Ambivalence: Sequel to Captive

by Miss Snuffles

Two years after the events in 'Captive,' Ginny is trying to figure out her life and come to terms with her 'betrayal.'

16. Unresolved Tension

Chapter Sixteen

"Unresolved Tension"

Dear Mum and Dad,

Mother – I am appalled that you would howl me over something not worthy of your impressive vocals. I am eighteen and certainly old enough to go anywhere in the world I want without first consulting you for permission. However, I am sorry that I had to keep this a secret from you, but it was only to avoid your vocals in the flesh.

Also, Harry is in NO WAY to blame for this. I begged him to let me come. Trust me, he didn't want to keep a secret from either of you. And no, we're not eloping. How many times do I have to tell people we're only friends?

I'm sure you're expecting—no, demanding—an explanation or reason for why I've gone off to Australia in secret. Well, you're not going to get one. It's my decision. You'll have to be content with the realization that your daughter needed a holiday.

Anyway, I love you both very much. You'll be happy to know that Harry is a better cook than I am, so I am getting more nutrition than usual.

Love,

Ginny

Dear Alyson and Joe,

Well, I've been in Australia for over a week—and it's been utter madness! We arrived Friday morning. By Sunday I was just getting settled when all hell broke loose. Honestly, I thought my house could get chaotic, but it's different when you're in a foreign place with strangers.

Sunday night Renee (Harry's flat mate) took us over to Hugo's for a regular bash with the rest of the Dingoes. They're a local side that Harry and Renee play for. Hugo is exactly as you'd imagine a Hugo to be—brawny, bearded, but very good-humored. I imagine him to be an excellent Beater. He's got the cutest little girlfriend called Shelly. She also seems to be similar to her name. She's really petite (I felt somewhat tall next to her), shy, blonde with these really cute curls, glasses, and she was absolutely sweet. I think she has a slight crush on Harry.

Anyway, they were having a barbecue (Barbie) with the entire team there and everyone's friends. Apparently there's a tournament coming up, so this was a sort of pecker-bash to pump everyone up. Harry got the brunt of the jokes, since he's the outsider coming in. Renee and I vouched for him, though, and I know by their good-humor that they were impressed during practices.

While at the party, Hugo said that he's got a friend that needs a place to stay for a couple of nights, because he and Shelly don't have room and their landlord is rather strict about tenants or something like that. So Mark came home with us. But on Monday two of Renee's friends stopped by begging for a spot on the floor, because they just got back from holiday in Indonesia to discover their flat completely infested with a rather nasty hive of doxies. They and Mark stayed till Thursday. However, on Wednesday, one of Renee's Muggle friends (who doesn't know she's a witch), who is her backpacker connection, called to say that this Irish bloke had all his stuff stolen, so he needed somewhere to stay before he could call his bank to halt everything and wire money.

So we had a mad scramble to hide anything magical. Renee bunked up with her friends, Harry shared his room with Mark (who had the sense to bring his own pillows and blankets), and the others took the living room couch and mattress. I lucked out, because my room is too small to share.

I didn't see much of Mark or the other misfortunes. At first I'd just escape to the beach (I have so many freckles now that I'm practically tan!) or library (Renee set up an account so I could check out under her name), but I think the company really got to Harry as well, because then he insisted on taking me on a tourist round of Sydney. So we went down to the Wharf and Aquarium, took a boat around the harbor, went to the zoo, and went up the sky tour. Renee told him off for not taking me to the QVB, which is the gorgeous, classy shopping center I have no hope of affording. It's got several wizarding levels underground.

I'm currently writing you this from the beach. It's Sunday and Renee insisted that we all go (me, she, and Harry). I'll tell you more about The Rocks and such later.

Love,

Ginny

P.S. Joe, I reckon you'd get on well with Renee. She's a music fanatic, too.

"Right, then," Renee said as Ginny tucked her letter into her satchel. "I think we've all sunbaked enough, don't you?" Dusting sand off her arms and black bikini, she stood up and put her hands on her hips as she looked pointedly at Harry and Ginny.

Ginny shrugged and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. She pressed her heels into her beach towel and felt the sand give way under the pressure. "I'm really not up for swimming today."

Renee rolled her eyes. "You sound like Harry," she grumbled, nudging him with her foot. He growled but remained motionless where he was lying peacefully on his stomach, head resting on his crossed arms, away from the afternoon sun. "You don't like to swim, do you, Hay?"

Sneaking a glance at Harry's prone form, Ginny caught a flicker of displeasure blemish his otherwise expressionless face. Harry had once confessed that he had a slight fear of swimming because Dudley used to try to drown him and the Second Task had not helped his misgivings. Ginny could hardly blame him for that.

"I promise the sharks won't be out to feed," giggled Renee, dropping to her knees and leaning over Harry. "They don't like English meat." She extended a hand toward Harry's exposed side, poised . . . "Not that you have much meat, anyway—"

It happened in a flash. Renee's fingertips barely glazed Harry's white, worn t-shirt when his arm shot out, his hand snatching her wrist. In a swift following sweep, Harry's body followed his arm, so that he was sitting upright, his hands on each of Renee's wrists to prevent her from tickling him.

For a second, Renee's mouth hung open in surprise, but then she dissolved into giggles again and rocked backwards—Harry released her so she fell on her backside.

"I told you never to sneak up on me," said Harry mildly.

Renee kicked playfully at him, sending a spray of sand over his towel and legs. "One of these days I'll get you," she grinned broadly, returning to her knees. "Just you wait, Potter, when you least expect it—"

"Uh-huh," said Harry. He flopped onto his back. "Now go away. I was trying to nap."

"You're a regular piker, Potter," Renee groused, frowning.

"You'll get over it."

Renee scowled but her displeasure vanished as her eyes snapped eagerly to Ginny. "What about you, Gin?"

Behind half-closed eyes, Harry's gaze flicked toward Ginny. She quickly looked away. Over the past week, she felt the underlying tension that had increased from the beginning of the trip after their exchange on the balcony. Neither of them spoke of it, but it always seemed to be hovering in their meaningless conversations. How could they speak as friends when Harry had spoken the truth that night? They hadn't been friends for two years. Ginny had a suspicious feeling that Harry was waiting for her to give a signal that they could be more than the merest of friends, but she simply could not do it. Why should now be any different than two years ago?

Unable to stand the tension, she'd escape early every morning into Sydney. One day she walked Oxford Street all the way to City Centre, where, exhausted, she rested in a bookstore with a coffee shop for several hours. That evening she traversed George Street (the oldest street in Australia) and Elizabeth Street, enjoying her anonymity and the nightlife. Another day she visited several parks, grudgingly taking the Apparition guide and biting down her fear of intelligent parchments. She even popped into Randwick Racecourse and decided that if she ever chose a profession in the Muggle world, it would be as a jockey.

She enjoyed her wandering. Armed with a pen and notebook, she would sit on a park bench or at an open café table and imagine a little girl named Sarah, who had only an old granny that took long naps, so she would wander off and become lost in the city around her. Having experienced enough adventure in her own life, Ginny was not fond of reading about fictitious ones, so Sarah only had little, everyday misadventures and met lots of interesting people, but mostly she just pondered the world around her. Sometimes she returned home before dark, where her granny woke up to fix supper, but other nights Sarah curled up on a park bench, trying not to cry under the watching stars.

Ginny herself came "home" around dusk, when her stomach and feet could take her wandering no more. Renee had been absolutely stricken that Ginny had felt "pushed out" by all the company, but Ginny had assured Renee that she liked to wander and explore on her own. Harry, on the other hand, had not vocalized his opinion about her absences, but he had been up by the time she was trying to sneak away unnoticed, asking nonchalantly what she had planned for that day. Each time she either answered "the beach," or "I'm just going for a walk." She didn't offer for him to come along and he didn't ask.

Those moments, when he nodded and looked so closed off, were the worst for Ginny. But what could she do to stop it? Harry had to be used to her rejection by now.

So she'd been rather startled on Wednesday night after a very noisy, crowded supper when Harry found her airing out in the back garden. "Have you been to the Sky Tower?" he'd asked, leaning against the tree she was under. When she said "no," he'd offered to take her there tomorrow, along with some of the other Muggle tourist attractions. "I need a break from that," he said wearily, gesturing up toward the balcony where Mark, Liam, and Rosa were raucously singing "Waltzing Matilda."

She didn't have the heart to tell him no. Luckily, Harry didn't seem to be in a particularly talkative mood Thursday, and although she'd felt the uncertainty between them, the excursion provided them with sufficient distraction. The aquarium and tower had been the highlight of her day, especially right after a child, while standing up on the seats to peer down at the miniscule traffic under the Sky Tower, had dropped his ice cream into Harry's lap.

Friday Renee had taken them all out again to more music shows, Saturday had been the QVB (Harry had stayed behind) and Dingo training, and now Ginny finally felt the week come to an end just as another was beginning. While this brought the end to crowding guests and raucous drinking songs, Renee's insistent prodding that Ginny learn to surf had not ceased.

"I don't know," Ginny shrugged now, not quite meeting Renee's eager face. "I'm really rather tired."

"Bullocks. Don't be a sook. Look," said Renee, "if you're nervous, I can teach you how to boogie board first. It's like surfing on your stomach."

"Oh, I already had a lesson in that," said Ginny, grateful for her extremely freckled, browner skin. She could feel a hint of warmth betraying her as she surreptitiously stole a glance at Harry. "This Brian bloke gave me a lesson Saturday."

Harry, whose eyes hadn't quite managed to close convincingly, seemed to tense.

"Really?" said Renee, smirking knowingly. "You never mentioned this."

Ginny shrugged dismissively. "It wasn't anything great. I swallowed a lot of saltwater." And retched it up on his dog. Boogie boarding didn't sit well in her mind, and she doubted Brian had been very impressed by her lack of talent for the board. She'd start out well enough, but soon the break would overcome her and she would suddenly be rolling under the wave, skin scraping against sand, her nostrils and mouth filling with revolting seawater. Once or twice she'd made it in without being overtaken, but by then she'd already been so sick that it hadn't mattered. Brian had seemed patient and flirtatious up until she lost it on the dog, and then he'd seemed ready to call it good. Ginny didn't blame him.

But he'd asked for her number. Since she had no idea what Renee's number was, she'd explained her living situation, not wanting to seem ungrateful or rude. So, he'd given her his number and said he might see her around the beaches again. On Tuesday she'd caught a glimpse of him coming out of a surf shop, but being so embarrassed by her abysmal performance, she'd ducked behind a rack of colorful sandals until he'd turned the other direction.

"Oh, you'll get used to the water," said Renee cheerfully. "Besides, I think it's easier to get swamped on a boogie than a real board." She gestured to the purple surfboard lying beside Harry.

"I don't know . . ."

"Come on," she wheedled, smiling beseechingly at Ginny. "If you're half as good at Quidditch as Harry let on at Hugo's, you'll be brill at this."

Ginny shot Harry a look, but his eyes were completely closed—too tightly. She frowned, remembering the party. Being surrounded by a team that reminded her of her brief stint on the Ashwinders, she had felt compelled to let Hugo and the others know just how good Harry was, and Harry, being embarrassed and pleased all at once, had launched into how Ginny had been an "exceptional, fearless Chaser," and a "rather good Seeker, if somewhat hesitant on the catch." He'd grinned cheekily at her then, his eyes and cheeks bright from boisterous camaraderie and cold butterbeer. She'd punched him lightly on the arm, also swept up in the jesting ambience. Then she'd started singing "Weasley Is Our King," to which Harry joined in, unharmonious but with much gusto; at some point, Harry had thrown his arm around her shoulders, clinking his butterbeer against hers jovially. As the song died and Hugo bellowed for an encore, Ginny had remembered herself and ducked out from under Harry's carelessly slung arm.

She'd kept her distance the rest of the night. Harry had been notably sober after that.

"Fine," Ginny sighed now on the beach, looking up from Harry to meet Renee's ready grin. As Renee snatched up the board, Ginny shed her tank-top and shorts and followed the older girl out to the surf.

"It's not breaking high today," said Renee when they reached the water's edge. Foam lapped their ankles as Renee pointed toward the group of surfers to the right. Not very many were out, and those who were sat atop their boards, gently bobbing over the swells rolling toward the shore. One young girl paddled out, turned her board, and rose up as one swell started to break. Ginny knew from her few times to the beach that this wave was rather small, but she still felt apprehensive as the girl rode in to shore.

"Let's just paddle out and relax," said Renee after a minute.

Together they headed out for the small waves but kept to the left, where the swells did not break but rolled gently by, only capping when they reached the shore. Straddling the board as Renee did, Ginny faced her host but gazed back toward the shore. She could just make out Harry reclining on his towel, apparently oblivious to the other beachgoers.

"He's in one of his moods," Renee said quietly, having followed Ginny's gaze. "Does he do that often?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Ginny said, smiling a little. They rose on a swell before dipping behind it.

"Oh yeah, usually it just lasts a day or so," said Renee. She licked her bottom lip and frowned thoughtfully, glancing at Ginny. "Usually he just watches TV or goes off somewhere for awhile. No use striking up a conversation or doing something fun with him then, but I try. He'll give in sometimes, probably just to shut me up." Gazing thoughtfully at Ginny, she said quietly, "I know he has nightmares. Never a good day after those."

Ginny bit her lip and looked down between her knees at the purple board. She did not feel comfortable discussing Harry or his troubles with Renee, but she couldn't help being curious about what Renee had observed.

"You know," Renee went on quietly, "sometimes I have half the mind to pop in at the library and read up on him."

Ginny looked up sharply, nearly upsetting her balance on a rising swell.

"Oh, I haven't," said Renee, once they were sliding down behind the wave. A corner of her mouth twitched feebly as she shrugged. "I could have asked someone to get information about Hay, because I remembered reading the name somewhere before I met him, but he made me swear not to broadcast anything because he didn't want people really knowing he's here. And when I do get curious," she added, looking very serious, "I think about that night I woke up to him screaming bloody murder, and I decide that don't want to know."

"Trust me," said Ginny somberly, "you don't."

"I thought so," Renee nodded. After a moment, she smiled again. "So, you like the Lucky Country, then?"

"Very much."

"Sorry for the mad week. Usually we don't have that many at once, but . . . It's over now. Hardly saw you around."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, I just like exploring on my own," Ginny said quickly.

"No worries, mate."

A moment of silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Ginny closed her eyes and tilted her head up, basking in the warm sunshine as they rode another swell. When she felt Renee's gaze on her again, she opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," shrugged Renee, smiling crookedly. "I was just thinking . . . Your cozzie really suits you. Tommy told me the other day."

"Yes, he told me too," Ginny muttered.

Renee arched an eyebrow. "Does he bother you?"

"Not really," she said. "I'm just not used to . . . handy blokes, you know? Most of the blokes I hung with at Hogwarts didn't flirt like that. And we had robes, not this," she added, gesturing at her darkened jade suit.

"I can keep him away, if you want," said Renee.

"You mean you haven't yet? I've heard Harry ask you twice about that." As soon as she said it, Ginny wished she hadn't.

Renee grinned like a cat seeing the bird's cage door had been left open. "Yes, he's been riding me about that. Not too fond of anyone cracking onto you, is he? Rather protective mate you've got there."

"He's practically my brother," Ginny said as convincingly and dismissively as she could. "In fact, you should have seen Ron when he found out about my first boyfriend."

"If Harry's like your brother," said Renee wryly, "you must believe in incest."

"What?!"

She had just a second to register this and react before a waved broke, sending them sprawling into the ocean. Then everything was darkness, roaring, and rolling until the wave passed and she found Up. When she surfaced, she found Renee several feet away, gripping the board and casting around for her. Ginny swam over to her, spitting revolting saltwater as she went.

"I can't believe you said that," she choked out, taking hold of the board.

Renee smirked. "I'm hoping that's a negative on the incest?"

"You're sick." Ginny shuddered.

"Hey, you're the one who said Harry's like a brother to you, and I've seen how he looks at you—especially in that cozzie—and if any of your rellies look at you like that . . ." Renee trailed off and winked at Ginny.

"Fine, he's not a brother to me," Ginny snapped. "Let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Right, right . . ." They remounted the surfboard and drifted in between the swells again. "But one of these days he's going to burst," said Renee offhandedly, "and what happens after that will definitely be illegal for siblings."

From underneath half-closed lids, Harry watched Ginny and Renee make their way down the beach. He let out a little groan, silently cursing and blessing Renee for insisting Ginny wear that damn koala bikini. It served him right for giving in to her goading earlier. When she'd come home shortly after Mrs. Weasley's Howler, Renee had asked why he'd spent so much time in the shower (she'd been waiting to use the toilet), and also why Ginny was furiously scribbling a letter in her bikini. Harry had explained about the Howler, but refused to explain for his prolonged duration under cold water or why he refused to enter the kitchen with Ginny there. Unfortunately, Renee was quick on the uptake and had followed Harry into his room to tease him mercilessly until he admitted in an angry hiss that, yes, he very much liked Ginny's swimwear.

Speaking of swimwear . . . Now, on the beach, Harry was glad she'd opted to keep a shirt on until just a moment ago. Having her sitting beside him in that would have not helped his current mood, simply because he couldn't do anything about it.

It's bad enough as it is without more . . . tension, Harry thought darkly. His mood had progressively darkened through the week. The flat had been utter insanity, Ginny had been as absent and distant as possible, and he was growing rather weary of it.

It was like seventh year, except that he did not have Ron and Hermione or his impending face-off with Voldemort to distract his thoughts. Despite spending most of his life pretending that everything was 'fine,' Harry was growing rather tired of pretending things were just so between him and Ginny. Actually, we're not pretending everything's fine, we've just gotten used to living when nothing is fine.

Sighing, Harry rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin on his arms so he could gaze out at the ocean. After a moment, he spotted Ginny and Renee straddling the surfboard, completely in the wrong spot to surf. They looked to be deep in conversation.

Deeply nestled guilt rose in Harry again as he watched them. He knew exactly where things had gone wrong, exactly how he'd blown everything: when he'd lost control of his emotions and thought to hell with all this logical thinking. It ranked right up there with fifth year, but it had been because of fifth year he'd thought like that in the first place. How could he possibly allow more-than-friends feelings overwhelm him when he had Voldemort to contend with? One: Voldemort could use Ginny against Harry as he had Sirius, and Two: Harry had a very good chance of being a dead man at any given time. Cho Chang hadn't exactly been an encouraging example of what can happen to a girl when her boyfriend is murdered by Voldemort. And, anyway, Ginny had given up on him, they'd been friends for a couple of years now. Surely he didn't want to blow that?

But he had. Whether it had been the actual act of kissing her or the lie afterwards that was the mistake, he couldn't entirely be sure, but he was banking on the lie. Why else would she have run off or demanded he look her in the eye and deny everything? But then she was captured—entirely his fault, because she would have never strayed from the castle—and when he next saw her, ready to confess everything, he'd been too late. She'd been beyond reach. When he tried to reach she'd pushed him away, and he'd let her.

I shouldn't let her, he'd told himself so many times. But he always did. Why should he push back when she so clearly did not want to be close to him again? He did not know all of what had happened to her while in Voldemort's captive, no one did, but somewhere in there she'd lost any feelings for him that she might have returned. Sometimes he wondered if she'd discovered his bluff, had realized he'd lied to her, and as such, had never forgiven him and, thus, was punishing him. But that was so unlike her, because Ginny was a very forgiving person.

Or maybe he just cut her too deep.

Over the last half-year of his time at Hogwarts, Harry had rather thought that not all of Ginny's change had to do with that terrible night. Obviously, her time in Malfoy Manor had deeply affected her. What the hell did they do to her? How could she survive the Chamber of Secrets as she had, but then Malfoy Manor could completely steal her spirit—soul—whatever you wanted to call it—out of her?

He'd brooded over this in his seventh year and again months after the initial darkness that consumed him after Voldemort's fall. His mentality and spirit worsened through those awful months, not at all helped by the physical exhaustion he'd forced upon himself in a vain hope to stop thinking and feeling. One night after a particularly nasty nightmare (after he'd finally fallen asleep), he'd looked into the mirror to find his face as pale, his eyes as dead, as Ginny's had been that day in the infirmary. He recalled how she'd thrown herself into her schoolwork, causing even Hermione to raise her eyebrows. Such busy work had not improved Ginny's paleness or tired, dull eyes. Then, as he thought over all of this, Remus, Ron, and Hermione's nagging, worried words began to sink in, and Harry started to realize he could not live like this.

Of course, listening to them also meant he had to face the worst questions. Who was he, really? If he'd been born into a prophecy and now fulfilled it, what was he beyond The Boy Who Lived? Did he serve any other purpose? How was he supposed to go on, normal, no longer The Boy Who Lived, when all those people had died for him and for freedom? He knew what everyone would say, because they always said it: "You are not responsible for the lives of others. They chose to fight. You-Know-Who chose to kill people. You lived, you saved us, now you can live your life, free of Voldemort, surrounded by those who survived with you and love you."

And while a very big part of Harry wanted to find this normalcy, finally push off the burden that had been The Boy Who Lived, another very deep part of him was frightened that the world, his friends and surrogate family, and he himself would discover that there really was nothing else to Harry Potter than a prophecy and a "saving people thing."

So, he'd agreed to Remus' little idea and set off to answer some of these questions. Although he was fairly settled with himself now—he knew he could never remove the guilt, pain, anger, or hate—he did not know if he could ever find the "normalcy" others spoke of, or if he could shake that damnable nobility that Hermione had put in such delicate terms. It was ingrained within him.

And it killed him that he, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and Vanquished the Dark Lord Forever, couldn't right the wrong he saw suddenly disappearing under a wave.

He sat up in alarm. Squinting in the sunlight, he searched the waves and saw Renee's purple board riding the break. A moment later, the board snapped backward as it came to the end of its tether to her ankle. Her head popped out of the water then. After another moment, Ginny reappeared and swam over to the board.

Letting the air whoosh out of him in relief, Harry lay back down and tried to think of something else; but he knew it was useless when he felt broody like this. At least when he thought about Ginny, he didn't have to think about Sirius, Percy's near death, Hagrid or Dumbledore, or the countless others who died so he, Harry, could try to figure out how to live without fear and death.

About ten minutes later, Harry heard the shuffling of sand and Renee's singsong voice. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch them, feeling both pain and pleasure at watching Ginny come closer.

"I could do with some pizza," announced Renee, flopping down onto her towel.

"How're the waves?" Harry asked, watching Ginny out of the corner of his eyes. She seemed keen on not looking at him as she stretched out on her towel to dry off. Her hair was tangled and spilled over the sand, causing the white grains to darken from the water running off. Sand also clumped at her ankles and dusted up her calves . . .

"Oh, they're cactus today," said Renee. She slapped him playfully on the arm. "Lucky us—Ginny and I had a nice little chat, didn't we, Gin?"

"Mmm," Ginny murmured, slipping sunglasses over her eyes. Judging by the tension of her jaw line, Harry had a feeling it hadn't exactly been lighthearted.

I'll have to watch what I say to Renee, he thought warily. Not that I tell her much, but . . . she's got Hermione's cleverness mixed with Lavender and Parvati's girliness . . . Shaking his head a little to clear it, he frowned at Renee. "We can't have pizza yet. What about practice?"

"You're really too into this training thing," said Renee, tossing her tangled, wet hair over her shoulder. "It's just a pub league, Hay."

"Fine, have your pizza. I'll laugh when you chunder all over Hugo," said Harry lightly.

"Er—good point," she conceded. "Right, I reckon even you can't knock back pizza tonight."

Harry nodded his ascent, then turned to glance once again at Ginny, who seemed to be mimicking his own pretend earlier. "You up for pizza, Gin?" he asked. What he really wanted to ask was whether or not she'd even be around tonight.

"Sure," she said, her slight shoulders giving a little shrug.

"I suppose we should be getting back then," Renee sighed as she turned Harry's wrist over to check his watch. "Are you coming too, Gin?"

"To the practice?"

Harry perked up at this. If Ginny came to the practice, then she definitely wouldn't have a chance to stay out all night. "Yeah," he said quickly, hoping he didn't sound too hopeful. Ginny seemed to balk every time he expressed anything less than mere indifference. "You could come and watch. We usually have a few friends on the ground, anyway."

Behind her reflecting shades, Harry couldn't discern what she was thinking, but her mouth was set a little crookedly as she mulled this over. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders again and said, "Sure, why not?"

"Bonzer!" Renee then began clearing up their little camp. Much to Harry's disappointment and relief, Ginny pulled on her t-shirt and shorts again, and soon they were Disapparating behind the boulder to the apartment.

Neither Harry nor Renee bothered to shower off the sand and saltwater before changing into their Quidditch gear. What was the point when all they'd do was take another one when they returned? Ginny detangled her hair and pulled it back into a loose ponytail and was ready when they were.

As Harry grabbed his Firebolt, he couldn't help but feel a wonderful, excited tightening in his stomach and his blood accelerated through his veins. Quidditch. He loved it. He didn't care that he was only playing on a mismatched side sponsored by a little dingy pub down the street. Quidditch was Quidditch and nothing that happened on the ground once he was in the air mattered.

"Oh, look at him fondle his broomstick," Renee giggled as she grabbed her own Nimbus 2500.

"Oh, rack off," Harry mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat and his mouth turn up despite himself. She always gave him crap about his eagerness to train.

They Apparated to Moore Park. Although the much larger and neighboring Centennial Park had the best pitches, the small local teams usually played in a little tucked away corner of Moore Park, right smack behind some very big Muggle sport and entertainment attractions. Luckily, it was easy for a Muggle to write off a misdirected wizard as someone from Fox Studios.

Harry and Renee were used to Apparating to their pitch and rarely accidentally found themselves around sets and studios. Ginny arrived without incident. Immediately Harry led them toward the pitch, his eagerness growing as they veered away from the pond with a bordering Muggle path. They had to zigzag a certain way between the trees for their own path to materialize over the parched grass. Harry knew it was going to be a sweltering practice before the sun fell, but if they started any later then they would have the glare of the setting sun to impede visibility. If this had been a professional team on a genuine league pitch, they would practice at night under several illumination spells that appeared as dark, evening shadows to any wandering Muggle eye.

We should be grateful for the spells we have now, he thought as they dipped drastically into a wide, grassy, oval pit that looked like the volcano pit he'd seen in Auckland, New Zealand. Bordering the pitch were tall, leafy trees that anchored the concealment wards that enabled players to reach proper Quidditch heights. Down in the pitch, Harry could see Hugo's massive shoulders and arms flexing as he swung his bat. Tiny Shelly looked to be in deep in conversation with Evan, the third Chaser, and Steve, the other Beater. Katherine, their Keeper was treating the Quaffle like a football, dribbling and bouncing it around with her feet and knees.

"You can sit anywhere on the slope or up by the trees," Harry told Ginny, turning toward her as Renee mounted her broom to travel down to the pitch. "The slope's rather steep, though."

Ginny looked at him, her face open with curiosity. "I'll find a spot. This place is really great!"

Harry smiled. He knew he should say something in reply, but he couldn't think of anything that didn't sound lame, and he could hear Hugo bellowing for him to get down to the pitch. So, feeling sheepish, he mounted his Firebolt and shot down to the pitch, his world briefly becoming nothing but the blur of grass and the wind whipping his cheeks.

As he neared the bottom of the pit, he reached out his fingers to brush the grass as his other hand pulled the Firebolt up. Exhilarated by the pure rush, he couldn't help but grin as he dismounted next to his teammates. Renee rolled her eyes at his dive and Shelly smiled cheerfully at him.

"Good mood, Harry?" she asked in her soft voice.

"Potter, you're the only bloke I know when in a good mood tries to cark it," said Evan lazily.

"Harry's got his girl up there," Renee said wickedly. "He's got to be a show pony."

Every face turned to him, grinning. Harry shot Renee a glowering look.

"Ginny?" rumbled Hugo, his teeth flashing whitely through his grizzly face.

"Where is she?" Evan asked, shading his eyes as he looked up at the surrounding trees. "The usual mob is on the far end—ah. Who can miss that hair?"

Despite himself, Harry followed Evan's pointing finger up to see Ginny settling herself about mid-pitch, her hair glinting vibrantly under the late afternoon sun. "Yeah," he said as casually as he could, "but I told you all she's just a mate from school."

"Just a mate?" Evan went on, raising a dark eyebrow disbelievingly. "Just mates don't come down from England to watch you play backyard Quidditch."

"Well," said Harry, feeling very irritated, "there's nothing to watch since we're blathering around on the ground, is there?"

Evan grinned widely and winked. "Righto! Hugo, I reckon we better listen to him before he gets his dander up." As Hugo's laugh reverberated through the little group, Evan flashed Harry another grin and flipped his sunglasses on. Everyone followed his gesture, and then Hugo was barking out orders for them to mount their brooms and begin warm-up.

Wearing Muggle shades was a common practice amongst Australian Quidditch players during these afternoon practices and matches. Wizards modified them to aid their game any way they could. Armed with Sticking, Unbreakable, and Impervious charms, these glasses also were designed to dampen the brightness of the sun without creating more shadow on the pitch. Harry had seen Muggle lenses of lighter colors designed to do the same thing, but he rather thought seeing the world through shades of blue or pink would hinder his search for the Snitch.

He tapped his own glasses and the glare of the sun softened. Then he was in the air again, all his senses falling into the communion between broom and air as he began his warm-up routine. He knew he would be in the air for hours and would land feeling as if he'd only been up for a few minutes. When Hugo thought Harry had contributed all he could to the team drills and maneuvering, he set the Snitch free and Harry completely lost himself in the hunt. The authorized local league Snitches tended to be trickier and rather playful compared to the Hogwarts Standard . . .

"When's your first match?" Ginny asked Harry that evening as she reached for a slice of hamburger and mushroom pizza with extra cheese. Steam rose deliciously off the top. Hot pain spiked through her thumb and she dropped the piping hot slice on her plate and hissed. Sucking on her thumb, she raised an eyebrow at Harry, who hadn't answered but was watching her amusedly.

He'd been in an exceptionally good mood after practice. Ginny had to admit she'd felt rather exhilarated watching Harry dive spectacularly, daring gravity and magic as usual. She had to confess that the only downside on playing on the same team as Harry while at Hogwarts had been not being able to watch him play.

"Next Saturday," said Harry, snatching a slice of pepperoni. He wiped his hand on his jeans and then hopped up onto the island, ignoring the barstools that Ginny had only seen used by herself and the roaming backpackers. "I can't wait. If we get up to the top four, we get to play on the proper pitch in Centennial."

"Don't get your hopes up," said Renee from the fridge, where she was grabbing cans of soda. "I've played on the Dingoes for two years now, and we haven't made it to the top ten."

"But now you've got Harry," said Ginny, tossing him a knowing grin. Harry modestly ducked his head, but she saw the corners of his mouth pushing up his cheeks. "Hasn't he ever told you he's the youngest Seeker in a century? And has never lost a game without near death as excuse."

"That was just at school," Harry said, shrugging. "It'll be different now."

"Harry, this isn't the pros," said Ginny. She hopped up onto the counter beside him, not wanting to be teased for sitting on a barstool and because the pizza boxes took up the rest of the counter. Sitting so close to him, her elbow accidentally brushing his, she breathed in his freshly showered, soapy scent. His hair was still wet . . .

"She's right," Renee said, tossing them each a can of soda. She grabbed a slice of each pizza and sat on the opposite counter, letting her heels bang loudly on the doors. "This is really just a bunch of dags who played in school but can't handle the pros."

"And besides," said Ginny, trying to ignore the heat of Harry's body so close to hers, "you're as brilliant as ever." Talking about Harry's Quidditch skills had never been a blushing subject for her. She blew on her hot pizza before carefully sinking her teeth into the melted cheese, hot sauce, and delicious crust.

"You think so?" said Harry, turning to look at her, a rather shy, embarrassed smile on his face.

"No, I honestly think you're the worst player I've ever seen," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't know what McGonagall was thinking when she took you on as Seeker. It's really tragic that Gryffindor couldn't have a decent Seeker like Slytherin—OW!"

Ginny let out a shriek as Harry's sharp jab nearly sent her sprawling to the floor. She dropped her plate and it crashed spectacularly into several pieces. Harry, however, didn't seem to notice as he fixed her with a steely glare, only the twitching corners of his mouth telling her that he knew she was joking.

"Stupid git," she muttered. Pointing her wand at the pieces, she said, "Reparo! Oh, you ruined my slice! Evanesco!" Then she twirled her wand between her fingers and pointed it at Harry dangerously. "I can fix you right up, Potter, like I did Malfoy."

Harry laughed and batted her wand away. "Here, we have plenty left," he said, taking her newly restored plate and sliding another slice of pizza onto it.

Ginny grabbed her plate and stuck her tongue out at him. "You'll pay for that, you know," she said, opening her soda. "I plan to owl Fred and George. I had an idea while watching practice, actually. I can't believe I didn't think of it before."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" Harry struggled with his stringy cheese for a moment.

"You know how I was on the Ashwinders for a bit?" When he nodded distractedly (he was still having issues with the abundance of cheese, and she had to try hard not to giggle at The Boy Done-In By Cheese), she went on, "Well, we've been in need of patronage, but it's sort of hard to get it in London. We're not a business side or anything. Anyway, it just occurred to me tonight that I should have asked Fred and George to sponsor us!"

"That's a brilliant idea," Harry said enthusiastically, his cheese problem temporarily in hand. He wiped the sauce off the corner of his mouth. "They'd probably do it, you know. Just don't let them try to improve your game with new broom inventions or anything."

"I just wish I'd thought of it sooner," Ginny said, pleased that Harry thought it was a good idea but somber because she knew exactly why she hadn't thought of it sooner. At that time, she'd been avoiding family, and asking Fred and George to sponsor her team would have definitely not been the way to go. Although she was no longer on the Ashwinders (she'd begged Alyson to let Alicia Spinnet know), Ginny had no doubt her brothers would jump at her request.

Thinking about her self-indicted estrangement brought her mood down and a silence fell over her and Harry, punctuated by the sound of chewing and slurping.

"Oi!" Renee suddenly exclaimed, jumping off her perch. "I forgot! Bugger it . . ." Muttering to herself, she disappeared into the living room, yelling "Accio remote!" The TV flicked on and Renee flopped down onto the couch.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Harry, who rolled his eyes at his roommate's antics. She smiled a little and turned back to her pizza. When she shifted a bit (the counter didn't exactly come with cushions), her right arm brushed against Harry. She bit her lip and stopped squirming, trying to ignore the little bumps running up her arm.

"You know, Harry," she said, wanting to cover up the silence between them, "I've always wondered something."

"Hmm?" He seemed rather engrossed in his pizza.

"Why don't you try out for pro?"

Harry stopped in his feeding to stare at her. "You serious?"

She nodded. "I don't see why not. You're brilliant and you love it so much, you really should do it." At his still surprised look, she raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"Well, I—I have," Harry confessed, his face falling a bit. "But you have to be really good and . . . and I just don't know if I—if I should." He said the last bit very quietly.

"What do you mean if you should?" she frowned, tilting her head to try and see his face as he ducked it.

"Nothing."

"It must be something." Ginny rolled her eyes, but then she frowned again as he gave a little, almost inaudible sigh. "Come on, Harry," she said quietly, instinctively giving him a gentle nudge. "What's wrong with playing Quidditch?"

Harry didn't respond immediately, but after a moment, he glanced at her, confliction obvious in his familiar, close face. "Well, it's . . . it's not really anything, is it? It's just a game in the air with balls and bats."

Her mouth fell open. If Ron had heard this, he would have Stunned Harry on the spot and carted him off to St. Mungo's insanity ward to keep Lockhart company. Harry seemed rather pained as he dropped his gaze to his pizza crust, all the glory from his flying session rolling off his slumped shoulders. She realized then what he was getting at and felt a dense tightness in her chest.

"Harry," she said quietly, "whenever Hermione said that Quidditch was just some silly, trivial game, she completely missed the point. Yes, it is a game, and yes, in the grand scheme of things, it's rather unimportant. But it can mean different things to different people. If you love something, can find joy in it, you should do it. Not just because you're Harry Potter and you above everyone deserve to do something fun, but because we all should. Otherwise, what's the bloody point?"

Harry finally looked up, his mouth agape, but Ginny wasn't done yet. "And bullocks to doing something important and meaningful. What the bloody hell did you do the past eight years, Harry? I would think you've done enough services to society—to lives—to be feeling indebted and responsible. You might have wanted to be an Auror when you were at Hogwarts, but by what everyone said, you certainly weren't happy when you started your training.

"So, I say go play Quidditch. Charlie wasted his talent—that was fine, he has a dragon fetish that needs to be taken care of—but I'd hate to see you waste yours. You might have a passion for righting the wrong—which is better than scaly beasts spitting fire—but I think it's unhealthy for you right now. And, anyway, you can always go back to your Auror training if you decide you don't want to play Quidditch, but at least then you'll know and you can say you tried, and you can truly say 'HA!' to Voldemort's grave because he didn't take that from you, Harry—"

She stopped abruptly, realizing that she'd been rambling and her voice had gotten rather loud and angry. Harry's eyes were still wide and he was smiling at her, his shoulders trembling with barely contained laughter.

"Well," said Ginny, straightening her shoulders with dignity, "it's true. You need to play Quidditch."

His shoulders stopped trembling. "I needed to hear that," Harry said quietly, that small smile still in place, his green eyes bright. "Thank you."

Before she could stop him, he leaned toward her and kissed her temple. The mixing scent of pizza and soap overwhelmed her for an instant, but then he was leaning back, leaving the air to cool the warm, moist spot on her temple.

She couldn't breathe. For a wild, erratic moment, she envisioned herself grabbing him and demanding that he kiss her properly—but it vanished as reality jerked her back painfully. She felt every muscle in her body tense, every nerve attune itself to either the man sitting silently beside her or the spot his pizza-greased lips had just marked.

"You're welcome," her mouth said quietly, rather tremulously, without her consent. She thanked it silently for being sensible.

Beside her, Harry suddenly seemed to breathe again as well. He grabbed another slice of pizza and took a drink of his soda before saying, "I'll have to ask Ron if he can get me tryout information."

"He'll only get you the Canons," said Ginny, her mouth dutifully running itself while the rest of her was trying to sort itself out.

"That could be a problem," Harry agreed. "I've nothing against the Canons, but . . ." He shrugged. "Then again, I doubt I could make Puddlemere. There's also the Magpies, I guess. Definitely not the Falcons, Malfoy supported them . . ."

Ginny let him ramble, wishing she could latch onto the excitement building in his voice. Despite all of her walls, despite consistently pushing him away, she knew that—not even deep down—she'd wanted, in that brief moment of contact, for Harry to continue, to continue where he'd left off on Halloween two years ago . . .

" . . . Maybe I could get second string. That's not so bad. Seekers go down more than anyone else, and maybe after a couple of years I could make first . . ."

If she hadn't been so preoccupied with the confliction battling inside her, she would have laughed outright at how much Harry sounded like Ron just now. She'd never heard him babble so enthusiastically before, not even about Australia when she'd first gotten here.

"OI!" Alyson yelled from the living room. "Why don't you shut your fat gab, Potter? I'm trying to watch the telly!"

Harry couldn't fall asleep.

Stretched on his back, the sheets kicked off, he lay with his arms over his head as he listened to the distant sounds of the night. His room was dark with shadows from the city lights. Hedwig had left hours ago: not to hunt, but to send of his and Ginny's letters. She'd given him a reproachful look. Hedwig hated international mail; Harry had a feeling his owl found the international transport undignified.

Tonight's insomnia had little to do with brooding. A heaviness had lifted from his shoulders during the conversation over the pizza: he had a purpose now completely devoted to himself, something that Voldemort had absolutely nothing to do with. He'd wanted it but had been afraid to take it. This wasn't an action spurred by Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived—it was he, Harry, feeling boyish and excited over Quidditch and excelling at something not involving the fight against the Dark Arts.

And Ginny was right—if he decided he'd rather be an Auror than a professional Quidditch player, he still had the offer open from the Auror department. It's not about deserving or not deserving, it's about what I want and what makes me happy. Otherwise, what's the bloody point?

In the dark silence of his bedroom, Harry frowned, fastening on the dark, underlying confusion that had been kept in check by his newfound exhilaration. How strange to hear about happiness from someone who looked so miserable most of the time. He'd felt it envelope her after he'd . . . well, after he'd kissed her.

Harry groaned and closed his eyes over the memory. He'd known what he was doing, and it had felt right, damn it. It had taken every ounce of his control not to express his emotion more. Her hair had smelled of coconuts . . .

But . . . it had passed. She spoke and he took her signal, ready to cover the heightened tension between them as she did not meet his eye and grew pale as she picked at her pizza. After Renee yelled for him to shut up, Ginny had gone to watch the telly as well. Throughout the evening spent watching a movie, Renee kept looking between them and giving Harry meaningful looks. Finally, when Harry rather thought the air couldn't get any thicker, Ginny announced she was going to bed.

Harry had followed suit, not wanting to answer to Renee.

Now he lay awake, hours later, with a mind too busy to sleep, his body too aware that just on the other side of the wall, Ginny was shifting in her sleep.

Shifting in her sleep . . .

Harry frowned and leaned his head toward the wall. Muffled sounds floated through the small bit of wall between them, sounds not of a peaceful person turning over but more like a struggle . . . Something thumped against the wall, the sheets rustled, and he could hear muttering. At first her voice was incoherent, but as it grew louder, he could make out her hysterical words.

"I didn't do it! It wasn't me! IT WASN'T ME!"

She screamed.

Harry bolted out of bed. A loud thud followed by sobbing brought him to the door. He wrenched it open in time to see Ginny stumble into the bathroom. Her choked sobs and muttering echoed in the corridor before she slammed the door behind her. The light flicked on. Two seconds later he heard her retch violently.

"Wha—?" Renee yawned, opening her bedroom door.

Harry shook his head and went to the bathroom door. He grimaced as she retched again; he had planned on knocking, but considering that she was in no condition to answer . . .

Opening the door slowly, he cautiously entered the bathroom. "Ginny?" he said softly, wincing at the scene before him.

Her long, flaming hair hung over the sides of the toilet, obscuring her face as her body jerked painfully. He'd once seen Hermione sick after she'd seen a wizard's head get blown off by a curse. Harry, too sickened and shocked to do anything at that time, had stood by and watched as Ron pulled Hermione's wild hair back and rubbed her back soothingly while his own face looked white with horror.

"Ginny?" he said again, coming closer, finding this scene somehow more painful than when Hermione had lost it.

She said something he couldn't understand, gave a convulsive lurch, and he heard a sickening splash.

"It . . . it wasn't me," she cried, her shoulders shaking. "But it was—it was!"

"Sssh, it's okay," Harry said quietly, kneeling down beside her. The pungent aroma hit his nose, but he tried to breathe through his mouth and not look disgusted. "It was just a nightmare, Ginny."

She sobbed harder but did not vomit again. Harry swallowed, and then, rather awkwardly, he followed Ron's example and reached out, scooping her long, thick hair away from her face like a curtain. It was damp and tangled from sweat, but he gathered it as gently as he could and held it back, letting his wrist rest between her shoulder blades so he wouldn't accidentally jerk and pull any out. Her skin was hot and moist under his hand, and he could feel her muscles twitch as she sobbed brokenly.

Unable to hide from him, she lifted her red, tear-streaked face.

Harry quickly used his other arm to grab some tissue from the box by the sink. "Here," he said, handing her a bunch.

Wordlessly, she accepted them and wiped the evidence off her lips. When she tossed the used tissue into the toilet, Harry flushed the contents. Ginny shut her eyes tightly, her lips gray and trembling.

"Do you want a drink of water?" asked Harry.

She nodded and sat back. Harry reluctantly let go of her hair as she rested her head against the wall. He turned to get some water, but Renee stood in the threshold holding out a glass, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Thanks," he said, taking it and settling back down beside Ginny. "Here."

She opened her bloodshot, dull eyes and took the glass in her shaking hands. It spilled over and Harry quickly held onto it, alarmed as tears began to gather on her bottom lashes. Under his hands, hers continued to tremble. Merlin, please don't cry! I don't know how to handle crying girls . . .

But her tears did not spill down her cheeks again. Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled the glass toward her. Harry let go, watching as the glass shook but did not spill again. She drank thirstily, the hollow of her neck rising and falling with every swallow.

"Is she all right?" Renee whispered, coming in closer.

"Yeah," said Harry, though he did not know. "She had a nightmare." Although he'd woken up screaming before, he had never actually vomited from a nightmare.

When Ginny drained the glass, she let out a moan as her head thumped back against the wall. Her entire body seemed to collapse in exhaustion. The glass slipped from her fingers, but Harry caught it before it hit the floor. Renee wordlessly took it.

"A damp cloth helps," she said quietly before leaving for the kitchen.

Harry jumped up and found a washcloth. When he'd squeezed the excess water out of it, he folded it up and knelt beside Ginny again. Her eyes fluttered and her head rolled to the side. Feeling inadequate but wanting to do something helpful, he gently pressed the cloth against her forehead. She jerked slightly, but some of the tension in her face eased. He shifted so that his shoulder rested against the wall as he faced her, keeping the cloth in place.

"I killed Macnair, you know," she said dully, her voice scratchy.

Harry stared at her slack, tired face. She opened her eyes and stared deadly over his shoulder.

"What . . ." he swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"I killed him. I told Nagini to bite him." She turned toward him then, her head rolling along the wall, her mouth turned up coldly, lifelessly. "I'm a murderer, Harry."

And then her face caved in, her tears spilling over. Harry, in his shock, thought she might start convulsing again, but she just hung her head as tears fell into her lap.

"No, Ginny," he said urgently, her words echoing through his head. "Macnair was a Death Eater. He murdered innocent people. You—this was when you were captured, right?" His chest twisted viciously. She nodded slightly, hiding again behind her mane. "Obviously, this was self-defense—I would have done the same—"

"No, Harry," she whispered, lifting her face to gaze glassily at him. "You only ever killed Voldemort, and that was because you had to. I—I did because I was—I-I—"

But whatever it was, she couldn't say. Harry felt anger boiling in him. He knew what the Death Eaters had been capable of, what they'd done to their victims. The Cruciatus Curse may have been their specialty, but he knew that they'd taken pleasure in using Muggle violence to humiliate and harm their victims.

"What did he do to you, Ginny?" he asked tightly, dropping the washcloth. "What did that bastard—"

"Nothing. Macnair did nothing to me. He guarded me."

Harry's mouth went dry at her words. She had not killed Macnair to protect herself from violation and pain. But surely—Madam Pomfrey had said her body had been ravaged by repeated Cruciatus—she had to have been pushed to the point of murder . . .

"I'm a killer," she said again, disgust and hate strengthening her broken voice.

"No, no you're not," Harry said vehemently. "Ginny—look at me—" When she didn't comply, he reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes remained lowered, but he went with what he had. "Listen—Macnair was a Death Eater. He was a killer. He showed no remorse. Remember, Buckbeak? He liked murder, Ginny, he was an executioner for the Ministry and Voldemort. You're not a killer. It's hurting you. If you were a killer, you wouldn't be losing that pizza in the toilet, you wouldn't be crying.

"Do you hear me? You're—not—a—killer."

She looked up at him through glazed eyes and did not nod.

Harry dropped his hand, admitting defeat. He hated it. "My God—" he swore and wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her tightly against his chest, knowing no other way to express his anger and despair. Only then did he remember that he wasn't wearing a t-shirt. Still he held on, her breath irregular on his neck, cursing Voldemort's memory.

"Harry," Ginny said weakly after a minute, "you're hurting me."

Quickly, he eased his hold, unwilling to let go quite yet. She felt so frail and tight, as if she'd shatter at any moment.

"Harry, please," she pleaded, sounding as if she were going to break again. "You're hurting me."

"I'm barely—"

"I know," she whispered, sliding back from him, his hands slipping from around her. She lifted her eyes to him; they were dark with pain. "It still hurts . . ."

"What does?" he asked. Unable to let her go yet, he touched her cheek, sliding his hand along her wet face. She flinched at his touch and her lips moved soundlessly. Tell her! "Am I hurting you?" he whispered, feeling icy hot guilt fill his stomach and shoot up through his chest to his throat.

Nodding, she closed her eyes.

Tell her now!

He could be hurting her worse for this, but he did not know what else to do, and he didn't think he could take the strain much longer. Not after tonight, not after seeing her like this, holding her like this . . .

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he whispered throatily.

"Harry—"

"No!" He dropped his head, pressing his forehead against hers. The salty scent of her tears mixed with sweat, skin, and shampoo, filling his shallow breaths. "No, Ginny," he said firmly, still managing only a low voice. "I'm saying it."

"Please—"

"I lied to you," he plunged on, her tiny breaths coming quick against his left cheek as he spoke into her right ear, his hand behind her neck, holding her against him. He had to say it. "I lied to you. I thought I could protect you. I know now I can't. I'm so sorry, Ginny. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did. I'm sorry."

He stopped, because he knew no other way to say it. She had to know what he meant. "Ginny?" he whispered, when he could not feel her breath against his cheek.

She sucked in a shallow, shaky breath and he lifted his head away to see her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her face completely white under her freckles. If anything, she looked even worse than a moment before . . .

"I know," she said forcefully, not looking at him. "I figured that out. But, Harry," and now she turned to him, her face cold, her eyes rigid, "I meant what I said. We—we can't be anything more than . . . more than friends."

He might as well have been punched in the gut. It would have hurt him less.

Harry dropped his hand and his back hit the toilet.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny said softly.

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why?" he bit out, looking at her sharply. "Why can't we—you know—"

Ginny sighed heavily and closed her eyes and he could almost see her closing in on herself. "I can't tell you. It just hurts too much." She sounded too tired to hold even a note of pain or remorse in her voice.

Feeling much the same way, too exhausted to store any more emotion, Harry raked his hair and found the mind to say, "Do you need any more water?"

She stared at him for a long moment, and then the tiniest, merest stretch of her lips told Harry that if they'd been in slightly better conditions, she would have smiled. "That would be nice," she said tiredly. Before Harry could jump up to get it, she started to push off the floor. He quickly grabbed her elbow to help. She seemed too tired to protest.

"I'm fine," said Ginny, once she was standing. "Really." But she didn't even try to smile.

Harry let go and she started, somewhat weakly, toward the door. He followed, disturbed and wretched from what had unfolded on the cold floor.

Renee was sitting on a barstool finishing off a pint of mint and chip ice cream. She looked at Harry questioningly, but he just shook his head.

"I can run and get some more, if you want," she offered, tipping the empty container toward them.

"No, but thanks," said Ginny.

She headed for the fridge and Harry slid onto a barstool across from Renee. He buried his face in his hands, pushed his palms into his eyes, and then terrorized his hair once more. He had a brief flash of his father messing up his hair for his mother . . . but James did it to impress; Harry did it out of frustration.

"Are you all right?" Renee mouthed worriedly.

Harry shook his head. He just wanted to go bed. Not that he could sleep after this . . .

"Renee?" said Ginny from the sink where she was putting her glass. "Is it all right if I watch the telly for awhile?"

"Sure," said Renee, stifling a yawn. "I sleep like a cactus. In fact, I think I'll go . . ." She rose from her seat, casting Harry a 'we'll-talk-in-the-morning' look.

Harry watched her leave, wondering helplessly over what he should do now. He didn't want to look at Ginny, didn't want to bear the strain that had not eased between them with his confession, but neither did he feel right or safe in leaving her alone.

"Harry?" she said tentatively. "You can . . . you can watch too, if you want." When he glanced at her, she bit her lip and faced the floor. "I'd rather not be alone. It's still a strange place . . ."

"Yeah. All right."

They sat on different wings of the lounge and channel flipped. Harry felt his eyes grow heavy as he stared at the meaningless images flashing across the screen. Eventually he surrendered to his drowsiness and laid down, his head on the puffy, comfortable arm rest and his feet stretching to the corner. He tried to stay awake as Ginny showed no signs of sleep, sitting up with her legs folded under her, the TV reflecting in her glazed eyes. But exhaustion and his emotional vacuum overtook him, and soon he was lost in blissful darkness . . .

And now for another Aussie vocab lesson:

Piker – someone who has no fun

Sook – somebody soft

Crack onto (someone) – hit on someone

Knock back – refuse

Cark it – to die