hoping very much you love this chapter as hard as we do! we're getting there, folks!


After Ron's dung heap of a birthday, Harry really is inclined to feel sorry for his best mate and definitely to be grateful he's not dead - in that way he'll probably never actually say without a few belts of firewhiskey and maybe a bit of Veritaserum. And not because of any macho preening idiocy but just because Harry's not particularly a fan of sharing feelings with anyone. If he can blame the Dursleys for anything…

It's all beside the point though - Ron's his stupid best mate and he's glad he's still alive to fill the role but the whole post-poisoning drama is driving Harry batty. First, the decrease in Ron in Harry's daily life has been replaced by the obnoxia of McLaggen's repeated and increasingly detailed pleas, arguments, and demands to take his 'rightful' place as Gryffindor's Keeper. Which is grating enough without 'Lav-Lav' attempting to supplement her boyfriend's usual emotional support with Harry's admittedly reluctant and bare responses.

He'd maybe be willing to make an attempt at being moderately helpful or at least not rude, but between the conflicting stresses of classes, Quidditch, lessons with Dumbledore, and figuring out whatever the hell Malfoy's up to - Harry's patience is stretched quite thin.

Not only is everyone creating drama that really all comes back down to romance in one way or another, but Harry's life remains woefully intense with none of the snogging related benefits. And his increasingly creative subconscious is a double edged sword in all of this - waking up in the aftermath is simultaneously disappointing and terrifying.

Who knows if he's a sleep talker and who knows if Dean's suddenly a light sleeper. One of these days he's going to wake up with Dean and Seamus standing over him ready to beat Voldemort to offing him.

Which all leads to Harry stalking through the halls not unlike a certain former Potions Master and the comparison only puts Harry in a worse mood.

On one such stalk through the castle, he finds himself no longer alone in his brooding when Ginny slips up next to him as he breaches the entry hall and reaches the sunlit grounds.

She nudges him with her elbow and tilts her head back to drink in the warm afternoon. "So mysterious and brooding lately - half of Hogwarts thinks you're secretly in love with Ron and the other half doesn't give a shit who you fancy because they want to snog you 'til their lips fall off."

Harry grunts in response.

"That's no way to respond to my update - mysterious only covers so much arsehole activity."

Ginny comes to a halt as they reach the bank of the Great Lake and grips his arm. "What the - when are you going to stop acting like a jerk?"

Scowling, Harry drops into the swaying grasses and rips up a couple of handfuls by the roots. "Nobody's making you hang about."

"Your entire life is a distress signal at the mo' Harry - I wouldn't be a good friend if I let you keep acting like a prat."

"So I'm a prat now - you're really tops at giving a pep talk, Ginny."

Ginny's satchel falls to the ground with a thud and she follows after, lying down in the grass at Harry's side. He's a bit thrown, honestly, because he really is acting like a prat, now that she mentions it. And though he doesn't quite want to admit it aloud yet, Ginny's well within her rights to storm off and have a brooding session of her own.

Instead, she sighs and tucks her arms beneath her head. "I've learned your interest is best garnered with a few choice swipes at your carefully crafted view of yourself."

Blowing out a deep breath, Harry mimics Ginny's action and drops back to the grass, spring and freshness sharpening the air around him. It feels safe, being hidden away like this, and he finds the words spilling from his lips before he can stop or even consider the results.

"Everything's just a bit shit lately. Not to make everything about me," Harry pauses to shove Ginny when she snorts, "But between Ron almost dying in front of me and Lavender torturing me for information and Cormac being a cocky ass - "

"Don't get me started on that idiot," Ginny mutters.

"And plus - well, I'm me."

"So you must have some super secret something or other brewing alongside all this teen angst."

"Of course."

Harry pushes his glasses up onto his forehead and leaves his forearm draped over his eyes. "Plus when you've got your own internal frustration piling up about everything including fancying - "

And right about there, his self-preservation instincts kick back in and he realizes he almost just moaned to Ginny about the trouble of fancying her secretly and as far as he knows about three years too late for some requited feelings.

Oh hell. Just add it to his angst pile of life.

It's quiet for a beat or two between them as Harry's sentence dies unfinished and Ginny probably contemplates dumping him in the Lake so the squid can end him once and for all. But when she does break the silence it's with a low, steady voice. That voice he's come to associate with so many feelings that sound like conflicts but just make up the mosaic that is Ginny Weasley. She's a comfort, a friend, a tease, cheeky, kind, loyal, braver than most - and currently offering some sort of response he's missed almost entirely.

" - and anyway, I know it feels like you're the only one with all these mixed up parts of your life crashing down around you," her pinky brushes the side of his hand, "And you certainly have more drama than most - especially with Ron and Hermione for best mates - but you're not weird or strange or broken. I think. Well, Mum says it's just part of growing up."

Harry hums. "You think she's right?"

"Who would question Molly Weasley?"

"I'm the Boy Who Lived," Harry chuckles.

"Not for long if you back talk Mum."


Harry slumps into the 6th Year Boys' Dorm and falls back against the door with a sigh which turns from completely dejected to mostly dejected and slightly relieved. "All alone?"

Ron grunts. "Aye - good thing. I'm still recovering."

"My headache is definitely going to cut my Dean and Seamus clucking session patience," Harry agrees as he deposits his things in his trunk. It's a bit of a messy clean up but once the top drops down it's out of sight and he honestly can't summon up the motivation to give a rat's arse. Especially with lingering daydreams of Ginny fawning over his prone body, wondering aloud why she chose Dean and let Harry nearly die without snogging him to death. And instead leaving him to the cold, cruel death by bludger.

When Harry emerges from daydream take two, Ron's looking at him half expectant, half confused, and Harry decides to milk the head injury as long as possible. He's paying the price with a splitting headache at the base of his skull so at this point excuses are earned. "Sorry mate, say it again? Brain's still a bit wobbly."

"Ah, hell with it. I dunno if I can take one more gossipy discussion of who's dating who and whether they're invested and if it's long term and whatever other shit manages to come up."

"At least you could fake sleeping through Lav Lav without Pomfrey thinking you've got narcolepsy."

Ron snorts and pushes up on his elbows. "She's a persistent thing, eh?"

Harry's on a roll now and he can't quite stop himself before his grumbles continue. "And then Dean can't seem to decide between bragging like an asshole and whining like a little baby because Ginny doesn't powder his bum."

"She better not be anywhere near his bum," Ron grunts, "Care for a game of chess? I could use a good violent outlet."

Before Harry answers, Ron's already crawling to the foot of his bed and rustling around for his beat up chess board. Soon enough he's placing the chipped pieces on the squares while Harry lingers in the doorway. "Can I put on pajamas first?"

"Slip into something comfortable for me, Potter," Ron says with a teasing wink. Harry grabs a pillow and tosses it in his face.

"Stuff it."

"You send me," Ron moans dramatically, and when Harry slams the loo door behind him, Ron calls, "And bring something for a snack before you come over here."

"Eff off, Ron."

"I'm peckish and we all know you hoard food."

When Harry reemerges from the bathroom he shoves his robes in with the rest of his dirty laundry and grabs a few handfuls of candy from his apparently not-so-secret stash. "What's your poison."

"Too bloody soon," Ron laughs, snatching a licorice wand, "So Dean and Ginny? Anything while I was out of it?"

"She'll be ticked at me if I act informant on her," Harry says, gesturing one of his pawns forward.

Ron orders his pawn two spaces ahead and sighs, "Since when does she rank over best mate privileges?"

"I dunno - probably since I saw her bat bogey hex live and in person."

"Baby."


Harry's heart nearly jumps out of its cage when he sneakily walks out of the Room of Requirement and is about to turn the first corner.

"Ginny!" He mostly blurts out, hand over his heart and heaving. He surely wasn't expecting to bump into anyone, let alone a lone, wandering Ginny Weasley.

She looks just as surprised, but mostly amused, a trait evident on all Weasleys. Even Percy on his better days.

"You look like you've seen a ghost. That bludger to the head must've done things to you, eh, Harry?"

Yes, but the grin on your face does a lot more and entirely different things to me, Harry'd like to say but doesn't. Impromptu snogging in the corridors is frowned upon, he remembers with a slight cringe. Nothing in the world that can erase the memory of Ron's red, angry face from his mind, though.

"I was only -"

But he stops mid-sentence. Can he tell her? Should he tell her about the cabinet and Malfoy and Snape? Ginny would never be flippant about it, right? Or would she?

To his great surprise, her cheeks start to redden all the way up to her forehead, her deep brown eyes suddenly averting his gaze.

"Did I - erm, did I interrupt...anything?" Ginny stammers, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

"What?" Harry's gaze blurs out for a moment before something akin to horror washes over him. "No, no, no! Nothing like that! It's - erm, it's Dumbledore, really. New task from Dumbledore, yeah. That's right, a new and insanely difficult new task from Dumbledore that I cannot and will not speak about."

Harry finds himself panting at the end of his little speech, cold sweat dripping from his temples to his armpits as Ginny stares at him and blinks before that warm, hearty laughter erupts from her throat and she doubles over. On his part, well, Harry's never wanted anything more than to simply disappear from the face of the earth. Poof, and all his troubles would go away.

"Didn't mean to laugh," she apologises, fingers wiping small tears from under her eyelids.

"No, no, by all means knock yourself out."

Harry really tries to sound dignified. He pushes his round specs back onto his nose, combs his wild hair with one hand and tugs at the creases in his robe with the other, suddenly very much self-aware.

"Oh, wow. That was something," Ginny finally seems to recover, her back leaning against the cold stone wall. "Honestly, Harry, if you were there alone or with someone -"

Please don't say something even remotely...suggesting.

" - doing whatever everyone is doing, it's completely alright, really. Despite what Ron was preaching before he turned into a leech and became perpetually glued to Lavender's lips," she finishes her sentence with a bit of a frown and Harry feels like he's about to faint.

The last thing he wants is for Ginny to think he's fooling around with someone around the castle. Or even worse, that he's - erm, doing it to himself and going to such great lengths to do so that he hides behind magic doors instead of casting Muffliato in the middle of the night like any other sane teenager.

"Thanks for the advice, Ginny, but it's really not necessary."

"Oh. Alright, then."

She looks a bit forlorn and Harry realises he must have been a prat again.

"I don't have anybody to snog in secret, I mean," he quickly amends. Damn, that crease between her eyebrows truly throws him into guilt-trips like nothing else, eh?

Ginny's lips stretch into a small smile, her eyes a little sheepish as she searches for his own. "You're not missing out on much, promise."

"I take it Dean isn't as good as he brags, then?"

"He what?"

"What's said in the boys' dorm must stay in the boys' dorm."

"Harry James Potter, you tell me what that git is saying about me to you lot right now, or -"

"Or?"

"Or I'll tell Romilda Vane you confessed your love for her to me."

"Ooh, that's beneath the belt, Gin. Where's the sportswoman in you?"

"I put her on hold. She's not great with interrogation tactics."

Ginny looks entirely too smug for her own good because Harry feels like leaning in and kissing her silly. In fact, at one point in their passionate banter they kind of, sort of inched closer to each other - otherwise, Harry has no idea how to explain the fact that she's so close to him he can taste the sweetness of her breath.

They both glare at each other until one of them gives in and into laughter, the echo of their combined mirth reverberating throughout the corridors. But they don't care, not much and not right now.

Right now, they're two teenagers having fun, enjoying each other's company. Right now, they're Harry and Ginny being normal and being friends.

Harry feels warm inside and smiles widely. Without knowing, without even realising, Ginny's crept into his heart little by little until she's come to mean more to him than he could ever find words to describe. He's come to rely on her and that's a lot to him.

"Honestly, Gin, if Dean's giving you any trouble, just tell me and I promise I'll take care of it," Harry grins as they jump down the stairs two by two to the Great Hall.

"That's very chivalrous of you, Harry."

He can feel her roll her eyes though her tone stays amused.

"I won't even tell Ron, promise."

"You won't have to. If anyone's dumb enough to play me dirty, I'll make sure everyone from the First Years to Moaning Myrtle finds out," Ginny winks and Harry nearly misses a step.

"That mostly renders your six brothers plus me useless, though," he laughs, now more careful with the stairs. No need breaking his neck again when he's only recently been dismissed from the hospital.

"Oh, no. Did mean ol' Ginny threaten your masculinity?" She pouts as her finger jabs into his chest and Harry laughs.

"You have to turn everything into a competition, eh?"

"Absolutely. Also, last one at the dinner table is a smelly loser!" Ginny sticks out her tongue and darts away so fast Harry's left blinking in her wake.

A great, big grin nestles on his face and Harry shakes his head before he pelts right after her, taking the steps four at a time and laughing as she splutters like an angry cat when he dashes ahead of her. He's still the fastest runner and he'll make sure that never changes. Seeing her slightly annoyed, mostly amused face, that competition loving flame in her eyes and that blazing, scorching look on her face - that alone gives Harry enough pleasure and charges him with enough courage he honestly feels like he can conquer death.


Harry hopes the absolute best for his two best mates when he waves them goodbye to their Apparition lesson in Hogsmeade because, who knows, maybe they can really hold in the snappy banter and use their lips for something that'd shut them up for awhile once they actually start doing it. And also cut that sexual tension that's been growing over the years right down to nil, Harry likes to tell himself.

Bumping into Tonks doesn't help him either but merely charges him with renewed guilt. It's hard enough waking up and realising there's no Sirius and that there never will be, but to actually see people grieving...He knows he's the only one to blame.

Not to mention his fourth lesson with Dumbledore and the brand new incursion into the life and times of Tom Riddle. Somehow it doesn't get easier, no matter how many times he goes back into Riddle's past, no matter how hard he tries to tell himself that if he'd only managed to understand him…

Harry feels something disgusting crawling underneath his skin after those lessons and he's almost sure it's not only in his head.

And Malfoy. And the Room of Requirement.

And the Prince teaching him increasingly dangerous spells (even though he'd never admit he considers them dangerous for fear that Hermione might hear and go on her little 'told you so' routine).

So, just like a perfect cycle, Harry finds himself finishing the first month of Spring precisely like he started it: drowning in a right well of angst and being broody. Right until a fuming Ginny slams the door to his compartment, that is.

"What's got your pants in a twist?" Harry raises one eyebrow as his eyes follow Ginny from behind round specs. She sways for a moment in the middle of the compartment, leaning into the movements of the fast running train, before she decides to plop down, frowning and pouting opposite him.

Ginny simply grunts in response and Harry knows it'd be useless to push her. She'll tell him when she's ready anyway and he's got a nasty feeling it's got to do with Dean.

Maybe it isn't the best option to find out right now - he might stroll into Dean's compartment and casually strangle him if indeed it was him who upset her, Harry privately reckons.

"You never told me how a toaster works," Ginny says after a beat, her eyes glued to the green outside the window. "Care to explain now?"

Harry poorly muffles a chuckle with a fake coughing fit and dives right into explaining the intricacies of obtaining fresh toast the Muggle way. Fortunately, it keeps them occupied for more than he'd hoped and it's really nice talking to her like that.

But when her questions start spiralling towards more technical stuff than Harry's ever known or even dreamed of knowing, he simply starts making things up, one more ridiculously fantastic than the other. Obviously, Ginny's no fool as her ahas and oh reallys sound dryer and dryer.

At least they share a good laugh when Ron and Hermione return from their Prefect duties and Ron, being his father's son, is suddenly gullible enough to believe there are actual little people hiding inside a TV playing the same movie over and over again "like actors in a play."

The compartment shakes with their laughter as the train rolls out of Scotland and Harry feels so much lighter, almost happy sitting there with the four people he cares most about in the world.

Quite frankly, Easter at the Burrow sounds pretty good to Harry now and, if he's being entirely honest, he can already smell Mrs Weasley's treacle tart and shepherd's pie warm and waiting for them on the old wooden table.