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Hermione told him he was being ridiculous. Multiple times.
Since he hadn't been able to muster the courage to ask Ron if he thought it was a good idea, much less ask Ginny the question itself, he thought his fear was justified.
"It doesn't even mean anything until she comes of age!" Hermione had pointed out exasperatedly.
Asking Ron and Hermione had been easy enough—Ron had, after all, put down his and Hermione's names in return.
And he suspected the horcrux hunt was the last time he tried to dissuade his best friends from staying at his side. How many times had he done that over the years, only for it to be futile? When he likely wouldn't have survived without them anyway?
No. While he would always maintain that they would've been luckier not knowing him, the blank lines under 'Emergency Contacts' expectantly waiting to be filled did not cause the sullen resignation or the welling of grief for Sirius (not much, anyway) they once would have. Not when he knew he'd always have—couldn't get rid of—Ron and Hermione.
But there was someone else whose name he needed listed in it. Someone who he wanted desperately to be the centre and foundation of his new post-Voldemort life.
Even if she says no, Harry thought to psych himself up to it, she'd be at Hogwarts for the next year anyway. Maybe he could ask her again when she turned seventeen—but that was only in a couple months. He didn't want to be needy or pathetic.
Sure, they were together, but that had come with the promise of getting to know one another again, after a year apart and becoming practically new people after all they'd gone through. And yes, he loved her, but he'd also been told quite witheringly that that didn't mean he got to keep huge secrets from her or tell her what to do.
This was neither of that, of course, but still. . . . .
He needn't have worried about bringing the matter up, though, since Hermione's loud hints lost subtlety at a remarkable pace. As the deadline for the submission of the fast-tracked auror forms loomed on them, they seemed to make Ginny and Ron think he was dying.
"You. . . alright, mate?" Ron asked awkwardly after Hermione pointed out how the keeper who'd gotten bludgered in the match they were listening to would have family with him.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"He just needs to talk to Ginny!" He shot her a betrayed look, which she answered with a pointed nudge of the chin.
Ginny gave a bemused look at her brother, before shrugging and jumping lightly onto her feet from the arm of the sofa they'd taken. "Orchard, Harry?"
"I s'pose," he muttered reluctantly, and sent another resentful look at his best friend before following Ginny out.
"So?" Ginny leaned against a tree and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.
Harry took a moment to admire the way the white flowers framed her as he tried to muster up the words. Somehow 'do you mind getting owled or flooed when I inevitably get myself nearly killed on my new job?' did not seem particularly well-constructed.
"Ron and Neville and the others and I need to give in the Auror forms by tomorrow," he blurted out.
Ginny didn't seem surprised and merely hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I know Ron told Dad he's listing him and Mum as emergency contacts after you and Hermione. Good thing he didn't go to Mum."
Here, she sounded bitter and distant. Harry thought about the fragile and determined way Mrs. Weasley held herself these days and silently agreed.
He nodded. "And I wrote Ron and Hermione," he said.
"Of course," she said in her no-nonsense manner. "Though you know Mum and Dad and George and everyone else would love to be added, right?"
"I don't know about love," he muttered awkwardly. "But, uh. I was more wondering about ... you."
Her eyes widened with surprise and he frantically wondered if this was too early or serious, how he could brush this whole conversation off.
"But - I'll still be at Hogwarts!"
"So will Hermione," he pointed out.
"You really want me on the list too?" Her brow furrowed thoughtfully.
"Can't think of anyone I'd want or need more when it comes to 'emergency contact'," he said truthfully. "I think Andromeda would prefer it coming from one of you rather than an official notice."
He knew she wasn't too happy about someone as notorious as him being her grandson's godfather, and he agreed with the sentiment, though he refused to let it affect his interactions with Teddy.
"Not even Ron or Hermione?" She sounded teasing, but he could tell this was a serious question.
He considered it. "Them too," he said finally. "But they're inevitable - and you're. . . different, a bit. I don't know." There was a pause. "I just wasn't sure— I mean, being an Auror, it's dangerous, and you might not want to. . ." He frowned, frustrated with himself for not finding the words. "You know."
Ginny smiled, now. It wasn't that she was insecure about Harry's friendships, but it was always nice to be reassured, especially after the past year. It was one thing knowing Harry would want to be with her if he could and quite another knowing.
"I did say, didn't I, that I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting all the evil in the world?"
"I think you said Voldemort, actually."
"Yeah, that's what I said now too," she grinned teasingly.
"Well, reckon I'll stick to the low goal of the British Wizarding World only, but—" And now he gave the lopsided wry smile that had always caused Ginny's heart to skip a beat. "I suppose that's the general idea."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "And here you are, getting so worked up about asking obvious questions. Does not bode well, Auror Potter."
"I think it's quite fine when the answer isn't obvious, Ginevra," he mimicked her tone. He was smiling now, though, the tentative feeling loved one that always had her gooey.
"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded and tugged him in to kiss him.
(The only change that was ever made in the emergency contact list Harry handed in at seventeen was just a few years later, from Ginevra M. Weasley to Ginevra M. Potter.)