“You have another visitor, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey smiled.

“Oh, good,” said Harry, swallowing the last of his bacon. “Who is it?”

It was seven o’clock in the morning, and at ten he would be playing for the Quidditch Cup. Funnily enough, even after a pitched battle with Lord Voldemort, that was still an intimidating prospect.

Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.

“It’s – all – my – ruddy – fault!” he sobbed, his face in his hands. “I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! Ginny was right - it was the only thing he didn’t know, an’ I told him! Yeh could’ve died! All fer a dragon egg! I’ll never drink again! I should be chucked out an’ made ter live as a Muggle!”

“Hagrid!” said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. “Hagrid, he’d have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we’re talking about, he’d have found out even if you hadn’t told him.”

“Yeh could’ve died!” sobbed Hagrid. “An’ don’ say the name!”

“VOLDEMORT!” Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying.

“Bloody hell!” Ron cried out, starting awake on the other side of the Hospital Wing.

“I’ve met him and I’m calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it’s gone, he can’t use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I’ve got loads…”

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, “That reminds me. I’ve got yeh a present.”

“It’s not a stoat sandwich, is it?” said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

“Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. ‘Course, he shoulda sacked me instead – anyway, got yeh this…”

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father. His real mother and father.

In one, they were dancing together amidst the falling leaves of Autumn. In another, they were holding a small baby, waving its tiny hand at the camera. It was him, Harry realised.

“Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos… knew yeh didn’ have any… d’yeh like it?”

Harry couldn’t speak, but Hagrid understood.

When Harry headed out of the hospital and back to the dormitory to collect his kit, it seemed to him that everybody had already rushed off in anticipation of the big game. He didn’t encounter a single person as he went and got changed, nor on his way down to the Entrance Hall. When he got there, his broom slung over his shoulder, he saw that half the school was still eating breakfast. And they saw him.

The whole Great Hall went quiet. Hundreds of eyes fixed on him, and there was a rush of muttering. Even the staff were staring at him. Harry hurried quickly out through the main doors before the awkwardness could get any worse.

The walk across the grounds to the Quidditch pitch was incredibly long. As per usual he gave up before even getting halfway, hopping on his broom and easing it along barely above ground level. The pleasantly warm air washed over him, cooling him through his form-fitting quidditch robes and putting a dull roar in his ears that soothed his anxious thoughts.

“Hey, look! It’s Potter!”

“Hey, Potter, give us a wave!”

Grinning in spite of himself, he turned and waved to the upper school students. One of them was in the yellow Quidditch uniform of Hufflepuff house. Crystal winked at him, and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

“Good luck!” she called.

“Thanks,” he replied. “Good luck with the Harpies.”

Killing broom thrust, he slingshotted himself on towards the pitch. The sun reflected blindingly off the rippling river as it flowed lazily into the Black Lake, which itself was most definitely not living up to its name under the cloudless summer sky. Harry guided the broom around the stadium and down the stairs to the changing rooms, letting it drift effortlessly around the wide ‘U’ of the stairway. As he coasted to a rest outside the Gryffindor section, he could hear Wood ranting and raving inside. He couldn’t yet tell whether the twins had decided against telling him of Harry’s recovery and he was panicking about losing the match, or if it was just Wood’s usual mania.

Dismounting, he walked in to find himself faced with four blank stares.

“So…” Harry muttered. “I guess this means you didn’t say anything?”

“Us?” Fred said, blinking at him.

“Oh, right…” George sighed dramatically. “George, he’s talking about that whole fuss yesterday.”

“Of course!” Fred/George grinned, slapping his forehead. “So sorry, Oliver!”

Oliver looked unsure whether to throttle the twins or fall to his knees and cry. “We could win...” he muttered.

“This may be the most inspired I’ve been all year,” Katie smirked. “You okay, Harry?”

“Sure,” Harry grinned. “Bit annoyed that you didn’t come see me while I was laid up, but...”

“Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let us in,” Alicia explained.

“She said only close friends and family,” said Angelina.

Harry wanted to argue that they were his friends, but as he thought about it he realised that they weren’t really all that close. Most of the time they spent together was dedicated to practice, and while they had lots of fun doing that, the relationships seemed defined by and confined to Quidditch. Even after building up the courage to ask Angelina and Alicia for help with the Valentine’s day date, he hadn’t talked to either of them much more than was already normal.

“Harry, I don’t know exactly what happened down there...” Wood said, walking to within touching distance of Harry. “What I want to know is, will it affect your play?”

“No, captain,” Harry said firmly.

Wood smiled faintly, while the others stifled laughter.

“Do you remember what we talked about?” Wood pressed. “Their Seekers’ techniques?”

“Greene and Chang?” Harry grinned. “Absolutely.”

Lucas Greene was a seventh year of unusually powerful build for a Seeker. While that made him a little less agile, he almost always came out on top in a tangle. He rode a foreign broom - the Jaeger X-32. Jaeger were known for making brooms that were incredibly fast, but challenging to control. The X-series took that to a whole new level. It was a much older broom than Harry’s Nimbus, having been released in the late seventies, but it had the same top speed, and would get to cruising speed faster than he could. Which meant that Harry had to stay on his toes.

Cho Chang was a slim, tall second year girl who constituted the one reserve Seeker in all the house teams. While she was incredibly agile and tactically aware and able, she rode a Comet 260. It cost nearly as much as the Nimbus, but that money went into aesthetics, not performance. The broom could barely reach seventy miles an hour with an average rider, where the Nimbus could clear a hundred.

“Good man,” Wood smiled. “I’ve already given my speech. Let’s go get that cup.”

“YEAH!”

The stands seemed fairly full at this point. Thanks to the last war with Lord Voldemort, there were only about two hundred and fifty students at a school built for several hundred. It was still a significant improvement over the early eighties, where numbers had been as low as sixty when the school reopened. Those who hadn’t been killed had fled the country, and most of those that had remained had been actively fighting for one side or another. Which meant that every British school of magic had had a lot of tension to deal with.

“Well then,” said Wood. “Everyone ready up.”

It was a pointless command. Everyone had triple checked their boot and gauntlet laces, cloak fastenings and broom footrests already, as always. But with victory so tantalisingly close, Harry supposed that Wood was getting neurotic - more so than usual, at any rate.

Harry rolled his shoulder, tired from holding his broom aloft so long. As if answering his discomfort, the Nimbus purred under his fingers, providing a small amount of lift so that he was suddenly guiding it more than anything else. Harry smiled quietly to himself, stroking the broomstick lovingly.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to this final, deciding match of the HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH CUP!” Lee Jordan called through the public announcer. Harry was quite curious as to how it worked - there were no speakers in the stadium that he’d seen. Regardless, the crowd was now roaring in anticipation. “As you know, if Gryffindor can do better than lose by 170 points, they will pass Slytherin to win the cup. What do you think, Gryffindors? Can we do it?”

A roar went up from the stands as sixty or seventy students yelled and stomped their approval.

“What was that? I said: can we do it?!”

Harry could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. The wooden supports around them creaked at the exuberance of the Gryffindor supporters above them.

“Don’t tell me!” Jordan cried exultantly. “Tell the team! THEY CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

‘How can it be possible for so few people to make so much noise?’ Harry wondered.

“Ravenclaw, you’ve been awful quiet,” Lee said. It was a low, controlled challenge, but it permeated every level of the stadium. “Are you gonna lie down and let Gryffindor walk over you?”

“Your friend is making quite a fuss,” Wood said tightly, his mouth set.

“He learned from the best,” Fred grinned.

Alicia snorted quietly, lest Oliver suddenly burst. He was wound up so severely he almost seemed to be vibrating.

“GO GO GRYFFINDOR! GO GO GRYFFINDOR!”

“I think they want to see you, lions,” Lee called, booming through the microphone.

Oliver verily threw himself onto his broom. “On the count of three.”

They all hurried to join him in floating two feet above the ground, there in the shadow of the stadium.

“One.”

“GO GO GRYFFINDOR!”

“Two.”

Harry gritted his teeth, tensing on the broom like he was going to pounce.

“Three!” Oliver called, shooting low as Harry soared over him, the Chasers and Beaters flying between them.

Angelina led the five of them in an arrowhead formation, sweeping around to the right in an ever-tightening upward spiral. The spiral became so tight it seemed that Katie was spinning like a top, before Angelina drove them down in a rapid arc. They skimmed the grass before lifting up to soar over the stands.

That was when Harry realised why the stadium was so loud. The stands were genuinely packed. It was more than just students. Hogwarts robes were scattered among the seething mass of spectators, eating and cheering and yelling their support. Up in the Gryffindor parents' box, Harry saw Mr. and Mrs Weasley waving merrily at him and he felt his heart swell in his chest.

“And here come the Ravenclaws!” Lee called. The warm blue of their uniforms was but a shade deeper than that of the sky above.

Harry wafted down to hover in front of his friends. Neville tried to get up to greet him, only to be put firmly back into his seat by Hermione, smiling sheepishly. Meanwhile, Ginny offered him only a challenging look, and three words.

“Kick arse, Harry.”

It was more than enough.

Building strain as he swung the broom lazily around to face the assembling players at the centre of the pitch, Harry launched the Nimbus with gratuitous ferocity. It became a dynamo, charging his excitement and amplifying the spark Ginny had just lit inside his chest.

Opposite him, Greene was smirking at him. “I hope you don’t think I’ll go easy on you just to screw Snape over. This baby wasn’t made to lose. Anything.”

“First time for everything,” Harry smiled. “Although, didn’t you lose to Higgs a few months ago?”

Greene scowled. “He got lucky.”

“Of course,” Harry grinned.

“Ready?” Madam Hooch called. At the captains’ nods, she blasted the ball crate open. “Ascenscius Quaffle!”

Harry went straight under Greene, who bucked upwards in alarm. Shishkov, who had taken the Quaffle at the start, almost lost it when Harry zipped across his flight path. It had been very close - maybe a metre shy of a collision. The Bludger from one of the twins finished the job.

If there was one thing that Harry learned over the next few minutes, it was that the Jaeger had earned its reputation tenfold. No matter where Harry went, Greene had been and gone already. He’d be jealous of the older boy’s broom if he couldn’t see how hard Greene had to work just to keep it in a straight line.

“And Spinnet slams it home. 30-10 to Gryffindor!” Lee called.

Harry was just turning to cheer his teammates when something heavy delivered a glancing blow to his left thigh. It was a Bludger, and boy did it hurt. Trying to reposition his leg to take some of the weight off it only stretched the haemorrhaged muscle tissue and jostled the fractured bone beneath. Gritting his teeth, Harry pushed on. Gryffindor couldn’t afford to lose its Seeker.

Corkscrewing to avoid the following Bludger, Harry accelerated, trying to lose the pain in the wind rushing past. Blinking his eyes clear, he went back on patrol and almost flew right past the Snitch. While he might usually have kicked his broom around, wrestling it through a gut-wrenching turn to catch it as he straightened off, attempting this manoeuvre led only to his leg seizing up. The uneven tension had Harry barrel rolling towards the Snitch, and by the time he regained control, Greene had noticed the little golden ball, too.

Greene came in at attack speed, his violent broomstick throwing him across Harry’s path and almost earning Harry a kick in the head.

“Might as well give up now, Potter!” Greene shouted.

Harry had barely recovered from from Greene’s dramatic entrance when the carbon fibre footrest swung back at his head. Pulling up the broom’s nose, he was just about to slingshot forwards when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Greene saw it too, but it was too late. The Bludger smashed into the tail of the German broom.

Greene yelled out. The broom wasn’t significantly damaged - the enchantments on them made them remarkably resilient both physically and magically - but the collision was powerful enough that man and broom went spinning off, out of control.

Harry appreciated this for about a tenth of a second, before noticing two things. First, he’d lost the Snitch in the melee. Second, the collision had stopped the Bludger in midair; it was now accelerating rapidly towards him.

Harry strained against his broom. The Bludger was buzzing angrily behind him, and his thigh pounded in sympathy. The Nimbus was quick, but he couldn’t outpace the enchanted ball. A twitch of his wrist sent him whistling past Fred, who shouted something after him. Harry didn’t know or care what he’d said. All that mattered was that satisfying clunk that came afterwards as Fred smacked the Bludger at some Ravenclaw.

“GO GO GRYFFINDOR! RACK US UP A BIGGER SCORE! GO GO GRYFFINDOR! MAKE THOSE BLUDGERS RUB ‘EM RAW! GO GO GRYFFINDOR! DON’T STOP TILL THEY’RE ON THE FLOOR! GO GO GRYFFINDOR! WE’RE THE LIONS, HEAR US ROAR!”

Someone had clearly been working on a longer chant. Dean’s animated lions could be heard punctuating the end of the song.

Just then, a glint of gold and a whispering of wings drew Harry’s eye skyward.

“I think Potter has seen the Snitch...” said Lee, low and speculative. A hush descended over the crowd as the wind picked up in Harry’s ears. “Oliver Wood shows a new, distracted side of himself, and Cooper pops that one through the left hoop almost lazily. 80-40 to Gryffindor.”

This time, Harry and Lucas met with a crunch.

The Seekers wove an intricate dance around each other, unable to divert from their path, but unable to continue so long as their opponent remained.

Harry grunted as he mistimed a dodge and Greene slammed into his side. Greene’s greater mass knocked him at least ten metres to the side before Harry could arrest the sideways momentum, kicking out the Nimbus’s tail to use main thrust to get back on course. By that time Greene was maybe thirty broom lengths ahead.

He saw Greene throw his broom into a dive almost in slow motion, but Harry was already there. Greene’s Jaeger wasn’t the most responsive beast, and Lucas was wasting precious time drifting as he fought to change direction. Harry had no such issue, and within seconds he was back in the chase.

The Snitch darted towards Harry, and he urged the Nimbus on. He didn’t dare try to slingshot himself for a quick catch. It would cause him to fall back temporarily, allowing Greene to knock him off; he clenched his teeth and waited.

The ground was rushing up to meet them.

‘Ten, nine, eight...’ Harry chanted. The Snitch darted to the side. ‘Five!’

He yanked up on his broom handle, the sensitive Nimbus doing a near instant flip. Greene, who’d been right on his tail, zipped past him. He too was tugging on his broom handle, but it was not quite so effective. The Snitch flew straight into Harry’s waiting hand. Greene flew into the waiting ground.

Broomsticks are made to be resilient, especially sporting models. When the Jaeger’s nose plunged into the firm ground at nearly sixty miles an hour, it didn’t break. It twanged, like a giant, wooden tuning fork. Greene was thrown off at full pelt, flipping and rolling over the pitch before coming to a stop about forty metres from his broom.

“POTTER HAS THE SNITCH!” Lee yelled gleefully. As loud and clear as he was through the microphone, Harry barely heard him over the crowd. “Somebody get Greene to the hospital wing and tell them that POTTER GOT THE SNITCH! IT’S ALL OVER! 240-50 TO GRYFFINDOR! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE CUP!”

Oliver stared listlessly at the Ravenclaw hoops, drifting slowly to the left. The rest of the team reacted with markedly more enthusiasm.

“Victory lap!” Fred yelled. Harry stayed only to check with Madam Pomfrey that Greene would be okay, before launching skywards to join his teammates in celebration.

The stands had burst, leaking students out onto the pitch. High above, the Weasleys stopped on their second lap by the box where their parents awaited them.

“Boys, there aren’t words,” Mr. Weasley smiled. “After all that happened, you’ve picked yourselves back up and led your house to glory. I’m so very proud of all of you.”

Harry’s face was already bright and flushed with the thrill of victory, but when he met Mr. Weasley’s eyes, he blushed deeply.

“Harry, I can’t believe you pulled out so late!” Mrs Weasley said, horrified.

Harry allowed himself a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Mum. But I had it under control.”

“Look what happened to that other fellow!” Mrs Weasley continued, heedless. “What were you thinking?”

One of the twins sniggered behind Harry. Changing his grip, Harry made the Nimbus buck and give whichever one it was a slap to the face. The other twin gave a muffled snort.

“He’s fine, Mum,” Harry grinned. “Madam Pomfrey said so.”

“That’s no excuse!” Mrs Weasley said heatedly. The other parents in the box were watching them now. “You promised me you wouldn’t take risks.”

“I’ve done it loads of times in training,” Harry shrugged. “It wasn’t a risk for me, I knew when to pull out.”

“Oh, Harry...” Mrs Weasley sighed, pulling him down into the box and wrapping him in a tight hug. Harry grimaced at the strain on his leg, but ignored it. Then his broom handle smacked him on the top of the head. “If you won’t look after yourself for your own sake, do it for us. That was a spectacular catch, but your health is worth more than any victory. Do you understand?”

‘No.’

“I guess...” Harry muttered.

“Good,” Mrs Weasley beamed, holding him at arm’s length. “Now go and celebrate with your friends. You’ve more than earned it.”

The crowd was now almost exclusively on the pitch, with the professors trying desperately to keep order. Unruffled, Professor Dumbledore stood at the centre of the pitch, a large golden cup hovering beside him. The cup was engraved with each of the four symbols of Hogwarts’ houses; two simple handles to either side might have been fashioned for giants. However, the really important part of the cup was the base on which it stood. On this base was engraved the winning team of every Quidditch Cup there had ever been at Hogwarts, along with the names of each team member.

By this point, Wood had recovered enough to land, but looked so distracted that Harry thought he might be knocked over by a breath of wind.

“The Gryffindor team are gathering now to receive the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup,” Lee said triumphantly. “And I’m following Professor McGonagall down onto the pitch. Lee Jordan, signing off!”

Harry doubted anyone really even registered Lee’s words. Everyone’s eye was on them. McGonagall joined them as they stood before Dumbledore, looking slightly less austere than usual. Wood was still out of it, though. He perked up slightly when the twins smacked him round the back of his head.

Dumbledore, apparently not noticing their antics, raised his wand to his throat and cast a spell under his breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed in a voice that was most certainly magically amplified. “You gathered here today to support some of the finest young athletes our country has to offer. All of the four Hogwarts teams have showed great skill this year, and none of the losing teams should feel any shame.”

The other three teams, of which even Slytherin and Hufflepuff were all in uniform, didn’t agree in the slightest.

“However,” Dumbledore continued, eyeing them carefully, “there can be only one winner. Seven students have shown particular strength and persistence to rise above their competition. It gives me great pleasure to award the 423rd Hogwarts Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor!”

He passed the giant thing to Professor McGonagall and the still dazed Oliver Wood, who broke out in a massive grin the moment his fingers closed on the cup’s handle.

The yelling and cheering almost drowned out the clicking and whining of the cameras. Harry couldn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed them before. Several people, most of them apparently parents or guests, were using old Polaroid style cameras, some of which emitted little plumes of purple smoke with the flash. He supposed that the lack of electronics prevented Hogwarts’ ambient magic from shorting them out.

Meanwhile, Neville, Ginny and Hermione had pushed their way to the front of the crowd, which was itself advancing on the victors. Harry barely had time to express his disbelief before he was lifted up and onto the mob, which carried them all the way out of the stadium, chanting all the while.

“Hell of a year, mate,” Neville commented.

“I still kind of expect something to jump out at me when my back’s turned,” Harry said, smiling slightly.

“I thought you liked it when Ginny did that?” Neville grinned.

“Har bloody ha,” Harry mock-scowled.

They were packing up in their dormitory before the end of year feast. Ron didn’t see the point, and was playing chess against Dean and Seamus down in the common room.

“It’s going to be weird not being here for two months though...”

“Definitely,” Neville sighed.

Harry looked over at him. Neville had changed a lot since the start of the year. Losing weight was the least of it. This boy, who might have jumped at his own shadow at the start of the year, had now followed him against Lord Voldemort himself. He still bore the scars of that, needing the crutch Madam Pomfrey had lent him to get around.

“Neville,” Harry began, “what happened to Trevor? I haven’t seen him in months...”

“That’s because I left him at home at Christmas,” Neville grinned. “I spent half my life chasing that thing around the castle; I had enough.”

“That’s true,” Harry shrugged. “Still, wasn’t he a gift or something?”

“From my Great Uncle Algie,” Neville nodded. “That’s why I didn’t get rid of him sooner.”

“Wait, isn’t that-”

“The one who dropped me out of an upstairs window to force me to start doing magic?” Neville said grimly. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say to that, so the silence stretched on for a little while. Harry noticed that Neville wasn’t packing many personal items. He had clothes in abundance, and some gifts from family such as his Remembrall, but there didn’t seem to be anything he would associate with Neville. There certainly wasn’t anything herbology-related in there apart from the school textbook. They didn’t talk about life outside Hogwarts that much, he realised. Perhaps it had been a subconscious decision on his part, to avoid conversation topics that could lead back to Privet Drive.

“I know he didn’t mean to hurt me,” Neville muttered. “He was just keen that the last Longbottom not be a Squib. They all were.”

It made sense. Longbottom was a house with a rich history, not unlike Potter. For the last surviving heir to be born without magic would essentially destroy the family. Still, that didn’t make it right to drop Neville out of windows or off the ends of piers.

“You’re going to be a lot more than ‘not a Squib’, Neville,” Harry said firmly.

“You think so?” Neville asked.

If he’d asked eight months ago, Harry couldn’t have honestly given the same opinion. Neville had performed poorly in every class bar Herbology. He'd suffered from social ineptitude, a cripplingly poor memory and a complete absence of physical fitness.

Now, though, Neville had overcome each and every one of those problems. He was no Hermione when it came to memory and academia, but he only ever struggled with Potions now; Snape wasn’t exactly helping him there. And while he couldn’t touch Harry for athleticism, Neville had fought on against Quirrell with his left tibia in pieces in front of him. He was most certainly no longer the ‘fat little crybaby’ Pansy Parkinson had delighted in mocking. As for Neville’s social life, well… Harry liked to think he’d helped there. Either way, Neville’s confidence had skyrocketed.

“Without a doubt,” Harry grinned. “Here, Neville…”

“Yes, Harry?” Neville asked, smiling himself now.

“Before you came to Hogwarts, what did you do?” Harry asked. “You know, for fun?”

“Well, Gran tutored me a lot in the family history, politics, economics, that kind of thing,” Neville replied. “She took me along to functions every now and then…”

“For fun, Neville,” Harry laughed. “You know, when you weren’t doing that stuff.”

Neville blinked at him, and Harry seized up inside. That wasn’t the kind of thing he’d wanted to have in common with Neville, or anyone for that matter.

“I read books, I guess,” Neville shrugged. “There wasn’t much else. I probably told you about how Gran didn’t trust me on a broom.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “But hey, you’ve got that greenhouse now, right?”

Neville grinned. “Yeah, you should come over in the summer and see it.”

“Sure, and you better come over and taste some of Mum’s cooking,” Harry enthused. “Seriously, you can get addicted.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “Would explain Ron, wouldn’t it?”

Harry snorted. “I wouldn’t go quite that far. He’s got a special relationship with food.”

“Well, okay, I’ll come over to the Burrow so long as you all come to the Manor,” Neville said, slamming his trunk shut.

“Deal,” Harry smiled. He ran a finger down the length of his Nimbus, which responded by rising gently off the bed and hovering in front of him. Behind him, he could feel Ginny standing in the doorway.

“Oi, stay on the ground, Potter,” Ginny smirked.

“Sometimes I think you keep coming up here just to prove you can,” Neville said wryly.

“Maaaayyyybe,” Ginny grinned. “You guys done?”

“Yep,” Harry replied, signalling their locked trunks. “You?”

“Please, I was done yesterday,” Ginny grinned. “Ron hasn’t even started, has he?”

“You have to ask?” Harry and Neville said together, grinning at each other.

“Well, I’m thinking of teaching him a lesson,” Ginny informed them, walking past Harry to Ron’s bed.

“Not this again,” Harry laughed exasperatedly.

“What?” Neville frowned.

“Remember that prank we told you about after Christmas?” Harry asked. “Where the twins turned that GameBoy into a spider?”

“Oh yeah,” Neville said, his lips twitching. “That was pretty harsh you know...”

“Nothing so dramatic this time,” Ginny huffed as she pulled it out from under Ron’s pillow. “Just going to keep it from him until he notices.”

“Ginny!” Harry laughed. “For you, that’s almost tame!”

“And what exactly is wrong with that?” Ginny sniffed derisively.

“Nothing, I’m sure,” Neville said, grinning at Harry. “So, how did you do in your exams?”

They’d all passed their first year exams quite comfortably, with Hermione placing at the top of the year. In spite of Neville’s trouble with Potions and Ron’s trouble with work, they’d both managed above average scores. They’d really hoped that Crabbe and Goyle, who were almost as stupid as they were mean, would fail the year, but they too had somehow managed passing grades. Ginny was a special case, though, having done extra assessments with Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick, to see how far she had progressed in her understanding and control of her abilities, and she’d left them an hour earlier to collect these results from the professors in question.

“Outstanding all around!” she gushed. “I didn’t know what to expect, I mean there’s nothing to compare me to...”

“Hey, that’s great,” said Harry. “Do they want you to keep doing special classes next year?”

“Not the same way,” said Ginny. “They said they’ll set me a challenge every month.”

“A challenge?” Harry laughed. “What kind of challenge?”

“What’s so funny?” Ginny pouted.

“It just sounds really corny,” said Harry. “At primary school, a challenge was ‘now let’s see if you can do your times tables backwards’.”

He got two blank looks.

“Hermione would get it,” Harry griped. “Go on, Ginny, what are the challenges?”

“I don’t know any of next year’s ones yet,” Ginny said, giving him a slightly odd look, “but over the summer they want me to make something disappear from one place and appear in another.”

“A Portkey?” Neville asked.

“Yeah, exactly, but I’m-”

“Not allowed,” Neville and Ginny said in stereo.

“Wait, what?” said Harry.

“Portkeys like the ones we used over Christmas can’t just be made by anyone whenever they like,” Ginny explained.

“You’ve got to get permission from the Ministry,” Neville added. “Department of Magical Transportation, so that’s Varell Parkinson.”

“Parkinson?” Harry scowled.

“Harry, Pansy is my third cousin,” Neville said with a wry grin. “People being related doesn’t mean that much. Besides, every pureblood in Britain is related.”

“Wait, what’s third cousin even mean, again?” Harry asked.

“They share a great... great grandparent,” Ginny said haltingly. “Yeah.”

“Well that sucks,” Harry said sympathetically; Neville just shrugged. “But Ginny, didn’t you tell me ages ago that heritage is really important to wizards? If you’re all related...”

“We’re related because the bloodlines are considered so important,” Ginny scowled. “It’s killing wizard families off because they refuse to marry people below their station.”

“Ouch,” Harry muttered.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why there was so little fuss about us?” Ginny asked.

Harry frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously people made a big scandal about how Mum and Dad adopted you,” said Ginny. “But that, as you and a few others pointed out, made us as good as brother and sister. And we’re dating.”

“Things were said...” Harry muttered. “But go on.”

“Purebloods marry their cousins all the time,” Ginny explained. “We’re not actually related very closely, it’s just a bit of parchment, so people make jokes, but it doesn’t matter.”

Harry stared at her. ‘Cousins?’

“But we were talking about your challenge, Ginny...” Neville said awkwardly. “How do you think you’ll try doing it?”

The Great Hall sustained an ungodly volume that evening. Harry could barely hear Hermione, who was directly across the table from him.

Across the hall, Malfoy was a subdued presence. After everything, Slytherin was in second place for the cup, and his midnight wandering trying to catch Harry and Norbert had constituted Slytherin’s most significant loss of points all year. Even Snape’s compulsive rewarding of Slytherin breathing techniques wasn’t enough, especially with the customary fifty points Gryffindor got for winning the cup.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…

“Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding. However, it is best not to count your chickens before they have had a chance to hatch. Therefore, recent events must be taken into account.”

The room went very still, for a few seconds at least. When the twins started a drum roll, the tension broke for the most part.

“Ahem, thank you,” said Dumbledore. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

“First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley…”

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

“… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, and for admirable loyalty and courage in great peril, I award Gryffindor house... fifty points.”

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, “My brother, you know! My little brother! Got past McGonagall’s giant chess set!”

“Second, to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house thirty points.”

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves – this was more points than any house had received in one sitting that they could remember.

“Third, to Misters Frederick and George Weasley,” said Dumbledore. “For supporting friends and family in the most improbable of predicaments, and maintaining sound judgement in trying situations, I award Gryffindor twenty points for each of them.”

They jumped up on the table and bowed to the hall. Slytherin were not at all appreciative, but the other houses were perfectly happy to laugh at Slytherin’s misfortune after suffering Snape’s favouritism all year long.

“To Mr. Neville Longbottom, for his complete commitment to the safety of his friends, and the very school in which we stand, I award forty points to Gryffindor house.”

The Gryffindor table was shaking dangerously by this point. Snape looked absolutely livid, and turned a gaze on Harry that was so full of loathing that Harry could feel it like cold oil on his skin.

"To Miss Ginevra Weasley, whose magical prowess and strength of character helped prevent a catastrophe of C'thulhean proportions..." Ginny's face glowed, a small smile playing at her lips as she gazed up at the headmaster. "Fifty points for Gryffindor."

Hagrid was weeping again by this point, and when he blew his nose into a handkerchief it sounded like a foghorn, cutting through even the ruckus at the Gryffindor table. Harry squeezed Ginny's hand under the table. She was grinning like she'd been given the world.

“Finally, to Mr. Harry Potter…” said Dumbledore. The Great Hall went suddenly and dramatically into the eye of the hurricane. “… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, entirely disregarding his own welfare in his determination to protect that which matters most, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”

As suddenly as they’d entered the eye, they were out again. Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. The miniature house points hourglasses behind the head table looked to be in trouble, for the Gryffindor one was full to bursting — the rubies that sat in the upper half were twitching and jumping as they tried to force their way down.

“With that taken into account, the points stand thus,” Dumbledore called, almost inaudible over the storm of applause, “In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; in third, Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six. Slytherin are second with four hundred and seventy-two points, while with seven hundred and seventy-eight points, the winners of this year’s House Cup are...”

He raised his hands, and clapped. The sound reverberated through the hall, calming everyone down just long enough to hear the resounding, disembodied, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Red and gold Gryffindor banners unfurled out of thin air at regular intervals all down either side of the hall, with one massive banner behind the head table. Professor McGonagall got to her feet, and the Gryffindor table once again descended into anarchy. Even Neville, with his dodgy leg, was waving his crutch around like a lunatic.

Ginny turned to him, kissing him passionately amidst the chaos. Her flowery scent permeated his nose, sneaking into his brain and dulcifying his mind. He could feel her, so much more clearly than he ever had before. Her jubilation was like a physical entity that jumped and transformed even as he... looked at it? Felt it? It seemed to be something in between. A firework erupted blue, purple and magenta above them, and Harry couldn’t be sure whether it was one of Ginny’s magical outbursts or a treat from Fred and George. But even as the light of the firework crystallised into a shower of vivid sparks, Harry knew that he was where he belonged.

Dumbledore coughed. It was ever a mystery to Harry how some people could control an entire room with the simplest of actions.

“As I am sure you are all eagerly anticipating it, may our final feast of this school year be served!” Dumbledore said genially, sitting down to await his own meal.

As one, the serving bowls filled with food, from minced beef and mashed potatoes to smoked salmon and pasta.

“Yes!” Ron exclaimed, helping himself to some of everything with his right hand while he stuffed himself full of pie with his left.

“I’d say he’s earned it,” Hermione sighed. Ron flashed her a grin before turning back to his plate.

“Hey, Neville,” Seamus called, “how’s the leg comin’?”

“All right, thanks, Seamus,” Neville smiled. “It’s the right shape, anyway.”

“That’s not funny,” Hermione scolded. Seamus didn’t seem to agree with her.

Harry found Malfoy again on the other side of the room. Draco wasn’t even eating. Crabbe and Goyle were eagerly tucking into their dinners, but he just glared poisonously at the Gryffindor banner hanging over him. A twinge of sympathy seized him behind his breastbone, pulling at the corner of his mouth; little had gone right for the Malfoy heir this year. But then he thought of all the bile Malfoy had dropped at their feet over the year and stifled the feeling.

Ginny squeezed his hand, grinning up at him.

The little whorelet...

‘Yeah, fuck Malfoy,’ Harry thought, grinning back and attending to his food.

‘Harry?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I want to go out under the cloak tonight,’ Ginny said easily, taking a spoonful of minced beef.

It was becoming much easier to talk telepathically these days. They hadn’t been challenged about having random staring matches for months; communicating mentally no longer impeded their ability to do other things, so long as they maintained physical contact. Apparently, practise made perfect.

‘Got anything special in mind?’ Harry asked eagerly. He was still pumped from the raucous celebrations just moments ago.

‘The library,’ Ginny said matter-of-factly.

Turning, Harry gave her an anguished look of disbelief.

‘I don’t plan on studying,’ she giggled, even breaking a physical smile. ‘I want to look around for information on our telepathy.’

Harry didn't reply for a while. Instead, he allowed himself to be distracted by his delicious meal, Katie skipping down to steal the mince pie, and the twins' efforts to enchant one of the Gryffindor banners hanging over the Slytherin table.

Katie's hand shot out, and Harry's was there to meet it. Her hands were slightly calloused, but surprisingly small in his.

"Hey Harry," she said, smiling lasciviously. "That was a sweet catch yesterday."

Harry felt the corner of his mouth quirk upwards, even as he received a flash of annoyance from Ginny.

"Thanks," Harry replied. "I saw that Haverby Loop you pulled with Alicia."

"You did?" Katie replied happily, her cheeks reddening. All three Chasers had been practising the move for a few months now, but hadn't managed to pull it off smoothly once until then.

At that exact moment, the Gryffindor banner above Marcus Flint fell from its invisible hangings. Three seconds later, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and all those around him were struggling like beasts under a net. A few chuckles went up at the Gryffindor table. Upon freeing themselves, though, it was apparent that the Slytherins couldn't see the funny side.

Harry was still holding Katie's hand, and was about to let go when she lunged for the pie again. Swinging his legs over the bench, he put himself between her and her goal.

"Ask nicely, Katie," Harry chided.

Hermione snorted behind him, and he smirked slightly as Katie went bright red.

"Uh, no, it's fine, thanks, Harry," she stammered. Tugging her hands free, she raced back to her seat.

Harry frowned after her, sitting heavily back down between Ginny and Hermione. He heard an eruption of giggling from a little way down the table, and saw Angelina wink at him.

His mind a-whirl, Harry turned back to find everyone sniggering - everyone apart from Ron. He carried on with his food as if he hadn't even noticed anything had happened. Still, he had a sullen look that hadn't been there before.

'You like her, don't you?' Ginny asked.

'Of course, she's ...' Harry began, but seeing the way her face fell he realised his mistake. 'Wait, no, not like that.'

'How then?' Ginny pressed.

'As a friend, obviously,' Harry replied, his eyebrows contracting in his confusion. 'What did I do?'

'But you liked it, didn't you?' Ginny asked. She didn't seem vexed on the outside, but he felt her as a chaotic mess of emotions.

'I guess,' Harry admitted. 'How is that my fault?'

Ginny turned to look at him. Evidently, whatever she saw satisfied her, because her expression shifted slowly from slightly hurt to mischievous.

'She definitely fancies you, you know,' she grinned, turning back to her food.

'Yeah?' Harry asked worriedly. He suddenly felt trapped.

'Don't sound so upset,' Ginny laughed. 'Ron would kill to have a pretty girl running after him.'

Harry thought back to what Ron had seen in the Mirror of Erised and realised that she might not be far off.

'So what do I do?' Harry asked.

'Nothing,' Ginny smirked. 'So, are we going to the library tonight?'

'Sure,' Harry replied, picking at his food. He felt entirely off-balance.

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. Although Ginny occasionally flickered with anger or annoyance, Harry was slowly able to recover his composure.

It was a festive group of Gryffindors who headed up to the tower that evening. The twins teased him mercilessly about Katie on the way up, but the girl herself wouldn't even meet his eye. She was with Angelina and Alicia, which Harry noted as peculiar. She didn't usually hang out with them, seeing as they were a year above her. For their part though, they were beside themselves.

Nearly everyone headed upstairs once they got to the common room, probably to finish packing. Or start, as was the case with Ron. The few who remained sat, docilely, by the fire, talking quietly amongst themselves.

"I'm going to bed," Neville yawned. "See you guys in the morning."

"Me too, I'm knackered," Hermione added. "Coming, Ginny?"

"In a bit," Ginny promised.

"Going to stay and chase off Harry's admirers?" Hermione teased.

Ginny glared at her, but Hermione just laughed and went upstairs to her dorm.

They waited for a couple of minutes. Some of the older students fell asleep in armchairs by the fire, enjoying their last night in the Gryffindor common room. A cat mewled as it stretched out in front of the hearth. Taking this as their cue to leave, Harry and Ginny crept quietly out of the portrait hole, taking cover in the secret passage across from it to put on the cloak.

Practise made their journey through the castle comfortable, if not easy. The fear of Peeves flying in through a wall and wreaking havoc was always there, of course. Harry was convinced that Mrs Norris could tell they were there even if she couldn't actually see them, but she'd never brought Filch as she was known to do.

When they reached the library, they found the doors unlocked.

"What?" Harry whispered. "Anyone could get in."

'We all know about the Great Book Robbery of 1973,' Ginny said, rolling her eyes. 'I'm pretty sure the books are warded against being taken from the library. I mean, Pince does run her wand over them when they're taken out... Anyway, stick to telepathy.'

"Lumos," Harry muttered. Blue light formed a perfect circle on the far wall, soft and shifting at the edges.

'Right, so we want bonds and contracts,' Ginny mused, flipping open the index on the librarian's desk and reading under her own magical light.

The library was huge, and Harry only really grasped its scale now that it was dark and empty. And it was too quiet. Harry was accustomed to the quietness of the library, with Hermione and (to a lesser extent) Ginny for friends, but this absolute, deathly silence was stifling.

'Okay, I'll check the Restricted Section,' said Ginny. 'You try the second floor. If there's trouble, we can meet under the stairs, there.'

She indicated the far staircase to the left.

'You take the invisibility cloak,' she insisted. Harry was about to protest, but she didn't give him a chance. 'You'll never get down the stairs without it.'

It was sound logic, but he could keep her under the cloak if she went upstairs in his stead...

'Go to the far right,' said Ginny. 'You want the third row of bookshelves, and you should find it there, on your left.'

With one last glance at the index, she shut it and hurried off into the darkness.

Biting his cheek, Harry headed up the double-inversion stairs to the first floor. His wand light found their usual table right at the railing. While he had gained a slightly greater appreciation for books from Ginny and Hermione, the library hadn't found its way into his heart as it had theirs. Maybe it was Madam Pince's no tolerance policy on happiness, or the strife they always had in the library with Ron and Hermione bickering. Whatever the reasons, he wasn't too fond of the place. Still, he felt a sudden pang upon realising that he wouldn't return here for nine weeks.

Satisfaction leaked through the bond. Below him, there was a muffled creak. Ginny had just gotten through the locked gates to the restricted section, and he was still on the wrong floor. Grimacing, Harry rushed through the aisles of three metre high bookshelves. His now thoroughly worn out school shoes struggled for purchase on the thin carpet, and every time he changed direction he would slide sideways, legs working furiously to keep him from careening into a bookshelf.

The second floor was essentially for anything not directly relevant to the school curriculum. Fiction, careers advice and back issues of major publications could all be found up here. But what Harry was interested in was the section on law and contracts behind the one for public records.

The books here didn't show signs of much use; most of the books had a generous coating of dust, and there was only the occasional disturbance of the dust on the shelves to show that a book had been removed at some point in the last few months. Harry raised his wand to better read their titles.

Law of Man vs Law of Nature  Arrandal

What About Law?  Smythe

A Pound of Flesh: How Magic Collects on Your Debts  Burke

Contracts  MacMillan

A History of Contracts and Bonds  Avery

Harry stopped suddenly, staring at the book. Surely he couldn't have found it so soon? Pulling the book carefully from its place so as to not disturb those to either side, he wiped the dust from the cover to find gold lettering impressed upon dark red leather. It was fairly heavy, but not so massive as to be daunting. He brought it and his wand under the invisibility cloak, and turned to the flowing script in the introduction.

Since time immemorial, magic has coursed through the veins of the greatest of men. It is a power without equal, a force unto itself. Should a sorcerer call, magic will invariably answer. But it is not merely through the casting of spells and the brewing of potions that a sorcerer feels the power of magic. Whether by design or by chance, almost every sorcerer will find themselves bound by a magical contract or nexus. Our institution of matrimony, which the mundane mock with religious bleating, embodies this aspect of magic perfectly. But even this binding of two souls is a pale imitation of what we once had.

Harry felt his jaw drop slightly, and not even at this man's Malfoy-esque manner. 'The binding of two souls?'

Here I shall endeavour to fully explore our rich history of bonds and contracts. In doing so, it is my hope that you will gain a greater appreciation for magic, and that you will reach similar conclusions to those which I have drawn as to why many of these have fallen not just out of use, but out of the common discourse.

Knowing that he had what they were looking for, Harry headed back down to the library's ground floor. He only had to wait a couple of minutes before Ginny emerged from the Restricted Section with a couple of books tucked under her arm.

"Hey, Harry," she grinned.

"Damn," Harry muttered. "I should get this cloak checked, it's useless."

Ginny smirked at him, reaching out with her free hand to grab him by the front of his robes and lead him back up the stairs to their usual place. Flipping through the book he'd brought, it didn't take Harry long to find the first of the bonding chapters - that on the marital bond.

It turned out that wizard wedding ceremonies were based on a type of magical bond which had been slowly disappearing since the Middle Ages. Commonly known as the soul bond, Nexus Animae was the most powerful of the 'classic bonds', as the author called them. Most of what was known about soul bonds was more legend than reliable historical account, but it involved an increasingly powerful emotional connection between the sorcerers. This connection was not a simple link, as with the modern marital bond. Rather, it opened the souls to each other, allowing them to interact directly with irreversible consequences. Any or all of those involved might start to lose their sense of self, forgetting which person they were or even that they were an individual at all.

In the following chapter, entitled Triumvirate, the author went on to talk about a big three of the classic bonds: Nexus Animae, Nexus Sagacitas and Nexus Corpus. They were the bonds of mind, body and soul. If the soul bond was known for empathy, and the mind meld for telepathy, the convergence bond was known for the horror of two people physically becoming one.

Little was known about Nexus Corpus, for it was too sensational a phenomenon for people to describe accurately. There were tales ranging from people speaking with a voice that wasn't theirs to people with literally merged bodies, with two heads and eight limbs. However condescending the author wanted to be about religion, he said that convergence had generally been considered to be the work of demons rather than natural bonding magic. There were stories of intelligent demons visiting earth, but they were considered more legend or fancy than anything else - a fruitless quest for power to trap the darker parts of wizarding society. Or inspiration for popular fiction.

'So I've found three types so far,' Ginny told him.

'I think we can rule out Nexus Corpus,' Harry replied, grimacing. There was something about the idea of sharing a body with someone that creeped him out.

'No complaints here,' Ginny replied, glancing over at his book. 'This book is kinda... graphic... about what happened to this particular pair.'

'This one says there aren't any reliable accounts,' Harry frowned.

'I'm still not keen on it.' Ginny flicked forwards through her book, whose pages were thinned and yellowed with age. 'Animae and Sagacitas look quite cool, though.'

Harry skipped the rest of the section on Corpus entirely. The other two made for far more pleasant reading.

It quickly became apparent to Harry that he and Ginny shared a bond of the type that the book described. These bonds were always accidental - no one had ever discovered a way to recreate their effects artificially, apart from the much weaker marriage bond. The question was which one, or whether they might have one of the many documented variants.

Sagacitas, for instance, described their telepathy perfectly, but couldn't explain how they received strong emotions from each other, or the proximity sensor effect. Both of those were explained perfectly by Animae.

Animae was known for manifesting in people who had yet to even meet, and Avery seemed almost sickened by the romantic implications.

Magic does not pander to the whims of the hysterical. Just as many subjects of Nexus Animae have killed their bonded as formed sexual relationships with them. However much the authors of tawdry, erotic fictional works would like to convince you otherwise, there is absolutely no correlation between the formation of an Animae and romantic interest. In fact, such bonds have occurred between members of the same gender.

Harry stared at the page, his train of thought completely derailed. Ginny leaned in to read the passage.

'Well this must have been written a while ago,' she snorted, flicking back to the beginning to check the publication details. 'Yeah, 1894... You'll have noticed that not many people bring that kind of thing up - not many people are happy about it, because it means those people don't have kids, but nobody is really gonna be so blatant.'

Harry shrugged - he hadn't ever given the topic much thought - and they moved on.

When it came to specifics such as how to make the bonds stronger, however, the book had far less to say. Avery was just reporting and evaluating what he could know for sure. However, from Ginny's expression, he knew that she was having better luck.

'What have you found?' Harry asked.

'Sshhh, wait!' Ginny replied quickly. 'I ...'

Harry took her hand in his, and slowly started to tickle her palm, earning himself a glare for his troubles.

'It should be improving on its own,' she said, turning to look him in the eyes, as if she could assess the strength of their bond from the look in his eyes. 'Sagacitas is supposed to strengthen the more we talk to each other telepathically, and Animae gets stronger the more we... feel... for each other.'

'So they're like muscles,' Harry mused. 'Use them and they get stronger, otherwise they weaken to nothing.'

'Yeah,' Ginny said, biting her lip. He could feel anxiety, and maybe a little frustration, bleeding through to him.

'What is it?' Harry asked, raising his hand slowly up her arm.

Ginny shuddered at his touch and looked away, sniffing. 'The bond isn't getting any stronger, is it?'

'Why do you say that?' Harry asked.

'Bec-' she whirled back around, her hair flying out in a fiery disc. 'You've felt something?'

'When Quirrell trapped us both after we attacked him, you thought one word,' Harry smiled. Ginny was staring disbelievingly at him. 'I didn't know what else to do. I reached out to you, and you said... burn.'

'But...' Ginny muttered, staring at her hands. 'I only...'

'Exactly,' Harry replied. 'But why are you so worried about whether the bond is getting stronger?'

'Harry, it says the bond's strength depends on the strength of our feelings for each other!' Ginny said with a sudden venom.

Harry scratched at his head in confusion. Why would she be worried about the strength of... 'This is about Katie again, isn't it?'

'No!' Ginny protested. 'Yes! Why do you care about her anyway?'

'What's wrong with you, Ginny?' Harry asked, vexed. 'Are you going to start getting all worked up about me spending time with Hermione now?'

'Hermione's different,' Ginny retorted. 'She doesn't throw herself at you like a tramp.'

'Katie's not a tramp,' Harry scowled. 'And she wasn't throwing herself at me.'

'Why are you even defending her?' said Ginny angrily. 'Would you be happy if Dean or Seamus were behaving like that with me?'

He probably wouldn't be, it was true, but he trusted her enough that he wouldn't make a fuss over it. Besides, they hadn't actually been flirting or anything, so why was she still upset?

'I'm sorry if it looked like we were flirting or something...' Harry sighed. 'Ginny, nothing is going to happen between me and Katie.'

'Yeah?' Ginny challenged.

She had such heat in her eyes, but her voice wobbled and her cheek spasmed - she was afraid. Much as Harry hated to admit it, even to himself, that scared him. He didn’t know what he was doing in the first place. The last thing he needed was for Ginny not to be able to deal with whatever the hell was going on. Why did she have so much trouble seeing that he didn’t, couldn’t care for anyone else? Nobody else had brought such joy into his existence, with the possible exception of Hagrid, and much as he cared for the big guy, Hagrid couldn’t touch his Ginny in the looks department. Also, Ginny never tried to raise a dragon in the middle of a school, so she had that going for her too.

'I couldn't leave you, Ginny,' said Harry, pulling her close. 'It’s you and me, isn’t it?'

‘Yeah. You and me.’