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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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HP stories following Canon including OotP >> Built to Last? by Beanie

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
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A/N: Haha! I've resurfaced! Thanks to a resurrected muse, I can write again! -insert cheesy happy dance- Alright, um...I hope you like it. If you don't, then tell me that, GOSH DARNIT! (Cursing isn't my thing.)
By the by, that forementioned muse are two songs: Mary by the Subways for the Harry/Ginny-ness, and Married with Children (It's not a kind song) by Oasis for all the Harry/Cho stuff.
It isn't really PG-13, I'm just being cautious.

| : | Chapter 1 | : | Home Again, Home Again

Harry Potter was a content man. Not happy, but content, though many thought that he should be very happy, considering the circumstances under which he now lived.

After finishing his seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry had trained to become an Auror. He had mastered the many aspects of his profession so quickly that within a single year he had completed his classes and been accepted to a starting position in the Ministry of Magic. In the next eleven months, he had used his newly acquired resources (and the help of his three good friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger) to locate and vanquish the Dark Lord, which was actually much harder than he has ever let on.

Subsequent to destroying the Dark Lord, Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, allowed (actually insisted) Harry to skip several ranks and become Second-in-Command to the Head Auror, a position that, in fact, did not previously exist. This was done in great vexation to the current Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour, who argued that he did not need a Second-in-Command, especially when that Second-in-Command was fresh out of school.

Professionalism aside, Harry Potter was also the subject of various red tops, such as Witch Weekly, The Enchanting Enchanted, and Spellbound, often pictured with a very pretty girl looking to be of orient, due to her long black hair and shining dark eyes.

Presently, however, Harry was alone, sitting in small, yet bright little coffee shop that reminded him very much of a place where he hadn’t been in a very long time. Perhaps that was why he was here so often; maybe he missed the Burrow. Maybe he could go and visit Ron and the other Weasleys. They had, of course, been his adoptive family all through his school years.

He took a sip from the little mug in his hand, and the painful warmth brought him to his senses…painfully. He couldn’t go back to the Burrow---Cho hated it there, and he couldn’t go alone, because the one thing she hated more than the idea of herself there was the idea of him there alone. “I don’t like that place much,” she had said, a plump bottom lip proceeding just past her top one. “It’s so cramped, and I don’t think they clean very often.”

Something grew very hot in the pit of Harry’s stomach, and he was sure it wasn’t the same substance that had burned his tongue just moments before. But surely he wasn’t angry with Cho, was he? She had never done anything against him, after all. He was always the one messing up, making her cry. A cold knot of guilt robbed Harry’s innards of any heat.

There was movement at the rear end of the shop. A spotty-faced boy with a patch on his uniform reading, “Jeffery,” was frantically trying to coax a coffee brewer into service while a portly man at the counter grew to look more and more displeased every minute. Mr. Weasley would’ve been enthralled at the sight of the machine. Harry glanced in the opposite direction, looking through the large glass storefront as cars flew quickly past. Perhaps he would pay them a visit.

The rest of the day was to pass quite uneventfully. They arrested four Irishmen who had broken into Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, who got off with a warning, for they were all very…“intoxicated,” which might have been why they attempted to take very frilly robes in several shades of mauve. Then their squadron continued a search for a Hungarian man charged with the murder of his own brother. Allegedly their spat was solely over a very pretty French woman. Later the Aurors found that this very pretty French woman had eaten both men, as she happened to be a three-quarter veela, and the brothers’ bickering had annoyed her very much.

The Minister was not happy, as usual, with their progress for the day, though this time couldn’t be bothered to come down from his office to yell at them. Rather, he stuck his head in the fire and shouted at them through the Floo network, which, thankfully, lowered the volume quite a bit. Scrimgeour had Harry stay back in headquarters for a while to yell at him personally. Harry, however, had learned to look like he was listening months ago, and left for home utterly nonplussed.

Home. It sounded very odd, calling such a place like 23 Ansonia Street home. It was much too big for just Harry and Cho, but she had wanted it so much, her bright eyes pleading.

“Oh, Harry! It’s perfect!” she had said.

“I dunno,” he had replied, looking around at the high vaulted ceilings and wide stretches of marble tiling. “It looks kind of big for just two people…” He had then glanced out of the wide glass doors that stretched along the back of the house. It dropped off into a sandy beach barely four metres from the end of the flat. “And it doesn’t have anything of a back yard…”

But she had insisted that it was, in fact, perfect, and that she hated it when places were too small, and that a beach was still a backyard, it just didn’t have any itchy grass or bugs.

Harry felt that odd boiling sensation in the pit of his stomach again, and thus shrugged it off again. Just in time, too, because the minute he pulled open the front door of the flat, Cho charged at him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him full on the lips. Harry nearly forgot to kiss her back, but the glittering engagement ring on her finger reminded him quite well. Cho giggled and broke away from him, skipping in a very cheery manner to the couch, where she plopped down, careful to choose the end opposite a small ginger cat, who Harry had named Nellwyn, and usually called Wynnie. Cho didn’t like it much. Ginny had given it to him, and if there was anyone Cho didn’t like, it was Ginny. “She always wears her brothers’ shirts,” Cho had said one evening. “And her hair is that weird red colour.”

“I like it,” Harry had said automatically. Cho looked very quickly at him, and he added, with equal haste, “But I like your hair better.”

“Are you alright, Harry?” said the present-time Cho.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Come sit with me,” she said. Harry obliged, which, he reflected, was a lot like following Scrimgeour’s orders all day, except he wasn’t in love with the Head Auror. He was in love with Cho.
Wasn’t he?

Of course he was. They would be married in a few years. It had been Cho’s idea, but it had appealed to him enough to waste several galleons on a nice engagement ring, hadn’t it?

He glanced at it now. Exceedingly large, and with a cut to make it look even larger, standing out brilliantly white against her dark skin. It did look rather gaudy to him, but Cho had thought it looked nice, than that was what mattered.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Harry glanced at her, and realized that she was now much closer to him than she had been before. He nodded, and she smiled, and she kissed him again, though this time a bit more deeply than before, and Harry---

Felt very little; only a whisper of the lightness that his chest had once taken on. Therefore, he easily broke the kiss, and this surprised him not nearly as much as it had two months ago, when he had first found that he could pull away from the illustrious Cho Chang.

“Cho, could we…” he trailed off uncertainly. Conversations concerning his old friends often ended in a crying fiancé and a frustrated self.

“Yeah?” she asked in a very sweet tone of voice. He would’ve hated to ruin her state of ecstasy, were he not so used to it.

“D’you think you’d mind if we visited the Weasleys a day---?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, a tone in her voice that Harry had never heard before. Quickly she reverted back to normal Cho. “I don’t really like that place of theirs’. You know that, Harry.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” said Harry tentatively. “But I haven’t seen them in ages, and they were like family to me for eight years.”

“But you’ve got my family now, Harry,” Cho persisted. “The Weasleys are your past, with all that horrible You-Know-Who stuff, and I’m your future.” She smiled and caressed his cheek fondly. “Your happy, luxurious, You-Know-Who-less future.”

“I was happy when I was with them, too,” Harry said.

“But you’re happier now,” she said.

“No I’m not,” said Harry automatically. It hadn’t been a question. Cho didn’t ask questions unless she knew she would like the answer, and she certainly didn’t like the answer now.

“Of course you’re happier now,” she persisted, forcing a smile now as she kissed the corners of his mouth, which he made a point not to show recognition of. “You’ve just had a bad day. Was it a hard time at the Ministry today?”

“Not hard, just useless,” said Harry darkly.

“Then see? You’re just not thinking clearly. Anyone would be in a bad mood after a long day of work.” But Cho would never know, thought Harry sharply, as she hadn’t worked a day in her life.

Cho, obviously, did not want to spend any more time on this subject, as she gave a great stretch, arching her back in and stretching her legs out in front of her. Harry’s knees happened to be in front of her, so she left them there and looped her arms around his middle.

“I’m going to go see them,” said Harry decidedly, however quietly.

“You’d have more fun back here with me, you know,” she said, fondling with his hair now, though Harry could sense the apprehension in her voice.

“But I’m always back here with you,” he replied. “Or at your parents’ with you, or at that Wong’s place with you. The only time I’m not with you is when I’m at the Ministry Headquarters.”

“Harry,” she said, looking confused now. “You’re making it sound like you don’t like being with me.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Harry muttered.

“What?” Cho asked.

“Of course I do,” he replied. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing my friends.” Something reminiscent of anger flared in Cho’s eyes, and then it was gone.

“Well…I if you really have to Harry…I suppose we could…” she replied reluctantly.

“So you don’t want to stay back here?” he asked.

“No,” she answered quickly.

Ron’s reply to Harry’s letter was enthusiastic, and returned to him almost immediately. Hedwig returned with a scroll of parchment tied to her foot, landing gracefully on the kitchen table where Harry sat, keeping Cho company as she cooked dinner, which she had insisted on doing all on her own tonight.

Harry-

Where have you been for the last six months, mate? Of course you can come and see us! Mum’s ecstatic. Drop by anytime on Saturday after 10 o’clock. And yeah, you can bring Cho if you like. Ginny said she’s sick, so that ought to please her. Can’t wait to see you again!

-Ron


“What does he mean by, ‘That ought to please her?’ He made it sound almost like they didn’t want me there, Harry,” she said with a pout that didn’t seem to hinder her appearance in any way.

“I dunno,” Harry said. “Maybe you should stay back…?”

“Or maybe we just shouldn’t go,” Cho suggested, as if this were the only sensible option.

“But I already said we’d be there…”

“You can send another owl. They’ve got so many people to accommodate, I don’t think we’d be missed.”

“I’m going,” said Harry decisively. That rare angry tint flickered in her eyes again, and she opened her mouth to speak, but then turned and began to chop carrots for a salad.

After a very sophisticated Chinese dinner (which, admittedly, Harry didn’t like half as much as Hogwarts food, and not a quarter as much as Mrs. Weasley’s suppers) Harry set his glasses on the nightstand and crawled into his four-poster, running into something very solid on this left side. He recognized Cho in the dim silvery light that filtered through the picture window. She kissed him like she had before he’d brought up the subject of the Weasleys, though seemed to have more of a purpose, a purpose that he didn’t need to be told to know it’s nature. She wanted him to feel bad about taking her somewhere that she didn’t like, but he turned his head away. She proceeded to kiss him in what she thought was a seductive way at the nape of his neck.

“G’night, Cho,” he said finally. She froze, he turned his back to her, she turned away as well, and Harry drifted asleep quite disliking the person lying next to him. Slowly colors appeared before his eyes.

First there was green, lots and lots of green, broken by a single pink-and-silver figure. Then they materialized into the vast fields that surrounded the burrow, and Ginny Weasley. Bill and Fluer had just been married, and Ron had just abandoned his friend and sister as Hermione called for him back at the house. Ginny was still in her bride’s maid’s dress, a soft pink one with a few more frills than she would’ve liked. Harry’s dress robes were stiff around him, but Cho had said that they were good, so he had, however reluctantly, gotten them instead of the more comfortable ones that Ginny had suggested.

Ginny. Harry still couldn’t believe what Fluer’s grandmother had done to her, just so that she could match the Delacour girls. Harry had barely even recognized her as she'd stood in the queue with the part-veelas. He wouldn't have, actually, had it not been for the unsnuffable fire that lingered in her eyes, despite their Glamoured pale-blue state. Oh, yes, they'd gone there. Her hair, too, had been Charmed a silver-blonde (Harry liked it much less than red), and her face oddly freckle-less. Everyone had, of course, been reluctant to disobey the eldest of the Delacours, as it wasn’t an easy thing to keep a ruthless veela under control.

“The wedding ceremony was nice,” said Ginny, breaking the quiet shushing of the wind in the grass.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. There was a pause, and then he blurted, “You looked nice up there, Gin.”

He glanced at her. She blushed. “I like it when she does that,” something muttered deep in his chest. Harry smiled a little. She blushed a little more and smiled back.

And then something happened that Harry didn’t remember happening six months ago.

He took a step toward Ginny, and she toward him. She reached up to run cool fingers down the side of his face, her hand dropping from his cheek and coming to rest over that beating thing in his torso (at the moment he couldn’t remember what it was called).

Harry,” she murmured in a tone that suddenly made him love his name.

Slowly he lowered his head, hardly believing what he was doing, slowly bringing her pale face closer to his darker own. For a moment, Harry felt that he wanted nothing more in the world than to close the mere inches between them, and that, if he were to touch her lips, even lightly, to his own, then he would have---

“Har-ry,” someone cooed sweetly. That had been a much shorter moment than he would’ve liked. Again he felt his insides simmering. Why couldn’t Cho have just slept in for once, left him to his dream for just a few more moments?

And the hell was wrong with him? He was engaged to Cho, not Ginny, and yet the latter he had been dreaming of, and the foremost he had been cursing. How could he look at the affection in the dark eyes gazing at him across the pillowcase, and think poorly of their bearer over someone else?

“Easily,” said something unfamilliar; it lurked maliciously in a very dark corner of his heart, a place that he hadn’t known existed. Harry chose to ignore it, forced his mouth into a grin, and kissed Cho lightly on the nose.

The rest of the week (it had been Monday when he had owled Ron) passed like any other week, in a very monotonous fashion. Usually the days all mushed together in their supreme likeness. Now, however, he had something to look forward to, and he wasn’t surprised when Saturday morning arrived.

It was this morning that he woke from a particularly vivid dream, in which Ginny appeared again, though this time it was from a further back memory. It took place in the summer after Harry had finished his training as an Auror, when Ron had somehow convinced Hermione that they needed a break from all this preparing-to-defeat Voldemort rubbish.

Thus, they were flying in the cloudless June sky, playing a game of two-on-two Quidditch, Ron and Harry against Ginny and Hermione. Ginny had just caught their Quaffle (actually a Muggle football borrowed from Mr. Weasley’s stash) and was heading for the goal posts (in reality an old tire swing hanging from a very tall tree). Ron and Hermione were on the other side of the field, but Harry was right behind her. For a moment they collided, Harry trying to reach around Ginny to grab the Quaffle-football.

It happened so quickly that he was barely aware of it happening. His chest pressed up against her back, a hot, distinctly ear-like shape pressed against his sweat-slickened neck, and the corner of his mouth brushed a place just beneath her eye, and for reason unknown to him, his skin went to very pleasant flame from his waist up. Ginny’s broomstick stopped, which, in turn, caused everything to stop, save the Firebolt, and the both of them were tumbled to the grassy ground. They had barely been a metre off the ground, so Harry could disentangle himself from her without much fuss.

And then the dream veered right out of reality, just as it had four nights ago.

“Wait,” said Ginny as he sat up. She took hold of the shoulder of his tee shirt, and pulled him back down to the grass again, this time in a face-down position, with Harry propping himself up on his elbows. Rather, a single elbow---the other arm he had to reach around Ginny to avoid jabbing her sharply in the stomach. Ginny ran a hand through his hair absently, and Harry felt something just below his ribs (what did they call that again?) give a giant swing. He slowly let his head sink closer to the grass, closer to---

Pillow. Damn.

Harry was aggravated for a moment as his flesh tingled, reminiscent of the former blaze. He was promptly hit with another wave of guilt, as the lump next to him shifted in her sleep. Her monotone raven-black hair was splayed over the fuchsia (he hadn’t had any say in it) bed sheets, dark eyes muted by heavy eyelids. Harry wondered if he should wake her. He had never woken up before her, and now was at a loss for what to do.

And then he realized what an idiot he was being. He had defeated the most evil, second most powerful wizard in the world, but he didn’t know whether he should wake his fiancé or not. Really, it was rather pathetic.

With this thought, Harry swung out of bed, glanced at the clock (eight thirty-five, a.m.), took a tee shirt and jeans (his favourite old pair---he’d never get away with it if Cho had been awake) from his dresser, and left for the loo. When he was dressed and showered, hair messy without the finicky guidance of his fiancé, Harry left the house with Nellwyne to take a walk, Hedwig gliding lazily overhead.

“Cho asked about the wedding again yesterday, Wynnie,” said Harry heavily.

Mrrow.”

“‘We’ve been engaged for almost half a year now Harry,’” he said, imitating Cho’s high, airy tone very poorly. “Honestly, doesn’t she think I know how long it’s been?”

Mrrow.”

“I do! It’s been five months. Or was it four? Three? No, that doesn’t seem nearly long enough. It seems like it’s been an age…”

Mrrow.”

“Alright, alright, so maybe I don’t know how long it’s been… But six months isn’t very long, when you think about it. Shouldn’t we wait another year or two? Maybe three, even, just to make sure it’ll really work out.”

Mrrow.”

“I am not putting it off! Why would I do that, Wynnie? I’ve liked Cho since sixth year, and---”

Mrrow.”

“No, not fourth or fifth. It was just about looks in fourth year, and in fifth we had that awful fight, remember?”

Mrrow.”

“What? No, it’s not still about looks. Cho’s a nice girl.”

Mrrow.”

“Yeah, I s’pose she is a bit superficial.”

Mrrow.”

“Those dreams about Ginny? How did you know about that, Wyn?”

Mrrow.”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Anyway, what d’you think they mean?” said Harry, swatting a fly from where it was buzzing about his chin. “I s’pose it’s just the idea of going to the Burrow, it’s making me dream of it. But then why would I wake up like that, sweating and feeling so…” Harry gave an inadvertent, twitchy shiver, and Nellwyn seemed to gather enough by it.

Mrrow,” she replied in an understanding tone.

“Anyway, I think we should get back, Wynnie.”

When he arrived home scarcely a minute later, he was not well received.

“Where were you?” Cho asked, looking panic-stricken.

“Walking,” Harry replied, numb with confusion.

Walking? Harry, I was so worried!” she exclaimed, eyes welling with tears. They magically cleared as Wynnie slipped past her into the flat, looking somewhat resentful of the long-haired ginger thing. She turned back to Harry, eyes glassy once more. “I woke up and you weren’t there and---and---Harry!
She threw her arms around him and in seconds his shoulder was wet. Harry suppressed a groan. He so hated tears.

“Cho---come on---I’m here now---what’d you think could happen?” He tried to move out of the way, but the more he tried to break away, the tighter her fists closed on the fabric of his tee shirt. Frustrated, Harry blatantly pushed her away, turning his head from the sobbing wreck. Cho composed herself with surprising speed and closed the front door.

“Didn’t I tell you not to wear those?” she asked brusquely, indicating the tattered pair of jeans. Harry shrugged.

“It’s not like anyone we’ll see today’ll care,” he pointed out, trying to keep any bitter tones from his voice. “I’ve known Ron longer than I have you, at any rate.”

“Oh. Right,” said Cho heavily. “Harry, are you sure you still---?”

“Yeah, I’m going, whether you want to or not.”

She did, however, insist on coming with him, and the moment that they Apparated to a dirt road just outside the Burrow, a look of utmost disgust sprouted on her face. Ignoring her, Harry proceeded to the door, rapping his knuckles on the peeling paint. It swung open so quickly that Harry was nearly hit in the nose. Apparently they’d been expecting him.

“HARRY!” The noise that exploded from just past the threshold nearly knocked him over. Ron pulled him into the Burrow and gave him a one-armed embrace, saying, “Good to see you, mate,” before his mother swept Harry into one of her rib-cracking hugs. (Harry thought he heard a snap, but couldn't be sure.) Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, and, surprisingly enough, Percy thumped him hard on the back simultaneously, which knocked the remaining wind out of him. Before he could properly catch his breath, something with a hell of a lot of hair squeezed him around the middle, with a sharp, merry little squeal---Hermione.

“Hi Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry, nodding to each of them in turn, and grinning like he hadn’t in ages. “Nice to see you all, too.”

“Come, come, into the parlour, you lot,” said Mr. Weasley, herding his family into the sitting room. They each took a seat, save Mrs. Weasley (“I’ll make us a spot of tea and be right back!”) and more than a dozen blue eyes were glued to the only boy in the room with dark hair.

“So Harry,” Ron began, “Where have you been? You said you’d keep in touch after Bill’s wedding, but…”

“He probably just didn’t realize how long it had been,” said Cho suddenly, turning all eyes to herself. She giggled. “Time flies when you’re having fun, you know.”

It was at this moment that Harry wished very much that Cho had stayed home. Every Weasley turned to look at him with furrowed---or else raised---brows. Harry pretended to scratch the left side of his fringe, and, once he was sure that Cho could not read his lips, mouthed a simple, “NO.”

The audience of redheads relaxed now, they carried on conversation with very little input from Cho, except to boast about Harry’s second-in-command position, or show them all just how large and expensive the ring on her finger was. On both occasions, Harry resolved to bow his head and run his fingers through his hair, reluctant to see any more questioning Weasleys.

Once, amidst Cho’s talks of Merlin-knows-how-many karats, Harry saw movement on the staircase through the space between his arm and his ribs. He whipped around to look over his shoulder at whatever it had been, which happened to be Ginny Weasley.

Ron, who had been looking very bored with Cho’s droning, noticed her as Harry did, and said, “Hey Ginny, why don’t you come down here for a while? Just a minute or two?”

“I…” she began, though words seemed to fail her, and she descended the other half of the stairway to sit between two of her brothers at random. Harry put out his hand and she blinked at it.

“You’re not that sick, are you?” he asked in rather jovial tones.

“Oh, er, no,” she replied, looking as though she had just realized what he meant. Ginny reached out to shake his hand, and remained rather quiet while the rest spoke about the happenings of six months past.

“Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley as she set down a plate of tea and biscuits, “you’re welcome to stay for supper, if you like. We’d be happy to have you.”

“Really? Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry replied, grinning broadly. It was as if no time had passed.

“Oh, Harry,” said Cho, tugging on the shoulder of his tee shirt. “My mum is coming by for dinner today.”

“Doesn’t she usually come on Sundays?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“Yeah, but she had something she had to do on Sunday, so she had to reschedule.”

“Your own mother rescheduled you?” Harry tried not to laugh---Cho wasn’t finding this funny. “Then can’t you just re-reschedule?”

“No.”

“Then you could go back now, and I could come home later? She’d be happier if it were just you anyway. Your mum doesn’t seem very fond of me, after all.”

“Harry! She likes you, she just… She isn’t shy about telling you what you’re doing wrong, and you’re too proud to hear any of it.”

“She’s the one that’s too proud,” Harry muttered.

“Oh, go ahead and insult her! For all we know, your mum could’ve been just as much, or worse!”

Anger flared up inside him like a lit match touched to oil. He could feel twenty eyes watching his every move.

“Go home, Cho.”

“Harry…I didn’t mean---”

“Go home. We’ll talk there, alright?”

“But---”

Go! You tried so hard to get out of coming here earlier, what’s the difference now?” he snapped, glaring daggers at her. It would all be his fault in a few hours, of course, but for now, it felt nice to be angry.

He was getting to be such a nutter.

Harry returned “home” at around 10 o’clock. He had left the Burrow at eight after a day of three-on-three Quidditch, hearty Weasley cooking, the tantalizingly close proximity of Ginny, and repeated interrogations by both Ron and Hermione regarding he and Cho’s spar.

Because of this minor battle, Harry had been so reluctant to hear anything from Cho that he decided to Apparate to the other side of town. He took the Knight Bus (“Neville!” Stan had exclaimed), claiming that his arrival at 23 Ansonia was a low priority. Two hours later, they had been halfway around the world and back, and Harry still regretted every step he took toward the overlarge house.

Cho approached him the moment he shut the door, and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Sorry for whatever I did,” he said dully, cutting her off. “G’night.” He made for the bedroom, but something hit him sharply across the face.

“How dare you talk to me that way, like I’m not worth your trouble!” she snapped.

You know, sometimes I wonder about that, Cho, thought Harry, feeling the words flow freely from that dark, hidden place in his chest he’d just recently found. How great was his surprise, to find that he had spoken these things aloud?

“After everything I’ve done for you!” she said vehemently, stamping her foot against the hard marble floor. “After everything I’ve had to put up with for you!”

“After everything you’ve put up with?” said Harry with a harsh laugh. “Have you ever had someone completely control your life, Cho? And what about waking up engaged? You know, I don’t even recall how that happened.”

“That’s your own memory problem to blame, not me,” Cho replied, fingering the ring as if Fawkes were about to swoop in and take it from her. “As for ‘controlling your life,’ I only stepped in because you needed me! Where would you be if I hadn’t? You’d be hanging around with those smelly old Weasleys, dressing like you were some sort of tramp---”

“The Weasleys took me in as one of their own, which is more than I can say for your parents!”

My parents just have the sense to turn away rubbish like you! I, however, have the compassion to try and help you!”

Help me? Please, you just wanted your face on the front of those idiotic tabloids you read! Well, you’ve gotten your wish. Happy now, Cho?”

“I---I---” Cho looked like she was having difficulty coming up with something nasty enough to say to him, so she settled on bringing their discussion to a close. “OUT! Get out, NOW! Get out of my house!”

“Fine. But remember, I paid for it.”

Harry returned to the Burrow scarcely two minutes after he left his own flat. Quite aware of the late hour, Harry knocked the door. He waited foolishly there on the doormat for a few moments, and then it swung open.

“Harry?” Ginny stood in the doorway, apparently halfway through the process of pulling a dressing robe over a very large shirt of her brother’s (It apparently served as her pajamas). “What’re you doing back here so late?”

“Um, I sort of…well…Cho kicked me out for the night.” It was now that he realized how pathetic it sounded, to get shooed from his own house by someone a head shorter than he.

“Oh. Oh, right. Come in, then, come in,” said Ginny, motioning him into the house. He followed her to the kitchen and took the seat that she tapped, slouching over as he rested his elbows on the table.

“Alright, Harry,” she said, taking a forgotten, softly whistling kettle off the stove. She poured them both a cup, and sat beside him, a compassionate but determined gleam in her eye. “What’s happened between you and Cho?”

“It wasn’t anything, really, at first,” Harry began. “We were arguing a bit, because she didn’t want anything to do with Ron or any of you, which was the real reason why I hadn’t seen you all for so long…”

“Wait, Harry, d’you mean…” said Ginny uncertainly. “You mean she kept you from us?” Harry nodded, and her hand curled into a fist under the table, though she said only, “Go on.”

“Right, so… I s’pose I just… I told her sorry for whatever I’d done, and then she hit me, and---”

“She hit you?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah,” said an embarrassed Harry quietly.

“Well, I don’t blame her,” said Ginny in a very false superior tone, loosening the cold knot in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“Keep on, then,” she urged, taking a sip of her tea.

“I… I said some things that I shouldn’t have, and… she didn’t take too kindly to them.” Harry forced a chuckle and looked over at her; she met his eyes and he had a strong feeling that she saw right through him.

“You’re sure that’s all?”

Harry didn’t answer and cast his eyes to the creaking floorboards.

“It’s alright,” she said, the suspicion in her eyes (Harry had glanced back at her) turning to understanding.

“I’ll go tell mum and dad you’re staying here for the night, alright?” She touched his shoulder comfortingly as she left, long red hair swinging behind her.

Ginny returned a few minutes later, arms laden with blankets and a pillow. With a nod to the staircase, she led him up a floor and down the hall, turning into a room at the end.

“Charlie’s not going to come around any time soon---he stays at his flat in Romania---so mum says you can sleep here,” she explained, smoothing an extra blanket over what had once been Charlie’s four-poster.

“Thanks, Gin,” said Harry, as she straightened and met his eye.

“I dunno what I would’ve done if no-one had answered the door.”

“Oh, you probably would’ve slept in one of those trees by the lake. They’re rather comfortable, you know,” she replied conversationally. Ginny grinned, and kissed his cheek briskly. “G’night, Harry.”

And then she was gone, leaving Harry with the most pleasant stomachache he’d ever had. It replayed in his head time after time, in such a way that Harry could hardly control it. She’s your friend. he would tell himself, as Ginny’s lips seemed to brush his face again. It shouldn’t mean anything. You’re engaged.

But with such a thought, he couldn’t help wondering how long that engagement would last.

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