Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise. The characters, world, ideas, etc. belong to that wonderful J.K. Rowling and the WB movie people.

Notes: Muahahahaha! I have updated in exactly four weeks time! Goooooo me! I deserve major kudos here. It's been forever since the last time I updated that quickly. I am so proud of myself that I am giving all of you, my lovely dear readers, big pieces of chocolate gooey birthday cake. Everyone knows birthday cake is the best celebratory food around, so that is what I am serving. Obviously, you will have to imagine how wonderful and delicious your cake is as I do not have the resources to provide endless slices of cake to you all, nor do I have the ability to get them to you even if I did. So this is imaginary birthday cake. But it is delicious imaginary cake, which is why it is chocolate…meaning, for those of you who lack a love of chocolate (and what is wrong with you?), that chocolate is the only flavor we serve here, so don't bother asking for anything else. Now if you could all please form a single file line, no pushing, yes…and here's one for you, and one for you, and one for you…

Erm…do please keep in mind that this story is only accurate to canon up to and including The Order of the Phoenix. I realize that there are deviations in the plot after that point but this is INTENTIONAL. Okay, now you are free to read the chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven: Family Furor

Ginny woke up on the morning of Harry's birthday with a pleasant zing! of anticipation fluttering in her stomach. Hermione was already up, so she jumped out of bed without regard for noise and peered out the window. Sunshine. Excellent. Today was supposed to be perfect—her mother had determined that it must be.

Harry had been rather subdued in the month or so that he had been at the Weasley's, spending more time than usual time off walking in the woods behind the Weasley's house or sitting on the rocks by their little pond, throwing stones in. He perked up when there were others around, and he was pretty normal if he was with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, but he was—quieter. Introspective. More serious. Part of this was sadness over Sirius's death, although he seemed to be handling that loss rather well, but Ginny thought there was probably more to Harry's moodiness than the loss of his godfather.

For one thing, it wasn't very often sadness that Ginny saw on his face. Unhappiness was there, determination, sometimes anger or even fear, but not a whole lot of sadness. For another, whenever the subject came up (usually mentioned by Mrs. Weasley—"He's so quiet these days, poor dear"), Hermione's face shut down—no surprise, no concern, no expression at all. She was hiding something, Ginny had concluded. What's more, when the subject changed again and they thought no one was paying attention, Hermione and Ron always exchanged significant looks, looks that said: "We know what's going on; it's serious and it's scary. Let's renew our pact to stick by Harry's side like glue and help him through it." There was always something slightly triumphant about these looks too, as though they'd succeeded at something where no one else could.

Ginny tried very hard not to think about how much time she'd spent over the years studying these looks, or that she'd spent even more time studying Harry's. She tried even harder not to think about why she'd bothered; or that she always felt a twinge of anger and unhappiness (it was not jealousy) whenever Ron and Hermione exchanged those determined, triumphant looks she wasn't a part of because she'd never been given the chance to stick with Harry the way they did (not that she wanted to, necessarily, but he was her friend too…and it was the principle of the thing!); or when the three of them held entire conversations without saying anything and she only understood half of it.

She tried not to think about the fact that they didn't trust her enough to tell her what was going on, that they loved her enough to protect her but not enough to let her risk herself for them even after she'd proven herself in the Department of Mysteries. She tried not to think about why that made her sad enough to cry sometimes, when she'd been so sure that she had worked through all this ages ago.

She had at least worked through it enough to know better than to ask about the looks, because they wouldn't tell her. Instead she sat back and read them as best she could from a distance, gleaning as much information as possible from what they let slip without knowing it. Because no one watched them, knew them, like Ginny did. And what she'd gleaned was that something was going on. Not actively, she thought, or they'd be secluded away from the rest of the family a lot more than they had been, but something was up. Then there was the fact that she'd caught the three of them huddled together several times over the summer holding whispered conversations with their "planning" faces on. She was always sure to walk extra loud whenever this happened, so that they'd know she wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Watching their faces to get the gist of what was happening was one thing, purposely invading their privacy by listening in was quite another (so long as they weren't actively planning anything. As soon as she got the idea that there might be something behind their whispered conferences—some plan, some goal, any kind of action at all—that no eavesdropping rule would go right out the window). Besides, as soon as they thought she was eavesdropping, they'd start being more careful about everything. That just made it that much harder to keep watch over them.

After all, someone would have to call the D.A. the next time something big happened. It was obvious from their behavior last year that Harry, Ron, and Hermione wouldn't do it, and only Ginny knew the three of them well enough to know when something was really going on, and when they were just discussing possibilities.

Mrs. Weasley's reaction to Harry's subdued nature (and, by extension, that of Ron and Hermione) had been to set about planning a spectacular birthday party for Harry, to "cheer him up, poor boy." Part of her mother's motivation, Ginny knew, was just that—she wanted Harry to have such a nice birthday that he was able, for one day, to forget about Sirius and Death Eaters and Voldemort and just have a good time with his "family" and friends. But Ginny suspected her mother was also rather afraid she might not have Harry around next year to celebrate his seventeenth birthday—the intensity with which Mrs. Weasley had set about perfecting every detail of her party planning was something of a giveaway. Ginny wasn't sure why her mother feared this, nor why she herself was so sure this was her mother's reasoning, but she did, and she was. Her mother had always had good intuition; Ginny suspected it was telling Mrs. Weasley that Harry, Ron and Hermione would be a bit busy next summer. Ginny suspected this because she had inherited her mother's cunning intuition, and that was what it was telling her.

Ginny absolutely refused to think about that. The clawing panic that roiled in her stomach and climbed up her throat whenever she did was unexplainable.

So today was the much-planned day, and Ginny couldn't be happier that the weather had cooperated so beautifully and granted them a day of warmth and sunshine. Harry deserved that perfect party her mother had been planning, and her Mum deserved to give it to him.

The redhead showered and dressed for the day as quickly as she could. Harry was supposed to have gone out with Remus Lupin for a few hours this morning (they'd done quite a bit of bonding over the summer since Sirius had died—neither of them had anyone else who would understand so well the hole left by Sirius's death) and the family was to take advantage of that time to set up for the party, which was to last through lunch until mid-afternoon.

Halfway down the stairs, Ginny skidded to a stop. There was another reason she had been so excited about today, she remembered now. Her mother had been determined to make this party a big family occasion. The entire family and all their friends (or at least those it was safe to invite) were supposed to be here. The entire family. Which included Percy.

Surely he would come, she thought. He'd been a right git before, but after everything that had happened—now that Fudge had admitted he was wrong, now that Harry and Dumbledore had been proven right, now that everyone knew that Voldemort was back because Aurors had seen him and Dumbledore had fought him and the Prophet was declaring the truth of it—surely now he would come home where he belonged. She knew her mother had invited him. He'd get the mickey taken out of him, there was no avoiding that. But he'd be home.

Grinning in excitement and increased anticipation, Ginny rushed down the remaining steps and bounded into the kitchen.

"Good morning everyone!" she cried. There were murmured replies from Ron, Hermione, Fred, Bill and Charlie, who were seated at the table, but her mother, cooking breakfast at the stove, said nothing. Ginny wasn't really paying attention to the less than enthusiastic replies she received, nor who said them; she was hungry. There was a basket full of breakfast biscuits already set out on the table next to Bill and she grabbed one, kissing her oldest brother on the cheek before taking a bite. Then she went looking for some tea. She rummaged around in the cupboard until she found her favorite teacup, then rummaged around some more looking for her favorite tea. A little hot water, a little milk…

Ginny hummed as she assembled her pre-breakfast snack, nabbing another biscuit and slathering half of it with jam (Grape, plum…Oooo! Strawberry! My favorite!) before taking an enormous bite. She chewed happily, completely oblivious to the unnatural silence in the kitchen, and reached for the jam jar, spooning another generous helping of strawberry jam onto the other half of her biscuit. It wasn't until she'd sneaked around and nabbed a piece of crispy bacon from the plate beside her mother where they were cooling (an act that normally got her hand smacked) that she realized something was wrong. She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the abnormal silence, the apprehensive look on Charlie's face, the wary look on Hermione's; the way Bill watched her out of the corner of his eye and her other brothers avoided meeting her gaze at all; the way her mother was stirring that pot of gravy with unnecessary vigor. Ginny frowned.

"What's going on?"

Mrs. Weasley sniffed, but there was no other sound in the kitchen.

"Mum?"

No answer, only faster stirring.

After a long stretch of silence, Charlie sighed. He stood and reached for a piece of parchment lying half unrolled on the table by Bill's hand. Her oldest brother grabbed Charlie's wrist and looked up at him. Charlie shrugged in response to whatever Bill was silently saying. "She's going to find out anyway, isn't she?"

"Find out what?" Ginny asked, feeling apprehensive now. Charlie didn't answer. Bill let him go, looking uncomfortable, and Charlie walked around the table, holding the parchment out to her.

"What's this?" she asked, hesitating.

"It's a letter." He extended it a little further. "Go on. Read it."

Ginny took the letter from Charlie and read it. Then she read it again. And then a third time.

"He's not coming?" she asked, staring at the words on the page. Her hands were trembling.

"Ginny—" Mrs. Weasley finally acknowledged Ginny's presence, looking concerned at the expression on her daughter's face. Ginny ignored her.

"He's. Not. Coming?" Ginny's voice rose.

"Ginny, really—" Mrs. Weasley's voice quivered, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes.

"WHAT DOES HE MEAN HE'S NOT COMING!" Ginny was aware she was probably yelling loudly enough to wake George, who was still sleeping upstairs, but she didn't care.

"He probably means he's not coming, Gin," Hermione told her quietly.

"Perhaps we should go," murmured Charlie. When no one moved, Bill stood suddenly and reached down to drag Ron up by his collar.

"Outside, you lot," he said, and ushered Fred, Ron and Hermione out the door ahead of him. Charlie shut the door quietly behind himself when he followed them out.

Ginny didn't even notice their leaving.

"HOW CAN HE NOT! BE! COMING!"

"Ginny!" her mother wailed, collapsing into tears, but Ginny was beyond reason.

"THAT SMARMY, DESPICABLE, ARROGANT GIT!"

"Ginny, you w-will not s-s-speak about your b-brother in that way!" Mrs. Weasley sobbed.

"BROTHER! THAT IDIOT IS NO BROTHER OF MINE! THE STUBBORN, SELF-CENTERED, IGNORANT—"

"What's going on?" George asked sleepily, stumbling through the door, barely awake. He froze mid-yawn, eyes widening, when he caught sight of his sister raging at the top of her lungs while their sobbing mother objected in vain.

"—DOESN'T DESERVE A FAMILY LIKE OURS," Ginny was yelling. "HOW COULD HE BE SO STUBBORN? HOW? VOLDEMORT'S BACK! EVERYONE KNOWS HE'S BACK! HE—"

"He's a pillock and he's proud," said George furiously, having finally got the gist of what was happening.

This startled Ginny enough to get her to stop shouting. "What?" She frowned. "He's wrong!"

"And Percy has always hated being wrong," George sneered.

Ginny's lip lifted in a sneer of her own.

"H-he's your br-brother n-nonetheless!" Mrs. Weasley said shrilly, stabbing a shaking finger back and forth between them. "W-we d-don't talk about f-family—"

"Did you read this letter?" Ginny cried, interrupting her and shaking the rather battered parchment she was holding in her mother's general direction. "Did you?"

"Of c-course I r-read—" Distraught, Mrs. Weasley broke down in tears before she could even finish her sentence.

Ginny hadn't waited for her anyway.

"I don't see how you could have!" Her voice was bordering on a shout again.

"H-he is f-family!"

"HE THINKS WE'RE 'A WASTE OF TIME!' WE'RE OF NO SIGNIFICANCE! HE'S TOO BUSY WITH THE MINISTRY TO BOTHER WITH US! THAT'S! NOT! FAMILY!"

"He said what?" snarled George.

Mrs. Weasley sucked in a vicious breath, her expression violently determined. Ginny continued before she could start.

"HE DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO SIGN HIS OWN NAME, MUM! IT'S A MINISTRY STANDARD SIGNATURE!"

"Those are—perfectly acceptable—letter closings," Mrs. Weasley gasped, so distressed that she was no longer crying steadily, but rather gulping in air between jerky bouts of sobbing.

"FOR A MINISTRY LETTER! NOT WHEN YOU'RE WRITING HOME!" Ginny screamed in exasperation.

"That. Is. Enough!" Mr. Weasley's dangerously low voice came from the back door. He'd been working in his shed when he'd seen the majority of his children, Hermione in tow, hurrying through the back gate. He'd stepped out of the shed and watched them settle near the pond-shore, shifting restlessly and casting many anxious glances at the back door of the house. Curious and apprehensive, he'd started for the back door. Not long after that he'd heard the shouting.

Mr. Weasley hadn't run that fast in a long time.

Now he stood, arms crossed, glaring around the kitchen in a manner that, had anyone at work seen it, would have stopped any question as to who wore the pants in the Weasley household. It was an expression both rare and frightening for its rarity. It was enough to stop Ginny yelling and get her to think a little more clearly. Trembling with barely contained anger, she watched her father assess the situation. Mr. Weasley didn't know what was going on, but his wife was sobbing, his daughter was screaming at the top of her voice, and his son looked ready to commit murder.

Looking at him, Ginny knew her father was furious.

He took a deep breath. "Now. Someone tell me what is going on here." He glared around the kitchen again for good measure.

This was apparently too much for Mrs. Weasley, who collapsed into steady tears once more and raced into her husband's arms. He held her carefully, but did not relax his stance. "I'm waiting," he told his children.

Ginny was too mad to speak, if she tried it would still come out as a scream. Mutely, she held the crumpled letter out to her father.

He took it, began smoothing it out. "What's this?"

"It's from Percy." George spat the name.

Mr. Weasley dug his spectacles out of the pocket of his robes and set them on his nose. Then he cleared his throat and read aloud:

"Dear Mother and Father,

I hope you will understand that I cannot attend today's, nor any other day's, festivities. Much is happening, as I'm sure you are aware from reading the Prophet, and I am busy aiding the Ministry in its efforts to implement safety standards and make preparations for higher Ministry security. I don't have time to waste on pointless gatherings, which, under the circumstances, are unwise and inadvisable at best anyway. I do wish you would stop sending me these inane invitations as though birthday parties and family holidays are of any significance in the present times.

Warmest regards,

Percy Ignatius Weasley

Junior Assistant to the Minister"

Mr. Weasley removed his glasses with shaking hands. His knuckles were white where he gripped them, and he broke them clean in half while trying to fold them up. He stuffed the pieces back in his pocket with unnecessary force. "Well." His voice was arctic.

Mrs. Weasley wailed into her husband's shoulder.

Ginny hissed out an angry breath. "Pillock," she growled, because if she said what she was really thinking, her mother would remember when she calmed down and promptly wash her mouth out with a Scouring Charm.

"Ginny—" Mr. Weasley began.

"You have to admit it's low, even for Percy," George growled. "Even you're so furious you can hardly see straight."

Mr. Weasley attempted a deep, calming breath. He had to set an example. "Why would you thi—"

"You broke your glasses, Dad," George told him.

"And you're clenching your hands into fists," Ginny added.

"Yeah," said George, a little eagerly, "yeah, that's about how I feel too."

"We are not fighting!" Mr. Weasley declared, glaring again. "He wants us to leave him alone, then fine, we will leave him alone. Alone!" he added over his wife's ensuing cry when it looked like George would protest.

"I'll leave him alone," Ginny muttered. "I'll pretend he never even existed!"

Mrs. Weasley sobbed louder.

"Ginny, stop this. You are upsetting your mother!"

"It's not my fault she's upset! Blame that toe-rag I used to call brother!"

"You are currently the one making her cry!"

"She'd be crying anyway," George muttered mutinously.

Mrs. Weasley wailed.

"THAT'S IT!" Mr. Weasley cried. There was sudden silence in the room. "Everyone outside!" he commanded. "NOW!"

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When those gathered by the shore of the pond caught sight of Ginny and George coming down the path to join them, not one of them missed the fact that both were still furious and upset. Hermione leapt to her feet and hurried to catch Ginny, murmuring questions and reassurances as she took the younger girl off a ways down the path and listened patiently to the redhead's impassioned ranting. Bill and Fred were a little uncertain about Hermione's ability to handle their fiery-tempered sibling in her current state—as angry as they'd ever seen her—but neither Charlie nor Ron seemed the least concerned. In fact, they both visibly relaxed when Hermione took the girl in hand, so their brothers unconsciously followed their example. They didn't have much time to worry about Ginny anyway; George was coming their way with clenched fists and a black expression.

"Did you read it?" he demanded when he reached them. Their affirmative nods began a flurry of pointed, angry questions: What did they think? What was being done? What did they mean nothing? Were they sure they'd read it? Had they paid any attention to it? How could they sit there and passively let that simpering Ministry suck-up say whatever he liked about their family? It took a valiant effort on the part of all of his brothers (most noticeably Fred, who generally shared George's feelings in everything and could usually be persuaded to do so with very little effort on the rare occasion where it didn't happen naturally; and Ron, who shared the twins' short temper) to get him calmed down without reacting themselves. Going off and attacking a prominent (or at least highly visible) Ministry official wouldn't do them any good on the best of days (much less now when the Ministry was likely still dying to get at anyone close to Harry and Dumbledore for investigative and possibly interrogative purposes—they were currently grasping for every bit of information they could get about Voldemort, the threat they'd denied the existence of right up until it showed up in their atrium). Not to mention the fact that it would seriously upset their mother. Again.

Once all of this was pointed out to him, George gave in and grumblingly allowed himself to be calmed. "We can't sit here and do nothing, though," he said mutinously. "We can't let him get away with this."

"Not to worry, brother mine. I've already got a few ideas," Fred told him. George looked up and instantly echoed the wicked smile on his twin's scheming face. He loved that expression; Fred wore it a lot (and George knew he wore it fairly often himself). It was the one that appeared whenever one or the other of them had hit on a particularly brilliant and wonderful idea, usually in relation to some major campaign or revenge tactic. Most recently it had made an appearance in little-sister-related planning sessions, and before that, they'd worn it a lot when they'd been planning school-wide revenge on Umbridge.

Bill—who could remember seeing it on chubby baby faces right before dirty nappies went flying and naked babies went running in opposite directions the second their parents left him in charge (usually screaming gleefully and on one memorable occasion, attempting to use the walls as a loo and leaving some rather nasty stains on the stair carpeting, which had set their mother seething)— knew what it meant and frowned in disapproval.

"Oh don't look at us like that, Bill," Fred told him before he could say anything. "It will be suitably anonymous."

"Give us some credit," added George, rolling his eyes, "we know better than to send it in a WWW box!"

"Exactly! The git will know who it's from, but no one will be able to prove a thing. We'll not cause any trouble for the family, but we're not going to sit by either."

There was a slight pause.

"How come none of you went berserk when you read it?" George asked. "Between Mum crying and Ginny screaming, I almost Apparated over to the little rodent's flat just to tell him what's what. Although I was a little worried Gin might beat me to it," he added with a wry grin, still watching their sister. Ginny had just thrown her hands in the air with a sharp cry and begun pacing rapidly. Her voice was loud enough for the tone to carry, but not loud enough her brothers could hear what she'd said.

"For one, we were trying to stay calm for Mum's sake," Bill told him quietly, turning away from the two girls to address his brother directly.

"Yeah, Mum wasn't crying before Gin came down, was she?" added Ron.

"Secondly, we left before Gin completely lost it just so we wouldn't be tempted to go pound his face in."

"I would have liked the excuse, actually," muttered Fred.

Charlie continued where Bill left off just as if Fred hadn't spoken, adding, "And because Ginny would be really upset about it later if we had."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," muttered Ron, scowling because he agreed with Fred in that he would have liked an excuse to go after their wayward brother and because he didn't like that he felt guilty about it for Ginny's sake. "She's weird like that."

"Protective is the word you're looking for, Ron," Charlie told him mildly.

"Of Percy?" asked Fred.

"Of all of us," Charlie answered. "Hadn't you noticed?" There was a rather stunned silence. Charlie smiled. "She's like Mum that way."

"Except she's less, ummm…restrictive about it," said Ron. "Let's people go their own way a bit more."

"She doesn't like anyone messing with her family," Charlie explained. "She may be furious about this whole letter thing now, but she desperately wants Percy to come home too. If he ever does so, our having pounded him into the ground would really upset her."

"Even if it would have felt really good," muttered George. Charlie smiled—his expression agreed where his words never would.

At this point, Charlie glanced over to check on their sister and the eyes of his brothers followed his gaze, one by one.

She was still ranting.

Bill chuckled suddenly. "You realize," he said, "that, at this rate, all of us are going to owe Ginny a favor or three by the end of the summer?"

"Yes, whose idea was it to send her off to that school to learn defensive spells and a frightening sense of independence anyway?" Fred muttered darkly. Ginny had held out for three days after her trip to Hogsmeade with Hermione before finally giving in and forgiving the twins, contingent upon several things. She had firstly required they never tell anyone the reasons behind their decision to pull the prank that had made her so angry in the first place, and secondly wrangled the promise of two favors (one from each), to be named at some future time (when she'd thought of what she wanted). The twins, therefore, were acutely aware of just how frightening her sense of independence was, as well as how badly (for them) it combined with her new prowess with defensive spells.

"She's always had that. The rest of you blighters just never bothered to notice," Charlie said in amusement.

"Oh, don't get all high and mighty, Charlie," George told him. "You owe her one same as the rest of us."

"Yes, but at least my fault was accidental."

"Oh, yes. All hail Charlie, the brother who only tortures his sister by accident."

"At least we haven't got it as bad as Percy," Ron jumped in, trying to head off an argument.

All eyes turned to where their sister was ranting about their errant brother.

"True," sniggered George, "as soon as Perce shows his face, she's going to go off on him."

"S'true," added Fred, "he's going to owe her more peace favors than all the rest of us combined."

"Serves him right, the pillock," George muttered.

"Yeah, then Harry'll be the only one she's not mad at," Ron piped up in sudden realization. "Lucky bloke."

"Yes," said Fred, eyes hard, "lucky."

"For now," added George.

Ron glared at them. "Hey! What have you got against him all of the sudden anyway? You two have been right prats to him since you got here."

"Have you now?" said Charlie, eyeing them with sudden perception.

The twins glared back at him. "Don't go giving us that, Charlie. Bloke deserves it."

"Yeah! Right here in our own house? We're not standing for that!"

"He deserves no such thing."

"Shove off, Charlie," Fred growled.

"All right, fellows, that's enough," Bill told them firmly. And even though three of the four other men present were full adults, they all shut up out of habit. Several minutes later, Fred snickered quietly.

"All hail the oldest."

"King of the Weasley brothers!" George pitched in.

"Ruler of all brotherly disputes."

"Shut up, you lot," Bill muttered, "before I thrash you."

He may have stopped the twins' talking, but he could do nothing about the laughter from all four of his brothers.

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By the time a tearstained and ruffled Mrs. Weasley finally came out and called them all in for a late breakfast, Ginny had calmed down. Hermione had let her rant for a long time, pacing and throwing her hands in the air whenever she felt the need to shout a particular point at the sky, because Hermione understood that her friend needed to vent some of her anger and frustration. She knew Ginny was a little heartbroken at being rejected so violently by someone she had loved and trusted so well, and she used ranting as a method of working through that. But when Ginny had started repeating herself for the third time, Hermione had finally broken down and forced her to sit. By the time they were interrupted, Ginny was sitting quietly beside the older girl in the shade of a tree, looking disgruntled but listening to Hermione whenever she spoke and replying rationally.

Ginny felt this was quite an accomplishment on her part. She had been very angry.

She and Hermione reached the door after Ginny's brothers and Ginny waved Hermione in ahead of her, leaving her alone with her mother, who was still holding the door open.

"I'm sorry I yelled, Mum, and that I talked to you like that. I was just so angry…but it's not your fault Percy's such a prat. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you, and I shouldn't have said those things about Percy not being family…even if he deserved some of them," she told her mother, sincerely remorseful. She had been angry…but it wasn't her mother's fault. The only one who deserved to bear the brunt of her anger was her git of a brother…

Mrs. Weasley smiled a wavery smile and pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm sorry too, dear. I lost my head when I read that letter."

The two Weasley women smiled at one another and went inside arm-in-arm.

Breakfast was a very hurried affair. The argument (and the aftermath of it) had taken up most of their allotted decorating time, and the Weasleys had to eat quickly so that they could jump straight into their party preparations. They ran around madly for an hour afterwards, charming decorations to every available surface so that when Harry and Lupin finally arrived, the whole house (or at least the ground floor) was covered in streamers and edgings and banners and other decorations, all colored red and gold and charmed in all sorts of interesting ways.

"Wow," said Harry, stopping dead in the middle of the living room and doing a slow turn so he could see everything. He laughed when he spotted a bunch of balloons Fred and George had made. His face had been charmed to the front of each one, with a moving mouth and a speech bubble to one side in which various sayings appeared and disappeared ("I'm Harry Potter!" "Happy birthday to me!" "Spank me, it's my birthday!"—whenever this last appeared, Harry's picture would screw up into a terrified grimace).

"It looks like you've all been busy," said Lupin, admiring the decorations. Mrs. Weasley beamed at him.

Before very long, the house was filled with people. In addition to Hermione, Lupin and the Weasleys; Tonks, Mundungus Fletcher, and Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up to wish Harry a happy birthday (as they were all members of the Order, Ginny was surprised they somehow managed not to talk about business until after lunch, and even then it was it was only a few comments quietly exchanged as they were about to walk out the door). Hagrid stopped by on his way to run an errand for Dumbledore (who made a brief appearance himself) and Fleur Delacour, Bill's girlfriend, Flooed in just before dinner. Ginny was not at all happy when Fleur showed up, especially since she made straight for Harry as soon as she had brushed the soot from her clothes. Ginny thought several mean and terrible things about her as Fleur grabbed Harry's hands and enthusiastically leaned in to kiss his cheeks. "'Appy birthday, 'Arry!" she exclaimed as she greeted him, and then monopolized his attention for several minutes in which Ginny continued to glare at her back and think scathing thoughts from across the room. Fleur was too…too…too effervescent! Too "look at me!" And fluffy—there was nothing to her, no substance, no meaning! Honestly, why did men fall all over themselves at the sight of her? And she didn't care only because it was Harry the blond was currently gushing over either! She was sure she'd be just as upset if it were Ron!

She did feel a little relieved that Harry didn't seem terribly impressed with her. He flushed a little when she kissed him but otherwise talked and behaved normally—no untoward staring, no danger of drooling, no other Ron-around-Fleur-like symptoms in sight. And he didn't give her his trademark slow smile either. Still, she was inexplicably glad when Bill came back in from the kitchen. Fleur lit up at the sight of him (Ginny noticed Hermione's scowl at Ron's reaction to this) and flew to greet him. Ginny watched as her brother caught her up in his arms and twirled her around, kissing her in greeting and setting her down on her feet again. Neither of them noticed much of anybody else for a while. Ginny sighed. She didn't like Fleur much, but she supposed she would have to get used to the idea of having the irritating girl as part of the family. If she made Bill happy…her brother deserved to be happy. Even if it was with that fluffy, flowery…

She caught Harry's eye from across the room and flushed when he raised a questioning eyebrow. She glanced at Fleur and Bill and then rolled her eyes at Harry. He must have understood, because his answering grin was patronizing. She glared playfully, then turned to Hermione. "He doesn't fancy her you know," she told the older girl, referring to Ron. "He just thinks she's pretty."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione sniffed. "Although I would like to point out that Harry doesn't loose his head whenever she comes into the room."

Ginny sighed. "Maybe it's a Weasley thing. I mean, look at Bill."

Hermione glanced past her at the corner where Bill and Fleur stood close, whispering together. "You think they're serious?"

"Yes," Ginny groaned.

Hermione laughed. "Poor Ginny. At least you'll have beautiful nieces and nephews!"

"Shut up."

Hermione just snickered. Ginny pretended to glare at her but she was glad Hermione was feeling better. Ginny still wanted to poke Ron's eyes out for unintentionally hurting Hermione's feelings, but at least Hermione no longer did. The older girl wasn't used to the murderous urges Ginny's brothers tended to invoke in a person; she tended to feel bad after she wished death on Ron. Ginny grinned a secretive grin. If things worked according to Ginny's wishes, Hermione would get over that. She'd have to if she wanted to last in this family. And Ginny rather thought Hermione would be with the Weasleys a long, long time.

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After dinner (which was a family affair—all the other guests had gone home after lunch and cake were served), Harry was sat down in the living room and plied with gifts from the family. He was obviously a little overwhelmed by this, having never been exposed to the idea of a family birthday party wherein gifts were opened in front of a large group of people while said people watched (Harry had almost always been confined to his room on Dudley's birthday—with one obvious exception involving a zoo and a snake—and had certainly never received such a ceremony himself while living at the Dursley's), but Fred and George laughed at him and Ron told him to get over it and Bill dumped a box covered in shiny paper in his lap, and Harry soon seemed to forget his nervousness. Cautiously, he tore open the paper on the box from Bill.

It contained a comprehensive encyclopedia on curses, jinxes, hexes, and their counters. Ginny recognized it, although it was disguised to look like a common pocket notebook unless you opened it, because Bill had been carrying a copy with him as long as she could remember.

"It updates itself whenever new material is published on any of the subjects in there," Bill told him. "And they sell update charms for any new subjects for a pretty decent price. So you never have to buy another copy."

The twins gave him a trunk full of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes paraphernalia. Mrs. Weasley scolded them for this, asking what, exactly, they thought Harry was going to do with a trunk—"a trunk, I ask you!"—full of jokes at Hogwarts.

"Use 'em, hopefully," George muttered, which earned him a smack on the back of the head from his mother. Ginny did overhear Fred whispering to Harry that there were some things in that trunk they thought might actually be useful outside of pranks, and from the uncharacteristically serious look on his face, she had the feeling he meant Harry's seemingly unavoidable yearly clashes with Voldemort. She wondered when the twins had started working on things other than jokes for their shop and determined to ask about this later.

Charlie, the family-wide provider of dragon hide (much to their mother's dismay), had bought Harry a pair of thick dragon hide boots. "Thought they might be useful," he told him, ignoring the rather fierce look on his mother's face. "I have a pair just like them and they're surprisingly comfortable. They're durable enough to handle working with dragons, but flexible enough that I don't bother changing for pick-up Quidditch matches."

Bill leaned over to look at the boots. "Those like the ones you bought me, Charlie?"

"Yeah."

Bill nodded. "Love those things. Wear 'em all the time." He wiggled his feet to illustrate—a pair of slightly scuffed black boots covered his feet and legs to just below the knees. "They're naturally magic resistant, of course…but it doesn't hurt that they're stylish too."

Harry looked a little dubious—boots weren't normally his style—but then he toed his trainers off and gamely shoved his feet in. It didn't take him long to figure out how all the laces and straps worked, and when he'd put them on properly, he stood up to see how they fit. Charlie caught Ginny's eye while Harry was walking around the room in them. His smile was sly and self-satisfied. She narrowed her eyes at him. He'd done this on purpose! This is what she got for confiding her secret love of men in dragon hide boots to her brother. She'd been trying to pay him a compliment at the time because some girl he'd had his eye on had started dating one of the men from the nearby village. Ginny had tried to cheer him up by explaining that the girl was an idiot, and that most women would absolutely love a man who tromped around in dragon hide boots the way he did. (Because who didn't love a man in dragon hide? Those boots were hot.) Charlie hadn't much appreciated the implications—they were at the reserve at the time, and she might have been admiring one of the new interns (wearing a similar pair of boots) while she was explaining this gender-wide weakness. He'd sent her straight home that afternoon, much to her disappointment…and secret amusement. And yet here he was buying identical boots for Harry. She narrowed her eyes even further. If he was trying to prove a point here, he was going to fail miserably. How many times did she have to tell him before it would sink through that thick stupid skull of his? She did not fancy Harry Potter—not even a disgustingly attractive Harry Potter in dragon hide boots! So there!

When Harry sat down again, he tucked his trainers into the box the boots had come in (Charlie's smile by this time was triumphant. Bill was looking smug enough that Ginny thought he might have had a hand in the boot idea as well. He was edgy enough to have suggested them to Charlie, who would have run with the idea…for several reasons), and moved on to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's gift.

Mrs. Weasley, who was not fond of the increasing amount of dragon hide apparel to be fond among her children's closets and so was not happy about the latest addition to her adoptive son's wardrobe, was still casting occasional disapproving looks at the boots on Harry's feet when it came time to present the gift she and Mr. Weasley had bought but she smiled and handed the package over with convincing enthusiasm just the same. It was a very small wizarding radio. Ginny and Ron had suggested the gift when Mrs. Weasley had asked what they thought Harry might like because they knew he was woefully uninformed about wizarding music and looking to remedy that lack of knowledge. Radios were fairly inexpensive (though out of Ginny's and Ron's price ranges) but extremely diverse and versatile. Harry's new radio was red and gold to match his house colors (since it would be living there) and he loved it.

Ron's gift, which was next, was a subscription to Harry's favorite Quidditch magazine. Ron was a little embarrassed that it was only for six months—he'd not been able to afford more—and turned a bit red about the ears when he explained the limited subscription to his friend but Harry was so thrilled with the gift that Ron quickly relaxed. Hermione's gift was next, and Harry was every bit as enthusiastic about the broom polish as Ginny had predicted he would be (she and Hermione shared an amused look over Harry's bent head while he was busy exclaiming over it), though he was obviously a little perplexed by the stationary. (Although he seemed amused by its Quidditch themed logoing. He and Ron immediately set about thinking up ingenious uses for it once they got back to school. Hermione opened her mouth to protest this, then threw her hands up in—completely unnoticed by the boys—exasperation and gave up, which made Ginny snicker quietly.)

Finally, Harry came to Ginny's present (and she was not particularly happy hers was last. For some reason this embarrassed her). He tore back the wrapping with no more or less enthusiasm than he'd shown for any other present, but slowed down the moment he caught sight of just what it was (the way he had for all the gifts he'd been particularly happy about, she noticed, pleased). A wide grin instantly spread across his face.

"Hey thanks, Gin! A Puddlemere poster!"

"Puddlemere?" Ron shot his sister an exasperated look. "Ginny, you can't go buying other people posters of your favorite team," he told her. "You're supposed to buy them posters of their favorite team."

Harry paused in freeing the last of the paper from Ginny's gift to look at the youngest Weasley. "Puddlemere is your favorite team?"

"Since I was five."

"Charlie got her going on them," Ron told him absently. "Wait. You didn't know that already? Then why were you so excited about the poster? I thought you were just humoring her."

"I like Puddlemere, Ron," Harry admitted a little reluctantly.

"I knew you were just—Wait." Ron looked up with dawning realization. "What? Since when?"

"For awhile now," Harry told him sheepishly. "I've been following them since beginning of third year."

"How?"

"Erm. Well, I was staying at The Leaky Cauldron half the summer, you remember. I spent a lot of time in Quality Quidditch, picked up a few magazines…I even listened to a couple matches on the wireless. I guess that's what did it, really."

"They didn't even do well that summer!" Ron looked scandalized.

"I know," Harry agreed, chagrinned.

"Ugh," Charlie protested from the sofa. "Don't remind me."

"I thought you liked the Cannons, like me." Ron muttered, feeling somewhat betrayed and glaring at his best friend.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry told him.

Ron huffed. "Whatever."

Harry smiled at him brightly. "At least we won't be bored at Quidditch matches," he said.

"What do you mean?" Ron was still glaring.

Harry considered his friend, a competitive gleam in his eye. "We'll just work up a friendly rivalry. You'll cheer for your team, I'll cheer for mine; loser buys the first butterbeer after the game, no harm done." Ginny snickered behind her hand. She didn't know what Hermione had been so worried about, Harry knew how to handle her brother very well.

Ron shrugged but his gaze was measuring. "Sure," he said, and his tone said Harry's team didn't stand a chance.

Harry just grinned.

"Hey, are those chocolate Snitches?" Fred tugged the package of sweets from Harry's lax grip and flipped it over. "Sure enough. That's good luck."

"Chocolate Snitches?" Harry asked. "What are those?"

"Your birthday present, apparently," Fred told him. "You were holding them not two seconds ago."

"I only just finished unwrapping them, Fred," said Harry with a wry grin. Fred rolled his eyes and tossed them back. Harry caught them easily.

"You'll like those," Ron told him. "They're loads of fun. Who're they from?"

"Ginny. They move? The package makes it look like they move."

"Yeah, they're charmed. Kind of like Chocolate Frogs," said Ron.

"They…hop?"

Hermione laughed. "They fly. The charm wears off eventually, but Ginny seemed to have fun chasing them around when I got her some last year."

Ginny's smile was sly. "Drove the other girls in my dorm mad. It was wicked fun." She shrugged. "I thought you might enjoy them too."

Harry grinned at her. "They're great. Thanks, Gin."

The rest of the evening was spent chatting and laughing and playing with Harry's new possessions. The twins surprised everyone by pulling out a set of miniaturized fireworks they had created for the occasion (charmed for safe, fireproof use inside a house since outdoor fireworks at The Burrow might attract Muggle attention), and they were set off in a wash of sparks. Soon the living room was full of light—pinwheels and starbursts and flower shapes and multicolored planets and little tiny galaxies mixed in with red and gold Gryffindor lions, fluttering snitches, life-sized Hungarian Horntails (the twins thought it was hilarious when the first of these had Harry jumping out of his seat) and portraits of Harry (of which everyone's favorite was a large, bright image of Harry chasing after and stomping on a miniature—and grossly cartoonized—image of Voldemort). Shouts and cheers accompanied each new tiny eruption.

Some time during the show, Ginny noticed that Harry had disappeared. She had half expected him to do something of the sort all day, thinking it would probably be pretty hard to go through a day as full of people he loved as this one had been without noticing the hole left by Sirius's absence. Harry had been gone for a while. Long enough, she thought, to recognize the hole and mourn over it. She rather thought he might have reached the point where he'd welcome some company. So she went looking for him.

It took her awhile to find him but eventually Ginny thought to check the front porch. It was quiet there, secluded, but close enough to the house that he could still hear the people he considered family talking and laughing inside and feel connected to them. If he wasn't there, she thought, if he hadn't wanted that connection, she'd check down by the pond. But she rather thought she was right about the porch.

And that was where she found him, sitting quietly on the steps and staring up at the darkened sky. He looked for all the world like he was watching the stars come out.

Ginny doubted he'd even noticed them.

She shut the door quietly behind herself. "Do you mind?" she asked softly as she sat down beside him. She trusted Harry to tell her if he still wanted to be alone.

He shook his head.

Ginny took a deep breath and then let it out in a sigh. The stairs they sat on were rather narrow and her shoulder touched his, pressing against the fabric of her sleeve as she crossed her arms over her raised knees and put her chin on her arms. She shivered at the contact, blushed a little in the dark, but didn't move away.

"Cold?" he asked her, voice quiet in the night. She shook her head even though the night air was a little cool on her skin; words felt oddly inappropriate. He shifted beside her, mimicking her position, and the length of his arm, warm and solid, pressed against hers from shoulder to elbow. She blushed again but didn't move away from that either and they slipped into companionable silence.

She watched the last strip of dusky dark blue on the edge of the horizon fade silently away to black and tilted her head back to count the stars.

They'd been sitting there maybe ten or fifteen minutes when Harry finally spoke.

"I don't mean to do it you know." His voice was quiet, low, like he thought maybe words were an intrusion too.

She shifted her gaze from the sky to his face, studied his profile. "Do what?" she murmured back.

"Make everyone worry." She held her breath, trying to think of something to say, but he continued. "I've noticed the looks." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I guess I've been pretty quiet, huh?" He turned his head to look at her.

"A bit," she agreed. "But no one begrudges you a little quiet time to think." He raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and she smiled. "Summer seems to be the only time you ever really get a break," she told him gently.

He sighed at that, something dark flickering briefly behind his eyes, and she knew she'd guessed right that there was something going on. Something Voldemort related. "I just don't like to worry anyone. Especially your mum."

She swayed toward him then, briefly leaning her weight against the place where their shoulders met—a firm, comforting pressure—and rested her cheek against his arm. "No one is upset about it Harry. Just a little concerned." She grinned, sat up. "You're family. They can't help it."

Harry chuckled then sighed. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately. And then with Sirius gone…" He stretched his legs out a bit, rested his forearms on his knees. "I just miss him is all. Today more than most."

She didn't know what to say to that. What do you say to someone who's lost the closest thing to a father he's ever known?

Ginny took his hand and held it tight. For once, she didn't question why she did it, or what it meant, she just let herself enjoy it.

They sat there for a long time wordlessly watching the stars, the weight of his hand warm in hers.

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So, when I started this story, I thought it would be quick: five or six chapters and an epilogue and then it would be done—little more than half the length of SS. But somehow Ginny, sneaky thing that she is, keeps running away with the story. "Add this," she says. "And this, and this and this!" Every time I get the remainder of the story outlined, she pops into my head with a whole slew of new situations, events and strange happenings. Like this chapter, which, originally, was supposed to be about a paragraph long in the middle of a completely different chapter.

So now we are up to chapter seven (a chapter longer than I ever thought this would be) and I'm afraid we still have a rather long way to go with this story. I know that's frustrating, what with my super slow updates (except for this one! Four weeks, yeah! *Insert super happy victory dance here*), but I thought I should warn you…This one'll be alive and kicking for quite some time yet. There are at least five or six more chapters coming…and those are just the ones I already have tentatively planned. Who knows what else Ginny will shove in there? (This is a very busy summer for her!) I'll try to have chapter eight up in another four weeks at the most (wouldn't that be wondrous?); until then R&R!