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Harry had always been a little restless.
It was something Ginny had noticed years ago, even before they’d gotten together. He couldn’t sit still for long, always had this look in his eyes like he was listening for something no one else could hear. A snatch of trouble around the corner, perhaps, or a call for help only he was tuned into. Ginny used to chalk it up to nerves after all, who wouldn’t be jumpy after a childhood like his, after fighting in a war before he was even out of school? But lately, there was something more to it.
Something he wasn’t telling her.
They’d moved into a little flat in London not too long ago. Nothing fancy, but it had high windows and enough space for Ginny’s growing collection of Quidditch gear and Harry’s haphazard library of spellbooks. The sort of place that made Ginny feel like they were building a life their life and not just two people surviving in the aftermath of everything.
It was a Saturday evening, and Ginny was sprawled across their worn sofa, hair tumbling loose from its bun, skimming through a playbook Coach had owled her for the Holyhead Harpies’ upcoming season. Harry was in the kitchen, pretending he could cook (which mostly meant banging around pans until Ginny eventually took over). Everything was wonderfully, blissfully ordinary until the knock.
It wasn’t a polite knock. It was sharp, quick, the kind of knock that meant whoever was at the door didn’t want to be noticed. Ginny frowned, setting her book aside. “You expecting someone?” she called.
Harry froze, a spatula in hand. “Er. No.”
Ginny tilted her head. The knock came again, and this time Harry dropped the spatula and practically leapt for the door. He cracked it open just wide enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind him. The whole thing took maybe three seconds.
Ginny blinked at the empty space where Harry had been. “What the hell?”
She waited. A minute. Then two. Then five.
The pasta on the stove began to boil over, and Ginny swore, jumping up to save dinner. By the time she had the mess cleaned, twenty minutes had gone by, and Harry still hadn’t returned. She stood by the window, arms crossed, scanning the street below. Nothing. Just Muggle cars trundling along and a man walking his dog. No sign of her boyfriend.
Her stomach prickled with unease.
Finally, the door creaked open, and Harry slipped back inside, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. He looked flushed, his shirt rumpled like he’d been running.
Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Well?”
Harry froze. “Well what?”
“Well, where did you go?” Ginny demanded, hands on her hips. “You left in the middle of cooking. You don’t even like cooking. That must’ve been important.”
Harry’s mouth opened, then closed. “It was… Ron. Yeah. Ron needed me for something.”
“Ron?” Ginny echoed. “What, he knocked on the door? We do own owls, you know.”
Harry’s ears went pink. “It was urgent. Quicker this way.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. She was good at reading lies six brothers had given her plenty of practice. And Harry, for all his heroics, was a terrible liar. His voice always wavered just a little, his green eyes darted away from hers.
“Uh huh,” she said slowly. “And what did Ron want?”
Harry blinked. “Wanted my erm help with moving some boxes.”
“Boxes.”
“Yeah.”
Ginny crossed her arms again. “And you’re all sweaty because…?”
“They were heavy,” Harry said quickly.
Ginny studied him for a long moment. He shifted under her gaze like a guilty schoolboy, scuffing his shoe against the floor. Finally, she sighed and turned back to the kitchen. “Fine. But next time, try not to let the pasta boil over.”
She could feel his relief behind her, almost a tangible thing. He practically sagged into the sofa, muttering something about being starving.
But Ginny wasn’t convinced. Not even close.
That night, she couldn’t sleep.
Harry was snoring softly beside her, his arm draped across her waist, his face so peaceful it was almost ridiculous to think anything was wrong. And yet her mind wouldn’t let it go. The knock, the way he’d rushed out without a word, the lame excuse about Ron and boxes. She knew her brother. Ron didn’t ask for help moving boxes at nine o’clock on a Saturday night.
Ginny turned on her side and studied Harry in the moonlight. His lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks, his mouth parted just slightly. He looked… young, younger than he ever let himself be when he was awake. Vulnerable.
“Liar,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
He didn’t stir.
The next morning, Harry was his usual self. Overly cheerful, making tea and toast, kissing her temple like nothing had happened. Ginny watched him carefully over her mug. He had a faint bruise on his jaw that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Where’d you get that?” she asked casually, nodding at the mark.
Harry’s hand flew to his jaw. “This? Oh, uh… bumped into the door last night.”
Ginny nearly laughed. Nearly. “The door.”
“Yeah. In the dark. Clumsy, you know me.” He grinned sheepishly.
Ginny hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Of course.”
She let it drop for now. But she tucked it away, along with the knock, the sweat, the terrible excuses. Harry was hiding something. She didn’t know what, not yet. But Ginny Weasley wasn’t stupid.
And she wasn’t going to let it go.
That week, she caught him twice more disappearing with weak excuses. Once he claimed he was “meeting Neville for a pint” but came back smelling not of beer but of smoke and with a rip in his sleeve. Another time, he said he was “checking the post” and returned forty minutes later with no letters in hand. Each time, he looked at her with those too bright eyes, waiting for her to challenge him.
Each time, she almost did.
But she wasn’t ready. Not yet. Ginny knew better than to rush headfirst into something without gathering her evidence. She’d learned that lesson the hard way growing up always plan your prank before setting off a dungbomb.
So she bided her time, watched closely, asked questions that seemed innocent but weren’t. And Harry sweet, ridiculous Harry tried so hard to act normal. He laughed, kissed her, made tea, talked about Quidditch scores like he wasn’t sneaking out at odd hours with bruises and lies.
Ginny wasn’t angry. Not really. But she was worried. Because whatever he was hiding, it wasn’t small. And if he thought he could keep it from her forever, well… he had another thing coming.
Harry Potter might have survived Dark Lords and wars, but he had yet to face Ginny Weasley in full detective mode.
And Merlin help him when she finally caught him out.
Harry was a walking contradiction. To most of the world, he was steady, reliable, a man who had shouldered the fate of an entire community and come out the other side. But to Ginny who saw him when no one else was looking he was restless, secretive, and increasingly terrible at hiding it.
The bruise was what tipped her from suspicion into certainty.
It wasn’t small. A dark purple smear stretched across his ribs, blooming into angry shades of blue and green by the next morning. Ginny saw it accidentally or at least, that’s what Harry thought. He’d lifted his arms to stretch after his shower, and his towel slipped lower on his hips than usual. Ginny’s eyes caught the mark immediately.
“Bloody hell, Harry,” she muttered before she could stop herself.
Harry froze mid stretch, arms still over his head like a child caught nicking biscuits from the jar. His eyes darted down to where her gaze lingered, then back up, sheepish. “It’s nothing.”
Ginny arched an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Nothing? That looks like you got tackled by a bloody Hippogriff.”
Harry fumbled for his shirt. “I… slipped. In the bath.”
Ginny’s lips twitched. “Slipped. In the bath.”
“Yeah,” he said too quickly, tugging the fabric down to hide the evidence. “You know me. Clumsy.”
She stepped closer, close enough to smell the lingering soap on his skin. “Funny,” she said lightly, “you’ve lived here nearly a year, and I’ve never once seen you slip. You’ve got reflexes like a cat, Harry.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It was late. I was tired.”
Ginny studied him, tilting her head. She could practically feel him willing her to drop it, to let the moment pass like all the other ones she’d let slide. But her patience was thinning. “Mm. Well, I suppose I’ll have to start keeping a closer eye on you in the bath. Wouldn’t want you concussing yourself on the soap dish.”
Harry flushed scarlet. “Ginny”
She smirked, kissed him on the cheek, and breezed past him into the kitchen. Let him stew. She wasn’t done not by a long shot.
The days that followed only strengthened her suspicions. Harry was slipping more and more, leaving crumbs of truth in the mess of his lies.
On Tuesday, he claimed he’d be late because Kingsley had him reviewing some paperwork. When Ginny asked what kind, he said “erm, reports” and changed the subject so fast she nearly got whiplash. He returned home limping, though he tried to hide it by favoring the other leg.
On Thursday, she came home early from practice and found his boots still wet, caked with mud, though London had been bone dry all week. When she asked, he mumbled something about “the garden” even though their flat didn’t have one.
And always, the bruises. A scrape along his forearm. A cut near his temple. The occasional wince when he bent too quickly. He tried to laugh it off, but Ginny wasn’t laughing.
By Friday, Ginny had decided she’d had enough. If Harry was determined to keep sneaking around, then she was going to follow him.
She didn’t have to wait long. That night, just after dinner, came another one of those knocks at the door sharp, urgent, like the world was ending. Ginny stiffened on the sofa, watching him.
Harry stood, too quickly, knocking over his water glass in the process. “Er I’ll just” He grabbed his jacket and was out the door before she could blink.
Ginny counted to ten, grabbed her own cloak, and slipped out after him.
The cool night air bit at her cheeks as she followed him down the street. Harry moved fast, shoulders hunched, eyes flicking around like he expected an ambush at any moment. He ducked into an alley, and Ginny kept her distance, her heart pounding with something that was half excitement, half dread.
“Where are you going, Potter?” she whispered to herself, pressing against the shadowed brick.
Harry disappeared around a corner, and when she followed, he was gone.
Ginny’s jaw clenched. Apparition, then. Clever, but not clever enough. She wasn’t a Weasley for nothing. She spun on her heel and Disapparated after him, aiming for the trace of his magical signature she’d felt lingering in the air.
The world twisted and snapped, and Ginny landed hard on cobblestones.
She blinked. They were in some industrial part of the city, long warehouses looming in the dark. And there just ahead was Harry. He wasn’t alone. Three other figures stood with him, cloaked and tense, murmuring in low voices. Ginny strained to hear but caught only fragments: “attack tonight,” “need backup,” “too dangerous alone.”
Harry’s jaw was set, his stance defensive. He looked nothing like the boyfriend who sheepishly forgot to buy milk. He looked like a soldier again sharp, ready, every muscle coiled for action.
Ginny’s stomach dropped.
Before she could inch closer, Harry suddenly turned his head, eyes scanning the shadows. Ginny ducked behind a crate, heart hammering. Had he seen her? She risked a glance his gaze lingered on her hiding place a beat too long before he turned back to the others.
“Let’s move,” Harry said, voice low and commanding.
And then they were gone, four shadows melting into the night, leaving Ginny crouched alone with more questions than ever.
By the time Harry returned home, it was nearly dawn. Ginny sat at the kitchen table, arms crossed, waiting.
He stopped dead when he saw her. His shirt was torn, a smear of dirt across his face, and a thin line of blood near his collarbone.
“Ginny,” he started, but she held up a hand.
“Don’t. Just don’t.”
He closed his mouth, throat working. For once, he didn’t try to come up with a lie straight away. He just looked at her, tired and guilty and a little broken.
Ginny’s chest ached. She wanted to be furious, to demand the truth, but all that came out was softer than she intended. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“I know,” Harry said quietly.
“Then tell me.”
His gaze dropped. “I can’t.”
The words landed like a stone in her stomach. She clenched her jaw, swallowing the sting of disappointment. “Fine. But Harry, whatever this is whatever you’re tangled up in you can’t keep shutting me out. I’m not stupid. I see the bruises. I see the way you vanish. And if you think you’re protecting me by keeping me in the dark ” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “You’re wrong.”
For a moment, he looked like he might break, like he might finally spill everything. But then he blinked, shuttered, and shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
Ginny stared at him, her fists tight on the table. “You’re bloody impossible.”
He winced, and she hated the flicker of guilt that softened her anger. Because beneath all of it, she knew Harry. He wasn’t sneaking off for fun, or out of carelessness. He was carrying something something he didn’t want to put on her shoulders.
But Merlin, she wanted to carry it with him.
She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going to bed. Do what you want.”
She didn’t look back as she left the room, though she felt his gaze burn into her as surely as if it were a brand.
And upstairs, curled beneath the blankets, Ginny pressed her face into the pillow and let the tears come. Not because he lied. But because he didn’t trust her enough to tell the truth.
Downstairs, Harry sat alone in the quiet kitchen, staring at his bruised knuckles. He whispered into the dark, words Ginny would never hear.
“I’m sorry.”
Ginny had grown up in a house where privacy was practically nonexistent. Six brothers, one bathroom, constant noise you learned quickly how to keep your secrets close, or how to root out everyone else’s. By the time she was ten, she could tell which twin had set a Dungbomb just by the glint in his eye, and she could always spot when Ron had filched biscuits before dinner. So watching Harry fumble around with excuses and half truths was like watching a Kneazle try to hide in a snowbank. Painfully obvious.
The more he disappeared, the sharper her instincts became. She kept her questions light, almost teasing, but her eyes stayed sharp. Harry was cracking, and Ginny knew it was only a matter of time before he slipped.
The slip came on a Wednesday.
They were supposed to meet Hermione and Ron for dinner at the Burrow. Molly had been fussing for weeks about not seeing them enough, and Ginny had promised, hand on heart, that she and Harry would show. Ginny was curling her hair in the mirror when she noticed Harry pacing behind her, tugging at the sleeve of his jumper like it was suffocating him.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that,” she said, eyeing him in the reflection.
“What? Oh. Right.” He forced a smile, but his eyes flicked toward the window, distracted.
Ginny narrowed her gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Harry said too quickly. “Just… you know. Long day.”
Ginny set down her wand and turned to face him fully. “You love dinner at Mum’s. It’s the one place you get to eat without me burning something.”
He snorted, but the sound was hollow. Before she could push further, a faint sound drifted in a low whistle, sharp and deliberate, like a signal. Harry stiffened.
Ginny’s heart thudded. She knew that sound. She’d heard it once before, the night she followed him to the warehouses.
“Harry,” she said slowly, “what was that?”
He was already moving. “I just remembered something I need to check. Won’t be a tick.”
Ginny’s eyes flashed. “No. Absolutely not. We’re supposed to leave in five minutes. Mum’s making treacle tart. You love treacle tart more than breathing.”
“Ginny, I”
“Don’t you dare give me another excuse about Ron or Neville or boxes,” she snapped, rising from her chair. “What is going on with you?”
Harry froze, caught between the door and her glare. For a moment, Ginny thought he’d finally crack. His lips parted, his eyes softened, and she could almost see the confession sitting on the tip of his tongue.
Then he shut his mouth and shook his head. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”
Before she could stop him, he bolted for the door.
Ginny cursed, grabbed her cloak, and ran after him.
Harry moved like a man being chased, though Ginny was the only one chasing him. He dashed down the staircase, two steps at a time, out into the street. She barely managed to keep up without tripping, her wand clenched in her fist. He cut through an alley, ducked behind bins, his head whipping around as though he expected danger at every corner.
And then, just like before, he Disapparated.
Ginny gritted her teeth. “Oh, no you don’t.”
She closed her eyes, reached for the thread of his magic, and spun on her heel. The world compressed, twisted, and snapped and she landed hard on gravel.
Her stomach dropped. She knew this place. The warehouses again.
Harry stood about thirty yards away, facing down three masked figures in dark cloaks. His wand was drawn, his body taut with readiness. The air around them crackled with magic, sharp and dangerous.
Ginny ducked behind a rusted metal container, her pulse racing. Every instinct screamed at her to jump in, hex first, questions later. But she forced herself still. She needed answers.
“Potter,” one of the masked figures sneered. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Funny,” Harry shot back, “I was just thinking the same thing about you lot.”
The figure snarled, raising a wand, but before the spell could fly, Harry lunged, firing off a Stunner that lit up the dark like lightning. Chaos erupted. Spells flew back and forth, sizzling through the night. Harry moved with terrifying precision ducking, rolling, striking back with practiced ease. This wasn’t the boy Ginny knew who lost track of his keys every other morning. This was the Harry who had led Dumbledore’s Army, who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. A fighter.
Ginny’s breath caught. He was magnificent. And reckless. And hers.
One of the cloaked figures managed to clip him with a curse, sending him sprawling. Harry grunted, scrambled back to his feet, and fired off a Disarming Charm so strong it sent the opponent’s wand spinning into the air. The others faltered, retreating into the shadows with muttered threats about “next time.”
Harry stood panting, his wand still raised, until the last of them melted away into the dark. Then, slowly, he lowered his arm and staggered.
Ginny had seen enough.
She stepped out from behind the container. “Care to explain what the hell that was?”
Harry whipped around, eyes wide. “Ginny?! What how”
“Don’t even start,” she snapped, striding toward him. “You disappear, you come back with bruises, you lie straight to my face, and now I find you dueling masked strangers in the middle of London? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Harry’s face went pale. “You followed me.”
“Damn right I did,” Ginny shot back. “And thank Merlin I did, because apparently you’ve decided to make a hobby out of getting yourself killed.”
“Ginny”
“No.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, ignoring his wince. “You don’t get to ‘Ginny’ your way out of this. You owe me the truth. Now.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking like he’d rather face a hundred Death Eaters than his furious girlfriend. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Ginny barked a laugh. “Really? Because it looks exactly like you sneaking out to play secret hero while I sit at home wondering why my boyfriend can’t be bothered to show up for dinner with my family.”
He winced again, guilt written all over his face. “I didn’t want you involved. It’s too dangerous.”
Ginny’s eyes blazed. “Too dangerous? Harry, I’ve fought in battles. I’ve faced down Death Eaters and lived. Don’t you dare stand there and act like I can’t handle the truth.”
“I know you can,” he said quietly, almost desperately. “That’s the problem.”
For a beat, silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Ginny stared at him, her anger warring with something softer. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried like a second skin. He wasn’t lying to hurt her. He was lying to protect her. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“Harry,” she whispered, her voice trembling now, “you don’t have to do this alone anymore. You never did.”
He looked at her like she was the only light in the world. And for a moment, Ginny thought he might finally open up.
But then footsteps echoed nearby, and Harry’s head snapped toward the sound. The moment shattered.
“We need to go,” he said, grabbing her hand.
Ginny dug in her heels. “No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Harry’s grip tightened, his eyes pleading. “Please, Ginny. Just this once. Trust me.”
She hesitated, torn between fury and love, between demanding answers and dragging him home in one piece. In the end, she let him pull her close, felt the tug in her navel as they Disapparated together.
They landed in the flat with a sharp crack. Harry stumbled, nearly collapsing onto the sofa. Ginny stood over him, arms crossed, her heart hammering in her chest.
Harry dragged a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that,” Ginny said coldly. “But sorry doesn’t explain anything.”
He didn’t answer. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.
Ginny stared at him, her chest tight. She wanted to scream, to shake him, to demand every secret he’d been hiding. But instead, she turned on her heel and headed for the bedroom.
“Ginny,” he called softly.
She stopped in the doorway, her back to him. “I love you, Harry. But I won’t be kept in the dark forever. If you don’t start trusting me soon… you’re going to lose me.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Ginny didn’t wait for his reply. She closed the door behind her, her hands trembling.
And in the quiet of the living room, Harry Potter buried his face in his hands, knowing she was right. He was running out of time.
Ginny barely slept that night. She lay on her side, staring at the ceiling, listening to Harry’s uneven breathing from the couch where he’d insisted on sleeping. It wasn’t the first time they’d fought, and it wouldn’t be the last, but this felt different. This was bigger than dirty dishes or forgotten dates. This was Harry keeping a piece of himself locked away, a piece that was hurting him and, by extension, hurting her.
Her heart ached with a cocktail of anger, fear, and love. He was carrying something, and it was eating him alive. And she was damned if she was going to let him do it alone.
By morning, the silence between them was suffocating. Harry shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking out worse than usual, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Ginny sat at the table, her tea long gone cold. She watched him fumble with the kettle, his hands shaking more than he probably realized.
“Harry,” she said quietly.
He froze, shoulders stiff. “Morning.”
“Don’t do that,” she snapped, surprising herself with the edge in her tone. “Don’t pretend like everything’s fine.”
He turned, guilt written all over his face. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Neither do I. I want the truth.”
For a long moment, he just stared at her, green eyes haunted. Then he sank into the chair opposite hers, his hands gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“You’re right,” he said finally, voice low. “You deserve the truth.”
Ginny’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to cave so easily. She leaned forward, her pulse racing. “Then tell me.”
Harry dragged a hand through his hair, sighing. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
It tumbled out in pieces, halting at first, then faster as though once he started he couldn’t stop. After the war, Harry had been restless. Too restless. The Ministry had offered him a place in the Auror program, and for a while, he’d thought that would be enough. But the world didn’t stay quiet. Dark magic didn’t disappear just because Voldemort was gone. Shadows lingered underground groups, smugglers, cursed objects surfacing where they didn’t belong. And Harry… Harry couldn’t ignore it.
So he didn’t. Quietly, without fanfare, he started taking on missions outside the official Auror channels. Dangerous ones. Missions that required him to move quickly, without bureaucracy, without rules. Missions that were so secret, even Kingsley only half knew about them. He wasn’t just an Auror anymore. He was something more. Something… else.
“A secret superhero,” Ginny said finally, her voice flat.
Harry winced. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“But that’s what you are, isn’t it? Running off into the night, fighting masked strangers in warehouses, coming home with bruises and lies.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Ginny leaned back, her arms crossed tight over her chest. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know? That I could handle it?”
Harry’s face crumpled. “Of course you could handle it. That’s never been the issue. I just” He broke off, shaking his head. “I didn’t want this life to touch you again. After everything you went through in the war, I swore I’d keep you safe. I thought if I kept it separate if I kept you out of it you’d be spared.”
Ginny’s throat tightened. “Spared from what? From knowing the man I love keeps disappearing into danger without me? From lying awake at night wondering if you’ll come back?”
Harry flinched.
“You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle, Harry. That’s not love. That’s control.”
His eyes snapped to hers, wide and desperate. “No, Gin, it’s not like that. I just Merlin, I can’t lose you. Not after everything. If anything happened to you because of me”
“Stop,” she cut in sharply, her voice shaking now. “You don’t get to play martyr. You don’t get to carry the whole world on your shoulders and shut me out in the process. We’re supposed to be in this together. That’s what love is. That’s what partnership is.”
Harry’s hands trembled on the table. He looked so young in that moment, so broken, Ginny wanted to reach across and hold him. But she didn’t. Not yet.
“You think you’re protecting me,” she said softly. “But you’re not. You’re hurting me. Every time you lie, every time you disappear without a word, it feels like you’re choosing the world over me. And I don’t know how much more of that I can take.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. Not now.
Harry’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so bloody stupid.”
Ginny let out a shaky breath. “Yes. You have.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between them. Then Harry pushed back his chair and came around to kneel beside her. He took her hands in his, his grip warm and trembling.
“I should have told you from the start,” he whispered. “I should have trusted you. You’ve always been stronger than anyone I know, Gin. You’re braver than I am, half the time. And I was a coward. I thought I could shield you from it, but all I did was push you away.”
Ginny’s lip trembled despite herself. Damn him. Damn those stupid green eyes and that raw honesty that always cut her to the quick.
“You can’t keep doing it alone,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to. Not anymore.”
For the first time in weeks, Ginny believed him.
They stayed like that for a long while, Harry kneeling, Ginny clutching his hands, both of them clinging to the fragile thread of understanding that had finally been spun between them. Slowly, Ginny reached out and touched his cheek, her thumb brushing the faint bruise there.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, her voice gentler now. “My idiot. But you don’t get to shut me out anymore. Not ever.”
Harry gave a weak laugh, his forehead pressing against hers. “Deal.”
“And for Merlin’s sake, Potter, if you come home bleeding again, you’d better wake me up so I can patch you instead of pretending you tripped over the bloody door.”
Harry chuckled, the sound muffled against her shoulder. “You got it.”
Ginny let out a long breath, relief flooding her chest. They weren’t fixed. Not yet. But for the first time, they were finally on the same page.
Later that day, after Harry had finally collapsed into sleep for a proper rest, Ginny sat by the window, watching the city move below. She thought about the weight of what he’d confessed the danger, the responsibility, the secrecy. Part of her was terrified. But a bigger part of her was determined. She’d survived Tom Riddle, survived the war, survived growing up with six brothers. She could survive this, too.
She wasn’t afraid of Harry’s darkness. She was afraid of being shut out of it.
And now that she knew the truth, she wasn’t going to let that happen again.
When Harry stirred later, blinking awake, Ginny leaned over and kissed his temple. “Sleep while you can, hero,” she whispered. “Because next time, I’m coming with you.”
Harry’s lips curved in a sleepy smile, but even half conscious, his hand found hers and held on like he never wanted to let go.
And Ginny knew: the fight wasn’t over. But at least now, they’d fight it together.
The first time Ginny went with Harry, she nearly punched him in the face.
Not because of the danger not yet, anyway but because his idea of “bringing her along” was waiting until nearly midnight, slipping on his enchanted jacket, and muttering, “Alright, let’s go,” like they were popping out for milk instead of walking into Merlin knew what. Ginny had been brushing her teeth, hair tied back, ready for bed.
“Excuse me?” she demanded, spit and foam clinging to her lips. “Go where?”
Harry gave her a sheepish half smile. “Thought we could… try this. Together.”
Ginny spat into the sink, wiped her mouth, and stalked over to him. “You are not dragging me off to some dark alley with no explanation. If I’m your partner, you tell me what we’re walking into, Potter.”
Harry winced. “Right. Sorry. Old habits.”
“Old habits will get you hexed.”
They ended up crouched in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse on the south side of London, Ginny’s broom shrunk in her pocket, her wand warm in her grip. Harry was next to her, his expression all business now. Focused. Determined. This was the Harry she’d seen on the Quidditch pitch, during the war sharp edges hidden beneath the boy she loved.
“What’s in there?” Ginny whispered, jerking her chin toward the warehouse.
“Cursed artifacts,” Harry murmured. “Smugglers have been moving them in and out of the city. Dangerous ones things left over from the war. I’ve tracked them here.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “And you thought this was a solo job? Harry, you’re mental.”
His lips quirked. “Takes one to know one.”
She smacked his arm, but her heart was racing. Part fear, part adrenaline. Part pride. She was here, finally. No more lies, no more half truths. Just them, together, on the same side.
The operation went sideways fast.
They slipped inside quietly enough, weaving through crates stacked haphazardly, the air thick with dust and the faint hum of enchantments. Harry moved like he’d done this a hundred times before silent, steady, wand drawn. Ginny followed, alert, her senses buzzing.
Then a voice rang out. “Oi! Who’s there?”
A figure emerged from the shadows, wand raised, eyes narrowing. Harry reacted instantly, disarming him with a flick. But more footsteps echoed, and suddenly, there were five more smugglers, all armed, all angry.
“Run?” Ginny suggested.
Harry grinned despite the danger. “Fight.”
And then they were in it. Spells cracked through the air, lighting up the dark. Ginny moved like she was on the Quidditch pitch quick, agile, dodging hexes and firing back with stunning precision. Harry was a force beside her, his magic sharp and powerful, protective shields flaring whenever someone aimed too close to her.
At one point, Ginny ducked a curse and shouted, “This is your idea of teamwork?”
Harry shot a smuggler across the room and yelled back, “You’re brilliant at it!”
And damn it, she was. Her blood sang, her heart hammered, and even as fear coiled in her gut, she’d never felt more alive.
Within minutes, the smugglers were down, bound by conjured ropes and unconscious on the floor. Ginny lowered her wand, breathing hard, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead. Harry was grinning like an idiot.
“Not bad,” he said, brushing dust off his sleeve.
“Not bad?” Ginny barked a laugh. “You nearly got us killed.”
“Nearly,” Harry corrected, stepping closer, his grin softening into something warmer. “But you were incredible.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, but her chest swelled at the praise. “Next time, Potter, you brief me properly. Or I hex you myself.”
Harry raised his hands in surrender. “Deal.”
That night, after they handed the smugglers over to a pair of stunned Aurors Harry trusted, they stumbled back to their flat, exhausted. Ginny collapsed onto the sofa, kicking off her boots. Harry dropped beside her, his shoulder brushing hers.
“So,” he said cautiously, “still want in?”
Ginny turned her head, meeting his gaze. “I told you, Harry. I’m not going to sit at home worrying while you run off to nearly die. If you’re doing this, I’m with you.”
His throat bobbed. “You sure? Because it’s only going to get more dangerous.”
Ginny reached out, taking his hand, twining their fingers together. “I’ve faced worse than smugglers, remember? And I’m not scared of danger. I’m scared of losing you.”
Harry’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “You won’t.”
She arched a brow. “Big promise.”
“Big truth.”
And Ginny believed him not because the world was suddenly safe, but because for the first time in weeks, maybe months, he wasn’t shutting her out. They were in this together. Partners.
Over the next weeks, they found a rhythm.
Harry would get word of a job sometimes from the Ministry, sometimes from less official channels. He’d bring it to Ginny, and they’d plan. Real planning, not Harry’s half baked rushing in. Ginny insisted on it. Maps spread on their table, whispered strategies late at night, enchanted gadgets borrowed from George’s shop when stealth was needed.
They argued. Merlin, did they argue. About tactics, about risks, about who should take point. But beneath it was a trust that hadn’t been there before. Harry learned to listen, to let Ginny’s sharp instincts guide them. Ginny learned to respect his experience, the way he could read danger like no one else.
And together, they were bloody unstoppable.
They thwarted a ring of hexed broom smugglers. They dismantled a cursed artifact hidden in a Muggle museum before it could hurt anyone. They chased down a dark wizard through the backstreets of Knockturn Alley, Ginny laughing breathlessly as they ran, Harry swearing under his breath about her being faster.
In every mission, in every near miss, they came back to each other sometimes bruised, sometimes exhausted, but always together. Ginny would patch Harry up in the kitchen, scolding him for reckless dives, and he’d press kisses to her knuckles, murmuring thanks. Harry would rub salve on her burns, muttering about how she scared the life out of him, and she’d just grin, because fear or not, they were alive.
They were more alive than they’d ever been.
But it wasn’t all danger and missions. Something shifted between them in the quiet moments, too. When Harry reached for her hand without hesitation. When Ginny found herself watching him as he slept, not with worry but with fierce pride. When laughter bubbled easier, kisses lingered longer, silences weren’t heavy but warm.
They were healing. Together.
One night, after another long mission, Ginny curled against Harry on the sofa, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The city lights glowed through the window, painting his face in soft gold. For once, there was no urgency, no looming threat. Just them.
“You know,” she murmured, “you’re still an idiot.”
Harry chuckled, his hand stroking her hair. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.”
Ginny smiled against his shirt. “Damn right you are.”
His lips brushed the top of her head, and she closed her eyes, letting the warmth sink in. For the first time since this whole mess started, she felt steady. Certain.
Whatever came next whatever shadows lingered they’d face it side by side.
And Merlin help anyone who tried to stand against them.
The first hints of morning spilled into the flat as Ginny woke to find Harry already up. He was standing by the window, shoulders outlined by the rising light, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as if he were trying to remember how to wear it. She stretched, yawning, then padded over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.
“Thinking again?” she murmured into his back.
Harry chuckled softly, covering her hands with his. “Always.”
Ginny squeezed him tighter. “You know, normal people wake up and think about breakfast. Maybe tea. Not…whatever’s running in your head.”
He turned, his eyes warm but tired, green as the sunlight poured across his face. “Normal’s never been much of an option for me.”
“No,” Ginny agreed, studying him with a mix of exasperation and fierce affection. “But you’ve got me now, and I intend to drag you into something resembling normal whether you like it or not.”
Harry leaned down, kissed her forehead. “You already have.”
That morning was different from the countless ones before. Not because of the sunlight or the tea or the quiet hum of the city, but because for the first time, Harry wasn’t hiding anything. There were no secrets lodged between them, no lies waiting to trip them. Just him, just her, and the life they were weaving together. Ginny felt the change in the air lighter, freer.
But freedom didn’t mean safety. That became clear soon enough.
The summons came later that day. Harry had set a protective charm on a small coin that hummed when trouble brewed one of the last gifts Hermione had enchanted for him. It buzzed against the table while they were finishing breakfast. Ginny frowned at it, setting her teacup down.
Harry reached for it, his mouth tightening. “It’s bad.”
“How bad?” Ginny asked.
He hesitated. “A group’s been gathering in the outskirts. Old Death Eater sympathizers. They’re planning something big.”
Ginny arched an eyebrow. “And what you were going to slip off, handle it alone, and come back with another set of bruises?”
Harry looked guilty. “That was the plan before.”
“And now?”
His shoulders softened. “Now we handle it together.”
Ginny smirked, satisfaction flooding her. “Good answer.”
They spent the afternoon preparing. Ginny sharpened her reflexes on the broom in the back garden while Harry checked his charms and supplies. There was no tension between them anymore only the quiet, steady hum of partnership. When they finally left, flying side by side beneath a sky brushed with streaks of twilight, Ginny felt invincible.
The location was a crumbling manor, its windows shattered, its gardens wild with thorns. Figures cloaked in black moved inside, torches flaring. Harry and Ginny touched down quietly, sharing a glance that said everything words couldn’t: together.
They crept inside, weaving between shadows. Ginny’s heart hammered, but not with fear with adrenaline, with certainty. She had Harry at her side, and that was enough.
They didn’t stay hidden for long. A voice barked out, and suddenly half a dozen wands were aimed at them. The air thickened with hostility.
“Potter,” one spat, his sneer curling. “And a Weasley. How touching.”
Harry’s wand was already raised. “You don’t want to do this.”
Ginny snorted. “Oh, let’s not pretend. They definitely want to.”
And just like that, the room erupted.
Spells cracked through the air like thunder. Ginny darted forward, firing hexes rapid fire, ducking behind broken furniture. Harry was at her back, shields flaring, his movements fluid and sure. They moved like a single unit, every step instinctive, every spell covering the other. Ginny thought fleetingly of Quidditch how the best teams worked in perfect tandem. This was the same, except the stakes were far higher than a snitch.
The battle raged. Ginny’s lungs burned, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. A curse sizzled past her ear, close enough to singe. She spun, firing a stunner that dropped one of the cloaked figures. Harry caught her arm, tugging her down just as another spell screamed overhead.
“Thanks,” she panted.
“Anytime,” he shot back, eyes fierce. “Don’t die, alright?”
She flashed a grin, wild and fearless. “Not planning on it.”
By the time the last sympathizer fell, the manor was in ruins. Dust and magic hung heavy in the air, the silence deafening after the chaos. Ginny leaned against a shattered beam, catching her breath. Harry staggered over, dropping beside her, his chest heaving.
“You good?” he asked, voice rough.
Ginny tilted her head, smirking through her exhaustion. “Still alive. Still brilliant. You?”
Harry huffed a laugh. “The same.”
For a moment, they just sat there, staring at the wreckage. Then Harry turned, his expression softening. “You were amazing in there. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Ginny’s heart clenched. She reached up, brushing sweat damp hair from his forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to.”
And then, before either of them could overthink it, she kissed him. Fierce, hungry, full of everything words couldn’t carry. He kissed her back like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.
The Ministry cleaned up the mess, but by the time Harry and Ginny stumbled back into their flat, it was nearly dawn. Ginny collapsed onto the couch, her muscles aching, but her spirit blazing. Harry dropped beside her, leaning his head on her shoulder.
They sat in silence for a long time, watching the sky lighten through the window. For once, there was no dread in Harry’s gaze, no weight he was trying to carry alone. Only peace.
“Ginny,” he said quietly, almost like he was afraid to break the stillness. “I don’t think I ever told you properly. How much you mean to me. How much I”
Ginny cut him off with a gentle hand to his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me, Harry. I know.”
His eyes shone, raw and unguarded. “I want to anyway. I love you. More than I can put into words. More than I thought I could love anyone.”
Her throat tightened, but she smiled through it, her own eyes stinging. “Good. Because I love you too. Always have, probably always will. Even when you’re a prat.”
He laughed, relief and joy spilling out at once, and pulled her into his arms. She curled against him, safe and steady and whole.
In the weeks that followed, life didn’t suddenly become easy. There were still missions, still shadows lurking, still danger nipping at their heels. But it was different now. They faced it all side by side, equals in every way. Ginny wasn’t left in the dark, and Harry wasn’t alone.
They became a name whispered together in awe. Potter and Weasley. The unstoppable pair. The couple who walked into fire and came out stronger.
But to Ginny, it wasn’t about the whispers or the victories. It was about the quiet moments: Harry brewing tea in the morning, humming off key. The way he looked at her across the table, as if she were his anchor. The laughter that filled their flat, louder and freer than it had ever been.
And to Harry, it wasn’t about the battles won. It was about Ginny’s hand in his, steady and sure. Her smile after a long night. The way she challenged him, grounded him, loved him without fear.
They were no longer two people circling each other, weighed down by secrets and silence. They were partners. Lovers. A team in every sense.
Together, they were unstoppable.
And for the first time in a long, long while, Harry believed in a future. One where the shadows might never vanish, but the light would always be stronger as long as Ginny was by his side.
Months later, on a warm summer evening, Ginny and Harry sat in the garden of the Burrow, the air filled with laughter and the smell of Mum’s cooking. Ron and Hermione were bickering affectionately nearby, George was making the younger cousins shriek with delight, and for once, everything felt right in the world.
Ginny leaned back in her chair, watching Harry as he talked with her dad. His face was relaxed, his eyes bright. Not haunted. Not weighed down. Just…happy.
She felt a rush of love so strong it nearly bowled her over. This was what they had fought for. Not just battles in ruined manors, but mornings and evenings like this. A life worth living.
Harry caught her gaze, smiling that small, private smile he saved just for her. She smiled back, her heart full.
Stronger together. Always.