Last time: Harry swallowed, and not giving himself time to think…time to back away, lowered his head and tasted Ginny Weasley’s lips for the first time.

Ginny’s heart skipped several beats when she registered that Harry was finally kissing her ... kissing her passionately on the lips instead of peppering her hair with comforting little pecks. This is what she had dreamed of from around the age of fourteen; before then, she had been too young to think of the physical aspect of her obsession with Harry Potter. All she had known in those early years was that Harry was just as wonderful in real life as she had always imagined him to be when her father had told her stories about The-Boy- Who-Lived.

Harry had been her hero from before she had ever met him, and after he had stayed at the Burrow the summer before she had started at Hogwarts, he had become her obsession. She could not remember when she had first realised that she was in love with her brother’s best friend; it seemed as if that had always been the case.

Ginny melted against Harry as he turned more fully towards her, but the warm, sweet-smelling child who straddled both of them made it impossible for him to take Ginny fully into his arms. Instead, Harry tightened the arm that was across her shoulders and Ginny turned into the kiss as much as she could around the encumbrance that was her child.

Harry tasted just as she had always dreamed he would. His touch was gentle, almost tentative. It seemed as if Harry was not going to totally give himself over until he made sure that she was as far into the moment as he was. Ever the thoughtful one. Ginny pressed her lips more firmly against his, letting him know she was a willing participant.

He opened his lips, covering hers with their firm, supple comfort. Harry still did not push too hard; he just kissed her with gentle persuasion. It was enough... and yet...not; Ginny wanted more. A tiny little moan escaped her throat–hardly audible, more felt than heard–and it was a signal for Harry to increase his hold on her senses.

Her breath hitched when his tongue laved her lips. Ginny became still, and her breathing suspended as he breached the tiny opening her parted lips had formed. But Harry did not press further, perhaps sensing she was still uneasy; he retracted his tongue, forgoing taste and just going with sensation.

It was enough ... her lips against his were enough for now.

In his twenty and a half years, Harry had not kissed many girls. He had been a relatively late arrival on the doorstep of sexual experimentation; his first lip-lock had not engendered a very great desire to repeat the experience. Cho Chang had been a stunning looking girl and Harry had fantasised about her since his third year at Hogwarts. But actually kissing her had been something of a letdown.

Since Cho, he had been afraid that kissing might always be the rather soggy experience that first kiss had been, so he had approached the physical aspect of his next affaire de coeur with some trepidation.

He needn’t have worried, because though he had never had a liaison that had lasted more than six months at most, Harry had enjoyed every aspect of each of them. The three witches he had enjoyed relationships with had all been as totally into the moment, and Harry, as he had been into each of them... Cho had not been able to forget her former boyfriend, Cedric Diggory; at least, not while she had been with Harry. Tears had been the most notable aspect of their very short relationship.

Ginny’s lips should not have been so very different to the lips of the three young witches Harry had had successful relationships with, but they were. He knew he could not have described the differences, but if forced, he would have said that perhaps it was not Ginny’s actual lips, but the emotions behind the kiss, that were different.

Harry could feel shyness and fear, wonder and insecurity and just the faintest trace of shock. There was so much more going on beneath the pretty visage that had been ravaged by loss, deprivation and loneliness, and Harry felt the most overpowering urge to protect her and make everything better.

He raised his arm from where it was draped over Ginny’s shoulders and clasped the back of her head gently, spearing his fingers through her long tresses and forcing her lips harder against his own. He tried to position himself so that their bodies were closer but Bonnie made it impossible; he was still cradling the little girl’s lower body with one arm while her torso was pressed against Ginny’s chest, her little arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck. With her head turned to the side, and with Harry’s lips on hers and his possessive hold on her head, Ginny was in imminent danger of suffocation.

At the same time as she reluctantly dragged her mouth sideways to break the kiss and rest her forehead against Harry’s neck, Bonnie let out a sleepy little squeak and burrowed more deeply against Ginny’s chest; she twisted her lower body in an effort to fully climb into her mother’s arms, wedging one little knee into Harry’s ribs as she did so.

Harry grunted in pain but ignored his discomfort and disappointment that the kiss was over. He gently moved the still-sleeping child so that she was fully resting on her mother and then he gathered his protesting muscles into action and levered himself to his feet. He rubbed a numb buttock and stared down at Ginny, who, after bestowing a wide-eyed look of...what...pleasure? regret? on Harry, she buried her hot face in Bonnie’s tousled hair.

“Not the most ideal place or time to finally kiss you,” Harry said quietly. “Here, let me take her.” He bent down to grasp the child under the arms and lift her off her mother.

“No, it’s okay,” said Ginny a little too quickly, and she tightened her arms around Bonnie, drawing her legs to the side preparatory to standing. But her extended time sitting on the hard floor combined with the added weight of her child, standing unaided was out of the realms of possibility at that particular moment and she had to quickly put a hand on the floor to stop herself from falling over sideways.

Harry’s mouth tightened. He could see that Ginny was already drawing away from him again and he was suddenly beyond frustrated. “Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,” he muttered, reaching down again and lifting Bonnie into his arms. Ginny’s mouth set into an angry line and she scrambled to her feet in a less than graceful series of movements ... she was even more numb than Harry had been and she staggered backwards, catching her legs against the edge of the bed and falling unceremoniously onto it.

Harry couldn’t help himself ... he huffed out a mocking breath. “Clearly it was okay!”

Ginny scowled, and ignoring the painful resurgence of blood flowing into her lower extremities, she forced herself to her feet again with a wince of discomfort. She avoided Harry’s eyes as she gently extricated Bonnie from his arms. Harry released the little girl immediately, despite his annoyance with her mother; it was definitely best not to wake Bonnie.

“I’ll wait in the other room,” said Harry, managing with difficulty to keep the anger and bitterness out of his voice. Ginny had already turned away to walk around the base of the bed they had been resting against, to cross to the other bed where Bonnie slept.

When Ginny finally slunk into the living room, pulling the door shut behind her, she found Harry pacing a track in the carpet. He stopped the moment she appeared and stared at her intently. Ginny kept her eyes on the floor though and Harry could see that their interlude in the bedroom might never have happened. Harry shook his head.

“What happened, Gin? You’ve closed yourself off again.”

Ginny didn’t answer; instead, she crossed the small room to the kitchen, only looking up at Harry when she was ensconced on the other side of the kitchen bench. Obviously the barrier made her feel safe. “I think it’s time you left Harry. It’s late.”

Harry frowned and took a step towards the bench. Ginny wrapped her arms tightly around herself. This did nothing to improve Harry’s frustration and his temper was in serious danger of snapping. “So you’re just going to forget what happened in the bedroom?”

Ginny took a deep breath and finally raised her eyes to his. “What happened in the bedroom, Harry? I was upset, you comforted me. End of story.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. He just stared at her, totally gobsmacked. As he stared, her face became set and determined and she raised her chin defiantly. She was not going to let their little interlude influence her in any way; she was apparently determined to remain totally aloof, and, apart from her daughter, alone. He shook his head again and without realising he had moved, he was in the kitchen.

He watched as Ginny’s eyes widened in fear and was shocked to find her backed up against the sink with himself standing directly in front of her. “So I was only comforting you, was I? There was nothing else there?”

Harry grasped the back of Ginny’s head, his fingers threaded through her hair and, ignoring her whimper of protest, he pulled her towards him and clamped his mouth over hers.

This kiss was not the gentle exploration they had participated in earlier; his lips were hard and determined, his tongue demanding as he tried to breach her defences. Ginny’s hands fluttered helplessly for a moment before coming to rest on Harry’s shoulders. She did not however, try to pull Harry closer; instead she pushed as hard as she could, to little effect.

Harry was intent on getting her to become a willing participant in the kiss, and it wasn’t until he heard a whimper that he became totally aware that far from participating, Ginny was struggling fruitlessly against his hold and her face was wet with tears.

Immediately, Harry pulled back, staring appalled at the distressed woman imprisoned against him. Feeling sick, Harry dropped his arms and stepped back. “Gin ...” he said hopelessly and automatically it seemed, he raised one of his hands to brush the wetness from her cheeks.

Ginny lashed out, slapping Harry’s hand away. She spun away from him, swiping at her cheeks and taking great, gulping breaths.

“Ginny, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t... I just wanted...” Harry shut his mouth, and as he gazed at her tear-streaked but incensed face through the reflection in the tiny window over the kitchen sink, his lips set in a thin line. He didn’t know what to say. His actions had been unforgivable; his only defence was that he was trying to prove to her that what had happened in the bedroom could be easily ignited again; he was in the moment before his brain caught up with his actions.

Ginny’s shoulders and back were so tense, Harry thought he might break her if he tried to turn her to face him.

“You just wanted!” Ginny finally spat. “It’s all about you! It’s always about the boy!” She spun back to face him and Harry fell back another couple of steps at the sight of her livid, tear-streaked face and white lips. “The great Harry Potter thinks he can get whatever he wants! The great Harry Potter will not take ‘no’ for an answer. He won’t go away when he knows he isn’t wanted.”

Ginny suddenly stepped forward and with a muted cry of rage and frustration, she pushed Harry backwards again with all her might. Taken unawares, he staggered back a couple of steps, putting his hand out to grab the bench and steady himself.

“I want you to go,” she hissed. “I want you to go and never come back. You are not welcome here, Harry Potter and you’re wasting your time if you think you’re going to talk me into going back to the Wizarding World. ”

Harry’s face became more and more set as Ginny’s tirade continued. Her words were hissed but they might just as well have been yelled at the top of her voice; her wishes could not have been clearer. Her hands were clenched at her sides and she was leaning towards him, aggression in every line of her body.

Harry’s eyes had iced over before she had finished and when she finally stood there panting after her rant, Harry nodded his head abruptly, once. He couldn’t do this anymore. He turned and strode around the bench towards the coat rack. Ginny stood looking at the spot where he had been standing rather than where he was now.

“You win,” he said simply as he shrugged himself into his coat. “You’ve finally drilled it into my thick head that your determination far and away overshadows mine. So, I’ll get out of your hair and you won’t have to worry about seeing me again.” He wrapped his scarf around his neck and opened the door, letting in the icy air from the garage.

Ginny had not moved; she could not. “You can go back to your isolated little existence,” continued Harry, looking down into the garage because he could not look at her again; he just might waver if he did that, and this had suddenly become much too hard. She was not going to back down.

“You can rest assured that I won’t tell your family that you’re alive and well. You can continue to live in obscurity and your family in ignorance.”

Harry stepped through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him, though just before the lock snicked, he whispered through a constricted throat, “Kiss Bonnie goodbye for me.” Then he was gone.

Ginny stood completely still for a full minute, the silence crashing around her ears after she heard the pop of Harry’s Disapparition. Then she drew in a shuddering breath and wrapping her arms tightly around her middle, she sank to the floor and gave way to anguished sobs.

Christmas and New Year had come and gone. Harry had not spent any extended time with his adopted family. He had been unsure whether he would be able to get through the days with the knowledge that was burning a hole in his gut without blurting out the truth to Molly and Arthur. It had been hard enough being around Ron and Hermione without giving his secret away. All in all, he had felt that it would be better for all if he made an excuse so that he could miss Christmas at the Burrow.

Molly and Arthur had been upset, but they had not fussed overly much; Harry had felt immensely guilty because he knew that they considered him to be a son, and it was important to them to have the whole family together as often as possible and especially for something as important as Christmas. It was even more important that the whole family be together as often as possible ever since Ginny had disappeared from all of their lives.

Thanks to Arthur, Harry’s excuse that Dudley and Amanda were keen to have him around for their first Christmas in their new flat was not given too close a scrutiny. Molly’s eyebrows had risen at Harry’s news, but as Dudley was the only blood family that Harry had that he actually stayed in contact with, she had, after a stern look from Arthur, managed to hold back from voicing her disapproval of the boy who had made Harry’s childhood hell. Dudley’s apparent transformation into something that loosely resembled a decent human being, did not, as far as Molly was concerned, make up for all the years when Harry had suffered at the hands of his cousin.

Ron’s reaction had been one of open-mouthed disbelief and he had only just stopped short of calling Harry a moron; Ron knew that Harry socialised with Dudley these days, but this was Christmas! Hermione had remained silent but she had scrutinised Harry much like Dumbledore had often done ... as if she could see right into his mind. Harry knew that Hermione had never studied Legilimency, but knowing Hermione as he did, she could have just picked up the discipline from reading about it in books.

Harry was just lucky that his best friends had been swamped with their wedding preparations, so that following their initial noises of protest and disappointment, they had let the matter drop.

Harry, of course, had no such plans for Christmas; Dudley and Amanda planned to spend the day with Amanda’s family as Vernon and Petunia had finally realised their heart’s desire and bought a small condo in Spain. They spent as much time there as they could. Naturally, they wanted Dudley with them but as they did not approve of Amanda–no girl would ever be good enough for their Diddikins–Dudley refused to accompany them anymore.

Harry had realised an old dream and had gone to Italy for a ten days... Tuscany to be precise. He had kept himself busy sightseeing, hiring a car to tour around the beautiful countryside, his focus the abundant vineyards. Even though the vines were dormant at this time of year, the cellars were well stocked. Having to concentrate on the narrow roads that wound their way amongst the abundant hills ensured that Harry’s mind was not free to dwell upon Ginny and Bonnie often. But you could not keep yourself occupied twenty-four hours a day and Harry found his nights plagued with memories, not just recent memories, but memories of the Ginny he had known before she disappeared.

He missed them both. He could not believe how much he missed them. Ginny’s daughter had wormed her way into his heart as thoroughly as Guy and Leon had Bill’s, and Sam, Charlie’s.

But Harry knew it was pointless dwelling on thoughts of the pair; Ginny had made her feelings perfectly clear. She had no intention of coming home and she obviously felt nothing but intense irritation towards him.

Once home, and ignoring all Ron and Hermione’s efforts to find out where he had been hiding, Harry had been swept up in the final preparations for the wedding. As best man, it was his job to make sure that Ron remained firmly grounded ... a task, Harry discovered, that mostly involved being a sounding-board; Ron needed constant reassurance that he was doing the right thing and that he was good enough for Hermione.

Now, Harry had Grimmauld Place to himself. His two best friends were honeymooning in the Seychelles, compliments of Harry, who had paid for the whole thing after an idle comment from Hermione several months previously, that she would love to visit the beautiful islands one day. Harry had shouted down their howls of protest by telling them it was his wedding gift to them.

They had been planning a much more moderate trip to Cornwall, where the English winters were a little milder. The young couple, though both working, did not have much money to throw around on holidays, even if it was a honeymoon; a place of their own to live was their major priority and they would be moving into a tiny flat in Ottery St Catchpole when they returned. They would have preferred living in London, but rent was far too expensive in the city.

Ron and Hermione had finally conceded defeat when Harry had told them it was a done deal: he had bought airline tickets and booked accommodation and if they didn’t take the bookings, he would lose his money as there were no refunds.

They had flown out of Heathrow five hours ago, Ron a pale shade of green at the thought of having to ‘be imprisoned in that Muggle-made, metal monstrosity’. Harry grinned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he got ready for bed. He remembered how Hermione had warded off a full-blown panic attack by her new husband by slipping a strong calming draught in one of a few glasses of celebratory champagne at the airport. Harry knew Ron would have slipped into a deep sleep within five minutes of boarding the plane. Ron had definitely not inherited his father’s fascination with Muggles and their contraptions.

An hour after climbing into bed, Harry flopped onto his stomach and huffed in irritation. He wished he had had a lot more to drink, or taken some Dreamless Sleep Potion, or even some of Hermione’s Calming Draught, because, as had happened every night since he had stopped seeing Ginny and Bonnie, he could not empty his mind of memories of the times he had spent with them. With a groan, he flopped over onto his back again, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Not for the first time, Harry imagined what might have been if he had not remained ignorant of exactly what was under his nose when he became old enough to notice girls. Why had he never noticed Ginny? Or, more specifically, why had he never noticed her as anything other than his best friend’s sister, who became a friend in her own right; he had admired her for her wicked sense of humour and her flying skills; she had been a great Chaser, and a not too shabby Seeker.

For Ginny, for a long time, he had apparently been the leading man, but he had never taken advantage of that. He had socialised with her in the term breaks and had even hung out with her a fair bit at Hogwarts because she and Hermione had been the best of friends even though they had been in different years. Ginny had always been there. It had been a case of ignoring what was right under his nose.

Hermione had once told him that Ginny had finally gotten over her crush on him, and when Harry thought back to Ginny’s fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts, that seemed to have been the case. He remembered the Ravenclaw boy, Michael Corner had been her boyfriend in her fourth year, when he himself had been drooling over Cho, and his fellow Gryffindor and classmate, Dean Thomas had been the boy of choice for a while in her fifth year. Harry remembered that Ron had been thrilled when it appeared that Ginny and Dean were no longer an item.

Harry had stayed clear of flirtations and had instead detachedly watched with exasperation as Ron had taken his hormones out for a test run with Lavender Brown before finally clueing into the fact that he had had the right girl under his nose the whole time. He had had another obsession that year, and it wasn’t female.

So many things had happened that year, not least his extra-curricular lessons with Dumbledore, Snape taking over the teaching of his favourite subject and ruining even that for Harry. But his obsession–the one Ron and Hermione had had castigated him for, time and time again–would not leave him be, or rather, he wouldn’t let it be.

Because if that obsession, Ginny hadn’t caused a blip on his radar that year and he really did wonder now what had been the matter with him. When Ginny had disappeared and his own obsession had proven to be correct, Harry had finally been able to think of Ginny; but it was far too late to do anything but mourn her along with the Weasleys. He was already in the right headspace to mourn a close friend because he was still grieving for Dumbledore who had died only days before Ginny had disappeared.

He thought he was mourning Ginny as a brother would mourn a sister, but his dreams had put paid to that theory. For months his dreams had been plagued with images of her in all her personas: the shy little girl who had put her elbow in the butter, the pale and stressed twelve year old who Tom Riddle had been possessing, the close to death Ginny on the damp floor of the Chamber of secrets. Studious Ginny, laughing Ginny, determined Ginny and flying Ginny, with her magnificent hair streaming out behind her.

It had been her hair that Harry had first noticed in the coffee-shop window. Harry had never seen quite that shade on anyone except the Weasley family. But somehow on the boys, the colour, although vivid, was not as alive as it was on Ginny. Harry had studied that hair quite closely in the time he had been in the new Ginny’s company–surreptitiously of course–and he did not think he had ever seen quite so many differing shades of colour on one person’s head...some of them almost seemed incandescent. It seemed like one hundred different shades made up the stunning titian fall; it hung thick and straight to just below her shoulder blades, and though Ginny’s face was pale and wan these days and her freckles stood out starkly against the pallor, her hair was as amazingly vivid as it ever had been.

Harry finally dropped off to sleep thinking that, as adorable as Bonnie was, it was a shame she had not inherited her mother’s spectacular hair colour.

Tap, tap, tap. Harry was so immersed in the article he was reading in the Muggle newspaper, the slight noise didn’t really register with him, though his brow furrowed a little, when the tapping became more insistent.

Taptaptaptaptap! What the hell!! Harry lowered the paper and stared, his brows rising when he saw the tawny coloured owl outside his kitchen window. Even with the large envelope clamped in its beak, Harry could see that it looked disgruntled; its head was bent to the side and its beady yellow eye looked slightly malevolent.

Who would be writing to him today? It was Sunday. It wouldn’t be any of the Weasleys because they had all been together for the wedding just yesterday. And Ron and Hermione would only have just arrived at their destination and even if they had had the time to write, Harry was absolutely positive that letter-writing would not have featured large on their list of things to do.

The angry owl let loose another staccato taptaptap, and Harry finally found the presence of mind to move. Dropping his piece of toast back onto his plate and throwing the paper aside, he pushed to his feet and hurried to the window, throwing it up so the owl could enter.

It did so, dropping the letter at Harry’s feet before flying across the kitchen to land on the table, cuffing Harry about the head with a wing as it passed. The ill-tempered owl had to be female, Harry thought as he remained by the open window and watched the avian invader help herself to a drink from his glass of orange juice and the piece of toast he had just discarded. She flew back past him and out the window, with Harry yelling ‘you’re welcome’, after her retreating form as he slammed the window against the freezing January air.

Harry bent down and picked up the envelope and stared at the unfamiliar writing; ‘Harry Potter’, was written in unremarkable upper-case letters. The envelope was paper rather than parchment, and not particularly good quality paper at that. As Harry stared at the words, his heart sped up a little; they had been written with a biro rather than a quill.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Harry roughly tore the envelope open and extracted a single sheet of paper, folded in half. The note was very short:

Harry,
, I know I have no right to contact you after the things I said the last time we saw each other
, but I really need to see you.
Please!
Ginny.

Harry stared at this missive, his thoughts chaotic. He had honestly thought that he would never see Ginny again. He was not one to give up when he set his mind to something, but he had to admit that Ginny Weasley had defeated him. Give him a Dark Lord and a bunch of Death Eaters and he was in his element, but give him a closed off, mistrustful, beautiful redhead determined to stick to her own agenda, he was pants! Apart from that one kiss, in which said redhead had participated fully, his powers of persuasion had fallen way, way short of the mark.

Why then, after everything that had been said and done, did Ginny want to see him? Just to make sure that he stayed away? Harry shook his head. No. That definitely didn’t make sense. If she was worried that he needed a reminder, she would have just given it to him in the letter.

Harry pushed himself away from the table and headed upstairs. As he showered and dressed, his mind flitted here and there, remembering the short days he had known the new Ginny and her daughter, going over every brittle meeting, and lingering on that kiss. Ginny’s abrupt return to isolationism and her determined and nasty confrontation had been a shock–he thought they had finally made a breakthrough and that they had both succumbed to a mutual attraction–and his own determination to bring her home had finally shrivelled and died. It took him a long time to catch on, but the message had finally gotten through.

As he gazed off into space, polishing his glasses with a sheet of toilet paper, Harry came to the unwelcome conclusion that something had to be wrong; Ginny had managed to live her life without reference to anyone in the Wizarding World for three and a half years. Yes, something was very, very wrong.

With an increasing sense of urgency, Harry did a final cursory check in the mirror and automatically attempting to flatten his hair, he turned away from his reflection, picked up his wand and hurried from the bathroom. He clattered down the stairs and grabbed his coat and scarf from the hall cupboard, he bundled himself up against the cold before Disapparating with a soft pop.

The garage was exactly as it had always been with the pristine blue car sitting proudly in the middle of the ultra-neat space. Harry had appeared on the small landing at the base of the wooden staircase. He peered up the stairs, noting the strip of light under the door at the top. Taking a deep breath, he slowly ascended, wondering as he did, what he could expect when he was face to face with the prickly young woman.

Even though she had summoned him, Harry was convinced that he would not see a great change in Ginny’s attitude. She had been alone and independent for far too long; she did not even seem to be close to Faith, her landlady and part-time babysitter, though Harry felt that that was a mutual attitude.

When the door was wrenched open revealing Ginny, Harry paused with one foot in midair. They gazed at each other for a tense moment before Ginny moved away and with a tightening of his lips and a slight shake of his head, Harry continued his upward journey. When he entered the warm room, Ginny was standing beside the couch, waiting for him and wringing her hands together.

Harry stared, reaching out blindly to push the door shut against the bitter cold. The quiet snick of the catch went unnoticed as Harry’s gaze fastened on Ginny’s mouth when she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and then clamped her teeth onto her bottom lip. She seemed to realise that she was giving away her nervousness, and she stopped wringing her hands and pulled the sleeves of the hideous bilious green, overlarge jumper Harry had first seen her in, down over her hands.

“Thanks for coming,” she said in an almost whisper. Harry gave a curt nod and Ginny watched as he unwound his scarf and undid the buttons of his coat; he made no move to remove it, just thrust his hands into the pockets. He remained silent; this was her party and he couldn’t help feeling like a very unwelcome guest who had only been invited because it would have been poor form not to invite him. Ginny apparently recognised the strategy because colour flooded her face.

Harry looked down at his shoes because unlike Ron, when Ginny blushed, instead of looking like a boiled lobster, she became even more attractive. He wanted to stay aloof; he needed to remain as distant as possible because she was far too tempting and because he knew if he made any sort of overture, she would most likely shoot him down in flames. He was absolutely positive she had not invited him to enlarge upon the experience of their single, solitary kiss.

Ginny too looked down, unable to look Harry in the face when she next spoke. “I want to apologise for the things I said the last time you were here.”

When Harry didn’t respond, she blundered on. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, I know. But Harry, I was scared.”

Harry looked up and raised his eyebrows. “You were scared of me?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, not scared of you. Scared of what you might talk me into.”

Harry’s lips thinned. He crossed the small space to the kitchen bench and leaned back against it, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands still buried deeply in his pockets. “Well, you don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m only here because you asked me to come. Where’s Bonnie?” he asked, changing the subject because he was uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

“I asked Faith to mind her for me while I talked to you.”

“How did you know when I would come?” asked Harry, puzzled. “And where did you get the owl?”

“Delilah belongs to Faith.” Harry’s brow creased and Ginny rushed to explain.

“Faith is a Squib. She keeps an owl so she can contact her family if she has to. And I was sure that you would come when you got my message. I sent Delilah last night, so I knew she would get to you this morning and that you would come straight away.”

“I’m that predictable?” said Harry coldly, filing away the information about Ginny’s Squib landlady.

Ginny bit her lip again. “Pretty much,” she whispered.

“What do you want, Ginny?” Harry was really peeved that she had hidden Bonnie away while she asked what she wanted of him. She obviously didn’t want her daughter around him if she could possibly help it. But these bitter thoughts were cut off when Ginny’s eyes suddenly filled with tears and she collapsed onto the couch, her hands over her face.

Harry instinctively made to go to her, but managed to stop himself. With difficulty he waited until she had calmed herself. He felt super callous but he wasn’t going to open himself up to more insults and rejection.

Finally, after several long minutes, Ginny managed to bring her emotions under control. She sniffled and dug her fingertips into her closed eyes, swiping the tears away and drying her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m making a total bollocks of this.” She started to sniffle again.

Harry knew that if he wanted to hear what Ginny had to say anytime soon, he had to do something to restore her equilibrium. He moved into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Having something to do also made him feel a bit more in control; he didn’t like to see Ginny so upset, no matter how unpleasant she had been in the past. He couldn’t forget the kiss they had shared the last time he had seen her.

Harry hefted the kettle to check that there was enough water before pulling his wand from his pocket and pointing it at the kettle so that it boiled instantly, steam erupting from the spout. Ginny watched, sniffling occasionally as Harry made a cup of tea.

“You’re not having one?” she asked huskily when he handed it to her.

“I’m not thirsty.”

Ginny took a sip of the tea, noting that it was exactly as she liked it. She pointed towards Harry’s pocket where his wand had disappeared again. ‘You used your wand.”

Harry frowned. “Bonnie isn’t here to see,” he bit out angrily. “You’re really a witch and you know I’m a wizard. I’m not going to apologise for using my wand.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s more sensible to use my wand to boil water. If I touch the kettle to heat it up, I burn my hand.” That wasn’t strictly true. He would not have had to touch the kettle to heat it up; just holding his hand towards it would have been enough. Sometimes though, he just automatically used his wand when there was no need to hide who or what he was.

Ginny ducked her head, feeling utterly stupid. She took another sip of her tea. “When did you learn to do wandless magic?” she asked, but Harry turned away and stalked back to the bench.

“Ginny, you didn’t ask me to come here to talk about wandless magic. What is it you do want?”

Ginny bit her lip and her hand shook as she put her cup on the table, slopping some of the liquid onto the scarred wood. She began wringing her hands together again and even though her head was lowered, Harry could tell she had once again succumbed to tears. Harry sighed and lowered his own head, digging his finger and thumb into his eyes, pushing his glasses askew. He really wanted to go over there and pull her into his arms and comfort her.

“I can’t do this anymore.” The words emerged fractured and Harry jerked his head up to see Ginny’s shoulders shaking with the strength of her sobs. That was it. Harry couldn’t keep his distance anymore. He strode to the couch and threw himself down beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“Shh,” he soothed, rocking her a little and stroking her hair. “Gin, tell me what’s wrong.” He had acted instinctively, taking her in his arms, but he had half thought she would pull away straight away, regardless of her distress. So, his breath lodged in his throat when Ginny burrowed against his chest, her hands wrapping around the lapels of his coat and her tears soaking his shirt.

It took a good five minutes for Ginny to settle down enough to talk to Harry. During that time, he continued to hold and soothe her and she seemed content enough to stay in his arms. When the tears had stopped and she seemed relatively calm, Harry slowly straightened away from her, making sure not to completely abandon her. Ginny took a great shuddering breath and leaned her head against the back of the couch. She pushed her mussed hair away from her face and Harry waited for her to speak.

“It’s all gone wrong, Harry,” she said in a dead voice. Harry reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Faith is moving to Australia and selling the house,” she whispered. “I don’t have enough money to rent anywhere else and the list for housing in the Muggle world is ten miles long, so there’s no hope of me getting even a garden shed.” Harry’s free hand tightened into a fist.

“I can’t leave Bonnie with anyone other than Faith because of her accidental magic, so I’m going to lose my job in Simon’s shop. And I can hardly leave the house with her because she’s releasing magic all the time; several times a day since the last time she saw you.” She looked up at Harry, her eyes brimming again. Her voice shook when she continued.

“She had a screaming fit in Tescoes a few days ago. She saw the back of a man who looked a bit like you.” Ginny swiped her sleeve across her nose. “When she saw it wasn’t you, she started screaming your name and the glass doors on the milk fridges shattered.”

She surged to her feet and started pacing frenziedly. ”They’re supposed to be shatterproof!” she sobbed grabbing twin handfuls of hair and pulling. Harry stood up, ready to intervene if she tried to hurt herself further. But Ginny released her hair and wrapped her arms around her middle, gazing off into space.

“All I could do was scoop her into my arms, abandon my shopping and race out of there like a bloody criminal.”

Harry spied the practically full cup sitting in its puddle of tea. He touched his wand in his pocket and picked up the cup, warming it with his hand before forcing Ginny to take it and have a sip. She seemed to appreciate the gesture and after smiling a vague thanks, she continued to sip the drink.

Harry moved away and removed his coat, draping it over the arm of the couch. “You couldn’t have thought bringing up a magical child in the Muggle world would be easy, Ginny.”

Ginny shook her head. “I tried not to think about it. And before you came back into my life, the accidental magic had been virtually non-existent. Tiny little things, like summoning a toy or changing the colour of one of her doll’s dresses. The most impressive thing she ever did was locking the door when I tried to take her down to Faith.”

She looked at Harry. “I don’t remember you ever talking much about releasing wild magic before you started at Hogwarts. And Hermione never talked about it either. Colin Creevey was a good friend of mine, and he never talked about any overt wild magic before he started at school. I didn’t think it would be that much of an issue.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Colin Creevey. One day he would have to tell Ginny that her friend had died in the final battle. He pushed the thought away and addressed Ginny’s comments.

“I had plenty of episodes of wild magic. I even Apparated once at school. But I was beaten soundly each time anything happened, so it wasn’t something I shared, even with Ron and Hermione. They only ever heard about what I did to my Uncle’s sister, Marge, just before third year.” Harry huffed a bitter laugh. “Then again, practically the whole of the Wizarding Britain knew about that little episode.

“I’ve never spoken to Hermione about how she managed her accidental magic before she went to Hogwarts. But Hermione is such a together person, knowing her, she was probably able to suppress the freakishness.”

Ginny actually laughed, albeit weakly. “You’re probably right.”

Harry sat back down, his eyes fixed on Ginny as she rose and carried her cup into the kitchen. “So, what do you plan to do? How can I help?”

Once again, Ginny was making a welter out of washing a cup. It was a few seconds before she spoke and when she did, she kept her face averted. “I’m tired Harry,” she whispered. “It’s been a constant battle with money and Bonnie, but lately, it’s gotten so much harder.”

Harry held his breath, waiting for her to continue. She straightened her shoulders and finally turned to face him. “I want to come back.”

TBC...