*The fluff IS on its way back, I promise. I'm just trying to go for a little solid reality here too. Don't give up on me. :) ~long live 83~ and keep reviewing, 'cos it's awesome to read them …

PS – I wasn't sure about the whole firewhiskey age-limit thing, but I just went with what we have in Australia (yes, I'm Australian – G'day and all that).

PPS – Thanks Traveller. I know, it's weird, the story won't stop coming out.

~

When Harry opened his eyes again, he was stumbling out of a modern-looking fireplace in a cloud of black ash.

"You right there, Harry?" Fred said, dusting him down a bit.     

Harry coughed in reply and wiped his glasses.

"Welcome," George said expansively, "to our humble abode."

He looked around. The apartment was so Fred and George it was almost frightening. Luridly coloured couches and armchairs, and stacked boxes of Wizard Wheezes merchandise. Over in the kitchen, a sink full of dirty dishes they hadn't bothered to charm. Bright lights. Fashionable clothes strewn here and there. It was like the ultimate boys' club.

"What do you think?" George went on proudly.

"I like it," said Harry. What else was he going to say?

"You can sleep in the spare room, after all," said Fred, directing him down the hall and into a little room with a bed, a dresser, a red and blue abstract painting and a window. Harry lugged his trunk along and George took Hedwig's cage. "Lee's moving in with his cousin, he said."

They left Harry's things beside the bed, and then all stood in silence a moment – Harry awkward, Fred and George just satisfied to be home.

"It's a good thing you said you wanted to come back with us today," commented Fred. "When we owled Lee and asked him if he could hurry up the repairs, he said they were done last night, he just hadn't wanted to bother us."

"Personally, I think he's bringing girls here," said George darkly.

Fred shrugged. "Doesn't matter – at least we're back, and a day early. The shop's just down the road, Harry, so we'll be there if you want us. George?"

George got out his wand and conjured a spare key, before handing it to Harry.

"There you go. It's got a Recognition Charm on it, so it won't work if anyone else tries to use it."

"Right," said Harry. He felt a bit lost for words. They left Harry's new room. Fred went out into the living room again, and George headed for the kitchen.

"Angelina's got a key too –"

"You should marry the girl, Fred," George called out, in a fair imitation of Mrs Weasley's voice. He was putting the homemade snacks away. "Make an honest woman of her."

Fred rolled his eyes. "I was just going to say, don't be alarmed if she shows up. Oh, and we'll go out for dinner tonight, shall we?"

"We shall," announced George, joining them. "So, have fun in London, Harry."

"Er – I will. D'you get The Daily Prophet?"

"Should be on the doorstep," Fred said airily. "We're off to work."
And without further ado, they Apparated.

Harry fetched the paper, ate one of Mrs Weasley's snacks, and then sat for a long time in his bedroom. He felt odd. And he felt like a coward. He kept remembering what Hermione had said, about running away.

Well, Merlin, complained inner monologue. You did your best, didn't you? You tried to fix things, and it didn't work out. It would have been way too uncomfortable to keep staying there. This way, Ginny can do what she wants without having to worry about you.

This last was true at least – she'd probably be much happier without him around. He'd just have to make do with his decision. He'd live in London until he got his letters, and then he'd decide where to go after that.

Almost unconsciously, he counted back the days. He'd been at the Weasley's over four weeks. Which meant there were about four weeks left of his summer.

Enjoy them, he told himself firmly. You won't get this time again.

But no matter how hard he tried to jolt his mind into co-operation – it wouldn't let go of Ginny.

~

"Georgsh," Harry slurred. "Really glad I came to shtay wish you."

"That's great," George said grimly. "Fred, hold him up."

"I'm trying," Fred objected. "He's heavier than he looks."

Most of this went over Harry's head. He was rather drunk. After dinner, the twins had taken him out to some bars in London, and Harry had found that after one drink he felt a little better, after two he felt upbeat, after three he was downright happy, and by the time he reached number four he was the king of the world. The twins had been cheering until he passed out on the floor – then they'd had to pick him up and, too nervous to send him via the Floo network, were literally hauling him home.

"Fred," Harry said, on the way up the stairs to their apartment.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I really shtuffed things up." He laughed briefly. "I mean, really."

"Is that so?" Fred was holding him up while George got the door open.

"Yep," Harry said, feeling a little weak now. "Really really."

"That's too bad. But you know, mate – drowning your sorrows never works out. You just end up on the floor in the morning feeling like your head's been bitten off."

"I really – really stuffed it," he said tiredly. He wasn't so happy now. He felt a bit sick, and sad.

Once inside, the twins managed to put him down on top of his bed. They didn't bother pulling the covers over him, and he was too out of it to have noticed anyway.

"'Night Harry," George said from the doorway, shaking his head at him and grinning ruefully. "Happy birthday."

Happy Birthday said inner monologue bitterly, before Harry slipped back into unconsciousness

~

Harry staggered out of bed at midday to find Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell in the kitchen. Both were making sandwiches and giggling to each other. They stopped when they saw Harry.

"Er – hi," he said. Thank Merlin he'd changed clothes, and washed his face.

"Harry," Katie said, sounding concerned. "You OK?"

"Fine. Just, well – I drank a bit too much last night. It was my birthday."

Angelina grinned. "You do look a little worse for wear. And you've moved to London, have you?"

"Yeah."

"Do you love it?" gushed Katie.

No, Harry thought. He'd spent the previous day moping in the apartment till noon, when he'd gone out to wander the streets. Despite everything going on, there hadn't been much to do. Nobody to talk to, either. He'd even considered contacting Malfoy, who he knew lived somewhere nearby, but couldn't bring himself to it. He'd ended up in the library of all places, reading about quidditch.

And then dinner, and then –

Harry took a few steps forward into the kitchen, and let out an audible gasp as his head spun and throbbed. Shit. Maybe he should just go back to bed.

Angelina went on grinning. "Best to keep up and moving," she said. "Hey, why don't you go down to the shop? Lee could use a hand."

"Where's Fred and George?"

Both girls sobered. "Didn't you know?" Katie said. "It's a year since Percy died. They've all gone out to the cemetery."

"Oh," Harry said. He remembered Ron telling him about it, and not wanting to go. He wondered why the twins didn't say anything.

"Do you want a sandwich?" asked Angelina sympathetically.

"No," said Harry. "Maybe I will go down to the shop."

"You should," she agreed. "It'll be good for you."

After a long drink of water and the working-up of his will-power, Harry Apparated to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and worked behind the counter all day. It was the weirdest cure for a hangover he'd ever heard of, but surprisingly, it worked. It kept his mind off things. Off the pain in his skull. Off Ginny, crying at the graveyard.

As long as he focussed, he wasn't thinking about any of it.

He was just – keeping on.

~

Thursday – Harry went looking through The Daily Prophet for apartments, hoping to get out of Fred and George's way, but there was nothing in his price range. He decided he'd leave on Friday and take out a room in The Leaky Cauldron. He couldn't keep imposing like this, living there without paying rent (despite the fact that he did do their dishes for them).
It was a long day. Harry barely remembered it. He worked at the store a little, and then went out, but he couldn't find anything to do or buy. He saw Oliver Wood in the street, and they had a brief discussion about the English quidditch team's chances at the premiership, but saw no-one else he recognised. Fred and George were abnormally subdued after the events of the previous day, and didn't talk much, so it was a quiet dinner.

That night, his long-awaited letters came via a very healthy-looking Hedwig. He was offered a place in an Auror training school in France and one in Derbyshire, an internship working in the Department of Mysteries, and a place in a course in defensive magic at Allenhall University.

He opened all these letters, and didn't know what he felt. Mostly he wished he was opening them with Ron and Hermione.

There was another letter too, from Hogwarts, and despite himself, his heart leapt. There was the familiar seal, the ink that smelt of dusty rooms. He opened it eagerly, almost expecting his book list for the next year and the arrival time and date for the Hogwarts Express.

Dear Mr Potter (it read)

We are pleased to offer you a place as assistant to Hogwarts' new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, with a view to eventual placement in this teaching position. As assistant, your tasks would include study of the art of defence, management of the Duelling Club, and classroom aid. This is NOT a teaching position at this point in time, as we do not feel you are fully qualified – but Mr Potter, we'd very much like to have you.

Please reply within the week.

Yours sincerely

Minerva McGonagall

A Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher – or assistant, rather. Harry had never even considered it. It was a shot from the blue, alright. He'd always thought he'd end up an Auror. But to be at Hogwarts again – well, at the moment, he couldn't imagine anything much better. He read McGonagall's brief departure from formality again – that 'we'd very much like to have you' sounded rather nice.

He flipped the letter over and found a Postscript:

I thought you might like to know, Mr Malfoy will be taking up a position as assistant to our Potions Master, Professor Snape. All the best. MM.

He sighed and dropped the letters on the floor beside his bed. He'd think about it properly tomorrow. It was late, and he needed sleep, but he'd had a lot of trouble getting it lately. He didn't want to take Madame Pomfrey's potion anymore, but he didn't want to dream. It was an awful Catch 22.

He was just closing his eyes when there was a soft knocking at his window. At first, he ignored it, hoping it would go away. Then he thought it might be Fred or George – although they weren't very likely to be playing pranks today, quiet as they were. Then he thought it could be party-goers. It was Saturday night, after all. Probably some kids running around the streets and throwing things.

"Harry," he heard faintly, from behind the glass.

Groaning, he sat up and opened his eyes.

Ginny was hovering outside his window.