Ginny lay still, listening to the deep breaths Harry drew from his night-terrors. She no longer woke him from them. In truth, they came to her some nights. Her loss from the war was no less real now, and Harry's whimpers as he felt his scar only reminded her.
Though she smirked privately to herself. He didn't just make those noises when he was in pain.
She lay there for some time, letting the night wash over her, before her husband finally awoke.
'Hey.' He whispered fondly, wrapping his arms around her bare waist.
'You were dreaming again.' Ginny said plainly; never sure what to say any more. Though Harry never seemed to notice, and he nuzzled against her neck as she sat up on the edge of the bed.
'Everything alright?' He asked, but she gave no response. How could she tell him what she felt? How could he possibly understand after all they had been through? He would think it was her way of escaping, even if he was too kind to say it. But they were growing old together, and she had realised all too late he wasn't the one she had wanted to grow old with.
Instead, Ginny took herself to the window, where the moonlight grazed her skin. She had no fear of anyone seeing her- not this time of night, but she was cautious of Harry's eyes on her body.
He had seen her a thousand times- of course he had. But it was different now. And she couldn't bring herself to say it.
It was then that she heard an audible sigh- the type people made when they were about to say something they would regret- yet something inevitable.
She spun round to see Harry too was on the edge of the bed, looking down at his own wiggling toes.
'I've known you since you were what? Ten?' He asked, not removing his gaze from his feet.
Ginny nodded silently, assuming he could see her silhouette.
He then nodded towards the wardrobe where an extending charm had been placed several years ago.
'What's in there?' He asked, more to highlight whatever point he was making, than as an actual question. She thought he had been in there more times than she.
'Shoes.' She said, waiting to see if this was the answer he wanted. When he didn't respond, she continued.
'Clothes, brooms, magazines.'
Surely that had covered it all.
Harry nodded.
'Five hundred and twelve editions of the Quibbler.' He said, beginning to look up to Ginny's face.
'Never once have I seen you read his articles.'
Ginny frowned, looking at the wardrobe door as if some x-ray vision would allow her to see through it.
'Then why?' Ginny asked, pushing to see if he truly had guessed.
Harry smiled sadly, and she could just about see it in the dim light.
'Because every now and again,' he began, 'there are articles in there written by Luna Lovegood and Rolf Scamander.' He said, and Ginny realised he knew, plain as day.
'You love her.' He said. Which- had any been listening- might seem like a very hasty conclusion. Yet for Ginny, she wasn't shocked at his accusation.
'Yes.' She whispered, her voice echoing slightly in a room where nothing echoed.
'Then go.' He said. Not in a nasty way where the one saying it was stifling anger. No, this was said in the calm way of a man who knew exactly what his wife needed, and told her to go get it.
Ginny felt a tear on her cheek- where the weight of several decades of burdened marriage came crashing down.
'I don't even know where she is. Well, where her and Rolf are.' Ginny said quietly.
Harry didn't say a word, but went over to the wardrobe and stepped inside.
When he emerged he was carrying his old firebolt, and a small pair of glasses.
He gently unfolded them, and placed the spectrespecs on Ginny's face. When they were in place, he handed her the broom and opened the window, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
'You sure?' Ginny asked, feeling the most excited she had since the Boy Who Lived had entered her living room.
Harry nodded, stepping back slightly.
'I've never been more sure.'
She nodded too, more tears stinging her cheek, and she flew out of the open window on the firebolt.
Once the fastest broom in the world.
And it wasn't fast enough.
