I of course do not own any of the characters in this fanfic as they all belong to J.K. Rowling.
Here's my first revised chapter (or totally new :P)! i hope you all enjoy it! Leme know what you think! I really want feedback!
CHAPTER 1: Homecoming
Harry rested his back against the baseboard of his bed and admired his handy work. It had taken him days, but he had finally managed to completely strip the walls of their terrible old silver and green paper in a fashion that he was sure would have done his godfather proud. He and Hermione had removed it in ribbons, careful not to damage any of the precious photographs and paraphernalia that had plastered the walls. Then, in a most remedial and terribly Muggle-like manner, they had slowly and delicately cut the wallpaper to the very edge of each photo so that it was, now, only visible at the back of the image. The work had been slow and tedious, but made lighter by Ron's incessant stream or bored commentary and completely worth wile. Having been so successful in this first endeavor, Harry took his fantastic method a step further and proceeded to blast away the wall occupied by Mrs. Black's portrait. Though unnervingly loud and messy, it had produced the desired effect and the wall had been easy enough to replace.
Next Harry had removed each and every house elf head from its mount by the stairs and stripped the horrible Black family tree from the wall. After framing and packaging those relics he wished to keep, and disposing of those he did not, Harry was delighted when his overly enthusiastic realtor had informed him of how favorable these "household repairs" would prove in trying to sell the place. As a matter of fact, she encouraged him to continue to repaint, regrout, and update the few appliances that dwelled within in the hopelessly outdated house, all of which he happily did. His work kept him busy while he tried not to think of the "Marvelous Adventures"- as the Prophet so delicately phrased it- of the past several years.
However, Harry soon found that forgetting would be more of a triumph than his complete home makeover, for even as he rested, his own face watched him haughtily from the front page of that day's paper, the caption reading "The Boy Who Lived: Hero or Lunatic? A new novel by Rita Skeeter." Ginny had removed this page from the Prophet when she had retrieved it that morning but it would have been difficult to miss the fact that his paper was missing its front and back pages. So over a breakfast of biscuits and tea, he had posed to her the question of "uhm, Gin, what did you do to my paper?" She had been reluctant to hand it over and only did so after his relentless insistence that he could handle it, whatever it was. He wished now that he had never asked though, as this piece of news had dampened his entire day, raising his level of irritation at the world as a whole to a surprising new high.
Visitors had been scarce at 12 Grimmauld Place over the last few weeks, partly due to its utter state of dusty disarray, but mostly to the fact that it was constantly swarmed by an ever eager mob of reporters. The secret of the house having been betrayed to the Ministry earlier that year, its location was now anything but a secret and, save the Weasley's, Hermione, and occasionally Luna and Neville, no one seemed valiant enough to brave the throng. Even Harry had recently become very grateful for the existence of the floo network which he now used exclusively for his various comings and goings. As if these intrusions weren't enough, the address had been let slip again in an article in the Prophet at the beginning of the summer, and witches and wizards with cameras and autograph books had since taken to camping in the square alongside the paparazzi.
Ginny and George found it all incredibly amusing and took great joy in taunting and tormenting the assailants from within the house. It was for their sake, and that of the house's resale value, that Harry had resisted blacking out the few windows entirely. Screwing with the reporters was the first activity that Harry had witnessed to make George smile since Fred's death and he could not bring himself to rob him of this simple solace. And as much as he hated to admit it, Harry took a sort of sadistic pleasure in their discomfort as well. In fact, the highlight of his summer may very well have been the first and only day that Rita Skeeter had brazenly approached the house and knocked on the door, to which George had responded by conjuring and releasing a flock of abnormally large and seriously agitated pigeons through an upstairs window onto the square.
Yes, Harry had no doubt that it was time to move, and he did not even feel as though he was doing wrong to sell the home that Serious had left to him, as his godfather had hated the place with undying fervor. Serious, Harry imagined, would probably have rather seen his childhood home burnt to the ground though, than refurbished and marketed. Harry chuckled to himself though he really didn't find the concept funny. The number of unpleasant memories the place held had been simply too great for either of them to bear, and Harry found himself desiring more and more these days to leave them all behind.
Furthermore, Hermione had taken up a new cause, unfortunately for Harry, one that she believed would be to his benefited. She now crusaded with the same intensity with which she had supported SPEW, to have Harry see a shrink. Harry intended to purchase a simple, inconspicuous flat in Muggle London and had looked at several listings, all of which had proven to be conveniently located within a few miles of the offices of one of Hermione's chosen psychiatrists. After this recent discovery, Harry vowed to exclude her from any and all future apartment searches, but he had a feeling that she would still find a way to insert herself into the process.
Harry fingered the bottle of firewhiskey that lay on the floor beside him. Clutching the neck in his fist, he lifted it to his lips and took a long, deep swig, replaced the cork, and pulled himself up on the bedpost. The clock downstairs chimed four-thirty and Harry knew that the mob outside of his house would soon begin to dissipate. He trashed the Prophet on the way into the basement kitchen. "Kreature," he called, "take the night off! I've got dinner covered!" A loud crack came from within the pantry and Kreature stuck his large head through the open door.
"Does Master have what he needs then?" He asked. "Perhaps he needs Kreature to go to the market?"
Harry shook his head. "No I've got everything, thanks." Kreature bowed his head and with a second resounding crack he disappeared. Harry aimed his want at the hearth and the fire crackled and sputtered out and then, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, he dragged tottered back up the stairs and into a very cold shower. Harry then threw some cloths into an overnight bag, locked the door and flooed over to the Burrow, still a bit lightheaded, though whether from the firewhiskey or the paint fumes was anyone's guess.
It was about five-thirty when Harry finally arrived in the Burrow's small sitting room and squeezed his way through the usual Sunday dinner crowd and into the tiny kitchen. He pecked Mrs. Weasley on the cheek and shook hands with Mr. Weasley and Bill who directed towards the back garden. He pushed through the screen door and into the backyard where he found Ginny sitting in the shadow of the old broom shed bent over a copy of Pride and Prejudice; a birthday gift from Hermione.
"Hey there stranger," he said, plopping into the grass beside her. She glanced up and then averted her eyes, doing her best to look disinterested.
"Sorry, what was your name again?" She asked, an impish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Harry sighed loudly and reached over to fold the corner of her page and remove the book from her hands. He tossed it across the yard and took her face in his hands. "Damnit, Harry! It was just starting to pick up too!" Harry ignored her and leaned his forehead against hers and kissed her, softly at first and then harder as she gave herself over to him.
He eased her onto her back and draped himself cross her. Her hands found holds in the fabric of his t-shirt and with the grip of a snapping turtle pulled him closer and lower. Harry's tongue begged her lips to part and they gracefully complied and their breath was coming hot and heavy when it came at all. Neither of them noticed as Percy sauntered into the yard and bent to pick up the book, clearing his throat loudly. Both heads snapped up and Harry all but flew off of Ginny, landing flat on his back in the overgrown grass.
"Are you enjoying this, Ginny?" Percy asked, brandishing the book in her direction.
"Oh! Uhm yea, its… its good so far…" Harry watched from the ground as her cheeks flushed that same red color that Ron's ears were so apt to turn. He tried to suppress a smile but she'd seen him out of the corner of her eye and shot him a look that would have been truly menacing were she not the color of a beat.
"It's a classic in the Muggle world, so I've been told." Percy shifted uncomfortable in place. "Well, erm Mum's waiting for us inside. Everyone's here and we're ready to start." He turned, squared hi shoulders and hastened back inside. Harry sat up and looked at Ginny.
"Oh, he won't say anything," she assured him. "He's still trying to get everyone to like him again." She grinned. "C'mon, it's meat stew tonight." Harry returned her smile and allowed her to pull him to his feet. They pushed back into the already bursting kitchen and made their way over to the long table. Harry grabbed a Butterbear bear off the counter and threw a second one to a very sunburned Ron and Molly ladled out bowls of stew.
This was the first family dinner in weeks that had actually included the whole family. Ron and Hermione had gotten back only Tuesday from recovering her parents in Australia and all through dinner they regaled the family with tales of their travels. Hermione's parents sat at the far end of the table looking utterly, delightedly, bemused, they're eyes darting every which way as Mr. Weasley bombarded them with questions. Harry laughed quietly to himself and on several occasions attempted to serve as a buffer on their behalf, but to no avail.
Everyone had cleared out by eleven o'clock and after much coercion, Harry and Ginny convinced Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to let them clean up from dinner and they headed up to bed, leaving harry and Ginny truly alone for the first time all night.
"Are you coming with me into London tomorrow to look at flats?" Harry asked.
"Mhm," she said, rinsing a plate and handing it to Harry to dry. "I figure I should get a say in where I'll be living next year." She smiled and passed Harry another plate.
"So you're accepting then? You'll come live with me after school?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way." For a moment the only sound was that of the water sloshing in the sink as Ginny washed and Harry dried and then slowly Harry moved behind her. He lifted her long sweet-smelling hair off of the back of her neck and pressed his lips against her skin. She tilted her head to the side and a soft moan escaped her lips as he worked his way down her shoulder and across her collarbone. She pressed herself against his chest and the plate she had been washing slid out of her hands and hit the bottom of the sink, shattering against the porcelain. Water flew from the sink covering them both in a thick soapy film. "Shit!" Ginny gasped scrambling to collect the pieces while the sound of breaking china seemed to make the whole room vibrate.
"Do you think that woke them up?" she asked, flicking her wand at the dripping pieces of plate. "Reparro."
"I'll go check," Harry whispered scanning the dark hallway and then disappearing around the corner. Ginny leaned against the counter and raked her hand through her hair. She took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to regain her composure, not that composure really mattered with Harry; not when it was just the two of them.
"You're all wet baby," Harry cooed from the doorway. Ginny blushed, she hadn't even noticed him return, and the way was watching her- so intently, adoringly, so hungrily; it sent the most wonderful shivers across her skin and through her whole body.
"Are they still asleep?" she asked, voice hitching. He nodded and moved towards her and he wrapped his arms around her waist, ready to pick up right where they had left off. He pulled her against him, his soaking wet shirt chilling her stomach. "You are too," she breathed. "You're soaked too." He pressed his nose against her cheek and smiled as she clutched at the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head. He lifted her onto the counter and she dug her fingers into the back of his neck as he slid his hand up her tank top.
They were barely aware that a light had been lit in the stairwell and Harry scarcely had time to remove his hand from her breast before a sleepy-eyed Ron appeared in the doorway. "Oy, Harry you coming to bed?" He wiped his hand across his face and shone his wand-light into the kitchen. "What in the name of Merlin's saggy old balls is going on in here?" He demanded, fully taking in the scene before him now and suddenly much, much more awake. "Why're you so soaked Ginny. And where the bloody hell is Harry's shirt?"
"I don't have to answer to you!" She snapped indignantly as she leapt off the counter, clearly angry at the interruption.
"We were washing dishes and we had an accident," Harry muttered, equally annoyed with Ron's intrusion.
"Yea? Some accident! It'd better not be the kind of accident that gets you pregnant!" he called, following his sister into the hallway.
"OH DON'T YOU DARE!" She whispered menacingly, her terrible temper flaring. "Not after what I heard you and Hermione doing in the garage the other night, you don't!" Ron's ears blazed crimson but he remained speechless. "Yeah, that's what I thought! Didn't think noknew you were there did you?" she barked, turning on her heel and storming into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
"What're you laughin' at?" Ron asked, turning on Harry. "You're in deep shit, you know."
"Yeah. Yeah Ron, just go to bed mate," Harry sighed, following a muttering Ron up the many flights of stairs to his bedroom, extinguishing the lights behind him. "You can yell at me all you want in the morning."
"Don't think I won't," Ron grunted. "Don't think I won't."