The calmness of the previous night's dinner with the Weasleys extended well past the point Harry went home, affording him the privilege of a full uninterrupted night's sleep; a rare occurrence these last few months, but a welcome one.

He'd even enjoyed a lie in that morning, interrupted only gently by the birds singing outside his window. All in all it was a rather peaceful way to start the day. That was until Hermione knocked on the door while he was eating his breakfast.

'Remind me again why you don't have your own key,' Harry asked somewhat snarkily as he opened the door. (It was still early, after all.)

Not phased in the slightest, Hermione replied in a chirpy sing-song voice, though laced with a touch of bitterness. 'You'd have to ask Ron about that one — he seems to have more opinions about it than I do.'

Harry rolled his eyes, not wanting to play mediator in yet another one of Ron and Hermione's 'disagreements' about living situations. It was most definitely too early for that.

Instead, he busied himself with making a cup of tea. 'Ron's not up yet,' he told her as she sat down at the table behind him.

'I know. I came to talk to you.'

'Oh God, what have I done?' he joked, though as he glanced over his shoulder it struck him that this looked very much like an intervention.

'Have you spoken to Ginny?' she said, entirely too innocently.

Ah. So it was an intervention.

He paused before answering, carefully depositing the tea bags in their respective cups. 'Not since last night, no.'

'I see.'

A long pause stretched between them, ripe with secrets they each knew the other held, but were too stubborn to share. A stalemate.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he turned to face Hermione and the inevitable judgement that was written across her expression.

His eyebrows raised, which elicited a knowing smirk from her. Testily, 'Something to say?'

'Nope.'

He scoffed – there was no way she was going to pull this sort of crap with him. She was clearly desperate to confront him about Ginny, whether he liked it or not. In these situations it was always better to get it over with.

'Hermione…' the warning implicit.

Her eyes danced with amusement. 'What's going on between you two?'

'Nothing.' As soon as it left his mouth, he knew he'd said it too quickly to sound even the slightest bit convincing.

Hermione's singular raised eyebrow confirmed his suspicion.

A huff of air left him in defeat. 'Fine,' he admitted begrudgingly, quietly – he could not have Ron finding this out. 'We slept together – as you damn well know – and we probably shouldn't have done it, but it's done, over, and we can stop talking about it now, okay?'

'You probably shouldn't have done it?' she asked incredulously.

'… definitely shouldn't have done it?' Again, not at all convincing. Damn it.

'Oh my God, Harry!' she squealed.

'Shhhh! Be quiet!' He was desperate now. Ron could Not. Find. Out. '"Oh my God" what?!' he hissed.

'Oh my God, you don't think it was a mistake,' she stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'Hermione, I can't remember virtually any of it. I literally don't have enough to go on to work out if it was a mistake or not. All I really remember is–'

'Yes?'

He shot her a look that hopefully conveyed his desperate desire to stop talking about it. The expression he got in response looked entirely too close to repressed glee for his liking.

'So you don't think it was a mistake?' she asked.

'Why? Do you?' he asked innocently.

'This isn't about me and you know it.'

Bugger. That trick usually worked a charm on Ron. Another huffed sigh escaped his lips but it did nothing to abate her interest.

'Harry–'

'Look. It was a mistake sleeping with her when we were both so drunk.' She looked him straight in the eye, waiting for the end of the sentence that they both knew was there. He took a deep breath. 'But I don't regret it.'

At his words, her face exploded into a smile as she leapt forwards and hugged him, tea be damned. He'd be lying if he knew why she was so happy at this little admission, but her gleeful laughter was infectious and soon he found himself smiling along with her.

'I have no idea why you're so happy about me not regretting it, but I'm glad that I've cheered you up.'

'Don't be thick, Harry.'

'What's Harry being thick about?' came Ron's voice from the doorway. Harry's heart virtually backflipped its way out of his chest at the sound. Please God say he didn't hear any of that.

'Oh, usual stuff,' said Hermione, lying with surprising ease. She sidled over to Ron and kissed him on the cheek. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Yeah, not bad,' he replied through a yawn.

With a meaningful look — one that Harry took to mean 'this isn't over' — Hermione moved the conversation in a completely different direction. 'I was going to ask you about this leaving party, seems as Harry and Ozzy leave in two weeks and you're not far behind them.'

'Oh yeah,' replied Ron, effectively distracted from the conversation he walked in on, thank fuck. 'I was wondering if maybe the 31st August might be alright? I'm coming off nights that morning, and Harry and Ozzy are off.' At Hermione's surprised look, 'Ha! I knew you'd be impressed. I checked the rota and everything.' He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning a laugh from Hermione.

'I am so impressed,' she giggled — a sound Harry rarely heard from her — and they grinned soppily at each other.

Quite frankly it was just about enough for Harry. 'I'm not coming if you two are going to be doing that all night,' he grumbled.

'Ahh, don't be sore just 'cause you've got no one to snog,' laughed Ron, though his smile turned mischievous, his tone somewhere between patronising and mocking. 'I'll get Ozzy to set you up with someone at the party… how about that, eh?'

Before Harry could respond with a middle finger, Hermione interjected. 'Or maybe Ginny?'

'Wait, what?' Harry stammered. It was about all he could manage, after all. Had she really just suggested he be set up with Ginny at the party? In front of Ron, no less! Her expression flashed something downright wicked before schooling it into a picture of innocence.

'Maybe Ginny could set you up with someone?'

Relieved air left his lungs in a half-groan half-laugh, his hands raising to rub his forehead with exasperation. Thankfully, Ron was too tired or oblivious to notice and he jumped on the idea.

'That's a great idea! I haven't actually invited her yet. 'Mione could y—'

'Harry will do it, won't you Harry?' said Hermione about as subtly as a freight train and clearly having way too much fun torturing him.

Harry levelled her with one last withering look. 'Yeah, I can send her a message.'

Hermione's answering smile could give the Cheshire cat a run for its money.

Yep, that settled it: he needed better friends.


Later that afternoon when Harry got home from the lake with Teddy, two owls were on the countertop fighting fiercely over a piece of bacon that had been left out on the side. Through the kerfuffle Harry recognised Quilla, Hermione's majestic (although somewhat haughty) eagle owl, who had a small piece of parchment attached to her leg. The other owl, which Harry didn't recognise, immediately stopped fighting and stuck out its leg importantly. (In a manner that very much reminded Harry of Percy.) Tied to its leg was a heavy, official-looking wad of parchment.

He went over and sat down, picking up the letter cautiously. He rattled it, like a child would their presents on Christmas, but it didn't yield anything exciting.

Sighing, he tore open the seal.

Dear Auror Potter,

Congratulations on your acceptance to the Healer Conversion Programme. It is my great pleasure to welcome you to this course, and to thank you wholeheartedly for your application and interest.

As Head Auror Robards has likely informed you, this is a joint venture between the Auror Office and the Department of Healer Education at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and aims to equip Aurors with the necessary advanced Healing skills required for battlefield healing and for managing cases with heavy Healer input. As such, we hope this will improve collaboration and increase the knowledge overlap between our two departments.

The course is significantly shorter than the 4 years required of traditional Healer training. As such, elements deemed unnecessary for the role of an Auror have been excluded, though may be taken up as extra credits upon qualification.

Modules are as follows:

YEAR 1:
Wizard Anatomy and Physiology
Principles of General Healing
Recognising the Acutely Unwell Wizard
Maladies – Magical or Muggle?
Basics in Emergency Healing

YEAR 2:
Defensive Spells for Combat Healers
Battlefield Potions
Dark Arts Healing
Trauma and Spell-Damage Life Support
Advanced Emergency Healing

Other extra-curricular modules are available depending on personal interest and needs of the Auror Office.

Please report to Department of Healer Training, St Mungo's Hospital, Floor -2 on Monday 2nd September, at 9AM for your induction.

Yours sincerely,

Healer Herbert Gerard
Professor of Healing and Head of Healer Training
St Mungo
's Hospital

A sudden vibrant sort of excitement as he read and re-read the letter — the course list and an actual start date (which was less than two weeks away!) had made it very real indeed.

He hoped with everything in him that Healing could bring out the caring, empathetic side of him that he knew existed — a side crushed down and wheedled out by Auror training. If the role meant he could do that alongside solving mysteries, which was the main thing that had attracted him to the Aurors in the first place, then it seemed like a match made in heaven.

A screech from Quilla pulled him from his reverie. The note attached to her leg was small and light, and he had an inkling about who it was from as soon as he noted the slightly untidy way it had been attached to the bird's leg.

Hey,

I've got the day off on Wednesday. Just wondering if you were free and wanted to have a cup of tea and a catch up? Hermione tells me your roof terrace has the best sunbathing spot in London.

Let me know!

Gin x

The words made his heart twitch, and he could feel the excitement course through him twice as strongly as it did at the first letter. What that said about his scrambled mind, he had no idea.

He penned his reply quickly — a short 'Sounds great. Don't tell the neighbours or they'll all want to come! — and sent it off with a grin he definitely didn't have before.


Before he knew it, Wednesday came around, and a knock on the door had his heart rate spiking. Thoughts of this day had popped up uninvited throughout the last few (distracted) days at work, and jittery anticipation almost plagued his daydreams.

Jittery anticipation was nothing, though, on what he was feeling then, standing behind the closed door just feet away from her. It was full on nervousness at that point, hands sweating and throat uncomfortably tight.

Why was he nervous, for goodness sake? It was only Ginny.

Or perhaps that was the problem, for it was the very fact that is was Ginny that was making him nervous in the first place. Because this felt very close to what one might consider a 'date'. But that was one of those unhelpful thoughts that just needed to be crushed and not thought about.

Mentally preparing himself, he took a breath in, so as not to appear completely ridiculous when she inevitably took his breath away. He opened the door and the air left his lungs in an involuntary huff.

Though it had only been a week since he'd seen her, it was like the bright sun had transformed her into something near ethereal. She was wearing a floaty white sundress and flip-flops, with her hair pushed back off her face by a pair of large sunglasses. Speaking of her hair, it was the most vibrant, beautiful orange he had ever seen, shining the whole spectrum of gold to dark red on long, windswept strands.

Christ alive.

Before he had a chance to compose himself, she smiled widely and threw her arms out in greeting.

'Hello!' she cheered, 'I've come to see a man about a roof terrace.'

Forcing a (hopefully convincing) grin onto his face, 'Well of course, please step this way, Madam.'

Conversation was light as they climbed the three flights of stairs to reach the top of the building. At the top, Harry opened the door, the brightness of the day momentarily blinding them as they emerged from the dark stairwell.

'Merlin's tits! Look at this!' Ginny practically squealed, flinging her arms out and doing a full 360, taking in the (even if he did say so himself) spectacular view.

'It's amazing up here,' Harry conceded, although he wasn't much concerned with the view right at that moment — he was too consumed with trying to calm the nervous energy that had sparked as soon as he saw her. Watching her then, Harry was beginning to wonder if having her here was a mistake his heart just couldn't handle.

Hastily he turned away, feeling his cheeks warm inexplicably.

'I knew it was a good idea keeping you around,' she said cheekily with a wink, though the look in her eyes left no doubt that she'd caught him staring at her.

Great.

Nevertheless, he tried to return her playful tone. 'Not just a pretty face, me.'

'Clearly' she said, the twinkle in her eye brightening as they settled in their light-hearted banter. It was all so normal that he felt the nervousness thaw ever so slightly as she said, 'Do you bring all the girls up here?'

Naturally, he played along. 'Oh yeah. Fuck going to the London Eye when you could have this, eh?'

'And this is free.'

'Precisely. Perfect cheap date if ever there was one.'

Kreacher interrupted the light-hearted exchange with two ice cold lemonades, which they each took gratefully, while Harry arranged the two sun loungers so they were facing each other. Just as he'd finished adjusting the parasol, Ginny kicked off her sandals and plonked herself down on one of the loungers with a sigh, pulling her hair up off her freckled neck. Harry had to stop himself gawking as she closed her eyes and smiled, her toes wiggling happily at the end of her long legs.

The sip of cool lemonade fizzed in his throat slightly and he relaxed back into his own lounger, desperately hoping that if his body relaxed then perhaps his mind would too. Closing his eyes would help with that, right?

'It's unusual to have a day off in the middle of the season,' he asked. 'Everything alright?'

Her eyes opened in surprised and she rushed to reassure him. 'Oh yeah, everything's fine. It's just it's really hot and poor old Valmai got heat stroke the other day.'

'Ah shit.'

Ginny hummed in agreement. 'Turns out running around at 30 degrees every day without a break is probably unproductive.'

'Wow, who'd have thought it.'

'I know.' She paused to take a sip of her drink, and Harry's eyes couldn't help but fix on the sight of her tongue, which darted out to lick the remainder off her bottom lip. Once again, he forced himself to look away. 'So I've got 3 days off while it's supposed to be really warm, then we're back training again… probably in Holyhead.'

'Gwenog's taking you back to Holyhead? I thought the main team trained here in London?'

'We do, but it's cooler by the sea, isn't it. No room for cry-babies on my team!' She shouted the last part in a scarily accurate impression of the Harpies' captain.

A nagging question distracted him from answering her, and he had the feeling he laughed a little bit too late. Nevertheless, keeping his tone as neutral and conversational as he could manage, he asked her, 'Do you know how long you'll be in Wales, then?'

'Not even sure if we're going yet.' The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. 'You won't have a chance to miss me again, don't worry.'

This time he did laugh. 'I'm going to hold you to that.'

Her own laughter filled the air, and its genuineness melted the last remnants of nervousness from his body. Looking at her then, her smiling face already turning a little red in the sun, he realised something, something as glaringly obvious as a smack in the face. Not only were they were going to be okay — he'd known that the minute they exchanged that look at the Burrow — but that nothing had changed between them. Sure, they were perhaps dancing a little bit with the line between bantering and flirting, but at the end of the day, they were the same as they always had been — light-hearted, fair-weather friends.

For some inexplicable reason, though, he couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

'How are you feeling about the course, then?' she asked lightly, interrupting him from his thoughts.

Harry contemplated the question for a moment, trying to refocus his mind away from startling revelations. 'Surprisingly excited actually. I got my letter and course instructions a few days ago, and I—' he stopped, not knowing what he was trying to say. 'It's the first time I've been genuinely excited by something work related in ages. I'm hoping it will give me the chance to learn something again, and to actually contribute to society instead of just…' He shrugged — whatever it was he was doing at work, it did not feel like contributing.

A hint of a smirk flickered behind her innocent expression, much more visible now that the sun was partially shading her face. 'Only Harry Potter could find the Auror Office boring.'

'Bugger off,' he replied as she laughed, the sound bright and uplifting. 'Obviously I'm grateful that there are relatively few Dark wizards roaming about ruining people's lives. But at the same time, it would be good to actually do something that wasn't sat at my desk filling out arrest forms.'

'You never did strike me as a paperwork sort of bloke, Harry, Dark wizards or not.'

'Yeah, well that's all I seem to do these days. I swear it's turning me into some sort of cold, cynical old fart.'

'Like Robards?'

His eyes narrowed. 'Yes, exactly like Robards. How did you know that?'

'Ron always moans about him to Hermione. I just assumed that's who you were talking about.' She explained as she tried to shuffle her lounger back into the sun without getting off it — it was equal parts ridiculous and distracting. 'First, what do you think has made him into a cynical old fart, and second, why do you think you're turning into that?'

Bloody hell, talk about straight in at the deep end. But then again, it was Ginny — the one person who could navigate between light-hearted banter and deep, difficult conversation in the same breath.

'I dunno. He just never laughs. He's all… cold and miserable and all about work and—' Harry made a noise of frustration. 'Just the thought of becoming that makes me wanna throw up, cry and punch something at the same time.'

'I'd love to see that, by the way,' she grinned, taking another sip of her lemonade, her lips forming a perfect 'o' round the straw. It distracted him no end, but he squashed that feeling down and took a sip of his own drink, the fizz clearing his head slightly.

She put her glass back down beside her and laid back against the lounger, hands raised lazily above her head. In doing so, the hem of her dress rose ever so slightly, revealing a further inch of thigh — infinitesimal but enough to hold his attention for longer than it should. Mentally berating himself for staring (again), he forced himself to look away and take a deep breath.

'Why are you worried you'll become Robards?' she asked lightly.

He chuckled under his breath at the directness of the question, like she hadn't just casually asked him about one of his greatest fears. She'd make a terrible counsellor. At her questioning look, he told her as much.

Raising her eyebrows, she effected a serious look and peered over the top of her sunglasses. 'I'm sorry, would you prefer that I used my spa voice?'

'Yes, please, I would.' Harry said equally seriously, playing along with her little game like he knew he always would.

'Very well,' she started in a low, smooth voice that wouldn't feel out of place in a lullaby. 'Mr Potter, what makes you fear you will turn into your boss?'

They grinned at each other jokingly, but he could tell she was waiting for the answer. The sigh he let out then was as much frustration as it was cleansing, his mind scrambling to find the answer to her question, however delicately or indelicately put.

When he really thought about it, the root of the problem was that he didn't want to end up alone. Robards, in all his callous aloofness, was alone — always saying that work got in the way of his having a family. Harry knew this wasn't true; there were plenty of Aurors, senior and otherwise, who had families and weren't a tenth of the misery guts Robards was. It wasn't that part that scared him.

No, what scared him was that the job itselfhad somehow turned Robards into this person who was destined to be alone. Family-less, uncaring, unloved.

Eventually, he forced himself to say it. 'What if being an Auror turns you into an unlovable arsehole?'

There was a calm objectivity to her reply that slightly tempered the spiral his mind was on its way towards. 'Why do you think it would?'

'I dunno, I just…' Again he trailed off, but this time for a different reason. This time, he knew what he wanted to say, but was too ashamed to say it.

'This has to do with Emma, doesn't it?'

It wasn't a question. The way his eyes closed against the shameful memories must have been answer enough because she continued, though this time her voice was softer, more comforting, seemingly aware of the painful turmoil. 'What happened?'

Despite having had this conversation to varying degrees three times previously, he still found himself telling Ginny what happened, sparing no details. It was actually quite cathartic, a fact most certainly helped by the several months' distance between the breakup and now.

But what he hadn't told anyone, not even Ron, was how much Emma's breakup had interfered in his work life. At first he hadn't noticed it — how could a simple, relatively clean breakup mess with his work? Work that was almost as far away from Emma as it was possible to get? But it wasn't until he saw Emma that time in the cafe, and saw how vastly differently he and Emma had reacted to being cheated on, that he started to wonder what exactly was wrong with him. Why hadn't he reacted like normal people did? Why did he not feel pain in the way normal people did?

The conclusion was as simple as it was obvious: being an Auror had made him incapable of having normal relationships. It had made him incapable of love.

The thought terrified him.

A long while after he'd finished retelling the whole sorry affair, Ginny spoke again. 'So Emma told you she loved you when she didn't. You didn't say it back because you didn't love her, even though you thought you should. Then you thought she was pregnant, and you were scared because you don't want to raise a child outside of a loving relationship. And then you felt relieved when she wasn't pregnant but instead was moving to a different country. Then you felt bad because you were relieved.'

Stunned didn't cover it. He gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing like some demonic fish. After a moment he shook his head to jump start his brain.

'Yeah, that about covers it,' he said warily.

Just as matter-of-factly as before, 'And you think that you being an Auror is the reason that all happened?'

Embarrassment prickled in the back of his neck, and his hand went up to rub it unconsciously. 'Well, when you say it like that…'

'Harry, that's literally what you just told me,' she stated, not unkindly.

Harry groaned through his exasperated laughter, sinking his head into his hands. 'What is wrong with me?' he groaned through his fingers.

'Nothing is wrong with you. It's just Emma was a dick to you and you blamed it on yourself because you refuse to see the bad in other people. You're trained to call people out on their bullshit, and when your bullshit detector goes off, like it did with Emma saying she loved you, you berated yourself for believing it and reacting the way you did!'

A smile crept onto his face as she finished with a flurry, her arms gesticulating wider and wider with every word. Whether she was right or not — he suspected she was probably right — she had made him feel a lot better about it. But then again, talking to Ginny pretty much universally cheered him up (nervousness aside).

Upon seeing his smile, she grinned, even more devilishly than before. 'See? Told you I would make an excellent counsellor.'

And with that, conversation moved to lighter topics and Harry felt the last of the emotional turmoil melt away, leaving a warm brightness in its wake.


Much to Harry's surprise, Ron was in the kitchen making food when he returned home from work a few nights later. Quilla was sat on the worktop eyeing Ron as he cut up pieces of meat.

'Alright?' Harry asked tiredly.

'Yeah, mate. You okay?'

'Not bad. Ready to sit on my arse and do nothing.'

Ron silently handed him a beer as Harry sunk himself into the chair and murmured his thanks.

'A letter came for you.' Ron gestured to the kitchen table. 'From my sister by the looks of it.'

It had only been a few days since he'd seen her, but his heart jumped a little. Trying not to look like an eager teenager, Harry paused before picking up the letter.

Harry,

Thank you for letting me top up my tan on your roof the other day. The conversation wasn't half bad, either.

As I predicted, Gwenog's shipping us back off to Holyhead tomorrow, but hopefully I'll be back in London by the end of the month — there's only so much a girl can stand of that place!

See you soon

Gin xx

The giddy excitement that flared when he first opened the letter quickly morphed into irritation at himself as he read and re-read her letter. Here was concrete proof that she wasn't happy in Holyhead, and yet he was no closer to understanding the reason why. Not only that, but he'd not even thought to ask her about it when they'd been together earlier that week. With a sigh, he vowed (again) to ask her next time he saw her.

'What did she want?' asked Ron absentmindedly.

For a moment, Harry balked. For some reason he didn't want Ron to know anything about what was going on with Ginny, even the friendly, chilled, platonic, get together they'd had the other day. So instead he blurted out the first excuse he could think of. 'She err… she's just trying to get an invitation to your party.'

Ron barked a short sharp laugh. 'Well, you'll have to tell her that it's very exclusive, and I'm not sure whether a professional Quidditch player is going to be important enough to make the cut.'

Harry snorted as he Summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from his room. 'I'll tell her that when I invite her.'

Ron's scoff didn't even register as Harry laid out the parchment in front of him, a sudden, unexplained wave of sadness hitting him square in the chest as he stared at the blank page in front of him.

Swallowing it down, he put quill to paper:

Gin,

Thank you so much for using the roof terrace in the manner in which it was intended. I've heard it finds me very boring in comparison.

If ever you want an excuse to come back to London, however short-lived, just send me an owl — the roof terrace would love to have you back, I'm sure. A birdie also tells me that some Aurors are leaving and having some kind of party around the 31st August, at 7.30ish. Perhaps you'd like to gatecrash with me?

Have a brilliant time at training, I'm sure you'll smash it as usual.

Harry

P.S. Please don't get heat stroke xx

He wafted the letter, drying the ink before rolling it up. Quilla wasn't too happy to be sent on another errand, but she hooted softly when he murmured, 'It's for Ginny.'

Ron rolled his eyes and gave the owl a bit of beef. 'Favouritism,' he mumbled as Quilla took flight out of the open window.

'Everything alright, mate?' Ron asked, sitting down and nudging a plate of stir fry Harry's way, which he took gladly. He hadn't realised how hungry he was.

'Yeah, just the leaving party is making it all feel a bit… real.'

'Yeah, I know the feeling,' said Ron, quietly.

The sound of his friend's voice made Harry look up. These days it was rare that Ron was anything but sure of himself, having become infinitely more confident than when he was a teenager. Now though, the look on his face was nothing short of vulnerable.

Harry kicked Ron's foot under the table lightly. 'It'll be okay,' he said sincerely. 'Leaving.'

Ron sighed, uncharacteristically picking at his dinner. 'I just–'

His voice choked up and Harry could see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

Harry waited.

'I just… don't want for Fred to think I'm trying to replace him.' The sound was quiet. Ashamed almost. Ron shook his head and dragged his hand through his hair, the gesture all frustration and uncontrolled emotion.

'No one thinks that.'

Ron said nothing.

'Ron. Fred is probably up there now thinking you're a fucking hero for looking after George and, more importantly, doing what's right for you,' Harry said plainly. At Ron's half-shrug, he continued, 'He's probably chuffed to see that the shop is going to be run by two Weasley brothers instead of that terrible intern that George found.'

Ron chuckled slightly and smiled. Though small, it was genuine, and that was all Harry could ask for.

They said nothing more on the subject, clinking their beers and carrying on eating their meal, knowing that what would be, would be.


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