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Harry was facedown on the carpet.
He groaned. Where was he? He didn't know any place that had carpet. Grimmauld, the Burrow and the Ministry. Occasionally the Grangers' house. Those were the only places he ever went.
"Harry?" came a gentle voice.
A voice he recognized.
He pushed himself up. He was trembling.
What the hell was going on?
"Ginny?"
This Ginny looked different. A little. Her hair came down to her shoulders, and there was a scar on her right hand.
And a wedding ring on her left.
He'd gaped too long.
Ginny—was she married?—had her wand pointed steadily at him. "Who are you?" she demanded.
He held his hands up in surrender. "It's me, Gin. Harry Potter. When—when did you get married?"
She scowled. "You are not my husband."
"Your—your husband?" Harry's voice was shriller than he'd ever imagined possible.
"Have you been Obliviated? What's the last thing you remember?"
"Uh. . . I was on a mission—"
"A mission? For what?"
He stared at her. "An Auror mission?"
"But you quit!"
"I what?"
"How old do you think you are?"
"Twenty-seven," he answered instantly.
"And who's the Minister for Magic?"
"Spencer."
"Wrong answer."
And red light was the last thing he remembered.
"Shacklebolt is the Minister here," someone hummed.
Harry leapt up from his bed. "What the actual hell is going on?"
The same person continued: "It seems, my boy, that you have crossed dimensions!"
"What."
Harry stared—at fucking Dumbledore. Dumbledore who was dead.
In his world, apparently.
Where he and Ginny were definitely not married.
He looked around, felt for his wand. Ginny—not his Ginny—jerked her chin towards the bedside table.
He stared in horror.
It was the Elder Wand.
"Where's my wand?" he demanded from Dumbledore, Hermione, and the Weasleys.
Dumbledore frowned. "Is the Elder Wand not yours in your world?"
"It is, but I left it in your tomb."
Gasps of horror. "Harry!" Hermione—not his Hermione—moaned. "The Elder Wand is bitter! It needs a wielder!"
"I'm an Auror!" he argued. "I can't afford to carry it around with me on missions!"
"You need to claim it as soon as you get back," she told him severely.
"Maybe that's a difference between our worlds," he shot back. "The Elder Wand. And why are you all here staring at me like I'm some sort of spectacle?"
Now the Weasleys—not his Weasleys—looked ashamed. Hermione and Dumbledore, of course, didn't.
"And where is Sirius?"
Now they all stared, worry flickering over their faces.
Dread filled Harry's stomach.
Sirius was alive here.
The shock of realizing he and Ginny weren't married here was almost entirely mitigated by this fact.
He apparated to Hogsmeade, which was apparently where his godfather lived.
Sirius beamed at him even before he could knock. "Hey! Why didn't you just come in?"
Grief and despair welled up in him, and he blinked away tears.
"Harry? What's wrong?" Contentment turned to concern.
"I'm not your godson," he whispered.
"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"
"My Sirius died, my fifth year."
"Your—" Sirius was a clever man, especially when he'd had time to heal from Azkaban. "Oh, kiddo. No matter where you're from, you will always be my godson."
And Harry broke.
It took a long time for him to piece himself together, with Sirius' help.
He sat next to his godfather—not his godfather—and tried to breathe.
"Why did Ginny and I break up here?"
Sirius exhaled, looking grim. He remembered what this Ginny had said, that love wasn't enough.
It was clear from his expression that it was pretty bad.
Harry felt ashamed for doubting his counterpart.
But then, he had been dating Susan Bones.
Don't get him wrong, she was lovely.
But she was no Ginny.
"I'm not sure I'm the person to tell you." Sirius rubbed his chin.
"I already asked Ginny, and she refused."
"Then—"
"Please, Sirius," he pleaded. "She's my wife."
A beat.
Then: "Okay."
"How can I get home?" Harry asked, almost hysterical.
The idea that he would never see his godfather again—
It was unbearable.
Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.
He closed his eyes from the grief.
He did miss the man. Someone who had been a mentor to him, even if not the best.
"We will find a way, my boy," he promised. "But until then, perhaps you ought to stay with Mrs. Potter."
His heart jumped.
Mrs. Potter.
He looked at Ginny—not his Ginny—and she offered him a small smile. He turned to Ron and Hermione, who seemed to agree with the suggestion.
Okay. Then he couldn't ask to stay with them or at the Burrow instead.
But being in close proximity to Ginny—to any Ginny, but especially one married to a version of him—was going to be agony.
"I want to help with the research," he demanded.
"Very well. You and Ms. Granger-Weasley can come to my office in a few hous."
Hermione smiled at him. He grinned back.
With her on the case, he would be home in no time.
"Ron, Hermione, want to stay for lunch?" Ginny asked. Harry had to admire how she'd basically told all the others they weren't welcome without being at all rude.
"I think we'll let you two get accustomed to one another," Hermione replied. "But thanks for the invite."
"Anything for my sister-in-law."
Once everyone was gone: "So. You and Hermione, in your world?"
He spilled his hot chocolate all over the sofa. He went for his wand to vanish the mess but then remembered what wand it was, and his hand stilled, reluctant to actually use it.
Ginny clicked her tongue. "You're going to have to get used to it, sooner or later."
"Never," Harry said stubbornly. "Same answer for your previous question."
She relaxed—he hadn't noticed that she'd been tense.
"But we aren't married—or together. Are we?"
He looked down. "Not anymore."
"Alright," she said with finality. "You must be hungry."
His lips twitched. "You sound like your mother." She elbowed him. He shoved her back. "Don't you want to know what happened?"
"A little," she admitted. "But you clearly don't want to tell it. So."
Merlin, he loved her.
He always had.
It was unfair to Susan, what he was doing.
Then again, he was pretty sure his counterpart would've broken up with her the moment he'd woken up, so he no longer had to worry about that relationship.
He missed it with a pang.
He missed Ginny more.
This Ginny watched him with a keen gaze as she served him potatoes on a plate. He prodded at it, not feeling particularly hungry.
"I still love her," he started abruptly. "And I know she loves me."
"So you never stopped. Then why—?"
He shrugged, smiled emptily. "Because love isn't all that's needed for a healthy relationship." A pause, where he shoveled a spoon of soup in his mouth. "You need boundaries. To be able to make one another happy, not miserable."
"And the two of you didn't have that?" Ginny asked quietly.
"We tried," he huffed. "We really did. But in the end. . . We decided all the effort we were putting into a dying thing could be better utilized elsewhere."
"You gave up," Ginny surmised.
A flare of anger rose up in him. "We had to."
"Don't you miss her?"
"Every moment of every day," he confessed, voice raw.
"And it is that better than fighting for it?"
"No. But it's better than that horrible exhaustion, of knowing the inevitable end was near."
Ginny sat there, digesting it. "I've never really faced anything like that," she said finally. "So I suppose I can't comment."
That's why he loved her. She never judged him.
He remembered those final days of their relationship—how they'd just gone through the motions, pretending the spark was still there, not arguing just indifferent.
And seeing this Ginny—beautiful and fierce as always, also his wife—it hurt.
It made him wonder what life would have been like if things had been just a little different.
It wasn't that he wasn't happy. He had Sirius, Ron and Hermione, a job he loved.
But he missed his former girlfriend like an ache.
He'd started going out again just to soothe that—that was how he'd met Susan.
And she'd been nice, kind. Good company. Able to shoddily patch up that hole.
She'd known he was using her for that, of course. He could never be cruel enough to let her think he loved her.
And a bonus was that it might encourage Ginny to move on.
Harry knew he wasn't ever going to do that—it was impossible.
But she wasn't as fucked up as he was. She might be able to grow and change and find someone else.
If she thought he loved someone else. . . Ginny's pride would never stand for her to be left in the dust.
"You're a martyr," this Ginny told him bitingly, smacking him on the head.
"Ouch," he replied blandly.
"A bloody stupid martyr," she fumed. "Do you really think moving on is as easy as snapping your fingers? Even if we're supposedly better off than you?"
He scowled. "You all have families, had good childhoods—"
"That doesn't mean you're unlovable, you prat! You just told me your relationship failed because of both of you. Why are you blaming yourself now?"
"Because if she had fallen in love with anyone but me, maybe she wouldn't have been so miserable half her life!"
"Harry," Ginny said quietly, clutching his hand. "All that misery was more than worth it to have you."
And he broke.
Sirius summoned them drinks first.
"It started with a mission." He swirled his glass.
Harry bit back his scowl. So it was a good thing he hadn't been allowed to pursue being an Auror after all.
"Harry messed it up, because he heard Ginny was in danger. Because she was threatened." He smiled sorrowfully. "That was the beginning of the end."
Harry sucked in a breath. "She wouldn't have liked that."
"She hated it," Sirius agreed. "They started fighting—and the press caught on. They published photos of Ginny with other men—any she interacted with."
"Surely, he knew the press—"
"Of course he did. He just felt guilty about it. And then he started to distance himself from her, because he thought it would be better." He was quiet for a moment. "I should have done better, been there for him."
"It's not your fault," Harry dismissed. "It sounds like it's mostly his."
"And a little Ginny's. She didn't communicate all that well either. She let him punish himself using her."
He wanted to defend his wife, but he knew this was true. It took two to tango, and to ruin a relationship.
"Things deteriorated until Harry was spending more time here than at home with Ginny. They stopped arguing—and I think that was the worst part. They loved each other, but they got comfortable with the separation. They became indifferent."
Harry flinched.
The thing was—
This was him and his wife.
He could hear their personalities in every word Sirius was saying.
This could so easily have been them.
He thanked Merlin it wasn't.
"They even went to couples' therapy." Sirius smiled sourly. "They tried everything, eventually. But it was too late. They were too tired of trying to make things work only for it to fail, and even Molly was telling them they perhaps weren't the best choices for one another."
"Mrs. Weasley?" he sputtered. She was their biggest supporter. She'd sobbed at their wedding.
"So they parted ways." He shrugged. "All of us thought they were going to get back together at some point, even though most of us thought it was a bad idea, until Harry started seeing Susan."
"Is—is she good for him?"
He'd broken up with her. Would his counterpart be horrified, angry?
"Definitely," Sirius said at once, and Harry swallowed. "She—she wasn't Ginny. She didn't get him like Ginny did. But she helped him. I think he loves her."
"And I broke up with her," Harry mumbled in horror.
A flash of anger in his godfather's mercury eyes before he sighed. "Harry will figure it out. It's okay, kid, you woke up in the wrong world without your wife. I don't blame you, and he won't either."
"It just feels wrong," he blurted out. "That I'm not with Ginny in any universe."
The corner of Sirius' mouth ticked up. "James said something very similar to me the eve of his and Lily's wedding."
"Really?"
Sirius' smile was fond, reminiscent, but not bitter. Harry felt a pang of sorrow. He wished he had known a godfather who had grown up, who wasn't as reckless, who had left Azkaban and the trauma of his youth behind.
"I'll tell you what I told him—you can't do anything about the other universes, but you can make sure you don't mess up with her in this one. You can only control what you do."
Harry huffed a laugh: "The realist to his dreamer."
"Pretty much." Sirius leaned back in the couch, threw an arm around his shoulders.
He closed his eyes; savoured the contact.
Soon he would be home, with his wife.
Without his godfather.
"I'm going to miss you," he whispered.
"I'm always with you, kid."
"You promise?" He felt like a child again.
"Swear to Merlin."
Harry was curious to explore the house.
His house, with Ginny.
He and his Ginny had lived together for a bit, in Grimmauld, but not in a house made entirely for them by them.
Ginny seemed more than happy to give him the tour.
She avoided the master bedroom—that he deduced was the room she shared with his counterpart—but showed him a guest room, tastefully decorated, that she told him he could use.
"If you're not comfortable hosting me," Harry offered. "I could ask one of the others to."
She smiled thinly. "Is that for my sake or your own?"
He gave a small laugh. He never could fool her. "Both, I suppose."
She was quiet as she led him to the living room. There were beautiful and coloured plants in pots on the windowsills, hand-knit quilts draped over the couches, photographs waving from the mantelpiece, a warm fire blazing in the corner, pretty carpets on the floor and paper chains on the ceiling.
He inhaled the scent, feeling nostalgic for something that had never been his. There was so much Ginny in this room, so much of himself.
There was just enough clutter that the cottage felt lived in, but not enough to give Harry the itching sensation to clean.
Ginny was watching him carefully. "We moved here once we were married," she told him.
"Not before that?" He raised a brow. He and his Ginny had been living together for a bit even while dating.
"No. I had a flat in Ynys Mon."
"For the Harpies," he nodded.
Maybe that was why Grimmauld had never reached this level of homeliness—Ginny had always been off for matches or practice, and he for missions or training.
He took a closer look at the photos, glad to note they were all ones he also had: his parents, Sirius, the Weasleys, him with Ron and Hermione but—
"What about Teddy?" He couldn't quell the panic in his voice.
Ginny tapped a drawing of a scenery with a purple sky and blue trees. "He made that. You decided keeping that was better than a photo."
He sighed in relief. "Still—I don't have any photos?"
"You see him all the time," she said, sounding puzzled. "You help Tonks raise him."
He nearly stumbled. "Tonks is alive?"
Then that made more sense. Teddy would be his godson, not practically his son.
And yet—
"I don't keep any photos of him in my house?" Anger rose in his voice.
"He's there in the Christmas one," she pointed out.
Now he noticed the two Metamorphmagi in that photo.
"How did Tonks pass, in your world?" Her voice was level.
"She was killed," he corrected flatly. "We can't be sure by whom—but everyone thinks Bellatrix."
And he thought that hurt his aunt more than anything—that the sister she had once loved had killed her precious daughter.
Ginny winced a little. "Merlin."
"Yeah." He laughed hollowly. "You have a beautiful house, though."
It was a terrible change of subject, but she accepted it without protest, leading him outside to the porch swing.
On which there was a package.
Panic was in her gaze as it flitted from the box to him.
He drew the Elder Wand, felt it hum in his hand. "Is there some danger?"
"No. Nothing. I just—" She pulled out her own, but her hand was trembling.
He cast detection charms immediately, ignoring her protests.
What he saw using the X-ray charm Hermione had created made his mouth dry.
A crib.
For a baby.
And since Teddy's mother was alive here. . . .
He whirled on Ginny.
"You're pregnant?!"
Sirius took Harry to the Department of Mysteries.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked grimly. "I nearly died here, you know."
"Oh, I know," Harry said sourly.
Sirius had the grace to look embarrassed at the faux pas.
"I don't like being here, trust me," he continued. "But I was with them when I was transported here, so—"
"Why were you with them? You're not an Auror."
So he'd noticed.
"I'm still the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man Who Conquered," he grumbled. "Kingsley asked me to be part of some negotiations."
"Kingsley's still Minister in your world?" Sirius had stopped in his tracks.
"Yeah. Why?"
"He was voted out during his first term here."
"What?"
"That's actually part of the mission Harry was on, the one where you appeared." His brows furrowed. "Do you think it could be. . ."
"Possibly. I don't know." Harry pursed his lips. "Let's talk to Shin. He'll be able to tell us what's going on."
Sirius followed him into the lift. They kept mum for the ride so as not to spill anything. Harry accepted greetings with only a slight grimace, glad these people were used enough to his presence not to fangirl over him.
Even if he despised the fact that his counterpart was still an Auror.
He hoped Shin existed in this world, and had the same ID. Otherwise this was going to be embarrassing.
Thankfully, things went as planned.
Sirius' brows kept going higher as Harry confidently made his way through the Department of Mysteries.
"Shin," he greeted, only to be taken aback when he didn't receive the typical indifference and instead was met with wary caution.
Of course. This wasn't his Shin.
"I'm from another world," he said without preamble.
"Harry!" Sirius hissed.
"And I need your help to get back there," he concluded.
Shin considered him, and anxiety wrapped thick fingers around his throat. "Tell me something that will make me believe this fool's tale."
"Okay. Your cat, Odin, nearly died from a blood malediction a year ago."
A flash of pain—Odin apparently had died here—but also belief.
And then Shin began to ramble about dimensional magic and Harry knew he would be seeing his wife again soon.
"Does he know?" Harry demanded. His counterpart would be absolutely unbearable in his world if he'd actually left his pregnant wife behind.
"No," Ginny exhaled. "And you need to go meet Hermione to see Albus."
"You call him by his first name?" He was revolted, and entirely distracted.
She smirked, this clearly having been her intention all along. "I suppose you aren't as close with him in your world."
"I was—but he died when I was sixteen."
The smile was wiped off her face.
Harry let himself feel a little smug at that.
"Ginny," he said quietly. "If I don't see you again. . ."
"It'll mean you'll be back home," she reminded him.
"But I'll miss you. Thank you, for everything."
"You can thank me by figuring your life out. With or without your version of me."
"I'd rather it be with." He smiled wryly.
"No more pity parties or martyring, Potter. If you want that, tell her."
"And if she doesn't also want it?"
"Then at least you'll know."
He was silent for a moment. "I should go find Hermione."
"Yeah." Then she held her arms out, and he fell into them.
She was smaller than him, and yet her arms held a wiry strength, holding him up.
Merlin, he loved her.
"If she doesn't want you back, she's an idiot," she told him, and he laughed.
"That could never be true."
"You're just too in love to notice it."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd notice her being a moron."
"No, you wouldn't," Ginny said knowingly.
He inhaled the scent of her hair, so familiar. "No, I wouldn't."
"It was … good, to see you," he told her as they stood in the bowels of the Ministry.
Sirius had insisted on Ginny being there to see him off.
He hadn't been quite so sure.
Their one encounter already pained him enough. The thought of his counterpart being idiotic enough to leave her was—
But he'd promised himself to be less judgemental and more compassionate, he reminded himself.
Ginny stared emotionlessly back at him.
What he said hadn't been a lie.
It was good to see a Ginny who didn't love him the way his wife did, so he could quit treating it as an inevitability—know that he could lose her the way his counterpart had.
Then she inclined her head. "I suppose I'm grateful to have met you as well," she mused. "It's strange to know that in another world. . ."
Strange.
He'd hoped for another descriptor.
He spared a moment to feel sorry for his counterpart, then turned to Shin. He couldn't wait to see his wife, with the scar on her hand, and her boundless love for him.
But. . .
He and Sirius hadn't hugged before the latter had passed. Now, his godfather gripped his shoulder tightly. "Remember what I told you."
"I will," he promised, swallowing his grief. "It was. . . I'm really glad you're here, Sirius."
Sirius gave him a soft smile. "Me too, kid."
At least there was one universe where his life hadn't been completely fucked up.
"Done with the goodbyes, Potter?"
He bit his tongue to contain the sarcastic reply he wanted to shoot back, reminding himself that this wasn't his friend, but rather a Shin he knew not.
"Never," he responded. "But I'm more than ready to go back."
"Better hope they're doing the same over there."
"They will be," he said confidently. His wife would ensure that, and his friends and Dumbledore.
Shin waved him over to the Veil, began chanting an incantation.
And Harry was spun around in a whirlwind again.
"Harry!"
His wife flew into his arms as he staggered to his feet.
"Did you hex him?" he asked interestedly.
"Don't be ridiculous," she sniffed. "He was you. He was rather nice, actually. I think I'll miss him."
To his horror, he felt something akin to jealousy.
"Did you like him?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.
"Of course I did." His dismay probably showed on his face, because Ginny laughed. "Not as much as I do you, silly."
She stepped away from him, hands wrapped around her belly and—
"It worked? You're—"
"Pregnant," she responded, grinning from ear to ear.
"I love you so much," he said fervently, thinking of that horrible world that had no saving grace except Sirius where he hadn't had her. "I'm never leaving you again."
Ginny giggled. "That might be a little awkward at my matches, my love."
"I can become a Harpy," he insisted. "Gwenog would make an exception for me."
"Love, she hates you."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Because she's trying to hide how much she likes me."
"Sure. If you say so."
"I do say so."
"It doesn't matter anyway. I'm going to take a year off."
"Are you sure? You love playing—"
"I do," she sighed. "But not as much I love you and our growing family."
He smiled and kissed her, cupping her cheeks in his hands, rubbing warmth into them. "Let's get inside. And we should probably tell the others I'm back."
He adored her wicked smile she gave when scheming. "Or. . . We could do something else."
"I'm all ears."
"Should we try again?" he exhaled, not looking at her.
They were outside the Ministry. After a hug, Sirius had hurriedly departed, and the strange Unspeakable was muttering something about dimensional oddities.
He already missed the other Ginny.
And it wasn't fair to the Ginny in front of him, but—
He couldn't help it.
"I don't know, Harry," she said wearily. "It might fail again. We might end up on even worse terms than before."
"You're right." He saw her deflate, and knew he'd said the wrong thing. "But it might end up better. Like them."
Hope passed between them.
"If we really are going to do this, we need rules." Her voice was firm. "And therapy again, probably."
She didn't sound pleased. She hadn't liked the process any more than he had.
"Definitely," he agreed, and held out his hand.
She took it and pressed it between her own.
"How about lunch?" she suggested.
He felt a smile stretch his face. "I could go for some Indian."
"I was thinking Italian, actually."
"Who works here, again? I'm the one who knows the best places around here."
And he needed to think about that, what that Hermione had said about the Elder Wand.
But not now.
Not with Ginny—his Ginny—rolling her eyes at him. "We could Apparate wherever we wanted, Potter, no need to stay here."
It was so easy to fall into the typical banter.
"We really need to talk," he noted quietly.
Ginny turned to him, and for the first time in a long while, her eyes were warm. His breath hitched. "We really do," she agreed. "About why things fell apart last time, what we're going to do to make sure that doesn't happen this time. And Susan."
He cringed. "How did my counterpart break up with her?"
Her lips twitched. "Not prettily."
"Joy."
"I'll tell you all about it over spring rolls in West Country."
"Or we can have some naan and biryani right around the fucking corner—"
"So lazy, Potter—"
"So demanding, Ginevra—"
Ron stared at them. "You're—together?"
"He's still a Harry, even if not my Harry," Ginny said loyally, and he felt the same jealousy bubbling up again.
Hermione, for once, had nothing to say.
Mrs. Weasley he felt guilty for tricking, but not enough to stop this. "Well, this is a surprise," she started slowly. "Ginny, what are you going to do when your husband is back?"
"He is my husband, Mum," Ginny stated firmly.
"We can't let you do this," George interrupted abruptly. "Not to Harry." The others nodded rapidly.
He was surprised—as always—by the amount of loyalty the Weasleys showed him. He turned away so he could hide his face in peace.
"It's not that we don't like you," Hermione said hurriedly, entirely misinterpreting this action. "But our Harry would be devastated if he knew."
He tried to mount a defense of them, tried to say he wouldn't be, but failed. Hermione, as always, was right.
But not as right as Ron, who frowned. "Oi. He's wearing his wedding ring."
Then everyone exploded.
"You gave him Harry's wedding ring?" Mr. Weasley questioned incredulously.
"What the hell, Ginny?" Percy looked more bewildered than angry.
Harry and Ginny exchanged a look: this was rapidly becoming un-funny. They'd thought someone would have figured it out by now, but apparently, their family wasn't the brightest.
"It's me," he sighed.
"Yeah, yeah, you're still a Harry, we get it," Oliver dismissed. "But you're not our Harry."
It was pretty lucky that that was when Dumbledore chose to enter with a wide smile. "Ah! My dear boy, how was your time in the other dimension?"
And everyone exploded again.
Ginny's face was stony.
Harry's fingers were intertwined with hers, which made it a little hard to eat.
Everyone was staring at them, muttering uncomfortable among themselves.
"Are you sure this is … wise, dear?" Mrs. Weasley whispered.
"I mean, the last time, you two imploded," George added tactlessly.
Sirius piped up then in their defense. "Leave them alone." Harry shot his godfather a grateful look, which died when he continued with: "It's their choice to make, however badly it may end."
"That's true, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, wiping his glasses. "We can't make their decisions for them."
"We're right here," Ginny announced loudly.
"We'd appreciate if you'd support us," Harry smoothly said, squeezing her hand and giving her a warning look. "We understand that our break-up was hard for a lot of you—"
"Putting it lightly," Ron mumbled.
"It's none of your business anyway," Ginny snapped back.
"You're my sister, and Harry's my best mate!"
"I had a chance to see a world where the two of us are married," Harry started quietly, and everyone fell silent.
He knew everyone knew about that—this family was like a leaky faucet for secrets and gossip.
"We may or may not end up that way," he shrugged. "But it gave me hope. And I want to keep that hope, try again."
Hermione smiled at him tearfully from across him. Normally, he sat between her and Ron, across from Ginny, but today was a special occasion. "I'm happy for you," she said. "For both of you. And I'll be there if it doesn't work out."
A spark of irritation at how she assumed that would happen—but gratitude won out.
People began to start their own discussions. Apparently the interrogation was over. He sighed in relief.
"So," Ginny said, leaning on her chin on her palm. "We survived telling everyone."
"The press will find out sooner or later," he reminded her, feeling panicky at the thought.
She pressed a kiss to his wrist. "This time, I'm not letting us use them as an excuse for anything."
If you love something, you fight for it.
And they had fought last time too, with all their might.
But this time. . .
"This time, we'll figure it out together."