Harry's dull green eyes glazed over as he stared at the amber liquid swirling around his shot glass. He didn't particularly enjoy the taste of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey; actually, he didn't like it at all. However, Harry found that at the end of a long day, when he was, more often than not, exhausted and discouraged, the burning sensation of the Firewhiskey draining down his throat almost numbed everything away.

Whoever Ogden was, Harry worshiped him for inventing Firewhiskey.

"Alright, Harry? Can I get you some tea to wash down the Ogden's?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Tom…"

"Well then, here. Take some floo powder, on the house. The last thing we want you doing is splicing yourself apparating under the influence." The barkeep of The Leaky Cauldron handed Harry a tiny, disposable container, big enough to sit in the palm of one's hand, filled with a sparkling green dust.

"Ah, let me give you a sickle, or something for this…"

"I insist," Tom said firmly, closing Harry's hand around the floo powder. "You're a regular customer here, as well as a friend, Mr. Potter. I can't have you apparating when you've near emptied a bottle of Firewhiskey by yourself."

Harry smiled and looked down at his emptied shot glass. He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't remember the number of times Tom had give him floo powder on the house. "Thanks, Tom."

He gave a curt nod to the barkeep and, gathered his cloak. He then stepped over to the roaring fireplace and threw the container of green powder in. The flames grew tall and turned emerald green before Harry stepped in. "Av'lon manor," he slurred out quickly. It took him about a second for the sound of his own slurred voice to reach his ears, and about another two seconds for him to curse to himself and realize he probably hadn't said the name of his house clearly at all, and in fact, he was probably headed to the other side of the country. By the time his intoxicated brain had processed all of this information he stumbled out and fell forward into a darkened room.

Harry was lying face down on a plush carpet. It was actually really comfortable, and he was almost about to succumb to the rather nice darkness that was enveloping him when a candle at the other end of the room was suddenly lit.

"Oh Merlin, who're you? I thought the landlord fixed my damned wards, and now look what's been floo'd into my apartment!"

Harry momentarily lifted his head from the very comfortable carpet to see who he had intruded upon at one o'clock in the morning. He caught a bleary glimpse of a tiny woman wearing what looked like a tea cozy over her straight red hair, and an emerald nightgown.

"Well, are you going to say something? An apology would be mildly acceptable, although I'm expecting much more for you being drunk and flooing into my bedroom in the middle of the night."

Her voice was absolutely grating on Harry's ears. "D'you mind…not…screeching like you are? I'm…trying rather…hard to…not vomit on your floor right now…"

She screeched at the thought, consequently causing Harry to do the unspeakable: vomit on the luscious red hearthrug of a complete stranger, who also happened to be a screaming banshee. Too bad for the rug; He was actually becoming rather fond of it.

"Oh for Chris' sake…scourgify!" She walked over and kicked his shoulder with a wooly foot. "Would you move so I don't burn a hole through your head?" Harry obligingly rolled off the carpet and onto his back, onto the cold hardwood floor. The cold floor felt good against his cheek, so he rested there for a moment and nearly closed his eyes again until he heard the banshee screeching into his right ear again.

"Would you get up and leave already? I actually want to get back to sleep, and I'm not harbouring a drunkard for the night!"

"Yes…yes, right…"

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and then opened them slowly. As he stood up, his eyes seemed to perceive things in a sort of slow motion, but his ears were hearing everything as it was happening. It was a very odd sensation.

The banshee stood tapping a slippered foot, wand at ready.

"Well, come on, move it along." She was very impatient.

"I'm going, I am…Yes…I am…"

She stopped tapping her foot for a second, and Harry's headache was glad. "What's your name?" she asked suddenly.

"Why do you want to know?" Harry, who was rubbing his eyes in hope that they would start working a bit faster, looked up at the wavering image of the tiny red haired woman. She almost looked like someone he recognized…but he dismissed this thought as the Firewhiskey playing with his head again. Firewhiskey really messes up your vision, Harry thought to himself. The thought that he had finally drunken himself blind crossed his mind.

"Well, in case the vomit stains don't disappear completely, I need to know who to bill for the new rug. I sure as hell am not paying for your vomit stains."

Harry blinked and then shook his head, which actually didn't help to clear it at all. "Potter…I'm Harry Potter."

The woman froze. She seemed almost…afraid? Harry couldn't tell. "What…what did you say your name was again?"

"Potter…Look, I'll buy you a new rug, its fine…Are you alright?"

The woman had gone extremely quiet, which made Harry slightly nervous, but only slightly since he was too busy dealing with the repercussions of drunkenness at the moment. She backed up, and then sat down hard on her bed.

Harry hadn't ever really gotten a reaction like that when he revealed that he was the Harry Potter; Sure, he'd gotten large, middle aged women fawning over him and shaking his hand, and old men taking their hats off to him, and actually, most strangers treated him with the sort of reverence only received by honoured celebrities. But never had he reduced someone to trembling so much they had to sit down (except for Quirrell…but that had been ages ago, and he had been a basket case before he'd met Harry). Not knowing what to do, Harry simply stood there, surprised and bewildered. Then he realized he should probably find out if she was ok.

"Er…s'everything alright? You feeling…ill, or something?"

"No…no, just fine…"

"Are you sure? What'd you say your name was again?"

She snapped her head up at him when he said this, and then she pulled herself from the bed, saying, "Alright, I think you've overstayed your welcome. Time to go, Harry."

A bit surprised by her sudden forcefulness, Harry let himself be propelled into the hallway and toward the front door by the tiny woman whom he was easily a head taller than, but he stopped moving when he caught sight of something he very much hadn't expected to see.

What had caught his attention was the multitude of bright red hair in the picture, and the waving hands. When he stopped to attempt a good look at the photo hanging above a table in the cramped front hall, the expression on the woman's face was nothing less than horrified. Harry, however, noticed none of this, because his brain was far too befuddled and busy trying to explain the significance of this picture hanging in the hallway of this woman's apartment.

Was that a picture of the Weasleys? And was that the Burrow? What in the world would a picture of all nine happy Weasleys, standing in front of the Burrow being doing in this woman's apartment?

The last marble finally fell into place in Harry's brain.

"Ohmigod." He turned stopped in the middle of the hallway, stunned with this revelation. "What the bloody hell..."

Harry turned around and looked on Ginny Weasley with new eyes. It had been over six years since the last time he'd seen her, nearly that long since anyone had seen her really, and longer since they'd spoken. In fact, the last time Harry had seen Ginny had been at Charlie's funeral…a memory on which Harry did not like to dwell.

"Ginny? Good lord. I prob'ly shouldn't have drank so much tonight…It's you, isn' it?" Harry rubbed his eyes a bit more, hoping it'd help his failing eyesight. It didn't, and his vision was even blurrier.

The blur of colour that was Ginny Weasley standing in front of him replied. "Well, yes, it's me." There was a moment of silence where neither knew what to say, until she offhandedly remarked, "You do look rather different without your glasses."

Harry paused for a moment, and then he felt his face, finally noting why things were a bit blurrier than usual, even drunk. He had apparently lost his glasses somewhere in the fall out of the fireplace.

"You know, I usually do wear glasses still…" He turned back toward the fireplace, where had had gracefully stumbled from, crashing into her apartment. "I do think I must've lost them falling out of your fireplace…"

"Oh, right. Let me find them for you…" Ginny left Harry in her front hall, frantically trying to devise a way for her to make him leave, and leave her alone. She couldn't face him, not now, not ever. Not after…oh, what a terrible coincidence, she cried to herself.

She located the glasses underneath the desk beside the hearthrug. They were new since she'd last seen him, but still the same round, black rimmed style. She smiled, thinking that some things would never change.

As she stood, there came a great loud THUMP from the front hall. Walking quickly back to where she had left Harry, Ginny beheld a grand sight upon returning to the front door. Harry Potter, the Great Harry Potter, had passed out, drunk, on her hallway floor. Pulling a blanket out of the closet beside her, she threw it over him.

Ginny was about to go back to bed, but she stopped. Glancing back at the sleeping Harry, she almost forgot everything that had happened. Almost.

Some things never change, though.

xxxxx

Harry awoke much later to a faint light streaming through a partially draped window and a blinding hangover smashing his skull to bits. He moaned and rolled over, wondering, firstly, where in the hell he was, and secondly why did his back hurt so much?

Sitting up slowly, Harry removed the blanket from around his shoulders, wondering where that had come from. He found his glasses placed on the floor next to his head, and he replaced them on his face. God, hardwood floors are a bitch to sleep on, he thought to himself. Where was he again?

The door opened and shut quickly behind his head. He whirled around (but immediately regretted it as both his back and head suddenly shot with pain) and beheld a woman of about twenty-eight years old. Her rich, copper hair was windswept, and had a natural wave in it, which was pulled back into a French twist with an ornate barrette. A white silk camisole and a cropped black blazer, along with a tight black pencil skirt made her look like the models Harry had only glimpsed on the television as a young boy. And may God have mercy on my soul, he thought as he looked down her creamy coloured legs, attached to black stilettos.

"I imagined you'd be throwing up the rest of your stomach contents right about now. I suppose I was wrong."

This suddenly brought back the wavering memories of last night's excitement to Harry. He groaned inwardly, thinking of what she must think of him. He didn't suspect that he'd made a very good impression, for only seeing Ginny Weasley once in the last six years.

"Well, the thought did cross my mind, but after the screaming fit you had last night, I thought better of it," Harry said, cracking a half-hearted smile up at the red-headed woman.

"You did deserve it, you know. I liked that rug."

"Yes, I agree, I expect I did deserve it…"

There was then a very awkward moment of silence while both wracked their brains for something to lighten the mood, and the fact that Harry was at the moment sitting on the floor of Ginny's front hallway.

"Well, I suppose you'll be wanting breakfast. If my mother taught me anything, it's to feed guests…even if they do show up at your house in the middle of the night. And if memory serves correctly, you did that more than once back in the day…" Harry almost saw a small smile across Ginny's face as she picked her way over his legs, sprawled across her hallway.

"Well, they really were quite extreme circumstances, most of the time…"

"Flying cars are quite extreme…"

"Well, I agree. They quite are." Harry picked himself up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, and following her through a doorway on the left to a cramped little kitchen that looked as though it doubly served as an office. The small kitchen table that was shoved into the corner had files, books, and loose papers stacked waist-high, and Ginny had to spend a moment rearranging before she could put down the large coffee cup she had been holding.

Harry gave a look at it, and she turned to him shrugging. "Starbucks…it's mostly an American muggle thing…picked it up when I lived in New York a couple years back. The coffee just grows on you, I suppose."

She walked to the refrigerator and began rummaging through it. "Wait a moment," Harry said, sitting down gingerly in a wooden kitchen chair. "When did you live in New York?"

Still not looking at him, she responded carefully. "Oh you know, I hit my mid-twenty-something and decided I needed to do something adventurous. Figured New York was as good as any place to find adventure. I mean, why wait and see if the experiences find you? None of us live forever." Here she paused for a split second, and Harry knew that the deaths of her brothers, Charlie, and a longer time ago, Fred, had crossed her mind. "At any rate, it was a good experience."

"Right…" Harry replied, still trying to figure out everything in his mind. So how had he ended up here? And what in the world had Ginny been doing for the past six years? As far as he knew, the times that she floo powdered her mother had grown fewer and farther between in the years since she had moved out of the Burrow, until she really stopped connection with the Weasleys altogether, save an owl on holidays and such. It had really broken Mrs. Weasley's heart that her only daughter had drifted so far away, although she never really mentioned it.

Looking up, he saw that Ginny had a frying pan heated, and was cracking eggs one by one into it. "So, how in the world did you end up falling into my bedroom last night?"

"You tell me," Harry replied, rubbing his face. "One minute, the Leaky Cauldron, next minute your carpet. I expect Firewhiskey causes one to slur their words a bit."

"A lot, apparently." She continued to silently cook the eggs. "I suppose you'll want some hot water for tea. I'll start the kettle." Continuing to cook the eggs, and Harry watched as she pulled her wand out of her pocket and waved it behind her. Immediately, a kettle flew itself under the tap, filled itself, and placed itself on the hot back burner of the stove.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, by which meaning Harry and Ginny didn't take breaks in putting either food or drink into their mouths, so they wouldn't be required to make polite, strained conversation. But when the plates were empty, and tea cups provided no refuge, Harry had a couple unanswered questions, while he and Ginny were together.

"Er, Ginny…So what have you been up to these past few years?"

Attempting to drain a last drop of coffee from her Starbucks cup, Ginny paused for a moment. "Well, you know I went to New York for a couple years…"

"Does your mother know that?"

"Well, you know, it's been busy. I mentioned it in an owl. And anyway, what business is it of yours, really?"

"Well, I do consider Molly as somewhat of a…a part of my family, you know. Do you even know what it's done to her not being able to see you for so long? Do you have any idea how long it's been since you visited the Burrow? Six years. I asked Molly if you ever visited, and she said that you used to floo her once in a while, but now it's only the occasional owl. Ron doesn't even know what you look like anymore—"

"Would you back off? I don't know where you get off with this self-righteousness. Who do you think you are, dropping into my home, into my life so unexpectedly in the middle of the night, suddenly demanding these answers out of me?"

"Calm down, would you? I'm just asking where you've been. You've just about dropped off the face of the Earth, you could've disappeared and no one would have noticed for all you've been around—"

Ginny stood up quickly, and her wooden chair knocked backward and clattered on the floor. "Get out. You're not a part of my life anymore, so I don't see what right you have asking me those questions. Just leave!"

"Gladly," Harry spat back at her, genuinely angry that she could be that selfish. Who did she think she was?

He pushed his chair back and walked out the front door, slamming it behind him. Ginny stood there a moment, fuming, and reeling, just going over what had just happened.

Somehow, Harry Potter had just fallen back into Ginny Weasley's life.

xxxxx

Still fuming, Harry walked out the front of the building. From the looks of it, Ginny was living in a tiny London flat…called Havlon Heights, which sounds almost like Avalon Manor…somewhat (at least he wasn't so far off). He didn't know London so well as to know exactly where he was, but he had an idea. To think of how close that girl was living to Harry the entire time…Well, not girl, woman now. He had seen enough of that. The simple fact of it was that Ginny Weasley had grown up. A lot. But why in the world had she alienated herself from her family like that?

He reflected upon it as he walked away from Havlon Heights. Well…the relationship between he and Ginny had fallen apart by the time Harry turned twenty. Just a few years after Voldermort's fall. He couldn't even remember what half the disagreements they'd had were about, but he remembered the heated rows they'd had. He especially remembered the row they'd had before they stopped talking…

"Where were you last night? I couldn't find you at home, or your flat or anywhere."

"I told you, we went out after training…you know, its hard stuff, this auror training. I didn't expect it to be so draining."

"Oh, right…"

"And you know, Alicia invited me out for a drink, and I think I really needed to let off some steam…"

"Alicia? You've never…"

"You know Alicia Spinnet? She was a couple years ahead of you, but yeah, she's training with me—"

"Do you even realize what yesterday was while you were off letting off some steam? It was that dinner? You know the one we've been planning for a month?"

"Oh Ginny—"

"Don't you dare oh Ginny me. While you were off with that home wrecker, who was probably trying to get you drunk enough to invite her home, I was apparating between here and London looking for you, thinking you'd been murdered on your way home or—"

"Don't say that about Alicia! You don't even know her!"

"Bollocks! Harry, half the women you talk to on a daily basis are trying to get you drunk enough to shag you, and I'll bet you don't even realize it!"

"That's absolutely ridiculous, Ginny. Just because you're getting a bit jealous doesn't mean—"

"That's damn right! Yes, Harry, I am jealous that I can't get a moment alone with my own boyfriend, and that I have to time share him with God forsaken Alicia Spinnet!"

"Oh for Chris'sake, Ginny, leave Alicia out of this…"

"WHY SHOULD I?"

"BECAUSE SHE SEEMS LIKE A BETTER GIRLFRIEND THAN YOU RIGHT NOW!"

And that was when Ginny had disapparated from his life without a word, and they never spoke to one another again, at least not until Charlie's funeral a couple years later. Reflecting upon it, Harry cringed as he thought about what they had yelled at one another. Petty, teenage arguments, which had led to Harry saying some pretty thoughtless things. What an arse I was, he thought, shaking his head.

With a sigh, Harry took a sharp turn down a narrow alley way, pulled out his wand, and disapparated in a flash, with the keen intent of taking a hot shower once he got there. After all, he did smell faintly of vomit.

xxxxx

"Ginny, you're late!"

"Yes, Mr. Blanco, sir. Won't happen again."

"You're damn straight it won't. Now get me those sketches that Giles was supposed to finish for Fall Fashion Week, and find Sarah…she has my double mocha chai latté and make sure that my luncheon with Donatella is booked for eleven am sharp, yes Miss Weasley?"

"Yes, Mr. Blanco."

The tall, silver fox-figure of Alan Blanco, with square, black framed spectacles and a finely trimmed beard, swept past Ginny and down the hall in an agitated manner.

Ginny Weasley, still feeling flustered from her row with Harry, who had shown up out of absolutely nowhere, briskly walked through the wide hallways of Alan Blanco's studio and business headquarters toward her desk. Ginny hadn't mentioned to Harry what she did for a living, and was glad he hadn't asked. If Harry found out, the information would most certainly drain back to her family, and her parents, and Ginny was certain her mother would implode with the shame of it all.

Yes, the truth was that Ginny Weasley, pureblood witch for generations, was working a nine to five muggle job. And truthfully, she enjoyed it thoroughly.

She worked for Alan Blanco, one of the top fashion designers in London, as his personal assistant, and how she had found herself as an assistant was by pure chance, really. Ginny left for New York at the age of twenty-three, and not knowing anyone, she found her way into the Wizarding district of New York by sheer luck (she had overheard some older American women talking about the state of the world, and how it all seemed to balance out after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was finally snuffed out by that dashing English Potter boy). She had wandered through there until she found an ad for an apartment (as they call flats over there). It turned out that the person who had posted the ad for a roommate was just a young girl herself, and muggle born. Alana Blake became Ginny's best friend for those two years she spent in New York…and it was through Alana that she was introduced to the fashion world.

"I'll bet you don't know jack shit about this city, hm?"

"Well…that would be one way of putting it, I suppose."

"When did you get off the boat?"

"Er…what?"

"Like when did you get into the country? You sound like you landed here yesterday."

"Well, as a matter of fact…"

"You don't say. Well, drop your bags, and come on, my mom said she wanted to meet my new roommate."

It had been another two years since she had arrived back in London, and gotten her job as Mr. Blanco's assistant, and she still hadn't been to see her family. "Well, it's not as if I've completely disappeared…I still write," Ginny muttered to herself, throwing her black Louis Vuitton purse onto her desk (this job did come with some perks). Although writing is hardly what you should call a short note twice a year, said a little voice cheerfully from the back of her head, which she quickly snuffed out.

The phone rang briefly, and Ginny picked it up, sitting down onto her swivel chair as she did so. "Mr. Blanco's office, Ginny speaking?"

"Ginny, for goodness sake, you're twenty minutes late! Where have you been?"

"I had an old acquaintance…drop in on me this morning. Sorry."

"Well, I'm down here finalizing the sketches for Fall Fashion week, and I also have Mr. Blanco's chai latté still, so come here and get it to him before it gets cold."

"Good morning to you too, darling," Ginny replied with a smile. Sarah, Blanco's other assistant, who had only started two months ago, was always very edgy if Ginny wasn't there to back her up. "Alright, Sarah, don't blow a gasket. I'll be down there in a minute, I just have to confirm his luncheon with Donatella first, and check the messages."

Moments later, Ginny was in the spacious, mirrored elevator heading down to the design room in the basement. As the doors opened, Ginny walked into a large, brightly-lit, auditorium sized room, filled with racks of clothing, shelves of shoes, and walls of hand bags on either side of the room. Down the centre was the designing and sewing area; tables with sewing machines, forms with half sewn clothing, pin cushions, rainbows of thread, and bulletin boards with large, full colour sketches were everywhere.

Sarah, a small, thin girl of about twenty-four with a curly bob of blonde curls, rushed up to Ginny, her one-inch white heels clicking nervously as she did so.

"Finally. Alright, here are the sketches that were already confirmed with Mr. Blanco, and these ones here are the ones he's unsure about, and I am going absolutely bonkers here, why does he have so many sketches?"

"He's a designer, Sarah. I imagine he draws a lot."

"Right…anyway, this file is the ones that are his favourites, but he's still unsure about." Sarah piled the files into Ginny. "Oh yes, and here's his chai latté…I really couldn't find him to give it to him this morning!"

"He usually doesn't get here until after us, so I imagine he wasn't here when you were looking for him." Ginny smiled teasingly. "You're doing good, Sarah, don't be so jittery."

Ginny hummed to herself as she rode the elevator up, sketches securely under the left arm, and chai latté in the right. She was happy being busy. It took her mind off other things, like Harry Potter, for instance.

She walked briskly into Mr. Blanco's office, placing the files on the desk in front of him, and the long-awaited chai latté on the silver coaster. Mr. Blanco, a man of about forty, wearing a black dress shirt and pinstripe pants, seemed to be having a heated conversation on his phone. He was refined, but sometimes one of the most impolite people Ginny had ever known. He didn't notice her there until she turned to leave.

"Oh thank God, Ginny, my latté. Just what I needed." He had hung up the phone, and was now leafing through his sketches, and sipping his Starbucks.

"Is there something the matter, sir?"

"Yes, yes, yes…" Having found the sketch he had been looking for, Mr. Blanco stood from his high back office chair, and held the picture of a short gold dress to the bright sun shining through the window. "You know I am to have a few of my fall collection pieces photographed today, yes?"

"Of course, Mr. Blanco, that's what we've been preparing for all month." Although it was only May, fall started two seasons early in this world.

"Well yes, that phone call was just our venue, that old manor outside of Essex, yes? They've just cancelled on us. Some sort of water vein burst, or something…"

"Oh dear…" He was going to ask her to find another venue. Shit, shit, shit, where was she going to find another medieval manor on such short notice?

"And another thing…" Oh there was another thing. Great. "Right before that, I received a phone call from Stella Wright, the agent, yes? Well she called to say that the bloody model—" And here Blanco kicked his swivel office chair, so that it crashed into the small bookshelf beside his desk, causing a few books to topple off. "—the bloody model can't do the shoot today, because she has some silly food poisoning, or something."

Shit, shit, double shit. Blanco was going to blow up, she could see it. He had a terrible temper, and after two years, she had seen it enough times to know.

"Jesus Christ, Ginny, I need those shots by today. Where in the bloody hell am I going to get another model—" Blanco looked up suddenly, and turned his head to one side, concentrating, as if he were examining something on Ginny's face very closely. He stood up a bit straighter, and then glanced back at the sketch of the gold dress in his hand, and then back at Ginny, and continued to do this for a full thirty seconds.

"Mr. Blanco, sir, can I help you?" she asked, cocking an eye brow. He'd better not be thinking what he looked as if he were thinking…

"Yes…yes indeed…Ginny, darling," Here, he walked up to Ginny, and began circling her like a vulture around fresh meat. "Darling, have you ever considered modeling? You're tall, and lanky, and you've knobby knees…I mean, yes, you walk like a bloody baboon sometimes, but this will just be for stills, so there will be no walking involved at all…"

"Excuse me, sir? But I almost feel as though you're implying that I—"

"Yes, exactly! You're the exact same size as my model. And you fairly look the same as well, it's absolutely perfect!" Alan Blanco placed the sketch on his desk and clapped his hands together in excitement. "I mean, you've got a…different…look to you, but these photos are just for the line up, so it doesn't matter very much how they turn out."

"Thank you…I suppose." There was no getting out of this one…Ginny sighed, resigned, shook her head. "The things I do for you, Mr. Blanco."

"That's why you're a doll, an absolute doll, Ginny my dear." Blanco winked happily at Ginny, then retrieved his chair from the bookcase, and sat back down at his desk, whistling and looking through sketches.

"Sir?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I do believe there is still the problem of the venue…?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Alright, this is what we'll do. There is this old manor just outside of London that I pass by on the way here every day, Avalon Manor, I think it's called. There's this bizarre young man that lives there…I think he's by himself, odd chap, but nonetheless, I believe it will make the perfect replacement venue. I was so struck by the beauty of the building, I talked to the odd fellow myself, and he said that I was welcome to come there for a photo shoot any time I wanted, he couldn't see the harm in it. So I'll just ring Sarah, and tell her to call ahead, and then we can get you fitted, and aha! Crisis averted. Oh, I am good at these things…"

Blanco chuckled to himself, and then continued to sip his latté and look through sketches. Ginny couldn't believe she had just been roped into modeling. How in the world had she managed that?

"Miss Weasley, would you hurry yourself up please? Tell Sarah to get on the phone to Avalon Manor, and you get yourself down to Giles so you can be fitted!"

xxxxx

Harry had just gotten out of the shower, and was currently walking starkers around his old Victorian manor, but he was no exhibitionist: Harry lived alone. He had seen this house for sale, and had honestly fallen in love with it. There were wrought iron gates, which led up a tree lined winding dirt driveway, and then to the manor itself. It was a large white brick house, with two turrets on either side of the building, both with balconies. The front door, a great, cherry wood piece with a brass, lion's head knocker, was framed by a great white wooden porch that wrapped around the entire front of the house. It was picture perfect, and hardly any of the muggles knew it was there. He didn't bother with any of the wards that most wizarding households bothered with; the anti-muggle wards were hell maintain. It wasn't as if he had many muggles coming up to his house, anyway.

However, that didn't mean he didn't have any random visitors. Once or twice, Harry had had a lost traveler anxiously buzzing the intercom on the gate, looking for a telephone. The manor did seem to be in the middle of no where, although it was just half an hour outside of London.

As he walked through the halls toward the master bedroom, towel around his neck, Harry heard the telephone ring. It didn't often do this, so he was rather surprised. The number of muggles that Harry knew, and kept contact with her limited, and they didn't often call.

He answered on the third ring. "Yes, hullo?"

"Yes, hello, Mr. Harry Potter?"

"Speaking?"

"Yes, sir, this is Sarah Edwards, and I work for Mr. Alan Blanco as his assistant. I believe he said the two of you met last year when his car broke down beside your home?"

"Oh yes, right…"

"Yes, well, Mr. Blanco wonders if you would be so kind as to allow a photo shoot on the grounds of your home…he says your manor is quite lovely." The Sarah girl let out a little twitter of laughter over the phone.

"A photo shoot?" Harry remembered this Blanco fellow from last year, but he couldn't quite remember what he did for a living. Perhaps he was a photographer? Something with fashion.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. A photo shoot. He would prefer if you made a decision right now, because the photo shoot has to be today. It can't be rescheduled."

"A photo shoot…with models you said?"

"Yes sir. They're for Mr. Blanco's fall collection."

Right! He had said he was a fashion designer, and Harry had said he was welcome to take pictures of his home if he wanted. At least the models would be pretty.

"Oh yes, of course, come on over."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Potter. The crew will be over shortly, and it will take about an hour." The phone went dead with a click.

"Hm," Harry remarked, placing the phone back onto the receiver. Looking down, he mutter to himself, "I suppose I'd best get some clothing on."

Twenty minutes later, Harry was dressed in muggle clothing; a pair of old blue jeans, and a green ribbed t-shirt that he had had to dig up from the bottom of his closet. It was old, but it would have to do. He didn't think the photographer and models would appreciate a strange man dressed in wizard's robes.

Just as Harry had levitated a kettle over the stove for tea, he heard a great loud knocking coming from the front door. "Ah, that must be them already."

"Hello, Mr. Potter is it? It's so kind of you to have us on such short notice. I'm Juliet White, the photographer."

A woman in her early thirties stood before him. She had raven black short hair that was flipped out, and her lips were a dark shade of crimson. She wore a white blouse that was actually quite see-through (Harry was not a complainer), with a black tight business skirt and black stiletto heels. She was extremely stylish; Harry suddenly felt self conscious in his wrinkled t shirt and faded blue jeans.

"Yes, that would be me. Nice to meet you. Care for some tea before you get to work?"

"Ah, no thank you, perhaps afterward. I hate to leave my poor model in the trailer…I mean, she's not allowed to eat anything in the clothing, and you know, she might dirty it…"

"Juliet! How in the world am I to put this dress on without help?" a voice yelled from the white trailer attached to a black Escalade.

"Just a mo', I'm just talking to our kind benefactor here," Juliet yelled back, and then gave a wink to Harry. She seemed to be flirting with him. Not really his type, but definitely attractive.

"Really, Juliet, I can't be expected to wait around while you flirt all day," the model yelled back from the trailer. "Or do I have to drag you…" The model walked out of the white trailer wearing a gold silk evening gown (it seemed like liquid it clung to her curves so), and her voice trailed off, because Ginny Weasley had caught sight of Harry Potter standing in his doorway.

"Oh bother."

"Ginny? What in the world are you doing in that dress?"

Juliet stood between them on the porch, looking back and forth, trying to figure out what was going on. "You two have already met, I see."

"That would be one way of putting it," Ginny muttered as she turned on her Armani-clad heel and stalked back up to the white trailer.

Harry ran a hand through still damp hair, and sighed loudly. This would be awkward...at best. But what was Ginny doing here? Was she a model? Harry could believe it. Being tall and lanky like Ron, with large brown eyes, and bright fiery copper hair, Ginny gave any super model a run for their money. And Harry didn't need reminding about how long her legs were.

But how in the world had Ginny gotten herself into muggle modeling?

"I suppose I'd best get to work right now. Thanks very much, Mr. Potter."

"No problem, Ms. White."

Harry closed the door, and sighed again. Then he allowed himself to linger on the image that he had glimpsed of Ginny in that gold dress…Cliodna be praised, those curves…

xxxxx

In the trailer, Ginny was not having similar reactions.

"Good Lord, Juliet, what am I supposed to do? This is Harry's house, Merlin's beard, and I didn't even know it. Oh good Lord, what will he think of this? What if this gets back to my mother—"

"Merlin's beard? Ginny, for God's sake, get a hold of yourself, you're uttering nonsense. You probably won't even see him today. It's not as if he's supervising or anything, so he'll probably just stay inside and we'll just knock on the door to tell him when we're leaving, and give him a happy 'thank you for lending us your house'. We don't even have to go in the house, so you'll be ok—"

Just then, Juliet's cell phone rang. She flipped it open and answered.

"Yes, Juliet White? Yes…Oh, Alan, hello…yes…Oh really…really. Right. Er…no, no, nothing. Yes sir. Ok, g'bye."

"Well, what did Mr. Blanco want?"

"He…er…" Juliet scratched the back of her neck and looked down before mumbling out her reply. "He wants pictures inside the house."

Ginny wailed dejectedly. She hadn't seen the man for half a decade, and now suddenly she can't get away from him. It was a bloody curse, she concluded.

"What's the story with you two anyway? Did you date him?"

"Yeah, about ten years ago, I'd say. During school, and just out of it…"

"Ah, really? I can sense a good story!"

"Well, the point is, he buggered up, and had all these girls after him, and then we had a fight and never spoke again."

"Ahh…I can sense a romance story…why don't you two hook up again? It might be fun."

"It also might be the apocalypse, now can we please get to work?"

xxxxx

It seemed to Ginny that one picture was as good as any picture, but Juliet insisted upon taking about a hundred for each outfit, for each location. And then there was all the equipment. What a bother. If Ginny had her way, a Polaroid would probably suffice, but she also understood that the pictures had to be very good for the Fall Fashion Week review. Which was why she still didn't understand why Mr. Blanco had made her model instead of a real model. Was he out of his mind?

"Ginny, alright, put your right hand on that tree there, yes, beautiful." Juliet snapped a few more pictures. "Now sort of give me that I'm-going-to-ravage-you-senseless look."

"Juliet!"

"It's a valid expression!"

She took a few more pictures by the trees, and then glanced at her wristwatch. "Er, Gin? Don't you think we should get a few shots inside the house? Blanco seems to think this Harry guy has a beautiful antique home, and that it'd be great for the layout."

Ginny sighed. "Come on, let's get it over with."

A few moments later, Juliet and Ginny stood in front of the large lion's head brass knocker once again. Ginny stood a few paces away from the door, with her back turned away. She really didn't want him to see her in this ridiculous large green dress. Just because she enjoyed fashion didn't mean she liked all of it.

The door opened and Harry froze while he gazed at Ginny. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. The emerald green silk contrasted with her copper red hair, and the off the shoulders, plunging neckline style revealed creamy white skin with a splash of brown freckles.

"Done already?" He caught himself from staring too long, he hoped. Ginny did a good job of avoiding his gaze.

"Ah, er…no. Mr. Blanco, Alan, he said that you have a beautiful home, and wondered if he couldn't have a few shots inside?" Juliet flashed a white smile.

"Oh, of course! Come in, come in." Harry moved back to let them inside. Juliet moved inside, carrying her camera and tripod, and Ginny stalked after her, pointedly staring at the floor.

Harry turned back to them. "The sitting room is the fanciest room I have…I'm afraid the rest of the house is rather normal looking. I didn't do as much work on it." In fact, the rest of the house was not especially normal looking. It was littered with various odd trinkets and dark magic detection objects. The sitting room was probably the only completely muggle room in the entire manor. 'I'd better keep Juliet out of the bathroom, too,' Harry thought to himself briefly. He didn't think she'd appreciate the mirror telling her to fix her hair a bit.

"I'll leave you two to it, them," He passed Ginny and gave her a pointed look, but left it at that. He didn't especially feel like getting into another row like the one they'd had this morning.

Harry went back to the kitchen, where he had been reading the Daily Prophet. An article caught his eye: 'Allegra Garrow: Will she kill again?' Scanning quickly over the article, he reaffirmed the information he had already been debriefed with. She had killed an auror, and a friend of Harry's. Orla Quirke had only been a fully qualified auror for a few short years when she had met her end with Allegra Gallows, a witch who had appeared from no where six months ago, claiming to possess a power surpassing even He Who Must Not Be Named himself!

Absolute rubbish, Harry knew. There had already been a few wizards and witches, hoping to rise up as an evil overlord with Voldemort dead. These occasional problems, a random murder by dark magic, or a wizard proclaiming to be the Lord Voldemort incarnate, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley in nothing but skivvies, provided a field day for the Daily Prophet and a large headache for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

However, as an auror, he had to keep up on what information the Ministry was divulging to the public. Voldemort's reign had left its imprint on this generation; Harry knew that for certain. Part of being an auror was capturing the dark wizards still on the loose after Voldemort's second uprising. Yes, it had been more than ten years since his downfall, but they were still out there, he knew.

There had been several people, including the Ministry itself that had tried to dissuade him from becoming an auror. Harry knew that the Ministry would have rather seen the Boy Who Lived become some sort of iconic figure head, a face to reassure the public that they were all safe. And that was exactly what Harry was to the wizarding world. He was a sort of…superhero, he supposed begrudgingly. But truth be known, he would rather just have a job, and a family, and a quiet life. One too many times had been about to take a bath and reporters from various tabloid magazines had followed—

"AHHHHH!"

Harry jumped up; spilling his tea onto the waving witches on the front page of the Daily Prophet (they had recently invented self-spelling wands). As he pulled out his wand and ran into the sitting room, a very strange scene beheld Harry: Ginny, looking very stressed indeed, was kneeling over Juliet White, who was passed out on the plush rug in front of the ornate brick fireplace, where Ron Weasley was standing, spluttering and covered in soot, pointing at his little sister.

"Ginny!" Ron finally managed to spit out. "For Merlin's sake, Ginny." His arm was still raised, pointing at her.

"Ron," Ginny said faintly. She somewhat resembled a squirrel that had been caught rummaging through a trash bin.

Ron was still lost for words, and kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Finally, he said weakly, "What're you doing in those muggle clothes?"

Harry quickly cut in, levitating Juliet to the leather divan beside the fireplace. "Did Juliet see you floo through the fireplace, Ron?"

"Er, yeah, bit of a nasty shock for a muggle, I expect, a fire suddenly sprouting up and a person popping out of it."

"She'll need to be memory charmed," Harry said, turning to Ginny who sat heavily upon the couch behind her.

"Yes, yes I know…" Ginny ran her shaking hands through her hair. "What a day this has been."

Harry looked back and forth between Ginny and Ron, who was once again at a loss for words. Finally, Ron spoke. "You look…good, Gin."

"You too, Ron…" White-faced, Ginny opened and closed her mouth several times before saying, "Ron, I—" But whatever Ginny was going to say next was cut off by Juliet moaning and sitting up on the divan beside Ron. She sat for a minute, blinking, and then her eyes widened and she was mid gasp and pointing at Ron again, when Harry muttered obliviate from across the room. A jet of pale blue lightning shot from the end of his wand, and Juliet fell back onto the divan, her eyes half opened.

Juliet sat up again, and shook her head a bit. "Oh my…I think I just dosed off, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. It's been a long day, Juliet, I think we should head back to develop the prints, don't you think?" Ginny said weakly from the couch.

"Yes, yes, that sounds good…" Juliet looked up at Ron and smiled blankly. "Are you a friend of Harry's?"

"Er…yes, just popped over for tea, just now."

"Ah…well, we'll leave you to that then. Come on, Ginny; let's get you out of that dress and— OH! Ginny, stand up, stand up, you'll wrinkle the fabric!" Juliet hopped up off the divan and pulled Ginny off the couch, inspecting the dress closely. "Well, seems fine. Anyway, Mr. Potter, Harry, wonderful meeting you, thanks so much for having us over on short notice."

"Pleasure was mine, Ms. White. Ginny," Harry nodded. He wasn't going to stop her. Let her run away.

Ron watched helplessly as Ginny and Juliet White let themselves out the front door, and it clicked shut behind them.

"What in the world is going on, Harry?" Ron looked absolutely bewildered. "Why was she with that muggle girl—who was that muggle, anyway? And Ginny was all done up in muggle clothing, why in the world was she in that muggle dress—"

Harry cut him off. "Ron, I have no idea." He shook his head. "Why she's leading a muggle life, I really have no idea."

Ron and Harry looked helplessly at one another, and both were thinking the same thing: Now that they'd found Ginny Weasley again, how would they get her back into their lives?

Outside, Juliet was chattering mindlessly (a side effect of memory charms) as they packed up in the white trailer.

"And it was ever so nice of Harry to have us, don't you think? I don't think he was bizarre at all, Mr. Blanco kept saying he thought he was a bizarre chap, but its not as if he was a complete loner, you saw he had a friend there," Juliet chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You know, that man, Harry's friend, he almost looked as though he could've been your brother!" Juliet giggled happily. "Imagine that, you having a long lost brother, and him being friends with that old flame of yours. That's a story for the Cosmo."

Ginny laughed weakly as she pulled up her black pencil skirt and zipped it up. "Imagine that."

"And did you see what that redheaded bloke was wearing? Those robes must be some sort of forward fashion from Japan or India that we haven't got here yet."

As the black Escalade and white trailer pulled down the long winding dirt driveway and out past the wrought iron front gates, the head of a woman with raven black, straggly hair and sunken eyes suddenly appeared in the sky. To anyone looking directly at the spot where the woman's head was, this would have looked extremely odd. In actual fact, the woman was hovering on a broomstick above Avalon Manor, hidden by an invisibility cloak, the inhabitants completely unaware that they were being watched.

Harry Potter sat down and stared out of his front window, looking troubled. The cracked, red lips of the woman on the broomstick twisted into a cruel smile, and, covering her head so she was invisible once again, she flew away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ahhh a plot bunny hopped into my head, so one day I started typing and this is what came out. I really hope this doesn't turn out boring…' We'll see where this goes. I'm planning for two more chapters, tops, so lets see if we can't get Harry and Ginny to hook up within the next twenty pages. D!

Oh, and I really don't know what to call this little fic…I've been toying with some titles, but nothing really sticks. Suggestions? Until then, I'm sticking with the file name. Which is Drunken Harry. XD

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::EDIT::

Alrighty, so this version has been edited. I've changed a few things here and there, and now that I'm running with an actual plot line, I've added some things. This puppy is really writing itself, I am ever so happy.