*A/N … Last chapter (sorry I didn't warn you earlier!! I couldn't bear to) – because I won't be extending this fic into Gin's 7th year. It feels ready to finish, and the way I plotted it, it was only going to run for the summer. This is a long chapter, and it's the last official one – but there will be an epilogue, so stick around.

~

That night, Harry and Ginny lay in Harry's (well, Ron's) bed. Harry's old mattress had been moved into the girls' room, and Ron had taken up residence there. Subsequently, Ginny left Ron and Hermione alone, and ended up (very surprisingly) in Harry's now-single-bed room. Harry was pretty sure the situation wouldn't stand for long – Mrs Weasley had an eye for untoward goings-on – but intended to make the most of this semi-privacy while it lasted.

"Are you cold?" Harry asked, a head on her shoulder.

"No. It's summer."

"True, but you're not wearing much."

She jabbed an elbow half-heartedly into his stomach, and they lay a little longer in silence.

"Would it be weird to say this was a good day?" she said eventually.

He shook his head. "I don't think so. I think that's what Dumbledore would have wanted us to say. But then again, we all keep saying 'this is what he would have wanted', and we can't really know, can we?"

Ginny sighed. "No. Still, I think you're right." She turned over to face him – her nose touched his nose. "I'm really glad you came today," she went on seriously.

"Me too."

"And you're OK?"

Harry thought about this. "Yeah," he said, "I think I am. I think I'm more OK this time than I was before."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Must be you."

"Oh, must be," she agreed, mildly sarcastic. "My influence only."

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm being serious."

Her rather self-mocking smile dropped away. "Right," she said, after a moment's pause, frowning just a little.

Sometimes he wondered whether she knew – really knew – what she did to him. For him. He didn't know how to explain it, but every time she said something like that, he wished he could.

"Gin?"

"Yes?"

He hesitated. "I love you," he said finally.

"I love you, too."

Not good enough. Not words enough. There's got to be a word bigger than love, he thought furiously, but couldn't find one.

"You should tell Mum and Dad about Hogwarts," Ginny suggested, after another pause.

Harry started. "Your mum, yes. Your dad – I don't think I could even tell your dad the time without him trying to pin me against a wall and jinx me."

"He's not that mad really," she said, correcting him gently. "He just doesn't know what to do. I mean, it came out so suddenly that his little girl – you know, is having sex –"

"Damn right she is," Harry interrupted, unable to suppress a grin, and she smiled herself. 

"OK, OK," she said. "I think you should tell Mum at least." 

"Sure. I will. Tomorrow morning."

"She'll be alright with it."

He felt a certain doubt on that point, but thrust it away quickly.

"I know. It'll be fine," he said. "And what can she do, anyway?"

"Exactly."

She sighed contentedly, and his smile came back.

"Your breath smells nice," he commented quietly. "Why does it always smell nice? Aren't you human? Don't you get bad breath like the rest of us?"

She giggled. "No," she said archly, "I'm far too special for bad breath."

"Do I get bad breath?"

"Sometimes."

"Right."

"But that's what toothpaste is for. And even if there wasn't toothpaste, I'd love you anyway."

"Gee, thanks," he said dryly, but his heart gave a strange leap when she said that. She'd love him anyway. Even without toothpaste. He wasn't sure why that made him feel so – funny.

"I should tell Ron and 'Mione, too," he added quietly, pushing hair out of her face. She screwed up her nose as he did so, and then nodded.

"OK. You don't think they'll mind?"

"Ah – no," he said, after a moment's thought. "I actually don't think they will."

Another comfortable silence. Ginny tucked one of her bare legs around one of his.

"Should I go?" she murmured sleepily.

"No," he said, very quickly. "Stay here."

~

Harry found Mrs Weasley out in the yard. It was almost eight o'clock, the sky was hazier than usual in this particularly bright summer, and she was busy watching the pruning of a rosebush. She'd charmed her clippers, and they were working away at any offending shoots or branches.

"Hello, Harry," she said, as he came up behind her. She didn't turn around.

"Hello."

"Sleep alright?"

A momentary guilt made him falter ("Actually, no, I was in bed with your daughter.") but then he found voice again. "Fine," he replied.

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't face you," she went on conversationally. "I just need to keep an eye on these old things, or they tend to go rampant."

"That's OK."

It wasn't OK. He really needed to sit down with her, be serious – but mostly he wanted to get it over with, so he ploughed ahead.

"I kind of wanted to talk to you," he began.

"Oh yes, dear?"

"Yes. I just – well, I just wanted to let you know that – I'll be taking the Hogwarts Express again this year."

Mrs Weasley spun about, and her now unsupervised shears promptly snipped the heads of several roses. She didn't notice.

"What do you mean?" she asked, in a mixture of suspicion and surprise.

Steel yourself, Potter, urged inner monologue.

"I was offered a job at Hogwarts, as assistant to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. They said it could turn into a full-term teaching position."

Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes at him. Behind her, the rosebush was being decapitated, but Harry didn't think it was the time to point this out. There was a long silence. Harry shifted his feet awkwardly.

"Is this about Ginny?" she demanded finally.

"What? No."

"Really?" she said, in a tone of voice that implied that she did not find his response very likely. He stumbled on, eager to convince her.

"I want to teach. I do want to. My decision about – you know, this position has nothing to do with Ginny – I mean, Ginny was part of it – she's going back to Hogwarts too – but that's not why I'm going. Er – I just think this job is – right for me. I –" He trailed off, looking at his feet now, wishing he could disappear. Why was he suddenly so inarticulate?

"Harry," said Mrs Weasley, and when he looked up, she was smiling a little.

Smiling a little?

"If you're sure it's what you want," she continued, "then I think that's great. Just as long as you're going for the right reasons."

"Er – I am." Mrs Weasley being immediately understanding – how unexpected. And pleasant.

"Well, then. I approve whole-heartedly."

"Good. Good."

She nodded, and then turned back to her rosebush.

"Oh!" she exclaimed irritably, seeing the minor destruction that had eventuated without her regulation, and pulled out her wand to both stop the clippers, and restore the plant. Harry hovered for a moment, and was just about to leave when she said something else, quite calmly.

"Besides – it's not like you two can get into any funny stuff with Minerva keeping an eye on the place."

Harry was briefly fixed to the spot, and then, muttering a goodbye, hastened back into the house. He wasn't sure Mrs Weasley knew just how many ways there were to get around the rules at Hogwarts – and he wanted to keep things like that, too.

~

It was strange how easily the rest of the summer passed. It was like a sort of waking-dream. Warmth, and walks in the grass, and sleeping with Ginny when he could – talking to her, sitting with Ron and Hermione, listening to their gentle banter. It was possibly the sweetest time of his life. Before, there'd always been the dark shadows of Voldemort and the people he'd killed looking over his shoulder – now Voldemort was gone for good, and when he thought about those he'd lost, in his head their remembered faces were smiling.

Ron and Hermione, after initial disappointment, seemed happy enough that Harry had chosen Hogwarts over Allenhall. In fact, Harry thought Ron might even be secretly relieved. That was OK. He needed some time to just be Ron Weasley for a while, and not Ron Weasley, Harry Potter's best friend. And it wasn't like they'd lose contact, as Hermione pointed out – they'd meet up whenever possible, owl each other (with clockwork frequency, if Hermione had anything to do with it) and share every important bit of news.

Once, he might have a felt a pang of jealousy at the idea of Ron and 'Mione spending a year without him, but now he simply – didn't. It'd be different, that's for sure, but not in a bad way. It might even be good for them.

Fred and George spent more time at The Burrow in the weeks after Dumbledore's death, and also organised a wild party in London to commemorate the headmaster's 'years of service to prankdom', in their own words. It was held in the joke shop, magically enlarged, and the night was talked about for years afterwards. They were smug in their success – but, as always when it came to the twins, endearingly so.

Mr Weasley almost lived in the office. He was sorting all the backed-up paperwork that had come through during the height of Voldemort's second term of terror. He worked very hard, and the family barely saw him. There was talk of a nomination for Minister of Magic. Mrs Weasley busied herself with other things, but clearly wanted her husband back.

Bill and Fleur celebrated their two-year anniversary with a dinner at their apartment. Harry was almost certain Fleur was pregnant (she kept a constant hand on her stomach), but the couple didn't say anything, and neither did anyone else.

He had his first ever letter from Draco Malfoy, enquiring after everyone's health and suggesting they meet at quarter-to-eleven for the train.    

Ginny made him lunch one day, and it was amazing – mostly because he knew she'd cooked it, and for him. He did the washing up.

They picnicked. They flew.

And so the weeks slid by and the days rolled on, and Harry half-longed for, half-dreaded the end of this season.

~

"Harry!"

He swore and went on scrabbling through Ron's desk drawer. He was positive he'd put a quill in here –

"Harry!" Mrs Weasley called again, from the bottom of the stairs. "Two minutes, Harry!"

"OK!" he shouted back, just as his fingertips brushed a feather. He'd forgotten all about quills until now, and would have asked Ginny, but knew she was already packed. This and the other he'd found would do – he was sure he could get more in Hogsmeade. Hastily shoving it into the pocket of his robes (plain and black, as required by the Hogwarts' staff dress code), he gave the room a brief once-over, spotted nothing he needed, and then took hold of his trunk to lug it out into the hall.

"Ouch," came a soft voice, and he stopped. He'd just backed straight into Ginny.

"Sorry, Gin," he said, dropping his luggage. "You OK?"

"Fine," she said, rubbing her hip. "You got me nicely, there."

"Sorry. Sorry." He touched her hip gently. "Sorry."
She waved a hand at him. "Don't," she said, "you're being silly. It's only a bump. D'you want some help?"

"What about your school stuff?"

"It's outside already."

"Right."
He looked at her. She was wearing jeans and a white, collared shirt, and had her Hogwarts robes over one arm. Her hair was up, those bits he loved easing out around her ears.

"Wow," he said lowly.

She flushed. "What?"

"You look amazing."

"Don't be silly," she said again. "I'm only in my jeans. You, on the other hand –" She plucked a hair from his shoulder (one of hers, he thought) and dropped it onto the ground. "You look very – distinguished."

"Distinguished? So I look old."

"No. Just – grown up."
He looked at her again and, feeling quite solemn, said: "So do you."

She bit her lip, smiling slightly, and he had that familiar tingling feeling at the base of his spine.

"Gin –" he began, and then Mrs Weasley opened the door.

"Alright," she said sharply, "we're no longer early, and are running the risk of becoming late. You need a hand with your luggage, Harry?"

"No, I'm fine."

He took it in one hand, and Ginny grabbed Hedwig before he could do it himself.

"I've got it," he said, and she shrugged a 'No, don't worry about it' at him.

He loved that he could read her gestures.

Mrs Weasley was already downstairs again, and they followed her. A ministry car was waiting for them, Mr Weasley in the front passenger seat, a designated ministry driver at the wheel. Harry loaded his things into the boot, and then clambered in the back with Ginny and Mrs Weasley.

"Hello," Mr Weasley said, rather stiffly. "How are we all?"

"Good," said Ginny, rubbing her eyes a little. "I'm sleepy."

"I told you to get an early night," Mrs Weasley sniffed, as the car started out.

"I did," Ginny protested, flicking a quick, wicked glance at Harry, who poked her in the ribs.

"Don't look at me," he muttered in her ear.

She laughed softly, and Mrs Weasley smiled at them both.

"Well, that's lovely," she said happily, almost to herself, and settled back in her seat.

"The other car's gone ahead," Mr Weasley said, after a little while. "The others are probably already there."

There was not much more conversation. Mrs Weasley seemed content to enjoy the luxury of the ministry car, Mr Weasley seemed uncomfortable, and Harry and Ginny sat in silence, loosely (and unconsciously) holding hands.

It was ten to eleven when they came running out onto Platform 9 and ¾, and the first thing Harry saw was the huge, steaming train, making the impatient noises of a vehicle on the edge of departure. He felt a jolt in his stomach when he looked at it.

The second thing was a small knot of people amongst the thronging students. Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and Bill were waiting for them, Hermione looking decidedly anxious – probably worrying that they'd be late.

"Oi!" Harry cried impulsively, and all five of them looked up.

"Come on!" Hermione shouted, and Harry and Ginny hurried over, the Weasley parents close behind.

As soon as they'd put down their luggage, Hermione threw herself at Harry.

"Have a good time, Harry, don't take too many point off the Gryffindors, even though you ought to be impartial – so maybe you should take points off the Gryffindors – if you're even allowed to take points – and be nice to Malfoy, I know you will be, and say hello to all the sixth-years – I mean seventh-years, and – oh Harry, keep in touch, won't you?" She kissed his cheek quickly, and then stepped back as Harry attempted to absorb this wild rush of words.

"OK, 'Mione," he said finally. "You too. When do you go up?"

"Three days. I'll owl you when we get there."

"Great."

Ron hugged him briefly and awkwardly.

"Be good, mate," he said, letting go. "Don't let Snape tell you what to do, eh?"

"'Course not," Harry agreed stoutly.

They looked at one another, and then laughed.

"I'll miss you, Harry," Ron said, his tone deceptively light. Harry knew what he meant – It won't be the same without you – and shook his hand firmly. It felt like the right thing to do. It felt – like something men should do.

That was what they were now, wasn't it?

"Our turn," George said, shouldering past Ron, who was shifting to give Ginny a hug. He slapped Harry on the shoulder. "Well, Harry," he went on seriously, "good luck in Eighth Year, eh? It's nothing to be ashamed of. You can't help that you're a little slow."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks. Thanks very much."

"You do realise you've allied yourself with the enemy, Harry," Fred commented.

"What do you mean?"

"The staff," George explained, in a rather demonic voice. "I don't know if we can forgive you."

"But we will," Fred added, "because we wouldn't want you to jinx us, Mr Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No, no, Fred," George said, lowering his voice reverently. "Assistant."

"OK, OK," Harry laughed. "Thanks for this summer – you've been really good to me. I mean it. Letting me stay in your apartment and all."

"No problem." Fred waved a hand. "It's funny. Whenever we mentioned that you were crashing at our place, the girls sort of flocked to us."

"It was difficult," George said, in martyr-like tones, "but we bore it as best we could."

Harry shook his head. Clearly he wasn't going to get either of them to accept his thanks for real.

George turned to say goodbye to Ginny, but Fred stayed where he was.

"Oh, and Harry? Do keep quiet about –" Here, he leant in, and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "Well, I'd say 'shagging our sister', but it didn't go down so well last time."

He straightened and winked at Harry, who was being half-strangled by Mrs Weasley before he could think of a reply.

"Harry," she said tearfully, "you'll write, won't you?"

"Of course."

She pulled him away from her and looked into his face anxiously. "And you're alright?"

"I'm fine." He swallowed, suddenly finding a hard lump in his throat. "I – thank you so much for having me."

"Any time," she said. "I mean that. You think of The Burrow as your home from now on, Harry, because that's what it is."

She hugged him again, and then the train whistled and Mrs Weasley just had time to kiss her daughter quickly on the cheek, while Bill and Harry shook hands, before the two of them were running for the train.

"Have a nice time!" she said, as Harry ducked inside pulling Ginny and their trunks after him.

"We will!" Ginny shouted. She blew everyone a kiss, and Mrs Weasley and the twins blew kisses back, while the rest of them waved.

Harry was just about to pull the door closed when he saw Mr Weasley approaching at a fast jog. He was momentarily struck dumb as he came right up to the edge of the platform, and stopped.

"Harry," he said quickly, "have a good year."

Harry didn't know what to say, and so didn't say anything.

Mr Weasley, who had been avoiding eye contact, now looked at him properly. Harry blinked back. He then stepped up onto the train, and hugged Harry quickly and fiercely. The lump in his throat came back.

"Sorry," Mr Weasley said in his ear. "I'm a proud old git. Be good to her, right?"

"Right," Harry replied, rather breathless. Mr Weasley stepped off again, and walked back to the others.

"Well," said Ginny wonderingly. "That's one for the history books."

The train began to move.

"Quick!" she cried, and shut the door, running to an open window to wave a last goodbye. Harry watched over her shoulder as the platform disappeared.

He felt as though he was beginning a new life.

He was.

When the station was out of sight, Ginny sighed and leant back against him.

"I should find a compartment," she said.

"OK. I guess I should – go to the staff car."

"I guess you should."

She turned around, kissed him lightly on the lips, and then picked up her trunk.

"I'll see you soon," she said, touching his hand (it was resting on his own trunk) and then began to make her way down the corridor.

He watched her go for almost three seconds, then abandoned his luggage to run after her.

"Gin," he said, and she halted, spinning about.

"What?"

He raised and dropped his hands helplessly. "I want to say something to you," he said. "And I don't really know how."

"What is it?"

He swallowed. "I love you."
Ginny smiled a puzzled half-smile. "I know. I love you too, Harry."

"No, no," he said hastily, urgently. "No. I mean, I love you. I think I'm going to love you for the rest of my life. I know I am. I just – I –"

She put her trunk down carefully, then practically threw herself at him. "Harry," she said into his robes, "I feel the same. I just didn't know –"

"How to say it," he finished for her, and exhaled. "OK."

He kissed the top of her head, feeling an odd mixture of relief and excitement and overwhelming protectiveness.

"You need to find your staff car," she said softly. "And we're blocking the hall."

"I know," he replied. "I'll see you when we get there."

They released one another, and she, picking her things up quickly, was gone almost before he'd taken another breath.

He wanted to get away quickly too. He loved her too much to watch her walk away from him.

As it turned out, he wasn't in the staff car – there was a special, new compartment reserved for assistants. When he slid the door open, he saw Malfoy sitting by the window, a book open in his lap. His arm was out of bandages, but there was a long, white scar running along its length. He looked up as Harry entered.

"Hello," he said pleasantly.

"Hello. Sorry I was late. Too many goodbyes."

Harry winced inwardly as soon as he'd said it, remembering that Malfoy didn't have so many people to say goodbye to him now, but Malfoy didn't appear to mind much.

"That's alright. Take a seat."

Harry put his trunk away in the overhead and then did so, directly opposite Malfoy. There was a brief, but only mildly awkward silence.

"So," Malfoy said eventually, "what happened to you this summer?"

"Er –" Harry began, and then stopped. How to put it all into some kind of coherent form? "I guess – I fell in love with this girl," Harry said at last, feeling rather ridiculous, but unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth.

Malfoy, to his surprise, nodded knowingly.

"The youngest Weasley, right?"

Harry frowned at him. "How did you know?"

"Flourish and Blotts," Malfoy said, shrugging. "Anybody could have seen it."

Harry remembered all the quills spilling out, the bumping heads, the touch of her fingers against his. "It was that obvious?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding? It was written all over your faces."

"Huh," Harry said, and then paused. "What about now?"

Malfoy smiled, rather wryly. "Yeah," he said. "You've got it now too."

They descended into another silence, more companionable this time. Harry looked out the window, at the summer-warmed countryside, and found himself smiling.

He and Ginny loved each other.

Anybody could have seen it.

~

*Breathes a long, heavy sigh* I'm exhausted, but I felt like it should all come out in one chapter. Hang on for the epilogue. Much love and appreciation ~nm3x5s~ Shez