He disappeared every so often.
It was nothing to worry over, she told herself when she walked in solitude through the tall corridors and wide rooms of Grimmauld Place. A few times during the year, she'd come over after practice and the whole cavernous house would be silent. He would leave a note on the freshly restored long table in the corridor, right under where Mrs. Black used to reside. Every time it said the same thing, but it was always a new piece of parchment, fresh ink-he took the time to write it, to think of her, and that was how she knew it was okay, that he would come back.
Tonight it was raining in London, and she was already soaked to the bone; it just turned crisp, at the cusp of true autumn, but the rain chilled her through, even with a warmish breeze. Tired from the long day of drills and practice matches, she teetered on the stoop as she appears with a soft pop. She was looking forward to a night in, perhaps a film on the television her father insisted Harry have that they never watched, but when she unlocked the front door, she immediately saw the note on the table, and resigned herself to a mostly solitary evening.
Grimmauld Place was full of light, now. It evoked the summer before her fourth year; for all the tension, she had never been happier, feeling like a part of everything. She was glad Harry had decided to make his home here; Sirius would be glad too, and even if his life had been stunted and painful, his spark still lived in the air of this old house, and she knew Harry could feel it too. There was breath and width in this place, room enough for a whole life.
After a warm shower and slipping into her oldest and most worn jeans, she settled with a book and a plate of reheated sweet-and-sour chicken and rice in the first floor drawing room. The wireless haunted through the pinging of rain against the window panes, slow soft piano and guitar. Everything was still and quiet; sometimes she liked it that way, but tonight she was twitchy. She wanted Harry to come home; she wanted someone to bounce off of, to talk to.
"You're here."
Curled into the arm of the sofa, she glanced up from the book's yellowing pages. He looked dry and tall in the doorway, face unlined. "Of course. I have no food in my flat. A girl has to eat," she said lightly, setting the book to the side.
He smiled slightly at that, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. "As long as I'm useful for something."
Soft, low music curled between them in the silence; it made her want to sway. "I can think of another way or two you're useful," she teased, passing a hard through her hair as lay smooth across her shoulders. "Come sit."
"I sit all day," he said distantly, looking off towards the windows. "Good practice today?"
"Lots of drills," she said with a shrug. "Useful but annoying after a time. Argued with Gwen over a few formations. Generally made trouble, the usual."
He walked slowly around the room, moving to the wide bay window. She felt ensconced in the eye of the storm, cozy and secure in the midst of rain and wind outside. "Where were you?" she asked after a moment.
"You made trouble?" he asked instead, leaning his shoulder against the frame of the window. Streetlights reflected rain through the glass and onto the lines of his face.
"Are you surprised? I'm a maverick, Potter," she teased.
"Trouble as in you'll be benched?"
"No, of course not," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Where'd you go?"
Harry glanced out of the window, arms crossed over his pullover. "Went to visit Teddy for a bit."
She pressed her lips together, standing up. "And that's all?" she asked. Normally she didn't push, but after the day she'd had, and the hours already alone, she felt like pressing buttons somewhere. Besides, sometimes she had just about enough of his mysteries.
"No," he said after a moment, meeting her eyes. "Does it matter where? I always come back."
He did. As she watched him, her mouth softened, something inside her relaxed. "I reckon not. Just... if something's wrong, you can tell me."
He crossed towards her, sitting down on the opposite side of the sofa. "Nothing's wrong, Ginny. I'd tell you."
She smiled slightly. "Okay," she said, leaning over to kiss him hello, a quick press at the corner of his mouth. She picked up her plate and sat on the arm of the sofa, eating and watching him carefully. He kept his eyes towards the windows; the wireless intermingled with the rain slapping against the windowpanes, the wind whistling outside.
"I like to watch people, is all," he said abruptly after a little while.
Blinking, she set her fork down. "I'm sorry?"
Cheeks reddening, he looked away, down at his lap. "Yeah. Sometimes it's people watching in Muggle London, or Diagon Alley under a glamour. I go to parks, and shops."
"Why?" she asked softly.
He shrugged. "Because... because it's nice. It reminds me of why I'm an Auror, why I do what I do. Just as you playing Quidditch, and George and his shop, and Teddy's hair changing color every three minutes," he said in a rush, looking younger than twenty-one in the moment.
Warmth settled in her chest, curling through her veins; she set her plate on the coffee table next to her book and slipped down the arm of the chair to scoot closer to him. "That's adorable, Harry."
He made a face, sheepish and embarrassed. "It is not."
Laughing, she curled herself under his arm, draping her legs over his lap. "A little bit, yes. Why didn't you just tell me?"
"It seemed silly," he mumbled, his arm slung across her shoulders.
She pressed her face near to his; his cheeks were very warm. "It's not silly. You might be silly, but that is not," she teased, her mouth close to his skin. He smelled of London and grass and clean rain.
He sighed. She could feel him relax against her and into the sofa. "You remind me, too. When I know I'm coming home, and you're here," he said after a long moment.
A weird sort of fluttering settled in her ribs, reminding her of the first time they'd kissed. "You're such a softie," she said, kissing his cheek.
"I mean it," he said, meeting her eyes. "You should move in."
She blinked. "Here?"
"No, back to the Burrow," he muttered, face flushing. "Yeah, here. With me. If you want. You make this place fun-you make lots of things fun, and exciting, and I don't know-"
Pressing her mouth to his, she silenced him mid-sentence. She kissed him, a hand falling to his jaw, her eyes slipping shut. "Rambler," she said against his mouth. "Daft rambler."
His hand touched her cheek, moved to the smooth fall of her hair. "Don't string me along, Weasley."
Fixing her gaze on him, she leaned into the curve of his arm, their mouths still very close. In his lenses, she could see the reflection of her own gaze against his. "Okay. You have more food here than I do anyway. Might as well take advantage," she said with a smile, her nerves tingling.
He smiled and kissed her again, his glasses pressing gently into her curves of her cheeks. She rubbed her thumb along the smooth line of his jaw and shut her eyes again. Outside, the rain swelled, but they paid it no mind, eating Chinese food and exchanging Quidditch strategies. It wasn't the most exciting life, but it was the start of theirs, and she liked it just fine.
