Days After Death

“Gin, where’s Harry?”

Ron has already been here for three hours and he’s only realising now that his best friend is nowhere to be seen. But if Ginny was going to be fair to him, Ron was four glasses into that chardonnay bottle and he had brought up Rose practising for her Quidditch tryouts for the third time in the past hour. His cheeks were almost as flushed as his roots and he was beginning to sigh sleepily. Worse than Harry not being here to save her, Hermione wasn’t here either.

Instead of answering, Ginny looked out across the garden.

Hugo was trying to collect grubs. Lily was trying to distract him by blowing bubbles into his hair. Albus was sitting in the shade, looking positively sullen as Rose spoke rapidly to him. Teddy was somewhere in the kitchen– the last Ginny saw of him he was trying to spike his peach tea without getting caught. Percy and Audrey had just left with their daughters, and George and Angelina said they would stop by later. James didn’t want a huge birthday this year.

As if she conjured him purely from thought, James steps out onto the veranda.

“Hey baby,” Ginny greets, her heart unclenching just a little. She’s always nervous during one of her children’s birthdays. She wants them to be happy today, but it’s all up to her to make it so and she can never tell if she’s succeeding, especially when it’s James.

He goes obediently to her, lets her ruffle his hair (he keeps trying to smooth out its unruliness, but it never works for long).

“I think Teddy’s a bit drunk,” James murmurs. “He started singing Ave Maria to me when I came down.”

Ron guffaws at that, and Ginny shoots him a look. He waves a heavy hand at her.

“I’ll look after him,” he says, though it’s not very reassuring considering he’s now struggling to get out of his chair, “make sure he doesn’t Floo anywhere and all.”

“Need help?” she asks as he finally lurches himself up.

“Jeez Gin. Don’t offend me.”

Ron lumbers inside. James replaces him on the chair. The way he sits makes him look so grown up, but his face retains some of that young chub, and his eyes are still big on his face, brown like hers. He’s still her baby, though he doesn’t act like it.

“Have you ever noticed something off about those two?” James nods a head at Albus and Rose.

Whatever Rose had been saying has now dissipated into a silence that even Ginny could feel from here. She concentrates on eating her melting tiramisu in her hand, and Albus runs a finger through the dirt absentmindedly, that wicked frown still on his face.

“I think he just misses Scorpius,” Ginny sighs. “He talks about nothing else when he comes back from school.”

James only hums, “Rose and he used to be close. Just sucks a bit.”

Happens, she wants to tell him. She and Ron had been best buds before he had gone off to Hogwarts and made his real best friends. The same would have occurred between him and Albus too.

Instead, James turns his attention to the half-glass of chardonnay. His smile is all mischief, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She can’t remember the last time it did. He points at it and Ginny is already shaking her head sternly.

“Don’t you even think about it.”

“I can’t have a sip?” James pouts. “But it’s my birthday!”

“You’re sixteen, James.”

“All my friends–”

“I don’t care about what your ragtag mates indulge in. Maybe their mothers should pay more attention to them. You know I’ve read that alcoholism in the youth is rapidly growing. You have to be careful about who you spend time with, James. There’s a lot of bad apples out there. Especially people who–” she makes a messy hand gesture at him– “would love to corrupt someone like you. All those eyes. You just never know.”

She can’t help going on a rant when she feels her sore spot’s been prodded. Usually she can cut herself short if it’s Albus, since Harry gives him so much grief already and… well, he’s Albus. Though she loves him all the same, he’s always been different. But with Lily and James, it’s open fire, like Harry’s breeziness allows space for Ginny to suffocate them with her concern. Now, if she were to talk Lily’s ear off about this she’d have either walked away by now or argued back. On a good day she’d sit there looking much too pissed off for a twelve-year-old. And James has leant back in his seat, crossed his arms looking unimpressed but– and this is what she loves about him, secretly– quite amused. His smile’s gone but there’s echoes of it threatening to break out on his face again, as if he likes seeing her in a bit of panic over something he considers so trivial. It achingly reminds her a bit of Fred.

“It’s not funny, James,” Ginny says, trying not to laugh herself. “It’s serious.”

He raises his hands in surrender, “I never said it wasn’t.” Then he taps the glass. “You’re absolutely right, Mum. A sip of Uncle Ron’s piss drink will send me down a path of irreversible evil. You have saved me yet again.”

Unlike Albus and Lily’s dry sarcasm, James somehow says all this without sounding mocking. Ginny retorts with something, James fires back, but he listens to her and doesn’t touch the glass. Chardonnay is terrible anyway. James wouldn’t like the taste of it.

Teddy comes out later. It’s funny to see him try to act like he’s not mullered. He compliments Ginny’s hair twice in the same conversation insisting her haircut does her wonders. She hasn’t had a haircut in the past year. He hangs around for an hour or so before Ginny offers to Apparate him to his flat. It’s humorous seeing Teddy try to play with James as if he’s still a young child. Perhaps it’s because most of Teddy’s memories of spending time with James were before he started going to school, when James was still a wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked boy. Now he’s singing songs from James’ favourite childhood movies, and James only remembers about half of them. It’s like Teddy’s the young one now, James humouring him when he tries to re-explain his old thought process behind a tattoo on his thigh he now regrets. He keeps ruffling James’ hair, making it messier. Ginny can see James doesn’t have the heart to tell him to knock it off. Teddy’s laugh is such an infectious, bubbly sound, that they all try to keep Teddy laughing just for the sake of it. She leaves James to it after a while. He likes to break things down into attainable objectives, even when it’s something as simple as making his godbrother laugh. She likes to think she’s the only exemption from his habit of evaluating interaction.

She remembers when she got pregnant right after Hogwarts. People were still rebuilding from the war, her family was still swamped by Fred’s death. Harry had been so busy, throwing himself into efforts of restoration to distract himself from the fact that he had probably lost the most out of everyone. He was in no state to be a father. She was in no state to be a mother. But sometimes when she looks at James and how he is with Teddy or any one of his older cousins, she wonders how he would’ve been if he wasn’t the oldest. If there could’ve been someone to shadow him like he had been with Albus and Lily, to protect him from bad people and mess his hair when he tried to be too proper and tease him by singing silly childhood songs.

Teddy hangs around for an hour or so before Ginny offers to Apparate him to his flat. She lugs him over to his makeshift bed on the couch. Why he chooses to live in such a shitty place knowing he’s got the means to buy some place proper, she’ll never know. But Teddy’s always been a little eccentric. She wonders what Andromeda thinks of it. Maybe she ought to send her a letter, it’s been ages since she last spoke to the woman.

“Thanks for that help, Ginny,” Teddy stammers.

He always falters at what to call Ginny, sometimes accidentally calling her Ma’am or Misses. He always just calls Harry by name, though. It makes Ginny feel a bit shameful. She’s never been good at hiding her feelings, even when Teddy’s never deserved them.

“Did you, um,” Ginny gestures a bit, “talk to him?”

“Oh, yeah,” Teddy sits up. He almost seems sober for a second. “Well, I tried.”

Ginny sighs.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay, Teddy. I wasn’t expecting much, to be honest.”

“Could be a good sign, though. Maybe there’s nothing to talk about cuz there’s nothing to worry about.”

She starts to gnaw on her bottom lip, anxiety tightening uncomfortably around her neck and shoulders, like some itchy blanket. There’s really no reason for her to feel so ill at ease. James didn’t invite many friends the years previous, except Jojo and Alice. She knows Jojo has sent him birthday wishes this morning. And though it was odd he didn’t have Alice over today, he told her she was just on holiday. In truth, Ginny’s growing concern for James has nothing to do with them.

Yet there’s nothing to validate her instincts on.

“Hopefully.”

“James has always been the toughest one to crack,” Teddy gesticulates wildly, almost sending a throw pillow toppling to the floor. “Don’t know where he learnt that, but he’s fucking intelligent, that one. So maybe we just gotta trust that if he’s going through some shit and he doesn’t want to talk about it, he’ll sort it out himself too.”

Ginny had always been one of the more independent types. She didn’t like involving others, she was the best when she felt the agency to transform herself whenever she wanted. But was that the sort of person James was too?

“Maybe,” she mutters.

When she gets back, Albus comes over to complain about Rose. Ginny offers to spend time with him instead and he graciously takes it, sipping lemonade and (as always) drawing conversation back to Scorpius. Scorpius’ favourite sugary drinks and how Scorpius hates the cold because of his poor circulation and where Scorpius would be holidaying this summer and how Scorpius writes very long letters. It was all as if he was going to combust if he couldn’t tell someone about him. If Ginny was honest with herself, she misses when she and Albus could go at length without talking about Malfoy’s son, but she’ll never say it. Albus can’t share Scorpius with anyone else but she, and it’s obvious to her that he sees his friend as the most precious secret. It reminds her a bit of how she used to write about Harry in her diary since she had no one to talk to him about, and then it makes her a bit sad for her enamoured son. So she asks questions about Scorpius, feigns interest, and feels only mild guilt when she sees Albus’ eyes light with excitement from having been permitted to share himself with her.

She wonders if she should test the water, “So, you like Scorpius a lot, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s my best mate,” Albus says simply. So simply she knows it to be true. The kind of faith that, as horrible as it sounds, she didn’t know Albus possessed in him.

“That’s nice, hon.”

Rose comes over later to make polite conversation, though Ginny is sure she’s only doing it because the girl has impeccable manners with her elders. However, she does seem to be genuinely invested when Ginny offers to give her tips on being Chaser, and the stars she sees in her niece’s eyes make her feel nostalgic. It’s this that makes Ginny promise to help her train as much as she can before school starts again. Might be nice to do something outside of work. But if Rose is… well, really good, as horrible as it is, Ginny is afraid of feeling bitter about it.

Hugo doesn’t really care for niceties, unlike his sister. Ginny doesn’t mind. But he and Lily do bound over to her with energy that exceeds their little bodies. Lily’s smile is all cheek as she brushes her tangled red hair out of her face.

“Play with us, Mummy!” she demands, her voice high and always caught on the precipice of shrieking laughter. Ginny is putty in her hands.

She’s the monster, whilst Hugo and Lily are the valiant knights. Lily has a foam noodle for swimming that she claims is her long sword. Hugo pretends to do wandless magic. Ginny is told to be on all fours and chase them through the house and make monster noises. James joins in to introduce the treasure the monster tries to steal from the heroes. He pretends to be background characters– worried villagers, an omniscient narrator, a bossy mentor who’s only hardly disguised from James just wanting to introduce rules and order to the game. Albus and Rose refuse to join in.

“Hi-yah!” Lily shouts, jabbing the foam noodle at Ginny’s face. She pretends it doesn’t hurt at all, but her daughter has more natural strength for a twelve-year-old girl than appropriate.

“Oh, blast you! You’ve killed me, you wretch!” Ginny flops over theatrically, tongue lolling. Really, she just needs a breath. She can hear James snickering somewhere.

Lily laughs and comes to hit her with the noodle again, this time on the shoulder. Hugo is performing some ritualistic dance around her body, which is probably what causes Ginny to cease playing. Besides, her knees and arms and the back of her neck hurt too much. The little ones complain, but even their cuteness can’t distract her from the arching pain along her spine.

Ron is still drinking when George and Angelina come. James chats civilly with his cousins, which is rare enough for Weasleys. Roxanne is soon pulled into Lily and Hugo’s game, however. Angelina apologises profusely for her daughter’s loudness, though Ginny waves her off. Ron wakes up to greet their brother and sister-in-law but gets upset when George starts to tease his drunk flush. It only escalates when George starts questioning where Hermione is, how he hasn’t seen her in quite some time. He’s joking but can’t help but push when Ron is clearly sore of the subject.

Ginny leads Ron to her and Harry’s room to sleep the wine off. Then she tries to entertain George and Angelina, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

“How long has he been here, Gin?” George asks at one point.

“Since morning,” Ginny doesn’t mean to sound as exhausted as she is.

George and Roxanne exchange a semi-horrified look between each other. Ginny feels the need to defend Ron, saying, “It’s not so bad. He’s been helping me bake and all. Keeping me company with the kids.”

It’s like George doesn’t hear it.

“Harry should be the one doing that, not him,” he says, and Ginny has to firmly remind herself to not react as Ron did when Hermione was brought up. Luckily, George isn’t stuck on Harry. “Besides, we’re better company than that numpty. If you kick him out I doubt there’d be any hard feelings. He’d understand when he comes to.”

She very much disagrees with that sentiment.

Charlie was supposed to come over today, but he cancels last minute. Because he’s Charlie. James doesn’t mind but Ginny’s fucking peeved about it. She doesn’t have the time today, but she’ll send him a letter ripping him a new one tomorrow.

James is not so much a cake person. He told Ginny as much when she asked what sort of birthday cake he wanted. She pretended not to be shocked, since he used to love eating carrot cakes the previous years. So this year she’s baked brownies. They don’t come out burnt or undercooked or disgusting, as she had been frightened they would be. But they do come out boring. They’re not too gooey or chocolate-y or buttery, just unassuming wedges of… well, cake. Ginny feels absolutely horrible about it. Like a failure. Like she’s fucked up James’ whole day. She doesn’t tell anyone. Her hand trembles when she lights the candles. She’s glad she hasn’t drunk at all. Seeing everyone eat her banal brownies makes her want to scream. She doesn’t have it in her to stop Lily from having her third serving– she’s too concentrated on Rose only eating half of her piece.

After they eat, Ginny sees Rose, not for the first time that day, tug on her dad’s sleeve to ask what time they’re leaving. She’s getting increasingly angrier about his vagueness.

“You don’t have to stay to help clean up, you know,” Ginny pulls him aside later.

“It’s my godson’s birthday,” Ron says defensively. His overdue stay is very obviously detached from his duty to James. Even Hugo’s getting bored of being here.

But Ron doesn’t ask about Harry, so Ginny won’t mention Hermione. She’s almost grateful that his company is filling the empty space of… well. She doesn’t know when their interactions had become contractual, but as she grows up, she’s realising more and more that this is a certain truth about adulthood. Genuineness is a teenage trait.

It’s only when Albus and Rose get into a huge blow over something characteristically small does Ron decide it’s time to skip on.

“You keep treating me like I’m some evil snake!” she yells at him. Albus is very clearly trying not to cry. “But I wasn’t the one sorted into Slytherin.”

“Oh, some hero you are,” Albus spits back, dripping with sarcasm. “You’re such a great person, Rose. You should get an award for it! Merlin knows that’s the only thing you care about– but it makes sense I wouldn’t know how it feels. My mum actually acknowledges me outside of my successes.”

In an instant, Rose has drawn her wand. Albus musters his too, but it’s clear her stance is stronger, and it’s no secret that Albus has magical… difficulties. Ginny can spot the incoming of a Weasley hex a mile away.

“Stop!” she yells, too far away. Her words fall on deaf ears anyway.

“Don’t believe for a second that anyone gives a shit about you outside of obligation or pity!” Rose is screaming at him.

At this point, the entire family has made it to the porch to watch the disaster unfold in the garden. Ginny knew, deep down, that the rift between Rose and Albus had grown irreversibly since they started going to school– but what she had assumed was a distant indifference was a resentment deeper than she could’ve thought possible, considering their closeness just a few years ago.

“You believe Scorpius would be so sweet and kind if anyone else besides you wanted to be his friend? I wonder what he’d think if he knew how you felt–”

“Shut up about Scorpius!”

“Aw, what will you do if I don’t? Hex me? Could you even manage one?”

Ginny yanks at Ron’s arm, jostling him to get his wand out and disarm them before things go awry. Nothing good will come from Scorpius being weaponized. But Ron shrugs her off, panicking as he turns his pockets.

“I left it upstairs,” he says. No good. Ginny left hers in the kitchen.

Albus drops his wand on the ground, and Rose narrows her eyes at it, suspicious. And for a moment, he looks to be gearing up to actually fist-fight her without magic– stupid, since Rose is still in her offensive position and will hex his bollocks off before he can even move.

But the next moment, Albus is Stupefied away, and Rose’s wand is being launched to Ginny’s right. An Expelliarmus Charm.

There’s a split moment in which Ginny thinks it’s Harry, until she turns and finds Rose’s wand in James’ open palm.

“No fighting on my birthday, you two,” he tries to joke. No one laughs.

Ron all but hurls his kids into the Floo. Rose is still yelling– this time at him, telling him how horrible Albus is, how he’s cruel to her when they’re at school together, how he never wants to talk with her, how he talks shit about Hermione. His face is pained as he hurriedly wishes everyone goodbye, refusing to process Rose’s comments. Ginny’s having a hard time too.

Albus, she knows, will be a bigger issue. He’s quick to anger and holds very deep grudges. And he doesn’t care about putting on a mask for the sake of someone else’s special day. Lily’s pretty adept at ignoring him, but James, on the other hand, will dedicate the rest of the day to fixing something he can’t.

Right now, Albus is flopped on the sofa, reeling, rosy fury infusing his brown freckled cheeks, arms wrapped around his knees. James is poking him in the shoulder in an effort to get Albus– who’s sulking about how his brother had to Stupefy him to stop him from jumping his cousin– to talk to him.

“It’s fine, Mum,” James says when she tries to separate the issue from… well, James.

“It’s not fine,” she murmurs to him. “I’ll deal with Albus. Go play with your sister.”

Lily is currently vandalising the Scrabble tiles with texters, and James cringes as he goes over. Probably not the best idea to force him towards something he’ll dislike anyway.

“Albus,” she tries to be as placating as possible. She’s never had a great bedside manner, though. “Cheer up now, okay? Rose has gone home, you don’t have to be–”

“She’s gone until I have to deal with her stuck-up arse again come September!” he yells, causing both James and Lily to look up from across the living room. “Like you would know anything about it. No one does! No one even asks! Rose and James are just so perfect! No one ever thinks poor old Albus who’s shit at magic and hexes and potions and Quidditch– and who only has one friend that none of you like– and has no talent or looks o–or any charm can ever measure up to them anyway! Better not to ask about it then!”

He’s all but spitting at her for how angry he is. Ginny wants to be sympathetic– on any normal day she probably would be– but Merlin on a fucking Firebolt. When did her son get so fixated on this imaginary victimhood?

“Technically you being shit at potions, hexes and all that falls under you being shit at magic,” Lily chirps, because of course she has to add fuel to the fire.

“Shut the fuck up Lily!”

“OI! LANGUAGE!” Ginny roars at him. “Don’t you ever speak to your sister like that! Or your brother!”

“How the fuck–?”

“Albus–!”

“I didn’t even swear at James!”

“Merlin, Albus!” She throws her hands up. “What do you want me to do? You want me to storm over to your uncle’s house and beat up my niece for being a little rude to you? News fucking flash– this shit happens! You don’t have to– you don’t need to blow it out of the water and point fingers at everyone just because you’re angry.”

She loses steam halfway through because Albus’ eyes are burning with tears, and she can’t bring herself to continue cussing at her fourteen-year-old who’s so clearly hurting. She never should’ve in the first place, she knows that, but Albus is… he’s only been in Hogwarts two years, and every year he comes back a little more hateful towards his family than the last. And she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t even think he knows why.

“You’re one to talk,” he seethes, “where do you think I learnt it from? You think we’re all just fucking blind to the way you despise Dad?”

“I don’t despise him,” Ginny blurts, having gotten quiet, not for a lack of genuineness, but because she’s so shocked. How can Albus even think that?

“Albus–” James tries.

“Shut it, James. I don’t need you of all people acting like a hero.”

“You can’t talk to Mum like that.”

Albus narrows his eyes, like anything directed at him is a challenge.

“You know, you should practice taking some of this nobleness with you to school this year. I’m sure Alice would appreciate you not having another romp with one of the older Gryffindor girls.”

“What?” Ginny murmurs, heartbroken. James wouldn’t do that. Albus doesn’t lie, but he has to be mistaken.

James pales, looking from Albus to her, “I– I don’t–”

“I– I– I–” Albus mocks, stuttering. Ginny can see the way James’ expression closes off the more Albus talks, as if he’s retreating behind mental walls she’s seen him practise drawing up for himself. “You and Rose are exactly the same, but at least she doesn’t pretend to be a white knight about it. All you do is pretend you give a shit. You pretend to care about your so-called friends, but the second you’re out on summer break you don’t mention them. You pretend to care about the girls you date, but all I’ve seen them do is hang them on your arm for a few weeks until you can pick out a better-looking one. You pretend to give a shit about defending me to your Gryffindor buddies, but you never stick around long enough to see how they circle back. Or you pretend not to notice.”

“I didn’t know that,” James’ voice is distant and cold. So Albus evidently doesn’t believe him.

“You’re such a fucking liar James. You say whatever you need to get people to be nice and comply. But that’s not being good. Do you ever mean what you say? Are you just mouthing whatever people expect from you? Do you even know when you’re being genuine?”

Lily gets off the floor and hurries up the stairs, her upset shown in her wobbly lips and furrowed brows. Her cheeks are also red with fury.

“See, I can call Rose horrible, because she is,” Albus continues, his small shoulders shaking, little body so overcome with emotion it’s almost impeding his speech. “She’s so openly horrible– but at least she’s there. I can’t call you anything at all, because I don’t even know you. There’s nothing there. You’re a fucking nobody, James.”

A beat.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ginny mutters, accidentally aloud. She rubs her eyes, disgusted, tired, heartbroken.

Albus doesn’t answer, mostly because he’s crying now. Ginny guesses that may have something to do with her.

“Albus, just go,” Ginny waves at him, head hurting. “Go to your room. Please.”

She doesn’t even look at him as he goes. His footsteps are too light to be heard as he pads up the staircase. She takes his spot on the couch, and after a moment, she distantly hears James tell her that he wants to go to bed. Sleep the day off. As if it’s something he needs to forget. Then she’s alone.

She looks around her living room. She can see her mediocre, butchered brownies on the kitchen countertop. Not even half was taken. The Scrabble tiles and Lily’s markers are still scattered on the floor. Ron’s drink is marking rings into the wooden coffee table.

Ironic that out of all her children, she yearns to please James the most. He’s grown up so quickly that he’s forgotten how to be a boy, and if Albus’ words are anything to go by, he’s worse when he’s at school. But that doesn’t mean he’s horrible– he can’t be. He’s her baby. Her first, her favourite, if she’s honest. And she can’t even make a good day for him.

And what about Albus? If she’s a shit mother to James, she’s even more horrible to Albus. Albus, who she can no longer even pretend to like. And he knows people so well, sees everything so clearly, and like the child he is, he pokes and prods at open wounds. He likes to think he understands, but he doesn’t, he only sees. She has to be kind to him. She knows she has to be kind. But it’s so hard when she doesn’t even know where his hatred comes from. Albus used to be the fattest baby she had to carry everywhere because he was only ever soothed by touch, but now his gaze is so full of hate she can’t recognise him from that anymore. And if she’s that horrid to Albus, she’ll damage Lily even more, won’t she? Once Lily grows up, would she hate her too?

Ginny doesn’t know how long she sat on the couch and cried. The reasonable time for dinner has gone past. She doesn’t think she fed her kids– she doesn’t think any of them would even want to eat at this time.

The Floo roars to life and Ginny recognises the clack of his shoe like a gun firing off. It ignites something desperate in her, something that makes her feel so foolish and young. Like waking up alone and terrified in that chamber to him telling her she’ll be okay.

“Hello!” Harry exclaims, dishevelled from work, carrying a bag of something steaming and redolent, wafting spice and sweetness into the cold air. He pauses as he surveys the house, “Where is–?”

He stops when he sees Ginny’s red, puffy face peeking over at him in front of the fireplace.

“Gin?” he says softly. Whether he’s concerned or horrified, she doesn’t know.

She only sniffles at him and looks away.

She hasn’t realised how she’s curled up on herself exactly like Albus had until Harry paces around, plants the plastic bags on the floor and sits next to her, hand on her knee. Rubbing cautiously.

“What happened?” he asks. There’s a worried crease in his forehead that will certainly bury into his face as a wrinkle one of these days.

Ginny sniffles for a second, trying to find where to start, but the events of the day begin to overwhelm her and jumble her thoughts.

She throws her hands up, a dam broken, “Albus and Rose got into a massive row and I couldn’t stop it because I didn’t have my wand because I was making horrible brownies and everyone only ate them out of politeness and then Albus got into a row with James and went to his room and James went to his room and Lily started crying and she went–”

“Hold on,” Harry says, “Rose and Albus got into a fight? About what?”

“I don’t know!” Ginny cries. “About them being rude to each other in school? Some stupid kid shit! And now it’s all ruined!”

“Merlin, Albus sure likes to pick his battles wisely,” Harry mutters, still rubbing her knee. Ginny frantically wipes at her face. “Chin up, Gin. It’s still James’ birthday. And I brought back those baos you like–”

“Sticky pork?” she sniffles.

“Yes,” he says, tucking her hair behind her ear. He withdraws too quickly, almost shy from the action. “We can eat first. Maybe bring Lils down. She never stays too upset for long. Then we’ll spend some time with James, okay? We both know he’s not sleeping so early.”

Ginny grunts lowly. Harry moves away to begin setting up the table, and she tracks his movements. Knocking aside Lily’s markers with his feet, carefully covering the brownies with the glad wrap and putting them in the fridge. Then he’s spelling plates left in the sink from earlier clean. His face scrunches up as he passes the alcohol cabinet.

“So Ted was here,” he comments plainly, making her laugh a little.

He’s right about Lily– if there’s any child Harry’s right about, it’s Lily. All past grievances are gone from her face, and she takes the stairs two at a time, humming a melody to herself Ginny is sure she made up. She rambles to Harry excitedly about the game she and Hugo played. Ginny tunes it out, tries to focus on the bao. Lily won’t really talk to her when Harry’s here anyway– his presence is still a novelty to her, but she’s too tired to feel bitter about it. Perhaps too grateful as well.

Lily promptly passes out ten or so minutes after stuffing her face like some starved creature, scrawny legs dangling off the side of the armchair. Harry gathers her into his arms as Ginny sets out another plate.

“James needs to eat,” she says, right as they go up the stairs to put Lily to bed.

Her little body just about melts into the mattress. With a strange muted feeling, Ginny watches by the door as Harry tucks the duvet over her, kisses her head and then fiddles with her nightshade. It’s only as he’s making his way back to the door that he realises she’s been staring at him.

“What?” he asks, gently shutting the door behind him.

“It’s just,” Ginny struggles to find the words. Why, as soon as Harry stepped through the fireplace, this night has felt like a dream. “You came.”

“Of course.” his eyes soften. “I always will.”

“Not always.”

“I’ll always come back. I’ll always make it up, or at least try to. I’d never not try, I'm too scared of what you’d do to me.”

She snorts, nudging him in the arm. He staggers dramatically.

For a moment, it’s just her, him and this hallway. Her kids don’t exist. Her worries don’t exist either. The weight’s still there– she doesn’t think she can ever feel what it was like to be without it anymore. But they’re the closest they’ve been to young again, and there’s no grievance between them, and Harry’s the boy she practised writing love letters for in her third year, wondering how on earth she was going to transcribe the feeling in her chest whenever she heard him laugh. The boy who’d shoot the shit with her as they laughed about Ron’s awful relationship with Lavender Brown, Percy’s obsession with his Prefect status, Fred and George’s antics. The boy who was there when she woke up hearing Tom Riddle’s voice echoing through her head, laughing at what he’d made her do. And he had put his hand on her knee and told her she’d be alright.

He’s the one who leads her to James’ room, and Ginny comes to realise, resignedly, that she will never love anyone else like she loves Harry. She was doomed from the beginning. She’s doubtful of many things, but she’s certain that won’t change.