Chapter Text
Halloween was Ginny's favourite day of the year.
Most ten year olds, she supposed, would say they preferred their birthdays. Or Christmas. But most ten year olds didn't live in Godric's Hollow.
Most children didn't get to experience the magic of watching the village come to life, awakening like a slumbering cat, to celebrate the most sacred night of the year. Hagrid opened up his special corn maze, Jack-o-lanterns were lit in every window, colourful stalls were set up in the village square with warm apple cider, fortune tellers and broomstick binders, and the night felt full of a thousand exciting possibilities.
Her dad had told her it had been this way for hundreds of years. That was why Godric's Hollow was famous; centuries ago it had been home to a notorious coven of witches. Even when their leader, Helena Ravenclaw, had been hanged from the ancient apple tree on the edge of town by the horrible Bloody Baron, and the rest of her followers had been forced to go into hiding, the village had still been proud of the magic that had once been produced here. The witches had worked in secret to preserve their craft.
“And now, everyone in Godric's Hollow gathers on All Hallow's Eve to celebrate our magical traditions.”
Ginny finished her retelling of Helena Ravenclaw's tragic story with a flourish. The flared sleeve of the black witch's dress her mother had spent the past two weeks making for her flapped loudly, lending, in her opinion, a mysterious air to her tale.
From across the dinner table, Ron rolled his eyes which were rudely fixed on the cottage pie in front of him and not on Ginny's excellent storytelling. “We've heard this story a million times.”
Fred and George traitorously nodded in agreement.
“Yeah,” Fred said. “Like it's not bad enough having to listen to it in school every year.”
Ginny frowned; her own dinner was forgotten for the moment. “It's not just a story. It really happened.”
George smiled at her with that sympathetic look in his eyes she'd learned a long time ago to dislike. “Some of it did,” he said gently.
“They really did hang that woman from the Gallows Tree,” Fred agreed.
“Fred,” her mother snapped from the sink. She turned, pointing her scrubbing brush threateningly at him. “Stop it, you're going to scare your sister.”
“I'm not scared!” Ginny protested. Truthfully, she did have to suppress a little shiver every time she walked past the old tree, but surely that was a perfectly natural reaction to walking past the spot where a witch had once died in gruesome – and unfair – circumstances.
“The magic isn't real though,” Ron protested, his mouth still half-full of food. “Hermione says that was just an excuse made up by men to persecute women.”
George snorted into his plate. “Since when do you know words like ‘persecute’?”
Fred spoke before Ron could answer, a devilish grin flashing across his face. “Since he started hanging on every word Hermione says.”
Ron's ears turned an alarming shade of red, but Ginny hardly noticed. She was too busy frowning between her brothers. “Magic is real.”
None of them appeared to hear her. Mum had turned back to sink and Ron had taken the opportunity to perform a very rude hand gesture at Fred and George. In retaliation, the twins were taking turns aiming forkfuls of mashed potato at Ron's head, forcing him to duck beneath the table for cover.
“Mum!” Ginny said loudly.
Fred and George dropped their forks immediately as Mum turned back around to look at her.
“Yes?”
“Magic is real, isn't it?”
Mum grimaced. “I blame your father.” Carefully, she set her scrubbing brush on the draining board. “Ginny, you're a big girl now. I think you know magic is make-believe.”
She didn't know any such thing. Her mother's words prodded at her chest, deflating her. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Right.”
She could feel her brother's eyes on her, watching for her reaction to this world-altering piece of information. Fortunately, a knock on the door distracted them before they could catch the tremble in her bottom lip.
Ron looked relieved to throw himself out of his chair and wrench the backdoor open. “Come in,” he said, grabbing hold of Hermione's wrist and pulling her into the kitchen.
Harry followed behind, giving the room an awkward wave as he passed through the threshold. Ginny's breath caught in her throat. Her woes about the existence – or lack thereof – of magic were temporarily forgotten.
He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of one of Mum's magazines. His usually untidy hair had been slicked back with gel until it shone in the dim kitchen light. A pair of sunglasses were poised on his forehead, and he was dressed entirely in black.
“Are you sure you'll be warm enough in that leather jacket, dear?” Mum asked with a frown.
“Yes, Mrs Weasley,” Harry nodded and his sunglasses slipped down to his nose.
“What are you supposed to be?” Ron asked, staring at his best mate with open amusement.
Harry rolled his eyes as he pushed the glasses back up his head. “A rockstar – don't ask, Sirius promised it would be cool.”
Ron's snort suggested he didn't agree with Sirius’ views on what counted as cool.
“What?” Ginny snapped before she could stop herself. She'd had quite enough of her brothers for one day, and Ron was always the easiest target. “Because vampires are so great?”
Ron's eyes drifted to his scarlet cape, which was, in reality, one of the curtains from Charlie's old bedroom that Mum had altered so it didn't drag on the ground when he walked.
“Vampires are cool!” He insisted, scowling at Ginny. “They're much scarier than stupid witches!”
Ginny opened her mouth but her retort was ended before it could begin by a sharp gasp from Hermione. Ginny turned, taking in the costume she hadn't noticed before.
Hermione's witch costume was much nicer than Ginny's. She could tell just from looking at it that Hermione's mum hadn't sewed it for her from one of her old dresses and some ribbon that had been hiding in the bottom of the sewing box. The sequins on Hermione's skirt glittered when she moved, and her pointed hat had lacy spiderwebs stitched over it that put Ginny's patched and frayed headwear to shame.
“Sorry,” Ron mumbled. It was abundantly clear that his apology was directed only at Hermione; he didn't even spare Ginny a glance.
“That's quite alright,” Hermione said with a dignified sniff. “Are you ready to go?”
“We are,” Fred and George said in unison. “Lee said he'd meet us at the Gallows Tree.” They both got up, pressed a quick kiss to Mum's cheeks and disappeared out the back door without so much as a look back.
“Me too.” Ron rushed around the other side of the table, collecting the trick or treating bag Mum had sewn his name onto the previous evening.
“I have our route planned,” Hermione said. “Don't tell Mum and Dad, they're not thrilled at the idea of me collecting a big bag of sweets.”
Ron shook his head in disbelief. “It's Halloween, Hermione!” His tone made it clear that he found it unfathomable that anyone would choose not to spend their Halloween collecting as many sweets and chocolates as possible.
“I want to come with you,” Ginny heard herself say, swept up for a moment in the excitement the evening held.
Ron paused with his hand on the doorknob; Harry and Hermione stilled beside him. All three of them turned to look at her, but only Ron's expression held any displeasure at the suggestion. “Absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head vehemently.
“Why?” Ginny demanded.
“Because Mum already said you can't.” Ron grinned triumphantly.
Unfortunately, he was right. Ginny had already appealed to her parents to let her go trick or treating unsupervised last night, when Ron had revealed his plan to abandon her for Harry and Hermione's company. She shouldn't have been surprised, it was something he'd been doing with increasing frequency since starting secondary school last month, but the idea of spending the best night of the year with only Mum for company still stung. And Ginny wasn't quite ready to accept it.
She turned to her mother, her eyes wide and pleading. Her hands wrung together on the table top. “I can go with them, can't I, Mum?”
For one brief, shining moment, Ginny thought her mother was wavering. The corners of her lips turned down uncertainly, but then they straightened into a tight, determined line that Ginny had learned to dread. “I'm sorry, Sweetheart. You're too little.”
“I'm not that much younger than Ron!” Ginny already knew the argument was pointless; she'd made the same one the previous night.
“Next year,” Mum said, just as she had then. “When you're at secondary school.”
“We're leaving,” Ron said before Ginny could come up with a convincing reason for him to take her too. He turned to Harry and Hermione. “Come on.”
Forlornly, she watched the three of them disappear out of the back door into the waiting night, leaving Ginny with nothing but bitter disappointment as her companion.
“Why don't you put your coat on?” Mum suggested as the door swung shut, her voice cutting through the newly silent kitchen. “I'll take you down the street.”
Briefly, Ginny considered declining. The evening had lost a great deal of its sparkle between the crushing revelation that she would never be a real witch because magic didn't exist, and everyone leaving her behind. It seemed very foolish, however, to give up the opportunity for free sweets, so she did as she was bid and retrieved her coat from the hook by the door.
“Don’t forget your broom,” Mum said, smiling sympathetically as she held out the long stick that Ginny had found in the orchard and spent the better part of a week attaching a collection of shorter twigs to to form bristles in the exact way Madam Hooch from the broom binding stall in the square had told her to.
“It doesn't really fly.” because magic isn't real.
She dearly wished that it was. How wonderful it would be, Ginny thought, to soar above the village, to leave her brother's on the ground like they always left her.
Mum’s face crumpled in an expression of deep pity. Ginny took the broom, unable to stand such a look pointed at her. She marched out of the door, knowing Mum would be close behind, whether she liked it or not.
Sure enough, Mum stayed close to Ginny for the whole evening.
The night grew darker around them. As Ginny's bag slowly filled with sweets, and she kept up a steady stream of chatter, which, in the absence of her brother's, remained gloriously uninterrupted, she had to admit there were advantages to not having to share her mother's attention with so many siblings for once.
At least, that was what she thought, until a few hours later.
Mum had insisted they turn back to the Burrow as the clock struck what would usually be Ginny's bedtime. She did, however, allow Ginny to stay up and sort through the sweets she'd brought home rather than sending her straight to her room.
The contents of her bag were tipped over the kitchen table, jewel bright chocolate wrappers shone up at Ginny, mixed with pastel coloured sweets and pure white mints. She had just begun to separate them into carefully organised piles when the door burst open and Ron, Harry and Hermione came filing back through it, their cheeks rosy from the chill night, and their hair windswept.
Mum called a greeting from the living room, where she'd joined Dad upon returning home. Ron grunted back at her but was quickly interrupted by the appearance of Fred and George.
Five trick or treat bags plonked onto the table top across from Ginny, each of them practically bulging with the density of treasures held inside.
“Wow,” Ginny heard herself say, her eyes widening with surprise and envy.
Fred grinned at her. “Mr Honeyduke was definitely in the halloween spirit.”
“He was giving out full boxes of samples of his new products,” George added.
Ron picked up a whole handful of full-size chocolate bars from his bag. “I've got enough here to keep me going until Christmas.”
Ginny's heart sank. She tried not to look at her now pitiful pile of sweets. The Honeydukes lived on the other side of the village, far outside the boundary of where her mum had allowed her to venture tonight. In one swift move, she swept her sweets back into her bag. No one else, it seemed, would need to carefully ration their Halloween hauls.
“I left my broom outside.” She jumped out of her seat, taking her bag with her as she fled for the door.
Full darkness had settled over the garden now. Ginny hurtled down the path, utterly unaware of the person heading in the opposite direction until she collided with them.
“Sorry,” she squeaked, taking a hasty step back from the tall figure.
“Ginny?” Sirius reached out a hand, steadying her. “Are you alright?”
“I'm fine,” she inclined her head to the wall beside the gate behind him. The silhouette of a long, knobbly stick was just visible through the gloom. “I was just fetching my broom.”
Sirius smiled. “You wouldn't want to leave that unattended – someone might steal it, and then you'd be without transportation.”
Ginny tried to return his smile but her mouth wouldn't comply. “It doesn't fly,” she said matter-of-factly. “Magic isn't real.”
“Isn't it?” Sirius’ eyebrows rose doubtfully. “I don't know who told you that, but I think they might be misinformed.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Really?”
A loud creak sounded behind them as the back door opened and halted Sirius’ reply before it could start. They both turned to see Harry silhouetted against the light spilling out of the kitchen. His eyes settled on his godfather; he grinned as he jogged down the path towards them.
“Are you ready to go home?” Sirius asked. His hand landed protectively on Harry's shoulder and Ginny realised that their leather jackets matched exactly.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I need to wash all of this gel out of my hair.”
“I think it looks good.” Sirius ruffled his hand through Harry's hair affectionately as he said it, and just that small disturbance caused strands to escape the confines of its careful style.
Harry wrinkled his nose, ducking out of the way of Sirius’ hand. “It itches.”
“Let's get you home then.” Sirius gestured back down to the path, towards the gate that led to the lane beyond. “Goodnight, Ginny.”
“Goodnight,” Ginny replied. She took a step backwards, her broom and her reasons for escaping the kitchen forgotten now.
“Wait,” Harry said, making her pause mid-turn. He reached into the bag of chocolate he'd carried out of the kitchen with him and thrust a handful of the Honeydukes bars into the bag still dangling limply from her arm. “You have these – I'll never eat them all by myself.”
“You don’t have to –” Ginny began. Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth, that must be why it was such a struggle to get air to her lungs.
“Seriously,” Harry said over Ginny's stammering protests. “We have a whole chocolate cupboard at home –” he looked up at Sirius. “Don't we?”
“We do,” Sirius confirmed. His eyes darted between Harry and Ginny with an expression she couldn't begin to understand, especially not when something so fundamental seemed to be twisting and changing in her stomach. “I refill it regularly.”
“Well, goodnight,” Harry said, apparently he considered the matter settled.
Ginny seriously doubted he understood the magnitude of what he'd done; of course, no one without siblings could truly comprehend the misery of watching them all stuff their faces with high-quality chocolate, while you had to carefully preserve your inferior supply.
“Thank you,” she breathed, though it hardly seemed adequate.
Harry shrugged off her gratitude, already beginning to follow Sirius down the garden path. “Enjoy the chocolate,” he called over his shoulder.
Ginny remained where she was, watching their matching leather-clad backs disappear through the gate and out into the moonlit lane.
She didn't fully understand what was happening to her yet; didn't know why her heart was pounding against her ribs or why her fingers shook as they clutched the trick or treat bag tighter, but, in years to come, she would come to realise that was the moment she'd unwittingly traded her heart to Harry Potter in exchange for a handful of chocolate bars.