A/N: Thanks for your patience, everyone! I wish I could say I had a double update for you, but alas, that's not the case-we're simply resuming our regular Wednesday update. It is a rather intense chapter though, featuring a good dose of our favorite couple and ... Bill! A couple quick explanations: I've used the Golden Trio nickname here because I think some type of honorific would have cropped up in the press coverage after the war. Regardless of what the public knows about Ron and Hermione's accomplishments, it's pretty obvious they were on the run with Harry and the DA, at least, would understand how much Harry relies on them. For any twenty-two year old (or older!) readers who are living at home, please don't be offended by Bill's comment. I think things are a little speeded-up in the wizarding world, that's all.

My apologies to anyone who read this chapter before I added this bit: I meant to put a WARNING for discussion of sexual assault!

"Ginny?"

"Hmm?"

She sat cross-legged in front of him, and Harry had her hair in his hands, preparing to weave it into a plait. It had got tangled when they were kissing, and it was slow work to separate the long strands.

"Tell me about your detentions." He ignored the prodding of his conscience, which thought he should be talking about Horcruxes. Soon. I'll tell her soon.

She shrugged. "It was detention. There's nothing to tell."

"Don't lie to me."

She turned, trying to get a glimpse of his face without pulling her hair. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Neville," he said, and she winced.

She sat quietly for a while, long enough for him to finish the plait and awkwardly twist a hairband around the end. She pulled it over her shoulder, examining his work.

"You're getting good at that. I can teach you to French braid soon."

"Ginny."

"Harry, I—"

"I want to know. I deserve to know, just like you do with me."

She fiddled with the end of the plait for a moment, then said, "What did he tell you?"

"That Seamus noticed the girls came back from detentions with no visible marks. That the older girls took detentions for the younger ones, especially the pure-blood witches. He implied you were being … abused."

"Better us than the young girls!" Ginny said, firing up at once. "At least we understood what was happening!"

Harry felt the tension all over his body and did his best to keep his voice calm. "What was happening?"

Ginny moved to sit beside him instead of in front of him, but she still didn't look at him. "You won't tell Ron?"

Harry shook his head.

"There was some … inappropriate behavior. Intimidation, mostly—it was always a group of them but only one of us, deep in the dungeons where no one could hear and no one passed by. And … suggestive comments." Ginny picked a long blade of grass and shredded it into her lap. "Really vile stuff. I learned that he liked it—Amycus, I mean—he liked it when we fought back, so I just—I just stood still and pretended I was somewhere else. It only happened a few times."

"It shouldn't have happened at all," Harry said. His neck was so tight it hurt to turn and look at her.

She brushed the grass out of her lap. "It's not your fault. And you couldn't have stopped it, even if you had been there. Don't you think Neville and Seamus and the others tried?"

"What made them stop?"

Ginny gave a bitter laugh. "They counted on us being too ashamed to talk to each other. They always chose just one of us at a time, but I noticed the same thing—girls coming back from detention obviously upset but apparently unharmed. I cornered a second-year one night and found out they were doing the same thing to the younger girls too. She was just a child, Harry! I told her to spread the word among the younger girls to let us know, and we started showing up at their detentions. Carrow never turned us away. At first it was just me and Luna and Lavender and Parvati, but then Parvati told Padma and the other DA girls found out and wanted to help, and the fifth-years did too. It helped, knowing we weren't alone, and it helped to know we were sparing the younger girls.

"I realized no one else knew, not even his sister, and I thought we could use that to our advantage. So, we—the pure-blood witches, I mean, because they were a bit more guarded with us—we started spreading ourselves around the school at break and free times, and whenever Amycus or any of the Slytherin boys who had been involved started bullying someone, we just stepped in front of them. It worked best when there were two or three of us, because then they knew we were working together. We weren't keeping their dirty little secret," she said scornfully.

"How did you plan all this?" Harry asked. "You couldn't have used the coins."

"No, we didn't want the boys to know."

"Neville said you had some kind of communication system, though."

She smiled. "The lavatories."

"What?"

"Girls talk in lavatories. All girls use them, girls of different ages and different Houses. It doesn't matter where in the castle you are, you're never suspicious going into or coming out of a lavatory. It's how we spread the word to the girls who weren't part of the DA. Did a fair amount of recruiting, actually."

"But there aren't that many pure-bloods," Harry said.

"You'd be surprised," she said. "Especially when you include Slytherin House."

"What!"

"Oh, yes." Ginny's voice had lost its tense, bitter tone. "One of the Slytherin fifth-years got detention for snooping on one of their meetings with Snape. We think she was reporting back to her parents—none of them trusted each other, you know. Anyway, Amycus made the mistake of choosing her for one of their little sessions. I'll say this for the Slytherin girls, they take care of their own. Two days after they joined us, it ended."

"Just like that."

Ginny set her jaw, the stubborn look she'd given him before, but Harry didn't back down.

"You were—were—manhandled and humiliated by a teacher who had control over all the punishments at Hogwarts, and it just ended?"

"I'll take the physical abuse over the humiliation any day. Don't look at me like that, Harry, that's all I know. There's a lot of politics in Slytherin House, and one of those girls knew something. One of them must have had something on Carrow, something big enough to make him back off."

Harry continued to frown at her, but when she said no more, he moved on. "Neville said they targeted you for uniform violations."

Ginny nodded and plucked another piece of grass. "I was an idiot," she said quietly. "I was counting on my pure-blood status, even as a blood traitor, to be somewhat of a shield. I didn't—being a girl, though, a pure-blood female, I—" She took a deep breath.

Harry reached for her hand, and she clutched his tightly.

"I forgot that would be an advantage for … breeding. And it didn't require my consent."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and swore, but Ginny didn't flinch.

"Cr—one of them stripped my jumper off in the middle of the courtyard. I—it was a Saturday, I was wearing denims and your dragon jumper, and—"

She drew her knees up to her chest, and Harry waited, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

"He was making fun of my Muggle clothing, calling me a Squib, and I—I was so shocked—I had my wand, but I was so shocked that I just stood there."

"But—the detentions. If they were doing that, then why…."

"They had never— No one—"

Harry heard her swallow, and her voice was thick with suppressed tears.

"No one had removed my clothes before. But that day, he just—he just walked right up and ripped it over my head. I was wearing a shirt underneath, but—" She swallowed again. "It was horrible."

"Wasn't there anyone else around?"

"There were loads of people around."

Harry realized that had only added to her shame. Probably part of the reason why Crabbe had done it.

"Carrow had grabbed a first-year two days before at breakfast, just a random first-year, and Cruicio'ed her because someone mouthed off about Snape. If anyone tried to interfere, they wouldn't have been the only person punished. The Carrows were learning relationships, who were siblings and cousins and friends, and they used that to manipulate us. And he wasn't hurting me."

Harry made a noise in his throat.

"Anyway, he was going on about—making all these nasty suggestions, and people were laughing and catcalling, and when he reached for my blouse, I finally came to myself and hexed him."

"What happened?"

"McGonagall found me," Ginny said, visibly relieved. "I don't know if she saw it or heard it, but she found me and took me to her office, gave me a robe and put me to work copying a section of Advanced Transfiguration we were studying that week. When the Carrows came to her for help getting into Gryffindor Tower, because that's where they thought I'd gone, she acted like I'd been in her office the whole time, doing a detention for not completing an essay for her. Which was true. We'd had a DA meeting the night before it was due. I'd just dashed off something quick, so the bad mark was in her grade book."

"And they believed her?"

"Oh, no. But you know McGonagall—she's a formidable witch, and the Carrows weren't stupid enough to go against her. Even Snape was a little afraid of her. He always seemed … rather sensitive to what she said. She gave me such a telling off when they left, but I didn't need it. I was pretty scared already. Snape ordered my room searched, and they took everything that was associated with you."

There was one thing he still didn't understand. "Why did you do that? Why did you draw attention to yourself?"

Ginny dropped his hand. "I did it for you! And for everyone else who wanted to believe in you but was too scared."

"But you were supposed to stay safe. The Death Eaters weren't supposed to associate you with me!"

Her eyes flashed. "That was your decision, Harry, not mine. I never wanted that."

"Well, what about what I wanted!"

"You got what you wanted!" Ginny stood up, glaring down at him with fists clenched, and Harry scrambled up to meet her. "You broke up with me and left without warning and just disappeared! You went off with Ron and Hermione, the DA's Golden Trio out to save the world. And I was the one left behind, left behind with a broken heart and a broken family and a broken school! I had to pick up the pieces and figure out how to survive, because you weren't there!"

"THAT WASN'T MY FAULT!" Harry bellowed. "I didn't have a choice, I had to go after Voldemort! I didn't want Ron and Hermione to come, but they insisted. And I've lost a lot too. Believe me, it wasn't a cakewalk!"

Ginny looked nonplussed at the Muggle analogy, and something about her expression calmed some of Harry's anger.

"It wasn't easy," he said shortly.

"How would I know? You won't tell me what you lot were doing," she retorted.

Harry looked away from her, out over the fields, and clenched his jaw, trying to control his temper. "It's hard to talk about. And not all the secrets are mine to share."

They looked at each other, both breathing hard, and finally Ginny nodded. "All right. I can understand that. But there's something you need to understand, Harry: you do not speak for me. You do not make choices for me. You do not get to put me in some safe little box on a shelf somewhere and take me down whenever it's convenient for you. Yes, I fought for you, but I had plenty of other reasons to fight too. So, even if we hadn't gone out, even if you'd never existed and all this stuff had happened to some other Boy Who Lived—"

Harry's heart clenched at the possibility.

"I would still have been in Dumbledore's Army, I would still have challenged Snape and the Carrows, I would still have fought back. Because what was happening was wrong, and I'm not the kind of person to do nothing. That's not how I was raised. And if you would be honest with yourself for two seconds, you could admit that's one of the reasons you like me so much."

Harry stared at her. Godric, she was amazing. Fiery and feisty and fierce, and she was right. He was attracted to her immense inner strength and even her stubbornness. She challenged him.

"Okay," he said simply. He stepped closer and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. She didn't withdraw, but she gave him a suspicious look. "I can accept you did what you felt you had to do, even if I don't like it, if you can accept that I'm always going to want to protect you. Even though you don't need it," he added hastily.

"Hmph," she said, but she pressed her face into his chest and hugged him back.

()()()()

Mum had cooked.

A simple roast and vegetables, but still—Bill's mother had planned and prepared a meal for her family and he was grateful. And not just because it was a change from Ginny's usual shepherd's pie, either. Mum had even tried to clear up, but Bill and Percy had run her off, and the overlapping chatter of witches drifted in from the sitting room as Fleur, Mum, and Ginny visited.

Bill had asked Percy how work was going and hadn't had to say much since. Percy's attitude towards the Ministry may have changed, but his enthusiasm for work in general had not. Percy had always been a hard worker; even as a little boy he had strived to keep up with Bill and Charlie in everything from room cleaning to gnome tossing to maths.

Bill frowned as he stacked cutlery in the drawer, only half-listening. Was Percy taking that work ethic and applying it to reconciling with the family? Bill had been somewhat surprised to see Percy come down the stairs when Ginny called everyone to dinner. He understood why Percy stayed when Charlie was home (Bill would have liked to do the same), but Charlie had gone back to Romania a fortnight ago. He was coming back next weekend, and Bill knew without asking that Charlie wouldn't expect to find Percy still living at the Burrow.

Percy paused for breath and Bill seized the opportunity. "It's okay to go home, you know," he said matter-of-factly.

If he hadn't been watching, he would have missed it: the very slightest pause of the sponge at the edge of the worktop before Percy swept the crumbs into his hand.

"I am home."

"I'm talking about your home, your flat. It's okay to leave—you'll still be part of the family, Perce."

"There's nothing there," Percy said.

Bill set the last plate on the shelf and closed the cupboard. "I wouldn't call your own space nothing."

"No, I mean there's nothing there—just a bed and a ratty molded sofa Fred and George sent as a 'housecooling' gift. I never even got a table. I eat standing over the sink."

Bill paused. Even an entry-level position at the Ministry would allow for the decent furnishing of a small flat.

"So, ask Mum to help you," he suggested. "It would be good for her to have something to do, and you know she'd love it."

"She'd hate it," Percy said flatly, wringing the sponge dry. "I hate that flat. It's a horrible flat, dark and cramped and overlooking a row of skips. It stinks. Literally."

Percy was a hard worker, all right—especially when it came to punishing himself.

"Then get a new one," Bill said. "You're nearly twenty-two years old, Perce—you can't live with your mummy forever."

Percy scowled, but Bill pretended this was just an ordinary conversation. Just some friendly advice between brothers about growing up, and making your own way in the world, and having a halfway decent place to bring a witch when you had the chance.

Percy had picked up the sponge again and was wiping around each burner of the stove. Bill waited.

"It's just—I was gone for a long time, and now you and Charlie are gone, and George … and no one knows when Ron is coming back, and Ginny is the only one at home…."

"I'm just saying," Bill said quietly. "When you decide you're ready to leave, that's okay. All right?"

Percy nodded.

"And for Merlin's sake, get a table and chairs. Witches will not eat breakfast standing over a sink."

()()()()

It had been a good evening, relatively speaking. Bill had beaten both his dad and Percy at chess and though Mum had gone up to bed early, tonight was the longest she had spent with the family in weeks. He would have to remember to thank Fleur; there were two projects lying at the top of his mother's knitting basket, one with a fat needle and uneven stitches, and he suspected Fleur had asked her mother-in-law to teach her how to knit. He sighed. Maybe Fleur would be a slow learner and it would be another year before he started getting two handmade jumpers for Christmas….

Percy and Harry were playing chess now, and Ginny sat on Harry's lap. Bill remembered when she used to sit on his lap when there was a chess match going on, how she had wanted to move the queen on every play and fussed if Dad or Percy beat him, how she had always been the first to run to meet him when he stepped off the Hogwarts Express and the last to let go when it was time to step back on. How she begged him to read "just one more" even when her eyes were crossing. Hell, one Christmas—sixth year, maybe?—he'd resorted to sitting on the side of the bath with the shower running just to get ten minutes' peace from her, and now she barely noticed he was in the same house.

Not that she was rude; she had shot him a dirty look when he failed to hide his initial relief that there was something different for dinner and warned him not to leave his cloak on the back of the sofa if he didn't want Arnold to chew it and asked him to pass the bread. But she had been too wrapped up in Harry to pay any real attention to her oldest brother.

Like now. Bill was directly in her line of sight, but Ginny hadn't looked at him once. She sat quietly on Harry's lap with her head against his shoulder, watching the match without comment, and Bill had to admit with her hands folded in her lap and Harry's free hand idly twisting the ends of her ponytail while he used his right to move the pieces, there wasn't anything provocative or improper about their behavior. Fleur had said to watch Ginny—even Ron had told him to watch the two of them together, and….

His baby sister was in love. It was written all over her face, in the stillness of her expression, the softness of her eyes, the slight smile that didn't waver. The simple fact that she remained quiet and content simply to be near Harry spoke volumes about how Bill's spunky, chatty sister felt about the wizard holding her. He didn't need to be next to them to know Harry was paying no attention to the game; the abundance of battered white pieces off the edge of Percy's side of the board attested to that.

Maybe—just maybe, mind you—Potter wasn't half bad if, in the midst of tragedy, he could make Ginny look like that. Calm, and peaceful, and … assured. Like she was completely confident she was exactly where she belonged.

()()()()

Bill and Charlie had brought all their brothers onto the roof a few times, but tonight it was just the two of them. Considering he had to work tomorrow, Bill would have to leave soon, but between the chaos of Charlie's arrival earlier this evening and a late dinner, this was the first time the two had had a chance to visit.

Not that they talked much.

Charlie elbowed Bill in the ribs, and he followed his brother's pointing finger. Ginny stalked across the garden in grass- eating strides, broomstick over her shoulder and Harry trailing well behind her, empty- handed. Dammit—just when he was starting to warm up to the kid, and now they were fighting again. Bill considered casting an eavesdropping charm, but at the rate Ginny was moving, she would soon be in earshot. Harry broke into a trot and caught up with her just before she reached the back door. Bill and Charlie reversed positions, heads down, to keep the pair in sight.

"Don't touch me!" Ginny shook herself and spun around, causing Harry to duck as the broomstick's tail swept by at head level.

"I was just going to put your broom away for you."

She looked incensed; her face was easily as red as her hair, a bad sign for any Weasley. But at least she wasn't crying.

"I do not need you to put my broom away for me any more than I need you to tell me how to fly or how to land!"

Charlie raised one eyebrow, and Bill nodded in agreement. Harry had been asking for trouble if he had tried to control Ginny's broomstick.

"Well then, why did you walk past the shed?"

No, no, no; the kid was trying to use reason and logic. That was never going to work.

"Because I was afraid if I took my broomstick off my shoulder, I might club you with it!"

Harry took a couple of prudent steps backwards before he began to fight back.

"I still don't understand why you're angry with me for keeping us from crashing."

"We were not going to crash!"

"Ginny, that tree wasn't ten feet away when I pulled the broom up!"

"We were not going to crash," she repeated, closing the distance between them to jab a finger in Harry's chest. "I've been flying in that orchard since I was six years old—"

"Not with a wizard on your tail, you haven't."

Uh-oh. Now he was actually right, and that was worse. Bill was starting to understand what Ron meant back at Hogwarts when he said Harry acting noble seemed to piss Ginny off the most.

After a moment of silence, Ginny spun around, and Harry ducked the broom's tail again.

"Next time, I'll thank you to keep your hands off my broomstick!"

"Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do with them?" Harry shouted.

Beside Bill, Charlie began banging his forehead on the shingles. "He did not just say that. Please tell me there is not a Quidditch-playing wizard in existence who does not know what to do with a witch on a broomstick."

Bill patted him on the back, focused on the drama below.

"Oh, I don't know, Harry, use your imagination!" Ginny made to enter the house, but Harry grabbed her arm.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ginny jerked her arm out of Harry's grip and didn't answer. Harry eyed her broomstick, still propped over her shoulder, then stepped closer to her.

"Ginny?"

"Well, what else was there to hold on to?" she asked.

Bill gave a silent groan of sympathy. Now she was making him guess, stringing him along so she could pull the trap shut….

Harry looked suspicious and hopeful at the same time, as if he knew what she meant but thought it was too good to be true.

"Nothing, that's my point. I had to hold onto the broomstick to keep us balanced…."

Ginny's expression must have revealed that as an incorrect answer, for Harry's voice trailed off, and he took a step backwards again. Charlie resumed his head-banging.

"Me, Harry, me! I wanted you to hold onto me."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

One thing was certain: either Ron had not given Harry a copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches for his seventeenth birthday, or Harry hadn't read it.

"Maybe because riding one broom was my idea?"

"We'll go now," Harry said, reaching out for Ginny's broomstick, then thinking better of it and tucking his hands behind his back.

"No."

"Come on, I'll let you steer and everything."

Ginny shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I just— I've never flown with anyone else, and I didn't like not having control of the broomstick."

"You don't trust me," she accused.

"No! I mean, yes, of course I trust you."

"Just not enough to believe I won't fly you into a tree."

Harry's mouth opened and closed helplessly.

"Or to tell me the truth."

"I haven't lied to you," he said quickly.

"But you're hiding something," Ginny said. "You're hiding something you won't tell me about, when I've told you everything!" Her voice cracked.

Harry didn't deny it; in fact, the truth of her accusation was written all over his face.

Ginny slammed the back door behind her so hard that Bill felt the vibration beneath him.