Author's Notes: Hi everyone!

I realise that there will be varied responses to this chapter. All I can say is - Harry surprised me too. I never planned to write this, but that's how the story ended up. So I hope you enjoy the chapter, even if it's not what you thought was going to happen.

We're on the downhill stretch now, things will start coming together and (hopefully) making sense now as I attempt to draw all the threads together.

Now a quick note that there *is* a discrepancy in this story. When I started writing - July 22nd 2007 :P I had no idea the date of the Battle of Hogwarts. So I put it at the end of May. I have since discovered it was May 2nd. Now I can't go back and grab an extra four weeks at the start of the fic, so I have left the date there. I have been debating with keeping it on the 29th for this fic, or going back to edit it to be May 2 ...

If I choose May 2, I may post that before the edit - which will just drag out a few things not add any significant content. That may end up being daft so I may just move it to May 2 inexplicably and live with the glaring error.

I'm just warning you! :P

Please thank my beta goingbacktosquareone - she's da bomb!

Lurves, Kezza.

---

Harry didn’t notice when the Prefect meeting was over until Hermione sat down in the faded armchair in front of him and spoke his name softly. Harry looked up, realising that the compartment was empty but for the two of them.

“I sent Neville to patrol with Malfoy,” Hermione said.

“What did Neville do to you?” Harry asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You’ve not been paying attention, have you?”

Harry shrugged and went back to staring out the window. In addition to thinking about his faux pas last night, Harry was also dwelling on what Ron had said before he got on the train, urging him, at length, to be careful. Harry was starting to wonder who would kill him first — his mystery assailant or Ginny.

“I thought you might want to talk,” Hermione said patiently.

“About what?”

“Last night.” Hermione looked expectantly at him.

“What’s to talk about?”

“Well … you’re not actually engaged … are you?”

“No,” Harry muttered. He sighed. “Ginny’s going to kill me. Why didn’t I say something?”

“Well … Molly was pretty enthusiastic …” Hermione offered, trailing off as Harry thumped his head on the back of his chair. “She didn’t give you a lot of room to say much …” Harry just grunted at her.

Last night it had seemed like a good idea to give up trying to explain his statement to Molly. In the cold, hard light of day, and as the train took him closer to Ginny, it seemed incredibly stupid. The way Harry saw it, he had two options: he could tell Ginny upfront what had happened or he could wait until her mother brought it up. Given the inherent danger in the second option, Harry really had no options.

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked, breaking into Harry’s thoughts.

“You mean other than throw myself onto a sacrificial altar?” Harry sniped.

“Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“I don’t know, all right!” Harry closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, you’d better think of something before Ginny gets back,” Hermione sniffed. “At least you’ve got the rest of the train journey — and the carriage ride.”

“Yay,” said Harry sarcastically.

The rest of the train ride was uneventful. Harry spent the time doing some of the homework he’d neglected over the Easter break. How anyone could call four days a break was beyond Harry and he was sick of doing homework. He sighed heavily throughout the entire thing.

“There’ll be plenty of paperwork in the Auror Department,” Hermione said from behind the enormous book she was reading. Harry pulled a face and kept scratching away at his Potions essay. He still didn’t know how she did that. It was like she knew what he was thinking. She could see the expressions on his face without even appearing to look at him. Harry pitied the fool who tried to cross Hermione Granger.

Having finished his Potions essay, Harry began scratching out his Herbology diagrams and his Muggle Studies book review. He felt a stab of resentment that Ron didn’t have to do homework as he shoved all his parchment and ink back in his bag, pulling out Quidditch Through the Ages and a bar of Honeydukes.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said as they got off the train and began herding the younger students to the waiting carriages. “I’m sure Ginny will see the funny side of it.”

“You didn’t,” Harry pointed out.

“That was different …”

Harry rolled his eyes at her and turned to help Gilbert down off the train with the enormous cage he was now toting.

“D’you like her, Harry?” asked Gilbert enthusiastically. The small brown owl in the cage hooted softly. “Dad took us to Diagon Alley and got her for me. Gerald got a cat but I think owls are much more useful; they can send letters and everything and now I won’t have to use your owl or a school owl and it’ll be ever so much quicker. Did you know Dad got a job? He’s working at some shop near The Leaky Cauldron fixing things. I don’t know what he fixes exactly but he’s always been awfully good at fixing things, sometimes he fixes things the Muggle way but that really annoys Kreacher when he does that.

“We’ve never had a house-elf before and he scares Mum sometimes and Marie likes to order him around but Louise doesn’t let her, says it’s not right but Marie just teases her because she thinks Spew is stupid, but I think it’s really good and me and Eve told them both of for fighting and it’s a good thing we did because if we kept fighting Mum was going to take away the Easter eggs — only we weren’t fighting, not really it was just a discussion, same as the one we had over who got to eat the last chocolate frog. Not that it mattered because it was just a Neville card and all of us have got about six of those now-”

“Neville?” Harry asked, finally able to break into Gilbert’s stream of babble.

“Oh, haven’t you seen the Neville card yet then?” Gilbert took a deep breath as Harry hoisted him up into one of the carriages. “D’you think Neville has one? I mean we’d give him one if he didn’t have one because we’ve got heaps. We haven’t found one of yours yet — d’you suppose they’ve made one? I think they would have made one. Professor Fiesche thinks we’re all mad but I’ve seen him with chocolate frogs. D’you think grown-ups have chocolate frog card collections? I reckon he’s got his own collection you know. He’s not like other adults, is he? I mean he talks to his cat and everything, like she’s a real person. I thought his cat was a boy, but it’s not. I don’t think it really matters, but who asks their cat if they want to have a shower? Don’t you think that’s a little odd? Still I suppose Mr Filch says strange things to his cat sometimes, maybe it’s because they have cats and cats like to be talked to. Do you think it’s normal to talk to your pets? What about owls? Do you think owls liked to be talked to like cats? Should I be talking to Harriet?”

“Harriet?”

“The owl,” Gilbert thrust the cage in Harry’s face. Looking desperately around for another carriage, Harry realised Gilbert had been talking so long that all the other carriages had gone and reluctantly climbed into the carriage with Gilbert and a little dark girl he thought looked familiar.

“You called her Harriet?” he asked Gilbert with a faint note of horror as he settled into a seat.

“No,” Gilbert sighed. “That’s the name she came with. Half the pets in the shop were called Harriet, I reckon. Oh except this one snake I saw this girl buy. That one was called Neville. I wouldn’t name a pet Harry or Harriet. I mean, I would have named her something a bit more exciting — you know? Harriet it’s … well it’s a bit ordinary, isn’t it? I would have named her something exotic like Magda-”

“Magda’s not exotic,” the girl sniffed.

“Well I was going to say Magdalena but even Magda’s better than boring old Harriet!” Gilbert replied hotly.

“There’s nothing wrong with Harriet!” The girl huffed. “It’s a nice, solid name.”

“Yeah, like Gertrude,” Gilbert scoffed.

“There is nothing wrong with Gertrude,” said the girl icily.

“Well I suppose it is a little better than Priscilla,” Gilbert conceded. “I mean that’s what Professor Fiesche calls his cat and that’s just a stupid name.”

“It is,” agreed the girl, “but what do you have against Gertrude?”

“Well … I mean it’s just odd, isn’t it?”

“It’s my name,” said the girl with a smirk.

“Oh,” Gilbert looked at her for a moment, colouring brilliantly and his owl hooted. “D’you like being called Gertie then? Because my brother started calling me Gilly on the weekend and I don’t like that at all, it sounds like some sort of fish or something. I mean if I was a pet or something it’d be all right, wouldn’t it? I think it’s a smashing name for a cat but not for me, I’m mean I’m nearly twelve-”

“You’d call a cat Gilly?” Gertrude cut in. “It’s worse than Harriet for an owl. You’d better marry someone with a lot more sense than you when it comes to names or your children are all going to hate you.”

“Oh, I’m not getting married,” Gilbert said with a shudder. “I’ve seen what it does to people — my parents … ugh. No way, they spend half their time kissing and stuff. I don’t know how they ever get anything done!”

“You’d rather end up like Professor Fiesche talking nonsense to your cat, or like Mr Filch?” Gertrude raised an eyebrow delicately. “You do know they are quite mad, don’t you? It’s all because they’re not married. If they were married they’d have someone to take care of them and they wouldn’t be quite so odd.”

“Maybe they just need a dog?” Gilbert mused as the carriage pulled up to the Hogwarts steps. “I mean, perhaps it’s just cat people?”

“My sister has a cat,” Gertrude said as she stood up, “and she’s perfectly normal. Only perhaps you wouldn’t realise that.”

“Why wouldn’t I realise that?” Gilbert asked, following the girl out of the carriage. He hovered on the steps uncertainly as Gertrude jumped down. “Maybe cats are just for girls and it’s only blokes who go a bit mental with a cat?”

“Here, pass me your owl,” Gertrude sighed, holding up her hands. Gilbert handed her the owl and jumped down. “Maybe you don’t think Slytherins are normal, maybe that’s why you wouldn’t realise that people with cats can be perfectly normal.”

“Why aren’t Slytherins normal?” Gilbert asked as he took the cage back from Gertrude. Harry jumped down from the carriage and watched as the Thestral trotted away before climbing the steps to the large oak entrance doors.

“We are normal,” Gertrude was saying when Harry turned his attention back to the two children. “It’s just … after … everything …”

“You mean all that war stuff?” Gilbert asked innocently as he put his owl next to a stack of other odd bits of luggage in the entrance hall. Harry nearly snorted.

“Yes,” Gertrude said. “My brother says people hate us now.” She looked rather forlorn as she said it.

“Why?” Harry asked softly. They were alone in the entrance hall, although light and noise spilled from the Great Hall where students were greeting each other after the short break.

“Because he thinks he knows everything,” said Gertrude.

“No,” Harry chuckled slightly before sobering. “Why does he think people hate Slytherins?” Gertrude just shrugged.

“My dad just hates that Umbridge bitch,” Gilbert said unexpectedly before blushing heavily. “Oh … I wasn’t supposed to say that. If Mum heard me call her that … If she knew Dad said it to us … well of course Gerald told her, so … um …”

“I won’t say anything,” Harry said, hiding a smirk.

“Well anyway,” Gertrude said with a sniff. “I know Professor Crockwell hates Slytherins. She’s awful mean to us all the time. I wish I didn’t have to do stupid Muggle Studies. I pity you Gryffindors having to put up with her all the time.”

“She’s all right,” Gilbert shrugged.

“You shouldn’t hate someone because of what House they are in,” Harry said. “I don’t expect Professor Crockwell means to-”

“Oh, she does,” Gertrude said firmly, “but then you’d be on her side, wouldn’t you?” She peered up at Harry grimly. Harry shook his head.

“I don’t hate Slytherins,” he said quietly.

“I bet you hated V-V-Voldemort,” Gertrude said. Harry shook his head.

“I pitied him,” he said quietly. “He didn’t know how to love and you can say what you like about Filch and Professor Fiesche, but at least they have something to love … even if it is a mangy old cat. If you love someone … you can’t be all bad.”

“You could be mostly bad,” Gilbert said with a solemn nod.

“You could make bad choices,” Harry said. “It doesn’t make you a bad person, just like being Slytherin doesn’t make you a bad person. It depends what you do, the choices you make.” Harry suddenly felt far too old and wise to still be at Hogwarts.

“It’s not that simple,” Gertrude said sullenly.

“Yes it is,” Harry argued.

“You’re telling me that Mr Filch is … he’s not … but he’s Filch!”

“At least he knows how to love his cat,” Harry said with a shrug.

“He’s still creepy,” Gilbert insisted.

“Not going to argue with that,” laughed Harry. “Come on, we’re missing the feast.”

“Wait,” Gertrude said. “You really don’t hate Slytherins?” Harry shook his head.

“Course not,” Gilbert scoffed. “Harry doesn’t hate anyone. Hey listen, d’you collect chocolate frog cards? Because we collect chocolate frog cards — me and Hamish and Dexter, that is, and Marjorie. Othello doesn’t collect them much but he helps us eat ‘em so we can get cards. If you collect ‘em too then we could get together and swap and stuff I got about six of that Circe one and I really want to get the whole Weird Sisters set but I can’t find Myron Wagtail. Have you seen a Myron Wagtail recently? We got the cellist and the drummer the other day and another six of Ron — d’you know Ron? He helped bring my dad home, but I still don’t know if I’ll ever get a Ptolemy and so if you do eat them you could give us a hand, yeah?” Gilbert looked at the girl hopefully.

“I could get my collection I guess …” the girl trailed off. “Are you sure? Won’t your friends mind if a … a Slytherin comes?”

“Why should they?” Gilbert asked, shrugging as he made his way to the doors of the Great Hall. “Dexter brought Alice Thorne the other day and she’s in Hufflepuff but she’s got an ace collection. Had about five of Morgana! Never seen a Morgana before, she swapped me a Dumbledore cos I got about three of him …”

Harry trailed after the two of them as they arranged to meet in the Great Hall during lunch the following day. Gertrude shyly waved as Gilbert headed to the Gryffindor table and she went to the Slytherin table. Harry noticed Salbadar Limuson scowling at her as she sat down. He realised then why she was so familiar. She looked just like Limuson. He was probably her brother. Harry listened with half an ear to Gilbert’s chatter as they made their way to empty seats at the Gryffindor table.

“I reckon we could start a club, you know,” Gilbert said as he slid into a chair. “D’you think we should start a club? I mean it’s a good way to make friends isn’t it? It’s a bit dodgy waiting till you took too long getting off the train cos your owl cage is bigger than you are and ending up in a carriage with the girl everyone else thinks is a bit loony — because she is, you know, everyone thinks so, but she’s actually quite nice, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded absently as he patted Gilbert on the shoulder and scanned the table for Ginny. He caught Hermione’s eye and she motioned him over. Harry noticed that Liberty was sitting patiently on one of the empty plates. Harry grimaced, knowing he was never going to eat off it now. He made his way over and slid into the seat in front of his owl. There was a scroll attached to her leg and Harry removed it carefully before snagging a piece of bread to feed Liberty. The owl pecked him affectionately and flew up and out of the Great Hall. Harry unfurled the scroll, smiling as he noticed it was covered in Ginny’s hasty scrawl.

Dear Harry,

I hope spending the weekend with my git of a brother or three wasn’t too traumatic for you — Charlie was giving me a funny look before I left. I think he was plotting something so I hope he didn’t hurt you or anything. If he did I’ll hurt him back! Ron better not have eaten all my eggs and if he has I’ll hex him!

I’ve had a fantastic weekend! I’m really, really tired, but it was just so fantastic, I don’t care! I think I’ll be back before curfew but I’m staying here a couple hours longer to fix some things up. Wait up for me? I can’t wait to see you; I’ve missed you so much!

I love you,
Ginny

Harry traced the last line with his fingertip, wondering at it and although they’d said those words to each other too many times to count, he couldn’t remember the last time Ginny had written him more than a few hastily scrawled words on a scrap of parchment during Transfiguration. While he treasured the six words she’d used to seduce him right before Christmas and he’d kept the ten she’d written on Valentine’s Day and shoved down the back of his robes before laughing, none of those notes said just three words.

“Where’s Ginny?” Hermione broke into his thoughts.

“Oh … she’s sorting things out,” Harry said. “She’ll be back later.”

“Did she make the team, Harry?” Seamus called from several seats away. Harry shrugged.

“She says she had a fantastic time, so … I guess so.”

“No doubt she’ll give you one too,” Seamus winked, and then grunted as Dean elbowed him sharply in the gut. Harry just gestured rudely at Seamus and grabbed at a chicken leg, carefully not putting it on the plate in front of him.

“What was that on the way in?” Neville asked in a low voice from next to Hermione. Harry raised an eyebrow at Neville in question. Neville jerked his head in Gilbert’s direction. Gilbert was talking animatedly to Dexter and Hamish, gesturing towards Gertrude and then to the Hufflepuff table — perhaps indicating Alice. Marjorie pointed a finger at Gilbert and he stuck his tongue out at her, earning a sharp look from Gerald who Gilbert promptly turned his back on.

“Just a bit of the future, Neville,” Harry said with a smile, “just a bit of the future.” He turned back to his letter, reading the words over and over and ignored Neville scanning the Great Hall to figure out what Gilbert was gesturing at.

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

Harry left Neville sorting chocolate frogs cards with the first years in the common room, a brand new copy of his own card tucked safely in his top pocket. They were animatedly searching every collection in the castle; it seemed, for one of Harry — on the off chance that someone had missed it. As he climbed the steps to his dormitory, Harry pondered the way Professor Thistlewaite had visibly started when Harry looked at him during the welcome back feast. The Transfiguration teacher had dropped his napkin and then his fork before finally fleeing the Great Hall well before dessert was finished. It had been some time since he had startled the professor like that. Harry hoped he wouldn’t behave oddly in Transfiguration again. He’d gotten used to the man ignoring him.

Entering his dormitory, Harry wondered what to do with himself while he waited up for Ginny. Having asked Neville to let Ginny know where he was and that he had something to talk to her about, Harry hoped she’d be there soon so they could discuss the problem he’d inadvertently created. He’d actually been so dedicated to avoiding his dilemma on the train that he’d finished all his homework. He threw himself on his bed and sighed loudly. It was still early and no one else was in the room yet.

After staring at the canopy of his four-poster for a few minutes Harry’s eyes drifted to the picture of his parents in the frame that he kept on his bedside table that Ginny had made him for Christmas. He watched as his dad slipped and arm around his fiancée and his mother in the photograph, the ring sparkling on his mother’s finger in the Muggle photo next to it. Harry had a sudden urge to examine the contents of the little chest he’d brought back from Gringotts on one of his trips to his vault. He’d been so busy lately that he’d never had time to investigate it beyond a few scattered photos that lay on the top.

Flipping himself upside down and peering under his bed, Harry pushed aside a pair of dress shoes, banished a tie to the laundry and pulled out a cardboard box. He frowned at the box filled with Sirius’s things and shoved it back under the bed, casting Lumos to scan for the chest. It had been pushed well under the bed, near the head and Harry had to summon it before he could drag it out. It had been there several months and Harry coughed a little as he disturbed the dust that coated it. He tried using a spell he’d seen Molly use when cleaning the sitting room but only created a bigger cloud of dust. Instead he settled for conjuring a feather duster and cleaning it the Muggle way. As he traced the carving on the outside, Harry felt guilty that he’d left it there so long and not really paid attention to its contents.

He knew it was full of photographs but he’d only had a brief look inside, for all he knew it had ancient family recipes scrawled in some spidery script and splattered with cooking stains or gold and jewels at the bottom. Hesitantly, Harry lifted the catch and levered up the lid.

He tentatively lifted out a handful of photographs. They’d once been tied in bundles or wrapped in paper packages, but the brown paper was torn and some of the string had frayed, leaving a mixture of different sized photographs lying on the top and shoved down the sides. Harry peered at the first photograph he separated from the pile clutched in his hands. It was a wizarding photograph of a little boy. His pudgy hands reached out to bigger, adult arms as he struggled to stand. The baby squealed as the arms caught him up, tickling him. Harry knew the baby was him and he shuffled through the rest of the photos clutched in his hands.

There was the same baby eating something mushy from a spoon, sleeping contentedly in a tiny cradle, pulling himself up on the bars of a cot, sitting all rugged up in a pram. Harry stared in wonder at the sheer number of pictures his parents had taken of him. There were pictures of him with his father, with his mother, more of him riding the toy broomstick Sirius had given him for his first birthday. Harry’s breath caught as he reached into the chest again and found a pile of photos of Sirius cradling his baby godson against his chest. Harry guessed he was barely weeks old in the photographs. Sirius’s eyes shone with pride and he and Harry’s father beamed at the camera in one shot that Harry could tell had been taken at Hogwarts.

Harry let the photos fall to his bedspread as he dug into the chest, unearthing more and more treasures of wedding photos, pictures of his grandparents, some of James and Sirius as teenagers and several of his mother, dressed in clothes he knew had been the fashion in the 1970s. There were pictures of Remus and Lily studying; of Sirius and Wormtail horsing around in the Gryffindor common room; of James showing off on his broomstick, dressed in old-fashioned Quidditch robes. Harry laughed as he found photos of his father with his hair sticking up at all angles, his new adult teeth too big for his mouth and knobbly knees poking out from below baggy shorts.

It wasn’t until Harry got to near the bottom of the chest, having pulled out masses of photographs of his father as a child, and a teen, and the first pictures his father must have had of his mother, that he found the little box. The bottom of the chest was littered with Muggle postcards, covered with glossy coloured pictures on one side and his mother’s careful, neat script in the other. Nestled amongst them was the tiny box. The postcards were from all over Europe — pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the Coliseum, various Greek ruins, fountains, arches and rivers. Harry pulled some of the postcards out, weighing the box in one hand and flipping the postcards over with the other. They were all dated in the summer of 1977.

Dearest, Italy is no fun without you. I wish I was spending the summer with you although the art here is wonderful … My Dear James, I’ll be home soon and I can’t wait to see you! Greece is so warm and peaceful … Dearest James, I love you and miss you, kisses from Paris. I can’t wait until we come home … All of the postcards were signed All my love, Lily. There were no stamps on them and Harry guessed that his mother had Owled all of these postcards to his father.

Harry felt an undeniable ache in his chest, a longing to know more about the things his mother had done and the dreams his father had. All he knew were a few bits and pieces about what his father looked like as a child and that his mother had been on a European holiday before her seventh year. Harry sighed as he sat amongst the treasure trove now littering his bed. He gazed at the faces in the pictures hungrily as he played with the box in his hands.

Its smooth edges were marred by a tiny clasp and his fingers played with it as he read the back of a series of postcards from Spain. It sprang open under his touch and Harry looked down in surprise. He could tell it was a magical musical jewellery box because there had been no key to turn and wind up the little music barrel and yet the little dancer in this jewellery box was spinning as the tinkling notes of a simple tune wafted into the still dormitory. Harry had never heard the tune, yet it sounded comforting, familiar. Harry listened to it for a moment, mesmerised as he watched the dancer twirl.

His gaze dropped to the bottom of the box where he saw a soft, velvet pouch. Harry reached into the box and drew the little pouch out. He put the box down on the bed and opened up the pouch, tipping the contents into his hand. Three rings jangled as they landed in his palm. They were made of gold which shone in the candlelight of the dormitory. A diamond sparkled brilliantly on one of them. Harry touched the rings reverently, knowing what they were; knowing the ring with the diamond was the one he saw on his mother’s finger in the engagement photos he kept by his bed.

Harry looked at the music box, still playing its tinkling melody and stroked the rings with his thumb as they lay in his palm. Slowly Harry picked up the diamond ring and held it up, watching as the facets reflected the dim light of his bedside candle.

“When Neville said you wanted to talk to me about something … I didn’t think it was … this …” Ginny’s amused voice floated across the dorm and Harry swore and dropped the rings. They bounced across the bed and the diamond engagement ring fell to the floor with a tiny clatter and rolled under his bed.

Harry dived to retrieve it, sliding on the photographs as he did so and somersaulting off the bed, landing with a thump on the floor rug. He banged his right elbow, left knee and forehead and just lay there, groaning as several of the photographs fluttered onto the floor around him.

“Harry!” Ginny was bending over him in an instant, her concerned face peering at him and her soft hands feeling his head. “Are you all right?”

“I hit my head,” Harry said pitifully. Ginny’s fingers probed his skull and he winced as she encountered a particularly painful knot on the back of his head. He sat up gingerly; the two wedding rings clutched in his hand and rubbed at the back of his head ruefully. Harry searched for his wand. “You startled me.”

His hand closed over his wand on the edge of his bed and Harry cast a light underneath his bed. He swept it in an arc, searching amongst the dust and odd socks for the precious glinting jewel.

“Accio Engagement ring,” Ginny muttered from beside him and suddenly there it was in her hand. She held it out to him on her open palm. Harry froze, looking at the ring as it lay there innocently. He swallowed heavily before looking up at her. She was smiling at him and nodded her head slightly in the direction of her palm. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

“How did you … you knew it was an engagement ring?”

“It’s your mother’s,” Ginny said softly. “I always wondered if it was in your vault somewhere.”

“Wedding rings too,” Harry said, opening the hand that clutched at the gold bands. Ginny stared at them for a moment before she cupped her hand and started to tip the diamond ring into his palm.

“Wait,” Harry said. He dropped his wand and reached out, closing his hand over hers, enclosing the ring in her fist. As he stared at their joined hands Harry felt like a right idiot because he had no idea what made him do that.

“Don’t you want to put them back in the music box together?”

Suddenly Harry was aware that the music box was still playing. It was tipped on its side and leaning drunkenly on the edge of his bed, but the little dancer still danced and the music flowed over him.

“I know that music,” Harry whispered. He let go of her hand and plucked the music box off the bed, turning it the right way up. He tipped the gold wedding bands into the box. “I don’t know what tune it is, but I know it — it makes me feel safe.” Ginny opened her fist above the music box.

“It was probably your mother’s,” she said as she tilted her hand. Harry shot out a hand to stop her.

“No,” he whispered, his hand circling her wrist. The ring lay on her palm, shining brilliantly in the light still emanating from the tip of his wand.

“No?” Ginny echoed, looking up at him.

“Keep it,” Harry breathed.

“Harry — I …” Ginny shook her head slightly. “It’s very valuable and-”

“Keep it,” he pleaded. Ginny closed her eyes and shook her head.

“But … why …” she trailed off.

“Marry me,” Harry whispered, barely audible over the tinkling notes from the music box still clutched in his other hand. Ginny sucked in a breath and her fingers flexed, the ring bouncing off and into the music box. Harry stared at it as the music kept playing. Ginny’s fingers clenched into a fist and Harry clung to her wrist. He could feel her pulse beating, erratic and fast.

“What?”

“I — I — I didn’t plan to do that,” Harry said, staring at the ring. “It just … I wanted …”

“Well,” Ginny said briskly, “no worries then-”

“I mean it.”

Ginny was silent, her trembling hand still clutched in a fist. Harry tore his eyes away from his mother’s engagement ring lying innocently in the bottom of the music box and looked at her. She still had her eyes closed and Harry could see her biting the inside of her cheek. Eventually she raised her gaze to his.

“I — I don’t know,” she whispered. Harry’s mind went blank and he released her wrist. She didn’t know? Wasn’t this something they always spoke of? Something they both dreamed? Harry shut the music box with a snap and the music cut off abruptly.

“Okay,” he managed to choke out. Harry sat staring at the box cradled in his hands.

“Harry-”

“Don’t.” Harry closed his eyes, his fingers convulsing around the box. He mentally kicked his subconscious and its pitiful, woeful timing. This was not the way to solve his dilemma. And it was entirely unromantic to summon your own engagement ring from a pile of questionably hygienic socks under a bed in a Hogwarts dormitory.

“Oh bollocks,” Ginny breathed. Her soft hands closed over his and Harry trembled, entirely unable to pull away however much he wanted to run. “Harry, I wasn’t expecting … I was taking the mickey before, when I came in. We didn’t talk about it and …”

“It’s okay,” Harry said mechanically. “It was a stupid idea anyway. I don’t know what made me say it.” He put the box on his bed and began gathering up the photographs that had spilled onto the floor. Ginny watched him for a moment before she put a hand over his, stilling his movements.

“I do,” she whispered. “I know what made you say it.”

“No, you really don’t,” Harry said, “or you would have slapped me by now.” He cursed inwardly and looked up at her. Ginny wore a frown

“Why would I do that when you just proposed?”

“Yes, very romantic I was, too,” Harry muttered.

“Don’t talk rubbish.” Ginny rolled her eyes at him and Harry took a deep breath.

“I may have inadvertently given your mother the idea that …” Harry trailed off, suddenly sensing it was a good idea to put some distance between him and Ginny before he confessed. He scrambled to his feet and began pacing, trying to figure out the best way to approach the topic. Ginny watched as he shuffled a few steps towards his bed and back again to where she sat.

“Given her the idea that what?” Ginny followed his every move as he paced over to the window and stared out into the night sky.

“Charlie was teasing me,” Harry said softly. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to break it to you-”

“You’re running off with Charlie?” Ginny was smirking at him now, he could tell.

“No,” Harry sighed, “and I’m not running off with the lead singer form the Lone Witches or the cellist from the Weird Sisters, either-”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Ginny …” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and spun to face her. “I sort of … maybe … kind of … left your mother with the impression that … we’re’ngaged.”

“What?” Ginny’s face was a blank mask. “Why?” And then the dam broke and Harry began to babble.

“I kind of blurted out that I was going to marry a Harpies Chaser — well not any Harpies Chaser because I’m not marrying her. I meant you, if you got on the team that is, and I don’t even know if you got on the team and instead of asking you if you got on the team I dropped your engagement ring — only I didn’t know it was your engagement ring because it wasn’t when I was holding it, I only realised it was after I dropped it and you were holding it and I didn’t mean to ask you and I swear I didn’t know I was thinking of the fact that your mother’s planning our engagement party and looking for spells to make love-heart cakes. I thought I was just thinking that I wanted to marry you and I wanted to put the ring on your finger instead of in the box only I think it must have been because Hermione says I have to find a way out of this, because if Molly tells you what I did, before I tell you what I did, you’re going to kill me, only I think I did just tell you what I did before Molly did so I should be … safe …”

Ginny giggled.

“I sound like bloody Gilbert,” Harry moaned, leaning against the wall and thumping his head lightly. He made contact with the bump he’d created earlier. “Ouch.”

“Harry …” Ginny stood up and walked towards him. He eyed her warily. “I don’t think you asked me because you appear to have given my mother the impression that she … needs to order engraved invitations and organise a celebrant.”

“Well, what made me do something so ridiculously stupid then?” Harry demanded.

“It wasn’t stupid,” Ginny said. “It was sweet; and surprising — very surprising. And it was romantic — look, candlelight …” Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry I messed up your proposal,” Harry said softly. “Let’s forget I ever did this. I’ll plan it properly next time and I’ll even get you a proper ring-”

“Yes,” Ginny said, cutting him off.

“Yes?” Harry repeated dumbly.

“I’m sorry I messed up the answer,” Ginny said softly, “and I don’t care what Mum thinks or if Charlie’s going to be disappointed I stole you away from him and this is the proper ring.”

“Yes?” Harry stared at her.

“Yes, Harry,” Ginny said softly. “I know I messed it up before because I never, ever planned to say anything but yes and then you surprised me and I couldn’t find the words and it was your mother’s ring and that is such an honour and I wasn’t expecting it especially on top of such a great weekend and … bloody hell, now I sound like Gilbert!”

Harry kissed her. And she clung to him until Harry broke off the kiss, laughing.

“Yes?” he whispered. Ginny nodded, smiling. Grabbing her hand, Harry dragged her back over to his bed and snatched up the box. Fumbling with the clasp he opened up the box and fished the ring out again. Slowly he slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her, holding her hand in one of his own and pulling her close with the other.

“Harry?” Ginny ventured some time later as they lay entwined on his bed, the photographs haphazardly piled back in the chest and the music box still playing it’s soft, tinkling tune. Harry hummed wordlessly against her neck. “I did make the Harpies, by the way.”

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

“Did you write to your mother?” Hermione asked, the next day as Harry and Ginny studied in a quiet corner of the common room. Ginny looked up.

“About what, Hermione?” she asked. Hermione summoned a chair and dropped into it, leaning forward.

“About … you know … Harry — did you tell her?”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, scowling at the potions book in front of him.

“Oh! That!” Ginny exclaimed. “Oh, that’s all sorted out, Hermione. Everything’s fine.”

“Well, I’m glad you straightened it out,” Hermione said, settling back in the chair. “I hope she wasn’t too disappointed. You two have been scarce today … did you skip Muggle Studies? I didn’t se either of you at lunch and honestly Harry — skipping Defence Against the Dark Arts? You’re supposed to supervise it!”

“I’m sure Neville did fine,” Harry said.

“He did, but that’s not the point,” Hermione huffed. “I’m sure that nasty burn he got during Herbology was bothering him.”

“If he forgets his Dragonhide gloves …” Ginny offered, shrugging. “The rest of us remembered them.”

“Odd, isn’t it,” Hermione mused. “He’s been very scatterbrained lately.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” Ginny said with a smirk.

“He’s writing notes to Hannah at all hours of the day and night,” Harry added with a wink. “I think I know what has him scattered.”

“So,” Hermione said meaningfully, staring at the two of them. “Apart from Potions where you were both late and had to take the last table at the back, and Herbology where we battled fire-breathing dragon snaps, I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Well, we’ve been here,” Harry said innocently. “You must be studying too hard. You should take a day off.”

“You’re up to something, Harry Potter,” Hermione said, her eyes narrowed.

“My, my, you’re very suspicious, Hermione Granger,” Harry replied.

“I know that look,” Hermione said. “You’ve got a secret.”

“And I was thinking no one knew I’d gotten Teddy a broomstick for his birthday,” Harry said. Hermione glared at him.

“Put her out of her misery, Harry,” Ginny said with a giggle.

“She’d find out tomorrow morning anyway,” Harry said with a shrug.

“You two are maddening,” Hermione grumbled.

“Everybody will find out tomorrow morning,” Ginny pointed out archly. “Don’t you think it would be nice if she found out first?”

“She wouldn’t be the first,” Harry argued. “We spent all day in the Owlery writing letters to your family-”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed faintly. “Is that where you’ve been? I thought … well …”

“Thought we were shaggin’ all day didya?”

“Ginny!” Harry blushed and snapped his book shut.

“Sorry,” Ginny said, not looking at all contrite. Harry just glowered at her. “Awww, come on Harry, don’t be cross at me.” She batted her eyelids ridiculously and Harry laughed.

“What is going on?” Hermione demanded. Harry looked up. Hermione looked decidedly unimpressed. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was glaring at the two of them.

“Hermione,” Harry said, straightening up and pushing his glasses up his nose. “We had something really important to do today and we did have the Headmistress’s permission to skip Defence this afternoon so please don’t be upset with us-”

“If you don’t tell me what is going on right this minute-”

“We got engaged, Hermione,” Ginny broke in softly. “We spent every spare minute today writing to Mum and Dad and my brothers.”

“You got what?” Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“And this afternoon we got permission from McGonagall to go and make the official announcement to The Daily Prophet,” Ginny continued calmly. “It’s not something … well if he wasn’t Harry, I doubt we’d have more than two lines on the last page but, well this is kinda front page news.” She grimaced slightly before shrugging, looking at Hermione expectantly.

“But … you said …” Hermione stared at Harry. “I’m … surprised.”

“So am I,” Harry said simply. Hermione was motionless but for her eyes as they flicked back and forth between the two of them. Ginny chewed her lip nervously and watched Hermione.

“Don’t you … isn’t this a bit …” Hermione stumbled and stuttered before taking a deep breath. “Is this because of what Charlie said, because don’t you think you are a bit young?”

“No,” Harry said shortly. “My parents were younger, so were Ginny’s.”

“Is it because The Prophet keeps hooking you up with random females?” Hermione asked. “Because if this is some ridiculous idea to make them stop-”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted. “A little credit, please. I admit it wasn’t the most romantic thing I’ve ever done — heck, I wouldn’t know how to be romantic if I had individualised lessons from Cupid himself —but I’m not that stupid.”

“It wasn’t romantic?” Hermione glared at Harry and Ginny giggled.

“Come on, Hermione, this is me!” Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. “I dropped the ring under my bed and Ginny had to summon it and then I asked her when I didn’t mean to ask her and she said no when she meant to say yes and-”

“What ring?” Hermione interrupted him before swinging to Ginny. “Wait — you said no?”

“I said I don’t know,” Ginny said with a wry smile.

“Anyway, that’s all sorted out now,” Harry dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I wasn’t thinking any of all that when I asked and we’ve always planned this and I had the ring and it just …” He shrugged.

“You’re right,” Hermione said bluntly. “You are not romantic at all.”

“It’s his mother’s ring,” Ginny said softly, extending her left hand.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Hermione grabbed Ginny’s hand and practically pulled her out of the chair. “How romantic!”

“I thought you just said I wasn’t romantic?” Harry smirked at her.

“You’re not, this is just a coincidence,” Hermione said with a smile before she launched herself at him, enveloping him in a hug. Ginny squawked as Hermione tangled her hand up in their embrace. Detangling themselves Hermione smiled at Ginny. “Your mother is going to be so thrilled.”

“I hope she’s as thrilled with the wait to the wedding,” Ginny said. “It’ll be a couple of years before we actually get married.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Hermione dismissed with a wave of her hand. “That just gives her more time to prepare — she’ll be over the moon.” The two girls dissolved into giggles and Harry just shook his head wryly at them as Hermione sighed over the ring again.

It might not have been how he’d planned it and maybe they were young, but right then Harry thought nothing could burst his bubble of happiness.

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

Harry darted into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and closed the door behind him, peering out at the street, making sure he’d ditched her.

“Um, can I help you?” George’s voice was amused. Harry spun around.

“George, hide me, please!”

“Sorry, mate I’m an inventor and a shopkeeper, I don’t do espionage anymore.”

Harry stared at him before he realised he was still wearing the hasty appearance charm he’d cast when Molly had been engrossed in the cookbook section at Flourish and Blotts. With an impatient wave of his wand he reversed it, peering out again at the street. Molly Weasley was wearing a frown and walking towards the shop purposefully, clutching a book of fabric swatches that looked like tablecloths. Harry ducked.

“Are you going to hide me or not?” He glared at George who looked out the window and started laughing.

“Bert’s upstairs with Angelina,” Jonathon’s amused voice came from the doorway to the steps that led to the flat above the shop. “She’s itching to see you. You go on up and we’ll head this one off.” He jerked his head towards the street.

Harry shot him a grateful look and scrambled hastily for the stairs. George’s laughter echoed behind him. Harry spilled into the flat moments later to be greeted by Bert’s cheerful laughter.

“Could play footy, this one!” She was sitting on the couch one hand on Angelina’s stomach and laughing. Angelina was smiling at her. Neither of them saw Harry until Bert looked up. “Oh Harry! Good to see ya! Come ‘ere and feel this!”

“Er …”

“Oh don’t be shy, ya great daft galah!” Bert jumped up and pulled him over to the couch, putting his open palm on Angelina’s stomach where hers had been moments before. The baby kicked against his palm sharply and Harry’s eyes widened. “Amazing innit?”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. He cleared his throat, pulling his hand away uncomfortable with the close contact. Angelina smiled at him ruefully and he shrugged. “When did you get here, Bert?”

“Yest’day,” she replied. “Jonathon’s staying for a while and we reckoned we could make a bit of a honeymoon of it. One weekend in Tassie is pretty dismal. Oh hey, I was about to make a cuppa — you want one?” She sprang up and looked expectantly at him. Harry shook his head and Bert darted into the tiny kitchen and began banging things. Angelina shook her head.

“She’s … enthusiastic,” Harry offered.

“She’s been great,” Angelina said softly. “Jonathon was sleeping on the couch because … well Fred’s room isn’t, but she … pushed things along.” Angelina sighed.

“How’s George doing?”

“Better,” Angelina allowed. “He was real quiet for a couple days but I think he’s working through it. Jonathon doesn’t let him wallow, you know. He and I … we had a, sort of a chat.” Angelina twisted the sleeve of her robes, gazing at the floor.

“What about?” Harry prompted.

“Well,” Angelina looked up. “I think we got George through his birthday but … he woke up that night screaming about … that day …” She swallowed heavily. “He wouldn’t talk about it and he went downstairs and started making trick wands or something. It was four o’clock in the morning. Jonathon said he’d stay because … because I don’t think I can do this, either. I’m a mess and the last thing I can do is help George when …” Angelina trailed off and started crying. Harry just looked at her in alarm.

“Hey!” Bert cried, entering the room with a steaming cup of tea. “I told you to stop wastin’ water like that!” Angelina laughed and hiccupped. Bert handed Angelina the cup of tea and threw herself on the couch. “Now, are we gunna design this baby room or what? Not that I want to sleep in some pastel-coloured room of vomit now that we finally got George to ease up and open the damn door. I thought he’d never give that room up. It’s a good thing Jonathon’s so bloody pigheaded. So, you reckon it’s a boy — we could ditch the pink but … maybe lemon or … mint?” Bert looked dubious.

“Pastels?” Angelina screwed up her nose. “George would hex me! I’m thinking electric blue-”

“Oh! Jungle theme!”

“Do we need to encourage the child to behave like a monkey?” The two of them fell about giggling and Harry left them to it, slipping out of the flat and down the stairs back into the shop hoping Molly was gone. If his choices were between nursery décor and tablecloth swatches, he’d take the one without the stomach touching.

Mercifully the joke shop was empty. Not even George and Jonathon were evident. Harry wandered to the counter, peering out of the window. There was a newspaper stand opposite the shop and Harry grimaced as he realised the stand was still plastered with pictures from the previous day’s Prophet.

Ginny had been radiant all day, accepting congratulations from her fellow classmates from the moment the news of their engagement had broken over breakfast as the morning post owls trickled in. Harry on the other hand had tried to hide all day, gritting his teeth and moving between his classes, finally fleeing before lunch and holing himself up in Hagrid’s hut with Dora. Ginny had come to find him after her Double Arthimancy class and dragged him into the Great Hall for tea, laughing at his disgruntled face. As soon as Potions was finished on Friday morning Harry had left Hogwarts and fled to The Burrow for the weekend. It was Teddy’s birthday and Ginny had to spend the weekend catching up on the homework she missed over Easter while she was in Wales. Molly had insisted on dragging him out after lunch to look at various engagement party related things and Harry had been unable to move three steps without being congratulated by random strangers.

Harry sighed as he stared at the full page photograph of him and Ginny littering the news stand and surrounding walls. As much as he was trying to hide from the world, he didn’t relish the fact that he wouldn’t see her for two days. The Ginny in the photograph smiled at the photographer and Harry wondered if it really was just two days ago that he’d proposed. He shook his head at himself, still amazed that he’d gone and gotten himself engaged.

And he didn’t regret it one bit.

As he gazed out the window, wondering where George and Jonathon had gone, he nearly missed the cat that was sitting on the curb. It was washing its paws contentedly but Harry could have sworn that a moment ago it had been watching the shop. Harry frowned. It looked like Professor Fiesche’s cat, but considering every cat looked the same to him, Harry just shrugged and laughed at himself for thinking that a cat was actually watching the shop. Harry checked his watch and, figuring he had some time before Teddy went to bed for the night, Disapparated to Andromeda’s house.

“That’s some big news you let out this week.” Andromeda greeted him with a smile and let go of Teddy as the little boy launched himself at Harry with a squeal.

“Hey Teddy,” Harry murmured as his godson patted his cheeks. Teddy bounced in Harry’s arms and squirmed, clawing at Harry’s sleeves and trying to get down. Harry set him carefully on the floor and Teddy grabbed Harry’s trouser legs.

“Up!” Teddy turned his little face up and tugged harder.

“He just asked to be picked up,” Harry said in wonder. Andromeda beamed.

“It was his first word,” she said proudly. “He’s been saying it the last week or so.” Teddy let go of Harry’s trouser legs and sat down with a thump.

“Bah!” proclaimed Teddy, looking up at Harry and reached his arms skyward. “Up! Harwee!” Harry’s jaw fell open.

“I’m distraught,” Andromeda said dryly. “He’s never said Gran.” Harry laughed and swung Teddy up into his arms, tossing him in the air.

“You can say my name,” Harry said in wonder as Teddy squealed and grabbed at his hair on the way back down as Harry cuddled him close.

“He started saying it yesterday,” Andromeda said as Teddy turned his hair black.

“I’m surprised you can say my name, little man,” Harry said, nuzzling Teddy’s cheek. “I’m not here very much …”

“I talk about you,” Andromeda said, scooping up some of the toys that littered the sitting room floor with her wand. She sighed. “I have to talk about something and … I figure he should know about you.”

“Da!” Teddy said, grabbing handful of Harry’s cheek and pulling. Harry winced and muttered to Teddy to be careful.

“So,” Andromeda said as she levitated the toys into a large chest in the corner of the room. “You’re a bit newsworthy this week, then?”

“I bet no one’s interested in my godson being able to talk are they?” Harry said, swinging Teddy into the air again.

“Yes, well you didn’t put a diamond on his finger, did you?” Andromeda asked wryly. Harry smiled at her sheepishly.

“Well …”

“If you’re going to play with him like that,” Andromeda said, turning to go into the kitchen, “take him outside in the garden so I don’t worry you’ll bang his head on the ceiling. There’s still plenty of light left before tea and it’s a lovely afternoon.”

“Okay!” Harry called, heading for the front door, scooping up the package that was Teddy’s birthday present on the way. As he reached the door Andromeda poked her head into the hallway.

“And mind you don’t let him fly higher than a foot on that broomstick!”

“How did you-”

“You are your father’s son and Sirius Black’s godson, Mr Potter,” Andromeda said winking at him and she ducked back into the kitchen before Harry could say a word. Harry looked down at Teddy who was chewing on the end of the package.

“Well, Teddy,” he said, pulling the package out of the baby’s mouth, “time for your first flying lesson.”

“Ya!” Teddy said, banging the package.

Teddy fell off no less than three times in the first half an hour. Every time he fell to the lawn with a soft thump he looked up at Harry, surprised.

“Maybe I’m teaching you wrong,” Harry muttered, picking Teddy up for the fourth time. He grabbed the instructions and scanned them again. “Levitate … cast stabilising charm … hover … hmmmm it looks right, and I don’t think this is because your mum was clumsy — because she was wicked on a broom … levitate …”

“Mumumum!” chanted Teddy as he picked up the end of the broom and banged it repeatedly on the ground. Harry watched him with one eye while he scanned the instructions again. Suddenly Teddy squealed, and abandoning the broomstick, began crawling towards the edge of the lawn. Harry looked up, wondering what had caught Teddy’s eye. The gate was shut and Teddy couldn’t leave the small grassed area so Harry looked back down at the instructions.

“Stabilising charm … maybe I need a different stabilising charm …” Harry’s musings were cut off by the unholy squeal of a cat, followed by a vicious hiss and Teddy’s cry of alarm. Harry looked up to see a large cat backing away from Teddy. Harry stared, it looked like the same cat that he’d seen in Diagon Alley, next to the news stand, and it still bore an uncanny resemblance to Fiesche’s cat.

Teddy was crying in earnest now as the cat sat on its haunches and gazed at them. Harry tried to shoo the cat away but it remained steadfast, staring at Teddy and Harry.

“You daft cat,” Harry muttered, scooping Teddy up. He backed to the door, collecting the broomstick on his way. The cat never stopped watching him. It made Harry nervous. He shook his head as he shut the door. It was a sign that he was stressed if he thought a cat was after him.

Saturday dragged as Harry found himself subjected to Molly’s ramblings about balloon colours and fairy lights. He was thrilled when Arthur rescued him after lunch and the two of them spent an amiable afternoon pottering about in Arthur’s shed, trying to piece an electric wok back together. Harry left The Burrow on Saturday evening, unable to stand being away from Ginny a moment longer.

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” Ginny said as they sat together in the common room on Sunday night. “I’ll be in Wales a lot the next couple of years.”

“I can Apparate,” Harry murmured, pulling her closer. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“You’ll be in London a lot,” she pointed out. “You know, being an Auror.” Harry frowned at her.

“She has a point,” Hermione said, looking up from her book. “We will be in London-”

“Will we?” Harry asked. “Decided on a career have we, Miss Granger?” Hermione had been surprisingly tight-lipped about her plans following the end of their school year. She often seemed preoccupied with something but Harry had given up trying to decipher the notes she scrawled hastily from dusty old books or trying to convince her to tell him what she was working on.

“Erm … well ...” Hermione shifted awkwardly, fidgeting with her quill. “I got a letter of offer … for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They liked my werewolf legislation draft-”

“You drafted werewolf legislation?” Harry sat up abruptly. “When?”

“Probably when you’ve been off snogging or playing Quidditch or something,” Hermione said.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Harry protested. Hermione sighed.

“I know it’s not, I’m sorry.” She shuffled her feet a little. “I just … I had to do something. Ron isn’t here very often and you’re busy a lot and … well … I think I’m used to a little more excitement.” She shrugged ruefully.

“So … you drafted an entire piece of legislation?”

“Well … yes,” Hermione nodded. “I mean they’ve been treated so badly for so long and Merlin knows Moses Brown wasn’t making things any better, was he? I just … I wanted to make sure, you know, that we tightened up all the loop holes. If this is enacted, well Bill and Fleur should be clear to have children. I mean there’s no earthly evidence to suggest Bill is at all dangerous and it’ll keep Teddy safe. So … they’ve asked me to start there in the summer. I’ll be in London — working at the Ministry, with you.”

“That’s brilliant, Hermione — so you’ve really got a job?” Ginny asked, leaning forward. Hermione nodded. “It feels a bit grown up, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve felt grown up for a while,” Harry remarked wryly before they all burst out laughing.

The month of April marched on relentlessly, bringing them closer to the beginning of May. Jonathon and Bert stayed with George and Angelina, designing a nursery and helping George function as the anniversary of Fred’s death loomed. Molly sent letters every other day with ideas for celebrating Harry and Ginny’s engagement and Hermes made regular visits to the Ravenclaw table at breakfast. Gilbert set up a Chocolate Frog Card Club and soon the first and second years from every House took over the Great Hall several nights a week, swapping cards and spending several hours together helping each other with homework.

Harry felt like he was watching all this through a distant lens as he began to wake at night again, drenched in sweat, wondering exactly what was in his dreams that was making him feel like he’d run a marathon when he awoke, breathing heavily. He knew it was just the looming anniversary of that dreadful and wonderful day, but he’d never been quite so unable to put his finger on the uneasiness he felt. So he threw himself into Quidditch training and his homework, praying he could just make it through the next few weeks.