AN: I'm always worried when I get asked to continue or write a sequel. A major reason is that people tend to forget about it (you know which stories that I'm talking about). So without further ado, chapter two! I'm thinking either three or four chapters, depending on further reception.

(There is also a Doctor Who reference here)

Thanks to everyone who left a review!

Disclaimer: Last time I checked I am an American brunette. Nice try, but I know that I'm not JK Rowling

Title: Gusts Come Around: Where I Don't Feel Alone

Word Count: 2K

Summary: For the first time since his tour in Iraq ended, Harry felt somewhat optimistic with his group therapy partner. Muggle AU. HPFF Challenge

Out in the garden where we planted the seeds

There is a tree as old as me

Branches were sewn by the color of green

Ground had arose and passed it's knees

—Cinematic Orchestra, To Build a Home

I woke up later in a cold sweat and my hand curled around my battered mobile. I was still unnerved from the stressing nightmare—a flashing recollection of my time over there. I could only loosen my grip and slowly count down from ten. The mobile dropped to the floor with a clang and I rolled onto my back. My lame arm felt like dead weight next to me, but the memories of fighting sparked a phantom pain. Logically, I knew that arm was as good as dead, but my brain wasn't responding correctly.

My mouth felt dry as my eyes made villains and monsters out of the blurry shadows. An instinctive part of me wanted to go for my weapon, to be ready for a fight. The other part of me was calling me out for trusting anything without my glasses. Scowling, I reached for my bedside table and put my glasses back on. The villains and monsters lurked back into their shadows, giving me a little peace. I lurched my body into an upright position, my weight being rested against the wall. Congratulations, Potter, a snide thought remarked. Soon you'll be interrogating your pillow in no time.

The mobile next to my bed might as well been mocking me. I should call her, but I couldn't. Our previous meeting felt like a fluke because I wasn't good with talking to people. I saved that for Hermione when she's trying to convince my blind date that I'm really sane. But Ginny wasn't like any of those dates; our meeting had proved that. She fought and served like me. The same dementing monsters also followed her.

After a quick bout of wrestling with my conscious, I knelt down to pick up my mobile. I had already programmed her number in and it saved me from a pathetic attempt of remembering it. My thumb hovered over the button, so I closed my eyes, pressed it, and held it close to my ear. It didn't take long for Ginny to pick up, and on the third ring I could hear her throaty voice.

"Speed dial for excruciating nightmares. Press one for forgetting, two for kvetching, and three for replacement."

I let out a small laugh, trying to keep it even smaller due to Hermione being asleep in the next room. "Two, please."

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mines," she said in a low, amused voice. Then embarrassment coloured her Devon-accented words. "Oh, god, was that too much? My filter is usually off at night."

"Join the sodding club," I said. I tucked my knees to under my chin, pivoting so that I could look outside. There wasn't much of a view from my room. A bleak sky covered thickly with clouds and the smog mixing from the earlier rain. It was all greys and glistening darks, and it fitted my mood perfectly. "Don't you just hate it?"

"The lack of filter or everything since we came home?"

"Everything." I forced my eyes to remains open so that the nightmares won't be plastered to the inside of my eyelids. "It doesn't go away."

"There's a phrase that fits our mood," Ginny said. "Life sucks and then you die."

"I thought that you were suppose to be helping me get better?"

"It takes two, Potter—Oh, sod off, Pig!"

Perplexed by the complete shift in attitude, I held the mobile away from my ear and stared at it. Did I heard her correctly? Or did she just called me a pig? "Excuse me?"

"No, sorry. I was talking to my brother's dog. Pig's a pug that is trying to eat my blanket. Bad, dog!" There was the sound of a high-pitched growl and a curse from Ginny's mouth. "He eats everything," she stressed.

"Maybe he can eat the nightmares away?" I tried to joke.

She groaned. "You're worst than Ron. Listen, um, speaking of him, do you like football?"

"Why are you changing the topic?" I argued. I rubbed my temple, trying to figure out where this conversation was heading. I think whiplash was going to be inevitable.

"Ron plays for a local pickup team. We can go and take a nice walk at the park there. Might be better to talk certain things in the daylight."

I looked around my surroundings. Shadows were clumped thickly everywhere, and inside them were my nightmares waiting. A trick that I was taught was to think of something happy, but there wasn't much to go on that for me. A niggling voice that sounded like Hermione's told me to create some. "Which park is it at?"

"You look cheerful," Hermione looked up from her book. "Is that actually a clean shirt that you're wearing?"

I brushed the crumbs from my toast off and adjusted the collar. It was the only thing in my closet that wasn't wrinkled completely or stained. I was able to do my own laundry; I just lacked the urge at the times to do so. "No need to sound so shocked," I sighed.

Hermione set her book down on the kitchen table, studying me from head to toe. "I like her. Can she also make you do your laundry?"

I stood up and rolled my eyes. "Don't you have a test to study for?" I gestured a hand to her textbook. Law terms were embossed on the impressive cover. I pushed it away from me so that I won't get a headache just by looking at it.

"I can study there."

My head shot up. "What? You hate sports!"

"I don't hate them," she lied. "I just don't enjoy them enthusiastically.

I've had known Hermione since secondary school, and saying that she didn't enjoyed sports enthusiastically was a mild way of putting it. Whenever they had gym she would try to find some excuse either medically ("I can't play dodge ball because my wisdom teeth just got removed today. The pain will be too distracting.") or would shrink away and try to make herself into less of a target. I would often had to be her human shield and it proved to be useful later in years of combat training.

I hopefully thought that with her at the match would spark some realisation that she could stop mollycoddling me. Then I realised myself that pigs would have to fly first. "Whatever you say," I said.

There was a small predicament when stepping onto the path. Ginny was waiting for me in her wheelchair. My limp arm felt more noticeable when I saw at how uneven the path was, so I wasn't sure how well she'd be able to move. I had a feeling that with one arm that I wouldn't be able to help much. Still, the Grangers hammered manners into me.

I gestured with my working hand to the handles. "Do you want me to…"

"Nah," said Ginny quickly. The tips of her ears began to match her hair. "I've crossed over rougher terrain than this." She steadied her hands on either wheel and jerked her head. "Come along, Potter."

I smiled and strode up to walk by her side. We were quite at first, walking on the curved pathway. It was made in a way that encircled the entire field, giving us a view on all parts of the football match. I could see Ginny's brother in midfield, he and his red-clad teammates had the ball and were whooping loudly as they made a score. Hermione was easy to find with her hair acting as a beacon. She would occasionally look up to see the game and then crane her head to find Ginny and I before looking back down at her textbook.

Ginny and I shared an uneasy glance. It was easy to blather on the mobile but now in daylight it seemed very different. Her brash exterior from the first meeting and the mobile call was gone, or more appropriately, it was diminished. I was half-expecting to hear quips or an amusing story about her life pre-enlistment, but the last thing that I was expecting was silence. I cast a shy look in her direction. "So."

"So," Ginny repeated. Her freckled cheeks were beginning to become pink. "Right, this is my idea. I supposed that I should go first." She stopped wheeling next to a park bench and gestured for me to sit down. She parked her chair and folded her hands in her lap, looking away from me. "Do you want to hear the whole story or what?"

I scratched the back of my head, sighing. At the grimace she was now wearing and the hard look in the distance, I could see the version of her that fought. Before I wasn't able to, but now I could see her flying in the air, blazing and even more fierce. "Whatever you feel the most comfortable with," I said.

"Good," she said softly. She turned her gaze back to me. "As long as you also tell me your story."

"That's going to fill several books," I warned.

We rejoined our friends when the match was over.

I found Hermione clutching her book to her chest, her face pink as her voice rose at a sweaty footballer. His bright head of hair made him recognisable as Ginny's brother, and he, too, was speaking in a loud voice.

Ginny shook her head. "What did my brother do this time?"

"It could also be Hermione's fault, she often has that affect on people," I pointed out, remembering the times whenever she started an argument back in secondary school. I was one of her few friends there, and I would always be proud to be hers. Even if she would one day nag me to my death.

"My brother has Foot-In-Mouth Disorder." Ginny smiled slightly. "He means well."

I tried to understand what Ron and Hermione were arguing about, but I later gave up when she was now resorting to use archaic insults. I thought I vaguely recognised a few from English class so many years ago. "Hey," I said loudly. "Who wants tea?" The argument dropped and they turned to look at Ginny and I. "Hi," I said again. "Tea?"

I was laughing myself to pieces by our second pot of tea.

Gathered around a small table at a pub, Ron turned out to be a very amusing character with plenty of stories to tell. His constant gestures and exaggerations only made the storytelling more animated—especially when he was recounting a childhood tale. Ginny's face had gotten red and she buried her face into her hands. "Shut up, Ronald."

"But it's true!" Her brother continued. "The Valentine was singing—one of those expensive cards that came with some tune, and the poor sod was even more embarrassed."

"I was eleven," she moaned. She raised her head, a dauntless look shown in her eyes. "Shut your gob before I tell them about Lavender."

That had the desired reaction. Ron's mouth became a thin line and the tips of his ears went red. Hermione snorted next to him, shaking her head. "Should I be using that in the future?"

"You have my blessings," Ginny extended a hand to her and bowed slightly in her chair. "I will tell you the whole saga when we get some alone time."

The utterance that came from Ron's mouth was a cross between a groan and a dead man's last breath.

Hermione's smile became rather wicked next. She cradled her hands around her cup, grinning cat-like over the rim. It reminded me too much of her childhood pet, Crookshanks. "And do I also have some tales about Harry here."

My head shot up. "No," I immediately said. "Oh, god, please don't. I'll do the dishes for a week."

Ron gave me a conspiring look. He raised the pot, speaking loudly, "how about something other than idiotic romances, eh?"

"Is your brother usually this subtle?" Hermione whispered to Ginny over the table.

"Yes," she nodded. "But trust me, he grew some tact."

"Ron, Ginny tells me that you cook," I hastily said before Ginny could be told about my failed and embarrassing relationship with Cho Chang. I had never felt to useless in a relationship since her, and it had scared me off of romances for several years.

Hermione's head swerved to look at Ron, her eyebrows raised high. "You do?"

"What?" He patted his lean stomach, disgruntled at her shocked opinion. "Mum made sure that I knew how before moving out. I can do all sorts of stuff now. Cooking is cool—like bow-ties." Satisfied with what he said, he leaned back in his chair and took a large draught out of his tea. "Ginny's my guinea pig for anything new I try."

"Anything you like the most so far?" I asked her.

Ginny rubbed her chin, thinking. "Shepherd's Pie is still in my top five… Bugger, what was that dish you made to impress Bill's fiancée?"