NEW AUTHOR'S NOTE. PLEASE LOOK. (11/9/06)

Author's Note: Ok, it's been a while. Actually…it's been a painfully long time. I've neglected you all cries. But the story wasn't making too much sense and had no real direction. Therefore, I am completely removing the first chapter. To tell the truth, I intended that to be a one-shot, but found it too short. In essence, I got too cocky and thought I could turn that kind of dramatic, dark encounter into a full-fledged, humorous (or at least, I hope so?) story. I can only wish that I invite more loyal readers/reviewers this time around, with little additions (aka major plot changes) and revisions. So for any new readers, ignore the author's note at the beginning and end of chapters 1 and 2…ok. Again, really sorry

Disclaimer: Daniel Radcliffe poster still tacked up in my room? Yes. Own Harry Potter? No.
Warning: Unless you are very shy, this chapter should be no problem. Well…there's a bit of…salty language and a compromising situation, but you'll be fine. After all, you did decide to read a rated "M" fic…or perhaps, you're just a poor kid that thought "M" meant 'Mermaid' or 'Marshmallow' or 'Magical Mickey Mouse.'

Chapter 1: A Message

"Oy! You prat, get over here!" Ginny yelled to no one in particular, flopping herself on the plush sofa and listening to the Weird Sisters' Latest and Greatest hits on WWN. Automatically, four boys hurried into the room, not giving Ginny enough time to perform her infamous bat-bogey hex on a passing Weasley. Or Potter.

"No, no. Not you all. My boyfriend prat," she grunted, attempting to conceal a smile at the 'boyfriend' part of the sentence.

"You know, Gin," Fred started, giving his 'I'm going to say something so idiotic, it will be amusing' look, "If you're going to act like a troll, it's best not to smile. George and I once saw a smiling troll, and it definitely took away from the face value. Kind of makes you forget that you're standing in front of a thirty-foot creature with muscles the size of hippogriffs and a brain the size of a pistachio."

Ginny scowled. "Is that better?""

"No," countered George, "the troll didn't have red hair. It clashes horribly."

She swatted at her brothers as Harry strode into the living room, crooning to accompany the chorus of "Under Wraps," the number one hit of the year.

Unwrap her, unwrap her, don't dread to unravel
Her dead body soon will unwind.
Each layer so effete, with parasites and dysentery
She's haunting our eyes and our minds.

"Best keep that to yourself, dear," Molly Weasley chuckled slightly.

"Yeah, don't want to go scaring off all the kiddies. And gnomes," Ron said with an obvious snicker.

Harry threw a discarded Puking Pastille at him and missed, instead reaching over to put an arm around Ginny. The family sat comfortably together, taking no notice at Ginny's gradual hair-stroke or Harry's quick back-rub. The Weasleys had gotten used to this arrangement months before, when the witty banter between Harry and Ginny turned into idiotic grins and not-so-playful touching. The grandfather clock to the left of the sofa gleamed with careful polish and repeated wood-stain; six of the nine hands were pointed at 'home.'

"Big day tomorrow," yawned Mr. Weasley, "School shopping is past necessary. You lot better get to bed soon, we're going to be waking quite early so we can come back to the Burrow for a late lunch." Not one person budged. Even Pigwidgeon was sitting docile in his cage, hooting every so often for no reason at all.

"Come on, up you get!" ushered Mrs. Weasley, her permanent nagging-mother side kicking in after few moments of dormancy. "I don't want one complaint tomorrow, it's strictly Flourish and Blotts, the Apothecary, and Madame Malkin's…if you need anything, Harry dear."

Harry shook his head and smiled, knowing that in between these trips to 'two stores only' lay Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, Quality Quidditch Supplies, Eyelop's Owl Emporium, and now, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

He didn't dare tell the Weasleys that he wasn't planning to attend Hogwarts at all this year…to finish his N.E.W.T.s, win the Quidditch Cup for the fourth year in a row, earn the House Cup..gradu—he would miss Hogwarts graduation, something he had looked forward to for six years, since the first day Hagrid had broken into a tiny, dingy shack and told Harry that he was a wizard.

He couldn't bear to see their faces, especially Ginny's, when he told them that he was not boarding the Hogwarts Express on September 1. The Weasleys were the only family Harry ever had, and he was lying to them and deserting them—his best friends, his girlfriend, and his surrogate parents.

Maybe I shouldn't do this. I could find the horcruxes after Hogwarts and Ministry training…as an auror. But...—Harry shook his head defiantly. The cause was worth it.

"Arghhhhhhhhhhhh, mum, go bloody away!" The patch-work quilt shifted, revealing a large, talking lump.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley, if you use that language with me again, I'll force down an Acid Pop and curse your mouth shut so tightly that—" Mrs. Weasley began in a warning voice.

"I get it, I get it, I'm awake now! Why do we always have to floo? Why can't I side-along apparate with Harry?" Ginny complained, pushing off the down-comforter and tying her unruly hair into a messy ponytail. "Lot of good that Sleek-Eazy did. Now it's so straight that it's poking into the pillow." She grumbled, getting down from her bed and putting on a robe.

She bent to pick up a mussed towel from the ever-growing pile of garments assembled on her floors, tripped over an Owl Treat and hit her bedpost, finally landing with a thud on the floor. Ginny yelled in frustration and grimaced at Ron, who had ran from the shower to see what was going on. He burst out laughing and dodged the same Owl Treat, which was now flying through the air with great force.

"Settle down, you two," Mrs. Weasley idly, directing Ginny's clothing to the closet with her wand. "You know Harry can't apparate, he just turned seventeen last month. Floo is safer, and Tom is allowing us to use the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace. Poor dear, no one has time for a drink at the pub anymore—he's losing business. We'll get some scones and tea from there this morning. Ginevra, go wash up now. We need to leave at eight o'clock, on the dot." Wrapping her towel around her and throwing off her robe, Ginny stalked to the bathroom. Blast, someone's in there. It's probably just Ron trying to have a go at me. "GET OUT, RONALD! I need to shower, you git! Just because your filth cannot be washed off with one shower doesn't mean the rest of us—" she trailed off, seeing a very bewildered Ron in the hallway. Clearly, he was not in the bath. He shook his head and shut his door, violently drying his hair with a towel at the same time.
Thirty seconds later, the bathroom door opened—revealing a boxer-clad, dripping-haired Harry Potter. He looked around indignantly, ready to row with whoever disturbed his hot shower. Upon noticing Ginny, however, he stared openly and gave an odd, dreamy sort of smile. It was then that Ginny suddenly realized she was wearing nothing but a towel. Horrified, she ran into the bathroom and attempted to shut the door as fast as possible, silently praying that none of her brothers saw the previous scene.

"Gin…Gin, it's okay. Let me come in," Harry coaxed patiently, feeling quite embarrassed himself. A small squeak emitted from the other side of the door, but it swung open nevertheless. He approached Ginny slowly, bracing her shoulders and caressing them at the same time. "Hey, you don't have to be shy, it's only us!" He said this with absolutely no conviction, and it was evident. Instead, he was staring at her. And apparently, Ginny was beginning to notice that Harry was two feet of fabric away from starkers. He was, quite simply, unbelievable— adorned with lean muscles from years of Seeking, soft, tanned skin covering his taut body in a way that clearly indicated rapid maturation. His clover-green eyes glowed in anticipation as Ginny ran a hand through messy, black hair. Harry shuddered, even from this minimal touch, and grasped her curvy hips in response. As he brought his lips down to hers, he lifted Ginny and pressed her body flush against the cold, bathroom tile. Her hands traveled down his body, feeling every crevice in this new territory and finally halting at the base of his stomach. Harry steadily lowered her towel, brushing the skin of her neck and chest with his lips. Ginny let out a soft moan and pulled Harry's head back up to hers, returning the favor.

"Harry, mate? Have you seen Ginny because I…" Ron looked up and positively shrieked.

"What…what …WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Harry instantly let go of Ginny and ran out of the bathroom, looking abashed.

"We were snogging, until you came," Ginny retorted hotly, rubbing her backside from a second fall that morning. "And now you've scared Harry off. It's one thing to ruin your own love life, Ronald, but don't go sabotaging mine! He's your best mate, for goodness' sake!"

"That…that was not snogging. You were…you were…shagging?" Ron finished weakly, not sure how to react. A door slammed in his face.

After a quick breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron, the group made their way through an empty Diagon Alley, uncharacteristic even at this time of morning. Ever since the Dark Mark had last been conjured, the third time that very summer, Minister Scrimgeour had tightened security on all of the wizarding world and consequently, increased fear. The Ministry Pamphlets and notices on doors had progressively become more explicit and cautionary—now, simply bearing the suggestion to stay inside as much as possible. Harry scowled whenever he saw these; Scrimgeour obviously didn't realize that Voldemort could kill anywhere…even at the Ministry of Magic itself.

As planned, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley went to Madame Malkin's while the boys ventured toward Flourish and Blotts. As the morning went on, Ginny grew more impatient, finally lashing out as an assistant pricked her for the fifth time in one robe fitting. "Look, you tart, I've fallen twice today, been attacked by the biggest git of my six brothers, flooed here and got soot all over my face and hair, almost broke my teeth trying to eat a misplaced cinnamon stick in my scone, burned my tongue with salty tea, and now, have been poked with a bloody pin five times. Don't you dare stick that thing anywhere near me again, otherwise I will personally pull your hair out: one strand at a time," Ginny fumed, turning a violent shade of red and squeezing the scone in her hand to a pulp. The shop girl looked very frightened and a little bit sick at the prospect of this, and immediately ran to the back room to fetch Madame Malkin.

"Well, well. It seems like the Weaslette has grown a backbone," drawled a nearby voice. It was so familiar—only a little deeper, that throaty, sarcastic, sexy voice. I know…it's—Draco Malfoy appeared from behind a rack of Women's dress robes, complete with a smug look that evidently showed he had heard the whole…er…conversation between Ginny and the Madame Malkin's employee.

"Sod off, Malfoy, I'm having a bad enough morning as it is, I don't need you to make it worse," Ginny said in a tired voice. "And Ron," she added, not looking directly at him.His platinum blonde hair gleamed in the candle light of the store, and he smirked.

"Who said anything about 'making it worse'? I was simply admiring your pointedness and articulation. Nothing wrong with that, is there, Ms. Weasley?" Draco glanced over at the now weeping shop girl, now being patted and embraced by Madame Malkin. "She's quite irritating, isn't she? Great shag, but bloody fucking annoying. What a pity." He turned back to Ginny, who was determined not to look at him at all. "So, where's Saint Potter? Or should I say your sex slave, shag buddy, snog-ee?" Malfoy's smirk grew wider.

"We haven't had s—hang on, what about you? What, your Death Eater mates dropped you? Your little Dark Lord chucked you out of his fan club?" Ginny was annoyed, but moreso curious.

"That's none of your concern, Weaslette. Watch out, little girl, Potty, Mommy, and Daddy aren't here to save you."

Ginny finally looked at him, giving a steely glare to show she wasn't threatened. Nevertheless, she looked around the shop for anyone that she knew; Mrs. Weasley was nowhere in sight, having gone to the Spice Shop next door to stock up on cooking supplies. Blast, she thought, how will I get out of this now? I don't even have my wand with me. But Draco was already halfway out the door.

"Happy hunting, Little Red. I'll see you in September," he stalked out with a glance at Ginny and an evil grin.

As predicted, bags of much more than books, parchment, and potion supplies were strewn on the carpet of the Burrow's living room. It was the night before the gang was due back at Hogwarts, and it was an understatement to say that nobody was excited for school. Fred and George had apparated in, bringing goods from their shop to commemorate Ron and Harry's seventh year.

"Remember, hit Filch with a load of these when you're under the Invisibility cloak," Fred reminded them, shoving over some off-colour capsules and whirring silver objects.

"And put this in the suit of armor next to the Slytherin Common Room," George interjected, handing over a clear box of dangerous-looking red powder.

Ron took the presents eagerly, inquiring as to which thing did what. Harry simply smiled and shook his head, thinking about how to convey his message to the Weasley Clan in just a few minutes. As if on cue, a Great-Horned-Owl flew through the open kitchen window, and Harry immediately recognized it as a Hogwarts school owl. "Barnaby," as Ginny had affectionately christened it in second year, came bearing a yellowed parchment envelope with the infamous acid-green writing.

Mr. Harry Potter
Living Room
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole

He picked up the letter with numb fingers, wondering what it could possibly say—after all, it was a day before school started; he couldn't have gotten in any trouble yet. Harry broke the wax seal and emptied out the parchment inside, revealing a single sheet with spindly writing…which he distinguished as none other than Minerva McGonagall's. He immediately began reading, Ron glancing nervously over Harry's shoulder.

Dear Mr. Potter,
As you may know, term begins tomorrow, September 1. However, the events of last June have taken both our Headmaster and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—and as you can deduce, the Hogwarts Staff, myself included, have had little luck finding one who is determined or experienced enough to fill the post in these uncertain times. I realize that you, yourself have not completed the required N.E.W.T.s to become a qualified Hogwarts Instructor or Ministry employee, but the courage and impenetrable affinity you have shown for this area is enough. In short, I am offering you a job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School, and have no doubt that you will succeed beyond measure. I will be expecting you in my office, promptly twenty minutes before the Sorting Ceremony, to discuss your decision and if accepted, the logistics of the post.

Thank You,
Minverva McGonagall
Headmistress of Hogwarts

Harry fell on the floor, knocked out cold.

Author's Note: Hopefully, I'm back for good. I really hope it happens that way, because I remember loving every (well…most) concept of this story and wanting to finish writing it so I could give you some entertainment! The next few chapters proceed as they did previously, but please don't take the author's notes into consideration. By the way, this one is NEW, from November of 2006.

-Threadsofr3gret