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Harry was strangely opposed to the idea of getting a dog.
He had no problem laughingly agreeing to Ginny's increasingly wild suggestions regarding the number of pets they should have, whether they be cats or ravens or hens or lambs.
But he went rigid at the idea of a dog.
He managed to smoothen his expression out soon enough, but Ginny hadn't made it this far without learning how to read her boyfriend. "What's wrong?" she asked in a whisper, because she'd realized that Harry being reluctant to talk meant something tragic.
He bit his lip. "I don't like dogs," he said slowly, like the words were being torn from him.
While Ginny loved her ability to make him talk to her regardless of mood - in a way he wouldn't even with Ron and Hermione - it wrenched at her heart.
"Okay," she said and let it go.
She wondered if it was because of Sirius - if having a dog would remind Harry too much of someone who ought to have been there to see their lives together.
But she'd known and loved Sirius too, so Harry wouldn't have been this opposed to talking about it.
It was when they made their home together and actually got a cat to keep old Crookshanks company that the topic came up again.
"We can't get a dog now anyway," Ginny commented. "I doubt she'd get along with him."
He might have thought she didn't hear him heave a sigh of relief, but she did.
The topic of dogs as pets was set aside for a long time - even if Ginny would have adored having one.
Then Teddy began to beg for one.
Harry had never been able to deny the kids anything. He'd gotten Victoire a horse, Teddy brooms and piles and piles of gifts for the both of them.
But this had caused him to have a serious conversation with Andromeda, one that ended with them firmly telling the kid he couldn't have a dog.
Ginny felt like wailing along with Teddy at the lack of answers.
She knew if she pushed, she'd get one. That Harry would never deny her that, especially after the war and their promise to be honest with one another.
But she didn't want to push.
Curse her insistent curiosity and this reticence.
That night, Harry volunteered the answer.
Not entirely of his own volition - it seemed Ginny had been being short with him.
Not on purpose. She would never do that.
"You seem upset," he observed softly as he watched her get ready for bed.
"I'm not," she sighed. "Just. . ." She trailed off. She didn't know how to describe the mixture of emotions swirling in her.
Harry was quiet for a long time. "My Aunt Marge had a dog. Ripper."
Ginny had never met the infamous Aunt Marge. She'd refused to attend Dudley's wedding, calling the match unsuitable. But she knew who she was.
"What about it?" She turned her full attention to her husband.
"It tormented me." The admission sounded like it hurt. "One time it drove me up a tree and the Dursleys left me stranded there for hours while they laughed."
His fingers flexed, as though remembering the ache. She lifted them, kissing them while her mind whirled.
Harry hated his relatives being described as abusive. "They weren't," he always told her and Ron and Hermione. "They just didn't want me, and made that very obvious."
She had never thought that the small, everyday things could hurt just as much as the big things, as the starvation, as them allowing Ripper to do that.
But this big thing was following him into adulthood, affecting the life they were building together. Like that time they'd argued about how the dishes had to be done and arranged.
She didn't say she was sorry. She was, desperately so, but Harry would hate that. A thought occurred to her. "But then - what about Sirius?"
She wouldn't be able to bear it if he told her he'd been scared of his godfather's Animagus form.
He smiled, achingly soft. "Padfoot was different. He loved me. I knew he would never hurt me."
And this declaration coming from the man who had been hurt so many times - whose first experience with Padfoot had been the dog breaking Ron's leg.
Entirely out of her control, tears began to slip out of her eyes.
He kissed the tears off her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "Don't cry, Gin."
"I'm not!" She said shrilly, despite the fact that it was obviously provable. She took a deep breath as he pressed his forehead against hers, the weight reassuring. "Are you scared of other dogs?"
"Not scared." He smiled wryly. "But I don't think I could handle being around one constantly. Too many memories."
And this time she knew he meant Sirius too.
She hugged him tightly. "No dogs," she promised. "Not until you decide otherwise."
And he would, she promised, this time to herself.
He would heal past all the memories.
She would make sure of that.
(Harry was the one who found a tiny, mistreated puppy on one of his Auror missions and brought it home.
As all four of the kids fawned over it, he locked eyes with Ginny and smiled.
They named him Snuffles.)