In her dream, she’s flying. Not on a broomstick, not exactly. She knows she’s on a broomstick, but there’s no reassuring handle to hold on to, no sound of the wind among the bristles of the broom. She’s there. Flying on a broomstick without a broomstick, nothing to keep her safe.

It’s dark outside. She doesn’t know where she is. She doesn’t know how she got here. She’s surrounded by blackness all around, an unnatural sort of dark.

“Did you really think,” says a voice, booming the way Voldemort’s had during the Battle, “that you could escape me so easily, little girl?”

“No–no. You’re in Azkaban,” Ginny says. She thinks she says it, anyway. It’s very hard to know what she’s saying out loud. She reaches out for something, something to anchor her to reality.

“Am I? I didn’t go anywhere, you filthy blood traitor…”

The voice grows louder. Magnified with every word.

“You are…” Ginny says, unsure.

It grows cold suddenly. She shoves her hand up the sleeve of her robes, retrieves her wand from the holster attached to her wand. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. It’s not her. It’s a Dementor. It has to be. Dementors on the Quidditch pitch. Not the first time it happened.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Instead of a shimmering white Patronus, what emerges from her wand is none other than Alecto Carrow.

“No–no!”

Alecto lunges towards her, gets her hands around her neck, somehow growing larger and more all-encompassing with every second.

“I’m going to teach you what happens in my school,” she snarls.

Ginny tries to twist away, but Alecto’s hands get tighter around her, and she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe…

She awakes with a start. Her breaths are leaving her in short little pants, and she can feel her heart thumping, so loudly and so rapidly that it feels as if it’s in her throat.

She grabs her wand from beneath her pillow, sits up and runs her shaking hand through her hair. It’s all sweaty, the way it usually is after dreams like that,

“Lumos.”

Light floods the dormitory. Luckily, the others sleep through it. Which is good. She can’t handle speaking to Hermione or Parvati or any of them right now.

“It’s okay.  It’ll be okay. You’re okay,” she murmurs to herself, keeps the chant up even as she stands up. “Accio.” A set of robes come flying from her open trunk and land in her arms, along with some socks. She gets dressed as quickly as she can and walks downstairs, to the Common Room. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but she can’t fathom the thought of going back to sleep.

Besides, it’s the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor against Ravenclaw. They can do this. She can do this. She just needs to pull herself together. It’s only a nightmare.

Besides, she’s lived through worse.

*

“And Gryffindor wins!” Luna’s serene voice announces. “Three hundred and ten points to two hundred and twenty. Read the next issue of the Hogwarts Quibbler if you’d like to read the highlights, I haven’t read the full issue yet but I’m sure it’ll be delightful…”

The wind whistles in Ginny’s ears as she touches back down onto the ground. She dismounts her broom, staggering a little on her feet. They did it. First match of the season, first match she ever played as captain, and they won.

“That was incredible, Ginny!” Seamus yells as he touches down next to her. He tugs her into a hug, and is soon joined by the other members of the team.

“Don’t–don’t get too cocky. Still got loads to do,” Ginny says, but her eyes feel bright and there’s a warmth spreading through her body, down her spine, into the very tips of her feet. They’ve won. She was so worried…

She looks up at the crowds. They all blur into each other. Excited, yelling faces. Except…

She spots Harry and Ron, next to McGonagall and Hermione. They meet eyes, and even from the distance, she can see the unbelievably proud look on Harry’s face. Ron’s yelling, next to him, and he and Harry have their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Let’s go,” someone says in her ear. Dean, probably. Or Seamus. One of the Chasers, at any rate.

She feels a buzzing in her ear as she goes to the changing room. She knows she gives her team a pep talk, tells them how proud she is and how well they flew, points out room for improvement for next time, but she isn’t sure what she says. It’s the same in the shower, as well: she knows she gets clean, scrubs the mud off her, but if anyone asked her if she washed her arms or legs first, she’d have honestly no idea.

Harry’s waiting for her when she leaves the changing room. She isn’t expecting it, but there he is. In a set of green robes. A shade of green that’s an exact match to his shining eyes.

“I’m here to congratulate Captain Weasley,” he says, and Ginny feels like her entire body lights up in joy, even though that’s not really possible.

Before she can respond, Dean and Seamus step out. “Oh. Hey, Harry,” Dean says, delighted, and he and Seamus go to greet him.

“Great game, you two,” Harry says with a grin.

“Wasn’t as great as Luna’s commentary,” Seamus says.

“No, but I don’t think most things could be, really,” says Ginny.

“Oh, for sure. She’s great, isn’t she?” Dean says with a fond smile. “Will you come to the common room for the celebration, Harry?” he adds.

“I’m sure he and Gin will want some… alone time,” Seamus says, waggling his eyebrows.

Ginny flips him off, but he ignores it.

“We’ll see you both later, then,” Dean says, shaking his head. He and Seamus leave, but Ginny doesn’t make any move to follow them.

“So,” she tells Harry.

He gives her a bright smile. “That was a brilliant game, honestly. When you got that third goal…”

“I was so sure I’d fall to the ground,” says Ginny ruefully.

“But you didn’t, it was incredible. And that fakeout with the Ravenclaw Beaters, where you swerved at the last minute so the Bludgers hit each other instead of you…”

Ginny looks up at Harry as he gushes. She can feel the fondness running through her, and she feels lighter on her feet than she has in ages. Without thinking about it, she goes onto her tiptoes and kisses Harry, effectively interrupting his enthusiastic retelling of her sixth goal.

He responds immediately, pulling her closer with such intensity that she might have laughed at him if she wasn’t… otherwise occupied.

She pulls back after a moment, or possible five minutes, maybe a month or so, and looks up at him and takes him in. She talks to him every night, she saw him at Hogsmeade the other day, but she feels almost panicked about it now. He’s going back home tonight. They won’t sleep in the same bed or wake each other up tomorrow morning or kiss until their lips are sore and laugh quietly in the dead of the night…

She doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she says, “You’ve shaved.”

“Oh. Yeah. Robards reckon I look more professional this way,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“Mm. I kind of miss the beard,” she says, cupping Harry’s cheek. It’s surprisingly smooth under her hand. Unfamiliar terrain.

“I’ll grow it back, then,” he says immediately, and he laughs.

“Ginny!”

She turns around at the sound of the voice, and Ron comes up to her, grinning widely. Hermione’s following him, looking slightly breathless.

“Ron, they probably want a moment alone–” she pants.

“I gave you a five minute head start, mate, that was the deal,” Ron tells Harry, before he’s pulling Ginny into a hug. “You were great! You should’ve seen McGonagall, she was beside herself–”

“Really?” Ginny says, grinning despite herself.

“Oh, yeah. She told Flitwick she thinks Gryffindor’ll get the Cup this year. Don’t think we were meant to listen to that bit,” Harry says.

“You were really good, Ginny,” Hermione says. She, and possibly only she, knows how worried Ginny’s been about this. Ginny lets go of Ron, hugs Hermione tightly, and lets her brother, boyfriend, and best friend walk her back to the castle, laughing all the way.

*

“Have a seat, Miss Weasley,” says McGonagall. She’s sitting behind her desk, hands folded down on top of an unfurled scroll of parchment.

Ginny sits down. She takes a deep breath, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, more so she’ll have something to do with her hand than anything else, really.

McGonagall clears her throat. “So. Miss Weasley. Have you given any thought to your future? Ideally, you would have been thinking about it since your OWLs.”

Ginny hasn’t slept well all week. When she’s tired, she loses any filters she might have. And it’s that reason, and that reason alone, that has her answering as honestly as she does.

“Honestly, Professor, I’ve only been thinking about it the last few months. I spent most of last year convinced I wouldn’t have a future.”

McGonagall looks at her through her glasses. Her frown eases up, and she pushes the tin of biscuits on her desk towards Ginny. Without another word, Ginny takes them.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall says. “You have had… a very tough year. We all have. But you…” If she didn’t know better, Ginny would think McGonagall was about to cry. “We must move forwards,” she finally says. “I, too, have experienced loss. And fear. But one… one moves on, Ginny.” Ginny’s eyes go wide when she realises McGonagall’s use of her full name.

“Yeah. I guess,” Ginny says. “I… Hermione thinks I haven’t planned my future well at all.”

“Oh?” McGonagall says.

“I want to play Quidditch,” Ginny blurts out. Her cheeks warm up, but she keeps going. “I want to play Quidditch, Professor, and I know every witch and wizard says that but I really do want to. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And… and I’m willing to work hard. And do whatever it takes, but… I can’t settle. Not without giving it a go first. It doesn’t seem fair, to not even try. And I know what Hermione, and my mum, and maybe even my dad, and definitely Percy… I know what they all think. That I’m not being realistic. But… well, life can be short, and I want to try.” She’s out of breath by the time she finishes speaking. She takes a small bite of the biscuit she took out of McGonagall’s jar. She feels a bit light-headed.

When she ventures a glance up at McGonagall, she’s surprised to see that she’s smiling, with no attempt to even hide it.

“Ginny,” McGonagall says, more gently than Ginny’s ever heard it before, “I do not doubt your commitment to the game.”

“You don’t?” Ginny says.

“Of course not. I had no doubt in my mind that this would be a career option that would seem amenable to you.” McGonagall suddenly gets a look in her eye, as if she’s thinking about something very far away. “There was a time when I was very keen to play professionally. Unfortunately, an injury during my final year prevented that, but rest assured that I do not take lightly your ambition.”

“So… you think I can do it?” Ginny asks. This, all of this, seems too good to be true.

McGonagall nods briskly. “Indeed. Towards the end of the Quidditch Season, we are visited by some scouts from various teams. The Holyhead Harpies, the Tutstill Tornadoes, Puddlemere United. Is there any team in specific you lean towards?”

“The Harpies,” says Ginny immediately. She’s been supporting them for over ten years now. An all-female team that’s made it to the top of the team several times… in her (objective) opinion, they’re the absolute best.

“I see. Well, I shall put in a word with Gwenog,” McGonagall says, and gives Ginny a smile. “Their official tryouts are next year. During the Easter holidays. But it will be good if she sees you playing before that.”

She hands Ginny a stack of pamphlets, and Ginny takes them carefully.

“Thank you,” Ginny says. “So much. Professor… how come you’re not telling me to do something more realistic?”

McGonagall gives Ginny a surprisingly gentle smile. “Miss Weasley. After your first year, and what you endured last year, and what you proved capable of… I have learned not to doubt you.”

*

Hermione throws her book onto the floor. The dull thump echoes, and it gets Ginny’s attention immediately.

She looks up, raising her eyebrows at Hermione. Hermione’s sitting on a cushion on the floor of the common room, by the fireplace. She hasn’t spoken for the last half an hour, has been frowning down at her Transfiguration essay, and Ginny knows better to interrupt her when she’s like this. She’s been poring over her Charms textbook, amusing herself by making her quill levitate and do a little jig as she reads. At the sound of Hermione’s book, though, Ginny lowers her wand, and the quill floats sadly to the ground.

“What is it?” she asks Hermione.

Hermione sighs. It’s not her familiar I am stressed about academia sigh. It’s heavier, and it gets Ginny concerned immediately.

“Nothing,” Hermione says, which is even more worrying. “I just… it’s stupid.”

“Tell me anyway,” Ginny suggests. “We can’t fix it until you tell me, can we?”

It’s a gloomy November evening, and rain’s been lashing against the windows all day. Ginny thinks it’s the right weather for a heart-to-heart, all things considered.

“I suppose I just… I miss Ron,” Hermione finally says in a small voice. “I know it’s silly, but I had almost gotten used to him teasing me while I revised.”

Ginny’s suddenly reminded of an afternoon in her fourth year, where she’d shared Harry’s Easter chocolate with him, and he’d told her about missing Sirius.

“I don’t think it’s silly to miss him. He is your boyfriend, and all that,” Ginny points out. Hermione’s cheeks flush a little at the word boyfriend, the way they always do. “Besides,” Ginny adds, “you more or less spent all of last year with him, didn’t you?”

Hermione seems to hesitate for the smallest second but then says, “Yes, I did,” before Ginny can ask about it.

“Right. Exactly,” Ginny says. “Look, why don’t you just talk to him?”

“I have been,” Hermione says. “I mean, not talking, but we write each other letters, and I’ll see him during out next Hogsmeade weekend…”

Ginny looks at Hermione for a second. Takes in the dark circles under her eyes, the slightly resigned, pinched expression on her face. “There may be another way,” she says, very slowly.

Hermione widens her eyes. “If you’re suggesting the Floo, then I’ve already thought about it, but–”

“Not the Floo,” Ginny promises. “Something else.”

“What is it?” Hermione asks. She’s starting to look hopeful.

“Leave it to me,” Ginny says.

*

“Harry Potter.”

“You know,” Harry says after a brief pause, smiling amusedly at her through the mirror, “you don’t have to say my full name every time.”

Ginny disregards this. “Is Ron around?”

Harry looks a bit confused, but he nods. “No, he’s down at the shop with George. Why?”

“Hermione’s missing him. So I thought we’d let them use the mirrors for a bit,” Ginny says with a little shrug.

Harry’s lips twitch in a smirk. “Hopefully they won’t use it exactly like we did…”

Ginny chuckles. “Well. Let’s hope not. I’d never be able to look at the mirror the same way again.”

Harry laughs with her. “I’ll get him, once he’s back from the shop. He and Hermione can talk.”

“Good,” Ginny says. “She’ll probably want to talk to you, as well. In fact, I’m definitely about to be told off for not telling her about the mirrors all this time.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Harry asks.

Ginny thinks about it. Shrugs. “Don’t know,” she says. She doesn’t know how to articulate that it felt special, something that just she and Harry shared, a little channel of communication that was just theirs, that belonged to absolutely no one else. She doesn’t know how to explain it.

She thinks maybe Harry understands. “I didn’t tell Ron, either,” he says. “You don’t have to explain.”

Ginny’s heard Hermione call Harry and Ron insensitive and out of touch with their feelings more times than she can remember — although, come to think of it, maybe it’s just Ron she rants about — but she thinks sometimes that Harry’s more in touch with her feelings than she is herself. She wonders if that’s normal, wonders when she’ll feel fully herself again.

She clears her throat. She doesn’t mean to say what she does, but it just slips out anyway. “I wish you were here.”

Harry’s eyes go soft as he looks at her. “Just a few more weeks till the Christmas holidays,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, but–” Ginny pauses. Sits up, narrows her eyes at Harry. “The Christmas holidays? I thought we were meeting at Hogsmeade before that.”

Harry looks sheepish.

Ginny groans. “Don’t tell me. Top-secret Auror mission?”

“Nothing secret about it,” Harry says. “Proudfoot fucked up some paperwork, so Neville and I have been assigned to spend the next week re-interviewing all the suspects in his cases.”

“You know,” says Ginny, “sometimes I think Proudfoot personally hates me.”

“Makes two of us,” says Harry dryly. 

“Just a few more weeks till Christmas, then,” Ginny says. She can get through it. She’ll have to.

*