Since Fred’s funeral, she had come to hate rituals and formalities. The big words, the grave faces, the elaborate display of flags and flowers… Ginny hated those, but she felt a sort of pity for those who put so much effort in preparing them. These people, whoever they were, were convinced that the speech would bring comfort to those who heard it, that the arrangement of flowers would bring them hope, or joy.

But clearly, these people didn’t know that Fred would have really preferred fireworks, a huge, banging, whirling display in lieu of a speech, because whatever could be said about him would have been contained in that phenomenal spark, in that big, brilliant joke, in his brother’s careful crafting of each rocket.

And these people didn’t know Colin, either. Ginny looked down at her feet, wondering what Colin would’ve liked. A huge display of pictures of his life all around the Great Hall - wizarding pictures, to impress his Muggle father.

Suddenly, she felt her chin tremble and her throat constrict as she imagined Colin’s father, the milkman, standing alone in front of his son’s grave in a Muggle cemetery, not understanding in the least why he had died.

The speech was over and everyone raised their hand in a toast, and Ginny scrambled to take her glass too, murmuring Colin’s name.

Professor McGonagall, who was now Headmistress, made the traditional opening speech. A dozen new students at most, huddling together, were ushered into the Great Hall. The Sorting was almost grotesquely short – it seemed many wizarding parents were too scared to send their children back to school. Hogwarts had not yet fully recovered, like a great beast slowly licking its wounds, learning how to live again.

For the first time in her life, Ginny desperately wished she were somewhere else.

At the Ravenclaw table, for a start, next to Luna.

Ginny tugged at her tie, hoping to loosen it. She’d always been proud to wear the Gryffindor uniform, but now it felt bulky and itchy and unnecessary. It was like being thrown right back into the battle – stealing glances at the Slytherin table, looking at who was left, suspiciously eyeing the new students sorted there.

There were three of them. They looked small and sheepish. Ginny couldn’t wait for the feast to be over.

“I heard you got the Captain’s badge this year,” Demelza told her with a smile. “That’s great – we’re a cinch to win the Cup.”

Ginny smiled back tightly. Captain, yes – Quidditch was apparently the only thing everyone thought she was good at. The owl had come one hot morning in August.

“I was sure it would be you,” Harry had said. He’d smiled and told her Gryffindor would win the Cup too. As if that would somehow make her feel important.

Although Ginny knew Harry couldn’t have meant it that way, it sounded so derisive coming from him – so childish. He was miles beyond silly games on broomsticks and silly cups and silly competition between houses. He was off to learn the most dangerous job in the wizarding world. He was everyone’s hero, famous and adored. When Ginny thought back on those sunny, carefree afternoons they’d spent together by the lake when he was still at Hogwarts, or when they’d kissed in her room before the wedding, it made her want to cry. Everything seemed so natural, so simple back then.

But since Fred’s death it seemed nothing was simple anymore. Between the funeral and the ceremonies and the constant demands made on Harry, he’d hardly had a second to spend alone with her. Not that Ginny particularly sought him out – underneath the heavy layer of grief was another, more insidious feeling.

She resented the fact that Harry had asked her to stay out of the battle while Luna and Hermione were already battling by his side. She’d thought he, of all people, would understand her need to fight. Not just because she loved him, but because the frightened little first-year inside her demanded it.

When Harry had approached her the day after the battle, the look she gave had frozen him in his tracks. In the next instant she’d felt guilty – she had no right to be angry when she was already so miserable, when he’d finally emerged victorious and was looking at her, grave and handsome, in the morning light. This was not the way she’d imagined their reunion. But she couldn’t help it – it felt as if the raw, brutal wound of Fred’s death had numbed whatever patience and comprehension she had left, had made her half-mad with pain.

“I would have come looking for you sooner but I thought – I thought -”

“Nice of you to come now – and Ron too, you’d think he would’ve wanted to be with his family…”

“That’s not fair to Ron,” he’d replied. “He was exhausted, I heard him crying -”

“Yes, because I was out celebrating, of course – wait, no, I was actually looking for you, I hardly had time to see you alive after thinking you were dead…”

Harry looked down. “Ginny… Merlin, you can’t imagine what I felt at that moment, when I heard you calling my name like that… It’s something I wish I could erase from my mind. All I wanted to do is let you know, somehow… but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

The pain in his voice was heartrending, but if anything, it made her own pain even more difficult to bear. “Well, you could’ve come talk to me as soon as it was over, just for a moment. I waited for you – I wanted to be sure you were okay…”

“I didn’t think – no, you’re right, you’re completely right, I should’ve come. There were just so many things on my mind… But that’s over, Ginny, don’t think about it anymore. I’m here now, aren’t I? I want to be here for you.”

Because your brother’s dead.

“Don’t think about that,” she repeated, “don’t fight, don’t do this, don’t do that – what are you, my mother? You sure sound like -”

“Stop it!” The harshness of his tone took her aback. Then his expression softened. “Ginny – I know you’re angry, I know you’re sad -”

“You don’t know anything!” she yelled, her eyes brimming with tears. “You don’t – you… don’t you dare tell me what I’m feeling right now, not – not after – you have no idea what I’m feeling!”

“Ginny, I’m sorry, just… please… let me… let us… I want…” But he couldn’t seem to find the words to express what he wanted. All he could do was hold out his arms to her.

It would have been so easy to let go and be engulfed in his embrace, to feel him against her, warm and alive. But something inside was holding her back, like an invisible string tightening around her heart if she moved forward.

Because your brother’s dead, you have no right to be happy. You have no right to rest. Not now.

“I’m not a… a bloody cuddly toy.”

The hurt in Harry’s eyes at that moment still haunted her.

At least some good had come out of it, Ginny thought with a heavy heart, pushing her empty plate back and leaving the table. At least she wouldn’t have to bother with a long-distance relationship.

“Ginny, wait up, if you will,” she heard Luna call from behind her. The blonde girl had risen from her seat and was following her outside. “Are you going back to Gryffindor Tower already?”

“To be honest, I don’t really know what to do with myself tonight,” Ginny replied. “It just feels completely wrong to be here – you know, talking about Quidditch and classes and such.”

“Oh definitely,” Luna said, nodding. “And it’s rather lonely without the others, isn’t it? It’s like there’s only the two of us left. I’m sad that Neville isn’t here.”

Ginny gave a small laugh at Luna’s wistful tone. “Well, let’s just hope this year will go by quickly,” she said. “It can’t be worse than last year, at any rate.”

“Oh, it’s so wonderful to have Quidditch again,” Luna said, wide-eyed. “Professor McGonagall told me I could do commentary at all the games!”

“In that case, I just might get back on my broom,” Ginny said, slipping her arm through hers as they started up the staircase.

It wasn’t much to look forward to, but it was a start.

*****************************


Whenever he woke up and whenever he went to bed, day in and day out, he thought of her.

It was all right when he went to the Ministry or to training – he had something to focus on, he needed to concentrate, and the lessons were hard. There was complex magic to learn, strategy, concealment, antidotes, institutional knowledge and ethics – endless hours discussing ethics. And he hadn’t even started the physical training yet.

Some lessons were boring, others were very interesting. Some of his trainers were fascinating people with many stories to tell, others seemed to have passed the last twenty years in a cubicle without seeing the light of day. All of them, though, were both intrigued by the famous Harry Potter and proud to be teaching him.

And of course, he couldn’t pass through a corridor at the Ministry without being on the receiving end of a salvo of warm greetings, slaps on the back, admiring glances and giggles from the youngest female employees.

Harry had never felt so lonely since leaving the Dursleys’ for Hogwarts. The media whirlwind had died down, thank God, but the peace and quiet was slow to come. Or rather, it wasn’t the kind of peace and quiet that he needed – he was cherished and adored by hundreds of people and came home alone every night. Everyone wanted a piece of the story, a piece of him, but he never knew what to tell them, and ended up saying nothing at all.

And whenever he retired to his empty house, where dozens of letters awaited him each evening, his mind automatically locked on her. Ginny. Now that he wasn’t fending off terrible dangers of all kinds, it seemed there wasn’t anything left to keep thoughts of her at bay.

London was grey and cold that day, and the sun was already low when Harry left the Ministry. He liked to walk home some days; it kept his mind off things.

“You two are mental, that’s what you are,” Hermione had told him just before leaving for Australia.

“Did you know you’re starting to sound like Ron?”

She’d given one of her patented pointed looks, guaranteed to make him feel like a complete idiot. “All I’m saying is that Ginny’s grieving, she’s not in her usual state of mind – she didn’t mean what she said to you that day… and she really needs you.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say I got the exact opposite message coming from her,” Harry had replied dejectedly.

“Oh, Harry, a girl like Ginny’s not the type to admit that, can’t you see? I think she’s given you more than enough proof of her feelings since you two started dating in sixth year… and maybe even longer than that.”

But that was before. Before everything had happened, before everything had changed. Now she was alone at Hogwarts, surrounded by what Harry sometimes imagined to be hoards of love-sick blokes, and with so much things left unsaid between them – because they hadn’t had the time nor the courage to say them – that it was hard to not to suppose that she loathed the very thought of him.

Harry shivered and pulled his cloak closer. It was no use going home this way, in this miserable weather. Feeling rather depressed, he arrived at Grimmauld Place, and his spirits lifted a bit when he saw an owl from Ron in the pile of post, and another from Neville, asking whether he was free for dinner that evening. Cheered by the thought of seeing his mate, Harry told Kreacher, who was busy cleaning the windows, that he wouldn’t be dining at home and hastily wrote a reply. When he was done, he gave the parchment to his new owl, Astor. He was a barn owl with a flat face, dark eyes, and fluffy white plumage, like Hedwig. His name reminded Harry of another dear friend that had fallen that same night.

At first he’d been reluctant to get a new owl– he felt like he was betraying Hedwig’s memory somehow, replacing her simply by walking into a store and fishing out a couple of Galleons. But it had soon proved impossibly tedious to go to the post office every time he needed to send a note, and borrowing Pigwidgeon from time to time was equally hard – his overdone enthusiasm always reminded Harry of the disapproving look Hedwig never failed to give the little owl. In the end, Harry had finally given in, buying an owl whom he thought would have won Hedwig’s approval – smart, dignified and efficient.

“There’s a good fellow,” Harry said as the owl stretched out his leg. “Take this to Neville quickly, all right?”

The end of the afternoon couldn’t pass by quick enough. Harry tried to occupy himself with some reading – a thick tome on Dark Mages through history – but by ten minutes before eight, he just couldn’t sit still anymore and after slipping his cloak on, he Apparated in front of the restaurant where he was supposed to meet Neville, a small, inconspicuous establishment where he hoped they would eat in peace.

A few minutes later, a small popping sound betrayed Neville’s arrival, and Harry smiled for what felt like the first time that day.

“Hey, mate,” Neville said, shaking his hand vigorously and glancing up at the faintly glowing sign above the door. “I-Ching Chow, huh? Sounds all right to me. I’m starving.”

“You and me both, Neville. They say that’s the lot of blokes living alone, though I’m lucky I have Kreacher - I’m a mess at cooking anything.”

The two friends entered the restaurant. The waitress, upon recognising Harry, instantly gave him the best table, something that never failed to make him feel horribly embarrassed.

“So how are things at the Botanical Institute?” Harry asked Neville as they were scanning the menu. “Did you finally get rid of that screeching fungus?”

“Yeah, we took the earmuffs off today, it’s become bearable again. How about you, though? Ministry treating you all right?”

It was difficult, and even a bit mortifying at times, to explain to his friend what trouble he was going through to adapt to his new life, but somehow Harry felt there were things Neville could understand better than Ron or Hermione did. For one, Harry suspected Neville knew what it was like to leave someone he fancied behind at Hogwarts. And what was more, he too was living alone. Of course, Neville still had his grandmother, but he’d never had his parents around to teach him what seemed like stupid, silly things – like darning a sock, or choosing the right water temperature to clean laundry, or… dressing a salad or any of a hundred other mundane chores.

It was when he was stuck with rumpled sheets in a corner of the room and the embarrassing task of having to ask Kreacher to take care of it on top of everything else that Harry thought of his parents, of Mrs Weasley, of how well they tended to their house, with what love and care they did it, and how happy he would be to simply learn to cook, with Ginny by his side, laughing gaily at his clumsy attempts…

“Harry, are you listening?”

“Yeah, what was that, Neville?”

“I said, I think it’ll get better once Ron gets here,” Neville said. “Won’t be long, I reckon, he can’t stay at The Burrow forever.”

He motioned towards the waitress and they made their order. Harry pondered over Neville’s words.

“No, I suppose not, but… I don’t think he wants to leave his family, actually. He’s been worried sick over his mother and how she’s coping with it…”

“Well, he’s not doing her a favour by hanging around,” Neville replied, then, seeing Harry’s surprised expression: “What I mean is -”

“Excuse me, sir, I’m terribly sorry, but…”

Harry looked around to see a middle-aged witch, clutching a pudgy boy by the hand, looking at him with subdued admiration.

“I hate to interrupt you in the middle of dinner, but my boy…”

Harry forced a smile and nodded amiably. Of course, he hated being pounced on this way; of course, he didn’t want anyone barging in on his conversation; of course it was all a tremendous bother, and he was sure he’d have trouble looking Neville in the face afterwards.

But could he really say that to the smiling witch and her little boy? Harry had quickly found out that it was impossible. The only thing to do was block the absurdity of the situation out of his head and sign the crumpled piece of paper as quickly as he could, wishing these people he didn’t know all the best.

“Oh, thank you so much, sir, thank you…”

He had fought for them, for all of them, Harry reminded himself. And this was the price of being a “celebrated hero”. The term made him sick, still… Better a hero than a martyr, as Ron had so aptly put it.

“What were we saying?” Harry said, very red in the face, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

“Artificial prolonged stay in the parents’ nest,” Neville replied. “Sooner or later, it’s bound to make things even worse than they are. Besides… we have lives to lead now, right? Not for our family, not for anyone but ourselves.”

Not for anyone but ourselves… If only the wizarding world remembered that once in awhile, Harry reflected bitterly, there would be hope for him yet.

“So have you seen your grandmother lately?”

“She’s in Egypt. Sailing down the Nile. You know, I reckon that stint she pulled last year did her a load of good.” Both of them laughed, and the food arrived. “It’s crazy, mate - I’m starting to think I’m going to have to beg her to invite me home for Christmas.”