Harry Potter and the Fifth Year from Hell

Chapter 5 – (Hermione Interlude) The Weasley Curse

“My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Ch. 6

*  *  *

Hermione rested her elbows on the windowsill of Ginny’s room at the Burrow, looking out into the honeysuckle-scented night.  Ginny was playing Quidditch with the boys at the field hidden by trees on the top of the hill.  If she listened carefully, Hermione could hear their laughter and calls, faint in the distance.

“Here!  Throw it here!” 

Surely that was Ron.  Hermione sighed.  He’d been so sweet all day today, so sympathetic about the house fire that he didn’t even tease her for crying over her old school prizes.  He’d hugged her back a little when she hugged him, and afterwards patted her on the back.  Well, he’d been gentle with her after she was Petrified by the basilisk too.  It wouldn’t last long.

“YES! – Oops, sorry, Harry!”

No mistaking that laughing voice – that was Ginny.  She’d been laughing all day – excited to be back home after visiting her friend Cassie Jordan, and excited to see Hermione again.  Who am I kidding? – It’s Harry she’s excited to see.  Not that she’d shown it at all – in fact, Ginny had dragged Hermione into her room as soon as they got to the Burrow, eager to show her a letter from a Slytherin boy in her year (“he’s really cute, too”) named Ian St. Clair.  But Hermione knew from her own experience that you could have a miserable crush on one boy and still be pleased and flattered by attention from another one.  She was pretty sure Ginny still liked Harry as much as ever.

Hermione sighed.  Ginny was lucky.  Harry was so nice.  He never teased Ginny, or seemed to notice her crush, even when it was painfully obvious.  He never avoided her, or picked fights with her, or –  Why couldn’t I have liked Harry?  Harry was trustworthy and predictable, not like, well, other people.  Other people had terrible tempers, and said anything that came into their head, and had a family tradition of rough teasing, and were stupid, blind, oblivious idiots –

“Oy, watch it there!” 

Now, that was George.  It was funny that it was easier to tell the twins apart by their voices than by their faces.  Hermione frowned, thinking of the mad conversation she’d had with George after dinner…

*

It had started with the porch swing.  Harry had patted it, and she had succumbed to the temptation to sit between her two best friends, knowing how comforting it would feel.  Ron had drawn away and she’d been careful to sit closer to Harry than to him, but it had still happened – her leg had brushed against Ron’s.  Before she could draw it back, he’d jumped away from her and stood up.

She wasn’t usually so sensitive, but tonight – it must be because of the fire, and her parents leaving – tears had started to her eyes.  George had seen.  He’d glared at Fred, and kicked him to stop him laughing.  Not that Fred was laughing at her, of course.  He was laughing at Ron, as usual.  Teasing him for – what?  For liking her?  For being too embarrassed to even touch a girl?

Harry wasn’t embarrassed.  Her shoulder had bumped against his and she’d hardly even noticed.  He hadn’t cared, either.  Harry was comfortable and kind.  Ron was – awful.

And that was what George had said too.  After the others had left the porch, he’d jerked his head toward the front walk, and they’d walked down the path and leaned on the wood fence separating the front garden from the rutted, seldom-used lane that led to the Burrow.  It was easier to talk, not looking at one another.

“I apologize for my brother,” George had said.  “He’s so thick he doesn’t realize how rotten he is.”

She’d laughed shakily.  “That’s not a very convincing apology.”  George had shrugged, and looked off at the three-quarter moon in the still-blue sky.

“Listen,” he’d said, “I’m not saying he wouldn’t act like a pea brain anyway, but there is a reason you probably don’t know about.”

She’d been so surprised that she’d just looked at him.

“Have you ever heard of the Weasley Curse?” he’d asked.

She couldn’t help laughing again.  “Red hair and freckles?”  George had looked sternly at her.

“Very old, very bad joke, Granger.  And it’s not idiocy, either, which is most people’s second guess.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.  Tell me about it,” she’d invited.

“Well, the story is it happened a long time ago – late 1500’s.  Some ancestor of ours had done some service for a very powerful wizard.  I’ve heard various versions of what it was.  Anyway, in gratitude, this wizard bloke put a blessing on my ancestor and all his descendants.  Well, it was supposed to be a blessing but we call it The Curse.”

She’d peered at him suspiciously.  If this had been Fred, she would have known he was having her on.  If it had been Ron, she would have believed him.  As it was George --

“Are you having me on?” she’d asked.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he’d said solemnly.  “I can’t say the story is true, but I swear it’s the story I was told.  Ask anyone.  Ask Mum or Dad.”

“Hmm,” she’d said noncommittally, folding her arms on the fence and staring straight ahead.  “So what was the blessing?”

“Simple – ‘You will be faithful in love and blessed with many sons.’  They liked that kind of thing back then.  Unfortunately,” George had rubbed his nose, “this wizard was VERY powerful and the blessing was VERY strong.  It’s been passed down to all the Weasleys and, umm –”  He’d sneaked a peek at her.  “Umm, you do know that witches and wizards have had good, err, birth control, for about three hundred years, right?”

She’d blushed, but managed to say calmly.  “Of course.  It was in the Muggle Studies reading.”

George had looked surprised.

“I should’ve taken that course.  I didn’t know it covered THAT.  Well, anyway, it’s very reliable, but it doesn’t always work for us.  Weasleys, I mean.  And we have at least five boys for every girl.  That’s a fact.”

“EXCUSE ME?”  She’d stiffened.  She could feel that her face was fiery red.  “Are you saying that Ron is afraid to touch me because he’s afraid that we’ll – and that I’ll – Are you out of your MIND?”

“No, no, no!”  He’d been convulsed with laughter, but he’d controlled himself.  “Although, it’s something you might want to remember for the future, young lady.  No wait” – as Hermione turned to stalk away – “no, it’s the other part, the ‘faithful in love’ bit.”

She’d hesitated, torn between listening and walking away, and he’d continued quickly.  “See, that’s the real curse, because the wizard didn’t make it both ways.  I mean, we Weasleys are supposed to be faithful in love – right? – but there’s no guarantee that our partner will – you see the problem?”  He’d avoided her eyes.  “OK, it’s stupid, but we believe it.  Weasleys can only fall in love once in their lives, and if she dumps us, or dies, well, that’s just it.”  George had been the one covered in blushes at this point – more embarrassed to be talking about love than about birth control.

This was the craziest thing Hermione had ever heard.  “So, you think Ron is afraid he’ll fall in love with me and I’ll break his heart?” she asked sarcastically.

“I’m not saying he’s thinking exactly,” George had admitted with a grin.  “But we do tend to be reluctant to – get involved, because – well, it’s just better not to.”

Hermione’s sceptical mind had already found a flaw in the ridiculous story.  “I’ve met your brother Bill.  I got the impression he goes out with a LOT of women.”

“Yeah, well, Bill’s first love is married to another wizard.  You won’t find him with anyone more than once or twice.”

“And Charlie?”

“As far as I know, he’s never fallen in, umm, you know.  So he’s still looking.”

“What about Percy?”  It was ludicrous, but she’d felt compelled to follow the mad logic to its end.  George had frowned heavily.

“He’s in danger of being profoundly hosed.  I know he’s that way about Penny, and they’re having problems.”

“But he didn’t seem reluctant to get involved.  Not that I saw.”

“What can I say? – Percy’s a prat.  I guess he thought she was the one for him.”

“Well, what about Fred?”

George had scowled.  “I’m worried about him, too.  This whole Angelina thing was supposed to be casual and friendly.  He’d better keep it that way.”

She’d looked out of the corner of her eye at him.  “And George?”

He’d grinned then.  “Still heart-whole and fancy-free.”

She’d frowned.  Not that she believed this nonsense, but –

“Does it apply to girls, too?”

He’d met her eyes.  “I don’t know.  We don’t have a lot of girls in the family.  And even if it does, I don’t think – ”  He’d broken off, but she’d been able to complete the sentence in her head.  “I don’t think an eleven-year-old’s crush counts.”  Yeah, she’d thought, but what if that crush is still going strong three years later?

“Well, they’ll be waiting for me,” George had said, pushing off from the fence with a slap.

They’d turned and walked back to the house then.  She’d spotted a tall form watching them from the doorway, but Ron had disappeared before they’d got back to the porch.  George had waved to her, cheerful as ever, and loped off.

*

And why shouldn’t he have been cheerful? Hermione thought sourly, grimacing in the direction of the Quidditch players.  She’d listened to his mad story.  He had to have been having her on.  Otherwise, I’d be very worried about Ginny.  Why had George told her those things?  Was he trying to warn her off Ron?  Don’t even think about him unless you’re prepared to marry him and have a dozen sons? 

How could she find out if George was lying?  She was embarrassed to ask Ginny about it.  No way in a million years could she ask Ron.  Maybe Mrs. Weasley?  Or this new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher that Harry met?  Maybe – Hermione’s face brightened – maybe I can find it in a book! 

There was a noise.  The Quidditch players emerged from the trees and started down the steep hill.  Hermione could see their forms briefly silhouetted against the sky.  There was Ginny in the lead, small and slender, skipping lightly down the path.  Fred and George followed, stocky figures carrying a heavy ball case between them, then Ron and Harry, both thin, one tall, one medium-height.  She watched Ginny go toward the back door.  I should make a light.  Ginny will think I’m strange, sitting here in the dark.  But light suddenly shone out from the house below – Ginny must be doing something in the kitchen.

Hermione wondered suddenly where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were.  In their bedroom, she supposed.  Its windows looked into the front yard.  She wondered if they’d watched her talking with George by the front fence, and what they’d thought.  And what did Ron think?

In the back yard, the figures were moving.  One of the twins pointed toward the little pond, and the others nodded.  They all walked over to it.  The moon gave just enough light for her to see that Fred and George were stripping off their clothes.  They splashed noisily into the pond and sat down.  The tall figure – Ron – pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, and followed them.  He didn’t take off his jeans.  Harry did the same. 

It looked heavenly in the pool, with the moon silvering the little ripples they made, but it didn’t last long.  Fred and George were splashing Ron and Harry, and then they were wrestling, and then they were getting out.  They walked back toward the house, barefoot and with no shirts.  Hermione smiled wickedly to herself and leaned further out the window.  It wasn’t often that she got to see –

She could see them clearly as they came into the light spilling out of the kitchen window and door.  Fred and George came first.  Their arm muscles bulged as they carried the wooden case with its heavy Bludgers.  In fact, muscles bulged all over their identical wide torsos.  There was a light sprinkling of hair over their chests, gleaming faintly red as they neared the light.

Quickly, Hermione transferred her attention to the two boys behind.  Harry was slightly ahead, walking with his quick, athletic gait.  He was thin compared to the twins, but covered all over with a smooth layer of muscle.  His light tan looked dark next to the Weasleys’ gleaming white skin.  Finally, there was Ron, ambling a little behind.  His shoulders were much broader than Harry’s, and he had distinct muscles on his arms and shoulders, but his chest was still bony and undeveloped.  He had no hair there yet, just a line of red running down his stomach from his belly button into his jeans.

Hermione jumped back, feeling suddenly disgusted with herself.  Ginny could walk in any minute, and find her like this – drooling like Lavender or Parvati.  Quickly, she closed the window curtains and called up the lights.  When Ginny came in, she was absorbed in Apparition for Beginners (which she had already read four times).

*

Ginny wandered wordlessly around the room, her face flushed.  Hermione raised her eyes from the book and studied her friend.  Her mind connected the dots – Ginny in the kitchen – Harry going through the back door into the kitchen with no shirt on – Ginny flustered.  Yep.  Hermione closed her book and laid it aside.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked, smirking a little.  Ginny started.

“What?  Oh, Quidditch!  Yeah, it was great.  Did you sit here and study the whole time.”

“Not the whole time.”  Hermione believed in telling the truth whenever possible.  “I unpacked.  Thanks for making room for my stuff.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.  I can’t believe you’re going to be here for almost four weeks.  It’ll be great having you!”

Ginny was so friendly and welcoming to Hermione now.  They’d really gotten to be friends when they were staying in a tent together at the Quidditch World Cup.  But, before that, it had been different.

“Thanks.  You know,” Hermione picked her words carefully.  “I used to think that you didn’t like me very much.”  Ginny flushed bright red.  Hermione continued.  “Like when we shared a room at the Leaky Cauldron year before last.  You were pretty quiet.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like you.”  Ginny’s irrepressible grin flickered.  “I thought you might not like me after I got you turned to stone.”  Ginny looked down and began scratching Crookshanks.  “And I s’pose I was jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me?”  Hermione was stumped for a moment, and then she made the connection.  “Because I was friends with Harry, you mean?  You didn’t think –”  Ginny interrupted her.

“No.  Oh well, maybe that a little, too.  No, it was Ron.”  Hermione looked at Ginny with real surprise now.

“What?”

“Well, maybe you didn’t know, but Ron and I used to be together all the time.  Like Fred and George.  We had so much fun.  And then he went off to school, and I understood that he’d want to make friends with boys, like Harry.  I didn’t mind that.  But then he got to be friends with you, too, and you were just as much of a girl as I was, and only a year older, and he talked about you all the time, and didn’t seem to have any time for me, so I felt – well, jealous.”

“Oh, Ginny.”  Hermione firmly quashed the urge to ask what Ron had said about her.  This was about Ginny.

“And then I had that dumb crush on Harry, so I had to avoid him, but that meant avoiding Ron too, because they were always together, so even when I went to school we just weren’t friends any more.  And I was so stupid about that diary.”  Ginny shrugged.

“Ginny, I’m so sorry.  I can’t believe I didn’t think – I’m surprised you don’t still hate me.  I was hurt because, well, I’ve never gotten along with the girls in my year too well, and I really wanted a female friend.  Ron and Harry are great, but sometimes you really need a girl.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”  Ginny smiled.  “We have that in common.  Your best friends are Ron and Harry, and my best friends are Colin and Neville.  I love them to death, but they’re not too good at girl talk.”

“How did you get to be such good friends with them?” asked Hermione curiously.  She settled back against her pillows with her arms around her knees, ready for a nice long chat.

Ginny thought for a minute.  “Well, I didn’t really click with the girls in my year, either.  Not that they’re that bad, but you have to admit I was pretty weird my first year, killing roosters and stuff.  I think they were afraid of me.  We get along better now, especially” – Ginny grinned – “since Ian started paying attention to me.  They actually like the Slytherin boys.  They drink Draco Malfoy is ‘dreamy.’”  Ginny made a gagging noise.  Hermione made a face.

“So you made friends with Colin instead?”

“He didn’t get that close to the boys in our year either.  You remember how he was Petrified in November, so he practically missed the whole school year?  I wanted to make it up to him, so I was extra-nice to him, and” – she blushed – “I would talk to him about Harry rescuing me, and you know how he was about Harry, so – like Ron used to say, we were the Harry Potter fan club.  We’ve been hanging around together ever since.”

“And are you –”  Hermione couldn’t believe she was asking this question, after all the nonsense she’d taken about Harry and Ron – “do you like him?”

 “NO!”  Ginny squealed with laughter.  “I told you, he likes Harry.”

“But – ”  Hermione frowned in confusion.  “He likes Harry?  You mean he’s – ”  Ginny nodded mischievously.  “GINNY!”

“Well,” Ginny shrugged, bright eyed.  “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it.”

“Of course I have,” said Hermione indignantly.  Her parents had brought her up to be liberal and tolerant.  It was just that Colin was so young.  On the other hand, he’s 14.  And I definitely knew I liked boys by that age.

“Colin’s so much fun,” Ginny was continuing.  “He’s a little hyper, but he’ll do anything.  He doesn’t know the meaning of fear.  He once went up to Professor Snape and asked him – well, never mind.”  Ginny put her head down on her legs in a fit of laughter.

“What?”

“He asked him” – Ginny was crying with laughter now, hardly able to talk – “he asked him if – if real wizards wear –boxers or briefs.”

Hermione gasped, too astonished to laugh.  “What did Snape do?” she asked in awe.  “Did Colin get detention forever?”

Ginny giggled.  “He asked it with such a straight face.  He was so innocent – like he was just a poor little Muggle wanting to fit in with the wizard world.  Snape just stared at him for about a minute – his face should have turned Colin into a worm – and then he said ‘I suggest you ask the House Elves’ in a hateful voice and he just stalked away. 

Hermione broke out in giggles, too.  “Ginny, I’ve just remembered that man – Archie – at the World Cup, remember?  According to him, it’s neither!”

“Ooh,” said Ginny with interest, “D’you think Snape –?”

“HUSH!” said Hermione quickly.  “Oh, yecch!  Don’t say it – I do not want to think about it.”

“Good point,” snickered Ginny.  “Anyway, Snape never calls on Colin in class, now, or talks to him at all.  I think he’s terrified of what else he might ask.”

“Maybe you should” – Hermione was overcome with giggles again – “maybe you should tell Neville to try that, then.”

“As if he would!” exclaimed Ginny.  “He’d die first.”

“So would I!” said Hermione.  “I mean, I literally couldn’t do that if my life depended on it.  Could you?”

Ginny tilted her head to the side.  “Sure.”

“Remind me,” said Hermione fervently, “never, ever to play Truth or Dare with you.”

They got ready for bed, but Hermione wanted to talk some more.

“What about Neville?  When did you start being friends with him?”

“Not until I went to the Yule Ball with him, really.  He was so nice and so funny, and he really needed someone to hang around with.”

Hermione nodded.  Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were always together, just as Harry and Ron were.  Neville was the odd man out in their year.

“And we had so much in common.”  Ginny smirked.  “Neville calls us the U.L.S. – the Unrequited Love Society.”

“Ginny!”  Hermione was not ready to hear this – this was just too much.  “Are you trying to tell me Neville has a crush on Harry, too?” 

“No, of course not!  He likes” – Ginny looked up at Hermione and then cut her eyes away – “girls.”

Hermione’s mind clicked.  Oh!  Well, she’d suspected that Neville liked her.  She shook her head.

“Ginny, you’re awful at keeping secrets.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell you about Neville!” protested Ginny.  “You guessed.  And Colin – he doesn’t want to keep it a secret, necessarily.  But – don’t tell Harry.”

“I won’t tell anyone!” Hermione promised.  Goodness, think of Fred and George on that one.

Ginny turned the subject.

“Tell me about your summer.  Are you writing to Viktor?”

Hermione shrugged.  “I was busy writing to Harry every other day, and travelling.  I try to write Viktor at least once every two weeks.  I saw a carving in Ponta Delgada that I thought about sending him, but – I don’t want to encourage him too much.”

“Oh!”  Ginny abandoned the subject of Viktor Krum.  “Tell me about your trip!”

“Would you like to see my photo album?” asked Hermione eagerly.  She dragged it out from the pile of books by her bed.  Ginny sat cross-legged on the floor to look at it.

“Hermione, you’re so organized!  When did you have time to do all these labels and everything?”

“Mostly on the boat back.  Look – here’s a picture of me working on it.”

Ginny studied the Muggle photograph.  Hermione was reclined on a deck chair in a swimsuit and cover-up, carefully writing.  Ginny pointed to the picture beside it.

“Who are these two girls with you?”  Hermione looked.

“Those are two American Muggles I met on the boat – they’re cousins.  Andrea was 16 and Kathy was 15.  We were the only teenagers on the whole ship, so we hung around together.”

Ginny stared in envious admiration at the three girls seated at a poolside table.  “What gorgeous swimsuits!  Gosh, I wish I could tan like that.  Did you feel glamorous?”

Hermione laughed.  “I did, rather.  I felt so grown up.  There were no boys on the ship to admire us, but all the crew and the younger male passengers used to check us out.  It was funny.”

“I’ve never done anything like that,” said Ginny sadly.  “And you should see my swimsuit – this old dowdy thing.”

Hermione smiled mischievously.  “We could sun in the backyard if you like.  You could wear one of my swimsuits.  Look, I brought this red one and the yellow one” – she pointed at the pictures – “the fire didn’t get them.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” said Ginny.  “It’s okay for you; you have, you know – cleavage and everything.  I’m just this pale skinny stick.”

“Ginny!  How can you even say that?  You look like a fashion model!  And your skin is beautiful.”

“Freckles,” Ginny muttered.

“Freckles are wonderful,” Hermione insisted.  “They’re sexy –”

Ginny gave her a sidelong look and Hermione felt her expression freeze.  Does Ginny know?  She’d practically admitted it to George tonight.  Can everyone tell?

“—on you,” Hermione finished firmly.  Ginny let the moment slide.

“I’ve never heard of a fashion model who was five foot three.  Anyway, only Muggles like skinny ones.  In the wizard world, they like curvier women.”

“You’ve got plenty of time,” said Hermione.  “My goodness, look at your mother!  If you take after her at all…  Meanwhile” – she held up the red Lycra one-piece temptingly – “wouldn’t you like to try this on?”

When she had the red suit on, Ginny had to admit it was flattering.  She didn’t even disagree too strenuously when Hermione said she had great legs.

“But I’d never have the courage to sunbathe,” she insisted, as they finally put out the lights.  “The twins would laugh their heads off.”  Hermione made a noncommittal sound.

“And Hermione?” 

“What?”

“Nobody thinks freckles are sexy.”

“You’d be surprised,” Hermione muttered sleepily.

*

The next morning, they were disturbed much too early by loud shouts up and down the stairs.  Ginny groaned, and Hermione tried to bury her head under her pillow.  Then Fred shouted just outside their door.

“Ron!  Where’s the bag of golf balls?  Aren’t you two ready yet?  Let’s go!  RON!”

Hermione’s dream was invaded by a vision of a flat white stomach bisected by a line of red hair.  What?   She sprang to a sitting position.  Definitely time to wake up.  She huddled under her covers as two pairs of feet clattered down the stair and past her door.  One stopped and returned.

“Ginny?”  It was Ron’s voice.  He tapped softly on the door.  Hermione pulled her covers up to her chin.  Ginny moaned.

“Ginny, we’re going to do Harry’s practice now.  Don’t you want to come?”

Ginny moaned a little louder.  They had been up until long after midnight talking.

“I don’t think she’s coming,” Ron called, feet pounding down the stairs again.  “Come on, let’s catch up.”

Hermione rose and looked out of the window into the back garden.  It was early, but the sun was up.  Most of the dew had already steamed off the grass.  She watched the four boys scramble up the path, brooms in hand.  She wished Ginny would wake up.

After a while, Mrs. Weasley knocked on the door.  Hermione called to her to come in.

“If you girls want any breakfast, you’d better come make it.  Fred and George already put everything away, but there’s toast and marmalade.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.  I suppose I should wake Ginny.  We stayed up rather late talking, I’m afraid.”  Mrs. Weasley smiled.

“No, let her sleep.  I’d make something for you to eat, but I’m about to go visit Maribelle Fletcher, the daughter of one of my old friends.  She’s just had her first baby, and I know she could do with a little help.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Weasley.  I always make my own breakfast at home.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled rather absently.  “I do hope you’ll be all right by yourselves.  I wish Percy were here.  It used to be that the Death Eaters would only attack at night, but now –  Well, I’ll be back by two o’clock.  Tell my children to make sandwiches for you when you get hungry.  And keep your wands handy.”

“We will.  Have a good time.”

After Mrs. Weasley left, Hermione shook Ginny awake.

“Ginny, wake up.  This is the last free day before our Apparating lessons start.  Let’s do something.”

Ginny yawned and stretched.  “Like what?” 

“How about some sunbathing?” Hermione suggested.  Ginny frowned.

“I told you.  They’d laugh at me.”

“Well, there’s nobody to laugh,” said Hermione practically.  “All the boys are off playing Quidditch and your Mum went to visit a friend who’s had a baby.”

Ginny looked tempted.  Hermione added the clincher.

“Anyway, they need to get used to the idea that you’re growing up.  They need to stop thinking of you as the baby of the family.”

*

Hermione felt vaguely wicked as they carried their things to the grass beside the swimming portion of the pond.  It was ridiculous – she’d been in the pool every day on the boat home from the Azores.  The wizarding world was more conservative than the Muggle world, but they did go swimming.  She’d chickened out to the extent of wearing a pair of shorts over her bikini bottom, but Ginny was unselfconscious in the one-piece tank.

They spread the old blanket on the ground and distributed the radio, pumpkin juice, and sunscreen.  They waded in the pond for a little while, but the water was too chilly from the night to tempt them to sit down.  It was perfectly comfortable just sitting on the blanket – the sun was warm but there was a light cool breeze.

“Mmm,” Ginny said.  “I didn’t realize this would feel so pleasant.”

“More fun than Quidditch?” asked Hermione teasingly.

“I didn’t say that.”

Hermione examined Ginny’s milk-white skin worriedly.

“You should probably use some sunscreen.”  She explained what sunscreen was, and Ginny laughed.

“How will I ever get suntanned like you then?”

“I don’t think you can,” said Hermione gently.  “I think you’d just get a lot more freckles, like Charlie.”

Ginny shuddered, and Hermione showed her how to apply the lotion.  They lapsed into a drowsy silence.  The coconut scent of the sunscreen blended pleasantly with the mint and wild onion smells of the garden.  A bee buzzed curiously around Ginny’s bright red torso before it gave up and moved on to some ragged daisies.

As they sat without speaking, Hermione felt her curiousity mounting.  George’s story about the Weasley Curse seemed even more fantastical in the morning light than it had the previous night.  There was no reason she couldn’t ask Ginny about it.

“Ginny?”

“Hmmn?”

“Umm, is there such a thing as a ‘Weasley Curse’?”

“Sure,” Ginny said lazily.  “It’s the reason we’re all so poor.”

“What?”  George hadn’t said anything like that.

”Well, you know,” said Ginny reasonably, “if you have to keep dividing the family estate between five sons, it’ll be nothing after a while.  And we’ve been doing it for centuries.”

Hermione let herself be drawn from the main point.  “You could leave everything to the eldest.  That’s done a lot.” 

“Maybe by Muggles,” Ginny sniffed.  “We don’t do it like that.  You know, we’ve been able to control our number of children for a long time.  Most of the old families have very few children and pass their fortunes down intact.  But that doesn’t work for Weasleys, does it?”  She sat up and looked interested.  “Who’s been telling you about it, anyway?  Ron?”

Hermione concentrated on how much she hated lying.  She couldn’t think of a good way to evade the question.  “George.”

“What for?”  Ginny pulled down her sunglasses to stare at Hermione.

“Oh, it just came up.”

“Oh.”  Ginny closed her eyes and looked like she was drifting off to sleep.  Hermione tried again.

“He told me Weasleys have to be, well, faithful to their first love?”

“Um-hum.” 

Goodness, Ginny doesn’t seem to mind a bit.

“Does it worry you at all?  I mean, you know, the way you felt about Harry.”

Ginny sat up, looking astonished.  “No!  It’s only for ‘True Love,’ you know, mutual and everything.  You don’t get stuck forever on the first boy you ever fancy.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll have to be really careful when I do fall in love.  But then, like Mum says, doesn’t everyone?  I mean, anyone can get their heart broken.”  Ginny laughed.  “I worry a lot more about the ‘many sons’ bit, believe me.”

“Did your Mum say anything about that?” asked Hermione curiously.  “Did she know what she was getting into when she married your Dad?”

“‘Getting into?’  You didn’t know?  Mum was already cursed; she’s a Weasley, too.  She and Dad are third cousins or something.”  Ginny grinned.  “So we’ve got a double dose.  It’s amazing, really, that I haven’t got twelve brothers, instead of only six.”

“I should have guessed,” said Hermione slowly.  “Her hair is just the same colour as all of yours.”  Another thought occurred to her.  “So how many girl Weasleys are there?”

“I only have one girl first cousin,” said Ginny.  “Annie – you know, the one who’s going to be our teacher.  She’s a really unusual Weasley because she’s not only a girl, she’s an only child.  Her father was our Uncle Bilius and he died when she was just a baby.”

Hermione saw a movement out of the corner of her eye.  She’d been unconsciously watching the grove of trees that hid the Quidditch players.  There was a flash of red – they were coming down.  Is there time to scurry inside?  No, they’d see, and that would be even more embarrassing.  Pretend not to notice.

“Tell me about Annie,” Hermione asked.  She pretended to listen with great attention to Ginny’s answer, though not a word penetrated.  Ron was coming down the path first.  He was getting close; he was blushing like crazy – Hermione looked up and smiled – Ron halted as if he’d run into a Shield Charm, and stomped over to the back stoop, where he sat down with a scowl. 

Well, that worked just WONDERFULLY, thought Hermione savagely.

Fred and George bounced down like puppies.  Fred was beaming, but George raised one eyebrow and looked at her with mock reproach.  She glared defiantly at him and told them about the lunch plans.  George winked and offered her a hand; Fred took her other hand.  They pulled her up and walked her to the house, talking and laughing like idiots.  Ron was sitting on the stoop, glowering.  He didn’t even look at them as they passed, just drew his knee aside so they could get by.

Hermione hurried to pull on her T-shirt, but that didn’t stop the twins from acting like prats.  Hermione ate her lunch, nodding and smiling randomly when it seemed appropriate.  Please let them shut up.  Ron avoided her – she wondered if he would ever look at her again.  Harry seemed much as usual, though Hermione wondered (as she had many times before) exactly what he was thinking.  As they left the kitchen for the Quidditch field, Hermione made a silent vow to herself.

I will never, ever, EVER try anything like that again.