Summary: Gin is fire… glowing, vibrant and full of life.

Harry Potter is ice… cool, distant and difficult to reach.

Harry knows that Gin is the last woman he would fall for. After all, apart from her beautiful eyes, what else does she have going for her? For her part, Gin hates the handsome man who has destroyed everything that made her happy. Then fate intervenes and Harry finds himself fathoms deep in love with the mysterious Ginerva Raven, but Ginerva seems to be the only woman who is immune to the irresistible Potter charm…

Prologue.

New York eighteen years ago

The fourteen year old boy shivered in the cold November air. Alone in the passenger seat of his father's broken down old car, he stared blankly out of the side window, watching the occasional passer-by with his deep green eyes. One old lady, pushing a pram that contained a load of bread, a cheap bottle of rum and a beloved marmalade cat, paused to stare back at the boy, her mind monetarily diverted from the drudgery of her life. It was not surprising. The boy was starling handsome, even at such a young age. Hair that couldn't make up its mind whether it was a deep midnight black or chocolate brown, which framed a face that was appealingly strong. The old woman smiled as she took in the challenging thrust of his jaw, the high, proud cheekbones and chiselled mouth.

"Heartbreaker", the old woman murmured knowingly to her cat, and moved on.

The boy didn't notice her arrival or departure. His eyes were fixed on the building. Red brick and eight storeys high, it looked like a run-down factory. But it wasn't a sweat-shop, as the chipped white sign fixed to the wall clearly showed. How many times had he looked at the sign now – thirty? Forty? He'd been waiting for his father for only ten minutes, bit it felt like ten years. He squirmed in the hard, cracked seat, recognising the familiar doubt that began to nibble at his insides, and almost moaned aloud. Why now? Why did he doubt now, when it was too late?

Again his eyes slewed to the white sign, and hurt him too. 'NEW YORK STATE-SIDE' the first line read in large black capital letters. Underneath, as if ashamed of themselves, smaller, lower case letters spelled out the words 'mental correctional facility'.

The boy looked away, a deep sigh ricocheting through his narrow chest. Looking back, he could have done things differently, couldn't he? Oh sure. His mouth curved into a smile so shockingly cynical that it would have made anyone watching stop and stare in amazement. It was such an old smile for a young face, but the boy already knew more about life than a child ever should. He knew all about despair and desperation. He could have done things differently. He could have told his dad what was going on, and then stood back and watched him do nothing about it. He could have kept his mouth shut, as he had done so often in the past. He could have run away from home, away from the slums, away from the cold.

The slums. A shudder ran through him as he recalled days spent dodging recruiting drug gangs always on the lookout for children to make addicts of and turn into runners and dealers. He thought of days spent at his overcrowded, crumbling school where he struggled to learn, aware that education was his only hope. Oh, yes, he could have run away, but he couldn't have abandoned Honey. Not after his mother, had mad him promise to look after her.

The building door opened and the boy tensed, the cold forgotten as he watched his father walk down the steps. He was only forty, though he looked as if he had the weight of the whole building on his shoulders. But he didn't look back as he walked to the car, and for that the boy was grateful. The gust of wind that blew into the already arctic interior when the door opened turned the boys hands blue, and he quickly stuffed them into his too-small blazer. Would his father take him to school, or would they both go home?

The car started with a dry, rattling cough, and he blinked back rapidly gathering tears. The tears surprised the boy. He hadn't cried since he was a toddler and nothing had made him cry since – not the sly beatings, nor the lies spread about him, nor Honey's tearful questions that always started the same – "why?" Why? How could the boy answer his baby sister when he didn't even know the answers to his own whys?

Why had he done it? Why had he run with Honey in his arms all the way to the police station, knowing that he would never be able to undo it, once it became official? Had it really been fear for Honey's safety, as he'd first thought? Or was it his own fear that propelled him? Had he simply grown too tried of being afraid that he had betrayed one of his own?

The car kangarooed away from the kerb, and the boy cast a quick glance at his father's face. It was grim, and grey, and old. "Dad…" he said but stopped as his father raised a huge, gnarled hand. The gesture was at once angry and hopeless. The boy knew how he felt.

"Don't talk unless you can improve the silence," his father advised grimly. His son recognised the old Vermont proverb immediately and swallowed back an almost unbearable sob of grief. Vermont, where the view was green, and the air was pure, and he still knew what hope meant.

The boy might not trust his instincts anymore, but he trusted his brain, which had always been bright and true. He has done the right thing for both Honey and himself. But, as the car pulled out into the traffic and belched is way into the grey November day, the boy's intellect told him one other thing – that he would never forget this day, or the lessons he had learnt. Do what you must, and pay the price. It was a simple philosophy, but it was a truth that had been hard-earned. Oh, yes. Very hard earned…

And inside the red brick building, from behind a barred window, two dark eyes watched the car until it was out of sight, and that owner of those eyes knew something too. He would never let the boy forget. Somewhere, way back in the bowels of the building, someone was screaming, but it was in perfect silence that the vow was made. Never forget. Never forgive, never let the one who had put him here live in peace…….