A/N: How come you guys are so nice?! I'm tearing up here! I'm sendin' you my love – I think I would have fizzled out long before this without you. As it is, I'm inspired. Many, many thanks ~Shezzly~ (PS- Melindaleo, I'm totally on your wavelength in terms of balancing fluff with angst about V. It will all happen. ~nm3x5s~ and ta) PPS – Meegly! Get off the computer and go do some work! Hehehe…PPS – Bloody, bloody italics! Why won't they BLOODY work? Will someone explain to me! Damn it – well, you know the drill – insert them in the thoughts etc.

~

"What is this?" Mrs Weasley said in astonishment. "Meeting of the Weasley clan?"

"No," said the three of them immediately, a picture of innocence.

Mrs Weasley put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. The twins narrowed theirs back.

"Why do you think we're here, Mum?" Bill said, rather tensely, after a few moments of this scrutiny. He threw a look at Harry, who flushed. He wanted to say something, but preferably something that would avoid a pummelling.

Mrs Weasley sighed. Harry had a feeling she'd known the reason all along, but just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

"This isn't really the time or place," she said, sitting down.

"Here, here," said Fred. "Shall we eat? Or would Harry prefer to shag our sister upstairs?"

The entire table launched into motion as Bill stood up abruptly, shouting at his brother; Harry dropped his head onto the table; Ginny covered her face with her hands; Ron started violently while Hermione attempted to calm him; and Mr Weasley (ever a contained man) began to tremble. It was a flurry of action and sudden abuse, with Mrs Weasley standing herself, in a wild effort to control her family.

"You wanker!" shouted Bill.

"What? It's true," Fred retorted.

"Good on him," George said defensively.

"Good on him? Good bloody on him? He's having sex with our sister! How long have you even been dating?" he said, turning on Harry, who didn't even raise his head. When he got no response, he quickly faced the twins again. "You should have stopped him."

"What?" Fred said disgustedly. "Are we Ginny's keepers, now?"

"Are we going to pull her out of Harry's bed and say 'Gin, darling, we don't think you should be here, p'raps you could trot of home now?"

"What. Is. Going. On." Ron bellowed.

"Don't shout!" said Hermione, and he just flapped a hand at her. He'd gone bright red, but his brothers weren't paying much attention, still arguing amongst themselves. He looked hard at Harry.

"Are they kidding?" he asked, quiet suddenly, his voice almost faint.

Tell him? wondered inner monologue.

Why not? Harry thought bitterly. The rest of the world knows.

That didn't mean he could meet Ron's eye. He shook his head against the table instead – No, they weren't kidding.

Ron sat back heavily, struck dumb. Hermione rubbed a hand up and down his arm anxiously.

"Boys!" Mrs Weasley was screeching. "Boys, stop it!"

It was water off a wet duck's back. Bill and the twins kept on at one another, their abuse growing steadily more violent. Ron didn't move. Hermione was murmuring to him. Mrs Weasley's voice had ascended into shrieking range. It wasn't until Mr Weasley banged his glass hard on the table, three times, that they began to hush. On the third time, it broke, with a sharp shattering, and then – silence reigned.

A few moments into this quiet, Ginny pushed her chair back. It made a scraping sound on the floorboards. She stood, and Harry stood too, but she ignored him and walked quickly out.

Everyone listened to her footsteps going up the stairs, and then breathed an almost collective sigh at the audible click of her door closing.

"Glass reparo," muttered Mr Weasley, pulling out his wand. His glass re-formed.

"This is all your fault," Bill said, jerking his head at Fred.

"'Tis not!" protested Fred.

"Maybe it is," acknowledged George, "just a bit."

"Thanks. Way to support your other half."

"Well, I'm just trying to be honest."

"Boys," Mrs Weasley said warningly, "let's not do this again."

"But –" Bill began impatiently.

All this while, Harry had been standing, the image of a bleak-faced Ginny leaving the dining room playing repeatedly through his head, and a slow anger building in his body.

It's all of their faults, whispered inner monologue, because they're being childish. And ridiculous. Not to mention they've upset Ginny.

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said gently, "sit down, dear."

No, he thought forcefully.

"No," he said.

She looked taken-aback. Everybody stared at him, including the still ashen-faced Ron.

"No?" she repeated, sounding bemused.

Tell them, urged inner monologue.

I will, he thought, his anger rising to the surface now, and spilling over into words.

"No," he said heatedly. "I won't. You're all being ridiculous. Yes, I slept with your sister – or your daughter – whatever, I slept with her. And I'm not bloody sorry either, because there's nothing to be sorry about. I love her, OK? We love each other. She's not a little girl, she can make her own decisions, and if she wants to go to bed with me, then she will. And I'm sorry if what we've done upsets you, because you're pretty much my family, but like I said, I'm not sorry we did it."

He paused for air. Every person had their eyes fixed on him, even the twins. George was chewing slowly. Harry couldn't read any of their expressions. He was too wound up.

"And now," he went on, almost breathless, "she's upset, and it's your fault. I – I really appreciate you having me, but if it's going to be like this, then maybe I should just leave. I don't think I'm welcome."

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said, a bit weakly.

"Don't worry about it, Mrs Weasley," he said, stepping away from the table and pushing in his chair. "Thanks for dinner. Sorry about – sorry."

And with that, he left the room, feeling hot and furious and full of adrenaline. He practically ran up the stairs, and tossed himself down on the mattress in Ron's room, Alohamora-ing the door as he went.

He breathed hard for several seconds. Then he forced himself to think properly.

Good Lord. What had he just done?

You said what had to be said, inner monologue assured him firmly.

Yes, he thought, his anger fading a little, and a certain doubt creeping up in its place, but now they hate me for real.

He supposed it would have had to come out eventually – it was just bad luck that Bill and the twins decided to show up now, and push for explanations so early. At least he could have been composed, if they'd waited. Could have his mind made up about what he'd say and how. Could have convinced them.

But in the back of his mind, he had a feeling things would have turned out in much the same way, no matter when he'd sprung the news. Fred and George stirring up trouble, Bill protective, Mr Weasley speechless with fury, Mrs Weasley (already in the know, and, for some reason, on their side) attempting to calm them – and Ron –

Ron.

He groaned aloud. How was he going to talk to Ron? What would he say? How could he ever look him in the eye again? He remembered his face (seen out of the corner of Harry's eye) as Harry had shaken his head – how it paled, how he had to sit back. He didn't like hearing that one little bit.

"Merlin," Harry muttered.

It had been – would continue to be – awkward. He probably would have to leave. In fact, he thought he'd be lucky to stay the night.

But still, besides all that … he was oddly glad he's said it.

~

That night, Ron didn't come back to their room, and Harry fell asleep in his clothes. He slept badly, and for the first time in a while found himself in nightmare again – stumbling through dark halls, and then finding Voldemort in a room full of people, living and dead, all looking at Harry with bright, blameful eyes. He knew Ginny was in the room somewhere, but no matter how many people he pushed past, or how loudly he called her name, he couldn't find her. And then finding Ginny became finding Sirius, which became finding Voldemort, who drew further and further away the faster Harry went towards him, and all he could hear was that high, cold laughter like the instant Harry pointed his wand at him –

He sat up, hot, sweating, with a dry throat. It took him almost a minute to calm, and even once he'd wiped his face and clenched his fists a few times to stop his fingers shaking, he knew he couldn't go back to sleep. 
Harry got out of bed instead, changed his damp shirt, and padded down the hall to Ginny and Hermione's room. He didn't even think about Bill and the twins. Hopefully they'd gone home, but quite frankly, he didn't care at that moment.

He tapped softly on the door, and when he got no reply, opened it and slipped inside. Hermione wasn't in bed – her covers were still smooth, her pillow untouched – but Ginny was. He looked at her from the doorway. She had moonlight on her face. As usual, she'd tipped the covers off herself, and they lay crumpled in a pile at her feet. She was frowning in her sleep.
Harry went to sit on the end of her bed, and she woke immediately.

"Hey," she began crankily, and then stopped when she saw him. "Oh, hey," she repeated, half smiling.

"Hey," he said.

She turned her head a little to squint out the window. "It's late," she said hoarsely.

"I know. Sorry. I –"

Harry didn't know how to say it without sounding like a poonce.

"What?"

"Can I come in there with you?"

She hesitated briefly, and then nodded. Harry lay down next to her, and then grabbed the covers, pulling them up and over their bodies. It felt like ages since he'd been this close to her. Almost instinctively, she edged towards him. Her leg touched his, and he couldn't help but put his arms around her. He held her rather tightly, and she responded in kind, rubbing his back gently.

"It's OK," she said into his shoulder. "It doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I don't want to complicate your life."

"You don't."

"Oh, come on."

"Well, you do. But in a good way. I want you to."

"Your dad hates me."

"He'll get over it."

"Your brothers hate me."

"Shut up, Harry."

They lay in silence for some time. When Harry spoke next, it was over her head. He didn't want her to look at him.

"Ginny?"

"Mm?"

"Am I a bad person?"

She shifted sharply, tilting her head back to see him. He avoided eye contact.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"I don't – never mind."

"Harry, for Merlin's sake."

"I just – I wonder if maybe – just I have these dreams."
Brief pause.

"What sort of dreams?"

"Where I – you know – where I kill him again."

Longer pause this time, and then she reached up to touch his chin.

"You have nightmares about Voldemort?" she asked softly.

He nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Have you told anyone?"

He shook his head.

"Not even Madame Pomfrey? I thought she gave you a potion …"

"I think I talked in my sleep in the hospital wing," he interrupted quickly. "I think that's why."

Long, long pause. She stroked the side of his face, almost absently.

"Why do you think you're a bad person?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "Because – I killed someone," he managed eventually.

"You killed a dark wizard who killed a whole lot of other people, and who would have gone on doing that."

"I know – I know. I just – forget it. It doesn't matter."

"It does," she insisted quietly.

Harry said nothing, and Ginny didn't press him. Not long afterwards, they fell asleep, and Harry didn't dream of Voldemort – there was just stifling blackness, and the smell of her hair.