More Than Words

Harry stifled a soft belch of repletion, gazing at the last forlorn slice of pizza. 'Do you want it?' he groaned, shifting a little to adjust his trousers.

Ron shook his head. 'Nah.' He glanced around Harry's kitchen. 'Could do with something sweet, if you've got biscuits.'

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at a cupboard. 'Accio.' A tin flew into his hand and he offered it to Ron. 'Where do you put it?' he demanded.

'Mum always said I had hollow legs,' Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit.

Harry Vanished the pizza box. 'I can believe that.'

Ron nibbled the edges of another biscuit. 'So about Gin...' He set the biscuit down. 'I just want to know that you're with her for the right reasons,' he said soberly. 'I mean, I know what I've seen. Even I'm not that thick,' he said self-deprecatingly. 'It's just when she laid that kiss on you...'

'Which one?'

'Common room, her bedroom on your seventeenth birthday... Take your pick.'

Harry leaned back in his chair. 'I kissed her in the common room,' he corrected. 'She kissed me on my birthday. And this conversation's a bit late, don't you think? ,' he added deliberately checking his watch. 'Why didn't you ask me why I started dating her again last year?'

'Yeah, but a year ago, you didn't ask Gin to move in with you,' Ron said pointedly. 'A year ago, you weren't conscious of anything else around you and we were afraid you'd gone round the bend.' He toyed with the cork from a bottle of butterbeer. 'Why didn't you say anything when we were in school?' he asked in hurt bewilderment.

'Because I thought you were going to bash my teeth in,' Harry confessed. 'I heard every comment you ever made about Michael and Dean when they dated Ginny. And she's your sister. I can't talk to you about how she makes me feel. It's bit weird, to be honest.'

'You've got that right.' Ron reached for another biscuit. 'So what are you going to do? Wait for her to make the first move?'

'I don't suppose you'd lend me that Deluminator of yours...?'

Ron laughed and shook his head. 'No. You don't need it.' He stretched his arms over his head and then rested them on the table. 'You want some advice about Gin?'

'Can't hurt.'

'Just hear her out. Whatever she has to say, no matter how barmy it is, just let her get it out. When you're the youngest, nobody ever listens to what you have to say.' Ron paused significantly. 'You know... the way you like for people to listen to what you have to say, and for them to realize you know your own mind.'

Harry's mouth opened, then shut. He reached for his butterbeer and took a long sip. 'Hermione's rubbing off on you,' he commented.

'Bound to happen sooner or later,' Ron replied, completely unperturbed. 'I'm still holding out hope that she'll come round and support the Cannons. Or at least go to a game without a book in her bag...'

'Good luck with that one,' Harry snorted.

'Tell me about it,' Ron chuckled, relieved the conversation had taken on a lighter tone. 'They're having a do Friday night, the Cannons. Harold Shively sent me a couple of tickets. Want to go?'

'Ask Hermione first. She might actually enjoy your company, if not the Quidditch talk.'

'I did,' Ron responded promptly. 'You know that look she gets when you ask her a silly question? Where she does that thing with her eyebrow?' Ron waggled his right brow up and down.

'Too well, I'm afraid.'

'I swear McGonagall taught it to her... Like I ought to have known better than to ask.'

'Think we'll ever understand women?' Harry wondered.

'We'd have better odds earning an Outstanding in Potions,' Ron retorted.

xxxxxx

George dropped his toothbrush in the small holder and yawned widely as he trudged to bed. Katie was already snuggled in the pillows, bedding pulled up to her ears. He gratefully fell into the bed, sighing as his body molded itself to the mattress. This summer was possibly the busiest he'd ever seen since the shop opened. Word seemed to have spread past the borders of Britain and families from all over Europe were turning Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes into a must-see stop on their holiday in England. 'I have got to learn another language,' George murmured. 'More French than -voulez-vous coucher avec moi , at least.'

'I would hope you're not saying that to customers,' Katie giggled.

George rolled over and gently tweaked Katie's nose. 'I don't fancy dying in my sleep.'

'Did you and Fred have plans for the flat above the shop?' Katie asked, fiddling with the edge of her pillowcase. 'Maybe expand up there?'

George muttered something Katie couldn't quite hear. 'No,' he said firmly. 'We can barely handle the business we have.'

'So there's no reason why Ron can't live there?'

'No.' George turned his back to Katie and yanked the bedding up to his shoulders. 'It's all I have left, yeah? I give that up...' His shoulders hitched. 'I give that up, and I don't have anything...'

'It doesn't have to be a shrine,' Katie persisted, knowing she was treading on shaky ground.

George flung the bedding back. 'We've been through this,' he hissed. 'I'm not ready yet, all right?' He heaved himself from the bed, exhaustion gone. 'I don't have a problem with Ron moving in there. Just. Not. Now.' He stomped from the bedroom, grabbing his clothes. The door of the flat opened, then slammed shut. Katie jerked as the sound echoed through the flat and shifted until she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

George hurled himself down the stairs and into the darkened street. He strode toward the shop, hurt anger simmering just under the surface of his skin. He jabbed his wand at the door, opening it. As he passed the front counter, George grabbed a clipboard and a pencil. He plopped to the floor of the back room, and pulled out a neatly labeled carton from the bottom shelf. Inventory. It had been his refuge for the last several months. He didn't have to think while he recorded what products and ingredients they had and how much of it was left. But this too was different. When Fred had been alive, ingredients and products had been categorized by what they did. Ron alphabetized them. Ingredients on the shelves against the back wall, products near the curtained-off door. George would be the first to admit that change was inevitable, but it felt like too much too soon. And even though the deadline for Ron to decide to stay or leave had passed, Ron hadn't said a word, but set about trying to come up with something new to add to the Skiving Snackbox line. It seemed as if he was there to stay.

For several minutes, he sat hunched on the floor, the forgotten pencil and clipboard next to him. George unfolded himself and made his way to the narrow stairs that led to the small flat above the shop. The last time he'd been in there, Fred had been alive. He slowly walked up the stairs and hesitated at the door, before extending his hand and twisting the knob. The door swung open and George stood just inside the doorway, gazing into the dim room. 'Lumos,' he murmured, and trained the narrow beam of light on the floor, sweeping it upward. It illuminated the outlines of the sofa with the dodgy spring that liked to stab unwary victims in the kidneys. They kept meaning to repair it, but had never gotten around to it. The small table with two chairs where they ate their meals. The tiny kitchen. The door on the other side of the room was ajar. George couldn't see into it, but it had been their bedroom. Larger than their room at the Burrow, but set up the same way - two beds on opposite walls, a bureau for each of them, a single table between the beds with a lamp. The air smelled dusty and closed-in. George stepped back and gently closed the door. 'Night, Fred,' he whispered, then returned to his abandoned inventory list. George realized he was being completely unfair to Ron. All the poor bugger wanted was to get out of the Burrow and live on his own like the rest of them, and here was a perfect space, just going to waste. But George couldn't help it. It was the last thing he had.

xxxxxx

Ginny awoke before the alarm could start ringing and switched it off. In what had become habit the last several weeks, she set her feet on the floor, stretched, and stripped her nightdress off, trading it for a ragged pair of jog pants and a t-shirt , before donning her trainers. She shook out her loose plait, and bound the mass of hair into a ponytail before taking a deep breath and darting out of the cabin for her morning run. She headed for the entrance, running slowly - little more than a very fast walk. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, over and over until she had completed one circuit around the living quarters of the reservation. This was more about waking up tired muscles and putting her thoughts together for the coming day than anything else.

The remarks from the changing room still stung. They made Ginny all the more determined to make it on her merits. After all, her brothers never gave her any quarter and she'd never asked for any. Ginny almost hoped they played against the regulars. If they did, and Ginny played well, it might put the rumors to rest. She slowed to a walk, and made her way back to the cabin, well before Charlie, using the time to shower and dress. By the time he walked through the door of the cabin, Ginny had cobbled together breakfast for them both. 'Morning,' Charlie mumbled, reaching for the pot of tea. 'Did you put out the honey for the porridge?'

Ginny made a face at him, and flicked her wand at the cupboard. The pot of honey dropped next to his elbow with a thump. 'How was your shift?'

'They're hatchlings. They eat, sleep, and poo.'

'Sounds like fun.'

Charlie chuckled, a spoon of porridge halfway to his mouth. 'Loads. Even more when they're teething.' He ate quietly for a moment. 'How'd it go yesterday? You didn't say much at dinner.'

'Fine.' Ginny hitched a shoulder. 'I did all right.'

'Only all right?'

Ginny snorted. 'Made some goals, caught a few Snitches, didn't run my mouth.'

'Ah.'

She sipped her tea. 'Did better than the practice squad Seeker.'

Charlie raised a brow. 'They were going easy on you,' he scoffed.

'Probably,' Ginny agreed.

'Think they'll be harder today?'

'Wouldn't you be?'

Charlie bobbed his head in acquiescence, but thought to himself, Much more than you can imagine... It was something they did on dragon reservations. Come down hard on the new dragonkeepers, give them the challenging schedules and dragons - all well supervised, of course - to see if they'd manage to hold up under the pressure. More than one brash kid had shown up, boasting of how he'd change things, only to crumple when faced with an irate Hungarian Horntail. He rather thought Ginny was made of sterner stuff, but he hoped more than anything that she was able to handle whatever the Harpies threw at her.

xxxxxx

Gwenog stood in the middle of a cluster of Harpies. 'Don't make it easy on them,' she stated. 'I want to see what they can really do.'

Mandy's face lit up. 'So you want us to play like Falmouth?'

Gwenog nodded. 'Don't try to kill them, but throw every foul on them you can imagine.'

Matilda glanced over her shoulder at the women warming up for the trial. 'Who's refereeing?'

'I am,' Gwenog said. 'Come on, let's go.' One by one, the players kicked off, blurs of dark green-and-gold robes. Gwenog pointed her wand to her throat. 'Weasley, Wellington, Barnes-Dare, Peters, Adams, Mason, and Steadman! Take your positions!' Her voice echoed around the stadium. The seven players took their places, waiting anxiously for Gwenog to release the Snitch.

Even after the retired, Ginny would remember it as the most brutal game she'd ever played.

She intercepted the Quaffle and began to make her way to the goalposts. A Bludger came out from nowhere and slammed into her side. Gasping for breath, she bobbled the Quaffle, but managed to hang on to it. She had slowed enough for two of the opposing Chasers to close in on her, crowding her broom. Elbows pummeled her, and one connected with her nose. Ginny leaned over the handle of her broom and urged it to go a little faster, ignoring the blood trickling over her mouth. She pulled up sharply, then dove, trying to shake the Chasers. She managed to create enough space to move freely and pulled her arm back, flicking her wrist in an under-and-up motion, like she was skipping stones.

To her amazement, the Quaffle bounced several times, just like the stones would in the River Otter, then arced through a goalpost. 'Bloody hell, it worked...' she breathed.

Right before the third opposing Chaser body checked her, nearly knocking her from her broom.

For Ginny, it was the high point of the game. Gwenog flew right next to her, and Ginny was certain she'd seen the Chaser foul her. Gwenog met Ginny's outraged gaze, then deliberately looked away. Ginny's mouth fell open in shock. By the time a coherent argument came into her head, Gwenog was gone. Ginny closed her mouth, and clenched her teeth. Obviously, Gwenog wasn't going to call fouls. 'If that's the way you want to play it,' Ginny muttered, before she swooped back into the game.

xxxxxx

Ginny sat numbly on a bench in the changing room. Several bruises blossomed over her arms in hues of blue and purple. Her knuckles were scraped and bloody. She could feel scratches throb on her face and neck. Her ankle was puffy and sore and she could feel bruises that matched the ones on her arms on her shins. Had she been in a state to notice any of the other players, she would have seen they were in no better shape than she. Without bothering to shower, she wearily reached for her bag and started to stand. Before she could leave, however, Gwenog sailed into the changing room, looking indecently put together. 'Report back here at ten tomorrow morning. We'll have the final placements ready for you.' Indistinct murmurs replied and Ginny hauled herself to her feet. 'Weasley, let the mediwitch look at your injuries before you leave,' Gwenog told her sternly.

'They're just bruises,' Ginny said defensively. 'I'll be fine.'

Gwenog's lips pursed disapprovingly. 'Have it your way, then.'

Ginny trudged out of the changing room, wondering if she had to energy to Apparate to the reservation without Splinching herself. Deciding to risk it, she turned, wincing as the motion twisted her ankle.

The walk from the entrance to Charlie's cabin had never seemed longer.

xxxxxx

Bronwyn had the door of the infirmary propped open to catch the afternoon breeze. It was near the end of her shift, and she found herself eagerly waiting for Ginny to return from the trial. A shadow flickered over the entrance of the building and Bronwyn curiously investigated the source. Ginny limped by, head bowed. 'Ginny!' Bronwyn called. Ginny stopped and glanced up. Bronwyn squinted a little, then caught her breath. The girl looked as if she'd been beaten within an inch of her life. Bronwyn scurried to Ginny. 'Are you all right? What happened?'

'Game,' Ginny said shortly. 'Referee didn't call fouls.'

'Come inside and let me have a look at you,' Bronwyn ordered.

'I'm fine.'

'At least let me do something about those scrapes on your hands.'

Reluctantly, Ginny allowed Bronwyn to guide her to a table and hoisted herself on it. Bronwyn approached with a basket in one hand and her wand in the other. She examined Ginny, flicking her wand at her arms and face. 'Doesn't look too serious,' she pronounced. Bronwyn dug a tin from her basket dabbed a bright green ointment over the abrasions on Ginny's knuckles. 'You're just like Charlie, you know,' she remarked idly.

Ginny snorted. 'I'm nothing like Charlie.'

Smoothing a plaster over one of the deeper scrapes, Bronwyn shook her head. 'You are.'

'Charlie's so... so quiet, and I'm not.'

'Stubborn, the both of you,' Bronwyn corrected. 'Neither one of you can stand to ask for help or be reminded that you might need it. And by the time you do, an easily treatable scratch has ballooned into serious injury.'

Ginny's lips pursed. 'Asking for help,' she began, 'is admitting you can't handle what you've been given to do.'

'Asking for help is realizing you can't do everything. You have to know where your limits are. So you can better ask someone to assist you in navigating them. It's the mature thing to do,' she said pointedly. Bronwyn turned her attentions to the bruises on Ginny's arms. 'It took me nearly losing a patient to understand that.'

'Did people think you got your position here because your father oversees the reservation?'

Bronwyn nodded. 'At first. Then, they realized I was a damn good Healer. And it's awfully hard to get a Healer to come out here and do a bit of everything from nursing children through bouts of dragon pox to helping deliver babies to treating life-threatening burns.' She scooped the pale blue salve onto a finger and gently rubbed it over the middle of the bruise, working her way out to the edges. 'Sometimes, you just have to keep your mouth shut and let your actions speak for themselves. Let the people who think you can't do your job look all the more foolish for implying you're only there because of someone else's reputation.'

'They kept saying that. Whispering when they thought I couldn't hear them. When I could hear them.' Ginny's throat tightened. 'I'm only getting a trial because I'm Harry Potter's girlfriend.' Her face went taut for a moment and she bent her head. 'I didn't,' she added defiantly. 'I got it because I'm bloody good. I just have to prove it to them. And I have to do it without it looking as if I'm being favored. What's so hard to understand about that? To want to make something of myself on my own? To be me and not just Bill-Charlie-Percy-Fred-George-and-Ron's baby sister?' Two fat tears trickled down her face and she swiped her cheeks over the shoulder of her t-shirt. 'Why can't he see I want what he's got for himself...?' she said plaintively, almost too softly for Bronwyn to hear.

'Who?'

Ginny hesitated. Maybe she could talk about it with Bronwyn. She was dying to talk to someone, and so far, Bronwyn was one of the only people she knew that didn't have a vested interest in seeing her make up with Harry. 'Harry asked me to move in with him,' she told Bronwyn.

'Obviously, seeing as how you let a flat, you didn't want to,' Bronwyn stated.

Ginny shook her head. 'No. Not right now.'

Bronwyn patted the edge of the examination table. 'Feet here, please.' She gently rolled up the cuffs of Ginny's jog pants. 'Just going to make sure nothing's broken, eh?'

Ginny continued, as if the older woman hadn't spoken. 'I just don't quite understand how he can think it's all right for him to be on his own for a while, and not me. I want to actually grow up and figure out what it means to be an adult, before I make a rather adult sort of decision.'

'Is that what you told him?'

Ginny toyed with the laces of her trainers. 'No. I bit his head off and we had an awful row. Well, what amounts to a row for us.' Her brows drew together briefly. 'We're not speaking at the moment. Or rather, he's not speaking to me...'

'You need to tell him,' Bronwyn said. She flicked her wand at Ginny's ankle, wrapping it snugly in an elastic bandage. 'It's just a sprain. But try not to run any marathons for the next few days.'

'How do I say it when he won't listen?'

'You have to make him listen.' Bronwyn helped Ginny down from the table. 'Go have a bit of a rest before dinner.' As Ginny trudged to the door, Bronwyn said, 'Everyone needs someone. Friend, lover... Everyone needs someone to whom you can lay bare your soul. And it doesn't make you weak. And if you're worried about being sublimated in the relationship, I suggest you take a peek at the relationships of people you admire. Even players you admire. I'll lay odds on that they all have some sort of support system. Real relationships don't survive very well if one person dominates the other. And they certainly don't survive if you're not honest with yourself.'

xxxxxx

Harry tapped the point of his quill against the sheet of parchment on his desk. Had Ron not asked why he was with Ginny, the question would never have occurred to Harry at all. In Harry's opinion, Ginny being Ron's sister rather complicated things rather than making them easier. If things soured between Ginny and him, so many other relationships would suffer. However, he didn't view his relationship with her through such a lens. Harry had gotten quite a thorough education about being with someone for all the wrong reasons during Ron's ill-fated fling with Lavender Brown and his own disastrous attempt to date Cho Chang. He wasn't going to stay with Ginny just to satisfy some need he had to belong to someone.

'Go home,' a voice said over the top of his cubicle. Harry looked up to see Emma Greene, an Auror he occasionally worked with, mock-glaring at him. 'You're making the rest of us look like lazy gits.'

'I was just finishing something,' Harry stammered, pushing a pile of parchment into a neat stack and dropping it into a drawer. He grabbed his bag and followed Emma to the lifts. Emma didn't know Harry very well, but she was astute enough to recognize the signs of a male trying desperately to hide visible signs of distress.

'Something the matter?' she asked.

'No,' Harry told her. 'Just a long day...' He rode the lift to the Atrium and took the Floo to his flat. He let his bag fall next to the fireplace, and headed for the kitchen, studying the contents of his refrigerator with disinterest. He slammed the refrigerator door shut and retreated to his bedroom, flinging his clothes to the floor, and crawling into the bed, and pulling the bedding over his head. Sunday evening, he hadn't been worried that Ginny would return, but now, after nearly five days of no word from Ginny, he was starting to worry.

He had no idea how the trial was going, how she liked Holyhead, or the Harpies. He wanted to write to her, but had no idea if she would actually read the letter or toss it into the fire. He didn't even know when she would be home, and now with the prolonged silence, he was starting to wonder if she had decided to stay away.

xxxxxx

Gwenog gathered the senior members of the team in her cluttered office. 'Thoughts?'

Caroline fingered the clipboard in front of Gwenog. 'Bridget's all right as a Keeper. I wish she played Beater better, but she'll be okay on the practice squad. Claire's ready to move up to the Reserves.'

'Anyone else with an opinion?'

Marion heaved a sigh. 'I'd rather not have a separate trial for a Keeper, if we can avoid it.'

Helen nodded. 'It'll make us look bad.'

'So, Claire's shifting up to the Reserves and we're signing Bridget to the practice squad.' Gwenog made a notation on her list. 'Beater?'

'We only need one Reserve,' Helen said. 'Julia.'

'Agree,' Marion added. 'Kimmie can fill the practice slot.'

'Well, that was quick,' Gwenog muttered. 'What about the Seeker for practice?'

Marion shrugged. 'None of them?'

Caroline leaned back in her chair. 'Samantha?'

'I suppose... She might get better...' Helen murmured.

Gwenog made another note on her list. 'She was a bit faster than the other two...'

'Not as fast as Ginny,' Caroline snorted.

'And that brings us to the Chasers...' Gwenog said.

'Ginny's good,' Marion said. 'I just...' She hesitated.

'What?' Gwenog asked.

Marion looked at her callused hands. 'I wonder if she's able to really integrate into the team...'

Gwenog sat back. 'Why?'

'You saw how she refused to let someone look at her injuries,' Marion stated. 'She kept to herself, with the exception of a few words with Julia.'

'Aimee and Felicia aren't as good,' Caroline countered. She caught Gwenog's attention. 'We can work with Ginny,' she said reassuringly. 'When we go to Sweden next month.'

'Okay.' Gwenog quickly scribbled on her clipboard. 'The little one for Reserves and Wellington and Barnes-Dare on practice.' She sighed and studied the team's roster for the next season. 'I hope we're not putting in a position she can't handle.'

Caroline patted Gwenog's shoulder. 'If you didn't think she couldn't handle it, you wouldn't have offered her a contract in the first place.'

xxxxxx

Ginny was awake and dressed well before the sun rose. She walked out of the reservation and roamed Holyhead, mulling over what Bronwyn had told her yesterday. The one couple she wanted to emulate was her parents. Molly's place as a housewife and mother didn't keep Arthur from treating her with the utmost respect. Her parents were a team. They made decisions together, even when their lives were at a nadir, they made those decisions together. She killed time getting breakfast from a small coffee shop near her flat, lingering over one last cup of tea before heading to the Harpies' stadium. Ginny joined the cluster of women, waiting for Gwenog to post the roster.

Precisely at ten, Gwenog tacked a list to the bulletin board and stood aside. Everyone rushed forward, but Ginny hung back, waiting until they drifted away. She took the few steps forward she needed to be able to see the list.

A smile spread over her face.

xxxxxx

Ginny stood in the kitchen of Charlie's cabin, tapping her chin thoughtfully. She wasn't going to bother with writing. With Harry, being direct was the best course of action. That, and a freshly-baked treacle tart. Charlie happened to have the ingredients in his cupboards, and figuring he wouldn't mind - besides, she could always replace them later - she set about making one, using her mother's recipe. Once it had cooled, Ginny opened the bedroom door. 'Charlie?'

'Wha...?'

'I'm going...' She crossed to the bed containing her groggy older brother. 'Thanks for everything,' she told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

'Wha'd you get?'

'Reserves.'

'Tol' you...'

'Coming to lunch Sunday?'

'Gonna try...'

'Good. Bring Bronwyn sometime.' Ginny skipped out before Charlie could wake up and process what she'd said. She picked up her bag, broom, and carefully scooped up the box containing the treacle tart, then left the cabin, heading for the infirmary. 'I was wondering,' she began, as she walked through the door, 'if I might impose on you one more time...'

Bronwyn grinned. 'What do you need?'

'A Side-Along to King's Cross?' Ginny asked hopefully. 'I haven't passed the test for my license yet, and I don't want to wake up Charlie.'

'What's in the box?'

'Peace offering.'

The Healer for the next shift walked into the infirmary, and Bronwyn held out a hand to Ginny. 'Want me to hold something?' Wordlessly, Ginny handed her the tart, gripping her broom firmly in her free hand. They Apparated to an alley near the station and Bronwyn peered at it. 'Do you know where to go from here?' Ginny nodded. She had made Hermione teach her the route to Harry's flat until she could picture it in her head. There was a train that went directly from King's Cross to the Oxford Circus station. The Victoria Line. Bronwyn tilted Ginny's chin up. 'Do you know what you're going to say?'

'I thought I'd start with hello,' Ginny replied.

'That's a start.' Bronwyn chuckled. 'It was a pleasure meeting you, Ginny. Come visit when you can.'

'I will,' Ginny promised. She ducked into the stream of people and got on the train, keeping her eyes glued to the doors, jumping to her feet when the disembodied voice chimed, 'Oxford Circus.' She quickly walked to Harry's building, slipping in after someone and running up the staircase to the fifth floor. Harry wasn't home yet, so she sat on the doormat, with the treacle tart balanced on her knees.

After a few hours, Ginny heard Harry's footsteps on the stairs, sighing in relief that he didn't use his Floo connection that evening. He froze on the landing, taking in the sight of her, blocking his front door. After a few agonizingly long moments, he strode toward her. Ginny scrambled to her feet, holding out the tart. Harry's bright green eyes flicked down to it and back to Ginny, saying nothing. Ginny bit her lip and looked down, slightly dejected. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured, so softly Harry almost missed it. 'I shouldn't have shouted at you. I want you to treat me like an adult, so I ought to behave like one.' Harry nodded and edged around Ginny, tapping the doorknob with his wand. He opened the door and walked inside, closing it quietly behind him. Ginny's shoulders slumped, and she blinked back a sudden sting of tears.

The door opened behind her and a hand snaked out, taking the treacle tart from her. 'I can't eat this all by myself. Are you going to come in and help me out or what?' Harry said.