A/N: Hehehe – you got me, Traveller. Very sorry, it was too good not to use :) Thanks reviewers, you make me smile … And, in a departure from fanfic world, my surprise party was awesome – the birthday gal didn't suspect a thing! ~room for two~ Shezzly … PS – HP Romantic, you want decent 'romantic' scenes? Try LavenderBrown. I know I'm always extolling her virtues (I should be charging) but she never descends into slash and all that, and you can trust her to come up with something good. PPS – Waywren, 'let's hear it' for the most poetic review ever composed! Lovely!

Of course, things didn't turn out exactly that well. He and Ginny mostly worked in separate parts of the house. Ginny cleaned out the attic and basement, full of dark, holey corners, and ancient pranks designed by a younger Fred and George. Harry tackled the yard. He often looked longingly back at the rickety Burrow, picturing Ginny, and nearly clipping off his own fingers in distraction.

They worked for hours every day, but it wasn't slave labour. They'd start at nine, and wrap up at about four o'clock. There were plenty of breaks, especially in the middle of the day. Times to sit and meet up and talk and eat – Mrs Weasley made them lunch. The twins ducked in and out, trying to be surreptitious, but more often than not ending up with kitchen-duty.

Mr Weasley had claimed (according to Ron) that it was a very busy time at the Ministry, and was rarely home for dinner. Harry only saw him once – he had to pass him in the hall. He wouldn't meet his eye, or say hello, or even nod. He just pretended like Harry wasn't there. It made him feel uncomfortable, and somehow guilty – he wished he knew how to fix what had happened with Mr Weasley, but he couldn't see a way. He decided he'd wait instead, and hope for the best.

Despite this, things weren't so bad. They were better than before – but it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was limitless time alone with Ginny.

And, once again, getting alone with her was virtually impossible.

He found it so frustrating. Even now that everything was out in the open, he felt a weird sense of borrowed time about the moments they had to themselves. A kiss in the corridor, a brief, quiet chat on Harry's squishy mattress, and before he knew it, there was Ron wanting to play quidditch, or the twins attempting to find a hiding place, or Mrs Weasley hustling him out the door to prune her hedges. He didn't know if it was intentional on their part or not (he hoped the latter, and suspected the former), but he began to long for the evening after that disastrous dinner, or his little room in London, and the hours he'd spent asleep next to her.

There was another thing too, and he wished he could stop it, but it was utterly hopeless. They hadn't slept together since Mrs Weasley brought them home, and he wanted to so badly that he felt almost sick. Just looking at her was enough to make him breathe faster, and have to mutter calming mantras to himself. With the little time they had totally alone, he couldn't see how they were going to manage it. He'd suggest nights, but he didn't know where they would go (clearly, the gazebo was taken) – and besides, he had a feeling someone or other would be on the lookout for Ginny, and that, in the end, they probably wouldn't make it out of the house.

On Wednesday evening (their last day of cleaning complete), the sun was very low on the horizon when he came inside the house, finished with his gardening, and pulled off Mrs Weasley's heavy gloves. He threw them on the table, sighed, and then noticed something strange –

It was quiet.

"Harry," Ginny said from the top of the stairs.

He looked up, startled, and smiled when he saw her. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Hi," he said. "Good day?"

She shrugged. "I was attacked by a paper-plane that someone charmed to aim for the head. It was about five years old though, so it broke down before it could do any serious damage. What about you?"

"Hydrangeas," he said, making a face. "Where is everybody?"

"Don't know. Isn't Mum down there?"

"No."

"Fred and George?"

"They left at lunch. And Ron and 'Mione are on a picnic."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then she bit her lip. When Harry saw that, he couldn't control himself anymore. He went sprinting upstairs, grabbed her, and before he knew it they were kissing up against a wall, frantically, Ginny's hands in his hair. He remembered doing this in her room, a long time ago – what seemed a long time ago, and felt an odd, dizzy thrill at the sensation of her arms around him.

"Merlin," he said breathlessly, into her neck, "if I don't sleep with you soon, I think I'm going to kill myself."

She laughed, and he ducked his head, kissed her ear, her neck, her collarbone, his hands sliding beneath her shirt. Ginny took a deep breath when she felt his hands on her, and pulled back, just a little.

"Harry," she said, a bit shakily, "Mum'll be back any minute."

"My room."

"What about Ron and 'Mione?"

"Aren't they out?"

"What if they come home?"

"Ginny," he said, lifting his head to meet her eye, "if I have to keep up this 'look but don't touch', I'll explode. In more ways than one."

"Don't be dirty."

"I'm not, I'm being honest." He hesitated, straightening. Her arms were still around his neck. "Don't you want to?"

"Of course I do," she said, flushing quickly.

"Do you think we're going to get another chance anytime soon?"

"I – no. Probably not."

He didn't say anything, but let his free hand rest upon her hip. She trailed the tips of her fingers across the back of his neck, clearly thinking, and then nodded, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips, quite gently.

"Your room, then," she said.

~

Afterwards, they lay on Harry's mattress, facing one another.

"I love you," Harry said.

"You're just saying that because you got laid," she replied teasingly.

"Shut up." He sighed contentedly. "That was good. It was good, wasn't it?"

"It was good," she agreed, turning over so that they were spooning. Harry didn't have much spoon experience, but he discovered immediately they he liked it. He slipped his arm over her waist, his palm against her stomach. Her head fit perfectly beneath his chin, and he wanted to point this out, but suddenly didn't feel like talking.

There were a few minutes of almost-silence, the quiet marred only by their breathing.

"Harry," she said eventually, the words almost muffled against his mattress.

"What?"

"Is it always going to be like this?"

He paused, trying to understand what she meant, but still didn't get it.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Having times when we think everything's fine, and then other things just come along to ruin it."

"Things always come along when you don't want them to," he said, feeling rather grim for a moment. "That's just life."

"I don't mean that exactly. I mean – is it always going to be hurried and hiding like this, even when we've told people?"

"We're not always hiding."

"Yes," she said impatiently, "I know, but sometimes – I just feel like we are. Oh, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

He didn't know either exactly, and he wished he did.

"Do you mean – about your family?" he asked hesitantly.

She half-shrugged, half-nodded. "Maybe. Merlin, I just want to leave sometimes. I really want to leave and live my life."

"You've got another year," he pointed out, and then groaned inwardly.

Why do you say that? hissed inner monologue. We don't want to remember that!

"Another year," she repeated faintly.

He held her a little closer. "Hey," he muttered in her ear, "it's not that long. Believe me. And then you'll have all the time in the world to live your life.

She didn't say anything, and then there was the sound of the kitchen door slamming closed, and shoes on the floorboards downstairs.

"Who's home?" Mrs Weasley called.

"Me," Harry shouted back.

He sat up to put on his jeans, and Ginny did the same. They were quickly changed, and then both went to the doorway of his room.

"I'll go out first," Harry said. "Then you can duck across to your room."

"OK." She smiled at him. She seemed herself, but he knew something was wrong, and he wished she'd tell him properly.

"Thanks," he said, and kissed her. It felt inadequate.

"Thank you." She said the words against his mouth, and then prodded him. "Go, Mum'll be wondering."

He nodded, still hesitant, wanting to stay, hating that he couldn't.

"Go," she insisted.

He went.

~

After dinner, all four of them went to Harry and Ron's room. Ron lay back on his bed, hands folded behind his head. Hermione sat on the end with her back against the wall, her legs across his, reading a book. Harry and Ginny were lying on his mattress again. Harry felt mildly weird about the fact that he and Gin had been having sex in exactly this spot a few hours ago, but tried to ignore the feeling.

He tugged on Ginny's ear. She shouldered him away, grinning. He tugged again. He liked her ears.

"Harry, leave off," she ordered in a not-very-convincing mutter.

Ron shifted a little to look at them, and Harry stopped pulling her ear.

"So what are you doing next year, Harry?" Ron said, quite unexpectedly.

Hermione immediately dropped her book and shuffled forward, her eyes bright. Ron winced as she shifted more weight onto his shins, but bore it like a true man – grimacing silently.

"Ooh!" she said eagerly. "I can't believe I forgot to ask! I'm so stupid! Ron, why didn't you remind me to ask?"

"Don't know," he said gratingly, and then, in a departure from his usual pride, added: "Honey, you're kind of breaking my legs here."

She swung herself off him and patted his knee in apology, still looking at Harry. "We had our letters when you were in London. Me and Ron both got offered Allenhall …"

"Hermione got a ton more," Ron interjected, and she waved a dismissive hand at him.

"Don't be silly," she said, "you got other ones too. It doesn't matter – we said if we got offered places at the same university, we'd take them. I'm going to study medi-witchery there, and Ron's doing a defensive magic course."

She nudged him proudly, and Harry, who had been nodding along, suddenly remembered something and sat up.

"Allenhall University?" he said.

Hermione looked hopeful. "Yes?" she squeaked, and he broke into a huge smile.

"I got offered Allenhall!" he exclaimed, and Hermione launched herself forwards to hug him.

"Harry!" she squealed. "This is perfect! You and me and Ron all at the same university, it'll be just like Hogwarts!"

"Merlin, Harry, I thought I was finally getting away from you," Ron said, grinning from ear to ear, and scratching his head. "Defensive magic course?"

"Yeah."

"Same university, same bloody course." Ron pointed a finger at Harry. "Face it, you want to be me, Potter."

"Shut it," he said, laughing. "Merlin. This is amazing!"

"Congratulations, Harry," said a soft voice, close to his ear. He turned slightly. Ginny was sitting up now, running a hand through her hair, smiling, but in a way that didn't look quite right. It looked strained. Not altogether real.

"Thanks," he said, maintaining an uneasy smile. "Where are you going?"

"I'm a bit tired."

"It's only nine o'clock."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." She bent down to kiss him goodnight, and he wanted to keep her there, but he wasn't going to force her.

"You sure?" he said instead, taking her hand, and adding in an undertone: "You can sleep here if you want."

She shook her head, and took her hand back. "That's OK," she said. "Night. Night, guys."

Harry watched her shut the door carefully behind her.

"How are you getting up there?" Hermione said cheerfully, her usual perception clouded with excitement. "I want to take the Knight Bus …"

"No, you don't," Ron interrupted bleakly. "I'd rather fly us."

"I don't think so," she snorted. "We'd end up stranded halfway over Scotland."

"I resent that."

Harry let them prattle on. Going on after school with his friends – now that was something he'd always wanted. He could see them now, him and Ron and Hermione sitting outside on warm days, drinking Butterbeer, Hermione forcing them to learn the library code system …

He could see it so easily, it scared him.

He wished Ginny would come back. He felt, inexplicably, like a bit of a dickhead.