Ginny smiled to herself. It had to be a good thing if they were giving Harry more responsibility at work, and perhaps he'd find things less tiresome, if more challenging.

Ginny's eyes stung as she read Harry's letter over again. In spite of what he'd said to her about not being angry with her about the prospect of no Hogsmeade weekends, she couldn't help but feel guilty. It was her fault. Zonko's might have opened before Christmas, but her prank on her stupid brothers had set them back. She hadn't caused any structural damage to the building--she'd been very careful that she wouldn't--but she hadn't realised that the odour would penetrate every single item of the stock.

She hadn't even known they'd got as far as replenishing their stock until it was too late. Pauline had let her know about that, though, in no uncertain terms. And her mother. She shuddered. She still got a headache when she thought of her mother telling her off. At least her mother had never found out the exact nature of what the twins had done to incur her wrath. It was one small blessing in this whole mess.

Not that her mother hadn't wanted to know what had driven Ginny to such an extreme. The twins had come to her rescue there and made up some tale about them pulling endless pranks on Ginny by sending her exploding quills, disappearing ink, and self-igniting parchment so that Ginny had constantly had to redo her school work. After six weeks, according to their story, she'd come to the end of her rope and taken her revenge. Since this was Ginny's last year of school, and her future dependent on her NEWT results, this story had almost been enough to make Ginny's mother want to hex the twins herself, but the twins had even managed to partially rationalise their behaviour by telling her they were merely testing new products.

It was ironic, Ginny thought to herself, that Harry had begun to work weekends, since she had as well. She'd received a unique detention, in that she had to go down to Zonko's and help the twins sort out the mess her bomb had created. The stench had been cleaned out of the shop and living quarters, enough for Pauline to be able to move back in, in any case (although Ginny couldn't be too sure if George had been allowed back yet), but each and every item which had been purchased for the eventual reopening had to be cleaned individually. The work was tedious, but Ginny had to admit she deserved everything she got.

It wasn't often that her brothers pushed her to such extremes. She'd been inclined to take revenge on them for their stupidity in the past, such as on Harry's seventeenth birthday when they'd acted like such idiots upon finding her and Harry in her dad's shed, but she'd never taken it too far before. If she were perfectly honest with herself, this time she had gone too far. She'd certainly never expected the Daily Prophet to jump to the conclusion that Death Eaters were attacking. Fortunately, the twins had contacted the paper and explained that it had all been a misunderstanding, and one of their experimental joke items had worked a bit better than expected. Ginny supposed that their covering for her to the general public, as well as to their mother, had been their form of a peace offering.

She sat back and considered why she'd gone to such extremes this time, but she couldn't come up with any clear answers. She supposed part of it had to do with missing Harry so much. She understood what he was talking about in his letter. A piece of parchment was a poor substitute for a warm embrace, but it was all she had.

Plus she was frustrated. The research with Hermione had not been going well. The translation was slow and dull, not to mention disturbing at times, and Hermione was turning up nothing useful either. From time to time, the girls' hopes would be raised by something Hermione had found in one book or another, only to have them dashed once more when the information turned out to be worthless. In the entire history of the wizarding world, or at least as far back as the information contained in Hogwarts library stretched, there hadn't been a single case of a witch or wizard giving up his powers voluntarily. Even cases where powers had been lost by accident were rare, and no one had ever successfully had his powers restored once they were lost. On the few occasions where such a thing had been attempted, the results had invariably been gruesome.

Ginny sighed and put Harry's letter away. Their only hope now seemed to be the translation, so she'd best get back to work on it. She only gave a fleeting thought to the amount of homework she was neglecting so she could work on this. Between her detentions at Zonko's and this project her studies had become low on her list of priorities, something she'd been successfully keeping from Hermione for the most part. Once she had this translation finished, she was going to have her work cut out for her playing catch-up with her classes. At least she wouldn't have to waste her time on prefects' meetings any more--she'd lost her prefect's badge as a result of the Zonko's prank. The only bright spot in the matter was the fact the she'd be able to allow this translation to double for her term project in her Ancient Runes class.

The Gryffindor common room was fairly noisy this evening with younger students having finished their homework and relaxing, but six years in this environment had taught Ginny how to tune out the distraction as she settled down to work. She went at it steadily for a while when she came upon it again. More references to necromancy. A shot of cold spiked through her. She was liking this less and less. Upon reflection, it might be better to show this to Hermione. She hadn't said anything to the older girl so far, but now it seemed that Ginny's suspicions were confirmed. This book definitely contained Dark Arts spells.

Ginny pushed back from the table where she'd been working, and looked at her watch. It was past eight, and the library was closed. Hermione had probably gone back to her rooms by now, and Ginny didn't know the password into the staff wing. She was going to have to hope some sympathetic staff member was still hanging about the staff room. Anyone but Snape would do, really, as long as she didn't run into Filch or Mrs Norris along the way.

Luck was with Ginny for once, as Hermione herself was in the staff room when she reached it. "Thank goodness," Ginny said. "I've got something I need to show you."

"It's just as well, because I think we need to have a talk," Hermione replied. "Come on."

Hermione led the way back to her rooms. Ginny was thankful Hermione had agreed to see her so readily. Hermione was another one who hadn't been very impressed with Ginny's revenge on the twins, even if she did know the true story behind it. Following her friend into the sitting room, Ginny noticed sitting out on the desk some parchment, what looked like the beginnings of a letter on it in Hermione's precise script. Next to it were a quill and bottle of ink.

"I hate to admit it," Hermione began, "but I think I'm going to have to give up on Hogwarts library. I've been through everything now, literally, and there's nothing."

"You haven't been through all the runic texts, have you?"

"Well, no, but I can't go through those quickly. We can take those on, and we will, but I wanted your opinion on something first."

"Of course. What is it?"

"I want to write to Viktor Krum and ask him if he knows of anything that might be at Durmstrang."

"Are you sure, Hermione? Harry doesn't want anyone to know about…"

"Oh, I'm not planning on giving Viktor details about Harry. I can come up with a good enough excuse why I'm interested in the subject. I only want to ask him if he's ever heard of any cases where a wizard had lost his powers and got them back. I'm sure Durmstrang has books we haven't got here at Hogwarts."

Ginny felt that cold shiver pass through her once again. "You mean Dark Arts books."

"Listen, I know Durmstrang had a reputation under Karkaroff, but that doesn't mean the entire school has always been a hotbed of the Dark Arts. And we know Viktor's all right, don't we?"

"Hermione, what would you do if you discovered a way to restore Harry's powers to him but it was Dark Arts? Would you still use it?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know. I suppose it would depend on how dark the means was. I mean if it involved having to kill someone else, then obviously I wouldn't even consider it. Why do you ask?"

"It's this book I've been translating. I keep coming across references to things in it I don't like. There's been nothing concrete in it so far, but… I don't like it. I think it's a Dark Arts text."

"Oh dear."

"What are we going to do, Hermione? What if the answer is in here, and it involves something terrible? Not the sacrifice of another human, but… I don't know, something partly evil but justifiable."

Hermione reflected for a moment. "If Harry knew what we were up to, I think he'd say no. He wouldn't want us to do it."

"Yes, but that's the thing. He doesn't know what we're doing, and he wouldn't have to."

"He'd want to know if you were going to use Dark Arts on him," Hermione warned. "Just what are you getting at? Have you actually found something?"

"No, I'm just speculating. I guess what I'm doing is wondering how far we'd go for him, you know? Not to the extent of killing someone else--of course not--because he'd hate us if we did something like that, and it's just wrong. But… Well Harry's spell involved a sacrifice… What if whatever it takes to restore his powers also involved a sacrifice? Something personal. What would you do then?"

"I suppose it would depend on what it was. You'd have to ask yourself if Harry values his magical powers more than he'd value whatever was being given up."

Ginny fell silent as she thought about this. What wouldn't she give up for him? She'd give up her life if it would make him happy… But would Harry want her to? And what if the choice wasn't so extreme? That would make the decision even more difficult, wouldn't it? And the question of even using the Dark Arts still remained unanswered. She knew in her heart, he wouldn't like it if he knew… And would it be right to keep something like that from him? She just didn't know.

*

On a certain level Harry was aware he was dreaming. He had to be. There was no other explanation for it. Why else would he be standing in front of a cheering crowd on a raised platform in front of the Ministry of Magic with the Minister for Magic herself? He looked around him nervously, wondering what he was doing there, and in his dress robes, no less, he realised, looking down. But what he most wanted to know was why was he here by himself? For he was standing here alone with the Minister. If he was here to be honoured for something, he wanted his friends here with him.

He peered into the crowd, looking for a familiar face, but saw nothing beyond a myriad of colours. Wizarding society seemed to have turned out in force to see whatever it was they'd come to see, and it looked as if everyone had donned his best robes for the occasion, reinforcing Harry's impression that he was somehow the guest of honour on this occasion.

But if that was the case, where were the Weasleys? Where were Ron and Hermione? Sirius and Remus? Where was Ginny? For he was overcome now with a desperate need to see her. As if in answer to his unvoiced wish, he picked her out of the crowd suddenly. She was making her way towards him, parting the sea of people, her vivid hair setting her apart from the others, the golden fabric of her robes seeming to cast a faint glow around her.

Why wasn't she up here with him? "Ginny!" he cried, but his voice was drowned by the noise the crowd was making. "Ginny!" he tried again, but to little avail. He looked around him for a way off the platform but didn't see one. He took a step towards the edge.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice hissed in his ear, as a hand grabbed his arm cruelly. "You're ruining a perfectly good moment for the photographers."

Harry turned in surprise towards the Minister, who had just spoken, to find Gilderoy Lockhart leering down at him. Unconsciously Harry reached for his wand, but it didn't seem to be in his pocket. "What's your problem, Potter?" Lockhart went on. "Afraid they'll all discover your little secret?"

Harry didn't have time for this. He had to get to Ginny. Wrenching his arm from Lockhart's grasp, he ran for the edge of the platform, heedless of the height it stood off the street below, not caring really, and leapt off.

Somehow the crowd caught him and helped him down. He could see Ginny at some distance from him, shimmering amidst strangers' faces, but the crowd seemed to close in on him creating a wall so that the more he tried to push his way through, the farther from her he got. Desperately, he began to shove past people, not caring if it was rude and ignoring the nasty remarks they tossed in his direction. He had to get to Ginny, he had too…

But the more he struggled, the further away she got…

Harry woke up, heart pounding, and shook off the remaining tatters of his dream. It was still rather dark in the room. He'd become used to getting up early, but today, he remembered, he didn't have to. He wouldn't be going in to the Ministry today. Not to work at least. Not because it was Saturday, and not because it was Halloween, but because today had been declared a holiday in the wizarding world. He knew now why he'd been having that nightmare. Some of it, in any case, would likely be coming true.

It had begun earlier in the week when he'd heard a rumour about some major announcement the Minister for Magic (thankfully not Gilderoy Lockhart, Harry reminded himself) was planning on making. That had happened two days ago when today's celebrations had been officially announced, and Harry's presence had been requested by the Minister herself. Apparently the Department of Mysteries had been investigating and had concluded in its report to the Minister that Voldemort had indeed been defeated the previous summer. And there was no chance he'd be coming back.

Harry would have bypassed today altogether, but he hadn't been given a choice in the matter. People would be gathering in front of the Ministry today, and it would look rather odd if the guest of honour didn't turn up.

It was going to be painful to stand in front of everyone and pretend everything was all right. "Oh yes, I defeated Voldemort. All in a day's work, really. It was nothing."

He knew he was going to get some sort of reward he didn't want--that was how these things worked--but whatever they wanted to bestow on him, it wasn't going to bring back Hagrid, Charlie or Dumbledore, or anyone else who had lost his life in the struggle. It wasn't going to make time move any faster between now and next June. It wasn't going to bring his powers back.

He'd been working hard at accepting the fact that he was no longer magical, but some days the situation could still rankle more than others. It looked as if today was going to be one of them. He sighed heavily wishing that by some miracle Ginny would be present at the celebration today--he was going to need her reassuring presence--but he knew there wasn't much chance of that happening. As part of her punishment for the Zonko's prank, she'd not been allowed to attend.

Harry rolled over and pulled the blankets more closely around him. He didn't have to be up so early for once; he might as well take advantage of that and sleep in. Among other things it would this day come to an end sooner. But sleep wouldn't come. In its place came images of those who had not survived the conflict. Some of the faces were vague recollections of student he'd barely known, but nonetheless to their families, the loss would be a gaping wound, one which would perhaps heal in time, but which would forever leave a scar.

Then there were those he'd actually known, whose loss cut all the more keenly for that reason, people who had been the closest thing to a family he'd ever had. Perhaps sharpest on this day was the pain of Dumbledore's death. Harry hadn't had the time to take it in when it had happened, but the directionless sense of emptiness came crashing in on him now, and he had to bury his face in the pillow.

They, he thought through the tears he tried to hold back, they should be the ones honoured today. For what had he done? Of course he'd defeated Voldemort, but wouldn't anyone, having the means, have done the same in his place?

A knock at the door made him raise his head. "Harry, dear, are you awake?"

Why did Mrs Weasley want to wake him up this early in the morning? Only last night she'd told him he needed to get more rest. Swiping at his eyes, and fumbling for his glasses, he called out, "Just a moment. I've only just woken up." He hoped that last statement would be sufficient to explain the roughness in his voice.

"You ought to be getting dressed soon if we don't want to be late."

Late? The morning couldn't be that far advanced if it was so dark out. Harry reached for his watch and looked at it. It read just past ten in the morning. "I'll be right along," he called panicking just a bit. "I didn't realise it was so late."

Mrs Weasley had to have picked up on the off-note in his voice; it was the only way to explain her next action. "Are you sure everything's all right, dear?"

"Yes, it's fine."

He'd barely got the words out, and she was already in the room, striding matter-of-factly across the floor to Harry's bed. Harry swallowed as she peered closely at his face through the gloom. "Don't tell me everything's fine, Harry. I can see in your face that it isn't. Look at me." Harry didn't particularly want to obey, but something inside him made him respond to her wishes. "Now what's the problem? Have you had a letter from Sirius?"

"No, nothing like that. It's… it's stupid really."

Mrs Weasley sat down on the edge of the bed. "It can't be stupid if it's made you this upset."

"It is stupid. This whole day is stupid."

"Why is this day stupid? This day is for you."

"That's exactly why it's stupid. They're making a great deal out of everything, out of me, and I didn't ask for it. They're going to try and reward me, and I don't want that, either. Why would I want that? There are people who need that sort of thing more than I do. And it won't bring anyone back."

Mrs Weasley leaned back and seemed to consider Harry's words. "Who do you want back, dear?"

"Hagrid, Professor Dumbledore, my parents… everyone."

"Charlie?" she whispered.

Harry was glad she'd said it because he'd been thinking it and wasn't sure if he ought to mention it. He nodded.

"It's all right to talk about it," Mrs Weasley said quietly.

Harry nodded again. "If anyone deserves recognition, it's them, not me. Not that they're in any position to receive anything for it," he added bitterly, "but has anyone spared them so much as a thought?"

"But Harry, don't you think you deserve something, too? Some recognition for your sacrifice?"

"No," he grated. "No one is to know about that."

"I know dear, but…"

"Why should I deserve anything when anyone would have done the same in my place?"

Mrs Weasley gaped at him for a moment. "Harry, listen to what you're saying. You don't really believe that, do you?"

Somewhere deep inside him, he knew she was right. He just wasn't ready to admit it yet. "Well, I don't suppose Malfoy…" He broke off as she scowled at him for trying to turn this into a joke. "Anyone on our side would have," he protested, "if they'd known how to go about it."

Mrs Weasley was shaking her head. "Harry, I can't think of anyone who would have done what you did."

"Charlie would have. He saved Sirius at the cost of his own life. His life, not just his powers."

"Yes, he did. But it's not the same thing. He didn't know for months ahead of time that he'd have to do something like that. My son was strong, but I don't know that he was that strong. I don't know that anyone is. When he jumped in front of that curse, he acted without thinking. If he'd have stopped to think about it, he might still have done it, but there's no way of knowing. If someone had told him the day before what was going to happen, he might not have done it. Or he may have hesitated, knowing what was coming, and it would have been too late to do anything. It's human nature to put your own survival first. It wouldn't have made him any less than he was."

Harry could tell she was struggling to keep her voice from shaking as she said all this. It was difficult for him to keep his own eyes from stinging.

"Now that I think about it," she went on, "I can think of one other person who would have chosen as you have."

"Who?" Harry asked quietly.

"Albus Dumbledore."

"He's another one who won't be getting any recognition today." It was much easier for Harry to concentrate on feeling bitter rather than giving in to sadness and grief. "He died fighting against Voldemort, too."

"You can change that, Harry. You can make sure no one forgets what a great man he was. You'll be in a position to make sure all those who fought gain the recognition they deserve."

Harry nodded, reluctant to let himself see anything positive that might come out of today.

"Harry… Harry look at me. You have to know that what you did was great. And you did give your life for us in a way. I'm proud of what you've done and of the way you've grown up. You are a strong and good person. You show that every day."

"No…" he began, but he had to stop and swallow hard. He had to stop her before she had him crying once more. "No, I'm not. I'm not strong at all. I don't feel strong."

"That's part of what makes you special, Harry. You don't see. You don't let it go to your head…" She reached up and brushed his fringe back from his forehead, exposing his scar for a moment before it fell back into place. "You will always have a special place in my heart, not because you're Ron's friend, or because my daughter is in love with you, or even because you're the great Harry Potter. It's because somehow, deep down, in spite of the fact that you've got black hair, you are like another son to me. And no matter what happens, you always will be."

Harry could feel his lower lip trembling. He wished she would stop. Deep in his heart, he knew this was what he'd always wanted. A family. A mother. She'd even said he was like one of her own children in the past. But today he didn't think he could take it. He felt a tear slip out of the corner of his eye.

The next thing he knew he was being enveloped in a motherly embrace. Mrs Weasley held him and rocked him, softly repeating all that while that he was her son, that he was worthy, until it became a mantra.

*

Harry sneaked a peak out from behind the velvet curtain, which had been rigged up at the back of a makeshift platform, to where he could see the crowd that had assembled in front of the Ministry building. As in his dream, everyone seemed to have turned up in his best robes, and the colour showed up all the more brightly under the glowering pall of cloud that marked the day. Harry swallowed. That had only been a nightmare. There was no way Eugenia Smythe-Snepperton, who had replaced Cornelius Fudge as Minister for Magic, was suddenly going to Transfigure herself into Gilderoy Lockhart, he told himself firmly, and although there were several other important Ministry people scheduled to speak today, none of them was a former Hogwarts professor with a memory problem.

Besides, he'd have Ron and Hermione up on the platform with him today at least. He'd had to do a lot of arguing, but he'd finally convinced the official planners of this event to allow his friends to stand with him. "They've had as much to do with today as anything," he'd repeated. "I couldn't have done anything without them." Or Ginny for that matter, but then she wouldn't be able to come.

Harry scanned the crowd looking for familiar faces. He spotted some of his former school-mates dotted here and there amidst the sea of strangers. There was also a group of black-robed Hogwarts students, all of whom looked to be sixth or seventh years. Harry recognised Colin Creevey when a camera flash caught his attention. To one side he caught a flash of red, and saw that the Weasleys had found a spot not too far from the front. They were standing together with Remus and Sirius, and people seemed to be allowing them a good deal of space. Being friends with a werewolf and a former prisoner would do that, Harry thought bitterly.

Mr Weasley still wasn't with them, however, and Harry found that surprising. Mr Weasley had disappeared not long after Harry had turned up in the kitchen for a late breakfast, saying something important had come up but offering no further explanations. Harry couldn't help but wonder what could be so important that he'd miss the beginning of the ceremony. It couldn't be Ministry business: every department was closed today.

He noticed that Bill and Percy seemed to be scanning the crowd as if they were looking for someone. Watching the other Weasleys he realised the rest of them were doing the same. They must be trying to keep an eye out for Mr Weasley, but Harry had no idea how they'd manage to spot him in the throng. Suddenly, he saw one twin nudge the other with his elbow and point toward the left. The other twin craned his neck and whispered to something to Mrs Weasley, who turned and began to wave frantically, although she was too small to be seen from very far off surrounded by her taller sons as she was. Now Bill was shouting and waving as well, and Harry turned to see what had caught their attention.

He caught a glimpse of a tall, balding man pushing his way through the mass of people, and he was followed by a smaller red-headed figure. Ginny. And if she was here, she was going to stand next to Harry. He wasn't going to have it any other way.

He didn't think about what he was doing. He pushed his way through the curtain, ignoring Ron's shout of, "Where do you think you're going?", and scrambled off the platform, not really caring that his dress robes got in the way. The assembled people gave way before him in their surprise to see him suddenly appear, but he ignored them. He was completely focused on getting to Ginny. He'd lost sight of her now that he was down on the same level as she was, but Mr Weasley was tall enough to keep an eye on. Repeating excuses, he shouldered his way through the crowd until he found himself face to face with Mr Weasley.

"Harry!" he said, taken aback. "You're not supposed to be down here."

Harry didn't look at Mr Weasley. He couldn't take his eyes off Ginny. It had been two long, dreadful months since he'd seen her, and he wasn't about to take his eyes off her now. He soon had to, however, for she'd flown into his arms not a second later. He tightened his grip on her, not wanting to let her go, ever, the knowledge that he'd have to eventually causing him to pull her even closer. He realised he must be crushing her by now, but it didn't matter. She was returning the hug just as fiercely.

"Oh God, I missed you," he whispered into her hair. "I could kiss you right now."

"Later," she whispered back, and he was surprised at how her quiet voice managed to penetrate the noise of the crowd.

"How?" he asked. "How did you get here? I didn't think you could come."

"Dad talked McGonagall into it. I can't stay too late, though. I have to be back by eleven."

Harry loosened his hold on Ginny just enough so that he could turn to where Mr Weasley was still standing. "Thank you," was all he could get out.

"We'd best find your mother," Mr Weasley was saying.

"I want her to stand with me today," Harry said. "She was part of this, too. As much as Ron and Hermione were."

Mr Weasley nodded once. "All right then."

Harry took Ginny's hand and led her back through the crowd, noting in passing that people were now peering at the pair of them with avid curiosity. He ignored them, as he pushed his way back to the platform. The Ministry officials did not look very pleased with him, but he ignored them as well. If it was supposed to be his day, then they could bloody well give in to his wishes. It wasn't as if he was asking for that much after all.

He glared at the lot of them, as he clambered back up onto the platform, before turning to give Ginny a hand up. No one said a word, and he pushed his way back through the curtain.

"What was that all about?" demanded Ron, while Hermione's eyes went round. "Ginny! How did you manage…"

But there was no time for explanations. The ceremony was about to begin.

Harry was extremely grateful when it was all over. The speeches given by various Ministry officials had been long and boring, and Harry had found himself not paying a great deal of attention to them. He'd passed most of the time looking over the heads of the crowd at the leaden sky. The weather seemed determined not to co-operate with the intended mood of the day, but at least it wasn't raining.

He hadn't particularly wanted to look at the sea of faces in front of him. Their avid gazes made him uncomfortable. It hadn't helped matters when he caught a glimpse of a figure with a long white beard dressed in dark blue robes towards the back of the crowd. He'd blinked a few times wondering if he'd seen a ghost, but when he looked again the figure had disappeared. After that he'd kept his eyes riveted on the space above everyone's heads.

He'd been glad at first that he hadn't been required to make any sort of speech, but now that it was all over, he wished he had. While the Minister for Magic had asked everyone observe several moments of silence for all those who had made the ultimate sacrifice at the beginning of the proceedings, it now seemed to Harry a mere nod for form's sake. He didn't know if he would have found the appropriate words, but he would have liked to have said something more about those who had given their lives in the struggle.

It was time to go now, but the assembled masses didn't show any signs of leaving. It looked as if a gigantic party was in the offing, but Harry didn't feel in the mood to celebrate. He had to make a move though. Ginny was tugging at his hand, while Ron and Hermione were urging him to go down and join the rest of the Weasley family.

"We're all going to the Leaky Cauldron!" Fred announced, as Ginny led Harry over to her family.

"On you," added George to Harry, grinning wickedly.

Harry cringed inwardly. The Minister had forced ten thousand Galleons reward on him. He didn't want it, any more than he wanted season ticket to all the Quidditch matches in the League, which was apparently starting up again, late, but not too late for eager fans who hadn't had anything to celebrate in far too long.

"Yes, of course," Harry said, not wanting to throw a wet blanket on things. He felt he owed this family for the rest of his life as it was. Treating them to a party if they wanted one was the least he could do.

Making their way to the opposite end of Diagon Alley was slow going indeed. Everyone seemed to want to shake Harry's hand, pat him on the back, offer thanks… The twins started out with their typical humour: "Make way for Harry Potter, the wizard who defeated of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Order of Merlin First Class, Member of the Dark Forces Defence League…"

Harry knew they meant well, but he didn't particularly appreciate it on this occasion. The last time they'd done something like this, it was over something that was patently untrue. The same could not be said in this case. Mrs Weasley made them stop quickly enough.

Before they could make any sort of progress the rest of the family finally had to form a sort of guard around him, shielding him from the throng. They were maybe halfway to their goal, when their progress was impeded by yet another well-wisher, and this time the Weasleys didn't try to shuffle Harry past as quickly as they could.

Harry looked up and saw why immediately. It was the wizard with the dark blue robes he'd seen during the ceremony. Up close Harry could see that it wasn't Professor Dumbledore. The half-moon spectacles were missing as were the twinkling blue eyes, and his nose was much straighter. In spite of this, the general physical resemblance was striking enough that this could only be…

"Aberforth Dumbledore," he said, holding out his hand to Harry, who mutely shook the older man's hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Harry. My brother spoke of you often."

Harry had no idea what to reply, so he went on shaking Aberforth Dumbledore's hand and nodding. He felt rather stupid.

"I know for a fact Albus would be very proud of you today," Aberforth went on.

Harry swallowed hard. He had to say something. "Your brother was a big part of my life," Harry blurted, feeling himself immediately begin to redden. Why couldn't he do this without making an ass out of himself?

"And you were to his."

"This… today," began Harry, gesturing around him. "It should all be for him, not for me."

Aberforth shook his head gravely. "Alas, I don't think he'd say the same thing." Then he smiled, and Harry saw his eyes twinkle, where they hadn't before. But for their colour, Harry would have sworn it was his former headmaster. He shook Harry's hand once more. "Enjoy your evening!" He smiled at the Weasleys and moved on.

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron some time later, where arrangements had apparently been made ahead of time for a private dining room. Tom led them up a flight of stairs to a room, which looked as if it had been converted for the occasion. A large table bedecked with silver-domed platters dominated the room. In the far wall was a tall window that overlooked Diagon Alley.

"No one should bother you up here," Tom informed them, as they took seats before the feast that had been laid out. "If you need anything, just ring that," he added, pointing to a large hand bell at the head of the table, and I'll be along. Mind you, it looks as if it's going to be a busy night."

Busy night turned out to be the understatement of the year. From the window, Harry could see that Diagon Alley was swarming with revellers, and he was certain that sooner or later a great many of them would pass through the pub for a pint or three. He wondered how Tom was planning on handling the demand. It looked very much as if the opening leading into Diagon Alley from the back of the pub would remain open on a constant basis tonight, as people passed through.

After a hearty supper, the Weasleys began to drift off one by one, to join the celebration below. Ron had quietly informed Harry than he and Hermione had taken a room for the night, and George had even managed to convince Pauline to go downstairs with him. A few minutes later, Harry spotted them down in the street swaying together to music that drifted up as far as the second floor. It looked as if their row would probably be made up before the end of the night.

"Do you want to go down?" came a voice beside him. Ginny had come to stand next to him in the window, looking down on the party. Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in front of him, as he buried his face in her hair.

"No," he said. "I don't feel much like celebrating. I never asked for all this, you know."

"I know."

"I did get the one thing I wanted today."

"What was that?"

"I got to see you."

"Too bad I have to go back."

"Who says you have to? I can ask Tom if he has another room…"

"I can't, Harry. The only way McGonagall would let me come today was if Dad could guarantee I'd be back at eleven. He turned my bracelet into a Portkey set to go off at eleven sharp." She held up her wrist, so Harry could see she was wearing the bracelet he'd given her last Christmas.

Harry tightened his arms around her waist and tried hard not to be disappointed. Ginny breathed a little sigh and settled back into his embrace. "I suppose we still have Christmas," he said.

Ginny giggled at that. "What about now? We've got this room to ourselves."

Harry looked behind him. It was true. By some miracle they found themselves left alone together. "Knowing our luck your mother will walk in on us," Harry said.

"Hmmm, yes. Or worse, Fred and George."

"I think they've learned their lesson, don't you?" Harry teased.

Ginny turned to face him. "Maybe, but I'm not sure you couldn't use a lesson in caution. Haven't you learned yet that you don't want to make me mad at you?"

"And just what have I done to make you mad at me?"

"Let's see now. We haven't seen each other in two months, we haven't had a moment alone all day, and now that we finally do, you're still talking."

"Is there something I ought to be doing instead?" he asked taking a step closer.

She smiled a bit, and he watched her eyes darken. "I can think of a thing or two, yes."

He put a hand up to her jaw line, tracing her cheekbone with one thumb, and her lips parted. He leaned down, intending to keep things light. They might be alone at the moment, and they might have joked about ways in which they might take advantage of that, but this really wasn't an ideal spot, and they both knew it. Besides, Harry was no longer certain what time it was, and it was hardly the moment to look at his watch.

Just before their lips touched, she whispered, "I love you, Harry," and the words sent a jolt through him, driving both conscious thought and good intentions away. They were soon kissing deeply, her hands wandering over his back, while his own hand slid from her face into her hair. Minutes passed before they broke apart, their breathing much shallower than it had been.

Ginny's eyes burned into Harry's as they stared at each other. Where was he going to find the strength to let her go back to school again? He felt as if, once she was gone again, he'd be lost. His arms tightened around her convulsively. He didn't want to let her go. He needed her here with him.

She shifted against him, tilted her head back and their lips met again until he felt her sag, boneless, against his chest. He pulled her closer, supporting her weight against him, and losing all track of time.

It came as a nasty surprise when he felt a jerk behind his navel, but by the time that happened it was too late to do anything about it. Knowing it must be eleven, he opened his eyes, but he was too close to Ginny to see her expression. Their lips were still fused together.

Harry landed hard, staggering backwards, as he was still supporting Ginny's weight, and landing on his back with Ginny on top of him. He felt a whoosh of air in his face as her breath was released suddenly.

"Are you all right?" she asked tentatively, pushing herself up. His arms were still around her, and he didn't really want her to leave them.

"Yeah." He raised his head slightly and recognised Hogwarts entrance hall. He had a sudden, wicked thought. "Remember that storage room? We can go there, and…"

"Harry…" Ginny squeaked.

At the same time came a malevolent voice. "My, my, we are in trouble, aren't we?"

Ginny and Harry both scrambled to their feet, reddening. Filch was leering at the two of them in anticipation. "I was told to expect only one student coming in now. What's Potter doing here? You haven't come back for a look at the place, have you? Because you need an appointment for that."

"No! It was…"

"We lost track of time," Ginny broke in. "My Portkey activated. We didn't know it was so late."

Filch looked sceptical, but at the same time he looked unhappy that he probably wasn't going to be able to use his manacles in this situation. "Off to bed with you, then," he snarled at Ginny. "You can be sure I'll be discussing this with Professor McGonagall first thing in the morning. You," he added, turning to Harry, "clear off. Now!"

Harry may have just spent the day being honoured for his defeat of Voldemort, but the surly Hogwarts caretaker had a knack for making him feel as if he was a mere first-year again. Harry didn't even stop to consider disobeying. He turned and walked out the front door. When he reached the front steps he realised it was pouring rain.

"Oh, just perfect," he grumbled, "Perfect end to the perfect day. All that's missing now is for me to run into St John!" And with that he reached into his pocket, turned the hands on his own Portkey to six o'clock, and returned to the Burrow.

To Be Continued…