Chapter Text
The Burrow was chaos that morning, as it always was when something important was happening. Ginny stood in the hallway, her small trunk at her feet, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She'd barely slept the night before, her mind spinning with thoughts of the manor, of Harry, of the weekend stretching out before her like an unknown country.
Muriel was there, of course. She'd arrived at dawn, as if she'd been waiting for this moment, ready to dispense her particular brand of poisonous advice.
"Now, Ginevra," Muriel said, her voice sharp and carrying, "I expect you to behave yourself. Remember who you are. Remember what you represent. You are going to your future home, not a holiday resort."
"I know that, Aunt Muriel."
"Do you? Because the way you've been carrying on lately, I'm not sure you do." Muriel's eyes swept over her, critical and assessing. "You will be polite. You will be gracious. You will not argue with Harry, no matter how much he provokes you. You will remember that you are a guest in his home, and you will act accordingly."
"Yes, Aunt Muriel."
"And you will not — " Muriel paused, her voice dropping to something more confidential, more insidious. "You will not do anything that an unmarried woman wouldn't do. Do you understand me? You are still a maiden, and you will conduct yourself as one."
Ginny felt her cheeks flush. "Aunt Muriel, I know how to behave — "
"I'm not sure you do. That's why I'm telling you." Muriel's eyes were cold. "A single mistake, a single slip, and your reputation is ruined. The Potters may be new money, but they have standards. And they will not tolerate a bride who brings shame to their name."
Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Molly appeared, her arms open wide.
"Oh, my darling girl." Molly pulled Ginny into a fierce hug, holding her tight. "I'm going to miss you so much. Even just for a few days. The house is going to feel so empty without you."
"Don't be ridiculous, Mum," Ginny said, her voice muffled against her mother's shoulder. "I'll be back before you know it."
"I know. I know." Molly pulled back, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "But I'll still miss you. You're my only daughter. My baby girl. And I just — I want you to be happy, Ginny. That's all I've ever wanted."
Ginny's throat tightened. "I know, Mum."
Muriel's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "Really, Molly. You're acting like she's going to the ends of the earth. She'll be back in a few days, and then she'll be married, and then she'll be gone forever. You might as well get used to it now."
"She's not gone forever," Ginny said, her voice cold. "I'll visit. I'll always visit."
"Of course you will." Muriel's voice was oily. "I'm sure the Potters will be delighted to have their daughter-in-law traipsing back to this hovel every other weekend."
Ginny felt her mother's grip tighten. She saw the way Molly's smile became fixed, the way her eyes glistened just a little more.
"Thank you for that, Muriel," Molly said, her voice strained. "That's very helpful."
"I'm only telling the truth. Someone has to." Muriel's expression was smug. "The sooner you accept that Ginevra won't be your little girl forever, the better off you'll be."
Ginny pulled away from her mother, her jaw tight. She needed to get out of here. She needed to breathe.
"Does Ron really have to come with me?" she asked, turning to Muriel. "I'm not a child. I can travel alone."
Muriel's eyebrows shot up. "And do you really think we would allow an unmarried woman to travel alone to her future husband's home? It's already highly irregular that the Potters have invited you to stay before the wedding. But James Potter has never been a regular person, has he? He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and everyone else is left to clean up the mess."
"It's not a mess. It's a visit."
"It's a scandal waiting to happen." Muriel's voice was sharp. "An unmarried woman, alone in a house with a man she's not yet married to. Do you have any idea what people would say? What they're already saying, behind your back? The only way this is even remotely acceptable is if your brother comes with you. As a chaperone."
Ginny wanted to argue. She wanted to say that she didn't care what people said, that she was tired of being told how to behave, that she just wanted one moment of peace in her own life.
But she knew it was useless. Muriel had made up her mind, and Muriel was never wrong. At least, she never admitted it.
Ron came clattering down the stairs at that moment, his trunk dragging behind him, his hair even messier than usual. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, which he probably had.
"Ready," he announced, his voice cheerful. "Let's get this over with."
"Ronald." Muriel's voice was sharp. "I expect you to behave as well. You are a guest in the Potter home, and you will act accordingly. No inappropriate jokes. No roughhousing. No embarrassing your sister."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, Aunt Muriel."
"And you will watch over Ginevra. You will make sure she doesn't do anything foolish. You are her chaperone, and you will take that responsibility seriously."
"I'll watch over her like a hawk," Ron said flatly. "A very bored hawk."
Muriel's eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Ron turned to Ginny.
"Let's go," he said. "Before I change my mind."
Ginny grabbed her trunk and followed him out the door. The morning air was cool and fresh, and for a moment she felt like she could breathe again.
Then she saw the carriage.
It was magnificent — a sleek, black carriage drawn by two Abraxans, their coats shimmering like liquid silver in the morning light. The horses tossed their heads, their wings folded neatly against their sides, and Ginny felt her breath catch.
"They sent a carriage," she said, her voice faint.
"Of course they did," Ron muttered. "Because they're too good to let us just Apparate or use the Floo."
"Why can't we use the Floo?" Ginny asked, turning to Muriel, who had followed them outside.
Molly's expression was apologetic. "The Potters haven't connected their Floo to the Burrow. For security reasons, they said."
"Security reasons," Ron repeated, and his voice was sour. "Of course. They're far above us, aren't they? Can't have the likes of us popping in unexpectedly."
Muriel's voice was sharp. "Ronald, if you can't say something pleasant, don't say anything at all. The Potters have their reasons, and you will respect them."
Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Ginny placed a hand on his arm.
"Let's just go," she said quietly. "Please."
Ron closed his mouth. He looked at her face, and something in his expression softened.
"Fine," he said. "Let's go."
They climbed into the carriage. The interior was plush and elegant, lined with velvet and enchanted to be more spacious than it appeared. Ginny settled into her seat, her hands clasped in her lap, her heart pounding.
Molly waved from the doorstep, her face a mixture of pride and sorrow. Muriel stood beside her, her expression cold and watchful.
The carriage lurched forward, the Abraxans lifting into the air with a powerful beat of their wings.
Ginny looked out the window as the Burrow grew smaller below them. She could see her mother standing in the garden, waving. She could see Muriel's sharp silhouette in the doorway.
Soon, the Burrow disappeared from view, shrinking into a distant speck before vanishing entirely behind a cluster of clouds. The countryside stretched out below them in a patchwork of greens and golds, rivers glinting like silver ribbons in the morning light. The Abraxans pulled the carriage with effortless grace, their wings cutting through the air with powerful, rhythmic beats.
She was still staring out the window, watching the world pass beneath her. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and the ruby ring glittered on her finger — warm, heavy, insistent. She'd put it on that morning after her mother and Muriel had both made it very clear that she was not to leave without it. Take precious care of it, Molly had said. It's a family heirloom, Muriel had added, as if Ginny needed reminding.
She didn't need reminding. She could feel the weight of it every time she moved her hand.
Ron was sprawled across the seat opposite her, his long legs stretched out, his head tilted back against the velvet upholstery. He'd been quiet for most of the journey, which was unusual for him. Ginny could feel his eyes on her, watching her with that particular expression he got when he was trying to figure out how to say something.
"Are you nervous?" he asked finally, his voice casual, like he was asking about the weather.
Ginny looked at her hands. The ruby caught the light, deep and red and alive.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "I don't know what I am."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
Ron was quiet for a moment. Then he sat up, leaning forward, his expression shifting into something more serious.
"Look," he said, and his voice was uncharacteristically solemn, "I know I joke around. I know I don't take things seriously. But I want you to know something."
Ginny looked up at him. "What?"
"If he hurts you — if he does anything to make you unhappy — I'll kill him." Ron's voice was flat, matter-of-fact, like he was discussing something completely mundane. "I'll find a way. I don't care how rich he is or how powerful his family is. I'll kill him."
Ginny stared at him. Then she laughed — a short, surprised sound that burst out of her before she could stop it.
"You'll kill him?" she repeated. "You can barely get through a Quidditch match without falling off your broom."
"That's different." Ron's cheeks flushed. "That's sports. This is family. I'd find a way."
"You'd find a way?"
"I'd figure it out." He crossed his arms, defensive. "I've got five brothers. We'd figure it out together. Harry Potter wouldn't know what hit him."
Ginny laughed again, and this time it was genuine — warm and real, the kind of laugh that made her shoulders relax and her chest feel lighter.
"You're ridiculous," she said.
"I'm serious."
"No, you're ridiculous." She shook her head, still smiling. "But thank you. For the offer. Even if it's completely insane."
Ron shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "Someone's got to look out for you. Might as well be me."
"Because you're so good at looking out for people?"
"I'm great at it. I've got years of practice. Remember when I hid all of Fred and George's experimental products in the garden? That was looking out for them. I was saving them from themselves."
"You were trying to get them in trouble."
"Details."
Ginny shook her head, but she was still smiling. The knot in her chest had loosened, just slightly. She looked down at the ring on her finger, at the ruby that seemed to glow with its own inner light.
"I don't know what's going to happen," she said quietly. "At the manor. With Harry. I don't know if we're going to fight or ignore each other or — I don't know. I don't know anything."
Ron leaned back in his seat, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean — " He paused, searching for the right words. "You've spent so long imagining how he's going to be. The brute. The savage. The guy who can't hold a conversation. And maybe — I don't know — maybe it's better to go in with no expectations. Just see what happens."
Ginny looked at him. "That's actually wise."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm just — I didn't expect it." She paused. "Where did that come from?"
Ron shrugged, but there was something softer in his eyes. "I've been thinking about it. About you. About all of this. I know I act like I don't care, but I do. I care a lot. You're my sister, Ginny. I just want you to be happy."
Ginny's throat tightened. She reached across the carriage and squeezed his hand.
"I know," she said quietly. "I know you do."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the carriage swaying gently as the Abraxans carried them through the sky. The countryside rolled on beneath them, endless and green, and for a moment Ginny let herself forget where she was going.
"You know what would be really funny?" Ron said suddenly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
"What?"
"If Harry turned out to be a complete nutter. Like, completely insane. We get to the manor, and he's running around in his underwear, talking to the portraits like they're real people."
Ginny laughed. "He's not going to be doing that."
"You don't know that. He could be. He's been homeschooled his whole life. That's weird, right? Homeschooled kids are always weird."
"You're the one who said I shouldn't go in with expectations."
"I said no expectations, not no imagination." Ron's grin widened. "I'm just preparing you for the worst-case scenario. Naked Harry Potter, running around the manor, having conversations with his great-grandmother's painting."
Ginny couldn't help it. She burst out laughing, the sound bright and unexpected in the quiet carriage.
"You're impossible," she said.
"I'm entertaining." Ron leaned back, looking pleased with himself. "There's a difference."
The laughter faded into comfortable silence, and Ginny looked out the window again. The manor was getting closer.
The carriage descended through a break in the clouds, and the Potter manor unfolded beneath them like something from a dream. It was even more impressive from the air — sprawling gardens, glittering fountains, the grand structure of the main house rising against the backdrop of rolling hills. The Abraxans touched down on a wide, circular drive with a grace that belied their size, their hooves clicking against the cobblestones.
Ginny's heart was pounding. She could feel it in her throat, in her chest, in the way her hands had gone clammy despite the cool morning air.
Ron was already climbing out of the carriage, stretching his long limbs like he'd been cooped up for days. "Not bad," he said, looking around with an expression that was trying very hard to be unimpressed. "Not bad at all."
Ginny followed him out, her legs feeling unsteady. The manor loomed before her, grand and beautiful and utterly intimidating. House-elves appeared almost instantly, small and efficient, taking their luggage with murmured reassurances and disappearing into the house.
"This way, Miss Weasley," one of them said, its voice high and squeaky. "I'll show you to your room. Master James and Mr. Black are waiting for you downstairs when you're ready."
Ginny nodded, not trusting her voice. She followed the elf through the grand entrance, past soaring ceilings and glittering chandeliers, up a sweeping staircase that seemed to go on forever. The corridors were lined with portraits, their painted eyes following her with a curiosity that made her skin prickle.
Her room was magnificent. Of course it was. Everything about this place was magnificent. The bed was canopied in silk, the windows looked out over the gardens, and there was a fireplace large enough to stand in. Ginny barely noticed any of it. She was too focused on the knot of anxiety in her stomach, the way her hands were trembling as she unpacked her robes.
She chose the smartest ones she'd brought — a deep blue that she'd always liked, with silver embroidery at the cuffs. She changed quickly, her fingers clumsy on the fastenings, and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale. Her eyes were too bright.
She took a breath. Then another. Then she walked out the door.
Ron was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, his own robes slightly rumpled but clean. "Ready?" he asked.
"No."
"Good. Let's go."
They made their way down the sweeping staircase, their footsteps echoing in the grand foyer. Ginny could hear voices from the room to the left — James's warm baritone, Sirius's lower, more casual, but polished tone. She squared her shoulders and walked in.
The drawing room was elegant but comfortable, filled with soft armchairs and shelves of books. James was standing by the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression carefully welcoming. Sirius was sprawled in one of the armchairs, looking like he'd been there all his life.
"Ginevra. Ronald." James stepped forward, extending his hand. "Welcome. I'm so glad you could make it."
"Thank you for having us," Ginny said, her voice coming out more formal than she'd intended. "The house is beautiful."
"It's home," James said, and there was something warm in his voice. "I hope you'll feel comfortable here. Both of you."
Sirius rose from his chair, a lazy smile on his face. "Ginevra. You look lovely. And Ronald — " He paused, his eyes sweeping over Ron with amusement. "You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards." though his voice carried no heat.
"Good to see you too," Ron said flatly.
Ginny's eyes scanned the room. James. Sirius. A few house-elves hovering in the corners. No Harry.
She told herself she didn't care. She told herself it was better this way, that she needed time to settle in, that she didn't want to see him anyway.
But the absence bothered her. More than it should have.
James must have noticed her searching because his smile tightened, just slightly. "Harry's at work," he said. "The factory. He had some things to finish up. He should be back later."
Sirius added swiftly, "He's a hard-working lad. Always has been. Takes after his father in that regard."
James's smile relaxed, just a fraction. "He'll be here for dinner. I promise."
Ginny nodded, forcing a smile onto her face. "Of course. I understand."
"Please, sit," James said, gesturing to the armchairs. "Tea will be here in a moment. We have so much to discuss."
Ginny sat. Ron dropped into the chair beside her, his posture casual, but she could feel the tension in him. He was watching everything, cataloging every detail, ready to intervene if something went wrong.
A house-elf appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits, setting it down with practiced efficiency. James poured, his movements smooth and practiced, and handed Ginny a cup.
"How was the journey?" he asked. "Comfortable, I hope?"
"Very," Ginny said, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. "The Abraxans are beautiful."
"They're the best," Sirius said, settling back into his chair. "Monty, James' father, picked them out himself. Drove the breeder mad with all his questions, but they're worth it."
Ginny smiled politely. She took a sip of tea, letting the warmth spread through her chest.
"I hope you'll feel at home here," James said, his voice warm. "The manor can be overwhelming at first, but it's just a house. We want you to feel comfortable."
"Thank you," Ginny said. "It's lovely."
There was a brief silence. Ginny could feel the weight of James's gaze on her, assessing, evaluating. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to figure out if she was good enough for his son.
She was trying to figure out the same thing.
"Harry will be so pleased to see you," Sirius said, his tone casual, but Ginny caught the glint in his eyes. "He's been looking forward to this."
Ginny doubted that. Deeply. But she nodded anyway, her smile fixed in place.
"I'm looking forward to seeing him too," she said, and the lie tasted like ash.
Ron snorted quietly beside her, and she shot him a warning look. He didn't say anything, but his expression was knowing.
James was still talking, his voice warm and welcoming, but Ginny barely heard him. She was too focused on the empty chair at the end of the room. The one that was obviously Harry's. The one he wasn't sitting in.
She told herself, again, that she didn't care. She told herself it was better this way.
But the knot in her stomach told a different story.
The conversation drifted through the usual channels—weather, work, the journey, the gardens. James asked about the Burrow, about Molly and Arthur, about how the family was faring. Ginny gave the appropriate answers, her voice steady and polite, while Ron contributed the occasional grunt or monosyllable that could have meant anything.
They ran out of things to say eventually. The silence that followed was brief but noticeable, the kind that hung in the air and made everyone shift slightly in their seats.
Sirius was the one who broke it. "Why don't we give you two a tour of the house? You've only seen few rooms on the engagement party. There's so much more to see."
James's face lit up. "Excellent idea. You'll want to know your way around, Ginevra. It's your home now too."
Ginny rose from her chair, smoothing down her robes. "I'd like that."
They walked through the manor, room by room. The grand dining hall, with its long table and glittering chandelier. The library, two stories tall, filled with books that smelled of old leather and history. The ballroom, vast and elegant, with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The conservatory, glass-walled and filled with plants that seemed to glow in the afternoon light.
James pointed out details as they went—the portrait of his great-grandmother who had a fondness for singing at inappropriate moments, the hidden passage behind a tapestry that led to the kitchens, the small sitting room where Lily had loved to read.
"This was her favorite room," James said, his voice softening as they paused at the doorway of a cozy, sunlit space. "She used to sit here for hours, just reading. She said it was the only room in the house that felt like it was hers."
Ginny looked at the room—the worn armchair, the stack of books on the side table, the faint scent of lavender that seemed to linger in the air. She could almost picture Lily there, curled up with a book, lost in another world.
"It's beautiful," she said quietly.
James smiled, but there was something sad in his eyes. "She would have loved you, Ginevra. I know she would have."
Ginny didn't know what to say to that. She just nodded, her throat tight.
They continued the tour, moving through the manor's winding corridors. Ginny was struck by how warm the house felt, despite its grandeur. It wasn't cold or imposing like she'd expected. It was lived-in, comfortable, filled with the small details that made a house a home—the worn rug in the hallway, the family photographs on the walls, the faint smell of something baking in the kitchens.
Sirius had slipped away somewhere during the tour. Ginny noticed his absence but didn't comment. She assumed he'd gone to find Harry, to check on why he wasn't here yet.
She told herself it was better this way.
But her eyes kept flicking to the doorways, half-expecting him to appear. He never did.
The tour ended in the west wing, where James showed them a small, circular room with windows on every side that overlooked the gardens. It was beautiful, filled with light, and Ginny could imagine herself spending hours there, reading or just watching the clouds drift by.
A house-elf appeared at the doorway, its voice squeaky and apologetic. "Master James, luncheon is ready. Shall I serve in the small dining hall?"
James nodded. "Yes, that will be perfect. Thank you."
They made their way to a different dining hall than the one from the engagement luncheon. This one was smaller, cozier, with a fireplace crackling at one end and windows that let in the afternoon sun. The table was round, intimate, clearly meant for family rather than formal occasions. Ginny noticed that there were only four places set.
Harry's absence was a physical thing now, a weight in the room that no one acknowledged but everyone felt. James chatted about the gardens, about the history of the manor, about the plans for the wedding. Sirius, who had swiftly joined them back as he had never disappeared, contributed the occasional comment, his eyes flicking to the door every few minutes. Ron ate with enthusiasm, seemingly unbothered by the missing groom.
Ginny picked at her food. She wasn't hungry. Her stomach was too tight, her thoughts too tangled.
He should have been here. He should have made the effort. Even if he hated her, even if he didn't want this marriage, he should have been here.
The thought made her angry. It made her want to throw something. It made her want to scream.
She didn't do any of those things. She just smiled and nodded and pushed her food around her plate.
After luncheon, James excused himself to attend to some work. Sirius lingered for a moment, his grey eyes studying Ginny with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"Make yourself at home," he said. "Explore. Rest. Whatever you need. The house is yours."
Then he was gone, and Ginny and Ron were alone in the cozy dining hall.
Ron leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach. "That was good. Really good. The Potters know how to feed people."
"Ron."
"What?"
"He's not here." Ginny's voice was flat. "He didn't even show up."
Ron's expression shifted, the humor fading into something more careful. "He's at work. They said that. He'll be here for dinner."
"Will he?"
"How should I know?" Ron shrugged. "Probably. He can't avoid you forever. You're going to be his wife."
Ginny shook her head. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I'm going to my room. I need to rest."
"Ginny — "
"I'm fine, Ron. I just need some time alone."
She walked out of the dining hall before he could argue. Her footsteps echoed in the grand corridor, too loud in the silence. She climbed the sweeping staircase, past the portraits that watched her with curious eyes, and made her way to her room.
The bed was enormous, covered in silk and pillows that looked like clouds. Ginny kicked off her shoes and lay down, staring at the ceiling. The canopy was embroidered with tiny flowers, delicate and intricate, like someone had spent hours creating them.
She was alone. Finally alone. The silence pressed in around her, thick and heavy.
She thought about Harry. Where was he? What was he doing? Why hadn't he come home?
Muriel's voice whispered in her mind, poisonous and insidious. Probably with that Muggle-born girl. You saw how he defended her. You saw how angry he got. Rich or poor, men are always men.
Ginny tried to push the thought away. She told herself it was ridiculous, that Harry and Hermione were just friends, that Muriel was just trying to poison her mind.
But the thought lingered, ugly and persistent.
She rolled onto her side and looked out the window. The garden stretched below her, vast and beautiful, with hedges and fountains and flowers that bloomed in every color. The sky was blue and endless, the kind of sky that called to her, that made her fingers itch for a broom.
She thought about flying. The wind in her hair. The feeling of freedom. The way nothing else mattered when she was in the air.
She could imagine it so clearly — soaring over the gardens, diving toward the fountains, climbing higher and higher until the manor was just a speck below her.
She sighed. It was just a fantasy. It was always just a fantasy.
She lay on the silk bed, staring out the window, and she wondered what Harry was doing. She wondered if he was thinking about her. She wondered if he was avoiding her on purpose.
She told herself, again for what felt like thousandth time that she didn't care.
But she did. She cared more than she wanted to admit.
Ginny must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing she knew, a soft voice was pulling her from the depths of a strange and tangled dream.
"Miss Weasley. Miss Weasley."
She blinked her eyes open, disoriented. The canopy above her was unfamiliar, the silk sheets beneath her too smooth. For a moment she forgot where she was. Then the memory came rushing back — the manor, the tour, Harry's empty chair.
A house-elf was standing at the foot of her bed, its large eyes wide and apologetic. "Dinner is served, Miss Weasley. Master James asked me to get you."
Ginny sat up slowly, pushing her hair out of her face. The dream was already fading, but fragments lingered — Muriel's sneering face, Harry's back as he walked away, Hermione's hand reaching for his. It had been unsettling, the kind of dream that left a bad taste in her mouth even after she'd woken.
She shook it off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Thank you. I'll be down shortly."
The elf bowed and disappeared with a soft crack. Ginny stood, stretching her stiff limbs, and crossed to the wardrobe where she'd hung her robes. The one Muriel had packed for dinner was elegant — deep green silk that fell to her ankles, with delicate gold embroidery at the neckline. It was formal. Too formal, probably, but it was the only dinner-appropriate robe she'd brought.
She changed quickly, smoothing down the fabric and checking her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was slightly mussed from sleep, and she took a moment to tame it with her fingers, tucking stray strands behind her ears. Her face was pale, her eyes still heavy with exhaustion.
She looked like someone who hadn't been sleeping well. Which, she supposed, was accurate.
Ginny made her way through the maze of corridors, her footsteps soft on the thick carpets. The manor was quiet in the evening, the last traces of daylight filtering through the windows. She passed portraits that watched her with sleepy eyes, chandeliers that glowed with soft, enchanted light.
She found the small dining room eventually — the same cozy space from luncheon. The door was open, and she could hear voices inside. Sirius and James, their tones warm and relaxed.
She stepped through the doorway, and the voices stopped. Sirius and James looked up at her, and something flickered across their faces — surprise, she realized. And then something that looked almost like embarrassment.
James was wearing simple robes, dark grey, nothing formal. Sirius was in a similar state, his usual expensive attire replaced with something more casual. They looked comfortable. At ease. Like they hadn't dressed up for anything.
Ginny felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She was overdressed. Completely, ridiculously overdressed. She felt like she was attending a ball while everyone else was having a quiet family dinner.
"Ginevra," James said, recovering quickly. "You look lovely. Please, sit."
"Thank you." She moved to her seat, acutely aware of how the silk rustled with every step. "I hope I'm not too formal. Aunt Muriel packed this for me for dinner. I didn't realize — "
"Not at all," Sirius cut in smoothly. "You look wonderful. We're just lazy. James and I don't stand on ceremony when it's just us."
"Speak for yourself," James said, but he was smiling. "I'm perfectly capable of dressing up. I just chose not to."
"You chose not to because you couldn't find your good robes."
"I chose not to because I wanted to be comfortable."
"You chose not to because you're lazy."
"Sirius, I'm trying to make a good impression on my future daughter-in-law."
"You're doing a terrible job."
Ginny felt a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. The easy banter between them was almost normal, almost warm. It made her feel slightly less ridiculous.
Ron appeared in the doorway, his robes rumpled but clean, his hair sticking up in all directions. "Did I miss anything?"
"Just the part where Sirius insulted my fashion choices," James said dryly.
Ron took his seat beside Ginny, glancing at her gown. "Blimey, Gin. You look like you're going to a wedding."
Ginny kicked him under the table, hard.
The house-elves appeared with the first course — a light soup that smelled of herbs and vegetables. Conversation flowed around Ginny, easy and familiar, but she found herself barely listening. Her mind kept drifting to the empty chair at the table. The one that Harry should have been occupying.
He still wasn't here. Dinner was being served, and he still wasn't here.
"Harry should be back soon," James said, as if reading her thoughts. "He had some things to finish up at the factory. You know how it is. Work never ends."
"Of course," Ginny said, and her voice was perfectly polite. "I understand."
Sirius and James exchanged a glance — brief, unreadable. Ginny pretended not to notice.
The dinner stretched on, each course a little more interminable than the last. James and Sirius kept the conversation flowing, filling the silence with stories about the manor, about Harry's childhood, about the various mishaps that had befallen them over the years. They were trying, Ginny could tell. Trying to make her feel welcome. Trying to make up for Harry's absence.
It didn't work.
She smiled. She nodded. She made the appropriate sounds of interest. But her mind was elsewhere, stuck on the empty chair, on the missing groom, on the growing knot of resentment in her chest.
Ron, to his credit, did his best to help. He asked questions about the garden, about the portraits, about the various artifacts scattered around the manor. He even made a few jokes, which James and Sirius received with the kind of polite laughter that came from people who were trying very hard to be pleasant.
It was exhausting.
When the final course was cleared away, James rose from his chair, his expression apologetic. "I'm sorry Harry couldn't be here tonight. I'm sure he'll be here first thing in the morning. He's been looking forward to this visit, I promise."
Ginny doubted that. Deeply. But she nodded anyway, her smile fixed in place.
"Of course," she said. "I understand. Work is important."
"Please, make yourself at home. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask the house-elves. They'll take care of you."
"Thank you, Mr. Potter."
"James," he corrected gently. "Please, call me James."
Ginny nodded. She said goodnight to Sirius, who gave her a long, searching look that she couldn't quite interpret. She said goodnight to Ron, who squeezed her hand briefly and murmured, "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she lied.
She walked back to her room through the quiet corridors, her footsteps echoing in the silence. The portraits watched her pass, their painted eyes curious and knowing. She ignored them.
Her room was dark when she entered, the fire having burned down to embers. She lit a few candles with a flick of her wand, casting soft shadows across the walls. The bed was still rumpled from her earlier nap, the silk sheets tangled.
Ginny stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, staring at nothing. The silence pressed in around her, thick and heavy. She could feel the weight of the day settling on her shoulders, the exhaustion seeping into her bones.
She changed into her sleeping gown — a simple, soft, thin cotton thing that felt like a relief after the formal silk of her dinner robes. She let her hair down, running her fingers through it to untangle the knots. She washed her face in the attached bathroom, the coolness a small comfort against her flushed cheeks.
Then she climbed into bed, pulling the silk sheets up to her chin. The mattress was impossibly soft, the pillows like clouds. She should have fallen asleep immediately, should have been grateful for the comfort.
But she couldn't. The silence was too loud. The room was too big. The bed was too empty.
She stared at the ceiling, at the embroidered canopy, at the shadows that danced in the candlelight. She thought about Harry — where he was, what he was doing, why he hadn't come home.
She thought about Muriel's words. Rich or poor, men are always men.
She pushed the thought away. It was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Harry had a life. He had work. He didn't have to drop everything just because she was here.
But he could have come home for dinner. He could have made the effort. He could have at least pretended to care.
Ginny closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. The knot in her chest refused to loosen.
She lay there for a long time, staring into the darkness, her thoughts spinning in endless circles. Eventually, exhaustion won out. Her eyes grew heavy. Her breathing slowed.
She dreamed of flying. Of the wind in her hair. Of a sky so blue it hurt to look at.
And she dreamed of green eyes, watching her from somewhere far away.
***
Ginny woke with a start, her eyes snapping open in the darkness.
The room was unfamiliar, the shadows wrong, the ceiling too far away. For a moment she forgot where she was — the silk sheets, the grand canopy, the faint scent of lavender that lingered in the air. Then the memory came rushing back. The manor. The tour. The empty chair at dinner.
She lay still, her heart pounding, her breathing shallow. The silence pressed in around her, thick and heavy. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed. She counted the chimes — two, then a half-chime. Half past two in the morning.
Her throat was dry. Parched. She'd been dreaming of something — flying, she thought, or falling — and her mouth felt like it was filled with dust.
She sat up slowly, pushing the silk sheets aside. The room was dark, the fire having died down to faint embers that cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. She fumbled for her wand on the nightstand, muttered a soft "Lumos," and the tip flared to life, illuminating the room in a soft, golden glow.
She looked around for a water jug. There was a small table by the window, but it held only a vase of flowers. No water. No glass. Nothing.
She could call a house-elf. She knew she could. There was probably a bell pull somewhere, or she could just speak and one would appear. That was what she should do. That was the proper thing to do. She was a guest in someone else's home, and it was half past two in the morning, and she should not be wandering around in her sleeping gown like some kind of weirdo.
But the thought of staying in this room, in this bed, with the shadows pressing in and the silence too loud — it was unbearable. She couldn't sleep in a new bed. She never could. The sheets were too soft, the pillows too fluffy, the whole room too unfamiliar. It felt like she was sleeping in a stranger's house, which she supposed she was.
And in a few months, she would be sleeping in this house every night. In a few months, she would be married to Harry Potter, and she would be expected to share a bed with him. The thought was grotesque. Unimaginable. She tried to picture it — Harry's tall, lean frame beside her, his green eyes watching her in the darkness, his hands reaching for her —
She shuddered. The idea was disgusting. Repulsive. She didn't want to be anywhere near him, let alone in the same bed.
But that was what marriage meant, wasn't it? That was what she was signing up for. A lifetime of sleeping next to a man who didn't want her, who couldn't even be bothered to show up for dinner.
Ginny pushed the thought away. She didn't want to think about that right now. She didn't want to think about anything. She just wanted water. Cold, clear water to ease the dryness in her throat.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her bare feet were cold against the polished floor. She grabbed a thin robe from the back of the chair and wrapped it around herself, tying the sash loosely. Her wand was still lit, casting a small pool of light around her.
She opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
The corridor stretched before her, long and shadowed, the walls lined with portraits that watched her with sleepy, curious eyes. Ginny's bare feet made soft sounds against the cold floor, her wand casting a small, steady pool of light that barely reached the corners. The manor felt different at night — larger, more imposing, the high ceilings seeming to press down on her, the long corridors stretching into infinity.
She shivered, pulling her thin robe tighter around herself. She'd forgotten where James had shown them the kitchen earlier. The tour had been a blur of rooms and hallways, each one grander than the last, and she'd been too distracted by Harry's absence to pay proper attention. Now she was lost, wandering through a maze of unfamiliar spaces, her throat still dry, her mind still churning with restless thoughts.
She heard footsteps somewhere ahead. Soft. Faint. The kind of sound that barely registered but caught her attention anyway. She paused, straining her ears. There it was again — a quiet scuffling, like someone moving carefully through the darkness.
House-elves, she thought. It had to be house-elves. They were always scurrying around, attending to things, making sure the manor ran smoothly. She could ask them for water. They would know where the kitchen was, or at least bring her a glass.
She followed the sound, her wand held out before her, her footsteps quick and light. The corridor turned, then turned again, and the footsteps grew louder, more distinct. She was getting closer.
She saw the door at the end of the corridor — tall, dark wood, slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light spilled through the crack, golden and inviting. The footsteps had stopped, but she could hear movement inside, the soft rustle of fabric, the quiet creak of floorboards.
She didn't think. She didn't knock. She just reached out and pushed the door open.
And then she screamed.
Harry was standing in the middle of the room, his back half-turned to her, his shirt in his hands. He was bare-chested — broad shoulders, lean frame, the kind of body that came from years of physical work. He was mid-motion, his arms half-raised, clearly in the middle of changing.
He screamed too. A high, startled yelp that was completely undignified and utterly human. He spun around, his hands flying up to cover his chest, which was absurd because she'd already seen everything and it was too late and—
Ginny slammed the door shut. Her face was on fire. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. She stood there, frozen, her hand still on the door handle, her mind completely blank.
She had seen him. She had seen Harry Potter half-naked. She had seen his bare chest, his shoulders, the faint line of hair trailing down his stomach.
She had seen him.
And he had seen her. He had seen her standing in his doorway like some kind of lunatic, her wand in her hand, her hair a mess, wearing nothing but a thin sleeping gown and a robe that barely covered anything.
She wanted to die. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She wanted to run — back to her room, back to the Burrow, back to anywhere that wasn't here, wasn't this, wasn't this mortifying, impossible moment.
But her feet wouldn't move. They were rooted to the spot, her heart still thumping, her face still burning.
She could hear movement inside the room — a muffled curse, the sound of fabric being pulled on. He was probably putting his shirt back on. He was probably as mortified as she was.
She should run. She should turn around and flee back to her room and pretend this had never happened. She could lock herself in her room and stay there forever, never speak of this again, never even look Harry in the eye for the rest of her life.
But she couldn't move. She just stood there, her hand frozen on the door handle, her heart pounding, her face burning.
And then she heard footsteps approaching the door.
The door swung open, and Harry stood there, properly dressed now in a pair of dark pyjamas and a dressing robe that he'd pulled on hastily, the belt tied in a lopsided knot. His hair was even messier than usual, sticking up in all directions like he'd been running his hands through it. His face was flushed, his green eyes wide and startled.
He stared at her. She stared at him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, and his voice came out rough, like he'd been asleep or was still trying to process what had just happened. "It's — it's the middle of the night."
Ginny opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Which was unusual for her. Her throat was locked, her tongue frozen, her entire body vibrating with a mixture of embarrassment and panic that she couldn't seem to control.
She felt like she was going to be scolded. The thought was absurd — why would Harry scold her? She was a guest in his house, not a child who had done something wrong. But the feeling persisted, the old familiar dread that came from years of being told she'd done something inappropriate, something unladylike, something that would bring shame on her family.
She stood there, her bare feet cold against the floor, her thin robe barely covering her sleeping gown, her wand still glowing faintly in her hand. Her face was burning. Her heart was pounding.
Water, she finally managed to say, and her voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Water." The word was slightly stronger this time. "I was looking for — I couldn't find the kitchen. I was thirsty. I heard footsteps and I thought — " She gestured vaguely, her hand trembling. "I thought it was a house-elf. I didn't know it was you. I didn't mean to — I wouldn't have — "
She stopped. The words were tumbling out too fast, making no sense. She sounded like an idiot.
Harry was still staring at her, his expression shifting from shock to something that might have been concern. Or confusion. She couldn't tell. His eyes swept over her — the thin robe, the bare feet, the wild hair — and something flickered in them. She couldn't read it.
"You're shaking," he said, and his voice was quieter now. "Are you cold?"
"No. I mean — yes. A little. I don't know." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt. "I just wanted water. I didn't mean to wake you. I didn't mean to — "
"You didn't wake me." Harry stepped back, holding the door open wider. "Come in. I'll get you some water."
Ginny hesitated. Every instinct told her to run, to flee back to her room and pretend this had never happened. But her feet carried her forward, past Harry, into his room.
It was a large room — larger than hers, she noticed, with tall windows that overlooked the moonlit gardens. The walls were covered in a rich red, Gryffindor colors, with a large poster of a Quidditch team on one wall. Books were stacked on a desk, and photographs were scattered across the mantlepiece — moving images of people she didn't recognize, laughing and waving.
And there were pictures of Lily.
Ginny saw them immediately. A red-haired woman, young and beautiful, smiling at the camera. The same woman in another photograph, holding a baby — Harry, she realized, a tiny, dark-haired infant in his mother's arms. There were at least half a dozen photographs of her, scattered among the others, as if Harry had placed them where he could see them every day.
She didn't have time to look at the rest of the room. Harry was moving to a small table by the window, where a crystal decanter sat beside a glass. He poured, his movements careful, and crossed back to her.
"Here," he said, holding out the glass.
Ginny took it. Her fingers brushed against his, and she felt the contact like a spark. Her hand was shaking, and the water sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
Harry noticed. Of course he did. He was watching her with that unreadable expression, his eyes fixed on her face. "You should drink it. You said you were thirsty."
Ginny lifted the glass to her lips. She took a sip, then another. The water was cold and clean, exactly what she'd needed. But she couldn't taste it. She was too aware of Harry standing there, too aware of the silence, too aware of everything.
She lowered the glass, clutching it in both hands like a lifeline. "Thank you," she said, and her voice was barely audible.
Harry was still watching her. His hand moved, almost involuntarily, and she felt his fingers brush against hers. Against the ring. Lily's ring. The ruby caught the candlelight, glowing like a drop of blood.
He stared at it for a long moment. His face was unreadable.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "You wore it."
Ginny's throat tightened. Of course she'd worn it. She'd been told to. She was supposed to be taking care of it, keeping it safe, wearing it like a good fiancée. But the way he said it — like it surprised him, like he hadn't expected her to bother — made something twist in her chest.
"Yes," she said. "I wore it."
Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. He seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. Instead, he just nodded, his eyes still fixed on the ring.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Ginny stood there, clutching the glass of water like it was the only solid thing in the world, her bare feet cold against the floor, her face still burning. Harry was watching her, his green eyes unreadable in the soft candlelight, and she had no idea what to say. What to do. How to make this moment end.
Harry was the one who broke the silence.
"You're shivering," he said, and his voice was quieter now, less startled, more observant.
Ginny looked down at herself. She was shivering, she realized. Her thin robe and sleeping gown were no match for the cool night air, and her bare feet were practically numb against the floor. She hadn't noticed until he'd pointed it out, too consumed by embarrassment and panic.
"I'm fine," she said, but her teeth chattered slightly on the last word, betraying her.
Harry didn't look convinced. He turned away, crossing to a large wardrobe in the corner of the room. He pulled open the door, rummaged for a moment, and emerged with a thick, heavy dressing robe in a deep forest green. It looked warm. It looked soft. It looked like something that would swallow her whole.
He held it out to her. "Here."
Ginny stared at it. "I don't need — "
"You're shivering." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Take it."
She hesitated. The robe was clearly his — too big, too masculine, too intimate. Taking it felt like crossing some invisible line, like accepting something she shouldn't.
"It's clean," Harry added, as if that had been her concern. "I just had it washed."
Ginny opened her mouth to refuse again, but another shiver ran through her, and she couldn't deny that she was cold. Cold and tired and overwhelmed.
She reached out and took the robe. The fabric was thick and soft, and it smelled faintly of something clean and woodsy. She pulled it around her shoulders, and it immediately swallowed her — the sleeves hung past her hands, the hem dragged on the floor, the whole thing felt like being wrapped in someone's arms.
It was incredibly warm. She hated how much she appreciated that.
Harry was watching her. His expression was still unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes as he took in the sight of her drowning in his robe.
"Do you want anything else?" he asked, and his voice was carefully neutral.
Ginny shook her head. "No. Thank you. I'm — I'm fine."
"Then I should take you back to your suite."
Ginny's chin lifted. "I can go on my own."
Harry's eyebrows rose slightly. "And run into someone else's bedroom?" There was a hint of something in his voice — amusement, maybe, or dry humor. "Because I don't think you'd want to see my father changing."
The blush that had been fading flooded back to Ginny's cheeks with a vengeance. "I didn't mean to — I wasn't trying to — "
"I know." Harry's voice was softer now. "I know you didn't mean to. But I should still take you back. It's a big house. Easy to get lost."
Ginny wanted to argue. She wanted to insist that she could find her own way, that she didn't need his help, that she'd rather walk through the dark alone than have him escort her like she was some kind of child.
But she was tired. And cold. And she couldn't deny that the thought of wandering the corridors alone, getting lost again, running into someone else's bedroom — it was too much.
"Fine," she said quietly.
They walked in silence, their footsteps soft against the carpet. The portraits watched them pass with curious, sleepy eyes.
The silence was thick and heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Ginny felt acutely aware of everything — the warmth of Harry's robe around her shoulders, the way it smelled like him, the way his presence beside her was both unsettling and strangely grounding. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't think of anything.
Harry stopped in front of a familiar door. Her suite. He'd found it without even seeming to try.
"Here," he said, stepping back. "This is yours."
Ginny nodded. She turned to face him, her fingers still wrapped around the glass of water. "Thank you," she said again. "For the water. And the robe."
"You can keep the robe." His voice was neutral. "I have others."
She nodded again, feeling oddly tongue-tied. She should say something else. She should apologize again for bursting into his room, for seeing him half-naked, for all of it. But the words wouldn't come.
"Goodnight," Harry said quietly.
"Goodnight," she whispered.
He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the darkness. Ginny stood at her door, watching him go, the heavy robe still wrapped around her shoulders.
She slipped into her room and closed the door behind her. The room was still dark, still silent, but it felt different now. Warmer. Less lonely.
She climbed into bed, still wearing his robe, and pulled the silk sheets up to her chin. The fabric smelled like him — clean and woodsy and faintly of something she couldn't identify.
She fell asleep almost immediately, and for the first time all night, she didn't dream.
***
Ginny woke slowly, the warmth of sleep still clinging to her like a second skin. For a moment she didn't move, just lay there, her eyes closed, her body sinking into the impossibly soft mattress. The silk sheets were cool against her skin, and something heavy and warm was draped over her shoulders—Harry's robe. She could feel the weight of it, the thick fabric wrapped around her like a cocoon.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the morning light that streamed through the tall windows. The room was bathed in gold, the shadows of the previous night chased away by the sun. She felt calm. Peaceful, even. For the first time in weeks, the knot in her chest had loosened.
She sat up slowly, and the robe shifted around her shoulders. She looked down at the fabric, at the deep forest green that was so clearly not hers, and noticed for the first time the small golden thread embroidered near the cuffs. H.J.P. Harry James Potter. His initials, stitched into the fabric with care, like a signature.
Ginny traced the letters with her fingertip, her mind still hazy with sleep. She'd worn his clothes all night. She'd slept in his robe, wrapped in his scent, surrounded by something that was unmistakably him.
She should have felt embarrassed. She should have felt mortified. And she did, a little, somewhere in the back of her mind. But mostly she just felt... warm. Calm. Like the robe was some kind of shield, protecting her from the chaos of the outside world.
She pushed herself out of bed, the robe still wrapped around her shoulders, and made her way to the small adjoining bathroom. The water was warm, the soap fragrant, and she took her time washing away the remnants of sleep. She dressed in one of the simple day robes she'd brought—soft blue, nothing too formal—and paused at the mirror to tame her hair into something resembling order.
She looked at her reflection. Her eyes were clear, her cheeks flushed with color. She looked rested, for the first time in what felt like forever. The ruby ring on her finger caught the light, and she stared at it for a long moment, thinking about Harry's hand brushing against hers last night. The way his fingers had lingered on the ring, the strange, unreadable expression on his face.
She shook her head, pushing the thought away. She didn't have time to dwell on that. She had breakfast to attend, and a whole day stretching out before her, full of unknowns.
She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of her room.
The manor was bright and welcoming in the morning light, the shadows of the night completely banished. Ginny walked through the corridors, her footsteps light on the thick carpets, and tried to shake the lingering embarrassment from last night. She'd barged into his room. She'd seen him shirtless. She'd worn his robe all night without asking. It was mortifying. She should be mortified.
But she wasn't, quite. She was just... curious. Wondering what the day would bring. Wondering if Harry would be at breakfast this time, or if he'd found another excuse to disappear.
The small dining room was close now, the door slightly ajar. Ginny could hear voices from inside—loud, heated voices that made her pause mid-step. She recognized them both: James and Harry. The sound of them arguing made her stomach tighten.
"- Harry?" James's voice was sharp, incredulous. "Where were you? When you were supposed to be here? When your fiancée was arriving?"
Ginny heard Harry's voice, flat and defensive. "I'm an adult. Where I go is none of your business."
"It is my business if you vanish from the earth without telling anyone! It's my business if you disappear for hours, miss dinner, and then show up in the middle of the night without a word! Do you have any idea what that looks like? What it looks like to Ginevra? To her family?"
"I don't care what it looks like."
"Well, you should! You're getting married, Harry. You have responsibilities now. You can't just—"
"I didn't ask for this!" Harry's voice rose, sharp and raw. "I didn't ask for any of this! And I'm not going to pretend I'm something I'm not just to make you happy!"
Ginny froze. Her hand was halfway to the door, but she couldn't make herself push it open. She shouldn't be listening to this. She should walk away, give them their privacy, pretend she hadn't heard anything.
But she couldn't move. The words hung in the air, heavy and damning. She heard the silence that followed—James's sharp intake of breath, Harry's ragged exhale—and she could feel the tension through the door.
"Right," came Ron's voice from behind her, and Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin. He was standing in the corridor, his hair even messier than usual, his expression curious. "Why are you standing there like a stalker?"
Ginny spun around, her face flushed. "I wasn't—Ron, I—"
Ron ignored her. He reached past her and pushed the door open, and the sudden light and noise of the dining room flooded into the corridor. Ginny stumbled forward, caught off guard, and found herself standing in the doorway.
James and Harry fell silent instantly. James's face was flushed, his expression caught somewhere between anger and embarrassment. Harry was turned away, his jaw tight, his hands braced on the back of a chair. They both looked at her, and Ginny felt the weight of their stares like a physical blow.
She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. The silence stretched between them, thick and terrible.
Ron, oblivious or uncaring, walked past her to his usual seat. "Morning," he said cheerfully. "Sleep well? I slept great. The beds here are amazing."
James cleared his throat, his face relaxing into something resembling a smile. "Ginevra. Good morning. Please, sit. Breakfast will be served shortly."
Ginny nodded, her legs feeling unsteady. She moved to her seat, acutely aware of Harry's presence across the table. He was still standing, his hands still braced on the chair, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth.
"Harry," James said, his voice carefully neutral. "Sit down. Breakfast is being served."
Harry didn't move for a moment. Then, slowly, he pulled out his chair and sat. He didn't look at Ginny or at anyone else. His face was pale, his expression shuttered.
The house-elves appeared with breakfast, setting out platters of eggs and bacon and fresh bread. The food smelled delicious, but Ginny's appetite had vanished. She stared at her plate, her hands clasped in her lap, and tried to figure out what to do with herself.
Sirius was not there. She noticed it almost immediately—the empty chair at the end of the table, the space where his irreverent, steadying presence usually sat. His absence made the tension in the room even more pronounced, more sharp.
James tried to fill the silence, making small talk about the weather, the gardens, the plans for the day. Harry responded in monosyllables, barely looking up. Ginny said even less. Ron, oblivious as ever, ate his breakfast with enthusiasm.
It was the most uncomfortable meal Ginny had ever experienced.
The breakfast was winding down, the last of the eggs and bacon cleared away by silent house-elves. Ginny had barely touched her food, pushing it around her plate in a futile attempt to look like she was eating. The tension at the table had eased slightly, but it still hung in the air like smoke, invisible but impossible to ignore.
James cleared his throat, setting down his napkin. "Harry," he said, his voice carefully measured, "don't you have something to say to Ginevra?"
Harry looked up from his plate. His expression was flat, guarded, like he'd already decided how this conversation was going to go. He turned to Ginny, and his voice was automatic, rehearsed, completely devoid of warmth.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be here yesterday," he said. "For your arrival. And for dinner."
Ginny felt her throat tighten. The apology was hollow, empty, nothing but words he'd been forced to say. She wanted to call him out on it. She wanted to tell him that she knew he didn't mean it, that she knew he didn't want to be here, that she didn't want to be here either. But the words wouldn't come. The tension in the room was too thick, James's eyes too watchful.
"It's alright," she said, and her voice came out flat. "You must have been busy."
Harry's eyes flickered, and something crossed his face—surprise, maybe, at how easily she'd let him off the hook. Or maybe it was something else entirely. She couldn't read him. She couldn't read any of them.
He turned back to James, then back to her. "I'd like to show you the grounds today. The gardens. The stables. If you're interested." The words came out stilted, like he was reciting from a script. "The weather's supposed to be fine."
Ginny opened her mouth. She could hear James's voice in her head, the careful expectation in his tone. He's been looking forward to this visit, I promise. She highly doubted that. The entire offer felt like James's idea, something he'd forced Harry to say to keep up appearances.
Ron, oblivious, spoke up before she could. "Sounds great. We'd love to see the grounds."
Ginny shot him a look, but it was too late. Harry nodded once, his face still unreadable. "Good. We'll go after breakfast."
He stood, pushing his chair back. "I'm done," he said, and walked out of the room without another word.
The door closed behind him, and the silence he left behind was thick and heavy. James's smile was tight, strained, like he was trying very hard to pretend everything was fine.
"He's just tired," James said, and his voice was carefully light. "He's been working very hard lately. The factory demands a lot of his time."
"Of course," Ginny said, and she kept her voice carefully neutral.
James's smile flickered. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if he'd thought better of whatever he was about to say. He stood, smoothing down his robes, and nodded to both of them.
"I'll leave you to finish your breakfast," he said. "Take your time. Harry will meet you in the entrance hall when you're ready."
He left, and Ginny stared at the closed door, her hands still resting on the tablecloth. The anger was simmering beneath the surface—not just at Harry, but at James too. At all of them, for pretending that this was normal, that this was what a betrothal should look like.
Ron was watching her. She could feel his eyes, steady and assessing.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
"No," she said flatly. "I'm not."
Ron didn't try to say anything reassuring. He just nodded, his expression grim.
"Me neither," he said. "But let's get this over with anyway."
Ginny made her way back to her room, her footsteps heavy on the grand staircase. The manor felt different now—less warm, less welcoming. The portraits seemed to watch her with knowing eyes, their painted faces following her as she passed. She kept her gaze straight ahead, her jaw tight, her hands clenched at her sides.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, her eyes closed, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The queasiness had settled in her stomach like a stone, heavy and immovable. She felt nervous, jittery, like she'd drunk too much coffee on an empty stomach.
Harry was quite intimidating up close. She'd known that, of course. She'd seen him at the Solstice, at the engagement luncheon, at dinner last night. But those had been brief encounters, punctuated by arguments and silences. This was different. This was going to be hours—hours of walking, hours of talking, hours of being alone with him.
And he was so tall. And so broad. And those green eyes—they seemed to see right through her, past all her defenses, past all her carefully constructed walls. She felt exposed around him, like he could read every thought in her head.
She pushed off from the door and crossed to the wardrobe, pulling out the most practical robes she'd brought—a simple, sturdy pair in a muted grey, suitable for walking and exploring. She changed quickly, her fingers clumsy on the fastenings, and caught her reflection in the mirror.
Her face was pale. Her eyes were too bright. She looked exactly how she felt: nervous, uncertain, completely out of her depth.
She took a breath. Then another. She smoothed down her robes and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at the ruby ring on her finger, the weight of it somehow heavier today.
She could do this. She had to do this. She was going to be married to him, and she had to at least try to make this work.
But as she walked out of her room and down the stairs, the queasiness in her stomach only grew stronger. And when she saw Harry waiting in the entrance hall, tall and brooding, his green eyes fixed on the door, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her.
He turned as she approached, his expression unreadable. "Ready?" he asked, his voice flat.
Ginny nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.
They walked out the door together, the morning light flooding over them, and the door closing behind them.