Harry arrived back at Hogwarts alone as Hermione had gone off somewhere with Ron to celebrate her birthday. She had invited Harry to join them but Harry had declined, laughing out loud at the look on Ron’s face.

“I’ll see you back at Hogwarts, Hermione,” he said. “Happy birthday and … thanks.” Harry reflected that he’d probably surprised Hermione, as well as himself, when he’d engulfed her in a hug. In a choked voice he told her he could never repay her for what she’d just achieved. Hermione had blushed prettily.

“Oh Harry, you should know by now,” she said, looking at him solemnly. “We would do anything for you.”

“Still,” Harry insisted. “I’ll do anything for Teddy, and-”

“Harry,” interrupted Ron, “your problems are our problems.”

“It’s probably not over,” Hermione said softly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now get going, you need to talk to Ginny.” Ron gave Hermione a sharp look as Harry turned and Disapparated.

Harry missed Ginny. It was that simple. He’d been preoccupied with other things and had other students and professors demanding his time. However, he knew Ginny wasn’t just pouting over that. It wasn’t the sort of thing that bothered Ginny, besides she had been snapping at everyone, not just him. Dean had suggested one night that it was simply women’s problems and Hermione had told him off soundly and actually sent him to his room. Dean spent the rest of the week warning all of the boys not to annoy the Head Girl if they wanted to keep their manhood. Harry hadn’t paid any attention to Dean anyway.

Wishing he had the map to tell him where he could find Ginny, Harry wandered aimlessly up to the Quidditch Pitch. She might still be there. Harry couldn’t put his finger on when she’d started acting strangely. Ginny had just become gradually more withdrawn. Harry cursed himself for not paying attention earlier. She’d been annoyed when he went to see Ron the week before and he had attributed it to what George insisted on referring to as the ‘monthly dragon’. Harry could no longer pretend that Ginny was simply irritable due to … well hormones. Harry grimaced as he wondered for the hundredth time how he was supposed to refer to … these things.

He sighed heavily as he pushed open the door to the Gryffindor Quidditch changing room. He wanted to talk to Ginny, tell her his good news and Merlin, he wanted to kiss her. In fact, if he was honest with himself he wanted to do more than kiss her. Thoughts of her crept into his mind several times a day and he’d awoken from more than one dream feeling particularly flushed. Ginny had apparently been too busy to spare him more than a peck on the cheek. Everyone had been looking at him sympathetically for days now. ‘Not in the mood’, Ginny said last night and picked up a book, retreating to her dorm room. Seamus muttered that she was in a mood, it just wasn’t a friendly one.

Harry stopped in front of his old locker. The words ‘Harry Potter, Seeker, Captain’ still gleamed brightly across the door. He reached out and traced the letters thinking how awed he’d been the first time he had seen his name etched there. It had been a lot further above his head then. Now the words were at eye level. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around at the semi-dark room. A lone lamp flickered on one wall and Harry lit another before taking a look around. One of Oliver’s old battle plans leant against one of the walls. It was covered in graffiti that Harry recognised as Fred and George’s writing. A banner hung limply above it, a Lion asleep in the top corner. There were a couple of practice brooms leaning in one corner. A pair of beaters gloves stuck out of the top of the locker marked Peakes and a Quaffle sat on one of the benches.

A set of discarded Quidditch robes were draped over the back of a chair. They hadn’t cleaned up very well after the match they’d played right after the battle; the game they’d played for Fred. The house-elves obviously hadn’t done so either. There had been a lot to do at the castle it was no surprise the Quidditch changing rooms were left uncleaned. Harry sighed heavily as he picked up the robes and threw them in the hamper in the corner. He stowed the Quaffle in the box at the bottom of the broom cupboard before stuffing the brooms inside. As he straightened the limp banner a practice Snitch lazily flew out of its folds. Harry half-heartedly snatched at it but it darted out of his reach and fluttered up to sit on top of his locker. Harry shook his head; his earlier good mood dissipated, sucked away by the stale air in the Gryffindor locker room with its memories of the last seven years.

Well six really; he had no memories from last year, Harry reflected bitterly. He sighed heavily and flopped back on one of the benches and stared up at the ceiling absently. The faint scent of sweaty bodies and unwashed socks lingered in the air, embedded in the fabric of the room. The Snitch fluttered lazily off the top of his locker and buzzed above his head. Harry amused himself by watching it dart about as if tempting him to jump up and catch it. His mind wandered back to Ginny. Harry cursed himself for being too busy to stop and find out what was bothering her. Chocolate fixed only some things.

Taking a deep breath, Harry hauled himself off the bench and headed for the exit. The Snitch flew past him as he put one hand on the door and he snatched the whirling golden ball out of the air with his other hand. A smile played on his lips as he let the door bang shut behind him and stepped out onto the pitch.

Darkness was falling and Harry knew that the chance of Ginny still being on the pitch was slim but he just wanted to stand there for a moment. The wings of the Snitch fluttered against his hand and he let it go, watching as it flew off into the stands. Harry stared up at the hoops and listened to the faded echo of years of games; the students cheering, the players furiously battling for dominance. Suddenly Harry couldn’t imagine this properly fulfilling his life. Flying was his passion and he and Ron had dreamed of being professional Quidditch stars. Quidditch wasn’t what Harry wanted any more. He didn’t want to be in the spotlight; the people cheering for him, constantly under scrutiny the way sports stars often were. The idea was unsettling. Harry wanted to do something where he could go about his life without a camera in his face; something where he could help people.

Harry wanted to keep fighting. There were still too many wrongs in the world. The Ministry was still fragile and full of fear. The world needed to be made safe for Teddy and all the other children who had been left without parents by the brutal and bloody war. Harry fingered the Auror badge in his pocket. Quidditch was brilliant but it wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Harry pictured the smiling couple in the Muggle photograph on his bedside table and he heard his father saying they were proud of him. He didn’t have to do anything else — not to make them proud; not to make their sacrifice a worthy one. One by one the faded images of his parents, his godfather and Remus fluttered through Harry’s mind as he stood on the silent Quidditch pitch. They weren’t the real, almost solid images from the stone, just an echo of his memory, unmoving and silent. Harry stared into the distance. Would he honour Sirius’s and Remus’s sacrifice by pretending his job was done? They were gone now and only Harry was left.

Standing in the middle of the empty Quidditch pitch Harry felt the enormity of being alone. A breeze ruffled his hair, blowing away the last glimpses in his mind’s eye of his mother, father and godfather. The Snitch winked back into his sight; it seemed to bring Remus with it until he, too, faded back into the comfortable places in Harry’s mind. The last thing Remus said to him was that he tried to make a world in which Teddy could be happier. Harry wasn’t alone. Remus had left Teddy behind and now it was Harry’s job to make the world a happy place for Teddy.

“It’s you and me, kid,” Harry whispered to Teddy on the empty pitch. “We’ve still got time to make our dads proud.” Harry patted his Auror badge; his decision made. He thought wryly that everyone else had seen it coming before he did — seen what he would choose to do. He didn’t have to do anything anymore, but he wanted to.

Harry shivered as a cool wind whipped around the stadium, the light breeze had been only a warning that the wind was about to pick up. It wove icy fingers through his hair and burrowed beneath his cloak, seeking to find its way to his skin to suck out the warmth. Scanning the pitch for the practice Snitch, Harry pulled his cloak around his body and squinted. Unable to see more than a few feet in front of him in the gathering gloom he pulled out his wand.

“Lumos,” he muttered, sweeping it in a wide arc in an attempt to find the elusive golden ball. A sudden movement caught his eye. At first he thought it was the Snitch but then he realised that the glint was more red than gold; sitting up in the bottom row of the stands was Ginny Weasley.

She shifted slightly as Harry’s wand-light rested on her for a moment before he lowered it.

“Nox,” he murmured. He stood uncertainly for a moment before turning to make his way across the pitch and up to the spot in the stands where Ginny sat. Harry lowered himself onto the seat beside her. The two of them sat there, not touching, in silence, as the sky grew darker and the stars began to come out.

“You’re probably missing dinner,” Ginny said quietly after a long time. It was long enough that Harry’s fingers had gone numb and he could barely feel his toes as he sat motionless in the stands.

“Oh, what’s a little food here and there,” shrugged Harry. “Food’s overrated.”

“You never miss meals,” said Ginny.

“First time for everything,” replied Harry, feeling slightly desperate that he had nothing more important to say. The Snitch whizzed by and Harry followed it with is eyes until it vanished into the darkness. His eyes rested on Ginny who stared across the pitch, unseeing, her eyes glazing over. She looked lost and her teeth were chattering. Harry pulled out his wand and cast a warming charm over them both, cursing himself for not doing it sooner. It wasn’t very effective but it would be better than nothing since Ginny insisted on sitting out here in the cold.

“It’s getting cold,” he said unnecessarily. Ginny nodded absently. Harry twirled his wand thoughtfully, peering at Ginny in the dim light. She stared straight ahead, her hands relentlessly twisting in the hem of her sleeves.

“Lumos,” muttered Harry again, throwing the light on Ginny’s face. She flinched a little at the light but remained silent. “You’ve not been sleeping properly.” Harry saw the shadows under her eyes and the glassy stare as he eyes looked vacantly over the grassy pitch. Ginny shook her head slowly.

“I have a lot of work to do,” she murmured. Harry waited for her to continue but she did not say anything more.

“Ginny …” Harry trailed off. He had no idea what to say. Ginny turned to look at him and shifted her features into a grimace that Harry was sure was supposed to be a smile.

“You don’t want to miss any more of dinner,” she said. “If you hurry you could get pudding.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry insisted. “Not without you. What is going on Ginny?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Ginny insisted, “taking a breather … just a bit busy that’s all.”

“Busy with what?” pressed Harry. She seemed oddly distant and he struggled to understand what was going through her mind.

“Just … things …” Ginny waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the castle. “Don’t worry about it.” The frustration of the last couple of weeks caught up with Harry and he ran his hand raggedly through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it?” he asked her incredulously waving his lit wand erratically. “We’ve been through this. I get to worry, okay?” Ginny shook her head.

“You have enough to worry about,” she said quietly. Harry made an exasperated noise halfway between a sigh and a snort.

“Yes, I do,” he ground out, “and right now one of them is you. You’ve been moody and distant and snappy.”

“Full of compliments aren’t you?” Ginny snapped. “Would you like to pass comment on my hair or dress sense while you are at it?” Harry groaned.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. Ginny continued as if he had not spoken.

“Still, I don’t know that I can expect anything more,” she said bitterly. “You are male.” Harry gaped at her; never had Ginny been the type of girl who exhibited such blatant sexism. He expected it from Ron and George, the off colour jokes and the silly comments that didn’t really mean anything but this was entirely unexpected and completely out of character.

“You always liked that about me,” he attempted a joke but Ginny wasn’t laughing.

“If I am so unpleasant, why are you here?” she asked him pointedly. Harry shook his head resignedly and cancelled the Lumos, plunging them into darkness.

“I didn’t say you were unpleasant,” he sad quietly.

“But I am,” Ginny whispered. She sounded so lost and Harry couldn’t bear it any more. Risking physical injury, he pocketed his wand and reached out to pull her to him. She resisted for only a moment before she wound her arms around his neck with a sob and crawled into his lap. Harry held her close while she cried, feeling the tension drain out of her and her body going limp, moulding to his own.

He ran his hands soothingly up and down her back and stroked her hair whispering nonsense to her the way he did to Teddy whenever the baby fussed. Harry pulled his cloak around the two of them, stretching it as far as he could. He had no idea how long Ginny cried but he was almost completely numb with cold by the time he realised she was breathing the deep, even breathing of sleep.

It was with difficulty that he managed to get to his feet and shuffled down from the Quidditch stands. He knew he could not make it back to the castle carrying Ginny so he stumbled into the Gryffindor change rooms instead. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse when he saw the practice Snitch hovering by the door. It zoomed in when he pushed the door open with his shoulder. He then suspected it had a Homing Charm on it in case the training Seeker was really that bad at catching the Snitch.

Harry lay Ginny down on one of the benches and covered her with his cloak, using a set of Quidditch robes snatched from his own locker as a pillow. Harry sat down on the floor next to her and smoothed the hair back from her face. Now that he had some measure of light he could see just how pale she was. She was frowning slightly in her sleep and Harry traced her features with his fingertips partly to remind himself what she felt like and partly to smooth away the frown lines on her forehead. That she had not woken during all the movement told Harry just how tired she must be and how much sleep she had been missing trying to catch up.

He bent to kiss her softly and she whimpered as his lips left her skin, her brow furrowing again. Harry stroked his fingers through her hair and whispered to her until the lines melted away. He stayed there, watching over her as she slept, knowing this was the first time she’d slept properly in a while, the shadows under her eyes and her pallor indicated she’d not been coping with something. Either she was very good at hiding it or Harry really hadn’t noticed. He felt ill at the thought.

Maybe she had a right to be mad at him. He had been rather busy. After the first few days of awed admiration from afar the younger students had taken to flocking around Harry like baby Thestrals around a piece of raw meat. Harry made a silent list in his head of all the demands on his time and realised that although she hadn’t complained, Ginny had started to slip further and further down the list.

Hermione wanted him to read books about werewolves, professors wanted his opinion on various small problems and other students constantly asked him questions. Seamus and Dean had engaged him in more than one activity during his spare time and even Dora had probably gotten more time than Ginny. How had so many people been able to put their demands before her? Harry’s heart clenched as he looked down at his girlfriend. She looked so frail and small. He made a silent vow with himself to be more attentive from now on and he started by sitting up to watch over her while she slept.

*****************

Harry awoke slumped over next to the bench on which Ginny lay, still sleeping soundly. She looked a little more peaceful now, as if the sleep had worked its magic and made her less careworn and more serene. He sat up and rubbed his neck. It made a rasping sound in the stillness. He checked his watch. They hadn’t been asleep long; there was still time to get back to the castle before curfew.

“Ginny,” Harry said quietly. “Wake up.” She mumbled a little and turned over. Harry tried again and Ginny finally woke up and looked at him blearily.

“I’m mad at you,” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Ginny interrupted, sitting up abruptly. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Harry reached out a hand and ran it through her hair.

“I’ve been busy,” he said. “I didn’t mean to … forget about you.”

“You didn’t,” Ginny shook her head.

“What’s been going on?” Harry pressed when Ginny stopped talking. Ginny sighed and looked down at her hands, her hair falling around her face. Harry lifted himself up to sit on the bench.

“Just a bit of … well, I have a lot of work to do and I was having trouble keeping up,” she said, still not looking at him. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I think it’s a bit more than that,” he said. “You blamed me for being male.” Ginny winced.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just … I didn’t … sorry.” Harry reached out and pushed her hair back.

“Ginny,” he pleaded, “what is it, really? Dean’s a fan of the um … hormones theory but I know I isn’t that.” She looked up at him then.

“I’m so far behind,” she said. “I don’t think I learnt a single thing last year. Now I’m trying to do seventh year and I didn’t really do my sixth.” Harry hadn’t even thought about that. Ginny continued.

“Luna’s all right,” Ginny stared absently at the Lion snoring on the banner. “She missed half the year but not only did she spend the summer studying but Neville’s helping her. The Ravenclaws have got a study group going in any case, for people who need a bit of catching up but … I think the only person who missed as much school as me was Neville and he got a sixth year — however badly it ended.”

“I can help,” Harry started. “Well … Hermione-”

“Has been busy with you,” Ginny smiled and put a soft hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

“Don’t be,” Ginny said. “I know what you are both doing is important. I’m just being selfish.”

“No, you’re not,” said Harry. He turned to face her directly, clutching both her hands in his. “I have been preoccupied. I have been busy and the younger kids … well they’re over their shyness aren’t they? But none of it’s been so important that I couldn’t be with you. When was the last time I told everyone else to bugger off so I could spend time with my girl?”

“But Teddy-”

“Is safe now,” Harry assured her. “You should have seen Hermione. She was brilliant. Moses Brown tried to say how there was no way of knowing if a werewolf offspring would be a werewolf and it was better to be safe than sorry and Hermione just hauled out all these case studies and some sort of genetic thing that Pomfrey signed off on for her as being correct and ... well I didn’t understand half of it but you should have seen Ron. He just stared at her the whole time with this goofy grin on his face. He kept turning to me and whispering ‘isn’t she brilliant?’ Like I don’t know that, you know.”

“She convinced them then?”

“Oh yeah,” said Harry enthusiastically. “Did you know that studies of werewolf descendants are really sparse because, well … no one wants to admit their parent is a werewolf — not with the bad rap they get. Hermione found all these case studies that some Healer had done at St Mungo’s about how lycanthropy is transmitted and not a single person ever inherited it. She blew that myth completely out of the water with all these charts and graphs and things. Everyone who is a werewolf is one because they were bitten and infected. Old Moses didn’t know what hit him.

“He tried to claim something about how it runs in families and that’s when Hermione just hit him between the eyes. ‘Of course it would!’ she says, ‘because no one does anything for werewolves except shun them. How many werewolves get out and hurt their own families because there is no support for Wolfsbane or assistance to contain them appropriately in their own homes?’ I’m telling you Ginny, she was brilliant; it was like watching an artist or something.

“Not only did she prove that lycanthropy isn’t inherited, but she made a case for werewolf rights and treatment as well! Kingsley is sure to offer her a job after this. She would be brilliant arguing cases before the Wizengamot, but I reckon she wants to advocate first. Probably go to the Department for Magical Creatures.”

“She’s going to try and make us join Spew again isn’t she?”

“Merlin, I hope not.”

“It sounds like everything went well then,” Ginny mused. “Bill must be pleased.”

“Well, erm, not as such,” Harry squirmed. “Hermione did a fantastic job proving lycanthropy isn’t inherited, but the Wizengamot probably wasn’t convinced that those attacked like Bill and Lavender aren’t going to turn. The fellow from the Department for Magical Creatures made it sound like Hermione’s facts about transmission meant people like Bill and Lavender were about to turn into werewolves.”

“So, they still want to lock Bill up?”

“Yeah, nearly half the Wizengamot,” admitted Harry. “But they can’t. It didn’t pass. Brown’s not giving up, though. He managed to get some sort of thing passed to inspect medical records or something. They’re ‘still investigating’, whatever that means.”

“Poor Bill,” murmured Ginny.

“I’ll say. He looked furious,” Harry said. “Fleur calmed him down. I do not want to know what they were going to do when they got home. I swear she was all over him like a rash like she used to be, that summer at the Burrow.” Harry shuddered.

“Well at least they’re entitled, I suppose,” Ginny muttered, her face darkening. Harry looked at her sideways.

“Entitled?”

“To shag,” Ginny replied shortly, throwing his cloak off her legs and standing up.

“Erm …” said Harry eloquently.

“Some of us are not, and should not be entitled to such … behaviour,” Ginny muttered as she straightened her clothing. Harry gulped. She knew George had been encouraging him and somehow, she’d seen into his head and knew Harry wanted to act on the increasingly intense thoughts he kept hidden there. Someone must have been teaching her Legilimency.

“Absolutely,” he murmured, standing up and trying to look innocent, “definitely not.”

“Oh don’t give me that,” Ginny glared at him, arms crossed. “You knew and you didn’t say anything.”

“Knew?” parroted Harry; he was a bit confused because they’d talked about George and his bet. “Of course I knew. You knew I knew.” Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

“Well you never said anything to me,” she huffed. “What do you mean I knew?”

“We talked about it that day on the stairs,” stammered Harry. He remembered telling her George was running a book, that George was … encouraging.

“You haven’t had more than five minutes for me all week and you used every single one of them to try and grope me,” Ginny accused. “When did we ever talk about this?”

“In the summer,” Harry sighed. She had to know, he wasn’t exactly … subtle about things, not the way his body reacted towards her. It was almost as if she was talking about something or someone else.

“The summer?” Ginny almost screeched. “This has been going on since summer?” Harry stared at her.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, thinking back to all he had endured that summer regarding his intentions. “There were a few rough patches and a couple death glares but George is fine with it now.”

“George?” echoed Ginny. “George is fine with this now?”

“Yes, well, he is,” Harry insisted. “Ron is not so much. He knows it’s inevitable but I think he’s fighting it.”

“Ron knows as well?”

“Well, sort of,” Harry glanced away. “He doesn’t know all the details, that’d just be too weird.”

“And I suppose Bill knows too?” scoffed Ginny. “And probably Percy and Charlie as well; I knew it was too good to be true, it’s some sick male game that you play!”

“Don’t be daft!” Harry exclaimed. “There’s no way Percy’s heard about it, but, yeah I think Bill and Charlie ... George told them something, not sure what exactly. They’ve not been openly hostile; which is a good thing.”

“Well, you’d think Bill would have more sense,” grunted Ginny.

“It’s not like he doesn’t understand-”

“Understand?” Ginny looked at him incredulously. “How could anyone possibly understand this?”

“It’s a perfectly normal reaction and you’ve never minded before,” pleaded Harry. This was not going at all how he’d hoped. He was trying to get closer to her, not turn her off him for good. Ginny didn’t appear to be listening to him.

“Never have I met such complete insensitivity from those bunch of … of … galahs before!”

“Galahs?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Picked up some of the Australian slang, huh?” Ginny glowered at him.

“Stay on topic, Potter,” she said coolly.

“Sorry,” he muttered, immediately penitent. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything-”

“Well that’s just lovely,” said Ginny sarcastically. “What if it means something to her?”

“Well, it does mean something, but it’s something good,” Harry tried desperately. “It’s flattering … to get that sort of reaction from a bloke.” Ginny stared at him as if she was going to bore a hole through his skull.

“Flattering?” she screeched. “You believe this sort of carry on is flattering? Which cave did you wander out of?”

“Hey!” Harry protested.

“At least Bill married his fling, I suppose,” Ginny muttered angrily. “I’m not sure he waited but at least he had enough respect …”

“If you want to wait until we get married, that’s fine,” babbled Harry. “In fact, your dad suggested it and he’s very smart, your dad. We should probably take his advice.” Ginny stared up at him.

“Are you completely insane?” she asked him. “You honestly think I am going to wait much longer?”

“But …” Harry sank onto the bench and absentmindedly began to fold his abandoned cloak. “You just all but told me I have a filthy mind. I don’t mean to think about you that way, it just happens. It’s been happening for nearly two years and I can’t just switch it off. I don’t even know what switched it on. It’s probably your hair … or your smell. I love the way you smell and I love watching you fly. I wish I could have watched you fly today. You look brilliant on a broom and your hair just streams out behind you and it’s like a red streak across the sky and when you’ve finished you always look all flushed and excited like flying and Quidditch are the best things in the world.

“Flying is the best feeling in the world, but I don’t want to do that, I’m going to be an Auror, but you probably knew that. Everybody knew that except me I think. But oh, I want to see you fly. I could spend almost all my time just watching you fly. You’re so graceful and the way you throw the Quaffle with your gorgeous hands and I want to spend more time with you because I love how your feet fit so perfectly on the ends of your legs - not that there is anything wrong with your legs, but Merlin, one of the best things about living at your house is watching you walk around barefoot. It’s sort of intimate, you know. I mean you don’t just walk around without shoes on in front of anybody. I’ve missed your feet, and I know that sounds silly but I can’t help it.

“See, now you know, I’ve secretly been harbouring feelings for your feet and that’s just all kinds of weird. I can see why you’d be entirely grossed out. To hear that revelation on top of finding out exactly what goes through my head while I’m kissing you or if I think of you. Yes, I even think it while I am looking at your feet - oh, no wonder you’ve been pissed.”

“Harry,” said Ginny calmly, although she looked rather flushed. “I think perhaps you are pissed. Have you and Ron been at the Firewhisky?”

“I don’t want to switch it off,” Harry told her desperately. He stood up and took a step towards her nervously. “I can control myself, I swear.”

“I know you can,” Ginny murmured, rolling her eyes. “Did it ever occur to you, Harry that I don’t want you to control yourself?”

“But you … you said there are people who aren’t entitled to it,” insisted Harry. “I know, and I’m sorry, but you can trust me I won’t ever-”

“Oh rubbish, you’d better!” Ginny launched herself at him and he found her lips on his, her tongue tracing delicate patterns on his mouth. Harry gave in with a groan. He’d missed her so much and he cradled her tenderly even though he wanted nothing more than to run his hands over her and memorise every inch of her for later.

He could hear Ginny make a funny little noise in her throat and he trembled, wanting to pull her closer, revelling in the feel of her, the smell of her. He pulled back to place kisses on her cheek, her ear, down her neck …

“Oh, and to think I blamed all of mankind for George’s stupidity,” Ginny suddenly sighed as her fingers clutched at Harry’s shoulders. “And I have been missing out on this …”

“Wait,” said Harry, lifting his head. “What has George’s stupidity got to do with anything? He runs books on everything, which may not be the strictest of morality, but he’s hardly responsible for my depravity.”

“Hmpf,” Ginny grunted, using her hands to guide Harry back to her neck. “It’s not your depravity that concerns me, it’s George’s.”

“Don’t think about George,” muttered Harry. “Just … just …” but what he had been about to say he had no idea because Ginny chose that moment to press herself against him in an attempt to attack his neck with her lips and his mind went blank. He came back to himself only after he’d lifted her up and pushed her against his locker door. Harry lifted his head and drank in the sight of her, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. He could feel the warmth where she had clasped her legs around his waist and her skirt was pushed alarmingly high on her hips. Harry flushed as he realised he’d been stroking his hands along her thighs.

“Don’t …” muttered Ginny, “don’t stop …”

“Wait,” Harry said, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. “Hang on, why is George stupid?” Ginny moaned.

“I don’t want to think about George and Angelina,” she murmured against his neck, her fingers tangling loosely in the hair at the base of his neck. Harry pulled back with a gasp and with some effort settled Ginny’s feet on the floor. She wasn’t very compliant but she must have sensed he was struggling with something and stood in front of him, her head tilted to the side questioningly.

“Have you been talking about George and Angelina,” he asked, “the whole time?”

“Yes,” Ginny’s eyes narrowed, “what did you think I was talking about?”

“I thought … I figured you must have … oh hell,” groaned Harry. Ginny giggled. She began tracing the outline of his collarbone.

“Come on,” she wheedled, “tell me.” Harry’s breath hitched as her fingers found his pulse and then strayed southward again.

“I thought … I thought … youweretalkinaboutme,” he said as quickly as possible. Ginny raised an eyebrow. Harry took a deep breath and made the effort to speak slower. “You said that some people shouldn’t be entitled to shag. Well, its pretty much all I’ve been thinking about lately and … well ...” He gestured lamely at nothing.

“Have you been thinking about shagging, Harry Potter?” asked Ginny, grinning mischievously. Harry threw her a dark look.

“What do you know about George and Angelina?” was all he said. “How did you find out?”

“Oh, so you do know?” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest.

“Yes, I do, and believe me; he got a not-very-pleasant lecture about his behaviour from Bill,” Harry retorted. “I got it too, and believe me he did not go easy!”

“Well,” huffed Ginny. “I got an Owl from Angelina on Thursday.”

“Oh,” Harry gulped and then tried to continue nonchalantly. “I didn’t know you and Angelina were friends.” Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

“She was my Quidditch Captain once upon a time,” she said silkily. “Something happened to her Seeker and I replaced him and we became quite good friends.” Harry smiled sheepishly.

“I … well, I knew that. It’s just-”

“Girls are different, Harry,” Ginny said shortly. Harry nodded and remained silent. “So she and George had an interesting weekend and then he took off. No note, no word, no contact for two days after they shared something so wonderful she was willing to tell me all about how good my brother is at the act of sexual intercourse. I’m telling you, Harry, he’s practically a god.” Ginny rolled her eyes. Harry shuddered.

“All right, I get the picture,” he said hastily.

“So what’s he playing at then?” demanded Ginny suddenly. “Since you know so much about it, perhaps you can explain it to me?”

“Well, it’s because of Fred,” Harry began, running a hand through his hair. “She’s Fred’s girl.”

“Was,” said Ginny shortly. “Fred’s dead.” Harry winced.

“George took advantage of her,” Harry sighed. “You should have heard him talk about her. You should have seen him. It was like there was a sort of peace that came over him when he was thinking about her and he even said it; when he was with her he felt whole. He knows he took advantage of the fact he looks like Fred though. It was like … like he grabbed at her because she made him feel, less alone, I suppose. She knows how he feels; she’s the only one who knows.”

“And he thinks she doesn’t want him?” asked Ginny slowly. Harry nodded.

“He feels awful because, well they were drunk and he took advantage of her,” he sighed and turned away. “Bill really did have a chat with us, you know. I think George is starting to realise he has to pull himself together before he makes more monumental stuff-ups like that one. I don’t think he has the courage to face her and apologise, yet.”

“Oh, but it wasn’t a stuff-up,” cried Ginny. Harry turned to face her again. “It wasn’t, Angelina knew exactly what she was doing. She said she felt alive for the first time in ages; like she wasn’t just marking time until her own death. She was only drunk the first time! The rest of the time she knew exactly what she was doing, she didn’t want it to end and George, that idiot, just upped and left. You know what she’s thinking? That George is regretting the whole thing! All she wants is him because he can make her feel whole again. She’s devastated.”

“So … they feel the same way?” Harry drew his brows together. Ginny nodded.

“She wanted to make a new start,” she said quietly. “When George walked out without a word, without a note, he broke her heart all over again. I could see tear stains on the parchment. She wanted to make a new start but she’s angry right now because he walked out on her. If he walked in the door tomorrow I don’t think she would know whether to hug him or hex him.”

“Whole thing’s a mess,” muttered Harry.

“And that is exactly why some people aren’t entitled to shag,” added Ginny. “They can’t be trusted with their-” Harry covered her mouth with his own. He did not need her to finish that thought.

Ginny responded eagerly and it wasn’t long before Harry found himself backed against his locker, his shirt somewhere on the floor and his glasses askew. Somewhere, dimly, in the back of his brain, he realised Ginny had given him the green light to act on all those delicious dreams. His hands had crept halfway up her back, under her shirt and her hands had strayed to his belt when he began to push back until they reached the bench again and stumbled into it, falling over ungracefully. Harry scraped his shins and Ginny lay half on the floor, half on the bench, holding her head and her skirt around her waist.

“Um … maybe … that is,” stammered Harry. He stopped, unable to form a coherent sentence. Ginny opened her eyes. She swung her legs down and sat up gingerly.

“Find your shirt, Harry,” she said.

“Are you all right?”

“Just find your shirt,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” Harry replied softly, aware that the moment was probably over.

“This is the Quidditch changing room,” Ginny muttered, getting to her feet and pulling her skirt down. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to … experience this for the first time in a smelly room full of Quidditch gear. I mean I know we both love Quidditch, but …” She looked up at him shyly. Harry had pulled his shirt on and was fumbling for the buttons when small hands stopped his progress.

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” he said.

“Don’t do it up,” Ginny said, smiling, running one soft hand inside his shirt and up his chest. “If you leave it open it’ll save time.”

“But, you just said you don’t want to keep going,” protested Harry. “And that is fine, perfectly fine.”

“I didn’t say that,” smiled Ginny, sliding her hand around his neck and pressing against him. “I said not in here.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “You want to … go find somewhere, um, now?” He looked down at her hopefully. Ginny nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips. He smiled against them and kissed her back thoroughly before grabbing his discarded cloak in one hand and hers in the other. Dousing the lamp and plunging the room into darkness, Harry shouldered his way out of the changing room and pulled Ginny back towards the castle. She giggled as she trotted along behind him.

“You’re very keen,” she observed, giggling harder. Harry turned and looked at her closely in the dim light cast by the moon and stars.

“If this is too fast …” he trailed off, overcome once more with doubt and confusion. Ginny shook her head.

“Stop second-guessing, Harry,” she said. “Just act.” Harry didn’t answer her, only dragged her faster back to the castle.

They reached the great oak doors of the Entrance Hall, panting with exertion and flushed in spite of the chill air. Harry checked his watch, they still had a few minutes to go before curfew and he pressed a hand to the door to open it. He had only opened it an inch when a shout reached their ears. They both turned to see George, stumbling up the path, practically dragging someone with him.

Harry rushed down to help him, fearing the worst. When he got there he realised George was practically carrying Hermione up the path to the castle.

“Oh, thank goodness I caught you,” puffed George. “Here.” He thrust Hermione into Harry’s arms. Harry stumbled under her sudden weight.

“Hermione?”

“Oh! Harry! Hello!” Hermione grinned up at him and looped her arms around his neck.

“She’s a little …”

“Inebr-inee-neeb … I’m pissed, Harry!” Hermione flung one arm into the air and let out a loud shriek of laughter. Clearly she found it very amusing. Harry didn’t. He found himself very off balance as he tried to stop her from tipping over.

“Can you take care of her? I have to get back to Ron,” muttered George. “I left him in the Shrieking Shack throwing up onto his shoes.”

“You came through the passageway?”

“Yeah,” nodded George, “it’s a good thing it wasn’t blocked!”

“Okay… well be careful going back past the Whomping Willow,” Harry called back dejectedly as George jogged off into the night. Harry shook his head. He sighed heavily, feeling deflated. It was not good timing.

“Harry?” a weak voice came from somewhere below his chin. “Harry, I think I’m going to vomit.” Harry managed to point Hermione away from him and toward a garden bed just in time. Ginny padded up behind them as he was rubbing Hermione’s back softly with one hand and holding her hair back with the other as she leaned her forehead against the ground, groaning.

“Is that, Hermione?” Ginny asked incredulously. Harry nodded blithely.

“I think she and Ron may have gotten a little too much ‘Happy Birthday,’” he grimaced as Hermione retched again into the rose bushes.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione moaned, “I think we drank too much.”

“No kidding,” muttered Harry, draping one of her arms over his shoulders and turning back to the castle. “Try not to spew until we get you up to the bathroom.”

“It’s not spew.” Hermione tried to stand up straight and failed. “It’s S.P.E.W. and I don’t like Myrtle’s bathroom. There are cats in there.”

“We’re not going to Myrtle’s bathroom,” muttered Harry.

“Where are we going?” Ginny asked worriedly as she pushed the door open for Harry to drag Hermione into the Entrance Hall.

“Prefect’s bathroom,” Harry said shortly, directing Hermione away from a suit of armour.

“Hey!” Hermione protested loudly, pointing over-agressively back at the plinth as she wrestled against Harry’s firm grip. “I was talking to him!”

“Shhhhhhh!” Harry clamped a hand over her mouth. “D’you want to get caught?”

“Noooooo,” said Hermione solemnly, her blood-shot, glassy gaze becoming doe-eyed and innocent. “We do not want to get caught. Harry, we almost never get caught … remember that time we got caught on the Astronomy Tower?” She giggled. Loudly.

“Shhhhhhhhhh!” Harry hissed desperately. Hermione threw her arms out and spun around.

“Don’t deny it, Harry!” she trilled. “Hey everybody, guess what? I was up on the Astronomy Tower with Harry Potter!” Hermione started laughing uproariously. Harry slapped one hand over her mouth before grabbing her arms and steering her towards the bottom step. Ginny raised one eyebrow at them as she pulled Hermione up onto the first step of the Grand Staircase.

“It was in our first year,” huffed Harry. “I was eleven and we were delivering Norbert to Charlie’s mates!” Ginny giggled and yanked Hermione’s arm.

“Hey!” protested Hermione. “I can walk on my own.” Harry shook his head and resumed pushing her up the stairs while Ginny dragged from in front. They got to the third landing before Hermione spoke again.

“This is the third floor, Harry!” she whispered, spinning around and clutching his shirt. “We’re not allowed in the third floor corridor … Why is your shirt undone?” She tugged at his collar and peered underneath.

“Never you mind,” said Harry, hastily clutching at his shirt.

“There’s no Horntail!” Hermione gasped suddenly and turned to Ginny, an accusatory look on her face. “You said he had a Horntail tattoo!”

“She’s definitely one for reliving the past on Firewhisky,” Ginny said. She rolled her eyes expressively and tugged the other girl up the next few steps and onto the fourth floor landing.

“I don’t like Horntails!” Hermione proclaimed suddenly. She turned to Harry, wide eyed. “A Horntail tried to kill you! Are you okay? Do need to see … to see, um … Madam Poff … Madam Poof … Madam Pump … the matron?” Harry shook his head.

“No, I’m fine,” he said. “A few more steps and we’re at the bathroom.”

“Are you coming in the bathroom with me?” Hermione suddenly lowered her eyelashes and giggled.

“No,” he said shortly.

“Oh, come on, you’ve done it before,” Hermione pouted, giggling. Harry rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

“Come on,” he muttered, giving her a shove. Hermione turned to Ginny.

“It didn’t mean anything,” she slurred, suddenly seeming to run out of steam. “We only made Polyjuice potion, in the bathroom with the snake tap, you have to believe me!” Ginny patted her arm.

“I know, I know,” she soothed as they stumbled the last few steps to the Prefect’s bathroom. “Here we are, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I had a lovely birthday,” Hermione sighed as Ginny opened the door.

“That’s great, Hermione,” mumbled Harry as he propelled her into the bathroom.

“I’m going to join the Ministry when I’ve finished Hogwarts,” said Hermione, “and Harry’s going to be an Auror, he’s my best friend and so’s Ron, he’s my boyfriend … wow, I have a boyfriend. I never had one before.”

“What about Viktor Krum?” Ginny asked mischievously as she pushed Hermione onto one of the seats.

“Pfffft,” snorted Hermione with a languid wave of her hand. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. I never did with him the things I do with Ron!”

“Yes, well enough of that,” said Ginny briskly. “I already know far more about George’s sexual prowess than I ever needed to, I do not need to hear about Ron’s!”

“How’s Harry’s?” Hermione suddenly asked, lurching out of her seat.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Harry exclaimed. “Drink loosens your tongue doesn’t it?”

“Have you done it yet?” Hermione asked him, swaying to one side. Harry shook his head resignedly.

“And I wouldn’t even be telling you that much if I thought you’d remember this in the morning,” he muttered.

“Oh, I’m going to be sick,” said Hermione and she promptly threw up all over Harry’s shoes.

“Lovely,” Harry said sarcastically, screwing up his face.

“Just take them off,” Ginny sighed, unfastening the clasp on Hermione’s cloak. “I’ll send them to the House Elves with her clothes.”

“She won’t like that,” Harry removed his shoes with a grimace.

“Well, next time she might be considerate enough not to get drunk while I’m busy finding out about your sexual prowess.” Harry blushed and left the room hurriedly as Ginny started to remove Hermione’s shirt.

It was late by the time Ginny got Hermione cleaned up and sober enough to walk up the dormitory stairs. Harry sank into his four-poster and gave himself up to some very pleasant, but ultimately frustrating dreams.