Nearly a week passed while Harry existed in a state of euphoria. Hardly anyone had stayed over Christmas and New Year's Day, and none at all were Gryffindors; this allowed Harry to spend much of his time as himself, with no disguise; much of this time was spent in a state of intimacy with Ginny. Thus, it came as somewhat of a surprise when Samuel Hornby sent another owl, politely asking for a meeting.

Harry frowned at it; a pleasant sort of lethargy filled his limbs, and he was not entirely certain he wanted to meet with Hornby. A large part of him wanted to stay in the tower, where he could wear his own face.

However, a larger part of him knew that it would not be a wise decision. Seeing Sirius and then having to persuade Remus that they were not brother and sister had impressed on Harry that they could not count on not being in the past after they left Hogwarts. Now was the time, before term started, to settle on where they would live: Dumbledore's choice might be the best bet for that.

The next day, in the quiet of the wooded path that wound its way toward both Potter Gardens and the prospective property, the two of them clasped hands, fingers entwined.

She tugged at his hand.

Harry paused, looking down at her.

"My legs are shorter than yours," she said, laughing breathlessly. "You're walking too fast."

"I'm a little eager," admitted Harry.

Her lip was caught between her teeth. "Me too."

Bright brown eyes held his. Heart quickening in his chest, Harry swallowed. "There are a lot of benefits to having our own property," he said. They'd made a list together just last night. Ginny knew a lot more about wizarding law than Harry did, but even should they return to 1996 tomorrow, they would still have legal right to whatever property they decided to buy.

"A lot of them," she said solemnly.

Mindful of the fact they'd been in the library, with Madam Pince hovering vulture-like over them, Harry had left out a number of things he could list. They were far more pleasurable than mere property ownership; they coursed between them now. Harry could feel their thoughts melding together, threatening to melt the snow around them; his palm, holding hers, grew slick with sweat. He dropped her hand, and wiped his own on his robes.

"Yeah," he said, swallowing.

Her chuckle brightened the cold air around them.

Grinning along with her, Harry walked slower now, mindful that her legs were quite a bit shorter than his. There was a small, weathered sign that pointed them the way, and they took it. This path was far more overgrown. They pushed their way up and over the next hill and then the next; by the time they reached the end of the trail, Harry wished he'd thought to bring brooms with him so they could've flown over the scraggly undergrowth and the trees instead of heaving through them.

Despite the scratches on his arms, the sweat on his back, and the fact a pebble had somehow worked its way into his shoe, Harry's breath caught when they finally emerged from a trail surely no human had used in a century, and found themselves confronted with the house that Dumbledore suggested they buy. The trees fell away, and a stone house seemed to grow just as naturally from the land. Ivy covered the walls, twining up the chimneys, and even covered some of the windows. They seemed to wink at Harry.

A fresh breeze stirred his hair. Harry straightened. They were miles and miles south of Hogwarts, which stood in the highlands of Scotland. And yet, somehow, the scent of the wind reminded him of the castle. Perhaps it was the moist and weathered stones of the house, or the ancient trees, but it carried with it the reminder of his favorite place in the world.

"Oh, I like this place," said Ginny.

"Hello! Over here!"

Harry huffed out a breath, turning on his heel.

There, standing beside the iron gate, was a gray-bearded man wearing elaborate black and gold robes. A pocket watch dangled from his wrist, and his wizard's hat had a curve to it that pointed directly to the house.

"I take it you're the Peverells? I'm Samuel Hornby… pleased to meet you."

"You as well," said Ginny, shaking his hand. "I'm Ginny Peverell. This is Harry."

"Ah yes." The smile on the older man's face was fleeting but genuine. "The Peverells. Well, what would you like to know about the house?"

"When can it be ours?" Harry asked bluntly.

Hornby blinked. Stroking his beard, he looked from one to the other. When neither spoke, he said, cautious: "Don't you want to hear about it? It's got a bit of a reputation, you know. Everyone in Godric's Hollow knows it's haunted." There was a tone in his voice that told Harry that Samuel Hornby would not live in this house were it handed to him free of charge. "And it is."

"Ghosts?" Ginny asked, casually. "Poltergeists? Ghouls? I had a ghoul in the house growing up."

"Ghosts," said Hornby, with a slight shudder. He had to be nearing fifty years old, but his nervousness made him seem younger and oddly familiar to Harry. "Ghosts, no poltergeists. Well, there hasn't been any reported activity of poltergeists, but I ought not to promise anything, you see." Taking out a purple handkerchief, he swiped it across his brow. "There are quite a lot of them… seven regulars–"

"Seven!" said Ginny, surprised. "In a single residence?"

"Now you see what I mean," said Hornby, pocketing his handkerchief. "It's one of the more haunted wizarding homes, which is why it has stood empty of, er, the living for so long."

"How long?" Harry asked, curious. He looked at the residence with new eyes. There were no ghosts that he could see, but that didn't mean anything. They could each be in a different room… hiding in the chimney… one of them could be haunting the shed.

"At least seventy-five years," said Hornby. "We have managed it well; all the charms are fully up to date. The structure is sound as per our last inspection." He did not quite meet Harry's eyes. "We've done everything possible…" His shoulders slumped and his wizard's hat drooped. "Well, I'd better show you the inside… this is where we lose people…"

Curious enough, Harry was ready to follow Samuel Hornby into the house. He even took a few steps over the dark grass and slipped on a loose cobble, barely managing to catch himself.

"Even the outside will need some work," Hornby warned. "But here — let me show you…"

And with a grand sweep of his wand, the stone walls of the house rolled to the side, like curtains opening to allow in light. The insides of the house was revealed without them having to step foot inside it; out rolled a scent heavily laden with musk and mold and something else, something that made Harry lean forward, sniffing, his nostrils burning with what smelled almost like camphor, but sharper and colder.

"As you can see, the house is quite spacious," said Hornby, voice now nasal. Harry looked over his shoulder at him: he had pinched his nose with a pair of tongs. "There are thirteen chambers that can be used as rooms. Only four loos, but that can be managed… you can see where the previous occupant tried to knock out a wall to make a bigger room… pity it caved in like that…"

Uncertain, now, Harry turned to Ginny, who was shielding her eyes and staring up at the house, despite the fact the sun was hidden behind heavy gray clouds. Cold wind swirled against him, and he drew his cloak tighter around himself.

There was a little smile playing across Ginny's lips. "But all this can be fixed… Harry, look through the windows."

Doing so, his brows rose. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

"What else could it be?" Whirling around, hair flying around her shoulders, Ginny asked Hornby: "That's a Quidditch Pitch over on the other side of the house, isn't it? A properly sized one?" The eagerness in her voice banished Harry's fledgling doubts as thoroughly as though she'd used her wand.

"Indeed," said Hornby, though it sounded more like "inbeeb". "The previous owner… she was a member of the Holyhead Harpies, back when they very first formed."

Ginny let out an incredulous laugh. "You don't say?"

That settled it.

"All right." Harry had already made his mind up, and he could tell by the jut of Ginny's chin that she had as well. Despite the ghosts, or perhaps even because of them, as they'd lived the last years in a castle full of them, he knew this place would be their home. "How do we do this?" His knowledge of property acquisition had come from the Muggle world, where both seller and buyer were represented by agents and banks and many officials made endless sorts of inspections and generated documents for everyone to sign.

Apparently, it was much simpler in the wizarding world.

"If you've the galleons in your Gringotts account, you sign here," said Hornby, looking like he could not quite believe his luck, bringing out a long scroll and unwrapping it. There was lots of tidy writing on it. "If you haven't the galleons, we'll have to head over to Gringotts and see about setting up a system of payment." He grimaced. "It can take an hour or more."

"We've got the galleons," said Harry. His eyes were scanning the tidy words; Uncle Vernon had bragged so often about tricking his customers into acting against their own interests, that Harry didn't want to sign without knowing exactly what he was agreeing to. But the only item of interest was that they were to take responsibility for the ghosts that lived on their property; should they not want that commitment, they were to contact the Spirit Division of the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

He let Ginny read it after him. "How do we make sure she's part owner, too?" Harry asked.

"She'll sign it as well, and the two of you have to take it to the registry at the Ministry of Magic. You're pureblood, aren't you? With names like that… well, you won't have any trouble with them." Hornby sniffed. "It's all in order then? You realize you're promising me 32,000 galleons? Well, then. It's a magically binding contract. My family's already signed. You sign it, the money comes to us, you take it to the Ministry, and the house is yours."

"That's it?" Harry asked, slightly stunned.

"That's it," Hornby confirmed.

Without another word, Harry took the quill Hornby was offering him, and scribbled his name. Ginny chuckled a bit as she signed her own name with a flourish.

"If you have any questions, any at all…" Hornby held out an object.

Ginny took it, then handed it to Harry.

It was not a Muggle business card so much as it was a magical business clump, shaped as a rudimentary torch made of clay, emblazoned with the name Samuel Hornby and the phrase Merchants of Truth.

"Merchants of truth," Harry muttered, frowning. He'd read those words before.

"It's the Burke family motto," Samuel said, smiling and straightening his shoulders. "The Burkes own this property. I manage it for us. I'm a Hornby," he explained. "But my mother is a Burke. Most of us are in the family business — Grandfather likes to keep it between us…"

"All of you?" asked Ginny.

"Well, most of us," said Samuel, wiping his glasses on his robes and pocketing them. "My sister Olive's a healer, but she still helps out every once in a while."

"The family incident you mentioned," Harry said slowly. "It's your cousin, isn't it?"

Hornby's face fell into sad lines. "Tragic, what happened," he said, shaking his head. "All of us are just flabbergasted, of course. Here he is, finally returned to us, and then…"

"What do you think happened?" Harry asked.

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I?" Hornby asked, blinking at him. "They keep their mouths shut. We never even knew why Simon was sent into the sleep of living death. There had to have been suspicions, but none of the adults"-this, Harry thought was rather silly, considering the fact Hornby had to be in his late forties, if not his fifties–"will tell us what they know."

"I've been there," mumbled Ginny.

Hornby straightened himself up. His face smoothed of all lines; his moment of worry for his cousin was replaced by a blank, pleasant mien. "As I previously stated," he said, his tone entirely different. Harry raised his eyebrows. "All charms have been maintained. However, there will be improvements to be made. My suggestion would be having a builder come out to assess what your needs might be."

"Er, thanks," said Harry, head swimming at the abrupt turn back to business.

"Yeah, thanks," said Ginny.

Harry exchanged a quick smile with her. They would have to figure out where, exactly, to hire a builder once they filed the paperwork with the Ministry of Magic… surely someone would know. They could put it off, anyway. The house didn't need to be ready until the summer. Strangeness filtered through him as he turned to stare at the house. It was their house now; Harry had never had such a thing before. And it felt odd to look at it knowing that he would have this place to go to until he either sold it or died.

His fingers, closed around the magical deed, tingled with the magic in the parchment.

Hornby cleared his throat. "Truth be told, we'll be happy to sell off this place."

"And we're lucky to buy it," said Ginny. Despite the mess of the interior — and Harry could still see it, even though the walls had converged shut once more — Harry couldn't help but think she was right. After all, their new home had its very own Quidditch pitch…

There were pleasantries, then. They promised once more to contact Hornby if they needed help with anything. Harry didn't think they would. First and foremost, they would file the deed with the Ministry, then they would see about finding a builder. Once Hornby left, Harry tucked his arm around Ginny, unable to stop smiling, feeling a great lightness in his chest at the thought of this place.

"Relieved?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," he said.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Two nights before school was to start, Harry and Ginny were once more far from the grounds of Hogwarts. Indeed, they were far from the highlands, deep underground in London, surrounded by people who thought they were brother and sister. The members of the Order of the Phoenix gathered in what Harry now knew to be deliberate clusters. Dumbledore moved from one to the other; each member had a role to play, and only Dumbledore knew the extent of those roles.

Even Dorcas Meadowes was in conversation with him for quite some time, both leaning against a rune-painted wall.

"What d'you think they're talking about?" Harry asked quietly.

"I don't know," said Ginny, just as quietly. "But for someone who used to be so difficult to find, we've seen a lot of Dorcas, haven't we?"

As they watched, Dumbledore drifted away to chat with a burly, bearded wizard Harry did not recognize. With unerring ease, as though she'd heard Ginny's question — though that was impossible, the sound of the Underground was a distant rumbling roar — Dorcas turned to them, beckoning them closer. They obeyed, arms brushing as they crossed the platform, skirting around Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

"I haven't seen your godfather in quite some time." Dorcas did not waste time with pleasant niceties. "Ages, in fact."

"Neither," said Harry, "have I."

Ginny nudged him.

"Well," amended Harry, "I saw him briefly. At a wedding. But…"

Dorcas eyed him. Underneath her scarf, white tufts of hair protruded. "He's been weighing on my mind these last few days," she said. Abruptly, she pulled a folded and creased bit of parchment out of her robes. "I drew this. I had to."

Long ago, the Knights of Walpurgis had created the quill she used to ink her drawings. It had the power to create a drawing that foretold what might happen. Harry did not truly want to see what Dorcas had drawn of Sirius; he took the parchment anyway, holding it gingerly for a moment before unfolding it.

The lines were harsh and dark and spare, but it was unmistakably Sirius Black. Shadows surrounded him. His hand stretched outward; somehow, Dorcas's quill had managed to give the sense that he held something bright in that outstretched hand, for the shadows seemed to arch away from it.

"He stands under a dark star."

"He's angry with me," Harry murmured. There was a contortion of the features of Sirius's face that were visible. His godfather was in pain. "He thinks I betrayed him, and I suppose — I suppose I did."

"You didn't," Ginny said firmly.

Dorcas gently took the parchment from Harry and tucked it back into her robes. "I think," she said quietly, "you ought to reach out."

"I've tried, but—"

"Try harder," suggested Dorcas.

Ginny bristled at that, stepping forward slightly. "He has tried, but when someone doesn't want to reconcile, it's not easy!"

Oblivious to Ginny's ire, Dorcas patted her cheek. "You're a good girl."

Flushing, Ginny stepped back.

"I'll try again," said Harry, unable to take his mind off of Sirius's outstretched hand, reaching out from the shadows that were trying to drown him. "I will." After a pause, wanting to change the subject, he voiced his question from earlier: "How is it you're here, by the way? Don't you have, er, enemies?"

Beside him, Ginny snorted.

"My enemies have been quiet lately," said Dorcas, brow furrowing. "It's unlike them… but I've felt these last few months that there are no more watchers. When I leave the safety of my home, I don't feel eyes upon my back."

"That's excellent," said Harry, meaning it.

She cocked her head. "The hour is late," she sighed heavily, her gaze going far away. "It's even later for me than for my niece, who has been in hiding with me all this time. But still… it's late for her, as well."

Harry inclined his head. It was just like his parents… they'd had a deadly enemy who forced them into hiding. Imagine if they'd had to live like that for years and years. Would they have done it?

His silent questions were interrupted by the magically enhanced sound of Dumbledore clearing his throat. Harry gave Dorcas another smile, took Ginny's elbow, and drew her toward the center of the platform. Dorcas followed with her shopping trolley, Mr. Gaddykins perched on the front, mrowling.

There was a ring of people around Dumbledore now.

"It has been dark these last few years," he said. Glasses of mead bobbed in the air toward them. "Alastor, my old friend, take one," he urged gently. "You'll come to no harm from me."

"Sorry, Albus," Mad Eye huffed. From his robes, he withdrew a flask and a mug that had a prancing centaur on it. "It's a habit that's served me well since '75, when…" The two men exchanged a grim look that had Harry staring from one to the other, curiosity bubbling up in him. "Well, you know."

"Very well," said Dumbledore.

Harry's own glass of mead was knocking him gently on his head. He grabbed it, wrapping his fingers around the cool stem.

"It is a lonely fight," Dumbledore continued. "There are few people we know we can trust."

His words were nearly swallowed by the sound of an oncoming train.

"I'm pleased," he said loudly, "to announce that we have added several to our number." He raised his glass, completely unperturbed that the train was rushing toward them. "We have more people on our side. We have more friends we can trust to have at our backs."

Harry raised his own glass. Thus, all glasses were raised in the direction of the train when it came screeching by the seemingly abandoned platform, and five people tumbled out, looking rather shocked. James and Lily Potter were hand in hand, gripping each other rather tightly. Sirius, the first to recover, was smiling and handsome, posed rather elegantly beside Remus, who had fallen into a crouch. Peter had fallen onto one knee, having stumbled off the train, was the last to stand, and when he did, he still appeared dazed.

"What's the matter?" Ginny whispered.

"Nothing," said Harry, rubbing his head with the back of the hand that still held the glass of mead, grimacing. "Just the train." The howl of it still echoed in his ears.

His parents and their friends were now holding mead as well, shock turning to pleasure.

"—welcome you to our fight," Dumbledore was saying. "Thank you for joining us. To us!"

"To us!"

There was now a celebratory air about the platform. Harry lurked closer and closer, wondering what they would say. Ginny nudged him in the side, giving him a knowing glance, the corner of her lips tipping upward in a way that reminded Harry of the several interludes they'd had since defeating the basilisk. A pleasant sort of heat washed over him, and he nearly forgot his parents's arrival.

"Peverell! And Peverell!"

James's voice interrupted his reverie.

"Potter," said Harry, amused.

"And Potter," said Ginny, grinning at Lily.

"Both Potters."

The four of them laughed, but James and Lily both looked from one to the other, nearly vibrating with curiosity. James tucked his arm around Lily's shoulders.

"We didn't expect to see you here," Lily said, green eyes bright. "Dumbledore mentioned… well, he seemed to imply that he preferred to wait until people were done with school?"

"Oh, yeah, we're the youngest ones here," said Ginny with great good cheer. "And honestly, we don't do very much. Not like the others…"

"I helped Dumbledore out with something once," said Harry, when both his parents raised their eyebrows.

"You two grow more mysterious by the day." Harry could tell that James meant to be funny, but it came out flat.

"Erm—"

"Peverell!"

Then young Sirius Black was there, a wide grin across his face, his hand outstretched. Harry paused for half a heartbeat, Dorcas's drawing vivid in his mind's eye. But this was young Sirius, before he was to be in Azkaban for thirteen years, before he was thrown back in time and forced to watch the world grow darker again. None of that lingered in his gray eyes.

"Black," Harry said, shaking his hand.

They might have stood like that a while longer, talking to each other, but Dumbledore swept toward them. "I thought I'd introduce you to Benjy Fenniwick," he said without preamble. "He's got good instincts, and he needs help. And you'll remember Marlene McKinnon—"

"Of course I do," said Sirius, with the eagerness of a puppy. "I'll work with her. I'll do anything."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Come along, then. They both have excellent ideas as to how you can help… you'll want to meet them…"

The Potters and friends slipped away, following in Dumbledore's wake, and Gideon and Fabian Prewett slipped in, both watching over their shoulders.

"James Potter is here!" Fabian said, grinning widely.

"He is," said Ginny.

Of all the time Harry had spent with Fleamont Potter when everyone was asleep, he had spent little of it with Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who – though they worked for him – had been busy with other tasks. Gideon was a little quieter, a little steadier, and it was he who had a thoughtful, unreadable expression on his face as he peered after James.

"Well, Fleamont's got to be proud," said Fabian. "Surprised he isn't here, himself, actually…"

"I've heard he was quite the duelist," said Harry.

"Oh, definitely," said Fabian, nudging his brother. "You're quiet," he accused.

"Just thinking Euphemia would wish James would stay out of it," Gideon said, rubbing his ribs. "He's young."

"Not as young as he used to be," argued Fabian. He glanced over at Harry and Ginny, dimples appearing in his cheeks. "We started working for Mr. Potter – Fleamont – when we were just out of Hogwarts, so we've known James since he was – what? Five? Six? I've got nephews that age."

Ginny cut in with sharp eagerness. "You do? What are they like? What are their names?"

Smiling faintly as the Prewett brothers donned somewhat stunned looks on their faces, Harry ducked away.

Leaving Ginny to speak to her uncles, Harry wandered through the small knots of people. Dorcas Meadowes sat at the fringes, Mr. Gaddykins in his shopping trolley beside her: Both looked like they were prepared to leave at any moment. She had not seen ill omens in weeks, except for Sirius the elder. Harry might have gone over to her again, still curious, but she was at her art again, hand moving across a canvas, eyes vacant and staring at the concrete wall opposite the train platform, as though memorizing the runes etched there.

There were more of them now, Harry was certain of it. Like graffiti, they now took up the whole of the wall and some of the floor. Probably more of it, Harry thought. In an effort to make the hidden platform more comfortable, someone – likely Dumbledore – had covered the concrete in rugs of all shapes, sizes, and colors, giving it a feel that it had been decorated by a maniac.

The runes were warm to the touch. Not for the first time, Harry wondered at what sort of protections he would want to put on the house near Godric's Hollow. Surely, they would need more, wouldn't they?

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Harry turned. "Edgar!" he said, surprised. It was not a large gathering of members of the Order of the Phoenix, and he hadn't seen Edgar at all. "You're here?"

"Just made it here," he said, scrubbing his short, salt-and-pepper beard. "Work has been…" Instead of finishing that sentence, he merely sighed.

"That bad?" Harry said, with sympathy. "You aren't having to worry about – you know?" Harry did not name the pox, but Edgar knew what he meant.

"Not… no," said Edgar.

Harry raised both eyebrows. "Do you need more help?" he asked.

Edgar favored him with a small smile, and shook his head. "No, no. But thank you. It's mostly run its course through Britain; now we're just selling it to the international community; there are small pockets of it. Your account's been growing, have you noticed?"

"No." Harry had never paid much attention to those things. "No, but it doesn't need to, I would've done it for free–"

"I know," said Edgar, eyeing him curiously. "But no. There's honor in providing galleons for blood spent." With a glance over his shoulder, toward the empty tunnel through which no train came, he said. "The pox is done, mostly. It's just that members of my Department have been acting oddly."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

Edgar smiled again, shaking his head. "It's nothing bad," he said. "A fellow in the Office of Busywork – not the real name! But you get the point, it's one of the Ministry offices that has got a big, important name for a lot of bureaucracy and busywork – got married rather, er, suddenly just yesterday and left all the filing in an absolute mess. Too in love to do much else but cause chaos, I suppose."

Harry swallowed a laugh.

"People are eloping left and right," Edgar continued. "It's not a surprise, just a surprise that it took Fenton… he's seventy, if he's a day…" With a sigh, he added, "And it's not just that. Everyone's distracted, and I can't blame them, not really. Last year was a nightmare, and it's only just lifting. The only steady one I've got is Buffin, poor sod, and he goes home even less than I do. My wife hardly remembers my name. But enough! No more feeling sorry for myself. What of you, Harry? Have you done anything fun with your earnings? Not too much fun, I hope."

"I haven't done anything with it," Harry assured him. "Oh, wait, that's not true. Dumbledore helped us buy a house, so I suppose that was a bit of fun." It would be more fun if there were fewer ghosts, thought Harry, but he kept that to himself. With a shrug, he added, "I've been at school. There's hardly time to empty my account at Gringotts."

Edgar huffed out a laugh. "I'm not sure you could," he said. "But excellent! You're preparing for life after Hogwarts, eh? You've got a good head on your shoulders."

Harry shrugged, neglecting to mention it had been Dumbledore prodding them along the entire way. He jerked his head toward the runes etched onto the walls. "Maybe not," he said ruefully, "because I have no idea how to go about protecting the house." He squinted until the runes grew blurry and even more graffiti-like. "And it's sort of… falling apart," he added. "I have no idea how to build it up again." Some of the floors had been sagging. "I don't think I've ever used a hammer."

Edgar was looking at him. "Well, you don't have to, of course," he said, blinking. "Hire a builder. They've got all sorts of know-how."

Uncertain, Harry stared at him. "A builder? A Muggle?"

"No?" Edgar asked. "We've got magical ones. A Muggle! Honestly," he snorted. "They're certainly not going to be able to get you the protection you need. Listen," he added, "I've just done this at my own house. It's a good idea… especially in these times. I'm sure Dumbledore would've mentioned it before you moved in. Or your godfather. Where is he, by the way? I haven't seen him for an age."

"Neither have I," muttered Harry, mood suddenly shifting downward.

"Ah," said Edgar. "Well. I know a couple of builders, but I used Gideon and Fabian's brother-in-law–"

Harry immediately forgot about Sirius.

-"-he's good. Really good," continued Edgar. "I wasn't sure because if he was so good, why not get out of the Ministry and make piles in the private sector, but he's got a vocation, I'm told." Eyes fixed on Harry's face, he added, "I watched some of his work, not much, but my wife thought he was really good, decent bloke."

"I'm sure he is," said Harry, grinning widely enough that Edgar looked surprised. "What'd you say his name was?" Harry asked, trying to look innocent. "Something Prewett?"

"No, no," said Edgar. "It's Weasley. Arthur Weasley."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, his gaze unerringly finding Ginny. It would, he thought, make her quite happy to have her own father fixing up their house. Perhaps they could even have Molly supply more quilts and blankets and things. "Can you get me in touch with him?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Edgar. "I'll send you an owl… he's got flyers all over the Ministry. They do good work," he repeated in a rush. "He's even hired a couple of helpers, other Ministry workers who just don't get enough galleons. But listen, don't let that put you off him."

Harry could not have been put off Arthur Weasley building their house if he tried. "I won't," he promised.

"A lot of the private companies cut corners," said Edgar. "Arthur won't. He's pricy, but he does good work. And…" There was a small hesitation, and a crinkle formed in his brow. "He isn't limited in what he does."

"How so?" asked Harry. Perhaps Arthur had grown Edgar Bones's house upward like the Burrow.

"Ah, most of the companies use the same old wards of protection: mostly blood wards. That works for all the purebloods, trust me, but sometimes"-discomfort flickered across his face–"you want something a little more innovative, something that keeps everyone out, even…"

"Family?" Harry suggested.

Edgar shrugged. "There are always loopholes in magic," he said.

"I wouldn't have thought you Bones's have any family you'd like to keep out," Harry said honestly, thinking of his now rather dim memories of Susan Bones in Dumbledore's Army, and his more recent memories of Old Bones as one of Dumbledore's friends. "You all seem like a solid lot."

"Well, thank you," said Edgar, smiling. The smile slipped from his face. "But we've all got… let's just say there are… elements in every family that… well. I'm not one to air dirty laundry." He clasped Harry's shoulder, gave it a tiny, friendly shake, and said: "You've still got the coin we gave you? Any of us… well, most of us will honor it, you know."

"I've still got it," Harry assured him.

With a sharp nod, Edgar melted away from him, heading toward a knot of members of the Order of the Phoenix that included Frank and Alice Longbottom and Mad-Eye Moody, who'd finally lost his eye. Harry could not help but wonder if Harry's questions had shoved him away, but with a shrug, Harry set that aside.

It had to be Arthur who they hired. With a smile and flick for luck against one of the runes, Harry returned to where Ginny still stood with her uncles, excited to tell her that her father happened to be exactly the sort of magical builder they hadn't known they needed.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry kept quiet during the now familiar trip on the Underground, though his parents and their friends eyed him with great speculation, enough that he could practically feel the silent questions they were hurling at him brushing against his skin. They were, almost all of them, in high spirits. Only Peter seemed like he might have taken on more than he expected: Apparently, he was to be reporting to Benjamin Fenwick, spending one night a week helping him.

"I've read his articles," muttered Peter. "He goes everywhere, and I've already got an extra job, I told you that–"

"You'll see a lot of England," encouraged Lily.

"What's your other job?" Harry asked, tucking his hands in the pockets of his robe.

Peter eyed him, eyes watery and slightly red from the less-than-fresh air of the Underground. "It's nothing," Peter mumbled.

"It's not nothing!" Lily said. "You're doing what you can to help your mum… how is she?"

"The same as ever," said Peter. "She's the one who suggested I get another job… and now I've got this stuff with Fenwick."

Peter had turned, slightly, shouldering Harry out of the conversation. Smiling slightly, Harry shuffled his feet and then turned away. If Peter would rather vent to Lily, how could Harry blame him?

Harry wandered a bit further down the train; it was not that he didn't want to be around his parents, but his headache had returned, brought on by the fumes and sound of the train. Ginny followed him a few minutes later, ducking around other passengers with more ease than he had.

"They all want to go to the Leaky," she said. "Do you…?"

Harry thought it over. It would be nice to spend time with them; it had been a while since the wedding. But with his headache… "I think I'd rather get back to Hogwarts," he said, with no small amount of reluctance. "How about you, though? D'you want to stay, and–?"

"No," said Ginny. The train slowed rather abruptly, the announcement of the next platform blaring. "I'd rather get back to Hogwarts… you know… I'm not particularly excited to spend time pretending you're my brother." Her grin shifted in that subtle way that made Harry's stomach contract. "There are other things I'd rather do."

"And we'll see them the day after tomorrow," said Harry. "Thanks, Ginny."

She maneuvered gracefully around the other passengers, who moved rather drunkenly. Harry watched as she told them they wouldn't be meeting them. It was, predictably, Remus, who gave him a long, thoughtful stare. The conversation that Remus had threatened to have with them had not yet materialized, as Remus was not yet at school. Harry was looking forward to it the way one looked forward to particularly important exams.

It would, Harry realized, be all that much harder to keep things from James and Lily and the others now they'd been invited to join the Order of the Phoenix.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"Oh!" said Harry.

They were nearly to Gryffindor Tower when he hit his palm against his forehead. "I kept meaning to tell you… we've got to ask your – your Arthur for help!"

Ginny stopped to gape at him. There were more students returned to Hogwarts, and they'd been walking a respectable three feet distant from each other. "Arthur?" she said, flicking her eyes down the corridor, then back to his. "Help? With what?"

Harry took a cautious step closer to her. They were still far enough away from the Fat Lady that surely she could not see them. "Your dad," he said in a voice only she could hear, "builds up houses for a living… well, not a living. I mean, he does it as an extra job, since the Ministry can't be arsed to fund a Department that exists solely to protect Muggles. Edgar Bones told me."

"He…" Ginny's eyes searched his. "You know, I do think I remember him mentioning that… he didn't do it in my memory, but I know I've heard them talk about it before. He really does it?"

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling. "He does. I think we should hire him for a good, long job, don't you?"

Ginny covered her lips with the tips of her fingers. "Oh yes," she said, eyes shining. "Oh, yes. Let's do that."

It was a relief to get back to the common room. Harry did not touch the bump on his wrist with his wand until his back was to the empty room – he had too many experiences of being in that same common room while invisible – but he let his disguise slip off him with the same relief he generally felt upon stepping into a warm bath, or taking his shoes off after a long day. His shoulders relaxed; the last of the pain in his head vanished.

Ginny flung her door open, they stepped through, and then she was in his arms.

This time, Harry didn't lose his head quite as much as he had the other times they'd done this. He unwrapped her from her robes, running his hands all over her body, lightly, gently. Instead of sliding under the covers with her, they stayed on top, where she somehow allowed him to drink in the sight of every inch of her. Rapt, Harry took it in, pleasure surging through his body, fingertips grazing over her navel, watching goose flesh erupt on her belly, and her nipples tighten into points. For long minutes, he left her knickers on, and focused on her breasts.

"Harry," Ginny said, writhing against his lips and hands. "Harry."

Harry chuckled a little. There was, he discovered, a damp spot between her legs. He rubbed gently, tentative at first, then with slightly more confidence. There was a rhythm to the way Ginny liked to be touched, he'd discovered these last brilliant days. He'd gotten closer and closer to discovering it, and today he was the closest he'd been yet… she'd never pulled at his arms like that, the unfocused gleam in her eyes as she told him to hurry was new. And the urgency with which she touched his erection, tugging him closer, was new.

"You're so wet," he grunted, once he'd vanished her knickers. The charm was quickly done — not easy, for Ginny held him in a tight grip, pressing his fingers tight against her clit.

"Yeah," she panted, arching her back.

Harry pressed into her. Both groaned when he entered all the way. Obedient to her silent command, he kept rubbing her clit as he thrust into her. It was then when the pleasure was so great that it nearly made him lose focus. It did not help that Ginny was an erotic sight, her cries of pleasure echoing all around him, seeming to sneak into him and course through his veins.

"You're so good," he gasped, pressure building in his spine.

And then, to his shock, Ginny gripped him hard with arms and legs, back arched like a bow, hips bucked tight against his. Then — he felt it — tiny ripples around his penis as she cried out to him and to God. Her color was high, her eyes sightless, red hair a cloud around her head. Now wriggling against him, his hand trapped between their two bodies, she bucked against him so wildly that he could not have stopped the orgasm she demanded from him if he had tried.

Harry flooded her, a startled grunt forced out of him at the first spasm. Her nails dug into his back. Wonder filled him as the urgency abated. She'd finally come; he had done that for her.

In the aftermath of pleasure, Harry put his arms around Ginny and held her close, feeling both smug and sleepy. Outside, a storm was rising; Harry had been oblivious to it, so engrossed he'd been in what they'd been doing together. "So that's what it's like," he said thickly, long minutes later, speaking over the sound of the wind.

"That wasn't the first time we've done that." There was a smile in her voice.

"Well, it's the first time you've done that," said Harry.

"Hardly," said Ginny.

He pulled back, more than a little astonished. "You have?" he asked. "With who?"

Stretching like a cat against him, bare breasts sliding against his chest, she smiled up at him. "Just myself," she said, a flush appearing in her cheeks.

At her words, and the heady image it evoked, Harry's penis twitched. He threaded his fingers in her hair, chuckling a little. "I meant… you know… the first time with me." Rain splattered hard against the Tower in a violent gust. Harry waited a beat, pulling the blankets over them. "Was it…?"

She bit her lip, eyes bright. "Oh, it definitely was."

There was more he would've liked to say, but did not know quite how to say it: His head was too full of the sex they'd just had. As the storm worsened, Harry let himself relive it, lingering on his favorite moments: the feel of her hard nipples pressed against his palm, the tickle of her hands on his lower back and upper thighs and everywhere in between, sliding into her slick heat, and how she'd milked him with her orgasm and he'd come so hard that his toes had spasmed. Instead of saying all these things, Harry simply stroked her back until her breathing evened out and deepened as she fell asleep snug tight against him.

Harry eventually fell into a distracted sort of doze. It was a shallow sleep; he was aware of the howl of the wind, and how the skies seemed to have opened up directly above Hogwarts. But when there was a tremor in the tower itself, Harry jolted awake, heart racing, feeling like he'd been rudely shaken awake from a deep sleep.

For one confused moment, he'd thought he'd heard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon banging on the door of his cupboard, demanding he come watch the bacon.

"I'm…"

"What was that?" Ginny flung the blankets back, and grabbed her wand. "What is that?"

Thunder rumbled through the stones of Hogwarts.

Clarity returned to his thoughts as he woke up more fully, no longer caught on the edge of a dream. Harry looked down. "Ginny," he said. The tower ceased its trembling. "It's a storm. Remember what Dumbledore said he was going to do?"

Her mouth fell open a little. "I… yes. You think he's done it, then?"

There was another rolling shake. "I think he's doing it," Harry said quietly. "He's doing it right now." When they had defeated the basilisk together, Dumbledore had promised he would destroy the Chamber of Secrets itself…

"Good," said Ginny.

If Harry thought it would be difficult to fall asleep after that, he was wrong. Once his head landed on Ginny's flowery-scented pillow, he was sucked back into a deeper slumber than what he'd had previously. If he dreamed, he didn't remember it. There were no many-legged creatures pattering through his dreams; he didn't have a nightmare of Voldemort being resurrected; he was not in the Chamber of Secrets, waiting for Ron to dig them out, his face far older and ravaged, his blue eyes dark with unexplained grief.

Upon waking, that surprised him a little.

But it was not the Chamber of Secrets that Harry dwelled on when he first sat up and swung his legs off the bed. How could it, with Ginny wearing only a shirt, her bare legs pale and slim as he ran his palm up her thigh.

"I need a wash," she said, amused, slipping away from him. "There's only so much a wand can do."

She gathered up her things into a small basket and left the room. A wash was probably a good idea, but Harry made do with several freshening charms, which would do until the afternoon. He'd just put his wand away when Fawkes appeared, golden and bright, banishing the cold morning air. He peered down at Harry over his beak; it opened slightly and a squawk emerged.

"'Lo, Fawkes," said Harry.

The phoenix nodded to him, and held out its talon. A scroll dropped into Harry's hand; heat washed over his palm.

"Thank you," Harry said, smiling.

Whatever it was Dumbledore had written, Fawkes was not given instruction to wait for a reply. WIth a flourishing bow and a spin, the phoenix vanished into a burst of flames.

My dear Peverells, was the greeting.

With a glance at the door, and a brief pang of guilt, Harry made the decision to read it.

As we discussed, I have made some of the secrets of Hogwarts inaccessible. I must once more beg you not to speak of this to anyone, even if they are newly inducted into the Order of the Phoenix. Or even if they are very long-standing members indeed. It may be that we do not see one another very often this term, as I will be tracing a certain person's youthful activities in hopes of finding more memories.

All the best,

A.P.W.B.D.

Ginny walked in wrapped in a towel just as the parchment upon which Dumbledore had written the letter turned to a mound of ashes sitting on Harry's palm.

"Did that piss you off?" she asked, pointing.

"No," said Harry. He cleared his throat. "Dumbledore wrote to us. I read it; I didn't know it would burn." Getting up from the bed, he crossed to the window, dumping the ashes out of the tower, watching them disappear into the cold January day. The sun was out, cresting over the mountains, but it seemed to do little to provide warmth. "We were right about last night, about that trembling. He said he 'made the secrets of Hogwarts inaccessible'. And he's asked us not to tell anyone."

"Well, we could hardly do that," said Ginny, going to stand in front of her mirror. With her hair wet like that, it was far darker. But when she used her wand to dry her hair, bit by bit, the golds and bright reds appeared. "Was that it?" she asked, after he'd been quiet for a while.

"No," said Harry.

"Well, what was it?" she asked. Her back was to him; when she leaned over her desk, her towel rode up a little, revealing an intriguing combination of creamy skin and gathering shadows. "Harry, what was it?"

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Harry said, "He's gone to ferret out more of Riddle's secrets. Said he won't see much of us this term… which, he already did warn us, I suppose." He paused. "He specifically warned us not to tell Sirius."

Ginny was quiet, head bowed, her now dry hair tumbling down her back in shiny waves. "Would you have told him?" she asked.

"No," said Harry. "No, I wouldn't have done. But… I do want to talk to him." He thought of Dorcas's drawing, Sirius's hand reaching out as though for help. "It wasn't awful at the wedding. I don't like being at odds with him."

"It's just that he felt betrayed," murmured Ginny, continuing on with her morning ablutions, rubbing cream onto her face. "You've still got the mirror." With a glance at him over her bare shoulder, she added, "You can contact him while I write a letter to my dad, asking him for help with the house."

"Good idea," said Harry.

Harry had not been in his own room much the last few days. When he entered, it was freezing and musty, as though it had been a long time since it had had an occupant. Harry cast a couple of warming charms and turned on the lamp as he paused at the door. His trunk opened easily, and he brought out the mirror. Sitting on the edge of the bed once again, he stared down at it, touching the cold surface with his hand.

"Show me Sirius," he said finally. "Show me Sol Black."

His own image wavered. Once again, Sirius had left his own mirror pointing upward at the ceiling. Harry wondered if it was in the same spot. Well, he wasn't going to be put off talking to him anymore. Harry whipped his wand and a loud, annoying sound emerged from it. The twins had taught him this one, a long time ago… if anything could get Sirius's attention to the mirror, it would be this.

"What's that bleedin' racket?!"

It was Mundungus again. Harry wondered if he was living there, at Sirius's house.

"I need to talk to Sol." Harry said it in such a way that it came out as an order. He did not quiet his spell. "Go get him, please."

Dung disappeared from view. Then the room began to dip and bob and he saw the shelves full of books, the empty cups on tables, and a half-empty bottle of firewhisky on a stand close to the door. Dung carried him through the house, muttering about his bleeding ears. Fortunately, Sirius's house was comparatively small.

"Sol, it's the boy again," Dung announced.

As soon as Sirius came into view, concern etched on his features, Harry cut off the spell. It was a relief, even to him.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked. "Are you in trouble?"

"Nothing is wrong," Harry said. "Well, something is… I don't want to have to be in trouble to contact you–"

"You don't have to–"

"Well, that's what you've made it seem like," said Harry. "I know you're still mad about–"

But Sirius interrupted him, casting a glance over his shoulder. "I'm not mad," he said. "I told you… I understand now why you did it. I think I even understood then."

"Then why haven't you tried to contact me?" Harry demanded, exasperated. Not waiting for an answer, he added, "Listen… besides Ginny, you're the only one who… you know. I don't want to be cut off from you. I'm sorry that–"

"It's forgiven, Harry," Sirius said quietly.

"Term's about to start," said Harry, not entirely sure Sirius was telling him the truth. "Can we talk about this in person? Maybe in a couple of weeks? We can meet at the Hog's Head, or wherever you want."

"Hog's Head is fine," said Sirius. "You said in a couple of weeks?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "That way we've got a chance to figure out our schedule…"

"That's smart," said Sirius. There was an unmistakable fondness in his smile. "Just send me an owl when you've figured out the exact day."

"I will."

The connection between the two mirrors was cut off. Harry stared down at his own image for a few minutes, idly noticing that he had forgotten to implement his disguise when walking from his room to Ginny's: The self that looked back at him was his true one. Perhaps that was why Sirius had seemed so warm. The resemblance between himself and James was pronounced.

An image of Dorcas's drawing flashed through his mind. Harry had seen enough of the interaction between his father and the younger Sirius that he knew James would want Harry to reach forward and clasp Sirius's hand. James would want Harry to do it in his stead.

Pleased with himself, Harry stood, stretched upward, pressed his wand to the small bump in his skin that had his disguise covering him like a blanket, and went to find Ginny so they could enjoy a last day of freedom together before term started.