Ginny’s jaw dropped and she stared at Harry in shock. Anything she might have wanted to get off her chest dried up on her tongue.

Harry heard Ginny speak but he blocked her words out; he had an agenda here, and if he let her distract him, he would never be able to continue, so nervous was he.

Harry had spent the last eight hours thinking about what he wanted to do. When thoughts of marriage floated to the front of his mind, he wasn’t entirely shocked. If the truth were told the idea had been hovering for a while; ever since Ginny had contacted him and told him she needed his help–ever since she had agreed to move into Grimmauld Place.

Deep down he thought that if he made Ginny his wife, then it would make it easier for her to reconnect with her family. He didn’t want to delve too deeply into why he thought this because he was afraid that it would make him seem really conceited. He was embarrassed to admit that because Arthur and Molly looked on him as a son, then Molly (if indeed she was as strict and unyielding with her only daughter as said daughter seemed to think she was) would more easily accept Ginny back into the fold if she was his wife rather than just the runaway daughter. If they saw that he loved Ginny’s daughter as if she was his own, then they would not be able to reject her; they would happily accept Bonnie as their granddaughter.

Harry couldn’t imagine Molly Weasley rejecting any child. But then again, he could never have imagined her being so strict and moralistic that her daughter had felt it necessary to cut herself off from her family because she was afraid she would be booted out anyway. He certainly could not imagine Arthur allowing his wife to take any such action.

The Weasleys he knew could never reject their daughter and granddaughter, Harry was more than convinced of that, but all that really mattered was that Ginny believed it. If he was beside her as more than a friend, then perhaps she would feel more secure and more willing to reconcile with her family.

Harry knew that his theory was tenuous at best. But it was easy to look past all these unknowns because there was another, bigger reason why he wanted to marry Ginny. His theory about deep-seated familial love and forgiveness paled into insignificance now that he had explored his true feelings and brought them into the sunlight.

He loved her. He loved Ginny Weasley. He even loved Virginia Wesley.

He had fallen in love with Ginny almost from the first moment he had spotted her all those weeks ago, sitting in a Muggle coffee-shop. It had hit him square between the eyes and her less than welcoming behaviour had done nothing to turn him off; it had, much to his surprise, fuelled his determination to get to know her again and to try to get her to reconcile with her family.

Even when she had finally done the almost impossible and made Harry Potter admit defeat–when he had finally left because her unhappiness and fear had made staying impossible, his feelings had not changed; frustration and depression had just been added to the maelstrom of emotions whirling around his brain. That was why it had been so hard to stay away and so easy to rush back to her side at the first opportunity.

When she had contacted him again his heart had leapt about inside his chest like a demented rabbit. He had been deliberately cold and aloof when he was finally in her company again, because he had been as nervous and vulnerable as she had. He didn’t think he could have stood there and let her shoot him down in flames again, though the fact that she had contacted him had made that scenario unlikely.

Still, he had been wary. When she had finally broken down, he had been unable to maintain his cold facade, and the appearance of Bonnie in their midst had seen any remaining hesitancy crumble to dust.

Ginny had been under his roof now for over two weeks and already the situation had deteriorated. Harry had convinced himself that he could keep Ginny and Bonnie’s existence in the house a secret for as long as Ginny felt it necessary, and still be able to maintain a close connection with Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys.

No... the painful honesty he was now so determined to maintain (at least in his mind) made him amend this thought. He had known almost from the first day of Ginny and Bonnie’s residency that this arrangement couldn’t be sustained over an extended period of time, not if he wanted to maintain his close ties with Ron and Hermione and the rest of his surrogate family. It was quite obvious that he had been deluding himself in those early days. But just because the blinkers had been lifted from his eyes now, did not mean he knew a clear way forward.

Marriage seemed to be the easiest route as far as all of Ginny’s problems went and it was certainly the most attractive alternative as far as his emotions were concerned. Harry was as sure as he could be without actually asking her, that Ginny didn’t find him too repulsive a specimen. But even if she could never look at him in a romantic light, he could live with that. He would never make any demands of her.

Yes, you just keep on deluding yourself, Potter.

There was no way he would ever make demands of her, no matter what!

Now, as Harry watched the shock of his bald statement leech all the colour from Ginny’s face, he suddenly felt embarrassed and, at the same time, incredibly vulnerable. She could shoot him down in flames; if she was in the mood, Ginny’s tongue could produce a veritable storm of Fiendfyre. He could end up nothing but ashes if she wished to unleash that power.

Would she unleash that power? If she did, she would have to recover from her initial shock first; at the moment, she looked incapable of doing anything other than breathing. But as Harry anxiously watched her, Ginny’s cheeks began to suffuse with pink; perhaps speech would return much more quickly than her obvious shock would indicate.

But when Ginny remained speechless, Harry began to squirm. Should his simple announcement have inspired such a degree of speechlessness?

Best take advantage of the silence while you can.

Harry decided to expound on his announcement before she found her tongue again. He burst into impassioned speech.

“It makes perfect sense, Gin.” When there was no interjection, and the pink wash had begun to look like luscious crimson satin, he hurried on, trying desperately to concentrate on what he wanted to say instead of how delicious the woman sitting opposite him looked.

“If you were my wife, you would be under my protection; there would be no need for you to fear the Wizarding World any more. And your family is, for all intents and purposes, my family. It’ll be tough, and I know you’ll be scared, but we would meet them together.”

“Just like that?” Ginny’s voice had returned but it was very quiet–remarkably–very controlled. She was no longer looking at Harry but staring at her hands where they were clasped around her mug of chocolate. Harry took heart; after all, she hadn’t begun to rant at him.

“Well, perhaps we wouldn’t just walk into the Burrow for Sunday lunch with no forewarning...”

Ginny shook her head slowly, thoughtfully. “No, perhaps that wouldn’t be the best approach.”

Harry pushed his half empty mug to the side and leaned forward, his forearms braced on the table, his buttocks hovering an inch above his seat, his expression intense. He shook his head. “No, of course it wouldn’t. We’d still take it slowly. As slowly as you want. We could sound out Ron and Hermione first.”

There was a long pause before Ginny spoke again. “Sound them out about the marriage, or about the best way to approach the rest of the family?” Her voice was still quiet and emotionless. She was still looking at her hands where they cradled her mug; she wouldn’t look at Harry. He lowered himself back onto his chair and leaned back; he gripped the edge of the table so hard, his knuckles turned white.

Harry was not precisely sure what she wanted to hear. Her inflectionless tone convinced him that he had to tread very carefully. His voice was a question when he said, “Both, I suppose?”

Ginny took a deep breath; she had still not looked at him since that initial shocked stare. Now she nodded again, but this time, the movement was short and sharp. Then she rose and took her mug to the sink. Harry held his breath and watched as she poured the remainder of her drink down the drain. After rinsing and putting the mug carefully in the drainer, she stood with her back to him staring at the window where her reflection and the bright kitchen were thrown back by the dark glass. But Harry was pretty sure she was blind to the reflection.

Just when he thought he would have to speak again or go mad, Ginny turned. She leaned back against the cabinet and crossed her ankles. But the casualness of her pose was negated by her fingers gripping the edge of the bench top so tightly, her knuckles turned white. Harry held his breath as she looked at him. He couldn’t tell anything from her face; it was expressionless as her voice had been.

“Do you really think getting married is going to make everything easier?” she asked in that same inflectionless voice.

“Yes!” said Harry adamantly.

Ginny’s eyes roamed over his face for several seconds, then she nodded thoughtfully. Finally her gaze moved away and she looked beyond him, towards the door leading to the stairwell. After a moment of contemplation, she pushed her slight body away from the bench and walked towards the stairs. She didn’t leave the room though, just stood looking upwards.

“Gin?”

“What if it doesn’t?” she asked softly.

“What?”

“What if it doesn’t make things easier? What if Ron can’t, or doesn’t want to help smooth the way?” She was looking directly at him again. Harry stood up. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself; he couldn’t stay seated in the face of her pessimism.

But perhaps this wasn’t just pessimism, perhaps this was the beginning of a refusal to consider his proposal. Harry lowered his butt onto the edge of the table; he gripped the edge, turning his knuckles as white as Ginny’s had been a moment ago.

“Ginny, you can’t really believe Ron wouldn’t be ecstatic to see you alive and well–that he wouldn’t want you back with the family, no matter the reasons for your disappearance?” Ginny bit her lip, then she took a step towards Harry who gathered his legs beneath him again. He continued to grip the table edge behind him for support.

“Okay, Harry, forget Ron for the moment.” She raised her hands, palms out, to shoulder height. Then, taking a fortifying breath, she cupped her fingers in front of her mouth. She stood like that for what felt like an inordinate period of time to Harry. She had been gazing into space, but finally, with another sigh, she shut her eyes and speared her fingers through her hair. “With or without Ron, what will you do if the family doesn’t want anything to do with me; if they won’t accept Bonnie?”

Harry reached out to her but she stepped back a pace. “Ginny...”

“Answer me, Harry. What will you do? As my husband, you would be obliged to support me–to stand by me. Will you be able to walk away from the rest of the family? Even Ron and Hermione?”

Harry just stared at her.

“Do you still want to marry me, even with that outcome a distinct possibility?”

“I want to marry you Ginny, no matter what. But I don’t believe that will happen.”

Ginny studied him, her chocolate eyes roving over his face as if she was trying to find the source of his extreme optimism. Then she shook her head and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. But it didn’t seem as if this was necessarily a refusal because she asked another question.

“Well, all that aside, because it doesn’t seem as if we’re on the same page...” Ginny stopped talking and raised her face to the ceiling as if looking for divine intervention. “Answer me this, then. What will happen if one day you meet someone and fall in love? Divorce isn’t easy in the Wizarding World.”

Harry sighed. This was an easy one. “That isn’t going to happen, Gin.” I’m already in love with a beautiful red-haired witch.

“How can you know that?”

“It won’t happen because when I make a commitment, I’m there for the long haul.”

Ginny eyes roved over Harry’s earnest face and then her lips quirked upwards in a tiny smile. “Yes, I vaguely remember your determination of old.”

Harry grinned and the wattage of Ginny’s own smile increased for a second. Then it disappeared and she sighed. “Okay, Harry, I accept your offer. I will marry you.” she turned towards the stairs again. “I just hope that you aren’t disappointed with your choices.”

Harry watched Ginny disappear above stairs. He was in shock. Had she just accepted him? If she had, he could be forgiven for his confusion because she had sounded no different than she would have done if she had just told him that she was going to change her brand of shampoo!”

Harry scrubbed a hand through his still very damp hair and pulled at the collar of the old tee-shirt where it clung uncomfortably to his neck; he had a bad habit of not towelling his hair dry enough. Molly had told him off on more than one occasion in the past.

Harry had wanted to make an effort with his appearance today, but had, at the last minute decided that that might make Ginny even more nervous than she was already; dressing up would assign the day and the coming meeting even more significance than they already had.

The smell of roasting pork permeating upwards from the kitchen should have tweaked Harry’s appetite as he had foregone breakfast, but the knots his stomach and intestines were tied in induced a slight feeling of nausea rather than hunger.

He had decided on a pork lunch because he knew it was Ron’s favourite, and when Ginny and Bonnie had entered the kitchen earlier as he was salting the skin, Ginny had stared at the joint for a long moment before producing a thin smile.

She had made herself a cup of tea and drunk it while preparing Bonnie’s breakfast. Just like him, Ginny had eschewed food, and after Bonnie had greeted Harry in her usual ebullient fashion and begun to eat her cereal, Ginny had said in a quiet, knowing voice, “Are you relying on roast pork to soothe the savage beast?”

Harry had dumped the meat in a large roaster and poured olive oil over it before shoving it into the hot oven. When he had straightened and washed his hands at the sink, he had looked sideways at Ginny where she was leaning against the counter with her ankles crossed and her cup of tea held in both hands.

“Can’t hurt,” he had said, shrugging, implying that providing Ron with some of his favourite food might well help get them through the coming meeting.

Now Ginny and Bonnie were back in their rooms; Harry had thought–and Ginny had not taken much persuading–that it might be best for Ron and Hermione to settle in for a short time before she appeared in their midst and well and truly set the cat amongst the pigeons. Ginny’s words.

Harry had descended two steps to the kitchen when a fist banging against the front door reverberated along the hall. As he reversed direction and hurried along the hall to admit his best friends, he thought with a grimace that the unsubtle hammering indicated that Ron was still unhappy about not being able to come and go at his leisure. He was probably also still stewing over their argument of a week ago.

Harry used his wand to disable the locking charms and lower the protective enchantments around the entrance. Hermione stood on the top step and she flung her arms around Harry as soon as she saw him. Over her shoulder, Harry saw Ron standing with his hands thrust into the pockets of his anorak, his eyes doggedly fixed on his trainers.

“Ignore him,” Hermione whispered as she pulled back; she watched Harry watch Ron. “He’s been in a snit ever since he was here last Saturday.”

A muffled growl was heard as Ron pushed past his wife and friend. “Stop talking about me as if I’m the bloody doormat,” he sniped over his shoulder, as he strode along the hallway and down the stairs to the kitchen.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “As you can see, he’s in fine fettle.”

Harry avoided Hermione’s eyes as he re-erected the wards. “He’s got reason,” he said softly.

“And I have no doubt that you had your reasons for stopping access into your home by any of the family, Harry,” returned Hermione in her usual no-nonsense tone. She hung her coat and scarf on a hook and taking Harry’s arm, they walked together down to the kitchen. “It is, after all, your house.” This last was said at a volume that was sure to reach Ron in the kitchen.

Ron’s coat had been thrown on the table in an untidy heap and he was rummaging in the refrigerator. Hermione tutted and took the coat and hung it on the back of a chair, as Harry went to the oven to tend the meat. Hermione got herself a mug and tapped the kettle with her wand to set it to boil. As Ron plonked two cans of Muggle beer on the table and threw himself into a chair, popping the tab on his own can, Harry felt, with a rush of affection, like they had never been gone.

Hermione crunched on a piece of carrot she purloined from the bowl of cut vegetables as she made her tea. She kept up a stream of inane chatter in an attempt to cover the slightly tense silence. Harry let her prattle on, and Ron made no attempt to insert any comments of his own. When he finished tending the roast and sat himself opposite Ron, Hermione hoisted herself onto the bench in much the same way she had done in the past, when they were in the kitchen together preparing a meal.

After taking a sip of her tea, she wrapped her hands around the mug and levelled her most penetrating gaze upon Harry. “So Harry, are we going to meet your house guest today?”

Harry saw Ron glance up from his determined study of the table top but when Harry caught his eye, Ron immediately went back to his wood gazing.

Harry sighed and took a swig from his can, trying to appear nonchalant. “Yeah... yeah, you are.” He looked at Ron again but Ron was still finding it difficult to look Harry in the eye. Harry kept on addressing his mate, however.

“I’m sorry to have been so secretive the other day, mate,” he said. “But Gi–err, my guest is shy and I had to talk her around to meeting you.”

“Shy!” exclaimed Ron. “That’s not shy, Harry, that’s bloody paranoid.” Hermione, who was sitting directly behind Ron, raised her foot and poked him in the side of his ribs. Ron ignored her silent admonishment and when Harry opened his mouth to reply, Ron overrode him.

“If she’s a good enough friend...” Here, Ron sketched quotation marks in the air. “...that she’s staying with you, then she must know you well enough to know you wouldn’t let any Tom, Dick or H...”

Harry fought to control a smirk but Hermione made no effort to hide her snort of amusement. Ron wasn’t to be deterred though. “Yeah, okay, not the cleverest analogy in the world, but you bloody-well know what I mean.”

“Analogy?” said Harry, his smirk now in full bloom. “Ron, mate, you really are channelling your wife.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” said Hermione with mock severity.

“Nothing against you, Hermione, but one of you is sufficient.”

“Yes, yes, I know. And any more would be a total abundance to which you are quite unaccustomed.”

“Exactly!” Harry’s smirk remained in place as he looked at Ron; he was gratified to see him finally grin.

“It’s like a pall,” huffed Ron. “I’m totally immersed in this intellectual soup.”

“Oi!” Hermione poked Ron again with the toe of her soft leather half-boot. “Watch it, you. You could do a lot worse than channelling me.”

Ron grabbed Hermione’s foot where it still jabbed at him and Harry laughed aloud, happy that the old camaraderie had been re-established.

Ron ran his hand inside the leg of Hermione’s jeans, stroking the smooth skin of her calf absently. He continued his ministrations but the grin slowly slipped from his face as he continued to stare at Harry on the other side of the table.

“So, where is she, Harry?” he asked, all humour gone. “Who is she?”

Harry rubbed his fingertips over suddenly dry lips. Merlin, what now, Ginny?

While he tried to cudgel his brain to think how to tell them about Ginny–because despite lying awake most of the night, he still had not worked that out–he saw the colour drain from Ron’s face and his eyes widen in shock when his gaze fixed on something behind Harry’s back.

Every last vestige of colour in Ron’s face had disappeared–even his freckles had blanched–and when he staggered upright, Harry was sure his legs would fail to support him.

Spinning about in his own chair, Harry saw Ginny standing on the small landing at the base of the stairs. Though her face was in shadow, Harry could see she too was very pale. He jumped to his feet, unsure and a little afraid of what would transpire in the next few minutes. He wished Ginny had stuck to their original plan; she was supposed to wait until Harry had explained things to Ron and Hermione before she made an appearance–but in actuality, Harry realised she could have been waiting for ever.

Harry heard Hermione jump down from the bench. Despite her own shock, Harry knew she would immediately be at Ron’s side to offer whatever support she could. Harry quickly turned back to look at Ron, who was still staring as if at an apparition. Hermione was pressed against his arm, holding it tightly, just in case. Harry wasn’t sure if she thought he might pass out, or bolt from the room, or even launch himself at his sister... his sister who, for all intents and purposes had apparently just returned from the dead.

His head snapped back when Ginny said in a very small voice, “Hello, Ron.”

Ron opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again without uttering a sound. Harry saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed convulsively. Ginny glanced quickly at Harry–he thought he detected a slight note of apology in her brown eyes–and then stepped fully into the brightly lit kitchen. She and Ron stared at each other, totally oblivious to the other two in the room.

“Ginny,” Ron finally managed to croak. “Y–you’re alive?”

Ginny could only nod. Ron took one hesitant step forward, but his way was impeded by the table; he bumped his thigh hard against the corner. Ignoring the pain the knock must have caused, he unsteadily skirted the obstacle and took another step. Ginny matched him and within a second they met in the middle of the floor, their arms wrapping around each other in a hug that contained more than three years’ worth of emotion.

They were both sobbing hard. Ginny’s face was mashed into Ron’s shoulder and Ron had her enfolded so tightly in his embrace, Harry was surprised she could breathe, let alone cry.

Hermione had circled the table and Harry felt her hand creep into his; when he glanced at her, he could see the evidence of tears on her face as well. But when she turned her face to him, Harry could see that the moving sight of her husband embracing his long-lost sister was not enough to stop her mind from dwelling on the whys and the wherefores of Ginny’s disappearance and her miraculous reappearance. It was obvious that even if Ron was too caught up in the moment to dwell on the mysteries, Hermione wasn’t.

Harry privately thought it was a shame that Hermione’s heart couldn’t overrule her head for once. Still, she was nothing if not consistent. Harry mouthed, ‘later’, then he pulled Hermione along with him as he attempted to sidle past the brother and sister. As the intertwined pair was standing right at the base of the stairs, Harry and Hermione’s exit did not go unnoticed and with a loud sniff, Ron finally lifted his wet, mottled face from where it was buried in Ginny’s hair.

“No,” he croaked when he realised his wife and best friend were going to leave the room. “Don’t go.”

Harry held up his hand. “Ron, mate, we’ll give the two of you some time together.”

Ginny had raised her tearstained, blotchy face from where it had been buried in Ron’s ancient red windcheater which now sported a huge wet patch. She looked at Harry in panic. “No, Harry, please stay.”

When Ron looked down at Ginny again, she couldn’t meet his eyes, and suddenly embarrassed she stepped back and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. Ron frowned at her suddenly defensive posture and slowly, Harry saw the realisation dawn, that along with his sister’s sudden and dramatic reappearance in his life, there was also many, many questions that needed answers.

Ron’s swollen, wet eyes flicked from Ginny to Harry and back again. He swiped his sleeve across his face. His colour was coming back with a vengeance and the pallor had been replaced with a pink wash that Harry knew would darken to the colour of a rich claret. The four of them stood frozen for several seconds and Harry knew that when his ears matched the colour of his forehead, the power of speech would return with a vengeance.

But when Ron would have launched into indignant, albeit confused speech, Hermione forestalled him by pulling herself free of Harry’s grip; stepping past Ron, and ignoring the touch-me-not posture of her sister-in-law, she pulled Ginny into a hug that was nearly as fierce as her husband’s had been. Harry remembered that Hermione and Ginny had been best friends at Hogwarts.

For a moment Ginny remained stiff in Hermione’s embrace, then she relaxed and returned her new sister-in-law’s hug. Harry heard her gulp as she tried, once again, to hold back the persistent waterworks.

“Blow your nose properly, Ron,” said Hermione in a thick, tremulous voice when she pulled back a little, realising that Ginny needed space; she had seen Ron out of the corner of her eye, swipe at his face again with his sleeve. Releasing Ginny from her embrace, she instead grasped the younger girl’s upper arms and lowered her head slightly to look Ginny in the eye. “It is so good to see you again,” she whispered. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Ginny produced a tight little smile; a barely perceptible uplifting of the corners of her mouth. “I’ve missed you all, too. So much.”

“If you missed us so m...oomph!” Hermione elbowed Ron in the stomach, at the same time as she overrode his words with her own, louder utterance.

“You’ve been missing so long, Ginny. You must know we have a thousand questions... a million.”

Ginny nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know.” She slowly extricated herself from Hermione’s loosened hold. Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, she lowered her gaze. She left the three of them standing where they were and they watched with varying expressions–anxiousness, sympathy and the beginnings of belligerence–as she crossed the kitchen. She grabbed a box of tissues from the top of the fridge and after pulling several out, placed the box on the table. While she blew her nose and swiped at her sore eyes and cheeks, Hermione moved to switch the kettle back on. She was making every effort to defuse the tension she could feel radiating off Ron and Ginny in toxic waves.

When Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ron in a silent message, he scowled but reigned in his desire to berate and instead moved stiffly to the table and sat down. His eyes remained fixed on Ginny the whole time.

Harry thought it wise to postpone the meal as he was sure everyone’s appetites had disappeared...well, he was sure Ron’s appetite had disappeared. His and, he was sure, Ginny’s had been nonexistent since they had woken that morning. He turned off the oven and put a stasis charm on the roast before he sat in a chair next to Ginny, pulling it slightly closer to hers. Ron watched this manoeuvre with narrowed eyes but he refrained from speaking; instead he watched unblinkingly as Ginny began to pick apart her scrunched up tissues.

While they waited for the tea to steep, Hermione put mugs, spoons, sugar and milk on the table and when she finally slipped into the seat next to Ron, Harry felt sick with anxiety. He wondered fleetingly what Ginny had done with Bonnie. It felt like hours, but it had only been ten minutes since Ginny had entered the kitchen. He wondered if he should excuse himself and go and check on the little girl. He knew Ginny would have left her daughter safe and happy, probably doing a puzzle or playing with her dolls. But Bonnie wouldn’t remain content by herself for long and as Ginny was slightly preoccupied and under great mental stress, she might not realise just how much time had passed.

Eventually they all had mugs of tea to occupy their hands and for a few minutes, they all sipped the soothing beverages. Finally, when the silence and the tension had become oppressive, Ron put his mug down with slightly more force than necessary. Ginny looked up and seeing her brother was quite over the sentimentality of a few minutes ago, she lowered her own cup with a shaking hand and prepared for the inquisition. But Harry could see that Ginny had straightened and stiffened her spine, so whatever Ron was going to dish up, she wasn’t going to be easily cowed. Sure enough, Ron got straight down to business.

“Where have you been for the last three and a half years?” he ground out. Ginny flinched a little at the aggression in her brother’s voice. It was painfully obvious that joy had morphed into anger. She had expected as much, but it didn’t make explanations any easier, nor did it prevent her mourning the relatively small amount of time taken up by the former.

“And how the hell did you end up here with Harry?”

Ginny raised admonishing eyes to her brother’s irate face. He was still the same old Ron; the same infuriating, impatient and volatile person he had always been.

But she did acknowledge that his questions were valid, and perhaps his anger too. It would have been nice though, if his concern for what might have happened to her over the last three and a half years had overridden his feelings of anger and ill-usage. Ron was doing his usual and making her trauma all about him.

Ginny knew that her disappearance had affected her whole family–she knew they had all mourned her loss. She would always feel guilty for what she had put them through, especially her parents... well, more her father than her mother because she was not sure her mother would remain upset once she learned the reason for Ginny’s disappearance. But regardless, no parent should live to see one of their children die–or seemingly die. Ginny could not imagine how she would survive losing Bonnie.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak but Harry beat her to it.

“I found Ginny in a Muggle coffee shop ten days before Christmas.”

Ron’s mouth fell open but Harry was more focused on Ginny as she whipped her head around to glare at him. “You make it sound as if you were looking for a bargain and you saw me and bought me!”

Now Harry’s mouth dropped open, but Ron was already in full tirade. “What the hell?! Ten days before Christmas! You’ve known she was alive all that time and you didn’t tell any of us? Shit, Harry...”

“Ron!” Hermione said in a cajoling voice, latching onto Ron’s arm. Ginny thought that she sounded like a mother trying to placate a toddler. But Ron ignored her as he leaned his forearms on the table, thrusting his upper body and face closer to Harry.

“You bloody-well knew she was alive and you...”

“Ron!’ Ginny raised her voice. The glare Harry had been subjected to a moment ago was now directed at Ron. She felt deflated and defeated already. This is what all her interactions with Ron had been like during the last half of her last school year. He had been so angry with her for most of that time.

“Don’t ‘Ron’ me, Ginny!” Ron shouted back. He shook off Hermione’s hand and thrust his chair back so hard to gain his feet, it toppled over. He was so agitated, he could no longer stay sitting. Hermione bit her lip as she watched her husband wind himself into a full-blown Weasley tantrum.

His face was nearly puce as he strode up and down. His hand was shaking as he pointed between Harry and Ginny in dire accusation: he was almost incoherent with rage. “You... him...”

Ginny thrust her own chair back and gained her feet as well. “Shut up!” she yelled. “Just shut up!”

Ron stopped pacing and glared at his sister from the other end of the kitchen. “You have no right to tell me to shut up...”

“I have every right, you sanctimonious shit.” Everyone’s eyes widened. Even before she had disappeared, Ginny, like Hermione had not been renowned for swearing, and since she had been found, Harry had not heard any bad language that he could remember passing her lips. Of course, Bonnie was usually around and he himself would never dream of swearing in front of the little girl.

Besides, Harry thought, such a violent epithet coming from the diminutive Ginny’s mouth, with her livid face and her furiously taut body just looked wrong somehow.

Before Ron could recover from his shock, Ginny was moving around the table towards him. Ron seemed rooted to the spot by the vision of the virago advancing upon him, which was bad luck because when Ginny stood in front of him, she poked him violently in the chest with a rigid finger. Ron’s face contorted comically and he rubbed at the abused spot.

“You are a large part of the reason why I decided that I had to leave, Ron,” she bit out, poking him again–and again, and again–to emphasise each point. “You and your holier-than-thou attitude, and your belief that you had the right to boss me around... to keep tabs on me, to report home if you decided that I wasn’t living up to your idea of how your sister should be behaving!”

Ron’s mouth was open again but no sound emerged; perhaps he was too involved with trying to rub the pain of each vicious jab away. Hermione had now joined him and Harry too was on his feet, but he stayed where he was, warily watching the long held-off bitter attack.

These accusations of Ginny’s concerning her interactions with her brother in her final year at Hogwarts were news to Harry. Much of his 6th year had passed by in a blur , unless it involved Dumbledore’s private lessons and the revelations concerning Tom Riddle, or his obsession with trying to work out what Draco Malfoy was up to in the Room of Requirement. Ginny, he was now ashamed and appalled to admit to himself, had not even been a blip on his radar.

Harry watched as Hermione touched Ginny’s forearm in a placatory gesture but Ginny jerked back. “Ginny, I’m sure Ron wouldn’t have done...”

“Whatprecisely wouldn’t he have done, Hermione?” spat a clearly not placated Ginny. “Been holier-than-thou? Or bossed me around? Or reported home to our mother?

“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you because it’s obvious you love this git, but he is guilty of every one of those infractions. He was on my case almost from the moment we walked onto the Hogwarts’ Express at the beginning of the year. I doubt it was even three days before he wrote home to Mum, objecting to my relationship with Dean.”

“And a fat lot of notice you took of either of us,” bellowed Ron, his considerable temper finding vent again.

“Why should I have?” Ginny screamed back. "I was fifteen years old, Ron! Old enough to have an innocent relationship with a boy... a boy moreover, whom you had bunked with for five years and who was supposedly a friend of yours.”

Ron ignored the end of this tirade, focusing instead on the beginning. "Innocent!” he bellowed again.

“Ron!” Hermione tried to placate again but to no avail. Ron, too, shook off her hand and he took the half step forward that bought him flush with his much smaller sister’s chest; he towered over her and looked totally intimidating. Too much so for Harry’s peace of mind.

He took a step towards them; his plan was to pull Ginny away but when he reached for her arm, she jerked away from him as violently as she had from Hermione. With a distinct lack of fear for her intimidating brother, Ginny raised both arms and shoved Ron back. Despite pushing with all her might, she was irritated to see that Ron only fell back a pace–she had wanted to see him to stagger backwards with his arms flailing for balance– but he did not try and crowd in on her again.

He did brandish an accusatory finger at her again, however. “Do you forget I caught you snogging Thomas behind that tapestry on the second floor? That looked far from innocent to me!”

“We were kissing, Ron–kissing!” Ginny crossed her arms and was looking far from cowed. “At least we kept our snogging private, unlike you and one Lavender Brown who didn’t care if the whole of the school saw you in action.”

Ron’s ears were now so red and so hot looking, Harry was sure they would peel over the next couple of days. Before he could step forward again, Harry stepped in front of him. “That’s enough, Ron. Back off.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me to back off? This hasn’t got anything to do with you.”

“You think,” said Harry in a steely voice. “This is my house, and Ginny is my–”

“No, Harry,” said Ginny, grasping his arm and pulling him back a little. ”You don’t have to tell him anything. My life now is none of his business, just as it wasn’t all those years ago.”

“You’re my sister–”

“Yes, Ron, your sister, not your daughter or your subordinate. You had no right–”

“Mum gave me the right, Ginny.”

“Yeah, I know she did. You took over the role of spy from Percy. And you know something, brother mine, you were more zealous than Percy ever was. Though how you found the time to spy on me in between your sessions with Lavender and your less than spectacular Quidditch performances I’ll never know.”

The blood seemed to ebb from Ron’s face with the speed of a spell leaving a wand. He snarled, “You–”

“Don’t say it, Ron,” said Harry in a deadly-soft voice.

"I don’t need you to fight my battles, Harry,” bit out Ginny while Ron said at the same moment, “How the bloody hell can you stick up for her, Harry?”

Hermione too, spoke almost simultaneously. “Ron, it’s perfectly normal for a fifteen year old girl to have a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend maybe,” agreed Ron, contrary to his earlier rant. But what about a collection of them.” he glared at his sister. “There was that poncey Ravenclaw, Corner, before Dean. Wasn’t there, Ginny?”

Ginny raised her chin. “While you just dived straight at Lavender. All she had to do was giggle at you and practically shove her boobs in your face and you thought you were that Muggle lover... that Cassa...whatever.”

Blood was rapidly suffusing Ron’s face again and a pulse was leaping about in his left temple. “And what did bloody Malfoy have to do?” he yelled. “Just what the fuck inspired you to start panting after the biggest prick in the entire school?”

“MUMMEEE!”

Harry didn’t have time to react to Ron’s words before the piercing, hysterical scream came from the stairwell. Everyone froze, their faces turned towards the dim aperture. Harry and Ginny exchanged horrified looks and then they both hurried towards the stairs. Ginny beat Harry through the aperture and she climbed rapidly and was lost from view, but Harry was close on her heels. He could hear the other two following.

“Mummeee...” Ginny was scooping a very tearful Bonnie up from where she was sitting on the top step when Harry caught up. The little girl clung fiercely to her mother and Ginny patted her daughter’s back and jiggled her in a vain attempt to soothe her. Bonnie’s body was shaking with the force of her sobs.

“Shh, baby... it’s all right... Mummy’s here,” crooned Ginny but Bonnie was not to be pacified. Ginny jiggled harder and she looked at Harry hopelessly. Then her glance lit on Ron and Hermione who were standing two and three steps down, staring at the scene in utter shock, both of their mouths hanging open. Ginny swallowed hard. She jiggled Bonnie harder still but if anything, her own trepidation was infecting her daughter and the wails rose in volume.

Harry took charge. With a no-nonsense movement, he wrested Bonnie from Ginny’s arms. Bonnie screamed, a high-pitched sound of terror, but Harry gently but forcefully pushed her blonde head into his shoulder and whispered soothing nonsense into her ear.

Ginny, her arms now empty, stared at her brother who was watching Harry tend the little girl; his face was now devoid of any emotion. Not so Hermione’s; her eyes were focused on Ginny and Ginny saw a mixture of pity and dawning comprehension on the older girl’s face.

Ginny folded her arms across her chest and tried to appear as if she was totally in control, when in fact, she was shaking so hard, she thought her legs might give way any second.

As usual, Harry had the magic touch. Bonnie’s wails had petered out to sniffles and hiccoughs but the tension surrounding the adults was becoming palpable. Bonnie must have felt it too, for though she was calming down, she refused to lift her face from where it was buried in Harry’s neck.

Ron watched his best friend soothe the tiny girl with an unreadable expression on his face, then his head swivelled towards Ginny. She braced herself for the tirade... for her brother’s accusations and disdain.

But the fury of moments ago seemed to have drained out of Ron. He stared hard at his little sister, taking in her defensive posture and her extreme pallor with seeming detachment.

After several fraught seconds that seemed to stretch into an eternity, he took Hermione’s arm and turned them back towards the kitchen. After taking two steps down, he said over his shoulder, “I think we’ll be more comfortable in the kitchen.”

Harry and Ginny watched the retreating backs, then looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows, showing Ginny he was just as confused and then gestured for Ginny to precede him down the stairs. He tried to transfer Bonnie to the other side of his neck, but she clung like a leech, so he left her where she was.

When Harry entered the kitchen, Hermione was in full mother mode again and was preparing a new pot of tea whilst banishing the dregs from their cups and cleaning them with economical movements of her wand. Ron was staring out the back window at the play-set, that until now, had entirely escaped his memory.

Without turning, he said to the glass, “Is she Malfoy’s?”

Harry wanted to thump Ron. In all the time he had been around Ginny since she had come back into his life, Harry had not had the nerve to ask who Bonnie’s father was, though of course, he had speculated. He had never known anyone other than Malfoy and his parents to have the same moonlight-blonde hair that Bonnie had. He supposed he had not wanted to think about the little girl’s paternity because that would have just led to other, even more awkward questions.

So Harry wasn’t really surprised when Ginny said, “Yes.” But he was just as shocked as Ron, who spun around to stare open-mouthed at his sister and Hermione, who spilt tea on the tabletop when Ginny added in a much quieter voice, “Well... I assume she is.”

TBC