Author: alcarcalime and wickedsprite
Summary: The year after the war is a tough one, and Ginny Weasley tries to live her life, get past her grief, survive Transfiguration, and try not to fall too much in love with some idiot green-eyed
Characters/Pairing(s): Harry/Ginny, mainly. With side dishes of R/Hr and other canon pairings
Setting: Post-Deathly Hallows, Pre-Epilogue
Genre: gen, humor, fluff
Warnings: Fluffiness, cheesiness, and crack abound. Also, the fic doesn't follow the traditional format of a story's narrative.
Steam billowed from the train as the crowd gathered around Ginny at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. She was leaving for Hogwarts that day for her final year—finally, an absolutely normal seventh year with nothing to worry about except for passing all her N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch.
Ginny hugged her father and mother goodbye. It was nice to see them see her off without a trace of fear in their faces. Beside her, Hermione and Ron were locked in an embrace too tight that one would either laugh or throw up, depending, of course, on how much a person could take public display of affection.
She nudged Hermione and whispered, “I thought you two had properly said goodbye last night?” Hermione giggled, while Ron hissed at his sister, nodding at their parents’ direction.
“Don’t worry, Ron,” Ginny said with a smirk. “I won’t tell Mum I slept alone.”
Ginny laughed louder as her brother flushed scarlet. Ginny had said goodbye to everyone. There was only one person left.
She didn’t understand how this day had become as awkward as hell. The summer was difficult for everyone and it was a long-winded transition for a lot of them, most especially her family. She had admitted that she was never really ready to face Harry after What Happened, but three months of sharing hidden smiles, venting out her frustrations (which resulted in a very nasty incident of Ginny throwing juicy, ripe tomatoes at Harry), sincere apologies and waiting, they had finally eased the pain and the bitterness. They were almost there. Almost.
The train gave a whistle. It was time to leave.
This was it. Taking a deep breath, Ginny turned to Harry and took Bethel’s wicker basket from his arms. “Well, this is goodbye then.”
“Yeah, you take care,” Harry croaked. “And take care of Bethel, too.”
“Of course.” Ginny smiled. “She’s the best birthday present I’ve got.”
“Right.” Harry nodded and looked down at his feet. “Ginny—”
Ginny looked up at him. “Yes, Harry?”
They stood there, staring at each other with Ginny squeezing her brains out for something to say other than telling Harry that his gift was the best she had ever received. But what would she say? That she talked to Bethel at night while she stroked the cat’s fur, calling Harry the cat’s father and she her mother? That she wondered if he ever thought about her like how she was thinking of him each day while he was at Auror training?
Even to her, that sounded stupid. She cursed herself for being so dopey, today of all days.
“Good luck with Quidditch, captain.”
Ginny blinked. That was it? After contemplating of pouring her whole heart to him, that was what he’d say? Oh for Merlin’s sake!
She forced a smile and nodded. “Thanks,” she said, turning toward the train door. “I’ll owl Ron about the first match of the season. Ron reckons if he has time, he and George could come up to the school. You should come, too.”
Harry smiled. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’d make sure he tells me about it, right, Ron?”
They both looked around and found Ron and Hermione kissing. Ginny knew they deserved this; that they have waited for years to finally be together, but then when here she was pining over the same person she was pining for the last two years, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed towards this overt display of affection.
“Huh. And you’d think Hermione had some refinement,” Ginny said noncommittally, looking at the pair curiously.
“And there I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, my brother has finally refined his technique.” Ginny chuckled. “This makes me so embarrassed to be a Weasley. You’d think after—”
But Ginny’s next words fell out of her lips as Harry took her hand and leaned forward, and the only thought that was running inside her head was Harry had finally quit the noble act and would finally kiss her. Oh how she had wished for it ever since they went back home from the Battle at Hogwarts! She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him how glad she was that he was alive, but knowing Harry he would probably need some time alone after everything. And that was what she gave him.
Yes, he was there at the Burrow with her during summer but they never had any time alone to sort out things between them. She wanted to call him up to her room again and continue that interrupted kiss they’d had on Harry’s seventeenth birthday, but she never got any chance. Then Harry and Ron left for Auror training two weeks ago.
It was now or never, Ginny knew, and she leaned forward, meeting him halfway. Her eyes instinctively closed as her lips pressed upon his.
It was better than before. It was probably because she missed him so much, the feel of his lips, the scraping of his stubble—
The train hooted loudly, signaling the closing of the doors.
Ginny jumped at the loud sound of the engine coming into life and hopped onto the train just before the door had closed. The Hogwarts Express began to move, but she hung onto the window, shifting Bethel into her arms, her eyes fixed on Harry as he stared right back at her, the expression on his face unreadable. She was waiting for him to break into a smile, an assurance that everything would be all right now, but Harry stood rooted on the platform, not moving, not blinking, while Ron was running after the train, waving after Hermione and shamelessly declaring his affection for his girlfriend.
Ginny leaned on the train and wondered why, of all the thousands of wizards in the whole of England, why she had fallen for Harry Potter.
A/N: Thanks to TEH JennaMae for the beta. The fic's title is shamelessly stolen from The Zombies' "This Will Be Our Year". And many thanks to the academe and the government for non-sensical hours of stupor.