~*’*~*~Apple ~*~*’*~

The street was silent, and the lights bordering it reflected eerily off the puddles of water pooled in strange places in the pavement. Two pairs of second-hand shoes scuffed over the wet street’s surface, the *taptaptap* of them the only sound on the damp night air. It must have rained recently, for not only were there water puddles on the ground, but the mist of a Spring shower still hung in the air.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea where we are,” a women’s quiet voice murmured at the darkness. “Oh dear…it’s so dark now. Everything looks strange in the dark, doesn’t it, Gin?”

The red-headed girl who walked beside the women nodded sagely, and glanced up. “Is it going to rain, d’you think, Mum?”

Molly Weasley looked up at the sky as well. “I hope not, Ginny dear. Now, can you remember the name we’re looking for?”

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate and walk down the dark street at the same time. “No,” she admitted at last, “but I remember the address; Number 7 Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging, Surrey,” Ginny quoted, and grinned at her own memory with fondness.

Mrs. Weasley smiled as well, albeit, rather with a still uneasy undertone. “That’s wonderful, Ginny, I’ve always said you had a spectacular memory.”

Ginny glowed the color of her flaming hair, and clutched at her mother’s hand tighter. She was seven, and already having dreams of being just a bit older and smarter like her brothers. To think of someday going to Hogwarts was one of her favorite pastimes. The very idea of making it into Gryffindore- the beautiful house of the brave that Bill and Charlie had told her so much about -was almost beyond her comprehending. She grinned again at the memory of her mother’s last comment like this one.

Every time she got such encouragement, Ginny felt ten feet tall. Right now, she would be walking on air, except for the fact that her and her mother were lost on some Muggle street looking for help. Her memory seemed rather useless when it came to a seemingly titanic difficulty like that.

“I can’t remember the name,” she repeated apologetically, “but that’s okay, isn’t it Mum?”

“Of course it is, Ginny,” Molly smiled encouragingly, though it was plain she was a bit nervous still. “I can look it up again.”

She reached into her back pocket, and pulled out a thin, five-page manual titled: How to find Magic Help in the Muggle World a Magic-Page Manual® by Lucile Losture-Way. Molly Weasley looked over her shoulder twice, and then pulled her wand from her pocket as well, aiming it at the second page of the manual which was blank.

“Lost in Little Whinging, Surrey- revealo!” she cried, and tapped the page twice. Instantly, letters appeared on the page. “Lumos,” Molly added, and held her now glowing wand close to the page to read the letters.

Nearest Magic Assistance in Little Whinging, Surrey: NO MATCHE(S) FOUND

Nearest Secondary Assistance in Little Whinging, Surrey: 1 MATCH(S) FOUND

Name: Arabella Doreen Figg

Street: 7 Wisteria Walk

Address: Little Whinging, Surrey

Gender: Female

Magical Statistics: Squib

Molly nodded, and folding the manual up again, returned it to her back pocket. Waving the light from the end of her wand, she returned it as well, and nodded at Ginny. “Good, now all we have to do is find Wisteria Walk.”

Ginny glanced around at the dark houses. “Where will we look?”

Molly paused, looking at the dark neighborhood as well. “I don’t know…perhaps if we asked someone. Oh, but I don’t want wake anyone up at this hour. And all the lights are out in the houses-”

“No they’re not,” Ginny corrected quickly, pointing down the narrow street to where a dim light was spilling onto the drive. “Down there. Number- oh I can’t read it from here.”

Molly squinted at the house ahead of them as well. “Number 3,” she said, nodding. “All right then, let’s go ask for some directions. Good eye, Ginny love.”

Ginny stepped onto air and walked there awhile, grinning all the way down the street.

~*’*~*~*’*~

*tapta ptap* Molly’s knuckles rapped quietly on the dark brown door. Ginny glanced around at the house and its neighbors uncertainly. Now that she was directly in front of the door, it looked as though the whole neighborhood were telling them to go away. She swallowed hard in anticipation as the door slid open.

There, before the two Weasleys, was an odd sight. A rather big man with a sleep-messy mustache and tousled graying hair was standing in his nightgown and holding a barrel shotgun that pointed warily out the door. Behind him, coward a skinny lady with dark, curly hair, a pointy nose, and a pinched look on her face.

Molly tried to look pleasant and push Ginny behind her at the same time. “Hello, I’m Molly Weasley and- I’m terribly sorry for calling on you so late, I thought you were awake, because your lights were on, you see, and-”

“We had other matters to get us out of bed, but we were asleep,” grumbled the man, his beady eyes glittering angrily.

Molly swallowed hard and continued to smile bravely. “I’m terribly sorry. See, my automobile has broken down a ways from here, and my daughter, Ginny, and I are trying to find a friend to help us.”

“Well I’m not you’re friend, I’ve never seen you before,” the man quipped horizontally. “So please move on and find someone else to bother!”

Molly bit her lip, and glanced down at Ginny. “We were just curious if you knew where Wisteria Walk-”

Just then, the lights in a house across the street came to life, casting an orange glow on the two Weasleys. The man’s eyes became huge, and before they understood what was going on, he had shoved his shotgun into the pinched women’s hands, and grabbed Molly and Ginny by the elbows.

The two Weasleys quickly found themselves in a white entryway, and heard the man shutting the door behind them with a loud *thump*. Ginny blanched, and glanced at her mother. Molly looked surprised, but not too worried, and then it occurred to Ginny; These were all Muggles, but her mother had a wand. She smiled. So much for being afraid.

“What are you doing, Vernon?!” the women screeched, shoving the gun back to the man who took it in hand eagerly, eyeing the visitors.

“Think what the neighbors will say if they know we’ve had strange people visiting us at late hours of the night, Petunia,” Vernon responded, his eyes squinted and a sort of pompous suspicion etched on his face. “We’ll hide them here until those lights go out, and we know that the neighbors are asleep.” It sounded like a good plan to Ginny, though she could see neither Vernon nor Petunia liked the idea. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, Vernon was turning rather- purple.

“I’m Vernon Dursley and this is my wife Petunia,” the man muttered ungraciously, waving his shotgun at the visitors again. “And who are you?”

“I’m Molly Weasley,” Molly repeated, eyeing the shotgun a little nervously, “and this is my daughter Ginny.”

Vernon squinted at the two without comment a few moments, and then nodded, lowering his gun. “Fine. Don’t make any trouble, and don’t look out the windows or doors until those lights across the street turn off.”

Molly nodded. “Absolutely. I’m terribly sorry about all this. First we woke you up, now we’re-”

“I told you, we were up all ready!” Vernon snapped. “Do you think we’re constantly answering the door at late hours? Well you can get that notion out of your head now, all right?”

Molly blinked and nodded quickly. “All right-”

“WE DON’T ANSWER THE BLOODY DOOR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BLOODY NIGHT!”

She nodded again. “Understood, I never thought-”

“We were up all ready because of SOMETHING ELSE!” Ginny could have sworn he was turning purple again…

“I completely understand, Mr. Dursley, really!” Molly quickly added before a further comment from Vernon.

“I’ll even tell you WHY we were up, since you’re so horribly CURIOUS!” he shouted, his beady eyes glaring again.

“Really, I’d rather not know!” she said innocently, shaking her head.

“Well, it’s because our son Dudley-”

“MUM! DAAAD!”

Vernon and Petunia froze. “-is awake again,” Vernon finished, glancing up at the ceiling towards the upper floor.

“I’m coming Dudley, angel!” Petunia hollered, throwing herself pell-mell up the staircase leading away from the entryway.

“He’s probably lonely again,” Vernon sighed, and to both Weasley’s surprise, he smiled fondly. “Little tyke’s only eight, and he’s already so attached to Petunia and me.” His smile slipped away when he came back to the realization that there were red-headed strangers in his entryway.

“Oh, come on and have some tea,” he muttered, “while you’re waiting.”

“Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Dursley, you’re most kind.” Molly hung back while Vernon stalked to the kitchen, and leaned close to Ginny.

“Ginny, don’t forget. This is a Muggle house, and we can’t talk about magic, and we certainly can’t use magic. So if you break something, it’s going to stay broken.”

“I won’t touch so much as a light switch,” Ginny promised solemnly.

“And you won’t pull the ‘just wanted to look at it’ on me like your father, will you?”

Ginny grinned and shook her head.

“Good girl,” Molly smiled, and quickly went to the kitchen after Vernon.

Ginny was ready to follow her mother into the kitchen, but something held her back. She paused uncertainly in the entryway, and looked up the wooden staircase to the upper floor. She could see the doors to a few more rooms, and wondered in which room this boy Dudley slept. Was he a friendly boy? Would he like to talk to someone like Ginny, if he was so very lonely?

Ginny stepped curiously onto the first stair, and to her surprise and shock, it gave a loud *creeeeeack* causing her to jump back to the landing. She stood stone-still, the silence screaming in her ears, until finally, she decided no one had heard her.

She came to stand on the staircase again, but this time, stepped right over the first step, and placed her feet firmly on the silent second one, and continued to watch the doors above blankly. If Dudley was the sort of boy who bawled in the middle of the night because he was lonely, perhaps he could use a friend. It made Ginny sparkle inside to think of befriending someone lonely. Of making a difference in this great, busy world.

What a splendidly fairytale-like idea!

But…her hand clutched the banister tightly. All things considered, she was terrified to meet this Dudley. She wasn’t sure he was the sort of child who would want to make friends with a little girl. And besides, he was a Muggle, and there was no way a Muggle child could understand a Wizard child.

Ginny sighed, and tiptoed back down the one stair, to stand in the entryway again. Anyway, her mum had said no snooping, and she’d promised not to.

Just then, there was a quiet creak, and a bit of light caught her eye. There was a thin ribbon of it stretching across the wooden floor of the entryway. It was coming from a closet of some sort just under the staircase.

No snooping, Ginny, a voice in her head whispered warningly. No snooping, you promised. Not a light switch.

“I just want to look at it,” Ginny responded aloud, and nodded resolutely. She wouldn’t touch anything if she could help it. She was just going to look. Quietly, she approached the cupboard.

As she pulled the door back, she found herself looking into not coats, boots and umbrellas, like most Muggles kept in their closets, but instead half-lit room of sorts. There was a naked light bulb posted just ahead of the door, illuminating what appeared to be a bedroom, but was about the tiniest excuse for one she’d seen.

Still completely curious, Ginny surveyed the thin mattress with a sort of makeshift comforter covering it, and a very flat pillow. There was a crack that ran along side the bed, between mattress and wall. Other than that, there wasn’t a square inch of walking space in the whole cupboard.

Perhaps this is where the cat sleeps, Ginny wondered silently, as she knelt on the bed, and leaned towards the crack, hoping to find the fluffy creature. “Here cat,” she called quietly, “c’mere kitty-”

There was something in the crack all right, but not at all what she’d expected to find. Ginny flew backwards on the bed, scurrying shyly to a corner, and bracing her back against the wall, as a very young, very skinny boy pulled himself out of the crack.

His hair was black, and sleep-tousled…or maybe it always looked like that. His eyes were incredibly green, and he was smiling with a sort of cock-eyed and cheeky smile. “You’re not one of Dud’s friends,” he said to Ginny, pulling himself onto the bed the rest of the way.

“I saw you through a crack in the door, and I thought you were Danny come with her Mum to calm Duddly or something. Dud’s been crying almost ALL NIGHT, see, and I can’t get to sleep, so I was still awake. But Danny’s hair isn’t really that red, you know?” His voice was quite precise, but his words came in such a rush, it was hard for Ginny to differentiate between his sentences.

“Oh,” Ginny answered quietly, the thought not even crossing her mind to ask who ‘Danny’ was. “I’m Ginny,” she said automatically, figuring introductions would be best.

“I’m Harry. Is Ginny your real name, or is it short for something?”

“It’s a shorter name for Ginevra.” Ginny said proudly.

Harry nodded, still grinning slightly. “I like that name.”

Ginny blushed. “What about your name? Is it shorter for something?”

“Harry James, it’s short for that,” Harry nodded knowledgably.

“Well…I suppose Ginny is short for ‘Ginevra Molly’ then. Molly’s my Mum’s name.”

“James is my dad’s!” Harry responded excitedly. “Cool,” he added with a slight shrug. Then, his green eyes flicked to just over Ginny’s shoulder. “Uh, can you hand me those?”

Ginny looked over her shoulder, then back at Harry questioningly, trying to figure out where he was pointing. “What- your glasses?”

“Yeah.”

Ginny did. “Thanks,” Harry nodded, and slipped them over his ears. “Can’t really see you much without them.”

Ginny liked this boy, Harry James; he seemed nice, and really friendly. Ginny didn’t really know any boys other than her brothers, but she thought Harry would make for a good one. “Are you a Muggle, then?”

“A what?” Harry asked.

“Never mind,” Ginny sighed, slightly disappointed. “I wish you could come to my house, and meet my brothers.”

“You have brothers?”

“Yeah,”

“How many?” Harry’s voice was excited.

“Six.”

Envy was quite legible on the boy’s face, as Ginny launched into a tale of her wonderful brothers, and how much fun they were, how Bill and Charlie learned so much at their school, and how she wanted to go too. She didn’t tell Harry what they learned there, but couldn’t help elaborating on the great halls, and gorgeous paintings.

“I’d LOVE to go to school…a real school, I mean.” Harry sighed, and flopped onto his stomach, resting his chin moodily in his palms.

“What school d’you go to?” Ginny asked quizzically, a spark of her dad’s Muggle curiosity seeping through.

“A public school,” Harry mumbled. “It’s dreadful. I’ve got to get up early, walk the whole way to the bus stop, sometimes in the rain, and I’m always wearing Dud’s old clothes, which don’t fit me.”

“How awful,” Ginny sympathized, but she couldn’t hide her fascination. “Haven’t you got any friends?”

“No,” he answered dully. “I used to know Simon, but he got scared off by Dudley and his friends. Dud’s horrible, you know. Hates me, hates his teachers, hates everyone but all his friend, cause they hate everyone too. Plus, he’s better than me, too.”

“How’s he better than you?” demanded Ginny, finding it hard to imagine a boy so horrid would be better than this ‘Harry James’ who seemed so polite.

“Well, maybe not BETTER…just- he’s bigger, you know? And he and his friends, well…they’re sort of rough sometimes…like umn…s-sometimes, when…I uh…I guess that’s why I think he’s bigger, you know?” Harry was talking fast again, but wasn’t meeting Ginny’s eyes. He seemed embarrassed or something, because he was silent after that.

Ginny was clueless, and couldn’t help her curiosity. “So…what d’you mean, that they’re ‘bigger’, like-”

“Hungry?” Harry piped up, pushing himself off the mattress, and inching to the crack in the cupboard door. “No one’s in the entryway,” he reported, sliding back onto the bed, and moving to the bed’s shelf. “It’d be okay.”

“Sure!” Ginny agreed eagerly, all thought of Dudley and his ‘friends’ leaving her mind for the time being. “You get to keep food in here?”

Harry froze a moment, halfway through reaching for an old rusted tin. “No,” he shrugged finally, “but I do anyway.”

Ginny accepted that, and took a bite of the biscuit he soon handed her. “It’s a little stale, isn’t it?” she asked, not even aware that it was rather a rude comment.

Harry shrugged, not recognizing the impropriety EITHER. “A little maybe, but that’s what happens when you keep it in nothing but a tin for awhile- cause that’s what I keep it in.”

“Ah,” Ginny answered, nodding her acknowledgment. “Well that’s okay- at least you get to keep food in your room. Mum would NEVER let me do that.”

There was silence for awhile as the two munched on their biscuits. Finally, a part of Harry’s tale of Dudley popped I her head, along with a question regarding it. “So- what’s so wrong with having to wear Dudley’s things? I mean- I wear hand-me-downs too.”

“Do you?” Harry glanced the girl up and down. “Hm, well at least they FIT you.” He plucked at his t-shirt, emphasizing how it bubbled back to his body on the air. It was very, very baggy on him, Ginny realized.

“Well,” she offered, swinging her leg out in front of her, and slipping her right shoe off. “Lookit THAT!” she said, pointing almost proudly to the ugly black stain on the side of her floral-patterned sock.

“Wow…” Harry mused.

“Ink,” Ginny explained- DEFINITELY proud this time.

“Well…look at this,” Harry put in after a pause, pulling up his shirt, and showing her where the band of his jeans were almost folded in half by a cracked leather belt. “See? Too big.”

“But at least CLEAN,” Ginny pointed out, and clutched the hem of her shirtsleeve against her palm, holding it out for the boy to see. “Look at that tear,” Ginny tsked loudly, and then showed him a second stain just under the tear.

“Okay,” Harry answered back slowly, a glint in his eye that hinted this was becoming a game…and that cheeky grin was coming back, “If you want stains, here you go,” and he pulled his knee tight against his chest to show a great, ugly grass-stain covering the entire hem of the jeans, where he had trod on them so often.

“Well- here,” Ginny pointed out where the toe of her shoe was giving out, and the sole coming off the other.

“Ah, that’s nothing!” Harry exclaimed, next showing off his socks, pointing out that they could go halfway up his leg, with the heal of them ending up just behind his shin.

And on they went, showing off stain after stain, and general insufficiencies of their clothing. Eventually, once Harry had plunged over the edge of the bed to retrieve his shoes and show THEM off, and Ginny yanked her knitted jumper from her shoulders to show where the threads gave way, they decided they both won for the worst-off wardrobe and left it at that.

“So why is your room so small, Harry?” Ginny asked.

“Only place left, I guess…the second bedroom belongs to Dudley, so I guess it was the only place to put me.”

“But- don’t your mum and dad think you should have a room too?” Ginny demanded, a bit of the true cruelty of the Dursley house’s condition seeping into her little girl’s mind.

Harry met her gaze instantly, as though shocked she’d even CONSIDER not knowing the truth about the Dursley’s relationship with him. “Oh, they’re not my mum and dad,” he assured, spinning over the side of the bed to replace his shoes.

“Then-” Ginny couldn’t help herself, “where ARE your mum and dad?”

Harry seemed to take an awfully long time to simply slip his shoes down next to his bed. Eventually, he pulled himself back onto the bed, but remained laying on his stomach, the back of his head facing Ginny. “They’re dead,” he said finally.

The news shocked Ginny so very much, she just froze. Then, at last, believing that it would be the only pertinent question to ask, “How?”

“Car crash,” Harry murmured, and finally pulled himself into a sitting position, turning to face the red-headed girl once more. “I was just a baby. Don’t even know what they look like.”

Ginny thought she was going to cry. The very THOUGHT of never seeing your mum and dad before…was that even possible? Was it ALLOWED? Somehow, by some miracle, Ginny had the presence of mind to say “I’m really sorry,” and change the subject.

No one wants to talk about their dead parents, no one. Somehow, Ginny knew that. Maybe she just guessed.

“Soo…what do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” Harry repeated, as though the word had only been explained to him once, and he was trying to recall the translation. “Well, Dud lets me have a go on some of his stuff. You know, like his video games or his toys. He got a Radio Flyer for his last birthday, and sometimes lets me use it for things…well, lets me if I make it look like I don’t really WANT to,” he admitted, shrugging lightly.

Ginny was astonished. Her dad had told her about ‘radios’ and how Muggles used to use them instead of televisions and newspapers to get news. Sort of an ‘audio Daily Prophet’ was how he had put it. “I didn’t know you could make radios fly!” she exclaimed, with the hope that perhaps there WAS a spark of magic in this Muggle home.

“Well, it’s not a REAL radio,” Harry said, “it’s a wagon.”

“Oh,” Ginny nodded, disappointed sinking in only halfway. “Well, I’ve got a Brush-Up beginners’ 3!” She was very proud of her beginner’s racing broom…it didn’t really fly, it only hovered about two feet off the ground, but she hadn’t managed to outgrow it yet, even though it was second-hand and tended to hover more like one foot three inches off the ground.

“A what…?” Harry’s face was all curiosity as Ginny suddenly recovered herself. This Muggle boy would NEVER have heard of flying broomsticks, would he?

“Well,” she decided to say, “it’s sort of like a bicycle, but a little one with extra wheels. You know, so I can ride it, and be ready someday for a bigger bicycle, because I rode a little one first.” Ginny, upon further consideration, was very proud of her analogy, and right in being so, because it seemed to inspire Harry as well.

“I see,” he nodded, taking in the new knowledge as though it would be a key part of tomorrow.

“I fall off of it, sometimes, and it hurts, but not too bad,” Ginny said, in sort of a long-suffering way.

“I don’t like getting hurt,” Harry said frankly.

“Me neither, but I think it’s sort of good to hurt.”

“Why?”

“Cause, see, THAT way, you feel twice as good when you DON’T hurt. Otherwise, you’d never really feel anything, would you?” Ginny mused, gazing at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, if you had an apple, and it was rotten, then when you had a GOOD apple, it would be delicious. Otherwise, all apples would taste the same, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Try it sometime, eating a really good apple, and imagine how glad you are it isn’t rotten.” Ginny grinned enthusiastically. “It’s REALLY fun!”

Harry laughed. “Okay, I will. So- how did you get here, Ginny? I mean- it IS the middle of the night.”

“Well, my mum and I came here by train to find a car, cause our old one doesn’t work proper anymore. See, dad said that it was okay if the new car was broken down, because we could afford it, and he could fix it so it wasn’t so broken anymore. Well, we got lost on our way home, and then the car broke down. We’re looking for a friend to help us.”

Of course, Ginny left out the fact that her dad wanted to fix the car with MAGIC, and they were looking for Mrs. Figg, so Molly could leave Ginny with her, disaperate, and get Arthur to come back and help fix the car.

“What friend?” Harry asked, curiously. “Not my aunt and uncle-”

“Oh no,” Ginny assured. “We came to ask them where to FIND our friend, and then they said to come inside.”

Harry’s expression said he didn’t believe her.

“They were really fussy about it, though…said that the neighbors might see.”

That seemed to make more sense to Harry, because he grinned, and nodded mutely.

“When’s your birthday?” Ginny asked for no particular reason.

“July thirty-one.”

“How old are you?”

“Eight. You?”

“I’m only seven.”

“Ah.”

“Why don’t you ask for clothes that fit for your birthday?” Ginny suggested after a moment of quiet.

“Why?”

“Well, like for presents. I get clothes for presents usually too.”

“OH, that.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t get presents on my birthday. Dudley does, and sometimes I snitch his stuff off of him, but other than that…”

Ginny was sure NOTHING about this boy would shock her now. “You don’t get presents? But- never?”

“Nope, never.” Harry shrugged a second time. “I don’t really mind much.”

Ginny found that hard to believe, and judging by the slightly edgy look on Harry’s face, so did he.

At that moment, there were loud footsteps on the ceiling, marking where the stairs were, causing the light bulb to flicker violently. Aunt Petunia could be heard, as she came off the stairs and into the entryway, murmuring words like “dear angel” and “hope he’s okay now” and “darling boy”.

After a brief giggle between the two children, Harry glanced up at the light bulb that was no longer flickering. “Probably not in its socket all the way,” he said wisely, standing up and screwing the bulb in tighter. As he reached for the ceiling, his cuffed shirt came up, revealing the lower part of his back to Ginny.

The girl gasped, and seized Harry by the ankle, grabbing his attention as though she was worried he hadn’t noticed what she’s just seen.

“What?” Harry jumped at the sudden gesture, coupled with Ginny’s gasp. “What’s wrong?”

“Harry- your…your back,” was all she could say, releasing his ankle, and sitting against the wall again, disbelief glistening in her eyes.

Harry reached a hand around to his back, his fingers touching the ugly bruise, and wincing slightly, sat down in front of Ginny. “Look, it’s just a-”

“Is that why he’s better?” Ginny broke in croakily.

“What?”

“Is that why you said Dudley is better? Because he beats you up?” Her voice was trembling. Bruises she had seen before, but never so big, and something about it screamed ‘abuse’ into her little girl’s heart. She’d never seen that word in real life before. It hurt.

“Yeah,” Harry allowed at last. “Yeah, he beats me up. But not much- that’s just from a week ago, when I swiped my glasses back from him. I only fell halfway down the stairs, though,” he added defensively.

Ginny tried to imagine falling halfway down the stairs, but couldn’t even seem to picture it. The worst pain SHE’D ever had to feel was that one time she fell out of a tree and gouged her knee on a rock. But her dad had fixed it up with magic easy as that. The very idea of being pushed halfway down the staircase rather scared her.

“Were your aunt and uncle angry?” she asked.

“Yeah, they said I should have let Dud have his fun, and not take things away from him, even if they were MY glasses.”

“What?!” Ginny demanded. “No, I meant angry-”

“At Dudley?” Harry shrugged, and gave a sort of cough of a laugh. “No, Dudley doesn’t GET in trouble. Just me.”

Harry’s hand moved somewhat defensively over his back again, and Ginny could think of nothing to say for a little while. It was clear that the boy was embarrassed about his cousin’s beatings, no matter how few there might have been. It was obvious they left an emotional mark, if nothing else. And that last one had left a bruise to remind Harry that his cousin was ‘better’ than him.

At last, Ginny thought of something that might, just might make him feel a bit better. Someone had to talk, at least, there hadn’t been a word spoken for two whole minutes! “I fell out of a tree once,” she said, and pulled her short skirt up to above her knee, where a thin, white line spread halfway across the skin. “Landed on a rock, and scratched my knee on it.”

It worked.

The twinkle came back into Harry’s eye, and he pulled his sleeve up to reveal small, twin red marks on his upper arm. “My Aunt Marge’s dog.”

And so the competition was on again, this time showing off scratch after scar after bruise. Ginny even displayed proudly the bug-bite just above her right ear, given to her by a mosquito not three days ago. But the whole contest was cut to a halt when Harry showed off a scar on his forehead that looked just exactly like a lightening bolt, and Ginny agreed (to Harry’s great delight) that he won without question.

“So- so where did you GET it?” she couldn’t help asking, as her eyes still fixed on the awesome scar.

And at that point, Harry’s smile that had taken up residence when Ginny said ‘oh, you win for SURE, Harry!’ wilted into a cheerless lack of expression. “The crash…when my- mum and…” he didn’t even try to finish, but hastily attempted to flatten his fringe over top of the scar again.

Ginny bit her lip and watched Harry feverishly push his hair down a moment. So things were just that horrible here, were they? This boy, this Harry James, got beat up by his cousin, ignored by his aunt and uncle, shunned at school, and had lost both parents in a stupid Muggle car.

She wanted to hug him.

Hug him like she’d hugged her mum and dad so many times. Like she’d hugged Ron when his rat had run away, and Bill when he’d brought the rodent back. Like she had been embraced by Bill and Charlie when they left for school each year, and promised to be home soon. Like the twins squeezed her until she giggled. Like she had hugged Percy the day he promised he’d bring her back something special from Hogsmeade when he was old enough to go.

“H arry?” Ginny said quietly. “I think you should have a birthday present.”

“I told you, it’s okay. I really don’t mind very much, honest.” Harry said hastily, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

“No, I really think you ought to have one.” Ginny rummaged deep into her dress pocket. “From me.”

Now, the POLITE thing to do, of course, would be to say ‘oh, that’s all right, you don’t have to’. But Harry was no so polite, nor was he rude enough to snatch the object Ginny pulled from her pocket out of her small hand. He just sat, and stared.

“Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Harry then reached out, and took the object from the girl’s outstretched hand. His breath caught in his chest as the feeling of cold metal touched his palm.

It was a small, gold ball with feathered wings flopping off of it. As Harry held the object tightly in his hand, it glowed and pulsed slightly, and the little feather-wings started to flap. Slowly, it managed to rise about three inches off of Harry’s hand, and sat spinning in the air.

“It’s a Snitch,” Ginny explained, “Percy got it for me from Hogsmeade. It’s not a proper Snitch, for Quidditch, cause a REAL Snitch can fly all over and it’s really super fast. This one’s just a toy.”

Harry didn’t notice the alien words ‘Hogsmeade’ or ‘Quidditch’, because he was still watching the weightless golden ball spin delicately in the air. “It’s brilliant…” he whispered at last.

Looking down from the Snitch, he locked green eyes on Ginny’s deep brown ones. “Thanks, Ginny.”

Ginny glowed.

It was an interesting sight that met Molly Weasley’s eyes when she opened the cupboard door about two half-moments later. A familiar pair of brown eyes, as well as an unfamiliar pair of green, stared up at her from an old mattress covered by an even older comforter, biscuit crumbs, socks, shoes, and Ginny’s knitted jumper. Ginny’s feet were bare, and the unfamiliar boy was holding a toy Snitch.

Molly blinked. “Ginny, darling, I’ve been looking all over for you!” Ginny winced slightly as her mother’s voice took the ‘you’re in big trouble, young lady’ tone. “I’ve been in the kitchen, making what conversation I could, getting directions, been there for WHO knows how long, and then I turn around and realize you’re not even there! Where have you been?”

“Here,” Ginny answered simply, and then turned apologetic. “Sorry, Mum, I just- I saw the light in here, and…well, this is Harry.” Ginny motioned over at the boy smilingly, knowing that her mother couldn’t help but be kind to strangers.

Molly’s expression softened. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Harry dear.”

Harry grinned as he recognized some of Ginny in her mother, an nodded, closing his fingers protectively over the Snitch. “You too, Mrs…er…Ginny’s Mum.”

Molly’s face became all glow, upon realizing first that Ginny had not given away her last name, and second, that the sweet boy had called her ‘Ginny’s Mum’. “Well, thank you, dear. And thank you for spending time with Ginny. But, I’m afraid,” her eyes fixed on Ginny apologetically, now, “we have to go.”

Ginny nodded, and pulled her socks and shoes on. “Bye, Harry!” she called cheerily, and hopped off the bed, following her mother to the door.

The sound of Harry’s bare feet on the wood floor came suddenly from behind, causing both Weasleys to turn around.

“Um-” he paused, not sure what he wanted to say. “Bye, Ginny.”

“You’re not GONE YET?!”

Harry spun around to find his aunt and uncle fuming in the entryway.

Molly hastily grabbed the door handle, and swung herself and Ginny out into the misty night, quietly calling a “Thank you for your courtesy, Mr. Dursley!”

Ginny felt herself being jostled down the stone steps outside, and could hear her mother murmuring under breath about Mr. Dursley’s intolerable temper.

“Wait!”

For the second time, mother and daughter stopped, turning around. Harry was standing on the stone steps, the Snitch still revving in his hand. “I’m probably never going to meet you again, am I?” he asked miserably.

Ginny froze. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She looked quickly at her mother, but Molly’s eyes gave all the answer she needed. Sadly, she looked back to the boy on the sidewalk. “I don’t think you will.”

Harry nodded, looking down at the gold ball in his hand, and then back to Ginny. “I’ll miss you, though. I hope- I really hope you come back sometime.”

“I hope so too,” she admitted. “Thanks for the biscuits.”

“Thanks for the birthday gift.”

“You’re welcome,” she nodded. “G’bye, Harry.”

“Yeah, goodbye, Ginny.”

And then she turned, and followed Molly off down the street. As they reached about the fifth lamppost, Ginny twirled in a half-circle at the sound of a distant, harsh voice.

“BOY, GET IN HERE NOW!”

So Harry was still standing there, watching Ginny and Molly walk away. The red-headed girl stood still, watching the faraway form of Harry, in his bare feet and saggy clothes, standing in the dark, and holding his first birthday gift.

Ginny ran as fast as she could, reaching him in mere seconds, and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight, promised him birthday gifts for every birthday until he was fifty. She hugged him, and swore that even though she couldn’t give him a brother like hers, she’d be his best little sister, and would hex Dudley if he ever tried to beat Harry up again. And she told the Dursleys to give Harry a better room, and told them how they ought to love him, because he was a good boy, and they were his only mum and dad.

And Harry was happy, grinning, and laughing. “Thanks, Ginny,” he was saying. “Thanks so, so much, Ginny.”

…and then, she was standing on the wet pavement, beneath the fifth lamppost down, watching Harry wave a final goodbye, and walk dejectedly into #4 again. And her mother was urging her to keep walking, and promising Harry would be fine.

But Harry wouldn’t be fine, would he? His mum and dad were dead, his aunt and uncle didn’t love him, and Dudley beat him up. He never even got birthday presents! Well, no, that’s not true, she reminded herself. He’s got a birthday present now.

She smiled quietly to herself, and was suddenly quite glad she’d given up her precious Snitch for Harry James. “I think he needed it more than I did,” she said quietly.

“What’s that, dear?”

“I think Harry needed the Snitch more than I did.”

Molly sighed. “Well, that was very sweet, Ginny, but you know- he’s a Muggle, and REALLY oughtn’t to have magic toys.”

“He needed a birthday gift so bad, Mum, he’s never gotten one before,” Ginny wheedled, her pupils huge in the darkness as she looked up at her mother.

Molly could only smile then, and put an arm around her shoulders. “You have a good heart, Ginny.”

Ginny tiptoed back onto the air, lifted on the compliment’s wings. “I hope I see him again.”

“That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” Molly agreed kindly, knowing full-well that Ginny’s chances were slim, meeting a little Muggle boy in Little Whinging twice in the same lifetime.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed, having no idea about her slim chances. “And I could give him another birthday gift. Maybe, I could be going to Hogwarts by then, and I’d buy him something of his own from Hogsmeade. I could save my money for it, and get him something really AMAZING!” She skipped with the words in her excitement, pulling a laugh out of her mother yet again.

“My dearest Ginny,” she sighed sweetly, pulling her daughter into a sideways hug. “You really like Harry, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed happily, pressing the side of her red head against her mother’s knitted sweater. “We’re best friends.”

~*’*~*~7 years later~*~*’*~

Harry slammed his trunk shut, throwing the compact broom and dustpan he’d brought up with him, across the floor. No. He wasn’t going to unpack. He wasn’t!

He jumped off the floor, and went to his bed. He’d been putting it off for about two hours, pacing back and forth in front of the trunk practically non-stop. He knew if he didn’t unpack, Uncle Vernon would make it a great excuse for why Harry should skip dinner, but…he didn’t care.

He was afraid. Afraid to pull all his things out, return them to the closet, and…and afraid to reach the bottom. The very depth of his trunk which carried only one item.

Sirius’ mirror.

Perched on the edge of his bed, he buried his face in his hands yet again with a roar of frustration. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t WANT to think about you,” he muttered. “It hurts…it hurts to think about how…why did- what were you THINKING, Sirius?!” he demanded of the silence, “Why do you have to be so cocky? WHY?! What’s wrong with you, anyway?!”

Ever since he got back from school, about two hours ago, he’d been locked up in his room, trying not to think too much. It seemed the only thing that eased the pain was talking to Sirius as though his godfather was there still.

“Sirius, why did you- why did I see you in the Department, anyway? You weren’t there, so-” his mind reeled with questions, demands, anger. Why didn’t you just kill Kreacher a long time ago? You kept him alive, and let him lie to me about where you were. Why didn’t YOU teach me Occlumency? You made me do it with Snape. Why didn’t you TELL ME IT WAS IMPORTANT?! You let me believe you were going to die!

He was running out of things with which to occupy himself, things to say. Forgetting why exactly he was so angry at Sirius, and substituting with things that weren’t his fault. And it all just hurt worse.

So at last, he gave in. Sliding to his knees beside the trunk, he threw the lid open, his hand grouping behind him for the broom and dustpan. He tore his clothes, his books, his wand, all his positions from the trunk, casting them off to the sides, determined to reach the bottom of the trunk while he was still angry.

At long last, he reached the bottom of his humungous trunk, and found it…

But it wasn’t broken.

He let go of the broom and dustpan, which fell with a clatter to the wood floor. The mirror was in one piece. It was lying in the bottom of his trunk, gleaming with smoky silver.

Harry paused in confusion, and then, determinedly snatched the mirror, and took off out of his door.

The shoes he hadn’t bothered to take off, made a loud pounding noise that resounded around the entryway, as he stormed down the stairs, leaping the creaky, bottom step by habit. Swinging around the banister, he made a grab for the doorknob to the cupboard under the stairs.

Jerking the door open, he instantly went searching for somewhere to put the mirror. Somewhere to throw it away, before he changed his mind. The cupboard looked a lot different than when Harry had lived in it, he couldn’t help but reminisce. His dark green gaze flicked vaguely over the boxes of Dudley’s broken toys, Petunia’s set of ugly dishes, Vernon’s rusty tools…things thrown away and forgotten.

Of COURSE he did! Harry kicked past the boxes, and went looking for something to wrap the mirror in

NO, so he didn’t have to look at it anymore.

Pressing back towards, the corner, he thought he saw something…Harry reached down into the cobwebs, and produced a lavender piece of knitted cloth. Perfect.

Harry shook it out, and a cloud of dust surrounded him at once, as though he cared. He made to wrap the mirror in it, when he realized what he was holding…a jumper. A very small jumper.

He looked around, as though he’d find other clues, but didn’t. Why was there a lavender jumper in this cupboard? It couldn’t be Danny’s, she was much too big for such a delicate shirt. “Odd,” Harry said aloud.

Something vague, neither dream, nor really memory entered his mind’s eye. A little girl. The image tugged at Harry’s memory, asking for more details that he could barely supply. Her eyes were sad, pitying…but determined. Spunky, someone could say. And she was talking. “Harry? I think you should have a birthday present.”

Suddenly, for absolutely no reason, as though it had chartered the train of thought this way all ready, Harry’s mind went to the gold ball (or was it a toy bird? He remembered it having wings…) he’d had for so long when he was little. Dudley had finally found out about it, though, and threw it through the window. Harry never did find it again, though he could remember searching hours and hours in the bushes for it.

She must have given it to me…whoever she was, she gave me that ball. And I think- this is her jumper. It was an utterly preposterous conclusion to jump to, but- well, it seemed the only correct one.

Gently, he wrapped the mirror up in the sweater, and held it tightly against his chest.

“Sorry, Sirius…I just- miss you, that’s all,” Harry muttered into the top of the wrapped mirror. “See, I’ve never lost anyone before, not really. I didn’t know Mum or Dad much, and I- I wasn’t ready to lose the first Dad I’ve really…I guess I just really, really miss you.”

Harry stood still, blinked, and then the world started moving again. He realized that his eyes burned from the dust (or were they tears…?) which was also beginning to tickle his nose, now, and that something on his shoulder itched slightly.

So finally, resolutely, he stepped out of the cupboard, scratching his shoulder absently, and made his way up the stairs. “Dudley? OYE! DUD!”

“What?!” came the incredulous response from down the hall.

“You have the fruit-bowl from the kitchen in your room still?” Harry swung into his cousins disorganized room, stepping over piles of laundry and comic books, and making his way to the untouched bowl of fruit sitting on his table.

“What do you want?!” Dudley demanded loudly, and about as threateningly as he could.

Harry ignored him, grabbing a delicious-looking piece of fruit. “I fancied an apple,” he answered blithely.

Dudley made a strange face, as though he found it impossible to believe that ANYONE actually ate fruit on purpose. Harry laughed at his cousin’s expense, knowing Dudley didn’t get it.

Really, Harry didn’t either, but the apple tasted very good, and when he finished eating it, his room was clean. His trunk was unpacked; including a beautiful mirror balanced on his nightstand, and a lavender jumper folded away in his closet.

Harry knew it was going to hurt again tomorrow. He knew he would wake up in the middle of the night tonight, remember Sirius wasn’t coming back, and cry himself back to sleep. He knew that the mirror wouldn’t be able to stay on the nightstand, but in a fit of frustration and heartache, he’d end up pitching it somewhere into the depths of his closet, where he didn’t have to look at it.

But now, right now, he was contemplating what it would be like if there was no such thing as rotten apples- or ANY rotten fruit, really, and how strangely horrible it would be if they all tasted as delicious as this one.

The things he found himself thinking about, honestly!

And throwing himself onto his bed, Harry chucked the apple’s core at his garbage can.

It was a perfect shot.