Chapter 3:

Harry eagerly opened up his email, as was becoming his habit as of late. He was only partially aware of the huge grin that had appeared on his face as soon as he saw Redflash's name pop up in his in-box.

Harry –

I have to admit something to you. I know who you are. I didn't say anything before this because I wasn't certain we were going to keep "talking" this way. But I also have to admit, I have been enjoying these little notes of ours. It's almost a form of virtual flirting, isn't it?

When I say I know who you are, I mean, of course, your playing career. I can't claim to know you any other way, personally. I will say I thought you were one of the best center-backs the game has ever seen, and it was a sad day for all true football fans when you decided to retire. But I understand why you opted for that choice. I think the work you're doing now with your Sports Centers is lovely. There are not many (if any) players in the game these days that would do anything that required giving back to anyone but themselves. I have a friend who was personally helped by one of your centers, and she thinks you're a hero.

I know it seems an unfair advantage for me to know you and not to come clean about who I am. But I have had a few issues in the past with being too open, too soon, and I would like to be safer than sorry at this point. Can you understand that? Minus the personal-who I am- details, I do promise to honestly answer any questions you have.

Yes, I have red hair. A tragedy for most of my life – gingers do get picked on while little, especially girls – it has now turned into a boon. ;-) Meaning: I am quite glad you like the color and the hair.

I hope you will continue to write me back after this – in a short while, your letters have become a highlight of my day. But if not, cheers and au revoir. That's French, you know. A redhead who speaks French. Imagine the possibilities!

-Red-

Harry reread the letter again and stared at it for a while. He was both confused and relieved. Confused, because he didn't understand why she couldn't just tell him who she was. And relieved because he had been wondering how to tell her he was a former 'celebrity' who was still rather well-known. Harry had actually been composing paragraphs in his head – oh, hey, are you familiar with football? I used to play, you know, professionally… had sounded smoother inside his head rather than on the screen.

Harry sighed, the cursor for the reply button blinking at him for attention. After he thought it through, he realized he didn't care that she wouldn't tell him who she was. He reckoned that she had her reasons, and they were probably good ones. Harry could understand her wanting to protect herself from weirdos on the internet. If he had a sister, he'd likely advise her to do the same, as Ron probably would too. Maybe Harry would ask his friend later if his sister had any issues. He hit reply and took a deep breath.

Red-

Thank you for letting me know. I admit I had been trying to come up with a way to tell you about my 'professional' career without sounding like a prat. Now I can sound like a prat about other things much more important! Aren't you lucky?

You're right, it does seem an unfair advantage, but nevertheless, I do understand it. The internet is a weird place sometimes, and I would assume it is even weirder for women. I am sorry you have had issues in the past with it. I am assuming that is what you meant?

I appreciate the promise of honesty, and I grant you that same promise. I too, have begun to look forward to our little notes throughout the day. And it is very much like flirting. Albeit, a prolonged form of flirting. But I like it. I can think of my response better this way. Usually, with girls, I am nervous and utter bollocks. (Hard to believe, I know. At least, I hope it's hard to believe?)

I have to tell you that when you admitted to having red hair (remember all I saw of it that night was that turban monstrosity you'd wrapped it in), a little part of me jumped for joy. And a big grin may or may not have graced my face at the thought. So yes, it is a boon, among other things.

I am glad to hear of your friend's good experience with the Centers. That was my goal in creating them - helping kids that might not have anywhere else to turn and getting them off the streets. Since you know who I am, you know my parents were taken from me at an early age, and thank god I had my godfather and my uncle to raise me. Also, thankfully, I had football to help discipline me and teach me important life-lessons, or otherwise, I'm not sure how I would have turned out. But please tell your friend I am not a hero. That makes me feel odd, just writing that. As my godfather will tell you, I leave far too many dirty clothes everywhere, and I have unbelievably smelly feet to be a hero. Also, I'm relatively grumpy until I've had my first cup of coffee in the morning.

I'm just throwing that out there for future reference. No reason. But you do own a coffee maker, I trust?

Jusqu'à la Prochaine Fois –

Harry (I impressed you there, come on, admit it)

Harry hit send and smiled. He had shared a bit more than he'd wanted, but it was good. In fact, it was brilliant. Harry felt as though he was genuine with this woman, whoever she was. It was strange because he already sort of knew what she looked like and he knew he liked it. Remembering that kiss almost made him blush. Because now that he knew she was a person beneath it all – a person with feelings and a sense of humor and everything else, it made it all the more exciting.

"Did the computer just make you happy?" Sirius's voice broke him out of his daydreams, and Harry blinked up at his godfather.

"No, I was just…thinking," Harry said.

"You still writing that girl from the club?" Sirius said, coming into his room and sitting down on the bed. Harry turned in his chair and nodded, suddenly feeling silly.

"She, er, knows who I am. I mean, she told me she knows I'm "Harry Potter – Football Player." Harry raised his hands and made the gesture for quotations. "I'm a bit relieved really, I wasn't sure how I was going to tell her that."

"And did she tell you who she was?" Sirius asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"No, she…she still wants me to call her Red. But she said she's had problems in the past being too open with that stuff, so I've decided she has a point."

"Just don't fall too hard, godson."

Harry frowned. "I'm not. But I like her, Sirius. I like her a lot. There's something about her personality that comes through. She's…it's nice to read her letters. That's all."

Sirius tutted under his breath and got up. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Being careful works for both sides, Harry. You have such a giving heart, just don't let it be taken advantage of."

"I won't," Harry said, nodding at him.

Sirius grinned at him and ruffled his hair. "Come on, you can help me at the kennel today."

"Oh? I can?" Harry asked, smirking as he got up.

"Yeah, you need some sunlight on that deathly pale skin of yours. You have a future bird to prepare for. You need to look fit and tan."

Harry snorted as they headed downstairs. "I don't tan, Sirius. I burn. And then become pale once again. I don't even get freckles."

Harry stopped, wondering suddenly if Red had freckles, like Ron and his family. He didn't think he'd noticed any on her, but then again, the nightclub did have dodgy lighting, and she had been fairly covered up. Sirius looked at him.

"Er, hello? Harry?" He waved a hand in front of Harry's face, catching his attention. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, I got distracted wondering if Red had freckles. She confirmed she's a ginger."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Oh, Lord, do you have it bad, already. Just like your father. Potter men and their red-heads."

"Hey, Cho had black hair!" Harry said, not sure what point he was making, but feeling put out, anyway.

"Yes, she did, but…" Sirius paused and looked at his godson, his face sobering. "I never thought Cho was going to be the one for you, Harry. I liked her fine, but…I wasn't surprised when you broke up. I always felt as though you two were together out of obligation more than anything."

Harry frowned. "Obligation?"

Sirius sighed and nodded at the sofa, so they sat down. "You two got together so young, and then you got your football contract, and Cho's work started to get noticed. You were both sort of clinging to each other in the sea of all of that. Don't get me wrong, I did like her, but she always seemed a bit too…cold fish to me."

Harry looked at his godfather in dismay. "You never told me this before! What do you mean, cold fish?"

"Well," Sirius paused and then sighed. He gave Harry a direct look. It was a look that alerted Harry that he probably wouldn't like what his godfather was about to say.

"How was the sex?"

Harry felt his face heat and looked away and then back at his godfather. "It was… adequate." As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Harry groaned. He looked at Sirius, who had merely raised his eyebrow at him. "That was the worst word to use, wasn't it?"

"What do you think?"

Harry sighed. "We got on fine, you know. She's very clever, Cho. And polite. And she liked me before…"

"Before you became famous, I know, Harry. Like I said, I think both of you clung to that for a long time. But how did she make you feel? Did you feel like you couldn't get enough of her every time you were together?"

Harry frowned. "At first, yeah, I mean, sex was…you know." Harry paused and rolled his eyes. "It was new. But…I reckon that wore off?"

"I'm gonna tell you a secret, Harry. Your mum and dad knew each other forever and were together for years before they got married. And you know what? They still couldn't keep their hands off each other. Whether it was just watching the telly or cooking or just sitting together, Lily and James always needed to be touching. I sort of want that for you, too. I want some bird to drive you crazy, to make you forget your own name. Every single time."

Harry swallowed roughly. "But is that even…is that even possible? That kind of passion?"

Sirius sighed. "I hope so. I'm old enough to stop believing it is, but God help me, I'm still out there looking for it. But then again, I'm not like you, either. You're what we like to call 'a one-woman man'. Very much like your father. When you fall, Harry, it's gonna be hard and long and forever. I just have this feeling. So that's why I told you to be careful, up there. Protect that big heart of yours."

Sirius reached out and put his hand on Harry's chest. "Your parents are in here, and they agree. Don't be afraid to be open and caring and full of love for someone else. But also, don't be an idiot."

Harry finally laughed, feeling touched. "Thanks. I'll try."

"Good, now come on. Work awaits us with wagging tails and loud barks."

They headed out, and Harry felt cheered by their talk. He had admitted it in his email before, but he was fortunate he had such a great person in his godfather. Sirius always made him feel loved and understood. He knew if his Dad could see them now, he'd be happy and proud that he'd made such a fantastic choice of guardian.

o-o-o-o-o

Harry –

I hate to burst your coffee bubble, but like all fine, upstanding Britons, I rely on that other magical elixir to give me strength throughout the day – Tea. Yes, I am a tea-totaler. I prefer a robust Earl Grey, brewed for days with one sugar and a splash of milk. My brothers used to tell me it would put hair on my chest when I was little girl, but that never stopped me from drinking it (I did so love to be contrary).

I bet you're thinking of my un-hairy or possibly hairy chest now, aren't you? ;)

-Red

Red-

Damn straight, I'm thinking of your chest now. I seem to recall a severe lack of hair sprouting up over that dress you were wearing, so I am going to safely say that strong tea did not put hair on your chest. Either that or you have a severe beauty regimen that requires waxes and shears and possibly some sort of powerful shaving device…

Alas. I reckon we will never be able to share breakfast together. Coffee is life.

-Harry

P.S. So tell me more about what else you liked to be contrary about as a little girl. These tidbits of yours are definitely drawing a picture.

o-o-o-o-o

A few days later, Harry was at Ron's house, helping his friend store some boxes in the attic. They were almost finished, and Harry was glad. He didn't mind helping out – far from it, actually – but he had to admit his back was starting to whinge.

"Did I tell you? Percy got a promotion." Ron was saying as Harry handed him one of the last boxes.

"Oh? What is he the head of now?"

"Well, if you ask my brothers and me, he's Head Minister Of Prat-Hood, but strangely enough, everyone else wants to say he's now head of the local West Devon Transportation Ministry. Same difference, really."

Harry laughed and then looked down to realize the next box was the last one and also, far too long. "Er, Ron, I don't think this last one is going to fit up there."

Ron swore and climbed down the little ladder that was hanging off the attic door. "Shite. Hermione told me to put that one up first. Now I'll never hear the end of it. Hey, I know, we'll put it in the study for now. It's my extra room, really. She hardly goes in there. Come on, whoops-a-daisy."

Harry bit back a laugh at Ron and picked up the other end of the long box. When they were finished, Harry looked at Ron.

"Whoops-a-daisy?"

Ron's ears turned pink. "Yeah, my Mum says it. I reckon I've been spending too much time with them lately. Their expressions of old are rubbing off on me."

"How are they doing?" Harry asked as they closed the attic up and headed downstairs.

"They're fine. My dad is talking about retiring soon. And Mum is excited because Bill wrote and said he's coming back home for a spell. She's grandchild crazy, my Mum. She thinks the rest of us are never going to have kids or something."

Ron poured them both some lemonade from a glass pitcher, and they went outside to sit in the garden.

"You know, you should come over tomorrow. Mum's having one of her big do's for Percy's promotion. It's really just an excuse for the mad lot of us to get together. She always hears Hermione and me talking about you. She's dying to meet you. For you, of course, not because you played footie."

Harry considered it and took a long drink. "Maybe I will, what time?"

"Hmm, 'round six, I guess. Ginny will be there."

Harry saw Ron give him a furtive look and didn't know why. He hadn't expressed any particular desire to meet Ron's temper-happy sister.

"Your sister still having a rough time?" Harry asked, mostly from lack of anything to say.

Ron sighed. "She's doing better. Hermione seems to think she's met someone that's helping her take her mind off her previous troubles, but she won't say anything more than that. We give Ginny a hard time, I have to say. Me and my brothers…we just don't think there is anyone good enough for her. Well, I might be changing my mind about that." Ron paused and gave Harry an unreadable look. "But she plays things close to the chest, our Ginny. Too many years of us giving any bloke she fancied a hard time. Of course, I reckon in the past we had some concern and reason for being over-protective. But I suppose I should start to trust her decisions. She is an adult now, after all."

Harry didn't really say anything, his mind was already turning to his own romantic life. The letters between him and Red were continuing and even increasing in frequency. They now wrote each other two to three times a day. And they were getting to know each other reasonably well, to be honest. Harry thought he had a pretty good idea that the woman he was conversing with was more or less the most interesting, cleverest, funniest female he'd ever had the pleasure to meet. So to speak.

"How's your love life these days, Harry?" Ron finally asked, finishing off his lemonade.

"Fair. Actually, I'm still talking to the girl from the club."

Ron appeared surprised. "What, really?"

Harry nodded. "Well, I say talk, but it's really just email. But we have some great conversations. It's sort of nice."

"And neither of you want to actually, I don't know, meet each other? Talk on the phone, perhaps?"

Harry laughed at Ron's expression. "I do, mate, trust me. But she wants to take it slow. And you know what? I like it that way, too."

Ron frowned. "But by the time you two actually go out on a date, you'll have found out all about each other, and you'll have nothing more to say!"

"Oh, we'll find things. She's very clever. I can't imagine ever being bored with her."

Ron shook his head, and they made plans to go over to his parents together the next day. Hermione came home as Harry was leaving and gave him a huge smile.

"Harry! Sorry I missed you. He didn't put you to work moving those boxes, did he?"

Harry caught Ron's expression, and dutifully shook his head. "No, I only lifted one, and then Ron told me to sit down and feel comfortable. I read one of your mystery books in there."

Hermione had narrowed her eyes at her husband, but at Harry's words, she laughed. "Oh, well-played, you two. Like I'm going to believe Ron did all the work, and you just sat about and read. Pull the other one."

Harry looked at Ron, and they both shrugged as Hermione shook her head at them. "Are you coming to Molly and Arthur's tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I'll meet you two here, and we'll go in one car. Which works because I don't know where they live."

"Good, Molly is dying to meet you. She's a force to be reckoned with when it comes to cooking, make sure you bring your appetite," Hermione said, joining arms with her husband, who nodded in agreement.

They said their goodbyes and Harry walked home. It'd been a few hours, and he hoped that he would have an email waiting for him when he got back.

o-o-o-o-o

Harry-

I may not have a coffee machine, but I assure you I have plenty of other assets you will enjoy should we ever find ourselves in an 'eating breakfast together' type of situation. Other things can be life as well, you know. ;-)

Red-

It is the middle of the day, and suddenly I am finding it hard to concentrate. Who knew the word 'assets' was so bloody sexy? Perhaps I have been too abrupt in my need for coffee. O course, I've had three cups today and feel moderately caffeinated, so I'll likely agree to anything right now.

Harry-

Three cups? Already? Did you use to play your matches with that much caffeine in your body? Bloody hell, no wonder you were known to have a lot of pace! I remember a particular game against Chelsea, where you were like a blur up and down the pitch! Now I know why!

Red –

You seem familiar with football…which I am going to assume means you like it. Do you, or have you played? Was that one of the contrary things you did as a little girl? I can just see it in my mind – your red hair in a ponytail as you tear down the field, making grown men quiver in fear… (notice how I am ignoring your jibes about my caffeine intake, you haven't earned that privilege. Yet)

Harry –

Do you know what I love the most about playing football? The sheer…physicality of it. It's like my mind is entirely focused on that one thing. Make the goal. Protect the ball. Clear the way. Whichever position I take, it's the same. My brother (I have a brother, actually a couple, I'm sure I've mentioned this), used to be a goalie when he was younger. He taught me all I know about football.

My dream was to play with the Lionesses, but it never happened. Mostly because my Mum told me to go on to university and have something to fall back on. In retrospect, she was right, but every now and then, I wonder about what might have been…

I practice still, just to help stay fit and keep my feet in. ;) I play with my family sometimes. Do you ever miss it? I know your injury caused you pain, or at least, that is what you said in your statement. But I was wondering if you ever got back on the pitch and allowed yourself the pure pleasure of just knocking the ball about. In the past, I would watch your games, and you often seemed to play with such utter joy. You always had this look on your face that you honestly couldn't think of a better place to be than on that pitch, running with your teammates. I guess my real question is, do you still allow yourself to feel that happiness? Because it would make me a little sad to learn that you didn't or couldn't anymore…

Harry paused in his reading and sighed. This was his second read-through of this particular letter, and it made him feel melancholy yet happy in a strange way. He was amazed by how much this woman seemed to understand him and know him. True, they had been exchanging a lot of letters, but Red just seemed to get him. The way Sirius or Remus got him. It was an exhilarating feeling, and yet it also made him sad too, because she was right. He did miss being on the pitch – it had been the happiest he'd ever been in his entire life. The pain from the injury, Harry could live with. It had been knowing he was disappointing people sometimes, that had been the hard part.

Closing the window of his email, he started shutting down his computer. He had already replied to her, and he was due at Ron and Hermione's to go over to Ron's parent's house. Something Ron had said yesterday had made Harry start to yearn for a slightly different way of communicating, to be honest.

Harry wondered how Red would react if he broached the subject of talking on the phone one night. It seemed the next logical step, to Harry. He just wasn't sure why he hadn't brought it up to her yet. Perhaps there was a part of Harry that didn't want to frighten her away. Their letters had turned more personal and more in-depth, but she still had that ability to make him laugh. As well as her ability to make him feel…other things. Things that made his stomach swoop and his body react. But Harry found himself wanting to match a tone of voice with her words. To see if he made her laugh and what that sounded like and to see if he could make her feel things as well.

He bid goodnight to Dora and Remus, who were watching a movie on the downstairs television. Sirius had murmured something about a date and took off. Remus and Harry and merely looked at each other, neither one knowing anything to tell the other.

He showed up at Ron and Hermione's just as they were locking their door. They climbed into Ron's car, and they were off, with Hermione explaining to Harry that he should expect total bedlam at the Weasleys and to just 'go with it.' Harry smiled, thinking that a large family must be a nice thing to have sometimes.

The Weasleys lived in Ottery St Catchpole, in south Devon. It had a country look to it that Harry liked. Their home was large and had a very lived-in appearance. He could tell different parts of it had been added through the years as the Weasley family had grown. Ron seemed a little embarrassed by it, but Harry thought it was brilliant. Right down to the cows off to the side of the house and the chickens in the front. It looked like a home where a lot of memories had been made. And a lot of love had been born.

As they walked up the stone path towards the main door, a stout yet friendly-looking woman waved at them. From her red hair and wide smile, Harry assumed this was the matriarch of the family, herself. She hugged Ron and Hermione and then smiled widely at Harry.

"And you must be Harry! Ron has told us so much about you, dear! I am so glad you two have become such good friends. I was sad to hear you had stopped playing last year. There were quite a few of us here that enjoyed watching your games, dear."

"Uh, thanks, Mrs Weasley, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, too," Harry said, shaking her hand. Molly's eyes beamed at him.

"Come, you must meet Arthur, Ron's father. And Fred and George are here already giving Percy a hard time, of course, and Ginny's hiding somewhere. She might be coming down with something, she looked positively white as a sheet earlier when she found out you were coming, Harry. Hermione, come into the kitchen with me, I want to show you this new recipe I found…"

Molly and Hermione headed towards the house as Ron jerked his head at Harry, indicating he should follow him. Ron led him around back and over to an old sort of shed that looked about one heavy wind away from toppling over. Ron did a series of knocks on the door and smiled at Harry's confusion.

"We have a secret knock, so he knows it's one of us and not Mum. She thinks he comes out here to watch the telly or garden or whatever. He actually uses it for his real hobby."

The door opened a moment later, and a man with red-hair like Ron's stuck his head out of the door. He had brown eyes and wore small spectacles that were currently perched on the end of his nose, giving him an owlish look.

"Ron! Good man. And this is?"

"Dad, this is Harry Potter, remember I told you we'd be bringing him to dinner?"

Arthur Weasley squinted at Harry. "Ah, so it is! So it is! A pleasure to meet you, Harry, now both of you get in here before Molly comes walking by."

Arthur pulled on Ron's arm and yanked his son in quickly behind him. Harry shook his head and also moved into the shed. His ears were immediately filled with an insistent sort of buzzing, and Harry realized it was because they were surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of gadgets. Alarm clocks, stereos, old cd players, tape recorders, vacuum cleaners, lamps, fans, anything that was electric seemed to be there. All Harry could do is stare at everything in wonder.

Ron gave him an embarrassed look. "Er, my dad likes to take things apart and put them back together again. Drives Mum spare, but we love it. Us kids, I mean."

"I think it's brilliant," Harry said truthfully. He and Ron went over to the desk where Mr Weasley was motioning to them to join him.

"Now this was a find, you two. I found it at a jumble sale over in Newton Abbott. It is a 1945 sewing machine. Well, the motor of one. The other part is over there." Arthur nodded towards some bits and bobs that were lying on the table next to them. Harry couldn't really tell which piece was what. It looked a mystery.

"What are you going to do with it?" Ron asked his father, picking up the small motor.

"Oh! I don't know yet, and that's the joy of it, Ron. What do you think, Harry?"

"Er, it's ace, Mr Weasley. Did you take apart everything that's in here?"

"And find different uses for it, yes. Molly, bless her, tolerated it as much as she could in the early years, but now I'm afraid I've been regulated to this shed. Ah, well, come, lads, let's see if Molly has put out some finger food for us yet. We'll get you an ale, too, Harry. Fred and George brought over some of their home-brew."

They followed Mr Weasley out of the shed, and Harry heard a muffled "Oh!" and turned to see a flash of red hair disappear around the corner of the house. He frowned and stopped, wondering what was going on.

"I suspect that was Ginny you saw disappearing, Harry. Don't pay her any attention," Mr Weasley said, matter-of-fact.

Harry was puzzled as to why Ron's sister would be nervous about meeting him and followed the other two men into the house.

o-o-o-o-o

Harry had to admit that Ron had not been lying about his mum's cooking. He honestly didn't know when he had last eaten such a delicious meal. And it was total chaos at the table, of course, but Harry enjoyed it immensely. All of the Weasleys talked to and above each other so that it was a small cacophony of sound that nevertheless made him feel happy and accepted. He and Hermione shared amused glances throughout most of the meal. Still, everyone else was acting as though nothing was unusual about their way of communicating. Everyone that is, except one.

Glancing at her now, Harry had been trying to figure out the youngest Weasley ever since they'd sat down. Ginny Weasley had chosen the farthest seat from him and was not joining in with her family's loud, boisterous camaraderie. Ron had whispered to him in dismay, saying it was 'bloody strange she's so silent over there. Usually, she hardly shuts up', which only caused Harry to glance at her more.

She was actually fairly pretty, Harry decided. Freckled like Ron, and her hair was a brighter red, but only just. She had it pulled back into a ponytail, with long wisps of it along her face. He remembered the picture at Ron's house of Ginny as a twelve-year-old and realized she'd definitely grown up. Well, obviously, you dolt, his inner voice chastised him. But for as pretty as she was, she was so lacking in personality, that Harry was, in the end, confused as to how this timid, shy thing of a girl could be known for having such a lousy temper. By the end of the meal, Harry had actually forgotten about her. He wouldn't have even noticed she'd left the table if he hadn't heard Percy asking Mrs Weasley 'what had caused Ginny to be so deathly quiet'.

After the meal, Fred and George pleaded with Harry to kick the football around for a while, but Harry begged off, not quite feeling up to it. Ron and the twins convinced their father to join them, and Harry sat with Hermione and Mrs Weasley, laughing at the twin's antics. Percy served as a referee, naturally.

"Oh, Ginny should be out there, not Arthur," Mrs Weasley was telling Hermione. Noticing Harry's look, Mrs Weasley smiled at him. "My daughter is a better player than all of her brothers put together. I don't know what has got into her today. Usually, she'd be the first one out there, and she'd have convinced you to join in as well, mark my words."

"It's not trouble with Dean still, is it?" He heard Hermione ask. He saw Mrs Weasley shake her head.

"No, she's over him. I think there's someone new, but she hasn't mentioned any names."

Hermione nodded her head. "I think there's someone, too. I was actually hoping she would have invited him over today."

"Oh, well, she'll tell us when she's ready, I reckon. There's no hurrying Ginny when she wants to go slow," Mrs Weasley said wistfully. Her eyes fell on Harry, who realized he'd move closer to listen to them. He sat back, feeling guilty. "Oh, Harry dear, do you mind fetching us some lemonade? I left it on the table in the kitchen."

Harry smiled and nodded, knowing that had been her way of telling him to leave and to let them talk woman to woman. He watched the men passing the ball as he walked back towards the house. As he entered through the doorway, Harry paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the light. He stopped short as he realized Ginny Weasley was standing by the kitchen window, looking out at her brothers playing football. He cleared his throat, and she turned her head, meeting his eyes briefly. Harry got a funny feeling in his stomach for a moment, but then it was gone as Ginny turned around, her back to him.

"Er, your Mum sent me in to fetch some lemonade," Harry said, feeling as though he sounded like an idiot.

"It's on the table," Ginny muttered, still not looking at him.

"Okay…" Harry said, confused by her attitude. He walked by her into the kitchen and found the tray. He stopped and looked back at her. "Er, did I do something to offend you or something?"

Ginny violently shook her head, still not looking at him. Harry sighed and counted the glasses on the tray, realizing they were one short. He looked around for an extra glass but didn't see any. Harry went over to the cupboard and opened a few doors to find one. He was about to turn around and ask Ginny for some help when he sensed her behind him. He scooted out of the way as she leaned next to him, opening the next cupboard and pulling out another glass. She gave him a small smile, her eyes (Harry was surprised to see they were brown, not blue, like Ron's) not quite meeting his, and then she was gone. Harry stood there, dumbfounded. There was something downright puzzling about that girl!

The rest of the evening went by uneventfully, and soon they were heading back to the village in Ron's car. Harry had a plate of food and a large container treacle tart in his lap for his godfather and uncle. Harry stared out the window of the vehicle, not really seeing anything. The strange behavior of Ron's sister was still bothering him. Why was she acting as though Harry had the plague? Everyone claimed she was a force to be reckoned with, but around Harry, she was as quiet as a church mouse. It was unsettling the more he thought about it.

He arrived home to a happy Sirius and Remus, who both loved a good treacle tart, almost as much as Harry did. He ran upstairs to check his computer. Tonight he was going to ask for Red's phone number, he had decided. Harry wanted to move their connection to the next level, and there was no better time to do it. All thoughts of the confounding Ginny Weasley left his mind.

Except that when he checked his mailbox, it was empty. Harry stared at the screen for a moment, not entirely understanding what he was seeing. Had he not sent his reply? He checked his outgoing mail and saw that the letter was there as 'sent.' She quite simply hadn't written him back.

Harry frowned. This wasn't like her. They always wrote each other back within a few hours. Never longer than eight hours, if it was late in the night. So why hadn't she responded? Harry reread the letter he'd sent and couldn't see anything offensive in it and frowned again.

Maybe she was busy, or something had come up, Harry thought to himself. After all, hadn't he had plans today, too? Wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt, Harry closed out of the main window and turned off his computer.

"She'll write in the morning," Harry said out loud to his empty bedroom. He chose to ignore the blatant false confidence he heard in his own voice and decided to get ready for bed.

o-o-o-o-o

Red-

Are you okay? It's been a couple of days, and while I know we never actually said we'd write every day, I have to say I've sort of grown used to your words brightening my mornings (and afternoons and evenings). If I said something to offend you, then I am sorry.

-Harry, who is hoping that all is well and drinking far too much coffee and wishing you would get after him about it

Dear Harry –

I'm sorry it has been a few days. I could explain myself, but honestly, I just needed some time to get my head straight. I am sorry if you felt frustrated or neglected. That is one of the problems with this sort of communication – it's instant but only after we hit send. Please know that I wrote you half-a-dozen letters in the last few days, but I just couldn't seem to send any of them. (There I am, being contrary again)

Have you ever had an out-of-body experience (And no, not the kind that comes from imbibing too much coffee)? In particular, have you ever had an experience where you know you are yourself, you're fairly sure you're awake and in charge of your own faculties, and yet you still act as though aliens have taken over your brain and made you act like a daft cow?

No, you probably haven't. Perhaps it is something only women go through. We want to act one way, but end up acting another, to our own confusion. Please know that my silence had everything to do with me and not you. If I could go back in time and change it, I would. But I can't, so here we are.

We have talked about so much in this little box, and yet I feel as though we've missed a few of the big ones. But just know that I am here. Always. If you need to talk or laugh or fret about anything, I will listen. And I promise not to go silent again. Because, at the end of all of it, you have meant the world to me these last few weeks. And I hope I have meant something to you.

Sincerely & Hoping You'll Respond –

Red

Ps. Put that coffee cup DOWN

PPS. I may have over-drank my share of Earl Grey this week, too.

Harry read the letter a few dozen times and then told himself to stop. He felt relief that she was okay and yet also angry that she'd known what she'd been doing to him by not responding. Taking a deep breath, he started to type.

Red –

I am sorry you felt as though you had to step away from this…whatever this is…to get your equilibrium back. I went through half-a-dozen scenarios myself – did I say something wrong? Did I misunderstand something? Do I type as though I have bad breath? I finally came to the conclusion that perhaps a break was a good thing (For the record, though? It wasn't. Damn it, I missed you).

You're right, we talk about a lot of things in this box, and yeah, there are things we skip over. But all of this nothing we've been doing has meant something to me, too.

I'm going to ask you a question, and I want your complete, honest answer. Do you see this, whatever this is, going somewhere? Are we just…talking to hear ourselves talk? Or I should say, are we just writing to see ourselves write? I admit this with caution and anxiety, but I like you, Red. I like you a great deal, and my heart is in a wee bit of danger here. So you know, no pressure, Redflash. No pressure at all.

I propose this…if you do indeed see this eventually moving outside this box, then let's exchange phone numbers and really…talk. We won't give up this box, this way of communication, but I would like to expand our repertoire (there's that French again).

Please let me know, or better yet, you can call me tonight. I'll be home after 6 or so.

071 43 577 243

-Harry, who will, of course, be over-caffeinated

Harry –

I owe you this, I reckon. And you are right. I would very much like to see this eventually go somewhere. I shall call after tea, and after I have had a stiff drink to settle my nerves (Yes, girls have nerves about talking to blokes too).

Red, who does indeed like you very much as well

o-o-o-o-o