Chapter One: In Which All is Well

A gentle breeze rippled the brown grass of the meadow, barely affecting the oppressive August heat. The sun beat down from its position high in the midday sky, scorching garden plants and people alike. A tinny radio was blaring out from under the shade of a large oak. "And now before we go over to Glenda Chittock on The Witching Hour, here's the weather report with me, Florence Knightly. The sun is still set to shine; the same as it's been doing since last of the dementors were driven out of Britain…"

The boy lying in the gloom under the tree's thick canopy stirred. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, and his round glasses sat askew on his pinched face. He looked like any other teenager, except a thin lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. But despite appearances, this was no ordinary boy. Harry Potter was a wizard, and currently the most famous wizard in the world. He had not once, but twice survived the Killing Curse, and brought about the downfall of the world's most feared Dark Wizard.

But now, the great Harry Potter, the chosen one, was snoring in the middle of a field, an undignified string of drool dribbling down his chin. The redheaded girl leaning against the trunk of the tree looked up from her book and laughed, lazily poking him with a foot. "Harry, wake up!"

He woke with a start, sitting up and wiping his chin. He blinked groggily. "How long have we been out here?"

Ginny checked her watch. "Oh, about three hours." Harry shuffled back to where she was sitting against the tree and closed his eyes. He put a hand to his forehead, tracing the scar with a long finger. He had been dreaming about it hurting again, worrying as he had been every day that his ordeal was not over, that Voldemort would find another way to return.

"It's over," he told himself fiercely. "He's never coming back."

Ginny looked up from her book again. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing…"

"Are you sure? You sound worried…" She looked up at him, her big brown eyes full of concern.

"I'm fine!" He got up, stretching his limbs that were aching from his awkward position on the floor. "Shouldn't we be getting back?"

"Probably." Ginny had closed her eyes and curled up in the place Harry had just vacated.

"Come on, Gin. Your mum would kill me if I left you out here by yourself."

"Fine," she muttered. She got to her feet slowly, yawning as she did so. She slipped her hand into Harry's and smiled up at him. "Let's go."

Harry led the way to the path back to the Burrow, trying to ignore his heart thudding painfully in his chest from Ginny's touch. He smiled contentedly, feeling the sunlight heat his body, and absentmindedly ran a finger along his scar again. It hadn't pained him for nearly three months. All was well.