Consequences of the Heart

Chapter Two: Assignments and Requirements

Life at Privet Drive was as miserable as ever. It wasn't because his uncle and aunt had been treating him like a poorly trained dog, which was the same as they had since he was a toddler. Instead it was the impending sense of doom that had been hanging over him since Professor McGonagall's threat had been levied against him three days ago.

True to her word, an owl arrived that evening, just as Harry was starting on his homework.

Unable to ignore the large brown tawny that was used for official school deliveries - especially when it hopped onto his Potions essay, scattering inky footprints over his diagram of the effects of an improperly brewed wart removal potion - Harry said, "All right, I'll take the ruddy letter." With a labored sigh, he took the scroll from the owl's outstretched foot and unrolled it before the impatient bird gave him a baleful hoot and flew out his window.

Mr. Harry Potter,

Not wishing to harp on about the circumstances in which you are receiving this letter, I think it would be best to get to the point. You are to be taken to The Burrow every morning at nine o'clock by Portkey, where you will be assigned a task by Mr. or Mrs. Weasley. Miss Weasley will be on hand to assist you in ways that have yet to be determined. I have it on good authority that both of you will be kept busy throughout the summer and that the list of tasks compiled by Mrs. Weasley is quite extensive.

You are to act civilly around Miss Weasley and will communicate to her with respect and kindness at all times. On Saturday evenings, she will be studying with you at your aunt and uncle's house. You should have plenty of time to complete your homework assignments during this time.

Please keep in mind that if you do not fulfill your obligations this summer, or if it is reported that you have been less than pleasant with Miss Weasley, I will be forced to suspend you from classes in the fall.

Hoping you are well,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

At first, Harry didn't seem to think that the punishment would be too unbearable. But when he read the part about being 'civil' with Ginny, he nearly tore the parchment in half. How could he be expected to even be around her, let alone act like she was some kind of friend?

Finally succumbing to his rage, he viciously crumpled the paper into a tight ball and threw it against the wall, hardly noticing as it bounced off the small dresser and dutifully smacked him in the face. His foul mood only amplified by the now mussed Potions essay, Harry flung himself onto his bed and managed a small smile at the thought of hexing Ginny's hair to fall out, leaving her bright white head bald and smooth.

*

Ginny was miserable. The journey home from King's Cross by Floo was uneventful, as she had now done it four years in a row. Ron didn't even trip over himself saying goodbye to Hermione. Fred and George had yet to tease her for hexing Harry and they weren't going to Grimmauld Place. No, the problem was what was waiting for her when she had taken all her things to her room.

Her mother had Apparated there and as soon as Ginny had closed the door, had given her what amounted to an in-person Howler.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley," she had started. It was never good for Ginny when her mother used her full name. Resolving to let her mother get it over with, she sat heavily onto her bed and gazed blankly at the towering inferno before her.

"I am sorely disappointed in your behavior." Her mum was brandishing two opened letters in her hand, waving them madly as she ranted. "First I receive an owl that tells me you've gone missing at the Ministry, chasing after Death Eaters," she said wielding the letter in her right hand. "Death Eaters, I tell you.

"Then, another owl comes, the same day, telling me you've not only been in a duel with a student, but that you've landed yourself in hospital." The parchment and envelope in her mum's left hand was now flitting around in front of her as she used them to punctuate her speech. "But it doesn't end there, does it? No, it doesn't... because the student you've been dueling with is, Merlin help me, Harry Potter!"

Ginny folded her hands on her skirt and waited, knowing that the worst of it was over and that any minute now, she was going to come over to the bed and sweep her up in a big hug. Her mother continued to stare at her, arms propped on her hips. "Why, Ginny? Why couldn't you have just left him be?"

Suddenly confused, Ginny dropped her stony exterior and looked askance at her mum. "What do you mean?"

Her mother sat on the bed next to her, but did not open her arms as Ginny had expected. "He's lost so much, Ginny," she said with a sad expression. "The one person who's been a father to him since he was an infant was taken from him the day before and you did nothing but rub his nose in it."

Unbidden, tears sprang in Ginny's eyes. She hadn't cried since her first year and it was terribly difficult for her to accept them now. Her throat burned with pent up emotion as she fought them down, desperately trying to keep her composure. "I..." she started, but had to stop when her voice cracked. Finally regaining control, she continued, "I guess I didn't think he'd be that bad off." Her words fell flat and sounded cheap and stupid, even to her ears.

"Well, let's hope that whatever Dumbledore has planned for you this summer will help you to think a little more often about other people's feelings, young lady." With that, her mother stood and crossed the room, arms still folded across her chest. "Don't bother to come down for dinner," were the last words she spoke as she closed the door on her way out.

It took a full minute before unbearable sadness burst through her dam of control. Tears leaked through her tightly closed lids and she fell onto her bed, sobbing into her pillow until she fell into a fitful sleep.

*

The next morning, Ginny heard the unmistakable sound of Professor McGonagall's voice floating up from the kitchen. Still feeling miserable about her situation, Ginny didn't want to risk facing her still brooding mother and her school Head of House.

Instead, she waited, pulling her covers over her head and tried to manage to suffocate herself with her own foul morning breath. It certainly seemed preferable to being at odds with her mother for the summer. She conjured up a vision of Harry being pummeled by Draco Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle.

At last, she heard the distinctive pop of the Floo grate and McGonagall's thick Scottish accent ceased. Pushing the bedclothes off her face, she had to squint to block out the bright sunshine streaming through her windows. With a scowl at the cheery rays, she pulled on her dressing gown and made her way to the bathroom.

When she arrived downstairs, her stomach growling madly from missing dinner the previous evening, she tried to slip into a chair at the table unnoticed, but Ron was there and brainlessly shouted a happy greeting through a mouth full of eggs.

"Morn'in Gin'if," he mumbled thickly.

She offered a weak wave and started to pull food onto her plate with her fork, intent on eating and leaving for her room as soon as possible. Unwillingly however, her eyes caught her mother's stare and she shrunk back in her chair at the calculated smugness she saw there. Knowing that a punishment whose consequences far outstripped the crime she had committed was now whirling around in her mother's brain, she doubled the speed with which she ate, rivaling Ron's usual gusto.

Just as she had scraped off the last crumbs on her plate, her mother's hand rested on her shoulder and the other produced a folded letter, which she held in front of Ginny's face. "Read this, then we'll talk about what it says in the living room."

Her brother shot them both an odd look but kept his mouth closed for once. Ginny held the parchment with some trepidation, certain that the key to a summer of misery lay within its folds. Her mother Banished the dirty dishes and set them washing while Ginny continued to stare at the letter, vainly hoping that it would read itself and save her the trouble.

Finally mustering her courage, she gave Ron a look of annoyance, split the seal with a finger and opened the letter.

Miss Ginevra Weasley,

Subsequent to your willful and belligerent attack on Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore has authorized me to plan and administer your punishment prior to your return to Hogwarts in the fall. Failure to fulfill each of the obligations listed below will result in your suspension from school and possible dismissal from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Mr. Potter will be assigned to perform several tasks involving manual labor on the property surrounding your home throughout the summer. As part of your punishment, you will be required to assist Harry in his tasks by ensuring the following:

Once again, I must remind you of the seriousness of your actions and the necessity to make them right. If you cannot or will not meet these requirements, please inform your parents of your intention to withdraw from studies at Hogwarts and arrange for alternate education at another facility.

Best wishes,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

A cold fury welled up inside of Ginny as she continued to read the letter over and over, sure that it was a joke; that the dark green ink would twist and turn into a giant "GOTCHA!" But McGonagall's tightly curled letters continued to stare mockingly up at her and she felt her blood boil.

Stomping into the living room, where she knew her mother was waiting for her, parchment crumpling in her tight fist, Ginny stopped short when she saw her mother and father waiting patiently in the loveseat by the fireplace.

"Dad?" she asked dumbstruck. Her father never stayed home from work, even when he was deathly ill. He was famous for it. "What are you doing here?"

Arthur Weasley stood to his full height, which was now just a head taller than his daughter, and straightened his robes. "I'm here to ensure that you stop making rash decisions, young lady."

Ginny took a step backwards. Her dad was always the lenient one, always quick to forgive and to smooth things over with her mother. Looking up at his face, she saw no lenience and no intention of letting her get off with a slapped hand. It was then that she knew she was doomed to suffer the cruel fate of waiting on Harry Potter hand and foot, but she still couldn't make herself accept it. Not yet.

"It's not fair, Daddy!" Ginny bellowed in a whiny voice that she hadn't used since she was ten. "You can't make me do this! I'm waiting on that brat hand and foot!"

"I think it's perfectly fitting, considering the horrible things you've done," said her mum as she walked up to Arthur's side, slipping her arm underneath his.

"Horrible things I've done?" Ginny asked incredulously. "I got into a fight with Harry, I didn't bloody kill him!" Her voice was all over the scale and Ginny knew that when she started emphasizing words randomly throughout her sentences, it was a sign she was close to hysterics. This was especially evident because she couldn't keep the image of her strangling the Boy-Who-Seriously-Pissed-Her-Off out of her mind.

"Your mother and I have spoken with both Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore and feel that the punishment is suitable." He paused as Ginny started to take deep gulping breaths, sending her head spinning with the buzz of too much oxygen. "You will submit to their requests, or we will be forced to send you to Beauxbatons in the fall."

It was too much; the lack of oxygen from her hyperventilation and the stress of what she was hearing her parents say combined to overwhelm her system. Dumbstruck, Ginny's knees buckled and she fell to the floor, blacking out just before her head hit the side of the sofa.

*

The next morning dawned bright and clear, exactly the opposite of Harry's mood. Swishing off his sheet and blanket to a pile at the end of his bed, he sat up and rotated his body, placing his feet on the floor. The sounds of his uncle came from the first floor; a thump from the downstairs loo, followed by the swishing of the toilet came up through the floor, but there was no accompanying rush of water from the sink. Blech, thought Harry. I pity the poor bloke that has to shake his hand this morning.

With an uncomfortable pressure in his bladder, urged on by the running water below, Harry left his room and wandered across the hall to the upstairs loo, intent on relieving himself and washing his hands.

Finished with his morning duties, he dressed and walked downstairs. Remus Lupin was sitting on the settee next to the television in his Aunt Petunia's living room. Pleasantly shocked by his former professor's presence, he didn't think twice about hugging the now-standing werewolf.

"What're you doing here?" he queried, giving the older man a firm slap on the back. He sent his aunt a sidelong glance as she not-so-subtly eavesdropped on them while pretending to dust the bookshelf. He knew that it didn't need dusting because she had made him clean it the day he returned from Hogwarts.

Remus smiled, and it warmed Harry's heart a little, knowing that if he could smile, then perhaps the gloom that had been hanging around Harry since he had left Dumbledore's office wasn't so impenetrable. "As I'm sure you've already figured out," said Remus, holding Harry at arms length to look at him properly, "you aren't going to go to The Burrow unescorted."

"Right," said Harry wearily, but before he said anything else, Remus gave him a stern look.

"I'm not going to mince words with you, Harry. You've messed up in a big way and I'm not certain there's anything you could do to repair your friendship with Ginny."

The reminder of his summer punishment sent his fleeting good spirits spiraling to the ground. "I know," he said, hanging his head dejectedly. "I'm not exactly looking forward to this, you know."

"Well, at least I'll be able to keep a proper eye on you," Remus said with the twinkle in his eye returning.

"You aren't going to show up here every morning, are you?" said Harry, looking at his aunt again. She had been dusting the same shelf for the entirety of their conversation and her wrist was hardly moving the feather duster in her hand as she continued to listen. "Some people wouldn't take to that idea very well."

Aunt Petunia finally dropped all pretense; leaving the duster on the well-cleaned shelf, she walked primly over to stand next to Harry, wiping her hands on her apron with stiff strokes. "If you think we're going to let you...." She trailed off, eying Remus cautiously, then continued. "Your kind just show up whenever you want, you've got another think coming."

"Now, Petunia," said Remus diplomatically, opening his palms in a gesture that was intended to show good will. Petunia immediately backed into the settee and was awkwardly forced to sit. "You won't let an old friend come over to visit?"

Her face turned an unnatural shade of puce and having spent the last fifteen years memorizing her expressions, Harry knew that she was biting back a particularly snippy remark. "You," she enunciated carefully, "are not a friend. No matter how close you were to my sister."

Remus' face fell a smidgeon and he sighed. "Yes, well...I had hoped that the incident at Lily and James' wedding would count for something in my favor."

Something flashed on Petunia's face and she stood abruptly. Not looking Remus in the eye, she said, "Only you. No others." Then, with a speed Harry hadn't ever seen his aunt display, she swept from the room and into the kitchen.

Remus smirked at Harry and produced a barely intact handset from an ancient telephone from his robe pocket. "Are you ready then?" he asked, extending the hand with the faded green plastic device.

"I guess," said Harry in awe. "But you're definitely going to have to tell me what 'incident' you're talking about. Anything that can get Aunt Petunia to turn tail and run has got to be worth Galleons."

With a laugh that brought out the wrinkles around his eyes, Remus nodded and said, "Perhaps later...Right now, you've got a detention to carry out."

*

After her mother had revived her, Ginny continued to mope about the unfairness of their punishments and Molly finally confronted her about it in the living room that evening.

"You'd best wipe that frown off your face, young lady. Your choice was made when you decided to duel with Harry," said Ginny's mother patiently, setting down a load of clean clothes next to a pair of empty wicker baskets.

"If the punishment wasn't so completely unfair, I might be motivated to find the silver-lining in this cloud of despair hanging over me," Ginny shot back. The time she had spent unconscious from her fall had given her just the space she had needed to formulate her arguments.

Molly didn't even pause as she folded a pair of Ron's jeans and placed it in a basket with a mounting pile of his clothes. "It's done, Ginny, and there's nothing you or I can do about it."

Ginny racked her brain for something to counter with, but came up blank. "What if I...promise to serve a month's worth of detentions when I get back in September? With Snape?" she added desperately.

Her mother finished laying out Ginny's dresses, and then turned to look at her daughter. "Do you know what the original punishment was going to be?" she asked with a piercing stare. "Do you know what Professors Snape and McGonagall were agreed on doing to the both of you?"

Pinned by her mother's eyes, Ginny could only shake her head slowly from side to side.

"Harry was to have his lifetime Quidditch ban re-instated," she said drolly, "and you were to be expelled."

"WHAT?" yelled Ginny, shaken from her stupor. "How could they even think that that would be even remotely fair? We both hexed Snape..." Ginny paused, incredulous by what her mother was saying. "I can't believe that they'd expel me and let Harry back. Am I not good enough? Or is the bloody 'Boy-Who-Lived' too valuable to expel?"

For her part, Molly let her yell, and then when the storm subsided, said, "Actually, you're not too far from the truth. Harry is only safe when he's in two places...the Dursleys'," she said with a shudder of revulsion, "and Hogwarts. It's why he doesn't spend the entire summer here. You, on the other hand, are expendable."

Ginny's face lost its color and she sat heavily in the chair opposite her mother.

"But we're obviously not going forward with that solution to your collective spectacular display of rule-breaking," said Molly calmly, as Ginny stared blankly at the brown carpet. "From what Dumbledore told me, Firenze suggested to him that for reasons only understandable to a Soothsaying Centaur, that plan of action would have an adverse impact on the battle against Voldemort."

Ginny gave her mother a quizzical look. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Molly said, finally finishing with the laundry and sitting down on the arm of the chair Ginny was sitting in. "I'm not sure if it has something to do with you being at Hogwarts or with Harry being able to play Quidditch, but I'm sure that you're going to see this thing through to the end."

*

Ginny spent the rest of the day sulking, her mind wandering from the injustice of her more than unfair punishment to the cause of all her troubles: Harry Potter. It wasn't that she hated him so much as she cursed the day he was born, and as time went by, her anger towards him increased to such a level that she could hardly think about anything else.

Sleep that night came late and her dreams were filled with visions of Harry suspended from the ceiling, covered in enraged Bowtruckles, or Harry pinned between a Chimaera and a Blast-ended-Screwt at the bottom of a Doxie infested canyon, or Harry naked and covered in chocolate....

Ginny awoke with a start and looked blearily around at her shadow-shrouded room, trying to shake her head clear of that particular dream. She hadn't thought about Harry that way in two years, and she wasn't about to go soft on him when he had been the source of everything wrong in her life for the past two weeks.

After an hour of fruitless attempts at going back to sleep, she hastily dressed for the day and made her way down to the kitchen, where her mother was already making breakfast.

"Good morning, Ginny," her mother said brightly. "Have a good sleep?"

Acting more like her brothers than the prim and proper girl her mother had expected her to emulate, she grunted and sat wearily down at the table.

"Well, don't get snippy with me, young lady," her mum said, slipping a plate of food onto the table in front of her. "It's not my fault you've gotten into trouble."

Ginny had given up trying to argue with her about the miscarriage of justice, instead focusing her ire on Harry, who would be showing up that morning to start their first chore. With a wicked gleam in her eye, she concentrated on eating her breakfast.

"Oh, and Ginny, dear," said her mother with a cheery voice that grated on Ginny's nerves. "When you've finished with breakfast, go and fetch the paint and supplies in the living room. Take them out to the shed for Harry so he can get started on it right when he gets here."

"Sure thing, Mum," said Ginny with all the enthusiasm of a Crup about to have its tail chopped off.

Once finished with her eggs and toast, Ginny put her plate in the sink, wiped down the table and even served her brother a plate of food before finally deciding that it was time to move the painting supplies to the shed.

Soon enough, Ginny heard the muffled sounds of Harry's voice from The Burrow's garden.

"Right," said her mum, appearing from the depths of the pantry where she had been sorting through the tinned vegetables. "Let's get you and Harry going on that shed."

"Mum...if you don't mind," said Ginny with an exasperated sigh, "please don't talk about me and... him in the same sentence."

"Why not?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and tried not to sound too pathetic. "Just don't. It's not healthy."

Her mother looked thoroughly confused, but Ginny didn't want to elaborate that she'd likely hex the next person to lump them together in any fashion, her mum included.

Following her mother out the door, Ginny desperately tried to not look at Harry and as they closed in on the shed, she kept herself just one step behind her mother, using her large frame to hide behind.

"Hello, Remus," Molly said. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny could see Harry shuffling nervously from one foot to the other as her former professor and her mum traded pleasantries.

"Before you get started, Harry," said Remus. "You and Ginny need to put these on." She looked unwillingly at his outstretched hands and saw two nondescript gold bracelets.

"I'm not wearing jewelry, Remus," said Harry a little testily. Ginny wasn't big on jewelry either and was about to protest as well, but if Harry didn't want to wear one, she was bound and determined to be as contrary to him as possible.

Without saying a word, she came around from her mother and grabbed one of the bracelets, putting it on neatly with one hand. It was slightly cool to the touch, despite it being almost forty degrees in the full sun. Its smooth gold surface reflected the white puffy clouds and she thought she might like a bracelet like this someday.

Remus chuckled, looking from Harry to Ginny. "Well, it looks like you two are already off to a good start this morning."

"Shove it, Remus," said Harry. Ginny gave the older wizard a baleful glare, but still said nothing.

Still holding his hand out, Remus looked pointedly at Harry without saying a word. Harry hesitated, then grabbed the bracelet and half-heartedly tried to put it on. Once he had snapped it on, a jolt of something shot through her wrist where her own bracelet was touching her skin and it started to heat up, just past warm, but not uncomfortably so. Harry winced at the same time and they both looked askance at the werewolf.

"I see you've already discovered one of the effects of the charms on these little beauties," he said with a wide grin. Ginny scratched at her wrist, moving the metal around in an effort to get to where the shock had left her skin tingling. "They have been charmed to accomplish several things, but the most important to you is that they reflect how the wearer of the other bracelet is feeling about you."

Silence filled the air and Harry and Ginny's eyes automatically locked onto each other. Harry squinted, a feral grin rising on his face. Ginny mirrored his smile and let the evil thoughts she had been entertaining come full force in her mind.

Harry's free hand was dancing over his bracelet and she could tell he wasn't enjoying the effects of her ill will. Soon however, her own wrist felt like it was on fire and her concentration slipped as she yelped in surprise.

"Now that you've effectively demonstrated your mutual loathing, let me tell you why we've chosen to use these little beauties." Remus folded his arms and sent Molly a knowing smirk, which she returned. "We've also placed a monitoring charm on them, so whatever negative feelings you're having for each other, we'll know about it. If your anger ever reaches a level where either one of you is burned, Professor Dumbledore will automatically suspend you from classes in September. Am I clear?"

Ginny and Harry sent disbelieving stares at both of the adults, but they reluctantly nodded.

"Thank you, Remus. You've been most helpful," Molly placed a hand in her apron pocket and produced her wand. "You can come check on Harry whenever you'd like, but I imagine he'll be finished around dark."

"Very well, Molly. Good luck," Remus said just before Apparating away with a muted crack.

Molly pointed her wand at the shed and muttered a spell, stripping the fading and peeled paint from the wood. "Harry, your first task is to repaint the shed. I've had Arthur purchase several gallons of paint and all the supplies you'll need, so I expect you to be finished before dinner." She put her wand away and made to walk back to The Burrow. "Oh, and Harry?" she said turning back to the two teens. "Two coats, please."

Harry nodded and watched as she walked away. Ginny waited, knowing that he wouldn't be able to tolerate the silence for much longer. Sure enough, after kicking the dirt around for a second, he shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "Listen, Ginny. I don't like this any more than you do, so let's just get this over with, all right?"

Then to her eternal shock, he held out his hand to her, bracelet dangling loosely on his wrist. She brought her hand up partway and hesitated, wondering what trick he might be trying to play, then decided that he couldn't do anything too drastic and grasped it firmly.

"Fine," she said, pulling her hand away after the requisite single pump. "You better get busy if you want to be done today. It took Bill and Charlie all day when they last did it ten years ago."

Harry looked her up and down, then said, "You're scrawny, but it looks like you can sling a brush well enough. Let's get going." He turned to walk into the shed, but when she didn't follow, turned back. "Well?"

"I'm not supposed to be helping you...directly," she said with a puzzled expression on her face.

"What?" said Harry, looking over her shoulder at The Burrow's closed door. "I thought..."

"Well, you thought wrong," said Ginny, shoving him towards the shed once again. "You get started. I've got to get something from the house."

Harry moved slowly through the door, then turned to look at her retreating form. She followed his motions out of the corner of her eye and felt a flash of something through the bracelet, but it was gone before she could figure out what it was.

*

Sodding handcuffs, Harry thought to himself as he turned back to the cans, brushes and rollers that were stacked in the corner of the shed. It was hot outside, but even hotter inside the dusty old shed and his brow was already wet with perspiration. Deciding that if he had to do this by himself, he may as well get on with it.

The paint was standard-quality exterior latex that looked to be the same shade of brown as Ginny's eyes. Harry started at the thought of Ginny's eyes: the ones that had been contorted in fury last week and had looked at him with disdain this morning. He shook off his musings and sorted the brushes from the rollers and pulled out one of the large drop cloths.

Walking outside with the large folded canvas, he took a second to appreciate the fact that he wasn't at Privet Drive, he wasn't doing chores for the Dursleys (though he was still working, it wasn't for people that hated his very existence, despite what was going on with Ginny at the moment). The clouds were large and puffy, hanging low in the sky as a soft wind blew them eastward. He knew from past summers that these conditions were ripe for afternoon thunderstorms and that if one blew through tonight, his paint would be washed off the shed in a matter of minutes.

He unfolded the drop cloth and set it on the ground around the south face of the shed, intent on painting it in the relative cool of the morning so he could paint in the shade of the north side when the afternoon sun made it unbearable to be anywhere else. It was a heavy canvas, mottled with several colors of paint and Harry had to wonder what other projects it had seen over the years at The Burrow.

Finally finished with his preparations, Harry retrieved a can of paint, a roller, two brushes, and a tray. Lacking a standard screwdriver, Harry pried open the lid with a large washer he found on one of the shelves in the shed. By the time he had gotten the lid off, however, the washer was bent and his thumb sore.

The paint was fairly well mixed, but Harry used a brush to stir it even further. One of the lessons he had learned from painting for the Dursleys was that improperly mixed paint was the worst to fix once it was on the wall. Harry poured enough to fill the tray to the right level and loosely replaced the lid on the can. He was just about to dip the brush he had used into the tray when he heard a noise from behind.

"I brought you some water..." said Ginny, holding out a plastic mug of water, complete with ice and a flexible straw. In her other hand was a covered pitcher filled, presumably, with more water and a pack over her shoulder.

"Thanks," he said taking the glass grudgingly, still a bit peeved that she wasn't going to be painting as well. After draining half the glass in one gulp, he set it down on a nearby stump and dipped the brush, dragging it over the side of the tray to pull off the excess.

He started on the trim on the corner of the shed, pulling his brush over the newly stripped wood, careful to apply the paint evenly, lest it crack and peel when it dried. The wood seemed to soak up the paint, but he resisted the urge to lay on another coat right away, knowing that this layer would need to dry, or someone would be painting it again in less than a year.

As he continued to cover the trim, he heard pages rustling next to him and a soft humming sound. He looked over to where Ginny was now sitting underneath a small pear tree, reading in a book. A spark of anger shot through him as he tried to rationalize her laziness while he worked. Hadn't she broken the rules just as egregiously as he had?

Ginny looked up sharply at that point and said, "What's got you mad at me now?"

Staring blankly back at her, he wondered how she knew, then remembered the bracelets. Once again cursing them and Remus for his slavery, Harry tried to master his emotions, something that he was finding cause to do more and more recently.

"Nothing," he said and turned back to the paint tray, noticing that his own bracelet wasn't so much as twitching.

She didn't answer and soon the humming continued as he switched over to the roller, covering the wooden planks with practiced efficiency. Her voice was pleasant to his ears and it irked him when he caught himself humming along. Ginny must have noticed too, because she giggled and he noticed the metal of the bracelet turn cool. Even more disconcerting to him was when she quickly refilled his glass as soon as it was empty; returning to her book as soon as she had finished pouring.

The sun was almost at its peak, bringing some relief from its rays as he was now shadowed by the willow tree overhead. He had finished all the trim, using a ladder from the shed to reach the highest places and the south and west walls. Sweat was pouring off his head and his shirt stuck wetly to his chest and back.

He had gone through two pitchers of water and Ginny had refilled it both times without being asked. Just when he was about to question her about it, she closed her book, placed it in the pack at her feet and stood. "I'm going to be in the house for a little while. You should have enough water to last you until I come back." Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, she marched up the small dirt path leading to The Burrow, humming the same melodious tune, and disappeared behind the door.

*

As Ginny walked up to The Burrow, she ran through the words of the song that had been stuck in her head all morning, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She entered the kitchen and found her mother working a ham with a long serrated knife, thin slices of the smoked meat falling in folds onto the cutting board.

"The bread and cheese are in the pantry," Molly said, tilting her head towards a pair of large wooden doors. "You know where the juice is and I've got the meat here."

Ginny nodded and walked to the pantry, pushing the doors apart, wincing as they caught on the stone floor, and a scraping noise clawed at her ears. The bread was a fresh sourdough she had made yesterday and as she hoisted it, she fingered the four rounds of cheese, deciding on the sharp cheddar rather than the jack.

Back at the counter, Ginny pulled out several slices of bread from the bag and placed them on the wooden surface, arranging them in three piles. She made to grab the meat the meat her mother had cut, but was slapped away with a 'tut'. "This is for your brother and me. You'll have to cut what you need for you and Harry on your own."

Frowning, Ginny took the knife from her mother and began cutting the meat. Hers were much thicker than her mother's perfectly curled slices, as Ginny could never quite get the hang of how her mum was able to do it. After she had cut enough for three hearty sandwiches, she put the meat back in cold storage and threw away the bits that were too small to include in the meal.

After cutting the cheese into large chunks, she crumbled them onto one slice of bread in each pile and layered generous portions of meat on top of that, before topping it off with a couple of knife-fulls of mustard.

"Mum?" said Ginny, as she piled the sandwiches on a large plate.

Her mother looked up from where she was washing the utensils they had used in preparing lunch. Her eyebrow rose in question and Ginny continued, "How long did you fancy dad before he noticed you?"

Molly stopped rinsing the knives and set them in the sink before she turned off the tap and looked her daughter in the eye. "Does this have anything to do with Harry?"

"Mum," said Ginny exasperatedly, "just answer my question, please?"

With a slight chuckle, Molly relented, "Two years."

Ginny's mouth formed a small 'o' as she packed the sandwiches, flagons of juice and crisps into a large basket. "I didn't know that."

"Yes, well," her mother said primly, "you never asked, did you?"

Ginny sent her a sharp look and folded her arms across her chest.

"All right, little one," said Molly, a far-away look appearing on her face. "Arthur was cute and brave and utterly foolish, but I couldn't help but love him from the time I was thirteen." A moment passed in which Ginny imagined that her mother was reliving their courtship at Hogwarts. "He never paid any attention to me," Molly said suddenly, "so I languished in unrequited love until one day.... One day, your father had fallen rather nastily from his broom during practice and had to be taken to see the matron. Since I was the only one there not on the team, I helped him walk to the Hospital Wing."

"So what happened?" Ginny asked, strangely interested in the story.

"I had just about given up on him at that point, you see," her mum explained. "After the matron mended his injuries, I stayed by his bed for a while. But I didn't want to linger because I knew it would be easy for me to fall back into infatuation, you see. I didn't want that, so when I finally mustered the nerve to leave, he grabbed my hand."

Molly's eyes teared up and she pulled a small hanky from her robes, dabbing at her eyes with it. "He was so sweet, Ginny," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "He took my hand and said, 'Molly Prewitt, will you go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?'"

Ginny, expecting something romantic or even cheesy, struggled to find the sweetness in her dad's statement, but could only chalk it up to her mother's abnormally large sense of sentimentality. "Well, that's wonderful, but I'd best get these sandwiches to Harry before I find myself speaking French next term."

"Yes," said Molly dreamily. "Yes, I suppose you'd better."

"Au revior," said Ginny with a chuckle, as she toted the heavy basket with both hands in front of her and pushed the garden door open with her bum. "Sweet," she muttered under her breath. "Harry had better come up with something better than that, if he expects me to..."

"What was that?" asked Harry, suddenly appearing in front of her, face dripping with sweat, hair glistening in the hot sun. Ginny realized that he hadn't appeared there, but she had somehow managed to not take notice that she was now next to the tree by the shed.

"Nothing," said Ginny hastily. "I was just talking to myself." Then, before Harry could press her further, she pulled a large blanket from the basket and spread it out between them. Setting the wicker container in the center, she sat and motioned for Harry to join her. "Let's eat, Harry. I'm starved."

He sank to his bum, folding his legs underneath him, took one of the serviettes from the stack Ginny had removed from the basket and wiped his face with it. Ginny pulled out a flagon of pumpkin juice and filled two mugs to the brim. Harry took one and drank greedily from it, before sitting back against the trunk of the tree as Ginny had done most of the morning. He sat like that for a moment, eyes closed and she could tell that for the first time in a long while, he was relaxed. Paint was covering his hands, shirt and there was even one spot in his hair, but he didn't seem to have noticed.

Abruptly pulling himself away the tree, Harry drained the mug, wiped his mouth with a rolled-up sleeve and gestured at the basket. "Please tell me there's food in there."

Ginny started, realizing that she had been staring at him and cursing herself for it, hastily pulled out the plate of sandwiches and thrust it at him. He grabbed one and took an overly large bite before chewing thickly on it. Setting the plate down between them, she took a sandwich herself and bit into it, relishing the taste of sharp cheese and spicy mustard.

They sat there eating for a while, neither one talking until after Harry had eaten both of his sandwiches and drained almost all of the juice. As Ginny began to clean up the mess, Harry said, "You know, Ginny, I was pretty mad about this whole thing." She looked up at him as he gestured to the shed and caught her eye. "I still am to a certain extent."

Ginny set her jaw under his scrutiny and closed the lid on the basket without looking away from him. "It's not exactly a picnic for me, either, Harry."

"Well, it seems that you've got the easy part of the deal," he said under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear him clearly.

"Easy?" she said, feeling her ire rise just a bit.

"Yeah," he said evenly, looking back to the half-painted shed. "All you've done is fetch me water and make some sandwiches. That's hardly the same as what I've got to do."

Ginny simply stared at Harry, mouth agape, trying to find any way she could be misinterpreting what he was saying. When nothing came to mind, she snapped her mouth closed and opened it again to let loose the words that were pouring through her mind. "Of all the pig-headed, egotistical, arrogant things to say!"

"What?" protested Harry, turning back to look at her livid face. "Don't tell me you've actually been doing something besides read and lounge under the tree?"

Unable to restrain herself, she jumped to her feet and roughly snatched the basket by its handle. "I'll have you know, Harry Potter," she said, seething, "that the universe doesn't revolve around your gigantic head and that I wasn't born to serve you."

She whirled on her feet and stomped up the path back to The Burrow, intent on hexing his name in the safety of her room.

Her mother was waiting for her however, hovering around the entrance to the garden. A faint clinking sound chimed in the background, like a small set of bells. "What have you done now, Ginny?" asked her mother ardently.

She set the basket down on the ground by the now closed door. Ginny took a deep breath to steady her nerves and said, "Nothing. Why would you think that something was the matter?"

The clinking stopped and Mrs. Weasley pointed over her shoulder to something on the secretary. "Remus told you we would be monitoring the bracelets, so there's no use lying to me about it."

Stifling another curse at the wretched gold jewelry on her wrist, she glared at her mother and walked over to where she had been pointing. Ginny figured that she might as well know what magical object was snitching on her.

Underneath the small drawers of the top portion of the secretary sat a handsome wooden clock. Its main face seemed to resemble a standard Muggle clock, showing the correct time, one fourteen. Set below the large hands however, two smaller dials were inlaid into the face. On the left was a dial with an ornate script H, whose needle was pointing somewhere just to the right of the middle, towards the red-colored section, but not touching that color. The other dial had an equally ornate G embedded in it, its needle pointing about a third of the way from center, just inside the border of the red coloring.

"So we're not allowed to fight at all?" asked Ginny, turning her attention back to her mother.

"No," said her mum sternly. "You're not."

Balling her fists, Ginny struggled to maintain an even tone in her voice. It wouldn't do Ginny any good to get her mother upset with her again. "That's asking an awful lot, don't you think?"

Molly walked over to the clock and pointed at Harry's neutral expression. "His hasn't so much as twitched since this morning. Why can he control his temper around you but you can't be with him for ten minutes without blowing your top?"

Still working hard to hold in her emotions, Ginny said, "It's just...easier to be mad at him."

Her mum dropped her stony exterior and put her hands on Ginny's shoulders. After a moment, she said, "Easier than what?"

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing herself to not break down. "I...can't..."

"Sure you can, sweetheart." Her mother hadn't been sympathetic with her in almost four years and Ginny had a hard time accepting it now.

"It's..." She pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat heavily into it. "It's easier than liking him."

"Ah." Molly walked over to the table and sat opposite Ginny. "Is Harry that repulsive?"

"Well," she hesitated, considering the question carefully. "It's not that he's repulsive, so much as he's insufferable."

Her mother nodded and Ginny continued. "He's so blind to what's happening right in front of him. I mean, his two best friends have been snogging each other for a year, and he can't even wrap his little mind around it." Ginny slammed her fist down on the table to emphasize her point, yet her mother still didn't interrupt. "So how can I expect him to pay little ol' me any attention?"

Molly smiled and patted her hand. "Let's talk a little bit about that, shall we?"

*

Harry sat back against the tree and pushed the hot bracelet around his wrist, trying to figure out what exactly had gone wrong. As far as he was concerned, Ginny was, for lack of a better word, unstable, and tended to lose control at the oddest moments. Wasn't it true that he had all the hard work and she hadn't had a lick of punishment except to torment him? What was wrong with pointing that out to her? She should feel lucky she doesn't have to paint and do whatever else was in store for him over the summer.

Shrugging it off, Harry pushed himself up from the ground, stomach uncomfortably full, legs and arms stiff from the rest they'd enjoyed, and walked back to the shed. As he pulled out the painting supplies from the shed, his bracelet started to vibrate, slowly at first, but increasing in intensity until he could do nothing but stare at it. Fighting an odd urge to check on Ginny, he put his mind back to the task at hand and it eventually went away.

After an hour, he'd begun working on the second coat of paint and was starting to feel the effects of the shade from the pines on the West side of the garden. His water had been empty for a while now, and he was starting to think he wouldn't be seeing Ginny again that day when she appeared from around the corner of the shed.

"Hi," she said quietly, staring at his shoes. "I brought some more water for you."

She held a large pitcher in her hand, water droplets condensing on the cold glass near the ice-filled rim. "That looks great," he said, wiping the sweat on his forehead with an automatic motion. He vaguely registered that that part of his shirt was now quite dirty and wet.

He let her re-fill his mug and drained it in two large gulps. Holding it out for more, he noticed a small grin curving on her lips as she concentrated on pouring his water.

"Thanks," he said as he took a smaller drink this time.

"My pleasure," she said, now looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Harry stared dumbly at her for a moment, trying to figure out where the raging temper had gone and if this was in fact Ginny Weasley in front of him. "Listen," he said, breaking out of his reverie, "I need to apologize for what happened at lunch...." She opened her mouth to interrupt, but Harry plowed on. "No... really. I don't know what it was that I did, but I'm sorry."

Her hand fell slowly to her side and her grin turned into a smile. "Thank you, Harry," she said demurely. "That's really sweet of you."

The moment lingered on for a few seconds and Harry could have sworn that the bracelet on his wrist had become quite cool, but brushed it off as a trick of the mind. He cleared his throat and motioned to the shed. "You want to sit....? I mean," he stammered awkwardly before finding a rhythm. "I could use someone to talk with while I paint."

She smiled again, but this time it was different and Harry was annoyed to discover that his heart had been beating quite loudly in his chest.

As Harry finished the second coat of trim and moved on to the south side of the shed, Ginny followed him with a chair she had purloined from inside the freshly painted building. Their conversation flowed from one topic to the next and Harry actually found himself liking his red-headed companion more than he thought possible since their encounter last week.

"So when Cho finally realized it was a feint, I was already halfway to the Snitch," Ginny said, finishing her version of the final match of last season. Her face was bright and happy with the relived memory and Harry found her mood contagious. So much so that he had hardly realized he was nearly finished painting.

Ginny left to fetch supper and Harry took a moment to appreciate the scenery before finishing his job. The sun had set, lighting the clouds above them with brilliant oranges and reds that illuminated the garden and surrounding environs with an eerie glow.

Pushing the roller over the last portion of the east wall with a tired but contented sigh, he stepped down from his ladder and surveyed his work. The new paint looked decidedly better and though his muscles ached and his eyes stung with sweat, he couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at completing his task.

Ginny arrived with another basket of food and set it down when she noticed that Harry was all but finished, with only the cleaning-up left.

The paint was almost totally used; save for a single can that lay open at his feet. He cleaned the rollers and brushes with a nearby hosepipe while Ginny rolled up the drop cloths. Pushing the lid on the last paint can, Harry felt a sharp pain from his hand. Wincing, he looked at his skin and was surprised to notice a large blister forming along the curve of his palm and he traced it gingerly with a finger.

Noticing his distress, Ginny came over to him and pulled on his fingers until she could see what he was looking at. Sucking in a breath, she said, "That's a good one, Harry."

He leaned a shoulder on the now dry shed wall and watched as she pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at his hand. "Um, Ginny?" he asked, trying to draw his hand away from hers. "Won't you..."

Not breaking eye contact with his hand, she pulled more firmly on it to prevent his escape. "Hold still, Harry," she said somewhat peevishly and poked at the blister with the tip of her wand.

"But what about the Improper Use of Magic Office?" he said, wincing as her wand hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Ginny ignored him and muttered a charm under her breath. A faint blue light issued from her wand, enveloping his hand and he felt the stinging sensation instantly melt away, replaced with a dull, soothing warmth. "They're not monitoring The Burrow," she said, finally looking up at him. There was a look akin to concern in her eyes and it struck Harry somewhat more than it should have.

"Why... not?" he asked simply.

Ginny released his hand slowly and took a step back, leaning against the shed in a mirror image of Harry. "Something to do with your being here, I'm sure," she said evasively.

With my being here? thought Harry. Did Dumbledore convince old Madam Hopkirk to go easy on me this summer?

"Well," Ginny said a moment later, bringing Harry from his thoughts. "I reckon we'd better eat and then get you home?"

They sat and ate in silence; Harry leaning against the shed, Ginny making sure his cup was never empty. When they had put their dishes away, Harry slowly stood and stretched his tired back.

"Remus will be here in a minute or two," she said smiling. "We'd better get inside." Ginny then turned on her heel and walked quickly up the darkened path, the empty pitcher and mugs clinking slightly as she walked.

Nodding his head numbly, Harry picked up the basket and followed her, not quite certain what he should think about his first day working at The Burrow. He waited in the cool kitchen for Remus to show up with the Portkey, vaguely looking for Ginny, who was nowhere to be seen.

As his body relaxed, a great wave of exhaustion washed over him and he scarcely nodded to Remus when he Apparated in, touching the old phone receiver with a tired finger and straining to keep his eyes open as they were pulled to Little Whinging. He felt strong arms help him up the stairs and put him in bed and as Harry kicked off his shoes, he heard Remus whisper, "Good night," before Harry pulled a sheet over his dirty clothes and at long last, let sleep overcome him.