The Final Reckoning

Chapter Seven: Mrs. Weasley's Return

Harry watched Hermione and Ron go up the stairs; Ginny was close behind, but she turned to Harry and smiled and rolled her eyes. Harry chuckled and shook his head and gave her a wave, then collapsed onto the sofa. He was about to lie down when he remembered that he should set the alarm on his watch for an early hour, to ensure that he got upstairs before Mrs. Weasley got home. If she saw him sleeping on the sofa, she'd almost certainly figure out why he wasn't in Ron's room.

The watch alarm set, Harry lay down and closed his eyes--it was warm in the living room, so he didn't bother with a blanket. Sleep stole over him quickly and for a while he didn't dream, but then images came, unbidden, into his mind. Of Susan. Of red, snake-like eyes. Of Sirius as he fell through the veil. The images were nothing more than flashes, with no sequence, no sense, no progression to them. And then an old, familiar scene played in his mind: his mother, screaming, placing herself in front of Harry's crib; Voldemort raising his wand, speaking the incantation, throwing the Killing Curse...

Harry sat up sharply and winced. His hand flew to his scar and he swallowed. For the first time in weeks, it was prickling. No, burning. He stood up, grabbed his wand from under his pillow, and fumbled for his glasses. He whirled round in the moonlit darkness, his eyes straining to take in signs of movement, his ears alert for any untoward sounds.

After a full minute of listening, Harry heard...something. Faint, so faint that he wondered whether his ears were not playing tricks on him.

And then louder. A moan.

Harry rolled his eyes. Lovely. Ron and Hermione had clearly forgotten to sound-proof his room.

'Now I'll never sleep,' he grumbled out loud. He really DIDN'T mind them having some alone time, but that didn't mean he wanted to HEAR them at it.

There was another moan, this one even louder, and Harry froze. That moan was different. It wasn't...a good moan (Harry had made enough of those this past year to know the difference).

'No...'

The voice--it didn't belong to Ron or Hermione.

Ginny.

Harry started toward the stairs and halfway there, he gasped as his scar seared with pain. His knees buckled and he grabbed the wall for support.

'Stop...'

Ginny was speaking louder now. Pleading.

Good god, had someone gotten into her room? Where were Ron and Hermione? Surely they had heard her by now?

Harry shook his head and rubbed at his scar; the sharp pain had receded to a dull throbbing, and he started up the stairs, gripping the banister with his left hand as he clutched his wand firmly in his right.

'Don't...please!' Ginny cried, her voice muffled behind her closed door.

Harry took the rest of the stairs at a run, hoping, expecting to see Ron and Hermione right there. But they weren't. And Harry realized that they in fact must have soundproofed his room and couldn't hear her. Because there was no way they'd NOT respond if Ginny was in distress.

'Leave me alone!'

Harry reached for the doorknob and his scar flared again. Now it was official: he was scared. Something was going on, something to do with Ginny. He'd woken up to pain in his scar, and right at that moment Ginny had started to plead with...someone. He had half a mind to pound up to Ron's room and wake them, but what if, while he was doing that, whoever was in Ginny's room...killed her?

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. What if HE was in there now? He'd threatened her at the Riddle House that night. Harry hadn't forgotten that, even if his own focus had been more on Susan at that moment.

'Stop it!' Ginny begged, and she was crying now. Harry's scar burned again.

The hell with it, thought Harry. If that's him, I'll...just have to find a way to kill him. But I'm not letting him hurt Ginny.

He turned the doorknob slowly and then flung the door open wide, his wand outstretched, ready to scream a Stunning Spell.

But Ginny was alone. She was lying in bed, thrashing. Harry suddenly realized he'd been holding his breath, and he exhaled loudly. She was having a nightmare.

'Please, don't...' she cried, and her arms flailed in front of her like windmills. 'Don't take me down there...Tom...I don't want to go...'

Tom...

She's dreaming of Riddle, Harry thought. He sprang into action, crossing the room and leaning over her bed; he set his wand down on her bedside table.

'Ginny!' he called, and he tried to grab her arms, which were pushing against something invisible.

'No!'

'Ginny, wake up!' Harry sat, and he knelt down on her bed and caught her wrists in his hands. 'Wake up!'

'NO!' Ginny screamed, as her eyes flew open. 'Let me go!'

'Ginny!' Harry yelled, trying to calm her down, but she wasn't having it. She cried and struggled and pushed against him.

'Ginny, it's me!' Harry cried desperately. 'It's Harry.' And his scar flared again, so hot and brutal that he felt faint from it, and he let go of her, and at that moment he felt the sting of her palm as she slapped him, very hard, on the face. So hard that his glasses went askew.

'Get away from me!'

The slap jarred him and reminded him of what was happening. As he straightened his glasses, there was only one thing he could think of to still her struggles; he grabbed her wrists again and pressed them above her head, into the pillow, and let his weight settle on her torso, which was twisting and writhing.

'Ginny, wake up!' Harry yelled, his face inches from hers. 'It's Harry.'

Ginny let out another yelp, but then her brown eyes met his. She blinked and stopped struggling, but she was trembling so much the whole bed shook with it.

'H-Harry?' she whispered.

'It's okay,' said Harry, trying not to wince as his scar continued to burn. 'You had a nightmare.' He quickly let go of her wrists and eased back his weight from her body.

'Harry,' she said again, and her brown eyes began to leak tears. 'Oh, god...' She rolled over on her side and covered her face with her hands.

For a moment, Harry was at a loss. He hadn't seen her like this since he'd pulled her from the Chamber, all those years ago. She'd been a frightened little girl back then, frightened, and ashamed. Ashamed of her inability to fight back, though she'd tried. Ashamed of what Riddle had made her do.

And then Harry felt slightly sick, because apart from what he knew about, there could have been any number of things that he'd made her do. Here she was, six years later, having nightmares about Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

The sound of her sobbing brought him back to his senses, and he remembered that perhaps he ought to do something other than just sit there and listen to her cry.

'Hey,' he said softly, and he put a hand on her shoulder. 'It's okay. Ginny, it's okay. Don't cry.'

She gave a choked sob and curled up into a ball, and it was then that Harry realized just how small she really was. He supposed he hadn't really thought about it, considering how capable she had become in the past few years, how tough and resilient. But now she was crumpled up and vulnerable, and Harry felt a flash of hatred surge through him. Voldemort had done this to her. Six years later and it wasn't over for her. How many times had she awakened in the middle of the night, screaming for Riddle not to take her down into the Chamber?

'Ginny,' Harry whispered, and without thinking he began to rub her back. Susan had done that for him sometimes, when he'd had a bad dream. It always made him feel a bit better, the warmth and the contact. Indeed, as he traced circles on Ginny's back, she seemed to quiet down.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, and she sniffed. She was speaking so quietly he hardly heard her.

'Sorry for what?' Harry asked.

'For waking you,' said Ginny.

Harry gave a disbelieving laugh. 'Don't apologize.'

She let out a breath and turned onto her back, looking up at him with swollen eyes, eyes that widened.

'Harry,' she said slowly, sitting up. 'What happened to your face?'

'What?' said Harry. She reached up and touched his left cheek, and he winced.

'Oh, that,' he said. 'Well, actually, that was you.'

'I did that?' said Ginny, appalled.

'Yeah,' said Harry, and he smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. 'I was trying to wake you up and you walloped me.'

'Oh, shit,' said Ginny with a groan. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.'

'I know,' said Harry. 'Although, that makes me wonder how hard you hit when you do mean it.'

She laughed, and sniffed, and looked at him for a long moment.

He wanted to turn away, but there was something about her gaze that held him there. She still looked so scared.

'How often do you dream about him?' Harry heard himself ask, and in the next minute he wanted to kick himself. It was none of his damn business...

'Not as much as I used to,' she said, shrugging. 'But...lately, the dreams have gotten worse. Ever since...'

'The Riddle House,' Harry finished.

She nodded, and then she shifted, putting her back against the wall where her bed rested. She moved her legs around so that they stretched out across her narrow bed.

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

'Why are you sorry?' Ginny asked.

'I'm sorry...he went after you,' said Harry.

'That's not your fault,' said Ginny. 'Lucius Malfoy did that. I used to wonder why Malfoy picked me to give the diary to. Maybe he figured because I was a girl that of course I'd write in it. Or maybe Draco suggested it. Or maybe...maybe he picked me because I happened to be standing right there and he couldn't get close enough to Ron to slip him the diary.'

'It's not fair,' said Harry, looking at her.

'Neither is being the Boy Who Lived,' she replied.

'You didn't ask for this--'

'Neither did you,' Ginny interrupted.

There was a pause, and then he nodded. 'No, I didn't.'

She smiled at him sadly, and her eyes filled with tears again.

'Hey,' said Harry softly, and without really noticing he was doing it, he put his arm around her. She sank against him and cried softly into his shoulder, her tears soaking his shirt. His heart was pounding; he'd never been much good with girls crying on him. But this wasn't Cho, or Susan. This was Ginny. She was a friend, a good friend, and she'd let him cry on her shoulder once, not too long ago.

'I'm sorry,' she blubbered, pulling herself back from him again. 'I can't seem to keep myself together tonight.'

'Well, that was a nasty nightmare,' said Harry, shrugging.

'Do you wake up from nightmares sobbing your eyes out?' Ginny asked, with a choked laugh.

'No, I usually just puke over the side of the bed,' said Harry.

She laughed, and then he laughed, and suddenly they were laughing, quite hard. It was the weirdest thing ever. Okay, maybe not the weirdest, but it was up there. One minute he was consoling Ginny as she sobbed on his shoulder, and now here they were, laughing as though they'd smoked some of Dudley's marijuana. The tears running down her cheeks now were tears of mirth.

And then it happened again: Harry's scar raged with pain.

'Ow!' he gasped.

'Harry?'

His hand flew to his scar.

'It's nothing,' he said, through clenched teeth, even as the burning bit at the tender flesh.

'It's not nothing,' said Ginny, her voice suddenly all business. 'Let me see.'

'Ginny, you don't have to--ow!' He tried to squirm away from her, but she gripped his shoulder tightly and with surprising strength--or not so surprising, considering how hard she'd clocked him earlier--she held him still.

'Hold still,' she admonished, and she yanked his hand away from his scar with her free hand, then brushed back the messy black fringe covering it.

'It's really red,' she said, and she lightly traced her finger over it. Harry winced.

'Sorry,' she said, but she didn't take her hand away. 'It's hot, too.' She traced her finger over it again, very lightly, and then again. The pain began to ebb away.

'It's nothing,' Harry said, grateful that the pain had stopped. 'It hurts all the time, remember?'

'No, it doesn't,' said Ginny sharply. 'You said it hadn't been hurting you at all since the Riddle House, remember?'

Harry looked at her with a decidedly petulant frown on his face. 'I guess I said that,' he mumbled.

'So, when did it start hurting?' Ginny demanded. She locked him into place by staring him down with her fierce brown eyes.

He wanted to lie to her. He didn't want her to fuss. But Merlin, her gaze was something--it was as if she saw right through him.

'Tonight,' he said. 'It started tonight. After Ron and Hermione and you all went upstairs. That's why I woke up. It wasn't you.'

'Wait a minute,' said Ginny, putting a hand on his arm. 'Are you saying that you woke up because your scar hurt?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'So? I usually wake up if it hurts.'

'Was it hurting when...when you came in here?' Ginny asked, and she blushed and looked away, clearly embarrassed at being caught in the midst of her nightmare.

'Well...yeah,' said Harry, striving for a casual voice. 'So?'

She looked up at him again. 'You don't think it's...odd, you waking up because your scar hurting and just happening to find me in the middle of a nightmare about...him?'

Harry stared at her. No, he hadn't thought it was odd, because it hadn't occurred to him to think about it that way.

'No,' he said. 'But...now you mention it...it kept flaring when I was trying to wake you up.'

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him and sat back; her gaze moved away from him and she appeared to be thinking hard about something.

'What?' he asked.

'I dunno,' she said. 'It's just...a weird coincidence. Your scar doesn't hurt for weeks and on the very night it starts hurting again I have a nightmare about Tom Riddle.'

Harry felt a thrill of fear at her words. 'You think there could a connection?'

She looked at him, and her eyes were fearful again. 'I don't know. Maybe...maybe we should tell Dumbledore about it.'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah.' And now his eyes moved away from her, and he was thinking again about everything Lupin had told him.

'Harry?' said Ginny hesitantly. 'What is it?'

'I was just thinking,' he said, and he looked at her. 'Look, Ginny, I haven't told anyone this yet because...well, because I haven't wanted to dwell on it...you know...but...Lupin told me something about that night at the Riddle House. He said...he said when I fought with Voldemort that I injured him.'

Ginny's eyes went wide. 'Really?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'The Ministry, they sent this team to clean up the mess and they found drops of blood outside the front of the house. It was my blood.'

She gave him a confused look.

'I never went in front of the house, Ginny,' said Harry.

She shook her head.

'I don't understand.'

'That night, in the graveyard,' said Harry, 'the night Cedric was murdered and Voldemort came back. There was this...spell, or curse or whatever, to get his body back. He used some of my blood to do it.'

Ginny stared at him as comprehension dawned on her features.

'So that blood outside the front of the house was your blood,' said Ginny, 'but it came from Voldemort's body?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'At least, that's what Lupin and Dumbledore think.'

'Could that be...why your scar hasn't been hurting, then?' Ginny asked.

'It's as good an explanation as any,' said Harry. 'Maybe when he's injured, he can't get to me that way.'

'But if your scar's hurting again now--' Ginny began.

'--that must mean he's healthy again,' said Harry darkly.

'How did you manage to hurt him, Harry?' said Ginny, amazed. 'I didn't even think it was possible.'

'That's just it, I don't know,' said Harry. 'The last thing I remember about that night was him possessing me, or trying to. Ron said I fought back and Voldemort sort of screamed and Disapparated, but I don't remember 'cause I passed out.'

'Maybe that's when you hurt him,' said Ginny. 'When you...fought back mentally, or whatever.'

'But how would that make him bleed?' Harry asked.

Ginny started to speak, then stopped and shook her head.

'Harry,' she said slowly, after a moment.

'Please, Gin, don't ask me why I didn't tell you sooner--'

'I wasn't going to,' said Ginny. 'I know why you didn't. Lord knows you could use a few weeks of not thinking about Voldemort for once. But I was going to say, maybe it is time we all...pool our resources on this. Hermione'd be chomping at the bit to do research on this, you know she would. And...maybe there's a connection, between your scar hurting and my dream. And with Ron possibly being a Seer--'

Harry choked and coughed. 'Who said...Ron, a Seer?' he managed.

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Oh, please. Harry, I've known about that since he got home. He left his dream diary out one night and--'

'Ginny!' said Harry.

'I didn't read it!' said Ginny at once, putting up her hands. 'I may be a nosy brat but I'm not that rude. But yeah, I know about it. You said yourself, Ron talks in his sleep.'

Harry stared at her. 'I really need to stop underestimating you.'

Ginny folded her arms across her chest and gave him a pointed look. 'I'm used to it by now.'

'Yeah, well,' said Harry, 'I promise not to do it anymore, okay? Between this and your flying and the fact that you almost knocked me out cold in your sleep...'

She blushed. 'So, you'll tell Ron and Hermione about this?'

'Yeah,' he said. 'I'll tell them tomorrow--'

'Not,' said Ginny quickly, 'about...my having a nightmare.'

'Why not?' said Harry.

'It's Ron,' said Ginny. 'He worries about me, he's always looking at me like I'm about to go barmy on him or something. Because of what...Voldemort said to me at the Riddle House. You know how he gets.'

'Ginny, what if there's a connection between your nightmare and my scar?' said Harry. 'I can't really keep that a secret if--'

'I know,' said Ginny, holding up her hands. 'But...for now, please...don't tell him? I don't want him to worry. I'm okay. I really am. I just...sometimes...'

Her voice trailed off.

Harry looked at her; she looked scared again, but coupled with that was a straightness in her spine, a determination in her pose, as though she was determined to conquer her fear. He couldn't help but admire her, and wonder at how mercurial she was. One moment she was tough, all business; the next she was telling jokes; and the next, collapsing against him as though he were a lifeline. She was a very different girl from the girl he knew back in his second year.

No, she's not, the voice in his head told him. She's the same girl she's always been. You just didn't notice her much before.

'I know what you mean,' he said, smiling at her sadly.

'I know you do,' she said. And with that, she yawned and stretched her back, and for the very first time in his life Harry noticed more of her than he ever had.

Like the fact that she was wearing rather skimpy pyjamas: a t-shirt that was entirely too small and shorts that were entirely too short. Like the fact that her hair was more copper than pure red, and hung down her back. Like the fact that she had breasts. Full, lovely ones, at least as far as he could tell, being that they were covered up by that entirely too-tight t-shirt.

He felt his cheeks burn. He was glad it was dark, and she couldn't see the expression on his face.

Where had THAT come from? When had Ginny gone and gotten...a body? A very girly, lovely, female body?

Perv, he thought. That's Ron's sister. And you just gawked at her breasts.

He blinked.

'I'll just...turn in,' he said.

He got up and started for the door, suddenly wanting to get out of there. He couldn't believe he was having impure thoughts about Ginny, of all people.

Yeah, I can, he thought. I'm lonely as hell, and horny, and I haven't gotten laid in a while, and there are NO girls to speak of at Privet Drive, for god's sake, and she's hardly wearing anything, and she's...well, she's really quite lovely, isn't she? How was I supposed to know she's stacked? She wears baggy clothes all the time. Besides, I'm a bloke. A sixteen year old, red-blooded, heterosexual bloke. I'd have to be dead not to notice that Ginny is a looker. Not that anything is going to happen, because she's over me, I know that. But still...well, I can look, can't I? Merlin, she has a lovely pair--

That's Ron's SISTER, you perv.

'Is the sofa okay?' said Ginny.

'It's fine,' said Harry. 'Just one night, right?'

'Harry,' said Ginny, and she gave him a look. 'I have the spare bed, if you want. It'd be a lot more comfortable than the sofa.' She indicated the small bed on the opposite wall.

Harry flushed. 'Uh...that's okay. I mean, I could always sleep in Fred and George's room, if I want a bed.'

'And if you want to get tickled to death or strangled in your sleep,' said Ginny, shaking her head. 'They jinx their beds all the time, Harry. They don't want strangers sleeping in their room. Even though they moved out.' She rolled her eyes. 'Look, just crash here. It's quiet in here, and anyway, it won't do if Mum comes back and sees you on the sofa. She'll figure out something's up.'

Harry considered. She was looking at him with her All Business look again. There was, at least as far as he could tell, no ulterior motive on her part.

'Okay,' he said. 'But...you should make sure we wake up early--'

'--before Mum gets home,' said Ginny, nodding. 'Bloody hell, can you imagine. I hope Ron remembered to set his own watch.'

And with that, she leaned across her bed and picked up the clock on her bedside table. Harry turned away and headed straight for the spare bed, which was covered in a rather girlish pink duvet.

'So, listen,' she said. 'If I have another nightmare, I dunno, give me a smack or something. To make up for the one I gave you.'

He turned and saw her smiling rather cheekily at him. He laughed and shook his head.

'I'll keep that in mind,' he said, pointing to his cheek, which was now tender.

She buried herself under her covers as he climbed into the spare bed, which had old pink sheets on it that were nonetheless spotlessly clean and fresh-smelling, like citrus. He settled back on to the pillows and felt exhaustion creep over him at once. Yes, the bed was a lot better than the sofa, and it was very quiet in her room. He took off his glasses and set them on the dresser behind him.

'Harry?' Ginny's voice floated across the room.

'Yeah?'

'Thanks,' she said. 'For...you know.'

He looked across the room but saw only the blurred outline of her head; he couldn't make out her features, but he smiled at her anyway.

'Sure,' he said, and he lay back down into the softness of the bed, and drifted off, images of Susan in his mind. Only this time, the images didn't make his heart hurt quite so much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry wasn't quite sure how he got there, but somehow, he found himself at a Weird Sisters concert. The music was very, very loud--the bass and the drums pulsated heavily and he felt it through his whole body. But all told, the concert was rather entertaining. If he could just figure out why he was in his pyjamas...

He left the concert. His ears were ringing. Loudly. Good lord, the ringing was relentless...

Harry opened his eyes and groaned. The ringing wasn't his ears, it was Ginny's alarm clock. Which she was sleeping right through.

Thought she was a light sleeper, he thought.

Give her a break, she had a rough night, she's exhausted.

Harry groaned and pulled himself out of bed and went over to the clock. He picked it up, where it bounced madly in his hand as the bells rang. The hand was set at 'Dawn; why are you getting up NOW?'

'Good question,' Harry muttered. Oh, right, he had to go wake up Ron and Hermione. Ron would have forgotten to set his alarm; shagging had a way of making a man forget about, well, everything else.

Harry smacked the button on the clock and it stopped clanging. He set the clock back down, staggered over to the dresser, slapped on his glasses, and walked unsteadily out Ginny's door, passing the spare bed and picking up his wand as he went and shutting Ginny's door behind him. He started toward the attic stairs when he felt a twinge in his bladder.

Pee first, then wake Ron and Hermione.

Harry walked blearily into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, locking it just in case. He had just starting relieving himself when he heard a loud whoosh come from downstairs.

'Hermione?!'

'Oh, shit,' Harry whispered to himself. It was Mrs. Weasley. She was earlier than he thought.

'Ginny? Ron? Harry?!'

Jesus Christ, why can't I finish peeing already? Harry thought frantically. He had to get upstairs, he had to get Hermione out of Ron's room before...

Bang, bang, BANG!

'Ginny?' Mrs. Weasley said shrilly. 'Is Hermione there? I need to speak with her. Open up!'

There was a long moment of silence, as Harry prayed that Mrs. Weasley didn't go upstairs. Ron might have sealed his door shut but that wouldn't stop his mother...

Thank god, Harry finally finished emptying his bladder. He dared to open the door to the bathroom, just a crack.

'Ginny!' Mrs. Weasley bellowed. 'Open up right now!' Her back was to the bathroom door, and all her attention was focused on Ginny's.

The door opened, and Ginny stood there, looking very sleepy and more than a little disgruntled.

'What?' she said, annoyed, and then her eyes went wide, and she seemed to snap awake.

'Mum!' she said, in an overly loud voice. 'What are you doing home?'

'I think you know the answer to that, young lady,' Mrs. Weasley snapped. 'I woke up this morning and found a note from Hermione saying she Flooed here. I don't know HOW she got in through a sealed up chimney but if she IS here, tell her I have to speak with her RIGHT NOW; her parents are frantic with worry and they're furious, too--it took every ounce of persuasive power I had to keep them from coming here, too--'

The tirade continued as Harry, anxious to get Ginny's attention, poked his head carefully out the bathroom door. He met her eyes, and hers widened for just a second, but her mother was deep into her monologue, and didn't notice.

'Mum!' Ginny interrupted, glancing at Harry. 'Hermione's...'

Harry pointed to the bathroom.

'In the loo,' said Ginny. 'She'll be out in a few minutes. She's...not feeling well...'

She glanced at Harry again, who made a sickly face and grabbed his stomach.

'Stomachache,' said Ginny, with a grim expression. 'You know.'

'Really?' said Mrs. Weasley, and she started to turn around. Harry leapt back into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it.

'Hermione?' Mrs. Weasley called, knocking on the door. 'Are you all right in there, dear?'

'I'm fine!' Harry called, in a high-pitched voice that sounding absolutely nothing like Hermione.

'Are you sure?' said Mrs. Weasley. 'You sound a bit...funny.'

At this Harry coughed dramatically and pretended to heave. 'I'm...fine...' he gasped, in a wheeze.

'Oh, dear, you sound horrible,' said Mrs. Weasley. 'Let me in--'

'No!' he yelped, and this time he did sound a bit more like Hermione. 'Uh...I'm okay...just...need to get this out of my system!'

'Ginny,' came Mrs. Weasley's voice, and from the sound of things, she had turned round again. Harry pressed his ear to the door.

'Are you sure she's all right?' Mrs. Weasley went on.

'She's okay, Mum,' Ginny insisted. 'Honest. I think...a lot of it's nerves. You know...with her parents.'

'Yes, well,' said Mrs. Weasley. 'I'll just go downstairs and wait for her, then. No need for you or Ron and Harry to get up, it's so early. Tell her to come down when she's...done, would you?'

'I will,' said Ginny, in her overloud voice.

'But if she's not down in five minutes, I'm coming back up and I'm going into that bathroom, understood?'

'Understood!' Ginny said, practically shouting.

And then Harry heard footsteps, receding down the hallway and creaking on the staircase, and fading away. He counted to five and leapt out of the bathroom.

He and Ginny collided in the corridor.

'Shit!' they both hissed.

'Get upstairs!' Ginny whispered frantically.

'I'm on it,' said Harry, and he hurtled up the stairs, forgetting not to tread quietly.

'Hermione?'

It was Mrs. Weasley's voice again. Harry froze halfway up the attic steps and looked frantically at the door to the loo. Ginny shook her head.

'She's...in my room, Mum, getting dressed now!' Ginny called.

'Oh, good--Hermione, dear, are you feeling better?'

'Fine!' Ginny called; her voice sounded nothing like Hermione, either, but at least it sounded appropriately girlish.

'Good!' Mrs. Weasley called. 'Well, hurry up and get dressed.'

'Okay!' said Ginny. And she turned and waved her arms frantically at Harry to go upstairs. He did, but this time he remembered to tread lightly.

He reached Ron's door; it was glowing slightly from what had to be a Sealing Charm and a Silencing Charm.

'Shit,' he muttered. He had his wand, but he couldn't very well USE magic to open the door. And if he knocked too loudly...

'Ron,' he hissed, tapping on the door. 'Ron!'

He had no idea how much time had elapsed but there couldn't be more than three minutes before Mrs. Weasley charged upstairs again.

'RON!' Harry whispered desperately, tapping on the door as loud as he dared. Just when he was about to give up altogether, the door opened.

It was Hermione who answered. Ron was sacked out on the bed, snoring lightly, sleeping like the dead. Harry felt the overwhelming urge to punch him.

'Harry?' said Hermione.

Oh, good lord. She was wearing one of Ron's t-shirts. And nothing else, that much was plain.

'Hermione,' said Harry desperately, hurrying into the room and shoving the door shut behind him. 'Mrs. Weasley's back--you have to get dressed and get downstairs in...two minutes!'

Hermione blanched. 'Oh, dear,' she whispered, and in the next instant she was searching for her clothes, and Harry was helping her. He found her jeans, which had landed a good distance from the bed (he tried not to think about the implications of that); she found her own t-shirt and her denim jacket.

'I can't find my shoes!' she hissed.

'Bugger your shoes, just get dressed!' Harry snapped.

'But what if Mrs. Weasley finds them--'

'I'll look for them later, just HURRY UP!'

She nodded, and tossed her clothes onto Ron's bed, onto Ron himself. He grunted in his sleep but didn't stir. Harry really wanted to punch him now.

Hermione, for her part, was so frantic that she yanked the t-shirt she was wearing over her head. Harry whirled around just in time. Hermione was a nice looking girl but she was like his sister, and he wasn't that desperate to see a naked woman. And besides, Ron would kill him.

Then Harry remembered that he wanted to kill Ron, for forgetting to set his bloody watch, for lying there like nothing was wrong, like the shit wasn't about to hit the fan.

'I'm going,' she hissed, and she hurried out the door. Harry was about to breathe a sigh of relief when she reappeared.

'She's coming up the stairs!' Hermione hissed. 'I can't be seen up here!'

'Shit!' Harry said again, because there was simply nothing else that could adequately describe this situation. Hermione was so frightened she didn't even correct him.

'Hermione, are you ready yet?'

Hermione opened her mouth to start to answer, when Harry clapped a hand over her mouth to shut her up as Ginny, speaking in her faux-Hermione voice, said, 'Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, just...can't find my...shoes.'

Harry's eyes went like saucers. He couldn't believe...either Ginny was psychic or that was the luckiest coincidence she'd ever heard of.

'Please try to hurry, dear!' said Mrs. Weasley, sounding a bit put out now. But, thankfully, Mrs. Weasley's familiar footsteps retreated down the stairs again. Harry and Hermione waited a beat, and then Hermione flew out of the room.

'Quietly!' Harry hissed, as she hurtled down the stairs. He peeked out of Ron's room and saw a mass of bushy brown hair sweep past Ginny's room--she poked her head out long enough to hiss to Hermione, 'You owe me one!'

'Okay,' said Hermione, and she paused only when she came to the landing of the lower stairs, and took a deep breath. Harry had to give her credit--she could panic like nobody he knew, but she had gotten a lot better at pulling herself together. She straightened her shoulders and marched purposefully down the stairs to face the wrath of Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny looked up at Harry, and her eyes were wide. Harry stared down at her for a long moment, unable to believe the close call they'd just had. She bit her lip and started to laugh, silently, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry started to laugh, too, but then he pointed to Ron's room, and she nodded and went back into her room, shutting the door behind her. Harry went into Ron's room, clutching his side and laughing softly. The whole situation was rather like a comedy of errors.

He heard a groan and looked up. Ron's eyes flickered open and he lifted his head off the pillow. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he was tangled up in the bedsheets which, thank god, were strategically covering him. He had a half confused, half bemused expression on his face.

'G'morning, Harry,' he said, blinking sleepily. 'Where'd Hermione go?'

Harry threw a pillow in Ron's face.