As Harry struggled into his jeans after his shower, grimacing as they clung to his damp legs, his thoughts were centred on his current house-mate and her daughter. Ginny was content to see Bonnie so happy and carefree, but Harry knew Ginny herself was far from happy. He liked to think that he was fully attuned to the very attractive redhead’s thoughts, but the truth was much more mundane... unhappiness was writ large upon her face.

Oh, she tried to put on a cheerful front; it was painful to watch just how hard she did try. The performance was enough to satisfy Bonnie that all was well in her little world, but Harry was no longer fooled. And he could no longer fool himself.

He had dug them a really deep hole and as a result, they were all suffering... yes, even sweet little Bonnie, who only had a tiny little back garden to satisfy her natural craving for the outdoors. And even though Harry had erected a swing set, the sad fact was that it was still enclosed between three ten foot high brick walls and the house. There was hardly enough room for the little girl to run off some of her inexhaustible supply of energy and when Ginny did allow her into the garden, the walls were so high, any errant rays of sunlight originated from too low in the sky to penetrate the gloomy, dank rectangle of grass. The fact that it was winter–and excursions outside were not always possible because the cold and wet–was the only thing that made the situation Ginny and Bonnie were in semi-tolerable.

Harry snatched up his glasses and strode into the bedroom, thrusting them impatiently onto the bridge of his nose. He rummaged in a drawer and found a pair of clean socks, but he was so irritated with himself, he had to rip the first one off after struggling to get it on over his still-damp skin because the heel ended up on the top of his foot. After correcting this misstep, he stamped his foot down into a trainer before bending and yanking the lace tight. It broke. Harry shut his eyes and threw himself back on the bed, cursing long and fluently. He ripped off his glasses and threw his arm over his eyes. He had to calm down because his stressed-out state was causing the day to start off very badly indeed.

The simple fact was, he should have put more consideration into his plan to help Ginny after she summoned him and begged for his assistance. He should have kept a cool head, but ultimately, his heart and his hormones had ruled the day. Instead of letting common sense prevail, he had jumped in with both feet and offered her a home with him. As a result of his idiocy and his selfishness, Ginny and her daughter were practically under house arrest and he had unwittingly isolated himself from the Weasleys almost as thoroughly as Ginny had isolated herself from her family all those years ago.

Ginny was too fearful to go out and explore London because she was afraid of running into a magical person who might recognise her. Grimmauld Place was only about half a mile from Charing Cross and the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. Most witches and wizards entered the magical shopping precinct through the inn, but a good proportion entered from the street rather than Flooing in. There were several convenient, isolated places where people could Apparate to rather than having to wait until the Floo was free. Shop and business owners could Floo directly into their own premises, but many of the wizarding community who visited Diagon Alley entered from Charing Cross Road. And these days it was much more common to see magical folk abroad in Muggle London. People were no longer afraid to show their liking for Muggle goods and Muggle entertainment, and Muggle-borns and half-bloods no longer had to hide their appreciation for the non-magical part of their heritage.

One of the isolated places where wizards could Apparate to was the square in Grimmauld Place, making it impossible for Ginny to even take her daughter across there to play. Harry had tried to convince her that no one would take any notice of her–particularly if she was bundled up in winter clothing–but she was too nervous. So the delights of Grimmauld Square, and indeed, London, went unexplored. It was a situation that Harry knew could not continue.

One or more of the Weasleys usually dropped in on Harry on a more or less daily basis and his Floo and his front door had always been open to all of them, at any time in the past; they were some of the select few who could get past Harry’s protective enchantments.

But now Harry had had to exclude all of these people–his family–from having automatic access to his premises. He had changed the complicated enchantments that protected his home so that everyone, even Ron and Hermione, could not enter without contacting him first. He had lied to the people he considered his family, taking the opportunity at a Sunday lunch at the Burrow–before Ginny had even moved in–to inform the clan that there was a threat against him, and as a result, he had to exclude them from casual entrance to number twelve for the time being.

Harry had hated himself for the subterfuge, but he was not going to force Ginny to see her family... she had to come to that momentous decision in her own time. Oh, he would try to encourage her to see sense, but he could not force her.

But the problem was now going to get even more complicated...Ron and Hermione had been home from their honeymoon for four days now, and though Harry had visited their new flat in Ottery St. Catchpole, they had not yet dropped in on him here at Grimmauld Place. But they were both going back to work today, and though Harry had told them the same lie he had spun the rest of the family, he knew it would only be a matter of time before Ron wanted to drop around one lunchtime for a quick nosh and a chat. Harry could not keep on making excuses as to why his best mate should not visit.

He had warned Ginny that her brother or Hermione might possibly drop around unannounced. Of course, Ginny had been expecting someone to visit since she had arrived and she had assured Harry that she would be perfectly all right staying in her room with Bonnie if and when he had guests. Bonnie had plenty to occupy her and she, Ginny, would be perfectly content to read or to get on with some writing, something she had sadly neglected since her life had undergone such upheaval.

When Harry had first seen Ginny in the coffee-shop, she had been industriously writing in a Muggle exercise book and she had told him, when he had finally asked, that she was trying her hand at writing a children’s book. When he had asked if he could read what she had written, she had refused, going very red when informing him that she wasn’t ready to be critiqued. Harry had not pressed her. If writing helped to keep her from dying of boredom, he didn’t have to feel quite so guilty if she was isolated in her room at any time. Her writing, combined with the multitude of books he had bought for her–both wizarding and Muggle publications–and the many magazines he kept her supplied with, were, he hoped, enough to stop her going around the twist.

Well, enough was enough. This arrangement was a total crock and he had to talk to Ginny; he had to fix this. With a sigh Harry put his glasses back on and sat up. He did up his trainers after mending the broken lace and then descended the stairs. As he passed Ginny’s room, he saw that the door was ajar, which meant Ginny and Bonnie would already be in the kitchen.

Harry shook his head and continued his journey downstairs. She had done it again! She must have some sort of sixth sense. He had gotten up particularly early today, determined to beat Ginny to the kitchen. She had gotten it into her head that it was her job to be chief cook and bottle-washer, and Harry most definitely did not want her waiting on him! He knew she was doing it because she felt the need to pay him back somehow, and no matter how often he said he did not want or need paying back, she continued on her set path and got upset if Harry tried to take over the kitchen to cook a meal for them; any confrontation could be put off for a short time at least.

But when Harry entered the kitchen, it was empty. What the hell? The Aga had been lit and the kettle was simmering, but there was no Ginny and no Bonnie. When Harry advanced further, he saw a sheet of parchment on the table, anchored by a knife. Harry snatched it up and scanned the neat lines of script quickly, sinking into a chair and allowing the tension that had tightened his neck and shoulder muscles to ease.

Dear Harry,

Needed to get out of the house for a while.
Got up early to go for a walk.
I doubt many people will be out and about at this hour.
Bonnie is of course with me.
Don’t worry. Back soon.
We are nicely rugged up.

Ginny.

Harry jumped up, striding to the window and scrunching up the note as he went. He had to clear the condensation before he could see anything, but the sight of the frost-rimed grass and plants gleaming through the dim, early morning light made his jaw clench. It was bloody freezing out there! And it was barely light, now. It must have been full dark when they left.

Harry tore out of the kitchen and raced towards the front door. He had dragged his coat from the hall cupboard and had one arm in a sleeve when he stopped short. He stared unseeingly at the front door for several seconds. Then he shut his eyes and sighed deeply before forcing himself to remove his coat and replace it in the cupboard.

Ginny would think he was interfering if he went after her. She obviously needed some space and to explore the great outdoors; and this is how she had worked it so that she could get out without fear of being seen by any of the magical community. It was not foolproof, but it was safer than walking abroad in full daylight.

Harry returned to the kitchen and put some bread in the toaster before making himself a cup of tea. He stood at the window to watch the feeble sun strengthen the light from low in a pearly-grey sky. He ate his toast standing at the window, and when Delilah, Ginny’s adopted owl, and his own owl Darcy showed up after a night of hunting, he let them in and gave them some owl treats, before they retired to their respective perches and put their heads under their wings to sleep the day away. Now that there were two owls living in his kitchen, Harry was doubly pleased that he had applied an automatic Vanishing Charm to the area beneath the perches so that when nature called, the droppings disappeared before they hit the floor. He just had to remember to rework the charm once a week or so.

He was pouring his third cup of tea and getting very antsy when he heard the front door open and close and the high pitched chatter of a free–err, three year old Bonnie. Harry quickly pulled out a chair and sat down, making a concerted effort to look as if he had not been worried. It was a few minutes before Bonnie hopped down the stairs into the kitchen, with Ginny following close behind.

“Harry!” Bonnie rushed across the room and threw herself at Harry, who only just managed to lower his cup to the table to free his hand so that he could scoop her into his arms. When she kissed him on the cheek, Harry flinched; her face and the little hands she framed his face with were freezing. Her cheeks were bright pink and her brown eyes were sparkling.

Harry looked over the top of the tousled moonbeam-coloured hair at the equally tousled woman who had moved to the Aga to warm her hands. “She’s freezing, Ginny,” he said and he found it difficult to keep the disapproval out of his voice.

“She’s fine,” said Ginny calmly. “She had a wonderful time. We both did.”

“It must have been fully dark when you left.”

“Ginny sighed. “It was just starting to get light.” She looked at Harry’s disapproving-while-trying-to-appear-casu al expression, and with a little moue of irritation, she crossed to a cupboard and grabbed a box of cereal. “She was fine Harry. She was rugged up in a thick parka, a woollen hat under the parka hood, a scarf around her neck and lower face and a pair of gloves.”

Harry knew Ginny’s assertion that it was just getting light must have been a stretch because it was barely light when he had arrived in the kitchen, but he bit back any further comment; after all, it wasn’t his place to dictate to Ginny what she should and shouldn’t do with her daughter. With Bonnie chattering in his ear, he watched as Ginny prepared the little girl’s cereal then scooped her off Harry’s knee and plonked her on her own chair.

Bonnie bounced up and down on her seat, ignoring her breakfast. “Up, Harry, up!” she cried.

Ginny rolled her eyes and moved away to make some toast. “You’ve created a monster, you know?” she said dryly, as Harry drew out his wand and with an exaggerated flourish, he pointed it at the chair.

“Prolato Cruris!” he said in a dramatic voice and Bonnie squealed with delight as she moved upwards about eighteen inches. The chair legs had lengthened and the little girl was now sitting in a highchair.

“Again!” she demanded, but Ginny immediately tamped down the excitement with a stern, “Eat your breakfast, Bonnie”.

“You know the rules, Kewpie,” added Harry, stowing his wand again. “When you’ve finished, you can ride the chair down again.” Bonnie sighed dramatically, but she picked up her spoon and began to eat her breakfast with gusto.

“Wow, the fresh air has really given her an appetite.” Harry still found it impossible to suppress the slight note of reprimand in his voice and Ginny immediately picked up on it.

“We each had a banana before we left, Harry, and, I took some biscuits and...” Ginny picked up a thermos and shook it ostentatiously, “some hot chocolate.” She banged the thermos down again before finishing putting some honey on Bonnie’s toast; she plonked it on the table with more force than was necessary.

She glared at Harry. “I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t do with my daughter!”

Harry’s face blossomed with hot colour and he looked away, focusing on Bonnie as she dragged the plate of toast towards her. He watched as she delicately picked up a quarter with her little pinkie sticking up in the air. He was suitably chastened. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? Ginny too, seemed to think she had said enough because she sighed noisily and crossed to the Aga.

“Would you like another cup of tea and some toast?” she asked quietly. More because he wanted to show he also did not wish to prolong hostilities, than because he needed anything else to eat or drink, Harry said, “Yeah. Thanks.”

Harry’s planned talk never eventuated that morning. He did not want to upset Ginny again, and he had an appointment at Hogwarts in the afternoon, so the whole day was really a washout as far as his plan went.

After breakfast, he played with Bonnie in the drawing room while Ginny had a shower, and Harry’s guilt over what he perceived as his selfish desire to have them stay at Grimmauld Place with him eased a little when he saw how happy and untroubled the little girl was.

Harry had fallen hard for the three year old and he was pretty sure that she looked upon him as a permanent fixture in her life. He hoped so anyway, but of course, how close he and Bonnie would ultimately end up was entirely up to her mother. He could not imagine not having the little girl in his life though, and he most definitely could not imagine losing Ginny again.

Not that he really had Ginny, and he most likely never would, despite his intense feelings for her–feelings that strengthened on a daily basis–but at least he knew she was alive and well and, for the moment anyway, she was within his orbit.

Harry was assisting Bonnie to colour in a drawing in her ‘Magical Creatures’ colouring book when a silver flash streaked through the open door and resolved itself into a small dog which sat back on its haunches and opened its mouth to speak with Ron’s voice.

“Open the bloody door, you tosser! I’ve been hammering for five minutes!”

Bonnie’s eyes had gone wide when the Jack Russell appeared and she cried out and clapped her hands with delight when it spoke. But her delight turned to disappointment when the bright creature faded to nothing and she spun her head around to face Harry. “Bring the doggy back, Harry! Bring it back!”

But a panicked Harry just scooped Bonnie into his arms and hurriedly carried her out of the drawing room and along the landing to Ginny’s rooms where he banged on the door repeatedly with the side of his clenched fist.

“Harry, I want the doggy back.” Bonnie was looking over Harry’s shoulder back towards the drawing room, still lamenting the disappearance of the Patronus when Ginny pulled her door open.

Harry’s breath caught before any words could emerge and he stared at the half-naked figure before him. Ginny had obviously just gotten out of the shower; her hair was tightly wrapped in a towel and her petite and too-slender body was enshrouded in a large bath sheet that was anchored just above her breasts and hung to her knees. Her face and the visible skin of her neck, shoulders, upper chest and arms were rosy pink and she looked utterly delectable. Harry couldn’t prevent his body’s reaction to the sight of the feminine bounty before him, and before Ginny could notice how tight the front of jeans had become, he unceremoniously thrust Bonnie into her arms.

“Harry...what...!”

“Sorry,” he said thickly. “Ron’s at the door.”

“Mummy, there was a doggy...”

“He’s been hammering for ages. He sent his Patronus to let me know he’s here,” gasped Harry, his throat still blocked by the lump that had developed when his imagination had immediately gone into overdrive, conjuring a picture of exactly what lay beneath that towel.

Ginny was oblivious to Harry’s dilemma; she had gone pale under her heated skin at Harry’s announcement, and she squeezed Bonnie tightly to her.

“I’ll get rid of him as quick as I can,” Harry threw over his shoulder as he raced back to the drawing room. There, he spent several seconds spelling any errant toys into a box sitting in the furthest corner, and which he in turn, disillusioned. The Disillusionment Charm was so strong, the box was totally invisible, even to himself.

When Harry pulled the front door open two minutes after Ron had sent his Patronus, Ron had just raised his fist to bash on the door again and his face was nearly puce. Ron nearly lost his balance trying to pull his fist back so that he didn’t smash Harry in the face. He looked as if he would have liked to smash his fist into his best friend’s face, but he made do with glaring daggers before he shouldered his way past Harry to stride down the hallway and disappear down the basement stairs. Harry followed, taking a deep breath to help gird his loins.

Ron was pacing back and forth like a caged lion when Harry entered the kitchen. He ignored the histrionics and moved to the Aga where the kettle sat; he hefted it to check the water level and then he pointed his wand at it to bring it to an instant boil.

“Sit down Ron, before you wear a track in the flagstones,” Harry said as he summoned two mugs from the overhead cupboard. “I didn’t expect you quite so early. I was going to waylay you at the shop at lunchtime.”

“Bloody hell, Harry,” exclaimed Ron, pulling off his down-filled parka and dumping it on the table before throwing himself into a chair. “What the bloody hell is going on?”

Harry took his time answering, concentrating on making the drinks. “I explained the problem–”

“What? The garbage you spouted about a threat?!” Harry put a steaming mug down in front of Ron who made no move to pick it up.

“Since when have you run from some unknown tosser? What is this bloody threat? Do you think that any of us would allow anyone to enter these premises with us?”

“You might not have a choice in the matter.”

“None of us is exactly defenceless, Harry,” bit out Ron. “We’ve all had a bit of practice with defensive and offensive magic, you know.” Harry sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He had known that Ron and Hermione would be the flies in the ointment. Of course they would. This had been their home as long as it had been his home, and now he was restricting their comings and goings. Before they had married, Harry had told them that as far as he was concerned, Grimmauld Place was still their home and they were welcome, anytime. To stay... to visit... whatever.

And now... What could he say? He continued to stare at the ceiling until Ron called his attention back with an angry, “Harry!”

“Ron, what do you want me to say?”

“Since when have you ever run scared, for Merlin’s sake? Harry, this is utter bollocks!”

“Kingsley has some Aurors on it. I’m sure it will be cleared up soon.”

“What is this bloody threat? Are you doing anything to investigate it yourself?”

Harry now stood up and began pacing. What in the hell could he say? He rubbed his eyes, dislodging his glasses. Ron knew he was lying.

“Ron, do you trust me?”

Ron’s angry expression morphed into bewilderment. “What kind of a bloody stupid question is that? Shit, Harry!”

“Do you?”

“Of course I trust you, you tosser.”

“I’m asking you to trust me now. I can’t tell you why I’ve changed the wards. Not yet.”

Ron stared. When Harry just stared back, Ron swallowed. “This is really weird, Harry. I mean, even for you, this is really weird.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “I know. When I can tell you, I will. Just don’t spread it around the rest of the family, OK. Just Hermione.”

Ron shook his head bemusedly. “Do I have a choice?”

Harry shook his head. “And try to stop Hermione coming around and giving me the third degree.”

Ron took a gulp of his tea. “So when can we come around?”

“Believe me, I’ll let you know.”

“So when will we see you?”

“I’ll come to you. And I’ll be at the Burrow for Sunday lunches. Everything will stay the same, except your new digs and the shop will be the meeting place of choice for a while.”

Harry sat down and took up his own mug. Ron eyed him dubiously as Harry drank. “You’ve got a bird here,” he said after a couple of minutes silent reflection while they sipped their drinks.

Harry sighed again and rubbed his left eye. “I... I have a boarder, yes. And for reasons I can’t go into, this person wishes to stay... well, to stay incommunicado.”

Ron looked at Harry incredulously, then he leaned forward across the table. “You’re not harbouring a criminal?” he hissed. “Merlin’s bollocks, Harry!”

“No, Ron. I’m not harbouring a criminal.”

“Then you’ve got a bird you...”

“Give it a rest, Ron. I can’t bloody tell you. Not yet.” Harry grabbed Ron’s mug and carried it and his own to the sink.

“Oi! I hadn’t finished that.”

Harry ignored him and Ron stared at his back while Harry concentrated on washing the pattern off the china. It would have been easier to remain indignant if he wasn’t dealing with his best mate. Harry finally heard Ron sigh and lever himself to his feet.

“OK, I can see that there’s no point in hassling you any... what the hell!”

Harry spun around. Ron was striding to the back door and it only took Harry an instant to realise what had happened. “Ron!”

Harry knew it was too late. He strode after the lanky redhead but Ron was already standing on the back stoop with his hands on his hips, staring at the swing set.

How could I have been so stupid as to forget the frigging swing set? Harry thought desperately.

Ron walked across the yard and ran a hand over the cold, red painted metal of the frame.

“Ron... I...”

“I gather that this person who wishes to remain...” Ron turned around to face Harry. “What was it you said... incommunication?”

“Incommunicado .”

“Right. Incommunicado. I take it that this person has a kid?”

Harry shoved his hands into his jeans’ pockets and hunched his shoulders, as much against the cold as Ron’s question.

“No point in me denying it, is there?” he said weakly.

Ron stared intently at Harry. “Is this kid yours, Harry?”

Harry ground his back teeth together, all the while glaring at his friend. He wasn’t sure if he was angry at Ron because of his question, or because he wished Bonnie was his.

“No, Ron. This kid is not mine. The child belongs to a friend I’m helping out of a jam.”

“Then what’s the problem with us meet–”

“Ron! Enough with the questions!” Harry turned on his heel and headed back into the house. When Ron followed seconds later, there was no sign of Harry in the kitchen. Ron ascended the stairs and saw Harry at the front door; he had slung his scarf around his neck and was pushing an arm into a sleeve of his cashmere coat.

“Where are you going?” asked Ron.

“I have an appointment with Snape,” said Harry in a tight voice.

Ron stared at Harry and then thrust his bunched fists into his jeans’ pockets. “Look, I know that you’re shitty with me, but hell, Harry, what am I supposed to think? All this subterfuge and then you tell me that you have a couple of houseguests and we’re not allowed to meet them.”

Harry pulled the front door open and stalked out into the still bitter morning.

Ron swore and held the door open. Keeping one eye on Harry who did not seem in a hurry to race off, he pulled his wand and summoned his parka. As soon as he plucked the coat out of the air in front of him, he cast a frustrated look towards the upper levels of the house where Harry’s guests must even now be lurking before he followed Harry out the door, pulling it shut behind him. He heard the wards activate as he joined Harry on the pavement and Harry watched dispassionately as Ron struggled into his coat.

When he was all bundled up, Ron took note of Harry’s unyielding expression. He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and raised his arms and slapped them down at his sides. “Stop acting as if I’ve betrayed you...”

“You have betrayed me, Ron. You’ve betrayed my trust!”

Ron’s lips tightened and his ears began to redden. With jerky movements he tried to do up his zip. When he couldn’t even get the two bottom tabs joined up, he swore. He looked back at Harry and shook his head. “No, Harry, you’ve betrayed our trust.” And ignoring the flapping sides of his jacket, Ron stepped back onto the top step where he was invisible to any Muggles who may be looking, and Disapparated with a loud, angry crack.

Harry stared at the empty space where his best friend had just been standing then he turned and stalked across the road and entered the gateway into the square. A minute later, a much softer pop carried on the frosty air as Harry too, Disapparated.

After Harry had stridden into the square, Ginny remained standing at the partially open window of her bedroom; she was hidden by the drapes, but the sumptuous fabric had blocked neither her view nor her hearing. When the soft pop of Harry’s Disapparition just barely reached her ears, she finally moved to shut the window before crossing to her bed and lowering herself onto the edge. She stared off into space, seemingly oblivious to her daughter sitting on the carpeted floor, trying to get the spindly arms of a small ‘Snow White’ doll into the tight sleeves of a blue and yellow dress.

Ginny’s heart had leapt into her throat when her brother had joined Harry on the pavement. Ron had hardly changed at all. She had just been gazing into space, feeling slightly claustrophobic sequestered as she was in her room and knowing that Ron was in the house, and she had needed to breathe in the bitingly cold air through the window she had partially opened. When Harry had appeared below, she had automatically moved behind the curtain just in case he had looked up. She had stared down at his dark, untidy hair and the familiar longing was instantly upon her.

Since Harry had come back into her life, Ginny had become very good at hiding her reaction to his presence when they were together, but just then, with him being none the wiser, she had allowed herself to look her fill. She no longer tried to convince herself that the effect Harry had on her was anything more than what a healthy young woman who had denied herself any kind of sexual stimulation for going on four years, and who was enjoying looking at an attractive man, would feel. But she really knew that there was only one man who could make her feel like this. There had been no shortage of attractive men coming into the coffee shop when she worked there–several of whom had tried to chat her up–but none of them had made her sit up and take notice.

This was how she had felt whenever she was around Harry for as far back as she could remember. These emotions had been frightening when she had first met him when she was ten and for the next year or so, but when her hormones had kicked into gear and let her know what it was to be a female... a woman, she had graduated from a preteen’s crush to a young woman’s love. It had been love then, and it was love now.

Back then, in that other life, Harry had been oblivious to her as anything but his best friend’s sister–if he took any notice of her at all, he treated her like a little sister himself–and when his sights had settled on Cho Chang, Ginny had wanted to curl up and die.

She hadn’t died... instead, she had gone down the route that she had always despised in other girls who employed the method... she had tried to make Harry notice her by dating one of his friends. And when that had failed to elicit any reaction from him, she had gone one step further and begun dating his worst enemy instead.

The sight of Ron joining Harry on the pavement had wrenched Ginny’s thoughts away from this distressing topic. It was a subject she had always tried to veer away from, and if she did find her thoughts heading in that particular direction, Ginny would immediately begin a task that made retrospection almost impossible... lately, reading to, or doing a puzzle with Bonnie did the trick but before Bonnie was born and before she was old enough to comprehend, Ginny would begin cleaning with a frenzy that bordered on manic, or else she would attempt to cook a complicated recipe.

If the thought and sight of Harry made Ginny think that she would die of longing and frustration, other much more disturbing reminiscences had a more shattering effect on her; this subject always gave her palpitations and a hatred so intense would fill her to the point where she thought she would explode with fury and self-loathing.

As Ginny sat on the bed she thought of the scene she had just witnessed on the pavement below her window. Both Harry and Ron had seemed stiff and awkward, but the words they had thrown at each other confirmed that they were angry with each other. Ron was angry that Harry was keeping secrets and Harry... well, Harry was doing what he always did... he was ignoring his own wishes and instincts to cater to her needs. And it was causing problems with his best friend.

Ginny had always known how hard it would be for Harry to keep this huge secret from her family and she had shamelessly relied on his sense of honour. She had pushed how uncomfortable Harry must feel about the situation to the back of her mind... she had only thought of herself and her own needs. But now, seeing the confrontation between the two best friends made her realise that she could not continue to make these demands on the man she secretly loved.

But that was not the only thing about the scene down on the pavement that had affected her. Before she had left the wizarding world, the close relationship she had always enjoyed with the youngest of her brothers had virtually been in tatters. Her anger at him had been one of the things that had helped feed the impetus she had needed to make the move to leave her world behind and start a new life.

But none of that anger had surfaced when she had gazed down at her brother. Instead, a longing to tear through the house and throw the front door open and fling herself into Ron’s long, gangly arms had overtaken her... she wanted to hug her brother, hug a member of her family. But fear had won the day. Ginny had let fear dictate her life in the past and she was still letting it rule her. She had stood by and watched as the two friends had parted in anger.

Ginny snapped back to the present when she felt something touch her face. Bonnie was kneeling beside her on the bed, and a little hand was touching her face. “Mummy, why are you crying?”

Ginny raised her own hand to her wet cheek. She had been so lost in her miserable thoughts, tears had flowed without her knowledge. Pulling her worried daughter into her arms, Ginny buried her face against the little chest and allowed her misery to overflow.

A little hand patted her back, and a frightened little voice said, “Don’t cry, Mummy. It’ll be all right. Harry will make it all right”

TBC...

A/N: Prolato Cruris: Lengthen legs. (I am sure it is technically wrong.)