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SIYE Time:9:52 on 29th March 2024
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Firm Footing
By Calixa

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 11
Summary: Sometimes you need a little help finding where you stand. Harry and Ginny come to terms with the changing boundaries of their relationship over a squabble on the Quidditch field, and an illuminating trip to Hogsmeade.
Hitcount: Story Total: 5887







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He hadn’t meant to tell them, but it was hard to keep a secret for long, not if both Ron and Hermione were on your case. Harry touched his scar lightly, remembering how it had throbbed that morning, a flash of white-hot heat that had woken him from his rare, dreamless sleep. Ron, sitting across from him in the Great Hall, looked troubled, and sitting next to him, alternatively frowning and sighing, was Hermione.

“You haven’t… seen anything, have you?” asked Ron.

“No,” said Harry, losing his appetite. He set his half-eaten toast down. “I know Occulmency well enough now.”

They both looked relieved.

“That’s good,” said Hermione tentatively. “But Harry… maybe you should tell Professor Dumbledore —”

“No,” said Harry firmly. “There was a Death Eater attack just last week, and you’ve seen how tired he looks. I don’t want to bother him with more.”

“But-”

“I’m not telling Dumbledore,” he said, in a final sort of tone. The conversation was over. They all knew that Harry had made up his mind and there was no changing it now that he had spoken.

“Tell Dumbledore what?” asked Ginny, coming up behind them. She slid easily into the seat next to Harry, yawning and smiling.

“Nothing,” said Harry, ignoring the look Hermione shot him from across the table.

Ginny’s smile faded a little. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” said Harry again, shaking his head. He smiled at her, as if to prove he was perfectly fine. Ron looked uncomfortably at him, and he felt Ginny stiffen beside him. His insides twisted a little from guilt, but he didn’t want Ginny to know about his scar. It was bad enough that Ron and Hermione had wrung the confession out of him. The last thing he needed was another concerned, worried, unhappy face staring at him over his breakfast.

There was a brief awkward silence, but Hermione broke it by launching into a long rant about Arithmancy (“Why’d you take it, then?” grumbled Ron), wearing a false expression of cheery annoyance. Harry tried to look interested, but he was painfully aware the entire time of the way Ginny watched him, her face an unfathomable mask.

***

A week passed, and although Harry’s scar didn’t hurt him again, he made Ron and Hermione promise not to tell anyone that it had. Harry wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination or not, but he thought Ginny still looked a little suspicious, particularly when she arrived in the Common Room one evening to witness Hermione fall silent in the middle of an attempt to convince Harry to go talk to Dumbledore. She seemed to know that they were hiding something from her, and it made her watch Harry all the closer. He didn’t mind, as long as she didn’t ask, and she never did.

It was January now, and there was a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. A few people wondered out loud why they were still allowed to visit the snowy little village when it was now commonly known that Voldemort was back and at large in the world. The ministry had placed guards around Hogsmeade to protect its inhabitants, and Dumbledore gave his reassurance that a visit was safe. Harry understood: there was no good to be had in making people panic. Keeping up the normal routines of school life would bring all the students a sense of much needed security. It would do them good to get out once in a while, as well.

For the same reason, Quidditch was still going on at Hogwarts this year, much to Harry’s relief. The game was one of his few escapes from reality.

He was headed to practice now — a little late, because he’d had detention with Snape. Some things never change, he thought, sighing a little. Harry arrived on the pitch to witness disaster. Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke were rolling in agony on the snow covered ground, clutching their stomachs, and Katie Bell, the oldest member of the team, was sitting in the snow, nursing a giant bruise on her arm. Ron, their new Captain, looked a little panicked, to say the least.

What happened?” asked Harry.

“I think Jack and Andrew ate something bad,” answered Ron grimly, gripping his broomstick in dismay. “And Katie got hit by a Bludger when they fell.”

Amanda Hewlins, their new fourth year chaser and Jack’s classmate, helped him and Andrew, who were both moaning in pain, to their feet and led them back to the castle. Katie trailed behind, looking downright ticked off. Ron watched them go, sighed, and turned to Harry and Ginny.

“Well, we can’t really practise with just the three of us, can we? I had a whole plan for today, too.”

“Why not?” asked Harry, picking up the Quaffle that lay at his foot. “We can work on your blocking. I just feel like flying, anyway.”

Ginny shrugged in agreement.

“OK,” said Ron, perking up a little. “Let’s do that, then.”

They did a bit of a warm up, simply flying around for a few minutes, before Ron threw the Quaffle at Harry and swooped around the hoops down at the other end of the pitch. Harry grinned as he shot through the air, deciding to give Ron a little work out. Ginny flew behind him, her eyes on his back.

Harry did a couple of circles around Ron and the hoops, holding the Quaffle teasingly out of reach.

“Come on, Harry,” shouted Ron, tipping his eyes to the sky, “Try scoring sometime before dawn.”

“I’m just taking aim,” he shot back, and he threw the Quaffle. It missed.

Ron snorted, and tossed it back. “I hope you can do better than that, mate.”

“I’m seeker!” said Harry, laughing.

“Yeah, good thing,” shouted Ron, the wind whipping his hair back, “Otherwise we’d never get a goal in.”

Harry circled the hoops again as Ginny closed in on them. She hovered below Ron, watching them as they bantered. Harry tried to seem casual, although he was keenly aware of the way she was staring at him. He took another shot at the hoops, but missed again.

Ron hooted loudly.

“Shut it,” Harry muttered, grinning. Ron threw the Quaffle out again, and Harry did a dive on his broom to catch it with his free hand. He noticed a split second later that Ginny had also reached out for it. Oops, he thought, but he shrugged it off. He’d just let her get the next shot, then, to make it fair. It wasn’t like he was hogging the ball or anything — he just had to show Ron up at the moment.

He took careful aim this time, and flew forwards, speeding up as he got closer. Ron looked somewhat alarmed, but determination lit up in his eyes, and he squared his shoulders, waiting for Harry to try and score. Harry grinned, and at the last moment, just meters in front of him, swerved, ducked, and threw the Quaffle.

It sailed past Ron’s outstretched hand by inches, and went through the furthest hoop to his right. Harry whooped in celebration, doing a couple of victory laps.

“Oh, shut up,” shouted Ron as he retrieved the Quaffle, his face pink but cheerful. “You’re not the first person to do that.”

He tossed it to Ginny this time, “Your turn!”

Ginny hovered on her broom, and didn’t make a move to catch the Quaffle as it sailed past her. It fell into the field of snow beneath them. Harry blinked, watching as she, too, leaned down on her broomstick, heading for the ground.

He exchanged a puzzled look with Ron, and followed suit.

“Ginny?” he asked a minute later, landing with a dull ‘whump’ into a foot of snow.

She spun around to face him, and snapped, “If you didn’t want me to play, you could have just said so!” Getting off her broom, Ginny brushed her hair roughly out of her eyes, and Harry was taken aback by the angry look he saw on her face.

“What?”

“Not letting me touch the Quaffle and stealing it from me? What are you playing at?”

Harry gawked at her. He dimly heard Ron land with a thump somewhere behind him. “I — I just wanted to score!”

She glared at him. “That’s all that matters, right? You scoring.”

“No — well, yes!” he muttered, flustered. Harry threw his arms up in defeat. “I mean, we’re just practicing, and Ron told me to shoot, so-”

“I was wide open! You should have passed! I could have got the Quaffle past him easily!”

“Ginny, get a grip,” said Ron, stepping in between them. Harry was glad for the distraction, because he’d been gaping speechlessly at her. “It’s only a practise,” said Ron, frowning.

“You said it yourself,” she snapped. “We’re supposed to be a team!”

“We are!”

“No,” she said, looking directly at Harry over Ron’s shoulder as she spoke. “I don’t think we are.”

And she stalked away, leaving Ron staring at her back in bewilderment. Harry clamped his mouth shut, sighing inwardly. He pushed past Ron and followed her up the hilly walk back to the castle, determined to find out what was going on. It wasn’t until they had gone far out of Ron’s hearing range that she stopped.

“Ginny?”

She faced him, but said nothing. After a few seconds of silence, she turned and started walking again. Harry followed her.

Ginny stopped. “Harry. Stop following me.”

“I’m not,” he said.

Ginny turned again and gave him an exasperated look. He shifted uncomfortably, forcing himself to look at her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked slowly.

“No,” she said, clearly lying.

He refused to believe her. “Ginny, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she replied, meeting his gaze squarely.

“Come on,” he said tersely, coming to the end of his patience. “I’m not stupid; I can tell when someone’s angry at me.”

“Good for you,” she said calmly, the sarcasm apparent in her voice. Harry gritted his teeth. “That should come in useful one day.”

“Why are you being all stupid?” he snapped, kicking viciously at a loose branch half-buried in the snow. “I didn’t do anything!”

Big mistake.

“Harry Potter,” she sputtered in complete and utter rage, “You are such a stupid git!”

Harry stared at her, not comprehending. He took a moment to register what she’d said and then retorted indignantly, “I am not!”

“Yeah? Prove it.”

The accusation stung. Harry didn’t think it would, but he felt hurt by the way she’d said it, the way she looked at him, the way her fists were clenched.

“Well?” she asked sarcastically, “Aren’t you going to tell me why you aren’t a git?”

Harry’s temper broke. “Why should I?”

“That’s exactly the sort of response you’d give,” she snapped. “Everything just revolves around you, doesn’t it? Sometimes I wonder if you even know I exist.”

“That’s not true!”

“It bloody well is!” She retorted, her eyes flashing. “Why don’t you just be Chaser, too? Obviously you can score on your own without any help! What do you need me for?”

Harry felt a bubbling pit of anger build in his stomach. He clenched his fists, unable to speak, although he desperately wanted to give Ginny a piece of his mind.

“Why did you even follow me back?” she asked, breathing hard.

“Because I thought we were friends,” he snapped, and immediately regretted it, because Ginny looked like she’d been slapped. His stomach still churned with anger, however. She was being completely unreasonable, he told himself, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt as he watched her eyes cloud over.

“I thought so too,” she said curtly.

This time Harry did not follow her as she walked away. Instead he wandered back to the Pitch, kicking at the snow in his path with his trainers as he went. Ron was still there, picking up behind everyone else. He heard Harry approaching and looked up.

Harry shook his head glumly.

Ron sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t about Quaffles?”

Harry had no answer for him.

***


The Hogsmeade weekend rolled around, a clear, sunny Saturday that had everyone in high spirits. That was, everyone but Harry, who was still a little upset after his fight with Ginny. It just didn’t feel right, having her avoid him at mealtimes and ignore him in the common room. She didn’t even talk to him, unless it was necessary. If Hermione noticed anything strange, sitting between them every night as they did their homework, she didn’t say anything about it.

Harry walked with Ron and Hermione to the big gates as usual, accompanied by Ginny, who seemed rather quiet that day - not that he wasn’t getting used to her silence around him. He still had memories of a time when silence was the best she could manage in his presence, but Harry had been glad that habit of hers had wore off. Evidently, she still had it in her. Neville joined them, and for some reason, so did Luna Lovegood, who was wearing a giant satchel on her back. She kept humming a dreamy little song as she walked behind Harry, who found it rather distracting, but he did his best to ignore her and pay attention to what Hermione was telling him and Ron.

“I’m going to have to buy a new cauldron,” she was saying darkly, glowering at Ron, who was trying to look innocent, “You burned a hole in it.”

“It was an accident,” he said sheepishly. “I said I was sorry.”

“Well, you’re coming with me to pick a new one.”

They arrived at Hogsmeade in a throng of excited students, and they all got separated. Harry was standing behind Ron, but before he knew what was happening, both Ron and Hermione had been swept away by the crowd. When it thinned out again, after the chattering groups had dissipated into the many shops lining the street, only Ginny, Neville and Luna were left, standing just to his right, looking slightly lost.

“Did Ron say where they were headed?” he asked.

Neville shook his head. Ginny shrugged, and Luna hit a high note with her humming.

“I s’pose we can browse around while we look for them,” said Harry uncertainly. “Is there anything you need to get?”

No one needed anything in particular, so they wandered about, peeking into shops every now and then, but for the most part simply walking. Harry kept an eye out for a glimpse of Ron or Hermione, but they seemed to have disappeared. He bravely tried to strike up a conversation with Ginny.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine.”

They took a few more steps.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“No, I’m not thirsty.”

Silence. Luna hummed a bit of a song Harry thought sounded somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Neville stopped to gawk at a giant parakeet inside the window of a magical pet shop, and they all paused to stare along with him.

“Raki used to referee Boxing Matches in South Africa,” said the shop owner proudly, coming out to talk to them.

As if to prove his words true, ‘Raki’ gave a loud and sudden squawk: “Fight!”

Neville jumped. Luna laughed. They moved on to the next shop.

A very pretty sales witch outside of Gladrags tried to convince Harry and Neville to come into the shop and try on their newest line of Wizardwear, but Harry resisted, noticing the look of annoyance on Ginny’s face, and the bored expression on Luna’s. Neville seemed partly swayed by the witch’s bright smile, but he didn’t protest when Harry dragged him away.

“Didn’t they say they were getting a new cauldron?” muttered Harry half an hour later. They still hadn’t managed to find either Ron or Hermione, and he was starting to get skittish. The crooked sign of the Hogs Head loomed over his head, making him uncomfortable. He wished they hadn’t come this way.

“I don’t know,” said Neville plaintively, “I couldn’t hear over Luna’s singing.”

“They did,” said Ginny, who was walking on Neville’s other side. She looked past him at Harry. “I reckon they might be at Dervish and Banges, then.”

“It’s near the end of High street,” said Neville helpfully. He pointed up ahead. “We’re almost there!”

They rounded the corner, onto a wider, but snowier street. The ground was frozen; all the feet that had traipsed here had matted the snow into a thin layer of slippery ice. Harry picked his steps carefully, as to avoid slipping.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ginny lose her footing; instinctively he reached out and grabbed her flailing left hand, pulling her up. Unfortunately, this only resulted in her falling forwards instead of backwards, and the weight of her body knocked Harry into Neville, who stumbled and fell on his face. In the process he knocked over an elderly witch, a stand of cauldrons outside a shop, and Luna, who stumbled and fell into a bank of snow.

“Ginny! Harry — are you OK?”

Ron’s voice boomed over their heads, and Harry looked up, wincing. His back(side) hurt from his fall, and Ginny’s chin had hit his knee rather painfully on the way down. Neville made an alarming sound between a cough, sputter and a choke. Ron ran over and helped him up while Ginny groaned.

People had gathered around them, temporarily distracted from their shopping by the sight. Harry could only imagine how ridiculous he looked, flat on his back with Ginny draped over his knees, cupping her chin.

“Is that Harry Potter?” someone mumbled, as the shopkeeper ran out of his store.

“I dunno, looks like him, though.”

Blushing furiously, Harry half sat up, his elbows propped in the snow and gravel of the street. Ginny winced at him; she rubbed at her jaw and then pulled off her mitten to reveal the scraped skin of her palm.

Ron had helped Neville to his feet; Neville was now apologizing profusely to the elderly witch (who seemed unscathed, thankfully, just a bit shaken). His nose was bleeding, and the dismayed shop owner reluctantly told him it was all right, accidents happen. Hermione emerged from the same shop a second later, looking pleased with her purchases until she saw Neville’s face, dripping melted snow and blood.

“Neville!” she exclaimed in horror. “You’re bleeding!”

“I know, Hermione,” said Neville thickly, pinching his nose. He accepted the handkerchief she produced from her pockets gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Harry!” Hermione said, finally noticing him sprawled on the ground. Harry went a deeper shade of red, but he couldn’t get up with Ginny still half-lying on him, and Ginny seemed rather reluctant to move.

“Ginny, are you going to get up today?” asked Ron, shaking his head. He frowned when she didn’t move. “Ginny? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Ginny’s head snapped up and she scowled at him. “No… I’m fine.”

He held out his hand and she took it, wincing as he pulled her up.

“I think I hit my knee,” she said slowly, limping. “It hurts.”

Harry scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off, feeling embarrassed. He looked at Ginny in concern, but was soon distracted by the sight of Luna, still sitting half buried in the snow bank.

“Luna?” he asked uncertainly, hoping she hadn’t broken something in her fall and couldn’t move because of it.

“Harry.”

“Er — are you all right?”

“I’m quite well,” she said solemnly.

“Then — can you get up on your own?”

“Actually, I can’t,” she said, as-a-matter-of-factly. “I seem to be stuck, you see.”

“Oh,” said Harry, suddenly understanding. The heavy contents of Luna’s bag were weighing her down. He thought he may have heard a soft snort from behind him, but chose to ignore it. “I’ll help you,” he offered, and heaved her out of the snow.

“Thank you,” she said primly, now standing on her feet. “That was rather uncomfortable, I must say.”

Harry glanced at her back curiously. “What’s in your bag, Luna?”

“Rock samples!” said Luna brightly, beaming at him. “I was going to mail them to my Dad. Can we stop by the post office?”

He was about to reply when Hermione’s voice cut into their conversation.

“Harry — you’ve got snow all over your back,” she reprimanded, coming over and firmly brushing off his shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to the Three Broomsticks for a drink — it’s freezing out here.”

So they made their way down High Street again, pausing outside the post office while Luna went inside. She was gone for a rather long time, and they were all a little impatient when she emerged again, her bag deflated.

The Three Broomsticks was just as they all remembered it, friendly and inviting. Harry felt unbelievably grateful for the warmth that invaded his senses upon entering the brightly lit, cheerful and crowded bar. A bunch of Hogwarts students were already there, sitting in clumps here and there. Harry spotted Professor McGonagall sitting in a corner with Professor Flitwick, the two of them engaged in deep conversation. Hermione sheparded them all into a booth by the bar, where Madam Rosmerta was serving a group of slightly tipsy wizards.

Ron ordered drinks for them all and brought out his giant bag of sweets, which he’d brought from Honeydukes earlier. He immediately tried to get Hermione to try a Cockroach Cluster, which she firmly refused (and quite rightly, in Harry’s opinion).

On the other hand, Ginny looked rather miserable. Harry, sitting in between her and Luna, found it difficult to be cheerful in light of her pain. Moreover, they were the only two people at the table who weren’t talking or laughing. Ron and Hermione were discussing the new sugar quill flavours Ron had purchased, and Luna, who had finally stopped humming, was telling Neville about her father’s latest expedition in great detail. Harry sipped at his Butterbeer, watching Ginny fidget in her seat from the corner of his eye.

“I think the raspberry was better,” Hermione commented, sucking on a blue quill.

“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Ron, looking at her incredulously, “The orange-pineapple swirls are so much sweeter.”

“Too sweet,” said Hermione, grimacing. “It’ll give you cavities, Ron.”

Ron gave her a disgusted look. He shoved an oddly coloured sugar quill in front of Harry’s face, tickling his nose with the tip of it. Harry fought the urge to sneeze.

“Harry, try it and tell me what you think,” he said. Harry took the quill and lifted it to his mouth, gingerly nibbling on the fluffy end. It was sweet and slightly tangy.

“It’s not bad,” he muttered. Ron looked triumphant. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Beside him, Ginny set her bottle down clumsily. “I have to go to the loo,” she said, struggling to stand up. Harry touched her elbow, intending to support her, before he remembered that they were kind of in the middle of a fight. He pulled his hand away quickly. Ginny looked at him strangely, and his face burned.

She limped away, grimacing, and Harry felt sad, watching her go.

“You know,” said Ron seriously when she returned, “I think you’ve really hurt that knee, Ginny.”

“You should go back and show Madam Pomfrey that,” said Hermione in agreement, her face reflecting deep concern. “Ron, why don’t we take her back?”

“I’ll go, too,” chimed in Neville, looking at Ginny with pity. “I don’t want to stay if you’re all leaving.” He looked at Luna. “What about you, Luna?”

“I do have to check if Daddy’s sent me any mail,” she mused absently, twirling her straw. “Yes, I think I’ll go back too.”

Harry noticed how Ginny looked a bit embarrassed, and the flash of disappointment that crossed Ron’s features. He knew Ron wouldn’t let Ginny go back by herself, no matter how much he was enjoying himself.

“It’s all right,” said Harry finally, “You lot stay. I’ll take Ginny back.”

“Are you sure?” asked Ron, looking at him sharply.

“Yeah,” he said, standing up. Luna got out of the booth to let him pass. “I’ve got a headache, anyway,” he lied.

“All right, then,” said Ron.

“Be careful,” said Hermione.

Harry bade them all goodbye, and waited for Ginny. She didn’t look at him as she stood up and got out of the booth. He followed her to the door, and held it open for her, his arm brushing hers as he did. Harry tried to ignore the way she shivered at his touch.

It was getting slightly darker outside now, since the sun was close to setting, but the sky was still clear and the air crisp. Harry took a deep breath, sticking his hands in his pockets. Ginny limped ahead of him, determined not to turn around or look at him. Now that he was walking, he realised that his muscles still hurt from the fall earlier. In fact, his leg throbbed a little from the exercise, much to his disgust. How was he going to play Quidditch like this?

They had only gone a few more steps when Ginny stumbled again. Despite the dull ache in his back(side), Harry managed to leap forward and grab hold of her arm.

“Careful,” he said, steadying her. “Is your knee OK?”

“I think so,” she muttered, wincing. “Ow. Maybe not.”

Harry frowned, his brow creasing in concern. “Are you sure you can walk?” He held onto her arm firmly, as she seemed to be wobbling. Ginny reached down with her other hand and gingerly felt her knee.

“If we go slowly,” she said, biting her lip. “I think I can manage on my own.”

He glanced at her knee, saw how much pain she seemed to be in, and shook his head.

“Nevermind,” he said, making up his mind. He slid his hand down and clasped hers firmly with it. “I’ll help you.”

Ginny looked a bit surprised. “Oh… thanks.”

Harry’s face burned slightly, and he pried his eyes away from her and looked forward, shaking his head. “No problem,” he murmured, guiding her forward. “Watch that bit there…”

They walked for about five minutes, pausing now and then, but for the most part in silence.

“Are you sure you can make it back like this?” Harry asked eventually, worried.

Ginny shook her head. “Could we just sit down for a bit?”

He helped her to a bench just ahead and stopped her in front of it. Harry used his forearm, wrapped in his cloak, to sweep the wooden seat clean of snow. Ginny’s lips twitched when he turned to her and took her elbow, gently making her sit. He sat down next to her, but there was enough space in between them for a third person to fit.

“I might need to sit for a while,” she said ruefully.

“That’s fine,” said Harry sympathetically. “We’re in no hurry.”

There was a moment of silence. Harry shifted his foot, kicking at a small clump of snow.

“Harry?”

He looked up. “Yeah?”

“Are you angry at me?”

Her voice was quiet and timid; it made Harry stare at her for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant.

Finally, after some careful thought, he shook his head. “I’m not angry, Ginny. I thought you were, though.”

“I was,” she replied truthfully, staring at a lamppost. “I don’t know if I am anymore.”

Harry looked down at his snow covered shoe, and then back at her. He spoke tentatively. “I still can’t figure it out. What made you angry? It’s not because I stole the Quaffle from you, is it?”

Ginny shrugged, her face reddening. “I don’t know…” she said slowly, “I don’t think so. I suppose I was having a bad day.”

“Oh.”

“And…” she bit her lip. “I guess… I wish you’d trust me.”

Huh?

He blinked. “I do.”

“Not enough,” she replied, her voice raw. “Harry… you hide things from me. Even when I ask you right to your face. You lie to me.”

“What haven’t I told you?” he asked, licking his lips nervously.

“Whatever it is you’ve been hiding from me for the last two weeks,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I want to know.”

Harry sighed, but he could see no way out of it. She was right. He had lied to her. Right to her face, he’d said ‘nothing’ when she’d asked him what was wrong.

“My scar hurt that morning,” he said slowly, noting the way she sat up a little, the way her eyes widened slightly. That’s why I don’t tell you, he thought. People just worry. “It’s no big deal,” he said, shrugging. “It happens all the time. I don’t see a point in telling people about it anymore.”

“You told Ron and Hermione,” she pointed out. But not me. The words sat unspoken on her lips, but he could feel them there.

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Look,” he said, lifting his head again. “Ginny, it’s not… like that I trust you! I’ve always trusted you… I mean it. You’ve proved to me that you’re a friend. You went into the Ministry headquarters with me last year. You helped me fight Death Eaters, you risked your life, and you were in the D.A. You believed me — when the entire bloody wizarding world thought I was nutters. I know you’re trustworthy. There’s no reason why I’d think any other way. Honestly.”

She swallowed lightly, and she looked like she wanted to believe him, but couldn’t bring herself to. Harry wished he knew how to convince her.

“It’s OK,” she said eventually, rubbing her knee gently. “I know it can be hard to trust other people. Especially with… things like that. I don’t blame you, Harry.”

“I would have told you if I’d known it would bother you this much,” he replied, pained, and he tried to sound as earnest as possible. “I swear, Ginny, I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m used to it. Ever since… my first year… people don’t really tell me things, you know? I don’t blame them, either — I mean, I know it’s my fault. I try not to hold it against them.”

She pressed her lips together and ran her hands along the edge of the bench, wiping away any traces of snow left behind on it. Harry looked at her, feeling a sense of pity sweep over him. He felt terrible, and now he understood why she’d reacted so strangely that day at practice — it was because Harry had inadvertently reinforced her feelings of untrustworthiness. As far as he was concerned, it was all rubbish. Ginny was as trustworthy as anyone, and definitely more so than most people.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said lightly, hoping to make her see how silly her fears were. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Ginny bit her lip, looking flustered. “Nevermind, Harry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, I want to know,” he blurted out, once again wishing he could just keep his mouth shut. Stop saying the wrong things, he snapped at himself. She looks like she’s going to cry any minute. Oh Merlin, don’t cry.

“Mum doesn’t trust me,” said Ginny, and she didn’t cry, but she looked alarmingly close to it. “Neither does Dad. I think even Ron doesn’t.” Her face was starkingly pale in contrast with her bright hair, and she looked so small in the darkening light. “A lot of stuff happened last summer… I know, even though they wouldn’t tell me exactly what. Everyone kept getting letters.”

Harry thought about his promise to Mad Eye Moody on the Hogwarts Express platform last June, how his friends had pretty much forced Uncle Vernon into allowing him to write them all as often as he wished. Harry had fulfilled the promise with relish, writing at least every other day. It had kept him sane while he sat in the dark of his room in number 4 Privet drive, isolated from the Wizarding world that he so deeply longed to be a part of. It was horrible not knowing what was going on.

“You wrote to everyone,” Ginny continued quietly, interrupting his thoughts. “You even wrote to Bill.”

But not to her, he realised, six months too late. Not a single one.

“Ginny,” Harry said, stricken. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“-No, I understand,” she said, cutting him off and giving him a small smile. There was a genuine spark of hurt in her eyes, however, which Harry couldn’t ignore. “Besides, it’s not like I wrote you. I… it just would have been nice to hear from you, that’s all.”

“Sorry.”

Ginny shook her head. “It’s not like you did anything wrong. You never promised to write.”

Actually, Harry had thought of writing Ginny a letter that past summer, to thank her for the present she’d sent him for his birthday. He hadn’t expected one, to be honest, and moreover, it was a great gift — a magic watch on a chain that told him not only the time, but the temperature, altitude, and his current location. Harry kept it in a box in his trunk because he felt it was too special for everyday use. Ginny had said in her card that she’d found it in a junk shop in Diagon Alley and that she’d thought he’d like it. Harry had fully intended to owl her, but he hadn’t been able to think of what to write. In the end, he’d simply passed on his thanks as a postscript in a letter to Ron. It hadn’t occurred to Harry that he would have hurt her feelings that way.

“I’ll write you everyday this summer,” Harry promised hastily, without thinking. Oh bloody hell, he thought, going red at the surprised expression on her face, and mentally slapping himself. He’d just wanted to make up for it somehow, and he’d said the first thing that had come to mind. Face flushing, Harry quickly added, “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Ginny blinked. Then she laughed out loud. “Well, that’s a little excessive, don’t you think?” she said teasingly and much to his relief her eyes lost that sad, quiet look. “I might not even have the time to answer them all.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair awkwardly. “I just thought I’d make up for it… but if you don’t want me to, then I won’t…”

Her lips twitched. “… Every other day is fine.”

They looked at each other for a moment, before bursting into identical, wide smiles. A wave of relief washed over Harry. She seemed to be happy again.

He scratched his neck, wanting to say something, but not sure what to say. In the end, his curiousity got the better of him, and he asked, timidly, “You don’t still think I’m a stupid git, do you?”

A tiny, almost microscopic smile — Harry wasn’t even sure it was there, but he thought it might be — played on the corners of her mouth.

“I suppose you’re not,” she said slowly. “Not all the time, anyway. You still are sometimes.”

Harry sighed inwardly. “Fine. I can live with that.”

“I think I can, too,” she said, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Stop looking so dismal.”

“I try,” he said softly. He blinked. He hadn’t meant to sound so melancholy, but the damage was done — Ginny was looking at him intently, studying his face as though she expected him to morph into something else right before her eyes. He coughed weakly, trying to cover up his small foray into the realm of thoughts he generally kept secret from the rest of the world. Most of the time he managed it — occasionally, Ron, or Hermione caught him at it, but they never spoke of it.

“It’s tiring, isn’t it?” she asked softly, tucking her hair behind her ear with a mittened hand.

“What?”

“Being Harry Potter.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “It is, sometimes.” She lifted an eyebrow, and he felt a small, wry smile pass over his lips. “Mostly.”

“At least you’re not alone,” she pointed out. “You’ve got friends to help you.”

Harry nodded, but deep inside, he thought that maybe there were things in store for him that he would have to face alone, without friends. The words of the prophecy filled his mind briefly. He shuddered involuntarily, and he hoped that Ginny would think it was just the chilly wind that had started blowing down the street.

“Give the rest of us a chance, too,” she chided softly. “You did say you trust us.”

Harry nodded again, not knowing what else to do. “I know.”

“It’s like Quidditch,” she said, tapping the edge of the bench with her mittened hands idly. “You might be our star seeker — but you can’t play by yourself, can you?”

“No,” he said, amused by her analogy, “I need you to score a few times, too.”

Ginny’s lips curved upwards and she gave a firm nod. “And if you can’t play — for any reason at all — I’m here. I’m your reserve. I’ll back you up no matter what happens.”

Harry felt an unexpected burst of warmth in his stomach. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So you needn’t worry.”

She smiled at him, and he could see that she was being completely serious despite the lightness of her tone. Harry felt a stirring of emotions that he’d managed to avoid for a while now — including a sense of gratefulness, another thing that he hadn’t expected.

Ginny held up her hand, leaning her head to a side to look at him. He lifted an eyebrow ever-so-slightly at her snowy mitten.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We are friends, after all.”

He placed his hand in hers. “Friends who need to help each other walk.”

Ginny laughed. “Stand.”

Harry got to his feet and helped her up. She paused, wobbling, and let go of him. He watched as she peeled her mitten off, and offered him her bare hand.

“It doesn’t feel fair,” she said, grinning. “You’re not wearing gloves.”

He grinned and took her hand again, this time feeling the warmth of her palm melting away the snow that her mitten had left behind on his fingers.

“Much better,” he said.

“Merlin, Harry, your hands are cold!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, shrugging and feeling a stab of awkwardness as Ginny took off her other glove and wrapped her fingers around his hands, trying to warm them up. He tried to shake it off. She was just being nice — and they were friends. In fact, if he were honest with himself, it felt nice to have someone hold his hands this way.

Ginny looked up at him curiously and shifted position so that they faced each other. The third unexpected thing happened then. Ginny released one of his hands, leaving the other clasped in her right, reached her free arm around him, stood on her toes, and planted a brief, light kiss on his cheek.

Harry was considerably taken aback when she pulled away and dropped her arm to her side. He lifted his hand to touch his face where she had kissed him, puzzled.

Ginny was biting back a smile from the dazed expression he wore, her eyes dancing. “Thanks,” she said simply.

“What for?”

“For helping me get my footing.” She lifted their hands, still clasped together.

Harry smiled. “That’s what friends are for, I’m told.”

***

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