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“Ginny!” Harry called in a slightly panicked voice, about an hour before they needed to leave. “Help!”
Ginny flicked her wand at the radio, which up until that moment had been blasting out the new Weird Sisters record, and headed upstairs to their bedroom. When she opened the door, she stopped dead, mouth open in shock at the sight that greeted her.
Strewn across the bed, the floor, a couple of cupboards and one of the lamps were about a hundred different packages in different stages of being torn open, each of which seemed to contain only one thing:
Clothes.
Harry saw Ginny's expression and gave her a pleading look. “I can't decide what to wear.”
“You're asking me?”
Ginny's response was automatic, but the old joke was enough to bring a small smile to Harry's face.
“I think I went a bit overboard.”
“Just a bit, yeah.” Ginny looked around the room again, trying not to wince as she recognised logos from a number of expensive wizarding and Muggle brands. “How exactly did you get a hold of all this?”
“I've been owl-ordering,” Harry explained. “For… about a month? I was keeping them in an expandable chest in the back of the closet.” That made Ginny snort with laughter, and Harry smiled again. “I'm going to return a lot of it, I just didn't really know what I'd go for.”
Ginny took a deep breath. This wasn't exactly a task she had prepared for, but she had spent her whole life doing difficult, scary things. Helping to choose her girlfriend's clothes couldn't be much worse.
“Okay,” she said. “Why don't we start with this?”
She grabbed the nearest package and made her way towards where Harry was standing in front of the mirror, tearing open the wrapping as she went. After a few moments, she triumphantly shook out the contents.
It was a set of dress robes, pale white with deep magenta trimmings.
There were ruffles. A lot of ruffles.
Some of them were lacy.
In the mirror, Harry caught Ginny's eye and they both burst into giggles.
“Why did you even buy this?” Ginny asked.
“It didn't look that bad in the picture!” Harry protested. “Merlin's beard, get rid of it!”
Ginny crumpled the robe into a ball and tossed it into the bathroom.
“One down,” she declared. “Only… three thousand to go?”
Looking back, Ginny would have said that the first sign – at least, the first she noticed – was three years ago. She was on Easter break from her final year of Hogwarts, and her mother had permitted one weekend, with Hermione in tow, to visit Ron and Harry's new London flat. The four of them piled in together had been cramped, noisy and mildewy, but it felt like the purest taste of freedom Ginny had ever had.
The day before she was due to go back to school, she and Harry had curled up together in an armchair that creaked under their weight.
“I miss you every day,” she had said into Harry's neck, “but I don't worry about you so much. I start to, sometimes, but then I'll see a Daily Prophet headline – 'Boy Who Lives Banishes Bristol Banshees' –”
She expected Harry to say something like “I'm only a trainee, don't they know I'm only there to observe!” and then they could both laugh about the Prophet's ineptitude. But instead:
“Don't call me that.”
Harry's voice was dark, moody – a tone Ginny recognised all too well. Or so she thought.
“Sorry,” she said, lightly. “Still, it's better than 'The Chosen One', isn't it?”
Harry didn't reply, and Ginny quickly changed the subject.
Six months later, Ginny was living at the Burrow but sleeping over at Harry's more often than not. Ron had quit Auror training already and was planning to leave, and somewhere in all the dancing around the question of whether or not Ginny would be moving in instead, she found that a tube of her mascara had made its way into Harry's underwear drawer.
She thought nothing of it.
By the time they found a small house – a damp, drafty, terraced two-up two-down so far out of the city centre it was barely London at all, but affordable, and that was what mattered – Harry's hair had already grown long enough to wear in a ponytail. They began to keep a tub full of hair ties in the bathroom, trading them indiscriminately, and hid their kisses behind twin curtains of orange and black.
And the next summer when Harry – only a month short of quitting the Auror service entirely – quietly asked Ginny what it was like to have her toenails painted, she had simply demonstrated, drawing splodgy blue daisies which stayed hidden under Harry's shoes for weeks.
It wasn't like the signs hadn't been there. They were simply much clearer in hindsight.
There were some members of the Burrow who survived living a busy and loud and overcrowded life by insisting upon privacy. Ron bolted the bathroom door every time he took a shower and Percy would knock for half an hour rather than barge into a room unannounced. Ginny had taken the other route. She had no shame, rarely knocked on any door, and had learned through the long, difficult times of her brothers' teenage years to be totally unshockable.
But when she burst into the bathroom one day and found Harry peering at the mirror, trying to apply one of her old lipsticks, she froze.
A lot of thoughts were going through her head all at once, and for a moment her expression was pure shock. It was only a moment, but it was long enough for Harry to turn and see her. And when that happened -
Harry flinched.
Shame was not an expression Harry wore well, but sometimes – when Ginny suggested applying for Ministry benefits while they were both between jobs, or joked that Harry's hair was longer than hers, or suggested they order something from the back pages of her Wycked Wytches magazine – well, sometimes there was a look that reminded Ginny that Harry had never not been fighting in a war.
She wasn't good at dealing with those moments. Mostly, they made her want to spit and curse and swear to hunt down the Dursleys and do whatever it took to make them flinch just that way. But that wasn't helpful, so she took a deep breath.
“Harry, I'm not angry.” The words were almost a reflex at this point – really, she didn't even know why she might be angry, but the most important thing was that Harry knew she wasn't.
“I think we should talk,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could. “I'm going to sit on the bed and wait for you to be ready, okay?”
Harry nodded, and Ginny turned and walked back into the bedroom, trying desperately to understand what was going on.
Ginny heard water running, and when Harry came out of the bathroom a few minutes later it was with lips scrubbed clean. Eyes too, and Ginny wondered if there had been eyeshadow there she hadn't noticed, or if perhaps Harry had been crying.
The thought sent a flare of anger through her that she fought not to show.
Harry sat beside her on the bed, close but careful not to touch. Ginny offered a hand, and they held onto each other tight. They had always spoken better with actions than words.
“It's a Muggle thing.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“Is it – I mean, I don't really know if wizards…”
Ginny shrugged.
“I've never heard many details but… a lot of wizards have their own ways of doing things. Mostly people don't talk about it. It's expected, almost – like everyone has a skeleton in their closet if you look deep enough.” Ginny swallowed hard before continuing. “Like I said, I'm not angry, but I'm… confused.” Hurt, she didn't say, but Harry looked away anyway. “I don't really know what we're talking about, even. But it clearly matters a lot to you.” Enough that you'd keep it from me. “So I want to make sense of it."
Harry took a deep breath.
“It's a thing some Muggle men do, mostly the ones who… you know, like other men.” Ginny nodded to try and reassure Harry, even though they were both open about being bisexual. “They dress like women… you know, skirts, dresses, wigs, make-up. S-some of them… want to be women. They have surgeries… to, you know…”
Ginny nodded again, although she wasn't sure she had understood. She could ask for more details later, once Harry's voice had stopped shaking.
“I don't know what it's called,” Harry continued. “No-one ever really spoke about it, but you heard whispers, or else -”
Harry scowled, and for some reason Ginny found this much easier to deal with.
“I know what the Dursleys called it.” Harry's voice was low and dangerous. “But I'm pretty sure those aren't words people are meant to call one another. Not that they – they didn't know, I never would have let them guess, but they still…”
Ginny bit her lip to keep herself from saying anything.
After a few seconds, Harry laughed. It was a bitter sound.
“I'm telling this all wrong, aren't I? I didn't really plan for telling you, even though I knew sooner or later… It's something I've been thinking about for a long time – perhaps always. But a couple of years ago I started… trying things, here and there. And the more I do it, the more it feels right.”
Ginny frowned. “Is this why you left the Auror office?”
“No.” Harry snorted. “Well, not exactly. I realised that I want to be me, not… the story they tell about me. So maybe, a bit. I don't know. Sometimes I think this whole thing is ridiculous, like it's all in my head. Only… well, what if I want to do something to change that?”
Ginny bit her lip, and finally asked the question that had been gnawing at her. “And if you do… do you want to just dress like a woman, or do you want to be one? Are you… going to be my girlfriend now?”
A look crossed Harry's face that was halfway between elation and terror.
“I – I don't know. Maybe. Sorry. Is – Is it a problem if I do want to?”
“Not a problem,” Ginny said slowly. “An adjustment.”
“Sorry.”
“Don't say sorry.” Ginny leant her head against Harry's shoulder, and sighed. “I think we've got a lot to figure out. But together we'll get it sorted.”
Harry kissed her forehead.
“Together. Sure.”
It didn't sound any less impossible when Harry said it. But then, impossible was their speciality, wasn't it?
About a week later, Ginny turned out several unpacked boxes from the back of the cupboard, looking through the few pieces of make-up she owned for some that hadn't become dried up and unusable.
“You know,” she commented, her voice much lighter than her intention, “you could ask Hermione to lend you something. She wears make-up more often than I do, and her skin tone is much closer to yours.”
The look on Harry's face told her everything she hadn't been able to ask.
“I haven't – I don't –”
Ginny nodded, and tried not to show the emotions swirling in her stomach – relief, guilt, anxiety.
She'd never before known something about Harry that Ron and Hermione didn't.
“I'll go buy some more,” she said instead. “Do you want to make a list?”
They went to the Muggle library. It was slow process – Hermione might have known where to start looking, but the two of them didn't have so many ideas. They took home an armful of books each, and dumped them on the kitchen table to read through together.
Some of the books were unhelpfully vague, others were disturbingly clinical. Many only had a sentence or two in passing about what they were actually looking for – and not a one seemed to have been written by anyone who understood a word about what they were writing about.
(One of them, Ginny read about three sentences before throwing it against the wall and cursing it into flames.
“Hey!” Harry quickly conjured a jet of water to douse the flames.
“I'll pay the fine,” she snarled back. “I want it to burn.”
Harry's eyebrows shot up.
“Okay, but not inside. You'll set off the smoke alarm.”)
By the end of it, Ginny wasn't sure what they had achieved. Her head was spinning with long, Muggle words – transsexual, transvestite, androgyny, gender binary. Words with a power behind them she didn't understand, but she was trying to learn. Was this how Muggle-borns felt when they first came to Hogwarts, surrounded by spells that they didn't recognise, which changed the world around them in strange and unpredictable ways?
But words had never been what held the two of them together. They had always spoken clearest to each other in the language of hands, of gesture and touch.
Ginny put the books away with a half-smile: I wish I could help more.
Harry kissed her forehead, and offered her tea: thank you for being here. I know you're trying.
It took a few months for Harry to finally find a few clothes that were reasonably stylish and large enough to fit. They made an event of it – 'date night' at home together. Harry came down the stairs in a blue skirt, brown toes barely peeping out from under the hem, and a Ramones T-shirt. And underneath –
Ginny's pulse picked up at the sight of the curves under Harry's shirt. She decided to file that fact away for future examination in her own time.
“You look beautiful!” she said, and Harry tried not to look embarrassed.
“I borrowed one of your old bras and stuffed it with tissue paper. I hope you don't mind.”
“Of course not.” Ginny wasn't sure quite what to say. “So, how do you feel?”
Harry thought about it for a second.
“Well, it's kind of itchy.”
Ginny laughed, and after a moment Harry did too. A few seconds later, they were interrupted by the doorbell.
“That'll be the Chinese!” Ginny grinned.
“I'll, uh, go lay the table.”
And just like that, they were back in their usual routine. After dinner together, they turned on the radio and danced around the kitchen to the songs, whether they liked them or hated them.
“And now it's time for an old favourite – Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love!”
Harry's eyes lit up.
“No!” Ginny shrieked, grabbing for the radio, but Harry got there first and levitated it on top of the fridge.
“Silencio!”
“Sonorus!” The radio blared out even louder than before. Harry started singing along: “I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love…”
“Muffliato!”
“Finite! And it's bubble-ing for yooooou…”
As Harry tried to spin her around, Ginny was giggling too hard to cast any more spells.
“I'LL BOIL YOU UP SOME HOT, STRONG LOVE TO KEEP YOU WARM TONIGHT!”
“That's not even the right verse!” Ginny protested.
“IT'S ALL THE MAGIC YOU'LL EVER NEED!”
Ginny collapsed against the counter, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “I hate you!”
Harry faux-waltzed over to her. “No you don't!”
This is the happiest I've ever seen her.
The thought hit Ginny like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every part of her. She reached up and grabbed Harry's head with both hands, pulling her in for a long kiss.
“See, I told you you didn't hate me!” Harry said as they broke apart. And then: “What? You're looking at me funny.”
Ginny blinked, and then said: “I got some soy sauce on your cheek.”
“Oh.” Harry scrubbed her cheek absently with one hand, then scowled up at the radio. “Merlin's pants, this song is awful. Silencio!”
Of course, there were bad times as well as good.
“If you're so happy to change everything in your life, why don't I just go?”
“Well why don't you?”
“Fine!”
“FINE!”
Ginny slammed the door and stormed out into the garden, grabbing her broom and rocketing directly upwards. She didn't stop until she was through the thick bank of cloud overhead and into clear skies, cold enough that her bare hands felt aflame with it. She raced along the cloudtops as fast as her broom would carry her, whipping up bright, ice-sparkling eddies of air behind her.
It was almost an hour later by the time her rage had finally faded enough to touch down again. She went to George's flat, letting herself in with the spare key charmed to the bottom of one of the hanging baskets. She dutifully wrapped herself in blankets, and sat in front of the fireplace, staring unseeing into the heat of the flames.
“Another fight?”
By the time George got home it was dark. Ginny wasn't sure how much time had passed. In response to George's question, she grunted.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
The words burned on Ginny's lips, but she knew she couldn't. Not now, not like this.
She shook her head, and George sighed.
“Well, I'm all out of Firewhisky, so do you want tea or hot chocolate?”
Ginny was just startled enough to smile.
“Tea, thanks.”
George beamed at her. “There we go! With communication like that, you'll be sorted out in no time.”
Ginny crept back to the flat in the early hours before sunrise. Harry was awake earlier than usual as well, and she padded around the kitchen in a weighty silence, making breakfast without acknowledging Ginny's presence.
“I'm sorry,” Ginny said, as Harry finally finished off her cereal. “I overreacted.”
“So did I.” Harry sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “Do me a favour, please. Don't – don't look at me like I'm trying to become someone else.”
Aren't you? Ginny bit back the words. Harry could probably read them on her face, but that wasn't the point – she was trying. They both were.
“It's not that I want to forget,” Harry explained. “I don't – I'm so scared, sometimes, of losing that person.”
A memory stirred in Ginny's mind: “The Boy Who Lived.”
“Exactly.” Harry gave Ginny a dark look. “And more than that… I don't want to stop being my parents' son.”
Ginny understood in a flash of clarity. There was so much that Harry had lost, so many people who had known her only as who she used to be. If Harry let go of that version of herself, then all those people were a little bit further away, a little bit more gone.
“Harry,” Ginny said seriously. “You could try your whole life, and I don't think you could ever stop being the bravest, stupidest, best person I know. You're always going to be the person who saved me, the person I fought for, and the person I have loved since the moment we met.”
Harry looked down, her cheeks turning red.
Ginny took a breath.
“But…”
Harry looked up.
“But you are becoming someone new. And so am I, and so's everyone. None of us are the people we were five years ago.” Ginny smiled slightly, imagining her teenage self's embarrassment at this conversation. “And I want you to make sure you're becoming a person that you want to be… not a person you think I will stay with.”
Harry frowned.
“I'm not trying to impress you, or whatever – I'm just being myself,” she said. “As honestly as I know how. Although I hope you'll stay with me anyway. I don't understand – where's this coming from?”
Ginny bit her lip. She hadn't want to tell her like this, but…
“I've been offered a try-out with the Holyhead Harpies.”
“Ginny!” Harry was beaming. “Why didn't you say something? That's amazing! That's…”
Ginny's expression made Harry falter, and she waited until she was silent before continuing.
“I'm moving to Wales.”
Long-distance was an adjustment. Of course, Ginny could Floo home on the weekends, and Apparate in an emergency if she had to. But it was the little things she missed – waking up next to Harry, eating breakfast together, or cuddling on the sofa in the evenings.
But in some ways, the time apart was good for them. They were learning – or perhaps relearning – to make the most of the time they had.
So when one of Ginny's new teammates recommended a certain wizarding club in London, the two of them made plans.
They met Dean, Seamus and Luna by the alleyway Ginny had been given directions to. Most of them were dressed in their Muggle best – the kind of outfits that you could catch a cab home in at the end of the night. Of course, Luna was the exception – she was wearing a velvet tracksuit in a delicate shade of lilac which she had enchanted to glitter like stars in the night sky.
There was something else different about Luna tonight, although it took Ginny a couple of long looks to place it. Then she realised – Luna's chest, though never particularly large, was almost completely flat under the loosely draped fabric of her tracksuit. Ginny wasn't sure how Luna had achieved the affect, or why, but she knew that now wasn't the time to ask.
“Okay, Gwyneth said it was about halfway back…” Ginny trailed off as she caught site of their target. “Here!”
The entry to club was hidden behind a bit of graffiti – a large rainbow-patterned heart, almost exactly at Ginny's eye level. As instructed, she pressed her wand to the centre of the drawing, and the wall folded in on itself, revealing the entry to the club behind it, with the name spelled out in flashing lights: Hexed.
The room was larger and more crowded than Ginny had expected, full of bright lights and loud music, and every kind of witch and wizard under the sun. There were women who were tall and broad-shouldered, men who were short and curvaceous, and some people Ginny wouldn't have dared to guess at without asking. And all of them were together, laughing and dancing and having fun, without a care in the world.
It was magical.
Ginny couldn't wait to hit the dancefloor.
She remembered the rest of that night in pieces, dazzling moments caught in the bright flash of disco lights: dancing together with Luna and Harry, screaming along to some song with Dean and Seamus, downing a Firewhisky cocktail that made her burp purple flames.
At some point in the night, she took a break from the dancefloor and went looking for Harry. She found her at one of the tables by the bar, talking intently to a large woman with long, pink hair.
Something in Ginny's chest burned in a way that had nothing to do with the Firewhisky.
“Hey babe,” she said, sliding a possessive hand over Harry's shoulder. “How are you doing?”
The woman laughed, but not unkindly, as Harry kissed her on the cheek in greeting.
“This is Rhona,” she introduced her. “Rhona, this is Ginny, my girlfriend.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Rhona said, in a broad Scottish accent. “So, what do you do?”
Ginny grinned. “I play for the Harpies.”
“Well yes, I figured that much.”
Ginny laughed. 'She plays for the Harpies' was an old saying for a witch who was interested in women.
“No, I meant literally!” she explained. “Although that too.”
“Well isn't that an exciting life!”
“Ginny's the celebrity of the two of us,” Harry joked. “In a few years they'll be selling copies of your uniform – Weasley 23 will be on everyone's backs.”
“Weasley?” Rhona asked. “Not one of Bill Weasley's lot?”
“His youngest sister,” Ginny answered. “You know him?”
“He and I go way back! I haven't seen him and Fleur since the baby was born though. How are they doing?”
“Exhausted. I think Vicky is still keeping them up at night.”
Rhona winced in sympathy. “Poor dears. I hope they take some time off now and then.”
“Perhaps we should offer to babysit,” Harry suggested.
Ginny suddenly remembered why she had come over.
“Do you want another drink?” she asked Harry. “I'm meant to be buying the next round.”
“No, I'm good.” Harry took Ginny's hand and squeezed it tight. Even though her voice was quiet and the music was loud, Ginny could hear the warmth there. “I'm good.”
“I'll leave you to it then. Nice meeting you!”
With a wave, she disappeared off to the bar, leaving Harry and Rhona to talk.
About half an hour later, Harry returned to the dance floor and Ginny danced and sang with her until their voices were hoarse and their feet were aching.
The next morning, Ginny and Harry slept in until nearly midday, sleeping off the worst of the night before. When they finally stirred, still mussed and sweaty from the day before, they were smiling at each other.
“That was fun,” Harry said. “We should definitely do that again.”
“Definitely,” Ginny agreed. “There were so many cute girls I didn't get to flirt with yet.”
Harry pretended to pout. “Just so long as you don't forget who's your girlfriend.”
There was a moment of silence, as though the whole world was holding its breath.
“How could I?” Ginny answered. “You were the most beautiful woman there.”
Harry beamed so hard that Ginny thought her face was going to break.
“Apart from you,” Harry replied.
Ginny laughed, and leaned forward to kiss her. But as she got close -
“Ugh!” Harry pulled back. “Not now, though. Now you need a shower.”
“Sounds like a great idea!” Ginny rolled out of bed and leapt to her feet. “I'll get straight to it.”
“Aw…” Harry protested.
Ginny grinned.
“So are you coming with me or not?”
“Harry!”
As soon as they opened the door, a bright blue blur of excitement rushed past Ginny at knee height, and attached itself to Harry's leg.
“Here's my favourite godson!” Harry lifted Teddy up onto her hip. “Oof. You're getting bigger every time I see you!”
“Harry, I wanna play Quiddit!”
“He's been excited to see you all day,” Andromeda informed them. “He isn't allowed to use his broom indoors any more, though.”
“I broke the big lamp,” Teddy told Harry in a loud stage-whisper.
“Oh dear,” Harry said. “Well, I'm sure we can find something else fun to do inside. Have I ever told you the story about the time I played Quidditch with a dragon?”
He carried Teddy through to the lounge while Andromeda smiled at Ginny.
“He enjoyed going to see you play last month,” she said. “Although I fear you two are going to have difficulty getting him to sleep tonight.”
“I'm sure we'll manage to tire him out,” Ginny laughed. “Enjoy your benefit gala.”
“I'll try my best. Purebloods really don't know how to throw a good party – but I hold out hope for an open bar!”
As Andromeda left, Ginny went to join Harry and Teddy in the living room. Harry had Teddy on her shoulders, re-enacting the story as she told it. Teddy's eyes were wide with excitement, and he was clapping his hands excitedly as Harry swooped him around the room. Ginny was sure that neither of them had noticed yet that Teddy's hair had turned as black as Harry's.
For a moment, it was like she had walked into a different world – one where this was their house, where Teddy was theirs to raise. One where she wore a wedding ring on her finger, and Harry wore flowing dresses instead of tight jeans.
Ginny had never dreamed about getting married and starting a family – she had always wanted other things out of life first. But now she was slowly finding her way towards everything she had ever wanted, and new dreams had started to beckon to her. Marriage to Harry no longer seemed impossible – and though their relationship was still startlingly fragile at times, it was something she would fight for.
And children… Ginny had never wanted children for herself. But when she saw how Harry was around Teddy – how she would have raised him herself if Andromeda hadn't stepped in – Ginny knew that Harry would never be happy until she had a family of her own. And the 'no' that had echoed inside Ginny at the thought of that once had become a gentler, quieter, thing – 'not yet'.
One day, though, she would be ready – ready to find a crowd of children with green eyes and brown skin and red hair and freckles. And a few without, she suspected – Teddy, but also others. Harry had started talking about doing something for the children at Hogwarts without families to return home to, and while no plans had been made yet, Ginny knew that she would not give up on that fight until every child was safe.
A moment passed, and Harry and Teddy swooped back towards her.
“And then!” Harry narrated. “The dragon whacked its tail towards me -”
“Tail attack!” Ginny shouted, leaping forward to tickle Teddy until he squealed.
“But I flew up, and up, and up, until she took off to follow me…” Harry hoisted Teddy into the air until he was nearly touching the ceiling. “And then I swooped down past her to grab the egg.”
She dove Teddy down towards the ground while Ginny acted out the dragon, reaching for him but barely missing. All three of them landed on the floor in a heap, laughing.
“I beat the dragon!” Teddy yelled, jumping up to run around the room in a victory lap.
For a moment, catching their breath, Harry smiled at Ginny, and her breath caught in her throat.
“What?” Harry asked. “You're looking at me funny.”
Ginny leaned close to whisper in her ear. “You're going to make a great mum one day.”
Harry turned bright red, but she couldn't keep a smile off her face.
“I -”
“Harry! Come draw dragons with me!”
Teddy's demand cut through the moment, and both of them laughed. Harry got to her feet.
“I'm gonna draw a Hungry-an Horntail!” Teddy declared.
“You sure are!” Harry said. “Now, why don't you show me where Grandma keeps the crayons?”
Later that night, once Teddy had gone to bed, and the two of them had collapsed on the sofa in contented exhaustion, Harry turned to Ginny and said:
“I'm going to tell people about me.”
Ginny blinked. “Okay.”
“I want people to know. I want to know if they accept who I really am, or if – Well, I want to be sure, one way or another. Does that make sense?”
“Of course,” Ginny said. “So, when are you…?”
“Ron and Hermione first.” Harry bit her lip. “Your mum and dad too. I'll work from there.”
“You sound pretty sure about this.”
“I'm not.” Harry laughed. “But I'm going to do it anyway. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
Since that day, it had all seemed inevitable. Quietly, they had set a date – a family dinner, nothing major, just a quiet Sunday lunch in the middle of the summer. And now that dinner was only thirty minutes away.
Assuming, of course, that Harry could work out what she was going to wear.
The two of them had gone through what felt like a billion different outfits. Some were hideous, but many more had been rejected for no clear reason Ginny could see. Unfortunately, the few that had been deemed worth trying on had proved either too tight, too short, or both.
With one eye on the clock, Ginny bit her lip.
“This isn't getting us anywhere,” she said. “We need a different tactic. What is it that you're looking for?”
“I don't know!” Harry complained. “I want an outfit that feels… like me.”
An idea came to Ginny.
“I know that look,” Harry said, warningly.
“Do you trust me?” Ginny asked.
Harry sighed.
“Yes…” she said slowly. “But sometimes I regret it.”
“Shut your eyes.”
Harry put a hand over her face, and Ginny hurried to where she kept her own clothes. Right at the back of the bottom drawer was a top that hadn't fit her for years, but that she was planning to keep for a long time anyway.
Of course, having a girlfriend half a foot taller than her posed some difficulties. She pointed her wand at the top, and whispered: “Engorgio.”
“You can look now!” she told Harry. “It might not fit all that well – mum could tailor it properly, but I can only really do bigger and smaller – but it feels like you to me.”
Harry looked it over, and her face lit up like she'd cast lumos on it.
“I love it,” she said, pulling it on. It was very long – almost more like a minidress with jeans under it than a T-shirt – but Harry grinned at her reflection as she pulled on her jacket.
“So, are you ready to go?”
Harry shrugged. “Ready as I'll ever be.”
Everyone was sat in the sitting room at the Burrow before dinner. It was a small gathering – just Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Mr and Mrs Weasley. At a lull in the conversation, Harry squeezed Ginny's hand, then got to her feet.
“Excuse me, everyone,” she said. “There's something I'd like to say.”
Then she took off her jacket, revealing the top underneath – a long green scoop-neck with a golden claw emblazoned upon it, and the words 'Harpies only do it with girls'.
Mrs Weasley immediately glared at Ginny. After a second, Mr Weasley frowned, and said: “Isn't that the top Ginny wore when… you know…”
It was the top Ginny had worn when she came out as bisexual to her family. Strangely enough, it was only now that she realised that she had always identified as bisexual in spite of her preference for women because of her attraction to Harry. She wondered if perhaps she should start thinking of herself as a lesbian.
“Er, Harry mate, that ship's sailed,” Ron joked. Harry's bisexuality had been public news for several years, after a particularly loud shouting match with Rita Skeeter.
“I'm not trying to tell you that I'm bi,” Harry clarified. “I wanted to let you all know that… this might seem strange, but I think I'm actually a woman.”
For a few seconds there was silence. Ginny's hand was resting casually on her wand. She was their only daughter; her parents would forgive her anything – and if she had to use that power to Bat Bogey Hex them for insulting her girlfriend, then so be it.
Then Hermione spoke.
“Thank you for sharing that with us, Harry. I fully accept your identity and I will support you in any way I can.”
Harry sighed.
“Hermione, did you read up on this?”
“She guessed a couple of months ago, mate,” Ron said. Beside him, Hermione blushed furiously. “Wait – am I still allowed to call you 'mate', or is that rude now?”
“I'm not going to stop being your mate just 'cause I'm a girl,” Harry reassured him. “So you're okay with this?”
“I guess,” Ron shrugged. “It's kind of weird – ow!” Hermione had jabbed him in the side - “But if it's who you are, then you'd know better than me.”
“Are you going to start taking Easter-gen?”
Mr Weasley's question made everyone start.
“Maybe,” Harry said. “How do you know about oestrogen?”
“Oh, we had a case of it in the department,” he explained. “Someone brought some in, and we thought it might be a modified form of Polyjuice Potion, but it's actually all technology! These Muggles are so inventive, aren't they?”
“So is that all, dear?” Mrs Weasley asked.
“Actually,” Harry began, glancing for a moment at Ginny. “There is something else. I've been thinking about changing my name. I was named after my mum's dad, you know, so I thought I might like to be called after my grandmother, Katherine. Katie for short.”
“That's lovely dear.” Mrs Weasley smiled. Then she turned to Ron and Hermione. “So, do you two have any announcements?”
“No, Mrs Weasley, we're still not planning on getting married.”
“But it's been such a long while -!”
“Merlin's beard, mum, it's the twenty-first century! We don't have to -”
Somewhere in all the fuss, Katie sat down, and leant her head against Ginny's shoulder.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I know I didn't warn you about the name thing. It's just been on my mind, and -”
“I love it,” Ginny said. “I love you, Katie. And I think I always will.”