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SIYE Time:18:00 on 28th March 2024
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A Time for Healing
By Arnel

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:None
Genres: Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 211
Summary: In the early summer of 2005 Ginny Weasley watches a lone figure walk past her window. She sets a bouquet of flowers on her window sill. Will the young man she’s set them out for understand what she’s saying with flowers?
Hitcount: Story Total: 30364; Chapter Total: 1672
Awards: View Trophy Room






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The next few months were pure bliss for Ginny. She loved working with her patients at the hospital and thought it quite special that Harry continued to walk her to and from her Underground stop, no matter what the weather was like. Her days off were mostly spent with Harry, but she occasionally went to Devon to visit her parents. It was during one of these visits that her mother posed a question that Ginny hadn’t anticipated.

“When are we going to meet Harry?” her mother asked one Friday early in December.

“Er, I hadn’t thought to ask him if he’d like to meet you,” she replied truthfully.

“Well, it would be nice to meet the man who has captured your attention,” her mother commented.

“I suppose I could bring him out,” she hedged, “but part of the magic of coming here is being with the animals and the path to the barn isn’t the smoothest.”

“Ginny, you’re stalling. Get here while there’s still plenty of light and he shouldn’t have trouble walking to the barn.”

“Is it really so important that you meet him?”

“Yes. He makes you happy and I’d like to meet the man who makes my daughter happy. Don’t you want us to meet him?”

“I do want you to meet him, Mum, but I don’t want to jinx the relationship.”

“Are you afraid this one will turn out like the one with Michael?”

“Yes,” Ginny nearly whispered.

“Darling, if he’s as wonderful as you say he is, meeting us won’t jinx your relationship.”

Ginny sighed. “All right, you win. When would you like to meet him?”

“Bring him down the next time you have a day off.”

“That soon? He might have plans for next Wednesday.”

“Yes. That soon,” her mother said emphatically.

“All right, I’ll ask him.”

It turned out that Harry really did want to meet her parents, so on the first Wednesday of the month, she picked Harry up and they drove out to the farm.

“Welcome, Harry!” her mother called as Ginny led him into the kitchen.

Ginny made the introductions and her father offered Harry a beer.

“I don’t drink, sir. I’m still taking medicine that shouldn’t be mixed with alcohol,” Harry said.

“Then let’s go out to the barn before we lose the light,” her father said, handing Harry a pair of Wellies.

They spent nearly an hour in the barn while Ginny and her mother prepared their meal. It was nice getting to do something she hadn’t done in a long time, but as the time lengthened from fifteen minutes to a half hour, she began watching the clock surreptitiously.

“Ginny, they’ll be back when they’re good and ready,” her mother commented.

“What could they be talking about?” Ginny wondered.

“Whatever men talk about, dear. Engines, military service, farming,” her mother supplied kindly. “There’s something special about your young man that I’m sure you father sees that he didn’t see in Michael or your other boyfriends.”

“I’ll take it as a sign that Dad likes Harry,” Ginny said and went back to cutting up carrots for the stew they were making.

When they finally reappeared, both men were smiling. A look passed between her parents and Ginny saw her father wink… whatever that meant.

She sidled up to Harry who had remained by the door to take off his Wellies. “Did you meet Margie the Murder Chicken?” she asked, trying hard to keep a straight face.

Harry nodded sagely. “I did,” he said. “She’s quite fearsome, don’t you agree?”

Ginny tilted her head to the side. “Nope, I think she’s a pussycat,” she countered.

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.

“She’s just a sweet chicken and a very good layer,” Ginny said.

“Then how did she get her name?” he asked, shoving his feet back into his trainers.

“Oh, she’s quite aggressive if you’re a sick chicken. Then she goes in for the kill,” Ginny said, prudently. “She’ll peck you and pull out your feathers and help you die if the farmer doesn’t isolate you. Margie definitely rules the roost around here.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Erm, that sounds like Vol– like someone I used to know,” he said, looking uncomfortable. He gently touched his abdomen and breathed in deeply.

Ginny eyed him thoughtfully. “That’s the second time in a couple of weeks you nearly said that name. Is that the name of the bloke who hurt you?” she asked, her hand automatically beginning to rub circles on Harry’s back. When he nodded, she continued, “I’m here any time you need to talk. You know that, right?”

Harry smiled at her. “I do,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “I get stuck in my head sometimes. It helps when I can talk about things.”

“Good,” Ginny told him, smiling and watching him relax. “I also know a good cure is a full stomach, even if you can’t eat much at first. Mum and I made enough food for a small army while you and Dad were in the barn. Let’s go eat!”

Harry followed her to the table that was groaning under the many dishes set along its length. The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and good food and when it was time to go, Ginny watched as Harry accepted a hug from her mother and hugged her back.

*

Several days later, Ginny made the trek to Devon, this time to put flowers on Fred’s grave for the first anniversary of his death. When she arrived at the graveyard, someone else was standing before her brother’s headstone.

“George?” she asked quietly.

He turned to face her and she saw the tear tracks on his cheeks. Immediately, she put her flowers in front of the grave and embraced her brother.

“Oh, George, are you all right?” she asked.

“About as good as I can be under the circumstances,” he said, sniffing. Ginny gave him a tissue. “I can’t believe he’s been gone a whole year.”

“That makes two of us,” she said, thinking about all the changes in her life in the last twelve months.

They stood holding each other for a long time, gazing at the tombstone. Finally, George asked, “Do you remember the time Fred put pepper in Percy’s underwear drawer?”

Ginny smiled. “I sure do. He couldn’t stop sneezing for a week because Fred had put so much of it in there. Mum finally just hauled off and washed everything, plus the inside of the drawer. I don’t recall who was madder: Mum or Percy.”

“Doesn’t matter because Fred couldn’t keep a straight face for very long. How old were we? Ten?”

“At least because that would have made me seven and I definitely remember getting to watch Fred muck out the barn by himself. Remember he slipped and got some dung in his hair?”

“I think the stink was the worst part of that whole prank,” George chuckled. “Nobody would sit next to Fred until Mum found a shampoo strong enough to mask the smell.”

They stayed a few more minutes, reminiscing. When they parted, Ginny knew George was feeling happier than when she’d found him.

*

It snowed on twenty-third December. Ginny planned to drive out to the farm the next day, and she hoped the roads wouldn’t be too slippery. She would need to allow lots of extra time to negotiate the narrow, winding country road that led to her parents’ farm.

Christmas Eve morning dawned bright and clear, the complete opposite from the day before. Ginny was up before the sun wrapping last minute gifts and boxing up her contribution to the family feast. A few minutes before she was due to leave, she carted everything out to her car and stowed it in the boot. A particularly large box designated for George’s tiny son wouldn’t fit, so she secured it in the back seat. As she went back inside to lock up her flat, she wondered if her brothers would open the box and put the activity jumper together without looking at the instructions. It would almost be more fun to watch her brothers trying not to swear in front of the children than watch the children play with their new toys, she mused.

The drive to Devon went smoothly while she traversed the major motorways. However, the last two miles of back roads leading to the farm were still snow-covered and she almost called ahead to see if one of her brothers would come pick her up. In the end, she arrived with white knuckles, having narrowly avoided running into a tree as she slid into the yard and parked next to an unfamiliar Range Rover. She thought it might be Charlie’s. It would be good to see him again.

“Who does the Range Rover belong to?” she asked as she walked into the kitchen.

A chorus of “Happy Christmas, Ginny” greeted her from every corner of the room except for the high-pitched nasal voice that called out, “It’s mine.”

Ginny followed the voice and discovered a very blond, heavily made-up woman sitting at the kitchen table. Sitting next to her, surrounded by crumbs, was Ron. Ginny’s good mood evaporated faster than liquid nitrogen.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Ron a bit more aggressively than she should have.

“I was just about to ask you the same question,” he said, standing up. He towered over Ginny, but instead of feeling intimidated, she stood her ground.

“I was under the impression that Christmas Eve was my time with our family and yours was tomorrow, since Mum was the one who invited me,” she said.

“Well, she invited me, too,” Ron blustered.

“Well, you should check your calendar before you come home!” Ginny huffed. “Other people might have reserved the right to be here before you.” She turned to her nearest brother. “Percy, would you help me bring the presents and food from my car, please? There’s a box in the back seat that needs to find a place beneath the Christmas tree and it’s almost too big for me to lift.”

Percy looked pleased at having something to do. “Lead the way,” he said quickly, relieving Ginny of the tin of biscuits she was carrying and setting it on the table.

“I’m coming, too,” George volunteered, grabbing his coat from the pegs near the back door and following Ginny out to her car.

As soon as they were outside, Percy began complaining, which surprized Ginny. “Can you believe that woman Ron’s brought home? I’ve seen some airheads in my time with the Prime Minister, but this one takes blond bimbo to the extreme!”

“What’s her name?” Ginny asked. “We didn’t get to the introductions.”

“Her name’s Patti, ‘Patti with an I,’” Percy mimicking the woman in question perfectly. Ginny giggled.

“She and Ron sent out joint Christmas cards about a week ago and she signs her name with a heart over the I,” remarked George. “Makes me want to gag.”

“What’s he trying to do, alienate the lot of us?” Ginny asked while opening the boot to her car.

“I think so,” Percy said. He hefted a cooler from the boot and set it on the ground. “Even Mum’s a bit ticked off and Patti’s been here less than an hour.”

“Come on, you two. If Mum’s going to say something, I don’t want to miss the start of the fireworks,” George sniggered. He pulled the big box out of the back seat and looked pleased when he discovered his son’s name on the label.

“Did Ron say why he came a day early?” Ginny asked as they trudged back toward the house.

“Not really,” Percy said. “He walked in the door about nine, introduced the girlfriend, put some packages under the tree, sat down at the table, and asked what was for breakfast.”

George laughed, “Those of us who came last night were up in time to help Dad with the milking and feeding the animals, so we’d eaten breakfast long before he showed up. Mum handed him a loaf of bread and some butter and told him to make his own toast!”

“Good for her,” Ginny snickered as she pushed open the door.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was definitely tense and Ginny felt like she was walking into a conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear. She found it easier to ignore the situation than inquire about it; she instead directed George to put the big box in the sitting room and told Percy to put her cooler in the scullery. As she hurried past the table following George, she heard Ron say to Patti, “Don’t eat anything Ginny brought. It’s probably poisoned.”

Ginny couldn’t get out of the kitchen fast enough and she spent a little longer than necessary arranging her packages under the Christmas tree.

“Ginny, dear, would you come help me?” her mother called.

“Sure thing, Mum,” Ginny answered and went back into the kitchen. It was empty except for her brothers’ wives. “Have they all gone out to the barn?”

George’s wife, Charlotte, answered, “Yes, they took the kids to see the alpacas. Your brothers frog marched Ron out there when he wouldn’t get up from the table. I’ve never seen anyone who is as stubborn as he is.”

Jeannine, Bill’s wife, giggled, “Tory and Liam thought it was a game and helped push Ron out the door!”

“Ron always was one to need a bit more prodding than my other children when it’s time to do something he doesn’t want to do,” Ginny’s mother told them.

“He’s not lazy,” Patti’s nasal voice butted into the conversation. “No one seems to see how much he does at the office, especially his family.”

Ginny counted noses, multiplied by two for spouses, added the number of children needing chairs at the table and began counting out silverware and plates to keep her temper from boiling over. She deliberately turned her back on the woman and went to get the boxes of Christmas Crackers from their hiding place in the scullery. Her mother had been hiding the boxes on the same high shelf for as long as Ginny could remember. She handed them to Patti.

“Put a cracker on each plate,” she instructed as she picked up the stack of plates and began distributing them around the table.

Her sisters-in-law joined in with the cutlery, glasses, and serviettes and soon the table looked quite festive and ready for the numerous platters that were waiting to be brought to the table.

“Patti, would you go out to the barn and call the rest of the family,” Ginny’s mother asked.

Patti looked down at the stiletto-heeled sandals she was wearing. “I can’t go out there,” she whinged, “I’ll get my shoes stuck.”

“There are Wellies by the back door, ducks,” chimed in Olivia, Charlie’s wife. “Find a pair that fits and go call the men.”

Patti scowled at Olivia, but tottered over to the pile of Wellies and primly stuck a foot into one of them, catching the heel of her sandal and nearly falling over. She found a second and scuffed over to the door, looking very much like a little girl wearing her mother’s shoes while playing dress-up. Unfortunately, the foul words issuing from her mouth ruined the image.

As the door closed behind her Percy’s wife, Mia, looked over at Ginny and said, “We’re on your side, Ginny. I heard Ron thank Patti for getting the date wrong, and that he was enjoying ruining your Christmas. None of us like her and I’m sorry your special day with the family isn’t going to be much fun.”

Ginny hugged Mia. “I can salvage the day knowing I have your support,” she said, smiling at the rest of the women gathered around her. “Now let’s help Mum get this meal on the table.”

It was elbow-to-elbow seating at the table with two extra people squeezed around it, but Ginny’s mother managed to seat everyone so that arguments might be avoided. Mainly, she put Ron and Patti next to her husband and the rest of the family filled in, with Ginny sitting out of Ron’s line of sight next to her mother.

Ginny actually enjoyed the meal. Bill’s children were old enough to carry on a lively conversation with her and she learned that Tory wanted the Bratz Rock Angel dolls while Liam was hoping to get a Power Rangers Thundersaurus Megazord. Just a few questions to each child had them extoling the merits of each toy. Percy and Mia’s daughter, Jill, wanted a Baby Annabell “that really cries” and Charlie and Olivia’s son, Damian, wanted a Tigger or a Piglet soft toy. Olivia told Ginny that Damian had seen his first Winnie-the-Pooh video and had fallen in love with the two characters.

By pudding, Ginny was convinced that Ron would keep his mouth shut, when she was proven wrong. Various platters of biscuits and Christmas sweets were being passed around the table when Ron suddenly exclaimed, “Spit that out! It’s poisoned! Ginny made those!”

Conversations all along the table came to a screeching halt. Heads swivelled between the two siblings as Ginny leaned over her plate to see Ron’s end of the table.

“Why would I want to poison our family?” she asked, barely keeping her temper in check.

“You killed Fred,” Ron shot back. “Why not the rest of us?”

“I did no such thing, Ronald Weasley! Cancer killed Fred!” Ginny snarled.

“It did not! You did!” Ron yelled, standing up so fast his chair fell over. “You altered his medicines or poisoned him somehow!”

It was taking all Ginny’s resolve not to jump up and get in his face as well, but she tamped down on the instinct and fought to remain calm and succinct. “Where’s your proof? Show me the evidence that backs up your accusations.”

“It’s all at the hospital in those charts hung on the end of the patients’ beds.”

Ginny laughed derisively. “Ron, you’ve been watching too many television programs. The charts aren’t hung on patients’ beds any more. It’s done mostly electronically these days,” she chortled, but the sound was anything but happy.

“Computer records can still be altered,” Ron growled. Looking slightly deranged. Ginny knew her lack of venom was unnerving him.

“Yes, they can, but it’s considerably harder than taking an eraser and rubbing out a word or symbol and writing something else in,” Ginny countered. She was vaguely aware of Jeannine, Mia, and Olivia quietly leading their children out of the kitchen. She was glad they were because this argument wasn’t something children should hear. George’s son began to cry, so Charlotte took him out, too.

“The evidence doesn’t need to be written down,” Ron snarled, bringing Ginny’s attention back to himself. “Fred didn’t react like Fred that night. He acted like he was drugged.”

“Of course, he didn’t act like himself, you idiot, he was drugged!” Ginny shot back, beginning to lose her carefully measured control. She finally stood up and stalked towards her brother. “He’d been given morphine and other meds to ease his pain and make his last hours a little more comfortable. His body was shutting itself down in preparation for death. I doubt he knew who was with him when he died. The cancer had taken over his body.” This last came out as a sob, and Ginny wanted to flee the room to gather herself together, but she knew leaving would just cement Ron’s convictions that he was right, so she stood there with tears coursing silently down her cheeks.

“If that’s true, then why did Fred will you so much more money than he did the rest of us?” Ron yelled, swinging his arms wildly.

“Oh, that’s rich! You’re jealous of the time I spent with Fred!” Ginny spat, matching his animosity. “You can’t stand the fact that Fred knew I understood what he was going through and was willing to spend whatever time I could with him. He said thank you the only way he could, he did that for every one of his brothers who could came to visit.

“You, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered to visit him. Where were you when he lost his hair? Where were you when he was vomiting so horribly from the chemo that his doctor thought he was going to lose Fred because the anti-nausea meds weren’t working? Where were you when Fred begged to be taken off life support and just allowed to die? You weren’t there! Your job search and new girlfriend were too important for you to make time to visit your dying brother. All you had to do was take a measly hour or two out of your day to spend a few minutes with him, letting him know he mattered to you. All of our other brothers did! But you didn’t come to his bedside until it was too late. You disgust me, Ronald Weasley.”

“So maybe I am jealous, but I got you in the end. Those comments I made got you in trouble and made everyone see what you did,” Ron crowed. “You had to leave the hospital, fitting punishment for someone who stole my brother’s life.”

Their father pounded the end of the table with his fist, making the china and silver jump. “Ronald Thaddeus Weasley, you will stop right now. This is not the time to air the family’s dirty laundry, especially if you insist on falsely accusing Ginny of something she didn’t do. If you don’t apologize to your sister right now, you need to leave. You are not welcome to come back for our family celebrations for the rest of the year. You’ve done enough damage.”

Ron gestured wildly towards Ginny. “What about Ginny?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you throwing her out? She yelled just as much as me.”

Their father folded his arms, his best “disappointed father” expression on his face. “Ronald, your sister was defending herself from your accusations. I suggest you leave before you do any more damage.”

Ron sputtered, gesturing wildly between his father and Ginny as if he couldn’t believe their father would choose Ginny over him, then looked down at his girlfriend. “Come on, Patti. I’m not staying one more minute in the same room as my money-grubbing, brother-killing sister,” he said, backing away from the table. Patti stood and grabbed a plate of store-bought biscuits that nobody had touched. Two minutes later, Ron carried her down the steps of the house and out towards the Range Rover. Bill shut the kitchen door firmly behind them.

“You didn’t deserve that,” Ginny’s mother said as she hugged her daughter.

“Thanks, Mum,” Ginny whispered, still horribly upset, though her tears had dried. Ron wasn’t worth crying over.

“Will you stay for presents?”

Ginny pulled back. “I don’t think so. I’m not feeling very festive anymore.”

“All right,” her mother said. “George, Charlie, please gather your sister’s presents and take them out to her car. Bill, will you drive your sister out to the motorway, please? Percy, will you follow them and bring Bill back?”

All four of Ginny’s brothers grabbed their coats and Ginny said to her mother, “I’ll pick up the cooler and empty platters the next time I’m here. Thank you for trying to give me a pleasant family Christmas.”

She made the rounds of her sisters-in-law and gave Tory, Liam, Jill, and Damian an extra hug.

“Auntie Ginny, why aren’t you staying? You’re going to miss presents,” Tory said as Ginny put on her coat.

Ginny sighed. “I don’t feel like opening presents now, Tory. My argument with Uncle Ron has made me unhappy and I just want to go back to London right now,” she told her honestly. She paused, wanting Tory to understand that she was sad to be leaving the farm. “Tell you what… when I’m feeling better can I come to your house? We could play anything you want, all right? We can even pretend it’s Christmas.”

Tory smiled. “That will be fun,” she said as she threw her arms around Ginny’s neck one more time.

*

Harry was just thinking about turning in for the night after spending a quiet evening at home with Hermione–who would be going to Anthony’s to celebrate Hanukah rather than Christmas with the Goldsteins–when his doorbell rang several times in a row. Grabbing his dressing gown, he descended the stairs as fast as he could.

“Ginny, I thought you’d be at the farm,” he said as he threw open the door and she literally tumbled into his arms.

“I had a fight with Ron after dinner. We both said some really ugly things,” she sobbed into his neck. “I just had to get out of there, but I didn’t want to go home. Was it all right to come here? I still felt the urge to leave.”

Harry held her tightly. “Oh, Ginny, it’s absolutely all right,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Let’s go up to the library. We’ll be more comfortable up there.”

Ginny pulled back with a sigh. “All right,” she sniffed. She hung her coat up on the coat tree and followed him up the stairs.

As he passed the portraits hanging on the wall, he whispered, “Freeze,” to each one. Sirius Black, his parents, and Remus and Tonks Lupin all froze in place. Professor McGonagall vacated her portrait for her portrait at Hogwarts, leaving a pleasant landscape in her place.

“I don’t remember seeing these portraits the last time I was here,” Ginny remarked as they passed the painted faces.

Harry turned to look down at her. “I put them up last week. Two of them needed new frames, and they were at the framer’s when you were here a couple of weeks ago,” he fibbed. In reality, he had taken them down and stored them in Sirius’ childhood bedroom that weekend.

At the first floor landing, he stopped and waited for Ginny to catch up, since she had taken her time looking at each one on her way up. As her foot touched the top step, Harry saw his father sneeze and his mother slap her hand over his mouth. The sound was faint, but in the quiet house, Ginny heard it and turned back. Harry hoped she hadn’t seen his parents move.

“Harry, did the middle portrait just sneeze?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The house creaks like that sometimes.”

“Weird,” Ginny mumbled as she turned back.

Harry lit the oil lamps sitting on his desk and a couple of end tables. The soft glow from the lamps gave the room an old fashioned, romantic feel. “Do you want some cognac?” he asked as he put the Muggle matches back in their place. “You know I can’t have any, but there’s no reason why you can’t enjoy it.”

Ginny sat down on the sofa and considered his offer with her head cocked to one side. “You know, that might just help me unwind,” she said. “I’ve had over three hours to stew over my argument with Ron and it’s time to banish him from my thoughts. So, yes, please.”

Harry walked over to one of the cabinets and reached behind a short stack of books. The bottle was nearly full, and it was a bit dusty, having sat in Sirius’ pantry since he’d put it there the summer Harry first came to Grimmauld Place ten years ago. He showed it to Ginny.

“My godfather had this in his collection ten years ago. I don’t think he liked it.”

“Hennesy XO? Harry, this stuff’s really expensive.”

The only other liquor in the cabinet was a bottle of cheap Firewhisky, which Harry refused to let Ginny drink. “It’s either this or tea,” he said.

“I’ll take the cognac,” she said decidedly.

Harry smiled at her, poured a small amount into a crystal snifter and brought the bottle and the glass back to the sofa with him.

Ginny swirled the dark brown liquid in both hands, warming it, before taking her first sip. “Oh, my, that’s good!” she said appreciatively as she settled against the back of the sofa. Harry sat down next to her and put an arm over her shoulders.

“Tell me about what happened at the farm,” he said.

Ginny’s story made Harry want to hex Ron to kingdom come. “The horrible thing about this whole argument is that it’s ruined Christmas Eve for all the rest of my family,” she concluded. “I mean, Mum was all set to have me stay overnight and leave after we opened our stocking gifts, about six o’clock tomorrow morning. The two of us could have stayed up late and had a good mother/daughter conversation like we used to. Ron was supposed to arrive about ten so there would have been no overlap. Now, Dad’s banished Ron from the family festivities for the rest of the year and I won’t get to watch my brothers put together my gift for George’s little boy.”

“I’m sorry Ron ruined your time with your family,” Harry said.

“It was going to happen sometime. I just wish it would have been a non-holiday dinner,” Ginny sighed.

Harry grinned. “Now who’s the one talking about wishes?” he asked.

Ginny gave him a wan smile. “I deserve that,” she said and drained her glass. Harry picked up the bottle of cognac, but she shook her head. “I need to get home before this lovely liquor goes straight to my head.”

“I don’t think you can go home,” Harry said. “It was snowing pretty hard when you arrived and by now your car will have been snowed in for the night. Please stay.”

Ginny walked over to the window that overlooked the back garden. After a long moment she said, “I’ll stay.”

Harry suddenly realized that the only fully assembled beds in the house were in his, and Regulus and Sirius’ old rooms. With all the magical items in those rooms, it wouldn’t do to let her sleep in them.

“Er, Ginny, the only bed in the house that can be slept in is mine,” he told her, feeling his face heat up.

Ginny came back to the sofa and caressed his cheek. “Having someone hold me tonight is just what I need,” she whispered. “Should I go out and get my case?”

“I have an extra pyjama shirt you can borrow,” Harry hinted.

Ginny yawned. “I like that idea,” she said.

It took only a few minutes to get themselves sorted, the oil lamps extinguished and some suitable sleepwear found for Ginny. As the grandfather clock in the drawing room chimed midnight, Harry held open the covers of his bed, inviting Ginny to snuggle against him.

“Happy Christmas, Ginny,” he whispered in her ear.

“Happy Christmas, Harry, good night,” she murmured back.

The last thing to cross Harry’s mind was how nice it was to hold his girlfriend as he fell asleep.


___________________________ _____________


A/N: Margie the Murder Chicken comes from one of my favourite YouTube channels, Gold Shaw Farm (the May 25, 2020 episode), where many of the ducks, geese (the gander is named Justin Finch-Fletchley), chickens, and even the dog have been given Harry Potter names. This is a real farm in Vermont, USA and much of my inspiration for Arthur and Molly’s farm has been taken from the videos posted twice weekly.


The arguments in this chapter were very hard for me to write because I would rather write romance than angst, so many thanks to Melindaleo and Cackling Stump for their suggestions, encouragement and patience with my many rewrites. I also thank Mutt ‘n Feathers and Brennus for their continued willingness to edit this story.
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