Ok, here's chapter 2. Tell me what you think of it so far. Thanks for reading!

By the time Ginny had crossed all the t's and dotted all the I's, her bpdyguard and his Captain had the blueprints to her apartment building and office building, the route she took to work, her parents' and all of her brothers' houses, her favorite bar, her best friend's flat, and the coffee shop she got her bagels from.

She sat wearily next to her father as Potter fired question after question at him and Captain Smarty-pants who, Ginny had learned, was really named Shacklebolt. Ginny's mind whirred and her head spun, trying to wrap around the fact that her life was being invaded. Quickly. They'd already re-routed her walk from home to work, re-worked her scheduled meetings with her editor, and put a security search on her mail. She wished that she could go home, alone, and take a hot bath and have a glass of wine. This was not working out in her favor.

"What?" She jerked upright, her aching head picking up a line of conversation from Shacklebolt that she did not want to hear.

"Agent Potter's belongings are en route to your apartment now." The Captain repeated.

"You mean…You mean it's going to be there when I…we get home? Someone's going to be in my house when I'm not there?" She kept her voice as flat as possible, when all she wanted to do was squeak in hysterics. There was "no need" for that, according to her father.

"Well, there's going to be someone there night and day from here on out, so you should get used to the idea." Agent Potter said evenly, flipping through the maps of her brother, Bill's, house. "While I've got your attention, is there a secondary entrance to your office's basement?" He looked up expectantly at her.

"I've never been in my office basement." She hissed at him. It seemed that whatever control she'd gotten over the past hour, she lost it completely when this infuriating man so much as looked at her.

"We'll take a look tomorrow. What about the balcony at your apartment. What does it look out on?"

"It looks out on the park across the street, but it's above the tree line, so there's low visibility from the ground." She plopped her head in her hands, ready for this to be over.

"What's your main mode of transportation?" He asked her, still firing questions despite her obvious fatigue.

"Walking or taxi."

"I'll need to put in a work order for an official squad car-"

"No! I don't need an official squad car. It just draws more attention. I'll rent a car, if I have to, but I refuse to be chauffeured around in some black-and-white patrol car. Furthermore, if you have any more questions for me, they may be directed to me in my own home. I'm done here. Is that all?" She rose and looked expectantly at her father, who could see that she'd reached her limits. He nodded slowly at Shacklebolt.

"If you've got anymore questions…" He started, but Harry cut him off.

"Who is Dean Thomas?"

Ginny froze. That was the last name she'd ever expected to come out of her new bodyguard's mouth. She spun on him and gave him the meanest look she could muster. The one that sent even her oldest brother cowering towards the door. Or their mum.

Harry seemed unaffected. Once again, he gazed back, expressionless, waiting for her answer. There was a heavy silence in the office before her father broke it.

"Who is Dean Thomas? Ginny, are you seeing someone?" She could hear the confusion in his voice.

"No." She spat out, eyes still locked on Potter's. It seemed that he liked to have little staring contests with her. That's fine. She had a feeling they'd be looking at each other a lot, soon. They might as well get competitive.

"According to my records you had dinner with him at Chez Blanc last Tuesday before you both went back to your apartment on 800 Winchester where he spent the night, before leaving at around six the next morning." All that and hardly a twitch from the man. Ginny, on the other hand, was livid and shaking. She could practically hear the heart attack that her father was having behind her.

"Your records?" She asked, calmly. Potter nodded. Ginny counted to ten and took two huge, deep breaths. "Well, you can go ahead and scratch that off the "record", as I'll no longer be in contact with Mr. Thomas." Ginny turned on her heel, avoiding her father's eyes.

"I'm going home." She announced. "Try and keep up." And with that, she walked calmly, and with as much grace as she could muster, out the door.

oOo

For a moment, Harry didn't know what to do. It was not a feeling that he was used to, or fond of. What he was used to was being in control, and he was fond of people following his orders. Neither of those things were happening, at the moment. As Ginny, Miss Weasley, he reminded himself, walked out the door, he lost sight of her.

He immediately sprang into action, crossing to the door quickly to catch up to her. He could have sworn he heard Kingsly laugh, but he didn't have time to dwell on that. Ahead, he could just see her in the side of the elevator, the doors closing in front of her.

Taking on a burst of speed, he thrust his hand in the doors right before they closed. As the doors re-opened, the only response he got from Miss Weasley was a scornful eye-roll before she looked away. Which afforded him the perfect opportunity to look at her a little bit closer.

She was pretty, but he'd known that for years. Yes, he was a soccer fan, and yes, he had one of her posters stashed away somewhere in the clutter of his closet. He remembered it well. It had hung in his bunk at base camp for over two years while he'd been training. It had not been the only copy of the poster floating around, either.

It depicted a seemingly scandalized Miss Weasley in a steamy locker room, clad in nothing but a very small pair of very lacy underwear, and holding two soccer balls tactfully over her chest. But even behind the balls, the viewer could still see the full curves of her breasts. And they could definitely see her sleek, athletic body and tight curves. Yeah, Harry hadn't been the only one with that poster.

But no matter how pretty she was or how many things Harry had imagined doing to that tight body during some lonely nights, it didn't erase the fact that she was a media whore, a spoiled brat, and an impediment to his work. If she was going to make things hard every step of the way, then he'd just have to pick her up, sling her over his shoulder, and haul her up the whole flight of steps.

The elevator dinged and opened onto a ground level. Ginny stepped out into the hall without even a glance in his direction. It was later than Harry had thought, and it was getting dark outside, but even that wouldn't slow Ginny down. She charged down the street quickly, leaving Harry to keep up. But luckily his legs were long, and he settled himself into a quick, easy stride about two feet behind her. He tried not to look at her lush, pert behind, and forced his thoughts again to her case.

He had to say that he was surprised by her grit. From what the papers said, Ginny Weasley was a total pushover. She'd been raised being spoiled by 6 older brothers and her parents practically revered her, which was not hard to see. One only had to take a look at Harry's paycheck to know exactly how much their little girl's life was worth to them, and it was no small sum.

But, she wasn't used to small sums. She'd been brought up in the lap of luxury. She coasted by on her family's, mainly her mother's, fame and got a job playing soccer. From then, she'd jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend, only dating the upper crust of society's elite, before settling down to a rather lucrative sports writing contract.

Harry scoffed as they turned the corner. This girl had never really known anything about "grit" in her life. She'd never had to watch her friends, comrades in arms, die right in front of her. She didn't know what it was like to walk out of your apartment most days and not know if you'd be back. She would never have to consider these things, and more, in the ways he had. So why did he think that maybe he'd met his match with her?

Turning quickly into the entrance of her building, she charged up the stairs. Harry told himself that he really had no choice but to look up as he walked. Up at her ass, her really, very nicely shaped legs, a little bit up her skirt…

"Special Agent Potter, sir." His head snapped up at Finnegan, a young recruit who was posted outside the door to apartment number 12a.

"Still there, are you?" Ginny scowled back at him before shouldering open the door and slamming it shut behind her. Finnegan whistled.

"Yeah." Harry said, staring at the door and knowing she'd locked it behind her. "That about sums it up."

"I thought she'd requested you specifically?" Finnegan sounded genuinely surprised.

Harry had to admit that he was, too. He'd thought that he'd be going up against some spoiled, media darling, who'd been using some bogus death threats to try and score a week or two with the "Famous Harry Potter". He'd also admit that when he'd thought this, his opinion of her had gone down tremendously. The fact that she didn't want him anywhere near her at all changed things.

"The request came from her dad. Apparently she'd prefer someone fat and bald to take over for me." Harry replied, stepping close to the door and testing the handle. Locked.

"But, she's a girl!" Finnegan spluttered, as if that explained everything and nothing. Harry grimaced and stepped back to look at the door hinges. They were inside the frame, which wouldn't do him any good out here, but was slightly better for general security purposes.

"Well, apparently she's a girl that has no need for my 'fame and fortune'." Harry replied sarcastically. Finnegan laughed, knowing that Harry didn't really count himself famous or fortunate in any way. Frankly, it was oddly refreshing for Harry, to meet a person that didn't fall all over him. He bent to examine the door lock. There was only one. Harry made a mental note to fix that in the morning.

"How's your girl, Seamus?" He asked, shouldering off his jacket and releasing his gun from the holster on his chest. I might as well make an entrance. Harry thought wryly. Maybe that will get a bit of my point through.

"Lavender's great! She's a bit clingy, but sometimes a bloke likes coming home to something."

Harry nodded absently. "I wouldn't know what you mean, but I believe you. Seamus, would you stand back a bit for me?" He asked, draping his jacket over the chair Seamus vacated.

On the count of three in his head, Harry reared back and kicked the door. Hard. Hard enough that it bounced free of its lock, and swung back on its hinges to hit the wall. Harry moved forward smoothly, gun up.

Ginny was gaping at him from behind a long island in the kitchen. After pretending to case the room a bit, stalking around low, in what he'd been told was a menacing manner, he yelled, "Clear!" to Seamus, who ambled in, grinning, before leaving today's mail on the small table next to the couch.

"Are you insane?" Ginny yelled at him as Seamus closed the door behind himself. "You just almost kicked my door off its hinges! What if there had been some art behind there, or a mirror! What if I'd been naked…!" Ginny stopped to take a gulp of the rather large glass of wine in front of her. "This is an invasion of privacy and destruction of private property!"

Ginny stopped to gawp at him some more. He settled next to the door, arms loosely folded over his chest, feet firmly planted. Surveillance stance. To be honest, he didn't care what she thought of him. He knew he hadn't destroyed anything, and she was just pissy that he'd found a way to get past her lock. Singular lock, as if that could stop him.

"What? Nothing to say? No justifications for just scaring the crap out of me and possibly killing my living room?" She demanded, turning a rather delightful shade of red. He stayed quiet, still. He didn't owe her anything. He was there for the job, as a personal favor to Kingsley Shacklebolt. His silence seemed to infuriate her more, which, if he was being honest, was what he'd been after to begin with. He was completely in control. She was not. The faster she'd figure that out, the better off they'd be.

"Oh, so as long as you're not in front of your big bad commander you have no thoughts of your own? Is that it? Your biceps needed more room to grow so they started taking up residence in your head." He stared ahead blankly. He would not allow this to get to him. She was a child grasping at straws.

She crossed behind the counter and stalked over to him, poking him in the chest and sloshing a bit of wine on his shirt.

"I know that you're trying to play this whole 'macho in-control man' act, but you should know, that I don't give a damn. As far as I'm concerned, you're in my house, intruding on my life, and messing with my schedule. You can tell yourself every day how tough you are, because I certainly won't. If you want to impress me or scare me, either solve this case or put that gun to my head, because those are the only two options that will get you anywhere with me."

Harry blinked at a point over her head he'd been staring at. His facial expression remained the same, but he had to hold back a grin. His new charge had spunk, gumption, and lots of it. If he hadn't been the one taking all the hits, he'd have been rolling on the floor laughing. As it was, she was undercutting his power play, and he had to stop it.

He grabbed her wrist as she turned away.

"Miss Weasley, you should know that I'm not one for idle chatter. I'm here to be your bodyguard, not your best friend. You can find other people to talk to, and if you've got trouble with that, maybe you should look into getting a cat." Her eyes narrowed at him and she opened her mouth, but he was not finished.

"Ma'am , I could care less what you think of me or my masculinity. I also don't care at all about your privacy, impressing, or scaring you. When you are on one side of a door and I'm on the other, if I can't get through that door, it's an impediment to your security and my job. And that's all this is for me. Don't think for a second that this is about you or your father. This is a job for me, and only a job. That's all this will ever be to me and when it's over, I'll walk away with my 'macho in-control man act' and you'll walk away alive. That's all you ever need to know. Conversation is irrelevant."

He released her arm and suppressed a smirk as he got back to staring at that spot above her head. Take that, Weasley. He thought. He'd stunned her just as much as she'd stunned him. As far as he could tell, they were more than evenly matched, and the scoreboard was currently 1-1.

For a long moment, Ginny stood there, disbelieving. Finally, though, her shoulders caved in a little and her eyes were cast down. She brought the back of her hand up to her eyes as if to block out the light.

"Is that all, Agent Potter?" She brushed her crimson hair out of her faced and lifted her head to him, resigned but still strong.

His eyes flicked from her large, brown eyes to the dark circles under them to her freckles standing out over her pale skin. He nodded, suddenly not feeling proud of himself at all.