02 March 2002

Molly hung the wash on the line, lifting her face and breathing in the cold air. There was a hint of spring in the wind; change lent a special quality to the wind. Somewhere, buds were forming, and in a few weeks, the orchard would be alive with blossoms. The weak winter light grew stronger every day. The sun is coming, she reminded herself.

And so too, it seemed, in her family. It wasn't as raw and bitter as before. It was still very painful to think about Ginny and the way she'd left the Burrow, still in her dressing gown, on Christmas morning. But life managed to happen anyway, and it was easier than Molly expected it to be to find joy in small things like Teddy Lupin losing a tooth, or her own granddaughter having her first bouts of accidental magic.

Maybe it was simply because she'd gotten used to living in a world where Death Eaters had raped her daughter with her husband's body.

"Hello, Molly."

"Hello, Hermione, dear," Molly murmured, staring blindly at the spangled sheets blowing in the wind. Tears stung her eyes.

"How are you?" Hermione asked softly, reaching out and rubbing Molly's shoulder.

"I'm… having a particularly bad day," Molly admitted. She busied herself with putting a few jumpers and a pair of trousers on the line. All of their robes already hung up beside the sheets. "I know that today just isn't anything, but I keep thinking—"

"Ginny is dating someone," said Hermione abruptly.

Molly dropped Arthur's ridiculous lilac leisure suit. "What – Ginny is dating?" She stared at Hermione. It just… didn't make sense, did it? Ginny, who couldn't stand to be touched, was dating?

"She is," Hermione nodded sharply. "She asked me about it around Christmas, you know. That's why she wanted to talk to me, remember? She wanted to know if there were ways to find out if someone had feelings for her or not."

Molly's first instinct was to be horribly, shamefully angry with Hermione. I'm her mother! was her first, fierce thought. It seemed wrong that her daughter was confiding in Hermione, and not in Molly. After six sons, she'd imagined that a daughter would be—

"That's wonderful," Molly said in a wobbly voice. And it was. The fact that Ginny was dating of all things should overshadow useless, irrational jealousy. It wasn't Hermione's fault that Ginny could open up to her… it was a good thing her daughter had someone to talk to. "Just – surprising." She pursed her lips. "Did she ask you not to tell me?"

"Yes," Hermione said at once. "But that wasn't very fair of her. This is a big deal; we all know it. She knows that it's a big deal."

A cold wind whipped through and set the clothes and sheets to waving madly. Molly watched them sway and dance, and felt very tired of feeling so helpless all the time. Just the other night, she'd had twisting, turning, confusing dreams in which she'd gone into a fairy tale and retrieved the Tears of Merlin, and sent her own memories back to keep herself from sending Ginny back to Hogwarts. And the worst part was that she'd woken from the dream, wishing it were true.

Spring is coming, she reminded herself again.

"I think he's really helping her," Hermione said. "He—"

"Molly! MOLLY!"

Arthur's voice was loud. One hand pulled her want out of her pocket, and the other flew to her mouth as she whirled around. The fear that something – anything – had happened to her family thundered through her veins. Arthur never shouts. It must be bad if he's shouting--

"—letter!"

What?

"What?" she shouted back, although by this point, she was already to the back door, heart thumping.

"Ginny wrote me a letter!"

Molly stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. The words flowed over her, and after all her thoughts, it just seemed completely bizarre. She opened the door and entered the warmth of her kitchen, and the look on her husband's face was like a punch to the gut.

It was painful how happy and excited he looked, just from receiving a letter from his daughter. A letter was such a simple thing, damn it, and a daughter writing to her father just shouldn't be something like a miracle.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know – haven't looked yet," said Arthur. His lips were trembling, and watching him was almost too much for Molly. Maybe if she didn't love him so much, or hadn't been married to him for so long, she would have turned away. But as it was, his vulnerability and excitement – both of which stemmed from his grief and rage – was almost unbearable to see.

No one said anything, and almost a full minute passed before he gently opened the scroll and with slow, deliberate movements, he unrolled it.

"Dear Dad," he read. He hesitated for long moments, and then continued. "'School is going well, but I'm not looking forward to taking the NEWTs. How many did you get? I forget.'"

"You got six, didn't you, Dad?" Ron interjected from where he stood beside the . "Or was it five…"

"Seven," said Arthur. "Your mum got eight. Smart witch," he added, making an obvious effort to be casual.

He's stalling, thought Molly. "Here," she said, holding out her hand. "Let me read it."

Dear Dad,

School is going well, but I'm not looking forward to taking the NEWTs. How many did you get? I forget. I almost wish that Hermione was around, even though she'd be fanatic about forcing me to study--

"You would be," said Ron, smirking.

Hermione huffed. "I wouldn't be that bad," she told him, but she was smiling a little. Molly looked over at Arthur, he didn't say a word, but he was looking out the window, toward the distant mountains. She wondered if writing the letter was as difficult for Ginny as listening to it was for Arthur. But then she noticed that the punctuation at the end of every sentence was thick with ink, and thought that Ginny must've held her quill there for a long time, wondering what to say next.

I wish I could just play Quidditch. You know how I like to fly. Do you remember the first time I ever flew by myself, and Mum was so angry with you? I'm sure that she never guessed that I'd still like to fly. Which I do. I love to fly. But maybe not for five hours every day, which is what our captain is making us do. Not a bad thing, I guess, but he very much wants us to beat Hufflepuff (which is not exactly a key match, as they've lost rather spectacularly). He is more the Oliver Wood type captain than the Harry Potter type captain--

Ron snickered. "I'll bet he loves that," he said.

"Who does, dear?" Molly asked absently, thinking very quickly. She mentioned the captain a lot – is this who she is dating? It was logical, she supposed. They may have bonded over Quidditch. She looked up in time to catch a strange look that passed between Ron and Hermione.

"Er—"

Molly searched his face. His ears were bright red, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. He knows something I don't,she decided, then turned to eye Hermione. It was obvious that Ginny felt more comfortable when they didn't know anything about what she was doing and what was going on in her life – in her darker moments, Molly wondered if this stemmed from when they hadn't known what was going on with her, and they should have.

Hermione turned pink.

"Never mind," Molly said quietly. Their reaction solidified her suspicion that the object of Ginny's affections was the Gryffindor captain. He must be a very nice boy… Hermione said he's helping her. Molly couldn't help but think this must be true; Ginny had mentioned Harry, after all. And she'd written to her dad.

Whatever was happening with her daughter, she didn't want it to stop. So instead of pressing them for information, she took a deep breath and began to read again.

He is more the Oliver Wood type captain than the Harry Potter type captain. Which means that even I can sometimes get tired of flying.--

"Wow, who would've thought?" Ron asked.

"Hush, Ron," Hermione said.

Arnold is doing well. He has met a lady pygmy puff, but she's playing hard to get, which means that he is much moodier than you would expect. He has tried several different (elaborate) ways of getting her attention, but so far he has been unsuccessful. Then he insists on mooning over her for the rest of the time. You'll find him quite changed when you see him next, unless Calliope (the lady pygmy puff) relents.

Tell the others I said hello.

Love from,
Ginny

"The safety sign is there?" Arthur asked. "She isn't being forced to write this to me?"

Molly's eyes immediately went to the lightning bolt at the bottom of the note. It was there, thank Merlin, but Ginny must have been angry when she drew it, because it had been drawn so heavily, that the tip of her quill had punctured the parchment.

"It's there," she said.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

03 March 2002 – 07 March 2002

Harry never mentioned Ginny's abrupt departure a few nights before, and that sparked something inside her that she had a hard time ignoring. There was a flickering unease that was steadily growing. And even though the last thing she wanted to do was be irritated with Harry, when she was alone in her bed, she kept going over the little things, feeling like she was missing something important. And a part of her was certain that when she did find out, she wasn't going to like it.

Little reminders of her vague dissatisfaction kept cropping up in ways she didn't expect. Such as in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, and listening to Demelza's shy boasting.

"The Room of Requirement is a wonderful place," Demelza said. Ginny glanced at her in the mirror; her expression was slightly smug and mostly blissful. "He dragged me off before I even finished dinner."

"He's that randy?" Emma asked, squeezing toothpaste out on her toothbrush, and popping it in her mouth. "'E can' eben wai?"

Demelza glanced sidelong at Ginny; to Ginny's relief, she didn't stop talking, nor did she mention that Ginny was listening. "Well – since we've started doing it, he wants it all the time." The bright smile on her face indicated that she had no problem with this course of action.

And if Harry wanted to do that, Ginny couldn't envision herself disliking it. She didn't want him to carry her out of the Great Hall, for sure, but she wouldn't mind if he gave an indication that he wanted to be intimate. He kissed her often enough, but he never really did anything with the erections she knew he had unless she touched him.

"Good night," she said abruptly, leaving Demelza and Emma to their gossip.

She'd tested this theory. They'd been on the sofa, and they'd been kissing very heatedly, and Ginny had seen the bulge in his trousers. Not only that, but she'd felt it. So there was no denying that he'd wanted her and desired her, but when she'd pulled away without touching him, he hadn't even tried to stop her. Again.

The next night, Ginny came out of a particularly rough Quidditch practice to find that Harry wanted to go flying.

"Well… we haven't been flying for a while," Harry said, glancing almost forlornly at his Firebolt.

Ginny's bum hurt. Her back hurt. Her fingers were numb, and her gloves were becoming worn and thin, so her palm was developing a blister. But she would have gone if he really, really wanted to. "If you want to," she said uncertainly, trying (but failing) to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.

He backed down quickly. "No, no. It's fine."

The worst thing is, Ginny thought later, the fact that it seems like if I don't want to do something, he automatically doesn't want to do it either. In a distant way, it was almost as though she was in a relationship with someone under the Imperius Curse, which was something she absolutely did not want. Harry was his own person, certainly, but in their relationship he almost wasn't.

He kissed her when he was absolutely certain she wanted to be kissed. He flew when he knew she wanted to fly. And looking through this new lens, Ginny saw that their relationship had always had this one-sided nature. It was as though he had to have her explicit permission to do anything.

Two days after Harry had wanted to go flying, Ginny was still thinking about it as she had her breakfast in the Great Hall. And so distracted was she that her parents' owl had landed, she'd retrieved her letter and opened it before it really processed that it must be her father's reply.

Dear Ginny,

I'm glad to hear you are doing well. Don't let stress over the NEWTs take away your enjoyment of your last year at school. Don't tell your mum (or Hermione) I said this, but getting NEWTs is not as important as other things. Besides, I'm sure a smart witch like you will have no trouble.

Love,
Dad

Along with the initial cringe of hearing directly from him, Ginny stared down at it, feeling the same dissatisfaction and disappointment that she'd been feeling about Harry. One some level, she knew it was unfair of her. But Harry especially should know that she wasn't the same as she was six months ago. She wasn't going to break.

"Do you think I should write back to my dad?" Ginny asked later that night, leaning up against his legs. She was pretending to read her Charms notes in preparation for an exam, but really, she wanted to know what Harry thought.

He was silent for so long that Ginny wasn't sure he'd even heard her question. But then she felt the brush of his fingers in her hair; she leaned into his touch. "I think you should do what you feel comfortable with," he said. Something in his voice told her that he didn't quite agree with his own words.

The trouble was, Ginny didn't either. Easter was swiftly approaching, and then the secret would be out, and her family would know. And while this didn't strictly have a lot to do with her dad, she couldn't afford to wrap herself in a sort of emotional invisibility cloak.

I don't have to talk to him just because I'm with Harry, she told herself. But… she wanted the vision in the Mirror of Erised. When she brought Harry home with her, she wanted to step from Hogwarts to the Burrow as it had been, but only better. And to do that, she had to reach the point where her first reaction to her dad was revulsion.

Harry didn't seem to understand this.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

08 March 2002

Harry couldn't help but feel that things were way out of his control.

Not only had Ginny been… different this last week, but now she was avoiding him. He was perfectly capable of surviving without her touching him intimately, but he didn't know what it meant, and he knew that she hated feeling interrogated and pressed for answers. So he bit his tongue, returned to his shower routine, and asked her if she wanted to go flying a lot.

That question annoyed her too.

Harry gazed at his Firebolt, feeling a bit wistful. Even if she didn't want to go flying and lose herself in the air, he did.I could go alone, he thought. But that seemed even more lonely than wanking. He just wished that he could ask advice from someone. The other professors were out; he wasn't supposed to be dating a student. Maybe Ron and Hermione? But that would be awkward on too many different levels. Ginny was Ron's sister, and—

Remus Lupin.

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in their sitting room, sipping from a bottle of butterbeer. Dora kept stealing sidelong glances at him, but thankfully, she'd said nothing about Christmas, or the fact he hadn't contacted them since then, or even asked why he wanted to speak to Remus so badly.

Harry thought this was remarkably tactful of her. It must be the baby, he thought, glancing at her stomach. It really was quite huge. And looked uncomfortable. "When is – er – the arrival?" he asked, making a vague gesture toward her belly.

"Do you mean when am I going to push a baby out of my—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Dora," Remus said warningly, to Harry's immense relief. He'd finished tucking Teddy into bed at just the right moment. Harry was so glad that he didn't have to hear Dora use the word 'vagina' that when Remus offered his hand, Harry hugged him instead.

"How are the two of you?" he asked. "How's Teddy? Have you named the new baby yet?"

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?" Dora asked. "Where is the sour look? Or the need to flee as soon as you get here? And you actually asked about us! Will wonders never—"

"Dora—"

"I have a girlfriend," Harry blurted out. Inwardly, he grimaced at Dora's words, though he knew he deserved them. They had no idea why Voldemort's downfall had placed a huge burden of guilt on his shoulders, and that was fine. Harry didn't really want them to understand, because that would mean they knew everything…

Dora's eyes widened and began to sparkle in preparation for merciless teasing. Which was what Harry intended, as a little compensation gift for him inflicting his dark moods on them. So he resigned himself to take it; he had to, anyway. He'd come to them for advice.

"I told you all he needed was to shag!" Dora crowed. "Look at him, Remus, he's obviously happier—"

"I haven't shagged her," Harry said plainly.

"That's a problem," Dora said cheerfully.

Harry bit his tongue, the realization that he was not going to get what he had come for creeping over him. He couldn't just say that there were a whole lot of issues behind the shagging; that would lead them straight to the right conclusion. Maybe if she hadn't been acting so strangely, he would have told them who she was, but…

"If you aren't shagging her, why'd you buy the sex book?" she asked, giving him a knowing look. Remus groaned.

Harry gaped at her. Is nothing private? he thought, indignant. To his annoyance, he could feel a flush creeping up his face, beginning at his neck and ending with his cheeks tingling viciously. "What – what sex book?"

"The one Hermione saw you buy," she said.

Damn.

The hope that Hermione hadn't told anyone died a quick death. Dora had no idea what the larger implications were, but eventually (over Easter, which was approaching far too rapidly for Harry's comfort) people would know about their relationship. It isn't anything to be ashamed of, he reminded himself. But it wasn't for his sake that he wished Hermione hadn't told anyone. "Listen," he said. "If you ever see us together – could you not mention the book?"

"You want her to think it just came naturally, do you? Well, I suppose we can—"

"Enough, Dora," Remus said softly. Harry was shocked when Dora grimaced, but subsided.

"She's been really moody lately," said Harry. That was an understatement. He couldn't seem to do anything right. "And then today she told me we couldn't hang out, but didn't even give a reason. We hang out a lot," he rushed to say. "And maybe she has other stuff to do, but all she said was—"

"How long has she been moody?" Dora asked.

"I dunno," Harry thought back. "A week, maybe? And it's like I can't do anything right—"

"That sounds familiar," Remus murmured.

Harry felt a frisson of alarm, though he wasn't exactly sure why. "What? Why?" he asked sharply.

Remus grimaced. "You wouldn't believe the horror stories—"

"I want you to think back, Harry," Dora interrupted her husband. "Has this happened before? Perhaps with… monthly regularity?"

Harry thought quickly. Ginny did disappear each months, usually around the same time; almost the same day, actually, now that he thought about it. He did the math, staring at Remus all the while. Almost unbidden, an image of Fenrir Greyback rose up in his mind, just as rage began to simmer in his belly. A werewolf? Surely I would have known… "You think she's a werewolf?"

Dora's laugh rang in the room. She had one hand on her huge belly and the other covered her mouth, and Harry had never come so close to cursing her. His hand was actually on the Elder Wand. "It isn't funny!" he shouted, knowing that he sounded crazy, but not caring. "Your husband was bitten by a werewolf," he reminded her.

"I'm aware of that—"

"And I killed the werewolf who bit him," he added. Memories of what Fenrir Greyback had done to Ginny swirled in his head, feeding his anger. "It isn't funny at all. It isn't a joke, and—"

"Your girlfriend is probably on her period," Dora interjected.

Harry's anger slammed into a brick wall and disappeared, only to be replaced by discomfort. "Er—"

"I didn't laugh because I honestly thought she was a werewolf," she said gently. "Look at Remus. He'd be hairy and beastly right now if it was a full moon, so I think your girlfriend is safe from that particular affliction."

Silence fell. Harry cursed himself for being the worst kind of moron. He'd just yelled at a pregnant woman. No matter how angry he'd been, that had to be against the rules. Her explanation did make sense… if Harry wasn't such an idiot, he might've guessed at it.

He glanced at Dora. She was exchanging some sort of silent communication with Remus. "I'm sorry," he said, ruffling his hair, and then scratching the back of his neck. "Sometimes I just have trouble," he admitted. I really shouldn't have come here, he thought glumly.

"You can have a pass this time," Dora said, stroking her belly. "You did kill the werewolf who made my husband's life far more difficult than it should have been."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

09 March 2002

The morning they were to meet Ron and Hermione in the upper room at the Hog's Head, Ginny woke up with her belly in knots. And it had nothing to do with her period. It was as though her mind had been working overtime through the night (even though she didn't remember her dreams), and had landed on a conclusion that Ginny didn't want to believe.

But what if he was with her because he felt sorry for her? What if he went along with her because he didn't want to damage her further, and because he (misguidedly) blamed himself? What if he was trying to make it up to her by pretending that he actually cared for her?

She rebelled against the idea. Harry was too emotionally honest for that—

But you weren't the only one damaged by Malfoy Manor, an awful little voice pointed out. What if he feels so guilty that he'll do whatever he can to help you, even pretend?

Harry wouldn't. He had to know how cruel that would be, and Harry wasn't a cruel man. But…

What if he felt like he just couldn't say no to her? She'd kissed him first, she'd opened up to him first, she'd climbed into his bed, and she'd touched him. She'd known for years that he had an over-blown sense of guilt and self-blame; the thought made her physically ill, but what if these last few months with him stemmed from guilt and not love or whatever he felt for her?

What if—

Stop! she told herself desperately, rocketing out of bed and into the day, trying to shut her brain off. There was no reason to come to the worst possible conclusion about his behavior—

He never came after you, that small voice pointed out. She froze in the act of pulling on her jumper. It was true. When she'd told him yesterday that she couldn't hang out, he hadn't said a word. And when she'd had that awful dream and avoided him, he hadn't tried to stop her. What if a part of him had been relieved, and after their mutual history, he just couldn't tell her that—

"Arnold, where are you?" she said, mostly to derail her own train of thought. Her pygmy puff poked his head out from where he'd nestled in between two pillows. He blinked his huge eyes up at her, obviously still groggy. "You need to stop staying up so late mooning over Calliope," she said sharply.

Arnold made a mutinous squeak.

Ginny did her best to ignore her own thoughts, even going so far as to dunk her head under the shower. I'm just freaked out because we're actually going on a – on a double date with Ron and Hermione, she repeated to herself. That's all. Nothing more. Harry had feelings for me.

But doubt dogged her steps and distracted her so much that she walked right through a game of wizard's chess. "Oh, sorry!" she said, as a miniature, carved knight began attacking her shoe with his sword. The black queen swore viciously at her, and the pawns on both sides began to riot.

Three young Gryffindors blinked up at her with identical expressions of annoyance. But the status of being an especially old seventh year protected her from their disdain. Somewhat.

"Next time, please watch where you're going," Stuart Method said between gritted teeth. "Please."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I just – wasn't watching where I was going." Ginny wanted to ask them if it was really necessary that they play their game in the middle of the floor on a Saturday morning, but stopped herself.

The two girls whispered furiously behind her hands, and then stared at her intently in the eye, as though looking for something. Ginny flushed, but refused to look away. "Well, I'll just—"

"Are you going to Hogsmeade?" Method asked.

Ginny didn't like the tone in his voice much. "Yeah," she said begrudgingly, inching toward the door. She had no idea why all three of them suddenly looked so grim, but it annoyed the hell out of her.

"Are you going with Professor Potter?" Method persisted aggressively.

"What's it to you?" she snapped before she could stop herself.

"Just – be careful," Aisling Powell said earnestly.

Ginny stared at her in disbelief. Is a twelve year old actually telling me to be careful with Harry?! Who the hell did she think she was? In order to keep herself from hexing the irritating trio, Ginny pressed her lips together, turned around, and headed out the portrait hole.