A/N: Alrighty, here's another chapter. Thanks again for reviewing! J

Chapter Four

"A Better Burger"

"What do you mean you're taking a Muggle job?!"

"Mum! You don't have to shout—"

"I'm not shouting!" Ginny's mother yelled, hands on her hips. "I'm simply asking why in all of England you want to take a Muggle's job when you are perfectly capable of something in the Ministry or—"

Ginny tuned out her mother's tirade as she carefully set plates dating five Weasley generations back on the table. It was Saturday, nearly noon, and things at The Burrow were just as she'd expected them to be. Fred and George were being purposefully late and Ron and Hermione were pretending to be deaf as they set the dishes heaping of steaming food onto the center of the table.

" . . . You have more than enough N.E.W.T.'s to find a good job in the wizarding world! Oh, your father will be thrilled, surely!"

"I'm still working at Flourish and Blotts, Mum," Ginny reminded her. She quickly rushed on as her mother took a deep breath. "I know it isn't a career or something important or brilliant like everyone else has, but that's fine. I don't plan to do it forever. And I need the money, so Dean's family is being a really big help."

Molly's eyes lit up for an instant and then narrowed shrewdly. "Dean Thomas? Are you seeing him?"

Ginny suppressed an eye-roll. "No. We're just friends."

Ron grunted twice—the second for Hermione elbowing him sharply in the ribs. "Can never be sure 'bout that," he muttered under his breath.

"You brought it upon yourself, you twit," Ginny retorted.

Ron scowled. He was as tall and lean as ever, and Ginny was sure he had even more freckles than usual. Training to be a strategic apprehension wizard, Ron was also undergoing a grueling but less in-depth and life-threatening version of Auror's training. To her, at least, he still seemed to be the big, clumsy oaf, but Hermione's secretive confessional (which Ginny would rather not hear) stated that her brother was fit and as handsome as ever. If you liked long-nosed, pink-eared prats, Ginny decided.

"Brought what?" Molly demanded, darting 'the look' between her youngest offspring.

"Nothing," they said at once.

Their mother pursed her lips, but then opened her mouth to continue her rant. However, just then, Arthur Weasley came in from the garage, whistling happily until he noticed the only two Weasley females glaring at one another.

"Arthur," said Molly breathlessly, obviously trying to appear calm. "You should be very pleased with your daughter."

Arthur glanced uncertainly between Molly and Ginny, one reddish eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"Mum's in a strop because I got a job in a Muggle café."

"Really? That's brilliant, Pumpkin!"

Molly threw her hands in the air in surrender and turned around to tend to the pot roast. Ginny tried to answer her father's rapid-fire questions, feeling gratified that at least he thought it was great. Fred and George would probably harass her to test their products on unsuspecting Muggles. Ron shrugged uninterestedly and sat down at his usual chair, but then jumped back up to pull one out for Hermione. Ginny didn't miss the pleased, affectionate smile on her friend's face, and judging by the angle of her arm, she had a hand on Ron's knee.

Ginny stifled a snort. Ron was twenty and still turned pink.

"Well, where could those boys be?" Molly muttered as she set the large pot roast at the head of the table.

Snap! Snap!

"What?" exclaimed Fred, appearing suddenly beside his brother. "The family started without us?!"

It was nearly two and Ginny was trying hard to find her escape as she sat in her old rocker in the living room. Her mother seemed bent on keeping everyone at the Burrow as long as possible—"No one is working today, are they? I don't see why you all need to hurry off!" Fred and George tried to rationalize that they should check on their new employees, but to no avail.

Talk had centered on Hogwarts. Hermione's report was positive: the school was functioning well, nearly fully staffed, and although the enrollment was only at fifty percent, she expected it would progressively grow.

"Are you going to teach?" Molly asked, busily knitting what looked suspiciously like a scarlet jumper with a golden H in the middle.

Hermione shook her head. "I love working for the school, and I might teach someday, but right now I want to keep my options open. I'd be a better teacher if I had more knowledge of the world outside of Hogwarts." She smiled at Ginny; obviously she sided with Ginny's argument for not settling instantly in one career. "After this term, I'm handing the liaison responsibility over to another," Hermione continued, brushing her still-bushy curls out of her eyes. "I'm still trying to decide the next step."

Ginny rocked back slowly, thinking how mature and adult Hermione looked. Although her older friend was not wearing her usual sensible work robes, she was neat and comfortable in khaki pants and navy jumper. Her hair was mostly swept back into a loose braid, but shorter bits of curl had escaped and were brushing her temples. What Ginny noticed most, however, was not Hermione's clothes, but her mannerism. She was more careful with her speech when she got excited and didn't become nearly so breathless and flushed.

And—Ginny noted with a slight smirk—she was more open about her feelings for Ron. Before, she had been embarrassed to lean against him or hold his hand in view of others. Now, however, she looked quite comfortable leaning against Ron on the sinking sofa, her left hand in his, his arm around her shoulders.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do fine, whatever you decide," Molly was saying, drawing Ginny out of her observations. "As long as you have a goal—"

"Funny," muttered George from the hearthrug, "she never seemed to say that to us, did she, Fred?"

"I believe not," answered Fred, looking highly offended. "And I must say, our goals were quite ambitious—"

"And The Daily Prophet's given us spec-tac-ular reviews, I may add."

"You're doing very well, boys," Arthur grinned, not seeing his wife's pursed lips. "We're all proud of you."

Before the conversation could turn from the twins to Ginny's apparent lack of future aspiration, a familiar white owl tapped at the window.

"Hedwig!" Ron cried, nearly dumping Hermione on the floor as he raced to the window. At once, everyone was shifting restlessly, all eyes averted to the snowy owl as she swooped gracefully into the room. Ron immediately held out his arm, and Hedwig perched neatly, blinking her amber eyes.

Ginny felt a sickening dread in the pit of her stomach as Ron ripped open the letter. Hedwig swooped off to use Errol's tray. She couldn't get excited over any letter from Harry, especially since it wouldn't be addressed to her. Why would it?

"Well, what does it say?" Molly demanded. Her knitting lay untouched in her lap, her hands clasped together.

"Hold on, hold on—it's addressed to me, you know," Ron muttered, still standing in the center of the room.

"No," Fred corrected, snatching the torn, dropped envelope. "It's addressed to Ron WeasleyandWeasley Family. Last time I checked, we were part of the family."

"Yes, but my name was on it first."

"Prat."

"Fred! Go on, Ron, dear."

"Yes, do go on, Ronniekins."

Ron glared furiously at Fred, then cleared his throat. "Alright. He doesn't say much, though."

"Well, it is Harry," George shrugged. He was laying a hand very gingerly over his blue spikes, as if testing the reliability of the incredibly stiff gel.

"Shut up. Anyway—he's been in America the past couple of weeks—"

"Don't paraphrase!" George chided, kicking Ron's ankle. "Then we'll all have to read it ourselves—including the embarrassing bits where he teases you about Hermione." He grinned cheekily at the former Head Girl.

Ginny was certain she heard Ron call George a git under his breath, but since her mother didn't scream, it might have been her imagination. When Ron cleared her throat again, she felt her chest tighten. She didn't want to be here to listen to Harry's impersonal, faux-cheerful words. But she would stay, because she wanted to know where he was, what he was doing, and maybe—why did she hope for this?—he might actually have something to say to her.

"Dear Ron and everyone else," Ron began to read. "I'm currently in America, and probably will be for most of the month. After that, I haven't decided yet. America's all right. Really big—"

"Really big?" Fred snorted. "Hey, Hermione, maybe you should introduce geography to Hogwarts, I think the young pupils could need it."

"—but kind of cool," Ron continued loudly. "The wizarding population is still mostly in New England and along the East Coast, but there are some schools in the Midwest, South, and West Coast. Apparently they often disguise themselves as private prep schools, and the Muggles can't tell the difference. Hermione, I'm sure you know all this, or will go look it up now." Ron paused and grinned at his girlfriend.

"Oh, just go on," Hermione huffed.

"It's weird traveling over here. Many wizards use Muggle transportation, because there are problems with Muggles spotting them. Tabloids usually headline any flying cars or portkey toilets. And every state is different—accent, food, some laws, land, mottos, and license plates—it's sometimes confusing. They're sort of like their own little countries allied together.

"Hamburgers are great here. Not like what we tried at that McDonald's last summer. The people I stayed with in Iowa grilled out a lot. McDonald's is still gross, though. The cows are unnerving—they stare and follow you around.

"New York and L.A. are incredible. Wizards and witches don't bother with worrying about Muggles seeing them. You could do obvious magic in Lockhart's ugly robes, and no one would care. They'll just think it's some sort of magician's stunt, or David Blaine (I'm not sure what he is).

"I've been playing some Quidditch in intramurals. It's not as big over here as in England, but I've been told it's growing. Americans have their own version of it, but mostly play Quodpot.

"How're things? I want to subscribe to the Daily Prophet, but it's not practical when I don't have a permanent address, and Remus didn't want anyone over there tracing where the owls go. Has Hogwarts started fully?

"Miss all of you,

Harry."

"I," sniffed Fred, "happen to like McDonald's."

"I always said Harry was an excellent Seeker," George agreed, "but definitely a terrible food critic."

It was nearly teatime when Ginny finally returned to Barslow Hall. She wanted nothing more than to run a hot bath and curl up with a good book. The lighter mood Dean's proposition had put her in was gone in the face of Harry's letter. She had gotten exactly what she'd expected, but it was no comfort. As much as it would pain her, she wanted to hear from Harry truly, not just some generalized letter.

But she couldn't just stay in tonight. She had a late Quidditch practice in Hampstead Heath, and then Alyson was dragging her out with her cousin, Joe, and someone she'd bumped into during her interview. And then, starting Wednesday, Ginny would be working at The Sipper and Flourish and Blotts, playing Quidditch, and trying to make progress as a writer.

Life, she had a feeling as she turned the key, was about to change.