It's only years of quickly reacting to ever changing situations that gets Ginny through the next couple of minutes. After a brief stumble, which judging by the snickering behind her, her brothers just amount to lingering hero worship, she accepts his hand.

His skin is warm against hers, rough in a way that most Wizard's aren't and it sends her into a spiral of memories. His hand leading her through crowded streets, ghosting down her bare back, clenched in her hair. Even after all these years, his touch still sends shockwaves of familiarity through her body. If she had any doubts whatsoever that somehow she was mistaken and he isn't her mystery man from years ago, they vanish in an instant.

As she shakes his hand, desperately trying to not let her shakiness show, she searches his eyes for some sort of recollection, any hint that maybe he recognizes her too. But there's nothing, not even a glint. All she finds is a sort of wary friendliness that comes from being introduced to someone unfamiliar, but important for the first time.

"Nice to meet you," he says, pulling his hand back slowly, confirming her susptions. She tips her head towards him in acknowledgment and agreement, not trusting her voice come out steady. Really, it's all she can do to not react to the rumble of his voice so close to her ear.

Now that she's put the pieces together, it's unbelievable that she didn't recognize him from sound alone. It may not have been long, but in their time together, the sound of his voice had become as familiar to her as that of her closest friends. Not that she actually has any close friends.

Her thoughts spin around in her head, a mess of fragmented emotions and long forgotten dreams. Panic starts to build again, the sounds of the kitchen fading into the background. When she came back, she expected to encounter many challenges, but she'd never once thought he'd be one of them. She wasn't prepared for him to be one of them.

Fortunately, before she has a chance to completely lose her grip on reality and potentially make an even bigger fool of herself, her Mum reappears, her Dad following closely behind. With the bang of the back door closing and the sound of her Father's voice, she is able to shift her focus enough to slow her heart rate and regulate her breathing.

Reuniting with her Dad is everything she hoped it would be. She hugs him tight, happily answering questions about her life and asking her own in return. Together, they sit at the kitchen table and for a few moments he is able to hold her attention. That is until she catches sight of Harry out of the corner of her eye and then she's distracted again.

Her thoughts race as she listens to her Dad talk, trying to make sense of the situation. Her heart threatens to lose its steady rhythm. She has to continually fight off the urge to run far, far away before it's too late, even though she knows that it is already too late.

Yet, through it all she chats with easily about the current Quidditch standings, makes funny faces to amuse the younger children and eats some reheated lunch at her mother's urging. To the outside world everything is fine, she's that same slightly cynical, sarcastic, Ginny that they have always known.

Or at least to most of the world. She can't help but notice how closely Bill is watching her. Closer than he ever did back during her school days, when appearing completely present in one situation while letting her mind wander was second nature; when it was the only way she managed to make it through summer breaks without losing her carefully constructed calm. .

Back then, she knows that she fooled him as much as everyone else more often than not, especially in the early years of the war. Now though, she's not so confident. Now, all she can do is hope that he hasn't noticed how her eyes keep drifting back to Harry, sitting in the living room talking to George as if it's the most normal thing in the world. If he has though, she'll just have to deal with it later. For now, she's trapped in a sea of memories, comparing the man sitting before her today to the one she met all those years ago.

The first time she sees him there are no sparks, no moment of inherent rightness, she actually walks right past him. The bar and the promise of numbness, far more appealing than a random man sitting in the shadows.

She finds a seat easily, sliding onto a stool and ordering a gin and tonic with practiced ease; the drink another unexpected benefit of hiding out in the Muggle world. She downs the first glass and then another, savouring the burn. She sits there, idly tapping her fingers against the bar until the nearly constant buzzing of regret and guilt in her head finally starts to fade back into a dull thump.

It's only then that she looks up to survey the room around her for the first time. There's the aforementioned man in the shadows, a couple over at the tables and a loud, drunk group of men blatantly checking her out a couple seats down.

Great, she thinks, already exhausted.

With the establishments that she tends to frequent, their type of behavior is not all that unexpected. For the most part, she's fine with it. If she's looking for solitude, she'll just ignore them. If she's looking to forget and alcohol isn't doing the trick, she'll wink at them, get them to pay for her drinks and then let one of them take her home (or somewhere more convenient).

On a normal day, their crude remarks and vulgar hand gestures wouldn't bother her, but today, well today isn't just any day. Still, she bites back her annoyance, clutching onto the glass in her hand, she wills herself to stay calm.

That thought lasts about five minutes until one of the men gets the courage, or rather bluster, to approach her. She takes one smell of his alcohol stained breath and spins out of her seat, walking towards the exit before he can even get a word out.

It's easy to tell, as she steps out of the bar into its adjacent alleyway, that the men are following her. Part of her is annoyed at their intrusion, she was enjoying her drink. Part of her is angry, how dare they try to corner an unsuspecting young woman in a dark alley. But most of her is excited. This isn't what she hoped for walking out, but it's the option she most prefers. The honest truth is that the only time she truly feels alive nowadays is when she's fighting someone.

Having no desire to break the statue of secrecy. though, she waits until the first man is right behind her to make her move, glad, once again, that she took the time to hone her skills in muggle fighting in addition to practicing spell work.

Unfortunately, she never gets the chance to hit her mark.

Behind her she hears a thump.

And then another.

And another.

She whips around startled and her eyes land on the man from the bar, his face still as obscured as the first time she spotted him. On the ground around him are the three men lying in various levels of distress.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she asks the mysterious man. Her annoyance, making the British curse slip out unconsciously.

"Uhh saving you." His breathing is heavy and ragged, but it does nothing to hide the incredulous tone of his question.

"And who says I needed help?"

He looks between her, standing at just over five feet with her arms crossed defiantly across her chest, and the three tall, bulky men moaning on the ground and raises his eyebrow as though her question is too ridiculous to justify a response.

"I didn't need your help," she tells him again forcefully, glaring to make sure her message is received.

For a minute, he looks like he's about to argue the point, and part of her hopes he does; she was really looking forward to a fight and at this point she'd happily take whatever kind of release she can get. Unfortunately, he must see something of her eagerness in her face because instead he raises his hands in a placating gesture.

Who the hell does he think he is?

He remains in that position, a cocky grin on his face while she keeps her eyes locked on him, suddenly the more interesting subject. They remain in that position, eyeing each other with equal parts disdain and interest as the offenders pull themselves together and scurry away.

With a final nod in her direction, the smirk still firmly planted, he finally turns to leave as the footsteps of the men fade into the distance. She waits to give him the finger until he starts to turn away, but judging by the amused huff that she hears, he sees it anyway.

That's the end of it. Or at least that's what she thinks until she reaches down and realizes that her bag, with all of her money, the little amount she's rationed and saved, is missing. She lets out a string of curses that would make even the fat lady blush.

She's still searching her pockets trying to locate this missing purse, hoping against hope that she just misplaced it, when the shadow falls over her.

Looking up she sees the man from before, his face finally more illuminated from this angle and she has to suppress a grimace. See Ginny, she hears a voice in her head that sounds remarkably like her Mother, that's why we shouldn't be rude to kind strangers.

"Is everything alright?" The cockiness from before is completely gone, replaced with a genuine concern that has her thrown.

"It's fine," she bites out, at least attempting to be polite despite her frustration.

He just watches her patiently, his steady green eyes holding her hostage, until she forces herself to look away, afraid of what she might reveal if she maintained the connection any longer. As it is, she still finds herself explaining the missing money and the problem that it poses. For some inexplicable reason, she trusts him not to take advantage of the situation. That thought alone would normally have sent her running.

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he tells her, "I've got a place just a few streets away… you're welcome to stay the night"

In an instant, her guard is back up. That's the type of offer she has come to expect from the world. Kindness doesn't come without a cost.

"What's in it for you?" she asks warily. She may be willing to pay the price, but not without first knowing what it is.

He just shrugs and she narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Maybe I'm just lonely."

Her eyes go wide, most people aren't that blunt about it, not that she can say she minds. At least this way, she knows what she's getting into.

For a second, he seems confused by her reaction, and then his face starts to turn red in the dim light.

"Blimey! Not like that! I mean, there's only the one bed… but there's a couch. I plan to take the couch. Or you could have the couch."

She watches him fumble trying to find the words, barely hiding her amusement.

"Please stop me."

She just raises an eyebrow, "but I thought you were lonely?"

"Lonely as is in, I used to live with a bunch of people and now the house is too quiet," he explains with a sigh, perhaps not realizing that she was just taking the mickey.

His explanation rings a little too familiar, and she's barely able to repress a shutter. It would be impossible to count the number of times she's sat in a dingy motel room over the last six months missing the noise of the Burrow or Hogwarts, even though she has no desire to be back there. Against all odds, she feels her connection to him growing at his confession.

Plus he's cute, charming in an unassuming way and she has just enough buzz remaining to make it seem like a good idea. Still. it wouldn't do to give in too easily.

"I was taught not to go home with strange men," she tells him flirtatiously, lightening the suddenly morose atmosphere with an over exaggerated bat of her eyelashes.

This time, her humor lands. Letting out a huff of laughter, he shakes his head like he knows she's trouble and that he'd be better off walking away, but he can't resist. "You're telling me that you could take down those three burly men easily, but I'm a threat?"

He raises his arms wide and spins slowly, the street lights in the distance highlighting him as he moves.

"See? Practical harmless," he tells her with a crooked grin.

Yeah, she doubts that. His wand was easy enough to see, tucked into the back of his pants, as he turned unaware that a small stick of wood would mean anything to a random girl in a Muggle bar. Despite it all, she feels an unexplainable pull towards him. He intrigues her, he excites her.

Plus, she's still pretty sure she could take him in a fight. If there was one benefit to everything, the war, the fighting, it made her strong. Before the dark thoughts can take hold, however, she moves towards him. "Lead the way"

It's only once she's back in her room, surrounded by all of her old things, that Ginny lets the bizarreness of the situation overwhelm her. The rest of the visit was fine, good even, in a lot of ways, but it was also a mess. Or maybe it's just her who's the mess.

Sliding onto the floor between her bed and the wall, she curls her legs up against her chest and lets her head fall against her knees. She didn't think she'd ever see him again and she can't decide if she's happy now that she has or disappointed. Maybe a bit of both. She's definitely frustrated.

His sudden reappearance throws another variable into an already complex situation, as if coming back wasn't already challenging enough. She lifts her head slightly to look around her childhood room; it's strangely unfamiliar despite the fact that she knows nothing has been done to it during her extended absence. It only serves to remind her just how out of it she was the last time she was here, when she finally decided she'd had enough, thrown a few belongings into a bag, scribbled a note and left.

She brings her hands up to her head, pushing her palms against her eyes so tightly that the world turns to black.

Why doesn't he recognize me? She wonders with a groan. She already signed on to solve one long forgotten mystery coming back here, she doesn't need another one.

The thought flits through her head and then out again before she can grasp on to it. No matter what she tries to do, she can't seem to settle her mind.. One second the stress of being home again threatens to consume her, then the next, she's barely able to quell her anxiety about the job waiting for her on Tuesday and the answers she might find there. Only for it to come back to Harry.

She runs her hand through her hair, telling herself furiously to get a grip. Her thoughts are all over the place, her emotions aren't much better and that's a dangerous place to be. She needs to regain control before everything spirals out of her reach.

Almost unconsciously, her eyes settle on her bag placed neatly in the corner of her room and then without another thought, she's pushing herself up onto her feet and walking over to the backpack. Even though it's been years since she last took this particular object out, she's able to find it easily.

She lets the cold glide of the metal stag slide across her skin grounding her. It's not what she intended when she took it with her all those years again, not in the slightest, but she finds that it works surprisingly well.

Twirling the keychain around on her finger, she walks back over to the bed, trying to put her thoughts in order. With the stag in her hand, it's nearly impossible to not feel the memories of their time together pressing in, but she keeps them at the edge of her consciousness; there, but not really. It's how she's dealt with memories of him for as long as they've been there. Actually, it's how she deals with memories of a lot of things, even though she's trying to be better.

Pushing away the reflection for later, she decides to focus on the Harry issue. It's the freshest of her problems and the only one she might actually have a hope of solving if she thinks on it long enough.

With her mind clearer, she keeps coming back to one thought over and should have recognized her; he should have recognized her long before she ever came home. Her face is scattered throughout this house, and while most of the photos are of her younger years, there's definitely a good few that should have been enough to identify her even with a different hair colour.

She's annoyed that her mind instantly jumps to a memory charm. They're not at war anymore, an attack shouldn't be her instant response and yet, it still is. Knowing who he truly is now, the possibility seems even more likely. It's possible that erasing her wasn't even the goal of the wipe, her mind argues. What was he doing halfway across the continent 4 years ago? Just weeks before the first anniversary of the final battle.

The more she thinks about it, the more questions she has. He's been appearing in letters from her family for years now which means he came back to the country not long after they parted. What pulled him half way across Europe and what pulled him back?

And it's not just the timeline that's confusing her, she's having a hard time reconciling the man that she thought she knew, however brief their time together, and all she's learned about Harry Potter over the years. It just doesn't make sense.

They seem like two completely different people.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a gentle knock on her door, giving her only a few seconds' notice to bury the stag in the pocket of her jumper and replace her mask of calm, before the door opens revealing her mother.

"Have you got everything you need?" her Mum offers softly, "I could whip up something quick if you're still hungry?" .

She shakes her head in the negative quickly. The reality is that she has much more than she needs, much more than she's gotten used to having, but her Mum doesn't need a picture of how poorly she lived for those first couple of years.

Yet, even after her response, she still lingers in the door. Another moment passes full of hesitation, and then she seems to steal her resolve, stepping into the room and sitting lightly on the edge of the bed beside her. It's startling for Ginny to see her mother acting cautiously, especially around her. It doesn't make sense. Molly Weasley isn't cautious, she's loud and bold and often a little too pushy.

Her Mum takes some time to gather her thoughts, another surprising difference, and while she does that, Ginny takes a moment to really see her Mother. She's aged, a lot. Her once vibrant red hair is now mostly grey, the lines on her face are deeper, more prominent. It makes sense, Bill is in his mid 30's, she should look this way, but still it's shocking for Ginny. She doesn't know when it happened, was it slow, over the years she missed, or sudden, right after she left? Or was it while she was still here, at the height of the war, and she just never noticed because she was too wrapped up in her own world?

"I know that we've never been very close, that you've always felt better confiding in other people, Bill, your friends, your dad, he says it's because we are too much alike and that's fine-"

Ginny starts to object, but she cuts her off with a raised hand.

"Just let me finish okay," she says with a wobbly smile. "We haven't been close, but I just want to say that if you ever need someone to talk to— I still don't quite understand what happened back then and I don't need to— I just want you to know that if it ever gets back to that place again, you can come to me and we'll figure it out… I don't ever want to go that long without seeing you again."

She can see the tears leaking out of the corner of her Mum's eyes, but doesn't comment. She can't through the lump in her throat. She hasn't cried in a long time and she's not going to now, even though part of her wishes that she could. That matching tears could fall down their cheeks, that they could embrace and everything broken between them would be fixed in an instant.

Unfortunately, it's not that easy. Still, she feels a little piece of something heal inside of her when her Mum pulls her into her arms for a hug.

"I'm so glad you're home dear," her Mum says gently, patting her hair like she used to do when she was young, "I've missed you terribly."

"Me too," she answers softly from her place pressed against her Mum's shoulder. She doesn't know what she's going to do about Harry, what she should tell him, if she should tell him, but for now she lets herself enjoy the moment. If life has taught her one thing, it's that they don't normally last.