"So, er," Harry said, when he opened the door to Grimmauld Place the next afternoon. "This is home."
"Really?" she said ion disbelief. She remembered Grimmauld Place from when they had come right after her third year, but this looked nothing like how it had then. "It's so... clean. And bright."
"Your mother made up spend a whole summer cleaning it up, and then when we moved in here you decorated it."
"I see," she said, trying not to think about how incredibly awkward this was. So, sure, she was supposedly twenty-three now, but all she knew was the thirteen years of life she'd had. And, yeah, she really wanted Harry to be her boyfriend and everything, but... well, it was kind of overwhelming. And filled with lots of silences that were uncomfortable- was it always like this? It couldn't be! Plus knowing that she'd, ya'know, done that with him, and have him standing here with her was really, really strange. Was he, like, thinking about it?
"So, er," Harry said, obviously feeling just as uncomfortable. "Do you, want a tour?"
"Sure," she said. He showed her the rest of the house, and asked Kreacher to bring some food for them both. Then he told her some more anecdotes about her- their- life. Random stories.
"So, in your fourth year, Ron, Hermione, and I created a Defense Agency that we called Dumbledore's Army, which was your idea. The name, I mean. And we taught defense against the dark arts to kids in the room of requirement."
"Really?" Ginny asked, wondering what the room of requirement was. "That's so cool of you guys."
But he was telling her all these happy, interesting stories that were like scrapbook moments. And why would they need a defense agency? Because they weren't getting proper instruction at school. What happened before Harry defeated Voldemort? What happened to Ginny at school when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gone for a year? Bad things. He was obviously only telling her the happy bits.
Harry looked at his watch, which she recognized as something from her own family.
"Hey," she noted. "That's mum's, from one of her brother's," she said.
"Yeah," he said, glad they were finally on common ground over something. "She gave it to me for my seventeenth."
"But James has been at Ron and Hermione's all morning now. I have to go see him, bring him home."
Harry stared at her, obviously in a conflict. She could practically hear his thoughts- should he leave her here, alone, right after what had happened? Or bring her along when she wouldn't recognize her son?
"I want to see Ron and Hermione," she said, standing up.
"I hate apparition," Ginny muttered, stumbling around after Harry had used side-along apparition with her.
"I don't blame you. I hated it at first, too. Actually, I still kind of hate it."
They knocked on the door, and an older-looking Ron came to the door. Ginny blinked, hard, and tried to get used to the sight.
"Hey guys," he said, then smiled very kindly at Ginny. Much more kindly then an older brother would. Then she remembered she was supposedly very sick, so that was probably why. "How are you?"
"Fine," she uttered out. They went into the house then, and Hermione appeared holding a cute little boy with black spiky hair and brown eyes in her arms. Ginny immediately felt incredibly awkward, for she knew this was her son. But though she thought he was cute and all, she didn't feel motherly towards him.
"Hey there," Harry said, and she breathed out in relief, glad he was taking over. He took the boy from Hermione, and smiled at him. "How was your fun night with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione?"
"Good," he said, and Harry laughed.
"He only has a few words at this point... so whenever I ask him how something went, it's always 'good.' No matter what." Ginny cracked a smile, because Harry obviously wanted her to. "Seriously though, how was he?"
"Great!" Ron said. "We fed him lots of unhealthy food and played with him until he was exhausted, so he didn't give us any trouble."
"Thanks so much," Harry said. "You guys are lifesavers."
Hermione waved him off, and that was when Ginny noticed the bump in her stomach. Again, she blinked. This was so weird.
They left, and went back home. Harry was with James, and to avoid the boy realizing his mother did not know him anymore, they were kept pretty much apart. Ginny was busy exploring the house, and looking through her things. There was a calender on her desk, and the best tool she'd found so far- a diary.
It was fascinating to read. True, the entries weren't all that action-packed or anything, but reading your diary from ten years in the future? Very cool. Plus it was her handwriting, just writing things she never even remembered.
Ginny's thirteen year-old self got very upset when she read about awkward, uncomfortable way-too-personal details of her future life with Harry. Like, she couldn't believe it was even her. She would surely never be this comfortable with a guy. Like every time she talked to Harry, she was always nervous and too shaky. When did that change?
She paged through the diary, past the entry when she'd found out that Hermione was pregnant, past Harry's twenty-fourth birthday, past James' first step, past the weekend Ron and Hermione took him so she and Harry could have 'alone time' (eew eew eew Ginny paged through that one very fast). Then she landed on this one:
George came to visit today. He wanted to see James again, and for awhile it was great. He was so happy, with the little guy. I'm a little afraid he's going to start teaching him to, I don't know, plant dung bombs about the house. But he was just playing with him. Then he said how nice it was that we named him for James and Sirius, to honor their memories and all.
Ginny looked up. 'Honor their memories.' Obviously James was Harry's dad, and he was dead. But her son's middle name was Sirius? Sirius Black? She'd only briefly met him after her third year, and her mother hadn't liked him very much. He was very grungy-looking. But he was dead?
Then he told us, in a solemn tone, that he was going to name his son Fred, when he and Angelina have their baby, if he's a boy. And then we lost him again. He's never been able to let it go- not that I blame him. Sometimes I can't even beieve he's gone, and I wake up in the night and cry about it. But George is different. George never recovered-
"Harry!" Ginny called, not believing what she'd read.