- Chapter One -

Something Is Seriously Wrong with the Male Population

I've noticed lately, that when I'm angry, it's usually because the boys in my life are acting like idiots.

I can't believe Ron. It's bad enough Harry and I can't hold a casual conversation anymore without it leading to embarrassment and awkward silences, but now Ron's gone and ruined probably the last opportunity we'll have to be alone.

Well, at least I managed to give Harry his birthday present - even if it was cut short. Those few minutes before my dear big brother barged in were positively wonderful. If I close my eyes I can still feel his hands in my hair and his lips on mine. Ugh, I'd kill Ron but I know he means well. He's deluded himself into thinking that I need his protection. But I don't. I know perfectly well that Harry and I aren't getting back together. I just wanted to give him something to remember me by when he goes off on that mission from Dumbledore.

Dumbledore . . .

That's where all this started. After his funeral - when Harry turned to me - I knew, before he said anything, that he was going to end it. How could he not, him being the way he is? But I wasn't angry and I didn't cry (in front of him) because I've known this was how it was going to end. With him off trying to stop Voldemort. And I can't blame him for trying to stop him either. I can't get mad and storm around and pout that my life is so tough just because he's decided we stop seeing each other to protect me - even if it is unnecessary. He's lost everyone he's loved to Lord Voldemort. His parents . . . Sirius . . . and now Dumbledore too. If it were me - if my brothers or parents . . . Well, I'd want him finished and I'd want to be the one to finish him.

While I think of Harry, my mind drifts off to a fantastic fantasy of him and me and what we would have done if Ron hadn't interrupted. Just as it's getting good, however, Hermione bustles into my room.

Seems I can't catch a break even in my dreams.

"Sorry about Ron. I couldn't stop him. You know how he get's," she says sympathetically, sitting down on her camp-bed.

I'm staring out the window absent-mindedly as I reply, "It's okay. Ron hasn't ripped Harry's head off, has he?" I turn my head toward Hermione and see her trying to hide a smirk.

"No, Harry was able to calm him down. It's stupid the way he acts sometimes. He seems to think that Harry's trying to string you on."

I roll my eyes. "Honestly, you'd think I couldn't look after myself. I'm the one who kissed him!"

"Yes, well, Ron's just being ridiculous -"

"When isn't he?" I interrupt, flinging myself back onto my bed.

"And I think it's sweet -"

"It would be 'sweet' if I'd gotten to kiss Harry for more than a couple seconds," I remark. Hermione smiles and lays backward as well.

"At least you got to kiss him and you know he cares for you," she sighs grumpily, "I, on the other hand, would be quite happy if Ron even held my hand."

"Ugh," I say as I throw my pillow at her. "Please don't start on with your fantasies about my brother. It's gross enough I know you fancy him, but I don't want to hear about your love problems."

Hermione throws the pillow back at my head. "Oh, bugger off."

"Hey! Don't need to get violent with me just because you're having issues," I say teasingly, throwing the pillow at her again.

"You started it!" she laughs while throwing it back.

I dunk and reply, "I have no idea what you're talking about." And before I know it, we're having a full-fledged pillow fight before someone calls me down to the kitchen.

As we walk downstairs, Hermione tries to convince me she won our little pillow fight.

"Hermione, I'm sorry, but you simply did not win," I laugh.

"No, Ginny, I'm sorry you're so depressed about Harry that you can't even think properly. It's clear that I won," she replies sarcastically, giving my shoulder a little pat.

I shake off her hand. "Oh please! You were practically begging me to lay off. And I am not 'depressed' about -" Before I can finish, we walk into the kitchen and I see Harry practically sprint out the front door, Ron on his heels. Great. Harry can't even be in the same room as me now. Wonderful . . . On second thought, I think I will kill Ron.

Hermione gives me a sympathetic look before going to join my ex-boyfriend and soon-to-be dead brother. I sigh and turn my attention to the rest of the room, looking for the person who called me downstairs.

"Charlie!" My second-to-oldest brother, who's been in Romania working with dragons and recruiting foreign wizards for the Order, is standing next to my mum. They seem to be having a very important . . . discussion. Or should I say argument. Judging by Mum's face, she's seconds away from rampaging the kitchen in anger.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

I walk over to them standing by the dinning table. "You called," I say.

"Hey, Squirt (I hate that stupid nickname)," Charlie greets me, slinging an arm over my shoulders, "how have you been? Why don't we go and see if any of the others want to play a round of Quidditch." He says all this in quick successionand then turns us away from our mum and practically starts pushing me toward the door.

"Charlie Weasley, get back here right now and stop changing the subject. Your brother's wedding is tomorrow and you are getting a hair cut."

Charlie winces and drops his arm from my shoulders. He flops himself down into a dinning chair as an exasperated expression spreads across his face.

"Ginny, will you please explain to our mother that cutting my hair is a bad idea," he pleads.

I look over at my mum to assess the situation. You can always tell when she's willing to let something go or when she's just getting started. Fred and George are really great at it, and they taught me a few things. For instance, if her eyes are glaring furiously and her stance is confrontational - like it is now - it means she probably won't budge on the topic of discussion.

There's only one thing you can do in this circumstance . . .

"Sorry, Charlie, as much as I would love to argue with Mum about your hair issues, there has got to be something better for me to do."

. . . Leave before she starts spitting fire like an angry Hungarian Horntail.

"Go easy on him, Mum," I whisper to her as I slip by her and out the door. I walk through our neat and manicured garden that's usually unkempt and overflowing with weeds. It's seem less lively without all the little gnomes running around.

It's beautiful outside. The sun is shinning - a blessing that isn't taken for granted these days - and there's a nice gentle breeze. Perfect Quidditch conditions. In fact, if I wasn't currently pissed off at Ron, and Harry and I were on better terms I would gladly ask them to play a bit of Quidditch like Charlie had suggested, but that isn't likely to happen.

I decide to take a walk, thinking it will help me take my mind off things, but it doesn't really help. All I can think about is Harry and things I would like to say to him, but will never get the chance too. About how brave he is to be going after Voldemort and how much I care about him and how I wish he would let me come with him. About how much I want him to stay . . .

Pretty soon, I've walked a little way beyond the garden fence and am standing on a hill overlooking the small town below. The scarce smattering of trees give us just enough coverage to have some privacy from the Muggles who live down there. I sit down on the grass and ponder about what it's going to be like next term at Hogwarts. Without Hermione, who am I going to gossip about boys with. And with Ron gone, I'll have no brother to tease when he becomes too unruly. It's all so depressing, I consider hiding away in Hermione's beaded bag she showed me the other day that she's bewitched to be able to fit all their possessions in while their on their mission. By the time I devise a plan - that I know will never work, but was a fun way of distracting myself - it's almost noon and I know I should start to head back because people will be wondering where I am. However, the peace is so tempting I decide to wait just a little while longer.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I glance over my shoulder, see Bill walking casually toward me, and go back to gazing across the valley. I ignore him as he sits down next to me on the grass because I know what's coming. Instead, I watch the children down in the playground running around without a care in the world and wait for Bill to say something.

He must know something's wrong - he always knows when I'm upset, even when no one else does.

Bill's watching me out of the corner of his eyes, as if waiting for me to explode, but he knows I won't. I'm not the crying type, but that doesn't mean I don't have feelings, it just means I don't want to share them.

"What's up, Squirt?" Bill asks, right on cue. Ugh, I knew he wasn't going to let me wallow in self-pity peacefully. What an arse.

In an attempt to dodge the question, I reply, "Could you not call me that?" I didn't mean to say it so snarky, but Charlie had already called me that today and it was an annoying pet name. Just because I'm tiny doesn't mean people have to call me names. Plus, I just was not in the mood. Boy issues are one thing, but if people start going around calling me 'Squirt' all the time I might actually have to hurt someone. It seems to becoming a bit of an occurrence with the male side of my family to piss me off.

"What are you going to do about it, Squirt?" he teases playfully while ruffling my hair with his hand. Oh, it's on. Bill picked the wrong day to mess with me! I shove his arm away and fix him with 'the Mum stare' - a look that has terrified people everywhere.

Bill only lasts a few moments before turning away and covering his eyes. "Okay, okay, I surrender, just stop with the eyes!"

I stop and we stare at each other for a couple seconds before roaring with laughter.

"It's scary how good you are at doing that," says Bill. We laugh some more and then fall into a comfortable silence. I don't think I've felt this peaceful since those moments I spent with Harry on the grounds of Hogwarts. After the night Dumbledore died, everything has been tension, worry, and sadness.

The tranquility feels amazing and I allow myself to truly rest because I know it won't last forever. Voldemort will make sure of that. But for now, I lean against Bill and rest my head on his shoulder.

I start to think I'm safe until Bill ruins the moment by saying, "So, you never answered my question."

Damn it. He lulled me into a false sense of security and then snapped when I least expected it. Very clever.

I sigh. "It's nothing, Bill." Please drop it.

"That's not what Hermione said." She is so going to get a face full of pillow when I get home.

"What exactly did she tell you?" I ask cautiously. Maybe she told him I have foot fungus or something, instead of making the humongous mistake of telling him -

"Nothing much -" Whew "- just that it has something to do with Harry."

Perfect. Well, why don't Ron, Bill, and Hermione just hold a convention in the living-room and invite the whole family to discuss my problems. That way no one feels left out.

Bill's still waiting for an answer, so I say, "It was nothing. Ron was just being a prat." What else is new? When I don't elaborate, he nudges me in the side. Geez. "Ugh, you are so bloody annoying."

"Thank you."

I roll my eyes and huff. It's hard to believe that he's getting married tomorrow. Who'd want to marry a nosey git like him? Well, I guess he is marrying Phl - I mean Fleur. I've been trying to be nicer to her but sometimes it's hard when I think about all the extra chores I have to do because of her.

"Ginny?" Oh, right. Bill wants me to spill my guts. Sigh.

It seems the only way I'm going to get out of this is by telling him what's wrong, seeing as how I'm not old enough to use magic. "I was trying to give Harry his birthday present," (I don't think he needs to hear exactly what that was), "when Ron barged in, dragged Harry away, and accused him of stringing me on." The whole thing sounded even more ridiculous out loud.

Bill is thoughtful and quiet while he mulls this over. Then he says, "Yeah, Ron was being a prat." I snort. I knew the whole time it was the right idea to tell Bill the truth. "But he was also just trying to protect you," Bill continues. Never mind, I knew it was an awful idea. What was I thinking?

"Why am I the one who always needs protecting?" I mutter furiously. No, Ginny stay here. No, Ginny you're to0 young. No, Ginny it's not safe. "I can look after myself, you know," I burst out, "I'm not a child!"

Bill gives me a knowing look that makes me want to punch him in the face; the sodding berk. "Ah, I think we've found the real problem," he says in a disgustingly helpful tone.

"Shut it." I so don't want to talk about this.

"No. You're really upset because Harry won't let you come with on whatever he's doing."

I glare at the ground mutely, pulling fists full of grass up savagely from the earth like each blade has done me a great personal wrong, and then yell out, "It's not fair!" All the anger and fear threatens to bleed out of me as I furiously wipe away a stray tear that's leaked out of my eye against my will. Stupid tear, why can't you listen and stay were you belong? (Yes, I know I'm talking to an inanimate object, but incase you haven't noticed, I'm acting a bit crazy presently. I blame it on PMS and boys. Those two things always seem to be causing me problems.)

Bill looks shocked by my outburst and I know I must sound childish, but I don't really care at the moment, as I say, "Why does he have to be all noble and gentlemanly? Why can't he just be selfish like every other boy and forget about my safety?" I bury my head into Bill's neck as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. Brothers . . . one minute you want to strangle them and the next they're comforting you. It was enough to give a girl whiplash.

"I know it's hard," says Bill softly while he rubs my back. "But do you really think Harry wants you to be upset over this?"

"Yes," I answer stubbornly, and then I sigh. "No . . . I know why he's leaving, but that doesn't make it any better."

Bill held me close and kind of rocked me back and forth. It was nice. More tears welled up in my brown eyes as I thought of the first time I kissed Harry, in front of the entire Gryffindor House, when I had decided to show him how much I cared about him.

"What if I never see him again," I manage to choke out in a whisper, voicing what I've really been dreading since I heard Harry wasn't returning to Hogwarts. "What if I never see any of them again." The thought was unbearable.

Bill pulls back and looks into my teary eyes. "Hey," he replies, "I don't think that's going to happen. Harry can look after himself. He is the Chosen One, remember." Bill and I smirk at the title the Daily Prophet gave Harry last year. "And Ron might be thick sometimes, but he can duel with the best of them. Not to mention, Hermione is going with them and she's the brightest witch of her age. She'll be able to watch over them when their being blockheads." Bill pats my shoulder. "I don't think Dumbledore would give the three of them a job to do if he didn't think they could handle it. I've got faith in them."

I think about all the things Harry, Ron, and Hermione have been through since the age of eleven. Saving the Philosopher's stone, fighting a basilisk, saving Sirius, the Triwizard Tournament, fighting at the Department of Mysteries and at Hogwarts the night Dumbledore died. My confidence strengthens.

My voice returns and I say, "Thanks, Bill." Maybe confiding in my brother wasn't such a horrible idea. I'll have to thank Hermione. It's going to go straight to her head, of course, thinking that she always knows what's best, but, then again, she usually does.

"No problem, Squirt." Grrrr. I knew he'd find a way to ruin the moment.

Before I can hurt his half-werewolf arse, we hear footsteps approaching us. Both of us stiffen instinctively and draw our wands. We're sitting outside the protective spells that surround the Burrow and this person cold be anyone - friend or foe. For the first time, I realize how foolish it was to come out here with my guard down.

It turns out to be Hermione, calling us back home. Bill leaves after giving me another pat on the back, muttering something about Fleur probably looking for him. Hermione and I are left to walk back to the Burrow alone.

Hermione glances nervously at me, trying to access my anger like I did earlier to my mum. Apparently, I don't look like I'm about to spit fire because she says tentatively, "Are you mad at me?" Referring to fact that she sold me out to Bill that I was upset.

I decide to torture her for a few seconds. After all, I wouldn't want this to inflate her ego. I give her 'the Mum stare' (It's really one of the best facial expressions I've learned how to do). When I feel she's suffered enough, my face softens and I link my arm through hers. "Thank's Hermione. Bill was surprisingly helpful." She beams, and together we walk back to the Burrow, my family, and all the problems that go with them.

When we get back to the house everyone's bustling around the kitchen, getting things ready for Harry's birthday dinner. Facing Harry won't be as difficult now that I've had time to compose myself. Starting as of five seconds ago, I've decided that from now on, I'm not going to give Harry Potter a second thought. I'm going to move on with my life, find a reasonably handsome boyfriend, dye my hair black, get a tattoo, and move to Paris. It doesn't particularly have to be in that order, I'm not picky. I'd just like to forget that I ever had a mad crush on The Boy Who Lived. Is that too much to ask for?

Now, if only I could stop think about kissing him, and laughing with him, and the fact that I was starting to fall in -

Stop! Stop! Stop! I am so not going to go there.

To get my mind off Harry, I accept Mums offer to set the table for dinner. Hagrid, Tonks, and Remus are coming over so we moved the table out into the garden. As I walk outside, laden with dining utensils, I see Ron, Hermione, and Harry standing off to the side. Hermione's done a beautiful job decorating, turning the leaves on the trees gold with purple and gold streamers draping everywhere.

". . . Really got an eye for that sort of thing," I hear Ron say.

"Thank you, Ron!" Looking up from the plate I'm laying on the table, I see Hermione positively beaming at the acknowledgement. I snort; Ron has been trying to get back into Hermione's good book ever since the whole Lavender catastrophe. I think she's purposely trying to make him feel bad so he'll give her compliments, but he doesn't need to. Everybody knows by now that they both like each other, except for the pair of them. Those two might as well snog now and get it over with. Merlin knows they're both thinking about it.

Harry is smirking at his two best friends. Our eyes meet from across the garden and I give him a small smile - trying to convey to him without words that we're okay; he doesn't have to worry about stringing me along. I'm just glad he's been apart of my life. However, the moment passes and Harry quickly drops his eyes and turns to talk to Monsieur Delacour.

Sigh. Okay, seriously, no more thinking about Harry. I'm forbidding myself to even acknowledge his presence. In fact, If anyone mentions his name to me, I'm going to just turn around and walk away.

I finish laying the table and head back to the Burrow. In the kitchen, I find Charlie sitting at the table, running a hand over his now extremely short hair. I can't remember the last time it's ever been this short.

"Sorry about your hair, Charlie," I say sympathetically. As I pass him on my way around the table, I pat him on the shoulder. He never stood a chance against Mum when she's been stressed out to the max for weeks. Between preparing for the wedding; George losing his ear; Harry, Ron, and Hermione's announcement that they're going to drop out of Hogwarts; and whatever other terrible thing that's happened since the last time we turned on the Wizarding Wireless Network; Mum wasn't to be argued with these days.

I'm almost to the staircase when Charlie suddenly says, "Hey, Gin, have you given Harry his birthday present yet, 'cause I forgot -"

"- La, La, La, I can't hear you," I interrupt, sticking my fingers in my ears, and running up the stairs to my room. Charlie probably thinks I'm on drugs right now, but at least I stuck to my 'No Thinking About Potter' plan.

In the end, after standing in my room and staring at the wall, I realized that no matter what happens between me and Harry, I can't run from it. Not when we're living in a time when our world could be turned upside down in a heartbeat. I simply have to focus on the present - not the future.

Five minutes later, I'm outside talking to Remus and Tonks, who've arrived for dinner. I love it when Tonks comes to visit. She's like the older sister I would trade any of my brothers for. Joking, I love my brothers. And sometimes I love them so much I want to kill them.

"How are you, guys?" I ask, giving Tonks a huge hug. Ever since their wedding she's looked absolutely radiant. Nothing but smiles and glowing like she's got a wonderful secret. I'm glad a least someone is enjoying herself in these dark times.

"Great!" Tonks replies as she casts Remus a loving look while he shakes my hand.

Remus gives me a weak smile that looks more like a grimace. Hmm, I can't quiet place it, but he doesn't look so 'great'. You'd think a guy would be a little happier after finding someone who loves him.

Obviously something's going on and Merlin knows I'm in need of a distraction. I give Tonks a look that clearly says 'we need to talk'.

She understands immediately, turns to her husband and says pointedly, "Love, why don't you ask Bill about getting some gold out of my vault."

Nothing get's by Remus, who chuckles, "Ah, I can see when I'm not wanted," before walking off to find someone else to talk to. It's plain to see he's been trained to recognize when his wife wants some girl time. I think life would be much simpler if every male learned how to tell when females want to talk about them.

When Lupin leaves, Tonks grabs my hand and leads me over to the dinning table. Hermione wanders over to join us as we sit down. With everything that's been going on, it's been awhile since the three of us have had a nice gossip session.

Once settled, I cut right to the chase, "So, how have you and Remus been getting on?"

She sighs. "I know what your thinking, but everything's going fine. You know how he is, he can't just let himself be happy, he needs to second guess everything. If Remus wasn't worrying about hurting me, then he'd be worrying about something or other."

"How's he handling his transformations," Hermione asks.

"He's . . . handling them. Lycanthropy isn't exactly a walk in the park." Tonks's voice drops. "I think, the pain is getting worse."

Poor Lupin. "What would cause that?" I ask, looking between Hermione and Tonks.

Hermione answers my question, "I've read that, when experiencing depression or going through a change, pain during the transformation can increase."

How awful. I can't imagine how terrible the pain must be for Remus or the anguish Tonks feels having to live with someone who goes through that kind of agony and not being able to do anything about it. They're both stronger than I'll ever be.

"Enough about that," Tonks says, wanting to change the subject. "How are the two of you handling your boy problems?"

"Blah," Hermione and I say simultaneously after looking at each other for a couple of seconds. No one told me that when you become a teenage girl, boys become even more annoying then what they already were to begin with.

Before Tonks can question our response, Mum walks out into the garden with Harry's snitch-shaped birthday cake.

"I think we'd better start without Arthur," Mum says to the gathering. "He must have been held up at - oh!"

Suddenly, a streak of light comes flying across the yard and onto the table, where it changes into a bright silver weasel - my father's patronus.

"Minister of Magic coming with me."

Everyone stands speechless staring at each other. No one seems to be breathing and it's so quiet you could've heard a pin drop.

Then as if breaking out of a stupor, Lupin hastily says, "We shouldn't be here. Harry - I'm sorry - I'll explain another time -"

He rushes over to the table, grabs Tonks's wrist, and the two of them climb over the garden fence and vanish.

Nothing's making sense - from the Minister coming home with my father to Tonks and Remus's bizarre exit - so naturally I turn to Hermione, the girl who always knows what's going on, but she looks just as confused as everyone else. One thing's for sure - this can't be good. The last time Scrimgeour showed up at our house unexpectedly he tried to make Harry a Ministry mascot, and my brother, Percy (the prat), had gotten a face full of mashed parsnips. Admittedly, that last bit wasn't so bad because Percy's been acting like a royal arse.

Mum looks thunderstruck. "The Minister - but why - ? I don't understand -" Before Mum can finish, Dad appears with the grizzly haired Rufus Scrimgeour.

The Ministry sure does a great job finding the worst wizards in the world to be Minister of Magic. The only reason Scrimgeour came to our house in the first place was because he had to give Harry, Ron, and Hermione their gifts from Dumbledore's will. According to Hermione, the jerk was trying to weasel out of giving them anything at all. Something about waiting until the last-minute and refusing to give Harry Godric Gryffindor's sword that Dumbledore left to him.

"I love how our Ministry can hide behind laws that have nothing to do with the situation!' Hermione is ranting hours later as we get ready for bed. "How could he even suggest that Dumbledore would give us something to do with the Dark Arts!"

I pull back my sheets and climb into bed, letting Hermione blow off some steam. "I know, he's a sodding -"

"He's an arse, that's what he is."

See, there's no point trying to get a word in when she's worked up.

"To think that these people are supposed to be in charge of bringing down Voldemort is laughable," she continues, flopping into bed as well.

I look towards her and crack a smile. "Don't worry, with you hunting after Voldemort, the Ministry will be begging on their knees with gratitude when you take him down. They might even ask you to step up and become the youngest Minister of Magic ever just to show how much we can't live without your brilliance, Hermione."

"Oh, shut up," she mutters, hitting me in the face with her pillow.

"Are we going to start this again?"

We laugh, and I'm glad I've pulled her mind away from Scrimgeour. Minutes pass and the two of us settle into a quite silence. I think about the emotional day I've had while I gaze out at the moon through my window. I hate emotional, so it's no surprise that I am dead tired. Trying to grapple with stupid feelings can really exasperate a girl.