Chapter One
Housemates
Harry and Ron entered Grimmauld Place as quietly as they could, both sighing in relief when they found the kitchen empty. Stowing his broom in the corner, Harry sank onto a stool as Ron pulled a couple Butterbeers from the ice box. He slid one across the island counter-top towards Harry before returning to the ice box to scavenge for a snack.
Harry picked up the cold Butterbeer and held it against his swollen and rapidly darkening eye, grunting at the sting. Ron pulled out a plate of what remained of one of Mrs. Weasleys excellent custard pies, dropping it on the counter with a couple of forks.
"There's no way Ginny's not going to notice that," he said, then groaned with pleasure as he swallowed a forkful of the pie.
"I'm not hiding it from her," Harry said, helping himself to pie. "I'm just going to use some bruise balm. It'll be gone in no time, and there's no need to worry her over a stupid Quidditch bruise."
Ron snorted. "I expect it's more like she'd take the mickey over you missing the Bludger."
Harry scowled and continued to eat his pie. He'd been with the Aurors for three years now, and had played on an inter-departmental Quidditch team since the beginning. He enjoyed flying as much as he ever had and always looked forward to playing with his team. Ginny, who played professionally on the Holyhead Harpies, loved to tease Harry about his "little league." Being grazed by a stray Bludger wasn't ammunition he'd enjoy giving to her.
"What's going on with the Worthington case?" Harry asked, attempting to change the subject. He finally removed the Butterbeer from his inflamed eye and twisted off the cap, taking a long draught.
Ron shrugged, "Dunno. Williams doesn't want to close it, but there haven't been any new leads in over a month."
Although they worked with separate senior Aurors, all the members of their team shared information on the various cases. They'd both completed their expedited training and had gradually been integrated into the existing Aurors. There had been several classes behind them who'd followed the same accelerated schedule. Now that the Aurors weren't so woefully understaffed, the training had once again been lengthened and this had been the first summer without a new class of recruits joining the ranks. Harry, who'd been assigned the task of supervising one over-eager new recruit from the last class, wasn't sorry for the reprieve.
"I can't blame him for not wanting to give up," Harry said. "Dark Magic doesn't usually just stop."
"Yeah, but it's been a month, and no trace of anything else. Hell, we're not even sure what spell was used," Ron replied, finishing off his Butterbeer and reaching for another.
"Doesn't hurt to keep the file open, anyway," Harry said, frowning.
"Don't think about it now," Ron said sharply. "You're due to go on holiday in three days, and Ginny'll murder you if you volunteer to take on another case now."
Harry shrugged, conceding the point. He hadn't taken a holiday in over a year, and he'd promised Ginny they'd go away. He felt a thrill of anticipation in his belly as he thought of the small box he had hidden in the back of his sock drawer upstairs.
"Oh, for the love of Merlin's saggy balls, Harry. Don't even think of telling me what's causing you to make that expression," Ron said, revolted. "That's my sister, and I still have no desire to know what you two get up to."
For once, Harry's thoughts had actually been innocent, but he wasn't about to let Ron off that easily. "Nothing I'm sure you and Hermione haven't got up to yourselves. I thought we agreed that our private lives were off limits."
Along with George, the two couples had all resided at the renovated Grimmauld Place since Ginny and Hermione had left Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley hadn't been happy with the arrangement and pleaded with her daughter to come home. Ginny had outright refused, stating it was either Grimmauld Place or she'd get her own flat. She had no intention of returning to The Burrow. As Ginny was of age, and Mrs. Weasley didn't want her living on her own, she'd grudgingly settled for staying with her two brothers. It didn't stop her from trying to persuade her to come home every time they got together, however.
Ginny had confided in Harry that she had no intention of getting her own flat, but she knew the threat would get her mum off her back. Harry didn't enjoy being at odds with Mrs. Weasley, but he wouldn't trade having Ginny there every morning for anything. It was worth any discomfort he felt.
"And I've told you that I don't give a flying WizBang what you get up to as long as I don't see it. She's obviously happy, but it doesn't mean I want to see my best mate with that nauseating lovesick expression on your face. Have some dignity," Ron said, scowling.
Harry gaped. "Dignity?" he sputtered. "Weren't you the one blaring Celestina Warbeck's love songs on the wireless the other day when Hermione locked you out of the room?"
"That was romantic," Ron said, primly laying his fork on the counter.
"Romantic my left–"
"Hermione thought it was very romantic," Ron continued firmly. "She expressed her gratitude quite enthusiastically."
Harry grimaced and pulled away. "Now who's sharing too much information?"
Ron smirked and took another gulp of his Butterbeer.
The kitchen door swung open and George strode in, stopping short, his dark eyes widening. "Whoa, what'd you do to hack Ginny off?" he asked, staring at Harry's swollen eye.
Ron choked and sprayed Butterbeer on the counter.
"Funny," Harry said, rolling his eyes.
George grinned, grabbing a Butterbeer and joining them at the counter. "Who gave you the shiner, then?"
"Bludger," Harry mumbled. "I just have to find the bruise paste."
"He's hoping Ginny will fall asleep before he goes up so she won't see him using it," Ron replied unhelpfully.
"I told you I'm not hiding anything. I'm just hungry," Harry said irritably. He stuffed another forkful of pie into his mouth as if to prove his point.
"Ah, your little team played tonight, then," George asked, grinning.
"It's not a little team," Ron said, his face flushing. "I'll have you know we won… again."
"Oh, I'll have Ginny let the Harpies know. Perhaps you could all scrimmage together," George said, chuckling.
"Ha, ha," Harry said without venom. He took a long look at George from behind his Butterbeer bottle. George had lost weight, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were more prevalent at the late hour. He'd never fully recovered from Fred's loss, and Harry doubted he ever would. Still, he'd curbed his dependence on alcohol, and the shop was doing very well. This caused George to devote longer and longer hours to running the shop. Everyone had urged him to hire more help, but as yet, George seemed reluctant to do so.
He and Angelina had been seeing each other off and on, but she hadn't been at Grimmauld Place for quite some time now. Harry wasn't certain if that was because George was so busy at the shop or if they were off again. He couldn't keep up with the comings and goings of that relationship. He usually relied on Ginny to fill him in on what was going on.
"I told Oliver I'd meet him at the Leaky Cauldron for a pint. Why don't you join us?" George asked.
"Oliver Wood?" Harry said, eyes widening, "On a Tuesday night? We have to be at work at half seven."
"And? I have to work tomorrow, too, you know. It's not going to stop me from meeting a mate at the pub," George replied.
Harry shook his head. "Oliver is a Friday or Saturday night plan, George. I need a clear head tomorrow."
Ron nodded. "Yeah, definitely can't show up at Auror Headquarters after a night out with Oliver. Count me out."
George shook his head despairingly. "I don't know what's happened to the youth of today. You've gone totally soft."
"Or maybe we have real jobs and can't just spend our time at a little shop." Ron said, smirking.
George waved his hand in the air. "That little shop rakes in more Galleons in a week than you see in an entire month, Auror Weasley."
Ron frowned, shoveling yet another large scoop of pie into his mouth. "Don't I know it."
"You're disgusting, Ron," George said, grimacing. Making a face, he turned toward Harry. "I expect you have more raids planned?"
Harry frowned. "What makes you say that?"
George shrugged. "Knockturn Alley seems to be thrumming again. Last time you lot raided, it settled down for a while."
Harry sighed. Ever since Voldemort's fall, the black-market trade in Knockturn Alley had thrived. No matter how many raids, and how many times the Aurors had tried to tamp it down, they couldn't seem to get a handle on it. Various Dark potions and objects had been plentiful and easy to obtain during the time that Voldemort's Ministry had been focused on hunting down Muggles and Undesirable Number One. After Kingsley became Minister and his regime took over, they put all sorts of new restrictions in place, but the underground had flourished. Harry had been assigned the task of curbing some of the more excessive violations, nonetheless it seemed every time he shut down one avenue, another two appeared in its place. He found himself constantly astounded by the number of wizards who didn't flinch over trying something Dark or potentially hazardous to achieve their goals. Hadn't they learned anything from the war?
"Any shop in particular that you've noticed?" he asked, running his hand through his hair in agitation.
George shook his head. "I've been too busy to watch closely. I've just noticed a lot more traffic heading in that direction. Dodgy lot, they keep their heads down and faces hidden. I haven't recognized any of the usual lot, though."
"I'll let Owen know. Perhaps it's time we do another sweep," he said, feeling a twinge of guilt for hoping they wouldn't find anything significant enough to delay his holiday.
"Whelp, if you two are going to be lame, I'm going to grab a pint with Oliver," George said, pulling himself up. "I'm going spare with all work and no play."
George appeared suddenly vulnerable as he said it, but before Harry could speak up and agree to go, Ron jumped in.
"Hang on, I'll go with you – just one pint, though."
George beamed at his younger brother, his face losing some of its haggardness as color suffused his cheeks, clashing with his hair.
Harry hesitated. He had a meeting with Gawain Robards, the head of the entire department first thing, but George really looked as if he needed the break.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," Ron said, interrupting Harry's guilty thoughts as if he'd suddenly become a Legilimens. "Wrap up your cases with Robards so you can go on holiday, or Ginny will make us all pay for it."
"You sure?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"Trust us," George said, grinning. "No one wants to live with a hacked-off Ginny, mate."
"Too right," Ron said, standing and slamming his bottle back on the counter. "You get to clean up though."
"Fair enough," Harry sighed, glancing at the crumbs of the now demolished custard pie remaining on the counter.
"See ya, Harry," the brothers chorused, leaving him alone with the mess.
After he'd binned the rubbish and wiped down the kitchen surfaces thoroughly – some of Aunt Petunia's old habits hadn't been fully eradicated from him – Harry quietly climbed the stairs. He hoped Ginny would be asleep so he could find the bruise balm. Not because he was hiding anything but because she needed her rest, he justified. The Harpies' practices always demanded a lot from her. She'd taken over a position on the first team not long after she'd joined them, and hadn't looked back since. He quite enjoyed attending one of her matches and watching that glorious red mane whipping through the wind as she sped towards the hoops.
When he reached the closed door to their bedroom, he tiptoed past and into the adjacent bathroom. The oil lamps on each side of the mirror flickered to light as he entered. Glancing at his face, he grimaced at the vivid coloring of his very swollen eye. The lid nearly covered it completely, and only the faintest glimpse of green shone through the slit.
"Did you at least get the plate number of the lorry that hit you?" the mirror asked, sounding amused.
Ignoring it, he quietly opened a cupboard, and began tracing his hands over the various potions inside. He was so intent on his task that he didn't hear the door open behind him.
"What did you do this time?" Ginny asked sharply.
Harry jumped, rattling the potions and spinning around. Ginny stood in the doorway, hair ablaze, arms crossed firmly across her chest and a scowl on her face. Harry couldn't help but notice she was wearing one of his T-shirts, and with her arms folded that way, it had risen to expose her legs entirely right up to a tiny glimpse of her knickers.
He really liked when she wore his things.
"Ginny," he said, attempting to sound casual. "You're awake."
"Obviously," she said, not sounding amused in the slightest.
Harry was uncomfortably reminded of his old Potions teacher. That thought felt unnerving being directed at him from those beautifully athletic legs, and the knickers he was having a hard time not looking at with his one good eye. They were blue.
"Harry!" Ginny said severely, and he realized she'd caught him staring. "What did you do this time?"
Deciding her temper wasn't to be trifled with at the moment, he reckoned honesty was best, but wanted to get it over with quickly as possible. "Nothing serious, just grazed by a Bludger."
To avoid seeing any amusement on her face, he quickly looked back at the bottles in the cupboard and was relieved to find the bruise balm.
"Nothing work related?" Ginny asked, still looking fierce.
"Nope, just Quidditch," Harry replied, un-stoppering the balm.
"No taking the hit for anyone else?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"No! I was looking at the Snitch and didn't see it," he replied, growing irritated. He was a fully qualified Auror, dammit, and didn't appreciate being questioned like an errant schoolboy. "And I did catch the Snitch despite it."
He saw the corner of Ginny's lips twitch and braced himself. She might be softening, but he knew from experience it wouldn't stop her from taking the mickey.
"Oh, let me do that," she said, taking the bottle and gently dabbing at his swollen eye. "You know, Beaters are instructed to hit the Bludger at a Seeker when he's close to catching the Snitch to give their own Seeker time to get there. Being the Youngest Seeker in a Century, I'd thought someone might've told you that."
Ginny couldn't hold her straight face any longer and burst into giggles as she smoothed the balm all over his bruise. It did feel rather nice, despite her teasing, and the throbbing was nearly gone.
"Ha, ha," Harry said, grumbling. He didn't want to give her any cheek in case she stopped tending him. After a lifetime of no one other than Madam Pomfrey bothering when he was sick or hurt, he'd grown quite fond of the way she always took such tender care of him.
"Here," she said, putting the bottle back in his hands. "It looks much better, but you'll probably have to put a bit more on before you go to work."
Harry glanced at himself in the mirror and was pleased to see that instead of looking as if he'd just been struck by a Bludger, it looked as if the strike happened several days previously.
"Much better. Purple definitely wasn't your color, dear," the mirror said.
He frowned. "That mirror is bloody snarky. I think I'm going to replace it," he said testily as he followed Ginny out of the bathroom and back into their bedroom. The light was dim and the covers folded back, a book still resting on the sheets where Ginny must've dropped it when she heard him.
Ginny stopped, turning around to face him as she giggled and rolled her eyes. "The new one would be just the same."
"Why?" he asked blankly.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him, laughing outright now. "It's a mirror, Harry – a reflection. The new one would be just as snarky because you're snarky."
Harry stared, dumbfounded. Even after all these years, there was still stuff in the wizarding world that he hadn't realized.
Ginny playfully reached around and swatted his bum. "Come to bed and let me make certain there are no other marks on the rest of you."
He raised his eyebrow, smirking and hurriedly followed her. "I think I know a spot that's rapidly becoming in need of attention."
"I'm certain you do," she said huskily, her breath hitching as he reached for that strip of her knickers that had been driving him mad.
Perhaps getting smacked by the Bludger was worth it after all.
