AN: This is for the Modern Day AU Challenge/Competition by Exceed Expectations.

This was a lot of fun to write and is also completed. Please leave a review! Happy early Valentines Day!

Disclaimer: Last time I checked I am an American brunette. Nice try, but I know that I'm not JK Rowling

Title: Gusts Come Around

Word Count: 2K

Summary: For the first time since his tour in Iraq ended, Harry felt somewhat optimistic with his group therapy partner. Muggle AU. HPFF Challenge

By the cracks of his skin I climbed to the top

I climbed the tree to see the world

When the gusts came around to blow me down

Held on as tightly as you held onto me

Held on as tightly as you held onto me...

—To Build a Home, Cinematic Orchestra

It was when Hermione was helping me shop was when she told me. Chucking some cans of fruit into my cart, she simply said that she signed me up for some group therapy. If I was able to use my right arm, I would have used that hand to massage the bridge of my nose in annoyance. Instead I awkwardly used my left one. "Really?" I said. "Group therapy? I'm not a nutter, Hermione. I'm already in a private one!"

My best friend merely raised an eyebrow and continued picking food out for me. She turned her back on me and did a wonderful imitation of her mum. "Now, Harry Potter. Lately you've been antisocial—"

"I just got back," I tried to put in, but she skillfully took over. Again. She might as well be my sister, but she could easily doubled as my honorary mother, too.

"Those private therapy sessions are making you into a hermit, and I cannot allow it." She then put some greens in my cart. I wrinkled my nose as I picked it up to read the label. Asparagus. Was she trying to kill me?

"Listen, I don't need—"

Hermione whirled around the spot and held a can of tomato soup dangerously close to my face. "Harry—James—Potter." She punctuated each word with shaking the can closer. "I won't lose my best friend again!"

I flinched at her words. Too little, too late, I was already making a mess of our friendship—one of my few friendships that I've reconnected since my time back. I looked at her light brown eyes and quivering mess of hair. Guilt assaulted me as I remembered that I was one of her few friends, too. "I…sorry…" There was an even lengthier pause. "When's the first meeting?"

Group therapy was just what I expected to look like: A group of morose people that belonged on Misfit Island.

I sat down in the small, plastic chair with a 'Hello, My Name Is—' sticker on my jumper. I was feeling just as out-place as I shouldn't be. Veterans of all types had the same expressions on their faces, and my sprits were almost lifted. The man in charge, Collin Creevey, was the only one who actually seemed positive by this. He was a small thing with fair hair and a clipboard in one hand. "Is this everyone?" He looked around to read our nametags, and I had to stifle a laugh at some. The bloke on my right with a missing arm wrote his down as 'Snake-Slayer', and the one two chairs down that was "Moony'. Between the two I was just Harry Potter.

"No, sir," someone said in a light, airy voice. Her nametag read 'Loony Lovegood'. Her eyes were bulbous, they almost couldn't be real, and they weren't. She held a white-tipped cane in a hand and rolled it back and forth. "Ginevra Weasley called me to say that she was going to be late. She and Ronald got stuck in traffic."

"Right." Creevey raked a thin hand through his hair. He addressed us all with a sunny disposition and a larger-than-life smile. Maybe it was my imagination, but did his voice also rose in pitch? "Welcome all to group therapy!"

The responses were muttered coughs and half-whispered words. We all mostly stared at the mousy man, daring him to be more optimistic than he should be,

"First off, I would like to say welcome home, as well. It must be great to be back on British soil with the rain. Yes?"

Snake-Slayer raised his only hand, the tips of his fingers were more like nubs, all scarring-pink and hairless. "Aren't you supposed to make us feel better about being back?" That gained some laughs.

Creevey's smile faltered. "Actually, Mr Longbottom, you will also need the help of your partner. You will have Miss Lovegood."

"Partner?" I echoed. "What?"

"So glad that you've asked, Mr Potter," he rounded on me. He took a quick look at his clipboard. "And yours is Miss Weasley." He then turned to each of us and read out whom our partners will be. "The point of your partner," he said, "is to have someone to connect to as you make your adjustments with being back home. Think of them as your best friend and as a sponsor. You will be helping each other throughout the next seven months, and I do expect progress! Now get together with your partner and get to know each other!"

I was soon alone. Wonderful. I hunched over in a slouch that I've perfected during detentions back in my school years, waiting for my partner to arrive. Snake-Slayer Longbottom was immersed with Loony Lovegood. She was telling him that being blind could be useful for her art. Moony was talking with a terribly thin man with hair worst than mine on how his scars itched more under a full moon. More and more I could see people bonding over war stories and hobbies. Watching it all only gave me a further feeling of isolation.

Then a tall man with red hair entered the room. His great height and shoulder width dwarfed the occupant in the wheelchair that he was wheeling. Maybe without being so close to the man she wouldn't seem as little, but she was tiny in comparison. With the same striking hair colour and freckled skin, it was obvious that the two shared blood. Creevey walked over to them and handed her a sticker to write her name on. She ignored whatever her relative was saying and he solemnly watched her as she wheeled on over to me.

Ginevra Weasley (though according to her nametag, I should call her Ginny) glanced at me with her dark eyes. She wasn't that short up front. Her compact body was built out of the muscles that she had gained from training. Her arms still carried then, but I could see how thin her legs were now. Her eyes strayed a second longer at my limp arm and snapped to my face. She held out her hand. "Ginny. The hovering stand-in for Mum is Ron. Ignore him and he may leave long enough to grab a bite to eat." I took her hand, noticing the callouses and the rough pads over what used to be soft skin. Ginny gave me a lazy smile and parked her chair. "Tell me, Potter, where were you?"

"Iraq. Special Forces. You?"

"Iraq—worst sunburn ever. Air Force—great sights from up there. Got the worst souvenir, though." She looked down at her legs, her pale toes with bright nail varnish jutted from behind a handmade afghan. "Thank god that it's temporary, or it should be after my next surgery. I should send the bloke who sent my plane down flowers for not killing me."

I found myself smiling at her brash tone and matter-of-face manner. I jerked my head to my left. "Some arse missed my face with a grenade."

"I would hate to be the person who ruined such pretty eyes of yours."

My mouth felt monetarily dry. I looked over her head to see Ron shifting his weight on each food. He didn't carried the strategic and scarred look of a warrior like us, but he bore the caring signs of someone that was deeply concerned for Ginny. Every few seconds he would look back at us, his face in a perpetual state of worry. I recognised the same look from Hermione's face when she thought I wasn't looking. "What's your family like?" I asked.

She also looked over her shoulder and frowned. "A mollycoddling mess that somehow works in harmony." Her accent suddenly shifted to a more country drawl, rolling her words off her tongue. "Oi! Ronnikens! I'll be fine. Go get us some ingredients or something for dinner."

Ron threw his hands up in the air and dramatically left the room.

"Don't get me wrong or anything," Ginny told me as she spoke in her accent. It could be a West Country one, but I would have to hear her speak some more. "I love him to bits, but I need my own space. Next to Mum I probably frightened him the most when I was over there, and now I'm paying for it. What about you? Who sent you here?"

I held a finger up for each response. "Orphan. Best friend. She thought I would eventually go mad and rob a store."

"She should talk to Ron," mused Ginny. "He thought I was going to turn into Great-Aunt Muriel. He swore that I was getting close to be surrounded by cats and a terrible taste in hats."

I gathered from her distaste that dearest Muriel wasn't a high expectation to reach. "Where you from?"

"Devon raised and London moved. I can't exactly help out with this at the farm." She gestured towards her chair with a pinched look. "I live with Ron and help him out with his culinary madness. You?"

"Surrey. Now in London in a flat with Hermione above the bookstore that she works at."

"Hermione?" Ginny tilted her head to the side.

"Friend. She tries to set me up on dates, but they don't end so well," I clarified. "You have anyone special?"

"My opportunities are rather slim." She patted the wheels fondly. "But Arnold keeps all of the asshats away. There are some fascinating stories to be told about that."

"Arnold?" Now it was my turn to be confused.

"The chair," she explained. She undid the brake and swerved to the side to show me the wheel. The outer ring was covered with fluffy pink stickers. "Luna got me these to cheer me up." Her smile was more brittle now, a one that I often saw in my reflection these days.

"Very frightening for a pilot," I teased. "That'll strike fear into anyone, I tell you." My words made her laugh. I can't believe it, I thought. I'm actually happy being here. I should send Hermione books as a thank you.

I looked up at the clock as saw the time. Too little and too late, our time was almost up. "I should give you my number now."

Ginny withdrew a pen and grabbed my working hand. She bent her head, sending strands of her long hair tickling the inside of my wrist. Once finishing writing her number down she handed the pen to me. I did the same to her palm. She raised her head. "Thanks, Harry." Our eyes met and I was frozen momentarily. Words were stuck in my throat as I saw a blush creeped its way past her collarbone and up the column of her neck. A part of my mind rationalised that its been ages since I've felt this comfortable around a woman, and the other part scolded me for being an idiot. Nevertheless, I felt sparks when her hand touched mines.

And Creevey broke the bloody spell. "Time's up, everyone!" He then repeated it even louder to gain more attention. "Hey! Guys! Our time is over. Exchange numbers and we will all meet up again next week."

Ron was back and was awkwardly standing next to Ginny. He slouched in a manner that I highly approved. He gave me a curt nod and turned to his sister. "Ready?"

She nodded and gave me a small wave. "Phone me anytime."

"Will do," I promised. I watched them both leave and tendrils of her red hair danced in her wake. I leaned back and rubbed my eyes, hoping that the light-hearted feeling that I had wasn't a trick of my mind. I looked at the number that she scrawled on my palm and I could feel a smile appear on my face.