The next week passed slowly for Harry, with Mrs Weasley demanding their help in a summer clean-up of The Burrow ("You're confused, Mum," Ron argued, "It's Spring Cleaning. Spring Cleaning.") No amount of cajoling could get them out of it, so they ended up spending the first few days dusting, removing Boggarts, and scrubbing floors – or, that is, Harry, Ginny, Fred and George did (Fred and George on duty as punishment for the broom incident – even as legal adults they couldn't escape their Mum's pure force of will). Hermione and Ron voted to take on garden duties, but spent most of their time fooling about and/or sneaking off.

Harry had been wondering what would happen between he and Ginny now, but it was a definite anti-climax. In fact, she didn't even look at him most of the time, and they barely spoke two words to one another. Harry felt weirdly awkward around her, and nervous, and ended up avoiding eye contact with her himself. He thought she might even regret having hugging him like that. But every now and again, he'd have to pass her in the hall or ask her to hand him a dustpan or something, and his stomach flip-flopped. Once, she'd slipped passed him to fetch her wand, and just the feeling of her front against his back was enough to make him sweat.

No amount of inner monologues following along the lines of Pull yourself together, man worked.

He wondered why he hadn't noticed her in quite this way before.

On Wednesday evening, after three days of cleaning, Mrs Weasley decided they'd done enough, much to Harry's relief. He needed a little time away from Ginny, he thought, so he could just settle his nerves (and certain other body parts) and maybe then he'd be himself again.

But when Ginny spent the next two days in her room, doing a holiday Potions essay, he felt mostly lost. He was constantly wandering over the house, hoping she'd pop up – and often not even realising he was hoping for her until somebody else came in, and he was disappointed.

He tried to take her advice and not brood about the things that had happened, but without her around, it became harder and harder. When he wasn't thinking about Ginny, he was thinking about Voldemort and dead people. He knew it was ridiculous, that if he wanted to he could talk to anybody in the house about what had happened and they'd be happy to oblige – he knew this intellectually, but he just couldn't bring himself to it. He kept the thoughts inside instead, and pushed them down when he could.

On Saturday, Harry went flying with Ron and Hermione (Hermione having finally consented, after much wheedling from Ron, to be taken up on Ron's broom). They ended up beside a stream, and Hermione promptly conjured a full picnic basket and rug.

"This will do nicely," she said, sounding satisfied.

"I agree," Ron said immediately. He was already unwrapping a sandwich.

They ate and lounged for the better part of the morning, and into the afternoon. Ron went off to go fishing – Hermione had to transfigure a stick into a rod for him – and Harry and Hermione were left chatting idly on the grass.

Harry had a sudden thought. Hermione and Ginny were such good friends, maybe he could ask her about –

The inner monologue cut in. About what?

He didn't know. He just wanted to talk about Ginny, and it seemed an opportune moment, with Ron gone.

"'Mione," he said casually.

"Mm?"

"You're good friends with Ginny, aren't you?"

She shifted a little to face him. "Of course. So are you, Harry."

"Right. Right." He cleared his throat, but couldn't think what else to say.

"It's a pity she couldn't come today," Hermione said eventually. "She's still trying to do her essays."

"I haven't seen her the past couple of days," Harry said. "But I knew she was, you know, doing homework." He paused, and then went on quickly: "Is she angry at me about something?"

"What, again?" Hermione said in disbelief. "You're as bad as me and Ron were."

"I don't know what it is!" he protested. "I haven't done anything. She's just been weird this week."

"Really? I haven't noticed."

There was a brief silence. Then Harry found himself saying: "Do you think she's seeing anyone?"

Aha, said inner monologue. That's where you're headed.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Harry, immediately beginning to blush, faced the other way.

"I don't think so," she said. "I know her and Ernie broke up months before the end of term, and she hasn't mentioned anyone else."

"Right," Harry muttered. He was embarrassed – he wished he'd never brought it up.

"Harry," Hermione said. Reluctantly, he turned to face her. "What's this about?"

Do I tell her? he thought. She was a girl, at least. Maybe she'd understand it.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I think I might like her."

Hermione grinned. "That's great," she said.

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. "It's not," he said. "I don't know what to do with myself. This is worse than Cho, and even Susan."

Hermione wriggled a bit closer. "It can't be that bad," she said sensibly. "What's bad about liking someone?"

"I don't think she likes me," Harry protested. "She hasn't even looked at me properly all week."
Hermione considered him for a few moments. Then she said, quietly: "I think it's good that you can focus on this stuff, too, Harry, and not just – you know."

"I know," he sighed. He didn't want to talk about it, and Hermione clearly picked up his non-communicative vibe.

"Well," she said, sitting up and brushing her hair back. "All you can do is ask her."

"Ask her what?"

"If she's seeing someone. If she'll see you."

"I don't think I can."

"Why?"

Harry flushed. "I'm too nervous when I'm around her these days."

"Well then, be friendly with her. Become better friends than you were before, and things might – go from there."

She was looking at Ron, who was coming up over the hill with a resigned expression on his face and no fish.

"I don't want to wait seven years," he protested.

"You'll just have to be more proactive than Ron was," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Erm – don't tell Ron about this, will you Hermione?"

"Why?"

"I just don't know how he'd react," Harry explained. Truth was, he didn't want to be laughed out of his skin – because if Ron knew, Fred and George would know pretty soon, and after that, the world.

She smiled and nodded. "I won't tell a soul."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"That's OK."

Ron threw himself down beside them. "Merlin," he said heavily. "I could see the fish, literally see them, and they all just swam around my hook like it had a repelling charm on it."

Hermione bit her lip. Ron gaped, and then tackled her. "You put a repelling charm on my hook!?" he cried wildly.

All Hermione could do was giggle and nod, and pretty soon the two of them were kissing again. Harry looked the other way, and, despite himself, wondered if he and Ginny would ever be like that.