Author's Notes: Many thanks to goingbacktosquareone for her superior beta reading skills and all around support and cheer leading. She is a brilliant goddess without whom I could not live. She is my sun and I bask in her warmth. :D

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The cold November days gave way to even colder December days. Mrs Chumley replied to Harry’s letter quickly, accepting the position in the new Children’s Home and Harry finished the paperwork and sent it in to the Ministry. It was the first Friday in December when Harry had explained that the orphaned students had somewhere to go for the Christmas holidays. Professor McGonagall had thrown her arms around him in a very uncharacteristic display.

“You are a wonderful, wonderful young man,” the professor had mumbled into his shoulder before patting him on the back and turning away to wipe her eyes surreptitiously.

“Um, Professor, I was sort of wondering …”

“Yes, Mr Potter?” Professor McGonagall smiled warmly at him.

“I was wondering ... I’ve got a bit of business to finalise and I need to speak to Molly, er, Mrs Weasley and …” Harry trailed off not sure to ask for what he wanted.

“Miss Weasley could use some time with her mother,” Professor McGonagall said briskly. “I think, Mr Potter, it would be a good idea if she accompanied you this weekend.”

“Thank you.”

“I expect you both back before tea on Sunday,” Professor McGonagall said before turning back to the paperwork on her desk. “I’ll let our students know they have a … home.”

Harry slipped out of the headmistress’s office and bounded down the spiral staircase, in a hurry to tell Ginny she could come home with him for the weekend. Ginny had been helping him with his ointment but things just weren’t the same as they had been.

After Harry and Ginny had worked things out the previous weekend and gone to the Quidditch match to watch Ravenclaw soundly thrash Hufflepuff, they had gone for a walk. After a quick afternoon tea with Hagrid they had played with Dora for a while before being drawn into a rather rowdy game of Monopoly in the common room. They hadn’t really been alone or returned to the kind of urgency that they had experienced in the Potions classroom. It was as if things were … delicate.

To everyone else Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley looked and behaved like any other young couple. They held hands in the corridors between classes, gave chaste goodbye kisses outside classrooms when they had to part and studied together in the library or the common room. They sat together during meals and took walks down by the lake, rugged up against the winter chill.

But it felt different to Harry. At some place inside there was a wall that they pretended wasn’t really there. The wall stopped them talking about their future. Once they had always talked about the future; made plans and shared dreams. Now they talked carefully about the here and now; schoolwork, the looming completion of the Children’s Home and what Hermione could possibly be hiding. The wall stopped their hands. Once they had let their hands and mouths wander freely, giving and receiving affection openly, searching for places to be alone. Now they caressed tentatively, hesitantly; sitting with their friends, avoiding the dark, secret places the castle had to offer. There hadn’t been anything but chaste goodbye kisses and brief goodnight kisses.

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to resume their physical relationship he just didn’t know how to get over the wall. Despite the initial urgent feelings, their misunderstanding had put up barriers to intimacy. Most of all Harry missed the feeling that Ginny Weasley was his future. He wondered if he should talk to Arthur, but the idea of telling Arthur he and Ginny had been intimate wasn’t very appealing. Harry hoped Ginny would choose to talk to her mother and that would work.

Harry arrived back at the common room to find Ginny and Dean sprawled on the hearth rug, scowling over their Muggle Studies assignment.

“I’m telling you, Ginny, this is a really popular story,” Dean said exasperatedly. “They made it into a movie and everything.”

“It’s a load of rubbish,” Ginny said hotly.

“Well, I know it’s not realistic-”

“Understatement,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

“That’s the point,”Dean bellowed suddenly. “It’s not supposed to be realistic!”

“There’s no need to shout at me,” Ginny said, glaring at him.

“What story are you analysing?” Harry asked flopping onto the nearby couch. The Muggle Studies assignment was to take a Muggle produced story or conception about witches and compare it with the reality. Muggleborn students or those with a Muggle parent had been paired up with purebloods to complete the essay. To her dismay, Hermione had been paired with Draco Malfoy. Harry had been relieved to find himself partnering Neville Longbottom and they’d chosen an odd-looking book about a school for witches full of illustrations of black pointed hats and broomsticks.

“The Wizard of … Oz,” said Ginny, squinting at the parchment. “I mean the wizard isn’t even a real wizard so what’s the point?”

“That’s the point of the story,” Harry answered absently as Arnold the Pygmy Puff rolled off the arm of the chair and into his lap.

“See,” Dean said smugly. “Harry gets it.” Ginny scowled and flipped the book open, slapping it on the floor as if it had personally offended her.

“Every kid loved that movie,” Dean said, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his head. “We used to get to stay up and watch it when it came on TV, then Mum bought us the video. Just about wore that tape out. How many times did you see the movie, Harry?”

“Just once,” Harry answered quietly, not wanting to add that he’d had to hide behind the couch and watch it between the pieces of furniture. When Uncle Vernon had found him there at the end of it Harry had been locked back in the cupboard and missed at least two meals. The movie had never been allowed on again.

Ginny looked up at him, gazing intently and Harry developed a sudden and intense interest in Arnold. Dean did not appear to notice anything amiss.

“See that’s the point, Ginny,” Dean continued. “The real magic didn’t come from the wizard; Dorothy found the real magic where there were people who loved her.”

Ginny muttered something under her breath but ceased arguing. Harry glowered at Dean who looked smug.

“So we should be able to knock this over this weekend,” Dean said.

“Well actually …” Harry stopped, not wanting to discuss his plans — their plans — in front of Dean.

“Perhaps I already have plans, Dean,” Ginny said irritably.

“Oh, come on.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You never do anything but play Quidditch and study.” Ginny glared at him before she shoved some of the parchment and a quill in her bag. She stood up and dropped the novel onto Dean’s stomach as she stalked over and scooped Arnold out of Harry’s grasp.

“Ginny …” Harry leapt out of his seat as she strode to the girls’ staircase. Ginny ignored him and took the stairs two at a time. Harry watched her disappear from sight and then turned to Dean who shrugged.

“Bit tetchy, isn’t she?”

“You idiot,” Harry hissed.

“Reckon she could use a good shag,” Dean continued blithely. “Get rid of some of that tension. I’m sure you’re up for it-”

“Shut up,” Harry growled.

“Oh maybe you could both use-” Dean never finished his sentence because Harry flicked a Silencing charm at him as he stalked towards the boys’ dormitory staircase.

Harry was in the middle of throwing his clothes for the weekend into a bag when the door creaked open slowly and Ginny sidled inside. She shut the door with a quiet click and stood uncertainly at the door.

“Are you going away this weekend?” Ginny asked. Harry heard the accusation in her voice. He stopped abruptly.

“I was going to speak to you about that before Dean interrupted,” Harry began. Ginny sighed and turned around, one hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll see you when you get back,” she said as she pulled the door open. Harry leapt across the room hurriedly. He realised that if he didn’t speed up his explanation he would be in all sorts of strife. He reached the door just before she slipped around it and managed to get one hand out to slam it shut. The doorknob jerked out of Ginny’s hand and Harry leaned on the door, his heart beating rapidly.

Ginny shrank away from him and Harry cursed inwardly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Ginny shook her head slightly.

“It’s okay I just … I don’t like being trapped.”

“Sorry.” Harry pulled his hand away from the door as if scalded.

“Goyle used to do that when I would leave a detention,” Ginny said softly. “He used to … insinuate things.”

“Like what?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I think he was sexually confused,” Ginny replied with a smirk. Harry raised an eyebrow. “He could never seem to remember that I wasn’t sexually interested in servicing members of Slytherin house.”

“He must have been confused, I thought he was …” Harry waved a hand loosely in the air.

“He was soliciting for other people,” Ginny admitted quietly. “He would usually offer a reprieve from Cruciatus in return for … sexual favours. I never took him up on it so he’d always try again at the end of it. Neville would usually force the door back open and he’d back off. When you slammed the door it just reminded me.” Ginny shrugged and looked at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly.

“S’okay,” Ginny mumbled. Harry stood uncertainly for a moment. He had an insane urge to punch Goyle’s face in. Sensing that Ginny didn’t want to dwell on the memory, Harry swallowed heavily and forced himself to talk about something else.

“I was going to say, um … before, downstairs, I was going to say that McGonagall said you could come with me this weekend,” Harry stammered. Ginny looked up at him.

“Really?” she asked incredulously. “You want me to come?” Harry nodded.

“Of course I do,” he said. “I have a couple things to do, er, for the Children’s Home. I was hoping you’d come to Grimmauld Place with me.” Ginny wrinkled her nose. Harry hastily added, “If you don’t want to that’s fine.”

“No, no I’d like to,” Ginny assured him. “It’s just … I never liked that place.”

“Me either,” Harry admitted. “We stayed there last year and I … it was better but I think I’m glad I found a use for it apart from living in it.”

“Were you going to live there?” Ginny asked him. Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I haven’t given a lot of thought to where we’d live, it’s just, if you have a house … isn’t that what you do with it, usually?” Ginny shrugged and looked at the floor again. Harry continued. “I did think perhaps we could get somewhere big enough to play Quidditch.”

Ginny looked up at him, her expression unreadable, and Harry felt as though he could reach out and touch the wall between them. Angrily he began to hurl words at it, battering at it and determined to hammer at it until it crumbled.

“Because I want to live in a house in the country,” he started. Ginny’s eyes went wide as Harry began waving his arms wildly. “With you. I don’t want to live in some house in the middle of London, miles from your family. I want room for our children to grow up. Where they can run and play. Maybe we can have one of those cottages where those vines grow all over it, with one of those little attic rooms and a vegetable patch.

“I want room for Teddy to stay over and a Quidditch pitch for you to practice on so you can follow your dreams and so I can beat Charlie to the Snitch. I want it to have a kitchen with mismatched chairs around a big old table and a front porch where we can sit and watch the sun go down. And it should have one room where Ron can beat me at chess and it’ll have a big old squashy armchair in the corner where Hermione likes to read and a basket for Dora in the corner and … and a big fluffy rug where we can make love in front of the fire.”

Ginny stared at him and Harry swallowed.

“I’m tired of pretending I don’t want that,” Harry explained. “All I want is a place for me and you and our family.”

“Why would you pretend you don’t want that?” Ginny asked.

“Because … it’s …” Harry stopped, unable to express what he meant. If he admitted wanting to spend the rest of his life with Ginny, even though he knew it was undeniably true, he’d be admitting that he wanted to marry her and while he knew that — had even said that — the picture of his life was somehow more explicit than mere words. If her family knew that he had them pictured in a cosy little house with children and a rug in front of the fire for making love on, it meant he was taking Ginny away, making her his. And if he admitted he wanted something for himself it meant being selfish, because Harry Potter wasn’t allowed to have anything that was just for him.

“Which part of the house lets you follow your dreams?” Ginny asked quietly as she laid one hand on his chest. Harry’s heart beat wildly in his chest at the unexpected contact. He searched her eyes, seeing them without the cloud of sorrow and doubt that had haunted them for the past few weeks.

“There’s a space,” Harry whispered. “Under the stairs and it’s just a space and no one has to live there and there’s no cupboard, just space. And that space is as full of as much love as the rest of the house and all the love in the house just fills it up until there’s no room for it and it spills out all the windows and all the doors.”

Ginny stood quietly as a tear rolled down her cheek. Harry reached up and brushed it away with his thumb.

“And it’s because you’re there,” Harry said quietly. Ginny looked up at him solemnly. “When you’re there … it’s home.” And then he said the three words that obliterated the rest of the wall, smashing it to dust. “I love you.”

And Ginny kissed him; really kissed him. Her arms snaked their way around his waist and her body moulded to his. Harry could feel her fingers clutching at his back and her thighs pressing against his own. He wound his fingers into her hair and deepened the kiss fervently. It felt amazing and exhilarating; like he could do just about anything. Ginny was back in his arms and he didn’t ever want to let her go.

Harry was dimly aware that they were in a room with his bed in it and there’s no telling where they might have ended up if Donald Smythe and Sebastian Hornblower hadn’t walked in.

“You’d think all his Christmasses had come at once!” Sebastian exclaimed as he pushed the door open.

“Well, it is nearly Christmas … poor kid deserves a break,” Donald replied. “Oh! Er, sorry Harry …”

“Who deserves a break?” Ginny asked, a smile on her face and her body still pressed against Harry’s. He was grateful that she hadn’t moved. Harry had no desire to advertise his arousal to anyone — apart from Ginny.

“Gilbert,” answered Sebastian, looking a little self-conscious. Harry didn’t doubt he looked a bit flushed and was probably wearing a silly grin but he felt too happy to care about the sensibilities of Sebastian Hornblower. The general consensus was that Sebastian was wound so tightly he could spontaneously combust at any moment.

“He got an Owl,” Donald explained, throwing himself on Ron’s bed. “I think it was from his mum, a new house or something. I heard the other day they had to move and he was really upset about it. I guess this house is better than the other one.” Harry smiled, wondering how Gerald had taken the same news.

“I’d better go,” Ginny said softly.

“If you pack now, we can be home in time for tea,” Harry said. He pulled her towards him and bent to press a soft kiss to her lips. Ginny wriggled against him and giggled slightly before slipping form his grasp and out the door. Harry shifted uncomfortably and turned to find Donald with a wide grin on his face. Harry, his face flaming, concentrated on packing for the weekend at the Burrow.

“Say, Harry,” Sebastian began. He stopped when Harry looked up.

“What is it?” Harry asked, aware that he rarely spoke to these two boys. Between all his concerns and the fact that they were actually in Ginny’s year he didn’t give them much thought.

“D’you think it’s really over?” Sebastian asked, standing in the middle of the room, twisting his hands together nervously.

“Is what really over?” Harry asked.

“Like … are all the Death Eaters really gone?”

Harry looked up, startled at the question. Everyone had seemed terribly careful not to talk about the events of the past year, and Voldemort in particular, since he’d taken Salbadar Limuson out with such force on the first day of classes. Sebastian hurried on.

“I know You-Know-Who is dead-”

“Voldemort,” Harry interrupted harshly. Sebastian gulped. “Saying his name doesn’t do anything anymore.”

“Um … yeah,” Sebastian looked terribly uncomfortable but he took a deep breath and kept going. “It’s just last time he was gone my dad reckons all his supporters weren’t captured and they went and got new ones, too.” Sebastian shuffled nervously. “D’you think it’s the same? D’you think … are they still out there?”

“Yeah …” Harry nodded slowly. “Not necessarily Death Eaters exactly, but there’s probably always going to be Dark Wizards.” Sebastian took a deep breath.

“’Cause I think Professor Thistlewaite is one,” he said.

“Professor Thistlewaite is a Death Eater?” Harry asked blankly.

“I can’t believe you told him your insane theory,” Donald said, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, Harry I tried to talk him out of it, but …” Donald trailed off, shrugging.

“He feels Dark,” Sebastian insisted, turning to Donald and glaring at him. “I’m not insane.”

“I don’t know what you’re seeing,” Donald said. “If you ask me, Professor Fiesche is more sinister than that nervous, twittery, old fool.”

“Professor Fiesche is an Auror!” Sebastian exclaimed.

“Still looks Dark,” Donald muttered.

“Look, I’m sure no one in the castle is a Dark Wizard,” Harry said as he threw a few more socks into his bag. “If you really have a concern about someone you should speak to the Headmistress.”

“But you’re Harry Potter,” Sebastian said. Harry turned to look at him.

“Um …”

“Bit more reliable than some old woman,” Donald explained with a grin. Harry was torn between the novelty of being called reliable and need to tear strips off them for the attitude towards Professor McGonagall.

“She’s been fighting Dark Wizards since before you were born,” he said coldly as he swung his bag over his shoulder. “Look, I know you mean well but they are just new teachers. You’ll get used to them.” He smiled at them, hoped he looked reassuring and strode out the door. He was in a hurry to meet Ginny; if they hurried they could be at the Burrow before tea.

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

“Tell me again why we didn’t go straight home?” Ginny muttered as George searched frantically through the pile of parchment on his desk.

“Because we need to go to the bank,” Harry explained with a smirk.

“And going to the bank involves coming to listen to George while he reads us love notes?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“Aha!” exclaimed George, brandishing a piece of pink parchment. He bounded towards them. “This is the one that finally got her to let me come over!”

“Probably because she wanted you to shut up …” George didn’t hear her, he was too busy straightening the pink parchment.

“This is the rough copy of course; she probably keeps her copy under her pillow,” George said and cleared his throat. “Upon my despair my heart beats. I call for you, but you’re gone. My heart and my eyes weep until you come back to me. Only sorrow because you are gone. Eyes like fire and hair like silk and all around is home..”

“Promise me that you will never write me poetry,” Ginny said. Harry grinned at her.

“Harry!” George exclaimed suddenly, oblivious to his sister’s grimace. “You’ve got to help me, you’re a bloke. We’re going out tonight. The other night she finally agreed to come for a drink — just one — and we decided we were both so miserable, couldn’t get any worse. We had the best time. The whole time she liked me, just … it was hard, y’know? I need to do my hair-”

“And you’ve picked me for this?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Well, clothes then,” George continued, waving a hand airily. “Where should we go? Dinner? Dancing? What about one of those Muggle movings? That’d be good, yeah?”

“George, as flattered as I am,” Harry said, “I really think you have had just a little more experience with dating and things than me-”

“Should I take her flowers?” George pressed.

“The bank,” Harry said weakly.

“Come on, you want me to ask Percy?” George asked. “Ron and Bill are still in Egypt and Charlie’s in Romania and …” The unsaid end of the sentence hung heavily in the air.



“I’m … just …” Harry stopped frustrated not at all sure how to admit that he was rubbish with romance in front of his girlfriend.

“Fine, I’ll give you tips then,” George said, grinning.

“Oh, I can go to the bank, no problem,” said Ginny, with a sickly sweet smile, holding out her hand. Harry glowered at her but fished his Gringotts key out of his pocket, slapping it into her hand with a growl.

“Thanks Ginny,” he said through gritted teeth. She kissed him on the cheek and ran one hand down his chest, lingering on his waist and Harry shuddered.

“Any particular amount you’d like me to withdraw?” she asked, sliding the hand around his back and down.

“No,” Harry said quietly, sliding his arms around her. “Get whatever you need and a few extra Galleons for treats at Hogsmeade next weekend.”

“What I need?” Ginny looked up at him, confusion on her face. Harry placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“For Christmas shopping,” he said, “or, um … whatever.”

“You want me to buy you a Christmas present?”

“No!” Harry shook his head fiercely. “I thought you’d want to buy things for your family and there’s more range here in London than in Hogsmeade — oh we could get your dad something in Muggle London, so get some converted to pounds, yeah?”

“But, I couldn’t-”

“Couldn’t what?” Harry pulled her closer, daring her to say it, that she couldn’t use his money. It had been their vault for months now and she’d never asked for a single thing, not spent a single Knut since they bought school supplies and she’d shyly added a pair of winter gloves and an array of hair clasps to the pile of new school robes he’d insisted she buy.

Ginny bit her bottom lip and stared up at Harry. He could see the indecision on her face and he wondered what exactly she was trying to decide.

“Okay,” Ginny answered quietly, reaching up to press a kiss to his jaw. Harry turned his head and captured her lips with his own.

“Good,” he breathed when he broke the kiss. His hands trailed up and down her back. “I’ll see you back here when you’re done?” Ginny nodded and reached up to kiss him again.

“All right, all right!” George exclaimed. Harry jerked away guiltily and Ginny laughed. George shook his head ruefully. “I’m your biggest fan, Potter, but please cease playing hockey with her tonsils in the shop. I had to turn poor Fred away. It’s not right to subject that display to someone who can’t escape!” Harry glanced at the plaster statue and the picture of Fred that always sat on the counter. They faced the back wall.

“I won’t be long,” Ginny said as she slipped out of Harry’s grasp. Harry watched her go and sighed heavily. His desire was back, stronger than ever, and he couldn’t help but wonder how he could get her alone for more than five minutes.

“Need the use of the upstairs bedroom, Harry?” George asked with a leer. Harry jumped and whirled away from the window.”

“No!” he cried. “What for? What would we … us, erm, I … do up there?” George laughed and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“So, going all right with Ginny then?” George leaned on the counter. Harry just nodded. The uncomfortable silence settled over the shop and Harry became intensely interested in the toe of his shoe. George picked up a case of Skiving Snackboxes from the end of the counter and wandered over to stack them on a shelf.

“Bit behind on the stocking up with Ron gone,” George said. Harry nodded and went over to help. The two of them worked in silence for a moment.

“Listen George,” Harry said eventually. “Did you have something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No,” George looked up from the display of Canary Creams that he was straightening. “What makes you think that?”

“Every time one of you-”

“One of who?”

“Bill, Charlie, Percy …”

“Ah, the brothers grim.”

“Funny,” Harry said, not smiling. He took a deep breath. “Every time you get me alone it’s because you want to talk to me about not breaking Ginny’s heart. I just wondered what I did this time.”

“Nah,” George said quietly. “I know I have had my moments but … I’m not exactly opposed to you and Ginny, erm getting up to whatever it is you two like to get up to.”

“We, ah-”

“Don’t finish that.”

“Right.”

George fixed the already straight Canary Creams and began adjusting a display of shield hats. Harry eyed him carefully. Something wasn’t right but he had no idea what it was.

“Fred was better at picking outfits than me,” George said eventually. Harry didn’t say anything, wondering if George would go on. It was the first time Harry had heard George talk about Fred since his death without being drunk, crying or shouting. George took a deep breath and picked up a hat, twirling it idly.

“We used to double date,” George continued staring into space, eyes focused on nothing, probably seeing the past. “Fred would pick what we would wear. Nothing too much the same, but we matched, y’know? And he was pants at shining shoes so I used to do that, but he was better at doing hair. If I tried to do it myself that bit always used to stick up above my ears.” George stopped for a moment and fingered the hair above his ear before he tugged slightly on the hair that covered the hole where his missing ear was.

“Even with one ear missing it still sticks up,” George continued. “Like it doesn’t care that the ear’s missing. Fred knew how to make it cover up the missing ear though. He always used to fix that for me and I’d iron our shirts the old fashioned way because we were both rubbish at ironing charms.

“He always knew if we should bring flowers and … Angelina likes daisies. He used to bring her daisies. We stopped going on double dates with her. He used to go by himself. But I’d still iron his shirt and he’d check my hair for me before he left.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. George put the hat down and wandered to the door and flipped the sign on it to ‘Closed.’ Without warning George sank down onto the floor, leaning against the door, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“I don’t know how to be alone,” he said. “When Ron’s here it’s … I can do it. The days he’s at Hogwarts are really, really hard. Percy was here yesterday. He stayed nearly all day. I nearly cried when he left and I locked up early and went home. I think Mum thought I was nutters when I started chopping vegetables for her. She sent me out to get the eggs and … I made Fleur go with me. Harry, I think I’m going nuts.”

Harry sank down onto the floor next to George. They sat in silence for a moment before Harry spoke.

“What are you going to wear tonight?” he asked. “If you’re going to take daisies, you don’t want anything … white, I guess.” George turned to look at him and it was then Harry noticed the tears filling George’s eyes.

“Ginny’s pretty good with hair,” Harry added quietly. George nodded silently and let the tears fall and Harry put an arm around his shoulders and held him while he cried.

They were still sitting like that when Ginny came back. Harry jumped up to open the door for her and George grinned at her a bit sadly.

“Need to go buy some flowers,” he explained as he shoved his hands in his pockets and slipped out the door. “Be back in a bit.” Harry closed the door after him, watching as he walked down the street, head bowed and shoulders hunched against the cold.

“Is he all right?” Ginny asked softly. Harry turned around and shrugged.

“Misses Fred,” he said. Ginny turned to watch George disappear between two witches at the far end of the Alley. Harry slid an arm around her shoulders. “He’s getting there but Ron being away ... he’s lonely.” Ginny laid her head on Harry’s chest and sighed.

Harry looked down at her. She was clutching a brown paper wrapped package. The paper was wrinkled and brittle looking and the string it was tied with still had dust clinging to it. The package was partially hidden by her cloak and it was torn on one corner, a thick piece of yellowing parchment poked out.

“What’s that?” Harry asked nodding at the package. Ginny started almost guiltily and glanced at it quickly before looking up at him.

“I got, um, some Galleons and then I exchanged some for pounds, but I don’t know if it was a good rate,” she answered. Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

“That package is not full of pounds.”

“Well … no,” Ginny admitted. “I’m not exactly sure what’s in the package, precisely.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Your vault,” she answered, looking at the floor.

“Not that I mind,” Harry said, reaching out to tilt her chin up so that she was looking at him, “but why would you bring a tatty looking package out of our vault?” He could tell that she didn’t miss his emphasis. For an answer she slowly pulled the package out from under her cloak and turned it over. Scrawled across it were the words Engagement, Christmas 1977. Harry stared.

“I found it at the back of the vault,” Ginny said. “If you go sort of past the piles of Galleons there’s um, there’s like a chest and some books and things back there.” Harry took the package and turned it over in his hands.

“It’s been there all this time?” he asked incredulously. Ginny nodded.

“I … there’s a lot of things in the chest,” she said. “I just brought that because I thought maybe there would be a wizarding picture of it. Like the one by your bed. I got distracted when I saw George; I meant to tell you straight away.”

Harry strode to the counter of the shop, laying the package down and pulling at the string that bound it together. He peeled back the paper to reveal a piece of brightly coloured Christmas wrapping paper, several moving photographs and a squashed green bow. He reached out and picked up a picture of his parents, dressed the same as the engagement photograph from Dudley, the ring shining on his mother’s hand as she waved it at the camera. His dad stood next to her proudly, one arm around her shoulders.

Passing the moving wizarding photograph to Ginny, Harry pulled the next photograph from the package. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at a crooked picture of his dad, his arm around a frail, white haired woman. They were standing with a man, who despite his advanced age, looked just like James Potter. A Christmas tree stood in the background and Harry’s father was laughing merrily while waving and winking at the person taking the photograph. Ginny moved towards him and, seeing the photograph, she tucked herself against his side and wrapped an arm around his waist. Harry pulled her close, the photograph shaking in his other hand.

“Your grandparents,” Ginny said softly. “There’re some other things …”

“Where did it come from?” Harry asked. “How did it get there?” Ginny shrugged and the two of them stood gazing at the photograph until they heard George’s keys jangling at the door.

Harry hastily shuffled the paper, bow and photographs together and wrapped them back in the paper before carefully slipping the package into his bag. Ginny eyed him momentarily but didn’t say anything. Harry didn’t feel like sharing it with George just then. He wasn’t sure why. It might have been because he didn’t want George seeing the photos but it could have been because George looked absolutely terrified as he stood in the middle of the shop, clutching a bunch of daises that he was squeezing so hard his knuckles were white.

“I hope you are planning on getting changed,” Ginny told him lightly. “Because those daisies clash with the swirls on your robes.”

“They do?” George asked, looking down at himself. Ginny nodded emphatically.

“Absolutely,” she said. “Now, are we getting ready for this date upstairs or …?”

“Erm, flat’s a bit of a mess …”

“Needs cleaning up then,” Ginny said, skipping to the door that led to the upstairs flat.

“Haven’t spent a lot of time there,” George said. “It’s empty.” Ginny turned around.

“I know,” she said quietly. A glint of mischief flickered across her face. “Are you going to raid his wardrobe or will I?” George threw back his head and laughed.

Harry followed the two of them upstairs. Within an hour Harry and Ginny had aired out the flat, cleaned the mess and debris in the living room and kitchen and scrubbed the bathroom. George was dressed in a purple shirt from Fred’s wardrobe that Harry had ironed with an ancient iron Arthur had charmed when the twins had moved out of the Burrow.

“You’re a bit domestic, Potter,” George had smirked at him while he sat patiently as Ginny did his hair and Harry ironed his shirt. “Ginny said my shiny new bathroom is your doing.” He raised an eyebrow at Harry who shrugged.

“And here I thought you were all typical and messy like all the other boys,” Ginny teased Harry as she handed George a mirror.

“You’ve not seen the Muggles’ house, dear Gin-Gin,” George said, admiring his hair in the mirror. “Dreadfully sanitary, it was. Couldn’t be a boy growing up there without learning a bit of domesticity. Of course that pig of a cousin of yours looked like he didn’t know one end of a broom from the other. Still, I bet they never let him near a broomstick.” George chuckled.

“I don’t think Dudley’s picked up a broom in his life,” Harry said, shaking his head wryly. “When I came back from Hogwarts after first year Uncle Vernon looked at me funny every time I swept the kitchen after breakfast. I reckon he thought I was about to jump on it and fly away.”

“Still … awfully clean, this bathroom,” George said. Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I reckon you did more than your fair share of cleaning there.” Harry didn’t say anything. Ginny began to straighten the cushions on George’s couch and didn’t look at Harry. George watched Harry so closely he felt he was under a microscope.

Thankfully George let the subject drop, turning back to his uncharacteristic fretting over Angelina.

***********

Molly kept watching Harry. He squirmed uncomfortably. She’d been doing it all evening. When he and Ginny had arrived at the Burrow Molly had descended on her only daughter, fussing over Ginny and enveloping her in a hug. Harry had smiled at Molly’s questioning glance, hoping he looked cheerful enough to reassure her. The packet of photographs and mementos was weighing on his mind and it made him a little distracted.

After tea they went into the sitting room. Fleur excused herself to go and write to Bill but Arthur dozed in a chair with the evening paper. Molly’s knitting needles click-clacked constantly as she listened to her daughter talk about Hogwarts. Ginny was sitting so close to Harry on the couch that she was almost sitting in his lap. Harry amused himself by playing with Ginny’s hair, watching the strands fall through his fingers.

“And your Defence classes are going well?” Molly asked during a lull in Ginny’s chatter. Harry looked up as Ginny launched into a description of a duel Harry and Hermione had staged for the class that week where Hermione had almost won.

Harry smiled at Ginny and picked up the tiny hand that was resting on his thigh. He brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. He smiled as he felt her fingers curl into his cheek. Harry noticed Molly gazing at him as he entwined his fingers with Ginny’s and turned her hand over to brush a soft kiss across her knuckles. Molly smiled softly as she nodded at Ginny’s description of Neville looking surprised that he’d actually stunned Dean.

“I mean, even after last year he gets caught off guard sometimes,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “He’s the best at dodging spells and his aim’s pretty good now, too.”

“Yeah but Dean’s not a slouch himself,” Harry interjected. “Being on the run is the perfect way to practice dodging.” Harry wished he hadn’t spoken when Molly looked at him sadly. He squirmed in his seat.

“Well, I wish you children weren’t still thinking about dodging and defending,” Molly said with a sniff. “It should be over.”

“We’re not children anymore,” Ginny muttered. Molly sighed and nodded as though acknowledging the truth of the statement. Ginny continued. “Dean got caught anyway, didn’t he? Doesn’t seem like very good dodging to me!”

“We got caught by the same blokes,” Harry said quietly.

“It was probably Ron’s fault,” Ginny grumbled mutinously. Her mother raised an eyebrow at Ginny’s belligerent tone and Harry shook his head.

“It was mine, actually,” he admitted. “You can’t keep blaming Ron for everything.”

“Yours?” Ginny asked sharply at the same time her mother asked what else she was blaming on Ron. Harry nodded.

“How did you end up captured?” Arthur asked suddenly. Harry was startled. He’d thought the older man was asleep but he’d obviously been aware enough to follow the conversation. Harry shifted uncomfortably, not used to direct questions about his activities last year. Until now the Weasleys had left the subject alone, taking what he said and not demanding anything else. He saw now the question in their eyes and realised they still knew precious little of what their youngest son had been up to in the previous year and he knew it must be hard for them not to know.

He imagined that if one of his children ran off with his best mate, whose face was on a wanted poster, for a whole year — then he’d have questions, too.

“Ron hasn’t said?” Harry asked, stalling for time.

“He refuses to talk about it,” Molly answered quietly. Harry stared into the crackling fire for a moment, wondering where to start. He could give the short version, he thought. He’d said ‘Voldemort’ and that was it, really, but he felt the weight of the packet of Christmas engagement photos still in the pocket of his robes. It was coming up to Christmas again and he had a strange and almost uncanny urge to unburden himself about the events of last Christmas. They had nothing to do with getting captured, not really; and Harry floundered in a sea of memories, not knowing what to say, only that he wanted to say something. Ginny squeezed his hand gently and he turned to look at her. She smiled at him and Harry knew it would be okay if he didn’t say anything but that she wanted to know as well.

“He warned me,” Harry blurted. “He knew that Voldemort had jinxed his own name but I said it anyway. I was too caught up in making my point.”

“You never were afraid to say it like the rest of us,” Arthur said gently.

“How did he know not to say it?” Molly asked. “We didn’t hear from you, any of you. If we had …” Harry sighed. Admitting that Ron had been at Bill’s over Christmas last year was probably going to get both Ron and Bill in trouble.

“We had a fight,” he said. “The ah, the locket Horcrux was making us a little … well, we overheard Dean and Ted Tonks talking to some goblins about, um … Hogwarts and Hermione and I started thinking about how the sword could maybe destroy the locket; but I think Ron was sort of angry because I was concentrating on the sword, he thought I didn’t care that, um …” Harry stopped and glanced at Ginny.

“Was this after we tried to steal the sword out of Snape’s office?” she asked him. Harry nodded.

“We had a massive fight,” Harry admitted. “He thought I didn’t care that you were facing certain death in the Forbidden Forest as penance for your sword-stealing sins.” Ginny snorted.

“It really was very foolish of you, dear,” Molly said primly, her knitting needles moving furiously. “That forest isn’t exactly safe. I don’t know what Hagrid was thinking taking you on a detention in there.”

“It was safer than the other detention options,” Ginny said quietly. Molly blanched but kept knitting, her fingers a little shakier.

“That’s what I said,” Harry grumbled. “I don’t know … it just degenerated into a fight. He said I didn’t care that his family could be dead. And then I said he should go home to Mummy’s cooking and he said it was all right for me cos my parents were … well …”

“Ron said that?” Ginny gaped at him. Harry shrugged.

“I told him to leave,” he said quietly. “He would have stayed if I hadn’t yelled at him to go.”

“I would have yelled at him to go, too,” Ginny said through gritted teeth.

“Where did he go?” Arthur asked. He was sitting up straight now, the paper lay in his lap, forgotten.

“He certainly didn’t come here,” Mrs Weasley sniffed.

“I thought he’d go to Hogwarts,” Harry said.

“He never turned up there,” Ginny said. “I would have hexed him if he had.”

“The Snatchers got him,” Harry admitted, Molly gasped. “He escaped, though, and tried to get back but Hermione and I moved and concealed ourselves again and he couldn’t find us, so he went to Bill’s.”

“You and Hermione were alone in the tent?” Molly raised an eyebrow and Ginny snickered.

“Erm ... well …”

“Molly,” Arthur said quietly, “I hardly think that’s the point.” Molly’s knitting needles began to move faster, her fingers flying furiously.

“She spent the whole time crying about Ron,” Harry said, feeling uncomfortably hot. He knew his face was flaming. “I don’t blame him. Not really. I had no idea what I was doing. He was right to question me.”

“Bill never told us Ron was there,” Arthur said. Molly grunted. Harry didn’t know if she was unhappy with him and Hermione or Bill and Ron.

“When did he come back?” Ginny asked.

“After Christmas he found us again,” Harry said.

“After Christmas?” Ginny stared incredulously. “It was that long?” Harry shrugged.

“He saved my life.”

“Why didn’t he come home?” Arthur asked. Molly’s knitting needles were shaky and she stopped knitting suddenly, looking up at Harry.

“Yes, why?” she asked softly. Harry couldn’t bear the sorrow in her gaze and he turned to look into the fire.

“He thought you’d be angry with him for walking out on us,” he said. “He was particularly afraid of the twins’ wrath and what Ginny might do to him.”

“He was right to be afraid,” Ginny said furiously. “If he had turned up here at Christmas, I would’ve — oooh and he sent me a Howler for not talking to you? That hypocrite!”

“Ron sent you a Howler?” Molly raised her eyebrow at her daughter and Harry saw Arthur attempt to mask a smirk. Ginny just growled.

“So when he found us again he warned us about not saying Voldemort, but …” Harry shrugged.

“How long did Hermione refuse to talk to him?” Ginny asked.

“Only about a day.” Harry grinned at her. Ginny grinned back. Molly’s needles began to click-clack again and Arthur’s paper rustled as he picked it up, folding it carefully.

“What made you say Voldemort?” Ginny asked after a moment. “To get you captured?”

“We were listening to Potterwatch,” Harry said absently, “and Fred was talking … we thought it might have been George but Ron said it was Fred …” Harry stopped as his throat closed over. He struggled to swallow and took a deep breath.

“Fred was Rapier,” Ginny said quietly. “He was joking about Basilisks.”

“How did you-”

“Bill came to move us to Auntie Muriel’s,” Ginny cut in, “because they knew Ron was with you. George and I were listening to the wireless and then … I felt like something bad had happened but I didn’t know what. We …. me and George, stayed up all night waiting for Fred to come home. He had trouble on his way back from broadcasting, had to hide for a while. Reckoned he was spotted but he couldn’t figure out what they wanted.”

“He didn’t tell me that!” Molly exclaimed, the knitting needles stopping briefly before resuming their steady click-clack.

“There wasn’t a lot of time,” Ginny said, drawing her knees up to her chest. “And things got crazy that day. Remember Bill showed up? You made us all leave but you wouldn’t tell me why. Fred only just got home in time. Bill and George were arguing because George wouldn’t leave without Fred. Bill told him he’d stay for Fred and that George had to get me out. That was the only thing that got George moving. When I realised George wasn’t waiting for Fred — but only because of me … I made Bill tell me … I made him tell me what had happened.”

“I wondered what made you ask why we couldn’t go and stay with Bill,” Arthur said, sounding incredibly amused. Ginny blushed heavily.

“One Fidelius would have been a lot easier to set up,” Ginny answered.

“There wouldn’t have been room,” Harry muttered. Ginny patted his thigh.

“I know,” she said, “and it also would have been very distracting.” Harry leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“I can’t believe Ron ditched you guys,” Ginny muttered. “He-”

“Don’t blame Ron for everything,” Harry said quietly. “He’s my best mate and sometimes … it’s my fault.”

“All right then,” Ginny sighed. “Can I at least get him back for the Howler?” Harry laughed then.

“Only if I can help.”

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

It was late and Molly and Arthur had gone up to bed. Harry and Ginny sat together in the living room. Harry was idly playing with the hem of Ginny’s shirt while she flicked through the evening paper her father had left when he’d gone up to bed.

“It says here that they’ve chosen a sculptor for the new statue in the Ministry,” Ginny said.

“Hmmmm,” Harry answered, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck.

“I wonder what it will be, oh…” Ginny trailed off as Harry began to place feather light kisses along her collarbone, through her shirt.

“We’ll find out,” Harry murmured. “As long as it’s not of me, I don’t care.” Ginny giggled and shifted a bit so that Harry could slip his hands underneath her shirt.

Ginny soon abandoned the paper in favour of kissing Harry and it was several minutes before she pulled away, her hands still running through his hair.

“We should go up to bed,” he said. “It’s late.”

“Okay,” Ginny said, grinning. “Yours or mine?”

“Separate beds,” Harry said firmly. Ginny pouted.

“Party pooper.”

“I’m not … I can’t … your father trusts me!”

“I know,” Ginny said gently. “I’m only kidding. But if you want to …”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I just … your parents ...”

“It’s okay,” Ginny insisted, her fingers trailing down the front of his shirt. She leaned forward and kissed him and Harry gave himself up to the feelings until Ginny pulled away. “Mum’s probably listening for when we go to bed.”

Harry nodded wordlessly and stood up, extending a hand to her as he did so. They stopped outside Ginny’s bedroom.

“Goodnight,” Ginny said.

“See you in the morning,” Harry whispered. He kissed Ginny softly, his hands trailing along her sides and over her hips. He squeezed her hand one last time before he turned to go up the stairs to Ron’s room.

Once inside he pulled the packet of photos out of his pocket and sat on the cramped bed that had been left permanently in Ron’s room for him. He shed his robes, shrugging them onto the floor and toed off his trainers before pulling his feet up onto the bed and untying the packet again. The photographs spilled out and the wrapping paper fluttered to the floor. As Harry picked it up he noticed a gift tag still attached with a yellowing piece of spellotape that was only still there by magic. He carefully turned the tag over so that he could read the scrawl on it.

’To Lily, all my love, James’

Harry smiled. The square of paper wasn’t very big but it had been folded meticulously. Harry held it and the gift tag in his hands for a moment before putting it down, laying the squashed gift bow on the top and turning his attention again to the photographs. The photos of his smiling grandparents and his radiant parents were taken on the same day as the Muggle photograph he’d found in the envelope from Dudley. They were wearing the same clothes and displaying the same ring proudly. The fairy lights on the Christmas tree fluttered from branch to branch and the dark, rich background looked similar to the furnishings at Grimmauld Place. Harry wondered if his father had grown up in a similar style of house.

He reached out silently to trace the features of his grandfather. The old man had bright, twinkling eyes that reminded him of Dumbledore and thinning hair that was obviously white with age. The affection that shone through to his wife and son was obvious and Harry felt his eyes grow wet. He smiled as he let the tears fall. The people in the photos were gone but he held, in his hands, some echo of his wizarding heritage and now that he finally had it, the emotions overwhelmed him. Ginny had said there were more things in his vault and he wondered why he’d not investigated it before.

Harry propped the photo of his father and grandparents on his bedside table and undressed for bed. If he was honest with himself he hadn’t checked the vault partly because he didn’t have time but mostly because his past had been something he’d been told never to ask. First rule of living with the Dursleys — ‘Don’t ask questions’. It was as if something inside of him was slowly melting and he started to wonder for the first time what his family was like and what other treasures he could uncover at the back of the vault. As he doused the lamp and burrowed under the covers he realised that for the first time he was curious, perhaps even excited to find out what lay in his past.

The thought must have kept him awake because he was still laying, staring at the ceiling and wondering if he’d been a fool to pass up the opportunity to have Ginny Weasley in his bed when the door creaked open. Harry propped himself up on one elbow to see Ginny, bathed in moonlight, pushing the door closed behind her.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Visiting,” Ginny replied as she padded softly over to his bed.

“Oh …”

“Budge over,” Ginny hissed as she reached for the covers. Harry clutched them to his chest

“What?” Harry yelped. She was dressed in nothing more than one of Ron’s old Cannons T Shirts and Harry was acutely aware of his own state of undress. Ginny just rolled her eyes.

“I’ve seen it all before,” she grinned and bent down to yank the covers away and climbed in beside Harry. She smirked as Harry’s eyes travelled down to the spot where the T Shirt had ridden up on her thighs. “And so have you.”

Harry pulled the covers up around their shoulders and Ginny snuggled closer to him, laying her head on the pillow and reaching an arm out to snake around his waist.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you-”

“I can tell,” Ginny murmured.

“Ginny!” She ran her hand up and down his back slowly and Harry found his arms around her and his lips on hers before he had a conscious thought. It was with extreme self control that he pulled away, because Ginny was pressed against him in all the right places and he was sure she was trying to torture him or kill him … or both.

“Harry,” Ginny murmured, not deterred by his actions she merely began kissing along his jaw and down his neck.

“Stop that,” Harry hissed.

“Why?” Ginny asked as she trailed kisses across his shoulder. “You’ve been desperate all day.”

“Desperate’s a strong word …”

“You tried to feel me up in George’s bathroom with a cleaning rag in the other hand!”

“You shouldn’t lean over like that …”

“I do it on purpose …” Ginny giggled and ran a hand down and over the curve of his hip and Harry sucked in a breath.

“I know,” he growled. With a massive amount of self control he stilled his own hands which had been tracing patterns on her back through the T Shirt and took a deep, shuddering breath. “You need to go back to bed.”

“I am in bed.”

“Not my bed, your bed!”

“Why?” In the moonlight that streamed through Ron’s tiny window Harry could see her big, brown eyes looking up at him, the pupils wide. He struggled to find a reason. Taking a deep breath he stared short-sightedly at the picture propped up on his nightstand. He couldn’t see the people in the image but he knew his father stood proudly with his parents in front of an impressive Christmas tree, the three of them smiling and happy.

“Your parents,” Harry answered eventually, “are right down stairs. It’s not … it’s well … your dad …”

“Understands,” Ginny said, beginning a fresh trail of kisses along his jaw line.

“Yeah, he’d be very understanding if he came up here to investigate the odd sounds the ghoul was making,” Harry hissed, “and found us in bed … and the ghoul not making the noises!” Ginny giggled and Harry groaned as the laughter shook her whole body which was still in contact with his own.

“Are you saying, Mr Potter, that I’m noisy in bed?”

“Dunno,” Harry shot back, “Never had you in a bed before!” Ginny laughed then, a full belly laugh that seemed to bubble out of her throat and float out across the silent room.

“Shhhhhhhh!”

“Mum and dad can’t hear us,” Ginny whispered as she tried to control her laughter. “They’re a couple flights down and Dad’s snoring is legendary. I don’t know how Mum sleeps through it. Neither of them are going to hear anything. You could make me scream your name and they wouldn’t even know it.”

“You’re killing me,” Harry groaned at the images Ginny was putting in his head. “This is your parents’ house!”

“Oh stop!” Ginny said, her voice muffled as she travelled down his chest, laying a trail of kisses in her wake. She giggled again. “They have sex in the house all the time.”

This did not reassure Harry. He was not at all certain that they would be so amenable to him having sex in their house. With their daughter. While they were there.

He wasn’t sure he was amenable to it. But Ginny’s lips did make a persuasive argument … and his body seemed to have ideas very different from his head. He could tell Ginny was smiling as he pressed against her and pulled her lips up to his for a searing kiss that he could feel all the way to his toes. He’d been a fool to even think he could let her back out of his bed once she’d climbed in.

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

Harry cracked his eyes open when he heard the door creak. He froze. He could still feel Ginny’s warmth pressed against his side, her leg thrown over his and her breathing ghosting softly across his chest. Dawn was breaking and a weak light filtered in through the window. There was no hiding the red tresses strewn across his pillow and the discarded clothing on the floor.

“Harry!” an urgent voice hissed. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered back in a voice that cracked alarmingly.

“I need to talk to you!” It was George.

This was good news, Harry thought as he grabbed for his glasses. George offered the brightest hope for mercy. Ginny stirred as Harry found his glasses and shoved them on his face awkwardly with one hand.

“Don’t wake her up,” George hissed. Harry glared at George, expecting to find him smirking at him or perhaps taking aim.

But George was looking anxious and pale, shifting rapidly from one foot to the other in the doorway. Harry slowly untangled his limbs from Ginny’s and soothed her back to sleep with a kiss, stroking her hair the way he did to Teddy. He blushed a little as he climbed out of the bed and unearthed his boxers from beneath Ginny’s T Shirt, pulling them on hastily. He and George had once shared a locker room, but Harry had never entered the locker room after being pressed against a naked girl. The evidence was damning.

“Come on,” George muttered urgently, grabbing Harry’s arm and hauling him down the stairs. He stumbled on the second floor landing and banged into the wall. George shushed him hurriedly and kept dragging him. Harry winced as his left foot connected with the banister and his right shoulder was wrenched as George rounded the corner, making for the sitting room.

Perhaps torture wasn’t far from George’s mind at all.

“Next time could you let me get a robe or dressing gown or … even a shirt?” Harry grumbled, rubbing his shoulder.

“Sorry,” George said, not sounding at all penitent. He grinned at Harry for a brief moment. “You should wear pyjamas.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

“What was so urgent you had to drag me out of bed at …” He squinted at the timepiece on the mantel, “seven o’clock in the morning on a weekend?”

“Nice, warm bed was it, Potter?” George was smirking and Harry didn’t answer him. The smirk lasted only seconds before George began pacing and a worried frown graced his features. He spun to face Harry suddenly. “You know the contraception charm, right?”

Harry nodded slowly. George gripped Harry’s upper arms, his fingers digging in painfully.

“Always, always use it,” George said. He looked pale and anxious in the pale, dawn light.

“George,” Harry said. “You probably should have told me that … earlier.” George released him and smacked the back of Harry’s head.

“Don’t get smart or I’ll conveniently remember who I saw in your bed just now,” George smirked evilly. “And I’ll tell Ron you did it in his room.”

“How was your date?” Harry asked, casting wildly about for a change of subject. “And d’you think I could borrow your cloak? I’m freezing here.” George unbuttoned his cloak and threw it at Harry before pacing the length of the living room. He leaned on the windowsill, his head against the pane. Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and clutched it together at the front. George looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He stepped forward tentatively.

“George?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“She wanted to see me,” George said quietly turning around. “Angelina had some news for me.”

“Was it good news?” Harry studied George’s face.

“I think so,” George said slowly. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“Can I help?” Harry asked quietly.

“I — I …” George sighed. He looked up. “She’s pregnant.”