Three days had passed since my… encounter with Harry. My mother got down on us for swearing, but God, he was being an insertbadword.

The worst part was that there was no one I could turn to about this. If I told Ron, he'd most likely bloody Harry up (not that he didn't deserve it), and if I told Hermione, she'd let it slip somehow to Ron, no matter how unintentionally.

If I turned to either of my parents then their trust and care for Harry would falter, and I didn't want to trouble anyone.

Incredible, really. The boy, who broke my heart, made me cry my eyes out, and insist on building my hopes up, only to crush them beneath him shoe, and making me relive the agony all over again. And I was defending him.

Why should I care if Ron whoops him, or if Mum and Dad chew him out of their hearts and lives? Why was it so hard to let go?

I loved him, yet I hated him. I wanted to accept his apology and crawl into his arms again, but at the same time condemn him to hell.

There was a knock at my door.

"Yes," I said from beneath my comforter.

Mum came in and pulled it off of me. "Ginny, there were two owls for you this morning. Here," she said, handing me the letters.

I sat up, scratching my messy bed head with one hand and taking the letters with the other.

"This morning? What time-"

"It's near one, dear. Lunch is ready, by the way. Ham sandwiches. Come down and eat," she said, leaving.

"K-k-k, Mum," I said through a yawn.

I looked down at the two letters and quickly tore them open.

One was from Ervin, answering a few questions I had about the Healer seminar, and the other was from Neville, asking me to have dinner with him at his flat. He'd be cooking.

Now, I'm sure he could cook wonderfully. He was one to surprise me, afterall. I quickly scribbled out that I'd love to have dinner with him, and went downstairs to owl it and eat, wondering if Neville's cooking could prove to be better than ordinary ham sandwiches.

All right. So my owl had been sent, I had finally gotten around to changing out of my pajamas, showered, and picked out a nice pair of black trousers with a light blue top: a nice outfit for a nice dinner, I hoped. But honestly, it had been one of those cloudy, great sleeping in kind of days when you just wanted to curl up and drivel into the gossip, rumor, style world of other people's lives. Or whatever you call those ridiculous muggle magazines.

Forgive me for wishing once that I lived in a huge-arse mansion, furnished in velvet, silk and crystal. There was nothing wrong with the Burrow; I loved this place. But everyone dreams, don't they?

Six o'clock. Oi, was it time to go, already? We hadn't really specified an exact time, yet, ready for me or not, I bid goodbyes to Mum and Dad and disapperated.

I apparated in front of the flat Neville had informed me of in his letter. I thought about turning away and backing down, but I had to give myself a psychological kick in the trousers. It was just dinner with Neville. Neville. Gryffindor. Friend. We had just had a lunch date not long ago, right? I was acting so stupid.

So I knocked on the door twice before I could do anything else.

I heard the distant sound of footsteps, and they grew louder and louder before the door opened.

Neville appeared, drying his hands with a dish rag, and he was smiling.

"Hi, Neville," I said, smiling back.

"Come on in, Ginny. I was just finishing the food," he said, opening the door wider to let me in.


So once again, my worrying and my inner battles were proved to be codswallop. Neville had cooked a delicious dinner of lasagna and homemade garlic bread, a far cry from ham sandwiches.

His flat was nice, too, though at times throughout the evening, I had to remind myself that I was in a home and not a greenhouse. Aside from Hogwarts, Neville must have done much of his studying of Herbology here. Throughout his living room, different varieties of vegetation sat under sunlamps, floated in jars of orange liquid, or even graced themselves on his coffee table, too pretty to be shelved.

Conversation came easy to us, as we chatted from topic to topic, usually returning back to our preferred Quidditch team for the season.

But at the moment, we were currently discussing our careers, as I sat on the soft cream-colored carpet and he stretched out on his sofa. I could definitely say now that Neville was the type of person who could really just be himself, comfortably, in the keep of his house. A home-body like me.

"So you're going to really be a Healer. Wow…"

"Oh, don't sound too astounded, Neville," I said, lightly smacking his arm. "It's not a sure thing, yet. But I do have this seminar for it tomorrow."

He propped himself onto an elbow and blew at the soft brown hair falling into his eyes.

"What type of seminar? Are you all going to be lined up and ordered to do brain surgery one-by-one?"

I snorted at his whimsical question. "Of course, not. It's only an informational meeting for new people interested. I believe they're going to bring in a couple guest speakers straight from the front lines."

Neville's eyebrows rose. "Sounds very important. I hope you enjoy that career, Ginny."

I smiled and nodded. "I'm sure I will. Well, it's really getting late. I should head home," I said, standing.

He jumped off the sofa and disappeared down the hall for a moment, and came back, as I slipped by shoes on, holding a single golden rose.

I looked from his grinning face to the flower, completely awestruck by its glittering petals.

"This is for you," he said, giving it to me, "I've been experimenting with ordinary breeds of plants, and this is one that turned out pretty good."

"Pretty good?" I said incredulously, my eyes still round as saucers. "It's beautiful. Thank you, Neville."

He smiled, shrugging coolly, but I could see the pink creeping up his neck.

Feeling a bit flushed, myself, I opened the door. "And thanks for dinner. I had a lovely time. Goodnight."

He reached for the door and touched my arm. "Wait," he said quietly.

I looked at his face, barely five inches from mine, and his eyes flickered to my lips as he leaned in and kissed me.