Steps

The atmosphere at The Burrow was inexplicably odd on the day after Ginny’s birthday party. She and Harry overslept a bit that morning, and they were the last to arrive at the table for breakfast. As usual, the twins were rumbunctious, Percy was silent, and Ron focused primarily on his food. Mr. Weasley talked with each of his children at some point, and Mrs. Weasley ate in silence.

Although quiet, Mrs. Weasley sat straight in her chair and consumed her breakfast in a series of forceful, precise motions. At the other end of the table, Mr. Weasley chatted with the twins, but he occasionally glanced at Ginny and Harry. When Harry caught his eye, the older man smiled briefly before refocusing on Fred’s words. Moments later, however, his eyes found their way back to Ginny.

After breakfast, Mr. Weasley asked Harry and Ginny to help with the dishes. Nervously, Harry and Ginny agreed as the rest of the children disappeared.

“Let’s try to talk again, shall we?” Mr. Weasley said, waving Harry and Ginny into the living room. After a heartbeat’s pause, Ginny nodded, and they got up from the table. Her parents followed them into the next room, and Mr. Weasley closed and sealed the door with a few flicks of his wand.

Ginny laced her fingers tightly with Harry’s as they sat at one end of the sofa. I hope it works this time.

Your mum looks like she’s going to say something or die in the attempt, he replied, glancing over at Mrs. Weasley. The two adults were sitting on the edges of their armchairs. Mrs. Weasley sat stiff and straight, while Mr. Weasley leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Ginny . . .” Mr. Weasley said. After a moment’s pause, he shook his head and started again. “Harry, I’m going to talk mostly to Ginny for a bit, but that’s not because you’re not part of the conversation. It’s just where I’d like to start. Is that all right?”

Cautious and confused, Harry nodded.

“Thank you.” The red-haired man turned slightly in his chair to face Ginny directly. “A lot has happened in the last year, Ginny. You’ve met Harry, gone off to Hogwarts, and done some things that are still almost unbelievable. You’ve started to experience life in a way that is . . . incredible, honestly, and so strange that I can only glimpse the edges of it all.”

Ginny stiffened as her father spoke, his words awakening an instinctive defensiveness. Before she could speak, however, he held up his hands calmingly. “I know you like it,” he said, “and I know you don’t want to be any other way. Believe it or not, your mother and I can tell when you’re happy. You light up a whole room.”

In spite of herself, Ginny relaxed and gave her father a tiny smile.

“These days . . .” Mr. Weasley paused, ran a hand through his thinning hair, and met Ginny’s eyes. “These days, you’re happiest when you’re with Harry. And that’s . . . that’s fine, Ginny. If that’s what you want, then that’s what we want you to have. I don’t think we know enough to say whether it’s right or wrong, but we’re not going to do anything to try to change it. Do you believe that?”

Ginny could see no trace of anything but sincerity in her father’s expression, but she could not bring herself to speak or even nod.

Mr. Weasley nodded instead. “You don’t. That’s fine, too. We’ll do our very best to prove it to you.” He leaned further forward and clasped his hands together. “In the meantime, however, what you have to understand is that you’ve changed, Ginny. We know that you’ve learned a lot of things from Harry and done things that no one should have to, but it’s more than that, quite a bit more.

“We spent ten years with a certain little girl, and we got to know her rather well. This summer, we’ve found ourselves with a different little girl, and we don’t know her nearly as well anymore. We love her just as much. Don’t ever doubt that. But it’s very confusing to expect one thing and to get something different. Does that make any sense?”

Hermione’s opinion of Ginny’s room came back to them, and Ginny nodded hesitantly. They knew that she had been somewhat different before, but she had never felt strange or unfamiliar to herself. “I’m still here, Daddy,” she said softly.

“I know you are, but you’re not quite the same you.” At Ginny’s confused and slightly hurt expression, he sighed. “Let me try to explain this in a different way. Do you realise how much you swear?”

Ginny started. “What? I don’t -” Her rant at her parents from less than two weeks ago replayed in her mind, and she blinked. Memories from the last two months followed rapidly.

“You do,” Mr. Weasley said gently. “Not every day. Not nearly as much as Charlie or even Ron, but you do.”

A flush crept up Ginny’s cheeks. Her parents had always frowned on swearing.

“You don’t have to apologise,” her father said. “Some people express themselves differently than others, and you’ve had reason enough to be quite vocal this summer. I hope you agree, though, that you would never have used that sort of language a year ago, no matter what happened.”

He’s right, Ginny said, shocked and saddened at the realisation. I always thought it was rude.

She had been focused on her father’s words, but she snapped into awareness when Harry’s budding misery pierced her reverie. His fingers had slackened in her grip as Mr. Weasley spoke, and his shoulders and head had fallen forward.

I’m -

No! Scrambling up from the sofa, Ginny turned to sit squarely on his lap. She put her hands on his cheeks and stared into his eyes, forcing away the few shreds of separation between them. For the last time, it’s not your fault! Nobody blames you! I’m happiest with you, no matter what. I love you.

Regret and affection and longing and promise swirled together through their minds, and Harry swallowed reflexively.

“Ginny?” Her father’s voice distantly registered, but Ginny held their focus on each other.

It’s not your fault, Harry. I’d say every bit of it again, and so would you if you had the chance. A wisp of Harry’s feelings took shape, and Ginny snapped her head around to face her father. “It’s not his fault. Tell him it’s not his fault!”

Mr. Weasley flinched, but then he stood up and crossed to the sofa in two long strides. Dropping onto the cushion Ginny had vacated, he put a strong hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Harry. I think I said that the wrong way. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’d caused a problem or anything of the sort. You haven’t, I promise.”

He’s never lied to us even a little bit, Ginny said. Not once.

Harry stared into her brown eyes and knew the truth of her feelings, so he nodded slightly. Releasing her breath in a rush, Ginny fell forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Harry closed his eyes and squeezed her waist with one arm while he stroked her long hair with his other hand. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking over her shoulder at Mrs. Weasley, who still sat stiffly in her chair. Despite the fresh tracks glistening on her cheeks and the shaking of her hands in her lap, she held Harry’s gaze.

“Now or never, Molly,” Mr. Weasley whispered.

Before he finished saying her name, Ginny’s mother rose from her chair and crossed the room to kneel next to the sofa. She placed one hand on Harry’s stationary arm and, after only the briefest of hesitations, squeezed gently. Tears began to pour down her cheeks as she took a rough, gasping breath. “It’s not your fault, Harry,” she said in a choked whisper. “It’s never been your fault, and I was so terribly, terribly wrong to think that it was.” Mrs. Weasley wiped at her eyes roughly. “Ginny? Ginny, can you . . . will you . . . look at me? Please?”

Ginny twisted enough to face her mother, but she did not move from Harry’s lap or relinquish her hold on his neck.

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You’ve tried so hard to be good, but I got so caught up in worrying about you that I never saw it. I . . .” Her voice cracked into a half-gasp, half-sob. “I was wrong. So very wrong about so many things.”

Do you believe her? Ginny asked. She felt that her mother was being sincere, but she knew that her wishes sometimes affected her opinions where her mother was concerned.

Harry, however, had more than enough experience with false expressions, and he had long ago stopped hoping for very much from Mrs. Weasley. Closing his eyes, he examined her through Ginny’s perceptions. After a moment’s consideration, he sighed silently. Yeah.

Really?

Really. She looks . . . she looks frightened, and I don’t think she could fake that.

Ginny’s spirits rose a bit, but she and Harry remained hesitant and cautious. “I can’t say it’s all right,” she whispered, shaking her head against Harry’s chest. “I just can’t.”

Her mother sniffed and nodded. “You don’t have to, Ginny. I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

Two pairs of eyes, identically brown, examined each other in silence. Harry and Ginny became almost certain that there was nothing guarded or reproachful in her mother’s expression. There was only remorse and a hint of something akin to the way Ginny always looked at Harry. At last, not knowing what words to use, Ginny nodded.

“I’m going to do better,” Mrs. Weasley said with a quavering smile. “I know I’m not there yet, but I’m going to do it. I hope you’ll trust me again someday.”

“Someday . . . Mum,” Ginny offered quietly.

“Come and sit with us, Molly,” Mr. Weasley said, patting the sofa on his right. She climbed to her feet and sat facing them, and Ginny turned fully sideways in Harry’s lap.

Clearing his throat softly, Mr. Weasley addressed Ginny again. “The point is that you’ve changed, Ginny. You’re not worse in any way, but you are different. Before, we felt like we knew what you would and would not do, but now we have to work it out all over again. That makes us nervous, you see?

“Then there are the other things that are new to us. You two sharing a room and a bed at your age is strange, Ginny. I’m not trying to tell you that it’s wrong, just that it’s really strange. It goes against the standards we’ve been living by for our entire lives, even if it’s not actually harmful at all.” Mr. Weasley paused for a moment. “Do you understand, Ginny? We stopped being sure of what you would do, and at the same time we had to accept that you were going to have a lot of very important choices to make.”

“So . . . you thought I might choose to do the wrong thing,” Ginny said, struggling to think about her father’s point without considering the specifics or becoming angry at the implications.

“Partially,” he said. “More generally, though, we simply didn’t know what you could do. We didn’t even know if we knew what all of your options were for anything.”

“You sound like the twins,” Harry said with a ghost of a smile.

“They got it from him, believe me,” Mrs. Weasley said, her subdued voice carrying a wry lilt.

Ginny and Harry both looked up, surprised, to stare at her mother. Can you remember the last time she made a joke? Ginny wondered.

Not exactly. It might’ve been before I met her.

Mrs. Weasley smiled faintly and shrugged.

“Now, now, never mind that,” Mr. Weasley said, his old grin surfacing for a moment. “Here’s what we’re going to do. If we’re really worried about something, we’re going to talk to you two about it. You’ve proven that you’re much more grown-up than most twelve-year-olds, never mind eleven-year-olds, and you’ve the right to hear our concerns.” He patted Ginny’s knee. “Other than that, your mother and I will do our very best to just accept the things that are new to us.”

“How?” Ginny asked, suspicious of such a simple answer.

“We’ve raised six boys to the age of twelve,” Mrs. Weasley said with a trace of her usual matter-of-fact manner. “Harry’s no different in a lot of ways, so what’s right for Ron is probably right for him, too. I’ve been trying that for now.”

“And for you, Ginny,” her father said, “we’re just going to enjoy getting to know the new bits. Watch your language, though,” he added, the merriment in his eyes softening his words.

Ginny smiled in return. “I will.”

I don’t want to swear anymore, she said. I still think it’s rude.

All right, Harry agreed. We’ll try to make sure neither of us does it, starting now.

Mr. Weasley’s face grew serious again. “I hope you know that this won’t be an instant solution,” he said. “We’re going to work hard at it, but I’m sure it will take a while for us to adjust fully. Will you both give us this second chance?”

Harry sighed silently, unable to avoid his own thoughts. I’m sorry, Ginny, but it sounds a lot like what they’ve said before.

I know, she admitted. Do you think it means more, though?

Harry looked back and forth between the two adults. There’s one way to find out. You still want to try, I can tell.

I do, Harry.

Then we’ll try.

We only have a few more weeks, Ginny said. If things get really awful again, we can still leave. We can sleep in Surrey for a while longer, so that’s some time where we don’t have to worry. And if —

Harry reached up and cupped her cheek. You don’t have to convince me, Ginny. We decided that we’d leave if they messed up again. They haven’t yet, and if they don’t, then we won’t. We’ll be together either way. We promised.

She smiled softly at him. I just want it to work.

Now, maybe they do, too.

Ginny looked up at her parents and nodded. “Please don’t make things awful again.”

“We’ll do our very best, Firefly,” Mr. Weasley said.

“And we’re going to succeed,” his wife added, rising to her feet. Stepping closer and leaning over, she hugged Ginny to her chest. “I can’t imagine a better daughter, dear,” she said quietly. “Not in a million years. I’m sorry, Ginny. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Weasley released Ginny and looked over her head at Harry, who was smiling slightly with Ginny’s pleasure. “Harry . . .” she said. Her eyes flicked around the room before returning to his face. “What’s your favourite colour, Harry?”

“Err . . .” He hesitated a moment, taken aback by the abrupt and irrelevant question. Seeing no harm in it, he answered honestly. “Red, actually. Always has been.”

“Really?” Mrs. Weasley asked. Harry nodded, and she snorted and wiped her eyes. “Well, you’re in the right place, I should say.” She patted his shoulder lightly. “Red. I’ll remember that.”

Ginny’s mother straightened and tugged her apron into its proper place. “We’ll take care of the dishes,” she said. “You two run along.”

Ginny leaned up from Harry’s lap and hugged her father, and then she climbed off of the sofa. Mr. Weasley pulled Harry into another hug, and then he waved his wand at the door to unseal it.

It could have been a lot worse, Harry said as they left the room.

Yeah, Ginny said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

From that point onward, life at The Burrow changed in subtle ways. Mrs. Weasley was still quieter than Ginny remembered, and Mr. Weasley was more talkative. At the same time, however, both adults seemed to be making a consistent effort to change their behaviour, and that effort was much more apparent in Ginny’s mother.

Several times over the next two days, Mrs. Weasley found opportunities to ask Harry about his preferences. Her questions were very simple, and he told her that his favourite ice-cream flavour was chocolate, that he could not abide the taste of coconut, and other seemingly insignificant things. At dinner on the day after their momentous conversation, Mrs. Weasley finally asked about something important.

“Harry,” she said in a momentary lull, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard. What’s your favourite Quidditch team?”

“Err . . . the Harpies,” Harry said.

“He’s serious about it, too,” Fred said. “It’s unnatural.”

George nodded. “He may be the only male Harpies fan in all of England who cares how they fly.”

“They’re good players, I suppose,” Fred said, grinning, “but what’s really interesting is their -”

“Fred and George Weasley!” his mother shouted. “Be civil or be quiet.”

“I think it’s quite refreshing that Harry supports the Harpies for the right reasons,” Mr. Weasley interjected. “He’s going to support one of the teams, and precisely which one is pretty trivial, really.”

Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, and Harry all turned to stare at Mr. Weasley, and even Mrs. Weasley raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Ginny’s father chuckled softly. “By which I mean it’s earth-shatteringly important, of course. What’s trivial is anything that might possibly conflict with Quidditch in any way.”

Ron nodded, and the twins relaxed in their chairs. Ginny grinned at her father, knowing the games he sometimes played.

“I . . . I don’t quite understand, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, drawing their attention back to her. “You have your own favourites in other things. Did you somehow decide to like the Harpies instead of one of the other teams?” Her expression was both hesitant and genuinely curious.

“Oh, err . . .” Harry struggled to find some way to explain a difference that was instinctual for them. “All those other questions were about things I knew before I met Ginny. I didn’t even know that Quidditch existed before we met, though. So now, when I try to think about it, I can’t really imagine liking any other team, because . . . well, because we’ve always liked the Harpies.”

Under different circumstances, Mrs. Weasley’s look of incomprehension might have been humorous. As it was, they did not consider laughing. Fred, however, snorted and grinned. “I think I’ll write that one down and ask Hermione to explain it to me later, perhaps in essay form.”

“Would it make more sense to her?” Mr. Weasley asked. “I think I get it, but . . .” He trailed off and shrugged, glancing at Harry and Ginny with a brief grin.

“Probably,” George said. “She seems to understand them better than just about anyone.”

“Well, no matter,” Mrs. Weasley said. “That keeps us to just five teams in the house.”

Unsurprisingly, the conversation rapidly descended into chaos from that point, with each person defending his, her, or their favourite team.

Harry and Ginny found themselves strangely busy as the week began. They still enjoyed spending quiet or raucous hours at the pond, and their interest in Quidditch renewed with the relaxing of tensions in the house. At the same time, their broom set fascinated them, and the book of card games was always waiting for their attention. They knew that they also wanted to work on flying separately, and Professor McGonagall had made arrangements with Ginny’s parents to allow them to practise the dough-ball spell as often as they could.

Juggling all of their options kept them happily occupied, and Ginny’s actual birthday arrived very quickly. Mr. Weasley was at the Ministry during the day, and Mrs. Weasley and Percy stayed in the house to do their own work, but everyone else spent most of the day in the paddock for an extended game of Quidditch.

Around six o’clock, Mr. Weasley walked out to the paddock. “Come on down, you lot,” he shouted. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Ginny, who was taking her turn in the air while Harry sat below, slowed down as she carried the Quaffle across the improvised pitch. “One more goal, Dad?”

Her father shrugged. “Well, all right. I’ll just tell Bill and Charlie to wait a while.”

As Mr. Weasley turned back towards the house, Ginny came to an abrupt halt and Harry jumped to his feet. “They’re here?!” Ginny asked.

“I think so,” Mr. Weasley said with a dismissive wave. “They could be impostors, though. Do you want to come and check?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ginny shouted. She dived to the ground, and as soon as her feet were beneath her she Shifted to the back step.

Mr. Weasley turned to Harry, who was standing a few yards away. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” he asked, smiling broadly.

With a shrug and a grin, Harry Shifted to the back step next to Ginny. She pulled open the door, and they both rushed into the kitchen.

“In the living room,” Mrs. Weasley said from her place at the worktop.

Ginny carefully leaned the Nimbus against the wall, and then they ran into the next room. Charlie and Bill were talking together on the sofa, still wearing their respective work clothes.

“Bill! Charlie!” Ginny darted across the room and climbed onto the sofa between her brothers. She hugged them each quickly but fiercely before settling with her arms looped through one each of theirs.

“Happy birthday, Ginny,” Bill said, grinning down at her.

“We thought we’d surprise you,” Charlie said. “Dad wrote to us last week. I thought he was saying that you’d been a bit down, but you look like our old Fireball to me.”

“Last week was last week,” Ginny said. Regardless of what her brothers did or did not know, she did not want to talk about anything depressing while they were visiting.

Fireball? Harry asked, dropping to the floor in front of the sofa.

Charlie’s not great with names, either. He heard Dad a few times and then started teasing me about some sort of dragon.

“I think we’ve been told to stuff it, Charlie,” Bill said, grinning.

“No, just don’t worry about it,” Ginny insisted.

Charlie furrowed his brow, but then he shrugged and turned to Harry. “So, Harry, how’ve you been?”

“Good, thanks,” he said.

Bill tightened his arm around Ginny’s. “Seriously, Ginny. Is everything all right? Why didn’t you ever write to us?”

She huffed in response. I wish they’d take a . . . a silly hint for once. “Things are okay. They weren’t before, but they are now. I didn’t write because we were distracted, and you didn’t write to us, either. Can you let it go?”

“All right, all right,” Bill said, raising his hands in defeat. A moment later, his grin reappeared. “I suppose I could ask how it feels to be eleven, but it’s not new to you, is it?”

Ginny and Harry blinked. “You know, we hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said.

“Well, how’s twelve, then?” Charlie asked. “Happy late birthday, Harry.”

“Thanks. It’s good, I suppose.”

The door to the kitchen opened, and Ron and the twins paraded into the room. “Oh, sure, Ginny and Harry,” Fred said. “We’ll put away the balls. No problem.”

Bill and Charlie laughed as they got up from the sofa and greeted their brothers. A few minutes later, Mr. Weasley appeared in the doorway and called them all into the kitchen for dinner. The Weasleys’ table had been replaced with a larger version, and the bench that usually stood against one wall was pulled up to the table. Ginny’s father steered her to the head of the table, and Harry took her usual spot. Ron and the twins squeezed themselves onto the bench on Harry’s right, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared the foot of the table, and the three oldest brothers sat on the other side.

At Ginny’s unspoken request, Harry surreptitiously peeked around the room while she chatted with Bill and Charlie. It took him only a moment to spot the pile of presents waiting atop the icebox. You didn’t really think they were missing, did you?

Well, no, she admitted. It’s just nice to know where they are.

Mrs. Weasley had prepared another feast, which Harry and Ginny tucked into eagerly. If Bill or Charlie found it odd that she and Harry held hands while eating, they did not say anything, and Ginny had become good enough at eating with her left hand that she no longer thought about it.

When everyone had finished, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley cleared the dishes from the table. “Presents or pudding first?” he asked Ginny.

“Err . . . presents?” she replied with a hopeful glance at the icebox.

“Presents it is, then!”

Ginny’s three youngest brothers had once again clubbed together to buy her a small box of fireworks from Gambol & Japes. Percy gave her a handsome quill, and Ginny thanked him quickly before turning to the present from Bill. He had got her a sweets dish in the shape of a sarcophagus and filled with Bertie Botts’. Ginny and Harry both appreciated it, but Charlie’s gift brought her up short. Wrapped up in a scrap of rough leather was a handful of shimmering dragon scales from the preserve in Romania.

“They’re not terribly useful,” Charlie said, “but not too many people have any, and I thought you might like the colours.”

She tilted the palm-sized scales in her hand, watching the green tint shift almost to purple as the light struck them. “They’re really pretty, Charlie. Thanks.” Ginny tucked the scales securely into her pocket.

Her parents’ gift, as always, was a box full of clothes. Inside was an assortment of lightly-used shirts, jeans, and one knee-length skirt, but the highlight of the box was a brown winter dress that looked new. Ginny ran her fingers down the soft material, noting the almost-invisible stitching on the front. She knew who had chosen the dress. “Thanks, Mum,” she said, smiling hesitantly.

Mrs. Weasley’s answering smile held a hint of apprehension, but it also held genuine warmth. “You’re welcome, dear. I know it looks a bit drab in the box, but I think you’ll find that the colour suits you nicely.”

Mr. Weasley began gathering the gifts and setting them aside while Mrs. Weasley crossed to the oven. Across from Harry, Bill looked perplexed, glancing back and forth between Harry and Ginny.

“Harry and I bought ourselves one present to share,” Ginny said. “We’ll show you after pudding.”

Her oldest brother’s face cleared. “Oh, all right. That makes sense, I think.”

Mrs. Weasley brought out the pudding, which turned out to be a huge apple crumble accompanied by a dish of custard. Given that they had recently had a treacle tart and a chocolate cake, Ginny was very pleased with the crumble. She ate her piece piping hot, while Harry let the cream soak into the fruit for a few minutes.

“Aren’t you going to eat it, Harry?” Charlie asked, wiping a bit of the sweet filling from the corner of his mouth.

“It’s their latest trick,” Fred said. “They eat pudding one at a time.”

“That way,” George continued, “they get to taste it twice.”

Bill laughed loudly. “I know some girls at Gringotts who would kill to be able to do that.” He seemed to realise his mistake, but it was too late.

Here we go! Ginny said.

“Oh?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her gaze sharpening intently. “Girls, you say? What sort of girls? I thought you must never see any girls at all, since you didn’t seem to know any.” She spent the next several minutes questioning Bill about his status as a complete bachelor.

Why doesn’t she bother Charlie? Harry wondered.

Well, mostly because he didn’t give her a chance, but also because he’s younger. I think Mum wants them to go in order.

Harry sighed silently. That doesn’t surprise me.

I suppose not, but at least it’s normal for her, Ginny said optimistically. Two weeks ago, she’d have been giving us dirty looks by now.

There’s that.

When the crumble had been consumed, Ginny and Harry pulled Charlie and Bill upstairs to see the broom set. They watched it race for a few minutes, and the two brothers could not resist moving the pieces around a bit.

“How’d you manage to come today?” Harry asked as Bill rearranged a slalom.

“I Apparated up to Romania, and then we hopped over here together,” the long-haired man said.

“No, I mean . . .” Harry paused, reassuring himself of Ginny’s memories. “I thought it was really hard for either of you to get away from your jobs.”

Charlie flicked his hand dismissively without looking away from the brooms. “Called in a favour or two, nothing serious.”

“My team is between tombs,” Bill said. “I just had to make sure I was caught up before I left.”

From what the two brothers had said about their jobs in the past, Ginny and Harry suspected that they were not being completely forthcoming. “But . . . why?” she asked. “You haven’t been home for anyone’s birthday since you left.”

The two men looked up at her from their crouched positions. For a moment, Bill’s eyes grew serious, but then he grinned again. “Can’t a bloke come home for his baby sister’s birthday without facing the inquisition?” Next to him, Charlie grinned and nodded.

Let it go, Ginny, Harry said, somehow understanding their reluctance. They came for you.

After a moment, Ginny smiled and nodded. “Never mind, then.” Stepping around the broom course, she hugged each of her brothers.

The four of them went back to the living room a few minutes later. Eventually, the entire family gathered there and listened to Bill and Charlie recount stories from their jobs and the strange places they lived. With ten people in the room, the chairs and sofa were all occupied, but Bill conjured a few oversized pillows, and Ginny and Harry claimed one for their seat.

They listened with rapt attention as the two brothers talked. Charlie told the story of how a dragon had come to lose a few of her scales, which apparently was even rarer than he had implied before. Dragon hide was not terribly difficult to harvest when one of the huge creatures died, but it was taken from the dragon’s softer belly. The large scales came only from a dragon’s back, neck, and limbs, and they were extremely difficult to detach even from a carcass. Ginny’s scales had come from an aging Welsh Green who had developed a very rare disease that loosened the scales.

The stories continued, and Harry and Ginny were thankful that none of The Burrow’s residents volunteered any information about the summer’s events. For whatever reason, Bill and Charlie did not ask, either, and the evening passed in a happy blur of laughter and reminiscence.

Around eleven o’clock, Harry and Ginny realised that she had fallen asleep at some point. They were laying side-by-side on their stomachs with their chests and arms resting on the large pillow. Ginny had gradually inched closer to Harry’s body for warmth, and her cheek now rested against his arm. Harry himself was tired, but he did not think that he could fall asleep as she had.

Charlie and Mrs. Weasley were discussing various ways to flavour stew, which seemed to be a staple of his diet.

“Mum,” Charlie said, interrupting his mother. He pointed at Harry and Ginny. “Look.”

Everyone in the room turned, and Harry gazed back calmly, being careful not to move. “She’s fine,” he said. “We’re still listening.”

“She’ll get a sore neck if she stays that way for very long,” Mrs. Weasley said softly. “You lot should go to bed.”

Harry nodded towards Bill and Charlie. “She wants to be here as long as you are.”

I might not have actually said that, Ginny said.

It’s true, though.

“We won’t be here much longer,” Bill said. “We’ve both got a few time zones to worry about.”

“Your mum’s right,” Mr. Weasley said, looking at Ginny’s sleeping face. “It’s well past your usual bedtime.”

Harry glanced around and saw that Ron was more than half asleep himself, and the twins’ faces were not as lively as usual, which was saying something. He sighed on Ginny’s behalf. “All right.” Twisting slightly, he used his free hand to push a few strands of Ginny’s hair off of her face.

The gesture woke her, and Ginny climbed to her feet wearily. Blinking, she crossed the room to hug Charlie and then Bill. “I’m really glad you came,” she said. “I miss you two.”

“Me, too, Ginny,” Charlie said. “I’ll try to write more often, all right?”

“Same here,” Bill added.

Ginny nodded. “All right.”

She held out her hand as Harry got up from the floor. “Goodnight,” he said, taking her hand. “It was nice to see you both again.”

“Likewise, Harry,” Bill said. “Goodnight. And happy birthday, Ginny.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

The other conscious members of the family chorused their goodnights. As Harry and Ginny started up the stairs, they heard the twins rousing Ron. Ginny placed the dragon scales in her jewellery box, where they glowed enchantingly in the fairy’s light. A few minutes later, after brushing and braiding Ginny’s hair and putting on their nightclothes, they Shifted to Surrey and quickly fell asleep.

The following afternoon, when they returned to the house from a day out-of-doors, Harry and the younger Weasleys found a neat stack of five square envelopes on the kitchen table. At the other side of the room, Mrs. Weasley was sorting through her spices. She looked tired, as she had all day, and Ginny suspected that her eldest brothers had stayed rather later than they had planned.

“Hogwarts letters!” Ginny said. She pulled hers and Harry’s out of the pile and handed the rest to Ron. Scanning the letter quickly, she spotted the usual information about the start of term, followed by the book list. Surprisingly, the list was dominated by books written by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Seven of them? Harry asked. What do we need with seven of his books?

Dunno. It could be worse, though. He’s written at least twelve.

Harry suddenly remembered that Mrs. Weasley had taught Ginny to dry her hair magically using Gilderoy Lockhart’s Charms from the Charming.

Fred glanced over Ginny’s shoulder. “We’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too,” he said. “The new Defence teacher must be a fan. Probably a witch.”

Mrs. Weasley huffed, but Ginny spoke up. “How would you know? After everything he’s done, I bet his books are dead useful.”

“Watch out, Harry,” George said, grinning. “She may have a new favourite wizard.”

“When you’ve battled werewolves and saved entire villages, then you can say who should and should not like Lockhart’s books,” Ginny stated.

Fred’s face darkened as he looked again at the list in his hand. “Like them or not, they’re not cheap,” he said. “That’s five sets already. Six if Percy’s got them, too.”

“He does,” Mrs. Weasley said without looking up from her task, “but we’ll manage.”

Harry and Ginny resolved that the Weasleys would not have to worry about paying for their two sets of the books, so they were less concerned. “I’m going to go write to Hermione,” she said. “Is it all right if we try to go to Diagon Alley with her again?”

“Yes, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Your father said we can go any day we please. He’s going to take time off work.”

Ginny and Harry went upstairs, and she penned a note to Hermione. Less than twenty minutes later, Hedwig was on her way to Cambridge. Near sunset on the following day, she returned with Hermione’s response. The Grangers had appointments for the coming Saturday, but they planned to close their practice for the following Wednesday. As promised, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley agreed that Wednesday was as good a day as any for a trip to Diagon Alley.

After dinner on Tuesday, Mr. Weasley rose from his chair and rubbed his hands together briskly. “Time to see how you lot measure up, then. Come on.”

Everyone, including Percy, followed Mr. Weasley out to the shed. Harry and Ginny went along eagerly, happy to see a Weasley tradition progressing normally for a change.

Ginny’s father led them all inside and conjured lights in each of the corners. The interior of the shed was packed with Muggle odds and ends, as always. Near his feet, Harry spotted the racks from a dishwasher, a mound of batteries, and a television set resting on its end. On top of the workbench was a digital alarm clock with its cover missing.

The family squeezed into the shed, leaving the wall next to the door accessible. On that wall, Harry saw a myriad of short horizontal lines drawn on the painted surface. Each one was marked with scribbled initials and represented the height of one of the Weasley brothers shortly before a trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies. All of the marks were higher than Harry’s head.

“All right, Percy, you first.”

One by one, in descending order of age, the brothers stood with their backs to the wall while their father marked their heights. After he made each mark, Mr. Weasley measured the distance with a Muggle tape measure, which Ginny knew was a highly prized possession. Mrs. Weasley stood at the workbench with a parchment and quill, writing down the children’s heights.

When Mr. Weasley had measured each of the twins separately — just in case, he always said — he turned to Ron. “Come on, Ron. Let’s see just how far you’ve come.” Ron stepped forward and was duly measured. His father scrutinized the tape measure carefully and said, “Five feet six! At this rate, you’ll outgrow all of us.”

Ron grinned and shrugged before turning to Fred and George. “Told you so.”

Fred sighed. “It was ruddy obvious. We just didn’t want to admit the painful truth.”

“Come on, George,” Mr. Weasley said. “What’s a couple of inches between brothers?”

“Embarrassing, that’s what it is,” George muttered.

Ginny smirked. “Especially since Hermione’s taller than you, too.”

“Look who’s talking!” Fred said. “Go on, let’s see if the numbers on the tape go low enough for you.”

“Harry first,” Mr. Weasley said.

Harry’s head snapped to Ginny’s father. “Really?”

“Do you live here?” the older man asked.

“Well . . . mostly.”

“Do you need robes for school?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “Up you get, then.”

Ginny and Harry smiled as he stood with his back to the wall. When Mr. Weasley had made his mark, Harry turned around and watched the tall man carefully write ‘HJP’ next to the new line. It was, Harry noted, the lowest mark on the wall. Fred and George’s first lines were at least an inch higher.

“Four feet seven, Molly,” Mr. Weasley called out as he held up the tape.

Ginny took her turn, and Harry’s record for the lowest mark was broken immediately. “Four feet four,” her father said.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at Ginny with only a trace of hesitation. “I’m fairly sure we don’t have any robes that size, but we’ll find some.”

“Harry’s robes from last year might work,” Ginny said, shrugging. She was quietly pleased to be on familiar, neutral territory with her mother. “His Quidditch uniform was fine in June.”

“Oh, well, that’s one, then,” her mother replied after a moment.

Mr. Weasley patted Ginny’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Firefly. What you lack in size, you more than make up for in spirit. And you have grown since last year.”

Ginny smiled at her father. “When will I be tall enough that people stop picking me up all the time?”

As she had secretly hoped, Mr. Weasley put his hands around her ribcage, lifted her into the air, and swung her in a tight circle. “When you’re old enough to stop liking it, I suppose,” he said.

Ginny could not help laughing as her feet found the ground again. “All right.”

“You hear that, gents? Permission!” Fred cried. Before Ginny could react, he had also picked her up. Ginny squealed happily as she was passed to George, who then thrust her towards Ron. Her youngest brother did not look as excited as the twins, but he smiled slightly as he swung her towards Harry.

Harry was not sure he could hold her up, even for a few moments, so he gripped her waist and lowered her gently to the ground as Ron released her. Still giggling, Ginny leaned forward to kiss Harry’s cheek and then hug him briefly. She turned back towards her brothers and scowled as much as she could. “You do not get to do that whenever you like.”

“Who says we liked?” Ron asked. “You should thank me for catching you at all.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and then marched towards the door with Harry in tow. Happy with her family’s unity, which had become very rare, they decided to overlook the wistful expression on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

“Looks like we’re done here,” Mr. Weasley said wryly as he extinguished the lights in the shed.

When they got back to the house, Mrs. Weasley sent Ron and the twins up to the small storage area adjacent to Ron’s attic bedroom. They returned with three boxes, which they placed in the middle of the living room floor. One contained a collection of battered books, one was full of folded robes, and a third held uniform shirts, jumpers, and trousers.

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the parchment in her hand as she muttered requests. “No-one is going to be able to wear their robes or uniforms from last year, so go get them. Percy, Fred, George . . . bring your books, too, unless you want to keep them.”

Within a few minutes, Harry and the Weasley siblings had added their things to the boxes. Then, under Mrs. Weasley’s direction, they searched through the piles for clothes that would fit them for the coming year. Each set of robes in the Weasleys’ collection had a label inside showing the height they were designed for. Some of Bill and Charlie’s robes had deteriorated too much to be useful, but others were serviceable after a few simple repairs. Similarly, some of the twins’ books were almost unrecognisable, and Percy was unwilling to part with any of his, leaving Ron, Harry, and Ginny with several books to buy in addition to Lockhart’s.

As expected, Ginny was able to wear the one remaining set of Harry’s robes. His uniform shirts fitted her well enough, also, and having the buttons on the wrong side did not bother her. None of the available clothes were small enough to fit him, though.

You probably could have worn some of the twins’ things from their first year, Ginny said, but they pretty much destroyed them.

Oh well, he replied. At least it won’t be a problem for me to get ones that fit.

Once everyone had claimed everything they could use, Mrs. Weasley wrote up a list of things that they needed to buy the following day. Then she gathered Ginny’s uniforms from first year, along with all of the older clothes that were no longer useful, and put them in a basket.

We give things back to the shop if we can’t possibly use them anymore, Ginny explained.

Without further prompting, Harry picked out his trousers from the previous year and added them to the basket. “Mrs. Weasley,” he asked, carefully keeping his voice casual and polite, “would the shop like to have Dudley’s things? They’re not in bad shape, they’re just enormous.”

“I . . . I don’t see why not,” she replied, meeting his eyes briefly. “There are surely other large boys out there.”

“I hear that clothing is becoming popular among walruses, too,” George said in a rather perfect imitation of Percy.

Flashing a grin at the twins, Harry climbed the stairs again and brought down almost all of the clothing he had brought with him into the wizarding world. The only things he kept were the pyjamas Ginny had roughly sized for him.

Good riddance, Ginny said as he dropped the load into the basket.

Absolutely.

In the end, Harry and Ginny together needed three sets of robes, almost all of their uniforms, and most of the books on their lists. They were pleased that her brothers all needed to buy fewer things, and they were glad that no-one could argue with how the available clothes had been distributed. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had insisted that Harry and Ginny accept their shares of the second-year books, but the twins’ rough handling meant that they and Ron only received one book each. In spite of the need for new books for Ron, Harry and Ginny decided to pay for their own supplies, and they hoped that the four sets of Lockhart’s books would be the Weasleys’ only really significant expense.

Late the following morning, Harry and the Weasleys queued up at the fireplace for another trip through the Floo Network. Ginny went first again, and she arrived in the Leaky Cauldron without any problems. Remember how you saw me through the grate last time? she asked. Just do that . . . push out of the Floo when you see me.

I could really learn to hate this.

Harry threw his Floo powder into the fireplace and clearly shouted, “Diagon Alley!” As he stepped into the flames, Ginny closed her eyes and held onto her father’s hand.

At first, the ride went smoothly, and Harry watched each grate he passed. Soon, however, the grates got closer together. There’s loads of them, and there are people all over the place!

What, you don’t think you’ll recognise me?

Of course I will, but —

There I am!

They spotted Ginny just as Harry began to slow, and he dove towards the grate where she waited. Unfortunately, he was not quite fast enough, and he collided with whatever formed the inside surface of the Floo Network. Sliding down the wall, he reached the next grate on the line and tumbled through the opening.

“Are you all right, Ginny?” Mr. Weasley asked.

She sighed and winced as Harry slid to a halt. “He missed the grate.”

I hate the ruddy Floo!

“Where is he, then?”

Harry climbed to his feet, checked himself over, and looked around. He was standing in the oddest shop he or Ginny had ever visited. Everything in the room was old, dusty, and in some cases clearly not fit for sale. The flickering fireplace combined with a single lantern to light the shop, creating dozens of patches of deep shadow.

“Err . . . we don’t know,” Ginny told her father. “It looks like a shop, but there’s no one around.”

“Well, have him go back to The Burrow and try again.”

Anything but that, Harry protested. The whole thing makes me feel like a complete moron.

Ginny, feeling his frustration and suppressed shame, shook her head. “He really doesn’t want to. If he can work out where he is, can we just go and get him?”

The rest of the family had arrived and were standing around Ginny and Mr. Weasley. “He can’t be that far, can he?” George said.

“I suppose not,” Mr. Weasley said. “All right, Ginny. What does . . . err, what do you see? Are there windows, or a particular sort of product for sale?”

“There’s a window, but I don’t recognise what’s outside. I don’t think it’s in Diagon Alley.”

Harry looked around curiously. Upon closer inspection, the shop’s contents were even more unpleasant. The counter in front of him held a collection of human bones arranged as though someone were trying to reconstruct a complete skeleton. One entire wall was covered with evil-looking masks, and rusty instruments and vicious-looking spiked weapons hung from the ceiling. A dusty glass case on his left held a withered hand on a mouldering cushion, a pack of cards with bloodstains on the edges, and a glass eye that stared directly at him.

“Ugh! This place is horrid,” Ginny said. “There’s a manky old hand on a pillow, and-”

“A hand?” Mr. Weasley asked, looking at her sharply.

“Yeah. It’s got a bit of wrist, too, but then it just stops without a cut or anything. The fingers are all curled up like it’s grabbing something.”

“Mother of Merlin,” Mr. Weasley breathed. “He’s in Knockturn Alley.”

“Wicked!” the twins said.

Their father spun to face them and raised a stiff finger. “No! People go into Knockturn Alley and are never seen again.” He turned back to Ginny and leaned down urgently. “There’s no one around? You’re sure?”

Harry peered around again. The room was empty, and he could not see anyone through the window.

“We’re sure,” Ginny said, becoming nervous at her father’s intense tone.

“All right. You tell him to wait there, and I’ll go and find him. If someone else shows up, he’s to go back to The Burrow, no matter what. You stay here.”

“Dad, that’s silly!” she protested, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Just help me get somewhere alone so that he can come to me.”

Her father sighed. “Good idea.” He glanced around the Leaky Cauldron, clearly trying to think of a suitable place.

Hide, Harry, Ginny said. That place sounds just as bad as it looks.

Harry agreed fully, and he was already looking for something to crouch under or behind. Not far from the foul hand, he spotted a large cabinet. One of the doors was ajar, and through the gap he could see that it was hollow and empty inside. After a moment’s hesitation, he eased the door open, stepped inside, and pulled the door back to its original position.

“I wish we could just use the toilets or one of the back rooms, but there are plenty of people here who would recognise Harry and know that he didn’t come in with us,” Mr. Weasley said in a rush. “Here’s what we can do, though. Keep an eye on the door to Diagon Alley. When no one’s heading in or out of it, we’ll step out there, and Harry can Shift to you. Then we’ll go right on into the Alley, and no one will question where he came from. Molly, you and the boys go to the toilets to give us some time. If you get back and we’re not here, then come on through.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded and took a deep breath. Within seconds, her worried expression relaxed somewhat, and she strolled towards the Cauldron’s restrooms. Ron, the twins, and Percy fell into line behind her, leaving Mr. Weasley and Ginny to watch the door.

Through the small opening in the cabinet door, Harry saw two figures pass in front of the dirty window. The door opened, and Lucius and Draco Malfoy entered the shop. Lucius headed toward the counter as Draco wandered around the shop, eyeing the horrible items curiously.

“Touch nothing, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said.

The blond boy had been reaching for something, but he lowered his hand. “I thought you were going to buy me a present.”

“I said I would buy you a racing broom,” his father said.

Why am I not surprised? Ginny asked, her eyes closed once again.

Draco began complaining about the house teams at Hogwarts, and Harry and Ginny were somehow not surprised to hear him insult Harry within a few seconds.

Harry heard a soft crack from the door at the other end of the room, and a moment later a stooped man entered through a doorway. “Ah, Borgin,” the elder Malfoy said.

“Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,” Mr. Borgin said in an oily voice. “Delighted. And young Master Malfoy, too. Charmed, of course. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced -”

“I’m not buying today, Borgin, but selling.”

“Come on, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley said, pulling her towards the door. “Now’s our chance.”

“Selling?” Borgin asked. Harry saw his smile slip.

Mr. Weasley and Ginny stepped into the Muggle alley behind the Leaky Cauldron, and it was indeed empty. As Mr. Malfoy began to reply to Borgin, Harry Shifted out of the shop and arrived directly in front of Ginny.

She hugged him, and then Mr. Weasley pulled him into a rough embrace. “Bit of a scare, there, Harry.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Malfoy and his father had just shown up. Mr. Malfoy was there to sell something to a man named Borgin.”

Mr. Weasley’s eyes widened. “You should have left there immediately!”

Harry shrugged. “I would have if they’d come any closer, but I was hiding in a wardrobe.”

“Hmm . . .” The older man had a faraway look in his eyes, and he scratched at his chin before looking at Harry again. “Did Lucius say what he was selling? Did you see it?”

“No, sorry,” Harry said. “I left as soon as you got out here.”

“As well you should.” Mr. Weasley sighed. “You should have left the instant you saw them coming, Harry. Staying in a place like that wasn’t smart.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry hung his head, ashamed for worrying Ginny’s father. “We thought I was safe in the wardrobe.”

“All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Come on. Let’s get through the barrier so no one asks any questions.”

After entering Diagon Alley, the three of them waited until Mrs. Weasley and her sons emerged. “Harry, are you all right?” she asked. At his nod, she said, “Oh, good. I’m . . . I’m glad you’re safe.”

Harry blinked, surprised by the genuine emotion in the woman’s face and voice. “Err . . . thanks,” he said.

“Anything good in there?” Fred asked.

“Not really,” Harry replied. “Bit creepy, actually.”

The twins looked surprised, but then they shrugged. “Oh well.”

“What’s our first stop, Molly?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Let’s see . . . Gringotts first, and then the robe shop, I think.” She tapped a finger on her cheek in thought as she spoke. “We can drop off the things we brought rather than carrying them around along with everything else. After that it should be time to meet the Grangers outside Flourish & Blotts.”

“Mum, do we have to come along for all of that?” George asked.

“Lee’s here today, too,” Fred added.

“Oh, fine,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I have your measurements. Meet us at the bookshop in an hour.”

The twins had already started walking away. “Will do, Mum!” Fred called over his shoulder.

“I suppose you’d like to wander off also?” Mr. Weasley asked Percy.

“Yes, please,” the tall boy said. “I will gather my own supplies and join you for lunch this afternoon.”

“Go ahead,” Mrs. Weasley said.

The three remaining students followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to Gringotts. Inside, Mrs. Weasley waited in the banking hall while Mr. Weasley and the three children packed themselves into a cart with a silent goblin. They reached the Weasleys’ vault first, and Harry tried to hide his discomfort as Ginny’s father opened the door. Inside was a table containing perhaps a dozen Galleons and several small piles of Sickles. After a moment’s consideration, Mr. Weasley scooped all of the Sickles into his pouch, and then he counted out four Galleons.

At Harry’s vault, he leapt out of the cart as soon as it stopped. When the goblin unlocked the heavy door, Harry pulled it open just enough for him to slip inside.

“Is he all right?” Mr. Weasley asked Ginny.

Harry did not want to answer, but Ginny knew that she had to say something. “He’s . . . err . . . uncomfortable, mostly.”

“Oh,” her father replied. After a moment, he nodded. “I see. Well . . . you don’t need to be, Harry.”

“He says thanks,” Ginny said.

“Still uncomfortable, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

Inside the vault, Harry opened his money bag and blindly swept coins into it. In spite of himself, he knew that he had just collected several times the value of the Weasleys’ entire vault. He quickly left the vault and pushed it closed behind him. Ginny saw a momentary flash of reflected golden light, but neither her father nor her brother said anything.

After rejoining Mrs. Weasley, they walked down to The Wizard’s Wardrobe. Inside, Ginny’s mother strode directly towards a long rack of boys’ school robes, her list in hand. Ron was drafted to help her carry the clothes for himself and his brothers.

Mr. Weasley looked down at Harry and Ginny. “It’s best not to get in her way just now. Do you remember your numbers?”

“Four feet seven and four feet four,” Ginny replied.

“All right. Let’s see what we can find.”

He led them towards a rack on the other side of the large room, where they found girls’ school robes packed tightly and arranged by size. The shortest robes on the rack were four feet six inches long, but they were so worn that Ginny did not think they were repairable. She knew that anything longer would not fit properly in the neck, shoulders, and arms, even if it was hemmed for her height.

“What’s the difference between boys’ robes and girls’ robes?” Harry asked.

“Not much, at your age,” Mr. Weasley said. “The longer ones are cut differently in the shoulders and such.”

Harry nodded. “What do you suppose are the chances of finding robes for me on the boys’ side?”

“Well . . . not terribly high, to be honest. We were lucky to find most of the twins’ robes when they were first years, and they had an inch or more on you, even then.”

Oh well, Harry said. Shrugging mentally, he pulled the two sets of four feet seven inch robes from the girls’ rack and examined them. One had several long, crudely-repaired tears on the sides, and the fabric was almost worn through in several places. Fortunately, the other was merely missing its wand-pocket.

We can get a pocket from one of the older robes, Ginny said as Harry put back the torn robe.

That’ll do, then.

They looked at other racks containing uniform skirts and jumpers, but none of them were small enough for Ginny. Crossing to the other side of the shop, they were able to locate one pair of trousers that could be shortened to fit Harry.

“Not much luck today,” Mr. Weasley said. “Let’s get these, and then we’ll go to Madam Malkin’s.”

Mr. Weasley led them around to where Mrs. Weasley was still intently sorting through robes. Ron stood beside her with several already in his arms. “We’re going to have to go to Malkin’s,” Mr. Weasley said, handing her a few Galleons. “We’ll meet you at the bookshop.”

Ginny’s mother nodded absently, and Harry shot a sympathetic look at a glowering Ron.

Half an hour later, when it was almost time to go to Flourish & Blotts, Madam Malkin handed Harry and Ginny the robes and uniforms she had gathered for them. Harry slipped a handful of Galleons to Ginny, and they paid for their clothes before Mr. Weasley could intervene.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ginny’s father said as they left the shop, tucking the shrunken parcels into his pockets.

Harry shrugged, determined not to let the conversation get very far. “You don’t have to give me food, either.”

Mr. Weasley patted his shoulder and let the matter drop.

As they neared the bookshop, the street became more and more crowded, but they could not tell why until they had forced themselves within a few yards of the entrance. Across the upper windows of the shop hung a banner which read “Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing copies of his autobiography Magical Me today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.”

He’s actually here? Ginny asked. She glanced through the shop window but could only see the backs of the crowd inside.

Harry looked down at his watch. Has been for about half an hour, yeah.

How exciting! Can you imagine meeting someone who’s done all of those things?

He did not quite understand her enthusiasm, but he was happy that she was excited. D’you want to get a copy of his book?

Her answer was clear from her feelings, but she forced herself to be practical. Only if they’re not too expensive.

Mr. Weasley managed to lead them inside. The street was crowded, but the people in the shop were nearly standing on each other’s shoulders. Wizards and witches were squeezed into corners, sitting in the aisles, and congregating near the windows. Through it all a rather indistinct queue wound from the door towards the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was presumably signing copies of his books.

“Ginny! Harry!” Following the sound, they spotted Hermione making her way through the crowd towards them, carrying several books in one arm. When she finally arrived, she quickly hugged them both, her face aglow. “Gilderoy Lockhart’s here, did you see?”

Ron emerged from the mass of people also and stood behind the bushy-haired girl, openly rolling his eyes.

“Hard to miss, Hermione,” Harry said.

“I know! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Why aren’t you in the queue?” Ginny asked.

“Your mum is holding a place with my parents,” Hermione replied. “Here, I got books for you from your mum’s list. All but Lockhart’s, anyway. They’re all at the back. There’s a special deal for Hogwarts students, all seven books for one Galleon. Isn’t that awfully generous of him? Come on.” She handed Harry a short stack of new and used textbooks and grabbed Ginny’s hand. Only then did she notice Mr. Weasley standing an arm’s length away. “Oh, hello, Mr. Weasley. How are you?” she asked in a rush.

He smiled and waved towards the back of the shop. “I’m fine, Hermione. Lead on.”

Hermione pulled Ginny forward, and Harry held on to Ginny’s other hand as he followed. Squeezing through the crowd, they reached Mrs. Weasley and the Grangers, who seemed to be fairly close to the front of the queue.

The Grangers greeted the new arrivals casually, but Hermione resumed her monologue without noticing. “Do you suppose he’ll read from his new book? Maybe from one of the older ones? Did you see that he wrote most of our booklist? I can’t decide if I’d rather hear about his education or about the time he spent in Australia. What do you think?”

Harry and Ginny were both surprised by Hermione’s exuberance, and her question caught them unprepared. “Err . . . Australia, I suppose,” Ginny said.

The queue moved slowly, and after a while the four friends rounded a corner. Hermione gasped excitedly and leaned forward on her tiptoes, but Harry and Ginny could not see anything but the crowd around them.

“That’s him?” Ron said from behind them. “Looks a bit silly to me.”

Harry and Ginny were thankful that Hermione did not hear his comment, but Ginny turned around to face her brother. “Silly? He’s supposed to be one of the most handsome wizards in the world.”

Ron snorted and nodded his head. “If that’s handsome, leave me right out of it.”

Sighing, Ginny turned again. “I wish I could at least see him.”

Hold still, Harry said as an idea came to them. He surreptitiously pulled his wand out of his pocket with his free hand and pointed it at her. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he whispered. Ginny’s feet left the ground, and he carefully raised his wand just until she could see.

Gilderoy Lockhart looked almost exactly as he did on the back cover of Charms from the Charming. His robes were forget-me-not blue, as was his hat, but his unlined face and perfectly coiffed hair were precisely the same.

Do you really find him handsome? Harry asked.

Well, yeah. Don’t you think?

Err . . . if you say so. They watched for another moment. What exactly makes him handsome?

He has really nice eyes, see? Ginny focused on Lockhart’s face. He’s tall, and he’s got that really big smile, like he’s happy to see you.

Harry scowled slightly. Would you rather I looked like that?

What? She tried to look over her shoulder at him. At her unvoiced request, Harry lowered her to the ground, and Ginny turned to face him fully. That’s silly, Harry. Just because he’s handsome doesn’t mean I like him. I like you. You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I wouldn’t change anything about you. Not even a little bit. Besides, you’re handsome, too. Your eyes are much prettier, and I prefer dark hair.

Harry felt her sincerity, but at first he was not sure that she had answered his question. A heartbeat later, he nodded. I don’t have to understand that perfectly, do I?

Nope, she said, leaning forward to peck him on the cheek.

“Shouldn’t you two be talking?” Ron whispered. “You know, out loud?”

Ugh, Ginny said. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Harry nodded. “Sorry.”

Having seen Lockhart for herself, Ginny was content to wait for the queue to move. A few minutes later, they went through the last bend in the queue, and Harry and Ginny could see Lockhart sitting a few yards away. He signed a book with a flourish and handed it to a woman about Bill’s age, who blushed brightly at the blond man’s wide smile.

“I don’t get it,” Ron said. “He went to a lot of places and wrote a bunch of books. So what? It’s not like he’s Barry Ryan or anything. What do you think, Harry?”

Ginny saw Lockhart raise his head to scan the queue, and as Ron spoke, the tall wizard’s eyes jumped to them. “It can’t be Harry Potter?” he said with an overdramatic gasp. Standing up, he rounded the table in a few long strides. The crowd around Harry and his friends parted as Lockhart approached, and his smile grew even wider as he pulled the books out of Harry’s hands and shoved them towards Ginny. Then he reached out to shake Harry’s hand, using his grip to pull Harry towards the table.

Before Harry realised what was happening, he was standing in front of the table with Gilderoy Lockhart, still having his hand shaken, as a photographer manoeuvred in front of him and sent out cloud after cloud of vivid purple smoke. The crowd in the shop burst into applause as the photos were taken.

“Nice big smile, Harry,” Lockhart said, his smile never faltering. “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”

I don’t want to be on the front page, you great git! Harry fumed.

Ginny felt his embarrassment, as well as the tight grip Lockhart kept on his hand, and her excitement at the encounter began to fade. Just leave as soon as you can, she said.

Lockhart released Harry’s hand at last, and Harry stepped away from the table, looking for an escape. The blond wizard stepped along with him, however, and draped a confining arm over his shoulders. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Lockhart said in a cheerful voice that carried throughout the bookshop. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish & Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography - which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge -” Lockhart shoved a book into Harry’s hands and paused for another photo as the crowd applauded again.

Well, Harry said, fighting a scowl, that certainly didn’t cost too much.

I’m not sure I want it anymore.

“He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, shaking Harry under his arm, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

Harry groaned, but the sound was lost among the cheering and clapping that filled the bookshop.

Well, Ginny said, looking for a bright side, at least he knows a lot of magic. He’s got to be better than Quirrell, right?

That’s not really a high standard to beat, is it?

Lockhart picked up a stack of books from behind the table and shoved them into Harry’s hands atop the autobiography. “There you are, lad, for your troubles,” he whispered. “My complete works, already signed. Quite valuable. Now run along, there’s a good boy.”

The tall man pressed against Harry’s back, urging him to leave, and Harry was happy to oblige. He escaped the open area around the table and headed for the side wall of the shop.

Ginny pulled a Galleon out of her pocket and pressed it into Hermione’s hand. “Buy me a set, would you?” she whispered. “Get them before Mum does.”

For once pleased with her stature, Ginny wormed her way through the crowd to join Harry. I’m sorry, she said. I don’t care what he’s done . . . that was horribly rude.

It’s not your fault. I just hate feeling like I’m on a stage or something.

Ginny frowned. Apparently, he loves it.

Well, he’s welcome to it.

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?”

Harry turned away from Ginny to find Draco Malfoy sidling along the wall towards them.

“Famous Harry Potter,” Malfoy said. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ginny said, stepping forward. “If you’re so bothered, I’m sure you can pay to have your picture taken with Lockhart. He’ll probably charge extra, though, for you.”

“Oh, of course,” Malfoy sneered at Harry over Ginny’s head. “Your scrawny little girlfriend. Follows you everywhere, does she?”

Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Such wit!” she said. “Have you been working on that all summer? Should we expect to hear from you again ‘round Christmas, perhaps?”

Malfoy drew himself up to retort, but then his expression shifted into his typical sneer. “More of the herd. Perfect.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Ron and Hermione approaching with their arms full of books. “Get lost, Malfoy,” Ron said. “There’re plenty of morons in here without adding you to the mix.”

“Oh, yes . . .” Malfoy glanced around the shop. “Seven or eight of you, aren’t there? Making all the rest of us feel good about ourselves.” He inclined his head towards the books in Ron’s arms. “Does Lockhart have a charity for people who can’t afford books, or is it only for people who can’t read?”

“You’re going to need something for people who can’t walk, you bloody -”

“Ron!” Mr. Weasley said, shoving his way over and pulling Ron back by his shoulder. “What’s going on here?”

“This little -”

“Well, well, well . . . Arthur Weasley.”

Harry and Ginny turned with Mr. Weasley to see Lucius Malfoy approaching from the back of the shop. “Lucius,” Mr. Weasley said coolly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” Mr. Malfoy said. “All those raids. I do hope they’re paying you overtime.”

“Oh, yes, lots of raids,” Ginny’s father said, his eyes flat. “You never know when they might happen, do you? Better to sell off a few things while you can, eh?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. In public, aren’t we? You have to keep up the appearance of the noble pureblood.”

“At least I am not disgracing the entirety of the greatest race in the world,” Mr. Malfoy snapped.

Mr. Weasley scoffed. “We have very different ideas of what is disgraceful, Malfoy.”

“You have clearly redefined it,” Malfoy said, peering over Mr. Weasley’s shoulder to where Mrs. Weasley and the Grangers were approaching. The blond wizard’s look of concern was insultingly false. “You do know, don’t you, that those creatures’ money isn’t accepted in polite society?”

Mr. Weasley clenched his fists and took a step forward. “Decent people like them are worth more than all the filthy Galleons you’ve used to avoid a trip to Azkaban for your perversions.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze moved to Ginny and Harry for a long moment before returning to Mr. Weasley. “At least I do not have to sell my child to pay for his education. Convenient that your perversions finally got you a girl, isn’t it?”

Ginny understood what Malfoy was saying instantly, and for a heartbeat she debated whether to hex him or throw her books at him. Harry’s temper exploded, and he dropped his books with no hesitation at all. Before either of them could react further, however, Ginny’s father burst into motion.

Without warning of any kind, Mr. Weasley swung his fist up from his hip and punched Mr. Malfoy in the jaw. The other man sprawled backwards and then lurched sideways, staggering to catch his balance, and collided heavily with Ginny, who was just releasing her textbooks. The impact knocked her to the floor and sent her armload of books flying everywhere.

Abandoning his own plan to attack, Harry leapt forward to help Ginny as she lay amongst her fallen books. She felt a bit battered, but nothing hurt enough to cause serious concern. Harry pulled her back to her feet before spinning around, wand in hand. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy were grappling against a bookshelf, sending more books tumbling to the floor as they struggled. Harry kept his wand at his side, out of sight, and Ginny drew hers from her pocket. They watched for an opportunity to at least Petrify Lucius Malfoy.

“Arthur, no!” Mrs. Weasley cried.

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up!” Hagrid waded through the crowd towards the two men. With a hand on each of their collars, he pulled them apart and held them well off the ground. “What’s all this?” he asked when they had stilled.

“Put me down, you imbecile! He assaulted me,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Everyone saw it, and I will see to it that he is brought up on charges!”

Hagrid set them both on their feet and turned to face Malfoy. “Aye, they saw it. They also saw yeh plough into little Ginny, there, and yeh weren’ fallin’ tha’ way to begin with. So why don’ we all just forget abou’ any charges of anythin’, eh? Pick up her books, say yer sorry, and be on yer way.”

Mr. Malfoy’s nostrils flared, but Hagrid loomed over them all as the nearby crowd watched expectantly. After a moment, the blond man wiped his brow, straightened his robes, and then leaned over to gather Ginny’s fallen books. She and Harry glared at him, making no effort to hide the wands in their hands.

After roughly closing the last of the textbooks, Malfoy held the stack out to Ginny. “I . . . apologise for disturbing you -” his eyes darted to Mr. Weasley, “- regardless of the cause.”

Ginny took the books silently, not caring that her lack of response was rude.

Malfoy sniffed. “Come, Draco. We have no business with these . . . people.”

Hagrid watched the two Malfoys leave, and then he turned back to Mr. Weasley. “Can’t let ‘im get to yeh, Arthur, much as ‘e deserves it. Come on outside, the lot of yeh. It’s gettin’ a bit warm in here, wouldn’ yeh say?”

Outside, Hagrid leaned against the front of the building, which creaked slightly. Harry, the Grangers, and the Weasleys stood in a loose circle around him, and Harry and Ginny closed their eyes as they tried to regain their calm.

I hate that man, Harry said. He’s even worse than his son.

Ginny took a deep breath. He’s an idiot, Harry, that’s all. She scowled. If he ever says something like that again, though, I’m going to give him a bloody nose he’ll never forget.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Mr. Weasley said. “That got out of hand.”

“Weren’t nothin’,” the huge man said. “Are yeh alrigh’, Ginny?”

She opened her eyes and had no difficulty smiling at Hagrid. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Good, good. Say, Harry, why didn’ yeh write back to me? It was a trick finding the proper stamps to use, but I thought I got it righ’.”

“Oh, err . . . sorry, Hagrid,” Harry said. “I’ve been living with the Weasleys for a while now. My uncle probably binned your letter.”

Hagrid nodded. “Bet he did, at tha’. Ah well, it’s good yeh weren’t with those pillocks anyway.”

I absolutely hate lying to him.

I know, Ginny said. But if he knew even part of it . . .

Everyone would know, yeah.

“I almost forgot,” Mr. Weasley said. “Rubeus Hagrid, these are Jason and Helen Granger, Hermione’s parents. Jason and Helen, this is Hagrid. He’s the groundskeeper at Hogwarts and a dear friend.”

“Hermione’s parents?” Hagrid shook Mr. Granger’s hand. “Bless yeh, yeh’ve done the world a favour. Isn’t nobody quite like Hermione.”

Mr. Granger smiled. “Thank you. We’re quite fond of her ourselves.”

Fred and George trotted up to the group and came to a panting halt. “What happened?” George asked. “Someone said you and Lucius Malfoy had a duel, Dad.”

Ron quickly recounted the story for the twins, with Mr. Weasley interjecting admonitions and regrets to make the events sound less exciting.

“But you did punch him, right?” Fred asked.

“Well, yes,” Mr. Weasley admitted. “I hope it hurt him as much as it hurt my hand.”

George grinned. “Utterly worth it, I bet. Good show, Dad. We’re proud of you.”

“Come on, you lot,” his father said. “We still have to get the rest of your school things, and then I think we’ll all be ready for lunch. Would you like to join us at the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid?”

“No, thanks.” He patted one of his huge pockets. “I came fer some Flesh-Eatin’ Slug Repellant, an’ I need to go back an’ start sprayin’ slugs.”

They all said their farewells to Hagrid, and then the group made a circuit of Diagon Alley together. No one seemed particularly interested in lingering anywhere, so it did not take long to buy quills, owl treats, and the other small things that the students needed for the coming year. Percy rejoined them at the Leaky Cauldron. After a subdued but pleasant lunch, the Grangers left the pub via the Charing Cross door, and Harry and the Weasleys queued up at the fireplace.

I do not want to do that again, Harry said, eyeing the flames dubiously.

I really think you’ll be fine after a bit more practice, Harry.

That doesn’t mean I want to. He sighed. Oh well. At least there are fewer grates going this way.

When it was his turn, Harry made it back to The Burrow, though his landing was more than a bit haphazard. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley un-shrunk all of the day’s shopping, and the students carried their own things to their rooms. Harry and Ginny began sorting their supplies into their trunks. Without planning to, they found themselves perusing one of their Transfiguration books through Ginny’s eyes while Harry carefully sorted Potions supplies into their kits.

That evening after dinner, Ginny and Harry returned to her room to pack away the uniforms and robes that Mrs. Weasley had repaired for them. A few minutes later, they sat together on the bed.

Do you want to sleep here tonight? Ginny asked.

I suppose we should. If we carry on much longer, someone will remember to ask.

Ginny nodded and picked up a small sheet of parchment from her desk. Rolling it into a loose tube, she ran downstairs to the living room. “Dad, Mum . . . we got a message from the Headmaster. He says we don’t have to sleep in Surrey anymore.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Mrs. Weasley said, a smile lighting up her face. “It will be good to have you here now.”

Ginny looked at her mother carefully. “Really?”

The older woman’s expression grew warmer as she nodded. “Really, Ginny.”

“All right. We’re going to go and switch the beds.”

They moved the beds as they had before, and while in Surrey they took a moment to use Harry’s pendant to let Professor McGonagall know about the change. After saying goodnight a while later, Harry and Ginny closed her door, extinguished the light, and climbed into bed. Harry Transfigured Bun-bun, and they settled down as they had every night for almost a year. They waited a few minutes, but no one knocked at the door. The Weasleys had never once commented on Ginny’s wearing a large t-shirt as a nightdress.

As long as they leave us alone, this is the best way to sleep, I think, Ginny said, glancing around at her familiar and comforting room. The sound of her family still talking in the living room was a distant murmur which mixed seamlessly with the other normal sounds of the night.

This is how it should have been all along, Harry replied.

Yeah, I know. At least things are better now, though.

Harry turned to kiss the top of her head, and Ginny squeezed his waist fondly.

Goodnight, they said.

Impulsively, Ginny did something she had not done since she was very small and had thought that The Burrow itself might be alive. Looking around again and smiling, she whispered, “Goodnight, House. I’ll see you in the morning.”

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Meaning of One, Part Two: Chambers and Secrets - Chapter 9: Steps by Sovran