"Potter!"

Harry looked up from the law books he was ploughing through. In two weeks he'd gone through more of them than he'd expected, but he still seemed to have a lot left to read. In those same two weeks he'd felt he was beginning to adjust to this job, all except for one thorn in his side, and that thorn was now standing over his desk with a roll of parchment.

"What is it?" he replied shortly. He'd given up trying to hide his annoyance with Gervaise St John. Whether he was polite or not didn't seem to make a great deal of difference.

"I need these files. Make it snappy now. I haven't got all day."

Harry took the parchment and looked down the list. He recognised several of the files numbers as those identifying the cases of other solicitors. "Are you sure you have the right ones?"

"Of course, I am!" St John retorted, standing up straighter and raising his chin. "When I did your job, I didn't question my superiors."

"You were probably too stupid to know better," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'll get these for you right away."

"Too right, you will."

Harry paused to look at his watch before turning towards the filing cabinets. It was nearly lunch time. Just a few more minutes, and he'd be free for a while. It would come as a welcome relief. When he'd begun this job, the office had been relatively quiet, he now realised. They'd been growing steadily busier as the days passed, and it didn't promise to let up any time soon.

Five minutes later, Harry presented St John with a stack of files. "About time," St John commented nastily. "I can see they hired you based on a famous name. Why didn't you just magic them over?"

Harry had to bite his tongue hard to stop himself from saying what he really thought. He had no doubt that if he said anything really rude, St John would find a way to make him regret it. On top of everything else, the last thing Harry needed was anyone calling attention to the fact that he was the only one in the office who never used any sort of magic.

He shrugged, trying to look casual. "I'm not used to sitting about all day. The exercise does me good."

"Why didn't you just try out for a Quidditch team and have done with it then?"

"Last I heard the league hadn't started up again yet."

"Perhaps the Chudley Cannons would have you." Harry could tell from his derisive tone that he hadn't meant anything complimentary by that.

He didn't have a chance to reply, for he heard the sound of someone coming into the office behind him. He turned to see Ginny standing at the counter, her arms laden with packages. "Excuse me," he said frostily to St John.

"No need," St John replied, smoothing down his robes and licking his lips. "You go on to lunch. I'll take care of her."

"She's here to see me," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, come now, you do have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"

"She's a bit young for you, don't you think?" Mrs Mutt had risen from her desk, no doubt going down to the canteen for lunch. St John glowered at her, but didn't reply as he sat back down at his desk. Mrs Mutt turned slightly so that her face was out of St John's line of vision. She inclined her head in his direction and mouthed her favourite descriptor at Harry, who grinned at her before turning to greet Ginny at last.

"What was all that?" she asked once she'd kissed him on the cheek.

"Typical day at work," Harry replied darkly.

"Is that the stupid git?" Ginny asked rather loudly. It didn't matter. St John was working obliviously away behind his guard of Silencing Charms and didn't hear her.

Mrs Mutt, however, had. "That's putting it mildly, my dear," she said before nudging Harry. "Is this your girlfriend?"

Harry felt his cheeks begin to heat. "Er, yeah, she is. Mrs Mutt, this is Ginny Weasley."

"Ah, yes, I thought I recognised the hair. You two wouldn't have been in the same year, now, would you?"

"No," Ginny clarified, "Ron's in Harry's year. I'm a year behind."

"Come in for your school things then, have you?"

"Yes, I've got everything I need now."

"Mrs Mutt turned her sharp gaze back to Harry. "Take your time about coming back. If any of us needs anything, we'll manage." There was something in her eyes that told Harry she understood that he and Ginny were short on time.

"What about…" Harry tilted his head in St John's direction.

"Oh, never mind him. He's just hacked off that he bolloxed something up and has to work through his lunch hour. Do him some good if he has a reminder where he came from if you ask me."

When Harry and Ginny had negotiated the labyrinthine passages of the Ministry and found themselves in Diagon Alley, Ginny asked, "Was she my competition then?"

"She asked me to lunch the first day, yes."

"I supposed I'd best face facts and break up with you then. I don't see how I can compete."

Harry made a grab for her but she darted off into the crowds of witches and wizards doing their shopping. She hadn't gone far when he caught her, and he immediately saw why that was. She was weighed down by her purchases. "Here," Harry said. "Let me take some of those."

Her eyes glinted impishly at him, and she handed him the lot before slipping off again. This time as he followed, he noticed that people were turning around to stare at him as he passed. At first he thought it was simply the sight of a young man rushing through the crowd with his arms full of packages, but then he realised what it really was. It was because he was Harry Potter, the person who had apparently defeated the Dark Lord. He quickly slowed to a walk and ducked his head.

Ginny came back through the crowd towards him. "What's the matter?" she asked, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.

"Nothing," he replied.

She didn't pursue the subject, but she didn't seem very convinced of his reply, either. Instead she asked, "Where are you taking me then?"

"Leaky Cauldron all right?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Harry wished he knew of somewhere nicer, but he couldn't ever remember seeing such a place in Diagon Alley. "It's not fancy enough?"

"I don't need fancy, Harry."

And so, like Ron and Hermione the previous year, that's where he took her to lunch. That day had ended in disaster, he remembered ruefully, but a lot had changed in the past twelve months. When they'd been shown to an out of the way table in the dingy pub and, Harry gratefully set Ginny's packages down.

"How many new things have you bought?" He didn't remember needing quite so many supplies as he began his final year.

"That's not all for me. Some of it is things Mum asked me to pick up for her."

"Have you got everything on your list?"

He thought she began to blush slightly. "Everything I need."

Harry knew she was hedging then. "What do you mean, everything you need?"

"Well, I don't really need new dress robes…"

Harry stared at her for a moment, as he tried to remember back to his fourth year. He had a vague recollection of Ginny dancing with Neville and wincing as he trod on her feet. He wished he'd paid more attention to her then, but even so, he was fairly sure the robes she'd worn that year weren't going to fit her anymore. She may not have grown any taller in the intervening years, but he was almost certain she'd filled out.

"What are you going to wear if you need dress robes then?"

"I just won't go…"

"Go? Do you know what you need them for?"

"Hermione may have mentioned there'd be something at the winter solstice. But I don't need to go to that. I'd rather spend the holidays with you, Harry. There's no point in me staying at school for that."

They were interrupted at that point by Tom who had come to take their orders, but once he was gone again, Harry went on. "I told you if there was anything I'd come up to school for it."

"You don't have to."

"Are you trying to throw me over then?"

"I told you I would. You've got Mrs Mutt now."

"All jokes aside, I want to take you. When have we ever had a chance to do anything like this? When have we ever been able to do, well, normal things? Isn't this the sort of thing we're supposed to be doing together?"

"Well, I suppose I could Transfigure something. Or get Hermione to do it for me. She's better at it than I am."

She was looking at him pleadingly, and he knew she was silently begging him not to mention buying something new. He was perfectly aware that if he offered to buy something for her she wouldn't accept it. She was a lot like Ron in that respect. But maybe…

"Why don't we stop by Madam Malkin's on the way back?" he suggested tentatively.

"What for, Harry?" She sounded suspicious, and he knew his instincts had been correct.

"If you see anything you like, it'll give you an idea what to Transfigure your robes into."

He waited for her reply then, certain she'd see right through what he was trying to do. It looked to him as if she was struggling with herself, and suddenly he realised what it was. She wanted something new--she'd never had many things that hadn't belonged to someone else--but she was too proud to tell him so. "I suppose it would be fun to look. I don't know how much fun it will be for you, though."

"I'll just grit my teeth and bear it, I suppose."

Once they'd finished their meal, they strolled back out into Diagon Alley in the general direction of the Ministry, stopping to look in the window of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry sensed Ginny was still a bit hesitant about going in, so Harry took the initiative and entered the shop himself, leaving her little choice but to follow.

The squat owner of the shop spied them straight away. "Mr Potter!" she exclaimed. "I must say I wasn't expecting to see you in my shop this year. You're surely not here for your Hogwarts robes."

Harry felt himself begin to blush. "Erm, no. Not this year. Actually we wanted to look at dress robes."

Madam Malkin looked at him appraisingly. "Yes, I could see you in dark green. Or red. You were in Gryffindor, weren't you?"

"Well, they're not for me. They're for Ginny."

The shop owner turned her gaze onto Ginny. "Ah, a redhead. You can't wear just anything, my dear. But I believe I've got just the thing."

They followed her to the back of the shop, and Madam Malkin showed the both to the stools which stood there. Harry remembered coming here as an eleven-year-old with Hagrid and standing on one of these very stools while Madam Malkin pinned his hems up to the proper length. Now he took a seat on one of them, while Madam Malkin began considering robes of all sorts of colours and styles. She rejected most of them out of hand as being not quite right for any number of unfathomable reasons.

At last she found three or four styles that passed muster and sent Ginny off with them to the dressing room. After what seemed like a long time to Harry, he thought he heard her calling to Madam Malkin. He couldn't hear what Ginny was saying to her, but he heard the older witch's reply. "Nonsense, they're perfectly respectable."

Harry wondered what this could possibly mean, and he had the impression that Ginny was hesitant about coming out of the dressing room. Madam Malkin confirmed this impression when she added, "Come out and let me be the judge."

When Ginny emerged, blushing to the roots of her hair, Harry immediately saw what had made her hesitate. These were no dress robes like he'd ever seen before, even on the seventh year girls. They were quite a bit tighter for one thing, and they seemed to show a great deal of skin. Harry felt his jaw drop, and he dearly hoped no one would ask him anything because he didn't think he'd be capable of coherent speech.

Something was evidently wrong with these, although Harry had no clue of it until Madam Malkin spoke up. "No, not at all. That colour is completely wrong for you, dear. Let's try again."

Ginny tried on a succession of robes, and Harry was quite glad no one was asking his opinion on the matter, because each set had something wrong with it. Not that he could tell, but Madam Malkin was obviously a party to some inside information that neither he nor Ginny was aware of. Finally there was only one set left, and it seemed to Harry as if Ginny had tried on everything in the shop. He sincerely hoped this last set would be all right. Although Mrs Mutt had told him to take his time, he didn't want to abuse his privilege.

Then Ginny emerged from the dressing room one last time, and Harry's throat went dry. Whatever she was wearing clung to her curves as if she'd been poured into it. The robes were somehow attached about her neck, leaving her shoulders bare, and there didn't seem to be a whole lot covering the front, either. Madam Malkin was asking her to turn around, and Harry found himself having to swallow when he saw the back, or rather the lack of one. All he could see was an expanse of creamy white skin lightly dusted with freckles, and his hands flexed convulsively at the thought of dancing with her in that dress, and feeling nothing but warm softness under his fingers. Something about the deep gold of the fabric made her seem to glow.

"Yes, now that's much better, isn't it?" Madam Malkin exclaimed. "Come have a good look in the mirror and see what you think."

Harry could see Ginny's expression reflected in the mirror when she turned around to look. For a split second he thought he saw happiness, but she quickly hid it, as if she'd just remembered that she couldn't really have this dress. That they'd only come in here to look. In that moment, Harry didn't care if it cost him a year's salary. He knew he was going to buy it for her. "It's… it's lovely, but I really can't…"

"Nonsense, dear, it's perfect for you. What do you think?" the shop owner added, turning to Harry.

Harry somehow found his voice. He was having a difficult time keeping his eyes on her face. "It's the best of the lot."

"But Harry…" Ginny began, and he knew what she was about to protest. It was time to divert her attention.

"Ginny, I really think I need to get back to work now. I'm going to be in trouble."

Ginny took the hint. "Yes, of course. Perhaps we can come back another time?"

Harry had to fight to keep from grinning. She was doing just what he wanted. "Why don't you get dressed then?" As soon as she'd disappeared into the dressing room, Harry signalled to Madam Malkin. "I want you to charge that to me, please," he told her quietly. "As a surprise. And can you hold it for me then?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'll be back in for it in a few weeks. Would that be all right?"

"Certainly."

"I'm going to need some dress robes myself, but I haven't got time for that now. I'll come back and pick up the dress then."

"What about the accessories?"

"Erm, accessories?"

"Of course. She'll need to proper shoes. Proper foundation…"

Harry had no idea what she was on about. "Foundation?" he repeated, stupidly wondering why Madam Malkin wanted to talk about houses all of a sudden.

"Well, obviously she can't wear a bra with that, but that's not a problem. Those sort of robes are always magically enhanced for support," Madam Malkin explained matter-of-factly. Harry felt himself go red for what seemed the thousandth time that day. "The proper underwear is a must, and then of course there's the matching jewellery, the shoes… What size does she wear?"

Harry gulped; he had no earthly idea. Looking at the older witch's feet, he said, "About your size? Perhaps a bit larger?"

"No worries, dear. I have an eye for these things. I'll include something she can charm to the right size."

"Whatever you think…"

It came as a great relief to Harry when Ginny emerged from the dressing room looking very much herself again. She gave Harry a searching look as they left the shop. "Wasn't she put out over spending all that time with me when we didn't buy anything?"

"No, I told her I had to get back to the Ministry, and we'd be back."

"You lied to her."

"Sorry, I couldn't think of anything better. But I really am late. I don't care what Mrs Mutt said, I don't want to deal with the stupid git's comments. Let's go. I've got another stop to make."

"You do?"

"Yes, I need to buy Hedwig a new cage. Perhaps she'll accept that as a peace offering."

*

By the end of August the deluge had begun. Ministry Aurors had managed to track down and capture several cells of remaining Death Eaters, and all that meant extra work for Harry's office. Evidence had to be gathered and cases had to be built. Harry's office was soon buried under a mountain of paperwork, and he found himself working late every evening. He barely returned to the Burrow each night for a quick bite before he collapsed onto Ron's bed, exhausted.

Ron had left for Auror training, and Hermione had moved up to Hogwarts now, so the Burrow was strangely empty. In one more day Ginny would be gone as well, leaving only him, Bill and the elder Weasleys living in the house.

Harry sighed heavily, at the thought of Ginny going back to school. It looked very much as if there would be no hope of him getting to see her for a proper goodbye before she left. There was just too much happening today. They'd had word of a massive raid involving several departments, and it looked very much as if they'd be at it all night.

If he got a chance he'd Portkey back to the Burrow quickly--since he'd been working such odd hours, Mr Weasley had set his small Portkey so that it worked on touch alone, rather than being set for a specific time. Harry had been concerned that whatever he used as a Portkey could be set off by an inadvertent touch, but Mr Weasley had hit on an ideal solution to the problem when he'd discovered an old pocket watch among his collection of Muggle items. He'd charmed it so that if Harry set the hand to midnight, he'd go immediately to the Ministry of Magic's Apparition point; if the hand were set to six o'clock, Harry travelled to the Burrow. Harry had practised setting the hands so he could use the watch without looking, and he'd considered asking Mr Weasley to add another setting for Hogsmeade, but he wasn't too certain how this idea would be received.

As long as Rita Skeeter didn't discover what his true means of transportation was… She hadn't been seen at the Ministry since she'd been escorted out by security on Harry's first day there, but she'd still found means of poking about. Every few days, the Daily Prophet had been featuring some nasty piece by her, which never failed to get a few jabs at Harry in. She seemed to delight in speculating on what such a famous wizard was doing in a dead-end job. Not long after the shopping trip, there was even a picture of him and Ginny walking side by side in Diagon Alley, accompanied by an article which was full of insinuations about their relationship. Rita had leaped to the conclusion that they'd spent so much time in Madam Malkin's because they were choosing wedding robes. Harry and Ginny had spent a long time convincing Mrs Weasley that they'd only gone in to look at dress robes, and that Harry had ordered something new for work, although he'd have to wait to pick it up because Madam Malkin was so busy with orders for Hogwarts uniforms.

That day in Diagon Alley was almost like a dream now to Harry. He felt as if he'd barely had time to think since then, he'd been so busy. It was as if Mrs Mutt possessed some skill at Divination and had foreseen what was coming.

Suddenly she was there at his desk holding a stack of new files enormous so enormous she almost disappeared behind them. "These all need to be coded and entered into the system, dear."

"I'll get right on it," he replied half-heartedly.

Mrs Mutt gave him a kindly smile before returning to her desk. Harry looked at the stack and his heart sank. There wasn't going to be a chance for him to nip home and see Ginny at this rate. As much as he hated to do it, he'd have to contact her through the fire to tell her not to wait up, and he ought to do it now, before he delved into the files.

He cast a quick glance around the office. Everyone looked to be very hard at it. They weren't likely to notice if he got up and made a fire call. He made his way over to the small fireplace, which was used exclusively for communication purposed. It was too small to use for travel. Fortunately for him, it was burning full time these days. There had been a lot of calls going in and out of this office lately, although things had been much quieter today.

With another look to make sure no one noticed what he was doing, he reached into the jar of glittering powder that stood permanently on the mantelpiece and tossed a handful into the flames. "Ginny Weasley," he called out as loudly as he dared.

Nothing happened.

Harry wanted to kick himself. How could he have been such an idiot as to think this was going to work for him? Regular Floo powder hadn't worked, so why would the sort used for fire-talking work?

"Having trouble, dear?"

Mrs Mutt had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Harry felt ill. She was going to know something was wrong with him now. He cast about in his mind for a way to explain his predicament, but couldn't come up with anything. His only comfort was the realisation that it wasn't St John who had come upon him.

"I'm sorry, the fire doesn't seem to be working. I'll just get back to work now," he said quickly, trying to cover the moment.

"That's perfectly normal. They've closed the fire to all outgoing calls. Even incoming calls have been restricted to emergencies only. Was it something important?"

Harry let out a long breath, but now he simply felt stupid. Yes, his call had been important to him, but it he didn't think he'd be able to explain things adequately. "No, not really," he said.

"It had to have been somewhat important for you to leave work to make it."

"It's personal. Ginny is leaving for school tomorrow, and…" He wished he didn't have to turn red now.

"And you're not going to see her again for a while. Is that it?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'll just get back to work now. I shouldn't have tried to use the Ministry fire for personal reasons."

To Harry's surprise, Mrs Mutt let out a bark of laughter. "Why not? Everyone else does. As long as you're careful about who you do it in front of and get your work finished on time, not too many people much give damn. Of course, there's always the random arse who likes to rat on people because they think it makes them look important." Harry saw her nod in St John's direction at that. "In any case, why don't you send her an owl? Then you can concentrate on your work better."

"Would it be all right for me to use a Ministry owl for personal reasons?"

"Just don't tell them why you need it. They've got loads over in the Improper Use of Magic Office. I'm sure if you tell them over there that you need it for Department of Magical Law Enforcement business, they won't bat an eye."

Harry went back to his desk, noting as he did so, that Mrs Mutt had disappeared into Hill's office. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and wondered what he could possibly write. He and Ginny had spent so little time together over the past two weeks, and now he had to find a way to say goodbye to her. He didn't want to do it in a letter, though. No, something like this should be done face to face. It would be best to keep this short.

In the end the letter was a bit longer than he'd expected, and it was probably rambly, as well. He didn't dare read back over it because he didn't want to know how stupid it sounded.

He sent the owl off with no problems at all and went back to work. The stack of files wasn't about to magically disappear on him, after all. He'd ploughed his way through several of the files before he was interrupted once again. He looked up to se Badon Hill standing at his desk, and it came as a surprise to him. In the several weeks he'd been working here, he'd barely seen the head of this division at all.

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" Harry asked. He was suddenly worried that someone had mentioned to his boss that he'd been using Ministry resources for personal communications.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Take the evening off."

"What?"

"Take the evening off."

"But… why? Everyone else is going to be here all night."

"That's probably the case, but we can manage without you. I don't think any of us are going to need any clerical assistance, and if we do, St John will be here. You'll be much more productive in the morning after you've had a good night's sleep."

"But what about all this?" he asked, indicating the files Mrs Mutt had given him.

"Finish those up and go home." Hill's tone left no opening for Harry to protest.

Harry returned to his work with a renewed vigour. He wanted to get this done as quickly as possible now. He smiled to himself as he thought of how surprised Ginny was going to be when he came home. She wouldn't be expecting him at all…

At last he was able to put the last of the files away and put his desk in order. He was about to walk out the door, when he heard an unwelcome sneer behind him. "Leaving so soon, Potter?"

"Hill said I could take the evening off."

"How nice for you. You get to go home while the rest of us slave away." St John sounded quite petulant.

"You might have the evening off if you'd do your job properly the first time, dear." Mrs Mutt had come to Harry's rescue once more, it seemed, and from the way she said "dear" Harry could tell she'd meant anything but. It was satisfying to see the way she made St John cringe. She turned to Harry, and her tone changed entirely, reminding him of Mrs Weasley when she tried to foist third helpings on him at mealtime. "You have a wonderful evening."

"Thank you," replied Harry. He could have sworn she winked at him.

*

Ginny lugged an armful of black robes into the kitchen where she'd set up the ironing board. She'd just put the last load of her school things into the washtub to soak. Once she had that last batch washed and ironed she could finish packing. She'd been at this for most of the day and she was in a hurry to get it done.

"You might have had this finished by now, dear," her mother commented from over by the cooker. She was preparing a huge supper for all of them. Well, for the four of them really. Harry hadn't been home for supper in two weeks, and Ginny had no reason to expect today was going to be any different. And none of them had any real idea whether Bill would be home in time for supper either. He'd left the house that morning before anyone else had got up, and no one knew what any of that was about.

Ginny sighed, spread a robe out over the board, and waved her wand at the iron, which immediately went to work. She knew from her Muggle Studies classes that this way of doing things was a bit less tedious than the Muggle method. She only had to watch to make sure her robes didn't scorch. But it was still one of her least favourite chores.

"Did you dry those properly?" her mother asked.

"Of course," Ginny lied. How did her mother always know?

"Of course you didn't. You never do."

"What does it matter? They finish drying from the heat of the iron. I'm in a hurry."

"If you hadn't left this till the last minute, you wouldn't have to rush."

"I'll get it done, Mum," she grated. "I can't wait to get back to school," she added to herself, but then she froze. That wasn't true at all. It was the last thing she wanted at the moment. "At any rate, I'll have a house-elf when I get older," she told herself to keep her mind off of other things.

If her mother was going to comment further, she was interrupted by a flutter of wings at the window. A strange owl flew in and presented Ginny with a letter. Ginny took it, curious as to what this could be. "At least it's not from the Improper Use of Magic Office," she mused aloud for her mother's benefit. "I've been of age for months now."

She cast a sidelong glance over at her mother and saw the older woman pursing her lips. She thought her mother muttered something about all her babies leaving her, but that thought went out of her head as soon as she opened the letter and saw who it was from. Eyes widening, she began to read.

Ginny felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her, and she had to bite down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She'd known that the chances of him coming home for supper tonight hadn't been very good, but this letter made it sound as if he didn't think he'd be home at all.

"Honestly, Ginny, how many times do I have to tell you to watch the iron?" Her mother had come over from her place by the cooker. Ginny looked up to see that the iron had stopped its movement and was now standing on end. The air smelled of burnt fabric. She'd let her attention wander and scorched one of her robes. Then her mother looked at her more closely. "What's the matter?"

"Harry's not going to be here for supper tonight, Mum," she said quietly, slipping the letter quickly into her pocket before her mother saw it. Knowing her mother, she'd probably try to crash their breakfast together if she knew about it. Ginny really didn't want to cry in front of her mother, but she couldn't stop herself from sniffling the slightest bit.

"Is that all? My, aren't you sensitive this month?"

If Ginny had wanted to avoid tears, that had done it. "I am NOT!" she shouted. "It's because I haven't been able to spend any time with Harry lately. He's at work all the time, and when he's not, you're always hovering about. Honestly, you're worse than Mad-Eye Moody with his constant vigilance!"

Her mother looked ready to reply to this, but before she could say anything, there was a sound from the fireplace. Ginny's mother turned, and they could both see that someone was coming through the Floo. Soon a tall, thin man dressed in green robes was stepping out of their grate.

"Kermit!" gasped Ginny's mother. "What a surprise. We weren't expecting any guests." She automatically pointed her wand towards the teakettle to start the water heating.

Ginny recognised the newcomer as Kermit Croaker, an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. "I'm afraid this isn't a social call, Molly," Croaker replied in his nasal voice. "I'm here on official business."

Ginny's mother took a step back and put a hand over her heart. "Oh no! Arthur!"

"Yes, I'm afraid he's been injured. He's at St Mungo's."