"Ginny, will you go out with me?"

Harry allowed himself to breathe. There, he'd said it. And now for the beaming smile and pleased answer.

Ginny stared at him blankly. Not exactly the response he was expecting. "Um, Harry, we've been going out all summer."

"Yes, but …" Harry took her hand, looking over the old orchard where they used to play Quidditch. "I mean a proper date. We've been so busy this summer with rebuilding Hogwarts and my training and – and the funerals that we haven't actually gone out together like a real couple. Even in those weeks at Hogwarts last year, we never went to Hogsmeade together." There was the smile he desired! "So, Ginny Weasley, can I take you out? Say, er, Saturday night?"

"Yes, Harry, I'd love that." She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Ginny! Come help me with dinner, please!"

They turned at the voice. Mrs. Weasley, who'd gone gray and lost at least two stone seemingly overnight after Fred's death, stood outside the Burrow. With another smile and kiss, Ginny ran off, her long hair flying behind her.

Harry watched her go, fully aware of the goofy grin on his face and not caring in the slightest. And then he realized he hadn't a clue what to do for a date.

"Hermione, you're a girl."

"Well done, Harry, you've taken even longer than Ronald to figure that out."

"No, I mean … I need advice. Girl advice. Before Ron gets home from the store would be great."

Hermione set her book down and stared at him, wide-eyed, across the Grimmauld Place library. It hadn't taken long for the three of them to realize they weren't ready to be parted, and so they moved back into Harry's house, now nearly completely unrecognizable thanks to Kreacher's efforts. It was nice, when Ron shut himself off thinking of Fred or Harry woke up in a cold sweat or Hermione cried over her parents, to have someone else there. Even Ron and Hermione's relationship hadn't changed things too much; now Harry simply preferred to be in another room when they made up from their rows.

"Harry," she said in a hushed voice as if Ron was just outside the room, "are you and Ginny … you know?"

"No!" he blurted out. "No, not that. Blimey, Hermione … I just want to take her on a date."

"Oh, that's all?" She looked enormously relieved.

"All? Hermione, the only date I've ever been on was when Cho and I went to Madam Puddifoot's, and that ended with her doing her best running tap impression."

"I don't think you have to worry about that with Ginny," Hermione replied, back to her normal practical self. "Why are you so worked up about this?"

"It has to be perfect. After breaking up with her and disappearing for a year and the battle … and now she's going back to Hogwarts in a few weeks … I just want to give her this."

She smiled. "Harry, that's so sweet." Crossing the room, she took a seat next to him on the settee. "So what do you have planned?"

"Er … nothing?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Boys, honestly. You're as hopeless as Ron sometimes. Okay, here's what I think you should do …"

"Have a second?"

Harry hastily tried to finish zipping his trousers when his door opened, but it was only Ron. He relaxed, tucking his shirt in. "Sure, what's up?"

Ron shifted his feet. His ears were pink, giving Harry a sign something was up. "Listen, you're my best mate and all, but you really messed Ginny up when you broke up with her last year, you know? So just don't hurt her again. I know you're some bigshot Boy-Who-Lived defeater of Dark Lords, but I'll still kick your arse if I have to."

Out of respect for their seven-year-friendship, Harry kept a straight face as he nodded and reassured Ron he had no intention of hurting Ginny again. Although, he reflected when he was alone again, dousing himself in cologne, while he was pretty sure he could take Ron, Ginny did have a total of six – no, five, there was that shard piercing his heart again – five brothers, which was a bit much altogether.

"Is Ginny ready?"

Mr. Weasley wore an odd expression, as if he was trying not to laugh, but he welcomed Harry inside just the same. It was strange, knocking at the door of the Burrow, but Harry was trying to do everything right. He glanced at a mirror as they passed, but other than his hair, which he'd given up on in despair, nothing about him appeared out of place.

Harry sat on the edge of his chair, tapping his foot. He hadn't had nerves like this since his last Quidditch final. In fact, he'd almost welcome a Death Eater attack as a way to take the edge off. Then he shook his head. He was really messed up.

"Harry?"

He jumped. Mr. Weasley looked at him like he'd called Harry's name several times. "Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

"I said, how is your Auror training?"

"Oh, it's – um, it's …"

His tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth, and his brain turned to mush, and all Harry could do was stare. Ginny had descended the stairs, wearing a flower-print sundress that revealed lots of leg and lots of … other stuff.

"Wow!" he blurted, turning scarlet when Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows. "Er, I brought you flowers." He thrust the bouquet into her face, only just realizing he'd been clenching it so tight they were beginning to wilt.

"Oh, thanks." Ginny took a few steps back, brushing at a stray petal that was caught in her hair. "Dad, could you put these in some water, please?"

"Sure. You two have fun."

"Bye, Dad!"

Harry mumbled something he hoped was goodbye, trying not to gawk at Ginny in front of her father.

"It's a really nice place."

Harry nodded and forced a smile, tugging his collar away from his throat with one finger. He didn't think it a good idea to point out she'd said that twice already. It was a nice place, far nicer than he ever would have considered on his own, with the unpronounceable menu and prices to go along.

He watched the bubbles fizz away in his glass of champagne morosely. He had ordered it to fit in with the atmosphere of the restaurant but soon discovered he didn't care for it. "Suppose that's why they call it bubbly," he said, pointing.

Ginny murmured an agreement, looking around at the other diners. She kept wrinkling her nose like she smelled a bad odor. Harry devoutly hoped his deodorant was working; he was so nervous he was sweating worse than after a day of Quidditch practice.

It was terrible. They weren't talking, and it was clear Ginny wasn't interested. He desperately cast about for conversation. "So, are you ready to go back to Hogwarts?"

She stiffened, and Harry wanted to curse himself. The one source of contention they'd had all summer, his (and Ron's) decision not to return to Hogwarts with the girls, and he just had to bring it up.

"I suppose," she finally said in a flat voice. "Mum went to Diagon Alley and got my supplies last week. I expect Hermione is?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Ginny sipped her water, and they fell silent once more. When the food arrived, Harry was relieved, thinking that if nothing else, it would spare them from having to speak as much, but it was soon apparent that was a failure, too. Ginny took a few bites and pushed her plate away, making a face.

"Something wrong?"

"To be honest, it's awful."

"Did they make it wrong?"

"I don't think so. I didn't really understand the menu, so I just picked something. I don't know what this is, but I don't want it."

"Oh." Harry picked at his dinner. "Would you like some of mine?"

She took one glance and shook her head. "No, I don't like lobster, thank you."

This was going downhill faster than one of Peeves' pranks. "You can order something else. I don't mind."

"It's fine, Harry." The hard edge in her tone was unmistakable. "I'm not very hungry anyway."

That effectively ruined his appetite, and after forcing down as much food as he could, he asked for the check, not even giving the waiter a chance to offer dessert.

Outside, he offered Ginny a strained smile. "So, back to the Burrow?"

She gave him an incredulous glance before shaking her head and turning away. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

"Ginny, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she repeated, louder than was necessary. "I'll tell you what's wrong, Harry Potter! This is the worst date I've ever had in my life!"

Harry's jaw worked several times, trying to get something out. Worst date ever? Had she any idea how much effort he had put into this? "I can't believe you! I got all dressed up –"

"You aren't the only one!"

"– took you to a nice place –"

"That happens to be terrible."

"– where I spent the entire time trying not to stare at you because you look so pretty I can't even form a proper sentence!"

Ginny's cheeks turned pink. "You think I look pretty?"

"Of course," he replied without thinking, still frustrated at the evening's failure. "You're beautiful."

"Oh! Thank you."

"You're welcome," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Let's just go. I wanted everything to be perfect, and it's gone all pear-shaped."

"Harry." She put a hand on his chest, waiting until he looked at her. "Is that what's been wrong with you tonight? You haven't been yourself at all."

He sighed. "I suppose. I don't know. It's only … I never had to try with you, you know? It's always been so easy."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Do you think perhaps that's why it didn't work? Because you were trying too hard?"

Harry gazed at her, hearing her words as he replayed the night over and over. He hadn't been comfortable since he arrived at the Burrow, and realization dawned with the force of a hammer. "Merlin, Ginny, I'm sorry. I just thought you might want a change from someone who wears t-shirts all the time and prefers your mum's cooking and prattles on about Quidditch and training and Teddy."

She stepped closer, a smile growing on her face. "Did it ever occur to you, Harry, that perhaps I like your t-shirts and Mum's food and Quidditch and Auror training and Teddy?"

"Well, I, er, that is …" Giving up, Harry pulled her close and kissed her. Her words were true, after all; it felt much more right and sweet when they weren't even trying. When they finally parted, both glowing, he glanced at his wristwatch. "It's still early. We could salvage this date. What do you want to do?"

"Do you know what I'd really like?"

"Anything." He hoped he hadn't just roped himself into tea at Madam Puddifoot's again.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies has the new Firebolt on display. I'd love to see it up close."

Grinning, Harry slipped an arm over her shoulders as they began to walk toward an apparition point. "That would be great. And then maybe ice creams at Fortescue's?"

"Sure." She waited a beat. "Harry, I do have one more request."

"Yeah?"

"Can you please scourgify yourself? I don't know how much cologne you bathed in, but my eyes have been watering all night. A dementor could smell you, and they don't have noses."

Laughing, Harry did as she requested, asking himself why he had ever sought out perfection when he already had it right here.