1.

They talked for a long time. It was clear to Harry that Ginny was aware of at least the bigger things that had happened, but she wanted to hear it all over again. Harry realized that when he'd first fallen asleep and found her right there waiting for him, his surroundings had been indistinct and amorphous. Now they slowly clarified. The more Harry talked, the more Ginny responded with quiet murmurs, the more it became clear to him that they were sitting in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup.

"The twins had to run their joke shop by mail order," he told her. It was a windy day, and he hunched his shoulders. "But they're getting ready to re-open up their store… They went down to Diagon Alley the other day."

There was a lull in the conversation. Harry found himself eyeing her as she looked out over the huge, empty Quidditch Pitch. Her nose was smaller than Ron's, dainty, even. She was paler, too, her hair a shade darker. Surely he had known these things once. A red strand slipped out of her messy bun, and whipped around her face.

"Think we can fly here?" Harry asked. He spread his hands.

"The two of us, at the Quidditch World Cup?" she asked, amused.

"I always wanted to," Harry said. "I bet you did too."

She gave him a steady look. "I bet you really would have rather played Quidditch. But I'm glad for everyone's sake that you didn't."

There was no time to talk.

Brooms materialized at their feet. Harry had a Firebolt, and Ginny one he did not recognize, but looked sleek and elegant. Whatever it was, it kept up with his Firebolt with ease. They flew side by side up and down the pitch. The more they flew, the more real it seemed, until Harry could see witches and wizards, leprechauns and Veela, hags and warlocks in the stands, waving at them, stomping their feet.

Then the other Quidditch players were there, and somehow Ginny was playing with the Irish, moving with fluid grace with a Quaffle under her arm. Harry hung out of the way, content to watch, amazed at how good she was.

The crowd seemed to grow closer, louder, and more real after Ginny scored a goal. She flew on a quick victory lap with the other Chasers, while Harry wished not so many omnioculars were trained on him.

It was just getting uncomfortable when—

There was a great shift, and Harry found himself sitting at the table in the tent Mr. Weasley'd borrowed from Perkins. There was a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of him and Ginny. There was a wide smile of delight on her face. "That was brilliant! I could play Quidditch professionally, that was a rush!"

Harry leaned back in the chair. "I knew you loved Quidditch," he told her. "But I didn't know you loved it that much."

"Oh yes," she said fervently. "I've wanted to play Quidditch for ages. I used to steal my brothers' brooms, just so I could get up in the air."

"Hermione mentioned that," Harry said. "You were what, six?"

She let out a breathless chuckle. Her cheeks were still flushed from flying with the Irish team, and her eyes were catching the light in such a way they seemed to shine. "I can't believe you remember that."

Warmth spread through his body. "Of course I do, I was impressed." Harry leaned forward. "Very impressed."

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Her touch lingered, and Harry felt renewed amazement at how real everything felt here with her in the dream.

He opened his mouth to tell her that, and he woke up.

He felt disoriented for a moment. The room he'd been sleeping in felt wrong and unfamiliar. I'm at Grimmauld Place, he told himself. He sat up, rubbed at his scar, and realized with a small amount of surprise that he had not made a mess on himself.

"Harry? Are you ever going to wake up?"

Ron's voice was muffled through the door.

"I'm awake."

Harry got out of bed. The room was quite bright; it was late morning at the very least, and his bladder was about to burst. Not bothering to pull anything on over his pajamas, Harry lurched out of the room, past Ron, and down the hall to the loo.

Ron was with Sirius in the kitchen when Harry finally walked in.

"Look at the early bird!" said Ron. He flicked a sideways glance at Sirius.

"He's been making bad bird jokes since he got here," Sirius said. There was an odd note in his voice. The humor was forced, clearly.

"That's Ron," Harry said.

"Don't be such a loon, Sirius," laughed Ron.

"Leave off," said Harry, who thought Ron was being insensitive. "I'd not like a thousand mentions of the Tale of the Three Brothers, honestly."

Ron flopped into a chair and spread out. "Yeah, but that was real."

Harry snorted, then looked guiltily at Sirius. Or tried to. "Sirius?" he said, flabbergasted. He looked at Ron, who gave him a dumbfounded look. "Where'd he go?"

"Dunno, mate," shrugged Ron.

Harry did not see Sirius again until later that day. At that point, Harry was starting to get genuinely worried, and it was with great relief that he saw Padfoot emerging from the master bedroom. He loped toward him with his lopsided grin, and Harry patted him on the head. Padfoot twined around his legs like a cat, and Harry went down hard. "Hey!" he protested.

Padfoot gave him a doggy grin, and a very human wink, and took off down the hall.

Harry shook his head and stood up.

The only thing he really wanted to do was go to sleep, so instead, he took the Firebolt out. It was different than his dream — he was not at a ghostly version of the Quidditch World Cup — but he still thought of Ginny, and how much he'd wanted to kiss her. His stomach started to ache, thinking of that. His dreams were very convincing; Harry thought it likely that if he hadn't dragged all of his friends into trouble, he would've fallen for Ginny.

He pushed aside his feelings of loss — Everyone else is missing their daughter and sister, you're just missing something that only might have been, he told himself fiercely. Then he flew so long and so hard that his desire to go to bed early that night was genuine.

Sirius raised his eyebrows when Harry said he was going to bed, but didn't say anything further, a fact for which Harry was grateful.

Expecting to find himself at the Quidditch World Cup again, Harry was shocked to find himself in the Chamber of Secrets. His heart thudded. Ginny sat at the end of the long room, exactly where she'd been last time. The statue leered ominously at her, and Harry sped toward her. "What—"

"Not a very nice place to come back to, is it?" Ginny said quietly. Her pale skin had a greenish tinge from the odd lighting. Harry did not know how she did it, but she still managed to look quite lovely.

"Not really," Harry said, sitting down beside her. The carved stone floor was cold and damp. "But it's nice to see you."

"You defeated Voldemort for the second time here," Ginny said. "Well, I guess third." Her brow furrowed. "But honestly, I think it was really your mother's victory, that time when you were a baby."

"Yes," said Harry. It was the truth. "Ginny, that's exactly it. No one's ever — no one has ever really said that, not really. It wasn't me at all that time. That was the whole — essence of it."

"I know," said Ginny. "I know that now." She gestured around them. "I mean — I grew up with stories about you, and of course, a lot of it was wrong. Dumbledore was keeping everything so close. I had that silly crush, but here, I... caught a glimpse of what it takes. I got an inkling of the man you were set to become. I hate the fact that I'd been stupid enough—"

"You weren't stupid! How could you have known?" Harry was offended on her behalf.

"Well, foolish, maybe," Ginny allowed. "I hated Voldemort, but I didn't truly understand or fully appreciate why I should hate him until everything that happened my second year. And I... loved everything you stood for." Her lips twisted into a rueful smile. "It wasn't about being more powerful, or being — being some character from a fairy tale. It was about friendship and sacrifice."

"And love," Harry said without thinking. His cheeks heated. "I mean, erm, I don't mean—"

Her eyes began to sparkle with humor. "What, you mean you weren't in love with me when I was an awkward eleven year old girl with a terrible crush?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "I was twelve, what'd I know?" Suddenly at ease even in this dreadful place, he nudged her with his shoulder. "I kept the card you made me, though."

"Oh, God," Ginny groaned. "Tell me you didn't."

As they were chuckling at each other, the scenery shifted. The Chamber slowly faded from view, as though it were a painting left out in the rain. To replace it was a bright burst of warmth, and the sound of a thousand enchanted toys of all kinds.

"Zonko's?" Harry said in astonishment.

Ginny shrugged. "Fred and George used to sneak me out of the castle and take me to here. After everything that happened."

Harry's mouth fell open. "I think they ought to have snuck Ron — and Ron's good friend Harry — out of the castle!" he said with mock indignation. "We had a rough year, too!"

"You two were too busy getting either detention or special services to the school awards every other week," Ginny said, unconcerned. She ran her fingers over a Fanged Frisbee, expertly dodging its bite. Harry followed her around the store for a few minutes, chatting about nothing, but veered off when he saw a shadowy back section just off to the right. That hadn't been there in the real store. Intrigued, Harry headed toward it.

"Harry, look at this!"

He turned. Ginny was beaming at him, holding up a tiny broom that was small even for an infant. Her sweater had caught on the the shelf, and was pulled tight across her chest in a way that made it very difficult to focus on what she was holding in her hands.

"You should tell Sirius to get this for Kreacher," she told him.

Harry laughed. They didn't leave each other's side until Harry woke up in the middle of having tea at Madame Puddifoot's while having a brisk discussion of Puddlemere United's chances at the cup this year. Ginny was in the middle of a comment, gesticulating. Harry blinked, and he was awake.

Again, he felt disoriented. It was early morning; a lonely bird sung outside his window, but nothing else stirred. Harry rolled over onto his back, thinking about Ginny, wondering what it was like when he left so abruptly. She's not really real, he told himself. But he was both unconvincing and unconvinced.

She felt real. Their shoulders had touched when they walked, her long hair had brushed against his cheek when he bent over to see what she was looking at... they'd been so close, he'd felt the stir of air that was her breath. Everything about her said Ginny, warmed him to his toes; he'd even been able to smell her. Fresh, clean, and flowery.

His body was aroused, and Harry was reaching for it when her image flashed in his head. Not as it had been in the dream, but as it was in real life: pale, ghostly, sleeping.

And all his fault.

His hand fell back to his side as the rest of him wilted. It was one thing to dream about her — to have odd sorts of — of dates with her in his dreams. It was quite another to think about the way the sweater she'd been wearing had cupped her breasts, and what it would be like if Harry'd peeled it off of her.

Brilliant, he was sure.

Harry got out of bed when he realized that just laying there was going to lead to him ignoring his own guilt.

He threw himself into the rest of the day with frantic energy. He went to Hogwarts. The main battle had occurred at the Ministry of Magic, but Hogwarts had seen a fair share of battle, and it showed.

"I'm glad you're here, Potter," McGonagall wiped her sweaty brow. "Give me a hand with the gargoyles, will you?"

They worked silently for quite some time. Harry put the gargoyles back together under her instruction, and he watched, fascinated, as she added complex enchantments.

"See?" she said in an instructing tone. "It is much more than just waving your wand and saying 'reparo!' at the top of your voice. There is still so much more work to do."

Harry understood more and more as he continued to help. McGonagall kept up a steady stream of chatter. She asked about the Weasleys, was properly diverted by Ginny's plight, and they spent nearly an hour discussing what might be done to help.

"And how is Sirius?"

This was at the end of the row of gargoyles, and Harry was fatigued enough to feel some confusion. "Sirius? He's, erm..." How was Sirius, really?

McGonagall nodded, as though this was expected. "He's had... a hard time of it. He's lost really quite a lot." She blinked rather rapidly, then reached into a pocket in her robes and pulled out a small bag. She pulled out a sweet, and offered it to Harry.

They chewed in silence for a moment. The sweetness caught on Harry's tongue. "That's good!" he said.

"Of course it's good, these are my favorites," McGonagall said crisply. She leaned against a wall. "Sirius has lost everyone but you," she said. "Your father, his best friend. Remus, who was like a brother to him. He genuinely cared for your mother, as well. Even Pettigrew represented a loss, I fear, betrayal being worse than death. His own mother and father. His brother. And especially Capella."

"Capella?" Harry asked, confused.

McGonagall cut him a swift glance, eyebrows winging up to her rigid hairline. Then her face shuttered. "Never mind."

"But who is Capella?"

"That is not my place to say. What I meant is — that is to say — Sirius Black has had quite a hard time of it, not even considering his thirteen years unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban."

McGonagall sounded rather flustered.

Harry nodded, accepting this, but privately thinking to himself that he would ask Sirius about it. "Yeah, he has," Harry finally agreed.

They parted shortly after. Instead of going home immediately, Harry wandered the grounds. Something drew him toward the lake, bypassed where most of the picnicking on sunny days had happened, and headed toward the more secluded areas. Harry'd never been over here for the purpose to which most other students had. The trees grew right to the edge, providing secluded pockets and private corners. During the height of Ron's insanity with Lavender Brown, he had waxed poetic — well, as poetic as Ron got — about these trees.

Harry picked one and sat down against the trunk of an old willow — the regular kind, not the kind that would whomp him into the lake. It was peaceful here. He closed his eyes, and his thoughts strayed to Ginny.

Then, as though his thoughts had conjured her, she was in his lap, her arms were wrapped around him, and he was kissing her neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses he'd only dreamed about.

"Harry!" she pulled away, panting slightly. "I've got to go to class!"

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, not wanting to let her go. He brushed her hair out of the way, and pressed another kiss on her shoulder. She shivered — a good shiver, an instinct told him. His hand — his good hand — was inside her robes. Not in the front. Just the back. But his fingers twined with her bra strep, toying with it, wanting to undo it... wanting to free her.

She squeezed him a little tighter, and almost imperceptibly moved her hips. He rolled his right back, and Harry pressed himself against her. She whimpered, and Harry had to kiss her mouth, slipped his tongue in, and let it duel with hers. I hate class, he thought. His thumb, emboldened by the feel of her in his arms, the feel of her rocking ever so slightly against his erection, wandered over to her front, brushing against soft, silky skin. He longed to touch her, to stroke her.

All thought was gone from his head. He did not mind how the bark pressed into his back, how his hand sank uncomfortably into the ground. The only important thing was the fact she was kissing him so eagerly, not slapping at his hand—

The fantasy was over as soon as it begun. There was a harsh cry from a bird, and the feel of Ginny against him evaporated. Harry was still hard, achingly so, inside his trousers. The bark cut into his back as Harry brought himself slowly back in control. It took a while for his erection to subside — Harry had to resort to thinking about Hagrid in a Muggle bikini to get it to go away.

Once it was finally gone, Harry got up, dusted off his seat, and returned the way he came. He did not pause at the castle, but continued onward to the Apparition point that had been created just beyond the wards on the bridge.

Sirius was gone when he got home, and even though Harry waited until half nine, Sirius had not returned. At Harry's first yawn, he jumped up, fairly eager to go to bed. Eager to see Ginny.

She was waiting for him at a booth in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry slid in next to her. At the same time, she adjusted her position, oriented herself toward him, and their knees touched. A small thrill went through him at the touch, and he hoped she could not see into his mind, could not see the fantasy of her down by the lake that lingered there.

The quality of her smile changed, grew a little wicked. Harry sucked in a breath and looked away, toward the little bowl of dusty peanuts that was left for particularly hungry patrons, to desperate to eat to wait for their order. Harry grabbed a handful, and shoved one into his mouth, without even breaking open the shell.

He had a feeling she was taking pity on him when she continued their discussion from the dream before.

Slowly, Harry relaxed enough that he turned toward her, let his arm drape over the bench behind her. A few inches, and it would be wrapped around her. It seemed like quite the distance, until Ginny leaned her head back. Her eyes closed for a beat, and her lips parted in a sigh.

Harry, his fantasy from earlier still in his mind, wanted to kiss them, wanted to taste her sigh. But he was content to — very gently — stroke her hair. If he had felt any trepidation doing so, it disappeared when she leaned into his touch.

Her eyes were open now, looking straight into his.

They both shifted at the same time, and then their arms were wrapped around each other. Her head nestled in the curve of his neck. Her hands were flat on his back, and Harry held her with a feeling that edged toward wonder.

But the dream was real enough that eventually Harry became aware of some discomfort in the position. It was then that they left the Leaky Cauldron, and found themselves not in Diagon Alley, but on an unfamiliar hillside.

"Oh, we're near the Burrow!" said Ginny. "Look! That's our star-gazing rock! We used to come up here all the time as kids... I loved it."

It was more of a small mountain than a rock, Harry privately felt. But it was easy to clamber up, and the top was spacious and flat. It was natural to sprawl out, to look up at the sky. It was a perfect night to view the stars.

Ginny took his hand, peeled off his glove, and twined her fingers with his. Suddenly, the Milky Way did not seem nearly as grand.

Harry, looking at her, wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. Instead, when his mouth opened, he told her that he'd been a Horcrux. He seeped into her gaze as he told her, unable to help himself, could not keep the words from falling out of his mouth. To his horror, there was a wetness in his eyes, and he choked on telling her what that had been like, finding out he was about to die.

In the end, it was easy to cry in front of her. She cried too. "I am so happy you survived," she said fiercely. Her hand clenched his. "I — I am so happy."

They were still holding hands when Harry woke.

"Whazza?" he said.

Sirius was lighting a lamp as Harry sat up, reaching blearily for his glasses. "I've heard word from Azkaban," Sirius said grimly.

Harry was shocked into total wakefulness. "Not — Bellatrix? She didn't escape, did she?" He shoved himself out of bed, grabbing at his wand, his cloak, everything.

"No," Sirius said shortly. "She didn't escape. But we have to go to the Burrow."

It was well beyond midnight, and this propelled Harry into almost frantic action. Ginny was at the Burrow.

He followed Sirius; both of them took the stairs into leaps and bounds. Sirius was talking nearly as fast as he moved, and Harry's stomach grew icier with every word.

"She's obsessed with Ginny," Sirius said. "The guards say she is raving about her, the way she once did about Voldemort. It is no good — it is a terrible thing when my cousin is obsessed with someone."

Harry knew this, and flung open the door of the kitchen. Sirius fumbled with his wand, lit every lamp, and lurched toward the floo powder.

"She was obsessed with Capella," Sirius muttered, knocking over two pans, and kicking a chair out of the way. "And that—"

Harry'd stopped short. That name again. "Capella?" he said cautiously. "Who was she."

Pain clamped down hard on Sirius's face. "Oh Harry," he said. "If ever I had someone — a soulmate — if I could have had what — what your parents had. It would have been with her. With Capella."

Then the hastily lit fire burned green, and Harry and Sirius were spinning to the Burrow, to warn the Weasleys.