A/N: Finally getting back to reposting the rest of this story. For those who might wonder, it's something I started over ten years ago, took a break, and then finished up in 2018. The break in time shows, and honestly, I know now that I'm better at writing things that are less plot-focused and lighter, but I still think the plot idea for the story is solid, even if the execution is lacking somewhat. So here you go.

A Growing Awareness

Two weeks later, Harry still had not had a chance to talk to Ginny alone. He had had another meeting with Dumbledore and detention with Snape, she was buried under homework most evenings, and both of them were busy with Quidditch practice during almost every free hour. Ron wasn't acting much better around Harry, but at least he wasn't worse, either. It probably helped that Lavender had taken it upon herself to come watch nearly every practice; as annoying as she could be, at least it diverted Ron's attention a bit. To Harry's immense relief, Dean stopped coming to practices after the first one. He had been rather loud then, cheering constantly for Ginny, even when she made a mistake and dropped the Quaffle, and Harry had felt a jolt of satisfaction at the annoyed look Ginny had given him then.

Just because he's interrupting things. I think. She needs to concentrate. Harry conveniently pushed away the thought that he didn't mind Lavender's interruptions nearly as much.

The worst time was potions class; with the help of the Half Blood Prince, Harry had quickly become the object of Slughorn's praise and attention, causing Ron to spend more time muttering about the dangers of trusting something written in a book than he was on potions. Hermione's work had slipped as well; at least, Harry assumed it had. She was not falling all over herself to answer questions and berating them for not studying. But her potions themselves seemed to be turning out all right; Harry wished he could figure out why she was so blank all the time, but it only annoyed him to think about it, so mostly, he ignored her.

He and Ginny had taken to racing up to the fifth floor corridor whenever Draco disappeared from the Map, but to no avail. They had never been able to get in to find out what he was doing. Only once had a door even appeared, when both of them had been standing in front of the wall, Harry trying a new request to get the room to open. But his pleas for "the place you know we need to be" was a bust. Draco was obviously not hiding in a broom closet.

It was after one of Harry's failed trips to the Room of Requirement that he finally ran into Luna. She was wearing a pair of rainbow-colored glasses the sparkled and popped and walking with her head buried in what looked to be a stack of photographs. As Harry got closer, he saw that they were all of a large, empty field with a random pile of orange rocks in the middle.

Probably pictures of the supposed mating site for the elusive warbling Snorkak or something.

"Hey, Luna," said Harry. "Nice pictures. Are they for the next issue of the Quibbler?"

Luna startled for a moment, her eyes going even bigger than normal behind her glasses. After a second, she calmly pushed them up onto her head, where they held back her hair. It was a look Harry remembered seeing on many of the film stars in the silly gossip magazines his Aunt Petunia always read. On Luna, the look was . . . disconcertingly average.

"Hello Harry," she replied pleasantly. "How are you today?"

"Umm, fine Luna," said Harry. He tried again. "Interesting pictures."

Luna looked at the photos in her hands as if she was not quite sure what she was seeing. "Yes, well, my father sent them to me." She frowned at them. "I'm not certain why he thinks they're so important, though. It's just a field of rocks."

Harry had nothing else to say. A small part of him missed the zainy Luna he had known last year and wondered how to find her again. But most of him just wanted to get away. Making an excuse, he walked off in the opposite direction from where she was going. Halfway down the corridor, he turned back to watch her. Luna had pulled her glasses back onto her face and was intently studying the photographs. She did not look up at Harry again.

A week later, Dumbledore was thinking to himself as he walked slowly back towards his office, having found a third-year Gryffindor to deliver the next meeting time to Harry. Once back in his private quarters, he sorted through the remaining Pensieve memories he had to show Harry, wondering if it was time to introduce the more difficult ideas he needed to share.

The Headmaster was feeling a bit better about Harry's attitude since their last meeting, which took Harry back into Dumbledore's own memory of his first meeting with the young Tom Riddle. Harry had been supremely focused the entire time he was observing the scene at the orphanage, asking relevant questions and paying particular attention to the trinkets Riddle had stolen from the other children. He also had been fascinated with the strange death of Hepzibah Smith and disappearance of Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket, looking around Dumbledore's office almost nervously, as if expecting them to be there along with the ring Dumbledore still wore on his good hand. He was so serious and focused that Dumbledore had asked Harry how his friends had taken news of the prophecy. But Harry had clammed up at the question and left soon afterwards, leaving Dumbledore to ponder his behavior once again. Harry's behavior was creating more questions than answers for the Headmaster, and he knew he would have to tread carefully, not just for the sake of Harry's emotional well being, but for his ultimate survival as well.

This meeting was going to be the most significant yet.

Harry appeared right on time that night, as always. Also as always, his eyes strayed immediately to the ring on Dumbledore's finger before he even looked the Headmaster in the face. The boy's unfailing polite distance disconcerted Dumbledore; for a moment, he was uncomfortably reminded of most of the discussions he had ever had with Tom Riddle, when that boy was a student himself. But, still, there was a difference. Dumbledore could still see flickers of the Harry he had known – curious, reckless, emotional, and firmly on the side of good – when he looked into the boy's eyes. Tom Riddle had never let his façade crack for a moment. In fact, Dumbledore wasn't sure it had been a façade. With Harry, there was conflict raging below the carefully bland surface; the Headmaster had theories as to what it was, but he could not be sure, and a wrong guess could be worse at this point than ignoring the situation altogether. Further, he still remembered Harry's reaction the last time he had been asked something personal, and so decided to refrain.

Instead, he pulled out the Pensieve and bottle of memory. Harry seemed rather disinterested in the fact that this memory was obviously different; its congealed nature did not want to drop easily into the bowl below.

Slughorn's altered memory, in which he refused to tell the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle what a Horcrux was, was very brief. Had Dumbledore not been watching Harry closely, he might have missed the way the boy blanched at Riddle's question and swayed slightly on his feet. A second later, he forced his face back into a careful mask and looked away, swallowing hard. As the pair returned from the memory, however, it was obvious to Dumbledore that something was wrong.

Harry's head was spinning; he thought he was going to vomit. Dimly, he heard Professor Dumbledore's voice: "Are you all right, Harry? Drink this." A cup was thrust into his hand and he brought it automatically to his lips, but gagged before he could swallow any of the contents down.

"Sir . . . I'm not feeling so well. That, that last trip made me a little dizzy," Harry managed to choke out. He wanted more than anything to lay down, to get away from the pounding in his head, the visions that moved too fast to recognize.

"What's wrong, Harry? What happened?" Dumbledore's hand was on his arm. Harry shrugged it off. "Nothing sir," said Harry as forcefully as he could. "I just need to go lay down for a bit. I'll be fine."

Although Harry was sure that Dumbledore knew that he was not fine, the man let him go, peering in his eyes first for a moment as though looking for something that only he could see. If Harry had been feeling better, it would have surprised him that Dumbledore let him leave so easily; clearly, there were questions that needed to be asked. People did not just suddenly fall sick in the middle of a Pensieve. But inexplicably, Dumbledore let him go; Harry was too nauseous by that time to hear whatever it was Dumbledore said to him in parting, or to see the man move to take one of him many silver instruments off a shelf and place it on his desk next to the Pensieve.

Harry managed to make it to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom before he was sick; by the time he was finished vomiting he was so weak he wasn't sure how he would make it back up to Gryffindor Tower

Summoning all his strength, he trudged slowly up to his dormitory, fighting both the nausea and the disturbing images flashing through his brain even as he remained aware of his surroundings. Sometimes he got glimpses of the Department of Mysteries, but other times the images were different, incomprehensible. And still, in the back of his mind, he kept seeing the scene from the Pensieve, hearing Tom Riddle's voice asking a question of the younger Slughorn. It was awful.

Harry was only vaguely aware of the curious and concerned voices that suddenly surrounded him when he stumbled through the portrait hole although he had no memory of giving the password. He tried to ignore them, mumbling that he was just sick and needed to lie down. He registered Ron, louder than the others, saying "I knew it! He did something terrible to himself!" But Harry felt too ill to even think about getting angry. He muttered again that it was nothing, he was fine, and most of the voices faded away as he moved towards the steps. But then a firm hand was on his arm and Ginny's worried voice was in his ear.

"Harry, what's wrong? You look awful."

For her, Harry couldn't deny the truth. "I don't know, Ginny. I was at Dumbledore's, and I don't know what happened. But I . . . I feel horrible and I . . . I think something's wrong."

Ginny steered him up the stairs and into the bathroom, where he was sick again. Afterwards, he let her lead him to his bed and didn't protest when she pulled off his shoes and robes, tucking him under the covers in his uniform pants and t-shirt he wore under his shirt. He felt her put a cool cloth on his head and then he was lost again in the visions, the screams and yells, the flashes of light.

It could have been a Dementor attack, but Dementors didn't hurt so much. The memories were similar though. For a long moment, he was staring at the room where his mum had been killed and hearing Voldemort's high-pitched laugh; the next he felt a slamming pain as if he had been hit by a Bludger. And then, the Department of Mysteries was back, watching as Sirius fell through the veil, feeling the palpable ache in his heart as he lost his godfather over and over. Flashes of light, his head, cleaving in two with the pain of Voldemort inside, a burning flash of insight, and then blissful darkness before it all began again. He saw his friends' terrified faces as they fought the Death Eaters, watched Dumbledore's huge black ring crack along its center as his other hand blackened and burned, heard Tom Riddle over and over again asking about Horcruxes.

Harry had no idea how long his agony lasted or if he slept at all that long night. He was unaware of his roommates coming back and didn't hear Ron yell at Ginny to stay away for her own protection. He had no knowledge of Ginny's angry retort to her brother and did not see her push Dean's hand away when he tried to draw her onto his bed for a snog.

When the pain finally receded the next morning, Ginny was gone and Harry's dorm was empty. He could remember only bits and pieces of his nightmarish visions, but he knew that they had been awful. At the corner of his mind was the feeling he had had before, as if he was missing something big, but his brain was too spent to focus on it.

Harry laid in bed instead of going to Potions that morning. His still tender head and total exhaustion justified the decision, but in truth, he was equally afraid of having to face Dumbledore and answer his questions. Harry didn't have any answers, and if his professor did, Harry wasn't sure he wanted to hear them. His brain was clearing just enough to remember more about his meeting with Dumbledore, and although he physically felt better, his sense of unease grew. The Headmaster may have let him leave the night before out of consideration for his illness, but Harry was sure he could not avoid the man forever.

As a wave of exhaustion crashed over him, he closed his eyes, intent on making up for the night's lost sleep. Harry's last memory before he finally drifted off was not of screams or flashes of light or pain. Instead, he thought of Ginny, holding his hand and wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. Had she really been there with him? Harry wasn't sure, but it was with a smile on his face that he rolled over and fell at last into dreamless sleep.

Hermione had been studying in the Common Room when Harry had returned the night before. Although they had barely been in school for a month, she was already in a panic, feeling much less prepared for her classes and more behind on her homework than usual.

Well, nothing to distract me from getting caught up now. Not with Ron totally wrapped up around 'Lav Lav'. At least I don't have to waste my time helping him, the git.

Harry's face as he had come through the portrait hole had startled her; he was deathly pale and looked almost haunted. Hermione had started to get up to see if he needed help when Ron's words, accusing Harry of getting himself into terrible trouble, had stopped her. She had realized that if she neglected her Arithmancy homework any longer she might as well drop the class. Hermione was again staring at the calculations when Harry passed by; she did not notice Ginny take his arm and lead him up the stairs, and she purposely kept her eyes down the rest of the night, so as to avoid the evening ritual of Ron saying a quite public and obnoxious goodnight to Lavender.

Now sitting in Potions, Hermione wondered, briefly, where Harry was; it was strange how little time they had spent together since school had begun. He had been in most of her classes, but had kept to himself for studying. It probably had something to do with the row he seemed to be having with Ron, she concluded. Those two were always going at it about something. It was time that she stopped being the go-between.

Seconds later, Ron slid into the seat next to her. "Where's Harry?" he asked, frowning at the empty seat.

"Seamus told me at breakfast that Harry was sick," put in Ernie. "Isn't that right, Ron?"

Ron frowned. "I . . . I guess so," he said. "At least, he seemed sick last night. Ginny was taking care of him, I think."

Ernie smirked. "Dean must not have liked that, I bet."

Ron frowned again, then shrugged. "Well, I think Harry was pretty sick. He must have needed her."

"Maybe he's having a lie in, then," said Hermione. "We'll be sure to take good notes."

The class ended up being one of their best yet, Hermione thought later. Professor Slughorn's instructions for making a Draught of Peace were easy to follow, and Hermione recognized several techniques that she could apply to other potions as well. Without Harry there mixing things twice as fast pursuant to the Half Blood Prince's directions, Ron was relaxed and successful in getting his potion to turn the gentle silvery-blue it was supposed to be. And without Lavender there, slobbering all over Ron, he and Hermione were able to fall back into the ordinary pattern of their friendship. Which meant, of course, that they were bickering.

"I'm just saying, Hermione, House Elves don't want to play Quidditch, so saying they should have access to their own brooms is ridiculous!"

"How do you know, Ronald? Have you ever asked one if they'd like a broom?"

In reply, Ron threw his hands up in exasperation and stomped out of the classroom. Hermione followed him, fully intent on winning the argument, when Lavender swooped in out of nowhere (or possibly from Divination) and grabbed Ron about the lips. Hermione pursed her own and walked off, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Next time it's eagles."

She finally saw Harry again at lunch, still pale, sitting quietly at the table. He didn't look happy, but Hermione suspected that was due to the fact that Ginny and Dean were sitting together not three seats away. Dean seemed to be cajoling to Ginny, who kept shaking her head and stealing little glances at Harry. Finally, Dean gave her what could only be described as a puppy dog look, opening his eyes wide and pouting his lips, and Ginny apparently gave in to whatever he was asking. She sighed and nodded, and then got up and went over to Harry.

Hermione saw her say something to Harry that obviously upset him. He seemed to be trying to argue with her, but after a moment just shrugged and nodded. Ginny opened her mouth as if to say something else, but then bit her lip and walked back to Dean.

Later that day, Harry stomped around his dormitory, trying not to think about what Ginny had told him at lunch.

Humph. Of course she wants to go to Hogsmeade with Dean. Why should she spend the day tailing Malfoy with me?

Because she promised to, a little voice said.

Ginny and Harry had in fact agreed to watch Draco closely during the first Hogsmeade weekend, but if he was to be completely fair, they hadn't exactly agreed to watch him together. Even though he had tried to avoid looking, Harry hadn't missed the guilt trip Dean had laid on Ginny at lunch about wanting to spend more time with her; Harry had actually been enjoying watching her try to deflect Dean's pleas and he couldn't help but notice that she was avoiding his attempts to grab her hand. It was only when Ginny finally gave in that he had stopped watching.

Harry couldn't exactly blame the bloke for wanting to be with Ginny; he had discovered himself over the past few weeks that Ginny was a blast to be with. Even though he still had not been able to talk to her much about anything serious, like the prophecy, they had still managed to have a few conversations that centered on something other than the general. She was still insisting that he was acting as oddly as his friends, but Harry had been fairly successful at deflecting that conversation by continuing to promise to think about her theory. And he would, he promised himself, just not yet. Maybe after they had a chance to discuss the prophecy. But that wasn't all that was great about Ginny these days. Not only was she a great flyer, but she managed to diffuse a lot of tension at Quidditch practice by keeping up a running competition with her brother over who could best take the mickey out of the other over their respective snogging partners.

Not that Harry had exactly wanted to hear that Ron had caught Ginny and Dean behind a tapestry on the fourth floor. For some reason, the thought of Ginny kissing her boyfriend had become a source of strange feelings for Harry. These were quite different from all the other strange feelings he had been experiencing lately; but no less upsetting. He kept telling himself that he was most concerned about Ginny's well being as a surrogate older brother, and that was all there was to it. Which was why he had been particularly disconcerted to find himself daydreaming in the library about exactly how it would feel to pull her hair out of its usual ponytail and watch it fall around her shoulders.

Since that moment, Harry had been trying even harder to think charitable thoughts about Dean, a task made more difficult by the fact that the other boy never failed to make a cheeky comment around Harry about how he was doing such a good job as "over-protective git of a brother" in Ron's place. Harry was probably imagining it, but on one or two of those occasions he could have sworn that Ginny blushed, before giving Dean an exasperated look.

Harry pushed all that out of his mind. The best he had been able to get out of Ginny now was a promise to keep her eyes open for Malfoy as she walked around with Dean (Yeah, as if Draco is going to be hanging out in Madame Puddifoot's), and a plan to meet up with Harry in the afternoon. He hadn't even had the chance to thank her for helping him last night; as muddled as his thoughts about the evening were, he was still pretty certain that he would not have made it up to bed in one piece without Ginny guiding him.

Oi, she must have seen me get sick. I probably need to apologize for that too.

Harry went to bed that night without plans to spend the following day in Hogsmeade with anyone. He had thought about asking Ron if he wanted to check out the new Wheezes branch with him, but he and Dean had come into the dorm that night deep in discussion about the most romantic places in the village, so Harry hadn't even bothered opening his mouth. He didn't need to see Ron quake in fear again, anyway.

The next morning, Harry pulled out the Map first thing, determined to figure out if Malfoy was going to the village or again doing something in the Room of Requirement. He didn't go down to breakfast until he saw Malfoy's dot there, sitting at the Slytherin table. Harry gulped down some toast, ignoring Ginny's apologetic gaze, Ron's fearful one, and Hermione's blank stare. Catching sight of Neville at the end of the table, Harry decided, on a whim, to talk to the boy.

It did not go well.

All Harry got from him was that he may or may not be going to Hogsmeade that day, and that, while there, he may or may not be stopping in at the Three Broomsticks for a drink or going to Honeydukes for sweets. Neville didn't really seem to want to talk to Harry at all, and Harry soon gave up. It ended up being a good thing that Neville did not want to talk; he might have missed Malfoy slipping out of the Great Hall without Crabbe and Goyle at their usual places by his side. Picking up his cloak, Harry quickly followed him towards the entrance to the castle, where Filch was waiting to check students out for the day.

Hours later, Harry left Professor Dumbledore's office feeling sick. Not because of any trip into the Pensieve this time, but because he was still in shock over what he had seen happen to Katie Bell.

Harry was having a difficult time tailing Malfoy in Hogsmeade, and he found himself annoyed more than once that Ginny had left him to go be with Dean. It was cold and windy and the village was crowded; a second person would have been helpful for keeping the Slytherin in view. As it was, Harry had to keep ducking into alleys and shops to hide; Draco seemed to guess that he was being followed and weaved in and out of the crowds and into shops without any apparent agenda. Twice he had stopped and peered through the windows of particularly crowded stores, as if looking for something, or someone. Each time, he had shaken his head and continued on down the street.

After almost two hours of fruitless tailing, Harry saw Malfoy look carefully around, pull his cloak tightly around himself, and duck into the Three Broomsticks. Fortuitously, Ginny and Dean appeared in the street in front of the pub only moments later, and Harry hurried to them, intent upon asking Ginny to please take ten minutes to help him.

But Ginny seemed embarrassed to find Harry there. "I, I can't right now, Harry," she said, blowing her breath onto her red hands to warm them. "Dean and I, well, we have somewhere to be."

As if to prove her point, Dean grabbed Ginny's hansd tightly in both of his and began rubbing them together himself, his lips a tight line. Harry wouldn't let himself be distracted by the sight. Malfoy had been acting oddly all day and it looked like Harry was finally going to be able to figure out what he was doing. Let Ginny hang out with Dean, if he thought too much about her now, he'd lose his chance to catch Draco. Without another word, he turned and walked into the pub. It must have been his imagination that Ginny looked upset.

But inside the Three Broomsticks, Malfoy was nowhere to be found. Harry didn't want to arouse suspicion by asking if anyone had seen him; it was quite possible that he had slipped out the back door during the precious seconds that he had been talking to Dean and Ginny. Harry checked the gents' loo, just to be sure Malfoy wasn't there, and then followed Katie Bell as she left the ladies', walking out of the pub just behind her and one of her friends.

Back in Dumbledore's office, Harry had continued to relate what had happened next. He had seen Katie and her friend arguing over what looked like a small package and then watched as it opened up and something glittering fell to the ground. Katie had risen strangely into the air and begun screaming, an otherwordly sound that had made Harry's blood run cold. Seconds later, Ginny and Dean had appeared from the woods and run to get help.

Now Katie was in St. Mungo's barely clinging to life after being cursed by the necklace that had been in the package. No one knew where it had come from. In front of Professors McGonagall, Slughorn and Snape, Harry had kept his suspicions about Draco to himself, although he thought it was quite obvious that Draco's mysterious behavior had been caused by his attempts to find someone to whom he could pass the necklace. Harry had recognized it laying in the snow as the same one he had seen in Borgin and Burke the day he, Ron and Hermione had tailed Malfoy there.

It was quite late by the time the professors had finally finished questioning Harry and let him leave. At that point, all he wanted was to get to his dorm, pull the curtains around his bed, and be alone to think. He was quite unprepared to see Ginny, sitting alone in the common room, apparently waiting for him.

His first instinct was to be mad. If she had not insisted on spending the entire day with Dean, maybe they could have figured out exactly what Malfoy was doing. But before he could say a word, Ginny ran to him, wringing her hands.

"How's Katie? Is she going to be okay? Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault, I should have been there to help you." Ginny was speaking so fast that Harry could barely follow her words. But his anger disappeared in an instant at the sight of her stricken face.

"Katie was very lucky," he told her. "She had a tiny rip in one of her gloves, so her skin barely touched the necklace. Any more and she would have died instantly. Right now they think she is going to be okay, although she has to stay at St. Mungo's for a while."

"But if I had been helping you like I promised, she probably wouldn't have gotten the necklace at all," broke in Ginny.

As she spoke, the image of Ginny rubbing her hands together for warmth came to Harry's mind. He felt the air go out of his lungs as if he had been hit in the gut with a Bludger.

"No . . ." he said slowly, his voice suddenly shaking. "She wouldn't have gotten the necklace." He looked at Ginny, relief flooding his eyes at the sight of her standing there, unharmed. "You would have, instead. Katie . . . she got the necklace from someone in the bathroom – that's all she told her friend Leanne. I checked the gents' for Malfoy and you would have looked in the women's room if you'd been there." Impulsively, he grabbed Ginny's hands, looking down at them. They were warm now. "But you weren't wearing any gloves."

Ginny's face blanched as she understood the implications of what Harry was saying. She swallowed hard, seemingly trying to regain her train of thought.

"But . . . still . . . I should have . . ."

"No!" said Harry sharply. "Don't blame yourself. I'm sorry for Katie but . . . I'm really glad it wasn't you."

He suddenly realized he was still holding her hands, and dropped them, a blush darkening his features.

"Anyway," he continued, not looking Ginny in the eye, "you were with Dean. It wasn't fair of me to interfere with the time you had to spend with him."

Even though Harry hated every word he said, his relief was stronger than the strange feelings he had whenever he thought of Ginny and Dean together. If not for her wanting to be with him this afternoon . . . The thought was too horrible for Harry to continue.

"Oh, well, yeah, there is that." Ginny suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

Harry took a deep breath. Might as well start acting like the good 'big brother' I guess I'm meant to be. And I really do owe Dean one, this time. "We'll just have to figure out a better way to watch Malfoy without you having to give up all your time with your boyfriend." The word felt bitter in Harry's mouth.

"Well, no," said Ginny. "Actually, I'm going to have a lot more free time now, it seems."

Harry finally looked up at her. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Ginny gave him a sad smile. "I mean, I broke up with Dean tonight, after we got back from Hogsmeade. When you saw us, in front of the Three Broomsticks, we were already having a row."

Harry froze, trying to get his head around this information. "Why?" he asked, before he could stop himself. "I mean, I'm sorry." He could hear it in his voice: he didn't sound sorry at all.

He didn't know if Ginny could hear it too, but she gave him a slightly less sad smile. "Thanks, Harry. It was a lot of things. He wanted to be with me every second, he was getting really patronizing about my helping you watch Malfoy, he wouldn't let me be myself." She shook her head to herself. "He just wasn't . . . right, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," said Harry, probably a little too forcefully. He was suddenly in a really good mood. "But still, I am sorry." He gave her a rueful grin. "And it's probably going to be pretty depressing in my room when I go up there, huh?"

Ginny sighed. "He'll get over it, I'm sure. And I think it's better that I'm not dating anyone right now – I'm so busy with OWLs and Quidditch anyway."

Harry was relieved to hear that Ginny did not have another boyfriend prospect on her mind. Now Ron and I can relax for a while.

"Yeah, well, I'd better let you go to sleep. Quidditch practice tomorrow, you know? After all, the first game is only a week away."

Ginny saluted him cheekily. "Yes sir, Captain,"

Harry grinned back at her. "And I'm expecting no less than fifteen goals from you, Miss Weasley."

Ginny saluted again. "Night, Harry. I promise I'll be around more to help with Malfoy now."

Harry smiled. "Only if you want to, Ginny. Not because you feel guilty about Katie or anything."

Ginny blushed suddenly. "It's okay," she said. "I want to."