SIX
Predictably, the rest of the Weasleys know that Harry and Ginny are “back together” by the next morning.
Ginny is alerted to this when she receives an excited howler from her mother as she sits in Harry’s kitchen nibbling on a piece of dry toast to settle her stomach. It never really settled after Ron insisted on eating that foul pizza in front of her, but Harry is insistent that she needs to eat something. She probably could have predicted that he’d be an overprotective dad, even long before the baby arrived.
Harry walks into the kitchen at the tail end of the letter, in which Molly enthusiastically demands to see them at the Burrow, smirking. “Nothing stays a secret, does it?”
Ginny shakes her head. “We’ve been summoned,” she tells Harry glumly as the letter shreds itself into tiny pieces. She’s truthfully been avoiding the Burrow since she began to suspect she was pregnant, certain her mother would be able to smell the pregnancy hormones on her.
Harry shrugs. “We’re there most weekends anyway,” he notes. “The only thing that’ll be different is that we sit next to each other and, like, hold hands, yeah?”
Ginny raises an eyebrow. “If you think my mother isn’t going to be able to tell I’m pregnant the second I show up there, you’re completely mad.” She sighs. “At least she loves you — I’m sure if she had to handpick a father for my illegitimate child, you would be her first choice.”
Harry blinks rapidly a few times, eyes fluttering behind the round lenses of his glasses. “Thanks, I think?” Though he knows the phrase ‘illegitimate child’ is technically correct, he hates the way it sounds, the way the words feel dirty in his ears. “Can we not call the baby that?”
“What?” Ginny asks, stirring her tea but never moving to take a sip.
“Illegitimate,” Harry clarifies. “I know we’re not married—”
“Among other things we’re not,” Ginny reminds him pointedly.
He ignores her. “I know we’re not married,” he repeats. “But I don’t like the way it sounds. Illegitimate makes it sound like they’re, I don’t know, unwanted. And I know how it feels to feel unwanted, so I’m going to make sure they never do.”
Ginny’s hand stills, and she looks up at Harry. There’s very little she can say to that; it both hurts her heart and warms it up. It’s proof of how much Harry cares already. Three years ago, it might have made her feel uneasy, because Harry hadn’t coped with his past, and that was a bit much to bring a baby into. Now? Well, now, she thinks maybe he’s finally moving forward. She doesn’t let herself trust it completely, however; it’s only one proof point when she has much more evidence that Harry has unresolved trauma he refuses to sort through.
She allows her brown eyes to hold his emerald green stare and nods. She’s proud of him, for standing up for this, and for confronting some of his own demons; she reckons she should encourage that. “You’re right.”
They stare at each other for a few moments more before Harry swallows and clears his throat, regaining composure she hadn’t noticed he’d lost. “Thank you.”
Based on their talk with Hermione the night before, in which Hermione had reminded them they’d be better off staying as close to the truth as they could manage, they agree that if Molly guesses, they’ll come clean. Otherwise, they’ll hold off announcing the baby to the rest of Ginny’s family until after the next healer’s appointment. Sharing more details — the sex of the baby, a new wiggly picture — will help her mother get excited, at the very least. And if Molly reacts well, no one else would dare contradict that.
The strategy they form involves Ginny and Harry appearing as comfortable and couple-like as possible: Harry will hold her hand throughout dinner, sit by her instead of Ron and Hermione, kiss her cheek every so often. These are all things he’s been wanting to do pretty much since he’d stopped doing them three years ago, so he thinks they’ll come fairly naturally. The more difficult part will be explaining why they got back together now and not one to three years earlier.
Harry suggests that he’d worked out his issues and was now ready to give Ginny what she needs; Ginny looks skeptical but — could it be? — also hopeful at the idea. Instead what they land on is a shrug and a smile. “We’ve simply reached a point where our reasons for not being together are not as good as our reasons to let ourselves be happy,” Ginny suggests as an explanation. It’s clear that while Ginny is suggesting it, offering a different line of his own is not welcome.
…
On Sunday, Harry meets Ginny at her flat to apparate to the Burrow. He’d asked her if she wanted to hang out the night before — hoping, he’d admit to himself, they’d spend the night together, too — but she’d cited exhaustion. In her defense, she was exhausted, nearly all of the time: growing a human is, she’s discovering, hard work. Still, she’d thought it’d look best if they arrived together, so that’s what they do. She knows that when it comes to her family, Harry will do anything she tells him; he wants to stay in the good graces of the only real family he’s ever felt a part of.
He takes her side-along, because apparition can be tricky if one is exhausted, as Ginny is. She groans about it the whole time, because she can do things for herself, thankyouverymuch; in reality, she’s grateful for it. She feels a lot better when she arrives in Ottery St. Catchpole than she would have if they’d gone separately, which will certainly help her avoid her mother’s suspicious glance.
Harry’s hand finds its way into hers as they walk up the road to the house. She considers telling him they don’t need to play the role before they’re even there, but she doesn’t. Their fingers have always fit together perfectly — five plus five, like a puzzle piecing itself together — and it’s too nice to end it. If she’s going to pretend it's real, she’s going to take all the things about it that feel good along the way. “Ready?” He asks her in the final approach.
“It’s just my family, Harry,” Ginny tells him with an eyeroll. She plays the role so well, she even starts to believe herself. If she could only convince herself she wasn’t pregnant, just for this lunch, she’d have nothing to worry about.
The Weasleys are all in the garden, except for Molly, who’s in the kitchen. Ginny is the last to arrive today, but certainly not the least: everyone is expectantly waiting for her to arrive with Harry on her arm once again.
Ron is the one who spots them, excitedly waving them over. “Look everyone! It’s the lovebirds,” he announces.
Fleur turns to Bill and sighs happily. “Aren’t zey sweet?” She coos as Harry and Ginny walk over, still clasping hands tightly, to join the rest of the family.
Bill barely even has time to scowl at the reminder that — as far as he knows, at least — his sister is dating Harry Potter again, because Teddy Lupin notices his godfather has arrived. He breaks away from where his grandmother is cleaning his hands and runs as fast as his little legs will carry him, his hair turning the same shade of black and unruly texture as Harry’s. Ginny’s heart grows a few sizes and she tries not to swoon: their kid could look like that.
Harry removes his hand from Ginny so suddenly and forcefully that she has to remind herself it’s not a rejection. He opens his arms wide for the little boy to run into them. “Uncle Harry!” Teddy squeals as Harry squeezes him tightly and picks him up. A vision dances in front of Ginny’s mind, of a little boy with black hair and Harry’s long legs running toward the front door at Grimmauld Place screaming Daddy. She can’t help but smile stupidly.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Bill tells her sternly, noticing his sister’s wistful expression as he comes over to give her a hug. Ginny stifles the shame of knowing why that ship had already sailed.
“Hi Bill,” she smiles softly instead, giving her brother a kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you.”
“And you,” Bill agrees, following Ginny’s gaze back to where it’s returned, where Harry is playing with Teddy and, now, Bill’s daughter Victoire. “He’s good with them.”
Ginny nods, pensive. “Very.” She’s happy she came, if only just to see this. Even if her mom figures it all out today, she still thinks it’ll be worth it.
“You could do worse than him,” her eldest brother admits. “Don’t tell him, but I’ve always liked him for you,” he adds with a wink.
This gets Ginny to turn back toward his brother. She studies his face — scarred, but still incredibly handsome — and with curiosity asks: “Have you?”
Bill rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “There are very few men who would be suited for a girl like you, Ginny Weasley. And I think he is uniquely qualified for the job.” He pauses. “Besides, I get an unmatched sense of satisfaction from realizing that the man who defeated Voldemort fears me more,” he adds with a chuckle.
Now it’s Ginny’s turn to roll her eyes, swatting her brother with the back of her hand. “Prat,” she admonishes him, laughing all the while. “Besides, I’m not a girl anymore.”
“Woman,” he corrects, sounding like he believes it’s a dirty word. “Don’t get rid of him this time.”
Ginny looks back at Harry, two small children hanging off his back. She smiles a private little smile, one that just barely plays at her lips. “Oh, I worry I’ll never get rid of him,” she jokes. She’s unable to tell him just how true those words are — and she wouldn’t even tell herself just how much she wants them to be true.
Molly Weasley calls them all inside for dinner. It’s the kind of early fall day where the weather is nice enough for playing in the garden, but not quite warm enough for dining outside. They cram into the Burrow’s snug kitchen; while it’s expanded to accommodate the ever-growing Weasley family, Harry finds that he doesn’t have to even try to get his shoulder to brush against Ginny’s. Still, he does try, because he’s savoring the casual contact and also because he is under orders to appear affectionate. He reckons it’s his favorite order he’s ever received. He also loves the permission he’s been given to stare at her adoringly. He hasn’t been so free to admire her in public for ages.
On his other side, his five year old godson is tugging on his sleeve. “Uncle Haaaaaarry!”
Harry pulls his gaze from Ginny’s brilliant copper hair and toward Teddy. “What’s up, mate?” He asks, taking the opportunity to shovel a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
“Is Ginny your girlfriend ?” Teddy asks with wide eyes, clumsily forking a square of chicken his grandmother cut for him into his mouth. He gets gravy on his rosy cheek in the process.
Harry gets a dopey grin on his face, realizing he’s supposed to say that she is. It’s his favorite lie he’s ever told. “I think you’d have to ask her, but I reckon she is.”
Teddy doesn’t think he needs to bother asking Ginny, because Harry’s word is usually the definitive answer for him. “Are you gonna marry her?” He asks excitedly, voice raising about four decibels. The entire kitchen goes quiet, and all eyes turn toward him, waiting for Harry’s answer.
Harry looks at Ginny, clearly flustered. “Uh, bit early for that,” he tells Teddy with a nervous chuckle.
“Not a bit early if you’ve been dancing around each other for years,” Ron comments with a snort, clearly feeling entitled to be a part of the conversation as both Harry’s best mate and Ginny’s older brother. This earns him a sharp elbow from Hermione. “Ouch,” he drops his fork, hand reaching up to rub his side. “What’s that for?”
Ginny tries not to take notice of all the sets of eyes on her as she leans over Harry to tell Teddy: “I promise if we do get married, you’ll get a really important job at the wedding.”
This seems to satisfy Teddy, and Harry notices, puts a tear in Mrs. Weasley’s eye. Throughout dinner, she randomly interjects how happy she is to see them back together, how wonderful they are as a couple, how in love she thinks they are. It’s clear that she’s just overjoyed; after Teddy asks if they’ll get married, there’s a mischief to her smile, so reminiscent of her children, that tells Harry that Molly Weasley is planning his wedding to Ginny in her head.
Harry almost feels bad about lying. But then, what if it isn’t really a lie? What if it’s just a roundabout way of reaching an inevitable conclusion? He’s never much been one for fate or destiny — he reckons he’d had enough of that for a lifetime by the time he was done with Voldemort — but if Ginny is his destiny, he’ll accept anything that gets him there.
Harry and Ginny leave the Burrow that night hand in hand once more, secret still intact. Ginny is relieved. “I think she was so happy to see us together that it distracted her from anything suspicious,” she explains, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Harry tells her he’s going to drop her home first, and Ginny pulls a face. “Actually, would you mind if I came over for a bit?” There’s an excuse on the tip of her tongue, about how she wants to hear more about where he plans to put the nursery, but she never ends up saying it. As soon as she’s thought of it, Harry’s arm is around her waist, taking her to the front step of Grimmauld Place.
He can’t help but kiss her before he goes to open the door. And she never sees the baby’s future room, because she asks him to take her up to his instead.