Sometime later, Harry realised that he wasn't crying anymore. He was still holding Ginny, and he bent slightly to speak close to her ear.

"You OK?"

She nodded against his chest.

"Sure?"

"Yes. You?"

"I think so."

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too. I'm sorry I was a dickhead."

She looked up at him. "You weren't," she said earnestly. "It doesn't matter, OK?"

"OK," he said softly. "And I'm sorry anyway."

Ginny pulled away from him a little, and reached up to wipe his cheeks with her thumbs. He found himself doing the same to her, quite naturally. She smiled at him, and then glanced over his shoulder at the coffin.

"He looks peaceful, doesn't he?" she commented wistfully.

"I have to talk to you," Harry said in reply, but before he could continue, there was a cough from somewhere to his right. He turned slightly and felt his eyebrows go up when he saw Bill Weasley standing there, in a tailored suit, hair pulled back into a naturally waved pony-tail. He had his hands in his pockets.

"Hi, Harry. Ginny," he said.

Ginny stepped away from Harry, but kept one arm around his waist. 

"Hello," she said, rather coolly.

They stood there for a few moments, Bill looking at his feet, Ginny with her arm round Harry, Harry feeling awkward and solemn and unsure of the etiquette in this situation.

Finally, Bill pulled a hand out of his pocket and brandished it at Harry.

"Sorry," he said. "You love my sister. And it's none of my business. I just – I wasn't sure how to say it – and I know this isn't really the time –"

Harry took Bill's hand and shook it firmly.

"That's alright," he said. "Thanks."

Bill nodded, and they released one another's hands. Ginny smiled sidelong at Harry.

"Boys," she said in an undertone. "It's all so easy for you."

Harry was about to reply, when Bill, who'd been looking about the yard, spoke.

"It seems such a small thing, for such a big man," he said sadly.

"It's what he wanted," Ginny pointed out.

"I know. But apparently there're services going on all over the country. Thousands on the moors in Yorkshire. Candles floating in the lake at Hogwarts."

"People loved him," Harry said quietly.

"Yeah. They did."

There was a long silence, and then Bill shrugged.

"I'm going to help Mum," he said. "She's meeting and greeting. I'll see you later."

"Bye."

He wandered off. Ginny nudged him with a shoulder.

"He apologised," she said. "That's a first."

"I know. That's good, isn't it?"

"It's good, Harry."

He rubbed her back. He still wanted to speak to her alone. "Can we go inside?" he asked, after a little while.

"OK."

They made for the door, across the grass. Harry was pretty sure a few people were staring at them, but most avoided eye-contact, clearly trying to give them some privacy, or at least not wanting to look like nosy parkers. He spotted McGonagall in deep blue robes, Hermione and Ron (still oblivious to anything but each other), and Mrs Weasley and Bill circulating amongst the mourners. Most of the other faces were a blur.

They walked in the back door and straight into the dining area, which opened onto a small kitchen. Fred and George were sitting at the dining room table, side by side.

"Remember when he told Filch he'd confiscate our dungbombs," Fred was saying, "and then gave them back to us?"

"Yeah. Remember when he saw us going to the Room of Requirement one time …"

"Third year," Fred interjected. 

"Right, third year. And we were going there, and he saw us, but he just winked and asked if we knew where the lavatories were?"

"And remember at the Yule Ball, when he caught you snogging Angelina, and he told you to keep it down 'cos Snape was on his way?"

"Yeah. And d'you remember when –"

"Yeah," George agreed, not waiting for the rest of the story. Both sat in a subdued, warm sort of silence, clearly reminiscing inwardly.

Harry and Ginny hovered in the doorway, uncertain as to whether or not they should intrude, but George must have heard them, because he turned around.

"Hello," he said. "Don't mind us. Just remembering –"

"Fondly remembering."

"That's right. Fondly remembering."

Harry noticed then that they both had bottles of Butterbeer in front of them. Solemnly, George raised his, and Fred followed suit.

"To the original larrikin," George announced. "May he remain an ally to rule-breakers everywhere."

"Amen to that," Fred said fervently, and they clinked bottles. "Oi," Fred went on, jerking his head at Harry. "You want one?"

"No thanks," he said. He knew what happened when he drank with the twins. They shrugged amiably and, almost in unison, took long swigs from their Butterbeers.

"Did you want to go upstairs, Harry?" Ginny asked quietly.

"Are we allowed?"

"I think it's alright. And it's not like we're going to be able to talk down here."

Harry thought about it. He didn't feel exactly comfortable invading Dumbledore's house, but then again, he didn't suppose the old professor would have minded.

"OK," he said, and they made their way through the kitchen, even as Fred and George raised their beers for another enthusiastic toast.

"To Dumbledore!" Fred cried, standing in passionate address. "The coolest old guy I ever knew!"

"Here, here!" George agreed, standing too.

Again, clinking and long swigs. Harry was pretty sure they'd be drunk by the end of the day – maybe the hour – and he hoped they could get home before Mrs Weasley saw them.

Ginny led him on through the house, and then upstairs. She peered into a few rooms along the second-floor corridor – all the doors were open – and then found one that looked like a spare bedroom.

"Here?" she said, hesitating in the doorway.

"Here's good."

They went in and she locked the door behind them, before sitting on the edge of the immaculately-made bed. She patted the spot beside her, and after a moment, he moved to it.

"What do you want to tell me?" she asked.

He didn't know how to put it, because the words had hardly formed in his own mind yet.

"Well," he said slowly, "I went to Fred and George's yesterday morning."

"Mum said that's where she found you. I meant to ask what you were doing there." She paused. "What were you doing there?"

"I was asking them for some advice. After you and I talked."

She frowned a little. "Advice?"

"Yeah."

"Fred and George?"

"Yeah."

She looked suspicious. "And what was this advice they gave you?"

Harry touched her knee. "Hey, they seemed like the only ones I could go to. And actually – they kind of sounded –"

"What?"

"I just think they're deeper than we give them credit for."

She smiled a little. "OK," she acknowledged. "The twins are deep. So what did you talk about then?"

Why was his throat dry?
Because you want her to approve, spoke up inner monologue. You want her to think you've done the right thing.

"Er – we talked about university."

Her features clouded, just a little. She was obviously struggling to maintain an unconcerned expression. "Oh, right," she said.

Harry moved slightly, wanting to face her, but the bed made it awkward. She was looking down at her lap anyway. He brushed a bit of loose hair behind her ear, and she smiled a small smile, but still wouldn't look at him.

"I'm taking the Hogwarts job," he said suddenly.

Immediately, she raised her eyes. They were shocked and anxious.

"Harry," she said wildly, "no!"
"No?"

"You can't."

His chest felt, quite abruptly, as though it was hollow. She didn't want him there. She didn't want him to come.

"I won't let you do this, not just for me," she went on urgently.

"Alright," he said bleakly, and then the words registered. "Wait, what do you mean, for you?"

"I – what do you mean, what do I mean? You can't give up on everything you want just to come to Hogwarts and keep me company. I didn't – I don't want to guilt you into things, Harry. Merlin, I should never have come and spoken to you about it."

She stood up, clearly angry with herself, her cheeks flushing red.

"Ginny," he said, but she plunged on.

"You can't do it. You should go to Allenhall. You want to go to Allenhall. I won't let you come to Hogwarts to please me –"

"Ginny," he repeated loudly, standing to take hold of her wrists. She stopped talking, and she stopped shifting from side to side. "Ginny, will you listen to me?"

"Please, Harry –"

"I don't want to go to Allenhall," he said firmly.

She blinked at him. "You don't?"

"No. I don't. I don't want to go there."

The more he said it, the more convinced he was that it was true. He wanted to be with Ron and Hermione, but he didn't want to go to Allenhall, not really.

"Why not?" she asked softly.

"I only wanted to go because of Ron and Hermione," he explained haltingly, uncertain exactly how to describe how he felt. "But – I think what I really want is to teach. That's what I wanted all along, maybe. And – if I have to leave Ron and 'Mione to do it, then – I guess I have to."

She didn't move, didn't say anything, just fixed him with a penetrating stare. He met her eye, trying to show her he meant it – he had the feeling she still didn't quite believe him.

"What about Voldemort?" she asked, after this brief silence.

Harry dropped his eyes, and then raised them again.

"I don't care about him," he said, rather fiercely. "I'm not going to let him take Hogwarts away from me, along with everything else. I can't. Dumbledore would have hated that."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, pulling her wrists away from his hands and putting her arms around his neck. "He would have."

Harry hugged her. He was glad she knew now. She smelt good – familiar.

"Harry," she muttered into his neck.

"Yeah?"

"You sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

She sighed and he felt her breath on his skin.

"I didn't want to say anything before," she said, "but I'm really glad you're coming back with me."

~
Mr Weasley was standing at the bottom of the stairs when they came down. He turned when he heard them. Ginny squeezed his hand a couple of times, and then smiled at her father.

"Hi, Dad," she said.

He nodded shortly, and swiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. They were red; he'd been crying. Harry felt so uncomfortable that he almost ran back upstairs – if Ginny hadn't had a decent hold on him, he might even have Disapparated.

They came to the end of the stairs and the first floor, and stood awkwardly for a few moments before Ginny embraced him. Mr Weasley, after a surprised jump, put his arms around his daughter, and held her tightly.

"It's OK, Dad," she said, and pecked him on the cheek. Then she stepped back to Harry and he slipped an arm around her waist.

Yes, an arm around her waist, in front of her father. He surprised himself with his own daring, but the harder, tougher part of him wanted to show Mr Weasley that he a) wasn't going to back down about Ginny b) loved her like crazy and c) wasn't afraid of him.

He was afraid, a bit. But someone had once told him – Sirius, actually – that a brave front can be almost as good as bravery for real.

Mr Weasley looked from Ginny to Harry. Harry swallowed, and he thought he could hear Ginny exhale heavily as her father opened his mouth.

"Harry –" he said, and stopped.

"Yes, Mr Weasley?"

A long pause. Then, he coughed, and frowned. 

"Best help your mother with lunch, Gin," he said gruffly.

He went back into the kitchen, and Ginny squeezed Harry's hand again.

"Oh well," she murmured. "Better luck next round."

She makes it sound like a boxing match, he thought, and then jumped as Fred and George staggered into the hall from another room (not the dining or kitchen), with shot-glasses of firewhiskey this time.

"To Dumbly-dore," Fred slurred. "For being a top-notch bloke."

They tipped back their drinks, holding one another upright.

"Is that all this is to you?" Ginny snapped. "An excuse to get drunk?"

"Shut up, Ginny," George said, airily tipsy. "I've had enough of people crying and I bet Dumbledore – wherever he is – has too. I've had enough of crying myself."

"He did cry," Fred added. "Like a baby."

George hit him on the head with his empty glass. "We're drowning our sorrows," he went on, "and then we're going home to sleep. That's what –" He stopped, unable to get his tongue around the word.

"Dumbly-door," Fred said helpfully.

"Thank you. He would have liked things to be like this."

He nodded his head a few times to seal the point, and seemed about to continue when Harry interrupted.

"That time in London – didn't you tell me you shouldn't drown your sorrows? That you only end up feeling like your head's been bitten off in the morning."

The twins stared at him.

"Harry," Fred said eventually, in disbelief. "Since when can you take a word we say seriously?"

Harry wanted to point out that they'd been moderately serious yesterday (and even kind of mature), but decided not to shatter the illusion they had going. Fred and George, happy-go-lucky ruffians, who talked a lot of rubbish and could sell your mother a broken broomstick – that's the image they broadcasted, and clearly they kept the other stuff hidden for reasons of their own.

"OK," Harry said instead. "Why don't you go home?"

"Why don't we Fred?" George enquired pleasantly.

"Let's."

They went upstairs – to find a fireplace, Harry thought. He looked at Ginny, and she was looking at him.

"Why were you drowning your sorrows in London?" she said, quite challengingly, one hand resting on her hip. She looked like her mother.

"I was in love with you," he admitted, "and I didn't think you were in love with me."

She eyed him, and then put her arm about his waist again, laughing softly.

"Harry," she said, "as if I couldn't be in love with you."

They went out into the garden, and Harry, somehow, on the day of Dumbledore's funeral, had a smile on his face.

The twins are right, he thought. Dumbledore would have liked this. 

~

There you go – with Fred and George, even (happy Trav? Hehe, I am)… thank you for your reviews, they're the jelly in my beans. Oh, and happy birthday John, the boy is 26 today :-) ~nm3x5s~ Shez