A/N: I appreciate the passion and the reviews so much! Even those that cursed me out or got angry at Harry and Ginny's stupidity. But I am a firm believer in consequences. And Harry and Ginny need to learn from their poor communication!

The enchantments protecting Harvey Little's home were not robust. They seemed to match the skill level of one such as Harvey Little, as Harry had studied him. They did not match someone who could be a potions master dabbling in deep Necromancy. They did not match someone who could cast a powerful Imperius Curse. Despite the warning bells in his head, Harry pressed on.

And so it was that Harry and Ron led a small force from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement into the home of Harvey Little the night of Evangeline Mera's abduction.

Little's home was on a muggle street of a suburb of London, so the Aurors were careful to cast notice-me-not charms and other assurances they wouldn't be adding muggle memory charms to their list of tasks tonight. Harry needed to be focused.

He couldn't think of the ache in his chest that had been there for the last several hours. Since Ginny had all but accused him of faking their closeness for a good fuck.

He pushed the thought away. One, because he knew the accusation was made in a time of pain and confusion, and Harry had contributed to it, albeit unintentionally. But also two, because it hurt too much knowing that she could think that, even in a moment of pain. All that they had shared over the last few weeks—had it really been that simple for her to discount it? He had truly misread their relationship if that was the case.

And he also pushed the thoughts away because they were entering Little's house, and Harry needed to focus.

They fanned out, Ron leading a team down the hallway, and Harry leading another through the main room. Everyone moved with magic-enhanced silence. Detection charms revealed a trap door under the rug. Harry motioned to the others to pull the rug away while he kept his wand trained on the floor beneath it. Sure enough, a trap door.

At his signal, his men lifted the trap door up. There was commotion below, so Harry bypassed the ladder leading to the cellar, and leapt to the ground below. He hit the ground and rolled, easing his fall. As he came out of the roll, he scanned the room, and waved his wand to be ready for an attack.

"Aveda Kedavra," came a voice within. Harry saw a flash of green and dove to the side out of reflex. But the green didn't hurtle towards him. Harry watched Little crumple to the ground from across the room, wand pointed at his own head.

It was a long night. Robards even came in to investigate with Harry and Ron, which Harry didn't appreciate.

"Potter," the man growled for the fiftieth time. "It's okay to be wrong. Just be grateful Mera is going to be fine, and that Little was just a sad little man."

"I'm telling you it doesn't make sense, Robards." Harry paced the underground potions lab. The forensics team had already been through here, and while their final evaluation wouldn't be complete until further tests were run back at the Ministry, they seemed fairly confident in their findings.

Little was not performing any Necromancy, and he was the only one involved in any of this.

"The high cauldron temperature and ingredients at the Cannon's facility," Harry named.

"He was experimenting," Robards suggested. "It's clear this guy was trying to develop a potion for deep control."

"That's what this lab suggests," Harry argued. He ran through the ingredients found here, but there were some suspicious absences. "But where's the ghost slag? And the Dragon bone? Why isn't that here? Why just the lab at the Cannon's facility?"

"Clearly this lab is stocked with ingredients he has bought, and the Cannon's is stocked with ingredients he could get on Vane's sickle," Robards argued. "You're trying too hard to justify your hunch, Potter."

Harry fumed. "And you're ignoring the fact that half a dozen ingredients with the Cannons would do nothing to hold a person under your control. It's not Amortentia. It's not a Compulsion Draught. Not even in the same neighborhood!"

" Don't tell me you know every potion and their makeup. Or every possible potion to be developed. You're no Potion's Master, Potter."

"Neither was Little!" Harry cried.

Robards glared at him and waved his hand around the room. Cauldrons, well-organized stacks and bottles of ingredients, and a musk to the room that reminded Harry of whenever Snape would visit headquarters during the war. "Clearly, he was."

Harry glanced at Ron who stayed infuriatingly silent during all of this. Harry knew his best mate was sour at him about Ginny still. But Harry couldn't deal with that. Not when he was about to be taken off the case.

"Don't close this case, sir. Please."

Robards lifted an eyebrow. "You've got a week. You've earned that much. But don't come crying to me for more time when you come up empty."

Considering the case had been open for three weeks without a significant break, Harry wanted to push for more time. But he knew when not to press Robards.

And so he got to work. He went home only for a few hours of sleep, and was back in the office by dawn.

He dove back into his books on Necromancy—it was the last lead that he had now. And as he studied, he realized just how little he'd studied these books. Had he been afraid of his memories in the graveyard? Had his split protection duties made it difficult to be fully immersed? Had he simply been too busy satisfying his own desires? Was he actually busy with other leads? Had his selfishness gotten Evangeline Mera abducted?

He vowed not to let it happen again, whatever the reasoning.

The first day passed before he knew what had happened. Ron had given him a wide berth. His partner knew him well, interrupting his study only when Harry needed to be interrupted. Whether because Harry needed to talk out his theories, or his head was swimming with too much information. The day was spent in volumes of one of the darkest magics out there, and it made Harry sick, and not only because of how many of the concoctions bore an eerie resemblance to the second-worst night of Harry's life. Some of the possibilities and theorizations surrounding the dead were horrific. He cross-referenced all ingredients from the two potions labs and the inventory Vane provided, and started making a list of possible potions and rituals that he found in his readings.

When he got home after midnight, Harry was sick to his stomach, and he was exhausted. Ginny was waiting for him, and he honestly didn't know how to feel about it. At this moment, she almost felt like the one more thing he couldn't handle right now. The thought made Harry even sicker with himself.

The main room was fairly dark. Only the fire and one lamp lit the room, and Ginny sat on the couch, staring at the fire after Harry emerged from it. She glanced up at him, and she must have seen it in his eyes. The hesitation at seeing her, of not wanting to deal with whatever was happening with them right now. Or maybe she just knew him that well, too.

"There's some extra food left over," she said, motioning towards the refrigerator. Harry was suddenly famished at the words. When had he eaten last? He'd never gained an appetite. But here, at home, a sense of comfort washed over him, and he thought he should eat. "Ron said you might be late, and I thought you'd be hungry."

"I am," he said softly. "Thank you, Ginny."

The air was tense between them, but Harry hoped she knew he truly was grateful she thought of him. It was bittersweet, this reminder of how close they were to the couple he dreamed they could be. The source of home and comfort he had increasingly seen her as. Only to have that dream slashed.

As if reading his mind, Ginny joined him at the kitchen table after he'd dished himself a serving of pasta and heated it with his wand. "I also...I also wanted to thank you," she said, her voice was weak, so very unlike Ginny. "They said that Evangeline would be fine. That he hadn't...that she was just unconscious and nothing else."

Harry nodded. "All things considered," he said through a mouthful, and hardly tasted the alfredo sauce on his tongue. He reviewed the scene in his head for the seventeenth time that day. Mera tied down, otherwise untouched and unconscious. Harvey Little, dead by his own wand. It still didn't make sense. "We got lucky."

"Yeah. The things I'd been envisioning..." she trailed off, and Harry saw a far-away look in her eyes he knew well. And it all hit him like an exploding charm to the chest. How had he not thought of her since coming home? How had his only thoughts been of the case and of how she could help him. He felt sick again.

"How are you?" he asked, and his tongue felt heavy. It should've been the first thing he thought of. Just like comforting her yesterday should've been the first thing he thought of before how complicated his own feelings were. No wonder she was pissed at him.

"Much better after Ron updated me this afternoon," she said. She studied her nails, trimmed short for handling the quaffle.

Fuck, he hadn't even thought to give her the good news. And it had nothing to do with their fight yesterday. He simply hadn't thought about her. He wanted to throw up.

But no. It had been a choice, hadn't it? This was what was needed of him. No one else was acting. So it was his responsibility. And innocent people would be hurt again if he let himself get distracted. And it's not as though Ginny perceived their relationship as particularly deep. She'd made that clear. And it was better that way, now.

"Andromeda brought Teddy by earlier today," Ginny said when Harry didn't reply. Teddy. "She has to take him back in to St. Mungo's this week. Found something strange in his blood work, I guess, and need to retest."

"Hope everything's okay," Harry said. He felt sick. He needed to focus. He didn't have time to worry about everything else right now. Ginny, Teddy, that could wait, right? He only had a week.

"And how are you?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He stood from the table. He'd already finished the meal. Ginny looked at his plate, apparently surprised by how quickly he'd eaten. "I don't have a lot of time left for the case," he explained. "And I know I need at least four hours of sleep or work is counterproductive."

Ginny's brow furrowed at his response. "Okay," she said. "Sleep tight."

He nodded. Ginny called out to him on his way back to his room. "Harry?" He turned around to see her nervously standing at the table. He realized he left his dish. He'd get it in the morning. "I am sorry about yesterday."

He nodded. "Me too." They'd already said this much. When he didn't offer more, she sighed and sat back down.

"G'night, Harry."

Day two went much like the first. The only difference was that Ginny kept creeping into his head. She had to, of course. She was a major player in the case. Had she been targeted specifically? He'd originally thought so, but Mera's abduction called that into question. But the suspicious behavior surrounding Little's potions lab and suicide had Harry doubting all of it.

He divided potential Necromantic rituals into two groups—those that might require a random person, and those that might require Ginny. On their surface, the differences were minimal. Both were witches in their physical primes, beautiful. But Harry knew the truth. Ginny had been touched by dark magic before. And whether or not this case was related to Voldemort, Ginny's experience opened up new potential rituals.

However, it was Ginny's connection to Voldemort that he spent most of his time and efforts on. The texts rarely mentioned horcruxes, but there were countless mentions of souls, of shared blood and body, of stolen life. Harry knew how close Tom Riddle had come to draining Ginny's life to refuel his. That bond terrified him, and what uses for her a Necromantic ritual might have.

The magic was dark, fascinating, and terrifying. He'd never known some of the experiments and successes surrounding the bridge of life and death. And Ginny might well be at the center of it.

But Ginny wasn't just in his head because of her role in the case. He found himself drifting now and then from words in the texts and scrolls, thinking about her. Hoping she was okay. Hoping they could talk—truly talk and understand one another. Maybe Harry wasn't ready to tell her everything like he'd been ready to a few days ago. But he longed to return to their close friendship and comfort.

When Ron shook him from his work at seven, Harry wondered briefly if he should return home and make dinner with her. She might appreciate it, and Harry could spare an hour, right? He knew the benefits of breaks were real.

But then he shook himself, each time these thoughts came. Because if he didn't solve this, who would? And then what? Another Harpy gets abducted? He would have to follow Ginny around as security for the rest of their lives because he was convinced she was still in danger even if no one else was?

No. He would stay on task, and get this figured out. He'd deal with everything else after that. The thought of "dealing" with Ginny made his chest constrict painfully. He shouldn't think that way. But he pushed it aside the best he could. He had to think that way.

At midnight, Harry knew he needed to stop and sleep. He was running on spent magic. But before he went home, he returned some texts to the Department of Mysteries, and stopped by the Death Chamber while he was there. He'd been steeped in death all day, and he thought it might help.

He stood near the arch that was a one-way portal to the next great adventure, listening to the whispers. They were all the wrong whispers. Harry remembered the night of Sirius's death—so near to here in the Hall of Prophecy—when he'd staggered over to this chamber, desperate to hear his godfather's voice. Desperate for him to jump right back into this life. But like then, his godfather wasn't here now, lingering near this life. No, this was a place for those desperate to come back—those who weren't pleased with the existence that awaited them. Sirius could be proud with his legacy here; he didn't need to come back.

Harry made a decision, and when he left the Ministry, he apparated to Sirius's grave instead of going home, despite the fatigue eating at him. He knew conceptually that Sirius wasn't here anymore than he was at the veil in the Ministry. But for some reason, Harry knew his conversation was more likely to reach Sirius at his grave.

It had been a couple of months since his last visit. Sirius's grave seemed a little mishandled. The grass was cut strangely, and Harry could have sworn he was paying to have flowers delivered. He'd have to call on the groundskeeper. He'd worry about it when this case was truly closed.

When Harry had used the resurrection stone to speak to Sirius for the last time, his godfather had been firm in his request that Harry look forward, and not back with his life. Still, two months might be a little long considering how easy it was to drop by for five minutes. Part of Harry wondered if his relationship with Ginny had something to do with it. A distraction, perhaps? Or maybe that was him "looking forward."

Regardless, that was precisely the reason Harry had come tonight.

"Hey Sirius," he said to the tombstone. "I know you've probably got better things to do, so I'll be brief and get right to the point. I know you always preferred that anyway.

"I screwed up again. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson after my failure to learn Occlumency landed you here." Harry held up his hands. "I know, I know, you told me never to blame myself for that. But the truth is that I slacked off then. And I've done it again now. And someone could have seriously been hurt. Someone still might. Someone I really care about."

Harry sighed. "And I know you well enough to carry on your side of the conversation, Sirius. 'Harry, it's not your sole responsibility to stop every bad thing from happening. You don't have to fight on your own. Alone. Don't do this again.'" Harry's voice shook, and he heard his next words in Sirius's voice so plainly it was like he was here. "'You deserve happiness, too.'"

Harry paused, shaking his head. "It's just hard, damn it. Especially because my happiness is a mess anyways. The girl I'm...I care about doesn't quite feel the same way. And that sucks. But I still care. And I want to protect her. I want to protect everyone. That affects my happiness too! So, fuck you, Sirius's voice in my head." Harry allowed himself the smallest of smiles, wishing so badly his godfather was around to argue with again. "I need to do this. I can't keep letting her get into my head when there's so much more to do."

-0-0-0-

Ginny was counting the days. She knew Harry had a limited time left on the case. She didn't even see him on day two, despite staying up until one in the morning.

She'd thought Ron was exaggerating when he'd warned her of "Focused Harry", but the proof was right here in front of her.

It came at a difficult time for Ginny, too, because she couldn't tell how much of it was related to their fight. That felt selfish when Harry was clearly experiencing something she had no idea how to help him with—but she felt like if she was going to help him, she'd need to understand him, and the cause for this new side of him.

It didn't help that quidditch had been cancelled until the case would officially close in a week—and who knew how long it would take to get it running again. It didn't help that she was not allowed to go into public without Ron—Harry was no longer on protection detail. It certainly didn't help that Ginny had no methods of burning the excess energy that had been building every day. She's been going to the Burrow and running to try to get it worked out, but she'd been conditioned over the past month with a very specific and enjoyable method of relaxation.

On day three, he returned home at a reasonable time. Like, eleven at night. Ginny had waited up again, partially because she knew she'd just toss and turn and didn't want to return to the well of masturbation to set her at ease. But mostly, she needed to see him again. She needed to make sure he was okay.

In his eyes, she saw he was definitely not okay.

He looked haunted. Bags under his eyes, looking everywhere, but seeing nothing. He moved into the kitchen and didn't even spare her a second glance.

"Hey Harry," she called out softly to him, trying not to let the hurt sound in her voice.

"Hi Ginny," he said as he buried his head in the refrigerator, which had more warmth than his tone.

"I left you some Shepherd's Pie," she said, louder so he could hear. "It wasn't the same making it without you."

He emerged from the fridge with the leftovers in hand, grabbed a fork, and sat across from her at the table. He dug in without even reheating the food. Ginny frowned at his systematic devouring of the food.

"You really don't have to keep making food for me," he said through a mouthful of food. "But thank you."

She pulled out her wand and reheated it for him. He frowned at his meal, like he hadn't even considered doing so. Then stuffed another bite in his mouth while he mumbled his thanks.

"You know there's a certain amount of sleep you need," Ginny said, trying not to be disgusted by Harry eating like her brother had when he was a teenager. "You said as much. I figured eating was the same, and thought I might help any way I could."

For the first time this evening, Harry really looked at her. And for the briefest moment, she could see his mind wasn't elsewhere. "Thanks," he said again, and this time Ginny felt it. She smiled.

And then the look was gone, and he shook his head. "You're right though. I learned a few years ago I still have to take care of myself. Working hard does nothing if I can't move or think."

She nodded, and felt the courage to ask the question she'd been wondering about. After all they'd gotten up to this last month, the openness they'd developed, she thought she could still ask. "And is there any other aspect of your life you'd rather I help with than you take care of yourself?"

Surely Harry knew the voice she was using. The playfully seductive, the tastefully suggestive. He frowned at her again, like he wasn't quite sure what she was talking about. Ginny wanted to laugh when he suddenly looked down at his lap, and she wanted to congratulate him on his interpretation.

He stayed frowning, though. "I've never...really thought of that as something that I need."

"You look tense, Harry," Ginny said with the understatement of the year.

"I guess it's worth trying," he said, and then stumbled. "As ...as long as you want it, too."

She nodded. "I brought it up, didn't I? I've been going a little crazy lately."

He shoveled another bite into his mouth, and somehow, the container was empty of food. How had he eaten that so fast?

And then he pushed his chair back and moved around to her side of the table. Ginny felt a jolt of excitement, hoping desperately that she'd broken through whatever walls he'd put up. Walls that had turned his passion of food into a simple necessity to be tolerated.

He picked her up right out of her chair and pulled her to his hips, where she wrapped her legs around him. His lips immediately found her neck, and she let him kiss and bite her all the way down the hall, where he turned into her room—slightly out of the norm for them.

He sat her on her bed, and started tugging at his pants. Ginny did the same until they were both naked from the waist down. Ginny was surprised to see Harry only half-erect. It was rare he wasn't already ready by the time his pants were off. She simply pulled him to the bed's edge, where he knelt to her side. She leaned up to take him in her mouth.

While she was busy, his finger pushed inside of her, and she groaned at his familiar touch. It had only been a few days, really, but that night in the Harpy's showers felt so long ago. And it just felt good to know that their fight hadn't ended things. She hoped, now, that they could get back to where they were. And maybe by then she'd have the courage to tell him what she really wanted.

He hardened fully in her mouth as she bobbed on him, pausing now and then as he passed his thumb over her clit, or when he added a second, curling finger inside of her. His hand moved rapidly, fingers pulsing harder and faster with each second. Apparently he had missed this, too. No time for playful foreplay.

There seemed to be a perfect moment when he was fully erect and she sufficiently wet, and Harry pulled out of her mouth. Grabbing her by the hips, he swung her around and up into his lap where he remained kneeling. Before she knew it, he slid inside of her and her legs fell over his thighs.

Once more, he took no time building to anything. Ginny looked to his face to see him staring determinedly at where they were connected, watching him slide in and out, in and out. Ginny was transfixed now, too. He hit deep inside of her, and she felt so good with that methodical stretching and electrifying of nerves. One of his hands moved under her, gripping her ass to support her off of the bed like this. The other rested on her lower stomach, slipping under her shirt, his thumb drifting down to her clit, where he passed over it back and forth.

They had had many quickies by this point. Often early in the morning when they knew they had to get in to work. Sometimes when they knew they should be making dinner or getting ready for bed, but frankly couldn't get enough of each other.

But this was something else. This was systematic and efficient. Ginny built so quickly she was ready to burst before she'd even started to grow tired from the strenuous position, hips lifted as they were.

She groaned with her orgasm, arching her back until she was just on her shoulder blades. She reached down and grabbed Harry's thigh, and his eyes briefly shot up to meet hers before darting back down to her center.

And despite the waves of physical pleasure rolling through her, Ginny felt something else. A wrongness to all of this.

The efficiency that had felt so needed given their hiatus from sex, she now recognized as mechanical. And Harry not looking at her face that had felt somehow hot was now heart-shattering.

He finished inside of her with a grunt, and they breathed for several long moments, where Ginny prayed in her mind for him to look at her again, but with that sparkle in his eyes. The fondness. That look that she always thought meant more, but told herself not to read into.

But now, faced with the alternative, she knew that look had meant something before. And now it was gone. Ginny's heart ached when he pulled out, and bent quickly to gather his pants.

"Thanks, Ginny," he said. He coughed. "Hopefully, um...hopefully this helps. Both of us."

"Yeah," she managed to respond. She fished for her wand to clean herself up.

He met her eyes again, and for the briefest of moments, something else flashed there, too quick for her to read. And then he was pulling on his pants and leaving her room.

Ginny lay back in bed, her body absolutely sated, but her mind more abuzz than ever. She clutched a pillow to her chest and fisted the case. She realized then that he had never even kissed her. Not on her lips. No cradle of her head while he looked tenderly at her. Just rough, effective sex.

This was what a purely physical relationship was. This was the very thing she had thrown in his face when they'd fought.

So what they had been—back when she'd made that accusation—had certainly not been purely physical. And they lost it. His passion for food was gone, as was his passion for her.

Ginny's throat tightened, her eyes burned, and she buried her face in her pillow.

A/N: I swear the angst is almost over. I swear it. Of course..."almost" is a subjective term. But really. It's almost over.