Ginny flopped onto the ratty, old armchair, exhaling heavily. The Burrow was exactly how she remembered it and she smiled, happy in the knowledge that some things never change. She'd missed this place, with it's homely smell and loud clatter, so reminiscent of her childhood.
She dragged herself out of the chair, wandering over to the mantelpiece, trying to ignore the playful shouts of her assorted nieces and nephews in the garden. Her entire family smiled and waved at her from the photos on the mantelpiece and Ginny resisted the urge that she'd had since childhood to wave back.
Her eyes fell on a picture of her and Harry when they had just started dating. Harry's arm wrapped around her shoulders, smiling for the camera, the backdrop of the Burrow's garden making them look like the perfect couple. Skimming her hand over the photo, Ginny watched her picture counterpart occasionally dart her eyes away, a melancholy expression on her face, as though she were searching for something. The real Ginny stepped away from the fireplace, running her hands over her face.
She remembered all too well what she'd been searching for. Hadn't she been searching for it ever since? She'd looked for it in the market yesterday, she'd even looked for it on her walk with Harry. Her stomach dropped at that memory, reminding her of the question she'd put a lot of energy into not thinking about.
She looked back at the picture, it hadn't been that long after he'd left, and Harry had just been there. Harry. Harry who she'd loved, or so her family had thought, since she was eleven. Harry who everyone adored. Who had suddenly adored her. Perfect Harry. She heard Draco's voice in her head then, Harry fucking perfect Potter. She smiled ruefully, that had been Draco's personal motto even after he'd joined their side. He never really understood Harry and Harry had never really understood him. But to her, and to her family, he was Harry. The boy who was practically a member of the family already. Ginny stared at the mass of pictures, noting the number Harry was in. She looked down at her hands, her wedding finger bare. All it would be doing would be making it official.
She looked at the ring on her other hand. It was a simple band though very old, battered silver and Ginny knew that if she muttered the revealing charm he'd taught her, it would grow to show the Malfoy crest of arms. She slipped it off, admiring it in the light. There wasn't a moment that she didn't have it with her, easily lying to Harry that she'd found it in an antique store and had just loved the look of it. She frowned suddenly, a familiar train of thought running through her mind. She wore a Malfoy ring. Anyone who knew what it was, which basically meant her and Draco, would see it for what it really was.
Not just a pretty ring. But a brand. A mark that said she was Draco's. And she had never taken it off. Ginny stared at it and wondered if she could wear the rings of two different men on two different hands. And she suddenly found herself wondering if it would matter that the ring Harry gave her would be the one on her left hand.
"Ginny?" She turned to see Ron in the doorway, holding a broken vase, with a curious expression on his freckled face. "What are you doing hiding out in here?"
Quickly dropping the ring in her pocket, Ginny shifted her attention to the broken pottery in Ron's hands. "Isn't that one of mum's best vases?"
Ron winced, sitting on the sofa and unsuccessfully trying to piece it back together. "It was one of mum's best vases." Ginny rolled her eyes, pulling her wand out of her robe's pocket.
"God, Ron, you're such a drama queen."
Ignoring Ron's insulted "Hey!" she muttered a fixing spell and watched the pieces of the vase fly back together. That was simple, thought Ginny wryly, wish my life was a bit like a broken vase.
Ron stood up, annoyed, casually tossing the fixed vase in the air, only to catch it before it fell back to the floor. "I was going to be all manly and fix it with my hands."
"Right, Ron."
"Would've had women falling at my feet if it weren't for you."
"Sure, Ron."
"You know," he said, finally settling the vase in his arms, "it would have taught mum not to keep her best stuff out when the twins' kids are visiting."
"Yes, Ron, I'm sure that would have been mum's first thought if you'd fixed the vase with superglue."
"What are you doing in here anyway?" Ron asked, purposely changing the subject. Ginny shrugged, not meeting his eyes.
"Not much." Her eye's strayed to the mantelpiece. "I was just looking at some pictures." Ron grinned heading to the fireplace and plucked the picture of her and Harry off the mantel.
"Ah, getting all sentimental bout you and little Harry are we?" Ginny narrowed her eyes at him.
"Have you spoken to Harry recently?" she asked, suspiciously, beginning to wonder why her brother had suddenly come in the house.
"Harry?" said Ron, doing his best annoying brother expression. "You mean my best friend Harry? Yup, I've talked to Harry."
"About what, Ron?" Ginny drew out, sounding annoyed, which she was sure was exactly what Ron had intended.
"All kinds of stuff. Quidditch, work, that stupid wanker Hermione's dating."
"About me, Ron." Ginny nearly, yelled, gripping the back of a chair so as to not strangle her brother.
"You?" Ron paused as though thinking about it. "Nope." Ginny let out a sigh of relief even as Ron walked towards her, pointing the photo at her menacingly; "In fact, I can never talk about girls with him anymore, Gin. You dating my best mate has really screwed up our dynamic. I mean, I don't want to hear about how good my sister is in bed…"
"Glad to hear it, Ron."
"And I certainly don't want to hear about what little tricks she might have up her skir…"
"Ron!" Ginny yelled. "That's it," she said, "I'm going back in the garden."
She turned to walk towards the door when Ron's laughing voice stopped her. "Sorry! Sorry. I was kidding!"
She turned to look at him, her mouth set in a frown. "I should hope so."
"I love that you and Harry date." A shot of guilt shot through Ginny, but she stayed watching Ron. His eyes were fixed on the photo in his hand, and he had a far too innocent expression on his face.
Having seen that expression many times when they were children and one of them had done something wrong, normally Fred or George, Ginny knew something was up. "Ron." She said warningly.
"Okay, he told me." His face breaking into a grin. He dropped the vase and photo on the sofa and crossed the room to envelop his sister in a hug. "And I think it's bloody great." He leaned back, leaving his hands on her shoulders. "And about bloody time."
Ginny sighed. "Yeah, about bloody time," she muttered. Ron laughed then.
"Knew that the only reason that you didn't say yes to moving in was to get a proposal out of the bloke."
Ginny looked up at him, her eyes flashing. "What?" she said, menacingly.
Ron didn't appear to hear her. "I mean, really, Gin. He would have gotten around to it eventually."
"Ron." Her cold statement made him take notice and he looked down at her furious face. "What the hell do you mean I only said no 'to get a proposal'?"
Ron looked suddenly scared, backing up a step. "God, Ginny, I was kidding."
"It didn't sound like you were." She continued, the issue really irking her.
"Well I was." Ron nearly yelled, becoming defensive.
"Fine!" Ginny yelled, throwing her arms in the air. "Whatever."
"Whatever?" repeated Ron, incredulous. "You nearly bite my head off and suddenly it's 'whatever'?"
"Look, Ron, can we just stop talking about this?"
"No, Gin. We cannot. One minute we're celebrating the fact you and Harry are engaged and the next you're yelling at…" he trailed off, noticing how white Ginny had suddenly gone. "Ginny?"
"I haven't said yes yet." she murmured, her voice small. Ron stared at her for a moment.
"But you're going to right?" Ginny didn't reply, moving her hand to her pocket feeling the reassuring weight of Draco's ring as she rolled it between her fingers. "I mean he loves you, and you love him…" Ron rambled, sounding desperate. "And there's no-one else is there, Gin?" The last question held a layer of anger, the idea that his little sister could be cheating on his best friend obviously not sitting well with Ron.
But the question hit Ginny with all the force of a bludger and her fingers dropped the ring back into her pocket. There wasn't anyone else. Ginny closed her eyes, remembering the way his grey eyes had looked as he had whispered that he needed her, the closet he ever came to love. And then she remembered the way his grey eyes had looked as told her he was leaving, that he was never coming back, that she might as well forget about him and that it wasn't as though they'd had anything special anyway. There wasn't anyone else.
Ginny opened her eyes, their expression firm. "Of course there's no-one else. And of course I'm going to say yes."
Ron smiled in relief, coming forward to hug her again, as Ginny pressed down all her memories of a boy with silver eyes and conveniently forgot that though 'they'd been nothing special' he'd never asked for his ring back.
*
Deftly dodging a red-haired toddler with skills borne from years of practice, Ginny made her way across the garden, occasionally waving her hand at cries of "Look at me, Aunt Ginny!"
She found Harry sat with Bill, deeply involved in what looked like a very important discussion on whether the Cannons would get relegated. "Harry." He didn't notice her straight away, still gesturing to Bill madly. "Harry." She said again, a little louder, and this time he glanced up and jumped up from his seat, dropping a kiss on her lips. Bill smiled up at the pair, Ginny returning it nervously. "Okay, if I borrow him, Bill?"
Bill waved his butterbeer can happily, "Go for it." Ginny rolled her eyes, instantly knowing that Bill knew about the proposal. Either Ron couldn't keep his big mouth shut, or Harry was so sure of her answer that he'd gone and told everyone.
Ginny glanced up at Harry's kind face and betted every galleon she owned that it was the first option. They stopped at a copse, far enough away from the garden that the kid's screams intermingled with the chirping of birds around them. "Ginny?" Harry asked curiously, perching himself on a tree stump, loosely clasping her hand as she stood over him.
Ginny took a deep breath. "Yes," she said without pre-amble causing Harry's face to split into a wide grin as he rooted around in his trousers pocket.
"Ginny Weasley, you just made me the happiest man on the planet." He whispered as he slid the engagement ring onto her finger. He stood up and lifted Ginny in a crushing hug. As she was swung off the blossom covered ground Ginny felt the ring, the older, more significant ring, a heavy weight in her pocket.
*
Draco didn't know why he'd hung around London so long. He'd had the money to escape the dismal country for nearly five days now. Draco smiled ruefully, a day for every year he'd been away. He should have been long gone, but something was gnawing at him, something that he needed to face.
And for once Draco knew that it had nothing to do with a certain red-haired Gryfinndor. Standing in front of the monument Draco was for a moment floored by the sheer number of names that stretched over the marble. He'd heard all the statistics, he'd been there for the major battles but to see, carved into solid stone, the names of every one of the dead was still a bit of a shock.
Draco had originally scoffed when the idea of a war monument had come up. For one thing, it had been in the middle of an Order meeting and glancing around the table at the wizards and witches gathered there, Draco had harboured the unsaid belief that they'd be hard pressed to survive the goddamn war, let alone build a hefty, great monument because of it. For another thing, the idea had just seemed so very, well, Muggle.
But the majority of the Order had survived the war and the hefty, great monument had been built. And in some things Draco really wasn't the same person he once had been. He'd seen memorials like this in France and other countries and he'd known people who had taken great pride in them. Just like the people here must do, Draco noted, glancing at the flowers strewn over the steps.
There was no-one else around so Draco let his hood fall from his face as he ran his fingers over the engraved names. He mentally added others, Parkinson, Goyle, Nott…so many more that would never see this wall. Draco clenched his fist. They'd picked the wrong side and all the pleading that he'd tried with his childhood friends had done no good. They'd all turned away and fought by that thing. And died by it's side.
Draco lay his head against the cool marble, letting it calm him. He'd known staying in London was a bad idea but he been running from his memories of the war for so long that he'd forgotten how painful they could be. He closed his eyes, letting flashes of memory sweep across his eyelids in a slow-motion display of death and pain. He pushed himself away from the wall, pushing the memories away in the same motion. He couldn't dwell on them forever. Parkinson, Goyle, Nott…he began to recite the names of his fallen friends, remembering how most of them had fallen at his own hand and absolving himself of each death as he let his eyes rest on innocent names carved in the marble.
Laying his hand against the wall one more time and feeling suitably catharsised, Draco raised his wand to go when a cool voice made him pause. "Draco." His wand fell to the steps, clattering past the calm woman who was slowly climbing them.
He watched as she placed the flowers in front of the wall, running her hand over one of the names. "Percy," he said, remembering her fallen brother. Ginny raised an eyebrow, an expression that was eerily familiar. She didn't turn to look at him.
"You remembered." Draco smirked despite himself, the retort flowing easily from his lips.
"I remember a lot of things." They'd always been so very good at this, this easy banter, it was part of what made him want her in the first place.
She smiled then, turning towards him. "I'm sure you do." Her eyes met his, brown meeting grey, and they both felt the familiar surge of desire that had been denied them so long.
Draco raised a hand to cup her face, murmuring her name. "Ginny." He couldn't tear his eyes away, knowing that the desire that he saw there must have been mirrored tenfold in his own.
Before he could stop himself, before the rational part of his mind started screaming that it was a very, very bad idea, he was kissing her. The feel of her soft lips on his, shocking him back in time, to when this had been simpler, more innocent. Or maybe it had never been simple or innocent for them and the only thing that Draco was remembering was how this was the other thing they'd been so very good at.