The sun doesn’t come out once during the entire journey back to Hogwarts. Ginny thinks that’s quite fitting, all things considered. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed being with her family, and leaving them now to go back to school leaves her with an empty feeling with her chest. Luna and Hermione are next to her in the carriage of the train, talking about the latest issue of the Quibbler, but she can’t bring herself to pay attention, not really.

It’s not about Harry. Well. It’s not just about Harry. She misses being home. Before the Christmas holidays, she’d been dreading going home in the back of her mind, with nothing to distract her from a potentially very emotional family, but now going back to school, being far away from Mum and Dad and Harry and Ron and George and all her brothers… she doesn’t know how she’ll get through it.

“Are you alright?” Luna asks her suddenly, forcing her attention back to the present.

“Yeah,” she says automatically and sits up, runs a hand through her hair and pushes it off her shoulder. She can’t seem to sit still or settle down.

“You look as though you’re quite sad,” Luna says, in her matter-of-fact way.

Ginny doesn’t know what to say to that. And then she figures that she might as well be honest. “I don’t know,” she says. Opposite her, Hermione leans forward, and furrows her brow in concentration. “I think… I’m just not looking forward to going back, is all,” Ginny finally says. It sounds quite stupid, said out loud.

To their credit, neither Hermione or Luna say that, although Hermione looks quite confused. “I thought you wanted to go back,” she says. “You said you missed playing Quidditch on a real pitch, and you wanted to implement those strategies you were talking about with Ron, the Wonky Feint or whatever it was–”

Ginny bites back a smile. “The Wronksi Feint?” she says.

“Yes, that one,” Hermione says. “Isn’t it good we’re going back?”

“I guess so,” Ginny says, but the heaviness in her chest remains. She is looking forward to Quidditch, but… “I think I’ll just miss home, too.”

“I know what you mean,” Luna says, surprisingly. “I think I’ll quite miss Daddy as well. I won’t be able to visit him as often from Hogwarts.”

“How is he doing, anyway?” Hermione asks gently. Both her and Ginny, along with Ron and Harry, had offered to accompany Luna to St. Mungo’s once she was allowed to go visit Xenophilius, but Luna had politely declined their repeated offers.

“He’s better, I think. He’s happy to be going back home soon,” Luna says, a bright smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“When does he go home?” asks Hermione.

“On Tuesday,” reports Luna.

Ginny rests her head against the window, letting the slow rattling of the train and the voices of Hermione and Luna settle her down. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them what seems like five minutes later, it’s nearly dark outside and Hermione’s looking at her reproachfully and telling her to change into her robes.

Back to school, then. Great.

*

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall says, surveying her over the desk. “I’m sure you know why I called you to my office to speak to you.”

“Er…” Ginny wonders whether to lie or not. She’s got a pile of Transfiguration homework she hasn’t done yet. It’s only two weeks into term, and she’s already far enough behind that she feels several years older than she had when she first got back to Hogwarts at the end of the Christmas holiday. “I promise I’ll make up for it tomorrow?” she says.

McGonagall looks confused for a second, and then gives Ginny a smile. “Ah. I’m not speaking of your homework–although, now that I mention it, you really should get a move on. NEWTs are a few short months’ time…”

Ginny suppresses a sigh. Hermione and McGonagall are kindred spirits when it comes to this sort of thing.

“But that isn’t what I wanted to discuss,” McGonagall says.

“Oh. Then, er. What is it, Professor?” Ginny says, and sits up in her chair. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Miss Weasley. Everything is alright,” McGonagall says, not unkindly. “As you know, the first match of the term is coming up next weekend.”

Ginny nods. “I remember. The first weekend of February.” Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Should be fun. She’s looking forward to seeing the look on Malfoy’s face when she wins. And all of the Slytherins, really.

“Yes, precisely,” McGonagall says. She hesitates for a moment, and that captures Ginny’s attention immediately. “Do you recall, prior to the Christmas holidays, my informing you that a few talent scouts from the Quidditch League might be in attendance at the first match of the term?”

If McGonagall didn’t have her full attention immediately, then she definitely does now. “Of course, yeah,” she says, and can’t resist adding, “think I’d be a bit mental to forgot that, Professor.”

McGonagall doesn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “Well. I have just gotten word today that they will not be the only ones attending.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asks.

“Oliver Wood, from Puddlemere United, will be in attendance. As will…” McGonagall pauses. Ginny thinks that she has quite the flair for dramatic pause. “Gwenog Jones.”

Ginny stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the wooden floors, and moves her hands to cover her mouth and muffle her gasp. She feels as if all the breath’s left her at once. “The Gwenog Jones?” she whispers. “Captain of the Holyhead Harpies? The best Quidditch player in England?”

“The very same, yes,” McGonagall says. Ginny can’t help but think that she’s enjoying this. “She’s keeping a keen eye out on any promising female students. I do not wish to add to the pressure, but…”

“But the pressure’s on,” Ginny says. “Isn’t it?”

McGonagall nods gravely. “It is, yes. With that being said, I do think it would be alright if you don’t make up for the Transfiguration homework you’ve missed this week until after the match. I do believe you have a lot to get on with, don’t you?”

Ginny wants to hug her. “Yes, Professor. Thanks for telling me,” she says. She’s trying her best to be calm, but she can’t compose herself. Her hands are shaking, and she seems to have forgotten just how to breathe.

“Of course. And Ginny?” McGonagall adds.

Ginny looks up at McGonagall. “Yes, Professor?”

McGonagall smiles at her. “Good luck.”

*

“Are you serious?” Harry says loudly, making Ginny jump. “Gwenog Jones will be there?”

Ginny nods. She’s very glad she had thought of Muffliato before using the mirror to speak to Harry. She’s huddled up in her bed, under the duvet, one hand holding the mirror and the other holding her illuminated wand.

“That’s incredible,” Harry says. When he first answered, he looked exhausted, all dark circles and five o’clock shadow, but his eyes are bright with excitement now, and Ginny feels even more excited — and nervous — about the whole thing now.

“It is,” Ginny agrees. She still doesn’t know if she believes it, to be honest. If it had come from anyone but McGonagall, she would’ve been convinced they were playing some sort of practical joke on her.

“Do you think she’ll be hidden from everyone?” Harry wonders, bringing a hand up to scratch at his stubble absentmindedly. Ginny misses him quite terribly, wishes she could be there with him, telling him about this in person.

“I don’t think Slughorn will let that happen. Do you remember how proud he was of his friendship with her? He’ll probably force herself to stay an extra night or two so he can show her off to his Potions classes,” she says.

Harry laughs. “Wouldn’t put it past him,” he agrees.

It’s dark outside, and Ginny knows no one can hear her but Harry. She’s covered by a duvet and feels safe, and that’s what prompts her to voice what she’s been thinking ever since her visit to McGonagall’s office. “What if I fuck up?” she says. Her voice sounds odd to her own ears.

Harry’s smile fades. His expression is solemn as leans a hand forward, as if by instinct to wrap around her or reassure her or something, and then lets it fall back by his side. “You won’t,” he says instead.

“How do you know?” she says.

A slow smile spreads onto Harry’s face. “Well. You’ve been on my team before, haven’t you?” he says, in the sort of teasing tone that never fails to bring a smile onto Ginny’s face. “Would have lost the Quidditch Cup my sixth year without you.”

“Of course,” she says, “should’ve known to trust you, Captain Potter.”

“Exactly,” Harry agrees. “You won’t fuck up. Reckon you wouldn’t if you tried.”

“You were a really good captain, you know,” Ginny says, partially because it’s undeniably the truth and partially because if she lets this vein of conversation continue, then Harry will say more sweet things and she’ll want to cry, and she can’t have that.

“Takes one to know one, Captain Weasley,” Harry says easily.

Ginny chuckles. And then, because she’s been holding back on saying it for ages now, she says, “I miss you.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, I know. I miss you, too. George reckons I’ve been moping.”

“Good. It’d be very embarrassing if I was the only one,” Ginny says. “How’s George, by the way?”

Harry leans forward conspiratorially. There’s a glint in his eye that piques Ginny’s interest at once. “Well. As it turns out, it’s very quiet in the flat tonight. George is staying somewhere else. Has been quite a lot, actually.”

“Really?” Ginny says. “Wait, no. Don’t tell me. Angelina?”

Harry nods. “Definitely don’t tell him I’ve said this, but I’m glad he’s staying with her. Last week, Ron and I got in early, and we saw the both of them on the couch. Together.” He wrinkles his nose.

Ginny’s torn between feeling disgusted at the visual image that pops into her mind at Harry’s words and oddly happy for her brother.

“Would it be very hypocritical if I said I didn’t want to think about my brother doing that?” she asks.

“I kind of feel the same way, actually. It was a bit much, to see that,” Harry says.

“Merlin. Can you imagine Ron’s reaction if he knew how hypocritical we’re being?” Ginny says.

“To be fair, Ron’s never walked in on us,” Harry points out.

“Thank Merlin for that,” Ginny says. He’s already bad enough without having witnessed anything truly incriminating.

“I’ll see you this weekend,” Harry says, after a few seconds of silence. “Promise. I’ll be there.”

Ginny won’t admit it, but she feels reassured by that. Given the smile on Harry’s face, she doesn’t really need to. “Okay,” she says. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Harry says. “Besides, I’m not doing it for you, anyway. I’ve always wanted to meet Gwenog Jones,” he adds, perfectly straight-faced.

“Fuck off,” Ginny says sweetly, but she laughs as she settles into bed, all traces of nervousness abated.