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SIYE Time:19:32 on 28th March 2024
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steady as the stars
By lazyweekendmornings

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Category: Post-Hogwarts
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Genres: Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 78
Summary: The war is over and Ginny returns to school, but it isn't easy to pretend like everything is the same as before.

[sequel to 'all your fumble words']
Hitcount: Story Total: 33724; Chapter Total: 2457
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
hello everyone! i hope you've had a good week, and i hope you enjoy this chapter!




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v.

The morning of Christmas eve, Ginny wakes up to an empty bedroom. She frowns as she thinks about it, and sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with slow fists. The bed’s cold, which means Harry must’ve left a while back.

She gets to her feet, grabs her wand. “Lumos. Accio,” she adds, and an old jumper comes flying into her arms. She pulls it on over her pyjamas, shoves her feet into slippers, and makes her way downstairs, stumbling a little in her sleepiness. It’s still early morning, early enough that the sun hasn’t risen, and no one else is awake. It feels almost surreal, like nothing is real, like it’s too early for things to matter or be significant.

When she gets to the kitchen, Harry’s there. He’s sitting at the dining table. It’s still dark, he hasn’t lit his wand or anything, and Ginny can tell he’s awake by how straight his back is. He’s staring at something, but she isn’t sure what. When she steps closer, she can see it’s a little shard of a mirror, and she can just about make out his bright green eye, reflected in the glass.

“Hey.” She makes sure to keep her voice quiet, so she doesn’t alarm him. Even so, he jumps.

He turns to look at her, wand raised and held aloft in his hand, and his eyes are wild, almost fearful.

Slowly, she lifts her hands up in a gesture of surrender, and Harry visibly relaxes back into the chair. “M’sorry,” he mumbles.

She isn’t having any of that. “Nothing to be sorry for. Constant vigilance, Potter.”

A slow smile appears onto his face.

“What’s got you awake, anyway?” she says, and goes to sit down next to him. Harry leans over and tugs her chair closer to him. She takes his hand, laces their fingers together.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Was just… thinking. Couldn’t sleep.”

She looks up at him. His forehead’s lined with worry, and the dark circles under his eyes are, quite frankly, alarming. “Come on,” she says, as gently as she can manage. “Let’s go outside. An early morning fly always helps me.”

He thinks about it for a moment and then stands up, following Ginny out. “How angry would you be if I got you a Firebolt for Christmas?” he asks.

Ginny recognises the deflection tactic for what it is, but she answers him anyway. “Very angry. Besides, I’m gonna get one if I join a team. A Comet Two Ninety or a Firebolt or something.”

“When you join a team,” he corrects.

They’ve both made it to the orchard, but instead of going to the broom shed, she sits down right there. A layer of frost covers the grass, and there’s a cold wind in the air, but he sits next to her without another word.

“When I join a team,” she repeats.

Harry gets out his wand and mumbles something. A blanket appears out of thin air, and Ginny grabs it and wraps it around the both of them gratefully. His arm comes up, wraps around her, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be our first Christmas without Fred,” she says, very quietly. She doesn’t want to see his face, doesn’t want to read any concern for her in his eyes.

“I know,” is all he says. “And Teddy’s first Christmas without his parents.”

“Was that what you were thinking of?” she asks. “Was that why you couldn’t sleep?”

She feels, rather that sees, him shrug next to her. “My first Christmas at Hogwarts,” he starts to say, “was the first Christmas I’d ever gotten any presents. Hagrid got me–this flute, yeah. He’d whittled it himself. The Dursleys got me fifty pence–”

“How much is that?” she asks.

“About a couple sickles, maybe. Something like that,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to regard it as a big deal.

“The Dursleys gave you two sickles for your birthday?” Ginny repeats, incredulous.

“Yeah, but coming from them it’s like a thousand Galleons, innit,” Harry says dryly. “Anyway, Dumbledore gave me my dad’s Cloak then. And your mum sent me my very first Weasley jumper,” he adds, proud smile on his face.

“I remember,” Ginny says. “Ron wrote to us, a couple weeks before Christmas. Said you weren’t expecting presents. So me and Mum talked about it, and we decided that she should give you a jumper. You’re part of the family, after all.”

Harry looks at her. He has a look in his eyes she can’t quite decipher. It reminds her of how he looked when he first told her he loved her, how he looked that first night when they had sex. It’s ridiculously sappy, that look, and she would take the mickey out of anyone else who looked at her like that. “I didn’t know,” he says. “Didn’t know you were involved in that decision.”

“Well, I was,” Ginny says, and gives Harry a smile. “You know what Mum’s like, though. She’d basically decided to make you a jumper when she first saw you on the platform, Ron’s letter just sealed the deal, really.”

Harry smiles, pulls her even closer. He slips his hand under the jumper she’s wearing, under her pyjama top, rests it on her bare waist. His hand’s cold on her skin, but she doesn’t move it away.

“And then,” he continues. “Fred and George came into the room. Showed me their jumpers, too. It was great. Was the first good Christmas I had.”

Ginny’s breath hitches in her throat as he mentions Fred, but neither of them mention it. “Hopefully not the last good Christmas you had,” is all she says.

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. She’s grateful he hasn’t shaved; the feeling of his stubble against her skin serves to ground her in the moment.

“It’s my first Christmas without him,” she says after a moment. “All of our first Christmas without him. Do you think it’ll get easier?”

Someone else in Harry’s place, she thinks, would’ve offered her a meaningless platitude. You’re so strong, maybe, or of course it’ll get easier. Harry doesn’t do that. Instead, he thinks about it for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’ll get easier.”

She closes her eyes again. “He would’ve helped me,” she mumbles, “he and George, would’ve helped me get a gnome and Petrify it to be the angel on the top of the tree.”

“I know,” Harry says, sounding amused.

“I think that’s why Mum put off decorating,” she says. They had finally only gotten around to decorating yesterday, only two days before Christmas, but she could tell none of their hearts were in it. “Doesn’t feel right. Celebrating without him.”

“It’s what he would’ve wanted, though. Right?” Harry says.

“I don’t know. He would’ve wanted…” For the first time, Ginny stops to think about what Fred would’ve wanted, focuses on her brother instead of her own overwhelming grief for a second.

She stands up then, turns to look at Harry and gives him a grin. “I need your help,” she says.

“Oh?” says Harry, who’s busy with untangling the blanket that’d been wrapped around them. He gets his wand out and Vanishes it, and then gets to his feet. “Okay. What are we doing?” he says.

Ginny grins. She really does love him. “We’ve got to go wake George and Ron up,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Come on. Let’s go, we’ve got work to do.”

*

It’s very lucky that they don’t find Ron in a compromising position. Instead, he’s sprawled out on his stomach, one arm thrown around Hermione’s waist, both of them sleeping peacefully. Ginny feels almost guilty to wake them.

Almost.

“Oi,” she says, as loud as she can.

Harry looks at her and grins, and then slams the door behind him, deliberately loud. Ron starts awake. “Whazza--” he mumbles, grabbing his wand and sitting up as fast as he can. 

Hermione stirs right after him. She doesn’t sit up, but moves to rub her eyes with her fists.

“Morning, sunshines,” Ginny says brightly. “Come on, Ron. You’ve got to get dressed. We’re going out.” They don’t have time to spare; George had claimed Wizard Wheezes business and  left last night to spend the night in his own flat instead of at the Burrow - although Ginny thinks it’s likelier that being around everyone just got a bit much for him - and they’ve got to rush if they want to Apparate there before Mum or Bill or anyone wakes up.

“Wha--?” says Ron, not nearly as coherent as she would like. 

“You and me. Siblings’ outing. Let’s go,” she says.

Ron’s bleary eyes finally focus on her. “Where are we going?” he says, but Ginny’s pleased to note that he gets.

“I’ll tell you once we’re there,” Ginny says and leans up, kissing Harry’s cheek. “See you in a bit,” she tells him.

“Alright,” he agrees easily.

Ginny surveys Ron. “If you don’t meet me at the front door in five minutes, I’m waking Mum up and telling her where Hermione’s been sleeping these last couple days.”

Ron’s face pales, making his freckles stand out in sharp contrast. “Alright, alright. Blimey. I’m coming,” he mumbles. 

Ginny gives him a sweet smile, and then leaves the room. She’s feeling better than she was this morning, but she’s definitely not up to seeing  Ron and Hermione kiss. She needs a far stronger stomach before she can deal with that.

True to his word, Ron meets her at the door in five minutes, wearing an old maroon jumper and jeans. “Where are we going?” he asks again, shivering slightly as the cold December wind hits him. The sun’s rising only now, making the sky pink and orange and yellow. Ginny wishes she could be flying right now. There’s really nothing like a sunrise fly.

“Diagon Alley,” she answers him. “We’ve got to go wake George up.”

“Bloody hell. Why?”

Ginny considers. She doesn’t know how best to say it. “Well. I was talking to Harry, and… it’s our first Christmas without him.” She doesn’t say his name. She doesn’t need to. “And Harry said he would’ve wanted us to celebrate. But think about, Ron. What would he have really wanted?”

Ron thinks about it, and then a look of comprehension dawns on his face. “Right. He would’ve wanted to start some mischief.”

“Exactly,” Ginny says, grateful that he’s gotten it and she doesn’t need to explain further.

“Mum’s not going to like it, is she?” Ron says. He’s starting to grin now. 

“Oh, definitely not. But if she’s yelling at us, she can’t be crying,” Ginny reasons.

Ron holds his arm out to her. “Come on, then. I’ll Apparate us.”

Ginny takes his arm, and before he can take them to George’s, leans in and pecks his cheek. They’ll get through this, all of them. They’re not alone.

*

By the time they get back to the Burrow, it’s nearly lunch time, and Mum’s waiting for them in the doorway, arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“Before you say anything, Mum,” says George, “we were having family time. It’s very important at Christmas.”

“Very, very important,” Ginny agrees, leaning into George’s side. She truly detests the feeling of Apparition; she’s still feeling uneasy on her feet, and slightly nauseous.  He wraps his arm around her and steadies her.

“And we weren’t gone that long, anyway,” Ron adds.

“You could have left a note,” Mum says, “None of us knew where you were!”

“Harry and Hermione knew we were going out,” Ginny says. 

“Yes, but they didn’t know where,” Mum says. “In times like this--”

“Mum,” says Ginny. It comes out gentler than she intended it. “The war’s over. We went to George’s flat, and then we got some brunch.”

Mum deflates slightly. “I hope you’re still hungry,” is all she says, and steps aside to let them in. Harry and Hermione are sitting by the fireplace, talking quietly, and Ginny goes to join them, Ron following behind her.

“Just think we’re not doing enough,” Harry is saying, and he pauses to give Ginny a smile before he turns back to Hermione.

“We had the trials, and now the focus should be on moving on, enforcing stricter laws so something like this can’t happen again,” Hermione says.

“We had the trials, but we didn’t get them all, did we?” Harry says darkly.

“What do you mean?” Ginny interrupts.

Harry looks at her, hesitates. “Well, some of them escaped. I’ve been telling Robards we need to focus on rounding up the Death Eaters who are still out there, but he doesn’t seem to agree with me about what our priorities are…”

“Not that he doesn’t agree, mate,” Ron says, “it’s just hard to know where to look, isn’t it? And Robards is right, it’d worry everyone if we started patrolling all the wizarding settlements…”

“I’m not saying we patrol them or-- or send Dementors, or anything, I’m just saying--” Harry begins.

“I know,” Ron says. “Look, I’m on your side, you know that.”

“I think Robards is right, actually,” Hermione says, “it would worry everyone. The war’s only been over for less than a year, and to start getting everyone worried again…”

“But just because the war’s over doesn’t mean everything’s safe and peachy now, is it?” Ginny says.

Harry looks relieved to have someone on his side. “Exactly.”

Ron looks at Harry. “You know, you’re getting to be a lot like Moody. Watch out, I don’t think you could pull off the eye as well as he could. Or the wooden leg.”

Harry throws a wadded-up bit of parchment at Ron, and it bounces off his forehead, effectively breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere.

“Come on, it’s Christmas. We can go back to arguing with Robards after the holiday. Let’s have a game of chess,” Ron suggests.

“Who’s still on the run?” she asks Harry later, after they’ve finished eating lunch and he’s lost about four or five games to Ron. 

Harry looks around before he answers her question, probably to make sure no one else is listening in. “Well. Rodolphus Lestrange, for one,” he says quietly. “He’s the one I'm most worried about. If… if he’s planning anything, there’s no way to know.”

Ginny feels a shiver run down her spine, but she tries not to let the worry show on her face. “Right,” she says quietly.

“And his brother, too,” Harry adds. “We have no idea where they could be. What I think we need to be doing is--”

“Who wants hot chocolate?” Bill announces loudly as he walks into the room, making Ginny jump a little. Harry frowns, but then his features relax into an easy smile as he turns to look at Bill, helping himself to a mug of hot chocolate off the tray he’s holding.

Ginny takes one as well and settles back on the sofa, doing her best to focus on Christmas Eve and her family instead of letting all her worries about Death Eaters take over.

*

That evening, just before they’re about to sit down to Christmas Eve dinner, Luna shows up at their doorstep.

“Hello,” she says, when Ginny opens the door to her. “I was wondering if I could come inside?”

“Of course,” Ginny says. “Is everything alright, Luna?” 

Luna shrugs. “Daddy had to rush to St. Mungo’s. And they’re not allowing visitors. I wondered if I could stay here?” She seems to hesitate before she adds, “I didn’t much want to be alone on Christmas, you see.”

“Well, of course you can,” says Mum, who’s come up behind Luna. “What happened to your father, dear?”

“I don’t know, exactly. It’s a problem with his heart, they say,” says Luna vaguely. “He was behaving rather oddly after breakfast, and then he fainted. So I Apparated us to Mungo’s, but they wouldn’t let me in. Said they would inform me once I was allowed to visit or they had an update.”

Ginny glances at Luna. Beneath the classic Luna mask of serenity, she can tell her friend’s worried. She thinks back to her fourth year, of having to spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place while her father was at St. Mungo’s. “You can stay in my room,” she says, leaning over and grabbing Luna’s hand. “Come on. I’ll show you there, you can put your things down before dinner. You might want to watch out,” she adds in a quiet voice, once her and Luna are on the stairs and no one else can hear them, “there may or may not be something planned for after dinner.”

“Ooh, like a Christmas surprise?” Luna asks.

Ginny considers. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I love surprises,” Luna tells her seriously.

Ginny can’t bite back her grin. “Well, then you’re going to love what comes next, Luna,” she tells her friend.

*





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