hello, my lovelies! back again, sorry for another delay, you've all been brilliant either way :D

PurifiedDrinkingWater (I am too flattered by your reviews, you're lovely), OreoBarrelRacer29 (thanks a lot for reading and reviewing! so glad everyone's liking my additions. this chapter marks the entrance into the sixth book slowly but surely. I'll definitely write up all the possible "deleted" scenes, the one hour, too, of course) Emmylianaa22 (awww, so sorry to deprive you of your read, hope you enjoy :D and thanks for being such a loyal reader)

.

12: The Ministry Car

It was an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which Harry had ridden once before, was awaiting them in the front yard when they emerged from the house, pulling on their cloaks.

"It's good Dad can get us these again," said Ron appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moved smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window. He, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were all sitting in roomy comfort in the wide backseat.

"Don't get used to it, it's only because of Harry," said Mr. Weasley over his shoulder. He and Mrs. Weasley were in front with the Ministry driver; the front passenger seat had obligingly stretched into what resembled a two-seater sofa. "He's been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too."

Harry said nothing; he did not much fancy doing his shopping while surrounded by a battalion of Aurors. He had stowed his Invisibility Cloak in his backpack and felt that, if that was good enough for Dumbledore, it ought to be good enough for the Ministry, though now he came to think of it, he was not sure the Ministry knew about his cloak.

Rowling J. K., Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, PDF, Chapter 6: Draco's Detour, page 72.

Matter of fact, did the Ministry even know that Invisibility Cloaks still existed? They were awfully rare, as far as he knew. He was going to keep his secret as long as possible, but he dreaded the day when the Ministry might discover his own "security measure" and confiscate it, ironically, for "safety reasons".

He hoped that day would never come, but as with most things in his life at the moment, he felt he could no longer just keep matters to himself; he was constantly being watched and listened in on, not only by the Ministry who went out of their way to repair their mistake, but also by each member of the Burrow, who were either worried he might blow a fuse about Sirius again or, even worse, decide to run off to fight Death Eaters in an impassioned mission to revenge his godfather. That is why Mrs Weasley, among other reasons, did not permit anyone to talk about the murders and disappearances for too long or in great detail.

What was the point of knowing every single fact about Florean Fortescue's kidnapping if you had no idea or means to actually help him? It would only frighten you more and prevent you from marching on, was Mrs Weasley's philosophy. Better help poor old Florean by marching on than thinking with dread that he might be locked up somewhere.

Harry could do neither; he couldn't put on a facade of strength and optimism, but he couldn't really think about Florean's unfortunate fate either. His mind had chosen to be neutral; the threat of the Prophecy rendered all other worries slightly smaller and even his most painful memories remained arrested while the full force of his future destiny hit him every time with the force of a hurricane.

There were such moments during the day when he would panic; then he'd look around and see Ron and Hermione and they'd reassure him almost unknowingly. He had felt so relieved to finally tell them about the Prophecy and so happy and grateful to see them as adamant about their friendship as before, but there was a small part of him that wished he had had the courage and will to wait; to burden them with the knowledge later.

Now, sitting in the backseat of the Ministry car, his nape rubbing uncomfortably against the leather upholstery, he had that strange sensation again; not quite panic, but close to it; it was a bit like shame or regret that he had told them. Here they were, sitting next to him idly, chatting about what they'd buy when they got to Diagon Alley, how marvellous Fred and George's shop would be (Ron bragged he would get most of their merchandise for free), worrying they would not have enough money for all the textbooks which had somehow doubled in number despite there being fewer classes to attend, and all the while he was casting a gloomy shadow over them and they did not even notice the extent of it. He supposed he was being paranoid and overly dramatic, but he couldn't help it. There was this nagging fear in the pit of his stomach that one day they would end up resenting him and –

"You know, it's very easy to tell when you're being miserable, Harry. You've got an honest face, too honest," a soft voice suddenly whispered into his ear.

He turned around, as if someone had poured hot water over him and he was met with Ginny's inquisitive gaze.

So she had been watching him too, just like everyone else, of course.

"You might want to hide it in front of them. Or you know, stop being miserable," she continued in the same hushed tones.

Harry stared at her, trying to school his features back into his usual amused expression.

"Oh, nice try," Ginny commended him with sarcasm.

"I'm not being miserable, Gin. Just a bit worried. Thinking about the disappearances. I don't know what we'll encounter in Diagon Alley."

"Certainly not Bellatrix Lestrange trying on formal dress robes at Madam Malkin's, I assure you," she quipped, her demeanour perfectly serious and therefore even funnier.

Harry almost suppressed a chuckle.

"That's – that sounds like a pretty terrible prospect, actually. Now I'll feel even worse. "

"Yeah, I know. Manslaughter is one thing, but frilly lace and periwinkle tones? Bellatrix might as well chug off another Azkaban offence."

Harry placed a hand over his mouth.

How did she do it? How did she always find the humour in things? And how did she do it so effectively?

She was talking about his mental state, Death Eaters and manslaughter and yet she was treating them like the common cold.

Was she bluffing? Or was she just smarter than everyone else?

Probably the latter. Laughter always did the trick; it scared the daemons away.

"But honestly now, Harry, you are miserable. And I know why," she said all of a sudden, inching her face closer to his so Hermione and Ron wouldn't hear.

She shouldn't have worried. They were safely ensconced in their own little argument about Ancient Runes and its "uselessness". Mrs Weasley was sending them glares to quiet down but neither was inclined to back down.

"I'm not at all miserable, but enlighten me," Harry indulged her, curiosity getting the better of him.

"You ought to – no, you need to be alone for a while. You know, by yourself. Away from the banter squad to your left," she replied, nodding towards Ron and Hermione.

"I don't mind their antics. I'm actually sort of fond of –" he began, trying to cover the loud remarks coming from them.

"But are you really?" Ginny interrupted him quickly. "What I meant was you need time for yourself to do some thinking and sort your thoughts. Sometimes you need to go off on your own and return when you're done. Of course not physically. You don't have to take a flying car to Spain or something. Just find a place to be alone."

She had said all of this so fast and in such a light tone that he almost thought she was joking again. But her eyes held no mirth this time.

"Ginny, I was alone with my thoughts a good part of summer before Dumbledore –"

"Oh, come on. Those Muggle tyrants don't count. Living with them must be a toil. You can't really be alone there, I suppose. Just lonely. But that's a different story. You're not lonely anymore, but you need to be alone sometimes."

Harry glanced at her eyebrows rising and falling in the rhythm of her words and the way her eyes darkened when she wanted him to understand her. You're not lonely anymore.

"Take it from someone who is almost never alone. You come to really appreciate it. It keeps you grounded," she added, brushing some invisible specks of dust off her shirt and Harry realized that growing up as the youngest in such a large family, with an overprotective mother, a band of raucous and domineering brothers, constant visitors or members of the Order around the house and now Fleur, a more irritating intruder, barging in on her life, she must have "gone off on her own" quite a bit.

And now that he thought about it, these past few days he'd really wanted to go out and play Quidditch by himself, not just for Seeker practice, but because he rather enjoyed flying alone, trying to catch the small golden ball while he let his thoughts run back and forth, freely.

But you need to be alone sometimes.

"Maybe you have a point," he conceded staring past her red locks out the window. "I suppose Hogwarts is big enough for me to find my Spain."

Ginny chuckled, shaking her head. "Sorry if I forced my silly advice on you."

"No, it's probably the wisest I've received in a while. Well, that and always take a very cold bath in the morning and drink skimmed milk afterwards to be in top shape."

Ginny's brows furrowed in confusion.

"One of your future sister-in-law's tips on how she maintains her Veela form in mint condition," Harry explained, smirking slightly.

"Bah! Phlegm is at it again? I didn't know she passes on such useless drivel. No wonder!" Ginny exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "I thought some of our owls had started nesting in her head. Seems I was right."

"You're not thinking out of the box. It's obviously another beauty tip we are not aware of," he commented, smiling.

Ginny laughed, tilting her head back, which conveniently drew the attention of Mrs Weasley and Ron, who was on the verge of losing the argument against Ancient Runes and wanted to avoid the inevitable conclusion.

"What are you two harping about?" he asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

Hermione threw him an "Aha! Nice distraction!" under her breath.

"Nothing you'd ever understand since you're all but proposing to Fleur yourself," Ginny replied, glaring at Ron.

"Ginny!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "Please! One brother is quite enough for now!"

"Oh right, I'm the only one who treats her like a proper human being and not a Cornish pixie and I suddenly love her? That's rich!" Ron commented, growing very red.

"You said it yourself, you looove Fleur," Ginny replied, mimicking an enamoured Ron. "Even if she were a Cornish pixie you'd still fancy her. Which is pretty low even for you."

Harry was laughing quietly, part of his anxiety far away, part of it still fresh in his mind. At the moment, he was enjoying the fight quite a bit.

He wouldn't have wanted to miss Ron getting dragged through the mud in such a comical way or Hermione's solid and overly-wrought argumentation for Ancient Runes, or Ginny's lulling, soft voice whispering into his ear, shocking him pleasantly.

But he knew she was right. He wanted to have some time for himself. He needed to simply sit and stare and wait for things to unravel. He needed to feel his own self again, with or without the Prophecy.

He looked forward to having those sessions with Dumbledore. He sensed there might be an opportunity to do just that, if the headmaster allowed it.