A/N: Am very pleased with self, because have plotted this all out now (usually I only have the vaguest idea what will happen ahead), and that should make it easier to get the chaps out to you (hehe – sounds like I'm pimping men or something *grin*). ~let's move it along~ Shez … PS – Thank you for your reviews, they're the cheese on my happy crackers, and the Scotty Crowe in my tour-bus. S.

~

Pig was the only one waiting for them at Platform 9 and ¾. He was fluttering about madly, bearing a letter that was probably over half his weight, and hooted when he saw Harry and Ginny step off the train with their luggage.

"Is that … Pig?" Ginny said, and Harry found that he was smiling too hard to reply. He hadn't seen the little owl since Ron and Hermione departed for Allenhall, but his sounds and movements gave rise to vivid memories of his friends and school years, of riding the Express, even of Sirius. Harry, remembering something Ron had trained his owl to do, whistled uncertainly, and sure enough, Pig came swooping at them. Both Seekers managed to get a hold on him, and then grinned at each other.

"Twenty seconds, hey?" Harry said, and she swatted him before releasing the owl. Harry pulled the letter out of its pouch and handed Pig over to Ginny while he read.

Harry and Gin

Mum went to see Dad, and we can't make it to the station. Can you come home by Floo?  

See you soon,

Ron

The handwriting was wild, barely a scribble, and Ginny frowned at it.

"Looks like he wrote that in a bit of a rush."

"Yeah. Just a bit."

"What's keeping them?"

"Don't know."

"Well, come on, let's find a fireplace."

They headed out into the station, still lugging their bags and broomsticks, Harry managing to give the Hogwarts Express a goodbye glance over his shoulder before moving through the barrier. He wouldn't see it again until the summer was over – and things wouldn't be quite the same then.

~

Harry stumbled out of the Burrow's living room fireplace directly into a blazing row. Ron and Hermione were red-faced, Hermione's hair all over the place and getting in her eyes. Ron had his arms folded and wore a thunderous expression, but it was clearly Hermione's turn to shout, because she was in the middle of a furious sentence. Ginny fell into Harry from behind, with a rush of soot, and he would have moved, but he was transfixed. He hadn't seen them argue like this in a long time.

" – make everything a competition!"

"It's not a bloody competition," Ron retorted, "it's him being after you!"

"Even if he was, Ronald, it's not as though I'd take him up on his offer, is it?"

"Well, how would I know? You seem to like him well enough."

Hermione's mouth fell open and he looked sorry as soon as he'd said it, but his pride quickly overrode apology, and his scowl returned.

"I can't believe you said that," she gasped. "I don't believe you said that! I don't believe you said that, Ron!"

"What, that you might fancy a bit of Richard? Maybe you're protesting too much, Hermione, if you don't mind my saying."

"I do mind you saying," she shouted, "because it's simply not true! I don't fancy a bit of him, and he doesn't fancy a bit of me and – and you're just a pig, Ron Weasley!"

And with that, she spun on her heel and stormed out.

Ron opened his mouth as though to respond, but then shut it again. He stared at his feet for some time, and it wasn't until Harry coughed quietly (there was Floo powder in his throat) that he even noticed they were there. He looked up sharply and blinked before registering exactly who he was looking at.

"Harry!" he said finally. "Gin! Er – sorry – I –"

"Don't worry about it," they said, in near unison, and Ron looked from one to the other before dropping his head.

"Sorry," he muttered again, and then took a deep breath and straightened. "Right. Well, you made it."

"Yeah, we did," said Harry.

"We came by Floo," Ginny added, "since you and 'Mione were – busy."

Harry nudged her, and Ron looked stricken. Harry knew how much he hated fighting with Hermione, how much it set him on edge, but felt fairly helpless in the face of their confrontations. They did things their own way. What could you do but let them sort it out, or change the subject?

In this instance, he chose the latter.

"So where are we kipping?" Harry said, and Ron came back to himself a little.

"Mum's got you in the guest room, I think. I'll take your trunk, Gin."

He did so, and Harry and Ginny followed him up the stairs, even as Ginny questioned him in a puzzled sort of voice.

"Why are we in the guest room? What about mine?"

"Oh – yours?" he asked, rather shiftily, and she frowned at his back.

"Yes, mine, my room."

"Your room – well, it's kind of – being used for other things."

"Other things?" Her voice was ascending slightly in pitch, and Harry would have tried to calm her but his hands were full, and he was concentrating very hard on not falling down the stairs. Ron stopped in the hall, in front of the guest room's open doorway and placed her trunk carefully on the floorboards before speaking again.

"Mum turned your room into a sewing room or something."

Ginny said nothing for several seconds and then shook her head a few times, as though trying to make sense of his words.

"A sewing room?" she repeated disbelievingly. "What about all my stuff?"

"In the attic."

"Ron!"

"Don't look at me," he snapped, "I had nothing to do with it."

"Well, I want my room back!"

"Well, talk to Mum then."

"This is fine for now," Harry said, attempting to placate her, but she pushed his hand from her shoulder.

"No need to be rude, Ron."

"No need to shout at me, Ginny!"

"I'm not shouting!"

"Well good, because I've had a bloody earful this afternoon," he said, too loudly, and Harry finally had to cut in before things got out of hand.

"We'll sort it out when your Mum gets home. Nothing we can do now."

For a moment, he felt as though he was speaking to a class of third-years. Both of them were silent, and then Ron sighed, and Ginny tucked her hair behind her ear quietly, and they were both adults again.

"Sorry," Ron said, rather hopelessly. "It hasn't been a very good day."

"That's alright," she returned. "Doesn't matter."

Ron glanced at Harry and gave him a rueful half-grin. "Good thing you're here, mate."

Harry shrugged, a bit embarrassedly, and then Ron took a step forward and caught him in a rough bear hug. Harry was surprised at first, but hugged him back, and it was so familiar, like hugging a brother. When they released each other, Harry felt such a pull of gladness to see him again that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He punched him lightly on the shoulder, and Ron did the same, and Ginny looked away and tried not to smile.

"Welcome home," Ron said, rather gruffly, and then hugged his little sister too.

And it did feel like home.

~

Mrs Weasley arrived not long after, and swept Harry and Ginny into a warm embrace as soon as she saw them sitting in the kitchen, eating afternoon tea. She exclaimed over Ginny's hair, which she'd cut to just past shoulder-length, and tut-tutted over Harry's (which was more of a mess than ever), and seemed to be having such a marvellous time mothering again that neither of them had the heart to run off. Harry kind of enjoyed it, even. He'd never really been mothered, but Mrs Weasley was an expert, and while Ginny rolled her eyes, he thought how nice it was to have someone worry about you.

He worried about Ginny. He wondered if she knew that, and decided she probably did.

Ginny, quite wisely, did not bring up the sewing room issue just yet. No use spoiling the mood, and with Mrs Weasley, it was always better to address these things after a cool-off period. That way, you couldn't get too worked up, an argument was less likely to arise, and the peace, in general, was more likely to be observed.

'The peace' was a sought-after state in the Weasley house.

At dinner, it was just the six of them – the four young people, and Ron and Ginny's parents. Mr Weasley arrived home perhaps a half-hour before dinner, tired but satisfied. Hermione had descended the stairs at about dusk, slightly calmer, and given Harry and Ginny enthusiastic greetings. She also pretended that absolutely nothing had happened. She and Ron were rather tense, but maintained a cordial quiet in front of the parents.

Harry resolved to ask what was wrong (and what on earth this 'Richard' business was about) the following day. He'd rather not get into it tonight. He was enjoying this too much, this sense of family. He'd felt it last time he spent the summer, and at Christmas Eve, but this, this was different. This was him and Ginny, settling in for a few months, and her parents, and Ron and Hermione who were like his brother and sister really, and it felt so warm and comfortable that he could barely keep the grin off his face.

Ginny put her hand on his knee during dessert. He looked up, and she tilted her head slightly, as if to say 'What is it?'

"What?" he murmured. She squeezed his knee, and it sent a thrill up his spine, and he wondered briefly how she could still do that to him.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Oh – just this. It's nice."

"Nice," she said, glancing about the table, and he put his hand over hers, and squeezed back.

"Yeah. It's nice."

She looked at him a moment, almost searchingly, and then kissed him on the cheek, so quickly he wasn't even sure it had happened. Her hand fell away, and she went back to her food.

When he glanced up, Mrs Weasley was eyeing them, and practically glowing. 

The post-dinner activity involved Ron and Hermione clearing the table, and then heading upstairs, presumably to talk out their differences. Hermione had a tendency to talk out most things, anyway. Mr Weasley charmed the dishes for his wife, and then the four of them sat in the living room for approximately fifteen minutes before Arthur fell asleep.

Mrs Weasley gave an impatient sigh and leant over as though to poke him, but then clearly thought better of it.

"We'll let him sleep," she said aloud, under her breath, and then gave Harry and Ginny a brief, rather strained smile. "He's awfully tired these days," she admitted. "What with taking on all Madame Redfern's business. He comes home when he can."

"Oh," said Harry. He didn't know what else to say. It was no surprise that she mothered them all. The Burrow, he imagined, would probably be lonely when you were all on your own, although he supposed the twins and everyone dropped in when they could.

"Mum," Ginny said, after a long pause. "Can I ask about my room?"

Mrs Weasley didn't bat an eyelid. "Of course, dear."

"Well, I just – I wanted to know – did you turn it into a sewing room?"

"Yes, Ginny. Didn't Ron tell you? After you announced your engagement."

Her frankness seemed to throw Ginny off balance, but not for long. When she spoke next, her voice was hard, and Harry groaned inwardly. Was it time for confrontation already?

"Why exactly?"

"I didn't think you'd be needing it anymore."

"But it's my room, Mum. Fred and George still have their room. Ron does."

"But you're getting married, dear."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I don't need a place here," Ginny pointed out. She was sitting forward in her seat now, meeting her mother's gaze, and Molly looked a little uncomfortable.

"I didn't realise you felt so strongly about it," she said, and Ginny's eyebrows disappeared into her hair.

"Didn't realise?"

"Gin …" Harry said, really not wanting to do this tonight, but Ginny launched on regardless.

"Just because I'm getting married doesn't mean I don't have a past, or don't belong in this family. I mean – bloody hell, Mum, what have you done to it anyway?"

"Nothing," Mrs Weasley said, too quickly, and Ginny stood immediately.

"Can I see?"

Mrs Weasley stood with her, shaking her head. "No. You can't."

"Why not?" Ginny challenged, making her way towards the stairs, and now Harry stood as well.

"Gin," he said again – there wasn't anything that was going to stop her, but he had to say something.

"Virginia Weasley," Molly said sharply, following her daughter as she took the stairs two steps at a time. "Virginia, don't you even think about opening that door."

"Why not?" Ginny called back. "What have you done?"

"Ginny!" Mrs Weasley said, her voice a near shriek. "Ginny, don't!"
But Ginny was at the top floor now, and Harry was behind them both, and his fiancée was pushing open the door. The room lit up, and Ginny – said nothing. Harry couldn't see what she was seeing, because her body in the doorway blocked his view, but he didn't think it was anything good.

Mrs Weasley gave a short sigh and opened her arms.

"Well," she said. "There you are. That's what I've been doing."

"Mum," said Ginny faintly, and she moved just enough that Harry managed a glimpse at what was inside. There were bags of scrap material, swathes of fabric … and laid out on a wooden table was a wedding dress, quite old-fashioned, smelling (even from where he stood) of lavender. He only had time to take in the lace at the bodice and long sleeves with puffed shoulders before Ginny began to fume.

"You know I've ordered my dress. You know I want to do this myself."

"I know," Mrs Weasley agreed, but she sounded defiant rather than apologetic.

"So why are you making me a wedding dress, Mum?"

"I'm not making it. It was mine, and my mother's before me. I'm just taking the hem up."

This was not what Ginny wanted to hear, and her eyes went just a bit wide.

 "Mum! For God's sake! I knew this is why you wanted us here, I knew it. Didn't I say, Harry?"

"Er –" Harry began, floundering, but luckily he didn't have to finish. Mrs Weasley interrupted.

"You're my only daughter, Ginny, and I always hoped my daughter would wear my wedding dress."

"I told you the first time, Mum – I'm sorry, but it looks awful on me. You saw it."

"It doesn't look awful."

"I looked like a polar bear, an ugly one," Ginny said, horrified. "I can't."

Mrs Weasley appeared to be ignoring her. "And you might be the only child of mine who ever gets married."

"Oh don't be ridiculous."

"Look at Bill and Fleur! And Fred and Angelina! And Ron and Hermione!" Mrs Weasley pointed out in an indignant rush. "They don't look close, and besides, those girls aren't family, as much as we love them. You could be the only one left to carry on the Weasley tradition."

"Mum …"

"A very important tradition, that's been upheld for years, and which shouldn't be broken now just because you think …"

"Mum."

"… that you don't look very nice. That's just silly, darling, it's silly, and I won't hear it. Can't you do something to please your mother, just once?"

"Mum." She said this last so loudly that even Harry jumped. He'd been following the argument like a spectator at a tennis match, and now found his gaze fixed on Ginny. She had a funny expression on her face – a sort of desperate determination. Mrs Weasley fell silent.

"The wedding is in seven weeks," Ginny went on, very slowly. "I've already said we can have it here, like you asked, and I already said that I'm grateful for your help. But this isn't your day, it's ours, and I'll wear exactly what I'm comfortable in. And I'm not comfortable in that dress. I won't wear it. I'm sorry."

The pregnant pause following this calm (quite admirably so, Harry thought) announcement seemed to go on forever. Then, in the end, Mrs Weasley nodded once and her shoulders dropped.

"Alright," she said simply. "Have it your way."

She went back downstairs. Ginny and Harry stood for some time, and then Ginny exhaled and rubbed her forehead anxiously.

"I hate it when she does this," she muttered. "Now she'll lay on the guilt, and I'll be a wreck by the end of the week."

Harry came towards her and slipped an arm around her waist. She leant into him, her head against his chest, and he tried to think of something reassuring.

"Well," he said eventually, "maybe she'll let you have your room back if you do."

Ginny shot him a quick, searching look, and then pinched him when she saw him start to smile.

"It's not funny," she protested. "I knew it, I told you. Mum means well, but I don't want her to do all this. She does enough."

"I know," Harry said. "I hate watching you fight with her. I never know what to do." 

"I noticed," she said dryly, and he pushed her lightly with his body.

"You were doing alright on your own, anyway. You don't have to wear the dress, do you?"

"No," she sighed. "I guess not."

"Come on. Let's go to bed."

"Isn't it a bit early?"

"Is it?" he asked innocently, and she gave him another look, before breaking into a smile herself.

"No," she decided. "Not really."

And soon they weren't thinking about the her mother, or Ron and Hermione's argument, or the dress.