Eventually You

"So you really think it'll work?" The young Auror's was curious, his eyes fixed upon the calm, meditative face of his superior.

"Most certainly," said Kingsley, his earring swinging as he nodded his head. "Just as long as we all remember to cast the Disillusionment Charm, or it will all be for nothing, even if the device has not been Charmed in any way."

Harry nodded, satisfied. The Boy Who Lived was still learning, even after seven years of Wizarding education, three years of Auror training and a War, just how much he had missed out on by growing up in Little Whinging. Isolated for almost half of his life from the world to which he belonged, he was still surprised from time to time, although such occasions grew ever more infrequent. Although, Harry reflected, I never would have realised a Muggle burglar alarm could be fooled by a Disillusionment Charm. Especially if it's in a wizarding house.

"Alright then, Harry," Harry's superior continued smoothly, "I shall expect you in the office by ten o'clock tomorrow morning, ready to go." Kingsley was stopped from continuing - if he had so wished, he was so serene that you never could tell - as a pale violet paper aeroplane swooped to a rustling halt in front of his nose. The tall man took it, his eyes scanning the parchment before he pulled his quill out and scrawled a reply upon it. The paper plane, a new mission in hand - Or maybe wing, Harry thought dryly - flew off back the way it had come.

The two Aurors nodded to each other, sharing a smile of utter complicity before turning and going their separate ways, the messy black thatch and the tall bald head wholly different, yet equally distinctive. Kingsley was shortly stopped by Hestia Jones waving a Quibbler article with ill-disguised glee, while the new recruit found his route unimpeded as he strode past the many cubicles. As he did, he was drawn into memories of his first visit here, the summer before his frightful fifth year; watching Mr Weasley and Kingsley discuss Order business in furtive voices as he watched, drenched with pre-hearing nerves.

Along with those memories came the ones of impotent anger, of Grimmauld Place's suppressive silences and Dumbledore's dismissals, and finally of his own terrible wrath and ultimate puerile idiocy.

Harry stopped in the corridor leading to the lift, shaking his head irritably. He didn't want to be like this - he was an Auror now and he couldn't keep on with this self-destructive glumness - and yet it snuck up on him at times, a cloying feeling of residual anger and inadequacy which he despised, as surely as he despised the Dark wizards he now hunted. He leaned back on the wall, his head bowed so low that his glasses slipped down his nose, and took a moment to quell the remembrances threatening to surface.

He was immensely relieved when, almost as soon as he looked up, he saw the immediately recognisable red hair of his best friend heading straight for him. Ron jogged up to Harry, a grin upon his freckled face.

"Hey Harry, you done for the day?" he called, grabbing his cloak from his cubicle as he passed. Harry already had his, having been on his way out prior to being halted by Kingsley.

"Yea," he replied, not bothering to ask Ron in return, since his friend was already heading for the golden grilles of the lifts. He simply walked alongside, thinking on what to do that evening; he had no plans to go anywhere, yet found the prospect of another solitary night at Grimmauld Place immensely unappealing at the moment.

Harry had officially resided at Grimmauld Place since his seventeenth birthday, thanks to some clever legal 'tweaking', as Lupin had called it, to keep the property away from Sirius' Death Eater relatives. The house had improved remarkably since his first inhabitation within its walls; the Dark Arts paraphernalia disposed of, the rooms redecorated, but perhaps two features stuck out most in Harry's mind. Firstly, the maniacal portrait of Mrs. Black had been destroyed, burned by himself and Lupin not longer after the Department of Mysteries Incident. Secondly, Kreacher had been beheaded, much to Hermione's horror. And yet, Harry spent as little time there as he could; he had never felt at home there, it still seemed somehow steeped in wartime secrecy and lifting the Fidelius Charm upon it had done nothing to alleviate that.

As the doors closed, Harry turned to Ron. "So... what are you doing now?" He tried to keep his tone light, hoping for a pleasant, lasting conversation.

Ron obliged. "Oh, I thought I'd head on over to see Ginny for a bit. She said she'd be working till it closed tonight. You wanna come?"

"Yea, alright. What about today... how's it been?"

"Mate, I'm knackered. Who knew they'd work the new recruits so hard?" Ron sounded faintly bemused, and Harry resisted the urge to say that they had been warned - several times, in fact - by Tonks, that 'Mad-Eye'll work you to the bone for the first few months'. He simply smiled encouragingly as Ron continued on with a tale of Emmeline Vance's recent attempts to track down a suspected ex-Voldemort sympathiser in the Scottish Highlands - "Apparently, the idiot won't stay still long enough to be tracked - causing a lot of trouble, that one, let me tell you..." - which lasted until the pair were ready to Apparate to Diagon Alley.

Appearing in the courtyard outside The Leaky Cauldron with twin cracking sounds, the pair quickly entered Diagon Alley and strolled down the cobbled street, stopping outside Quality Quidditch Supplies as always, looking in at the new Thunderclap - 'The fastest broom yet!' - and sighing in awe as they did. The broom had only been released the previous week, and had caused quite a stir in the Quidditch circles.

Harry tore himself away first, continuing on towards the Magical Menagerie, knowing Ron would catch up eventually. He did, and ended up reaching the door first, opening it up for Harry to pass into the crowded, noisy shop. As usual, it smelled strongly of animals - quite appropriate, as the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with cages containing a vast assortment of creatures of all shapes, sizes and colours. Harry felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth; the place brought back memories of school, of 'small tigers' called Crookshanks and purple toads. Inevitably came the recollections of Scabbers the 'rat', but Harry pushed those thoughts aside very quickly. Instead he followed Ron across the wooden floor to where Ginny was attempting to sift through the contents of a newly-arrived box, clipboard and quill in hand.

Her hair was pinned sloppily back, a few long tendrils escaping from the constraint of the red ribbon to fall down her back. She obviously hadn't heard the pair's entrance, seemingly engrossed as she was in counting whatever was in the box.

"Thirteen... fourteen, fifteen - oh, stay still! Now, that's one, and two more makes three... there's another, so four - oh, damn it!" And she threw the clipboard to the countertop, quite upsetting the whistling white rats at its other end.

Ron's smirk was enormous by this point, practically bisecting his face, as he approached the counter. "Now Miss Weasley, that's no way to speak in the presence of customers, is it?"

Ginny spun around so fast that even Harry, Seeker reflexes and all, only saw a blur of movement, and for a split second she looked utterly horrified, before she glowered at Ron and came around the counter, her brown eyes narrowed to feline slits and her red mane swinging as Ron backed away; he'd clearly forgotten just how terrifying his sibling could be. Harry, amused by what was setting itself up to be quite a sparring match, leaned against the counter and allowed the grin he'd felt upon entering the shop to grow wider.

"Don't you ever do that again, Ron!"

"Well if a customer comes in here and you're not paying attention..." Ron was recovering now, his smirk returning as he got into the swing of the 'conversation'.

"Not paying attention? Not... paying... ATTENTION?!" Ginny's voice had risen to a screech on the last word, her tone incredulous. "I was counting Nifflers, you buffoon! I was concentrating, they're hard to count when they're in the box-"

"Ah, so you weren't paying attention to customers then, were you? That's my point, right there!"

Ginny's tirade faltered, as if stunned into silence by her brother's sudden use of reasoned argument as opposed to his usual tactics of teasing and charm.

The girl's momentarily flummoxed face finally broke Harry's resolve, and he found himself roaring with laughter, which only intensified when both Weasleys pivoted towards him, identically confused looks on their freckled faces. He saw Ginny look first at him, then her brother, then him again... and she finally started to giggle. She and Harry's mirth was exacerbated by Ron's continued confusion, and when Ron at last saw the funny side and joined in, it took the threesome several moments to stop the laughter they had succumbed to, particularly Harry, who had found the whole scene to be just what he needed after a busy and serious day at the Ministry.

He settled himself against the counter, leaning back on his elbows while Ginny put the Nifflers - still in their box - in the back room of the shop, and Ron browsed, stopping to gaze thoughtfully at some mokes near the window. He thought suddenly that he was in the best mood he'd known for... well, he wasn't sure how long, but it'd been a long while since a good mood had lasted much longer than a burst of laughter or a good joke. He was amazed to find that he was perfectly content here, among the chirping and squawking with Ron and his little sister. Though, Harry thought honestly, she stopped being just that a long time ago.

He was just enjoying the moment when two things happened at once. Firstly, Ron muttered an oath and pressed himself as close to the front window as he could, and just as Harry turned to enquire after Ron he heard Ginny squeal indignantly from the back room. Quickly assessing the situation and deciding that the elder Weasley seemed more angry than endangered Harry switched his attention to the younger redhead, crossing the shop to discover the reason for her outburst.

~~~

Ginny huffed as she lowered the box of Nifflers to the ground in the dim back room. It was much quieter back here, as the majority of animals resided in the main body of the shop. This room only held those creatures sensitive to noise or light, or any newly-arrived animals, such as the gold-seekers Ginny had just brought in. Looking quickly into the shop to check whether any customers were present and seeing only Ron and Harry, she ducked back into the darker room.

She had not seen either of the boys at any great length since the celebration held for them about ten days ago; she had heard how the pair had been run off their feet, as Tonks had recounted Mad-Eye's habitual 'toughening up' of the newbies by making them do as much as he could get away with when they had lunched with Hermione earlier that week. Ginny had laughed heartily over this, particularly as she had heard all about Tonks' own experiences and imagined the pair running around Level Two of the Ministry like deranged chickens let loose. And yet she had found herself feeling a twinge of sympathy for them, sure they would end up shattered, just as they had during the final stages of the Second War. Harry in particular had looked so tired in the kitchen of The Burrow...

Shaking her head to clear her swirling thoughts, Ginny turned to leave, intending to return to the boys and enquire as to their plans for the night; Colin was covering a story in his home county and would be spending the night at his parents' house, and she was for some reason reticent to return to her empty flat. She was awarded a glimpse of what it must be like for Harry, returning to Grimmauld place night after night... but at least her flat hadn't once belonged to the only real family she'd ever known. If she'd been Harry, she could never have lived in Sirius' house.

Suppressing a small shudder, Ginny forced her mind onto the task at hand; checking the animals in the room were all safe and secure before locking the door - the last thing she needed was for the new shipment to be devoured by Shackle, the decidedly anti-social Kneazle in the corner. Shackle's patented suspicion and loathing of anyone had made him a nightmare, and he had to be locked up in the back room. Pity, really, Ginny thought, reaching into his cage to check the hinges hadn't come loose again, Because he really is quite a pretty cat when you thi-

Her thought was cut short with a loud, pained noise as Shackle's paw - sleek, black and clawed - snapped out faster than a Snitch and slashed her across the back of her hand. Ginny examined her hand, looking carefully at the deep scratches as they started to bleed... and sting. She hissed in a breath, stamped her foot in a decidedly petulant manner, and flexed her hand experimentally.

The stinging increased tenfold and she bit her lip, resigning herself to a round of first aid. She had just about reached the door when it opened before her, and Harry stood there.

"You ok? I heard you yell."

She glanced at her hand as she held it up to Harry, seeing him wince in sympathy. "It's nothing, really - just Shackle. Hurts, though."

"Yea..." he said, taking her hand gently as they both stepped back into the better-lit main shop. He looked critically at it, before realising something. "Who's Shackle?"

Ginny giggled, despite the smarting of her hand. "Oh, he's this Kneazle we have - total idiot, he hates people - and he didn't like having his cage inspected."

"Hmm..." Harry replied, smiling along with her and looking back up at her face. "Where's your first aid stuff?"

"Oh, there's some Disinfectant Potion under the counter, I think. I'll do it mys-"

"No, it's ok." He examined the scratches for a few more seconds. "Right then, come on," and Harry led her over, reached beneath the scrubbed wooden top and pulled out the bottle of purple potion. Ginny noted absently that her brother appeared to have attached himself to the window like a limpet, and was muttering curses under his breath, seemingly doing both without blinking or breathing. She shrugged; her brothers were all mysteries wrapped in enigmas to her.

Harry had carefully soaked a piece of cloth with the potion, and was hovering, looking apprehensive. "This might sting a bit..."

"That's ok - it smarts enough already so just do it." And Ginny set her shoulders and gave Harry a determined nod.

As soon as the potion touched her skin, a faint smoke arose from the cuts, but since she was busy trying not to wince like a total girl Ginny didn't see it. She did, however, feel Harry move to throw the cloth into the concealed rubbish bin and then-

"Well, I'm no Healer so I can't close the cuts, but this should do." And Ginny opened her eyes to watch Harry, who held the ostentatious honour of being the student who spent the most time in the Hospital Wing, apply a bandage charmed to soothe the skin.

Ginny examined the neatly-applied bandage with appreciation. "Thanks Harry, it feels much better."

"It's ok," he replied, giving another tired yet genuine smile, like she had seen during their last conversation, and she returned it with a grateful one of her own.

After a brief exchange of smiles they both turned, and is if by some silent accord, to see what had been badgering Ron. Ginny saw immediately, however, that whatever it had been had now gone as her brother was sulking not three feet from them, glaring at the window as if daring it to show him something else unpleasant.

"Ron?" she called, making him turn round and lessen the intensity of his glare... slightly. "What is it?"

"Malfoy," he snarled, jabbing a finger in the vague direction of Diagon Alley, "Out there. Lording it up like he's got the same right to be here as us. It makes me so angry. I could just-"

"Do something stupid?" Ginny interrupted, looking from her brother's fury to his friend's newly gained scowl. "Oh, for Merlin's sake! Look at you... both of you! Wasting your time on him... He doesn't deserve it."

"Doesn't deserve it?" Ron's volume had cranked itself up, as had his foul mood. "His family's horrible, Ginny! They were in on all the plans, they probably organised some of the attacks and he's gone free when he should be rotting in Azkaban with the Dementors. You wouldn't understand-" He broke off, realising his error.

Ginny had gone white with fury; how dare Ron tell her she wouldn't understand? Had she not been involved at all then? She'd hid in a corner and let them do all the work, had she? She was just about to launch herself at Ron - possibly physically - when Harry's hand closed around her upper arm.

"Enough. Ron, she's right - we shouldn't waste our time on him. And I know..." he cut in, seeing Ron about to start yelling again. "But Gin, don't kill Ron, ok? So let's all just... calm down."

Both Weasleys stared at Harry, dumbstruck - Ron seemed to have lost the power of speech - but eventually Ginny sighed cathartically.

"Ok... you're right." She straightened up, smiling at Ron and Harry in turn. "Let's change the subject, shall we? I had a question, before we got... interrupted. Or, in my case, injured." She indicated her bound hand to Ron, who drew his brows together, puzzled. Ginny hurried on, not in the mood for brotherly fussing. "Anyway, I was wondering what you two were up to tonight - thought you might like to pop over for dinner or something." She smiled, trying to ignore the amazed way Harry had reacted to being included.

Ron looked immediately contrite. "Sorry, Gin - I've got a date with Hermione tonight..." He flushed, causing his sister and friend to grin wickedly, though incredibly both refrained from teasing him.

Ginny turned to Harry, lifting her chin to look into his face; Harry was a little taller than her. "Well? What about you? Got any plans?" She saw Harry hedge, preparing to duck and avoid if she was correct, and barely avoided a tired groan. "Colin's not going to be there, Harry."

She saw Ron prick his ears up at this, and reined in the urge to smack her brother upside his head; he had never given up on the idea that Ginny would stop 'dating complete tosspots' and would start making moon-eyes at his best friend again like she had at age eleven. Despite Ginny maintaining that she was not only able to make her own decisions and was doing quite alright for herself, Ron always leapt on any opportunity to get her and Harry talking properly again. Not to mention that fact that Ron, like Harry, could barely stand her best friend, even in public. He could be so stubborn at times it made her want to scream...

So caught up was she in not harming her brother that she nearly died of shock when Harry cut into her thoughts with, "Okay. Yea, I'd love to come. If..." he paused, "That's alright."

Recovering quickly, she spoke far too quickly for her own liking when she said, "Yea, that's fine. Reallyreallyfine. You can come round about... eight? Yea, eight's a good time..." The redhead then promptly gave herself a mental slap; since when did she babble?

But Harry was giving her that trademark smile again, and Ginny decided to let it go and just smile amicably at him and her brother, who was smirking again.

"So..." Ron looked positively evil now, his smirk threatening to crack his head in two. "You two have... fun tonight, won't you? Bye, Gin." He turned to go, looking over his shoulder. "Harry? You coming?"

Harry had been sharing an apologetic look with the younger Weasley, sympathising with her over the teasing. In the years since he had been fully initiated into their madcap family he had received his own fair share of taunts. At Ron's repeated query, he jogged over to the door and opened it. Both boys glanced back and smiled - one grin wide and cheeky, the other more subtle and guarded - before they left, the door swinging shut with a soft click.

Ginny sighed; she had to get home and cook dinner soon, plus tidy up the mess of photos Colin was bound to have left on the table. But first, she had Nifflers to count.