Chapter Text
Ginny wakes up, her ceiling greeting her. And an underlying sense of nausea. She’d been getting horribly sick for the past few days, courtesy of Ron’s horrible new hobby of cooking. Poor Hermione. Poor, little Rosie.
Harry is on her left, curled up on his side towards the nightstand on his side of the bed. Ginny could never quite figure out how he managed to sleep on his side so easily. But, there he is, the Boy-Who-Lived, fast asleep. She looks to her own nightstand, 3:05 staring right back at her.
Post-war Ginny Weasley, now Ginny Potter. One year into marriage with the savior of the Wizarding World, the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter himself. It had been a rough couple of years for the wife of the Boy-Who-Lived. First, before rebuilding the school, or even completing it, she buried the dead. There were too many, and too many whose faces Ginny knew. She remembers the way each rock sunk into her knees as she cried at Fred’s grave. The softness of Luna’s hand on her cheeks as she wiped away each tear.
Then it was off to Hogwarts. She helped rebuild the Ravenclaw tower, her skill on a broom only second to her boyfriend. Luna would ride on the broom with her to transport books and bricks. When it would get cold, they would scoot closer to each other. Even on the days when it wasn’t. Harry helped mostly in the Slytherin dorms, since most of the Slytherins were awaiting trials, with only Malfoy remaining to help.
Ginny started her Holyhead Harpies career. And it was nice, if not a bit tiring to see the paper’s referring to her as “the savior’s wife”, “the wife of the Boy-Who-Lived”, or (her least favorite) “the future Mrs.Potter”. Most times after practices, their little home in Godric’s Hollow would be unoccupied. Ginny helping Luna and Xenophilius remodel their home. And Harry keeping an eye on Draco as part of Draco’s community service.
Neither Ginny nor Harry were stupid. They knew what the other did behind closed doors and open skies. But both returned to Godric’s Hollow for dinner and muggle telly. Ginny knew, when Harry returned with dark bruises along his neck, that the press would go wild about her own proclivities towards certain activities. And not the stupid blonde in his stupid manor. Ginny was nice enough to wear a damn scarf in public, at least.
Then twenty rolled around, twenty-one for Harry. And the expectations of children , of continuing on the bloodline of the Potter, the Weasleys, even the Prewetts and the Peveralls hung over their heads. Little Rosie was born just months before. But Harry refused to marry yet, and so did Ginny.
She remembers that conversation, or at least the important part to her. It was the only time, at the point of their relationship, they had ever told each other the entire truth.
“I’m waiting,” Harry said when Ginny finally asked why he didn’t propose.
“For him? Harry, he has his own responsibilities. We have our own responsibilities.”
“But I don’t love you!” He shouts.
“And I don’t love you, either! You think I want to marry you!?” She shouts back. “But I don’t have the luxury of waiting for her.”
Because when twenty rolled around for Ginny, and twenty-one for Harry, Luna Lovegood had already announced her marriage to Rolf Scamander. It was a cute couple, Rolf himself completely enraptured by Luna’s creatures.
“I’m sorry, Gin.” It was the first time Harry had ever apologized to Ginny for it. Not the last.
And one day later, it was Ginny’s turn to apologize, as the marriage between Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass was splayed over the front page of the paper.
But back to the present. Ginny can’t seem to get comfortable. She kind of felt like she was going to throw up. From the nausea, and the little slip of paper tucked away in her nightstand drawer. Besides, her bed is not too hot or too cold. It’s just right!
Just, not right enough for her to fall asleep. The blankets and sheets were that signature Gryffindor red, their bed frame a matching gold to fit. Ginny thought it was too gaudy. So did Harry. But they never changed it, both the blankets and the bed frame serving its purpose.
She takes off the blankets, swinging her feet down to her awaiting slippers. They were fuzzy, in a silver color that had enchanted bunnies running along the front of them whenever she stepped.
They were a gift from Luna.
They were a wedding gift from Luna.
Her wedding day. To Harry. It was, in theory, the most magical day of her life. The planning committee, because there was a committee, went all out. The ceremony was rumored to have been attended by half of the wizarding population, the rest trying to squeeze themselves into any available as a way to hope to get a glance of the bride or groom. Before she walked down the aisle, enchanted does made out of lace pranced down, each step growing blossoms of a beautiful white flower that glowed when it bloomed, then floated to the ceiling and hung as a lantern.
Each seat was enchanted to hum the wedding march, then take the guest from the ceremony to the reception. Her own dress had her favorite animals in its own lace equivalent scampering and prancing. The jewels that adorned her hair alone were worth more than the money that had ever graced the Weasley vault.
In her dressing room, as soon as Hermione left with well wishes and good lucks, Luna entered from the window. Her own wedding ring held steadfast to her finger. It was a pretty thing, a small opal that looked like a full moon, little creatures wiggling across the band.
Ginny’s own wedding band was passed down from her family, her Mum in tears when she was able to pass it on.
The jewel would match so well with Luna’s eyes.
Ginny almost ran away with her. She was halfway to her spare clothes, with that thrice-damned ring nearly off Luna’s finger when they both realized what running away would really mean.
“We could run deeper into the forest than anyone would bother to go.” Ginny had once said, whispered with a desperation that made her ache. At this point, she was trying to convince herself more than Luna.
“But running away has never fit you, has it?” She says instead, her wisdom running deeper than her body could ever portray.
“That ring will never fit you.” Ginny responds with, out of spite. She apologizes immediately.
Too soon, Luna leaves through the window, leaving the slippers instead.
“To be with you in each step.” The pun was still so stupid. She’s worn them everyday.
“Gin?” Harry asks, groggy sleep voice. It sounds like he just woke up. Ginny pulls herself from her thoughts as he asks if she’s ok.
“Yeah, just couldn’t sleep.” She responds, faraway as she continues staring at her slippers. Thinking about the parchment in her nightstand. Harry comes up behind her, leaning his head against her shoulder. She returns the gesture.
“Wanna talk about it?” A hand lies heavily on her shoulder, capturing her in a half-hug. Harry’s warm from the covers. Not too hot, not too cold. Just nice. Her own hand is placed on top of Harry’s. And on his pinkie finger, she feels a ring. No, a band.
It was a gift from Draco.
A wedding gift from the Malfoy heir.
With ten minutes until the wedding, Ginny went out through the window and balanced along the building trim till she reached the room three doors down from hers. Knocking on the window before opening it herself. She stumbles in, tripping over her ridiculously expensive and floppy dress.
Harry with his wand drawn, quickly lowers it and helps Ginny off the floor.
“Gin, what are you doing here?” She clocked the ring immediately. Instead of calling him out on it, she pulls him into a hug, instead.
If she was stuck with anybody, she’s glad to be stuck with someone who shared her own grief.
“What are we doing?” Ginny whispers.
“Trying to sleep?” Harry guesses, confused. Ginny tries to chuckle, but it comes out more as a dry sob.
“Gin? What happened?” Harry moves slowly, holding her close to him. And his hands are so nice. Not horrible, not wonderful. Just nice.
“Harry. I don’t love you, not like this.”
“I know. I don’t love you either.” Harry is even more confused. It was one year into their sham of a marriage. Why were they hashing through this again?
“Then why are we here? Together?”
“Because.” Harry feels the weight of the ring on his pinky finger. It was Draco’s promise. However silly it was, that they would eventually make their way back to each other. It was even more silly when Astoria Malfoy declared her pregnancy in the papers. Then Luna’s own pregnancy not even a month later.
Dear Merlin, Malfoy was going to be a father.
And Luna, a mother.
“Because we have no one else. He looks at Ginny. Maybe they could have loved each other. In another life, where he had the body and soul of Luna Lovegood. Or if she had the consciousness of Draco Malfoy. “No one else but each other.” He sighs, then holds her close. “I’m sorry, Ginny.”
“I’m sorry, Harry.” She responds in kind. It wouldn’t be the last time they apologized to each other like this. But it was nice. To be held like this. Not great, not bad. Just nice. And she should tell him now. While they were close, with the dredges of sleep still on them like death shroud. She doesn’t.
Instead, she leans on him more, “I do love you.” She says, errant tears wiped away by her own hand.
“I know. I love you, too. Let’s go back to sleep.” Harry responds, fiddling with the ring.
Ginny nods, and she steps out of her fuzzy slippers and back into the covers. Harry had already turned his back to her, and she knew he would be up for a few more hours before his own fitful sleep claimed him.
Moonlight managed to find its way into the bedroom, casting a silhouette on Harryʻs prone form. And for a minute, if Ginny leaned her head against the bed frame just so, his black hair could have been mistaken for something more silvery. His scars and muscles could be morphed into something softer, lighter.
But the illusion is wrong. Luna sleeps on her back, or wrapped around Ginny’s own form. She would never be so guarded in their bed.
Maybe now, Luna would change to sleeping more on her side to accommodate the baby.
Maybe Ginny would start doing the same.
“You’re staring, Gin.” Harry whispers out. And Ginny is snapped out from her reverie, straightening up. Harry didn’t move from his curled up position in the bed.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Why?” She swallows back her words. Then realizes that it’s Harry. The same Harry who she was head-over-heels for when she was 9-years-old. The same Harry she would gush about to Luna in their first couple of years at school. And the very same Harry who looked at Draco Malfoy like he hung the moon and the stars in the night sky just for him.
And Ginny knew that look. Too well.
“I almost ran away on our wedding night with Luna.” She lets out a nervous laugh, running hands through her tangled red hair, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you the whole story. But we were going to book it. Live as nomads right where Aragog’s nest used to be and everything.” She takes a breath, “And I’ve regretted not going ever since.”
Silence, then a small huff of laughter. Harry props himself on their headboard too, pushing the hair out of his face, fingers brushing against his scar. Ginny looks at it for a moment, silvery residuals of what used to be.
“Draco was going to whisk me off to Serbia, of all places. He had ‘connections’ there. Said that we could live out in their muggle community.”
“Muggle?” Ginny prodded. Harry laughed again, nodding.
“His probation let him get more accustomed to living without magic. He was willing to give it up entirely, you know.” Harry trails off, hands finding Draco’s ring. Their own wedding band was somewhere in Harry’s nightstand drawer, tossed in haphazardly.
“And now. He’s secured the Malfoy line.” Something washes over Harry’s face, a thousand mile look as he gets lost in his own memories. The light from outside washes him out, and if Ginny didn’t know it, she would say Harry was more ghost than man.
“Oh, Harry.” She reaches out for his hand. His right one, she had no claim to his left one. “Harry.” Her voice breaks, shouldn’t this be happy news?
“Ginny?”
Why does she feel like the sky is falling? Like the moon and the stars that had been so meticulously hung for her are getting their strings cut?
It feels too real, too fast.
“I’m pregnant.”
Clouds took over the moon, and Harry turned on a lamp while Ginny fished out the parchment in the drawer.
“I went to the healer’s this morning. Then decided to just ask Fleur to help do a diagnostic spells when the reporters saw through my glamor.” Harry, glasses on, was still looking at the parchment, so Ginny continued talking. “I’m a few weeks along, should start showing a few more weeks from now.” She swallows her nerves, “Mum’ll be so happy.”
Her voice cracks on happy.
Harry drops the parchment on their bed, it doesn’t make a sound.
Then envelops Ginny in a hug that nearly takes her breath away.
“We can do this, Gin. I’m here. We can do this.”
And it’s not perfect. There’s no way it’ll ever be perfect. Not when Harry has his black hair and green eyes instead of blonde locks and a dreamy disposition. Not when Ginny’s own red hair and Weasley temper pales in comparison to a Malfoy’s wit.
But Harry’s right. And Ginny hugs her husband back, shutting her eyes to stop the tears from falling.
“I know Harry. Our baby is going to be one of the luckiest children out there, just you wait.”
They fall asleep like that, intertwined. With Ginny’s thoughts drifting to her child’s godmother. And Harry’s to their baby’s godfather.
And it’s nice. Just. Nice.