Chapter 1


Rothbard's law

Everyone specializes in his own area of weakness.

...

You know all that stuff that Dumbledore used to adore talking about? Like love and enlightening visions and those sudden moments of illumination that seem to make you understand exactly why you are wherever you are and what your purpose in this life is? Well, turns out, those moments are very rare indeed. And when you try running after one, you're most definitely never going to catch it.

Which would explain why our hero was standing on the Burrow's front porch with his arm half-raised to knock, yet finding himself unable to do so.

Granted, he did disappear for six weeks at a stretch after what the Daily Prophet termed as the 'The Boy Who Lived, Lives Again' extravaganza and had now turned up at the Burrow unannounced, so it wasn't surprising that he was sweating profusely while the abovementioned arm kept hovering in mid-air for some twenty minutes, after which he decided to just save the embarrassment and leave.

Oh, but oh. This hero isn't all that lucky.

And when door swung open to reveal Mrs. Weasley, flour on cheeks and wand in hand, and shouting "Harry, my boy! Where have you been?" in a heartwarming motherly fashion, he supposed that that was the most welcoming sight he had seen all month.

And when she enveloped him in a bone-crushing bear hug, he was almost on the verge of tears. "Come on in, Harry," she sniffed. "We've all been expecting you."

And that was how Harry James Potter, even though all his instincts were yelling at him not to, entered the Weasley household, completely unprepared to face the tornado that he knew would descend once Ron, Hermione, or worse, Ginny came face to face with him.

"Harry!" was the first thing he heard, before his vision was compensated by numerous read-headed bodies (which he later found out were Ron, George and Percy) and a distinct mass of untamable brown curls that clouded him entirely. "You're finally here! We thought you might never turn up," Hermione exclaimed, her face glowing with a toothy smile. As was Ron's, who dipped his head in recognition while grinning wide at him.

OK. Wait. This was unexpected.

"You're not angry with me?" he blurted, flabbergasted, to which George replied "Yeah, we're pretty much fuming. Can't you see? If I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open."

So that wasn't the usual biting humour that George exercised, but at least he was working on it. That realization made his head spin with guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "I really am. I just... I needed time, you know. To think. Or whatever."

Or whatever. Good one, Potter.

"It's OK," Ron smiled warmly. "You're back."

Yeah... If only-

"MUM!"

Merlin's pants, he knew that voice. Of course he knew that voice. The memories of that voice and its owner, and the sweeter recollections of the pair of lips used to carry forth that voice were some of the few things that had kept him reasonably sane over the last year.

He heard each of her footsteps loud and clear. Maybe he was imagining things, but had the house, the Weasley household that is, suddenly gone distinctly silent, save for her light steps?

And then that stopped too.

"So you managed to find your way back, huh?"

"Ginevra," her mother hissed.

Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.

Emboldened, he turned around, almost bracing himself for attack, and what he saw at the kitchen door nearly took his breath away. Ginny, in casual jeans and boots, her form rigid as she clutched her broom tightly in one hand and a fierce look in her chocolate eyes, her hair windswept and spread around her shoulders. A copper aura.

"Yeah, I guess I did," was his tentative response.

And Harry could have sworn that as he gazed at her, for a moment, and just a moment, he saw her face soften. Like it always had when she saw him. When he used to reach out from behind and pull her into a broom cupboard when she wasn't looking. When he used to drag her to the lake for a well-deserved snogging session. Or when he'd just look at her, something he had always enjoyed doing... So maybe there was hope after all.

Or maybe not. For Ginny never caved in first. And when her mouth flattened into a thin line again and she gave him a look of pure disgust, he figured, Hey, at least she hasn't cursed me yet.

"I'm going upstairs. Good to see you, Harry."

Awkward silence hung again as everyone tried make the best of the situation. Mrs. Weasley was stirring the onion soup, George and Percy went back to their abandoned game of chess, Ron was inspecting his fingernails and Hermione, damn her, was smirking. This was turning out to be quite a fun trip.

"Want something to eat, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, almost in a whisper.

"Yes," he replied without even thinking.

Though food wasn't what he really wanted.

***

A/N --- I L.O.V.E H/G... Especially a fiesty!Ginny and confused!Harry.

So I'm aiming for weird sexual tension here, but that probably won't come off till I get more into the plot.

And this is my first shot at fan fiction, I usually spend my time in a universe that's my own...

And what do we say? Read&Review :)