rita Skeeter I daren't even consider what she'd do to darling Ronald."

"I'm glad she's alright," he said after a quiet moment in which both sipped their tea. "She quite... well, she was..."

Seeing Harry flounder, Ginny was reminded of Ron - those two were, in some respects, more alike than they'd ever know. The thought was not only amusing, but also comforting - having dealt with Ron her whole life, it meant that Harry seemed a little less of a mystery; when in doubt, she treated him like Ron. He was, after all, an honorary Weasley - why shouldn't she treat him like a slightly dopey older brother?

With that thought in mind, she struck up a conversation about what should be done with the Gryffindor Quidditch team come the start of school next month. The pair chatted amicably, batting ideas back and forth for a few hours before retiring back to their rooms. The rest of the night, for both of them, was blissfully free of any more nightmares.

~~~

~March, 2001~

Harry was running late. He had gotten back to Grimmauld Place after a quick drink with Ron, planning to relax for a bit before heading over to Ginny's, but had fallen asleep on the sofa. Waking up and glancing at the clock, he had thrown himself into a whirlwind of action, showering and changing in record time before diving downstairs at breakneck speed to check the wards on the back door and generally make sure everything was in order. Stopping beside the hall mirror, he cast a quick glance at his appearance.

Harry had never seen anything truly great about himself; his hair made him look far too scruffy, his glasses were a constant hindrance, and his physique had always tended towards skinny. Not to mention that when not on a broom he had always felt graceless and clumsy compared to some of his peers, who made motion and looking good seem beyond effortless. Gazing deep now, he ran a hand through his wayward hair and sighed; he knew he was running late - only by a few minutes, but late nonetheless - but couldn't quite bring himself to leave. He lingered, waiting for his reflection to give him some great epiphany as to the reason for this sudden change in his status quo. Two weeks ago Ginny would probably rather have kicked him repeatedly than let him into her house, yet here he was.

The dark-haired boy was forced to admit the real reason for his procrastination, even if it was only to himself; he was worried. Worried because, despite never losing contact with Ginny over the years, he had never really gotten to know her. Thinking back, Harry could now admit that he had always dismissed Ginny before fourth year as little more than Ron's tagalong little sister, and had learned precious little about her, only beginning to know her right before they had turned their backs on each other five years ago.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage together, Harry turned almost violently away from the mirror and sprinted back up the stairs to the living room on the second floor, leaving a few owl treats on the windowsill for Hedwig, knowing she preferred to use that window when returning from her hunting jaunts. He then bounded back down the stairs, grabbed a cloak to sling on over his black jeans and jumper, before exiting the house and checking for any passing Muggles. Seeing none he concentrated hard and, with a decisive twist of his wand and a crack, was gone.

~~~

Ginny stared meditatively at dinner as it gently cooked on the stove of her small kitchen. She hoped it wouldn't explode or anything equally unpleasant. She wasn't the world's greatest cook, and add into the equation the fact that it was Harry, and the situation took on an altogether more daunting air. Her far from rosy acquaintance with the Boy Who Lived would hardly be aided by a ruined dinner and a grumpy Weasley, she was sure.

While relaxing earlier, curled up on the small sofa with a Muggle novel in hand, she had recalled the summer before her fifth year. During that troublesome summer, when panic and suspicion had begun to creep into the wizarding world at large, she and Harry had spent a few nights in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, talking and laughing about silly, childhood things; Quidditch, Professors, and usually the latest row between Ron and Hermione. Those midnight meetings, usually accompanied by tea and the fear of discovery by Mrs Weasley, had been the only time she felt that she had come to see the real Harry; the one who floundered and smiled and made her laugh. The Harry who she had thought she could really be friends with. She wondered what would happen if they were to reach that kind of rapport again.

Casting another wary glance at the meal, she was relieved to see that it still resembled something edible, and prayed to anyone who'd listen that it stayed that way. Further obsessive pot-watching loomed in her near future - even her abysmal Divination abilities did not hide that from her - and she quickly clipped her hair back with something close to savagery. As she yanked the long mane of hair back into a simple ponytail she reflected with mild irritation that it would need cutting soon; it was getting too long for her liking, hanging a few inches below her shoulder blades as it did, and the split ends were now even worse than they had been at the Leaky Cauldron.

Her hair and dinner worries were abruptly cut short by a ring of the doorbell. Ginny jumped slightly, cast a final worried glance around the kitchen and, seeing no immediate worries, made her way to the door. Just as she reached the door, the final notes of the chime fading, Ginny couldn't help but cast a cursory glance around her modest living room, checking for nothing amiss. All seemed in order; the small sofa and chair, the recently cleared coffee table, the merry fire, the bedroom doors carefully closed, and the multitudes of Colin's photos adorning their designated section of wall. Nodding slightly, she swung the door open.

~~~

Harry stood on the doorstep, double-checking the address Ron had given him - the last thing he needed right now was to go to the wrong place - and, convinced it was indeed the right place, rang the doorbell.

It rang out, clear and slightly shrill, playing some short, unidentifiable melody and Harry stood, waiting for a response. After a few seconds of shuffling his feet and wondering whether it was the wrong place after all, the door opened and Ginny Weasley was smiling guardedly at him.

"Hi, Harry," she said, opening the door wider for him to enter. "Thanks for coming."

"Oh, it's... okay," Harry replied, handing over his cloak at her signalled request and looking around the small flat with open curiosity; the layout of a sibling's house was not a normal topic of conversation between himself and Ron and, truthfully, he had had no idea what he ought to expect. Some deep part of his brain always associated Weasley rooms with Chudley Cannons posters, but he realised that stemmed from sleeping in Ron's room for all those years. Of course, when he stayed over now, he had Percy's room... Harry shook his head, determined not to think about the events surrounding Percy's... condition. It was hardly a suitable dinnertime topic, after all.

"Okay then," Ginny had hung up his cloak and was now standing slightly to his left, and Harry could see a small kitchen behind her. "Why don't you... make yourself comfortable and I'll... see to dinner. It shouldn't be too much longer."

Harry nodded, waiting until Ginny had resumed what he assumed to be her previous position in the kitchen - leaning over the pots with her brow furrowed intensely and fiddling with her bottom lip - before settling himself down on the two-person sofa. The seat offered him a good spot from which to examine the room, a task he swiftly set about. First, he watched the fire, momentarily mesmerised, as he always was, by its ever-changing beauty. Harry had always liked fire, even excluding the pleasant memories that he associated with it, namely cosy nights beside the common room fireplace. He had always admired something which could be so beautiful, so full of golds and reds and everything so very Gryffindor, and yet be so dangerous and destructive. In a very abstract way, it reminded him of Ginny.

His eyes eventually strayed to the rest of the room, taking in its small yet pleasant proportions. He could tell, even with such little inspection, that this place was definitely a home. The books on the shelf were well-thumbed, the Muggle novels alongside the guides to photography mingling with the odd photo album or scrapbook. The sofa cushions sagged slightly at the edges, where people had pulled their feet up. The coffee table, though now cleared, had a chipped corner and a cup mark on two of its corners. And, finally, there was the wall to the right of the fireplace, which was festooned with assorted photographs, both wizard and Muggle.

Ginny soon returned, two trays bearing plates floating before her and a nervous twinge to her expression. Harry smiled and nodded a thank you as she handed him his tray before settling beside him with her own.

"Sorry there's no dining table or anything. Hardly room for it here, really..." she tailed off, seeming nervous once again. Harry stared at her, waiting for her to continue, which she duly did. Glancing at the food, she raised her eyes to his. "Well, anyway... the food's not been anywhere near the twins, so no worries about becoming something... weird, but as I'm sure you've heard I'm a fairly poor cook, so my apologies in advance."

Harry smiled again, hoping his face was suitably reassuring as well as showing his amusement at the barb about the twins. "I'm sure it'll be fine..." he paused, watching her uncertain face. "And I like the place... It's nice." That said, he tucked into his meal.

As they both ate a fairly pleasant meal (Harry thought Ginny had grossly underestimated her own skills) they chatted, guardedly at first, and always carefully avoiding war issues or either's current living arrangements. These exclusions meant that the pair were confined mostly to small talk, but when the topic drifted off towards the twins' new business towards the end of the meal the conversation became a lot freer and more cheerful. Ginny Banished their trays and plates to the kitchen sink while they finished up their discussion, both smiling and laughing heartily when they remembered the summer before Ginny's sixth year, when the twins had used any and all residents of the house as testers for their new products. Harry's inner monologue wryly reminded him that the twins hadn't changed all that much since then.

Harry remained in the living room area as Ginny made her excuses and, after untying and shaking loose her hair, had set off to make them both coffee, he reflected on the evening so far. It hadn't been as terrible as he'd feared it might have been, having earlier envisioned protracted silences and shifty looks characterising the evening. Instead they'd gotten along surprisingly well, and Harry was amazed at himself to realise that he'd hardly brooded all evening - like before, in the Magical Menagerie, Ginny's presence seemed to drive away the grey fog from his mind. Made bolder by this new epiphany, Harry decided that the pictures on the wall facing him were just too enticing to be ignored any longer, and got up to take a closer look.

There were literally dozens of photographs adorning the wall, but Harry was drawn to those of people he recognised. There were Neville and Ginny, seated on a sofa in Gryffindor tower, cheerfully waving at him from their frame... and to the right were Hermione and Ron, snoozing by the lake while his sixteen-year-old self looked curiously around... and further down was the Gryffindor Quidditch team after a victory, cheering and laughing... and right in the middle of the wall, right at Harry's eye line, was a photograph of Ginny and Colin. Harry examined it closely; it had to have been taken recently, as the pair in the picture looked exactly as they had a few days ago at the Burrow. The pair were seated on the back porch of the Burrow, squashed together with arms around each others shoulders, and both were laughing and grinning at the camera. It reminded Harry very much of a photo taken of he, Ron and Hermione after the Yule ball of their seventh year, just after a ferocious snowball fight by the lake.

So absorbed was he in watching the pair in the photo that he hardly noticed Ginny approach him with his coffee, her own clutched in her other hand. He turned, took it with a grateful smile, and turned his attention back to the wall. He could see Ginny scanning the wall from beside him, occasionally smiling slightly as one of the photos gained her attention, but eventually she was staring at the same picture as Harry, and her eyes grew apprehensive.

Seeing all this out of the corner of his eyes - well, more than the corner really, if he was completely honest - he as not caught totally unawares when Ginny turned to him, eyes bright yet guarded when she asked, "Why don't you like Colin, Harry?"

~~~

Ginny, exiting the kitchen holding the two mugs of steaming coffee since she didn't trust herself to float them without spilling the lot onto the carpet, saw Harry staring at the wall of pictures. She smiled, knowing how many there were on that wall - she still liked to just stand there sometimes, just watching some of them move and laugh and waving back at the multitudes of faces - and approached Harry quietly, intent on not spilling the coffee.

He turned just as she reached his side, and gave her yet another of those genuine smiles, this one of gratitude, as he took the coffee. Her attention now available to be directed at something other than successfully navigating her living room, she cast a practiced eye over the wall, stopping to smile slightly at a few of her favourites; Neville with a baby plant of some sort, a huge grin on his face... Ron and Hermione at New Year, grinning tipsily and cuddled together... the twins leaning on the counter of their shop, identical grins firmly in place... and finally, her gaze settled on the photo which seemed to be fascinating Harry.

It had been taken at the Burrow a month or so ago, when she and Colin had stopped over after a visit to Dennis' memorial stone and a quick stop by St. Mungo's to visit Percy. The pair had been subdued all afternoon, sitting on the porch step and talking. Finally, towards the end of the afternoon, her mum had suggested that they de-gnome the garden for her, and considering it a suitable distraction they had agreed. It had taken over an hour and the pair had been laughing and much happier when they'd finished. They'd collapsed on the back step of the house again and Mrs Weasley had seized the camera and snapped the pair of them mid hug and laugh. It was one of Ginny's favourite pictures, as it seemed to capture perfectly the relationship she had with her best friend; one of joy despite its coming from a time of such pain.

Watching Harry stare at the photo, she was unsure what to say; the dark-haired boy had never really seemed to like Colin, barely tolerating him before Dennis' death and not at all after, and the redhead was suddenly struck with an undeniable urge to find out why. Gathering her courage, she turned her gaze onto Harry, who was looking back at her, and blurted out, "Why don't you like Colin, Harry?"

Ginny immediately regretted it; she might not class Harry as anything more than an acquaintance these days, but that was no excuse for being rude - Ginny could almost hear her mother starting in on her, and winced.

Finally risking a glance back at her companion, she was amazed to see that, far from acting as she had come to expect - thunderous, shouting and altogether annoying - the dark-haired man was simply sipping at his coffee, a thoughtful look in his vivid eyes as he watched the smiling duo in the photo. Ginny suddenly thought better of taking back the comment - it was a habit she only resorted to when all else was bound to fail.

"Colin's..." he paused, sipping his coffee and obviously searching for the right words. "Well, he can be a bit... eager. Tends to be a bit annoying, especially when he's known me this long. You'd think he'd have learned by now that I don't like that kind of attention, especially if there's a camera involved. Even if he is... y'know, your mate or whatever..."

For a second, the redhead had thought that her companion had been about to continue, but Harry's explanation had obviously finished, and his attention had instead switched to a photo of the Weasley family. Ginny remembered it well - it had been taken the week before her second year began, when they had just returned from Egypt. The seven children were grouped around their parents, all unusually freckled, smiling and laughing - Ginny marvelled at how young they all looked. Whenever she looked at that photo, it always struck her with exceptional sharpness that there would never be another photo like that. Accustomed to, if not happy about, the faint pang in her chest at the thought of her brother, she pushed it aside and concentrated on what Harry had said. It made sense, but the unusual trailing off at the end gave her the distinct impression that Harry was hiding some part of his reasoning from her. Vaguely, she remembered Ron's teasing when they'd first had the flat, pointing her train of thought in an altogether unwelcome direction; What if he thinks you and Colin are a couple? Ron had, for a week or so after she'd told her family of her plans, accused her both jovially and severely of 'shacking up' with Colin, which had of course been utter balderdash. Ginny shook her head slightly - nobody thought that anymore, and both of them were very quick to set newcomers to their social circle straight on the matter. Still, it didn't hurt to make sure the situation was super-clear.

"Well, Colin can be a bit of a handful, can't he?" she sighed, her voice light and affectionate. "When his parents took him out of Hogwarts I forgot, being away from him, just what he could be like when he gets excited. Then, a couple of years ago he turned up at the shop, camera in hand, introduced himself and said he'd been sent to take photos for some article the Prophet was doing on how business was booming, or something. Anyway, we kept in contact after that and spent ages talking about everything we'd done, everything we had in common. His parents fuss, my mother's... well, you've met her-" The pair stopped to share a quiet laugh; they both understood perfectly well how Mrs. Weasley could be. "And other things, obviously; school memories and different people we'd met or kept in contact with - did you know that Vicky Frobisher's going to be a troll trainer? Apparently she was accepted into the program on the condition that she got some experience with pre-trained ones first. She's crazy if you ask me, who'd want to work with them? Horrible things... Anyway, Colin and I have been friends ever since, and honestly Harry, he's not always that bad."

Harry looked a lot more relaxed in the knowledge that the subject of Colin had been successfully navigated, and he looked less lost in thought as he finished off his coffee, still scanning the pictures. Quickly draining her own cup, Ginny Banished both mugs to the kitchen before moving back towards the sofa, curling herself up comfortably at one end. Harry sat, a little less informally at the other end, and Ginny allowed herself to be drawn onto familiar territory; Quidditch. The redhead was amazed, as the pair grew more and more comfortable in the steadily darkening room, how silly it had been to be worried about this evening. Excluding the inevitable awkward moments, this night had been almost as fun as those long ago nights, secreted in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. With a small smile, Ginny reflected that the only thing different now was that they were talking about what they had done, and not Ron and Hermione's latest near-miss. And later still, as the coffee became hot chocolate and the raucous laughter became gentle reminiscence, Ginny couldn't quite decide if she didn't prefer the current situation, just a little bit.