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Harry slowly walks down the aisle towards her, so handsome in his black dress robes, his face glowing with happiness, a mirror image of her own giddy bliss.

Even though Ginny's never had many traditionally feminine interests, she had dreamed of her wedding day as a little girl. Harry's had the starring role since she was ten, and though the amount of time spent idly daydreaming of this event has decreased as she got older, never once—not even when she was dating somebody else—did the image of her perfect groom waver. And now the day has finally come to make her long-held dream a reality.

He reaches the altar, takes her hands in his. His palms are warm and strong, his fingers gripping hers so tightly. Harry stares into her eyes, grinning so wide she knows his cheeks must ache the same way hers do. Ginny barely hears a word of the ceremony, too lost in Harry's green gaze. He's always had the most beautiful eyes.

His voice is clear and steady when he says, "I do." Ginny's is, too, and the moment they say the words and slide matching gold bands down one another's fingers, she can feel the warm rush of magic weaving around them, tying them together as Harry wraps her in his arms and kisses her soundly.

They pull apart, flushed and breathless, and their friends and family cheer. She gives her mum and dad a sheepish wave that she's not even sure they can see through their happy tears.

"I love you," she whispers in Harry's ear right before they're whisked down the aisle and towards the massive reception tent across the lawn. His response is lost in the din of the crowd, but his hand stays locked on hers, his wedding ring cool against her fingers, and Ginny's so full of happiness she could burst. She's married—to the boy of her dreams, surrounded by all the people she cares about most in the world, celebrating as she embarks on this next stage of her life, full of promise and possibility. She's just been promoted to the starting line for the Harpies, and she and Harry will soon complete on the cutest little cottage in the countryside that Ginny can't wait to settle into.

Maybe they'll get a Crup. Someday they'll have kids. Everything is perfect, made more so by the man standing at her side. The one who just promised to be there for her in sickness and health, through the highs and the lows.

Till death do us part.

Ginny listlessly sips her champagne. The sharp sting of the bubbles against her lips and tongue is pleasant in a masochistic sort of way. It's a little chilly in the Atrium where the Ministry is holding their annual Christmas party—no doubt to save on costs—and the slinky, strapless dress she shimmied her way into for tonight's event isn't exactly helping matters. She looks damn fine, if she does say so herself, and she pretty much has to—Godric knows Harry's lost the knack for complimenting her appearance these days, even when she puts in the extra effort. A part of her thinks she should be pleased that he cares so little about superficial things like that, that he's always been so much more interested in who Ginny is rather than what she looks like. But lately Ginny hasn't been able to shake the feeling that he's losing interest in that part of her as well.

She's probably overreacting. Four years has been plenty of time to move past the honeymoon phase and into the difficulties of managing a marriage. There's Harry's demanding work schedule as an Auror, and Ginny's equally hectic job playing for the Harpies, and managing a household, and questions about having kids, and… It's a lot, the behind-the-scenes nitty-gritty reality, the kind of practicalities she certainly never included in her dizzy daydreams of the future. They're just suffering from some growing pains, is all.

It doesn't help that she hates these kinds of parties and is only here at Harry's request, though Ginny has no idea why he insisted she join him when he fucked off the moment they arrived to go schmooze with his work friends, leaving her to fend for herself. She begged him to skive off—it's not like he had to go to a voluntary holiday party—and stay in with her so that they could spend some much needed one-on-one time together after suffering a few rough months where their schedules haven't aligned. But he said it was important that they make an appearance and had promised they wouldn't stay long.

Two hours later and Ginny is scowling into her empty champagne glass—her fifth? sixth?—wondering how many prawn canapés she can reasonably take from one of the circulating trays without drawing the party planner's censure. She doesn't bother looking around the Atrium, not particularly interested in making inane small talk with Ministry bureaucrats.

She's even less interested in seeing something she doesn't want to see, something that will breathe life into the absurd little suspicions lurking deep inside her.

"There you are, ready to go?"

Harry materialises at her side, looking just as dashing as he did on their wedding day in dress robes of a green so deep they're almost black. His back is broomstick straight and his shoulders are rigid with a tension that wasn't present when they had arrived. She can tell he's trying to look casual and unbothered, but she knows him too well for that—can spot the darkness lurking in his eyes, the stiffness in his clenched jaw. Something's upset him. She's not sure if she wants to know what.

"Of course, I just need to get my robes."

Harry takes her hand as they walk over to the cloakroom together, his ring a familiar presence against her fingers. It's a sensation she's grown to love, just as she still loves the feeling of his hand in hers, even if it's a less common occurrence these days. She reluctantly pulls away to grab her robes, the rush of warmth as she slides them on immediately blanketing her from the chilly room. To her delight, Harry puts an arm around her waist, linking them intimately as they walk towards the Floos. She snuggles against his side as they queue up for the few open fireplaces, looking out over the party still bustling behind them.

She feels him stiffen along with the faint inhalation of his breath. A moment later, Harry's turning towards her, brushing a tender kiss against the side of her head as he squeezes her body so tightly it's almost painful. It's a sweet moment, a casual display of affection completely at odds with the dread in her stomach as her gaze instinctively flicks in the direction Harry was just looking.

She locks eyes with Draco Malfoy, canoodling with his wife in the corner. Astoria's face is flushed and happy as she settles back into his arms and chatters about something Ginny can't hear.

Ginny closes her eyes and presses her head against Harry's chest, listening to the thump of his heart: steady, the way he was supposed to be.

Ginny is no stranger to unwanted desire, to the unexpected hunger for somebody new, different.

They got together when they were so young. That year apart during the war hardly counted, both of them understanding it was always meant to be a temporary blip. She had more experience than Harry, having properly dated both Michael and Dean before she and Harry got together, though she'd not gone much further than some heated snogging with Michael and a bit of heavy petting with Dean. Neither of them really had the chance to explore their sexuality with other people, jumping feet first instead into the surety of their love.

She never got to feel a woman's rounded curves beneath her hands, to taste the salty sweetness of her cunt. By the time Ginny realised the quivery excitement she felt around certain women wasn't jealousy or admiration but attraction, she was already committed to Harry. Most days, she doesn't regret that fact, even if sometimes she's sorely tempted to know. Just once.

Three years into her marriage and Ginny's in Madrid, having just finished the third week of a month-long tour throughout Europe. It's exhilarating and exhausting, and it's been two weeks since Harry met up with her in Berlin for the weekend. The match against the Madrid Manticores that afternoon was brutal, the Harpies only narrowly securing their victory, and her entire body was still buzzing with adrenaline. So when her teammates invited her out to a local gay club for drinks and dancing, she sent Harry an owl apologising for cancelling their nightly Floo-call and joined them.

It's just what she needs, the heavy base vibrating through the sticky floor and right into her bones, the sweet tang of whisky-ginger lingering in her mouth as she dances with abandon. When a tall woman with lush, wavy hair and striking eyes pulls her close and begins to undulate against her, Ginny doesn't protest. It feels good, being so close to somebody, feeling a warm body arching against her own. It's nothing at all like dancing with Harry, with his two left feet and slender, angular form. This woman is sensuous grace and generous curves, and a hot pulse of want throbs within Ginny, making her breath catch and her cunt ache.

The woman—Ginny doesn't even know her name—looks down at her through kohl-smudged eyes, the desire in them unmistakable. Ginny knows if she asks this woman back to her hotel she'd say yes. She'd show Ginny things she's never experienced before, and Ginny has absolutely no doubt that the sex would be spectacular.

She wants it. She's had the horn since the moment the Harpies won; tried dancing and drinking the desire away when what she really craves is a good, hard fuck. This woman can give her that. All Ginny has to do is say yes.

Harry never needs to know.

With a reluctance so acute it's almost painful, Ginny eases away, giving the woman an apologetic smile as she gestures vaguely towards her teammates in the corner. The woman seems to understand, backing off with a rueful smile and a shrug before melting back into the throng of dancers, leaving Ginny alone.

Harry may never know, but Ginny always would. She'd be the one who had to live with the knowledge that she'd broken the trust between them, and she's never been the sort to throw away a good thing on a whim. Ginny knows marriage isn't always easy—that there will be bad times, times when she's tested, moments like tonight when saying 'no' is the hard choice. Turning down the woman's tacit invitation was more difficult than she likes to admit, and even though she knows it was the right decision, disappointment lingers as an insidious voice whispers there's still time to find the woman, to change her mind.

Ginny leaves quickly, while she still has hold of her senses.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat chow mein so aggressively," Ginny says, her tone partly concerned, partly amused as she watches Harry demolish his food while they eat dinner on their sofa. Truth be told, Harry's been in a bit of a mood ever since he got home ten minutes ago, Chinese takeaway in hand. They try to eat together as frequently as their schedules allow, and it's generally one of the highlights of Ginny's week, but it's clear something's bothering her husband tonight.

Harry flashes her a somewhat sheepish smile and gentles his chopsticks as he scoops up another bite of noodles. "Sorry," he says through a mouthful of food. Ginny wrinkles her nose but doesn't say anything; growing up with six brothers has mostly inoculated her against poor table manners. "Work stuff."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

It's been an adjustment, the increased secrecy that comes along with Harry taking on more classified cases as an Auror. They used to share everything, and even though she understands that it's protocol, it still rankles that he can't always tell her what he's working on. They've been married for just over three years now. Surely she's proven she can keep his confidences.

Harry lets out a heavy and frustrated sigh. "We're bringing on a consultant for our latest case. It's"—his lips twist regretfully—"well, I can't tell you the details of the case, but it's got to do with potions and apparently Robards thinks we need to bring on a Potions master."

Ginny takes a bite of sweet and sour chicken and hopes Harry can't tell how annoyed she is that he won't confide in her, even if it does break protocol. What happened to the boy who had no problem bucking authority for his friends? A small, bitter part of her wonders if it'd be different if she were Ron or Hermione, whether he confides the top-secret details of his cases to them. But no, down that path lies madness, and she's not really interested in the nitty-gritty details of his work. She just hates being kept out. Instead, she focuses on the part he may actually be able to tell her about.

"And you're not happy about working with a consultant? If your case involves potions it sounds like it might not be a bad idea." She gives him a teasing laugh. "Wasn't exactly your best subject."

He grins. "True, and you know I don't mind getting advice from experts. I'm fully on board with bringing on a Potions master. I just don't want to work with this Potions master."

"You gonna tell me who it is or make me wait in suspense?"

Harry takes a big bite of chow mein and makes a show of slowly chewing, grinning at her all the while, until Ginny picks up a throw pillow and holds it threateningly up over her head.

"Okay, okay!" Harry says, laughing, though his face sobers and his expression tightens as he continues, "It's Draco Malfoy."

Ginny's eyes widen. She hasn't thought of Malfoy in years, and she's not all that happy to have to think of him now. No wonder Harry's been so upset all evening. There's a sudden sense of foreboding deep in her belly. Nothing involving a Malfoy could ever be good.

"No! That's horrid. And there's no way you can get Robards to bring on somebody else?"

"Nope," Harry says morosely. "Spent all afternoon arguing with him about it, and let's just say he made it clear that I have absolutely no say in the matter and I better be on my best behaviour or I'm the one who's going to get booted from the case."

"The nerve!" Ginny protests, furious on his behalf. "As if you're just supposed to forget about everything Malfoy's done and act like it's all perfectly fine."

"Exactly!" Harry seems energised by Ginny's support, and Ginny's insides glow with the fact that they're so in-sync. "It's going to be a train wreck."

Ginny rubs his shoulder, and feels the tension in his muscles. "No, it won't, because you're the best damn Auror they've got and a little pillock like Malfoy won’t be enough to derail you. You'll figure out this case in record time, and if you need to come home every night and vent about what a nightmare working with Malfoy is, I'll be here."

Harry leans across the sofa cushions and brushes a salty kiss against her lips, giving her a radiant smile as he pulls away.

"You're the best," he says.

Ginny laughs, feeling light as air. "That's what I'm here for."

"That was… wow. I can't believe Ron and Hermione are having a baby!"

Harry looks a little stunned and a lot happy as they make their way into their bedroom and start undressing and getting ready for bed. When Ron and Hermione invited them over for dinner and some big news, Ginny had suspected Hermione may be pregnant, but Harry was completely blindsided. Ginny knows his enthusiasm about the prospect isn't faked, but the news can't help but make Ginny reflect on their own situation. They've talked about starting a family someday, but in the nine months they've been married, they've yet to discuss specifics. She's thinking it may be time.

"I know. I'm so happy for them. Though I was surprised they got started so soon. I'd have thought Hermione would want to become a little more established in her career first."

Harry shrugs. "Yeah, but it sounds like she's got it all planned out. Starting now made the most sense. Plus they both really want to have kids, and Ron's schedule is a lot more flexible."

"That's true…"

Ginny removes her earrings in front of the bathroom mirror. Harry comes up behind her, his bare chest warm against her back. He wraps his arms around her stomach and meets her eyes in the mirror.

"What's up?" Harry asks, hooking his chin over her shoulder. "It seems like something's off."

It's both nice and frustrating, living with somebody who knows her so well.

"No, nothing's wrong," she says, smiling at him through the mirror. "It's just… Your best friends are having a baby. Is that something you want as well?"

His brows furrow. "Well yeah, someday. We've talked about that."

"But not now?"

He looks a bit confused. Worried. "Do you not want kids? Because I thought we'd already agreed that—"

"No! I do," Ginny hastens to reassure him. At least, she thinks she does. "Someday, like you said. But I'm not like Hermione. With Quidditch, I'm just now getting into the prime of my career, and the second I get pregnant I'll be out of the game for a year. And that's just for the actual pregnancy. Then we'd need to figure out recovery and childcare, and I'd have to put in a lot more training hours to get myself back into condition after taking so much time off. It's not like I've got a ton of flexibility with the Harpies' schedule, and with you working as an Auror…" She sighs. Laying it all out like that, it seems increasingly impossible. Flying professionally is all Ginny's ever wanted to do and she can't give that up. "I want kids, I do. But are you going to be okay with waiting? Because the more I think about it, the more it seems like that's still quite a few years off for us."

Harry nods. "Yeah, I've been thinking about it, too. I won't pretend I'm not a bit bummed that our kids won’t be the same ages as Ron and Hermione's, but it's not something I want us to rush into before we're ready. And you're right. We've both got demanding careers that we love and that we're still establishing ourselves in. I don't want either of us to have to compromise on that, and I definitely don't want to resent our children because we had them too young."

Ginny relaxes back against Harry, letting him prop her up. She never realised how much the subject had been weighing on her, and knowing that they're on the same page is a huge relief.

"So you don't mind waiting?"

Harry shakes his head, smiling at her through the mirror as he places a tender kiss on the side of her head.

"Not at all," Harry says. It seems so real, so genuine, that Ginny believes him.

It's not until much later that she wonders if things may have turned out different if she hadn't.

"Are you excited to hike Aberglaslyn Pass tomorrow?" Ginny teases Harry as they wash up after dinner. She knows he's not been particularly keen on the great outdoors since his time hunting Horcruxes during the war, but she loves that he still makes a point of joining her a couple of times a year. Usually she goes with Luna or her Quidditch mates, but there's something special about sharing this hobby she loves with the man she loves. Plus this hike is supposed to have some gorgeous views, and she's hoping she can convince Harry to indulge in a bit of clandestine outdoor snogging.

Usually her comment would be met with a bit of faux groaning and moaning. This time, Harry's face goes surprised, then flushes with undeniable guilt, and Ginny's stomach sinks.

"You forgot."

"I did, I'm so sorry! It slipped my mind."

"Well, no worries," Ginny says a little too brightly. "It's not a particularly difficult hike, so it's not like you needed to train or anything. We can still—"

Harry winces, and Ginny cuts herself off, anticipating disappointment as she stares at him expectantly.

"The thing is," Harry begins, looking suitably chastened, "since I forgot we were supposed to go hiking tomorrow, I sort of made other plans. And I'd cancel, but I told Malfoy I'd go to this modern art exhibit at one of the Muggle museums in London and he already got the tickets. It's super popular and…"

Ginny sighs. "And you want to go." She wants to stamp her foot in frustration, but she knows that's not entirely fair. Just like Harry doesn't quite get her love of traipsing through the forest, she's never quite understood the draw of Muggle (or magical, for that matter) art. She goes with him to a few gallery showings a year, but for the most part, he gets his museum fix in with other friends. And that's fine by Ginny. She isn't even all that upset about him cancelling his plans with her for somebody else; hiking is easy enough to reschedule. What she's less than thrilled about is being ditched for Malfoy. Because, apparently, he and Harry are friends now. The kind of friends that make plans that are preferable to spending the day with Ginny, who is Harry's wife.

Harry frowns. "You're upset. Fuck, of course you are. I'm so sorry. I'll Firecall Malfoy now and tell him I can't go. I'm sure he'll be able to find somebody else to take and I can try to get tickets another time."

It's exactly what Ginny wants to hear, but she knows Harry's heart's not really in it, that it's his sense of duty motivating him, and that just won't do. She'll never be able to enjoy herself because she'll know that Harry would rather be at his stupid exhibition than with her, and she'll spend the whole time obsessing and analysing his every expression, wondering if he's having fun or regretting his chivalry. Ginny doesn't want to be the kind of partner that controls and manipulates someone to get her way. She doesn't ever want Harry's being with her to feel like a sacrifice.

"No," she says, aiming for fond exasperation. "It's easy to reschedule the hike. I don't want you to miss out on this exhibit if it's something you're excited about. We can go to Aberglaslyn another time."

Harry's face lights up, and though it doesn't entirely eradicate the lingering bitterness, it helps confirm that Ginny made the right call.

"I love you," he says emphatically, cupping her face and pressing an enthusiastic kiss against her mouth. "I promise I'll make it up to you. I could do Sunday? Or next weekend? Whatever you want."

I want you to come to your senses and remember the kind of person Draco Malfoy is. I want you to realise spending time with me taking out the bloody bins is preferable to staring at art blobs with Malfoy.

But Ginny can't say any of that. She can't dictate who Harry's friends are and doesn't really want to, even if this whole Malfoy thing sticks under her skin like a splinter.

She just has to hope Harry comes to his senses on his own.

It's been four months since Harry started working (under protest) with Malfoy, and Ginny's starting to wonder if she'd been worried about the wrong thing when Harry mentioned they'd be working together

Because it seems as if the impossible has happened.

They're becoming friends.

It was bad enough when Harry spent every evening bitching about Malfoy and his latest cutting remark or general snobbery—Ginny prefers a Malfoy-free life, thank you very much—but she finds she misses the constant complaints. Now when Harry mentions Malfoy at all, it's with an unmistakable, if almost reluctant, fondness. At the pub last week she even overheard him defending Malfoy to some of their friends, asserting that he actually wasn't that bad anymore. That he'd changed. As if anybody could change enough to make up for what he's done.

Ginny hates it, and she hates that she doesn't really know how to discuss it with Harry. She doesn't know how to bring it up without sounding accusatory, or like she's trying to control who he lets into his life. She's never wanted to be that kind of person, but sometimes she wants to shake him, to ask what is wrong with him that he can forgive Malfoy. Has he forgotten the slurs he called Hermione, or the wine he poisoned that nearly killed Ron, or the fact that his father gave Ginny a bloody Horcrux in her first year, one that nearly killed her?

Harry wasn't at Hogwarts during the war; he was off being heroic with Ron and Hermione, while Ginny was left behind. A weakness. A liability. It's an old hurt, one Ginny thought she was over, and yet it continues to resurface at the most inconvenient of times. Harry wasn't there; he didn't see what the Carrows did to Hogwarts, wasn't present to witness what Slytherins like Malfoy did, the terror they inflicted. Ginny was, and she won't forget it, and she won't forgive it. Not ever. Maybe that's unhealthy. Maybe it makes her petty or low, but seventeen was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, and Malfoy chose wrong. If he wants redemption and forgiveness, she supposes that's better than the alternative, but she doesn't want him to seek it anywhere near her.

And she knows Harry didn't go seeking him out and wasn't looking to make friends. He's been forced to work with Malfoy, and of course she doesn't want Harry to be miserable in their partnership. Cordiality is ideal, but it's clearly moving beyond that now. Harry didn't ask to have Malfoy brought back in his life, but that doesn't mean he has to welcome him in with open bloody arms.

But what can she do about it?

She can't tell Harry not to speak to him, not to like him, not to let him inside Harry's too-big heart. Even if it were possible for Harry to cut Malfoy out of his life—which isn't likely given their working relationship—Harry would chafe at Ginny's restricting who he can be friends with. Maybe if he knew how much it hurts her, he would be inclined to keep his distance from Malfoy. But a small, angry part of her wants him to leave off Malfoy of his own volition, wants him to remember that Malfoy's a snake without her prompting.

She'll just have to trust that sooner or later, Malfoy will show his true colours. This truce can't last; a Runespoor can't change its stripes. It's inevitable, really, that Malfoy will reveal his rotten core. Ginny almost feels bad for the hurt it will cause Harry, because clearly he really thinks the git has changed. But when it falls apart, and it will, Ginny will be there to pick up the pieces.

Harry can count on her.

Ginny's not sure what she expected the first time she and Harry have sex.

They've fooled around before, but neither of them have gone all the way, and Ginny feels both nervous and excited when tonight Harry's hand slides down into her knickers. It's only been a few months since the end of the war, just a few weeks since she and Harry got back together, though Ginny never really considered them properly broken up in the first place. Being with Harry feels good—right—and Ginny needs that right now. When she's sneaking off with Harry, making out with him behind the shed, or grinding against him on the sofa in Grimmauld Place, everything else fades away. There's no room for the grief and anger and confusion that threatens to suffocate her. There's just Harry.

"Do you want to?" Ginny whispers against his lips between kisses, feeling wild and wanting. She yearns for them to be one, to lose herself in Harry, to feel the burning pleasure his touch promises.

Harry's eyes look black in the darkness as he grips her bum beneath her knickers. He thrusts up against her, his hard dick grinding into the thin fabric of her pyjamas and pressing against her clit.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I want to."

They fumble out of their clothes and Ginny grabs her wand. It takes two tries before she gets the Contraception Charm right, the one her mum taught her years ago during an excruciating sex talk that Ginny's never been able to burn out of her memory. Harry's looking down at her like she's the hottest thing he's ever seen, and Ginny's heart is racing so fast it feels like it might actually explode.

It's not perfect.

It stings at first, and by the time they've managed to find a good rhythm Harry's just about to come. It's over too fast, and Ginny's leg starts to cramp from the awkward position. But Harry looks her in the eyes the whole time, his gaze shocked and worshipful, and she loves feeling him moving inside her as her chest expands with the realisation that they're now one. She doesn't come while he's fucking her, but the feeling she gets watching Harry's face as he does is almost as good. And when he slides his fingers over her after, tentatively circling her clit until she shows him how to get her off, her orgasm turns her entire body to jelly.

She curls up with him afterwards, loving the feeling of his naked body against her own. She's not usually so clingy, but Harry's been her rock over the past few weeks, and she knows she's been his, too. It's tricky business, figuring out how to survive after a war, when the Big Bad Evil has been conquered and all that's left is picking up the broken pieces and learning how to move on and be happy.

It's easier said than done, but Ginny thinks that maybe, just maybe, she and Harry can figure it out. Together.

Ginny's always been a very physical person. She likes touching and being touched, hugs and backslaps and kisses. She likes sex, too, has never been ashamed of just how much she craves that intimacy. It was one more way she and Harry fit together so perfectly, because his touch-starved childhood made him just as voracious as she is when it comes to skin-on-skin contact.

Ever since their first time together—Merlin, more than seven years ago—they've had an active and amazing sex life. But something's changed over the past few months. Harry's libido seems to have taken a nose-dive off a cliff, and Ginny's been patient, but it's getting difficult not to take it personally, to wonder if there's something wrong.

He blames his case load; he's tired, overworked, and investigating some particularly twisted shit that's put him right off sex. She tries to be understanding, because if he's really that stressed she wants to support him in any way she can, and it's honestly not the end of the world to take care of herself for a few months while he works things out. The problem is that she's not sure she believes his excuses.

She wonders if he believes his excuses.

There's nothing wrong with not wanting sex. But Ginny's a bit terrified that it's not that Harry doesn't want sex in general, but that he doesn't want sex with her.

Because it's not just the sex. He's touching her less: no good-morning kisses brushed against her cheek, no cuddling on the sofa while she responds to fan mail and he works on his case notes, no casual arm draped over her shoulder when they have brunch at the Burrow. There's a distance between them, and she's not sure if she's just making up in her head, but it feels as if the foundations of their marriage are crumbling beneath her feet.

"Are you all right?" she asks Harry that night as they climb into bed together.

He gives her a quizzical glance over his shoulder as he settles onto his side. "Yeah, 'course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Maybe because we used to spend most nights fucking before falling asleep entwined, and now you're facing outward, our bodies barely touching.

"Nothing," she says to his turned back. Her gaze trails down his spine, and she wants so desperately to reach out and run her fingers over the bony knobs. Once upon a time, she wouldn't have hesitated, but now she stays her hand. She doesn't want to see him flinch beneath her touch.

She turns out the lights and lies down, faces away from Harry. She may as well be alone in the bed, with all the distance between them.

"It's nothing."

It's not like Ginny didn't go into this marriage with her eyes wide open.

For all that she and Harry love each other, their careers have always been important to them both, and she knew there would be times that would inevitably cause friction. They both have demanding jobs with inflexible schedules, and this is hardly the first occurrence in their nearly four years of marriage that their time together has been more sporadic than either of them would like, so she's not sure why this instance has her so out of sorts.

Harry's been working 'round the clock on some massive case he's not allowed to talk about, and Ginny's training overtime, hoping she'll get chosen to play for England and compete in the Quidditch World Cup in Burkina Faso next year. For the past several weeks they've been like ships in the night, with barely enough time to kiss hello before they're dashing out the door.

She hates it.

While she's on her broom, flying with everything she's got, nothing feels so pure or right. But as soon as she touches down on the ground she's overwhelmed and unsettled, her stomach in knots over a boy. It makes her feel silly and pathetic, even though Harry is hardly just some boy. He's a man, her husband, the person she's bound her life to.

Mostly she feels ridiculous because it's not even like things are that bad between them. They're both trying to make time for one another the best they can, and Ginny knows it's impractical to think there won't be other moments in their lives when they've got competing priorities. But she can't shake the sick feeling in her stomach that there's something more going on here. That this rough patch is more than just one of the usual dips one can expect in a marriage.

At her lowest point, after two weeks straight where they've barely exchanged more than a handful of words, Ginny wonders if she could fix things if she took a step back from Quidditch. Stop trying so hard to make the national team, which will only add more to her plate. Give up her plan to be captain of the Harpies within the next ten years. Try for that baby they've talked about having someday. She knows Harry wouldn't ever ask it or expect it of her, but it's equally clear that their jobs are only going to become more demanding, and at the rate they're going, something's got to give.

But it won't be her, not in this. She's willing to work on their relationship, to compromise in other ways, but she won't sacrifice Quidditch. Maybe it's not right, but flying means more to her than just about anything else in the world.

Ginny's not sure if playing Quidditch is more important to her than her marriage, but she's not sure that it's not, either.
It's her second away match since making the Harpies starting lineup, but the first Harry hasn’t made since they got married. Ginny understands. Honestly, she's surprised he was able to wrangle the time off to come to the game in Oslo. It's shockingly easy to focus entirely on the match, to let the thrill of playing the game she loves take over. Still, they've been married less than six months, so by the time the Harpies win and the team is on their way to catch their Portkey, seeing Harry again is pretty much all she can think about.

He's waiting for her in the lobby of the International Portkey Station, the first person Ginny sees as she catches her balance. She doesn't even think, just vaults over the velvet rope sectioning off the arrival area and launches herself at Harry. He's grinning broadly and opening his arms, catching her in a hug and crushing her to his chest. They kiss like they haven't seen each other in months, not days, and she's dimly aware of her teammates hooting and hollering behind her but she couldn't care less.

"Fuck, I missed you," Harry murmurs against her lips as they slowly part. "Tell me it's going to get easier."

"I missed you, too." Ginny grins, giving him another peck on the lips. "And don't worry, I'm sure a couple more years of marriage and you'll be thanking Merlin for the alone time."

"Never," Harry whispers, his expression so fierce Ginny's insides quiver. She was only joking, but it's nice to hear, all the same.

"There is one upside to our being apart," Ginny says teasingly.

"Oh?"

Ginny flashes him a wicked grin, her belly tightening with lust at the flare of heat in Harry's eyes.

"Reunion sex. I don't know about you, but I've got several day's worth of sexual tension to work out. Mind giving me a hand?"

"I'll give you both. This way."

He all but drags her towards the Floos at the other end of the station. She grins and half-turns to wave goodbye to her teammates as he leads the way.

"See you lot on Monday!"

"Just make sure you can still sit on a broom by then!" Gisele, one of their Chasers, shouts back amid a chorus of giggles and cheers.

Ginny laughs and grips Harry's hand tighter.

After the match, there's a mixup in Portugal with the team's Portkey back home. Instead of having the night to decompress and celebrate their win, they're whisked to the station with barely enough time to catch a mangy-looking quill back home. Ginny didn't even have a spare moment to send an owl to Harry to let him know she'd be home early, and it's with a surprising amount of trepidation that she heads to the station Floos.

It's a little after five on a Saturday, and last they spoke Harry hadn't mentioned any plans. But Ginny knows well enough how easily things can crop up, especially on the weekends. He may not be home, which wouldn't mean anything at all, though her stomach swoops unpleasantly anyway.

She immediately notices that the lights are on as she steps through the Floo and into the kitchen, and she can hear the distant sound of the wireless and the indistinct buzz of conversation. The knot in her stomach twists tighter. So he's home, then, and not alone. There's nothing wrong with that, nothing untoward. Still, she braces herself as she hitches her kitbag higher onto her shoulder and walks into the living room.

She knows who she'll find there before she catches sight of him, but somehow it's still a surprise seeing Draco Malfoy in her home. Harry's well aware she's not Malfoy's biggest fan, and he's kept his friendship with Malfoy mostly out of her sight, which she both appreciates and resents. But judging by Malfoy's easy sprawl against her sofa, this is far from the first time he's been over. It shouldn't bother her as much as it does—Harry has every right to invite his friends to their home, and she knows it's only out of respect for her feelings that Harry waits for her to be away before having Malfoy over. But it feels more sordid than that—as if she's just walked in on them fucking instead of drinking and laughing together, with a perfectly respectable amount of distance between them.

"Ginny! You're home!"

Harry doesn't sound guilty or furtive, but she's not sure if she's imagining the flicker of disappointment in his eyes as he gets up to brush a kiss against her cheek.

"Sorry," he says in an undertone, too low for Malfoy to make out. "I didn't know you'd be back."

She knows he's apologising for her having to see Malfoy sat on her sofa and drinking her wine, but it feels like an apology for something bigger. She shakes her head.

"Mix-up at the Portkey office. Didn't even have time to send an owl."

Malfoy gets up, his expression shuttered. His eyes, though… they linger on Harry, with a wistful warmth that Transfigures the knot in Ginny's stomach to lead. He has no right to be looking at Harry like that. And in front of Harry's wife, no less!

Some of her fury must make it through her own blank expression, because when Malfoy meets her eyes, he winces, and an almost imperceptible flicker of pain crosses his face before he gives her a bland smile.

"I should really be getting home myself." Harry opens his mouth as if to protest but Malfoy doesn't let him get a word in. "Thanks for the drink, Harry. I'll see myself out. I'm sure you'd like to spend some time with your wife, and Astoria's probably expecting me."

Harry closes his mouth, his expression tight and eyes dark, and that, more than anything else, makes the ground beneath Ginny shake. She trusts Harry enough to feel confident he's not screwing around on her, but that look right there, that flash of jealousy… He and Malfoy might not be fucking, but Ginny wonders if maybe they want to be.

But no. Ginny shakes her head and closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, there's no hidden meaning in Malfoy or Harry's eyes. She's exhausted after a three-hour Quidditch match and the International Portkey home, and finding one of her least favourite people in her house being all chummy with her husband has set her on edge, that's all. Ginny's imagining things, making a Nundu out of a Puffskein. Somehow, she manages to dredge up the ghost of a smile and flashes it at Malfoy.

"Of course, have a good night."

Malfoy gives them both a sharp nod before disappearing out the front door to Apparate home—no way in hell was Ginny authorising a Floo connection to Malfoy Manor—and then Ginny and Harry are alone.

She feels abruptly and unbearably exhausted. "I think I'm going to go have a shower, maybe turn in early."

"Do you want anything to eat? I was thinking about getting takeaway"—with Malfoy—"or I could make something quick like beans on toast?"

That's her Harry: caring and attentive. Some of Ginny's chill begins to thaw.

"Beans on toast actually sounds perfect."

Harry smiles and brushes another kiss against Ginny's cheek.

"Knock, knock," Ginny says as she stands in the open doorway to Harry's office. Harry looks towards her, his face breaking out into a wide smile that Ginny returns as she holds up the leather workbag he'd somehow managed to leave at home this morning.

"You are a lifesaver," Harry says emphatically. He leaps up out of his chair and comes over to give her a very grateful kiss. "I'd have popped back to get it myself but I've been in back-to-back meetings all morning, and I've actually got another in"—he checks his watch—"ten minutes with Robards. Which would have been fucking awful without my case notes." He plops his bag down on his desk and rifles through it before triumphantly producing a slightly crumpled-looking folder.

"Seriously," he says again, pulling her into a hug. "You're the best. I know you probably had better things to do today."

She shrugs. "Eh, it's my day off, and it didn't take long. You know I don't mind."

He gives her a soppy look. "Because you're the best wife ever."

Her smile turns somewhat suggestive. "Well, why don't you start thinking of all the ways you can properly thank me when you get home tonight."

Harry's eyes dance, but before he has a chance to reply, somebody makes a loud gagging noise, and Ginny's eyes shoot to the other side of the room. Harry's supposed to share his office but the desk has been empty since Jacobs retired a few months ago; Ginny hadn't even thought to check the room for other occupants. It's a decision she's seriously regretting, because apparently Draco fucking Malfoy has decided to set up shop there for his stint as an Auror liaison.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt," Malfoy says in a butter-wouldn't-melt tone that does nothing to hide the venom in his glittering eyes. "I thought it'd be prudent to remind you that you're not alone, and that the door is still open, before you start fucking like rabbits right there on the desk. This is a workplace you know."

Ginny bristles. How dare—

"Fuck right off, Malfoy," Harry says, his gaze so fierce Ginny is half-surprised Malfoy doesn't burst into flames on the spot. "This is my office you've decided to commandeer, and if I want to flirt with my fucking wife in it, I damn well will. Just because we're working together doesn't give you the right to be a first-class prick. I'd hate to have you reassigned to Nguyen's office."

Malfoy's eyes go wide and he gives an almost imperceptible shudder. Clearly Ginny's missing some important information about Nguyen and their office, and she makes a note to ask Harry about it later.

"Of course," he says stiffly. "I meant no… offence. I apologise if my language was unduly coarse."

Ginny rolls her eyes, but she refrains from telling Malfoy just where he can shove that half-arsed apology. She knows Harry doesn't have a choice but to work with the arsehole, and she doesn't want to make it harder for him than it has to be. Besides, the meanly self-satisfied smile that Harry gives Malfoy—the one that probably shouldn't make Ginny as wet as it does—is more than enough for her.

"Sorry about that," Harry murmurs, brushing another kiss against her lips. "Where were we?"

Ginny laughs. "I was about to grab a bacon butty from that place in Diagon before heading back home, and you were going to prepare for the meeting you have in less than ten minutes."

Harry sighs. "Right. That."

"I'll see you when you get home." She glances over at Malfoy, making sure he's paying attention before running a hand down Harry's chest and continuing in her flirtiest tone, "I look forward to that thank-you you've got planned for me. Try not to stay late tonight, hmm?"

Harry's pupils dilate, and he nods obediently as she waves goodbye. Malfoy's staring hatefully at her as she leaves and she tosses him a smirk. He may be trying to win his way back into the wizarding world's good graces, but he's not going to do it through Harry.

Harry's hers.

Next week is their five-year wedding anniversary.

Her mother has told her that the traditional gift for one's fifth wedding anniversary is wood. Wood, with its durability and longevity, is supposed to symbolise the strength of the now-solidified marriage bond. Ginny lets out a bitter snort.

She's supposed to be brainstorming potential wooden gift ideas for Harry, but she's sitting in their garden instead, drinking a pitcher of sangria alone and wondering if their marriage will make it another year.

Ginny's almost certain that Harry won't end it, no matter how bad things get, no matter how miserable they both become. He's too invested in the fantasy of it all: the perfect wife and house and career and kids. All he ever wanted was to be happy, which for him meant having a family. Ginny may have grown up with the traditional family, but Harry's the one who's stuck on the idea that if he just follows the prescribed formula, happiness will eventually follow. Ginny knows there's more than one way to be happy, more than one way to have a family. She thought she'd sorted out the right path for her, with the right partner, but now she's not so sure.

She's not happy. Neither is Harry, though Ginny suspects he's in deep denial about that fact. Things have been off between them for months. Maybe years. She used to find his messiness charming, but yesterday she tripped over one of his trainers in the hallway and started screaming at him before Vanishing the fucking thing into the ether. He never used to mind her endless Quidditch chatter, listened to her bang on about plays for hours, but these days he rolls his eyes every time she gets started, clearly tuning her out until Ginny gives up entirely. And it's not just the little annoyances that set them off anymore, either. Ginny loved Harry's selflessness, but she's tired of constantly being volunteered to help friends move or to watch their goddamn babies without being asked.

Some days, even the sight of his wide, boyish smile, the smile that used to fill her with such pure joy, is enough to set her stomach roiling with a directionless, terrifying rage.

Somewhere along the way, she and Harry fell out of sync, and Ginny doesn't know how to jolt them back into place. She wants to. At least, she thinks she does. She hates the person she's become, the person their floundering relationship has twisted her into. But Ginny's never been one to give up, and the Gryffindor in her wants to fight for them, to do whatever it takes to save their marriage. The problem is that she's starting to wonder if there's enough left between them to save. If it's possible for her to let go of the blame and bitterness, to rediscover the radiance of Harry's smile.

The problem is that Ginny doesn't know anymore if Harry still loves her.

The problem is that Ginny doesn't know anymore if she still loves Harry.

Ginny's been in love with Harry since she was eleven years old.

She knows now that what she felt back then wasn't real love—just a fascination and admiration that morphed into a kind of puppy love that never would have gone anywhere if she and Harry hadn't formed a real connection. As they grew up and their friendship deepened, so did her feelings for him, and when they finally started dating in her fifth-year, she was absolutely gone on him. Even through their separation and the war, her love never diminished, never wavered.

Of course, she doesn't tell him that. She thinks he probably knows. They've been back together now for over five months, fucking almost as long, and they spend almost all of their free time together. Ginny feels, deep in her bones, that Harry's it for her, but there's a part of her that's still a little unsure of Harry's feelings. Their war wounds are still so fresh, and she knows Harry's hurting, that he's still working through his grief. She tries to be there for him as best she can, just like he tries to be there for her when her own losses bring her to her knees. But there's still something fragile in this tender seedling of a relationship. Ginny wants to throw herself into them, but there's a part of her that can't quite forget Harry's left once before. That when the going got tough, he saw their relationship as a weakness instead of a strength.

Still, with every day that passes Ginny's feeling more and more settled, starting to believe that Harry's in this for the long haul as well. She hasn't been able to make herself utter those three little words though, and a part of her is ashamed at her cowardice; she wants Harry to take that leap first. It's not like her at all, but everything's always been a bit different when it comes to Harry.

She ponders their relationship as she moves about the kitchen in Grimmauld Place, nearly as comfortable here as she is at the Burrow. Harry decided at the last minute that he wanted to throw a Halloween party, in a manic sort of way that made Ginny certain it was really just an excuse to avoid thinking about the war and his parents and everything else Voldemort took from him starting on this night seventeen years ago. She's not sure if going along with his plan is enabling him, but she does it anyway, spending the morning spelling up decorations and getting everything ready. It's Harry, so despite the delayed invites the house is packed, and when the spiked punch runs out she volunteers to go downstairs and whip up another batch, happy to have a moment of quiet. She loves people and parties, but she's learning that she much prefers them when she isn't hosting. Or, well, co-hosting. Sort of.

"Did I tell you yet how much I love your costume?" Ginny almost jumps a foot in the air as she spins around. Harry's leaning against the table behind her, looking both amused and apologetic, the throbbing bassline from the music above having muffled his steps. "Sorry! I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Ginny huffs out a laugh. "No worries. And yes, you did, but please feel free to keep telling me." She's dressed up as a harpy as part of her goal to manifest herself a spot on the team after she graduates next year—well, that and training like hell. "You look quite dashing yourself."

He's dressed as a phoenix, and Ginny can't help but see it as fortuitous that, even without coordination, they both chose to dress as winged creatures. Though perhaps that's no surprise, given their shared love of flying.

"Thanks," he says with a quirked smile before nodding towards the bowl of punch behind her. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I've just finished, actually." She steps towards him, looking Harry in the eyes. "How are you doing? Has the party helped?"

"I'm not sure. It's not making anything worse at least." She appreciates that he doesn't pretend not to know what she means, and she gives him a gentle smile.

"Let me know if that changes. I don't mind going full McGonagall and kicking everybody out in a minute if you need me to."

He laughs and stares at her like she's something brilliant and magnificent, and her skin grows warm under his long, steady gaze. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of eye contact, he finally speaks.

"I love you."

Ginny exhales. Her heart soars. And even though she can hear the party still raging above, it feels like they're the only two people in the world.

"I love you, too."

Harry goes out every Thursday evening for drinks with Malfoy, always staying out until the pub closes. It's a habit Ginny hates but has learned to put up with, until the day Harry comes back early, looking absolutely wrecked.

A strange sense of calm settles over her as she sets aside the new Quidditch play she's been working on. Somehow she knows everything is about to change.

"What's wrong?" she asks as Harry stumbles towards the bar and pours himself a generous glass of Firewhisky.

Harry shakes his head. "Nothing," he replies, his voice hoarse and hands shaking. "Everything's fine."

"You're back early. I wasn't expecting you for hours yet."

Harry grimaces. "Right, yeah. Malfoy's got… other stuff on his mind. Had to run." He's silent for a long moment and Ginny sits and waits. A part of her wants to push, but a bigger part isn't sure she's ready to hear, isn't ready for where this conversation is going to go. Eventually, Harry clears his throat and continues in an unnaturally even tone, "He and Astoria are getting divorced. He told me tonight. Expects it'll hit the papers next week."

Oh, Ginny thinks to herself, realising that she's been waiting for this moment for months. Since their lacklustre fifth wedding anniversary celebration. Maybe even longer. Maybe she's been waiting for this since the moment Malfoy burst back into their lives. She's not surprised that the Quaffle has finally dropped, but she is surprised she feels more relief than anger. This has been a long time coming, and Ginny's tired. Tired of pretending she doesn't know what's going on, tired of pretending that things between her and Harry haven't changed. Tired of pretending that there's enough left between them to salvage.

"Is that all?"

Harry jumps as if spooked, looking over at Ginny with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It's too bad about Malfoy's divorce, but that doesn't really explain why you look so rattled. Unless something else happened."

"I—I—" Harry stutters, looking not unlike a cornered rabbit, and Ginny takes pity on him.

"Did he tell you he's in love with you?"

Harry freezes, his tumbler of whisky falling from his hands, and only Ginny's quick wandwork saves the glass from shattering. Another flick of her wand and the spilled whisky evaporates. She meets Harry's wide and terrified eyes.

"You knew?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Of course I knew. I've known for ages." Ginny lets out a bitter laugh. "Years."

"Oh." Harry sounds so lost, and the part of Ginny that still loves him, that will always love him, wants to go over and wrap him in her arms, tell him it'll be all right. But he's not the only one who needs comforting, and Ginny knows she's going to need to save her strength for herself, because everything is about to change.

She takes a deep breath, and says the words she knows will be the beginning of the end.

"I also know you're in love with him, too."

Ginny wanders breathlessly through the empty cottage, captivated by the way the warm glow of the late afternoon sun streams in through the house's many windows. There's something magical about the play of golden sunlight on the warm wooden floors, illuminating the quaint, built-in bookshelves and prominent stone fireplace. She squeezes Harry's hand as they peer out of the window overlooking the large back garden, big enough for a makeshift Quidditch pitch.

"I think this might be it, Harry."

He grins down at her. "I think you might be right."

Ginny feels a rush of affection in the knowledge that, even in this, they're so perfectly in tune.

In two months they'll be married. Though they've been unofficially living together in Grimmauld Place for well over a year, they wanted to start off married life in a place entirely their own. Harry had always intended to sell the musty old mansion anyway, and it's far too much house, with far too many memories and ghosts, for them to truly start a life together. This is the fifth place they've looked at, and if Ginny gets her way, it'll be their last.

It's perfect.

Beautiful bones, with rooms that manage to feel both airy and cosy. Three bedrooms is plenty for the both of them, with room to grow… eventually. It's in the country, surrounded by other magical homes so they don't have to worry too much about the Statute, and the countryside is gorgeous and peaceful, especially when contrasted with the hustle and bustle of the city. They both travel so much for their jobs it'll be nice to have a calm home base to return to.

"I can really see us here," Harry murmurs as he drags Ginny once more through the rooms. So can she, and it makes her so happy she could burst, this confirmation that their dreams and vision for the future are so aligned. Their estate agent has been waiting patiently outside, giving them both a chance to tour the place without her interference, and Harry catches her eye and waves her inside.

"Yeah," Harry mutters again, taking one last look around before turning his blinding smile on Ginny as their estate agent starts towards them. "I think we'll be really happy here."

Ginny smiles back at him, spinning her engagement ring around her finger as she imagines how different her life will look in just a few short months. How blissfully happy they're going to be together; how excited she is to start building a home with Harry.

"I think so, too. I think it's absolutely perfect."

Ginny collapses into her mustard-yellow papasan chair and surveys the mountain of boxes in her new flat in Holyhead. She still has heaps of unpacking to do, but now that everything is finally in her new place, she's allowing herself a moment to relax with a large glass of wine. It's going to be a long night, and she needs the fortification.

Everything went smoothly with the move, but it was still a bit of a nightmare, extricating herself from the life she and Harry had built together. In the end, neither of them had wanted to keep the little cottage where they'd been so happy together, for a time, so Ginny found a flat in Holyhead closer to the Harpies training centre while Harry found a place in London, and that was that. Eventually, they'll need to sell the house and split the rest of their assets, but Ginny figures that's something that the divorce lawyers can figure out.

Divorce.

Her mum cried when Ginny told her, which Ginny hasn't been able to bear. This whole thing is awful enough without having to manage her mum's expectations on top of everything else. Ginny's tired, and angry, and doesn't quite trust herself not to let spite get the best of her. Her family is Harry's family too, and even though she's hurt, she doesn't want Harry to lose them. It's not his fault he fell out of love with her, that he fell in love with somebody else. So she told her parents that she needed some space; that the divorce was amicable, and that nobody did anything unforgivable, it just didn't work out. Her brothers and Hermione have been running interference, so for now, at least, she has some room to breathe and get her head on straight.

Of course, with Harry walking around with his hangdog expression, unable to even look Ginny in the eyes, who knows how long that will last. He's brimming with guilt and grief, and Ginny hates him for it, just a little. She wants to rage at him—how dare he look so devastated when he's the one that did this to them. But in her more rational moments, she knows that's not fair. She thinks this probably would have happened to them eventually. That, ultimately, they just weren't suited, no matter how much they both wanted to be. She just wishes Malfoy hadn't been the catalyst for it all. She's not sure yet if that particular betrayal is something she can fully forgive.

Harry was at the cottage this morning—he's not moving until next week—and even offered to help her move her things, though she turned him down. That's what the hired movers were for. They talked a bit, awkward around each other in a way that hurts almost worse than anything else. Harry used to be her best friend. He had mentioned that he hadn't spoken to Malfoy in weeks, and Ginny hates that a part of her was viciously pleased, because it still rankles, the thought that Malfoy would be the one to get Ginny's happily-ever-after. But in the end, that feeling quickly fades. Deep down, she actually hopes they'll be able to get their act together. That all this pain and messiness wasn't all for nothing. That some good can come out of the sorrow.

She sighs and drains the rest of her wine, contemplating which boxes she should start with first. Merlin, this isn't at all how she thought her life would go. Drinking wine alone in a flat full of boxes. (Almost) divorced at twenty-five, her husband in love with somebody else—with a Malfoy. She hates how insecure it's made her, how she's taken to examining herself in the mirror, wondering what it is she lacks. She's never been this person, so full of self-doubt and anxiety over a boy, but there's nothing like the crumbling of a marriage to destroy one's self-esteem.

A flurry of knocking at the door pulls Ginny from her maudlin thoughts. She pushes herself out of the chair, weaving around piles of boxes and throwing open her front door. She's greeted by a cacophony of sound as half the Harpies’ team piles into her tiny flat.

"We're here to help," Gwenog says. "We thought you could use some company unpacking."

"And we brought gifts!" Stela, their Keeper, adds on, holding up two six-packs of beer. The rest of her teammates display their goods: more beer, two bottles of Firewhisky, several boxes of pizza, four pints of Fortescue's ice cream, and what looks to be a very large piñata in the shape of Harry's head.

One of their Beaters, Jules, grins and gestures menacingly towards the piñata with her Beater's Bat. "Might need to save this one for somewhere with a bit more room."

Ginny bursts out laughing, so touched she's worried the laughter may turn to tears on a Sickle. "Where on earth did you even get that?"

Alicia, one of Ginny's fellow Chasers and arguably her closest friend on the team, throws an arm around her. "We made it! We didn't go too far did we? I know this whole thing is supposed to be amicable and all, but…"

"No, it's perfect. I don't hate Harry, but I can't say I don't have some anger to vent out on that papier mâché head."

"Excellent," Jules says. "Maybe after training on Friday? We can make it a team event."

"As long as we make sure the papers don't get wind of it. Can you imagine the Prophet headlines?" Gwenog says, though she sounds more amused than worried. Gwen's never been one to give a fuck what the papers say.

"For now, let's break open the alcohol and get this unpacking party started, yeah?" Alicia suggests, giving Ginny's shoulder another squeeze.

Moments later and somebody's found the wireless, and the Weird Sisters are blasting through the flat as an opened bottle of beer is shoved into Ginny's hand.

"Where do you want us to get started, Red?" It takes Ginny a moment to realise they're waiting on her direction, and she loves these crazy women so much she could cry. It's easy to get lost in angsty reflection when she's alone, but now, surrounded by her friends and teammates—her chosen family—she's reminded of how much she still has going for her.

Harry was never the only thing in her life. He wasn't even the most important thing in her life, not really, which was perhaps part of the problem. This is what she wanted more than anything: the career and sense of belonging, fierce friendships with women who live and breathe Quidditch the way Ginny does.

"Let's do the kitchen and living room first."

Her teammates disperse, laughing and chatting, and Alicia bumps her hip against Ginny's.

"You all right?" Alicia asks softly, leaning in close so Ginny can hear her over the racket. Ginny gives her a smile, and for the first time in weeks, it doesn't feel forced.

"I'm not sure yet. But I know I'm going to be."