Author's Notes: It took it's sweet time coming out onto the page but chapter 37 finally made it, clawing and twisting it's way into the world. It's not what was expected I am sure but I hope you'll all enjoy the upturn in angst ... presuming you are in the story for the angst ...

Many thanks to my long suffering beta, goingbacktosquareone who has fixed the extreme OOCness and emo moments in this chapter and put up with my pathetic rants.

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Winter set in with a new vigour after that first game of the Quidditch season. The November days grew shorter and darker, the castle providing protection from the howling winds, if not the bitter cold. Hermione started keeping her ink bottles on the mantelpiece in the common room to stop them freezing and Neville moved half the greenhouse into the seventh year boys’ dormitory where he could keep an eye on the plants. Madam Pomfrey was amazed that Harry hadn’t done more damage to his injuries. She kept Harry in the hospital wing for only a day after his Quidditch mishap before she said he was cluttering up her hospital wing, lectured him for half an hour and sent him on his way saying he was very lucky indeed.

Harry and Draco Malfoy maintained an uneasy truce following the Quidditch match, turning in a completed Potions assignment that garnered them an ‘O’. Harry wondered if Malfoy’s overly-friendly actions during the match had been to salvage his Potions grade. For some reason, even though the project was over, neither Harry nor Malfoy attempted to move to sit next to other people during the class.

One afternoon in late November, Harry was lounging on the hearthrug in the Gryffindor common room while Hermione tried in vain to impress upon him the merits of extra study for his NEWT year. Ginny was down at the Quidditch pitch having taken over the training the group of first and second years because Harry wasn’t allowed to fly.

“Sometimes I don’t know why you bothered to come back if you are not going to take things seriously!”

“Hermione,” Harry said patiently as he flicked through one of his text books, idly looking for references to use in a Muggle Studies essay, “I take a lot of things very seriously. Just because they are not the things you would take seriously doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“I don’t say you don’t take anything seriously,” Hermione protested. “I just think you could exert just a little more effort on your studies-”

“Stop picking on me just because you miss Ron,” Harry grumbled.

“Well I didn’t send him to Egypt with Bill,” Hermione muttered, turning the pages in her own text book viciously.

“Neither did I!” Harry protested. “He went all by himself!” Hermione huffed and fell silent.

In an effort to figure out how to track down some of the missing parents Seamus and Dean had listed, Harry had asked Arthur where to start.

“I don’t really know, Harry,” Arthur said thoughtfully as they sat down to eat one evening with Bill and Fleur at the Burrow. “I guess if you know where they went it’d be easier but then you wouldn’t be looking would you?” Harry smiled wryly.

“This one kid … think he’s a Ravenclaw, he has this little tin,” Harry said. “No one knows if it really came from his dad but he reckons it does.”

“What tin is this?” Bill asked.

“Probably a tobacco tin,” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes before swallowing. “I talked to Everard Fingleman and it’s got a lock of hair in it. He said it’s a bit odd because his dad doesn’t smoke. But he’s convinced it came from his dad.”

“How did it get to this … Everard, was it?” George inquired.

“Owl post,” answered Harry, “just turned up one day apparently.”

“Maybe he’s with someone else who does smoke?” George shrugged. “Who’s hair?”

“Dunno,” answered Ron, “says it looks like his dad’s but his mum says he’s daft because she reckons there’s no way his dad got to Egypt.”

“Egypt?” Bill looked up suddenly. Ron nodded, spearing more meat from the platter in the middle of the table.

“This tin, it’s got funny sort of writing on it,” Harry explained, “and his mum says it’s Egyptian.”

“I could come up to Hogwarts and have a look at this tin,” Bill said, “might be able to find something out. It stands to reason, if they’ve been living in hiding they may not realise it’s safe to come back. They may even be having difficulty getting home”

Bill had come to Hogwarts and spoken to Everard. Within days he’d made plans to go to Egypt to try and find out if any of Britain’s missing wizarding folk were still living there in hiding. He left for Egypt with Ron soon afterwards. Percy had promised to look in on George, who was spending half his time inventing crazy joke products that would never sell and the other half pining over Angelina.

“I wrote her a poem,” George confessed to Harry the previous weekend while Harry had been at the Burrow for dinner after visiting Teddy. “It was rubbish.”

“Just talk to her,” Harry shrugged. George looked at him as if he were mad.

“Harry dear,” Molly had interrupted, “are you quite recovered from playing that silly game while still injured?” She peered at him as she set a plate heaped with roast beef and vegetables, dripping with gravy, in front of him.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied. Molly felt his forehead as though he were a small, sick child and harrumphed emphatically.

“I still don’t now what Ginevra was thinking, letting you play,” she said, forcefully placing a pitcher of pumpkin juice on the table. “She blames herself, of course. As well she should, I would think. You could have really hurt yourself. You might have permanently damaged something! And for what, a silly game of Quidditch?” Colour began to rise in Molly’s cheeks, indicating her extreme displeasure.

“It wasn’t for just a game, Mum,” George interjected. “She was playing for a chance with the Harpies.”

“It’s not worth Harry’s health, it’s not even something she needs to do!” Molly protested, stabbing a finger towards George before turning again to Harry. “Madam Pomfrey said you were lucky not to have caused a real problem. She’s still not sure how you managed to play. The pain alone should have stopped you. It’s why she never offers numbing charms, although I understand they are used extensively in the League. There’s more than one player who’s pushed themself beyond the point of reasonable repair by masking the pain. The matron swears she didn’t give you any sort of pain numbing charm to help you through and Merlin knows I asked her until I was blue in the face!” Molly took a deep breath and sighed as she sat in her chair and Harry shared a guilty look with George.

“It’s very worrisome to get called to Hogwarts in the middle of the night because one of your children is injured,” Arthur added as he sat down. “This looks wonderful, Molly dear!”

“But I’m not-”

“As good as,” Molly said, thrusting the basket of bread rolls under his nose and looking at him pointedly. “Professor McGonagall called us straightaway when that nasty creature attacked you. She knew you’d need family with you.”

“I would have been fine,” Harry muttered. “Ginny-”

“Could not have coped alone, Harry,” Arthur interrupted gravely. “She was very upset when we arrived. And no wonder, so much blood …”

“She was very vulnerable,” Molly mused as she took a sip of her drink. “I’ve not seen her so … so … it was as if something had happened; made her … more sensitive to your distress.” Molly looked at Harry thoughtfully over the rim of her goblet and Harry swallowed heavily.

“You know she’s always felt keenly about the pain of others, Molly,” Arthur said patting her hand and spearing a potato with his fork. “This is wonderful gravy, dearest.” Harry hastily tucked into his own meal, murmuring compliments along with Arthur and George.

Harry sighed as he returned from his reverie, wondering if Molly knew the cause of Ginny’s heightened concern that night. He stared at the cover of the Muggle Studies text book. It was an ugly dark green and the title ‘Muggles and their Machines’ was inscribed in gold in flowing script. Life seemed to be going on, unruffled and smooth but he could feel the undercurrents flowing underneath it all. Percy was falsely cheerful but it was obvious he missed Penelope terribly and was suffering from loneliness. George laughed as he reported Stella had set Percy up with a witch but she’d been all lipstick and high heels. Not Percy’s type at all.

Ron seemed unsettled at the shop with George, which was why he’d jumped at the chance to go to Egypt with Bill. Harry suspected Ron was just having a hard time adjusting to being apart from Hermione. Ron loved using Wheezes to prank Harry whenever he stopped by the shop in Diagon Alley and was always willing to show him the new inventions. It was entirely possible Ron just needed to get away from George’s terrible poetry. Fleur had moved into the Burrow to keep Mrs Weasley company while they were gone.

She spends all day just sitting, Arthur had written in a letter to Ginny, asking her to write to her mother more often. She misses her children and I’m so busy trying to help at the Ministry. Please, don’t forget your mother. For her part, Ginny made time to write to her mother almost every day but Harry often watched her struggle to find things to say. Yesterday had been one of those days.

“I just don’t think she wants to hear about Quidditch training,” Ginny said, throwing her quill down in frustration. She was still waiting to hear from the Harpies and had thrown herself relentlessly into training, spending hours out on the pitch with anyone who’d go down there with her to throw Quaffles back and forth. Harry spent some afternoons sitting in the stands just watching her fly.

“She doesn’t want her only daughter to be a Quidditch player,” Ginny continued. “She absolutely let me have it after the game the other day. ‘How could you, Ginevra! Fancy putting Harry at risk for some silly notion of a Quidditch career!’ It took all of us to convince her it was your fault! Honestly, the woman thinks you can do no wrong!”

“What does she want you to do?” Harry asked as he doodled in the columns of his notes. Ginny sighed heavily and put her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands.

“Well, she’s never really been against a career,” she said. “It’s not that exactly. She’s always been very supportive of a witch having a career, being able to support herself. I think it’s just … it’s because of you.”

“Me?” Harry asked indignantly. “What did I do?”

“Nothing bad,” Ginny reached out and smoothed his left shoulder. Harry flinched. It didn’t hurt but he felt very uncomfortable about her touching it. What if she noticed the jagged scars left from the Quintaped and the ugly tear in the new skin? He didn’t see Ginny frown at him but he knew she was.

“Does she think I don’t want you to have a career?” Harry asked. He kept his eyes on his doodling.

“No,” sighed Ginny, “not exactly. It’s more that she thinks you deserve some kind of sainted homemaker to provide you with pipe and slippers.” Harry snorted.

“What on earth would I do with a pipe and slippers?”

“She just wants the best for you like she does for all of us,” Ginny smirked. “You’re lucky she thinks I’m the best thing for you.” Harry looked up at her and smiled.

“She’s not wrong there,” he whispered. Ginny leaned in to give him a kiss. Harry sighed against her mouth and wound one hand into her fiery hair. She reciprocated, a small, soft hand coming up to tangle in the locks of hair at his collar before sliding round to the side of his neck and down.

Harry felt her fingertips glide over the raised angry scar on his neck and pulled away. He studied the wood grain on the table, not looking at Ginny. He knew she was looking sadly at him because she did that every time he pulled away from her embrace when she got to close to the scars from the Quintaped.

It was pathetic, Harry decided. He had countless other scars and she had seen them all, traced every single one of them with her fingers and kissed the length of them, but she hadn’t seen these ones. He was grateful for winter and the excuse it gave him to wear long sleeves, scarves and gloves.

“Harry,” Ginny said softly. Harry didn’t want to look at her; answer her questions. He fiddled restlessly with his quill.

“I’ll write to your mum tonight, if you like,” he said, sliding her parchment across the table. He reached for the ink bottle, his left arm stretching out in front of Ginny and the shirt sleeve riding up a little. Harry closed his fingers around the ink bottle just as she closed her fingers around his wrist. Harry stilled, staring at her fingers clutched around his bare wrist.

He watched mesmerised as Ginny used her other hand to pry the ink bottle from his fingers and spread his hand out to trace the scars that ran across the back of his hand and around onto his palm. He shivered at her touch.

“Does Madam Pomfrey think they’ll fade?” Ginny asked him quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry answered in a husky voice. “It’ll take longer since I ripped so many of them open.” Ginny’s fingers had moved to trace the scars that nearly encircled his wrist. Her fingers danced over his pulse making his heart beat faster.

“She gave you an ointment to use?” Ginny persisted as her nimble fingers deftly undid the button on the cuff of his shirt. Harry squirmed uncomfortably. They were in the middle of the common room and not only was she touching the scars he hid so carefully from her but she was exposing them for the entire room to see. Harry pulled his arm away, tucking it into his side and looking furtively around the common room to see if anyone had noticed.

“She gave me ointment, yes,” he said, straightening the parchment with the beginning of Molly’s letter.

“Any trouble putting it on?” Ginny asked lightly, handing him the ink bottle. Harry shook his head and bent over the letter, determinedly writing an amusing anecdote about Dora chasing a Bowtruckle behind Hagrid’s hut.

The truth was Harry wasn’t having a great deal of success with the ointment on his shoulder but asking for help meant showing it to someone and Harry felt strangely reluctant to expose the ugly red, raised marks that now adorned his arm and shoulder. He found himself staring into the fire, the Muggle Studies text book lay forgotten on the hearth rug.

A commotion at the portrait hole drew his attention. It was Gerald and Gilbert Chumley — arguing loudly.

“I think it’s just beastly of you!” Gilbert shouted, tears in his eyes.

“I’m just stating reasonable fact,” Gerald replied. “If we are to move into a regular neighbourhood then it follows that we should become regular people.”

“I don’t want to go home to some stupid flat,” Gilbert screeched. “I want to go home to our little house with all our things and all Dad’s things …”

“It’s magical,” Gerald said flatly. “Do you really expect mother to remain there?”

“She doesn’t want to leave, either!” Gilbert cried. “This is going to be the worst Christmas ever!”

“Come now, Gilbert,” Gerald said in an annoying paternal tone. “Nothing will be achieved with tears. I am sure it will not be as bad as you think. I believe we will enjoy returning to our normal roots — our maternal heritage. It has been a lark experiencing father’s world and now we can return to the real world.”

“I hate you!” Gilbert screamed before tearing up the stairs and banging the dormitory door closed with a resounding crash.

Gerald sighed and took a cursory look at the parchment in his hands before discarding it in a nearby rubbish bin and exiting the common room. Harry leapt to his feet and fished the parchment out of the bin.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed. “Should you be reading that?” Harry shrugged and spread the crumpled parchment out on a nearby table.

My Darling Boys,

I wanted to write and let you know what has been going on here at home while you have been away at school. I hope you are both well and minding your manners the way I taught you. It’s strange not having you here but I know you are in the best place and learning all the things your father wished to teach you.

There has been no word on your father’s whereabouts. Aunt Gloria has done all she can but says the Ministry place is just too confused at the moment and they simply don’t know where your father is or when he was last seen. Gilbert, honey, I know you wanted to see him again but I just don’t know what to tell you. I’m not giving up but there is little I can do. He would have contacted us by now if he was able. A part of me will always hope but maybe we have to move on, my dears?

And now I come to the sad news of this letter. I’m packing up this little house. It is in your father’s name and his Galleons paid for it. The goblins aren’t getting paid and haven’t since your father vanished. They need to settle the account. I cannot pay, I have barely enough for your tuition and food with the money I make at the café in the village and even they have let me go because business is not as brisk in the winter. I will probably be able to pick that up again in the spring, they say.

I’ve found us a dear little flat. It’s not so much in the village as in town but that will be a new excitement all its own, won’t it boys? It’s not magical, of course, but we’ll do our best in with the Muggles, ‘eh? I’m sure I can show you the ropes; it’s not at all hard. I can’t wait to see you for Christmas. I just know you’re going to love living in the flat. It’s got a little bedroom for you and a wonderful view on the days the factory isn’t going.

I love you, I’m counting down the days until Christmas holidays, Love, Mum.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Hermione cried.

“Thought we shouldn’t be reading it?” Harry smirked at her. Hermione merely sniffed and turned away.

“It’s awful,” Hermione muttered, beginning to pace. “She’s lost her husband and now her home and her job. How will she keep sending the boys here? Gerald is still so resistant but he’s actually a very talented wizard, Harry. I’ve seen him practicing some of his Transfiguration homework. He’s probably gifted in that area.”

“I hope Bill has some luck in Egypt,” Harry said, folding the parchment carefully. “We’ve got to do something. It’s frustrating just sitting around, waiting.”

“You’re not just sitting around,” Hermione said patiently. “I know how much effort you’ve been putting into fixing up Grimmauld Place. How is it all going?”

“You’ve no idea how odd it is to see Kreacher excited,” Harry laughed. He’s been working like a demon. I keep telling him to slow down but …”

“I hope he’s not overworked, Harry.” Hermione eyed him disapprovingly. Harry rolled his eyes.

“He’s not, Hermione,” he said patiently. “He’s enjoying the work and he’s talking about having the children there to brighten the place up. I think Teddy’s softened him up.”

“Is Andromeda coping without him there so much?” Hermione sank down onto the couch in front of the fireplace. Harry joined her, stretching his feet out towards the warmth.

“I think she is,” he replied. “She’s stronger now than she was right … after and Teddy’s getting older. I think she takes him over to see Molly a fair bit. They probably spoil him to pieces. I’m glad he doesn’t have to stay in a Children’s Home though. I know that sounds dreadful, I mean, I plan to start one! It’s just … I’m glad he’s got family who love him.”

“It doesn’t sound bad,” Hermione said softly. “No one wants children in a cold, impersonal orphanage or something.” Harry sighed heavily.

“I don’t want Grimmauld Place to be like that,” he said distantly. “How do you make it like a home instead of like … like …”

“An institution?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “What do I know about it?”

“I think the most important thing is love, Harry,” Hermione said. She laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Well, I only have to convince Kreacher to get rid of Mrs Black in the entrance and find someone to run it,” Harry said softly. “I don’t think Kreacher’s quite the one for the job.” Hermione snorted and Harry laughed. They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the common room growing louder as it filled with students coming inside from the lengthening shadows.

“I miss Ron,” Hermione sighed suddenly. Harry looked down at her. She was staring into the fire and she looked small and sad.

“He’ll be back soon,” Harry said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “He hasn’t gone for long.”

“No, it’s not that he’s in Egypt,” Hermione shook her head. “It’s that he’s not here and I can’t see him every day.”

“Yeah,” said Harry heavily. “I know what you mean.”

“You have Ginny,” was all Hermione said.

“It’s not the same,” Harry replied. “And anyway, I didn’t have her all last year. I know what you mean.”

“Then why are you shutting her out?” Hermione asked, her head still on his shoulder. Harry stiffened. He forced himself to relax.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said casually.

“How’s your shoulder?” Hermione asked. Harry was glad she was still looking into the fire and he fixed his eyes there as well.

“It’s fine,” Harry replied. Hermione snorted.

“Any problem with the ointment?”

“No.”

“Why won’t you show anyone?” Hermione lifted her head and he could feel her gaze on him.

“Well I don’t normally go around taking my shirt off,” Harry attempted a laugh, “especially not in winter.”

“You cover your hand and your neck,” Hermione observed.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m sick of people looking at my scars,” Harry muttered.

“No one notices them, Harry,” Hermione said, “least of all Ginny.”

“You’ve really lost your mind,” Harry grumbled.

“You’re pushing her away,” Hermione said forcefully. Harry opened his mouth but Hermione cut him off. “Don’t think she hasn’t noticed.”

“What has she said?” Harry forced himself to sound casual.

“She hasn’t said anything,” Hermione scoffed. “I can see it.”

Harry said nothing, staring into the fire absently. What Hermione said was true. It had been all over school that he’d been attacked by Hagrid’s Quintaped and all the first and second years who’d stopped staring at him had taken to staring at him again. Harry couldn’t walk through the corridors, eat a meal or sit in the library without feeling as if half the school was watching him. He felt like everyone was peering at him, wanting to find the evidence of his encounter. There was nothing cool or remotely interesting about the bite scars on his arm. Harry took to wishing people would stare at his forehead and shied away from everyone, usually studying in the common room and often retreating to his dormitory.

“I know I’m not exactly into hanging out with everyone right now,” Harry admitted.

“I don’t mean hanging out with everyone,” Hermione said gently. “I mean Ginny.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry protested. “I hang out with Ginny all the time.” Hermione shook her head slowly.

“I saw how you two were that week in the hospital wing,” she said softly. “You were closer than you’ve ever been.”

Harry looked away from Hermione’s penetrating gaze. It was true enough. Harry had felt overwhelmed by the feelings he experienced when he had woken up in the hospital wing that first morning to find Ginny sitting next to his bed. She was reading the newspaper and eating her breakfast, a piece of toast in one hand and her wand stuck behind her ear the way Luna’s often was. Harry had stared at her for a while, watching as she turned the page and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Ginny looked up and their gazes locked. She smiled shyly and flushed a little as if she suddenly remembered the intimacy they had shared the night before.

They had been closer since that night, until Harry had left the hospital wing the second time and suddenly become conscious of his scars.

“I know something changed,” Hermione said, breaking into his thoughts. “I could see it in the way you looked at her.”

“We …” Harry trailed off, not knowing what to say, how to describe it.

“I know,” Hermione smiled. She reached across and took his left hand in hers. “But now, since the game …” Harry held perfectly still as Hermione traced the scars on his hand.

“We haven’t since … I just …”

“Let her in, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “The scars don’t matter.”

“I know, I just … I have a lot of scars,” said Harry quietly, turning his hand over in Hermione’s and staring at the marks dotting his palm. “I just keep collecting them. One day it’s going to be too many.”

“Too many for what?” Hermione asked. “You can’t think Ginny cares about how you look?”

“No,” Harry sighed, “that’s not what I meant.” He stood up and began pacing in front of the fire.

“What is it Harry?” Hermione watched him from her seat on the couch.

“I don’t want anyone to see them,” Harry said, running a hand haphazardly through his hair. “What if one day … it’s another reminder that I’m reckless? What if one day it’s too many scars, too many injuries?”

“Ginny really loves you,” Hermione said. She smiled cheekily. “She knows you collect scars.” Harry laughed weakly.

“I don’t really open up well to people,” Harry said slowly. Hermione snorted. “It means opening up, Hermione.” Harry turned to her, pleading; he wasn’t sure what he was pleading for. Hermione stood up and grabbed both his hands in hers.

“Harry,” she said, “this is Ginny. Opening up to her is … she’s who you always open up to. If you can’t open up to Ginny …”

“She’s my world, Hermione,” Harry said.

“I know,” Hermione said, squeezing his hands in hers. “That’s why you have to let her in. Haven’t you already given her everything?” Harry nodded.

“I gave her my heart,” he whispered.

“She gave you hers,” Hermione said. “She gave you everything. Don’t take that away from her. Nobody loves you like Ginny. You can share anything with her; even these scars. There will never be too many scars for Ginny.”

“There’s so many, they’re so …” Harry trailed off, pacing nervously. “Molly said she blamed herself after the game.”

“She does,” Hermione nodded. “She knows you played that game for her. I think that’s why she’s training so much. If she gets an opportunity with the Harpies and doesn’t make it, she’ll feel like she let you down.”

“It was my decision, Hermione,” Harry said urgently. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends.

“She knows that,” Hermione said patiently, “but she also knows you did it for her.”

“But-”

“She won’t care,” Hermione said urgently. “Don’t you dare say they’ll matter to her. She won’t care if you’re reckless, it won’t matter what they look like. She only wants you back. Can’t you see her? The way she looks when you pull away?” Harry nodded. He saw the sadness — before Ginny could hide it — when he turned away from her touch, when he pulled away from a kiss.

He hadn’t touched her beyond holding her hand and kissing her briefly since he’d left the hospital wing after the game. He would twist away whenever she went to his left side and make excuses not to cuddle. Harry wanted to touch her. He wanted to stroke her face and run his hands through her hair while she kissed him. He remembered the feel of her hands splayed across his chest and around his waist as he explored her body. She’d given it to him freely and he’d offered his own. She wanted him, scars and knobbly knees notwithstanding.

Harry remembered how she’d kissed and caressed him. The closeness he felt the next day after they had shared such physically intimate moments was fading and he missed it. He missed her. If she felt half the way he did … Harry dropped back onto the couch with a groan. Hermione sank down onto the couch next to him and sighed heavily. She curled her legs up under herself and put her head on his shoulder.

“It’ll all work out, Harry,” she said. “You’ll see. Just talk to her.” Harry made a non-committal noise in his throat and let his head fall back on the couch. He searched desperately to change the topic of conversation. His mind drifted to Hallowe’en and how he and Ginny had darted behind the portrait of the man with sandwiches, Ginny giggling madly as he kissed her palm theatrically and quoted some of the Muggle poetry they’d been studying.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“You could, I guess …”

“You’re firey enough,” Harry whispered as he pulled her close and kissed her. Ginny laughed breathlessly and tugged him up the stairs. As they spilled through into the first room Harry watched as the light seemed to spill magically from what had to be an enchanted chandelier.

“I wonder what happened to her?” Ginny asked. Harry looked down. She was standing in front of the picture of Glenda Gryffindor. “It’s a lovely necklace; do you think it was special?”

“I’ve got that necklace,” Harry blurted. “I found it in here the other day.”

“Really?” Ginny stared at him. Harry drew his brows together in confusion.

“Well I did have it,” he said, “and then … I was in the hospital wing so …”

“Madam Pomfrey will know where it is,” Ginny said.

Staring into the common room fire nearly a month later Harry realised he’d forgotten all about it again. He needed to ask Madam Pomfrey about it. He wondered idly if it had anything to do with the wooden panels in the room. In his experience, even seemingly random objects and ideas were connected somehow. He started thinking about the wooden panels. There was something there, but what?

“I need to pin Neville down and we need to go figure out that wooden panel,” he said suddenly. Hermione didn’t answer him. She was staring into the fire. “Hermione?”

“I miss him,” Hermione said tearfully. Harry sighed and slid his arms around her and held her. He knew who she meant.

“Me too,” he whispered.

And that was how Brogan McLaggen found them a few minutes later as the Gryffindors came trickling in to get ready for tea.

“This what you get up to when Weasley’s not here?” he sneered, situating himself just behind their heads. Harry jumped. Brogan continued. “Well I wouldn’t mind a crack at her myself, so … thanks.” He straightened up and swaggered in the direction of the boys’ dormitories.

“Don’t you touch her,” Harry growled. Harry could feel the other Gryffindors in the room freeze and out of the corner of his eye he dimly noticed Seamus and Neville move towards them.

“Really, you’d think a little toerag like you would have learned your lesson,” Seamus said. A crowd of students gathered to watch, shifting restlessly as more students trickled in through the portrait hole.

Hermione stood on the hearthrug, flustered. Harry glanced at her.

“Don’t you touch me,” Brogan screeched. “I won’t stand for this again!”

“What are you going to do?” Seamus smirked.

“Well maybe I’ll start by telling Weasley exactly what I saw,” Brogan said.

“Which is?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You are always hanging out with her,” Brogan said. “Spent more time with her than Weasley lately and now I come in and find you two smooching.”

“We weren’t smooching!” Harry exclaimed incredulously.

“Looked like it to me,” Brogan said smugly.

“I … you …” Harry trailed off, at a loss for words.

“Harry and Hermione have been friends for years,” Neville said quietly. “And if you don’t want points taken again I suggest you stop spreading nasty, vicious, little rumours.”

“They were hugging!” Brogan claimed loudly. “Everyone saw that!” He smirked at Harry triumphantly. Harry glared at him in return.

“Oh, for goodness sake, it wasn’t the first time,” Hermione huffed mutinously. “Anyone would think it’s suddenly against the law to hug a friend.” She stomped her way to the portrait hole, the crowd of students parted like a wave to let her out and as he turned to watch her go, Harry saw the flash of Ginny’s long, red ponytail as she disappeared up the girls’ dormitory stairs.

The castle seemed to be buzzing when Harry went down to eat. Hermione had not come back to the common room and Ginny had not come down from her dormitory. Neville had eventually dragged Harry down to the Great Hall to eat and he could feel more than one set of eyes on him as they made their way to the Gryffindor table. Hermione was there, her head buried in a massive, dusty book as she absently speared food from a plate near her elbow.

“Hey, Hermione,” Neville said quietly as he sat down opposite her. He glanced meaningfully at Harry who sighed and sank down into the seat next to him.

“Hi Neville … Harry,” Hermione said, looking up briefly from her book before burying herself within its pages once more. The whispers in the Great Hall seemed to seep into Harry’s head, twisting and turning and making him feel off-kilter, as if he was missing something.

“You know what?” Seamus said suddenly, reaching for a leg of chicken, “If Ron were here he’d stand up and tell everyone to shut it.”

“And then he’d get detention for three days,” Dean added from his seat next to Seamus, “for causing a ruckus.”

“Because he would have gone to beat up Malfoy when he made a sarcastic comment,” Neville added, pushing a plate of roast beef under Harry’s nose. Seamus and Dean snorted and Harry managed a small smile as he speared a piece of meat with his fork.

“If Ron was here we wouldn’t have this issue,” Hermione interjected flatly, her nose still in her book.

“We’d still have the issue of a foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach like Brogan,” Harry said quietly. “How did we never notice him before?”

“He grew up over the last year,” a slight, dark haired girl with a slight Irish lilt volunteered from Harry’s left. She blushed as they all turned to look at her.

“Really?” asked Seamus incredulously. “He seems like a right foul git!”

“Oh, I don’t mean emotionally,” the girl exclaimed, giggling. “He’s very stunted emotionally, but he used to be um, sort of skinny and weedy and now he’s sort of big and … tough. He grew.” Hermione was staring at the girl over the top of her book.

“He likes to throw this new found weight around?” Harry asked her. The girl nodded.

“He thinks now that Cormac’s gone to work in Russia he’s the kingpin,” she replied.

“The what?” Seamus raised his eyebrow.

“What makes him think Cormac was ever some sort of … leader?” Hermione scoffed.

“Oh, not here,” the girl said. “In the family. And Cormac always made it sound like he was more influential than he really was at school.”

“The family?” Neville asked. The girl was being annoyingly succinct as she poured gravy over her meat and began to eat.

“Yeah, he’s me cousin,” she said through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Who, Cormac?”

“Nah, Brogan,” she rolled her eyes. “Cormac’s me brother.”

“So basically Brogan thinks he’s the best thing on two legs and that the world owes him?” Harry asked.

“Worse than Cormac, he is.” She nodded her head emphatically.

“I’ll say,” Hermione muttered.

By some unspoken agreement Neville, Hermione and Harry stayed in the Great Hall until the meal was cleared entirely away. They all knew that they were waiting for Ginny. She never came. When they were the last people in the room Neville got to his feet.

“Come on,” he said softly. “I’ve got some Transfiguration homework I could use some help with.” Hermione looked up at him and sighed.

“She heard the whole thing, didn’t she?” she asked them. Harry nodded.

“I think so,” he said miserably.

“Maybe she’ll be ready to talk now,” Neville said as the three of them shuffled out of the Great Hall.

“I don’t know if I am. What am I supposed to say?” Harry asked as they came to the portrait behind which the secret Gryffindor Room lay.

“I think it’ll be more about what you do,” Hermione muttered. Neville hesitated slightly in front of the portrait.

“Hey, you want to go see if we can figure this thing out?” he asked.

“Yeah,” muttered Harry, pushing the portrait aside.

“You really should go talk to Ginny,” Hermione said, frowning. Harry ignored her, something unpleasant coiling in his stomach. He knew he needed to talk to Ginny, but it didn’t make it any easier to confront the situation.

“Let’s go,” he said to Neville. “Coming Hermione?” She looked at them and sighed.

“Fine.”

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

The common room was still full when Harry, Hermione and Neville finally returned. Groups of students were clustered around tables strewn with parchment and books, board games or magazines. Brogan McLaggen, who gave Harry a superior look as he crossed the room, was holding court in front of the fireplace with a group of fourth years. Harry rolled his eyes at the younger boy, searching for Ginny. He found her tucked into a chair in one corner, her Charms textbook in her hands.

“Sorry we didn’t get very far,” Neville was saying as Harry stared at Ginny.

“Those runes are hard,” Hermione commented, rummaging in her bag.

“Are you sure there are more there than there was last time?” Neville asked. Harry didn’t hear Hermione’s reply as he crossed to where Ginny was sitting. He approached carefully. She looked guarded and held the book in front of her as if it were a shield, protecting her from the rest of the room.

“Hey Ginny,” Harry said quietly. He felt like people were staring at them and glanced surreptitiously around but everyone seemed to be absorbed in what they were doing.

“Hi Harry,” Ginny replied. She did not look up. Harry stood uncomfortably while she pretended to read her book, turning pages deliberately before she had time to absorb any of the information contained on the pages.

“I thought you’d have come down to eat,” Harry eventually said.

“Wasn’t hungry,” Ginny replied, turning another page rapidly.

“You haven’t eaten?”

“I don’t have an appetite,” Ginny said shortly. Harry took a deep breath.

“Listen, I don’t know what it was exactly that you heard earlier-”

“Probably the same thing as everyone else,” Ginny cut him off, snapping her book shut and standing up.

“Well he-”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Ginny interrupted again. “Don’t worry about it. You deserve to be happy. I’m not going to stand in the way of that.”

“You don’t stand in the way of it,” Harry replied with exasperation. “What are you trying to say?”

“There’s no need to pretend,” Ginny said tiredly, turning away.

“Pretend what?”

“That you’re still interested.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,” Harry hissed, desperately hoping no one could hear their discussion.

“There is no need to start calling me names,” Ginny replied coldly.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly, “but you can’t believe what Brogan’s going around saying, surely?”

“Oh no! I don’t believe that idiot!” Ginny laughed harshly. “I know neither you nor Hermione would do that to Ron.”

“But you believe I would do it to you?” Harry asked quietly. Ginny just looked at him sadly for a moment before she turned away and headed up the dormitory stairs. Harry stared after her, dumbfounded, not really understanding what had just happened but feeling reasonably sure Ginny was slowly slipping away from him and he was powerless to stop it.

The next few days until the weekend dragged. Ginny avoided Harry with a dogged determination that would have made Moody proud. Harry always found himself sitting two or three seats away from her at meals, during classes and in the common room. Hermione tried to talk to her but Ginny made excuses and started avoiding her as well. Neville managed to hold one cryptic conversation with her where she’d insisted that things were ‘better this way’.

“She looks terrible,” Neville had murmured later. “I don’t know what things exactly are better, but it’s not better for her health.” Harry watched helplessly as she began to look pale and drawn. She walked with her head down, stopped responding in class and went up to bed early. It wasn’t easy to watch her. Ginny vacated rooms as soon as she could after Harry entered and seemed determined to practice Quidditch during every spare waking moment.

One afternoon when it was raining so hard the Gryffindor Quidditch team had refused to practice for longer than half an hour, Ginny was sitting alone in front of the common room fire, staring into space.

“How’s Quidditch training going?” Harry asked her, sitting tentatively on one of the chairs nearby. Her cheeks were flushed and her freshly-washed hair shone in the firelight. He ached to reach out and touch her but she seemed to have an impenetrable wall around her.

“Pretty good,” Ginny answered. “The Beaters are getting better. And Kyle’s still doing really well. The trainee Seekers are coming along too.”

“Sounds like you don’t need me,” Harry said lightly.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ginny said, a flash of warmth flooding her features for a moment. Harry smiled, encouraged by her willingness to talk to him.

“Do you … um, think the Harpies will let you know about try-outs soon?” Harry asked her, wanting to prolong the moment, casting about for something to talk about.

“I think they’ll be sending letters out after Christmas.”

“I think it’s great you are putting in all this extra work,” Harry said. She eyed him warily.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry replied enthusiastically. “It’s a fantastic opportunity and really, what could be better than making a secure future for yourself?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Ginny said. The warmth had left her features and she had resumed staring into the fire.

“Absolutely,” Harry enthused. “It’s such a brilliant opportunity. You should really make the most of it.” He knew he was babbling and Ginny hadn’t left him quite so incoherent for a long time but he desperately wanted to prolong the conversation.

“Yes, well, don’t worry,” Ginny snapped inexplicably. “I’m doing the best I can.” She stood up abruptly.

“I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend-”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Never mind,” Ginny said and she left swiftly. Harry stared after her, willing her to come back, confess it was all a big mistake and throw herself into his arms. The portrait hole remained stubbornly closed.

Harry left Hogwarts as soon as he could that Friday. He surprised Andromeda, who had not been expecting him so early. He was too tired and miserable to explain anything to her and Andromeda did not press the issue, wordlessly handing Teddy over and retreating tactfully.

Harry wasn’t sure if Molly Weasley had planned to visit that afternoon or if Andromeda had contacted her. He came in from a walk with Teddy to find her in the kitchen with a cup of tea and some of Andromeda’s finest fruitcake.

“Ah, there you are, Harry,” Molly said, reaching into the pram where Teddy sat propped up and wrapped in layers of blankets. She pulled off his little, knitted hat and ruffled Teddy’s black, tufty hair, smiling at him. Teddy grinned a gummy smile, showing his two even white teeth as he squealed at Molly.

“Da!” Teddy cried. “Da, da, ba!”

“Yes, you are a very clever lad,” Molly smiled at the baby and Teddy turned his hair red and his eyes flickered for a moment before settling into a deep brown. “Oh look Andie, he’s done his eyes like mine again.”

“He tried to make his ears like Kreacher the other day,” Andromeda said, chuckling. Teddy waved his little fists, flapping them in agitation. Harry reached over and carefully untied his little mittens before extracting him from his blankets.

“Cake, Harry?” Molly asked gently. Harry shook his head carefully, concentrating on removing the heavy woollen jumper Teddy was wearing. He tried not to look at the baby’s eyes, so much like Ginny’s, but Teddy began bouncing excitedly and turned his little face up to Harry, squealing with delight. He grabbed at Harry’s glasses and Harry let him grasp them, pulling them off his face before he carefully removed them from the tiny fingers and lay them on the table out of reach.

Without his glasses he didn’t have to look at Ginny’s eyes in that adorable face and see the red Weasley hair now adorning Teddy’s head. The baby lunged for Harry’s ears as if they were a fascinating play thing and Harry grimaced as a wet, slobbery kiss was planted on his cheek. Without his glasses Harry also did not have to look at the concern etched on the faces of both women at the kitchen table. He breathed a sigh of relief when Teddy changed his eyes back to green after trying unsuccessfully to eat Harry’s nose.

“Da!” Teddy squealed. He seemed to realise he hadn’t gotten much of a response from Harry and his little forehead wrinkled as he stuck a finger in his mouth.

“You didn’t have much lunch, Harry,” Andromeda said quietly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some cake?” Harry shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he replied softly. Even without his glasses on he couldn’t miss the look Molly and Andromeda shared. He could ignore it though. He stood up, plucking his glasses from the table and shoving them on his face hastily. “I’ll just go change him and put him down for his nap.” Harry didn’t wait for an answer; he turned and hurried up the stairs to Teddy’s small nursery.

“Ha,” Teddy said solemnly, as Harry laid him down on the change table, charming a stuffed Golden Snitch to fly above Teddy’s head. As he changed the baby into sleepwear, Harry spoke softly to him.

“Sorry, buddy,” Harry said quietly. “I guess I’m not in a very talkative mood today, am I?”

“Ma,” Teddy said.

“I don’t think Ginny likes me anymore,” Harry said, pulling off the soft little shoes that held Teddy’s socks on. Teddy kicked his feet in the air excitedly, clutching at his toes and pulling his socks off with ease.

“La!” he squealed, waving the socks.

“I’m in love with her,” Harry said as he carefully buttoned Teddy’s sleepsuit. “Ginny … she’s so beautiful, Teddy. I thought … I thought she loved me too.” He picked Teddy up and settled into the rocking chair by the window, settling the baby on his lap.

“Aaaaah,” Teddy replied, twisting in Harry’s lap until he could rest his head on Harry’s chest, his little legs tucked up under his body.

“We shared something really special,” Harry whispered. “I don’t know what went wrong. I wish my dad was here, he’d be able to help me figure it out; or my mum. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you haven’t got a mum and dad, either.” Teddy raised his head and looked at Harry carefully before stretching up a little hand and clutching at Harry’s collar.

“Har,” he said sleepily. Harry let the tears fall onto the downy head as the baby fell into a deep slumber.

When Harry came down the stairs some time later he saw Molly in the entrance hall, her travelling cloak around her shoulders.

“There you are, dear,” Molly said briskly. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.” Harry narrowed his eyes. She seemed to be falsely cheerful.

“Took a while,” he offered by way of explanation. Molly smiled and plucked his cloak from the stand in the hallway.

“Let’s be off then,” she said.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Home,” Molly said simply, in a tone that brooked no argument. Harry sighed heavily and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders before popping his head into the kitchen to bid Andromeda farewell.

Harry and Molly arrived at the Burrow and she set him to work preparing vegetables immediately, keeping up a steady stream of conversation that Harry barely listened to. He nodded in what he thought were all the right places and scrubbed, peeled and chopped until a meal was bubbling merrily on the stove.

George didn’t come home that night, sending word to say he was meeting with Percy at The Leaky Cauldron. So Harry spent the meal listening to Ginny’s parents discuss the rising cost of fresh fruit and vegetables and their suspicion that the ghoul might be lonely. He excused himself as soon as possible after he’d eaten half a piece of treacle tart. Harry hovered on the landing outside Ginny’s bedroom before opening the door quietly and slipping inside. Her scent lingered on the air. He closed his eyes and imagined her there, laughing and smiling at him, kissing him.

Harry’s mind drifted back to Hallowe’en. He and Ginny hadn’t lingered in the large room lined with paintings. Ginny had led the way slowly and surely to the little door at the other end and Harry had looked at her as if asking permission before he placed his hand slowly on the doorknob. They waited as it grew in size until it was big enough to let them through.

“What do you think this room was?” Ginny asked, running a hand over the handle of the dagger that matched the sword of Gryffindor as Harry lit one of the torches.

“Looks like maybe a duelling room,” Harry shrugged, padding over to the fireplace and inspecting it. “I think this wood will still be good …” He froze as he felt two soft, warm hands slide around his waist from behind.

“A fire probably isn’t the most important thing,” Ginny had whispered. Harry turned in her grasp and slid his arms around her shoulders.

“Probably not,” he whispered back.

Harry roused himself from his memories and slipped back out onto the landing. He padded quietly up to Ron’s bedroom, memories of Ginny kissing his jaw line and down his chest dancing across his mind as he undressed for bed.

Harry was sitting on Ron’s bed, the jar of Madam Pomfrey’s ointment in his hands when Molly suddenly opened the door and stepped through. She started when she looked up to see Harry sitting there, shirtless.

“I’m sorry dear, I’m not used to anyone being in here at the moment,” she said ruefully. “I suppose I forgot you would be in here.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said quietly, bending his head over the jar to unscrew the lid with more precision than such an action warranted. He still managed to fumble and dropped the jar. It rolled to Molly’s feet. She bent down to scoop it up and stepped over to give it to him.

“To heal and fade the scarring?” she asked softly. Harry nodded.

“I’m not having a lot of luck with applying it, though,” he said.

“Why didn’t you get Ginny to do this for you?” Molly asked as she examined his bared shoulder, the raised, angry welts trailed down his upper arm and wound up his neck stood out in sharp relief in the mirror above Ron’s dresser. Harry sighed heavily.

“I … well, I didn’t want her to see them,” Harry admitted.

“We had an Owl from her this week,” Molly said conversationally, holding out her hand for the jar. Harry looked up apprehensively. He gave her the jar and turned his head away, looking out of the window at the stars that twinkled in the clear sky. Molly unscrewed the jar and continued. “She seemed a little off.”

“I think we sort of had a fight,” Harry said. He flinched as he felt Molly’s fingers smear the ointment on his upper arm and towards his shoulder.

“What was it about?”

“Hermione … Ron … Quidditch … us … I don’t even know anymore,” Harry blurted out. He felt Molly’s hand stop briefly before she resumed applying the ointment to the parts of his shoulder he had been unable to reach. Harry blushed profusely.

“She said she’s been playing a lot of Quidditch and Hermione has been on at her to study more,” Molly volunteered.

“She took over captaining the team, I suppose,” Harry said, seizing on the most innocuous aspect of the can of worms he’d opened up. “I’m not allowed to fly.”

“I should think not,” Molly sniffed, spreading ointment around the back of Harry’s neck and massaging gently.

“We aren’t spending much time together,” Harry started, feeling something inside him give way, spilling his feelings out into the room. “She’s practicing so hard for her chance with the Harpies and studying for her NEWTS. I’ve had a lot of paperwork to go through for the Children’s Home, there’s Teddy and … well Hermione doesn’t let me slack off either. I miss Ginny even though we’re always together. But, well … Ginny … she heard this fourth year idiot spouting off rot about me and Hermione. She … she thinks it’s true — if not with Hermione with … someone.”

“What happened with Hermione?” Molly asked quietly. Harry looked up at her sharply.

“It’s not-”

“I know,” Molly cut him off, looking him in the eye. There was no accusation in her gaze and her touch remained soft as she continued with the ointment. “What happened that makes Ginny think it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed. “How could she think that? She’s my everything. I share everything with her.” Harry hung his head in despair.

“She hasn’t seen these scars.”

“Well …” Harry swallowed.

“I’ve seen you together, Harry,” Molly said, working the ointment down his arm even though he knew she could reach those areas himself. “You’re young and in love. I remember what that’s like, Arthur and I were like that once.” Molly chuckled as she scooped more ointment from the jar and began working over Harry’s shoulder again, as if she might have missed a spot. “Well, let’s just say she doesn’t keep her hands to herself and you don’t stop her.” Harry blushed.

“She’s very … persuasive,” Harry acknowledged reluctantly. Molly laughed softly.

“She always has been and she almost never gets turned down,” she said. “How did you hide the scars from her?”

“Well, it was easy. They are mostly under my clothes-”

“Harry,” Molly said warningly, “I wasn’t born yesterday.” Harry wondered how much she knew, or how much she’d figured out about his relationship with her daughter.

“I didn’t let her touch them,” he said eventually. “Not even through clothes. You can feel them …”

“So you pushed her away. Pulled away from her; and now she seems to think you are seeing someone else?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds terrible,” Harry grimaced.

“I don’t think she thinks you are seeing someone,” Molly said gently. “If I know Ginny, it’s more that she thinks you would … enjoy the company of … someone different, rather than her.”

“Why?”

“You don’t have to go into detail, dear,” Molly said, still massaging his shoulder almost absently. She took a deep breath and sighed as if she might be thinking about what to say next. “But you’ve … been together I’m sure.” Harry was mortified and had no idea what to say. He understood exactly what Molly was implying.

“I … we … she …”

“Which is absolutely none of my business. You’re both of age; both fully-grown,” Molly said firmly, slathering more ointment across places she had already anointed. “She was bound to feel very vulnerable afterwards. It’s a very … exposing experience.”

“We haven’t … I got bitten right after,” Harry eventually blurted.

“Ah,” Molly said. She seemed to be waiting for Harry to say something.

“I couldn’t let her see them,” he said softly, still feeling the heat of embarrassment warming his cheeks.

“Ginny wouldn’t think less of you because of a few scars, Harry,” Molly said, frowning.

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “It’s not that. I’m dangerous and I’m reckless and … I do things without thinking them through and …” He trailed off. Molly regarded him for a moment before speaking.

“And these scars are as bad as they are because you got them flying Seeker for her,” she said eventually, matter-of-factly. Harry nodded.

“I just didn’t want her to know,” Harry said softly. “I didn’t want her to blame herself. I guess … the whole thing is my fault. I kept pulling away from her and now I’m complaining because I miss her. What did I expect? She’s probably thinking … Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t know what she’s thinking.”

“Well, I expect by now she’s thinking you prefer girls more like Hermione,” Molly said softly, sitting down next to him.

“Like … smarter?” puzzled Harry. Molly chuckled softly as she screwed the lid back on the jar and handed Harry his pyjama top.

“No,” Molly said quietly. “Not smarter, curvier.” Harry drew his brows together in concentration.

“Hermione’s got more curves?” he asked in confusion. “Really?” Molly smiled widely and patted his cheek.

“Yes, dear. Yes, she does,” was all she said as she stood and headed for the door. “Get a good night’s sleep. You need to go back to Hogwarts in the morning and sort this out.” Harry nodded numbly, his mind turning over, running through the meaning of Molly’s previous words.

“Ginny thinks I’m not happy with her?” he asked as Molly stood on the threshold. She turned slightly.

“If you’ve stopped being affectionate she might think you’re … not attracted to her,” Molly said.

“She thinks I don’t want her anymore? After …” Harry gestured aimlessly with one hand and turned bright red. “Doesn’t she?” He looked beseechingly at Molly.

“I suspect so, dear.” She nodded slightly. Harry jumped up, grabbing his cloak and throwing it on.

“Well I can’t stay, then,” he said urgently. “I have to go now and talk to her.”

“You may want to change out of your pyjamas, dear,” Molly said with a hint of a smile. Harry smiled sheepishly and rummaged in his bag for the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. He stopped suddenly and turned to Molly.

“How did you know?” he asked quietly. “Are you … upset?” Molly looked at Harry thoughtfully for a moment.

“I thought I would be,” she said after a moment. “It’s not easy reminding yourself that your baby’s grown up. I think a year ago I would have been very upset. So much has happened since then and … I had a talk with Ginny over the summer and she told me how much you mean to her.” Molly stepped back into the room and sat down on the bed. She patted the counterpane next to her.

“She means everything to me,” Harry said softly, sitting down next to Molly and twisting his shirt in his hands.

“I know,” Molly said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “It’s not up to me to decide when or where or who with. Ginny knew you were the one for her, probably long before we all believed her.”

“Do you believe her?” Harry asked, surprised at his own boldness. He quickly looked down at his knees.

“Yes,” Molly said, “and I believe you too.” Harry felt a lump rise in his throat. He swallowed painfully. He hadn’t realised just how much he wanted someone to tell him that. Molly shifted slightly and reached out a hand to his chin. She turned his face so that he was looking at her.

“Does she still?” he whispered. “Does she still know I’m hers?”

“I’m sure she does,” Molly said. “She just needs reminding.” Molly let go of Harry’s chin but he held her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” Molly looked surprised.

“I … she’s your daughter and …” Harry shifted uncomfortably not knowing how to justify to Molly that he had slept with her only daughter.

“Don’t apologise for loving her, Harry,” Molly said. “If there is one thing having you in our lives has taught us, it’s that there is no such thing as too much love.” She reached over and engulfed Harry in a hug. Harry found himself hugging her back.

“I always thought you taught me that,” he mumbled into her shoulder. Molly pulled back a little.

“Harry,” she said, holding onto his upper arms and searching his face, “Ginny made her choices a long time ago. I’m not going to try and convince you, or myself, that a year ago I wouldn’t have been upset but … things are probably different now. I lost one of my babies.”

“I know, I’m so sorry-”

“I’m not going to get angry or upset with you for loving each other,” Molly interrupted quietly. “There have been too many losses.” Harry studied her face carefully. She smiled at him and squeezed his scarred shoulder.

“I’ve been really stupid,” Harry said quietly.

“Maybe,” Molly allowed, smiling slightly. She stood up and crossed swiftly to the door.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.

“Any time, Harry,” she said and slipped quietly out the door and down the stairs.

Harry hastily donned his clothes, shoved his things in his bag and leapt down the stairs two at a time. Arthur was still sitting at the kitchen table, The Evening Prophet open in front of him.

“You’re off, then?” Arthur enquired as Harry stopped to snatch his half eaten treacle tart from his plate. Harry nodded.

“Um, got someone I need to talk to,” he muttered, stuffing the tart into his mouth.

“If she lets you get a word in,” Arthur murmured, turning the page of his newspaper. Harry stared at him and swallowed the last of the treacle tart reflexively.

“She isn’t talking to me,” he eventually said dryly. “I figure if I’m quick I might get out a couple sentences before she fires up.” Arthur looked up at Harry, his eyes twinkling as he laughed. Harry shrugged sheepishly. Arthur regarded him for a moment.

“Good luck, son,” Arthur said eventually. Harry smiled grimly. He had a feeling he was going to need it.