Fic: "Paper Flowers Never Die", by Pocketfullof (Jenadamson)
To: rosie_posie7
Title: Paper Flowers Never Die
Author: pocketfullof
Paring: Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG
Word Count: 8500 words.
Summary: Ginny grows.
Notes at the end.
If you were to travel to South West England, it’s very likely that you would encounter coastal beach resorts and air that smells like salt. There are legends here, of giants and pixies and mermaids and saints. The coast is dotted with lighthouses, each one with a history of guiding sailors safely home. Spring comes early, and summer tends to linger just a little bit longer than anywhere else. If you traveled inland, traversing over land made green by rain along narrow, paved roads, you could very likely visit a whole number of towns, some of them really nothing more than villages, and each one could tell you a story. If you were very, very lucky you might come across one village in particular. This is a very special village indeed.
It looks as if it might have been painted by a master artist. It is idyllic and peaceful. A square lays at the heart of the village, with streets that cobweb out as two-lane avenues, each holding rows of two-story cottages, many as well kept now as when they were newly built. The square of the village is picturesque; surrounding it is a post office, a pub that serves thick, sticky ales, and a church that boasts a high belfry, as if looking out for the town. Just beyond the church is a small graveyard with a kissing gate, mapping out the village’s history.
Down the path from the cemetery are yet more small homes, some of them with yellow light and laughter spilling out onto the street. If you are the sort of person who knows how to look, you might notice a cottage that is just a bit different. It is certainly just as quant as those surrounding it. Bright yellow light crowds around it, and if you listen closely, you can even hear laughter. If you were the sort of curious person who looked for curious happenings, you might already be asking yourself: where is the memorial that once proclaimed this the site of the dark lord’s demise? Why is the second floor repaired? Who would destroy such an important landmark?
The answer, you might think, can be found inside. For at this very moment, on the thirty-first of August, in the year 1998, there are two people happily going on with their night. One - a boy with bright red hair and piercing blue eyes - is so tall he has to duck when passing through doorways. The other - a small, studious-looking young lady - is flicking her wrist about. As she does so, the long twig she holds in her hand sends sparks and showers of light all over the charming little cottage.
But this isn’t a story about the village of Godric’s Hollow. It’s not a story of the cottage, once destroyed and now fixed. It’s not even the story of that happy couple inside, responsible for so much mirth that it spills over into the street beyond. For behind that cottage, down a path that only the very, very curious can see, is an overgrown hedge. If you have the proper tools and know how to use them, the hedge might become a door, and once beyond it, something magical happens.
Just beyond the cottage and the hedge, beneath a tree with summer leaves and beside a still, blue stream is a couple, laying side by side in this little place all their own. This place is a garden. A secret garden. And this? This is their story.
Harry Potter Defeats the Dark Lord.
The headline twists and turns on the paper in Ginny’s hand, as if it’s celebrating what it proclaims.
Ginny studies the front page. There’s a picture of Harry, looking bone-tired, with an arm slung around Ron and Hermione on either side of him, standing like buttresses to keep him upright. The caption below the image reads, The magnificent trio. The heroes in the terrifying war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ginny considers the paper for a long time. The image doesn’t change too much, as both Ron and Hermione give tired smiles, and picture-Harry self-consciously flattens his hair down over his scar.
At Ginny’s spot near the window, sunlight streams in and shines on the newspaper. It’s hot everywhere Ginny goes today, inside the Burrow, outside in the garden, and Ginny still has two months before she’s allowed to perform magic on her own. She can’t even do a simple cooling charm on herself. She throws the newspaper aside, listening to the rustle of paper as it falls to the floor in the silence of the house. Normally, she’d be thrilled to have the Burrow to herself. It’s rare that Ginny has ever had any time alone at all, and it’s certainly been a luxury these last few months, when every adult she knew had kept a careful and close eye on her.
But now the silence is oppressive. Charlie’s already back in Romania. Bill and Fleur are at their cottage. Their mum spends most of her free time with Andromeda and the new baby, or helping rebuild Hogwarts, and their dad is kept busy with work. George is back in London, probably just as alone as Ginny. Probably just as lonely.
She glances at the clock on the wall, at least happy to see that it’s past noon, so that she can visit Hermione without feeling like a nuisance. Hermione and Ron and Harry are all busy, being interviewed, receiving awards, being called upon by government officials to offer opinions.
Ginny grabs a palm-full of powder from the fireplace mantel and tosses it into the hearth. She steps into the fire, says her destination, and a moment later tumbles out into an empty living area. Until last week, Ginny had only ever seen this place in a text book. When she was much younger, she used to fantasize about it, about what it would have been like for Harry to grow up here, instead of with those awful relatives. The reality looks very different from her fantasies.
It’s empty, for one thing. Ginny walks into the living area. It has this still, quiet quality that makes Ginny feel as if loneliness is pressing in around her. She frowns. Hermione had said to come over and hang out with them while the three of them finished up work on the cottage. It’s taking a considerable amount of magic to fix the blown-away second story. The shell of the house is back up, now, and the cottage is at least habitable. There is evidence of life here: a working fireplace, a sofa pushed against the long wall, curtains, a pile of shoes by the door.
Ginny wanders around the living area. She touches the sofa. Left abandoned on one of its cushions is today’s Daily Prophet. There are Ron, Hermione, and Harry, all smiling from its front page with the words HEROES emblazoned across. She puts it down exactly as she found it. There’s a T-shirt draped across the end of the sofa. By sight alone, she can tell it’s Harry’s. It’s soft beneath her fingers, but she refuses to pick it up. In the tiny kitchen sits a small dining table, swept clean of dishes. There’s definitely no one here. Not Hermione. Not Ron. Not Harry.
She tries hard not to feel abandoned, blinking her eyes quickly. She tells herself she shouldn’t be surprised no one is here. She is not a hero from a war; she is no one but a school girl. After unlocking the back door, Ginny angrily nudges it open with her foot. She’s not going to take this personally. So what if they forgot her? She is perfectly fine on her own. Glaring against the sun, Ginny absently walks through the tiny back yard. Yellow and green weeds have overtaken it completely, fed by the sun so they grow tall and thick. Ginny likes it, the messy, sticky quality of it.
Ginny finally shuts her eyes against the sun; her eyelids grow red. She squeezes her eyes so hard that little sparks fly across them. The sun is warm on her face; she sweats beneath it. The sound of a robin twittering excitedly catches her ear. When she finally opens her eyes back up, she spies the robin, which looks as if it's almost dancing on air and seems to be peering at her. On a whim, Ginny goes to it. It flutters just out of reach, and Ginny smiles. The robin is playing with her, she decides, and she feels the first bubble of laughter in over three weeks overtake her. Ginny follows the robin, as it flits down a darkly shaded path, until she is finally stopped by a hedge as overgrown as everything else in the yard.
Her mother always says she is too curious for her own good. Inquisitive, her father says with a twinkle in his eye. Ron calls her annoying.
Ginny skirts the tallest weeds to stand at the hedge. She takes out her wand and glances quickly - guiltily - around. She looks back at the house, which feels far away now. It looks small and sits empty in the afternoon sun. Ginny touches the tip of her wand against the hedge. It’s almost like she knew it would happen. The hedge transfigures into a door, and she doesn’t jump at all. Ginny doesn’t have a key, but she doesn’t need one. Just one hand placed curiously against the door sends it creaking open. She looks behind her again. No one is there. She feels suddenly, as she slips through the door, that no one ever is.
As the door inches shut behind her, the robin steals in. It chirps happily as Ginny looks around and catches her breath. This is a garden. A secret garden, long forgotten and untamed for many years, so that green the color of Harry’s eyes springs almost rampant from the earth. Summer light crawls over everything. Ginny doesn’t know the names of many flowers, but she smells roses blooming headily from bushes crowded against the ivy-choked, red brick wall that rises a foot above Ginny’s head, and protects the garden on all four sides from the outside world.
There are weeds growing over everything, everywhere Ginny looks. They grow all along the ground and have overtaken a path that’s just barely visible. Ginny starts to follow the path, putting one foot cautiously in front of the other and counting her steps as she goes. It takes her only a minute to skirt one edge of the garden. She guesses the whole secret place is no more than twenty by twenty feet, almost a perfect square. Her bird follows along beside her, like a friend, until she stands in a dark corner opposite the door, beneath a maple tree whose trunk has been overtaken by moss and creepy, crawling ivy. A serpentine brook winds its way through the center of the garden. Ginny steps up to it. An unsafe-looking bridge crosses the small stream. Ginny steps gingerly on it, but she feels it give slightly beneath her weight.
“Best not,” she says aloud, the first words she’s uttered. They seem to hang in the silence. Even with all the growth around her, the garden feels dead. Ginny’s reminded of the first time she ever entered Grimmauld Place, uninhabited for too long. That’s what this feels like.
She finally looks down, and in the dirt close to the path, Ginny sees a small flower. She doesn’t know what it’s called, but it’s small and purple, and trying so hard to strive toward the sun, but its stem is trapped down beneath the ivy. Ginny bends low to study it. Gently, she breaks apart the ivy and with her finger tip she nudges the flower up. The petals are silky against her skin.
“There you go,” she whispers. Her chest feels tight, like she has a binding spell tightening around her. She blinks her eyes rapidly and wipes away wetness from her cheek.
Still kneeling there, Ginny looks at the sun, so high in the sky. She glances at the door to the garden. It’s obvious she is forgotten about today. Ginny sits down next to the water. It’s cool when she dips her hand in. She can see her reflection in it. She’s been avoiding mirrors. They keep telling her to get sleep, to do something about her hair. Ginny studies her face. The mirrors aren’t wrong; she looks exhausted and weary. Her freckles stand out sharply against her pale skin. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately.
When she finally emerges from behind the tall brick walls, the sun is well past its zenith. The house is still empty when she goes back inside; it’s cold and dark. She’s happy to throw powder into the fireplace and Floo back home, though there’s no one here either. Everyone is busy. Everyone has tasks and rebuilding to do. Everyone except her.
Ginny knows next to nothing about gardens. Her mother had never had enough time to tend to much beyond the vegetable garden at the Burrow, leaving the flowers to the whims of nature. Ginny has a number of second hand Herbology books, but she doesn’t think magical texts will help her. And when she goes to owl Neville, something holds her quill; she can’t bear, just yet, to spill the secret of the garden; maybe it’s not hers to tell.
The village of Ottery St. Catchpole has a small library, and when Ginny was younger her father had thought it a great laugh to get her a library card. As she checks out a pile of books with titles like English Cottage Gardens for the Inexperienced Gardener and The Complete Gardener and shoves them into a sack, she’s grateful for her father’s sometimes silly urges.
She spends that night holed up in her room, pouring over the books. Some of them are so old their pages are yellowing, while others have glossy color photographs that stay still no matter how hard she stares at them. She reads about garden design, and how to deal with weeds. The best advice one of the books gives her is to contact her local garden centre.
She visits the only nursery in the village; it feels crowded and cluttered, but she likes it. There’s a boy about her age, Liam, who has a long nose and eyes that are as blue as Harry’s are green. He shakes Ginny’s hand and gets dirt on it, but Ginny doesn’t mind. She figures she should get used to it. He reminds Ginny of Neville, and she feels a sort of fierce immediate affection for him. The advice he offers is simple, for now: pick a color scheme, and work through the garden in small sections. He advises her not to make any purchases yet, but still spends over an hour walking her through the nursery, pointing out which flowers work best in shade (hosta lilies and ferns) and which flourish in the hot sun (forget-me-nots and columbine). Fred left her a mound of money in his will, and her first order of business will be to change it into Muggle pound notes and coins, and then get to work.
Ginny goes home feeling hopeful. She’s smiling when she walks in the front door of the Burrow.
“You look happy,” a voice says, once she’s inside.
Ginny looks to the side. Ron, Hermione and Harry are all there. Harry’s got a glass of pumpkin juice in his hand. His glasses are crooked on his nose. Ginny hasn’t seen any of them in over a week, since Colin Creevey's memorial service. It seems like a lifetime ago. Ginny already feels so much older.
“Why are you so happy?” Ron continues.
Ginny eyes him. “Aren’t I allowed to be happy?” she demands.
“Where were you?” Ron says, just as Harry comments, “You look sunburnt,” and Hermione says, “I’m so sorry we missed you yesterday.”
Ginny takes a breath. The room feels small and crowded. She looks first at Ron and says, “I was out,” and then at Harry. “In the sun,” she continues. And finally to Hermione, who looks troubled and as tired as Ginny always seems to feel lately. “It’s okay,” she lies. “You lot are busy.”
Hermione looks relieved. “We completely forgot that we had to go help out down at Hogwarts starting to rebuild the protections. I was going to leave you a note, but then Ron couldn’t find his left shoe, and then - well, anyway, it’s really interesting what we're working on. I wish you could have been there - ”
Ginny tries not to let her annoyance show. “But I can’t do magic yet, so there was no reason to invite me,” she interrupts.
Hermione startles. “Right,” she says cautiously. “Well, anyway, we wanted to make it up to you. Maybe see if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight.”
“Because it takes three people to extend an invite,” Ron says.
“ You should come,” Harry says. Ginny meets his eyes for the first time that day. “Ron’s going to attempt to cook.”
Ginny thinks about the books upstairs, waiting to be read. She thinks about going over to the cottage, sitting at the table and eating Ron’s bad cooking and pretending to care as they all talk about their fame and how they're helping put the world back together.
“Tonight’s not a good night,” she says. “But thanks anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because, Ron, I’m busy.”
“Sitting here by yourself moping? That’s not healthy.”
Hermione softly says, “Ron,” as Harry shoots Ron a look.
“I’m just busy, but,” she says, seeing Hermione’s face fall. “I can come over tomorrow, maybe.”
Harry sounds only a little regretful when he says, “We have to be at Hogwarts tomorrow. It’ll probably take two weeks to finish the charms around the perimeter.”
“Oh,” Ginny says, but she’s really thinking: good.
Harry continues, “Maybe we can take some time off, or at least one of us can, to spend some time with you.”
“No,” Ginny says. “You’re all needed.”
She stands there awkwardly, then. She wants them to leave. They look so united to her, so together. She isn’t a part of that. But she thinks that’s maybe all right. Maybe she has something new.
When she does finally escape them, Ginny spends a long time just sitting in her room. She feels responsible for this garden, and when she acknowledges the ridiculousness of the feeling, it doesn’t go away. She imagines the garden belongs to Harry, if it has an owner at all. The window is open and a breeze flutters in, rummaging the parchment where she sketches her messy garden design. Tomorrow she’ll show Liam and get his approval. Then she can sneak over to the cottage. If its three new inhabitants will be busy for the next couple of weeks, she’ll have plenty of time to spend in the garden by herself.
For the first time that she can remember - maybe for the first time ever - Ginny happily and eagerly wakes before the sun. Just as she’s coming down the rickety stairs of the Burrow, fully dressed and ready to start her day, her dad walks out of his bedroom. She hasn’t really seen him in almost four days, he’s been so busy.
“My dear,” he greets her softly, and his smile is surprised and warm. “You’re awake early.” He gestures to the dark kitchen. “I’m going to have some coffee before I head in to work. Would you like some?”
Ginny peers outside. The sun is just peeking up over the horizon, a wash of pink in the sky. She shrugs. “Sure.”
Her dad starts a pot percolating with his wand. He sets down a steaming mug in front of her and kind of slumps into the seat across from her. The coffee smells dark and strong. The mug is white, stained from years of use, and chipped on one side. Ginny wraps her hand around it, letting its heat seep into her skin.
“It might be a little strong,” he says.
Ginny feels awkward, like he’s a stranger. She feels like everyone is a stranger lately. “It’s okay. I guess you need the caffeine.”
He agrees. “The Ministry is doing a good job of keeping me busy at the moment.”
Ginny nods and sips from her mug. She’s never really gotten the hang of drinking coffee like Hermione does. It tastes too bitter, even after the three sugar cubes she stirs into it.
“And what about you?” her dad asks. “Why are you up so early? It’s not like you to choose being awake over a lie-in this early in the morning.”
Ginny hesitates. “I thought I’d go down to Diagon Alley.” She expects he’ll put up a fight to that; she’s too young to go there alone, maybe, or it’s too dangerous. But he just smiles. “That sounds like a fun day,” her dad comments. “Are you meeting someone there? Harry? Though I suspect he’ll be busy at Hogwarts. That reminds me I need to send Minerva a note…”
“No,” Ginny says quickly. “I’m not meeting anyone. I thought maybe I’d shop.”
Her dad nods, but he‘s obviously distracted. Ginny has never shopped just to shop in her life. Her dad’s eyes focus on her then. ”How are you doing, Ginny?” he asks.
Ginny shrugs. She stares down at the mug in her hand; it’s warm against her skin. “I’m all right,” she says.
“I know we’ve left you alone these past few weeks. You lost a lot of people you cared about, and it’s hard to go through that alone. Have you talked to Ron or George about Fred at all? I wish…”
“Dad,” Ginny interrupts. “I’m okay. I’m… I’m keeping busy.”
“Are you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Ginny says. “You don’t have to worry about me. Just worry about work.”
Ginny’s chest feels packed with cotton; it’s like she can’t catch a breath big enough to fill her lungs. Her chair screeches as she pushes away from the table. “You’re probably going to be late,” she tells her dad.
He just sits there for a minute, drinking his coffee and studying her over the white mug. Finally, he says, “You’re probably right,” and gets up from the chair. He’s moving slowly these days, much more so than when Ginny was a young girl. Ginny stays very still, not able to meet his eyes when he bends to kiss her forehead. “You have a good day, my dear,” he tells her, and then he sends his mug flying over to the sink. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Ginny calls a "bye" after him, but it feels like an afterthought, as he’s already halfway out the door. She’s still standing by the table, feeling as if she’s run a long way and is trying to catch her breath. It’s a while before she’s able to move.
After Gringotts and changing the largest sum of money she’s ever had in her possession, Ginny Floos back to the Burrow and then visits the nursery.
Last night, she’d settled on a colour scheme of purples, pinks and yellows, because the garden already has violet flowers, and yellow reminds her of sunshine. She doesn’t buy any plants yet, but instead purchases the tools Liam thinks she’ll need. She’s there for over an hour anyway, mentally picking out the plants she’ll get. Liam helps her make a list: sweet smelling roses and leafy ferns around the perimeter, with wild violets and lily of the valley as ground covers. The interior of the garden will be filled with blossoming bleeding hearts, forget-me-nots, impatients and daffodils.
Looking at the garden a little while later, Ginny has a moment of doubt. Small though it may be, it’s still a huge mess. She stares out at it. The red brick walls are almost completely covered with ivy. She takes a breath. The morning burns hot. She has a pile of tools at her feet, things like giant clippers and gloves. The air is still, and beyond the wall, Ginny thinks she can hear the robin sing. She gets to work.
She starts by hacking away at the ivy that seems to want to choke the other plants. The hard stems are thick, but her trimmers slice easily through them. Her first day she gets stung by two bees, has a sunburn so bad she blisters across the bridge of her nose, and her back and knees ache. She’s bone-tired when she falls into bed and sleeps a sleep so deep and dreamless that she wakes up totally refreshed. That alone has her waiting impatiently for the clock to reach nine AM so she knows no one will be there when she Floos to the cottage the next morning.
By the fourth day, she’s finally got herself a big, floppy hat that keeps the sun off her face and she's ready to start planting. The garden already looks so much fresher and calmer, now that she’s trimmed the rose bushes back and cut away the ivy. The rustic stone pathway winds through the garden in a serpentine pattern and she decides to follow its curve when she lays out her flowers.
She’s always certain to leave by dinner time, and she’s spent the last two evenings hanging around the nursery, bothering Liam with so many questions he once asks her if she would like a summer job there. Ginny grins. “I don’t think I’d be much help,” she says.
Liam looks at her. “Maybe it would be better if I saw this garden you’re tending to. I’d be able to help you. I could take some flowers for you.” He goes a little pink when he asks, and Ginny bites her lip and casts around for a response.
“It’s actually not my garden,” she finally tells him.
Liam looks confused. “Did you make it up?”
“No,” Ginny answers slowly. “It’s just… it belongs to a friend, and he might not like it if I brought people around on his property.”
“He?” Liam repeats.
Ginny nods. The sun is setting and its light is shining in her eyes. Liam’s face is silhouetted against the sky. She brings her hand up to shade her face.
“Your boyfriend?”
Ginny laughs bitterly before she can help it. “Ex boyfriend,” she answers honestly. “He ditched me over a year ago.”
“He sounds like an idiot, then.”
Ginny smiles. She brushes a hand through her hair. It’s been a very long time since someone's flirted with her. Probably the last guy who did was Dean. Harry had never really gotten the hang of it, which Ginny found endearing so long ago.
She’s still feeling warm and attractive as she wanders back into the Burrow that evening. She stops short when she sees Harry there, sitting in the comfy blue chair and talking to her mum.
Ginny shuts the door quietly as Harry stands. “Is something wrong?” she asks. He looks grave. Something must have happened.
“Oh, no, Ginny,” her mum says from her seat. She’s knitting what looks like a set of baby booties for Teddy. Her needles click quickly as she talks. She smiles slyly. “Harry’s here to see you.”
Ginny nods. She looks at Harry. “What’s up?”
Harry hesitates, looking between Ginny and her mum, who pushes herself up suddenly. “I think we have some biscuits in the kitchen. Let me go get some for the two of you.” She gives Ginny a pointed look when she escapes the living area.
Ginny looks expectantly at Harry. He wipes the palms of his hands along the tops of his pants. “Where were you?” he asks.
Ginny opens her mouth. “I was just in the village,” she says. She’s aiming for casual, but she feels like she’s missing the mark. Her cheeks grow warm. She feels strangely guilty all of a sudden, and then feels ridiculous for that. She doesn’t owe Harry her faithfulness. He never asked for it.
“Are you blushing?” Harry asks.
“No,” Ginny says firmly. “I’ve been out in the sun a lot.”
“I know,” Harry says, and when Ginny sends him a wide-eyed look, he says, “You look like you have a lot of colour.”
Ginny nods.
“What were you doing in the village?”
“I was just… visiting a friend. It’s not - its not important. What are you doing here, anyway? Where are Ron and Hermione?”
“They’re at home. I wanted.” Harry breathes in deep, like he’s steadying himself. “I wanted to see you.”
Ginny meets his eyes. “What about?”
Harry looks lost, and Ginny meanly doesn’t feel like helping him find his way. “Just. It’s been a while.”
Ginny agrees, “Yeah, it has.”
“You didn’t come to dinner last week, and I was hoping you would and - what friend do you have in the village?”
“What?”
“You said you were visiting a friend. Who?”
“What business is it of yours who my friends are?”
“Luna said she’s tried to call on you,” Harry says, “And that you haven’t been here at all this week. Neville too. He said he owled you last week. And you never got back to him.”
“Where did you see Neville and Luna?”
“At Hogwarts.”
Ginny bristles. “I see. So you all just get together and talk about me?”
“What? No. We’re there helping with the protections.”
“Ah. So, should I feel flattered that you all take time out of your busy important schedules to discuss my whereabouts?”
“We’re just worried about you, Ginny. You won’t talk to anyone, and - “
“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” Ginny informs him. “I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” Harry says. “You’re spending all your time who knows where, and you won’t even respond to the people who care about you.”
“I’m spending my time with a friend, Harry. Just because you don’t know him doesn’t mean he’s some… some stranger.”
“Him,” Harry says.
Ginny looks toward the kitchen. She can’t hear her mum, which probably means her mum’s eavesdropping, so Ginny whispers. “Yes, him. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here, by the way.”
“Are you dating this ‘him’?”
“What?”
“This guy that you’re visiting. Are. You. Dating. Him?” Harry spits. He has bright spots of colour on his cheeks now.
“He asked me out for dinner tomorrow night.”
Harry lets out a laugh. “That’s what I’m doing here,” he says. “I was going to see if you wanted to go to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Oh,” Ginny says stupidly.
“But I guess that’s out, since you already have a date.”
Ginny narrows her eyes. “Looks like it.”
Harry nods his head sharply. “Good. Well. Fine.” He starts toward the fireplace. “Have fun.” He throws powder into the hearth. “Tell your mother thanks for letting me wait for you. I’ll…” He hesitates. This is Ginny’s chance to stop him. For some reason she doesn’t. “I’ll see you later, Ginny.” And then he’s gone.
The fireplace is empty. Harry’s voice echoes in Ginny’s head. “Dear.” Ginny jumps and whirls around. Her mum is standing there with a plateful of cookies floating next to her. “Where did Harry go?”
Ginny answers, “He had to go home.” She looks back at the fireplace.
“I suspect he’s very busy,” says her mum. “Would you like some biscuits?”
Ginny shakes her head. Her eyesight is a little blurry. “No. Thank you. I’m tired. I think I’ll just go lie down.” She turns and heads up the stairs before her mum can protest.
The next morning she goes to the nursery to buy her first batch of flowers. She has the sack her aunt Muriel bought her last year that shrinks everything you put in it, so she can easily transport the flats of flowers to the garden.
“Are you always here?” she asks Liam when she finds him watering a big row of hanging plants from a hose.
“I could ask the same of you,” he responds. He smiles immediately at the sight of her. And he gives her his full attention.
Ginny makes a decision. “Yes,” she says. “The answer is yes.”
“That you’re always here?”
“No.” Ginny smiles. “I’ll go out with you. Tonight, if you still want.”
“What about the ex?”
Ginny shakes her head. “Not a factor,” she lies.
Liam’s smile stretches his face. “Cool.” He claps his hands together. “What can I get you for today?”
Ginny lugs the five flats of flowers and plants out of the nursery one by one, insisting that she doesn’t need Liam’s help and that she’ll see him that night.
By the time she gets to the garden, it’s already hot and humid. She lays out all of her flowers. Her plan is to start in the corner of the garden and work her way around the perimeter first. Ginny can’t stop thinking about Harry. The way he had looked, the way his voice had sounded, the accusation. Are you dating him?
Ginny digs angrily in the dirt with her hands. What right did Harry have to be angry? He had left her. The war had ended weeks ago and not once had he sought her out. Not during Lupin’s funeral or Tonks’. Not during Colin’s and certainly not during Fred’s.
The dirt is cool and red against her fingers. It’s slightly damp. She squidges her fingers in it, squeezing her hands into fists beneath the top layer of ground. She only has five flats of flowers, violets and hostas mostly in riots of purples and pinks. She lines the tallest up closest to the wall. The dirt smells rich and the flowers smell sweet. Bees and other insects buzz around her, but she’s used to them by now. Her hands get messy. She sweats profusely.
She looks down. Her hands are buried up to the wrists in the ground. There are tiny, whitely translucent worms crawling all over them. Ginny screeches. She feels her blood rush into her feet and she jumps up and frantically brushes her hands; the worms fall to the ground. Many of them don’t move, dead on impact. Her skin looks pale. She thinks of Fred, his body buried deep in dark, rich earth. She thinks of worms crawling over him.
There in the corner of the garden, beneath the sun and with no one but the insects looking on, Ginny bends over and coughs. Her mouth pools with sticky saliva and she spits into the dirt. Tears sting her eyes. She doesn’t wipe them away, but for the first time, she lets them come. She sits on the ground beside the rows of flowers she just planted and finally cries.
She feels clean when she’s done, bleached out by the sun and the tears. She sniffs a few times as her body settles down. She looks to her right when she hears a sound. Her robin is back, balancing delicately on the edge of the wall, so high up, and peering down curiously at her. Ginny holds out her hand, and the robin flies to her. It perches on her finger and chirps. Ginny laughs out loud. “Hello,” she says. The robin chirps once more and takes off. Ginny watches as he flits to and fro around the garden.
She’s lighter when she gets home that evening. She takes her time getting ready, paying attention for the first time in a long time to what her hair looks like, and what she wears.
She meets Liam at the nursery and he drives a beat-up looking red car that Ginny immediately likes. Dinner is outside at a small café and Liam orders them a bottle of wine. Ginny feels flush beneath the blue moonlight. It’s the first real date Ginny’s ever had, the first time someone’s taken her to dinner. When she tells Liam this, laughter in her voice, he expresses shock.
“What about the ex-boyfriend? He didn’t take you out?”
Ginny thinks about Harry last night, his claim that he was going to ask her out. She might have been on her first date with him instead. She shakes her head to Liam’s question. “We were in school. We didn’t really have the opportunity.”
“But you wish you had?” Liam asks.
Ginny shrugs. “Every girl wants that, I guess.”
“Well, I’m happy to be your first date, then, Ginny, though I don’t think I’ll be your last.”
Ginny studies her wine glass. “What makes you say that?”
“Your ex-boyfriend still means a lot to you, yeah?”
Ginny sighs. She nods. “Yes,” she answers honestly.
Liam nods. “You want to tell me about him?”
Ginny’s first date ends with a first kiss, though it’s on the cheek and not the lips. “I’ll be by tomorrow to get more flowers,” she tells Liam.
“I’ll see you then. You’re sure you don’t want a ride home? It can’t be too far out of the way.”
Ginny looks around. The air is warm and still. It’s night-quiet and the moon is full and lights up the land. “I think I’d rather walk. Thank you.”
Liam nods and goes to his car. Before he ducks inside, he calls out to Ginny. “Hey! You should tell your Harry how you feel.”
Ginny smiles. “I’ll think about it,” she calls back.
“Right,” Liam says. “If you ever need a backup, though, you know where to find me.”
Ginny laughs. She takes a deep breath. She feels calm and settled. She sleeps well and dreams of the green color of leaves.
Now that she’s got the routine down, Ginny makes her way easily around the garden’s wall. Her garden is a riot of color already. The difference is incredible. Birds swoop in and around the space, and Ginny finds herself laughing at their antics. She lays down mulch and starts when a drop of water hits her hand. She’s lost track of time again. She looks up to see the sky is crowded with clouds. Another rain drop hits her, and then another. Ginny squeals and runs under the tree and its canopy of leaves for cover. These summer showers never last long. Ginny waits impatiently. She hasn’t spent much of her past week near this tree. It’s covered with moss on its northern side, and the roots are exposed. Ginny bends to look at them, wondering if she should cover the ground with wild violets or Irish moss, maybe.
A carving catches her eye. Ginny’s eyes go wide as she moves to check it out. It’s a strange place to carve into the bark, but there’s no mistaking that the person who carved their initials here did it very intentionally. Ginny feels a smile stretch her face.
She takes her time cleaning up in the stream. According to her mum, this is the last day that everyone is needed at Hogwarts. She lets herself into the cottage and sits at the kitchen table. The clock above says it’s almost five. She waits.
At quarter past, she hears voices in the living area.
Ron says, “I am so glad we won’t have to go back there.”
“Well,” says Hermione, who sounds harried and tired. “Not for a while anyway. We’ll have to visit Hagrid, of course, and then I’ll be back at school before we know it.”
“I can’t believe you want to go back.” That’s Harry. At the sound of his voice, Ginny tenses. She knows she should go into the living room and announce her presence, but she stays seated.
“You can’t believe Hermione wants to go back to school, mate? Have you met her?”
Harry laughs. “Only that McGonagall said we didn’t have to. You should just take your NEWTS with us. It’ll be strange without you here all year.”
Ginny listens quietly. She almost feels like she doesn’t know that boy - than man, really - the one who expresses his feelings so easily.
“Ginny’ll be there,” Hermione says.
“Speaking of Ginny,” says Ron. “I thought you were gonna go talk to her?”
“I - “
Just then Harry walks into the kitchen. “Ginny!” he says, eyes going wide.
Ginny feels ridiculous, getting caught listening to them. “Hi, Harry.”
“What are you doing here?”
Ron and Hermione rush into the kitchen behind him.
“Ginny!” Hermione squeals. She throws her arms around Ginny. “I’ve missed you.”
Ginny swallows. She squeezes Hermione back. “I’ve missed you too,” she says honestly.
“What are you doing here, brat?” Ron says, but he’s smiling.
“Good to see you, too,” Ginny answers. “I’m actually here to talk to Harry.”
Hermione smiles. “We can give you two some privacy.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I - “ Ginny looks at Harry. “Can we go outside?”
Harry doesn’t really hesitate, which bolsters Ginny a little bit. “Sure.”
Harry follows her quietly outside. Ginny is afraid to look around, so she leads the way through the back yard and down the path and hopes that Harry is there when she gets to where she’s going. “Where are we headed?” Harry says from behind.
Ginny stops at the hedge. “Here,” she says.
“What’s this?”
Ginny takes her wand out. She taps it against the hedge. This is familiar to her now. She glances back to see Harry’s eyes grow big and round. When the door appears, Ginny presses her hand against it, and the door swings easily open.
Ginny steps inside. She looks at the garden as if it’s the first time. There’s still a lot of work to do, but she can easily admit that she’s done a really good job with it so far. The walls are all lined with a perimeter of yellows and pinks, big pops of bright color against dark green. Ginny looks at Harry. His eyes match the leaves all around them.
“What is this?” he asks. He’s looking here and there, and Ginny feels pride shimmer through her.
“It’s a garden,” she says.
“Obviously,” he says. “How’d you - I mean. How did you know it was here?”
Ginny shrugs. “I just… found it. Or well, I sort of think it found me.”
“What?”
“It’s not important.”
“It’s really beautiful,” Harry breathes. She looks over to find him staring at her.
Ginny shrugs. She fights the urge to fidget. “It still needs a lot of work. I was thinking I’d group some rose bushes over there, and I need to fix that bridge.”
“Did you do all this?” He gestures around them.
Ginny nods. “A lot of it.”
“It’s amazing,” Harry says. He meets her eyes. “Thank you for showing me.”
Ginny smiles. “You’re welcome. But I actually have something else to show you too. Come here.”
She leads him along the stone path toward the tree. “Look,” she says, pointing toward the base.
“What am I looking for?” Harry asks as his eyes follow her fingers.
“Look at that, on the base.”
Harry bends down. Ginny watches his face. He has stubble growing along his chin. Aloud, he reads, “J.P. plus L.E.” He twists to look back at Ginny. “You don’t think…”
“I think this was your parents,” Ginny tells him. “I mean, I think this was your parents' garden, or at least they spent time here. I probably should have told you about it sooner, but I only just found that engraving.”
“Wow,” Harry says. He traces a long finger along the letters. “This is amazing.” He stares at the tree trunk a long time. Ginny lets him be in silence. She sees him blink his eyes quickly.
“I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” Ginny says, eventually.
“What?” Harry stands back up, but he keeps his eyes on the initials, surrounded by a crudely-drawn heart. “Don’t apologize. Just, you know, thanks for telling me now.”
“You’re welcome, Harry,” Ginny answers quietly.
Harry meets her eyes again. “You look different,” he notes.
Ginny nods. “I feel different.” She presses her lips together. The look in Harry’s eyes is making her feel a little faint. She looks away.
“There’s still a lot of work to do,” she says, because she needs Harry’s eyes off her, to give her a moment to think. “Do you mind if I keep working on it?”
“Of course not,” Harry answers quickly. “Do you… do you mind if I help you?”
Ginny flicks her gaze back over to Harry’s face.
“Do you really have time? What about Hogwarts?”
“Finished,” Harry says. “And besides, there are other things that need rebuilding.”
Ginny studies the ground, covered in tiny purples flowers. She thinks of re-growing this place with Harry beside her. She’s been so reluctant to let anyone else in. She looks up to meet his eyes and reaches to grab one of his hands. His long fingers have calluses. Harry’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses; they are so beautiful. Ginny feels a matching smile stretch her cheeks. “I could really use your help,” she admits.
She has Harry meet her at the nursery in Ottery St. Catchpole the next morning. It’s only when they're inside and she leads him over to Liam that she realizes this could be a ridiculous idea. She had only wanted to get Harry’s opinion, as the garden belongs more to him than anyone else, but he bristles almost immediately when Liam bends to give Ginny’s cheek a kiss. Liam is tanned with blond hair and broad shoulders. He’s taller than Harry, but that doesn’t stop Harry from practically shouldering his way between the two of them and shoving a rough hand in Liam’s direction.
“I’m Harry,” he all but growls.
If Liam is annoyed, he doesn’t show it. “Harry!” He says it like they’re old friends. Ginny can’t help but be amused at Harry’s frown. Liam continues, “Ginny’s told me so much about you. It’s great to meet you, mate.”
Harry glances over at Ginny, who smiles brightly. “Liam’s my friend who’s been helping me with the garden stuff,” she explains. “His dad owns this place.”
Harry visibly relaxes, if only slightly. Liam continues on like he can’t see any of Harry’s annoyance. “From what Ginny tells me, your garden’s going to look great, mate. I’d like to see it sometime. Ginny’s been pretty secretive about the whole thing.”
They don’t linger for too long at the nursery. As they’re leaving, Ginny looks back to mouth “thank you” to Liam, who flashes her a cheesy thumbs up and a big smile. Harry sees and frowns some more.
They cram bags of mulch and big rose bushes into Ginny’s sack, and Ginny hangs on to Harry as he Apparates them to the cottage.
“Was he the one you went out with?” Harry asks sometime later, when they’re in garden and already sweaty, breaking up the dirt in the center.
“Yes,” Ginny answers. She pauses and looks up, shading her eyes against the sun to meet Harry’s eyes. “I talked about you the whole time.”
Harry stops breaking up the earth. He has a long swipe of dirt on his cheek. Ginny resists the urge to wipe it away. “The whole time?”
“Except to order from the waiter, yes.”
Harry nods. He goes back to work. Ginny watches the muscles in his sinewy arms bulge. She wonders when that happened.
As Ginny’s admiring him, Harry looks back up at her. He raises his eyebrows. “Liam seemed kinda nice, I guess,” Harry says.
Ginny smiles. She goes back to tending the garden.
It goes like that for the next two weeks. They meet almost every morning at the nursery and Harry even warms up enough to ask Liam how he’s doing. They plant rose bushes and forget-me-nots and big violet blossoms of sweet smelling lilacs. Harry’s hands are capable as he presses mulch against the ground, and gentle when he touches the delicate petals of flowers. The sun is a large yellow ball in the sky, hot and bright, and Harry’s skin grows a deep brown beneath it. In the evenings they go to the pub in the village. Ron and Hermione join them and they all drink dark, sticky ales and Hermione talks about how excited she is to go back to school. Ginny feels like the first of September is a long way off, but the thought of it leaves her cold. She and Harry haven’t agreed to get back together - they haven’t even kissed - but she’s not ready to think about leaving him.
It’s been nearly a month since Ginny discovered the garden when Harry’s birthday comes around. The sky is big and blue and bright, full of marshmallow clouds. The garden’s layout is done, and any plants they add now are more accent than anything else. Ginny couldn’t think of a gift to get Harry, so she buys him a big pumpkin pasty and watches him eat the whole thing beneath the maple tree.
“I can’t believe you’ll be back to school in a month,” Harry comments. He has pumpkin smeared across his cheek. Ginny’s smile feels affectionate as she reaches out to wipe it away. Harry’s eyes droop shut when he touches his face.
“Neither can I,” Ginny comments. She reluctantly pulls her hand back. “This summer’s turned out to be my favorite.”
Harry nods. The tree offers them shade here. His face is open when he says, “You were so sad.” He licks his lips. “I didn’t know how to make it better.”
Ginny swallows. “I’m still sad.” She shrugs. “I think we all are. But I didn’t want to let you help me make it better.
Harry touches her hand. His fingers are rough and long. “You know how you make a protection charm like the ones at Hogwarts?”
Ginny shakes her head. “No.”
“It’s kind of like a Patronus,” Harry explains. “Except instead of thinking of a memory, you have to think of someone you want to protect, someone you would protect with your life.”
Ginny blinks. She meets Harry’s eyes. “Who did you think of?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.
Harry’s eyes crinkle just slightly. He bends in close. Against her ear, he whispers, “You,” and the feel of his lips makes her shiver in the heat. Ginny bends in against him. From somewhere far away, she hears a robin’s happy chirp. She understands how the robin feels.
The End.
A/N: As you’ve probably already figured out, this was inspired by Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. I borrowed from her idea of a secret garden (obviously) as well the character of the happy robin as helpful friend and explorer.
Thank you so much to r_becca for being her awesome self and looking over a few versions of this, offering her beta fu, and running this community for us every year (and, of course, for being a good friend!).
I hope you all enjoyed reading!
Title: Paper Flowers Never Die
Author: pocketfullof
Paring: Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG
Word Count: 8500 words.
Summary: Ginny grows.
Notes at the end.
If you were to travel to South West England, it’s very likely that you would encounter coastal beach resorts and air that smells like salt. There are legends here, of giants and pixies and mermaids and saints. The coast is dotted with lighthouses, each one with a history of guiding sailors safely home. Spring comes early, and summer tends to linger just a little bit longer than anywhere else. If you traveled inland, traversing over land made green by rain along narrow, paved roads, you could very likely visit a whole number of towns, some of them really nothing more than villages, and each one could tell you a story. If you were very, very lucky you might come across one village in particular. This is a very special village indeed.
It looks as if it might have been painted by a master artist. It is idyllic and peaceful. A square lays at the heart of the village, with streets that cobweb out as two-lane avenues, each holding rows of two-story cottages, many as well kept now as when they were newly built. The square of the village is picturesque; surrounding it is a post office, a pub that serves thick, sticky ales, and a church that boasts a high belfry, as if looking out for the town. Just beyond the church is a small graveyard with a kissing gate, mapping out the village’s history.
Down the path from the cemetery are yet more small homes, some of them with yellow light and laughter spilling out onto the street. If you are the sort of person who knows how to look, you might notice a cottage that is just a bit different. It is certainly just as quant as those surrounding it. Bright yellow light crowds around it, and if you listen closely, you can even hear laughter. If you were the sort of curious person who looked for curious happenings, you might already be asking yourself: where is the memorial that once proclaimed this the site of the dark lord’s demise? Why is the second floor repaired? Who would destroy such an important landmark?
The answer, you might think, can be found inside. For at this very moment, on the thirty-first of August, in the year 1998, there are two people happily going on with their night. One - a boy with bright red hair and piercing blue eyes - is so tall he has to duck when passing through doorways. The other - a small, studious-looking young lady - is flicking her wrist about. As she does so, the long twig she holds in her hand sends sparks and showers of light all over the charming little cottage.
But this isn’t a story about the village of Godric’s Hollow. It’s not a story of the cottage, once destroyed and now fixed. It’s not even the story of that happy couple inside, responsible for so much mirth that it spills over into the street beyond. For behind that cottage, down a path that only the very, very curious can see, is an overgrown hedge. If you have the proper tools and know how to use them, the hedge might become a door, and once beyond it, something magical happens.
Just beyond the cottage and the hedge, beneath a tree with summer leaves and beside a still, blue stream is a couple, laying side by side in this little place all their own. This place is a garden. A secret garden. And this? This is their story.
Harry Potter Defeats the Dark Lord.
The headline twists and turns on the paper in Ginny’s hand, as if it’s celebrating what it proclaims.
Ginny studies the front page. There’s a picture of Harry, looking bone-tired, with an arm slung around Ron and Hermione on either side of him, standing like buttresses to keep him upright. The caption below the image reads, The magnificent trio. The heroes in the terrifying war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ginny considers the paper for a long time. The image doesn’t change too much, as both Ron and Hermione give tired smiles, and picture-Harry self-consciously flattens his hair down over his scar.
At Ginny’s spot near the window, sunlight streams in and shines on the newspaper. It’s hot everywhere Ginny goes today, inside the Burrow, outside in the garden, and Ginny still has two months before she’s allowed to perform magic on her own. She can’t even do a simple cooling charm on herself. She throws the newspaper aside, listening to the rustle of paper as it falls to the floor in the silence of the house. Normally, she’d be thrilled to have the Burrow to herself. It’s rare that Ginny has ever had any time alone at all, and it’s certainly been a luxury these last few months, when every adult she knew had kept a careful and close eye on her.
But now the silence is oppressive. Charlie’s already back in Romania. Bill and Fleur are at their cottage. Their mum spends most of her free time with Andromeda and the new baby, or helping rebuild Hogwarts, and their dad is kept busy with work. George is back in London, probably just as alone as Ginny. Probably just as lonely.
She glances at the clock on the wall, at least happy to see that it’s past noon, so that she can visit Hermione without feeling like a nuisance. Hermione and Ron and Harry are all busy, being interviewed, receiving awards, being called upon by government officials to offer opinions.
Ginny grabs a palm-full of powder from the fireplace mantel and tosses it into the hearth. She steps into the fire, says her destination, and a moment later tumbles out into an empty living area. Until last week, Ginny had only ever seen this place in a text book. When she was much younger, she used to fantasize about it, about what it would have been like for Harry to grow up here, instead of with those awful relatives. The reality looks very different from her fantasies.
It’s empty, for one thing. Ginny walks into the living area. It has this still, quiet quality that makes Ginny feel as if loneliness is pressing in around her. She frowns. Hermione had said to come over and hang out with them while the three of them finished up work on the cottage. It’s taking a considerable amount of magic to fix the blown-away second story. The shell of the house is back up, now, and the cottage is at least habitable. There is evidence of life here: a working fireplace, a sofa pushed against the long wall, curtains, a pile of shoes by the door.
Ginny wanders around the living area. She touches the sofa. Left abandoned on one of its cushions is today’s Daily Prophet. There are Ron, Hermione, and Harry, all smiling from its front page with the words HEROES emblazoned across. She puts it down exactly as she found it. There’s a T-shirt draped across the end of the sofa. By sight alone, she can tell it’s Harry’s. It’s soft beneath her fingers, but she refuses to pick it up. In the tiny kitchen sits a small dining table, swept clean of dishes. There’s definitely no one here. Not Hermione. Not Ron. Not Harry.
She tries hard not to feel abandoned, blinking her eyes quickly. She tells herself she shouldn’t be surprised no one is here. She is not a hero from a war; she is no one but a school girl. After unlocking the back door, Ginny angrily nudges it open with her foot. She’s not going to take this personally. So what if they forgot her? She is perfectly fine on her own. Glaring against the sun, Ginny absently walks through the tiny back yard. Yellow and green weeds have overtaken it completely, fed by the sun so they grow tall and thick. Ginny likes it, the messy, sticky quality of it.
Ginny finally shuts her eyes against the sun; her eyelids grow red. She squeezes her eyes so hard that little sparks fly across them. The sun is warm on her face; she sweats beneath it. The sound of a robin twittering excitedly catches her ear. When she finally opens her eyes back up, she spies the robin, which looks as if it's almost dancing on air and seems to be peering at her. On a whim, Ginny goes to it. It flutters just out of reach, and Ginny smiles. The robin is playing with her, she decides, and she feels the first bubble of laughter in over three weeks overtake her. Ginny follows the robin, as it flits down a darkly shaded path, until she is finally stopped by a hedge as overgrown as everything else in the yard.
Her mother always says she is too curious for her own good. Inquisitive, her father says with a twinkle in his eye. Ron calls her annoying.
Ginny skirts the tallest weeds to stand at the hedge. She takes out her wand and glances quickly - guiltily - around. She looks back at the house, which feels far away now. It looks small and sits empty in the afternoon sun. Ginny touches the tip of her wand against the hedge. It’s almost like she knew it would happen. The hedge transfigures into a door, and she doesn’t jump at all. Ginny doesn’t have a key, but she doesn’t need one. Just one hand placed curiously against the door sends it creaking open. She looks behind her again. No one is there. She feels suddenly, as she slips through the door, that no one ever is.
As the door inches shut behind her, the robin steals in. It chirps happily as Ginny looks around and catches her breath. This is a garden. A secret garden, long forgotten and untamed for many years, so that green the color of Harry’s eyes springs almost rampant from the earth. Summer light crawls over everything. Ginny doesn’t know the names of many flowers, but she smells roses blooming headily from bushes crowded against the ivy-choked, red brick wall that rises a foot above Ginny’s head, and protects the garden on all four sides from the outside world.
There are weeds growing over everything, everywhere Ginny looks. They grow all along the ground and have overtaken a path that’s just barely visible. Ginny starts to follow the path, putting one foot cautiously in front of the other and counting her steps as she goes. It takes her only a minute to skirt one edge of the garden. She guesses the whole secret place is no more than twenty by twenty feet, almost a perfect square. Her bird follows along beside her, like a friend, until she stands in a dark corner opposite the door, beneath a maple tree whose trunk has been overtaken by moss and creepy, crawling ivy. A serpentine brook winds its way through the center of the garden. Ginny steps up to it. An unsafe-looking bridge crosses the small stream. Ginny steps gingerly on it, but she feels it give slightly beneath her weight.
“Best not,” she says aloud, the first words she’s uttered. They seem to hang in the silence. Even with all the growth around her, the garden feels dead. Ginny’s reminded of the first time she ever entered Grimmauld Place, uninhabited for too long. That’s what this feels like.
She finally looks down, and in the dirt close to the path, Ginny sees a small flower. She doesn’t know what it’s called, but it’s small and purple, and trying so hard to strive toward the sun, but its stem is trapped down beneath the ivy. Ginny bends low to study it. Gently, she breaks apart the ivy and with her finger tip she nudges the flower up. The petals are silky against her skin.
“There you go,” she whispers. Her chest feels tight, like she has a binding spell tightening around her. She blinks her eyes rapidly and wipes away wetness from her cheek.
Still kneeling there, Ginny looks at the sun, so high in the sky. She glances at the door to the garden. It’s obvious she is forgotten about today. Ginny sits down next to the water. It’s cool when she dips her hand in. She can see her reflection in it. She’s been avoiding mirrors. They keep telling her to get sleep, to do something about her hair. Ginny studies her face. The mirrors aren’t wrong; she looks exhausted and weary. Her freckles stand out sharply against her pale skin. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately.
When she finally emerges from behind the tall brick walls, the sun is well past its zenith. The house is still empty when she goes back inside; it’s cold and dark. She’s happy to throw powder into the fireplace and Floo back home, though there’s no one here either. Everyone is busy. Everyone has tasks and rebuilding to do. Everyone except her.
Ginny knows next to nothing about gardens. Her mother had never had enough time to tend to much beyond the vegetable garden at the Burrow, leaving the flowers to the whims of nature. Ginny has a number of second hand Herbology books, but she doesn’t think magical texts will help her. And when she goes to owl Neville, something holds her quill; she can’t bear, just yet, to spill the secret of the garden; maybe it’s not hers to tell.
The village of Ottery St. Catchpole has a small library, and when Ginny was younger her father had thought it a great laugh to get her a library card. As she checks out a pile of books with titles like English Cottage Gardens for the Inexperienced Gardener and The Complete Gardener and shoves them into a sack, she’s grateful for her father’s sometimes silly urges.
She spends that night holed up in her room, pouring over the books. Some of them are so old their pages are yellowing, while others have glossy color photographs that stay still no matter how hard she stares at them. She reads about garden design, and how to deal with weeds. The best advice one of the books gives her is to contact her local garden centre.
She visits the only nursery in the village; it feels crowded and cluttered, but she likes it. There’s a boy about her age, Liam, who has a long nose and eyes that are as blue as Harry’s are green. He shakes Ginny’s hand and gets dirt on it, but Ginny doesn’t mind. She figures she should get used to it. He reminds Ginny of Neville, and she feels a sort of fierce immediate affection for him. The advice he offers is simple, for now: pick a color scheme, and work through the garden in small sections. He advises her not to make any purchases yet, but still spends over an hour walking her through the nursery, pointing out which flowers work best in shade (hosta lilies and ferns) and which flourish in the hot sun (forget-me-nots and columbine). Fred left her a mound of money in his will, and her first order of business will be to change it into Muggle pound notes and coins, and then get to work.
Ginny goes home feeling hopeful. She’s smiling when she walks in the front door of the Burrow.
“You look happy,” a voice says, once she’s inside.
Ginny looks to the side. Ron, Hermione and Harry are all there. Harry’s got a glass of pumpkin juice in his hand. His glasses are crooked on his nose. Ginny hasn’t seen any of them in over a week, since Colin Creevey's memorial service. It seems like a lifetime ago. Ginny already feels so much older.
“Why are you so happy?” Ron continues.
Ginny eyes him. “Aren’t I allowed to be happy?” she demands.
“Where were you?” Ron says, just as Harry comments, “You look sunburnt,” and Hermione says, “I’m so sorry we missed you yesterday.”
Ginny takes a breath. The room feels small and crowded. She looks first at Ron and says, “I was out,” and then at Harry. “In the sun,” she continues. And finally to Hermione, who looks troubled and as tired as Ginny always seems to feel lately. “It’s okay,” she lies. “You lot are busy.”
Hermione looks relieved. “We completely forgot that we had to go help out down at Hogwarts starting to rebuild the protections. I was going to leave you a note, but then Ron couldn’t find his left shoe, and then - well, anyway, it’s really interesting what we're working on. I wish you could have been there - ”
Ginny tries not to let her annoyance show. “But I can’t do magic yet, so there was no reason to invite me,” she interrupts.
Hermione startles. “Right,” she says cautiously. “Well, anyway, we wanted to make it up to you. Maybe see if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight.”
“Because it takes three people to extend an invite,” Ron says.
“ You should come,” Harry says. Ginny meets his eyes for the first time that day. “Ron’s going to attempt to cook.”
Ginny thinks about the books upstairs, waiting to be read. She thinks about going over to the cottage, sitting at the table and eating Ron’s bad cooking and pretending to care as they all talk about their fame and how they're helping put the world back together.
“Tonight’s not a good night,” she says. “But thanks anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because, Ron, I’m busy.”
“Sitting here by yourself moping? That’s not healthy.”
Hermione softly says, “Ron,” as Harry shoots Ron a look.
“I’m just busy, but,” she says, seeing Hermione’s face fall. “I can come over tomorrow, maybe.”
Harry sounds only a little regretful when he says, “We have to be at Hogwarts tomorrow. It’ll probably take two weeks to finish the charms around the perimeter.”
“Oh,” Ginny says, but she’s really thinking: good.
Harry continues, “Maybe we can take some time off, or at least one of us can, to spend some time with you.”
“No,” Ginny says. “You’re all needed.”
She stands there awkwardly, then. She wants them to leave. They look so united to her, so together. She isn’t a part of that. But she thinks that’s maybe all right. Maybe she has something new.
When she does finally escape them, Ginny spends a long time just sitting in her room. She feels responsible for this garden, and when she acknowledges the ridiculousness of the feeling, it doesn’t go away. She imagines the garden belongs to Harry, if it has an owner at all. The window is open and a breeze flutters in, rummaging the parchment where she sketches her messy garden design. Tomorrow she’ll show Liam and get his approval. Then she can sneak over to the cottage. If its three new inhabitants will be busy for the next couple of weeks, she’ll have plenty of time to spend in the garden by herself.
For the first time that she can remember - maybe for the first time ever - Ginny happily and eagerly wakes before the sun. Just as she’s coming down the rickety stairs of the Burrow, fully dressed and ready to start her day, her dad walks out of his bedroom. She hasn’t really seen him in almost four days, he’s been so busy.
“My dear,” he greets her softly, and his smile is surprised and warm. “You’re awake early.” He gestures to the dark kitchen. “I’m going to have some coffee before I head in to work. Would you like some?”
Ginny peers outside. The sun is just peeking up over the horizon, a wash of pink in the sky. She shrugs. “Sure.”
Her dad starts a pot percolating with his wand. He sets down a steaming mug in front of her and kind of slumps into the seat across from her. The coffee smells dark and strong. The mug is white, stained from years of use, and chipped on one side. Ginny wraps her hand around it, letting its heat seep into her skin.
“It might be a little strong,” he says.
Ginny feels awkward, like he’s a stranger. She feels like everyone is a stranger lately. “It’s okay. I guess you need the caffeine.”
He agrees. “The Ministry is doing a good job of keeping me busy at the moment.”
Ginny nods and sips from her mug. She’s never really gotten the hang of drinking coffee like Hermione does. It tastes too bitter, even after the three sugar cubes she stirs into it.
“And what about you?” her dad asks. “Why are you up so early? It’s not like you to choose being awake over a lie-in this early in the morning.”
Ginny hesitates. “I thought I’d go down to Diagon Alley.” She expects he’ll put up a fight to that; she’s too young to go there alone, maybe, or it’s too dangerous. But he just smiles. “That sounds like a fun day,” her dad comments. “Are you meeting someone there? Harry? Though I suspect he’ll be busy at Hogwarts. That reminds me I need to send Minerva a note…”
“No,” Ginny says quickly. “I’m not meeting anyone. I thought maybe I’d shop.”
Her dad nods, but he‘s obviously distracted. Ginny has never shopped just to shop in her life. Her dad’s eyes focus on her then. ”How are you doing, Ginny?” he asks.
Ginny shrugs. She stares down at the mug in her hand; it’s warm against her skin. “I’m all right,” she says.
“I know we’ve left you alone these past few weeks. You lost a lot of people you cared about, and it’s hard to go through that alone. Have you talked to Ron or George about Fred at all? I wish…”
“Dad,” Ginny interrupts. “I’m okay. I’m… I’m keeping busy.”
“Are you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Ginny says. “You don’t have to worry about me. Just worry about work.”
Ginny’s chest feels packed with cotton; it’s like she can’t catch a breath big enough to fill her lungs. Her chair screeches as she pushes away from the table. “You’re probably going to be late,” she tells her dad.
He just sits there for a minute, drinking his coffee and studying her over the white mug. Finally, he says, “You’re probably right,” and gets up from the chair. He’s moving slowly these days, much more so than when Ginny was a young girl. Ginny stays very still, not able to meet his eyes when he bends to kiss her forehead. “You have a good day, my dear,” he tells her, and then he sends his mug flying over to the sink. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Ginny calls a "bye" after him, but it feels like an afterthought, as he’s already halfway out the door. She’s still standing by the table, feeling as if she’s run a long way and is trying to catch her breath. It’s a while before she’s able to move.
After Gringotts and changing the largest sum of money she’s ever had in her possession, Ginny Floos back to the Burrow and then visits the nursery.
Last night, she’d settled on a colour scheme of purples, pinks and yellows, because the garden already has violet flowers, and yellow reminds her of sunshine. She doesn’t buy any plants yet, but instead purchases the tools Liam thinks she’ll need. She’s there for over an hour anyway, mentally picking out the plants she’ll get. Liam helps her make a list: sweet smelling roses and leafy ferns around the perimeter, with wild violets and lily of the valley as ground covers. The interior of the garden will be filled with blossoming bleeding hearts, forget-me-nots, impatients and daffodils.
Looking at the garden a little while later, Ginny has a moment of doubt. Small though it may be, it’s still a huge mess. She stares out at it. The red brick walls are almost completely covered with ivy. She takes a breath. The morning burns hot. She has a pile of tools at her feet, things like giant clippers and gloves. The air is still, and beyond the wall, Ginny thinks she can hear the robin sing. She gets to work.
She starts by hacking away at the ivy that seems to want to choke the other plants. The hard stems are thick, but her trimmers slice easily through them. Her first day she gets stung by two bees, has a sunburn so bad she blisters across the bridge of her nose, and her back and knees ache. She’s bone-tired when she falls into bed and sleeps a sleep so deep and dreamless that she wakes up totally refreshed. That alone has her waiting impatiently for the clock to reach nine AM so she knows no one will be there when she Floos to the cottage the next morning.
By the fourth day, she’s finally got herself a big, floppy hat that keeps the sun off her face and she's ready to start planting. The garden already looks so much fresher and calmer, now that she’s trimmed the rose bushes back and cut away the ivy. The rustic stone pathway winds through the garden in a serpentine pattern and she decides to follow its curve when she lays out her flowers.
She’s always certain to leave by dinner time, and she’s spent the last two evenings hanging around the nursery, bothering Liam with so many questions he once asks her if she would like a summer job there. Ginny grins. “I don’t think I’d be much help,” she says.
Liam looks at her. “Maybe it would be better if I saw this garden you’re tending to. I’d be able to help you. I could take some flowers for you.” He goes a little pink when he asks, and Ginny bites her lip and casts around for a response.
“It’s actually not my garden,” she finally tells him.
Liam looks confused. “Did you make it up?”
“No,” Ginny answers slowly. “It’s just… it belongs to a friend, and he might not like it if I brought people around on his property.”
“He?” Liam repeats.
Ginny nods. The sun is setting and its light is shining in her eyes. Liam’s face is silhouetted against the sky. She brings her hand up to shade her face.
“Your boyfriend?”
Ginny laughs bitterly before she can help it. “Ex boyfriend,” she answers honestly. “He ditched me over a year ago.”
“He sounds like an idiot, then.”
Ginny smiles. She brushes a hand through her hair. It’s been a very long time since someone's flirted with her. Probably the last guy who did was Dean. Harry had never really gotten the hang of it, which Ginny found endearing so long ago.
She’s still feeling warm and attractive as she wanders back into the Burrow that evening. She stops short when she sees Harry there, sitting in the comfy blue chair and talking to her mum.
Ginny shuts the door quietly as Harry stands. “Is something wrong?” she asks. He looks grave. Something must have happened.
“Oh, no, Ginny,” her mum says from her seat. She’s knitting what looks like a set of baby booties for Teddy. Her needles click quickly as she talks. She smiles slyly. “Harry’s here to see you.”
Ginny nods. She looks at Harry. “What’s up?”
Harry hesitates, looking between Ginny and her mum, who pushes herself up suddenly. “I think we have some biscuits in the kitchen. Let me go get some for the two of you.” She gives Ginny a pointed look when she escapes the living area.
Ginny looks expectantly at Harry. He wipes the palms of his hands along the tops of his pants. “Where were you?” he asks.
Ginny opens her mouth. “I was just in the village,” she says. She’s aiming for casual, but she feels like she’s missing the mark. Her cheeks grow warm. She feels strangely guilty all of a sudden, and then feels ridiculous for that. She doesn’t owe Harry her faithfulness. He never asked for it.
“Are you blushing?” Harry asks.
“No,” Ginny says firmly. “I’ve been out in the sun a lot.”
“I know,” Harry says, and when Ginny sends him a wide-eyed look, he says, “You look like you have a lot of colour.”
Ginny nods.
“What were you doing in the village?”
“I was just… visiting a friend. It’s not - its not important. What are you doing here, anyway? Where are Ron and Hermione?”
“They’re at home. I wanted.” Harry breathes in deep, like he’s steadying himself. “I wanted to see you.”
Ginny meets his eyes. “What about?”
Harry looks lost, and Ginny meanly doesn’t feel like helping him find his way. “Just. It’s been a while.”
Ginny agrees, “Yeah, it has.”
“You didn’t come to dinner last week, and I was hoping you would and - what friend do you have in the village?”
“What?”
“You said you were visiting a friend. Who?”
“What business is it of yours who my friends are?”
“Luna said she’s tried to call on you,” Harry says, “And that you haven’t been here at all this week. Neville too. He said he owled you last week. And you never got back to him.”
“Where did you see Neville and Luna?”
“At Hogwarts.”
Ginny bristles. “I see. So you all just get together and talk about me?”
“What? No. We’re there helping with the protections.”
“Ah. So, should I feel flattered that you all take time out of your busy important schedules to discuss my whereabouts?”
“We’re just worried about you, Ginny. You won’t talk to anyone, and - “
“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” Ginny informs him. “I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” Harry says. “You’re spending all your time who knows where, and you won’t even respond to the people who care about you.”
“I’m spending my time with a friend, Harry. Just because you don’t know him doesn’t mean he’s some… some stranger.”
“Him,” Harry says.
Ginny looks toward the kitchen. She can’t hear her mum, which probably means her mum’s eavesdropping, so Ginny whispers. “Yes, him. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here, by the way.”
“Are you dating this ‘him’?”
“What?”
“This guy that you’re visiting. Are. You. Dating. Him?” Harry spits. He has bright spots of colour on his cheeks now.
“He asked me out for dinner tomorrow night.”
Harry lets out a laugh. “That’s what I’m doing here,” he says. “I was going to see if you wanted to go to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Oh,” Ginny says stupidly.
“But I guess that’s out, since you already have a date.”
Ginny narrows her eyes. “Looks like it.”
Harry nods his head sharply. “Good. Well. Fine.” He starts toward the fireplace. “Have fun.” He throws powder into the hearth. “Tell your mother thanks for letting me wait for you. I’ll…” He hesitates. This is Ginny’s chance to stop him. For some reason she doesn’t. “I’ll see you later, Ginny.” And then he’s gone.
The fireplace is empty. Harry’s voice echoes in Ginny’s head. “Dear.” Ginny jumps and whirls around. Her mum is standing there with a plateful of cookies floating next to her. “Where did Harry go?”
Ginny answers, “He had to go home.” She looks back at the fireplace.
“I suspect he’s very busy,” says her mum. “Would you like some biscuits?”
Ginny shakes her head. Her eyesight is a little blurry. “No. Thank you. I’m tired. I think I’ll just go lie down.” She turns and heads up the stairs before her mum can protest.
The next morning she goes to the nursery to buy her first batch of flowers. She has the sack her aunt Muriel bought her last year that shrinks everything you put in it, so she can easily transport the flats of flowers to the garden.
“Are you always here?” she asks Liam when she finds him watering a big row of hanging plants from a hose.
“I could ask the same of you,” he responds. He smiles immediately at the sight of her. And he gives her his full attention.
Ginny makes a decision. “Yes,” she says. “The answer is yes.”
“That you’re always here?”
“No.” Ginny smiles. “I’ll go out with you. Tonight, if you still want.”
“What about the ex?”
Ginny shakes her head. “Not a factor,” she lies.
Liam’s smile stretches his face. “Cool.” He claps his hands together. “What can I get you for today?”
Ginny lugs the five flats of flowers and plants out of the nursery one by one, insisting that she doesn’t need Liam’s help and that she’ll see him that night.
By the time she gets to the garden, it’s already hot and humid. She lays out all of her flowers. Her plan is to start in the corner of the garden and work her way around the perimeter first. Ginny can’t stop thinking about Harry. The way he had looked, the way his voice had sounded, the accusation. Are you dating him?
Ginny digs angrily in the dirt with her hands. What right did Harry have to be angry? He had left her. The war had ended weeks ago and not once had he sought her out. Not during Lupin’s funeral or Tonks’. Not during Colin’s and certainly not during Fred’s.
The dirt is cool and red against her fingers. It’s slightly damp. She squidges her fingers in it, squeezing her hands into fists beneath the top layer of ground. She only has five flats of flowers, violets and hostas mostly in riots of purples and pinks. She lines the tallest up closest to the wall. The dirt smells rich and the flowers smell sweet. Bees and other insects buzz around her, but she’s used to them by now. Her hands get messy. She sweats profusely.
She looks down. Her hands are buried up to the wrists in the ground. There are tiny, whitely translucent worms crawling all over them. Ginny screeches. She feels her blood rush into her feet and she jumps up and frantically brushes her hands; the worms fall to the ground. Many of them don’t move, dead on impact. Her skin looks pale. She thinks of Fred, his body buried deep in dark, rich earth. She thinks of worms crawling over him.
There in the corner of the garden, beneath the sun and with no one but the insects looking on, Ginny bends over and coughs. Her mouth pools with sticky saliva and she spits into the dirt. Tears sting her eyes. She doesn’t wipe them away, but for the first time, she lets them come. She sits on the ground beside the rows of flowers she just planted and finally cries.
She feels clean when she’s done, bleached out by the sun and the tears. She sniffs a few times as her body settles down. She looks to her right when she hears a sound. Her robin is back, balancing delicately on the edge of the wall, so high up, and peering down curiously at her. Ginny holds out her hand, and the robin flies to her. It perches on her finger and chirps. Ginny laughs out loud. “Hello,” she says. The robin chirps once more and takes off. Ginny watches as he flits to and fro around the garden.
She’s lighter when she gets home that evening. She takes her time getting ready, paying attention for the first time in a long time to what her hair looks like, and what she wears.
She meets Liam at the nursery and he drives a beat-up looking red car that Ginny immediately likes. Dinner is outside at a small café and Liam orders them a bottle of wine. Ginny feels flush beneath the blue moonlight. It’s the first real date Ginny’s ever had, the first time someone’s taken her to dinner. When she tells Liam this, laughter in her voice, he expresses shock.
“What about the ex-boyfriend? He didn’t take you out?”
Ginny thinks about Harry last night, his claim that he was going to ask her out. She might have been on her first date with him instead. She shakes her head to Liam’s question. “We were in school. We didn’t really have the opportunity.”
“But you wish you had?” Liam asks.
Ginny shrugs. “Every girl wants that, I guess.”
“Well, I’m happy to be your first date, then, Ginny, though I don’t think I’ll be your last.”
Ginny studies her wine glass. “What makes you say that?”
“Your ex-boyfriend still means a lot to you, yeah?”
Ginny sighs. She nods. “Yes,” she answers honestly.
Liam nods. “You want to tell me about him?”
Ginny’s first date ends with a first kiss, though it’s on the cheek and not the lips. “I’ll be by tomorrow to get more flowers,” she tells Liam.
“I’ll see you then. You’re sure you don’t want a ride home? It can’t be too far out of the way.”
Ginny looks around. The air is warm and still. It’s night-quiet and the moon is full and lights up the land. “I think I’d rather walk. Thank you.”
Liam nods and goes to his car. Before he ducks inside, he calls out to Ginny. “Hey! You should tell your Harry how you feel.”
Ginny smiles. “I’ll think about it,” she calls back.
“Right,” Liam says. “If you ever need a backup, though, you know where to find me.”
Ginny laughs. She takes a deep breath. She feels calm and settled. She sleeps well and dreams of the green color of leaves.
Now that she’s got the routine down, Ginny makes her way easily around the garden’s wall. Her garden is a riot of color already. The difference is incredible. Birds swoop in and around the space, and Ginny finds herself laughing at their antics. She lays down mulch and starts when a drop of water hits her hand. She’s lost track of time again. She looks up to see the sky is crowded with clouds. Another rain drop hits her, and then another. Ginny squeals and runs under the tree and its canopy of leaves for cover. These summer showers never last long. Ginny waits impatiently. She hasn’t spent much of her past week near this tree. It’s covered with moss on its northern side, and the roots are exposed. Ginny bends to look at them, wondering if she should cover the ground with wild violets or Irish moss, maybe.
A carving catches her eye. Ginny’s eyes go wide as she moves to check it out. It’s a strange place to carve into the bark, but there’s no mistaking that the person who carved their initials here did it very intentionally. Ginny feels a smile stretch her face.
She takes her time cleaning up in the stream. According to her mum, this is the last day that everyone is needed at Hogwarts. She lets herself into the cottage and sits at the kitchen table. The clock above says it’s almost five. She waits.
At quarter past, she hears voices in the living area.
Ron says, “I am so glad we won’t have to go back there.”
“Well,” says Hermione, who sounds harried and tired. “Not for a while anyway. We’ll have to visit Hagrid, of course, and then I’ll be back at school before we know it.”
“I can’t believe you want to go back.” That’s Harry. At the sound of his voice, Ginny tenses. She knows she should go into the living room and announce her presence, but she stays seated.
“You can’t believe Hermione wants to go back to school, mate? Have you met her?”
Harry laughs. “Only that McGonagall said we didn’t have to. You should just take your NEWTS with us. It’ll be strange without you here all year.”
Ginny listens quietly. She almost feels like she doesn’t know that boy - than man, really - the one who expresses his feelings so easily.
“Ginny’ll be there,” Hermione says.
“Speaking of Ginny,” says Ron. “I thought you were gonna go talk to her?”
“I - “
Just then Harry walks into the kitchen. “Ginny!” he says, eyes going wide.
Ginny feels ridiculous, getting caught listening to them. “Hi, Harry.”
“What are you doing here?”
Ron and Hermione rush into the kitchen behind him.
“Ginny!” Hermione squeals. She throws her arms around Ginny. “I’ve missed you.”
Ginny swallows. She squeezes Hermione back. “I’ve missed you too,” she says honestly.
“What are you doing here, brat?” Ron says, but he’s smiling.
“Good to see you, too,” Ginny answers. “I’m actually here to talk to Harry.”
Hermione smiles. “We can give you two some privacy.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I - “ Ginny looks at Harry. “Can we go outside?”
Harry doesn’t really hesitate, which bolsters Ginny a little bit. “Sure.”
Harry follows her quietly outside. Ginny is afraid to look around, so she leads the way through the back yard and down the path and hopes that Harry is there when she gets to where she’s going. “Where are we headed?” Harry says from behind.
Ginny stops at the hedge. “Here,” she says.
“What’s this?”
Ginny takes her wand out. She taps it against the hedge. This is familiar to her now. She glances back to see Harry’s eyes grow big and round. When the door appears, Ginny presses her hand against it, and the door swings easily open.
Ginny steps inside. She looks at the garden as if it’s the first time. There’s still a lot of work to do, but she can easily admit that she’s done a really good job with it so far. The walls are all lined with a perimeter of yellows and pinks, big pops of bright color against dark green. Ginny looks at Harry. His eyes match the leaves all around them.
“What is this?” he asks. He’s looking here and there, and Ginny feels pride shimmer through her.
“It’s a garden,” she says.
“Obviously,” he says. “How’d you - I mean. How did you know it was here?”
Ginny shrugs. “I just… found it. Or well, I sort of think it found me.”
“What?”
“It’s not important.”
“It’s really beautiful,” Harry breathes. She looks over to find him staring at her.
Ginny shrugs. She fights the urge to fidget. “It still needs a lot of work. I was thinking I’d group some rose bushes over there, and I need to fix that bridge.”
“Did you do all this?” He gestures around them.
Ginny nods. “A lot of it.”
“It’s amazing,” Harry says. He meets her eyes. “Thank you for showing me.”
Ginny smiles. “You’re welcome. But I actually have something else to show you too. Come here.”
She leads him along the stone path toward the tree. “Look,” she says, pointing toward the base.
“What am I looking for?” Harry asks as his eyes follow her fingers.
“Look at that, on the base.”
Harry bends down. Ginny watches his face. He has stubble growing along his chin. Aloud, he reads, “J.P. plus L.E.” He twists to look back at Ginny. “You don’t think…”
“I think this was your parents,” Ginny tells him. “I mean, I think this was your parents' garden, or at least they spent time here. I probably should have told you about it sooner, but I only just found that engraving.”
“Wow,” Harry says. He traces a long finger along the letters. “This is amazing.” He stares at the tree trunk a long time. Ginny lets him be in silence. She sees him blink his eyes quickly.
“I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” Ginny says, eventually.
“What?” Harry stands back up, but he keeps his eyes on the initials, surrounded by a crudely-drawn heart. “Don’t apologize. Just, you know, thanks for telling me now.”
“You’re welcome, Harry,” Ginny answers quietly.
Harry meets her eyes again. “You look different,” he notes.
Ginny nods. “I feel different.” She presses her lips together. The look in Harry’s eyes is making her feel a little faint. She looks away.
“There’s still a lot of work to do,” she says, because she needs Harry’s eyes off her, to give her a moment to think. “Do you mind if I keep working on it?”
“Of course not,” Harry answers quickly. “Do you… do you mind if I help you?”
Ginny flicks her gaze back over to Harry’s face.
“Do you really have time? What about Hogwarts?”
“Finished,” Harry says. “And besides, there are other things that need rebuilding.”
Ginny studies the ground, covered in tiny purples flowers. She thinks of re-growing this place with Harry beside her. She’s been so reluctant to let anyone else in. She looks up to meet his eyes and reaches to grab one of his hands. His long fingers have calluses. Harry’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses; they are so beautiful. Ginny feels a matching smile stretch her cheeks. “I could really use your help,” she admits.
She has Harry meet her at the nursery in Ottery St. Catchpole the next morning. It’s only when they're inside and she leads him over to Liam that she realizes this could be a ridiculous idea. She had only wanted to get Harry’s opinion, as the garden belongs more to him than anyone else, but he bristles almost immediately when Liam bends to give Ginny’s cheek a kiss. Liam is tanned with blond hair and broad shoulders. He’s taller than Harry, but that doesn’t stop Harry from practically shouldering his way between the two of them and shoving a rough hand in Liam’s direction.
“I’m Harry,” he all but growls.
If Liam is annoyed, he doesn’t show it. “Harry!” He says it like they’re old friends. Ginny can’t help but be amused at Harry’s frown. Liam continues, “Ginny’s told me so much about you. It’s great to meet you, mate.”
Harry glances over at Ginny, who smiles brightly. “Liam’s my friend who’s been helping me with the garden stuff,” she explains. “His dad owns this place.”
Harry visibly relaxes, if only slightly. Liam continues on like he can’t see any of Harry’s annoyance. “From what Ginny tells me, your garden’s going to look great, mate. I’d like to see it sometime. Ginny’s been pretty secretive about the whole thing.”
They don’t linger for too long at the nursery. As they’re leaving, Ginny looks back to mouth “thank you” to Liam, who flashes her a cheesy thumbs up and a big smile. Harry sees and frowns some more.
They cram bags of mulch and big rose bushes into Ginny’s sack, and Ginny hangs on to Harry as he Apparates them to the cottage.
“Was he the one you went out with?” Harry asks sometime later, when they’re in garden and already sweaty, breaking up the dirt in the center.
“Yes,” Ginny answers. She pauses and looks up, shading her eyes against the sun to meet Harry’s eyes. “I talked about you the whole time.”
Harry stops breaking up the earth. He has a long swipe of dirt on his cheek. Ginny resists the urge to wipe it away. “The whole time?”
“Except to order from the waiter, yes.”
Harry nods. He goes back to work. Ginny watches the muscles in his sinewy arms bulge. She wonders when that happened.
As Ginny’s admiring him, Harry looks back up at her. He raises his eyebrows. “Liam seemed kinda nice, I guess,” Harry says.
Ginny smiles. She goes back to tending the garden.
It goes like that for the next two weeks. They meet almost every morning at the nursery and Harry even warms up enough to ask Liam how he’s doing. They plant rose bushes and forget-me-nots and big violet blossoms of sweet smelling lilacs. Harry’s hands are capable as he presses mulch against the ground, and gentle when he touches the delicate petals of flowers. The sun is a large yellow ball in the sky, hot and bright, and Harry’s skin grows a deep brown beneath it. In the evenings they go to the pub in the village. Ron and Hermione join them and they all drink dark, sticky ales and Hermione talks about how excited she is to go back to school. Ginny feels like the first of September is a long way off, but the thought of it leaves her cold. She and Harry haven’t agreed to get back together - they haven’t even kissed - but she’s not ready to think about leaving him.
It’s been nearly a month since Ginny discovered the garden when Harry’s birthday comes around. The sky is big and blue and bright, full of marshmallow clouds. The garden’s layout is done, and any plants they add now are more accent than anything else. Ginny couldn’t think of a gift to get Harry, so she buys him a big pumpkin pasty and watches him eat the whole thing beneath the maple tree.
“I can’t believe you’ll be back to school in a month,” Harry comments. He has pumpkin smeared across his cheek. Ginny’s smile feels affectionate as she reaches out to wipe it away. Harry’s eyes droop shut when he touches his face.
“Neither can I,” Ginny comments. She reluctantly pulls her hand back. “This summer’s turned out to be my favorite.”
Harry nods. The tree offers them shade here. His face is open when he says, “You were so sad.” He licks his lips. “I didn’t know how to make it better.”
Ginny swallows. “I’m still sad.” She shrugs. “I think we all are. But I didn’t want to let you help me make it better.
Harry touches her hand. His fingers are rough and long. “You know how you make a protection charm like the ones at Hogwarts?”
Ginny shakes her head. “No.”
“It’s kind of like a Patronus,” Harry explains. “Except instead of thinking of a memory, you have to think of someone you want to protect, someone you would protect with your life.”
Ginny blinks. She meets Harry’s eyes. “Who did you think of?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.
Harry’s eyes crinkle just slightly. He bends in close. Against her ear, he whispers, “You,” and the feel of his lips makes her shiver in the heat. Ginny bends in against him. From somewhere far away, she hears a robin’s happy chirp. She understands how the robin feels.
The End.
A/N: As you’ve probably already figured out, this was inspired by Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. I borrowed from her idea of a secret garden (obviously) as well the character of the happy robin as helpful friend and explorer.
Thank you so much to r_becca for being her awesome self and looking over a few versions of this, offering her beta fu, and running this community for us every year (and, of course, for being a good friend!).
I hope you all enjoyed reading!