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SIYE Time:14:45 on 28th March 2024
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The Right Time
By cwarbeck

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters:All, All, Harry/Ginny
Genres: Fluff, General, Humor
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 615
Summary: Harry had promised himself that when he ultimately got rid of the Dark Lord, he would finally tell Ginny how he really felt about her. Regrettably, fate seemed to have other plans for both of them. But then again, perhaps fate was merely waiting for the right moment to come along.
Hitcount: Story Total: 132981; Chapter Total: 15865
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Well, we'll see some sparks now, right?

Thanks to Chreechree.




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Meeting at The Burrow




Standing at the foot of his bed, Ginny watched fretfully as Harry slowly woke up. His face was too pale, she thought, her hands itching to brush his messy hair off his forehead. She dearly wanted to go to hug him and never let go again, but something held her back. Harry groped around for his glasses and Hermione thrust them into his hands.


“Hello, dear. How are you feeling?” Mrs Weasley asked him, smoothing out his blankets.


“Fine, thanks,” said Harry, wincing as he shifted his position. His eyes scanned the room, as if looking for something or someone. When he finally made eye contact with Ginny, she was gratified to see his face light up. She smiled warmly at him, and he smiled back, making her heart skip a few beats. She took a step forward, intending to kiss him on the cheek, but was distracted when the doors burst open and the Minister of Magic stalked into the room and said…



“Ginny?”


“Mmmmph.”


“Ginny, wake up. You’re going to be late for work.” A dreamy yet insistent voice was in Ginny’s ear, cutting through the fog of slumber.


“Gowaywansleepmore,” mumbled Ginny, turning over to burrow further into her blankets.


“You’re going to be late for work… you’re going to be late for work… you’re going to be late for work… you’re going to be…. ” the voice chanted over and over again.


Ginny groaned and threw her pillow in the direction of the maddening sing-song voice. “Luna, shut up! I’m trying to get some sleep.”


“I know, but you’re going to be late for work,” the blonde witch solemnly intoned. “It’s almost eight o’clock.”


Ginny’s eyes snapped open. “What?” she yelped. “Bugger, I’m going to be late for work!” She scrambled out of bed and dashed to the bathroom. She must have been more tired than she thought.


After a quick shower and a hurried good-bye to Luna, Ginny threw on her navy work robes, grabbed her bag, Apparated into the Ministry and ran to her office with only a few minutes to spare.


Working non-stop, she was able to finish all her paperwork by the time lunch rolled around. She did not want Mrs Caulfield to have any reason to change her mind about allowing Ginny to go on such short notice. She made her way to the noisy Ministry cafeteria, which was filled with witches and wizards from the different departments of the Ministry of Magic. It always amused her that she could tell which department each employee worked for simply by the way they dressed.


The Department of Magical Games and Sports employees dressed casually, showing up in jeans and cotton shirts. Hermione, like the others who worked in her department, preferred formal robes. Aurors were typically all in black, while those Ministry workers connected with the Floo Regulation Network tended to wind up wearing grey, no matter what colour their robes had been when they came to work in the morning. The witches and wizards from the Department of Mysteries, if they showed up at the cafeteria at all, frequently looked like they had paid little attention to what they had put on that day; as a result, they often appeared in bizarre colour combinations such as purple shirts and peach trousers, or in the case of Gladys Kendall — who waved merrily at Ginny as she passed by — a bright magenta chequered blouse paired with black and white striped knickerbockers under the standard blue Ministry robes.


Ginny herself preferred to dress comfortably, usually in black trousers and a casual top. She scanned the crowd; most of the time she had lunch with her father or Ron, but she could not find them in the mob of people. Ginny thought that they were probably too busy: Ron with the current Quidditch season and Mr Weasley with the forthcoming European Wizarding World Conference that Hermione was so involved with.


After getting her customary steak-and-kidney pie and a treacle tart from the dour-faced witch with the lavender rinse in her hair, Ginny seated herself in a corner table after threading her way through the noisy press of Ministry employees, greeting several acquaintances along the way.


“—Harry Potter?”


Ginny’s ears perked up at the mention of Harry’s name and turned her head to see who was speaking. Two wizards at a nearby table were talking loudly as they ate their noontime meal.


“Yes, what a shame,” the wizard with a spectacular blond handlebar moustache replied to the other man, who was sporting a battered blue fedora set at an angle that best hid his thinning ginger hair.


Ginny leaned to her left, hoping to catch more of the conversation. What had happened to Harry?


“Mind if I join you?” A deep male voice said by her elbow, interrupting her eavesdropping.


Ginny looked up and then smiled at the newcomer. “Oh, hi, Seamus. Of course I don’t mind. Grab a seat.” When she looked back at the other table, the men were now discussing the chances of the Chudley Cannons in convincing Oliver Wood to join their team. Ginny made a mental note to ask Ron if Harry was all right before she turned to Seamus as he pulled up a chair and sat down in front of her.


“So, you’re taking off today, are you?”


“Yeah. I’ll be gone by this afternoon. Just have to pick up a few things from the flat before I Floo to The Burrow.”


“I’m so jealous. You get to go on holiday without Mrs Caulfield even batting an eyelash. She’s always had a soft spot for you, y’know,” said Seamus, taking a bite out of his corned beef sandwich.


“She knows that I haven’t been out of the office since I started, so she decided to give me a break.” Ginny shrugged, although she knew that he was right; if she was not Mrs Caulfield’s favourite worker, she probably would not have got permission to leave, even though Ginny knew that she was the best in her department.


Seamus smiled. “I’m not envious of your position, mind you. Being the boss’ go-to-girl has to be stressful to say the least.”


“You said it,” Ginny laughed. “Although I must admit, usually I really enjoy the work. I guess I simply need some time off right now.”


“What’s the reason for the hols, if I may ask?”


“Well, I was thinking that I needed a break, you know? And then it turns out that my brother Bill’s going on a mission in Asia with his wife Fleur, and he asked me if I could help my mum take care of his kids.”


Seamus arched a sandy eyebrow. “Babysitting? You? Are you the maternal type, Ginny?”


Ginny was a little taken aback by the question. She had never thought about it. She realised that she was really fond of not only her nephew and niece, but she also loved being around children of any age.


“I’m not sure,” she slowly said, tugging at her ponytail. “But I know that I love being around children.”


“Heh. Not me. Can’t stand the little buggers.” Seamus made a face and laughed. “I’d rather hang around the foxy mums.”


“Well, well, well. Hello there, Ginny.”


Ginny flinched. She knew that voice. She resignedly glanced up and greeted Sylvia Vane, who also worked at the Ministry, although at another department. Ginny occasionally glimpsed her former Hogwarts classmate in the corridors of the Ministry, but avoided her as much as possible. Much like her cousin, Romilda, Sylvia had a dangerously obsessive crush on Harry, but he had barely acknowledged her existence except when trying to avoid her. Sylvia thought that Ginny had something to do with Harry ignoring her, and she had never forgiven Ginny for “stealing” Harry away from her.


“Hello, Sylvia.” Ginny nodded as politely as she could to the dark-haired girl, who was wearing robes of an unfortunate apple-green colour, which Ginny thought exactly matched the shade of freshly harvested bubotuber pus. “You remember Seamus? He was also in Gryffindor with us. Seamus, this is Sylvia Vane.” She pointedly did not ask the other girl to sit with them.


Sylvia simpered and fluttered her eyelashes — magically extended with a Glamour charm, Ginny observed cattily — ridiculously at Seamus. “You’ve turned out quite well, Seamus,” she said admiringly, before her gaze shifted to Ginny. “You seem to have a penchant for hanging around handsome men, Ginny.”


Seamus rose, giving the other woman a charming smile. “Hello — um — Salmonella, is it?”


“It’s Sylvia,” she corrected sharply.


“Ah, yes. How could I forget the name of such an interesting specimen of womanhood?” He kissed her right hand. “Forgive me, er — Sisyphus.”


Ginny had to stifle a giggle at the way Sylvia’s brows were now fiercely drawn together, but decided to intervene before she became too cross at Seamus’ antics. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your illustrious company, Sylvia?”


“Oh, yes, I thought you’d be interested to know that I’m getting married,” said Sylvia rather smugly, her irritation at Seamus momentarily forgotten. She flashed her left hand, showing off the large pink diamond that glittered almost obscenely on her ring finger.


“Congratulations,” said Ginny, silently aghast at the sheer gaudiness of the ring. “It’s very… pink. Who’s the, erm, lucky man?”


“Merlin help him,” muttered Seamus beside her. Ginny snorted and elbowed him in the ribs.


Sylvia’s smile became even more supercilious. “I don’t believe you know him. Raphael Mugatu? He studied at Beauxbatons, you know.” At the blank looks on both their faces, Sylvia’s smirk quickly turned into a frown. “Raphael Mugatu? The internationally renowned Italian wizard fashion designer? Haven’t you heard of him?”


“No, sorry,” said Seamus. “Should we have?”


Sylvia’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “Should you have?” she repeated incredulously. “He’s only been featured several times in Witch Weekly, and his creations are sold all over the world.” She looked disparagingly at Ginny’s dark blue work robes and the Muggle-style clothes that she was wearing underneath. “Well, I suppose that you wouldn’t really know anything about high fashion, Ginny.”


Seamus raised a sardonic eyebrow and turned to Ginny, who had just about had enough of the detestable woman.


“Well, Sylvia,” she said sweetly. “I’m sure we’ve taken up too much of your time. You’ve certainly taken up most of ours. We’ll see you sometime.”


“By the way, I wanted to ask you how Harry’s doing.” Sylvia smiled insincerely at Ginny, paying no attention to the hint to leave. “I know you’re not together, but I heard that you keep in touch.”


Ginny ignored the none-too-subtle jibe from Sylvia but could not understand why she was asking about Harry’s well-being. That was the second time today that someone had mentioned Harry. She waved her hand airily. “Oh, Harry’s fine. I mean, he was, the last time I saw him.”


“Well, do tell him that I hope he gets better and that I said ‘Hi’. I’m sure he remembers me.” Sylvia gave Ginny one final fake smile and winked at Seamus. “I hope to see more of you, Seamus.”


Ginny and Seamus exchanged amused glances as Sylvia strolled away in what she probably thought was a seductive manner. “Oh, remind me to send you an invitation to my wedding, Ginny. Romilda will be thrilled to see you again. It’ll be in a few days,” she tossed over her shoulder.


“She’s a bit full of herself, isn’t she?” observed Seamus cynically.


“She still thinks she’s Merlin’s gift to wizards,” replied Ginny dryly. “Too bad for her that wizards haven’t caught on to that bit of news yet.”


Seamus made a sound of agreement and then asked in a hesitant voice. “Look, I don’t mean to pry or anything, but how come you never got together with Harry?” Seeing the closed look on Ginny’s face, Seamus grimaced. “Hey, I’m sorry. You don’t need to answer that. I’m being a right nosy git.”


Sensing that he had probably gone a little too far, Seamus dropped the subject and they shifted to safer, less sensitive topics. They spent a good half hour thinking of various outlandish situations on how Sylvia had managed to finagle a wedding proposal (“Probably threatened to wear those horrendous apple-green robes to one of his fashion shows if he didn’t pop the question,” was Seamus’ impertinent comment). They finished their lunch and went back to their floor, separating at Ginny’s office. She formally said good-bye to Mrs Caulfield, promising to come back to work by next week.


Ginny Apparated back to the flat, checked to see if Hermione was back yet (she was not), threw out the copy of the Daily Prophet that Crookshanks had shredded to ribbons, grabbed come clothes and tossed them in a rucksack. She also left a note for Luna — who had apparently gone to visit her father to discuss the finer points of exterminating Aquavirus maggots infestations — reminding her to feed Crookshanks at least once a day.


She threw some Floo powder into the grate and shouted “The Burrow!”, and watched as her flat disappeared in a whirlwind of green flames.


When the familiar surroundings of her mother’s living room came into view, she stepped out of the fireplace and promptly tripped over an unfamiliar black bag blocking the grate, falling flat on her face.


“Buggering hippogriffs!” she muttered into the carpet before lifting her head to glare at the offending object behind her. “Whose bloody bag is this? Good thing no one saw—”


“Sorry,” a concerned voice greeted her from somewhere behind the sofa. “That bloody bag is mine.”


Ginny gasped in surprise. Whipping her head around, she peered through her curtain of hair to see a sheepishly smiling Harry Potter, who was dressed in a white T-shirt and dark blue jeans that showed off his muscular legs quite nicely.


“Harry!” Of all the bloody people…


“Hi, Ginny. I’m really sorry about my bag.” Harry moved his rucksack to one side and squatted in front of her. “Are you all right?”


She nodded and carefully pushed herself off the ground to sit back on her heels. “Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me.”


“Oh, good. How about I help you up?” Harry rose to his feet and held out his hand.


Ginny hesitated for a moment before she took it, studiously ignoring the shock that seemed to shoot through her when she touched him. She got up slowly, wincing as her knees gave a slight twinge, and then she quickly let go of Harry. “Thanks,” she said, avoiding his eyes and praying that she wasn’t blushing.


“My pleasure, Ginny.”


Suppressing a shiver at Harry’s oddly husky reply, Ginny proceeded to brush the soot and ash from her robes, wishing she had considered changing into nicer clothes before she had gone to The Burrow. I must look a fright, she thought in consternation, glancing down at her dull blue Ministry robes and remembering that her hair was hanging loosely around her face, probably in wild disarray from the trip through the Floo network. I should have plaited it or something, and, oh bollocks, I just had to make a spectacular entrance, didn’t I?


An awkward silence fell between the two of them. Searching frantically for something to say, Ginny decided to make light of the strangely tense atmosphere. “At least you didn’t ask ‘so, Ginny, how was your trip?’”


She was relieved when Harry laughed outright, breaking the tension. “All right, I won’t ask,” he said, smirking at her.


“Good. That would be so Fred and George of you,” she replied dryly.


Just then, Ron came in through the door, munching on a half-eaten chicken leg. “Why aren’t you at work?” he asked Ginny bluntly, before he settled himself on the sofa and propped his feet up on the table.


“Nice to see you too, Ron,” replied Ginny with a touch of sarcasm. “And since you asked me so politely, the answer to your question is that I got off early.”


“Huh.” Ron eyed her critically. “Your hair’s a mess.”


“Thanks a lot,” replied Ginny shortly, peeved that her brother just had to call attention to the fact that she looked like a harridan in front of Harry. She ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to get it into some semblance of order.


“Hey, it’s not as bad as mine,” said Harry, grinning and tugging at his own messy hair.


Ginny stared longingly at the thick black locks. She had always wondered if they were as soft as they appeared to be. When her eyes made their way back to Harry’s face, she was startled to see that he was looking keenly back at her.


“Uh, how — how about you, Harry?” she stammered out, totally thrown by the intensity in his green eyes. “What you’re doing at The Burrow?”


“He’s having a rest from a run-in with McLaggen,” mumbled Ron through a mouthful of chicken.


“McLaggen?” echoed Ginny incredulously. “As in Cormac McLaggen?”


Ron’s face darkened. “Yeah, same tosser who hit Harry on the head with a Bludger and knocked him unconscious during our sixth year.”


“That stupid wanker!” exclaimed Ginny hotly. “What happened? Weren’t you playing against his team during your last game, Harry?”


Again, Ron answered for Harry. “Seems McLaggen wasn’t too happy about our boy Harry here snatching the Snitch from under his foot. He decided to let his displeasure known by introducing his foot to Harry’s head.”


“What?” Ginny turned to Harry, horrified. “Are you okay?”


Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I’m fine.”


“You always say that, even if you’re not,” said Ginny with mild exasperation. “Ron, I hope that your department did something about that idiot.”


“The idiot’s been suspended for the rest of the season,” her brother answered, before he gave her a pointed look. “You should’ve been there, Ginny. Don’t you have a season pass?”


Ginny squirmed uneasily as both Ron and Harry levelled expectant gazes at her. “Well, yeah, but I was busy on a case,” she explained, inwardly wincing at her weak excuse. She thought she saw a flash of hurt in Harry’s eyes, but it disappeared so swiftly that she decided that she had imagined it.


“You work too much,” declared Ron, biting into the chicken leg for emphasis. “Didn’t you at least read about it? It was all over the Prophet.”


Ginny shook her head. “I haven’t had time to read the paper lately, and Crookshanks decided to shred our copy of today’s Prophet. I did overhear some people at the Ministry talking about you, but I didn’t hear what they were saying.” She looked at Harry in concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”


Harry gave her a crooked grin. “I’m fine. Really. I’ve been worse, as you very well know.”


Ginny nodded mutely; too distracted by that smile Harry was flashing her to form coherent words. It was the same lopsided smile that he used to give her when they talked into the long hours of the night, comfortably ensconced in the squashy armchairs of the Gryffindor common room. She remembered that she had come to think of it as her smile, because Harry had always seemed to have reserved it for her alone. She felt the colour rushing to her cheeks and was thankful that Harry’s attention was diverted the sound of her mother’s voice.


“Is that Ginny I hear?” Mrs Weasley walked out of the kitchen and came over to embrace her daughter. “Hello, dear. Have you eaten? You’re really too thin, Ginny. Did you bring enough clothes? No matter, I’m sure you still have some upstairs in your old room. Why don’t you put your bags up there, and you can help me with dinner.” She turned to Harry and Ron. “Harry, dear, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve put you in the twins’ old room. Just be careful not to open that third drawer of the cabinet on the right side of the room. Oh, and you should probably avoid touching anything in the boxes under the beds. Ronald, get your feet off my clean furniture. Why don’t you give Harry a hand in bringing his bag upstairs?”


Without waiting for an answer, she returned to the kitchen, muttering about getting dinner ready before Mr Weasley came home.


A sudden stab of alarm jolted Ginny out of the mesmerizing spell of Harry’s smile. “Uh, did I hear Mum correctly? Are you staying at The Burrow too, Harry?” She waited nervously, not sure what she wanted his answer to be.


Harry inclined his head. “Yeah, the Healer wanted to keep me for observation at St Mungo’s, but he said that it would be all right for me to stay home as long as someone’s always around to watch over me.” He pulled a face. “I told him I was fine, but he kept going on about possible delayed complications of head trauma.”


By now, Ron had finished gnawing on his chicken leg and was aimlessly waving it around. “Harry wanted to stay at our flat but I told him that I couldn’t be his nanny since I had to work, so we agreed the best place for him to be was here with Mum. He’s been given an emergency holiday leave.”


“Hang on.” Harry looked at Ginny curiously. “Did your mum say that you’re staying here too?”


Ginny nodded numbly. How in Godric’s name was she supposed to survive staying in the same house as Harry? She had made it a point not to stay longer than necessary in his company, not trusting herself when she was around him for too long. Sometimes she got these strange urges to brush back his tousled black hair off his forehead and permanently plaster her lips to his.


Not to mention the other, unmentionable desires that she tried very hard to suppress when Harry was anywhere within six yards of her current location.


“Really?” Ron sounded unusually gleeful. Ginny shot him a dark look, but her brother’s blue eyes blinked innocently back at her. “That’s interesting. What’s the reason?”


Ginny gave her brother another mistrustful glare before answering. “Bill and Fleur are going to Asia on assignment, and they’re dropping off Amelie and Michel here. Bill’s asked me to help Mum take care of them.”


Harry’s face lit up. “That’s spectacular news. Those two are brilliant. They’ll keep me from being bored.” Ginny had to smile at Harry’s enthusiasm. She had forgotten that he also doted on Bill’s children whenever he had chanced upon them at The Burrow. “They’ll be how old now?”


“Amelie’s almost two years old, and Michel’s almost three.”


“Wait, how can Michel be almost three?” asked a confused Harry. “When did Bill and Fleur get married again?”


“Michel was — ahem — shall we say — a ‘premature’ child?” said Ginny with a hint of laughter in her voice.


“Huh?” said Ron, looking bewildered while Harry chuckled as he put two and two together.


Ginny sighed and shook her head. “That means Fleur was already pregnant when they got married, Ron,” she explained patiently.


Her brother’s face cleared up. “Oh. No wonder Fleur looked a bit fat during the wedding.”


Ginny rolled her eyes and laughed along with Harry.


“Well then, Harry, I suppose you and Ginny will have a grand old time taking care of the children!” exclaimed Ron, grinning toothily at both of them. He Banished the chicken leg to the kitchen, turned and hefted Harry’s bag over his shoulder. “I think I’ll go put your stuff in your room, mate. Ginny? You need some help with your stuff?”


Ginny looked at him apprehensively. Her brother was never one to willingly offer to do anything nice for her. He was up to something. “No thanks, Ron, I can manage.” She made to levitate her bag off the floor, but Ron beat her to it.


“Nonsense, Ginny, it’ll be no trouble at all. Locomotor Ginny’s bag!” He flicked his wand and followed the valise up the stairs, whistling something that sounded like “Weasley Is Our King” as he did so, leaving Harry and Ginny quite alone in the living room.


*

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