Author's Notes: Tis chapter is dedicated to my beta, goingbacktosquareone who works miracles and demands many things form me to make the story better and LadyChi who helps me write the kissing parts ... becasue this *is* a kissing book ...

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It wasn’t terribly late when Harry arrived back in Gryffindor Tower. The common room was still full of students. It was Friday night and even the youngest students were still up: studying, playing Exploding Snap or listening to the Wireless. He found Hermione sitting in a corner arm chair reading from a dusty, old book and twisting locks of hair around her finger, making it stand more on end than it usually did. As Harry made his way across the common room he noticed a slight hush fall over its inhabitants and heard what he thought might be a few sniggers, but he ignored them as he went straight to Hermione.

“Where’s Ginny?” he asked her quietly. Hermione looked up.

“Harry!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow.”

“I need to do something,” Harry said shortly. “Where’s Ginny?”

“She went up to bed.”

“Can you go and get her for me?” Harry asked.

“I can try,” Hermione said slowly. “But Harry, I’m not sure she’ll come down.”

“Please?”

“All right … but I did warn you …” Hermione sighed, closed her book and put it on a nearby table before heading up to the girls’ dormitory. Harry stood and watched the bottom of the staircase, waiting for Ginny to come down. He didn’t notice Neville join him and started when the other man spoke softly.

“She got a Howler from Ron this evening.”

“Hermione did?”

“No.” Neville rolled his eyes. “Ginny.”

“Ginny?” Harry asked, startled. “What-” He was interrupted by muffled shouting and a slamming door. Hermione appeared moments later, shaking her head.

“She yelled at me and slammed the door in my face,” she said.

“We heard that much, Hermione,” Neville said patiently.

“Why?” Harry asked plaintively.

“She blames me for the Howler,” Hermione admitted, shifting restlessly on the bottom step.

“The Howler … the one from Ron?” Harry asked, wishing they’d get to the point.

“Yeah,” Neville explained. “It was pretty embarrassing.”

“Since when does Ron know how to make a Howler?” Harry asked, exasperated. “And why would he send one to Ginny?”

“I wrote to Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “I told him what Brogan’s been going about saying. I think Ron might have gotten the idea that Ginny believed him.” Harry groaned.

“Professor Fiesche was not impressed,” Neville added.

“What’s he got to do with it?” Harry turned to Neville.

“Well, he was sort of standing nearby when Ginny tried to drench it to make it stop,” Neville explained, failing to keep a straight face. Harry smiled ruefully.

“Oh dear,” Harry murmured, smiling slightly. “His cat …?”

“Screeched and leapt off his head,” Hermione admitted with a grin. “It was actually pretty funny.”

“The detention wasn’t though,” Neville sobered. “She’s threatened Ron’s manhood multiple times since we came back from tea.”

“Fiesche gave her detention?”

“Oh yeah.” Neville nodded and adopted a supercilious air. “Miss Weasley, while it may amuse your classmates to flaunt your love affairs and air your family’s dirty laundry in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, I am singularly unimpressed. To add to this ridiculous display, you have tormented a defenceless animal and … ruined my robes. I will see you in my office for detention, tomorrow. I am sure I can find something for you to scrub, given your penchant for splashing water about as if we were at a water park.”

“He made Snape’s detentions sound like a friendly afternoon tea,” Dean added. Harry, who had been subject to more of Snape’s detentions than he cared to remember, doubted that very much.

“What on earth did this Howler say?” Harry enquired, peering up the staircase, willing Ginny to calm herself, change her mind and come down.

“First of all, Ron very loudly asked Ginny if she was quite sane,” Neville began.

“Then he questioned her hearing, I think,” Dean broke in.

“And her brainpower,” added Gilbert who had sidled up to the group of older students.

“He indicated dismemberment unless she came to her senses,” Seamus called out gleefully. Harry turned to him and realised that everyone in the common room had fallen silent and all were watching the action at the foot of the girls’ staircase.

“It’s possible he indicated he’d disown her if she messed you about,” Dean added helpfully. Harry grimaced.

“Stupid git,” Harry muttered, turning his back on the rest of the common room.

“It arrived in the Entrance Hall just as we were all going in to eat,” Gilbert piped up helpfully. “I’ve never seen one of those before. It yelled at her!” Harry frowned at Gilbert’s exuberance.

“She was very embarrassed,” Hermione said quietly.

“I need to speak to her,” Harry said quietly.

“Apparently,” Hermione said shortly, “I am a poor messenger and she wants to know why you don’t have the bollocks to show up yourself.” Harry groaned in frustration.

“I can’t go up there, is she insane?”

“I HEARD THAT, POTTER!”

“What the-” Harry stopped abruptly as he saw the fleshy end of an Extendable Ear resting on the bottom step. He grinned evilly and picked it up, careful not to touch the steps. He was just about to speak directly into it when the other end flew down towards him, slapping him on the face as it rolled itself back up.

“Oh, that’s much better,” Hermione said approvingly, “definitely much easier to deal with than a tangled mess of string. Ron said he was going to look at that. Did you know Ron got one tangled around a couple of Chocolate Frogs once, and by the time he got them loose they were just so annoyed they jumped away before-”

“Hermione,” Harry said, without a great deal of patience, “I don’t much care about the innovations of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes right now. In fact I could cheerfully strangle the lot of them!”

“Oh Harry, you don’t mean that-”

“Oh yes I do!” Harry exclaimed. “Have you heard George’s poetry?” Hermione just raised an eyebrow at him and Harry sighed. “All right, I don’t mean it … but I am running out of ideas here. To think … I assumed I could come back and just talk to Ginny and yet Ron, the git, has to go and mess it all up and put her in a really foul mood!”

“Well, if you are that desperate that you absolutely have to do this now-”

“Yes, Hermione,” Harry interrupted, pacing back and forth at the foot of the stairs and squeezing the Extendable Ear. “I absolutely have to do this now. Why won’t she come down? I didn’t send her a Howler.”

“Okay then, maybe you just have to get up there-”.

“Yeah, why don’t you just go up and get her?” Gilbert interrupted, peering around Harry and up the stairwell.

“Can’t,” Harry said shortly.

“What do you mean?” Gilbert asked. “Don’t you know which room she’s in? I can go figure it out for you!” And before Harry could stop him Gilbert had ducked under his arm and darted up the stairs.

Perhaps it was because he was smaller and lighter than Ron had been during their fifth year, but Gilbert made it to the eighth step before the klaxon wailed with an ear-splitting screech and the first year tumbled to the floor at their feet as the steps slid together seamlessly. Seamus let out a loud guffaw and Neville chuckled quietly as Gilbert sat up and rubbed the back of his head gingerly.

“At least you learned it before fifth year.” Harry grinned at Gilbert and extended a hand to help him up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gilbert asked plaintively.

“You know now,” Harry said with a wry smile. “Okay, how am I going to get her down here?”

“Well, does she like to slide?” Gilbert asked. “Cause maybe she’d like to just slide down and-”

“Gilbert,” Harry interrupted, “you’re not helping.” He was startled as Ginny suddenly shouted from upstairs.

“HARRY POTTER!”

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Harry muttered to Neville and Hermione slapped him on the arm. Harry glared at Hermione before calling up the stairs. “IT WASN’T ME!”

“WHY NOT?” Ginny yelled back. Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione.

“Looks like she wants you to do the impossible, mate,” Dean said, slapping him on the back and moving off. “Good luck!”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Harry grumbled, glowering at his retreating back. A door slammed upstairs. Harry ran a hand through his hair haphazardly.

“She’s angry at Ron, not you,” Hermione said.

“Why is she yelling at me then?” Harry demanded. “What did you tell Ron anyway?”

“I just said that Brogan insinuated we were … you know …” Hermione gestured between the two of them helplessly. “And that Ginny sort of wasn’t really talking to you …”

“This is getting me nowhere!” Harry exclaimed. “I need a way to get to Ginny.”

“Just leave it till the morning,” Neville said with a shrug.

“This can’t wait,” Harry said quietly. Neville nodded and clapped Harry on the shoulder before he disappeared up the stairs to their dormitory. Harry turned to Hermione. “All right then. What should I do now?”

“Why are you asking me?” she asked him indignantly.

“It’s your fault!” Harry hissed, aware that the occupants of the common room were still listening in.

“It is not,” Hermione retorted hotly. “If you hadn’t been an utter git none of this would have happened!” Harry didn’t know what to say. She was right it was all his fault. He turned and thumped his head lightly on the wall in frustration.

“Okay I’ve been in bigger scrapes than this before,” Harry said. Hermione snorted.

“Really?” she asked sarcastically. Harry ignored her.

“We got out of those just fine, we can figure this one out,” Harry insisted.

“We?” asked Hermione sceptically. Harry arranged his features into the most pathetic expression he could. Hermione sighed. “Well really … face-to-face isn’t the only method of communication.”

“What does that mean?”

Before Hermione could answer, the portrait hole swung open and Professor Crockwell bustled in, her hair spilling out of the old-fashioned night cap perched on her head, her glasses askew on the tip of her nose.

“What’s going on?” she asked breathlessly, hurrying to a stop in front of Harry and Hermione, still standing at the foot of the girl’s dormitory slide. “Miss Granger, did I hear the stair alarm go off?”

“Erm, well-”

“Who was it?” Professor Crockwell demanded sharply. She eyed Harry warily and he attempted to look as innocent as possible. He saw Seamus push Gilbert back into his seat in front of the fireplace.

“Minor misunderstanding, accidentally touched the step,” Harry said. Professor Crockwell narrowed her eyes at him.

“I think, Mr Potter, if you cannot keep to the rules …” she pursed her lips and straightened her spectacles. “Young man, you are Head Boy and have been here long enough to know better. I think perhaps … a detention tomorrow might help you remember.”

“But-”

“It must be time for bed, all of you,” the professor said. Harry stared at her, she was normally so mild-mannered and ineffectual. He shook his head wearily as she turned around primly and began hurrying everyone to bed. He could almost feel everyone glaring at him. Professor Crockwell turned back to Harry. “Given that Professor Fiesche is already supervising a detention tomorrow I shall inform him that you will be joining in.” Harry groaned inwardly as she turned on her heel and left, barking at a group of first years on her way out.

“Well, now we know not to disturb her beauty sleep,” Seamus muttered as he and Dean approached the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. Harry followed them up, threw himself grumpily on his bed and kicked off his shoes. There were two satisfying thuds as they hit the floor.

“Any luck, mate?” Neville asked him from his seat on his own bed. He was surrounded by parchment, quills, several bottles of ink and a rather odd collection of rose bushes. They were lopsided and a number of brightly coloured purple blooms littered the floor.

“No luck,” sighed Harry moodily. “Crockwell came and ordered us all to bed. It’ll probably have to wait till morning after all. At least she knew I was trying … right?”

“Well … yeah …” Dean said slowly before trailing off. “But will she think you tried hard enough?” Harry groaned and cursed violently.

“I need to talk to her,” he mumbled.

“Hermione have any ideas?” Neville inquired as he reached for one of the rose bushes.

“Not really … Neville, what are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Luna likes that Muggle poetry we’ve been studying,” Neville admitted sheepishly. “So I sometimes pick one to send to her.”

“Send her?” Seamus wrinkled his nose at Neville. “Don’t you see her all the time? Why would you send her a poem?”

“Can’t see her late at night when she’s in Ravenclaw Tower and I’m in Gryffindor Tower.” Neville shrugged as he pulled one of the rose bushes towards him.

“So, you’re … sending her an owl?” Harry asked as Neville concentrated hard waving his wand above the rose bush intently.

“Yeah,” Neville paused, “I can usually convince one of the owls from the Owlery to fly up here. One of the Barn owls’ll be here soon.”

“So what are you doing with the rose bush?”

“Erm …” Neville blushed slightly. “Well, I’ve been working on getting a blue rose. Mostly purple these days but I got a black one once. No idea how that happened. This poem’s about roses and she’s a Ravenclaw so …”

Harry watched as Neville waved his wand in an intricate pattern and a rosebud cycled quickly through several colours of the rainbow and settled on a bright, emerald green. Donald Smythe, the boy in Ron’s old bed, snickered and Neville glowered at him before sighing heavily.

“Well at least it matches your eyes,” Neville said ruefully to Harry. “Not sure I want my girlfriend reminded of your eyes when reading my letter.” Neville waved the wand over a second bush and produced a lovely red rose which he scowled at.

“Well … at least it’s a Gryffindor colour … she can think of you,” Donald suggested hopefully. Neville nodded, looking resigned and cut the rose, wrapping it carefully in the parchment he’d been writing on. He eyed the green rose with distaste.

“What am I going to do with this one?” he complained. “Know any girls who want a green rose? What a stupid colour.”

“Audrey would think it was an insult,” Seamus sighed.

“Only want to know about one girl,” Harry grumbled, “and she is not in a good mood.”

“Well … she’d probably like a rose that is the same colour as your eyes,” Dean said slyly. He winked, “Could put her in a better mood.”

“Yes, but how am I supposed to give it to her?” Harry asked listlessly. “When I see Ron …” He trailed off grumpily, cursing his best mate who had clearly annoyed his sister beyond reason. Further thought was interrupted when a large, brown barn owl swooped in through the open window, followed closely by a white blur that flapped ungracefully around the room before alighting on the end of Harry’s bed.

Liberty fluffed out her feathers before tucking her wings close to her body and blinking slowly at Harry. She hopped towards her owner slowly. To Harry it seemed almost tentative and he extended an arm to her

“Hey girl,” Harry murmured. “I haven’t got any owl treats.” Liberty hopped onto his arm and up to his shoulder, nuzzling Harry’s cheek before taking off and fluttering madly over to Neville.

“Hey Libby,” Neville said, producing an owl treat. Liberty seemed perfectly at ease with Neville and pecked his ear affectionately before fluttering back over to Harry.

“How’d she know you’d have one?” Harry asked, smoothing Liberty’s feathers as she sat perched on his forearm.

“Oh, she comes in sometimes on the weekends,” Neville said absently as he tied his red rose to the parchment scroll and beckoned to the barn owl.

“Why only on the weekends?”

“I guess she spends most of the week with Ginny or at the Burrow,” Neville replied as he finished tying his missive to the leg of the barn owl. Harry watched the powerful brown bird as it launched itself from the dormitory window and into the night.

Harry realised he almost never spent the weekend at Hogwarts and he paid virtually no attention to what Liberty was doing. He knew Ginny often used her to send letters but he never wrote to anyone and hadn’t been to the Owlery all year. All the correspondence he’d been attempting to sort out for the Children’s Home had been delivered by stuck-up Ministry owls and he hadn’t sent any of it back yet because he hadn’t found any staff.

Hedwig had been a regular sight in Gryffindor Tower and Harry had kept bags of owl treats for her in his bedside table but he hadn’t bought any for Liberty since he’d been at Hogwarts. Harry stroked the owl thoughtfully. If he’d ignored Hedwig like this she wouldn’t have spoken to him until Christmas, but Liberty had no such issues. Harry watched her as she jumped on his bed, her wings fluttering, before perching on his leg precariously. Hedwig would have been appalled, Harry decided with a slight smile. Hedwig had been a very dignified owl but Liberty definitely had a more forgiving nature and a mischievous air.

“Honestly, how hard is it to make a rose go blue?” Neville muttered as he gathered up his parchment and quills and dropped them into his trunk. Harry looked up to find Neville glaring at the green rose which he had cut before tidying the rose bushes away into one corner of the room. At that moment Liberty hooted softly and stuck out her leg.

“Oh, you’re brilliant!” Harry exclaimed and began to rummage in his trunk for a piece of string. He sat up clutching a ball of rough, brown twine to find Neville smiling at him and holding out a length of red ribbon.

“It’ll look better,” was all Neville said as Harry took the ribbon gratefully and tied the green rose to Liberty’s leg. Liberty spread her wings and soared gracefully out of the window. Harry and Neville leaned out of the window but it was fruitless because the white owl was soon lost to sight around the curve of the Tower.

“Think it’ll work?” Neville asked Harry pensively.

“No idea,” Harry confessed. “I’ve never sent a girl flowers before. Do you think she’ll like it? Oh no, I didn’t write a note! Do you think she’ll know it’s from me?”

“I think so,” Neville smiled.

“What if she’s so mad she refuses to let Liberty in?”

“No worries there mate.” Neville indicated Liberty swooping back to their window, her leg now free of the rose. They backed up to let her alight on the window sill. She hooted softly but carried no note.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked in frustration. “She didn’t send a note back?”

“Give her the night to think about it,” Neville said softly, closing the window and turning to his bed. Harry stuck his arm out for Liberty who eyed him carefully before hopping onto Harry’s forearm and up to his shoulder.

Liberty hooted softly and hopped up and down on his shoulder merrily, nearly falling off. The owl grabbed at his shoulder and Harry hissed in pain, twisting away as the talons dragged across his scar tissue. Agitated, Liberty fluttered up onto the top of his four-poster.

Liberty gazed at Harry for a moment before giving a soft hoot and tucking her head under her wing. Harry climbed into bed thoughtfully and spent a fitful night dreaming of Ginny screaming at him from a Howler while Ron laughed maniacally.

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

Harry dragged himself down to the Great Hall for breakfast feeling very out-of-sorts. He’d had a dreadful night’s sleep, his clothes felt like hot knives as they dragged across his shoulder where Liberty had irritated the scar tissue and he didn’t know what to do about Ginny. He sat gloomily at the Gryffindor table and reached absently for the bacon. Students drifted into the Hall as Harry ate breakfast, the toast tasted like sawdust and the pumpkin juice slipped down his throat without flavour. He was jolted from his reverie when Professor Fiesche swept up to him and swished his elegant green robes impatiently. Harry looked up at the professor.

“I understand that you will be joining Miss Weasley in detention this morning?” the man sniffed. Harry nodded mutely, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d laugh himself silly at the way the man’s cat was perched on his head, its tail flicking idly above his left shoulder. “If Miss Weasley bothers to show up you will both report to Professor Slughorn directly after breakfast. I understand he has some cleaning for you.” The man sneered in a passable impression of Snape as he swept away.

“Every time I see that man I want to pull his cat’s tail,” Seamus said as he sat heavily in the seat next to Harry and reached for the toast.

“What kind of daft idiot wears a cat as a hat anyway?” Dean added.

“Does anyone know why he does it?” Harry asked as he stabbed at his scrambled eggs viciously. Seamus shook his head vigorously.

“You’d think,” Dean said, “that an Auror would have very little success at all the dark wizard fighting with a cat sitting on his head.”

“Maybe it’s his secret weapon,” said Neville, who had joined them. “It’s a secret, crime-fighting cat with super, magical powers.” Dean sniggered.

“Well, it’s positively awful,” Hermione said as she sat down opposite Harry. “That poor cat … I mean would you like it if you had to live on someone’s head all the time?”

“You should do something about that, Hermione,” Seamus said seriously.

“Do you think other students might help?” Hermione asked him. Seamus nodded.

“Oh yes,” Dean said airily. “They’d be glad to.”

“Well, then you can help me,” Hermione said with a smug smile.

“Oh no ... no … got NEWTS you see,” Dean said. “Terribly important you know.” Hermione rolled her eyes at them.

“Ordinarily I would care about the cat but I’m much too busy preparing, um … well I have something I’m doing anyway,” Hermione said. Harry looked up and eyed her carefully. Her face was a little flushed and she was eating her breakfast with more care than was really warranted for a slice of toast and marmalade.

“What are you up to Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Nothing.”

“Sure,” answered Harry sarcastically.

“Not up to anything illegal,” Neville said under his breath. Seamus snorted.

“Or anything that involves fun,” Dean added. Hermione glared at him.

“I know how to have fun,” she said defensively. Dean grinned at her and raised an eyebrow suggestively.

“You can’t hit on her,” Seamus said giving Dean a shove. “Ron would have your guts for garters.” Hermione turned her glare on Seamus who grinned back at her, unabashed. Dean rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t hitting on her-”

“Practicing then?” Neville asked slyly. “Who’s your next conquest? That tall blonde in Ravenclaw … what’s her name … Pamela?”

“Shirley,” answered Seamus without missing a beat. “He is totally going after Shirley Templeton.”

“Who calls their kid Shirley Templeton?”

“Mr and Mrs Templeton?”

As his friends bantered back and forth Harry tried to pay attention, but he kept waiting for Ginny, his eyes on the doors to the Great Hall.

“She wasn’t there when I got up,” Hermione supplied quietly. Harry turned to her.

“Who?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his juice.

“Ginny’s down at the Quidditch pitch,” Neville said. “Saw her leaving in her practice gear when I came down this morning. She’s probably trying to get practice in before this detention.”

“Well, breakfast is nearly over,” Hermione said crisply. “She’ll miss breakfast if she’s not careful. Honestly, Quidditch is hardly more important than breakfast. She hasn’t been eating properly at all and she’s going to make herself sick if she keeps this up.”

“Quidditch is really important to her,” Harry said defensively. “It’s what she wants to do for a career.”

“It’s just a game-”

“Hey!” Dean interrupted. “It is not just a game! That’s like saying football is just a game.”

“And what do you think, Harry?” Seamus asked. “About Ginny having a career?” Harry just stared at Seamus in confusion.

“I think it’s a great career,” he said slowly. “Why does it matter what I think about Ginny having a career? I mean they give you career advice for a reason, don’t they? You have to plan for your future and all that. Not that I gave that much thought at the time.” He finished wryly and Neville laughed.

“Yeah, but if Ginny’s off havin’ a career, who’s going to look after you?” Seamus winked suggestively.

“I can look after myself,” said Harry, ignoring the innuendo.

“Oh, there are things you can’t do for yourself.” Seamus grinned.

“Well I can get my House Elf to look after me then,” Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Hermione looked at him reproachfully.

“Oh, I don’t mean like that.” Seamus leered suggestively. Harry launched a piece of toast at his head.

“Honestly,” Harry said, “leaving your dirty thoughts alone, I think it’s great that Ginny’s thinking about her future and planning ahead and all that. I know it’s got its risks but she’s got a real chance and she should take it. She has my full support.”

“Um, Harry,” Hermione began tentatively. Harry turned to her and she continued in a rush. “Did you say that to Ginny?”

“Say what?”

“That Quidditch was great because she was planning for her future,” Hermione answered, playing idly with her fork.

“Yeah …”

“Do you think … maybe … that she um …”

“Spit it out, Hermione,” Harry said wearily, tired of the games and never knowing what it was he’d done wrong.

“She might have thought, on top of everything Brogan insinuated …” Hermione trailed off. Harry just looked at her. He tried to follow her train of thought, trying to think what he’d said; and what Ginny might have thought he’d meant.

Harry had pulled away from her physically and he knew that. Fixing it had seemed easy enough, but if he’d made some other stupid mistake … Harry did think it was brilliant that Ginny wanted to be a Quidditch player. While he certainly didn’t want the fame and all that came with it Ginny would love it.

It wasn’t that she was an attention seeker but she did enjoy people noticing her. Harry supposed it came down to being the youngest in a large family and wanting to be noticed from something she could do rather than by virtue of being the girl. She certainly knew what to do with attention and she did enjoy it but, like Harry, she’d rather get it for something she’d achieved than by something that had simply happened to her.

In their future he saw her as a Quidditch player and he saw himself getting all the perks and benefits of Quidditch without having to be on the pitch and in the papers. He could see them practicing together at their house. It would be on a pitch like the one at the Burrow, only with real hoops. It would be a place where he and Ron would convince Ginny and George to play two-a-side Quidditch. Where he and Charlie would challenge each other to catch the Snitch first and where he and Ginny would teach their children to fly. He saw himself watching Quidditch games with Ron and travelling Europe, seeing the sights and watching Ginny play Quidditch while Hermione read a book.

Wasn’t this what he’d defeated Voldemort for? The chance to be whatever they wanted? The opportunity to set themselves up with a future. The chance to see the world, to follow their dreams. How could he have said anything wrong by saying Ginny should pursue her dreams?

“What did she think, Hermione?” Harry sighed wearily. “She has a problem with me saying she should follow her dreams and plan for her future?”

“If it sounded like that, yes,” Hermione said cryptically. Harry narrowed his eyes at her. Hermione sighed. “If it sounded like you were expecting her to go off and plan her own life … without you.”

“So because I encourage her to plan her own life and future she assumes I want her to plan it without me?” Harry felt like he was swimming in an endless sea without a life raft and his arms were getting tired. He was bound to sink beneath the surface any minute.

“That’s what it probably sounded like.” Hermione shrugged. Harry groaned and thumped his head lightly on the table, making the plates and goblets rattle ominously.

“Just brilliant,” he muttered. Scowling, Harry collected some toast in a napkin just before the plates vanished from the tables in the Great Hall and stood up. He had absolutely no idea how to fix things but he figured a breakfast peace offering was a good start.

Harry almost made it to the great oak doors that led outside before Professor Slughorn collared him only inches from his goal.

“I understand you will be joining me today, m’boy?” the professor said jovially. He lowered his voice and winked exaggeratedly at Harry. “You and Miss Weasley as I understand it? Professor Fiesche mentioned he was ah … too busy, one might say, to supervise. I thought to myself that not only is it an absolute travesty that you are expected to serve a detention, but you might like some, er … time alone.” Professor Slughorn gazed at Harry expectantly.

“Oh, um, thanks, professor,” Harry managed.

“I really don’t think these new professors know what’s what, you know,” Slughorn continued as he grasped Harry’s right arm and led him down to the dungeons. “I volunteered at once to supervise of course. You need people around you that understand you, m’boy. People who don’t expect you to do the same sort of drudgery as the rest of us mere mortals.”

They had arrived at the dungeons and the packet of toast in Harry’s hand was getting a little soggy. He noticed with a start that Ginny was leaning against the wall outside Slughorn’s classroom. She was still dressed in her Quidditch practice robes and her windswept hair curled around her face where it had escaped the plait it was tied into. The cold air had given her cheeks a rosy glow but under the colour on her cheeks her eyes were a little sunken and she looked rather pale.

Ginny had her eyes closed and her head was resting on the wall behind her, exposing her throat and Harry had to fight an almost overwhelming urge lean down and suck on it and feel her pulse beat in his mouth. Her eyes snapped open and she jerked her head forward suddenly, staring directly at Harry before she looked away, the red heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck. Harry gazed at her while Slughorn unlocked the door to his classroom. Ginny looked fixedly at the floor and scurried into the classroom as soon as the door was open far enough for her to squeeze through.

“Well, here we are,” Slughorn was saying. Harry listened with half an ear, his eyes still on Ginny and the toast in his hand leaving trails of slippery butter on his fingers as it soaked through the napkin. Ginny had ducked her head forward, as if she could hide, but with her hair tied back, there was no way for her to cover her face, and she only succeeded in looking more alluring to Harry.

Slughorn kept chattering something about heroes and suitable treatment but Harry paid him no attention. He was focused on Ginny and the way she shifted from one foot to the other and pulled on the end of her plait. Harry could see the tension in her neck and the way she stiffened when he leaned closer to her. When Slughorn said something vaguely stirring about gratitude and the love people had for Harry, Ginny’s eyes met his briefly before she turned away. A searing blush crept up the back of her neck and Harry smiled as the tips of her ears went crimson like Ron’s did when he was embarrassed.

Oh, she knew he was watching her, Harry was sure of that.

He smiled and leaned casually against one of the desks. It was the weekend and he was dressed in Muggle attire, something which he knew Ginny found very attractive. She’d once confessed that she thought robes left a little too much to the imagination and he’d let her buy him more than one outfit before they had returned to Hogwarts. Ginny appeared to keep her attention on Slughorn but Harry noticed the way her hands still fluttered nervously with the ends of her plait and the way her eyes strayed to where his feet stuck out into the aisle between the desks, one hooked over the top of the other.

He took the moment to admire the way her practice robes hung on her slim frame, her tiny feet encased in the boots that went with the Quidditch uniform and the warm jersey underneath, that clung to her curves enticingly. A Gryffindor scarf was hanging out of her pocket, the end trailing on the floor. Ginny got flustered when she tried to shove her hands in her pocket and succeeded only in pulling the scarf out. She bent to retrieve it and when she stood up she had shifted a little so that he could see her profile and he watched avidly as her chest rose and fell shallowly. His mind drifted to another time and another place when he’d felt those curves under his hands and her hands had trailed fire down his back as her legs curled around his. As he watched her he wondered dimly if she had deliberately turned the tables on him and was now trying to get his attention the way he had been trying to get hers.

If she was, it was working.

“So, we just need to … um,” Ginny said, sounding a little breathless, “clean this erm, cauldron here?” Harry forced his mind back to the present, leaving Ginny’s warm, inviting curves and her soft skin in his memories and valiantly trying to focus on the present.

“Yes, best to stay a little while longer though,” Slughorn added. “Check things over, you understand. Make um … sure everything is … accomplished.” He winked exaggeratedly at Harry as he slipped out the door, closing it with a soft click.

“Well, not exactly the detention I was expecting,” Ginny muttered, rolling up her sleeves and eyeing the cauldron distastefully. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it. I’m the one who deserves the detention, stupid Ron, making me lose my stupid temper, ruddy git.”

“How do you know I didn’t do something to earn this detention?” Harry asked softly. “Maybe that’s my filthy cauldron you’re cleaning there.”

“Oh, come on, your detention is totally fake,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes expressively as she stalked to a nearby shelf and began rummaging about in the jars and bottles stored there. Harry took the opportunity to quickly Scourgify the cauldron.

“Fake?” Harry asked, padding up behind her. “What on earth would make you say that this is a fake detention?” Ginny huffed loudly and turned around a jar of cleaning paste in her hands.

“Yours is a fake detention because …” She stopped and turned pink. Harry suspected it was the way he was standing mere inches from her, so close his breath was making the tendrils of hair on her forehead dance.

“I cleaned the cauldron,” Harry said quietly, “and I brought you some breakfast.” He held up the greasy, squashed toast and smiled wryly.

“Thanks,” Ginny said softly. She didn’t take the toast and her eyes searched his intently.

“I’m really sorry,” Harry said, still clutching the toast between them like a ridiculous lifeline.

“I got your rose.”

“Neville made it,” Harry confessed, squeezing the toast reflexively.

“It matched your eyes.”

“He didn’t want to give it to Luna.” Harry ignored the butter slowly slipping between his fingers as he dropped his eyes to her lips.

“I think you’ve destroyed my breakfast,” Ginny said with a giggle. Harry looked down, startled, at the mangled lump of toast, still wrapped in a butter-spotted napkin.

“That’s me,” sighed Harry, “destroyer of toast and relationships. I know I messed up badly and if you don’t want to go back to how we were that’s okay but I miss you and I want you back and I love you and-” He heard the jar of cleaning paste thud onto a nearby desk and then her hands were at his collar, pulling him down, her gaze fastened unwaveringly on his mouth.

Harry dropped the toast as her lips met his and he hesitated only seconds before he groaned and wound his arms around her waist. He pulled her close, sliding one hand up to her neck and using the other to clutch her to him. He shivered as her nimble fingers danced upwards, one hand sliding up the right side of his neck to caress his scalp and the other slipping slowly down to rest over his rapidly beating heart.

He hadn’t noticed when she’d done it, but Ginny had managed to entice his lips apart and slip her tongue inside. Harry clutched her tighter when he felt her tentatively stroke his tongue with her own. Up until then she had been in control but this was like a switch had been flipped and Harry pressed her back against the shelves, winding his hand into her hair so that he could pull her head back and press his own tongue into her mouth. When she moaned he thought he might lose all of his senses and he tore his lips away from hers. Ginny whimpered and slid her right hand up around his neck and across the scars there, to pull his head back down to hers.

Harry forced himself not to shrink from her touch. He was breathing shallowly, his eyes closed, his mouth still tender. Ginny pressed a chaste kiss to his swollen lips before she moved to press another to his jaw … and another to the sensitive spot behind his ear. Harry kept completely still as she moved lower to press feather light kisses on his neck, lingering on the scars that snaked their way down under his collar. His fingers tightened on her waist as she sucked gently on his neck and he struggled to hold himself upright. He turned his head to find her lips, desperately wanting to taste her again.

“Ginny,” he breathed against her lips before he kissed her slowly and he felt her body press closer to his, her hand fisted his jumper as she clung to him; Harry knew that they were holding each other up now. A tiny hand trailed down to his back pocket and slipped inside, urging his hips towards hers. He spun them around, backing Ginny into the Potions bench and pressing against her urgently. Her leg curved around his as he slid his hands under her robes and her jersey, fumbling to find the soft, silky skin underneath. He buried his face in the sweet curve where her shoulder met her neck, breathing in her scent and kissing her collarbone softly before pulling back to look at her.

His breathing matched hers, ragged and out of control, and her chest heaved as she opened her eyes slowly to gaze at him. She was intoxicating, breathtaking, spellbinding. He wanted to give in, to forget the rest of the world, to forget their disagreements and make love to her.

Slowly he let go of her waist and withdrew his fingers from her hair. He rested his shaking hands on the bench on either side of her, unwilling to pull his hips away from hers. He groaned as she shifted under him restlessly and shook his head slightly.

“Not here,” he whispered, bending to kiss her neck softly. “Not until we talk.”

“So talk,” Ginny said. Harry looked up at her, meeting her gaze for the first time since she’d started kissing him. He could tell that in this moment she would give him whatever he wanted. He raised one hand and caressed her cheek softly. She held his gaze resolutely.

“Not here,” he repeated. “Not yet. I need … I need to apologise and I need to tell you something.” Ginny searched his face before looking away, staring at the floor.

“If … if you don’t want to any more, just tell me, Harry,” she sighed. “Don’t drag things out.”

“Don’t want to what?”

“Be with me,” Ginny whispered.

“I am with you,” Harry said, bending to press a kiss to her neck.

“Where have you been then?” Ginny asked, her voice harsh. Harry stilled, breathing in the scent of her hair, his lips hovering above her skin. “If you’ve been with me, why have I been all alone?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I just … I need to …” He trailed off, looking into her brown eyes. They were full of confusion and hurt.

“So, like I said,” Ginny said, breaking the silence, “if you don’t want me anymore, if you don’t want to sleep with me anymore, don’t drag this out or pretend. Just tell me-”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “No, I want to. What do you think I was just doing?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny whispered. “You haven’t kissed me like that … touched me like that … for ages. You haven’t let me touch you the way I wanted to.”

“I know,” Harry replied, slipping his arms around Ginny’s waist. “I’m sorry, I … let me explain.” It sounded hollow and meaningless, even to him.

“I missed you so much,” Ginny said. “I was angry with you. It was your fault Ron sent me a Howler. But then you touched me and kissed me and I forgot how to be angry with you.”

“I just …” Harry buried his face in her hair and whispered in her ear. “Please, Ginny. Come with me so I can explain.”

“What about Slughorn? What about detention?” Ginny protested.

“I don’t think being with the Head Boy counts as skipping detention,” Harry said cheekily.

“The Head Boy is in detention,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

“Ah, but my detention was clearly … fake.” Harry grinned at her. “Please, come with me?”

She eyed him for a moment before nodding jerkily as Harry released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He pulled away from her reluctantly and straightened her robes, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips before sliding one hand down her arm and grasping her fingers in his own. He led her out of the Potions classroom.

“Where are we going?”

“My room,” Harry said. “I, um … I need your help with something. I should have asked for it before now, but I didn’t, because … well because I’m an idiot and a stupid git.”

“Is it about the Children’s Home?” Ginny asked as they climbed the staircases to Gryffindor Tower. By an unspoken agreement they both avoided the shortcut that would lead them past Gryffindor’s room.

“No,” answered Harry, pretending to ignore a pair of fourth years who stared at them so long they nearly fell off the steps as the staircases changed. “Not unless you’ve got a brilliant idea for someone to run it.”

“Mrs Chumley,” Ginny said promptly. Harry stopped right there on the fifth floor landing and turned to her. He remembered the letter he’d read and the fight Gilbert and Gerald had over giving up their magical home. Their mother had put a positive spin on what was probably a terribly dingy flat in a smog-ridden city and tried to make her jobless state sound like a mere hiccup. Harry could never replace their little cottage and he couldn’t suddenly produce their father, but he could give the family a home and their mother a job.

“You’re brilliant!” Harry cried.

“I know,” Ginny said and Harry leaned down to kiss her. She held a finger up to his lips to stop him. “There are people watching.” Harry shrugged as he looked around the various people scattered on the Grand Staircase.

“Let them,” he said simply. “Then they can see that I’m completely in love with you.” Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny, holding her carefully.

“Really?” she whispered, her eyes lowered to his shoulder.

“Yes,” Harry answered quietly, his hands caressing her back. “Don’t you believe me?” Ginny didn’t answer him straight away and Harry could feel his heart start beating erratically as it sank in his chest. Eventually she lifted her gaze to his.

“I thought maybe you … changed your mind,” she said tentatively. “After …” Her face went pink as she trailed off. Harry shook his head wordlessly.

“You pulled away,” Ginny said. She sounded incredibly bereft. “You didn’t want me to touch you.” Harry buried his face in her hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmured. Harry lifted his head and gazed at Ginny. She was looking at him solemnly, biting her bottom lip.

“I know I’m not very curvy,” she blurted. Her face was going redder and she seemed embarrassed to admit it. “I just-”

“It’s got nothing to do with you!” Harry cut her off vehemently. “You’re wonderful. You look wonderful, you feel wonderful, you smell wonderful, you taste wonderful.” Ginny giggled nervously. Harry brought one hand up to caress her cheek. “I … I was just scared. I don’t want to talk about it here. I need to show you something. Come with me?”

“Okay,” Ginny answered quietly. Harry clasped her hand again and led the way up the stairs.

When they scrambled through the portrait hole Harry pointedly ignored Neville and Hermione as they pretended not to watch them from their table near the entrance. He strode purposefully across the room and up the stairs, Ginny’s hand in his, an unnatural hush falling over the room. An outbreak of giggling wafted up the stairs after them.

Harry opened the door to his dorm and ushered Ginny inside. Liberty was still perched atop his four-poster and she opened one eye as he shut the door with a click. The owl flew down to Ginny and landed on her shoulder, pecking her ear gently before fluttering over to Harry and settling once more on his left shoulder. Harry hissed in pain and Liberty squawked and flew back to the top of the bed. Harry clutched at his shoulder, gritting his teeth.

“What’s wrong with your shoulder, Harry?” Ginny asked. Harry shook his head, breathing slowly while the pain diminished.

“Tell you in a minute,” he said shortly, turning to Liberty and holding an arm out. “Here, girl, I’m sorry. Come back down.” Liberty eyed him warily. Harry kept eye contact with Liberty but spoke to Ginny. “Can you get some owl treats from Neville’s drawer, there?”

“Neville’s?” Ginny wrinkled her nose as she ventured further into the room. Harry gestured in the direction of Neville’s bed.

“The one with all the plants around it,” he said. “He’s got owl treats.”

“Haven’t you got any?” Ginny asked as she rummaged through Neville’s top drawer.

“No,” Harry said shortly. Ginny didn’t press him further but handed him a few owl treats. Harry held them out to Liberty, who eventually flew down to his outstretched arm. Harry stroked her softly for a moment before he carried her to the window and opened it. “Go hunting, girl.” Liberty hopped onto the windowsill, stretched her wings and flew off.

Harry watched her fly away, hoping he wasn’t too late to build a relationship with the little owl. He closed the window with a soft click and turned to see that Ginny had taken off her Quidditch practice robes and thrown them carelessly on his trunk. She was sitting on the edge of his bed dressed in the jersey and a pair of old trousers that looked like they might once have been Ron’s. Her boots were in a heap on the floor and her stockinged feet tapped an irregular rhythm on the floor. She watched him silently, expectantly and Harry felt an unmistakable urge to put off what he’d brought her up here to show her. He crossed the room swiftly and rummaged in his nightstand for a quill and some parchment before swiping a bottle of Neville’s ink. He sat gingerly on the bed next to Ginny.

“Um, will you help me write a letter to Mrs Chumley?” he asked. Ginny raised an eyebrow and nodded. They both knew that wasn’t why they were there but neither of them apparently had the courage to point it out.

Harry deliberated over the letter, writing slowly and neatly. He told himself it was to make a good impression but the irritated skin on his shoulder mocked him, reminding him he was drawing out the inevitable. He finished the letter, asking Mrs Chumley to be the resident carer at Grimmauld Place and if she could start before Christmas.

“I know she’s not magical but … with Kreacher …” Harry trailed off as he folded the letter and placed it on his nightstand. “If Liberty doesn’t come back I’ll take that to the Owlery.”

“Why don’t you have any owl treats for her?” Ginny asked suddenly. Harry shrugged and turned away. They sat in silence for a few moments before Ginny spoke. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Harry looked up at her. She was sitting cross-legged at the end of his bed, leaning against one of the posts and playing idly with a loose thread on his counterpane. He didn’t know how to begin. The long, awkward silence stretched in front of them.

“How’s Teddy?” Ginny asked softly.

“He’s great,” Harry said, grateful to her for filling the awkward silence. “He likes to copy your mum; change his hair and his eyes.”

“You saw mum too?”

“Yeah, I think Andromeda sent for her,” Harry said wryly. “She tried to feed me cake and when I didn’t eat it, she took me home and tried to feed me treacle tart.”

“It’s not like you to pass up treacle tart,” Ginny said with a smile.

“Well … I ate it eventually,” Harry confessed. Ginny laughed softly. Harry continued. “Fleur and George weren’t there. It is very weird to sit at the table with your parents while they talk about the price of strawberries.”

“Strawberries aren’t in season.”

“Well, exactly,” said Harry. “That’s why they are so expensive and how come the apples in storage will have to do for the pies tomorrow instead of strawberry tarts.” Ginny chuckled.

“I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow.” Ginny looked back at the stray thread on the counterpane. “You’re never back on Saturday.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you leave on Friday,” Ginny explained. “I know I’ll have to amuse myself the next day and … Hermione studies a lot and Luna is, um, trying to seduce Neville.”

“Is she … ah, succeeding?” Harry asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer but feeling strangely compelled to ask.

“I don’t think so,” Ginny said with a grin. “He’s very attentive and I think he genuinely likes her, but his heart isn’t really in it. Luna doesn’t mind, she says he’s an excellent kisser and Hannah will really appreciate all the effort.” Harry snorted. Ginny smoothed the counterpane beneath her fingers.

“I’m not here for you very much, am I?” Harry asked her.

“It’s not that …” Ginny sighed and looked towards the window. “Remember before? When every spare minute we had, and some we didn’t, we used to go somewhere … somewhere away from Ron and away from Hermione and her study schedule? When all the spare time in the world was for you and me?”

“And now every spare minute I have is for someone else,” Harry said dully.

“No, that’s not it,” Ginny said with a hint of a smile. “It’s just now that you aren’t stuck at Hogwarts and I am, I don’t know— I sort of feel trapped. Like I have to find something to do and Colin’s gone and Demelza’s changed and Audrey Hamilton-Smythe is just using me to get away from Seamus. I tried to hide from her the other day — in the Library. Who hides from a Ravenclaw in the Library?” Harry laughed.

“You don’t like her much?”

“Oh, she irritates me.” Ginny scowled. “Not a single hair out of place, peaches and cream smooth skin — I bet she uses WonderWitch products — and perfectly straight teeth. Hermione told me she must be Muggleborn and had ordothiticks.”

“Orthodontics.”

“So I asked Felicia Smart,” Ginny paused and giggled. “Can you imagine being in Ravenclaw with that last name? I asked her what she thought and she reckons Audrey has this big, old, metal thing full of wires that she sticks in her mouth at night. Hermione said it’s a lot less painful to let Malfoy to hit you with a jinx and have Madam Pomfrey fix it.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you,” Harry muttered.

“I know, you’ve stuck me with Audrey, the mouth,” Ginny grinned at him, letting him know she didn’t really mean it. “It’s not just her orthoticks, she talks! She never stops. So I always make plans so I have an excuse or she would pin me down all afternoon.”

“And what was today’s excuse?” Harry asked with a grin.

“I was planning to spend the afternoon researching how to make a Howler.”

“And now?”

“And now … well I still really want to send Ron a Howler,” Ginny scowled. “I bet Bill helped him with that.”

“I can help you if you want,” Harry offered.

“He’s a git,” Ginny burst out. “He doesn’t know anything! He just decided from miles away to send me a Howler of all things! I bet he hoped it’d turn up in the Great Hall the way his did when you two flew the car to school! Well, it wasn’t far off.

“Did you know it turned up in the Entrance Hall? Practically the whole school heard my brother yelling at me not to break your heart. Did he stop to think maybe it was my heart that was getting broken?”

Harry winced. Ginny ploughed on.

“So apparently I am insane and deaf and he is going to disown me if I don’t fix it. Did he stop to think maybe I didn’t think I was the one who had anything to fix? Oh no, Ron’s on your side.” Ginny’s sarcasm level was rising. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised, he always has been. Honestly he would think you’re his brother and I am the evil witch trying to seduce you away from his family and corrupt you!”

“Not all the time,” Harry ventured when she paused for a breath.

“It’s none of his business anyway,” Ginny said, ignoring Harry. “It’s nobody’s business and everybody thinks it is their business and they keep sticking their noses in! Did you know that before we left for Hogwarts Dad gave me a little talk about waiting for the right time? And then Mum gave me tips on how to avoid pregnancy. I mean, no offence, but she’s not the most qualified witch to be giving me that sort of advice!”Harry stifled a snort.

“It’s not funny!”

“Yes it is,” Harry argued. Ginny smiled.

“Maybe a little,” she allowed.

“Look,” Harry took a deep breath, “I’ve been really stupid and I owe you an apology and an explanation.” Ginny chewed her bottom lip and looked at him solemnly. Harry didn’t know where to start.

“If you’re regretting it-”

“No!” Harry burst out. “I told you that.” He ran a hand through his hair wondering how to start.

“I don’t,” Ginny said so softly he nearly missed it. She had turned away and swung her legs off the side of the bed and was swinging them slowly. Harry scrambled off the bed and knelt in front of her.

“Ginny,” he said urgently, “I don’t regret being with you.”

“Was it too soon?” Ginny asked. “Do you want to stop? It’s a big change and maybe we weren’t ready. Well I’m pretty sure I was ready, but it’s okay if you weren’t ready.” Ginny was blushing and chewing on her bottom lip as if trying to stop herself from blurting out anything else. Harry shook his head.

“I was ready,” he said. Without thinking about it he pulled his jumper over his head.

“I thought you wanted to talk first?” Ginny asked, bemused, as he reached for the bottom of his long sleeved sweatshirt. Harry said nothing and pulled his shirt over his head.

He closed his eyes kneeling on the cold stone floor in front of her. The cool air raised goose bumps on his exposed skin. He heard Ginny gasp a little and then delicate fingers reached out to his shoulder. He shivered, but not from the cold.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” Ginny said softly, running her fingers gently over his shoulder. “It’s no wonder Liberty landing on your shoulder wasn’t exactly welcome. I thought you’d been using the ointment on it?”

“I can’t reach everywhere,” Harry said softly, forcing himself to remain still as her fingers trailed down his arm, tracing the red welts.

“You could have asked me,” Ginny said. Harry shook his head.

“I didn’t want you to see them.”

“I don’t care about your scars.” Ginny’s voice was so full of reproach that Harry couldn’t open his eyes and look at her.

“I didn’t want you to think it was your fault,” Harry whispered.

“How is a rabid Quintaped my fault?” Ginny asked.

“No … they’re worse because …” Harry swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have played Seeker.” He felt Ginny sink down onto the floor in front of him. Small hands grasped his face, stroking gently.

“Oh, Harry …”

“I didn’t want you to blame yourself,” Harry explained desperately, opening his eyes to look into hers. “It’s not because I didn’t want you anymore, it’s just that everyone told me I shouldn’t play and I know they were right; but I wanted you to have the best chance and that’s why I said it was great that you were practicing so hard.

“Hermione said you probably thought I was trying to push you away because I told you that planning for your future was a great idea. I just … I didn’t mean that you had to plan it because I didn’t want to be a part of it. I just know how much you want this and I know your mum thinks it’s not really important, but it is and I just want to be supportive and-”

“Harry-”

“It’s not because I don’t want you any more,” Harry continued, ignoring her interruption and grasping her hands in his, “because I do. In fact I probably want you more than is reasonably healthy. Ron should be sending me Howlers! He would if he knew what was going through my head right now. But I couldn’t ask you to help me with the ointment because then you’d see and then you’d know and I didn’t want you to blame yourself-”

“I did anyway,” Ginny interrupted forcefully. “You looked dreadful after the game and Mum was chewing my ear off about it. I felt so guilty. Then when you didn’t want me to touch you and you wouldn’t let me even see your arm … I thought you blamed me.”

“No, I didn’t blame you!”

“Then I heard that idiot McLaggen — how can a family have more than one git that foul?” Ginny scowled.

“He was talking out his arse,” Harry grumbled.

“I know,” Ginny sighed. “Hermione tried to talk to me about it but …” She trailed off and shrugged.

“With me being a stupid git, what were you supposed to think?” Harry asked softly. He reached up and cupped her cheek. “I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ginny whispered. She stared at him for a moment, “me too.”

Harry could stand it no longer. He pulled her face towards him and pressed a kiss to her lips. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and shuffling towards him so that she was practically sitting in his lap. Her soft lips moved under his as he slid his fingers into her hair. Ginny slid her arms down his back and Harry trailed soft, wet kisses down her neck. One hand strayed to her belly and slid easily under her jersey. As he touched Ginny’s stomach it rumbled loudly and Harry smiled into her neck.

“Um … you squashed my breakfast,” Ginny said.

“Wanna go to the kitchens?” Harry asked her, his hand splayed across her stomach. “And after that, can we go for a walk, if you like. I’ve got lots of spare minutes today and I want to spend them all with you.”

“I’d like that,” Ginny replied softly.