Chapter Text
Ginny Weasley woke up the day after Christmas break with a pounding headache.
Reluctantly, she climbed out of bed, barely registering that Hermione had already gone down to breakfast. After quickly donning her school robes and running a brush through her tangle of red hair, Ginny made her way out of the common room, determined not to look at the cracks and loose stones scattered along the Grand Staircase.
Most of Hogwarts felt like that these days. The same, but different. The remnants of what everyone wished could be forgotten still haunted them. The students who had returned after the war were like the school itself: scarred but resilient. The weight of it all lingered in Ginny’s chest, an ache she couldn’t shake. She couldn't help the flashes of memories that snuck in as she walked through the halls. One moment, she was holding hands with Harry, laughing, carefree as they raced to their favorite willow tree by the lake, lost in their own world. The next, she was curled on the stone floor, getting Crucio’d for defying the very idea of writing an essay on Muggle-targeting curses, struggling to suppress screams so as not to frighten the younger students. Her years at Hogwarts felt like a violent dichotomy, caught between the joy of love and the agony of war.
She wanted to move on, to become someone new, someone unburdened by the past, but it wasn’t as simple as leaving it all behind.
The summer at the Burrow had been a strange comfort. She spent as much time outdoors as possible, feeling the sun on her skin and the wind tugging at her hair as she soared over the orchard. Evenings were quieter, spent with Harry in the garden, trading stories of the war, crying through the pain of their losses, and sharing the things they had to do to survive- and, in his case, not survive.
Those moments with Harry, in the shade of an old tree, surrounded by silence, had felt like a sanctuary. Her safe space. They made promises of trust, of communication, of time . But coming back to Hogwarts, to the place where she'd once desperately waited for Harry, felt strangely uneasy. It was as if all her hopes and dreams had been wrapped up in their private moments and now had to be re-lived in a place that had lost its innocence.
She entered the Great Hall, scanning the Gryffindor table for Hermione's familiar bushy hair. Sliding into the bench beside her, Ginny grabbed a blueberry scone and began buttering it absentmindedly.
“You’re in the Prophet,” Hermione said, cutting straight to the point, morning greetings clearly not on the agenda for the day. She slid the paper toward Ginny and folded her hands in her lap, watching her.
Ginny groaned, her eyes flicking to the headline: Harry Potter Has Found His Chosen One: The Boy Who Lived or The Boy in Love? “Great. At least we look good in the photo.”
She skimmed the article, not wanting to waste too much energy on it. In every paragraph, there were mentions of “Harry Potter’s new flame,” “Ron Weasley’s little sister,” and “close friends with Hermione Granger.” But not once did it say “Ginny Weasley.” The knot in her stomach tightened as she shoved the paper back toward Hermione, her appetite for the gossip gone.
Being with Harry every day during that emotional time-warp of a summer had been one thing. But coming back for Christmas break and attending the Ministry Christmas party as his date? That was another.
With Harry, Ginny was simply Ginny . Sometimes she was Gin or, in particularly tender moments, love or darling . But at the party, she was a shadow- Harry's girlfriend, yes, but never anything beyond that. She had followed him around like a ghost, clutching his hand as if letting go might make her invisible, surrounded by a sea of Ministry officials who didn’t care to even notice her.
She let out a frustrated sigh, her fingers tapping the edge of her scone. Hermione was watching her closely, studying her every reaction.
“Are you alright? I mean, it’s about time the Prophet caught on. They’ve been waiting for a solid photo of you two, I think,” Hermione said, offering a sympathetic glance.
Ginny forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not exactly breaking news around here.”
“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” Hermione replied. “Ron said it was… fun?”
Ginny snorted. “Fun? He looked like a lost puppy the entire time. Constantly searching the room like he was waiting for someone to tell him what to do next. I think more people wanted to talk to him that night than the rest of his life combined.”
Having Hermione at the Christmas party would have made Ron less insufferable, true, but Ginny wasn’t sure that completing the Golden Trio, as the media had fondly dubbed them, would have done any favors for the unwanted attention Harry and Ron were already receiving. It had been difficult enough for Harry to stay focused with everyone constantly tugging at him, trying to introduce him to every wizard on the planet, and—more frustratingly—offering up their daughters for his consideration.
Hermione sighed. “I would’ve had him at my parent’s house for the holidays. I don’t know why he insisted on the party. Robards would’ve understood…”
The conversation faltered as Professor McGonagall rose from her center seat at the staff table, clearing her throat.
“Good morning, everyone,” McGonagall began, her sharp voice cutting through the chatter. “I trust you all had a pleasant and restful holiday. Just a brief reminder that Quidditch practice will resume immediately, and our first match of the term will be Gryffindor against Hufflepuff in five weeks' time. Before we move on, I’d like to announce the opening of the Albus Dumbledore Garden of Remembrance, located across from Greenhouse Three. It will be open for viewing during lunch and after dinner.” She paused, eyeing the students expectantly. “Now, our Head Girl and C.H.A.R.M. President would like to address the room- Miss Granger?”
McGonagall sat back down, and Hermione jumped to her feet, her Head Girl badge gleaming in the morning light as she crossed the Hall to stand front and center.
“The Coalition for Healing, Aid, and Restorative Magic will be hosting multiple events this term,” Hermione began, her voice firm and authoritative, yet carrying the warmth that made everyone listen. “Sign-up sheets will be posted in each common room, and I hope to see many familiar faces at our events. We will also be reviving an old Hogwarts tradition- the Enchanted Heart Ball, on Valentine’s Day. Years 5 and up are welcome to attend, and Years 4 and below must be accompanied by a date.”
A wave of excitement rippled through the room, whispers bubbling in every corner. C.H.A.R.M., which had been actively helping students recover from the war, had seen a steady rise in participation, and Hermione's latest initiative was sure to be a hit.
As Hermione returned to the table, head held high, Ginny shoved the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, swallowing quickly.
“I’ll see you later,” Ginny mumbled, mouth full of omelette. “I want to shower before Potions.” She grabbed her orange juice, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and rushed back to the dorms, already dreading the day ahead.
The next evening, Ginny was leading the Gryffindor team through warm-up drills, her voice echoing across the pitch like it was trying to fill more than just the empty air. She had been rebuilding, breaking them down and bringing them back up, just like everything else around her. They had started the season a bit shaky but hopeful, scraping together a narrow win against Ravenclaw in the opener. Ravenclaw was always a clever, quick-witted opponent. That win had felt earned. Now, though, the team seemed... dulled.
She had to scold her beaters for arriving ten minutes late. “Next time, I’ll send a personal Howler,” she muttered, loud enough for them to hear. Her new Seeker kept glancing at her nails instead of the sky. Ginny couldn’t tell if it was post-holiday fatigue or the fact that the Hufflepuff team hadn’t exactly played with fire in their last match against Slytherin. Either way, the upcoming game wasn’t lighting any sparks. Not in them, and not in her.
She hovered above them, circling, calling out plays she wasn’t sure anyone was actually hearing. Her voice felt thin. Was this what Harry had dealt with all those years? The pressure, the expectations, the constant weight of being the glue that held it all together? She wasn’t sure how he had made it look so easy.
If she couldn’t even get a Quidditch team excited to play Quidditch, did she really deserve the Captain’s badge pinned to her chest?
Her broom dipped slightly as her thoughts took over, and she let herself slow to a gentle glide. Her mind drifted to the last time she felt truly alive in the air.
Her fifth year. The final game of the season. Stepping in as Seeker. Just her, the Snitch, and Cho bloody Chang.
She could still remember the dive, that spiral she had practiced over and over until it lived in her bones. And then, the catch. That glint of gold, claimed right out from under Cho’s nose. A metaphor if there ever was one.
What came after had made it the best day of her life.
Now? She couldn’t even imagine that kind of joy. It felt like it belonged to a different girl entirely.
Did the team feel it too? Her distance? Her doubt?
She looped one last time and called them into a huddle.
“I think that’s good for tonight. Get some rest.”
She didn’t have the energy for a pep talk. The team only blinked at her, then slowly peeled away toward the locker room in uncharacteristic silence.
Ginny stayed behind, watching them go. The wind tugged at her robes, but she didn’t move. She let her doubts rise from the deepest corners of her mind and settle somewhere heavier. Somewhere near her heart.