AN: I haven't written any fanfiction for Harry Potter in quite a while (I was usurped by a couple of other fandoms, and college) but it is my longest lasting fanfiction interest and I have been thinking about this plotline for quite some time. As these things go I am a sucker for cannon, so please don't expect any wild pairings here. This story will be predominantly H/G with R/Hr elements here and there. I would love to hear your comments and suggestions about my work, so please leave a review.

Disclaimer: I don't own this material. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the folks at Warner Brothers.

Chapter One

The Burrow had fallen into a mid-afternoon slump in activity that left the normally active household oddly quiet. Harry opened the backdoor and entered the deserted kitchen. There were a couple of pairs of trainers kicked into the corner by the welcome mat; he could decipher Ron's well worn, oversized boots and Ginny's much smaller light blue sneakers on top of the pile. Mrs. Weasley had left out some fruit and pastries on the kitchen counter in case anyone got hungry, but it was unlikely that she'd be up to cooking anything until dinner. Judging by his watch, it was only two o'clock, but Harry felt the subtle, nagging feeling of hunger in his stomach. He grabbed an apple out of the basket next to the sink and bit into its sour green surface.

It was odd to think that only a week ago he had still been after horcruxes. After Voldemort's death he had been exhausted—Madam Pompfrey had given him a generous supply of dreamless sleeping draft that he had initially taken advantage of. The first day that the public was fully aware of what had happened he had been so overwhelmed. Hundreds of owls had been sent to him, the Daily Prophet had been breathing down his neck for an interview, and Kingsley had requested him to stop by the Ministry to receive his order of Merlin. After that second day Harry retreated to the Weasley's and downed more of his sleeping draft than recommended. He slept for two days, waking to Herminone and Mrs. Weasley hovering over him, shaking him awake.

"Harry, you've got to wake up," Hermione prodded, gently nudging his shoulder.

He slowly opened his eyes and immediately put on his glasses. The window had been opened; it looked to be mid-day outside.

"Are you alright dear?" Molly asked, attempting to flatten his wild hair. "It's not healthy to sleep that long. Do you feel ill? You must be starving. Let me get you some toast and pumpkin juice." She left them to scurry down to the kitchen while Hermione sat on the end of his cot.

"How long was I asleep?" Harry asked, gulping down a glass of water that had been left on his night table.

"Two and a half days," Hermione answered. "You were out for quite a while. At first we let you sleep but Mrs. Weasley started to get worried."

"I'm fine," he answered, straightening his cockeyed T-shirt that was now impossibly wrinkled. "How've you been? And Ron? I'm assuming you haven't been asleep this whole time."

"We haven't. Kingsley sent an owl with the date for the Merlin awarding ceremony. Ron and I received them as well. We're supposed to attend it tomorrow."

Mrs. Weasley emerged in the doorway with a tray laden with food of all types. Harry's throat was drier than any other time in recent memory and he went straight for the pitcher of juice she'd brought up, gulping down the cool, sweet liquid.

"I've washed and pressed your dress robes Harry, they're laid out for tomorrow," she gestured toward his nicest set of clothes that he hadn't worn in ages. "I hope you haven't grown too much since you got them," she fretted.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Harry said. "Thank you for everything Mrs. Weasley. I'm sorry I've been so much trouble."

"What on earth are you talking about dear boy? You're no trouble at all. Don't hesitate to get more food if you're hungry. I expect Ron'll be by in a minute or two. He's helping Arthur with some things our back."

She stood and straightened Harry's bedcovers as he ate, slanting the blinds on her way out so the sunlight wasn't as direct. After Mrs. Weasley was gone Hermione snatched the bottle of sleeping draft off of Harry's night table, along with the written dosing instructions given to him by Madam Pompfrey.

"You've taken too much," she scolded, eyeing what was left of the purple substance in the vial. "It's dangerous, you know, and addictive."

"I didn't want to have any dreams," Harry explained. He finished off one plate of food and scratched the back of his neck. "If you don't mind I'd fancy a bath," he said, uncomfortable in his sleep clothes.

"Go ahead," she relented, "I'll tell Ron and Ginny that you're up."

Harry was in the doorway of Ron's bathroom, already tugging his shirt off when he called out to Hermione, "Leave that vial, will you?"

She made a noise that sounded like "humph" and left the draft and the instructions by his bedside.

"Thank you Hermione," he called out cheekily, turning on the water.

After he cleaned himself up Harry said a few words to Ron, who had finished helping his father and was now sitting rather close with Hermione under an apple tree in the garden. They invited him to sit down but Harry could tell that they'd been enjoying their time alone together. "It's alright, I'm actually going to go take a walk," he explained.

"You sure mate?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, we'll catch up later."

It was something he hadn't been able to do in so long, simply walk from one place to another by himself without being followed or dogged by other people. He thought about the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts when he had roamed the streets around his relatives' home until late every night, simply trying to stay out of the house. In some ways those walks had been peaceful; if he could avoid Dudley and his gang of friends it had served as a good time to think and mull things over, even if those things had sometimes been unpleasant. Harry had spent the majority of his recent years in a sort of frenzied paranoia. The demand to be constantly alert of his surroundings or always trying to sort out some puzzle in his head had left him exhausted. He missed doing simple personal things like riding his broom or spending time with Ginny. Part of Harry's role as defeater of Lord Voldemort was sacrificing much of his personal life and desires. With the threat of Voldemort eradicated he was left where his life had left off. Harry had options now; he could go back to school, he could choose to take time off if he wanted, he could start auror training in a year or so, he could carry out any number of plans that he had never seriously explored until this point because of his circumstances.

There were so many things he wanted to learn now that he had the time. He wanted to become more proficient at occlumacy, animagous transfigurations, and potion making. As he thought about all of this Harry arrived at the orchard where he and Ron had played quidditch with the other Weasleys so long ago. If he wanted to be an auror he had to go back to Hogwarts in the fall. That was fine with Harry; it was almost a relief. Another year of school would give him time to catch up on everything he'd missed while he had been tracking down the horcruxes; it would buy him more time at Hogwarts before he actually had to enter the wizarding world as an adult.

By the time he had returned to The Burrow Ron and Hermione were no longer in the garden. Probably went looking for some real privacy, Harry thought. He took his shoes off at the door and nicked an apple. The quietness made him wonder where the rest of the Weasley's had gone. The house had been generally subdued every since their return from Hogwarts and the battle against Voldemort.

Initially, Fred's passing had been very difficult for everyone, especially George and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Even thought he knew it was unjustified he felt largely responsible for what had happened to Fred. Whenever Mrs. Weasley would start crying unexpectedly he felt guilty and uncomfortable. Some nights she would be cleaning up after dinner and he would hear the soft crying of a mother who had lost her son. Arthur would comfort his wife and help her out more than usual but the stress was overwhelming for Harry. He had seen and experienced enough death and loss in his teenage years to feel alienated from his peers. In some ways having the threat of Voldemort and all the riddles that went along with it had been a good distraction for his own feelings. Instead of concentrating on Sirius' or Dumbledoor's death he was able to focus all of his waking thoughts on fixing the problem. Maybe it was unhealthy, but it had led him thus far. He had survived because of his focus. He had spent so much time obsessing over murder, murders that had occurred and murders that would occur in the future, that he sometimes wondered if there was really much difference between him and Voldemort. He could imagine Hermione's voice in his head, Of course there is, don't be daft. You're doing a noble thing. But was he really? Yes, he wanted to protect himself and other members of the wizarding community and the only way to do that was to eliminate Voldemort completely, but his main motivating factor was his will to live and his personal hatred. Voldemort had killed his parents, his godfather, his mentor, and his friends. There was no one that Harry Potter despised more than Tom Riddle, and he had intended to kill him out of a desire for revenge.

Fear and hatred were the two emotions that had dominated his life until this point. Harry didn't understand what it was like to live without being under a constant threat; he didn't understand what it was like to experience love. What he had formed with Ginny a little over a year ago had been restricted in his mind. He was afraid of getting too close to her and turning her into a target. Voldemort had used his loved ones against him before and Harry knew that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Putting distance between himself and Ginny had provided an easy emotional escape for his insecurities about the relationship. Before Harry had met Ron and Hermione he hadn't known how to be anyone's anything, let alone a friend or a romantic partner, and, to an extent, he was still unsure. He had never been in a functional relationship without his fame or his personal circumstances getting in the way. Harry knew that Ginny still had feelings for him, it was understood, and he still had feelings for her, but he was afraid that his lack of experience and emotional baggage would get in the way. There were so many factors pulling him away from what he wanted that it got to be nearly impossible in his head sometimes. It was the first time in his life that he would be able to have something, or someone, for himself, and that possibility scared the hell out of him.

He got to one of the upper floors, planning to maybe go back up to the room he shared with Ron and flip through the Daily Prophet or one of the defense books that Mr. Weasley had nicked for him from the auror office, but when he arrived at the landing before Ron's he stopped, pausing outside of what he knew to be Ginny's room. There's no reason not to, he thought, taking a step closer. It's safe. She's not in danger anymore. Harry was reasoning with himself, scanning through all of the possible reactions he could expect from Ginny if he initiated this. It was undeniable that he wanted her. Staring at the oak paneled door to her bedroom he could smell the light, flowery scent that he had grown to associate with her. Since they'd been together he had become more in tuned with it, the way that partners become more in tuned with each other's facial expressions or moods. He could tell if she had just left a room or if she had recently washed her hair. Harry took a step closer and brought up his hand, his knuckles white.

He quietly knocked on Ginny's door and waited, his heart speeding up with every second. It opened slightly and he could see one of her round, golden brown eyes and a sliver of her full smile. "Hello Harry," she said, widening the opening. "Come in."

It had been almost a year since he had been in Ginny's room and not much had changed. She had the same mint green bedspread with quilted pillows; her yellow ottoman was still pushed up against the window with the same silver wind chimes hanging above the sill. A pair of knitting needles and the beginnings of a black scarf sat on the end of her bed. Ginny immediately shoved her handiwork behind her back and tossed it into her basket of clean laundry. "Don't look!" She scolded.

"I didn't know you knitted," Harry said.

"Mum's been teaching me," she explained, a little sheepish that she had picked up such a girly hobby. Watching her made him smile in spite of himself, the way her eyes glanced at him and back at the floor, as if she were nervous. He wanted to run his hands over her smooth arms and feel her smile with his lips. She was beautiful and it was magnetizing.

They sat down on Ginny's bed and Harry couldn't help but notice how good she looked. He hadn't had a decent chance to look at her in a while and he felt regretful for all the opportunities he'd missed. Her wavy red hair was half up, exposing her delicate, faintly freckled ears. Ginny's brown eyes brought out the auburn undertones to her ginger hair; the focus of his gaze was probably noticeable, but he wanted it to be. She scooted a little closer to him and examined a small bruise on his cheek that had yet to heal.

"How have you been feeling? You slept for such a long time."

"I'm alright," Harry replied, happy that she was forward enough to touch him. "I don't really know how I feel. It's strange to not have anything to worry about. It's like I have my head to myself for the first time in my life."

Ginny nodded and lowered her hand. Before it could even touch the bedcovers Harry took it in his and laced their fingers together. A blush began to creep into her cheeks; she smiled at him as he pulled the young redhead into his lap. Ginny took the opportunity to burry her face in his black and gray plaid shirt, kissing the side of his neck while he stroked her hair. They sat like that for a moment, quiet, each holding their breath as if to sustain the experience. This is wild, Harry thought. I'm alive and I have the girl I want. She was safe this whole time. She was safe and I get to keep her.

"I worried about you so much," she confessed. "I thought about you every night before I went to sleep and I hoped that you'd be okay." Her small hands touched his face as he leaned down to look at her.

"I thought about you too. I used to take out the Maurauders' Map and look for you to make sure you were safe. There were times when I would think of you and get really depressed because I didn't think we would both make it. Actually, I didn't think that I would make it. I figured you would have found someone else, specifically someone who didn't have a bounty after them."

"Harry, you're mad," Ginny said thickly. Her eyes looked a little watery.

"Hey," he said, cupping her face with his hand. "C'mere."

They leaned in towards each other and the world seemed to halt on its axis. Yes, yes, yes, finally, he thought, closing the space between them. His left arm had snaked around her, holding Ginny close to him while he pressed his lips against hers. She made a small sound in her throat that he had come to recognize despite their limited time together, sucking on her bottom lip and waiting for the moan that would follow. He had missed this. He had missed holding her against him and pleasing her and mostly he had missed their silent intimate exchanges in his bed in Gryffindor tower. Ginny pulled at the hair at the base of his neck and he kissed her harder, loving the contrast between the slight pain and the hot, electric feeling he got from her.

"Lets lay down," he suggested, pulling her onto the quilt with him. She moved as close to him as possible, sliding his leg in between hers while Harry repeatedly kissed her neck. They lay together for a while, touching each other and breathing quietly. Her hips were pressed tight against his with his hand in the back pocket of her jeans, his eyes on her lips. Harry had spent a year away from the girl he wanted and he planned on making up for it in increments like this.

They kissed each other slowly, sometimes shifting their position and talking softly. Eventually Ginny had wormed her soft hands under his shirt, her eyes glowing. "I missed you," Harry said, his voice a little scratchy. "I can't believe you waited this long."

"I don't understand why you're so surprised. I thought of you the whole time we were apart." She brushed some of his jet-black hair out of his eyes, hesitating slightly before tracing his lightning-shaped scar with her finger.

"Do you think it'll ever fade?" Ginny asked, her expression questioning.

"Probably," Harry answered. "Especially now that the spell caster is no longer alive." Pulling at the fabric of his shirt, he showed her the long, slanted gash that was slowly healing on his chest, just and inch or two above his heart. "I think his hand was shaking when he made this one," he said, pointing to his forehead, "but this time it was steadier."

She placed her palm over the spot where Voldemort had cast the second killing curse; the scar there ran the length of her hand.

Before they could say anything else the pair heard footsteps on the stairs close to Ginny's door. Harry quickly re-buttoned his shirt and sat up, attempting to make himself look presentable.

The door opened and Ron walked in a few paces, asking, "Have you seen Ha—"

"Oh, sorry," he faltered, observing Harry and Ginny sitting on the bed. "Didn't realize I was interrupting."

Ginny snorted while Harry raised an eyebrow. "We were just talking. You can stay if you want."

"No thanks," Ron offered, his ears slightly pink.

Hermione stepped into view from the open doorway. "Mrs. Weasley wanted me to tell you that dinner's about ready. Ronald, what are you doing?" She asked, tugging on his arm. "Give them some privacy."

He allowed Hermione to lead him out of the room. Harry chuckled as he heard his best friend explain that he had tried to, their voices growing fainter as they descended the stairs. He caught the slightly annoyed expression on Ginny's face as he helped her up.

Facing each other Harry was nearly a head taller than her. She looked up, straightening his button down and slightly, but intentionally, brushing the front of his jeans with her small, pale hand.

"I know your tricks, Ginny Weasley," he said, narrowing his eyes at the mischievous redhead. "You'll have to wait until later."

"But I want you," she nuzzled him as best she could, being so much shorter than him, her arms around his neck.

"And you think I don't?" He asked, bending down to kiss her before they went down to dinner. One of his hands rested at the small of her back, pulling her closer. Just as he'd started to slip his hand underneath her shirt they heard Mrs. Weasley calling to the rest of the household that dinner was ready.

"Later," Harry said, kissing her a few more times before they joined the rest of the family.