A.N. The breakfast scene of this story popped into my head recently, begging to be written! I have a vague idea where this is going, but it all happened rather spontaneously. Isn't that a great way for things to happen, though? I hope you all like it, please review if you do.

Chapter One: Breakfast & Dinner at The Burrow

The sound of the news could be heard from the wireless, but no one was paying it any attention. A light breeze fluttered through the open windows, spreading the scrumptious smells of breakfast. The little table was rocking from so much movement, plates being passed, mugs dropped and repaired with wands, toast buttered and spread with jam, crammed straight into mouths. Harry ducked his head quickly as the tub of butter was thrown from Ron to George, who in turn passed it to Charlie. Only one person could be seen sitting stiffly amongst all the chaos.

"Stop it!" barked Percy. "Some of us are trying to read the newspaper."

"Sorry, Percy," chorused Charlie, George and Ron, grinning.

Harry marvelled at how much bedlam was possible with only half the Weasleys present at The Burrow's weekly breakfast. He kept expecting to see Mrs Weasley, shouting in order to establish calm, but she was nowhere to be seen; she and Mr Weasley were celebrating their anniversary in France, stopping over to see the Delacours. With only one twin left, Harry had been apprehensive of a lot less laughter, but George seemed to take it upon himself to be twice as mischievous as he had previously been. To top things off, the one other possible authority figure – Bill – was not able to make breakfast at The Burrow that morning. In consequence, the most sensible person at the table was Percy, and Harry doubted that the others had ever willingly heeded him in their lives.

"Anyone know the Quidditch scores?" Charlie asked the table at large.

"Not on yet," said George. "Still got an hour."

Despite the delicious food, inviting weather and being surrounded by quite a few of his favourite people, Harry could not quite immerse himself in conversation. The day before was still niggling at him. He had gone to the popular Quidditch training ground in Cornwall, open to the public at weekends, hoping to work out his frustration, only to add to it. There he bumped into Ginny, long hair tied back, wearing her old Gryffindor robes, her face matching the shade. Harry was not sure that this was because she was surprised to see him, or because she had just been flying for a long time. Before they could do more than exchange awkward conversation, Ginny looking at him in a way that he found impossible to read, Oliver Wood had appeared. Harry had been pleased at the distraction, but then –

"Ready to get back on your broom, Gin?" Oliver had asked her, clapping a hand across Ginny's narrow shoulders. Harry felt the back of his neck prickle, something stirring in his stomach. They had bid him goodbye and returned to the air. He had Disapparated immediately, no longer in the mood for flying. He told himself he had a stomach ache, that was all, nothing to be concerned about. But then why did he keep seeing it replayed in his mind, again and again, in slow motion, Oliver's arm around her shoulders…

Harry frowned down at his half-eaten toast, not able to taste anything except the too-sweet jam.

"What d'you reckon, Harry?" Ron was saying something.

Harry moved his frown from his toast to Ron's expectant face. "What?"

"The Cannons' odds," Ron prompted him. "What d'you think?"

"Oh, right," he replied dumbly. At his slowness, Charlie and Fred had resumed their conversation, not waiting for his input. Ron frowned right back at him, then turned his head to listen to his brothers.

Harry sunk back into his thoughts again. Why was Ginny training with Oliver Wood? Was she hoping to join his team? Did they meet their coincidentally, or was it some kind of… date? He realised, miserably, that he knew hardly anything about her anymore. What he did know, he gleaned from Ron and Hermione, who mostly hinted that he ought to owl her himself, and something or other about looking at a box…

A second later, Ron looked back at him suspiciously. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," said Harry, poking his toast viciously. "By the way, do you think Ginny's sleeping with Oliver Wood?"

The reactions were instantaneous and plentiful. Ron lurched forward, coffee splurting out of his mouth in every direction. "HARRY!" thundered Percy, standing up and gesturing wildly, accidentally throwing his newspaper into the air. George was yelping; Ron's hot coffee had shot straight onto his cheek. Charlie was choking on his bacon and eggs, scrabbling to rip the newspaper pages off his head as they flew around the kitchen. After a few seconds of struggle, both the bacon and eggs and newspaper landed in the fire, flames erupting at once.

"CHARLIE!" shouted Percy. "I was reading that!"

"Ron, you prat!" George whined, clutching his face. "I've only got one ear, d'you want to give me one cheek, too?"

Harry sat watching, dimly aware that he had caused the mess.

"What on earth," began Ron weakly, as they all sunk back into their chairs, staring at Harry in shock, "made you think –"

"I saw them together yesterday," he explained, shrugging. "They were training together, and Wood put his arm around her –"

"No!" Ron cut across him quickly. "Not that! Harry, what made you think it was a good idea to ask us?"

"Oh."

"This is bad." George pressed a cool glass of water to his burning cheek. "He's much older than her. Wasn't the one year group enough for her?"

"Maybe we should talk to her," said Ron.

"I'm not saying I know for sure," Harry said hastily. He was regretting having spoken. Ginny would kill him for inflaming all the protectiveness of her brothers when she was now of-age and out of school.

"I don't think we should talk to her," said Charlie, and Harry nodded fervently. "She won't listen to us. No, we've got to get Bill to talk to her."

Harry mouthed soundlessly.

"Yes!" Ron and George agreed.

"No!" Harry argued. "Look, I'm sorry for – for scaring all of you and everything –"

"No, Harry, you did the right thing," said Percy at last. He took off his spectacles, blinked rapidly, and began to polish them with a bit of leftover toast, leaving his napkin on the table. George watched him, his lip quivering. "If Little Ginny is running around with a man far too old for her, it is our duty to intervene."

"He's only five years older than her," Harry said fairly. "I mean, not that I think it's right to – but – look, I don't think you should interfere with her life –"

George spoke over him, "He's far too old. He's older than me and Ron! The same age as Percy, that's just wrong!"

"Percy," said Harry, trying again, "you were at school with Oliver. He's not such a bad guy. If I am right –"

"Maybe we should suggest some limits for Ginny," said Charlie. "Boyfriends must have a birthday within two years of hers."

"He has to ask Dad's permission for a date," added George, "and agree on a venue."

"A public venue," said Percy, nodding.

"But no snogging," said Ron.

"No, that's not fair," reasoned George. "Snogging is allowed after six months."

"But nothing else," Charlie added darkly.

"Not until marriage," Percy said. "That's fair, isn't it, seeing as we're all doing the same?"

Percy's words – and the look of amazement from his brothers – were almost enough to distract Harry, but he returned quickly to stopping an act that would surely make Ginny hate his guts. Choking down a laugh, he said again, "I was probably wrong. In fact, maybe I imagined it. There's no reason to talk to Ginny, really. Don't speak to Bill – or Mr Weasley. Ron, seriously, I didn't know what I was saying. Do not ask Ginny about it."

A silence ran around the table. Harry glanced around at them all, hoping he had got through to them.

Charlie got slowly to his feet, heading towards the door. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I said I'd visit Bill," he told them casually.

"Charlie," implored Harry, "I'm serious. I could easily have been completely mistaken."

Charlie looked uncomfortable. "Even so, Harry, I think I ought to tell Bill since he wasn't here."

"Quite right," said Percy. "I'll be sending Mum an owl this afternoon."

"NO!" Harry leapt to his feet, running to block Charlie from the door. "Listen, all of you," he said heatedly, "I didn't mean what I said. I mean, I meant it, but I didn't mean what I meant."

"Er, what?" said Ron.

Harry sighed in exasperation. "They probably aren't seeing each other. He's probably just helping her to keep training."

"So why did you ask if they were… you know?"

Harry swallowed. "I guess… I was jealous."

He had expected the Weasleys to start shouting at him, to not believe him, to laugh at him or even to ignore him altogether, anything except what actually happened. In what felt like one swift movement, all four of his friends – surrogate brothers, really – were surrounding him, clapping him on the back and ringing his hand.

"Well done, Harry, well done indeed," Percy congratulated him pompously, pumping his arm up and down.

"It's about time, too," said George, his hand on Harry's shoulder.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief, locking eyes with him. "We thought you might never go after her again. I mean, I know there's been a lot going on – with everyone – since the war, but it's been two years now, and –"

"Even Ron's got it sorted with Hermione," said George.

"Oi!"

"Well, it's true, mate; Harry took much less time to get Ginny than you did Hermione – at Hogwarts, I mean."

"I'd much rather it was you than Wood, Harry," Percy told him.

"Me too," Charlie agreed emphatically. "I'm glad you've decided to get back together."

"WAIT!" Harry said, flustered all over again. "I didn't say that – I only meant –"

"Bill will like this, he's always thought well of you, Harry."

"Hermione will help you plan your first date with Ginny. She always thought your idea of waiting for things to blow over was stupid."

"Nothing says 'I love you' like a box of WonderWitch products. I'll give you a discount for a medium box, right, Harry?"

"I think I'll send the owl to Mum now."

"NO!" said Harry again, beginning to feel like a petulant child. "I mean, that's really nice of you all, but it's between me and Ginny. Not that there's anything between us anymore, anyway."

"Of course there is," said Ron. "I know she was mad at you for saying you should keep on with your break, but I'm sure you could fix it. Who wouldn't want the Chosen One to be their boyfriend?"

"Not you, apparently," commented George. Ron ignored him.

"You've taken your time apart, Harry. But now… what are you waiting for?"

"I don't know," said Harry, truthfully. He was starting to wish it was just him and Ron in the room. The others were eyeing him keenly. He shrugged his shoulders. "I'll talk to her soon, I guess. See how she feels about it. But until then," he added warningly, "if any of you breathe so much as a word to anyone about this, I'll set you up with Romilda Vane."

Ginny slid an experimental foot into the bath. She didn't have a knack for running baths: they were always either so hot she felt faint, or so cool her teeth started chattering. She needed her mother for this sort of thing. Sighing, she turned the taps off and swished the water around. A tug on the string allowed her to slip out of her robe; it cascaded in a sea of pink onto the tile floor. She sunk into the bath slowly, letting the water lap around her body.

She didn't actually like baths anymore. She hated staying still.

"The bath will help loosen your muscles," Oliver had told her. "It's essential that you take one after particularly gruelling practises."

"I don't have a bath," Ginny protested.

Oliver snorted. "I know that!" he said. "Your flat's a box." He never did grasp the notion of tact, she thought. "But I have a bath. You can use it, then we'll go out for dinner. Nice strong meal before tomorrow."

Tomorrow was the day of his big game. Six loyal years with Puddlemere United saw Oliver being promoted from the Reserve Team onto the first string, then quickly to Captain. Now, if he performed well this season, he was tipped to be playing for England before long. The opening match – Puddlemere versus the Wimbourne Wasps – was what Oliver had been training for since the summer. That was how they had met. Ginny knew that Quidditch was about the only thing that might help her get her mind back in order. But her only Captain at school had been… well, Harry. Angelina, though perfectly approachable, had not continued a career in Quidditch. Oliver Wood had been her only hope. She had never played for him, it was true, but her brothers had, and that was a start.

She shifted slightly in the bath, already wanting to get out and be walking somewhere. She stayed put, however; Oliver would be after her if she didn't soak for a reasonable amount of time. Ginny chuckled to herself at the thought of him on the other side of the door. He was probably sat at the table going over plays for tomorrow; she doubted it had even crossed his mind that she would be in here, naked. He was a strange guy, Oliver, but fun, in his own way. She thought back to their first meeting.

She had been nervous, at first, striding into the grounds of Puddlemere United. She found herself taking her hair down, letting it fall around her shoulders. Harry had told her once that when she wore it like that, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She shook herself at the memory, eyes peeled for Wood.

"Can I help you with something?" Ginny whirled around to see a man. She knew him. Jasper Craddock, the new Chaser of Puddlemere United. She blinked.

"Are you… looking for someone?" he asked kindly, studying her face.

"Mm," she murmured, nodding instead of speaking. She cleared her throat. "I am looking for Oliver Wood."

"Wood?" Craddock repeated. He pointed skywards. Sure enough, there was Wood. The team practice had finished, but he was still up there, shooting from one end of the pitch to another, swooping around quickly at each end. "Timing himself," Craddock told her. "He wants to be the fastest player in the world, I think."

Ginny laughed. She glanced up again, and was curious to see that Wood had now stopped zooming around, and was instead headed straight towards them.

"Er," she said.

"I'm Jasper," said Craddock, obviously not noticing his advancing Captain, "Jasper Crad –"

"Craddock!" Wood exploded, as he touched down. Craddock jumped about a foot in the air, showing off his Quidditch reflexes. "What are you still doing here? I told you all to go home and have a bath!"

"Oh, right… yes, Oliver, of course," muttered Craddock. "It's just that I was talking to –"

He looked expectantly at Ginny. Wood whirled around, sizing her up and down.

"Weasley," he breathed. He stared at her, his eyes glazing over. His whole face shone with delight. Ginny wondered what had come over him, unless it was some sort of… love at first sight? "He wants to play again, does he?"

Ginny frowned. "I'm sorry," she said, "who are you talking about?"

To her surprise, Wood seized her shoulders eagerly. "Harry Potter!" he said. "That's why you're here, isn't it? You're his girlfriend? Oh, I'd been waiting and hoping – praying, even! – that he'd remember to come to me. Word got around that he'd been thinking about the Bats, but I knew better, I knew better! Tell me Weasley, what broom is he flying these days? I'll put him on the team right away. Craddock can be a reserve."

Ignoring the yelp that came from Craddock, Ginny shook her head, moving backwards slowly. "Wood, no, I'm sorry, that's not why I'm here." Instantly, Wood began to deflate like a sad balloon. (Craddock, by contrast, was puffed up angrily.) "I don't know what Harry's plans are for Quidditch. I'm not his girlfriend anymore, you see." (Craddock looked somewhat mollified.)

"Then you're here, because..?"

She stood up straight. "I'm here because I'm a damned good Chaser."

Wood feigned disinterest, but she could see his eyes darting down her body. Checking out her limbs, of course, as opposed to her chest. "You're not the build for a Chaser," he said. "More like a Seeker, if anything."

"I've played Seeker before, actually," she told him. "Harry put me there in his place when he couldn't play. But I've always preferred scoring goals. I just need some good training, that's all."

They looked at each other. Ginny watched his face for any change in expression, Wood went back to examining her physique. (Craddock, on the other hand, began to slink away unnoticed by either.)

"I work very hard," she said quietly. She sensed that now was not the time for modesty. "I've always done it by myself, since I stole my brothers' brooms out of the shed when I was six years old. But now, I want to train properly. You're the right person to train me, Oliver. Please. On the days that you can't legally order your team to practise, you can use me. I can be a guinea pig for your new plays, or a distraction if you want. Anything you say, I'll do it."

She had been true to her promise, right up to taking a bath in his flat. Feeling that she had been still long enough, Ginny leant forward and pulled the plug. She listened to the gurgling of the water as it swirled away from her. Shivering slightly, she eased herself out of the bath and wrapped a warm towel around her body. She looked at the bathroom. It was so masculine, in comparison to her own, which had candles all along the surface. It was nice being here, away from her own life for awhile. The whole experience with Oliver did that. True, he was yet another person that adored Harry, but as time wore on, he mentioned him less, and at least he never commented on their relationship in the way that her family and Hermione were fond of doing.

She glanced down at the robe on the floor, but decided to venture out in the towel instead.

"Oliver!" she called. "I'm done."

"Good," he said absentmindedly. He was, as she predicted, at the table with his back to her. He didn't even look up. That wouldn't do at all.

"Don't you think you should break for the evening?"

"I will," he said. "I told you, we'll go out for dinner, soon as you're ready."

"I'm out of the bath," she pointed out, grinning.

Slowly, he pushed whatever diagram he had been pouring over away from him. He turned in his chair to look at her. She was pleased to see his eyes widen.

"I just want a glass of water before I get dressed," she explained innocently. "I got so flushed, taking a bath in there." Oliver nodded, mute. She filled a glass at the sink, one arm clamped against her side to keep the towel in place. "Did you want one too?" He looked beyond speech, so she filled one for him anyway. She sat down, and it was silent. They drank their water in companionable silence, Ginny pretending to admire the ceiling as Oliver admired her.

"Maybe," said Oliver, his voice deliciously low, "we should stay in for dinner."

It took all her efforts not to smile. "No," she said. "You promised me a meal at a fancy restaurant. What's the good of being a Quidditch Captain if you can't afford to take a girl out?"

She drained the last of her water. It was so cold she felt it run through her. She stood to her feet, careful to keep the towel around her. Oliver was probably disappointed about that. Purposefully she did not catch his eye, beginning to walk towards the bathroom again. As she reached the door, a thought struck her, and she turned around. Her breath caught at the look he was giving her.

"Oliver," she told him seriously. "Whatever you're thinking, stop right now. I won't let you dishonour your own rules. Nothing's happening here tonight, right? After dinner I'm going home to my box, and we'll… er, celebrate… tomorrow, after the game. Right?"

"Right," said Oliver. "Yes. Well go on, Gin, get dressed already so we can go. I'm starving."

She did as she was bid, emerging minutes later in her favourite black dress. Oliver looked her up and down appreciatively, and she was quite sure he wasn't admiring her legs for their Quidditch potential. Much.

"I'm glad I came to your training grounds," mused Ginny as she settled across his lap.

"Me too," he replied, moving her hair to kiss the back of her neck. "Best Quidditch companion I've had in a long time. Of course, you're the only person I've played with that I've also kissed, you know?"

Ginny did. She had known before.

"We better get going," she said. "I take forever to choose what I want to eat."

"Don't I know it," said Oliver, laughing as they got to their feet. He reached for his coat.

"It makes me realise how accommodating Mum was, with all of us." She sighed. "I miss home."

"Why don't you go back there?" he asked. That was Oliver all over. Simple questions which lead to complicated answers. Ginny hoped he wouldn't notice her twisting her hands behind her back.

"I can't," she said, as they left his flat. "It's not just my family there, anymore. Since the war, we have visitors all the time. And even when we don't, there's…" She shut her eyes. She didn't want to think about him tonight. When she opened them again, she realised Oliver had barely noticed that she was still speaking, much less her pained movements; he was immersed in inspecting the sky, wondering aloud what tomorrow's weather conditions would be. Ginny laughed and pulled him along the road with her, happy to distract and be distracted.

"What's this restaurant we're going to?"

"It's called The Burrow," Ginny giggled. She breathed deeply, admiring the stars spread out against the sky. "You know, why go back to the old when you can find something new?"