Eventually You

The persistent clanging of her Early Rise Charm drove Ginny from her pleasant, comfy bed at what she considered to be a decidedly inhumane hour. Cracking open one eye, she glared at the small bell ringing autonomously right beside her pillow and dared it to keep ringing.

When the small golden bell mockingly continued, she groaned loudly and swung her feet to the floor. Groping towards the infernal thing as she scrubbed at her sleep-filled eyes, she finally succeeded in shutting it up and debated simply flopping back onto the waiting, squishy pillows and giving the day up as a lost cause. Surely Bill and Fleur would understand...

Just as she was wavering, with a huge yawn, back towards the promise of pleasant dreams, a crash just outside her door shook her regretfully awake. A small whimper escaped her lips, all sleepiness fleeing her brain at the sound, as simultaneously she rolled to her feet and padded to the door.

Sticking her head out, she gazed incredulously at Colin, or rather, the bits of Colin she could see. Which more or less meant a few tufts of hair, his jeans-clad legs and two hands, white-knuckled with the stress of holding up the small mountain of camera equipment held within them. The crash, it seemed, had stemmed from a tripod toppling from the top of the pile to the floor, striking the living room's small coffee table as it did. Mercifully, nothing appeared to be broken, but since Colin could not possibly see where he has going currently, Ginny quickly stepped forward and started unloading her best friend, placing things haphazardly on the sofa behind her. He may not have destroyed anything yet, but it would only have been a matter of time. Unlike herself, Colin had never grown out of the gawky clumsiness they had both endured through their teen years - while the redhead had for the most part regained control of her once wayward limbs, her roommate still resembled a human windmill quite a lot of the time.

The final piece of equipment fell to the sofa, impacting with a muffled thump as Ginny turned to Colin, eyebrows nearing her hairline. She levelled her wide eyes at Colin for a few seconds, then flicked purposefully to the mechanical mound on the sofa, then back to the now fidgeting blond.

"Colin?"

"Er... yes Gin?" Colin looked downright nervous now, and rightly so - Ginny Weasley was not a morning person, especially when she had just been rudely awakened.

Biting the inside of her cheek to fight back her urge to grin, she kept her face impassive as she asked, "Is there a particular reason you're trying to take all your cameras and gear somewhere in one trip? A fire perhaps? Or did you just mistake yourself for the wizarding world's strongest man again?"

Colin looked scared now, flicking his eyes from Ginny to his precious cameras then the door, in a dizzyingly quick circle. He pulled at the already loose collar of his jumper, stubbornly resisting looking into her eyes, as he mumbled something taking his equipment to the Burrow before work so as to be on time for the family meal that evening. At his stunning resemblance to a first year in trouble - shuffling his feet, looking anywhere but at her - she lost her resolve and snorted in a very unladylike fashion. Colin stared at her, mouth agape, as she turned back to her room, still chuckling to herself.

"Colin, leave it all there and get to work - I'll cart it all over to the Burrow later when I get that infernal dress fitted." As she reached her doorway she had stopped and looked at him over her shoulder, watching him trying to regain his composure.

He stared at her very oddly for a few seconds before reaching down to the sofa and pulling out his two favourite cameras and shoving a few rolls of film into his pockets. "You're an evil, evil woman, Ginny. I thought you were going to kill me!"

The decidedly scared squeak at the end of his proclamation destroyed what little hold Ginny had managed to maintain over herself, and she practically bent double with gales of laughter as Colin, still muttering under his breath, left the flat and headed off to work. Since he could only Apparate from the lobby, he was long gone by the time Ginny had calmed down enough to wipe the tears from her eyes and begin to get ready for her day.

Half an hour later, sitting on the now-cleared sofa with a cup of coffee, the youngest Weasley had time to review her plan of attack for the day. Since she didn't have to be at her parents' home until midday, she had about two hours to spare before heading out - she estimated flooing Colin's stuff to the Burrow's kitchen safely would take at least two trips, and she'd need time to move it all up to her old room once she was done - easily twenty minutes' work, but she decided on half an hour to be on the safe side. The last thing she wanted was to bring the Wrath of Phlegm down upon herself... again.

Once she was settled at the Burrow, she and Gabrielle would have their final dress fittings for the idiotic meringues Fleur was dressing them up in. It would be nice to see Gabrielle again - Ginny genuinely liked the quiet sixteen-year-old who shared her mortification at the hideous dresses. Gabrielle was so dissimilar from Fleur in just about every way that if it hadn't been for the staggering family resemblance she would never have believed that they were sisters. Where Fleur was loud, confident and extravagantly beautiful, Gabrielle's was a quieter kind of grace. She said far less than her elder, and dressed far more conservatively - Gabrielle was far more likely to be seen in one of the twins' old jumpers than any of Fleur's clothes during her stays at the Burrow - and Ginny felt a kinship with her she'd never had with Fleur.

After the abominations of fashion had once more been stowed until the wedding in three days' time, Ginny was planning a quiet afternoon at the Burrow with Gabrielle, Fleur and her mother, with the rest of the family joining them for dinner later in the day. They were having a pre-wedding family meal to celebrate not only the imminent nuptials but also Ron's safe return from his first field mission - he'd only been gone for two days but Hermione and her mother had been frantic with worry the entire time. Ginny herself had taken an irritatingly laconic view of it all - there had been no point wasting her efforts on impotent worry as far as she had seen - so she had been forced into keeping a watchful eye on Hermione as the academic had flapped and fussed her way through her fiancée's absence.

Ginny finished her coffee and wandered into the small kitchen, dropping the mug into the sink and decided to do the washing up and general housework before heading out. As she set the sink to fill she caught sight of the wall of photos that had so fascinated Harry almost a fortnight ago. A smile came unbidden to her lips as she remembered that evening - she had been frankly amazed at how... well, nice it had been. Not that the animosity had vanished into the ether, far from it, but she had sensed a mutual acceptance of it and she, for one, had been surprised enough by the easy companionship that she had invited Harry over twice more since then. Harry had seemed a little more reticent, but he had always been quite awkward in social situations where he didn't have Hermione hissing instructions in his ear so she hadn't allowed that to bother her too much. He had even dropped into the shop once, during Ron's absence, and had been formally introduced to Shackle; she wondered whether he was still wearing the bandage she had applied to his arm or whether it had healed sufficiently yet. That animal really was a menace, although if a silver lining had to be found she was grateful for the practice he had given both her and Harry with healing potions and charms - Harry's scratches had been far nastier than the ones the Kneazle had inflicted on her, and she'd had to stop the blood before she could bandage his arm. As she said, loudly and often... a menace.

Finishing up with her impromptu clean right on schedule, Ginny nodded sharply to herself at the now spotless flat and quickly got ready to head off to the Burrow- she could feel that it was going to be a good day.

~~~

Harry Potter flopped dejectedly down onto the chair of his Ministry cubicle. It was only 10:15 in the morning and already he's had seventeen paper airplanes hurl themselves at him, most concerning his report on the Dawlish raid from two weeks ago; the report was due at the end of the week and his colleagues were starting to get anxious about whether it would be done in time. Harry, being the poor sod trying to write it, knew that it stood even less chance than usual of getting finished unless people bloody well stopped making him halt his work to ask about it. The constant fending off of co-workers was already giving him a headache.

As he dragged himself back to his currently vague and sketchy report, he wondered abstractly whether the Auror office had always been quite as hectic as it now was. Certainly, he didn't remember everyone throwing themselves about the place with such reckless abandon when he's visited here as a Hogwarts student - but then again, when he'd visited previously Mad-Eye Moody hadn't been in charge...

Harry still couldn't quite decide whether Alastor's return to the Aurors - especially as Head Auror - was a bona fide good thing or not; certainly he had proved invaluable both during the war and its clean up, his dedication to the cause inspiring even more drive than usual amongst his charges. Yet, now that the final trials were coming to a close and Azkaban had been safely returned to its former Dementor-filled state, Harry wondered whether Mad-Eye would once more return to his retirement. He had no idea who would replace him, of course, though if the scarred man did return to his home full-time they would all be able to stop and catch their breaths without the fear of that damned eye seeing them through the wall and earning them a tongue lashing from the formidable man. It was only Harry and Ron's exposure to him via the Order that had given them forewarning - fellow colleagues who had never met the man seemed at times to hover on the brink of total breakdowns.

Glancing at the clock, Harry scrabbled his hair out of his face and, pushing his glasses back up his nose bent back over his report. He daren't be late for tonight's dinner at the Burrow, it was more than his life was worth to endure being tag-teamed by Fleur and Molly for tardiness. Now, if he could just get through this paragraph...

~~~

Fleur Delacour liked things to shimmer and sparkle, this much was evident. The French woman had never hidden her extravagant tastes, but her ideas of reasonable outfitting seemed to have been blown far beyond reason by her upcoming wedding. When she had first struck upon the idea of pale gold for her bridesmaids several months before, Ginny had been mildly optimistic. Fleur had expertly picked a colour to suit both her and Gabrielle - the pale, ethereal sixteen-year-old suiting the tone just as well as her elder's auburn hair and freckled complexion did - yet Fleur seemed determined to turn the pair into explosions of lace and shiny fabric. The bulbous skirts were so puffy that Ginny sincerely doubted she'd be able to sit down properly; she would have to lean back and perch on top of the masses of net. The bodices, fitted and scoop-necked, were mostly alright, save for the frilly sleeves (which she could at least endure if not enjoy), but it seemed as if Fleur had added liberal swathes of tiny bows and shiny beads to the neckline since Ginny had last seen the dress. The overall effect, with the enormous golden skirts topped with comparatively tight and frill-edged bodices, made both Ginny and Gabrielle feel decidedly stupid.

On the stool beside her, Gabrielle was dolefully twisting a lock of sickeningly straight hair around her finger as the tailor fussed about, cinching in and letting out as per Fleur's imperious instructions from the corner. Ginny had been fortunate enough to volunteer for fitting first, so her apparel was already stowed away with Fleur's wedding dress in the closet of her parents' room. Thankfully back in her well-worn hipster jeans and a Pride of Portree t-shirt. She and Ron frequently bickered over her choice of Quidditch team, but virtually nothing could sway her from The Prides, especially since, when they'd come second in the league last year even Ron had been forced into a grudging respect of them.

Ginny sat curled into her favourite chair, watching Gabrielle's resigned look and sharing the odd commiserative half-smile with her. The tailor and Fleur were almost done now, and the two girls had decided to take a picnic-style lunch out to the back garden, where they could relax and chat away from Fleur's constant prattle on cakes and flowers and lace... not that there wasn't a time or place for such things, but it soon wore rather thin for them both.

Seeing the two Delacours begin to converse in rapid French, Ginny nodded to the portly little tailor and ducked into the kitchen, beginning to whip up a few sandwiches, pulling some Butterbeer from the tiny pantry and a large Tartan blanket from under the sink as she did. When, ten minutes or so later, Gabrielle wandered in, dressed similarly to Ginny in low-slung black cords and a white tank top, the pair grabbed the assembled items and quickly made for the top of the hill, before the bride-to-be could coerce them into anything else lace-related. They spent a quiet afternoon chatting, filling each other in on gossip as they ate.

"All's been pretty quiet here... oh, except I'm talking to Harry again-"

"'Arry? But I thought... you two did not like each other?"

Again, Ginny noticed how much more tempered her accent was than Fleur's - still noticeable but softened by frequent visits to England over the years. "Well, we didn't," she hedged, "But we got to talking one night when he came over for dinner..."

"Dinner?" The girl's pale eyebrows arched enquiringly.

"Well, I asked him and Ron over a couple of weeks ago but Ron'd got plans with Hermione so it ended up just being us two. Was.... nice, really. Not like it used to be, of course but... nice."

"Just nice?" Gabrielle was smirking now. When she had met Harry for the first time after the Triwizard Tournament she had strongly reminded Ginny of herself - stuttering, hiding and clearly besotted with the Boy Who Lived. Like Ginny, it had been semi-hero worship - Harry had pulled the then eight-year-old from the lake during the Second Task. However, once she'd actually got to know Harry, who had still been in his sulky, angry phase wherein he shouted at all and sundry for no fathomable reason, she had quickly reassessed him and bonded with Ginny, the only other girl in the house at the time besides her sister. Since then Harry had become something of an in-joke for the pair, and Gabrielle was clearly not about to let this slide. "So, what 'appened at zis dinner to make it so... nice?"

Mock-glaring at her, Ginny flopped back on the blanket, her hair fanning out behind her as she did. Swapping the scowl for a smile, she stared up at the summer sky. "We just... chatted. About safe things, like Quidditch-"

"Oh, you Eenglish and your Quidditch!"

"-and Ron and Hermione and work... nothing too likely to cause me to kill him or anything." Ginny concluded, ignoring her companion's interruption. "He was... kinda like the old Harry, the one from before Hogsmeade, before the real nastiness started." She sighed, flicking her gaze to Gabrielle as the younger girl leaned back on her elbows, stretching her long legs out in front of her. "So, what about you? Tell me all about you now."

And so they talked; about Gabrielle's recent school year, her plans for the rest of her visit (which seemed more or less to amount to surviving her sister's big day), and Pierre, her best friend and the boy of her dreams back at Beauxbatons. By the time their talk had dwindled evening was gathering and numerous voices floated out to the pair from the house - it seemed as if at least some of the guests for tonight had arrived. The girls rose, returned their plates and blanket to the kitchen, and after Gabrielle had grabbed a couple more Butterbeers they headed into the living room which was, true to form, fairly hectic.

Soon immersed in a game of Exploding snap with Fred while George and Charlie wrestled on the floor, Ginny found herself thanking whoever was listening that this could happen - that, despite their unfavourable odds in the war, she still had her family with her. Hard as it was to admit, it was a miracle that they had only lost one of their number; even if Percy was still alive, she considered it merely a technicality - he was doomed to the same fate as Neville's parents, living a half-life which she could barely stomach thinking about. So she didn't - she heaved a sigh, tossed her hair, and proceeded to trounce Fred, much to his horror. It felt good to be alive.