SEVENTEEN
The way Healer Harris structures her practice is such that Ginny has never seen anyone in the office other than Harry and Healer Harris herself. She’s positive that there have been more patients in the other exam rooms while she’s been in the office, but she’s never had to encounter them; when privacy of the of the utmost importance, staggered appointment arrivals and departures, as well as fully equipped exam rooms — each an office unto themselves — ensure that patients never encounter one another. And, frankly, that had been a huge part of the appeal. That’s why it’s surprising when, at the end of February, Audrey follows Healer Harris into the exam room for Ginny’s first third trimester appointment.
Audrey is wearing what looks like a matching sweatsuit — Harry will later explain that these are usually worn in muggle hospitals and doctors’ offices because they can get dirty (“I think they call them scrubs?”) — embroidered with her name and specialty: Audrey C. Larsson, DMH - Reproductive Magic and Fertility. She immediately flushes upon seeing the patient in the room, as Healer Harris introduces them. “Ginny, Harry, this is Healer Larsson, I’ve asked her to come with me today to —”
“We know her,” Ginny cuts Healer Harris off, glancing at Audrey skeptically. “Audrey is dating my older brother.” Ginny’s tone implies that she needs an explanation — and soon — because her brother’s girlfriend really has no place in her prenatal appointment.
Audrey blushes a deeper crimson still, before she swallows and looks at Healer Harris. “Sorry, I didn’t realize — I probably should have, I knew you were Ginny’s healer. But maybe this is a conflict of interest, and if Ginny is uncomfortable, I can certainly refer a colleague to handle this conversation at a later date.”
Healer Harris waves Audrey off, however. “Let’s at least start the discussion, and then we can figure out how to proceed from there, yes?” The older witch is the picture of professionalism. “Ginny, Harry, please relax,” she gestures to her patient and her patient’s boyfriend, voice professional but kind. Harry notices his fist is clenched upon her declaration; he uncoils it and moves to sit next to Ginny on the table, who grabs his hand the second she’s next to him. He traces soothing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. They don’t know why Audrey is here, but the signs are pointing to something serious.
“The reason I’ve asked Healer Larsson to join me for this appointment today is because there is a bit of your medical history we’ve yet to really discuss, Ginny,” Healer Harris continues, once Ginny and Harry look quite settled. Her tone is now clinical and precise, as opposed to her usually warm demeanor, which sets Ginny further on edge. “Given that you already know Healer Larsson, you might know a bit about her work in helping couples who sustained dark magic and injuries during the second war conceive, yes?” Harry and Ginny look at each other and nod; they are still utterly lost, given that they clearly had no issues conceiving. In fact, they did so very much by accident, though they’d never point that out to Audrey, whether because she’s Percy’s girlfriend or because she treats couples desperate for a child daily.
“That, er, wasn’t a problem here,” Ginny points out, quietly, because that’s the hippogriff in the room, isn’t it?
“Of course,” Healer Harris responds, her voice going softer, taking on its usual warmth once more. “But as these pregnancies progress in Healer Larsson’s patients, there have been additional risks and effects that she believes may be further tied to the war. These have all been fairly recently encountered. Given the role you both played in the war, I decided to ask Healer Larsson to join me because I wanted to include a specialist in your treatment as we near the end of your pregnancy.” She pauses, her eyes softening now; this was the bedside manner that got Ginny to continue seeing Healer Harris, she remembers now. “I understand you might not be entirely comfortable with having your brother’s girlfriend as part of your care team, Ginny, but please know that Healer Larsson is the most experienced with what we’re about to discuss, and also that the oaths we take of patient protection are magically binding. She literally cannot tell your family a single thing.”
Ginny turns to Harry, raising her eyebrow in question. In his eyes, she can see something she hasn’t seen in Harry in some time: undisguised fear. He’s clearly terrified for Ginny and Snitch and how whatever they’re about to discuss might impact them. And without saying any words, Ginny knows: she has to trust Audrey, as a healer even if she doesn’t as a person, if only for Harry’s sake — though if she’s honest, seeing Harry scared fills her with uncertainty and anxiety as well.
“All right,” Ginny nods, a hint of hesitation creeping through her resolve. “I trust you,” she tells Healer Harris before turning to Audrey: “So if Healer Harris trusts you, then I will, too.”
Audrey beams at this comment, always so transparent with her emotions. “Then let’s get started,” she tells them in her healer voice. Harry can definitively confirm it is different from the voice she uses at the Burrow, now that he’s seen it in action. “The thing I’ve found most interesting about my work with post-war infertility is the fact that — when it comes to conception — there aren’t many commonalities. Some couples who should have seen a more profound impact on overall fertility have had no trouble at all, while others who were only peripherally involved in the war have seen damage to the endocrine system or reproductive organs. However, where I’ve seen patterns crop up is in pregnancy, and the late stages in particular.” She pauses, as if to let her words sink in, before continuing. “Male-factor history, understandably, is really only relevant to conception. What we need to watch out for is your history, Ginny.”
Ginny nods tightly and grips Harry’s hand harder. It would be easier, she thinks, if he had to go through the questioning, too. As it is, it’s difficult to be forced to relive some of the most painful moments of her life to her brother’s girlfriend, because even though Audrey is also sort of her healer now, it’s going to take some time to separate her two roles. When Audrey literally gasps upon hearing that Ginny lost count of the number of times she endured the Cruciatus — and for prolonged durations — during her sixth year at Hogwarts, she worries that the witch will never be able to have a normal conversation with anyone at the Burrow again.
Next to Ginny, Harry remains unflinching while she goes through everything in as much detail as she’s able. Like she’s always done for him, he remains a solid source of comfort, seeming to squeeze her hand or lean over and tell her she’s doing great at exactly the right time. When she’s finished and all she can do is exhaustedly drop her head unto his shoulder, he asks questions so she can collect herself.
“So what is it we’re watching for?” He asks.
“The Cruciatus exposure is what I’m most concerned about,” Audrey admits, capping off her muggle pen and tapping her notes with her wand to import them to Healer Harris’ chart. “You’ve, um, experienced it much more than any of the patients I’ve worked with and, well, it seems to be trending that Cruciatus exposure is correlated with preterm birth.”
Ginny, who’s been listening to the conversation as if she’s floating above it, feels her hand go to her stomach instinctively. As if trying to reassure her, Snitch kicks hard against it. She smiles weakly at that, but it’s hard to muster much of any feeling in the realm of positivity.
“Elaborate on that.” Harry is using what Ginny thinks must be his Auror Voice: cold, detached, commanding. He leaves no room for questions, because he makes it clear he is the one asking those here. It’s a far cry from the soothing, sweet tone he used when whispering words of comfort to her.
“Well, we’re in the third trimester now, which is good,” Audrey explains. “Once we’ve reached this point, outcomes are typically good for both mom and baby — even if there’s a bit of extra care needed for the baby. That being said, I want us to be conscious of the fact that your body might be delicate, from the damage you sustained during the war, and, as such, in an effort to protect itself, it may trigger the onset of labor at any time.” She looks over to Healer Harris, as if to cue her into the conversation now.
“Healer Larsson has developed a potion protocol to prepare for this, and we’ll go through that shortly,” Healer Harris explains smoothly. “I will also want to see you on a weekly basis for the remainder of your pregnancy. Healer Larsson will join appointments if she’s able, but otherwise, she will be consulting on your case based on my assessment.”
“The potion protocol,” Audrey picks up, not giving Harry a chance to interject forward, “is a two prong approach. On one prong, we’ll be focusing on keeping your body strong. There’s no potion that can delay labor, but what we can do is make sure to keep your body healthy — hydration, nutrition, vitamins and minerals, and the like all must be regulated. So I’m going to draw some blood today and use that to formulate a bespoke potion that meets your needs specifically, Ginny. That’ll be delivered to you by owl tomorrow. And do keep up with your prenatal potion as well — one is not meant to replace the other.” She pauses to give Ginny and Harry time to digest. Ginny’s head is spinning, but she trusts Harry is paying attention. “The other part of the potion protocol is focused on helping your little guy develop enough to minimize time in the special care unit with the neonatal healers. I’ve had a lot of success with these potions for premature births — even one dose while the mom is in labor can significantly decrease complications. Therefore, every week at your appointments here, you’ll be given a dose of a potion that will help to expedite the development of baby’s lungs and reflexes, strengthen the immunity he’d gain from you during the last weeks of pregnancy, and encourage the storage of body fat under his skin. Giving this potion on a weekly basis will ensure he’s strong enough if you do go into preterm labor without doing anything to make your body think he’s ready to be born.”
“I know this is scary,” Healer Harris jumps in, her eyes kind and understanding. “But we’re in the best position we can be: we know the risks and we know what we can do to minimize them. And we’re getting started on this now.” She pulls a golden charm out of her pocket and hands it to Ginny, who gazes at it confusedly. “If you feel anything unusual, I want you to tap this charm with your wand. It’ll alert me and Healer Larsson that you need to talk to one of us and we can get in touch with you and help you assess whether you should go to hospital.”
Audrey pulls out a key ring, on which there are maybe seven charms, including a daisy that matches the one Ginny’s holding in her palms. “Each of these charms is assigned to a patient of mine, and it will buzz and glow until I’ve responded to that patient. No one but me and the obstetric healer who works with the patient knows who each charm is assigned to. So if I’m with Percy when your charm lights up, he won’t know a thing,” she explains.
Despite her reservations toward the witch, Ginny feels a surge of gratitude toward Audrey for explaining this to her. Otherwise, she would have definitely been hesitant to use it. She nods at Audrey, unable to crack even the smallest smile. She looks over at Harry, who is also gazing at Audrey appreciatively. “Thank you,” he whispers.
The exam that follows is longer than any other Ginny has had during her pregnancy — including her visit to the muggle doctor at the beginning. It’s peppered with questions both toward her (from the healers) and about her (from Harry), but she experiences it with the same detachment she felt while Audrey explained everything to her. She protests when Harry gets a taxi to bring her home, but only performatively; she resents the requests from both Audrey and Healer Harris that she avoid apparating and walking long distances, as either could trigger labor, but she’s also exhausted and feeling faint, and the taxi is the most pleasant option for travel. She doesn’t speak until they’re back in Grimmauld Place, Harry drawing a warm (but not hot, because that’s also forbidden) bath for Ginny to relax in before he needs to return to the Ministry and his trainees.
“I don’t want anyone else to know,” she tells him as he uses the wand to gauge the temperature of the bathwater, performing a modified stasis charm to keep it steady for as long as she wishes to soak.
“Why not?” Harry asks. His concern has not abated even one bit, and she’s decidedly nervous that he might stop going to work entirely until the baby arrives, terrified to leave her on her own even one moment. His reaction only exacerbates this worry: it sounds as if he had been ready to have her mother babysit her when he cannot.
Ginny sighs. “We don’t even know we have anything to worry about for sure. If he’s early — well, we’re doing all we can, aren’t we? Having my family hover won’t do anything but make me stressed, and that’s not going to help matters. You heard Healer Harris.” Harry opens his mouth to respond, so she preempts him. “Harry, I know you’re worried, and I am, too. But if I’m alone and I feel anything strange, you can trust me to get in touch with Healer Harris and Audrey. And I’ll get in touch with you as well, I promise. I’ll send a patronus.”
Harry looks like he wants to argue, but thinks better of it. Instead he just says: “I was supposed to protect you.” His voice is small, and she can see him clearly as the terrified eleven year old she first glimpsed on the platform, unsure of what to expect. “I didn’t protect you, and now our son…” His voice cracks at that, and she can see him again — thirteen and playing the hero even though he wasn’t yet a man.
“Are you talking about the war?” She asks incredulously. And he gives that jerky, embarrassed nod that she’s oh-so-familiar with. “Harry, even if we’d never dated, I was going to be a target that year. Because Ron is my brother and I’m from a family of blood traitors and I was never going to take what was happening at Hogwarts lying down. Believe it or not, Harry, the war was never your fault. It was Tom’s, not yours. And we can be very frustrated and even angry that his war is somehow still putting our child at risk, but you can’t blame yourself Harry. Okay?” He doesn’t answer her. His green eyes flit back down to the bathwater instead as he adds some oils that Healer Harris suggested might relax her.
“I don’t think I could survive it,” he says instead, after a few moments. “If anything happened to either of you. I don’t know if I could do it.”
“Remember last month, before the theatre? When you apologized for always worrying about what can go wrong, instead of feeling hopeful that things may turn out right?” It’s difficult for her to say it, because she’s all too aware that she couldn’t survive it, if anything happened to Snitch or Harry, for that matter, either.
“Well, yeah, but—”
Ginny shakes her head. “Harry, Audrey and Healer Harris were very forthright with us. They said that the actual danger level is very low, especially if I keep up with my appointments and my potions. I’ll be safe and Snitch will be safe, Harry. I don’t plan on losing the charm just to annoy my brother’s girlfriend, all right? I think we’re quite past cutting off our noses to spite our faces.”
Harry considers this for a few moments, before drying his hands. “All right,” he agrees. “But I am going to write to Robards and tell him that you’re sick after your appointment and I’m staying home with you today. All right?”
And Ginny decides to let him have this one, because relationships are about compromise. “Yeah, okay. I reckon we both deserve to shut in and relax after that.” She gestures to the tub. “Care to join me?”
…
They shut themselves in the weekend after the appointment, though no one takes notice of their conspicuous absence at the Burrow on Sunday. After all, everyone’s due for Ron’s birthday dinner on Monday, and Ginny can’t really be expected to floo long distances two days in a row at this point, can she?
“We can do this,” Ginny tells Harry as she moves the clasp of her necklace so it’s hidden behind her hair. That’s what they’ve done with her daisy charm — put it on a necklace that they’ve mutually agreed she will wear at all times until Snitch is born. If it’s around her neck, she can’t forget to bring it. “We can act normal.”
Harry nods, raking a hand through his hair. “And you’re positive you don’t want to tell your family?”
“Of course,” Ginny snaps. They’ve discussed it ad nauseam at this point. He knows her reasons, and has said he understands them. She doesn’t quite comprehend, then, why he’s insisting on asking after it yet again.
Harry holds up his hands, as if in surrender. “All right, all right. I won’t ask again.” He pauses, debating whether to annoy her further, and ultimately falls into an uneasy silence.
“Well, come on, then,” she huffs, frankly less agitated than she appears. It’s really more that she’s taking out her disquiet with the situation on the person closest to her, the only other person she can discuss this with openly. “Ron’ll be miffed if we’re late.”
Ron will also be miffed if the pair of them are anything less than exuberant at the prospect of him turning another year older, but Harry doesn’t bother saying that. He thinks their ability to act chipper will only go so far, really; Ginny’s clearly not coping with this news as well as she’s pretending, and Harry can’t stop overanalyzing every single facial expression she makes, certain he’s missed a sign of pain or discomfort. “I’ve got his gift,” Harry says instead, patting his jacket pocket for good measure.
“Merlin forbid you forget that,” Ginny mumbles, the closest she’s come to joking in days as they head toward the fireplace to floo to the Burrow.
They’re only ten minutes late or so, but being close to on time doesn’t stop Ron’s inappropriate jokes. After accepting birthday greetings — a hug from his sister and a one of those handshake-hug hybrids from Harry — he pointedly asks what could have kept them. “Nothing you wouldn’t approve of, I assure you,” Harry mutters bitterly. After all, sex is yet another thing on the list of things that could trigger labor. The last thing he needs is for Ron to unknowingly taunt him about not having sex for the next six to eight weeks (and that’s if all goes well), and another six weeks after that while Ginny recovers from birth.
“You try walking around with twenty extra pounds that can kick you strapped to your front, you git,” Ginny reprimands her brother hotly. “I’m taking back my birthday wishes.”
“You can’t do that,” Ron whines.
“Already did,” Ginny shrugs, shuffling off to find a seat while Harry goes to put Ron’s gift on the pile in the kitchen.
Her favorite couch is already occupied by Percy and George, but there’s enough room for her to plop down next to them. “Budge over,” she commands them, though she’d technically fit without it. They both comply, which satisfies her immensely.
“How are you feeling?” Percy asks her immediately. Ginny eyes him skeptically, wondering what Audrey told him to beg that question. But Percy’s never been very good at hiding anything, and one glance at his face shows that he’s only asking perfunctorily, politely. Curiously, Audrey is also nowhere to be found, and Ginny has seen Audrey without Percy more times than the reverse recently.
“Fine, thanks,” she lies. Physically, she’s as well as she could be, but emotionally, nothing feels fine at all. She’s always been good at hiding her real feelings from her brothers, so she grossly underestimated how difficult keeping up appearances would be tonight of all nights.
“Audrey’s at work,” Percy offers, though no one has asked. “One of her patients went into early labor, so she went in even though she had the day off.”
Ginny frowns at that, feeling unlucky to be reminded of her situation within a few minutes of her arrival; Percy has no way of knowing his little sister is at risk for the same, but it seems like him to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time nonetheless.
“Don’t say that to your pregnant sister, git,” George reprimands him, saving Ginny the trouble. “You’re going to worry her for no reason.”
Of course, Ginny does have reason to be worried, but she’s not going to tell anyone that. She’s still grateful George handled it for her, even if she would have enjoyed hexing Percy for opening his dumb mouth. Better not to cause a scene on Ron’s birthday, anyway.
Percy looks like he’d very much like to defend himself, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just coughs to clear his throat. “Er, sorry.”
“What are we talking about?” Harry asks, appearing with a gillywater for Ginny and a butterbeer for himself. He hands her drink over and sits on the floor in front of Ginny, who runs her fingers through his hair fondly, scratching his scalp lightly. He sighs contentedly.
“I keep telling you that I don’t have to know how you got pregnant,” George teases his sister, who no longer has it in her to look embarrassed. Harry, on the other hand, flushes pink. “And to think, I defended you, Ginny.”
Harry tilts his head backward to look at Ginny upside down. “Defended you?” Then he looks back at George. “Ginny usually defends herself, you know.”
“Percy was being a git,” George rolls his eyes. “Wasn’t worth the queen using up her energy.”
“I didn’t mean to be a git,” Percy remarks defensively. “I was simply explaining why everyone else is here with their paramours and I’m not.”
“Paramour,” Ginny chuckles.
“If you’re trying to convince us you aren’t a git, mate, you probably shouldn’t sound like a ponce,” George ribs his brother.
“I’m lost,” Harry admits, looking up at Ginny again. The look of confusion in his eyes — magnified by his glasses as he tilts his head back at her — makes her heart feel fit to burst. She thinks about all the times he’s told her she’s adorable and thinks that he’s adorable, too. Not for the first time, she finds herself hoping that Snitch looks exactly like him; she can’t imagine anything cuter.
“Audrey is at work attending to a preterm patient,” Ginny explains tersely. But she sounds more relaxed, as though it wouldn’t ever occur to her to feel anxious about such a thing herself. “George told Percy not to worry me.”
Harry’s eyes go wide before he coughs to clear his expression. “Er, right,” he agrees tightly. “Well, send her our best,” he adds politely to Percy. Ginny thinks that alone is somewhat suspicious — Harry has gotten annoyed with Percy for much less — but she’ll talk to him about that later.
Not keen on having to continue this conversation, Ginny blurts: “I have to wee.” She holds out her hands. “Harry, can you help me up?”
“It’s really the least I can do,” Harry grins, standing and offering his hands to pull her up. “Do you need help up the stairs?”
“They don’t even try to hide it,” George comments incredulously to no one in particular.
“Sure,” Ginny agrees. She and Harry can’t do what George is suggesting, but that’s part of the fun. If she’s going to be worried and randy and uncomfortable for the next few months, she may as well have fun with it where she can.
Harry follows her into the loo and casts a muffliato, but not because they’re going to do anything uncouth. “Audrey didn’t tell Percy anything, right?” Ginny asks Harry as she settles onto the toilet. Saying she needed the loo was really a convenient excuse to leave the conversation, but she could really always pee at least a little bit these days.
Harry shakes his head. “I looked into it at work. Apparently, if Healers try to talk about one of their patients to someone who isn’t either under oath or authorized by the patient in question, no sound comes out.”
“That’s an impressive bit of magic,” Ginny admits reluctantly. She finishes and gropes around for a place to hold as she hoists herself up; Harry offers his hands instead.
“I thought so, too. There’s no way Percy knows. He probably thought he was giving you some important information by telling you. I wouldn’t dwell on it.”
Ginny nods and proceeds with wiping herself and flushing the toilet. She’s far past the point of feeling modest around Harry, which is probably good — he’ll be watching a baby coming out of her soon enough. As she goes to wash her hands, she sighs. “I am dwelling on it,” she admits. And they both know she’s no longer talking about Percy at all.
“Me too,” he agrees. She’s standing in front of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. He comes up behind her and snakes his arms around her middle, resting his hands just so on her swollen abdomen. If anyone else touched her stomach right now, Ginny would feel uneasy, but Harry’s hands make her feel safe, just as they’ve always done. Even when they were only friends with benefits and she was refusing to acknowledge how deep their feelings ran, she knew she could trust him to handle her with care.
“He’s quiet in there,” Harry comments after a minute, and Ginny can feel the tension building, the hesitation.
“He was kicking while we were downstairs,” Ginny assures him. “I reckon it’s no fun for him anymore, now that I’ve emptied his favorite bludger.”
Harry laughs at that and cancels the charm on the door just in time to hear a banging on the bathroom door. “You two better not be…you know in there on my birthday,” Ron’s voice calls petulantly.
“Honestly, Ronald,” they can hear Hermione’s voice cut in, even farther away from the door. “Ginny probably just needed help.”
“I don’t know if I should be offended that she guessed that,” Ginny mumbles to Harry as she heads for the door.
“He’d be thrilled to know we can’t have sex,” Harry mutters back. They share a humorless laugh and agree that they may hate Ron, actually, before heading out.
Ron’s birthday dinner is inadvertently co-opted by Bill and Fleur when Victoire tells everyone, her mouth full of Ron’s birthday cake (as befits a Weasley child, of course), that she wants her Grandmum to bake a birthday cake when her brother or sister is born.
Once everyone catches on to her meaning, the festive atmosphere multiplies and Ginny feels grateful: both for the fact that Snitch will have a cousin close in age to him and Fleur’s pregnancy serving to distract Molly at least a little bit from Ginny’s. She knows then that hiding her latest appointment from her family was the best choice. She’d have gotten no relief from the hovering then, not even with Fleur’s announcement.
Bill apologizes to Ron, Ginny observes from her place on the couch as she relaxes a bit before having to floo back to London. He explains that Victoire had promised to keep a secret until next Sunday; frankly, Ginny thinks her brother is too smart to have not expected that his child would blab, but who is she to comment? She’s not a parent yet, and even once she is, she’ll have many months before she is swearing Snitch to secrecy on anything he may overhear his parents discussing. Still, she’s been helping Harry watch Teddy for months now, and that came with a warning to mind what she mentions in front of the precocious boy. As such, Ginny finds herself wondering if Bill and Fleur actually just planned it this way. That would be a power move, Ginny decides, and brilliant if true. Because Ron has a tendency toward jealousy but a soft spot the size of the Atlantic Ocean for his niece. And, soon, his nephew.
So later, when she and Harry are in bed, she turns to him: “You know, it’s a pity, but I just thought of a better birthday gift for Ron than the one we gave him.”
Harry, who is distractedly reading a memo he brought home from work, asks: “Hmm? What’s that?”
“We should have asked him to be Snitch’s godfather,” Ginny shrugs. “Y’know, officially.”
They haven’t discussed it much, but there was never another choice for either of them. Now that Snitch’s birth feels imminent, there are many decisions they must make; this, at least, is an easy one. “For the best we didn’t, I think. He’d have been offended that we thought we even had to ask.”
“Happy Birthday, we’d like you to be partially responsible for a child,” Ginny jokes.
“Well, that part is a gift,” Harry says seriously. “As a godfather myself, I speak from experience when I say that’s the very best bit.”
“I believe you,” Ginny agrees. “And, if anything happened to us —”
“It won’t,” Harry cuts her off. “I’d never let that happen,” he tells her fiercely. He long ago made peace with the fact that something could happen to him , but he’d never accept that something would happen to both of them. He’s grateful to the sacrifice both of his parents made for him, but he’d never be so foolish as to not have his wand on him like his dad, for example.
“Even so,” Ginny sighs. After all, no one makes these plans thinking they’ll actually need them, do they? “If something were to happen to both of us — Merlin forbid — I want Ron and Hermione to raise him.”
Harry holds her gaze before agreeing. “I trust them with everything. I’ve trusted them with my life more times than I can count. And they know everything about how I was treated growing up. So if there’s anyone I’d trust to raise my son and make sure he was loved if I couldn’t do it myself — it’d be them.”
Ginny motions to him to move closer to her; not so long ago, this is when she would have sidled up to him for a hug, but now she’s trapped in the complicated arrangement of pillows meant to keep her comfortable. He obliges, tossing his memo onto his nightstand and then scooting over and putting his arms around her. “I don’t want to promise that I know nothing will happen to us, because I am crap at divination. But what I can promise is that Snitch is never going to feel unloved.”
Harry presses a kiss to the crown of Ginny’s head, and then rests his chin on the spot he just kissed, breathing in the scent of her hair. “I believe you. And I know we didn’t really choose the way this happened, but it’s why you’re the only person I’d want to do this with. It’s why I choose you.”