A/N – Thanks for reviews (your opinion valued as always, Trav – you were right about the transition chapter). And I know you guys think you've got this all figured out, but just wait for the curveball I'm gonna throw you. ~Shez~

"Mate," Harry said. "Oi, Ron, are you awake?"

"Unh," grunted Ron.

It was past eleven, but Harry couldn't sleep. Every now and again, he'd start to drift off, images of dark rooms and red eyes would build in his sleepy mind, and then he'd literally force himself into consciousness again.

"Go – sleep," added Ron, rather incoherently.

"Did I do something to upset Ginny tonight?" Harry said, ignoring him.

"What?"

"Did you see me do anything, you know, stupid?"

Ron sighed heavily and rolled over. "No," he said. "But you never can tell with girls."

Harry frowned. "I really thought I was doing OK. I wasn't an arse, was I?"

"I don't bloody know, Harry, go ask Ginny."

"It's late."

"If she's upset, she'll be awake."

"No. I'll wait till morning."

Ron muttered something about him worrying like a girl, and within a minute was snoring gently.

Harry was pretty sure this one wasn't his fault – at least, not like the slag comment had been his fault. This was something different – deeper, maybe – and (being the curious type) he felt a compelling need to know it, and (being a man) fix it, if that was at all possible.

Almost half an hour later, there was a faint knock on his door. He paused before calling out.

"S'open."

The door eased inward and Ginny poked her head in.

"Hi," she said. "I wasn't sure if you'd be up."
He was immediately wide-awake. "I'm up. C'mere."

Ginny moved to sit at the foot of his mattress. He folded back the covers, and signalled for her to hop in, but she shrugged a 'no'.

"That's OK," she said, "I don't want Ron to freak out."

Good point, inner monologue conceded, but he was still disappointed. He dropped the sheets, nodding, and looked at her. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and she was staring at her feet.

"Harry," she said at last, "I know I was weird before. Sorry."

"I didn't notice."

Now she looked at him, briefly, and made a face.

"OK," he admitted, "I did kind of notice. Doesn't matter. I thought maybe I – I don't know –"

"What?"

"Did I do something?"

"No!" she said, startled. "No, it wasn't you, Harry."  

"Oh. Well, good." He was relieved, but more confused than before. He waited for her to elaborate. She didn't. "Ginny," he said, after a while, "you can tell me, you know. If there's something wrong."

Again, she was silent. He got out of bed and moved to sit in front of her, touching a foot hesitantly. Now, she raised her face and met his eye.

"Harry," she said firmly, "I want you to be happy, OK? I want you to do whatever makes you happy."

Right, he thought, bewildered. Good to know, but could we put that in context, please?

"I want you to be happy too," he said, and paused before continuing: "Do you mind telling me what exactly we're talking about here?"

She smiled a little. "I mean next year. You know. I think you should go to Allenhall, with Ron and 'Mione. It'll be a blast. And I know I was weird before, like I said, but I've been thinking about it and – I'm really happy for you."

She didn't sound all that happy. She sounded determined, but not happy.

"Well," he said, after a slightly uncomfortable break, "if you apply next year, and get in, we'll all be together."

"Yeah," she agreed, but failed to drum up convincing enthusiasm. "That would be nice."

"Nice isn't the word. Perfect. It'd be perfect. Me and you and 'Mione and Ron. Can you picture it?"

"I can," she said – quite sadly, he thought. "I can see it now."

He touched the side of her face. He felt somehow like he should apologise, but as he didn't know what to apologise for (being a year older than her? going away?), he said nothing.

"Well," Ginny said, turning her face away and standing. "I'm going back to bed. I just – wanted to tell you. And say sorry for being odd about it all. I guess … I don't know, I just felt a bit left out. It doesn't matter. G'night."

"Night."

She made as though to leave, and Harry felt his heart go faster. Things weren't right between them yet, and he had the strangest sensation of time slipping into a downwards spiral, in which the longer he left this unaddressed, the worse she would feel, and the worse it would all become.

"Gin," he said suddenly, just wanting to stop her, not knowing what he was going to say.

She halted and faced him, halfway to the door. "Yes?"

There was another of those silences. Harry swallowed.

Say something.

"I got offered a place at Hogwarts too," he blurted, surprising himself.

"Hogwarts?" she frowned.

"Yeah. As an assistant to the DADA teacher. Maybe turn into a full-time teaching position."

She nodded slowly. "OK."

"It's to start this coming term. I'm thinking about it. I mean, I was thinking about it. Before Ron and Hermione told me about Allenhall."

Ginny hadn't moved from the spot she was standing in. She put her hands behind her back, rather awkwardly, and when he looked at her she was, for a moment, the serious little first year he remembered.

"Do you want it?" she asked.

Harry blinked. There she was again, Ginny the nearly-grown-up woman, who he loved, taking him aback with her questioning.

Did he want it?

He wanted the easy comfort of staying with his friends, growing onward with them.

He wanted to do good things – after what he'd done, he felt as though he owed it to somebody.

He wanted to be with Ginny.

"I don't know," he said finally, honestly.

She came a little closer – just a few steps.

"Why don't you know?" she asked softly.

He thought about repeating himself – "I don't know, Ginny" – but that would be evading the issue. He didn't really want to think about it, didn't want to question himself too deeply (he was afraid of what he'd find), but at the same time, he could tell she had to know … and he had to know too, more than anyone.

Dig deep, Potter, said inner monologue. You do and you don't want to go back to Hogwarts. Why?

"I think – I'm scared to go back," he admitted, in a low mumble.

She was at the end of his bed again now, kneeling down.

"What are you scared of?"

"I don't know. It's – remember, it's where Voldemort was? When we fought, at the end. It was right there at Hogwarts. Where I killed him. And – I'm scared –"

He felt, all of sudden, as though he might cry. He didn't want to, and suppressed the urge fiercely. He felt Ginny's hands sneaking into his own.

"What?" she insisted quietly.

"I'm scared – that when I go back there – I'll only see Voldemort. That I'll only remember him, and nothing else. I'm – it'll be different. I'm scared it'll be different now, and when I go there again, I won't see the good things, only – all the bad things – the dead people – I just –"

Don't cry, he told himself sternly, don't cry.

He took a few deep breaths. She rubbed his hands gently, warmly.

"Sorry," he said, on a heavy exhale.

"Don't say sorry," she told him firmly. "You don't have to."

"I want to go back," he said, controlling the threatening tears rigidly. "I think I want to. It's just – hard – because I don't know what to expect anymore."

"I know." Ginny leant inwards and planted a kiss on his forehead. "But Harry," she murmured against his skin, so quietly he almost didn't hear, "I always thought that's the beauty of the rest of your life. You don't know what's going to happen next."

They sat like that for a little while, not moving, and Harry put his arms around her waist. He loved her. It was such a simple, and such a complicated thing, and he didn't know what to do. Strangely, he had a feeling that she was just as confused as him, just as desperate to do the right thing.

"Harry," she said after several long moments, "do what you want, and not what you think I want. OK? Because I'd never forgive myself if – you know, if it didn't work out, and it was my fault."

"It wouldn't be your fault."

"Please Harry. Please think about it properly," she insisted, hands on either side of his face, staring him down. "Please."
He'd never heard her beg like that. It was weird, it didn't sound right coming out of her mouth.

"OK," he agreed finally.

She dropped her hands, looking relieved.

"Sorry," she said. "I'll go, you sleep."

"Gin …"

"Night, Harry."

 She was gone before he'd taken another breath.

Harry lay back and thought about what had happened. He hadn't even acknowledged in his own mind most of the things he'd said, and was still a little shell-shocked. Nothing seemed clear-cut anymore – he wanted this, wanted that, and the wants were in conflict so that he knew he wouldn't end up with everything he'd hoped for.

He shifted uncomfortably, his mind awake now, and tried to come to a sort of conclusion. After some time, he realised he couldn't, not yet. He had to talk to someone – someone separate to all of this. Not Ron, or Hermione. Not Ginny, who was afraid to push him one way or the other.

Someone totally impartial.

~

"Our advice?" Fred said suspiciously.

"About university?" added George, rather bewildered.

Harry nodded. He hadn't been able to sleep and, on the off chance (read 'very likely chance') that Fred and George would still be up, he'd slipped down to the living room and Floo-ed himself to their apartment.

They were, needless to say, surprised to see him, and even more so when he said he wanted to talk about university. He'd been ushered over to the kitchen table, and they were now sitting around it, each with a bottle of Butterbeer.

"Er, Harry," Fred said, "I hate to point this out, but we haven't even been to university."

"And we don't intend to be going any time soon."

"Or ever, in fact," concluded Fred.

"I know," Harry acknowledged, rather impatiently. It was true. He knew the twins weren't his best option, but he couldn't think of anybody else. Mrs Weasley certainly wouldn't be unbiased, Mr Weasley wasn't talking to him, and everyone else was at least partway involved.

"Are you sure you don't need advice about girls or something?" George suggested, brightening.

"No. University. Sorry."

George shrugged in a 'what can you do?' sort of gesture.

"Well, shoot," Fred said expansively, leaning back in his chair.

"OK." Harry cleared his throat, trying to compose his thoughts.

"Very professional," George muttered admiringly. "Like a professor."

Harry ignored him, and found words. "The thing is, me and Ron and 'Mione all got offered a place at Allenhall University. And before that I'd been thinking about taking up a position at Hogwarts –"

"What as?" Fred interrupted.

"Assistant to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Fred nodded sagely. "Continue."

"So – so I was thinking about that, but then when Ron and 'Mione told me about them going to Allenhall, I figured that's where I should go too, right? And then I was talking to Ginny, and she seemed kind of upset, and she ended up saying she thought I should go to Allenhall if it was going to make me happy, but I could tell she wasn't happy herself. And it all came around to how I do and don't want to go back to Hogwarts – because of what happened – and then – well, then I was confused."

"And then you came to us," finished George.

"That may be where he's gone wrong," Fred admitted. "We're not very good at things like this."

"I know," Harry said again. "I just needed someone to talk to, and you seemed like the only ones who weren't angry with me, or directly involved."

"Gee, thanks," Fred said wryly. "Good to know we're loved for ourselves."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, we know." He looked at George, who shrugged.

"Well, you can't go to Hogwarts just to please Ginny," George pointed out.

"I wouldn't," Harry said hastily. "She told me not to, anyway."

Fred grinned. "Whipped, whipped."

Harry flushed. "Please," he said, "could I get some focus, here?"

"I'm focussed!" George said indignantly. "But it is after bloody midnight."

"Sorry," Harry sighed. "I figured you'd be up."

"You figured right," George confessed. "But we cordially accept your apology. Well, if you wouldn't go to Hogwarts just to please Ginny, then why would you go to Allenhall?"

"Ooh," Fred said, impressed. "That was quite philosophical-sounding."

"I'd go to be with Ron and 'Mione," Harry said.

"That all?"

He hesitated, and then nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

George was on a roll. "And why would you go to Hogwarts?"

"I – don't know."

"Think, man!" Fred insisted, getting into it himself. "D'you remember the DA?"

"Yeah."

"You were a bloody good teacher then," George said. "And you know it."

"I was alright, I guess," Harry said warily. "You learnt the jinxes and stuff."

"Harry, even George and I learnt them. Even Neville did. Madness, I would have thought, but it happened."

"I liked teaching you guys," Harry admitted, slowly. "I really liked it."

There was a brief silence.

"You want the teaching job, don't you?" George said, nudging him.

Yes, whispered inner monologue.

"I don't know," he said aloud.

"'Course you do," Fred said gruffly. "You just want things to keep going like they were, with you and Ron and 'Mione. You want your life to keep being the same. And that's the thing, Harry – it can't. It won't. I mean, George and I felt like that too, when we left."

"Worst day of our lives almost, leaving old Hoggy," George said wistfully.

"And the best," Fred added. "Sometimes you have to give things up to keep on going."

"I don't want to stop being friends with them!" Harry said indignantly. The thought horrified him. He could barely comprehend it.

"No, no," George said hastily. "You don't have to stop being friends."

"Look at us and Lee. And Angelina and Katie."

"Fred, stop trying to be helpful. I'm trying to get a spiel together."

"Sorry."

"Harry," George went on patiently, "it's not about that. What you've got are two choices, right?"

"Right. Allenhall or Hogwarts."

"No. A life where you go on being the Famous bloody Trio, or a life where you do what you really want to. Need to. Whatever."

Harry thought about this. He was pretty sure George wasn't even being sarcastic. His words, suddenly, seemed remarkably apt.

"George," Fred breathed, suitably awe-struck. "When did you get so deep?"

"Three days ago," he said promptly. "I ate a particularly good ice-cream sundae, and had an epiphany."
"A what-any?"

George rolled his eyes.

Harry was about to speak again, thank them, when there was a whoosh from the living room fireplace.

Crap, was Harry's first thought. They've found me out of bed, and they're not happy.

"What did you do this time?" asked Fred exasperatedly. "Another sister?"

They didn't even have time to make their way out of the kitchen before Mrs Weasley was staggering in, wearing her nightdress, a light dusting of ash on her shoulders and a desperate look on her face.

"Fred and George," she said immediately, "you have to come home."

"Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked, startled.

She looked over at him and put a hand on her heart. "Oh Harry," she said, and he saw she had been crying.

Ginny, he thought.

"What's happened to her?" he said grimly, dreading it, not wanting to hear.
She shook her head. "We've all been looking for you," she said, her voice hoarse. "We couldn't find you anywhere."

"What's happened?" he repeated, while at the same time his heart thumped out a hard, uneasy rhythm.

She looked at him, and then her eyes filled with tears and she covered her face with her hands. The twins leapt up, one standing on either side of her, their concerned expressions strangely (and in any other situation, comically) identical.

"Dumbledore's dead, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, through sobs. "He died just a few hours ago."