*A/N – Grr! Damn computer won't load the damn italics! Ah well, you know where they go (in inner monologue and Harry's thought bits). Blast the internet and all fanfic.net complications! Thank you for reviewing (you can be an old faithful if you want, Smidget!), I love it, love it. :) Keep R&Ring, padawans… ~98 and 6 degrees of separation~ Shez

~

Harry flew out, and soon spotted Ron beside the stream they'd often picnicked at. He had thrown his rod down and was proceeding to kick it violently. His mouth was moving – Harry was pretty sure he was swearing.

"Oi!" Harry shouted.

Ron craned his neck, startled, and his face lit up.

"Hey!" he replied. "Come down here!"

Harry did so, sailing gently to earth and stepping off his broom once he'd touched down. Ron strode towards him, grinning widely.

"Hey!" he said again. "You're back."

"Yeah."

"Thank Merlin. I love 'Mione, but – well, I missed you, mate. What about Ginny?"
What about Ginny? Harry thought. What does he know?

"Er – she's back, too," he said eventually.

"Oh. I just wondered if you'd seen her – but she's home, is she? How did she like Bill's?"

"She – wasn't at Bill's." Hadn't Hermione told him?

"I thought she said she was. In the note."

"Ah – she lied."

Ron was frowning now. "So where was she?"

"At Fred and George's. With me."

"With you?"

"Yeah."
Ron's smile returned, slowly. "You made up?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. We did."
Ron whooped. "She went all the way to London? And risked our Mum getting mad and everything? She must really like you, Harry. And she was with you and the twins all this time?"

"Yeah, she was."

"Come to think of it, Hermione did seem a bit weird when she read Gin's note. I think she might have guessed. Wonder why she didn't say anything? Girls, bloody hell."

Harry didn't want to talk about Ginny anymore. Ron might like the two of them dating, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be so understanding about them sleeping together. And he was pretty sure something along the lines of 'What did you do all that time?' was going to come up, and he didn't think he could lie about that.

He would get around to coming out with it. Just not this moment.

"Still fishing?" he asked, before Ron could open his mouth again.
Ron's face changed. Harry knew he'd forgotten about his sister, if only briefly. "You could call it fishing," he said darkly. "You could also call it standing on the bank looking like a bloody wanker. I thought Dad said this was easy?"

He jogged over to his rod, which was broken, and kicked it once more for good measure. Harry followed. Mr Weasley was constantly badgering his sons to take an interest in Muggle Studies, and Ron had thrown himself into fishing with surprising fervour. His only problem was that – well, he just wasn't very good at it.

"I don't know," Harry said, looking at the tangle of snapped woods and plastic line. "I've never fished before either."

"And I don't think I will again," said Ron decidedly, sitting down on the grass. "I haven't caught a single thing this summer."

"That's not true," Harry pointed out. "You caught a weed one time."

Ron shook his head hopelessly.

Harry wanted to ask about him and Hermione, but wasn't sure if it was exactly polite. Not that he'd ever worried about being polite with Ron before. Screw it – "Are you and 'Mione still –" he began, but Ron cut him off quickly.

"Mm," he said, evading eye contact. "Yeah."

"Right. It was probably a good thing we were gone then. So you could, you know, have some privacy."

"Uh-huh. Well – I guess it was good, in some ways." Ron didn't say anything more. He was plucking at the grass, clearly embarrassed. 

Maybe you should just tell him, urged inner monologue. Just say it, or you're going to be carrying this around with you for the rest of the summer. Say it, Potter. Say it!

"Ron," Harry said.

"What?"

Ron looked up expectantly, and Harry stopped. He tested the words out inwardly. "Guess what? I'm sleeping with your sister." Even in his head, it sounded ludicrous. There was no way he could tell Ron. Not now. Not cold turkey like this. He'd have to psych himself up – and speak to Ginny, come to think of it.

"Er – it's good to be back," he said finally. "It's just – good to be back."

Ron blinked at him, and then nodded. "Right. Well, good to have you. Did Mum do her nut about Ginny?"
Harry told the story (with several omissions), and they sat there for a while, talking about London and other things, and watching the water go past.

~

Harry decided to shower and change before dinner. He wanted to make a good impression – it was weird to feel this about the Weasleys, who were like family, but he couldn't help it. He presumed Mrs Weasley had told (or would tell) Mr Weasley about him and Ginny, and that in particular had him worried. He'd never really had to deal with a girl's father before, and certainly not when the man in question knew that he'd been – well –

"Shit," Harry said miserably, standing in front of the mirror in his towel. He ruffled his charmed-dry hair (in a gesture uncannily like his own father's) and wished it would just go where it ought to instead of sticking up in all directions.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Who's there?" he asked warily, tightening the knot on his towel.

"It's me," said Ginny. "Can I come in?"
Ginny. He hadn't seen her alone since this morning; she'd been off with Hermione for most of the day. He felt a sudden lurch in his stomach at the thought of her, and hurried for the door.

He opened it, and she slipped inside quietly, pressing it shut behind her. Her hair was loose and she was smiling. He felt overwhelmingly glad to have her to himself.

"You look beautiful," he said.

She shook her head a bit, and then glanced at his towel. "So do you," she said, grinning. "Been prettying up, have we?"

He pointed a finger at her. "Don't joke about this. I'm friggin' nervous. Is your dad coming?"

"Yes. Didn't I tell you?"

He turned back to the mirror and ran a hand over his hair again. It looked worse than before and he groaned. "Yeah, you did. I just – bloody hell, Ginny."

She stepped up behind him, and turned him around.

"Bow your head," she said.

"What?"

"Bend."

He tilted his head towards her uncertainly. Ginny reached up, put her hands in his hair, and scraped them through. Then she plucked at a few little bits, and brushed other parts back. It felt quite nice actually, like a massage.

"There," she said after almost a minute. "Done."   

He spun around – the mirror showed him a head of hair with the perfect balance of scruff and respectability. Ginny peeked over his shoulder, grinning.

"How'd you do that?" he said wonderingly.

She shrugged modestly. "It's a girl thing. And I love your hair."

He turned back to her. "You do?"

"Yeah."

He tucked hers behind one ear. "I love yours," he said quietly.

I love you, muttered inner monologue, but he didn't say that. He just looked at her.

"What?" she asked, tipping her head to one side.

"Nothing. Are my jeans here?"

She picked them up and handed them to him. "Picking up after you already, am I?" she teased.

"Sounds good," he said, smiling. "Do my hair, fetch my clothes. Otherwise I just won't get out of bed –"

"And I'll have to keep you company," she finished for him. "OK."

They looked at each other a little longer.

"Er – I'd better get changed," Harry said. He didn't want to stare at her, but it was damn hard.

"Right."

"So –" he said pointedly.

"What?"

"I have to change."

She frowned at him, and then understood.

"Oh, right!" she repeated, flushing, laughing nervously. "Right. Sorry." She practically leapt for the door.

"Just 'cos I don't want your mum to come in, and think – you know, whatever she might think," Harry explained, flushing himself, suddenly very aware of being undressed. It was a bit different to being in bed with her, anyway.

"No, you're right. I forgot. Well, good luck," she said quickly, and ducked back out into the hall, clicking the door shut behind her.

A few seconds later, Harry looked at his hair, and smiled again. He didn't know what she'd done, but it was just right.

He felt that way about her in general.

Now the big question: How was he going to get his T-shirt over his head without wrecking her work?

~

They sat down to an indoor dinner at seven o'clock, Ginny on his right side, Ron on his left. Mr Weasley sat opposite him, and Mrs Weasley's place was beside him – at that moment she was in the kitchen, charming her plates to bring themselves out. Hermione was next to Ron. They were sitting at the dining room table – mostly they didn't bother with the dining room, but for some reason Mrs Weasley had insisted tonight. The room opened onto the living room on one side.

It felt a bit empty without the twins. Nobody was saying much, except Ron and Hermione, who murmured to one another in a soft undertone.

Harry snuck his first look at Mr Weasley.

Not good. Mr Weasley was narrowing his eyes at Ginny, and as Harry glanced up, swung his gaze over to him. Harry forced himself to sustain eye-contact.

"Hello, Mr Weasley," he said, his voice choked. He cleared his throat loudly. There was a brief pause in which everyone at the table looked at Mr Weasley.

"Hello, Harry," he said, rather coolly.

Crap. This wasn't going at all well, and they hadn't even started eating yet.

"Working hard at the Ministry?" Harry went on, even as he felt a sharp pain in his ankle – Ginny had kicked him. Should he shut up? Oh well, too late now.

"Not too hard, no," Mr Weasley said, quite bleakly, staring him down. "And how was London?"

Harry swallowed.

At this point, Mrs Weasley came in, holding one plate, the rest following her in the air. Hermione and Ron leapt up to help her, clearly uncomfortable with the tension at table, and Mr Weasley stopped eyeing Harry when he saw his wife.

Mrs Weasley took one look at Harry's face, and her husband's busy fiddling with his napkin, and understood what was going on.

"Well," she said brightly. "Let's eat, shall we?"

"Yeah, let's," said Ron, setting down the plate he was carrying, and feeling for a serving spoon.

"It smells great," added Hermione.

"And what have you all been doing today?" Mrs Weasley continued, once everyone's plates were loaded with food.

"Ginny and I took a walk behind the house," Hermione said promptly.

"Me and Harry went fishing," said Ron, with equal speed.

They were like a two-person comedy routine, one line coming after another.

Mrs Weasley glanced sidelong at her husband. He had his eyes fixed on his plate.

"That's lovely," she said. "You must have enjoyed that, Harry and Ginny, after your time in London."

"Yes, it was lovely," Harry said, feeling like a parrot.

"Lovely," agreed Ginny.

He'd expected better than this. An explosion, at least. A confrontation. Not just this awkward, forced friendliness.

They ate in silence a while longer. Then, quite suddenly, Mr Weasley put down his knife and fork.

"So Harry," he said.

Harry stopped eating. Ginny's hand touched his knee lightly, and then moved away again.

"Er – yes, sir? I mean, Mr Weasley," he corrected himself hastily.

"Enjoy London?"

"Ah – yes. I think I did. It's not as nice as here."

"I'll bet," he said grimly. "Well, I'm sure you and Ginny had a marvellous time."

"Dad," Ginny said sharply.

"What?" he retorted.

"Arthur!" hissed Mrs Weasley.

"What?" he said again, touchily.

The fire in the living room crackled and spewed ash as somebody stumbled out.

It was Billy. He dusted himself off quickly, and then came into the kitchen.

"Bill!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"After the beating I got from you this morning, you mean?" he said wryly. "I thought I'd –" His gaze drifted across to Harry, and at this point his tone became decidedly more serious. "I thought I'd drop by."

"Fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, as Bill found a chair and Mrs Weasley bustled off to find him a plate.

"Easy, mate," Ron said lowly. "What's all this about, anyway?"

No time  to explain (not that Harry bloody wanted to), because Bill was back, his plate full. He didn't pick up his cutlery, though. He raised his eyebrows at Harry.

"How are you?" he said sharply.

"Good," Harry managed.

"Uh-huh. Home life agreeing with you?"

"Sure."

"Better than London home life?" he said meaningfully, even nodding his head towards Ginny. Mrs Weasley was still out of the room, and Ginny (who had also stopped eating) looked mortified. He had absolutely nothing to say.

Sweet Merlin, Harry thought desperately, this cannot get worse.

Another burst from the fireplace, and this time two somebodies staggered into the room.

"Hello," said Fred, tousling his hair to remove loose ash. George coughed dramatically. Everyone swivelled to stare at them.

Mrs Weasley came out of the kitchen and started when she saw the twins saunter in.

"What is this?" she demanded suspiciously. "Are you boys in trouble?"

"Certainly not," said George, as he and his twin pulled up chairs.

"I can't believe you'd even consider such a thing, Mother," said Fred indignantly.

"Preposterous," agreed George. "No, we just thought we'd drop by. See how the little 'uns were coming along."

Here, he grinned wickedly at Harry, who visibly sunk down in his seat.

It could, and had, gotten worse.