Disclaimer: Do not own anything at all. These characters belong to luckier people than me, I just can't stand to see Harry wasted on Ginny.

Edited by the patient and witty saras_girl.

Chapter Three

All Pile On.

Now I know I've got to

Run away, I've got to

Get away

You don't really want any more from me

To make things right

You need someone to hold you tight

You think love is to pray

I'm sorry I don't pray that way

Tainted Love - Gloria Jones

Monday May 18th 1998. Grimmauld Place, London

Harry awoke suddenly with the warm, creamy skin and flashes of pale gold hair carrying from his subconscious and making him groan with arousal. It had been three days since the funeral and Harry was trying to figure out just how it was that he could no longer get Draco sodding Malfoy out of his head.

The first morning that he had awoken with his erection straining against his shorts and silver eyes flashing in his mind, he had felt like he should at least pretend to be horrified. After all, that was the usual response when finally accepting that long hair and breasts just weren't going to do it for you, wasn't it?

Try as he might, though, as he made his way to the kitchen to drown his sorrows in a mug of strong coffee, he couldn't quite muster an acceptable level of indignation. He'd had similar thoughts before, after all. Last summer when Charlie Weasley had stripped off whilst clearing the garden in preparation for the wedding, Harry had been mildly alarmed at how aesthetically pleasing he had found the tanned, muscular torso.

At the time he had decided that it was a phase. He remembered hearing somewhere that all teenage boys go through a phase like this at some point, why should the Chosen One be any different? His lack of horror at his more recent discovery revealed that he'd never quite managed to convince himself of this excuse.

On day two, he had spent a good portion of his morning run trying to convince himself that he might be gay, but there was no way he was attracted to Draco Malfoy. That way lay only madness and frustration. Besides, he had spent six years hating the blonde git; to suddenly move from that to attraction was a bit of a stretch.

By day three, however, Harry had given up any resistance to the fact that in the small hours of the morning, after the nightmares left and before the sun rose, it was Draco that was visiting his dreams, and he loved every second of it. So, rather than leaping out of bed and making coffee, or pulling on his trainers and running until he forgot, he allowed his eyes to drift closed again, and slid a hand down to grasp his cock as he tried to remember the more lurid aspects of his dream.

It was a somewhat calmer Harry that entered the kitchen ninety minutes later and he mused that if this were to become a regular fixture of his morning routine then something would have to change, as he'd barely managed five miles of his normal nine mile route before exhaustion overcame him thanks to the morning's pleasant distractions.

As he prepared his breakfast, he wondered what it was he was going to do with his day. There was no Teddy today; Andromeda had decided that three days a week was more than enough responsibility to put him and had told him so. As appreciative as she had been for his help in the first couple of weeks, she had pointed out that he had to figure out what he was going to do with his life, and that wasn't going to happen if he spent all day every day in a nursery.

The problem, though, was that Harry had no idea what to do and he wasn't really all that ready to think about it. He was the very definition of indecisive at the moment. He would spend all day on his own at the house reading and just hanging out and then he would begin to feel lonely. However, the few times he had gone to the Weasleys', he had wanted nothing more than to come straight back home again. Being around other people somehow made him feel even more alone, with one notable exception.

Once in his head the thought refused to be dispelled. He had said that he would owl Draco, that they would meet up for coffee, and he did appear to be one of the few people that Harry could bear to spend any time with. At least, based on a very small sampling, he was. A wave of complications accompanied that prospect, however.

Was three days long enough to not look too eager? If he was right and Draco was one of the people he could suffer to be around, how was he going to deal with his sudden attraction? And what if he wasn't, what if the situation in the cemetery had been a fluke occurrence? Asking to meet up and then bailing after twenty minutes was not a particularly good start to a new friendship.

Harry was still musing on these dilemmas half an hour later, over a bowl of somewhat soggy cornflakes, when he heard a whoosh and clatter from the Floo connection in the entrance hall. Depositing the uneaten cornflakes onto the counter, he went to investigate.

He arrived as Hermione was brushing away the last traces of soot from her shirt and jeans and watched as she slowly took in her surroundings with an awed expression.

"Wotcha," he said from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. Something about the greeting, however, caught in his throat and he tried to place it. He felt his blood drain slightly as he recognised the greeting as Tonks'.

He shook the morbid thoughts from his head. It was just a word. Hermione hadn't noticed his falter, thankfully. She was still taking in the entrance hall with an open-mouthed wonder, and he had time to recover himself, settling into a feeling of slightly smug accomplishment.

"Can I offer you some tea?" he asked mildly, trying to pretend that he hadn't noticed his friend's open admiration of his hard work. He was pleased to notice that this was actually a really good morning for Hermione to see the renovated Black house for the first time. Sun was streaming through the stained glass panels at the sides of the heavy front door and casting patches of red, green and blue light onto the honey coloured oak floor boards. Hermione finally ceased with her inspection of the entrance hall and turned to smile warmly at Harry.

"Only if you give me a tour afterwards," she demanded, her grin turning cheeky.

"I'm sure I can manage that," Harry agreed casually. He pushed himself up off of the door frame and caught his friend in a quick hug. "It's good to see you, Hermione," he offered and Harry was surprised to realise that he was telling the truth. Apparently, Hermione was another person on the somewhat exclusive list of people with whom he could stand to spend time.

Supplied with tea he led her up through the many rooms of the house, listening appreciatively as she ooh'ed and ahh'ed in all the right places. She was as delighted with the library as he'd hoped she'd be, running her fingers over the worn leather spines of the Black family's collection and taking a little longer to peruse the two tall shelves near the desk which contained the new volumes of Harry's collection. Harry shrugged when she shot him a slightly quizzical look.

"I'm not a complete idiot, you know, I do read." His tone had a slightly wounded and defensive edge to it and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I know you aren't an idiot, Harry, why else do you think I pushed you so much in school." She sighed as if this explanation were obvious. "Get you and Ronald together, however, and your attitude towards studying becomes that of a five year old."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably, knowing that she had a point.

"You remember during our fourth year, when you and Ron weren't talking?" she asked, and Harry nodded, wondering how she expected him to forget something like that.

"Two months, and in that time your grades shot through the roof. I can't pretend that at times I wasn't completely frustrated with you," she admitted, abandoning the books and moving to stand in front of him. "You clearly have a brilliant mind and you seemed quite determined to waste it." Her tone was sad and once again Harry rippled with defensiveness.

"I kind of had other things going on, Hermione," he bit back, immediately regretting it when he took in the wounded look on her face.

"I know that, it's just… well, it doesn't matter now, does it?" The forced brightness in her voice demanded that this subject was better off dropped, and it was as much the shock of Hermione volunteering not to talk about something, as his own reluctance that saw Harry acquiesce.

They returned to the tour, and though Hermione continued to appreciate Harry's handy work, it took a few more rooms before the shadow of their almost-conversation ceased to hang over them. Even then, Harry suspected it had not been avoided, only postponed.

When they reached the top landing and Hermione noticed the extra door, her little squeak of surprise was incredibly gratifying to Harry. As he led the way up the narrow stairs, he found himself holding his breath in anticipation of her opinion of what Harry considered the best 'room'.

Hermione's stunned silence when they emerged into the warm spring morning was as delightful as any words she could have offered. Pots of flowers and fragrant herbs were scattered with a haphazard order across the roof garden, and glass lanterns were situated amongst them, to provide sufficient light on the warm evenings. Harry slid into one of the wrought iron chairs that accompanied the small circular table and motioned for Hermione to join him.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, simply enjoying the warm sun on their faces, as the looked out across the rooftops to where the taller buildings of central London began a few blocks away. A sea of black tile giving way to silver and glass that glinted and flashed with every opening car door. Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione who broke the silence.

"How did you do all this?" Hermione asked gesturing not just to the garden but the house below them. Harry couldn't help but give her a slightly strange look.

"Magic," he explained simply, not quite able to keep the slight 'duh' tone out of his voice. Hermione gave him a look, the one that suggested she thought he was being deliberately dense.

"It's been three weeks, Harry, by all rights you should probably still be in bed nursing your wounds," she said simply, and all of a sudden it was on them, the conversation, and Harry wanted nothing more than to avoid it.

"I had to do something," he explained, inadequately. Another one of Hermione's patented looks, this one said 'you need to do better than that.' So, for her, he tried.

"I needed to do something, to prove… to prove that I could," he tried again, realising that this explanation was not much improvement on his last. Hermione, to her credit, didn't issue the sigh of frustration that he knew was on her lips. Instead, she continued to wait patiently, giving him chance to expand without being hassled.

"Part of me can't get away from the fact that I should be dead right now," he said in a rush, in the hope that saying it quickly would make it easier. "I needed to do something tangible, something permanent, something that proved I was still here and able to change things," he gushed, hoping that the explanation would make enough sense for Hermione to allow the subject to drop.

She nodded thoughtfully and sipped her tea. Relief washed over Harry as he realised that his answer, however inarticulate it may have been, had been accepted.

Silence reigned between them for a few more minutes and Harry became aware that Hermione clearly had more she needed to talk about.

"You remember what I did to my parents last year, don't you?" she began, phrasing the statement as a question for reasons Harry couldn't fathom. As if he could forget the sacrifices his friends had made to help him on his quest. Still, he nodded, whether Hermione needed him to or not.

"Well, now all this is over I was thinking that I should probably go and get them," she stated simply and again Harry nodded. Of course she would have to go and get them, track them down, remove Memory Charms, explain and apologise for tricking them in the first place. He would miss her whilst she was gone, of course, but he'd get by.

"Ron has said he'd like to come with me," she added nervously, and Harry realised that he was less bothered about this, than he was at the idea the Hermione would be leaving. Ever since Ron's disappearance at Christmas there had been a slight distance between them that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't like he blamed Ron for running out or anything like that. It was simply that the implicit trust that Harry had, in the thought that Ron would always be at his side, was now gone. They were still friends, still close, only now it was… different.

"It will be good for both of you to get some time away," Harry reassured, needing her to know that he didn't have a problem with them doing something without him. "I know it's not exactly going to be a holiday or anything but it will be warm and it will be somewhere different. What's that Molly always says? Change is as good as a rest?"

He took another sip of tea and scowled as the tepid liquid hit his tongue and cast a wandless Warming Charm that earned him a smile of approval from Hermione.

"That's what we thought, too, and we were wondering if maybe you'd like to come, too?"

Harry struggled to contain his look of horror.

"No offence, 'Mione, I appreciate the offer and everything, but I'm done being chaperone to you guys," he offered carefully, inspecting the filmy layer on top of his tea that always resulted from a Warming Charm, as a way to avoid looking at Hermione. "It's taken you long enough to get together, you could do with some time on your own to just…" he trailed off, trying to think of a way to end that sentence that wouldn't be mortifyingly embarrassing to them both. "I'd just be a third wheel," he added, trying to draw attention away from his fumble.

"Not necessarily." Hermione's tone was cryptic and Harry got the feeling she had been expecting him to say this. "There's nothing to say you would have to come alone," she attempted, coyly. Harry's mind provided an immediate flash of pale blond hair and bright silver eyes but he knew that thought wouldn't go anywhere. "You could bring someone with you," she continued in that tone of voice which Harry recognised as her 'trying to be subtle' tone. Unfortunately he wasn't following her.

"Like who?" he asked needing it to be spelt out for him.

"Like Ginny?" Hermione suggested, as if it were obvious. Harry blanched. He could feel the blood drain from his face and he immediately felt nauseous.

"Ginny?" he asked and cursed internally as his voice cracked slightly.

Hermione looked at him then, a curious expression on her face, as if she were studying a particularly difficult Arithmantic problem.

"I don't think that would be a good idea." Harry cringed, not because Hermione made the assumption, but because he'd completely forgotten about Ginny.

"No, perhaps not," she agreed carefully. More silence and Harry rested his elbows on his knees, letting his head drop. How did he manage to forget Ginny? If he were feeling cruel he could say that they'd split up, that he didn't owe his ex-girlfriend any kind of explanation. Theoretically it was true and he didn't, but he knew that the reality was different.

No promises were ever made, nothing was ever said officially, but the implication was always there. If things worked out, if they both survived, they would pick up where they left off. Undoubtedly that's what Hermione had thought, what the Weasleys thought, what Ginny thought.

"Has she been waiting for me?" Harry asked, knowing that Hermione wouldn't need him to clarify what they were talking about.

"She hasn't said anything but…" But yes, Harry finished in his head.

"I guess I should talk to her, then," Harry muttered resignedly.

"Yeah, you probably should," she admitted and Harry was pleased to hear that there's a touch of sympathy, and not a shred of judgement in her voice.

"No point in putting it off any longer," he said sadly and then, thinking just how much he stood to lose at this point, he added "could you do me a favour 'Mione?"

She looked up wearily.

"I'm not doing it for you!" she stated quickly and Harry had no idea where that had come from. He was appalled that she even felt the need to suggest it.

"No, Merlin, fuck, no, nothing like that!" he exclaimed, feeling it was necessary to show how horrified he was that she'd even thought he might suggest it. "I'm going to go over to the Burrow and do it this afternoon," he explained. "I was wondering if you could make sure Ron isn't around, is all. He's never had the steadiest temper when it comes to me and Gin."

"Oh gosh, yes of course." Hermione blushed, clearly embarrassed that she had thought he was trying to pass the buck. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't know why I thought you would…"

"It's okay," he interrupts, only slightly stung by her assumption, "I haven't acted very chivalrously so far after all" he admitted.

Hermione slipped her hand across the table and gripped his fingers gently in a simple gesture of reassurance. The silence settled again but this time Harry barely noticed it; he was so caught up in thinking what he would say to Ginny that afternoon.

"Can you tell me why?" Hermione's voice caused Harry to jump; he had been so deep in thought. "I mean, you don't have to," she backtracked, "but you always seemed so comfortable together."

"I'm not sure I can, Hermione," he admitted. It had been one thing to be willing to admit being gay to himself, admitting it to his best friend was something quite different all together. "If I were to say, we are fundamentally incompatible, would you leave it at that? At least for now?" he asked, hopefully.

"Of course, Harry," that careful look was back again and her mouth fell open as if she was going to say something else, but she was unsure quite how to phrase it.

"What?" he asked. She was going to say it sooner or later; it might as well be sooner.

"Just, you know you can talk to me don't you? About anything. Even if you can't talk to Ron," she offered, carefully. Harry smiled, Hermione really was remarkably perceptive.

"I know 'Mione, and, y'know, thanks," he stumbled, even though it completely underplayed what she'd just offered. She was willing to lie to her boyfriend for him, and Harry was suddenly immensely grateful that he had charged headlong into that girl's bathroom seven years ago.

"Every new beginning is some other beginning's end," she said cryptically and Harry recognised the phrase from somewhere. He grinned.

"We are just a fountain of fortune cookie wisdom today aren't we?" he commented and smiled playfully.

She returned the smile and held Harry's eyes for a moment; it seemed as if she was searching for something. She obviously found it, because all of a sudden she was gathering her bag and jacket.

"Well, I suppose I'd better be getting back, there's a lot to do before we leave. We're going at the end of the week," she said matter-of-factly. "We should be back well before the new term starts, especially since they still aren't anywhere near done with the repairs yet. Arthur was saying they think they're going to push the start date back to October this year."

"Wait, what?" Harry was suddenly confused. "What was that about Hogwarts?"

Hermione looked surprised. "You mean you didn't know? But of course, how could you know? They haven't discussed it with anyone yet."

Harry shook his head, trying to make sense of what his friend was saying.

"Slow down, 'Mione," he requested, and he watched as she took a long breath.

"Professor McGonagall is going to void last year entirely," she explained calmly. "No one was taught the proper curriculum, no one took final exams. The entire year is going to be repeated. This year's first year will just be slightly larger than normal, is all."

"And the seventh year will be slightly smaller that normal," he said with a tinge of bitterness to his voice as he thought of all of those who had stayed on to fight in the final battle and hadn't made it out the other side. Hermione looked at him nervously, but decided against saying anything more. She leant forward and kissed his cheek and Harry's eyes slid closed at the contact. He really was going to miss her.

"Take care of yourself," he said, hugging her tightly.

"You too," she whispered, "and good luck this afternoon. Don't worry, I'll take care of Ronald." Harry chuckled darkly at that, somehow he didn't think that their friendship was going to survive all the strains he was about to put on it.

***

The Burrow was just as Harry remembered it as he Apparated into the lane. Chickens scratched lazily in the front yard, the collection of Wellington boots still looked like there wasn't a pair amongst them and the cauldron was now nearly completely covered in rust. Ignoring the front door, Harry slid through the rickety gate at the side of the house and into the back garden, hoping that on such a lovely afternoon Ginny would be out on the porch.

He was in luck. She sat on the porch swing, book in her lap and feet curled up underneath her. Harry watched her for a moment and felt guilt wash over him as she lifted her arm to turn the page and he saw the long gash that was still healing there. He almost chickened out, but at that moment she spotted him and before he could turn and flee back to the safety of his home, she had put her book on the seat and was stalking towards him, a frown on her face.

Harry cringed as he considered her expression. In the balance of things, her being mad at him was going to make this easier than if she were full of enthusiasm to see him, but on the other hand, he really didn't like being yelled at.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ginny snapped accusatorily as she reached him and Harry winced.

"I'm sorry, Gin, I would have come and seen you sooner, but you know, I've been… dealing." As Harry stumbled over his words, a little of his guilt dissolved. It had been a tough time for all of them. He knew Ginny must be missing her brother, but seriously, was she really selfish enough to demand that he put her first? It was very rare that Harry allowed himself to think that he deserved something, but if anyone deserved a little time to adjust after the war, it was him.

Ginny's face softened a little as she placed a comforting hand on his arm and Harry had to fight himself not to flinch away. He had no idea how he was going to do this.

"Yeah, yeah of course, sorry. It's just been hard, y'know," she explained, shuffling her feet before turning pleading eyes to Harry. She wanted a hug, and Harry wanted anything but, so he decided to pretend he hadn't realised.

"Sure," he agreed. "Look why don't we...?" He paused and gestured to where the stream cut behind the Burrow. Ginny nodded and he fell into step alongside her, allowing silence to fall briefly as he considered his lack of a plan.

"Hermione came to visit you this morning, didn't she?" Ginny was asking suddenly.

Harry grunted slightly in assent, wanting to know where this was going before he committed to the conversation.

"I wanted to come with her, of course, but she said it would be better if she went by herself the first time. She said that you'd been avoiding us so it was probably better if she spoke to you one on one, and you know how she can be."

Harry was suddenly very grateful that she didn't seem to need him in this conversation, and he just listened, hoping to find a way in.

"I said that you would want to see me but she absolutely insisted on going alone, and then she snuck off so that we couldn't go with her," Ginny continued and Harry tried not to smile at Hermione's guile. There were times when he could have sworn she should have been a Slytherin.

"But you aren't avoiding us anymore, are you?" Ginny asked him, turning to smile brightly. On reaching the stream, Ginny perched lightly on a convenient log, patting the space next to her, encouraging Harry to join.

"Look, Gin…" Harry began, only to have the red head cut across him again.

"I was thinking, after dinner on Sunday, maybe we could go into London, get some ice-cream. Just the two of us, y'know, and then you can show me what you've done to the house."

Harry gaped, open-mouthed for a moment, before finding his voice.

"Ginny!" he exclaimed, raising his voice slightly in the hopes of breaking through her monologue. She looked up at him sharply, eyes narrowing, at the tone in his voice.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Ginny," he explained gently and a look of comprehension crossed her face followed by a slow grin. Why was she grinning?

"I'm an adult, you know," she whispered conspiratorially, "I turned seventeen in April, we can do whatever we like."

Harry frowned, confused for a moment, then it was his turn to be hit with a wave of realisation. He leapt to his feet and stepped backwards, putting a decent distance between himself and the sadly misguided girl.

"No, Ginny that's not…" Harry scrubbed a frustrated hand across his face. "That wasn't the point I was trying to make at all!" he insisted earnestly, and a slightly unpleasant look settled on Ginny's face.

"So, what exactly are you trying to say, Harry?" Her icy tone forced a shiver from Harry and he studied the ground for a moment, before locating his masculinity and meeting her eyes.

"I'm saying that I don't think you and me is such a good idea." He paused to allow her to yell, but she didn't say anything; she stood there looking pale with her lips pressed into a thin line, but she was quiet at least and so Harry blundered on before he lost his nerve.

"Too much time has passed. I don't think we can pick up where we left off any more. I'm a completely different person to who I was a year ago, and I'm sure you are, too," he offered, still hoping ambitiously that there was a chance that they could still salvage their friendship after.

"Of course we can't," she said, and for a moment Harry dared to hope. "We would have to start again, from the beginning, get to know each other again, stuff like that," she suggested, as if it were obvious.

Harry sighed, completely exasperated; either he wasn't making himself understood or she was being belligerent.

"I can't, Ginny, really. I just can't do this right now. I can't be your boyfriend. I'm sorry." Harry hated the whine in his voice as he said this and felt as if he were on the verge of frustrated tears.

"Not now?" Ginny asked, "So maybe in the future?" There was a tone of desperation to her voice now.

"No, not now, not in the future, it's not going to happen, Ginny." Harry sighed, exhausted, allowing his eyes to drop closed for a moment. When he opened them again, the picture that Ginny presented was one of cold fury.

"No," she spat firmly. "No, you are not doing this to me, not now, not after everything I've sacrificed. We're going to get married, Harry, we're going to have kids. I've been infinitely fucking patient with you, I've been waiting for five years for you to get your act together and now you're just going to walk away? No way! Not happening!"

Harry looked at her as if she were deranged, and to be honest he wasn't sure that even she was aware of what she'd just said.

"We were supposed to get married," he repeated quietly. "Was I going to be consulted about this at any point or were you going to stick me under an Imperius?" He was trying to remain calm but he noticed the slight edge to his voice as he spoke.

"Oh, get over yourself," she spat and Harry laughed. It was a hollow painful sound but it was still a laugh and that was when Ginny threw her first hex. Fortunately for him, as good as she was, Ginny was no match for his war-honed reflexes, and he had raised the Protego charm before she had finished saying the words.

"Thank you for that," he growled, maintaining his shield. "I did feel guilty about having to come here today and tell you we were done but you've just made it infinitely easier. It was nice knowing you, Ginny." And with that, he Apparated away, not waiting for whatever vitriolic retort she had been ready to throw.

***

Harry placed his mug of tea on the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch, the leather creaking at suddenly having to accommodate his shape. Discarding his glasses next to his mug, he leant back, pinching the bridge of his nose as he considered just how quickly a day could go from alright to absolute shit.

It wasn't that he hadn't expected the encounter with Ginny to be difficult, it was that he had expected crying and to come away feeling bad because he'd let her down. Somehow, he knew that he could have coped with that. Her anger and her venom, however, had taken him completely by surprise.

He knew that Ginny had a temper; it was something of a normal trait in the Weasley family, but the way she had expressed it, with a list of things that she expected, no, demanded from him, was beyond insane. He wondered remorsefully which of the Weasleys he'd hear from first.

Molly probably wouldn't believe it at first; she would tell Ginny to give Harry some time to calm down and he'd come around. George hadn't been home since the funeral, finding his family too difficult to be around at the moment. It would probably be a few days before news filtered though the family grapevine enough to reach Bill or Charlie. Ron, however, was a ticking bomb.

Harry considered shutting off the Floo and hiding, not answering the door until Ron was safely on another continent, but that would suggest that he was in some way in the wrong and the more he thought about it, the more he realised that just wasn't the case. He had broken up with Ginny a year ago; had said specifically at the time that they weren't just separating temporarily. He had said that they would see where they stood, but he could not be held responsible every time someone jumped to a conclusion about him.

As far as he could see, he'd acted completely honourably. He hadn't messed her around, hadn't tried to hook up with her again. The moment he thought that she was in anyway misinformed about their relationship he had set her straight, as gently as he could. Despite all this, however, he was pretty certai that the only family he'd ever known was about to cast him as the evil villain who broke their daughter's heart.

Sighing deeply, he slid sideways, resting his head on the arm of the couch and drawing up his feet until he curled on his side. The day's argument had worn him out and as his eyes slid closed he remembered how he'd naively thought that defeating Riddle would mean he wouldn't have to fight any more.

"HARRY!' The angry yell echoed through the rooms of Grimmauld Place and Harry shot up blearily, wand drawn and eyes shooting around trying to locate the cause of the disturbance. From downstairs he listened as the door was thrown open and then slammed shut. And another.

"HARRY!" Ron yelled up the stairs. He rose from the sofa and took a moment to steady himself from the ensuing head rush, and heavy footsteps fell on the stairs as he made his way out on to the landing to meet the irate Weasley.

"I'm here, Ron," Harry said wearily, running a hand over his face and realising that his glasses were still on the coffee table. Instantly Ron was bearing down on Harry, his face red and an accusing finger waving in Harry's face.

"What did you do to her?" Ron yelled furiously, spittle flying and hitting Harry's face.

"Nothing, Ron, I didn't do anything. If you'll just calm…" Harry tried, but Ron's fist flew out and connected Harry's jaw with a sickening crack.

"Ronald!" came a shrill horrified voice from somewhere near the top of the stairs and through the haze and pain Harry recognised it as Hermione.

"No, 'Mione, this is like the third time Ginny's been distraught over him and I've had enough of it."

"Linn 'On," Harry attempted trying to explain, but his jaw was swelling rapidly, and he had a horrible feeling something was broken.

"You know what?" Ron spat, "I don't care what your reasons are, you just stay away from her, you hear?" Ron's boot crashed into Harry's ribs and he heard something crack.

"Incarcerous!" Harry heard Hermione call, and he allowed his eyes to close briefly as Ron was pulled away.

"What the hell, 'Mione? Why are you defending him?" Ron yelled, his tone one of righteous indignation.

"Because there's going to come a day when you will regret this and besides, I'm not about to let you kill Harry. Now, Mobil Corpus," she said, and Harry heard the footsteps retreat and from the bottom of the stairs. "Now go home, Ronald."

Harry heard the whoosh of the Floo opening, Hermione yelling, "The Burrow," and Ron's inelegant squawk as he was shoved into the fire. Slowly, carefully, Harry began to pull himself upright.

He was on his feet by the time Hermione re-emerged at the top of the stairs and silently she pulled Harry's arm around her shoulder and, being careful to avoid his ribs, helped him down to the kitchen.

"...anks," he managed as he sank into a chair and Hermione bustled around making tea. Realising she hadn't even thought to try and heal him, Harry sighed and immediately regretted it when a sharp pain raked across his ribs.

"Ionie, an oo?" He indicated his face and hoped that she understood what he was trying to say.

"Oh, but you're so much better at those Healing Charms than I am," she said worriedly and Harry knew the effort it must have taken her to make this simple admission.

"Ant ven ay esky," Harry pointed out painfully and Hermione relented. He just needed her to lower the swelling enough for him to speak then he could do some thing about his ribs.

After Hermione's Episkey, Harry's face felt less tight, indicating that the swelling had gone down, but he was no less sore and he knew he was going to have a massive bruise in the morning. His own Episkey on his ribs was more successful and as he took a deep breath, he knew that the bones had been healed.

He lifted his shirt to see the dark outline of Ron's boot print on his chest, and he smiled lopsidedly as he realised he'd managed to speed up the bruising as well. His ability with the Healing Charm was clearly improving, though there was a touch of concern at the amount of practice he must have been getting to strengthen his skill.

Now settled at the kitchen table with their mugs of tea, Harry took in the slightly fuzzy Hermione sitting opposite him and said the very first thing that popped into his head.

"Well, that went well!"

She laughed and he had to smile, too, even though it really hurt and wasn't actually funny in any way.

"I think our plan to get him out of the house backfired somewhat," Hermione admitted, taking a long drink from her tea. "Before he stormed over here, he was ranting about you sneaking about behind his back and that you've been trying to avoid him."

"I haven't been trying to avoid him," Harry sputtered, outraged.

"Well, you have," Hermione reasoned in her matter of fact voice, "but I think the point is that you haven't been avoiding him specifically. You've been avoiding everyone."

Harry hung his head a little in embarrassment at the truth in Hermione's words and she slid her hand across to cover his where it rested next to his mug.

"The thing is, that I know it isn't personal, that you just need time to get your head around everything that happened." She smiled at him gently and he returned it, once again eternally thankful for Hermione's level of insight.

"Thanks," he whispered, looking back down to where her hand covered his and taking comfort from the way that Hermione would always at least try to understand something.

"Ron, on the other hand, takes everything personally; he's taken the fact that you've been hidden away here personally and now apparently he's taking the fact that you don't want to date his sister personally, but you know him, he will give into reason occasionally and I can be rather persistent when I have a mind to be." She grinned wickedly at this.

"You don't have to set this straight, 'Mione. It's my mess, I should clean it up." Harry sighed slightly dramatically and rested his now aching head on folded arms.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. We both know that this will take a girlfriend level of wheedling before he's willing to even start to come out of his corner. Really he's the only person I know that is more stubborn than you." Hermione rose and took the cups to the sink but didn't retake her seat.

"I shall wait a little while for him to cool off and then try and explain it to him delicately, carefully." Her mischievous smile returned. "I shall even speak slowly and use small, simple words, okay?"

Harry rose quickly from his chair, something in the back of his head telling him that it was impolite to sit whilst a woman stood.

"I'm not saying I'll fix everything," she continued, and Harry began to realise that he was just an observer in this conversation. "When we get back, you boys are still going to have to sit down and talk about whatever it is that's bothering you both, but at least I can get it to the point that conversation is possible."

"Thanks, 'Mione, for everything." He smiled and immediately regretted it as his face throbbed. She brushed away his gratitude with a bashful look and pulled him into a gentle hug.

"You going to be okay?" she whispered next to his ear, the question a front for a thousand others.

"I think so," Harry muttered, and as she made her way back towards the fireplace, Harry amended himself under his breath. "I hope so."

As the flames died behind Hermione, Harry came to realise that a full twenty-five percent of the people he was currently comfortable with was about to leave the country for at least a month. With another under a year old and yet another over sixty, he came to the decision that once again fate appeared to be toying with him.

For a moment he considered being belligerent. He lived with his entire life being fated up till now and he resented that there was even the smallest feeling that what he was about to do wasn't entirely of his own free will. Then, however, he realised that cutting off his nose to spite his face was an extremely stupid thing to do. With that in mind, he sat down and penned a note to Draco Malfoy.