Harry steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his hips, and uses the other towel on the rack to wipe condensation off the bathroom mirror before rubbing it over the top of his wet head. He cracks the bathroom door open an inch to release some of the steam from the room and makes quick work of dressing in his newest pair of slacks, and a white summer weight dress shirt with navy pinstripes. Leaving the bathroom, he goes straight to the nearest chest of drawers, selects a pair of socks, and heads for the closet, deciding that his only pair of dress shoes would be a better option for the evening then his dirty trainers would. Turning to leave the closet, socks and shoes in hand, he comes up short at the sight of Ginny on his bed, propped up against his pillows with his cat in her lap.

He grins as every nerve in his body begins to throb with life, and he silently prays he doesn't look like a dirty-minded prat. If he does look that way, she either doesn't notice, or she kindly pretends not to as he struggles to swallow.

Just for the sake of making conversation, he says, "That stray must like you. It wouldn't even come inside earlier, not even for a bowl of clean water."

Ginny gives him an overly patient look. "It?" She smiles and whispers as though she's imparting a secret, "She says to tell you, she's a girl."

Harry concedes as he settles on the edge of the bed to put on his socks and shoes. "She wouldn't come inside earlier. Her name is Pumpkin. She seems to be making herself at home now."

"Harry, you can't call her a stray if you give her a name. If you give her a name, she's yours."

I found her hiding behind one of the pots in the garden, watching me eat a sandwich a few hours ago. I guessed she was hungry. She ate some of the chicken from my sandwich, but she wouldn't come inside. I figure she will chase the mice away."

"Well, if you're going to keep her, can we go shopping before we go to dinner?"

"Shopping?"

Ginny smiles like he's learning-impaired again. "Harry, she's a cat. If you're going to keep her, she needs cat things."

Harry thinks to himself, 'Cat things?' but he says, "Sure, if you want. You want to go someplace specific for dinner?"

She shrugs. "Don't care where we go, as long as it's you whose taking me."

Standing up, he nods and steps back into the closet momentarily, looking for a belt. Sliding it into the loops of his trousers, he looks at her curiously. She's wearing a white halter dress printed with some kind of blue flower with wide furling petals. Her sweater, sandals, and the combs in her red hair are the same vivid shade of blue as the flowers on her dress. "You changed clothes."

She nods. "I popped home just long enough to grab this. I came back here and changed while you were in the shower. I figured if we were going out on a real date, I'd change into something nicer than jeans."

"I'd go anywhere with you in jeans."

She raises an eyebrow. "Should I put them back on?"

Harry drops his gaze and lets it slide down the length of her bare legs. "No… You shouldn't."

Ginny reaches for and takes his hand as she rises from the bed. "Where are we going for dinner?"

He places his hands lightly on her hips and draws her near, and her arms wind their way around his neck as he shrugs. "I may have been born here, but I don't exactly know this place like the back of my hand. I've only been here since last night. There's the diner where I ate breakfast, a deli where I bought lunch. After being here on Christmas Eve, the only other places I'm familiar with are the cemetery and Bathilda Bagshot's house which, by the way, looked almost as bad as this place before I started cleaning. Neither of them will make for a romantic dinner setting. I think maybe we should take a walk around the town square, find a place to buy cat things, and see what Godric's Hollow has to offer in the way of restaurants."

Harry kisses her lightly on the mouth before she returns her hand to his, saying quietly, "Lead the way."

Stepping out of the tent with Ginny by his side, he glances over his shoulder at the cat still resting on the foot of his bed. "We'll be back. Watch over the place. Don't let any bad people in. I'll bring you some dinner."

Ginny's laughter is music to his ears. "Don't let any bad people in? Harry, she's a cat, not a rottweiler!"

Harry shrugs. "I've seen some great big dogs that were total pansies… and some cats I wouldn't dare to cross."

Standing in the receiving line, waiting to be seated in some tiny, dimly lit Italian place, both Harry and Ginny are aware of the less than inconspicuous attention he seems to be receiving. Other patrons waiting in line with them do a bad job of pretending not to stare, whisper loudly, and point without bothering to be discreet.

Harry does his best to ignore it, and Ginny follows his lead. It takes about twenty minutes for them to be seated, and even longer for their server to appear with drinks and ready to take their order. While they sit side by side in a corner booth and munch on soft fragrant breadsticks drizzled with oil, no less than three complete strangers approach their table just for the privilege of speaking to Harry, and they go away smiling when he obliges each of them with a firm handshake.

Over heaping plates of spaghetti with meatballs and marinara, Ginny tries to hit the high notes for the previous year spent at Hogwarts but realizes with the telling that there are depressingly few of them, the conversation is short-lived and she stalls, unwilling to tell him about the low notes. Instead, she brags on Neville and Luna for having the temerity to stand up to the Carrows in defense of the younger students, and on Seamus Finnegan for deliberately setting off small explosions in and around the potion's classroom and the dank storage room in the dungeons where Snape kept all his wares, brews, and elixirs several times throughout the year.

Harry has only just rested his free hand on her knee beneath the table when yet another person approaches and claims their moment of glory in his presence, leaving Harry no choice but to politely stand, and indulge them. Ginny waits until their back is turned before she rolls her eyes. Then, she leans in close, whispering in his ear. "It was one thing when it was our schoolmates. I got used to that, but these are grown men and women."

Harry nods even as he shrugs. "Sorry, nothing I can really do about it. I mean, if I refuse to acknowledge people, if I turn them away…"

Ginny shakes her head. "Don't do that! Then they'll be disappointed and defensive. They'll start thinking you've got a fat head and need to be put in your place. They'll start approaching to tell you off instead, and that would be worse."

He nods, noticing that she hasn't really taken a bite in the last ten minutes, and she's really just playing with what's left of her food. "Want dessert?"

She shakes her head again.

"Wanna get out of here. Go someplace more private?"

"God, yes!"

He slides out of the booth, and taking her hand, he picks up their ticket and approaches the cash register in front rather than signaling and waiting for a server to come and tend to the matter. He's reaching into his pocket when the portly, dark-haired man with the salt and pepper mustache behind the register whispers good naturedly, "No need to bother with that. Your money is no good here, Mr. Potter. Welcome back to the hollow. Welcome home."

Harry shakes his head as he lays his money on the counter. "Thank you for the kind welcome sir, but if you refuse to allow me to pay for the meal we've just had, I will never set foot in this restaurant again."

Briefly, the man seems as though he might insist, but he looks Harry in the eye, and after a weighted moment, he relents with a pleased smile. "As you wish."

Once outside in the warm night air, Ginny kisses his cheek before whispering, "I bet you could go the rest of your life and never pay for a meal."

Harry grimaces. "I'm not about to find out."

"I know. That's why I kissed you."

Harry grins, still pretending not to notice the people passing by on the sidewalk as they smile at him and whisper to their companions. "Come on. Let's drop by the tent and feed the cat. Then, we'll find someplace without all the voyeurs."

Ginny can't contain her quiet snort of laughter. "Good luck with that. I bet you can choose a different continent and still find people who want to watch your every move."

He nods. "Yesterday I even got some attention waiting for Hermione to turn up in Sydney. Of course, that might have been less about me being Harry Potter and more about me being the bloke standing on the public sidewalk in front of the amphitheater with the funny looking broom in hand."

"Your Firebolt is not funny looking."

"It is to a muggle. Even to them, it's rather flashy looking. I mean, they have no idea what a racing broom is, but one look and they know it's no ordinary broom."

Ginny shrugs. "True enough. You do keep it kind of shiny. People probably didn't mistake you for the janitorial crew, and expect you'd start sweeping sidewalks with it. You saw Hermione?"

"Yeah. She's squared things with her parents. She's home with them for now… Though, I don't think her mum was particularly pleased to hear what she's been up to for the last year. Mrs. Granger was nice enough to me, but there's some tension there. I got Bill's tent back from her so I could use it last night before I went shopping today for my own."

"I can take it back to him. He and Fleur are visiting."

"That'd be good. Is Fleur bunking with you again? Driving you crazy?

Ginny giggles. "Don't be silly, Harry. They are married now. They bunk together."

"Oh yeah. Forgot about that." He grins sheepishly.

"Are you gonna take the job Shacklebolt offered you?"

Harry nods. "I think so. McGonagall said she would tutor me, Ron, and Hermione so we can pass the NEWT and graduate. We start Tuesday evening. After that, even if I take the job, I'll still be in postgraduate auror training for the next two years. It comes with a meager income, but it'll still be a while before I can officially start work as an auror. Until then, when I'm not in class, or studying, they'll keep me busy with grunt work. I'll be the low man on the totem pole."

"The way the gossip mill is turning I thought he would've offered you something a little higher up the food chain."

"Oh, he did…Unofficially. He still has to run it by his people before he can make an official offer. I turned it down. I don't want every guy and girl my age at the ministry resenting me. Especially not if I have to rely on any of them to watch my back."

"That's probably the smart move, but you can cut the potential haters in half, or at least down by a third. None of the girls will hate you. They will probably all flirt with you shamelessly."

Harry studies her face, recognizes her relaxed posture, and smiles. "Bother you?"

"Of course not. Why would it? I understand the impulse."

He squeezes her hand. "Good."

"Good that I understand the impulse… Or that it doesn't bother me?"

"Both. Back when Cho and I were together… she had some kind of meltdown over Hermione. At the time, I had no idea what the big deal was. Hermione had to explain it to me. I'm afraid I didn't handle it so well."

"Yeah, Hermione told me about that. Cho is nice but… Well, it was a little ridiculous, wasn't it? I mean, I could maybe understand where she was coming from if Hermione hadn't been stuck on my brother since your second year… Since before she even realized she was stuck on my brother, and certainly before Ron realized it."

Harry chuckles drolly. "They did take their time about it. Drove me half mad sometimes… All the bickering."

"You were stuck in the middle. And Cho thought you and Hermione…"

"Yeah, she believed all that drivel Rita Skeeter wrote."

"Harry, all she had to do was open her eyes and look. It was obvious."

"Maybe to you. You're more confident. She's a little insecure, and in her defense, I'm not the right guy for somebody like her. I did not handle it well. Every time she started up with the waterworks, I'd get uncomfortable, then angry, and I'd shut down. I didn't like feeling like I had to walk on eggshells. And I had absolutely no idea how to make her feel better."

"She might be driving Michael crazy now. Or maybe not. He likes having a girl who will cling to him."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Oh, Really?"

"I mean for support. He likes needy girls. Makes him feel like a big tough man. Drove me crazy. I didn't mind so much when he wanted to open doors for me. That was nice… but when he started trying to escort me over every single threshold, like I was incapable of standing on my own two feet. Well… I had to suppress the urge to kick him multiple times a day. I told him once that if he didn't let go of my hand, I was gonna petrify him."

Harry smirks. "You don't seem to mind me holding your hand."

"That's because you're walking beside me. You're not three steps ahead and trying to pull me where you want me to go."

Harry shrugs. "You don't need me to lead you around. You grew up in a house with six older brothers. The only girl too. You survived. I figure they didn't make that easy on you. You learned how to keep up a long time ago."

"That's one of the major differences. You don't go 'round assuming I'm completely daft. Michael assumed I needed directions… for just about everything."

"His loss." Arriving back to the cottage, Harry pushes through the front gate, locks it behind them to deter curious onlookers, and steps off the front walk and around the side of the small house. Halfway around, his newly acquired cat approaches and yowls softly in greeting.

"Hello, are you hungry? Ginny bought you some new cat things."

Easily picking up his habit for talking to the cat, Ginny says, "I did not. Harry bought them. I just picked them out. He really is hopeless as a pet owner. He doesn't have a clue."

Laughing, Harry says in his own defense, "I've never had a pet, of any sort, unless you count Hedwig. She pretty much took care of herself, except for cleaning out her cage."

Ginny frowns. "A post owl doesn't count. You've never had a pet?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Not even one of those little goldfish that muggles like to keep in a glass bowl?"

"Nope."

As they step back into the tent, she murmurs quietly, "That's one of the saddest things I've ever heard, Harry. Even in our house, where there was never much money, Mum and Dad always made sure we had pets to love and be responsible for. I've had several. I can't even imagine having grown up without them."

"I didn't bother asking when I was younger. The answer would've been no. The Dursley's probably would've laughed at me. After I got a little older, I wouldn't have asked. I was concerned that Dudley might torment any animal in the house, just for fun. I made sure he never got near Hedwig the first few weeks she was with me until I realized that, to him, she represented the magical world, and he wouldn't go near her. He was afraid of her."

"Afraid? Of Hedwig? But Harry, she was so dignified and affectionate."

"Only with me. She didn't like the Dursley's any more than they liked her."

"I hope, for their sake, I never have to meet any of them."

Harry shrugs. "That's highly unlikely. I don't even know where they are now, but I know they aren't looking for me."

"I thought maybe Dad was exaggerating when he said they didn't seem to care about you. If that's true they should be ashamed of themselves."

"Well, they aren't ashamed of themselves, and it's no good being cross about it. If I did that, I'd be in a very bad temper 24/7. I don't want to give them that kind of control over me. Life's too short."

Ginny shrugs as she nods. "Well, you have a cat now." She takes Harry's pack from him and begins pulling purchases out of it. Within mere minutes, Pumpkin is sitting atop a new cat tree, wearing a new blaze-orange collar, complete with name tag, and feasting on a tin of sardines. While she's busy eating, Ginny sets up her new catly accommodations, complete with kitty litter. Once she's had her fill of dinner, Ginny's subjects her to a bit of gentle magical freshening, before combing out her sleek black coat to remove a few burrs, and other such irritations.

"There. She'll feel better now. It will be easier for her to keep herself clean and, if she's not going to sleep in her new bed, at least you won't have to worry about her getting yours dirty."

"You should've let me by the bigger one. She's not going to like that little wicker basket you bought. After you put her in there, she hopped out as soon as you let go of her."

Ginny laughs. Maybe not, but she doesn't need the giant pillow you picked out. That thing was big enough for an Irish wolfhound!"

Harry shrugs, grinning. "I know what it's like to be cramped up in a tiny space. It's nice to be able to stretch out."

Ginny nods. "Okay, but Harry, she weighs all of 7 pounds. How much stretching do you think she's going to do?"

"Quite a bit if you keep feeding her sardine dinners."

"It's her first night in a brand-new home. Let her celebrate. Tomorrow she can have a sensible breakfast. What time is it?"

Harry glances at his wristwatch. "Almost 9:45."

"I don't have to be home until 11:00."

Harry smiles. "Go change back into your jeans. We'll go flying. Nobody will bother us up there."

"I didn't bring a broom."

"I didn't say you needed one. I'll share."

"Do I get to drive?"

"If you hurry."

Excitedly, Ginny snatches her folded clothing off the top of his dresser, and trots past him, offering another light kiss on her way to the bathroom.

At two minutes passed 11:00 PM, they touchdown in the dooryard at the burrow. Windswept and laughing, Harry opens the Weasley's kitchen door and waits for her to step through first.

"Honestly Harry, you didn't have to come with me. I could have apparated home by myself. They did teach me how to do that this year."

Harry shrugs. "Big hardship. It took all of four seconds, and now I know you made it here safely." He's a breath away from kissing her when the door between the Weasley's living room and kitchen opens and half the redheaded brood walks in, all of them clad in various combinations of pajamas and dressing gowns, and wearing expectant looks of curiosity.

Ginny groans comically. "Why are you all still up? Don't any of you have anything to do tomorrow? I swear, between you lot, and the general public…"

When Molly Weasley raises an eyebrow, Ginny's surrenders, laughing. "Fine, I give up." Well aware that no one is going to do them the courtesy of leaving the room, she stretches up on tiptoe and kisses Harry lightly on the mouth before she whispers, "Next time let's try a picnic by the lake. Maybe we'll have less of an audience."

Feeling like a bug under a microscope, and genuinely bothered by it for the first time all night, Harry nods uncomfortably. "Okay. When? Tomorrow?"

She nods. "Lunch or dinner?"

Harry thinks it over. "Better make it dinner. I've still got plenty of work to do."

She nods. "I'll see you tomorrow evening."

Harry says goodnight and is reaching for the back door when it seems to dawn on Mrs. Weasley that she's somehow been remiss. "Harry, dear, you don't have to leave."

"It's late Mrs. Weasley."

"I'm sure Ron wouldn't mind your company. You know you can bunk in with him anytime."

Ron nods, sleepily but eagerly.

"Maybe next time, okay? I've got to get home. I left every window in the house open."

"Oh, then I guess you'd better be off. Are you hungry? It won't take a minute for me to gather up some leftovers."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I'm not hungry. We finished dinner less than two hours ago."

"Well, if you don't turn up for breakfast tomorrow morning, then tomorrow evening I'm sending Ginny with groceries."

Harry chuckles. "Yes ma'am."

Feeling euphoric after his more or less successful evening out with Ginny, Harry returns home to his tent, and scarcely steps over the threshold before he realizes how exhausted he is. Mentally acknowledging that he's had a long day, he secures the tent flap, and wastes no time stripping down to his briefs. Tossing his clothing carelessly over the back of a chair, he places his wand within easy reach on the bedside table, turns on the ceiling fan over his bed, and slides beneath the blankets before removing his glasses. Within a matter of seconds, he feels a soft, nearly nonexistent thump at the foot of his bed as Pumpkin hops up to join him. When she settles on the pillow opposite his and begins to purr deep in her chest like a contented miniaturized panther, he laughs in the darkness, and says around a yawn, "I told Ginny you weren't going to sleep in that prissy little basket."

A second later, he's deeply asleep and he stays that way until well after dawn.

The next morning at 8:00 AM when a truck arrives pulling a flatbed trailer covered in tarpaulin outside the Weasley's front garden, Arthur, glances out the window, drains his coffee cup, and says to his two oldest, "Right then, Bill, Charlie, go direct the driver around back. If we get started now boys, we might have her set before sundown."

He's out the door and stepping into some muddy Wellingtons when his wife is suddenly at his side and eyeing him hopefully.

Three hours later, Harry is scrubbing mold, grime, and only Merlin knows what else, off the front steps of the cottage when he hears the low rumble of a large truck on the street and looks up just in time for the air brakes to hiss loudly in the drive beyond his front gate.

Puzzled by the unexpected arrival, he stretches his aching back and tugs a sweat-stained towel from his back pocket to wipe his face on before making his way down to the gate to greet whoever has come calling. He steps out into the street intent on going to the driver's side door to investigate, but before he makes it halfway across, the passenger door opens, and amid a moderate amount of pushing and shoving, eight red-headed people, and one striking willowy blonde, spill out of a truck cab that has clearly been subjected to an undetectable extension right onto the curb in front of his parent's cottage.

Smiling at the lot of them, he raises a curious eyebrow for Ginny's benefit, and she in turn shrugs as she lugs a large wooden crate down from the seat of the truck. Trotting to her side, he takes the crate from her as he calls out, "Good morning, Weasleys."

They all answer noisily, each of them talking over the others as Harry's eyes go wide when Ginny pulls down a second, and even a third crate.

Arthur says, "Hello Harry." shakes his hand, and then immediately declares, "Percy, make yourself useful, son. Help Ginny with one of those crates."

The entire troop immediately gravitates toward the front gate as Harry juggles his own crate and whispers in Ginny's ear, "What is all this?"

She whispers back. "Food, of course. You should've turned up for breakfast."

Harry's mouth falls open. "All of it? For me and what army?"

Ginny whispers again. "Mum won't be happy until you weigh 300 pounds."

"Ginny, this crate must weigh 50 pounds. I can't eat all this. I'm not even sure I have a place to store it all. It'll go bad." Worried, he glances at the covered trailer. "Please tell me that's not food too."

"No. Housewarming gift."

Harry stares at the truck dumbfounded. "Housewarming gi… But Ginny this place is nowhere near fit for visitors. You should've told…"

Before he can finish, Mrs. Weasley approaches and, wrapping an arm around him, she hugs him close as he juggles his crate full of groceries and says calmly but clearly, "We are not visitors. We are your family."

Rendered speechless for a good ten seconds before he can swallow the golf ball sized lump in his throat, Harry returns her hug as best he can without dropping his load and then shrugs. "Well, okay then, you all may as well come in, but be forewarned, it's a mess inside… Harry looks around briefly before adding, "and out."

Not deterred in the slightest, the matriarch of the Weasley clan marches up the front walk, leading the way, and calling over her shoulder, "Not to worry, Harry, dear. It won't be for long."

When she steps over the threshold, Mrs. Weasley looks left, then right, and orders them all to stay put while she assesses the situation.

No one dares to argue with her, least of all Harry. She walks to the left, opens a door, finds a closet jammed with odds and ends, and immediately reverses direction and goes the other way. Disappearing into the kitchen, she's out of sight for several long minutes, and although Harry can hear her moving about, he cannot discern what she might be up to based on sound alone. Momentarily, she returns, holds up a hand, silently asking for their continued patience, and then she makes her way upstairs and is out of sight for several more minutes before descending and announcing, "Right then. This is nowhere near as bad as I feared it might be. Harry, you must've worked very hard yesterday and today."

He nods. "Still got a long way to go."

"Help has arrived. Arthur, your very first job is to get the gas and the water lines coming into the house open. Harry cannot live here without power and clean running water. Bill, Charlie, outside. Help the driver unload the truck. Harry, you'll have to go outside for a bit, and let the boys know where you want your new outdoor patio and grill to be installed."

"What?" Harry shakes his head wildly. "Mrs. Weasley… No. You can't…"

"I can. Arthur said I could… And I am. You are not allowed to refuse."

Harry looks to Mr. Weasley. "Sir, I don't understand."

"We'd been planning to put in an outdoor patio complete with a grill and a brick oven ever since I got my promotion. The materials arrived this morning. It was to be for the family, a place to come together and remember our Freddie. The boy loved dining outdoors. He and George especially loved pizza, of all things. He always said he wanted to try it baked in a real pizza oven. We had a full day's work planned, but before we could start unloading the truck, Molly asked if we could bring it here to you."

Astounded, Harry shakes his head again. "You can't. It's supposed to be for you. You're supposed to enjoy it."

Ron shrugs. "Too late, mate. We already voted, and we agreed unanimously, which I don't mind telling you is no small feat. It wouldn't matter though. Even if we hadn't agreed, there's no talking Mum out of something once she makes up her mind. Like it or not, it's yours."

"It's not that I don't like it. I love it, but it's supposed to be for your family. I can't take it from you."

"No. You can't. You can't take something away from someone when it's already been given to you, and weren't you listening? Didn't you hear her? You are our family. It doesn't matter if it's in our backyard or yours."

Considerably more somber than he used to be, and noticeably thinner than he was just a month ago, George steps forward, separating himself from the group. "We're here Harry. We're not leaving. We're going to put this house right… Inside and out. We're going to build a patio, and tonight, we're going to sit out under the stars, eat pizza, and raise our glasses to Fred… and if you say no one more time, I'm going to pound you."

Eyeing her son sharply in surprise, Mrs. Weasley chastises, "Georgie!"

Harry rushes into the breach. "No. It's okay Mrs. Weasley. If it means that much to George…"

"It does. We couldn't have started our shop without you, Harry. You have no idea how happy you made Fred the day you gave us our startup capital. We're doing this. For you. And for Fred."

Harry nods. "I won't argue anymore, not as long as you all come visit whenever you like."

Mrs. Weasley sighs. Not wasting another moment, she says. "Good. Now that we've settled that. Bill, Charlie, you're outside. Unload the truck and get started. Your father will join you as soon as he's available. Percy, George, Ron, you three are in charge of the gardens. Clean them up, pull the weeds, get rid of the dead things. Make them look nice. And I want no nonsense or arguing between you. Harry, decide where you want the patio laid. After that you are inside with Ginny, Fleur, and myself. After we get the house squared away, we will help with anything left to be done outdoors."

When Mrs. Weasley stops talking, there's a moment of hesitation while everyone waits to be certain she is finished. She scowls at them all. "Why are you all still standing here burning daylight? You have your orders. March!"

Following the others outside, Harry drapes an arm around the shoulders of both George and Ron. Making sure he's got Percy's attention as well, he says quietly, "Get rid of the dead plants, but don't vanish the pots unless they're broken beyond repair, or just too manky to touch, and as for any new plants… Limit it to any wildflowers that are already out here, and will take care themselves, for the most part. I'm not a horticulturalist."

Ron frowns. "You're not a horti-what?"

Harry thinks about his choice of word and simplifies with, "I'm not a herbologist."

"Oh right. I think we can do that."

He spends the better part of the next half hour talking with Bill and Charlie about the placement of his new patio and what, if anything, they will need from him. He's on his way to the back door when he hears an ominous low rumbling whine that precedes the hiss of feline protest. Fleur orders, "Shoo! Away with you, you disagreeable beast." And Ginny exclaims, "Hey! No! Fleur stop!"

Sprinting the rest of the way, Harry arrives just in time to physically block Fleur's downward swing of a broom."

"Let's not do that!"

"Zat animal tried to come into your kitchen, 'Arry."

"Yeah well, she's allowed. It's her kitchen too. She's mine. She lives here."

Fleur makes a sour face. "You let your cat come into your kitchen?"

Harry scoops Pumpkin up and rubs her head in apology. "She's probably just trying to get to her water bowl."

"Arry that is very unsanitary."

"Well, then I promise I will never let her run loose in your kitchen. But, since you're in my kitchen, please do not hit my cat with a broom… or anything else… ever again." He slides past her into the kitchen to pick up Pumpkin's water dish, and then must sidestep her again on his way back out. He lowers both the cat and her dish to one corner of the top step before stepping back in again. Fleur offers no argument, but presses her mouth closed and throws a disapproving look in the cat's direction. Ginny offers him a smile. "I'm almost done in here." She says, indicating the tiny butler's pantry. "It's gonna be packed tight, but I think I can get it all in."

Looking around, Harry takes the room in at a glance. Just in the time he's been outside, nearly every surface in his kitchen has been polished to a glossy shine, most of the woodwork and cupboards obviously having been subjected to some sort of rejuvenation spell. Anything that remains of his mother's china is either in the sink full of hot soapy water or stacked next to the sink waiting to be magically scrubbed by Mrs. Weasley, who is treating the porcelain dishware with obvious care. Though still sneaking glances at the cat, Fleur resumes humming softly in French as she repairs the busted glass front in the newly repaired oak china hutch and gives it a thorough polishing.

Harry studies the large cabinet in grateful surprise. "How've you made it look so good. Yesterday, it was broken. One of the legs was completely off. I tried to reattach it. It must've been hit by a rebounding curse." He points. "One that knocked the hole in that wall. I couldn't manage it."

Fleur shrugs as she offers him a tentative smile. "Molly 'ad to do it for me. I couldn't manage it ee'her."

Mrs. Weasley offers, "I completely replaced the leg. The old one couldn't be reattached. If you look very closely, you might notice the seam at the reattachment site, but if you don't call attention to it, I doubt anyone will notice. It'll work nicely enough… Uh … unless you'd rather have something brand-new to replace it… If you'd rather not have things look patched up."

Harry shakes his head. "Mrs. Weasley anything you have patched up will always be welcome in my home."

Her eyes shine with warmth as she waves her wand and takes down the curtains over the sink. "What a kind thing to say, dear. Thank you."

He nods toward the bundle of yellow gingham in her arms. "Don't chuck those, okay?"

She shakes her head. "No. I'm just going to put them in a washtub with some washing powders to see if I can get them a bit cleaner."

Harry nods again. "I know they are a bit faded. No proof, but I think my mum might have sewn them herself. The stitches are all a bit wobbly."

She inspects the material more closely. "Oh, yes, I see. Would you like me to fix that for you, or…"

"No. Thank you, but I like the wobbly stitching."

She smiles with the decisive bob of her chin. "Of course, you do."

"I see the table and chairs have been fixed up as well."

"I think the china hutch must've fallen on the table when the leg was blown off. There were deep gouges in the wood. Probably from the shattered glass."

"Where are you getting the wood for the repairs. Do I owe someone money?"

"Of course not, dear. It's magic."

Harry chuckles. "No, I know that. But you have to conjure it from somewhere, don't you?"

"Well yes, but you do own the property, and there are trees on the property. It's just a simple replication mixed with a little conversion magic."

"Conversion? What, like transfiguration?"

Mrs. Weasley chuckles. "Not quite, dear. We aren't transfiguring the wood into anything else. First, we replicate, so we don't have to cut the trees down. Then, we convert raw wood into usable lumber."

Ginny complains, "Mum, don't laugh at Harry. He's a strong wizard, but there are still some things he doesn't know. He grew up in a house with people that hate magic. It's not his fault he didn't have the opportunity to learn anything before Hogwarts." Turning to Harry, she adds, "That was part of how I replaced the roof yesterday."

Mrs. Weasley frowns. "Ginny I wasn't laugh…"

Sensing a potential argument between the women, Harry cuts them off. "Thank you both."

"Mum also fixed the refrigerator door handle. It opens now, and I've cleaned it and packed it full. I put a temporary chilling spell on it. It should be running as soon as Dad finishes tinkering with the utility lines coming into the house. All the food has been put away. Unless you need me here Mum, I'm going to go start on the sitting room."

Mrs. Weasley points to a squat little barrel full of vegetables in one corner of the room. "Okay, but first, take those down to the root cellar."

Harry shakes his head. "No, don't. Not unless there's more than just that one barrel. If that's all there is, leave them where they are. If you put them in the root cellar, I will forget about them. They will go bad and stink up the whole place all over again. I've already had to remove the flooring and all the wall paneling down there, because nobody thought to get rid of the vegetables nearly 17 years ago. The whole house was rank!"

Mrs. Weasley nods. "I thought I could detect the lingering scent of something rotten."

"Professor McGonagall told me to pack the place with charcoal to help absorb the odor and air it out whenever I'm here. I've done that. I guess it's just a matter of time now."

"You can also burn a little sage, and bayberry." That might help. It's just the one barrel. I didn't think you would need more than that just for yourself. You've got potatoes, onions, turnips and carrots, all fresh from our garden. I suppose the barrel can stay there in the corner until the root cellar is inhabitable, or until you have room for it in the pantry. You two go do something with the parlor. It's rather stark in there. You must've thrown out quite a lot yesterday."

"I did. There was a nasty-looking mold growing on all the upholstered furniture, except for the chair under the reading lamp. I cleaned it up as best I could, but I may have to do it again today. Or, it may not be salvageable."

"Let me give it a go before you toss it out. I'll see what I can do with it."

Harry nods. "Whenever you have time. It's hardly going to get any worse before sundown."

Reaching for his hand, Ginny gives Harry her undivided attention as they leave the kitchen and step through the dining alcove into the living room. "Do you want wallpaper, or paint?"

Harry shrugs. "Dunno. Bit of both? Different colors though. This blue is alright, but I'm not crazy about the orange."

Ginny smiles. "It's not orange, it's coral."

"Whatever. Don't like it. Looks like something Aunt Petunia would've picked out. It's dingy too. I tried scrubbing the walls clean yesterday. In some places, all I did was scrub the paint off the walls."

"So, I see. What colors would you like?"

Harry makes an indecisive face. "Yellow and green?"

Ginny takes a guess. "Like the yellow gingham in the kitchen?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, I'm not crazy about the gingham. I just like the curtains because it seems like Mum probably did them herself."

"Okay, so yellow and green. Light or dark?"

Harry squints. "Pale gold?Bold, but without being eye-popping. Maybe a couple of different shades of green."

Mrs. Weasley wanders through on her way upstairs as Ginny uses her wand to splash color samples onto the living room walls. They spend a few minutes rearranging paint swatches side by side for comparison and Ginny uses magic to alter the floral pattern already present on the existing wallpaper, running through a series of options until she comes up with something that makes Harry nod with a noticeable hint of enthusiasm. They are just beginning to really dig into the project when a startled yelp is heard from the floor above.

Harry dashes for the stairs calling out, "Mrs. Weasley!" with Ginny hard at his heels, practically pushing him up to the second floor. By the time they make it to the landing, Mrs. Weasley can be heard calling out, "Attic! The access panel is in your parents' bedroom closet."

Harry bolts down the short hallway into the master bedroom with his wand drawn. He climbs the attic stairs two at a time with Ginny scarcely an inch below him. Poking his head into the attic, his eyes go wide at the sight of walls covered, floor to ceiling, in circular blobs of green ooze that blinks countless squinty, yellow eyes in response to the light streaming up through the open trapdoor.

"Yee-uck!" Harry exclaims in revulsion.

"No, Harry, dear, don't come up. At least not until you cover your mouth and nose, and don't touch anything with your bare hands."

Nodding, Harry turns, glancing down at Ginny he calls out, "Fleur, better come up. Bring face covers, and reinforcements. We're gonna need help."

In less than a minute, Fleur is standing in the upstairs hallway, a stack of dish cloths in her hands, with Bill and Charlie directly behind her. Taking the lead, Bill eases past his wife, and pushes her back further still, until she is behind his younger brother. "What's the trouble up there?"

Mrs. Weasley calls down to him, "Worse Bundimun infestation I have ever seen!"

"Think we can handle it ourselves, Mum. Or do we need to call the ministry and get someone from Regulation out here?"

"We should be able to tackle it if we work together. Be careful coming up. Nobody touch anything."

The five of them cover their faces before crowding in with Mrs. Weasley, careful not to brush even an inch of exposed skin against anything green and slimy. They move toward the center of the attic, three by three, with their backs pressed together.

Looking to Bill on her right, and Charlie on her left, Mrs. Weasley says, "Altogether. On three." They all count with her. "One… Two… scourgify!"

The entire attic space is filled with an intense orange light, the magical shockwave emitted from their collective wands strong enough to shake dust from the rafters and send it cascading down upon them. When the light dies, and the room settles, Mrs. Weasley lines them up, stands before them and makes each one turn a slow circle so that she can personally inspect them head to toe and front to back. Only when she is satisfied that none of them have come into contact with the disgusting blighters, does she allow Bill and Charlie to check her out simultaneously as she shivers with repulsion.

Bill pats her shoulder reassuringly. "All clear Mum."

"Are you sure? Something fell on me."

Bill smiles, easing the severity of the scars Fenrir Greyback left on his face. "You're fine. You've got dust in your hair, that's all. You look like somebody's grandmother."

Harry blanches, his eyes going wide as he momentarily forgets just exactly who it is Bill is talking to.

"Well, you know dear, gray hair or not, it wouldn't take much to make that happen. Somebody needs to get busy, that's all."

Harry notices that Ginny is suddenly very interested in her shoes. Even though he can hear no sound coming from her, he's certain she's trying desperately not to laugh.

Wholly unperturbed, Bill shrugs and shakes his head without a shred of apology. "Mum, we've talked about this before. You'll just have to wait. Fleur and I are enjoying our first year alone together…" Forestalling her impending rebuttal, he adds firmly, "The entirety of our first year."

Knowing it's a lost cause, she turns to Harry. "After seeing what was up here, I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you wanted to toss in a lit match as we all run out the back door. You can come stay with us."

Harry can't help but chuckle. "You can't talk Bill into giving you your first grandchild ahead of his own schedule, so you're going to move me in? Mrs. Weasley, if you keep doing things like that, your house will never be empty."

She shrugs affably. "Amen to that!"

Charlie slings an arm around Harry shoulders. "Nah Mum, Harry faced down He-who-had-to-die and lived to tell the tale. He's too tough to be scared off by a roomful of nasty green infectious slime."

Mrs. Weasley eyes Harry speculatively. "I expect that's true enough. Bill, Charlie, back outside to the patio. Harry, Fleur, Ginny, let's do try to clean some of this furniture off. There are some lovely old pieces up here… if they can be salvaged. It would be nice if we could move some of it to the lower floors. Since Harry vanished most of what was already downstairs, this little cottage is so empty that it echoes."

The eldest Weasley boys return to their previously appointed task and for more than an hour, the remaining four people in the attic, scour, scrub, dust, and polish like never before. Torn fabric is mended, broken table and chair legs repaired, carpets are divested of nearly two decades worth of dust. When it looks like they've got the worst of it under control, Ginny excuses herself and returns to the stark living room to continue with her decorating plans. From time to time, she reappears, wand in hand, selects a piece of furniture, and using the locomotor charm to manage the weight of heavy items on her own, she disappears again.

When Harry, Mrs. Weasley, and Fleur finally descend from the attic, Harry stands on the first-floor landing with his mouth hanging open. If he didn't know better, he would think he'd suddenly stepped into a completely different house. "Uh… wow…Ginny!"

"I can change absolutely anything you don't like."

Harry stares, transfixed, taking in all he sees. The formally austere little gray room has been completely revitalized. The print of the wallpaper isn't fussy or overly busy. It's just delicate tendrils of ivy sprouting and meandering around the walls against a creamy yellow backdrop. Door frames, window casements and cornices are a soft golden color. She's taken every piece of furniture she brought down and changed its appearance so that it all coordinates. The sofas and chairs are no longer a hodgepodge of antique, or outdated furniture styles. Each piece has been altered to complement the others, and they now have deep overstuffed cushions upholstered in supple leather that is the color of warm buttery toffee. Throw pillows, the rug underfoot, and lamp shades are all complementary colors of sage and forest green, and the brass fixtures of the wall lamps, as well as multiple floor stands that hold delicate glass hurricane lamps, have all been polished to a high shine.

"It still needs a few knickknacks."

Harry says nothing.

Standing on the stairs, behind Fleur, Mrs. Weasley declares, "Ginevra, what happened to the antiques you brought down here?"

Ginny shrugs. "These are them. I modernized them. Harry is too young to lounge around on his grandmother's velvet settee."

Mrs. Weasley's mouth turns down into a grim frown. "That furniture probably belonged to his great grandmother, and it was probably worth a small fortune, young lady. Put it back the way it was."

"Mum! With all that wine-colored velvet, the gold tassels, and the brass fixtures in the room, it'll look like a vampire's parlor. And, I bet Harry's parents didn't care for it either."

"There is no way you can possibly know that."

"Of course, there is. They probably did take the furniture from an older relative who offered it because they were young and just starting out. They probably wanted to be nice and not hurt anybody's feelings, but if they had liked it, it would've been down here in the living room, not hidden away up in the attic."

Able to see the logic in her daughter's argument, Mrs. Weasley declares, "Well, still… you've significantly decreased its value. You shouldn't have done that without asking."

Harry finds his voice. "Decreased its value to who? I like it the way it is. Ginny's right, forced to live with it the other way, I might sprout fangs and start feeding on blood."

Ginny smiles radiantly, and Mrs. Weasley huffs, "You kids!" before turning on her heel and going back up to the second floor.

Ginny waits for Fleur to follow her mother before whispering, "You promise you like it? If you don't, I can change it. It doesn't have to be plush velvet and tassels, but it doesn't have to be this way either."

By way of reply, Harry crosses the room, flops down and stretches out on the largest sofa, crossing his feet at the ankles and lacing his fingers behind his head.

Joining him, she perches on the arm of the sofa and waits for a more verbal reply. After a moment of looking around, he says, "This will do for now. It's inhabitable, even comfortable. Later, we'll need a ceiling fan in the middle of the room, something nice to hang on the wall over the fireplace, one of your mum's multicolored afghans to drape over the back of this sofa… and bookshelves on either side of the fireplace, I think."

Ginny smiles down at him and whispers, "We… as in you and me?"

"Well sure… We. If things go well. I'm not gonna live here by myself forever. You have to finish school first though, and I have to get a job. One that actually pays decent money. So, it'll take a few years. But I can see it."

She laughs at him. "Harry, you have a bank vault full of gold, and the hair tonic that put all that gold there is still selling like hotcakes. It probably still will be 100 years from now."

"I know, but I need a job. I want to support myself. What if people stop buying Sleekeazy's hair potion?" He grins up at her. "What if a giant meteorite hits Diagon Alley and melts all the gold in the bank?"

Ginny rolls her eyes before she leans down and kisses him. "Harry! If a giant meteorite hits Diagon Alley, Gringott's will be the one place still left standing."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. I am."

Harry shrugs. "I still want a job first."

"Okay, I can appreciate that, but Harry, has dealing with Voldemort got you seeing the worst in everything? You don't really lay awake at night worrying about giant meteorites, do you?"

Of course not, but things do happen Ginny. What if one of our kids get sick? Like bad sick? Like expensive sick. I'd like for there to still be money in that vault if one of them needs it."

She raises an eyebrow. "One of our kids?"

"That's okay, isn't it? You do want kids? I'm talking like in five or ten years."

"Sure, I want kids. In a few years. But, since we are actually talking about this, you have to understand something right now, Harry. I am not having seven!"

"Good… because if you do, you are not doing it with me! We don't need that many."

Ginny chuckles as she pats his shoulder. "Glad we're in agreement."

When she stands and heads for the stairs, Harry raises up on one elbow. "Where are you going now?"

"Back upstairs to your old nursery. I'm going to clean up that busted crib. Then I'm going to fix it. After that, I'm going to move it to the attic. It'll be there waiting for the next generation of Potters when we need it."

Harry squints. "Uh Ginny…"

She stands there, waiting to go up, her hand resting on the banister railing. "What? You can clearly see our future, even plan for it, but I can't?"

"It's not that. It's… Just chuck the thing, okay? When we need one, I'll buy a new one. I was standing in that thing when he tried to kill me, Ginny."

"I know. He failed. You survived. That's good enough for me."

Smiling, Harry lays there for another 30 seconds before getting up and heading for the master bedroom.

Six hours later, the tiny cottage is actually worthy of a resident. It may be still in need of minor little comforts, but all the busted windows are fixed. The doors and walls are sound, as are the floor and the roof. Harry has lights, and running water, food and plates to eat off of. He has one and a half clean bathrooms that may only be stocked with the barest of essentials, but that will do.

Ginny does exactly what she said she would do. Then she whitewashed the walls of the nursery to cover up infant-friendly decals and other such decorations. She found curtains to hang in the room and replicated a set of the bunk beds from Harry's tent to place in the room since it was really too small to accommodate a full-size bed. Ron could come and visit, even stay overnight if he wanted. Harry had a place for his friends to sleep.

Following her example, Harry had cleaned, and placed the bed frame belonging to his parents in the attic. He then replicated the full-size bed in the tent and changed the color of the bed linens. He even tried his hand at a bit of decorating, filling the room with pine furniture and shades of navy and dark red. It was nowhere near as good a job as Ginny had done, but even so, it was better than anything he'd ever had on Privet Drive. It was better than anything he'd dare to dream about on Privet Drive.

Standing on the step at the back door with his cat looking up at him expectantly, he's nearly overcome by it all. Some of his belongings from the tent have been moved indoors. The tent has been collapsed and is now relegated to the top shelf of the sitting room closet. Harry hadn't expected the house to be fit to live in for several months. That was the prime reason he hadn't purchased a tent with fewer creature comforts.

Unasked, the Weasleys had simply showed up, self-appointed to complete a job Harry had thought would rest solely on his shoulders. In one day's time, the house was good. The house was better than good. The gardens were lush and green. They were not overly manicured, nor were they a jungle to be navigated at one's own risk. The patio had been completed less than an hour ago. Magic it been used to complete the drying process for the mortar between the bricks of the oven. The grill had been fired, and the scent rising from a kettle filled with some kind of soup or stew wafted on the breeze and mingled with the aroma of smoke, yeast, and a zesty pizza sauce. Someone has taken the trouble to string lanterns overhead to light the garden. Harry can hear the delicate thumping of moths flitting against the sides of the lanterns trying to get closer to the warm light within. His own little warren of redheaded family members talk, laugh, and issue orders back and forth to one another with that warm cranky kind of camaraderie that most families have; the kind the Harry had ached for as a child. The air is mild, and the night sky is dappled with starlight.

Pumpkin yowls softly and scratches the leg of his jeans with one gentle paw, trying to get his attention in the same moment he realizes that Ginny is standing directly in front of him and eyeing him with concern.

"Harry!"

"Huh, what? Sorry. Did you say something?"

She chuckles. "Boy, wherever you went, I hope it was a nice trip."

"I was just lost in thought."

"About?"

"Home."

"Not really a surprise. Pumpkin wants her dinner. What kind of pizza do you want?"

Harry shrugs. "Doesn't matter. What are my options?"

"I'm pretty sure you can have anything you want. Bill wants something he calls the Bambino. Apparently, it's a pizza with everything on it, including anchovies, but he did veto the dragon peppers, which Charlie had to have with sausage and mushrooms. Percy wants plain cheese. Dad wants pepperoni. Mum is sticking to soup, for fear of going to bed with indigestion tonight. I think Ron and George are having a bit of everything, and Fleur complained that Bill's pizza is too heavy. She wants something lighter, so she and I are splitting an extra-large spinach and parmesan with sun dried tomatoes. There's also a salad. We have water, tea, and something called Chianti. Charlie found it on a recent trip to Italy. Mum's fussing and fretting because she's worried he's going to pick up dad's fascination with all things muggle."

Harry smiles without comment.

"Do you want a different kind of pizza made?"

"Just for me? No. It sounds like you've already got enough to feed half of Gryffindor house. I'm fine with what is already on the table."

"Well then, come on. George wants your help. He brought fireworks for after dinner, but Mum found out about it, and she's hidden them somewhere in the cottage. He and Ron want your help to find them."

Fireworks, huh?

Yeah, Mum's not happy. She says your new neighbors are going to be thoroughly displeased, but George says we can't have a tribute to Fred without some kind of mischief and mayhem."

Harry laughs as he steps into the garden, dropping an arm around her waist. "For this one night, the neighbors will just have to cope. George is right!"