A/N: Helloooo this is from a prompt blog on tumblr and then annerb told me to do it and then with the assistance of annerb and celtics534 I wrote this mess of a thing. I'm wanting to do a part 2...

Some people just have one of those faces. That 'tell me your life story at the check out' face, or the 'Of course I would like to help you move' face or in Harry's case the 'make puppy dog eyes at me and yes I will take care of you forever' face. It stems mostly from Harry's tendency to feel he can and should fix everything for everyone - Sirius calls it his hero complex.

It started when he was about five and a half with his holiday friend Gary Frampton's ill-fated sandcastle in Mallorca and continued right up through his school years which meant many nights spent as designated driver and whatever other borderline codependent type things Harry could undertake.

Really though, it's never been too terrible or permanently life altering. His mum was very big on making sure he took care of himself and didn't let people take advantage of him and his 'sweet, warm heart.'

Whenever she launched into one of her mini rants on the subject, his dad's face always tightened a bit and he became uncharacteristically quiet, just grunting out a short, 'your mum's right' and not much more. Though the rest of the day would predictably be characterized by noticeable closeness and affection often termed 'hovering' by Mrs. Potter and 'normal demonstrations of love' by Mr. Potter.

Harry knew some of that back story, the friendship turned sour, the hate and slurs and anger that rang the relationship death knell. The closest he'd ever gotten to gory details came courtesy of a late night drink with Sirius and Remus. The short, simple version was sweet, loyal, brave, fierce Lily being tossed over for racist, asinine, violent gang members. And James had some involvement in the final blow up that he's certainly not proud of, regrets to this day. Though, taking the full story into consideration, Harry thinks James probably showed a pretty high level of restraint. Sirius barked out a laugh at the recollection of 'fourteen-year-old prat James' and Remus assured Harry most of the regret was from a very ill advised date invitation.

After getting that much information Harry was first, not interested in hearing more about the greasy little arse, and second, fully understanding about his parents' reluctance to discuss the whole story.

When he'd said as much - more like slurred, since it was his first foray into the land of dark liquor - Remus' lips twitched with a grin and Sirius slapped him on the back and called him a chip off the old block.

Somehow, all this floods Harry's brain in the first few moments he sees the little ball of fluff curled on his windowsill.

At first, he thinks Mrs. Henley three doors down was right and the building is infested with vermin. It's a more distressing thought than most people really would think, removed from the situation. Having a rat in your home might not seem a big deal in the abstract. But once you see it curled up mere feet away from the couch where you dozed off in a post-midterms haze just a day or so before, it's a viscerally distressing thought.

Luckily, Harry quickly reaches the conclusion that if the invader were in fact a rat, it would have to be of the R.O.U.S, giant swamp rat variety and he's fairly certain that bit of the Princess Bride was part of the fantasy element.

Or at least he's hoping.

And apparently, it's his lucky day because the little thing rises onto three little paws and does the most adorable yawn-squeak-stretch combination Harry's ever seen. He blinks twice and steps closer to confirm that yes, it is a three-legged little cat, enjoying the late afternoon sun leaking in through his open window.

He's far from an expert, but if he were pressed, it seems like the feline's just barely past the cusp of kitten and Harry's instantly hit in his achilles heel - except instead of the proverbial puppy dog eyes, the cat blinks up at him with wide green eyes and lets out a soft mew.

And so, like the soft touch he is, it took all of about thirty minutes for Harry to decide not only that he was keeping the tiny ball of fluff, he'd named it Toothless. Damn, Sirius will not let this go.

It should be noted, that Harry being somewhat of a pushover when his heartstrings are tugged he's more than a little bit of a troublemaker. So when he realizes a vet should probably check his new flatmate out the thought that he's technically not allowed to keep said flatmate is a brief idea he really only takes into consideration in the sense that he lures the thing underneath his coat and keeps it tucked there as he skulks from the building.

Of course, his luck used up by the whole 'not a rat' thing, Harry runs into one of his neighbors as she's stepping off the lift. As if that wasn't enough, it's his fit and utterly fanciable neighbor with hair like a sunset and a grin that sends his heartbeat ratcheting up to what has to be an unhealthy tempo.

But the rose colored glasses of a fancy-from-afar don't keep him from noting the circles beneath her eyes, the tired slump of her shoulders. He's grateful in a sense, since his self preservation instincts are in complete agreement with his protective 'mother hen' tendencies and seem to demand he let her pass with a short smile and a dip of his head.

She answers in a similarly non-interactive manner and shuffles off toward her flat.

The first weeks pass in a haze of Netflix and cuddle with his new best friend, too much revision work, revision that turns to cat googling, and then more snuggling. Sirius, the ultimate pro-dog fanatic, feels the entire thing is a personal affront and Harry feels bad for half a second until Toothless clambers up on his chest and sniffs at his patchy 'it's almost finals' beard and curls up in a little ball. Then, all Harry can feel is a disgustingly warm feeling in his belly so Sirius can stuff it.

He tells him so, gets a proud huff in return, and the issue mostly drops.

As exams near, term papers pile up, and Harry's new best friends are JSTOR, his four pack of heavy-duty highlighters, and anything with high levels of caffeine.

Which means poor Toothless begins feeling neglected and shows his distaste for the current state of his life by meowing loudly and frequently. It's not too much trouble, once Harry enters that haze of focus that only comes during the final week of term so aside from a pang every time Toothless gives him a pitiful look across the mounds of textbooks and stray papers and whatever else litters the table he'd picked up at a flea market the week he moved in.

He's woken from a dreamless accidental kip post-exam four by increasingly loud slams at his door. Toothless is perched on the farthest sofa cushion looking guilty, but Harry's barely lucid enough to remember what day it is, let alone guess what the cat might've been up to while he slept.

The banging renews and and Harry stumbles to his feet and makes his way toward the door, yanking it open quickly enough that he nearly gets a fist to the face care of a certain gorgeous redhead.

He ruffles his hair. "I uh - I hope whatever's bothering you hasn't lingered long enough you wanted to slug me."

That earns him a blink and something close to a smile before her expression hardens and her hands clench into fists. "You - I don't want to be a prat but," she shoots a glance up and down the hallway, "I'm not a total arse. This is a conversation for inside."

Harry leans up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. "So you interrupt my study session," he pauses when she eyes his bedraggled hair and clothes, "You interrupt me, violate the quiet sanctity of my home, and then invite yourself in?"

She snorts. "Quiet. Right. I'm asking for your own benefit. Is it that much of a problem to let a friendly neighbor inside?"

"Seemed more panicked than friendly," Harry corrects, glancing up and down the hall, "Is the building on fire?"

"Just let me in, 12G, yeah?"

"Mum always told me not to let strangers inside."

"Ginny Weasley. Year Four. Currently regretting most of my life choices which include a lot of extracurriculars and neglecting my personal hygiene."

Harry's eyes narrow but he steps back with a nod, though not before a pointed sniff in her direction, "You smell alright."

Ginny scoffs and tugs a chair out at his kitchen table, planting herself on the seat like she owns the place. It's an odd thought to have, but Harry finds himself not minding, feeling like maybe she does own the place a bit.

"Of course I smell alright. I'm a gift. Now bring it out."

"Bring what out?"

"The elephant in the room," Ginny starts, then pauses, her eyes darting down toward Toothless as he trots in, "Or perhaps kitten in the room would be more appropriate."

"I'm watching it for a friend."

She fiddles with one of the many pencils strewn across the table - No.2 for practice tests. "Sure. Regardless of whether I choose to believe that poorly crafted lie, the bylaws of the building are pretty explicit about the whole 'no living things other than humans and houseplants' thing."

Harry sets the kettle on, Toothless lingering close at his heels and watching Ginny with wide, lamp-like eyes. "Ah. So you're one of those strict, memorize the rule book and throw it at my enemies types."

"Pretty much none of that is true - except I do kind of want to throw something at you. No need for it to be a rule book though. I'm flexible."

"So this is...just your way of making friends?"

He takes out a couple of mugs and gestures toward Ginny with one vaguely. She nods and Harry drops a tea bag in each.

"Can I get at least a partial free pass for being knackered out of my wits?"

The kettle screams and Ginny winces at the sound as Harry pours the steaming water into each mug before retrieving any and all tea-doctoring accoutrements he keeps stocked. Ginny takes some care clearing a space at the table and Harry shrugs as best he can with a heavily laden tray in hand before tipping his chin toward the den. "How about we settle in on the couch?"

"Making a move on me? First the fancy tray and now a cozy couch session?"

"Sirius said he couldn't have me living like a heathen with no tea tray for guests," and to answer Ginny's barely formed question he adds, "Sirius is my godfather. Much less murdery than the Godfather godfather."

"Interesting, because as soon as you said 'loves tea trays and living a proper life' I thought, 'Hm, this Sirius fellow must be a criminal mastermind and murderer."

"You never know - his mum was batty."

Ginny snorts and squeezes a bit of lemon into her tea, then stirs some honey. "Anyway. I did want to complain about your cat - I don't really care if you've got an unapproved hotplate or whether you've got the required rug-to-square-foot ratio happening in here, but he's meowing all the time."

"Ah. Well that's my fault. Also what time would that be?"

"Yes. Unapproved cat. Belongs to you. It meows and wakes me up. Your fault," Ginny ticks off on her fingers before blowing on her tea and taking a tentative sip, "It's about half past eight."

"No, I mean he's normally fine. I've had him for a while and the meowing only started when I got too busy to play."

Ginny clucks her tongue. "What a terrible cat dad you are."

"Oh and you're some expert, Miss Rules and Regulations?"

"Well I've never gotten that one before."

Harry laughs, fumbling through the detritus that litters the table before his fingers finally settle on the half-demolished tin of biscuits sent in his latest care package. No matter how many times Harry pointed out that he came home often enough that mailing the boxes was kind of unnecessary, his parents were united in the idea that sending the box and getting a special gift from them in the interim between the visits was half the point. 'A little piece of home.'

It did feel a little illogical, but Harry admitted in the privacy of his mind that getting the notice from his building and finding the overly large package of things to spoil him did warm his chest. And he might have a box full of their notes - Mum's love and advice, Dad's reminders about having a good time, and Sirius' updates on the family coupled with as many dirty jokes as he could get on the page without anyone noticing.

All that said, Harry loves these biscuits, the little taste of home they bring. His dad has been making them since Harry can remember and James Potter has never been one of those 'if I make it all the time, it won't be special' people. If Harry asked for Dad's spicy gingersnaps, Harry got them. Lily warned that he would spoil Harry to death, but James loved to skirt the edge of safety and propriety, and Harry wasn't about to agree that he was being spoilt.

To this day, twenty some odd year old Harry feels like he's back in that warm kitchen, the cottage walls cozy and warm around him while he and James prepare to watch whatever football match was scheduled for the afternoon.

So when he breaks the tin open and offers it to Ginny, it's a big deal. He's not due for another fix before he goes home for a visit at the end of term and he'd been rationing the horde to the best of his ability since the package came just after Easter.

But he does, and if he really thought about it, the motivation is half her cheeky repartee and half the teasing glint in her dark eyes he could get lost in.

But she's far from the level of distraction Harry's reached thinking about her freckles and her hair and her - "Gone a bit cat-atonic there neighbor?"

"Harry - my name's Harry."

Her lips twist in a smirk. "Paw-don me."

"Trying to get me to agree your defining characteristic is puns rather than being a stick in the mud?"

"I'm very claw-ver."

Toothless wanders back over and pounces into Harry's lap, sniffing at the biscuits, purring contentedly as Harry's free hand scratches between his ears. "This is disturbing. Because all I'm hearing is you've been sitting in your flat angrily thinking of cat puns for - how long?"

"You're telling me copious amounts of caffeine, stress, and revisions have never made you get punchy?"

"Yes, so I eat jello and laugh when it wiggles," Harry smirks, "I don't sit in my room plotting revenge by puns."

Ginny takes another swallow of her tea and tsks. "Barely ten minutes in a room with me and already underestimating my skills. Not the first person to make that mistake."

She trails off and Harry quirks his brow. "See you said that like you're about to murder me. And you're probably low on sleep and patience. If the banging is anything to go by."

"Not all of us have the luck of deep, impenetrable sleep cycles," Ginny grumbles, swiping another ginger snap.

"Clearly you have a lot of thoughts on my abilities as a cat dad."

"Generally it's frowned on to sleep through your child crying."

"Noted. But I will say the little rascal was being melodramatic," Harry says, as Toothless turns wide green eyes on him and looks utterly betrayed. "Well you were. Full bowl and water dish, endless toys," he glances up at Ginny, "I even got him a cardboard sleigh with catnip in it."

Toothless walks a few small circuits in Harry's lap before settling down in a little ball, purring contentedly.

Ginny sets down her mug and begins working her hair into a loose plait. "Well I think you have your answer there," she gestures toward his lap while twisting the end of her braid with a tie, "Somebody's lonely."

Harry's eyes dart to hers and Ginny's cheeks flush. "Cats are pretty social, when they want to be, I mean."

"I uh- I mean I am lonely I guess," Harry says with a nervous chuckle, "Who else decides to keep a cat that snuck in their open window?"

"And in a flat that doesn't allow pets, no less."

"God - for someone who looks like they want to die when I say it, you really are obsessed with rules."

"Only when they exist to protect my already completely shite sleep schedule," Ginny grumbles, "Now be a good host and offer me more tea before I pass out on your table."

Grinning, Harry does as he's told and heads into the kitchen to refresh their teas. Maybe he's not the only lonely one.

By the time he returns with two steaming mugs, somehow Ginny's managed to get Toothless eating out of the palm of her hand. Literally.

"Do you - I think cats aren't supposed to eat ginger cookies."

"No they're not."

Harry blinks, stuttering to a halt so hot tea splatters over his fingers. "What the - are you poisoning my cat?"

Ginny rolls her eyes. "God, no. I had some cat treats - here," she waves him closer and grabs the tea towel from the proper godson tea tray. She lifts one mug and then the other from his hands, cleaning each and then reaching for his hands, "I stole some from my brother's girlfriend over the weekend. Thought I could get the loud cat to shut it with some 'carrot.'

Harry's 'a pretty girl is close' nerves are ratcheting up pretty quickly and he's really hoping Ginny's not one of those people who uses casual contact to take someone's pulse. It's particularly difficult when said pretty girl is staring into his eyes while slowly swiping at his fingers. His brain manages to grind into action. "And I get the stick?"

While Ginny laughs softly, Toothless weaves his way between their legs before pushing up on his hind legs and prodding Harry's shin, which luckily brings him back to reality and away from the shockingly detailed fantasy his overtired brain managed to work up in the last half a minute.

He clears his throat and Ginny takes a step back, gaze darting down to his hands - which she still hasn't released. "No burns?"

"Nah, I think I'm alright," Harry says, lifting his hands away and yes maybe he lets his thumb brush along her palm, but it's been established. He's lonely and tired and she's not telling him to shove off -

Before he can get up the nerve to do whatever he was going to decide to do that involved an eventual date and perhaps snog as the end game, a loud ringing sounds from the pocket of Ginny's joggers and she tosses the tea towel aside and grabs for her mobile.

With a heavy sigh, she silences the shrill noise and smiles ruefully. "That's my cue. Another exam tomorrow at noon and I'm only about halfway through revisions. I've grown to hate the sound of that alarm. May need to burn my phone."

Wincing, Harry passes her mug over and pats her knuckles as she accepts it. "My sympathies. I'll uh - Toothless and I will keep it down."

As if to show his agreement, Toothless rubs his little black and white spattered nose along Ginny's leg, purring contentedly.

"Hm, that would be good. And maybe I'll get some snuggles to buy my silence?"

Harry chokes. "I - snuggles - "

She bites her lip and crouches down to scratch behind Toothless' ears, then under his chin on that little tuxedo style patch of white. "Maybe you can explain to your poor hairless cat dad that I meant kitten cuddles?"

Flushing, Harry somehow manages to get Ginny out the door without much more embarrassment. Where had salty, overtired Harry gone? He was at least capable of carrying on a semi coherent conversation.

Harry's so busy with the self-flagellation that he nearly misses Ginny pressing a short kiss to his scrubby cheek. When she pulls away, it's with a wink for Harry and a little wave in Toothless' direction. "See you later boys."