The First Day

Loud ringing penetrated through the curtains around Ginny's bed. She groaned into her pillow and slowly extended a hand through the gap and patted blindly for the ringing alarm clock. Her questing fingers found the switch and turned off the annoying ringing sound. Every muscle ached from the extra training she was doing in her relatively non-existent free time for her upcoming trial with Holyhead. Ginny was determined not to make Gwenog believe her faith was misplaced by offering Ginny a spot on the team. On top of that, N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching in two months, and most of her classes had already begun to review the past seven years. Hermione already had a revision schedule that was color-coordinated according to the class and how much time she felt she needed to study. Ginny hadn't quite gone that far, although she seemed to have forgotten more Transfiguration than ought to be allowed. She stiffly pushed herself into a sitting position, and rolled her shoulders attempting to work some fluidity into the muscles, the slowly swung her feet to the floor and shuffled into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would prod her into alertness.

Ablutions completed, dressed, and damp hair bundled into loose knot on the back of her head, Ginny felt like she might be able to face the rest of her day. 'You are up entirely too early,' Hermione rasped from the recesses of her bed. 'What time is it, anyway?'

'Five-thirty,' Ginny whispered.

Demelza's head emerged from under her pillow. 'Have you lost your mind?' she croaked.

'I don't believe so,' Ginny told her, packing her bag for the day.

'Where are you intending to go, exactly?' Hermione inquired. 'Can't leave the common room until seven...'

'I've got my essay to finish for Flitwick. Still four inches too short.'

'Want some help?' Hermione struggled to untangle herself from the bedding. 'Just give me a minute to dress...'

'Go back to sleep, Hermione,' Ginny said.

'Are you sure?' Hermione yawned.

'Yes...' Ginny swung her bag to her shoulder with a muffled grunt as the movement sent her muscles screaming in protest.

'Okay...' Hermione fell back into the pillow, and pulled the quilt over her shoulders, as she turned on her side.

Ginny pulled open the door, only to be stopped by Demelza. 'You don't have to kill yourself, you know...'

'I'm not killing myself,' Ginny objected.

Demelza ruffled her dark hair and eyed Ginny skeptically. 'How long do you fly drills after the regular team practice, eh?'

'An hour,' Ginny said evasively.

'Try two or three,' Demelza snorted. 'I get it, the desire to prove yourself, but you're going to wear yourself out or get injured trying to keep up this pace, Ginny.'

'I'm fine.'

'You can take a night or two off, then.' Demelza stretched elaborately. 'Won't hurt.'

'I know...' Ginny slipped through the door and wound her way down the spiraling staircase to the empty common room. It had been tidied and cleaned, the fire tended to, and the pillows scattered around the sofas and chair fluffed. It made her wonder just when the school elves slept, if at all. Even though she knew the school elves were treated with respect and kindness by the school staff, it still made Ginny cringe a little with guilt that things she was perfectly capable of doing were performed by an elf.

She found one of the larger armchairs by the fire and settled into it, stuffing a small pillow under the small of her back. Ginny opened her bag and with a quick glance around the room, pulled out the copy of Rita Skeeter's biography of Harry.

She opened the book to the section marked with a strip of parchment, inwardly marveling that someone such as Harry, with a mere eighteen years on this earth, could be the subject of such a weighty tome. The book was thick and heavy, and Ginny knew that later, it would be more useful as a doorstop than actual source material. She had been carefully reading the book, marking the inconsistencies and lies. As she advanced toward the final chapters - especially the ones that contained conjecture of the previous year, she tried to convince herself she really was looking for the places where Skeeter had crossed the line into libel. 'This is stupid,' she muttered, fully cognizant of the fact it was nothing more than half-truths and conjecture to the point of bordering on outright lies and fabrication. 'There are people in the Ministry who could do this...' Ginny rubbed her gritty eyes, feeling like she was intruding in places she oughtn't. She truly didn't have the time to do this, but Harry's admittedly virulent reaction to the advance copy had roused her curiosity to the point where she had slipped back up to the attic and stowed it into her bag before she and Hermione had left the Burrow at the end of the Easter holiday. Every since they had returned, Ginny had either stayed up far into the night, or awakened hours before Demelza or Hermione, just so she could read the book, and add to her growing list of misstatements about Harry and his life.

It had almost been common knowledge amongst outsiders that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been at Grimmauld Place after the Ministry fell to Voldemort. Rumors and stories of Death Eaters all but camped out on the pavement waiting for them to come out flew fast and furious until the day they did leave. It wasn't new information to Ginny. Lupin had confided to Arthur in early August where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were and that they were safe for the moment. Arthur, in turn, had told Molly when they thought Ginny was asleep. Then, there was the mysterious incident in the Ministry a month later where several captive witches and wizards were suddenly told to leave. It was one of those things they had only learned at Hogwarts weeks after it happened, because the Prophet didn't print it. But students heard through coded letters from home or furiously whispered conversations over potting trays in the greenhouses.

From what Ginny could tell, the speculations about the events of that day were closer to the truth than anyone cared to admit. Ministry employees discovered in an alley, robes gone, covered in blood, Stunned...

And that was the last anyone had even the slightest whisper of Harry, Ron, or Hermione until they showed up at Shell Cottage, battered and bruised - emotionally and physically.

Or so Ginny thought, as she skimmed the page, knowing she only had roughly an hour before other students began to find their way down to the common room to finish homework or seek an early breakfast.

While many people believed that the so-called Golden Trio was virtually inseparable, sources say Ron Weasley was seen multiple times walking the beach well outside the village of Tinworth in Cornwall in between mid-November and Christmas of nineteen ninety-seven. Neither Harry Potter, nor Hermione Granger was seen with him. So one can only surmise a rift developed between the three of them, causing Mr. Weasley to decamp and desert his two supposed closest and dearest friends.

Mr. Weasley was then seen once again in the company of Mr. Potter and Miss Granger sometime in March of nineteen ninety-eight, when they were captured by a group of Death Eaters and Voldemort's supporters known as "Snatchers", and taken to the Malfoy mansion.

Much has been speculated about exact nature of the relationship between the Trio. Are they mere friends or some sort of twisted love triangle, with Miss Granger toying alternately with the affections of first Mr. Weasley, with whom she was seen holding hands at Dumbledore's funeral, as well as dancing with him at his eldest brother's wedding last August, and then Mr. Potter, with whom Miss Granger has a close relationship?

As far back as nineteen ninety-five, during the Triwizard tournament, Miss Granger was believed to have trifled with the affections of both Mr. Potter, and the international Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, the Champion from Durmstrang. It is this author's belief that a disagreement arose between Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley over Miss Granger.

A few of the surviving Death Eaters reported during their trials that Miss Granger and Mr. Potter were seen in each other's company in Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve of nineteen ninety-seven, sharing several rather intimate moments, including visiting Mr. Potter's parents' graves together, before going to see the ruins of Potter house

So the question remains: just what were Mr. Potter and Miss Granger doing from November to March?

'You evil cow,' Ginny breathed, wishing Skeeter was in the common room. She would have hexed the woman into next week. She replaced the parchment and closed the book with a trembling hand, then gingerly picked it up and shoved it into her bag so hard, a seam ripped. She closed her eyes, head shaking slowly back and forth. She trusted Harry implicitly. His feelings for Hermione were well known to be strictly platonic, although there had been some talk Ginny's fifth year of school. It was also a juicy piece of Hogwarts gossip when Ron had been inadvertently poisoned that it had been Hermione he asked for, and not Lavender Brown.

Ginny stared into the low flames, her eyes watering. Taking in a deep breath, she dug in her bag for her Charms essay and textbook, fingers jerking back from Skeeter's book as if it burned her.

*****

George opened his eyes, confronted with Katie's empty pillow and the sounds of retching coming from the small bathroom. 'Katie...?' he called. Her only response was choked gagging and the toilet flushing. George heard her rinsing her mouth before she materialized in the bedroom door, looking tousled and pale, sniffling as she stumbled into the rumpled bed. George sat up, trying to straighten the bedding, so he could tuck it around Katie, as she curled into a tight ball. She wore an ancient pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an equally ancient t-shirt of his that bore a faded Puddlemere United crest. He stroked her hair from her face. 'You look awful,' he commented.

'Thanks,' Katie said wearily. 'Every girl dreams of being told that.'

George peered down at her, running his hand through his tumbled hair. 'D'you want anything? Wet face cloth, perhaps? Some tea and dry toast?'

'I'm all right,' Katie insisted weakly. 'Just feel a bit under the weather, yeah?' She swallowed heavily. 'Just like I'm going to be sick all the time.'

'For how long?'

'Couple of days...'

George felt the blood freeze in his veins, but he forced himself to climb out of bed and fetch face cloth, soaking it in cold water. 'Oh?' he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally high. 'When...?'

'Woke up yesterday like this,' Katie groaned, heartily wishing George would stop asking her questions, so she could go back to sleep.

'I...I...I see...' George stammered. He folded the face cloth and draped it over Katie's forehead. 'Would you like me to stay home today?'

Katie shook her head, lips clamping together as the motion induced a wave of nausea. 'No, you go on and open the shop. I'm not going to be very good company...' she said tightly.

George began to finger-comb her tangled hair. 'I'll stay...' he said quietly, remembering the times she's sat with him through his emotional turmoil. He moved to the other side of the bed, and tried to get back into it, without jarring Katie too much. Katie wriggled until her head rested on his chest, one arm flung across his stomach. George resumed mindlessly threading his fingers through Katie's hair. He gazed sightlessly at the wall, mind spinning, his thoughts tumbling around each other. He couldn't recall using anything that first night with Katie, but he vividly remembered cornering Ron in his bedroom, demanding a crash course in whatever methods he employed with Hermione. George had been quite diligent ever since, but like all of his brothers, he was exceedingly cognizant of the reality that it only took once. He could even hear Arthur's admonitions to both him and Fred at Grimmauld Place when it became painfully obvious their attentions toward Tonks had little to do with her work as an Auror, or her Metamorphmagus abilities. He could still see the image of Arthur, herding him and Fred into the bedroom they shared, going on for what seemed like ages about love, that the time would be right for them much, much later, they ought to wait for the right girl, preferably when they were older. George didn't remember much from all that horribly embarrassing chatter, except for the last thing Arthur had told them. Think with your heads, boys, and not your willies, he'd said bluntly. George could wholeheartedly agree that he'd quite left his head out of the equation that night with Katie.

It would change things an awful lot, he mused. Babies change everything. And we just started dating... We'd have to grow up, too. Not that we aren't, but a baby... We'd have to find somewhere else to live. Somewhere bigger... Get married... Although I'm not sure if she'd even want to marry me... I don't even know if I can handle being responsible for someone else right now, when I can't even get out of bed on my birthday... But I'd have to... I'd never just leave her alone. Besides, Mum and Dad would demand I help take care of it... Being a dad isn't so bad. I mean, Dad's really good at it. If I just do what he would do, I might be able to do it.

'I can hear you...' Katie murmured.

'Hah?' George looked down at her. Her eyes were tightly shut against the slowly brightening room. 'I didn't say anything.'

Katie cracked open an eyelid. 'I'm not pregnant,' she said firmly.

'Oh?' George said with forced casualness. 'How did you know that was on my mind...?'

Katie chuckled briefly, and patted George on his stomach. 'You're an open book, love. And you keep talking about babies under your breath. I'm just nauseated, not hearing impaired.'

'Oh, well... I...' George spluttered.

Katie lifted her head, pushing her hair aside. 'My mother's a midwife, git,' she said mildly. 'And you've met her. There's no way she'd send me out into the world unprepared. And she's absolutely fanatical about people becoming parents because they've planned to become parents. I promised you I had it under control, and I do.'

George's brow furrowed in bemusement. 'How...?'

Katie rummaged in her night table drawer and handed a small, flat, circular device to him. 'It's reliable.'

George poked cautiously at the bright pink cover with an index finger. 'How does it work...?'

Katie thumbed the lid open. 'It's like a potion, but much, much more dependable and doesn't taste like something foul you'd lick off the sole of someone's shoe. Take one every day.' She snapped it shut and dropped it on top the table, snuggling back into George. 'I'm just not feeling well... I promise. Just the flu or something... I'll be all right in a couple of days.' She let her head fall back to George's shoulder. 'You really ought to go in. Ron will have some sort of panic attack if you don't...' she warned.

George glanced at the clock next to the bed and wrapped an arm around Katie. 'I've got a couple of hours,' he told her. He bent his head and brushed a kiss over the top of her head. 'I've got you pegged, you know.'

'You do...?'

'Mmm-hmmm. Fake an illness. Shameless ploy for attention...' George clucked admonishingly. He sobered and gently rubbed the back of her neck. 'You're too good for me, Katie,' he breathed, waiting for her protest, but none was forthcoming. He tilted his head to look at her. Katie had fallen sleep, her mouth half-open, hair tangled, nose reddened, dark smudges under her eyes. George felt a surge of something he might at one time have called love. There was no doubt in his mind that he did, in fact, love Katie with all his heart and soul. But he wondered if he would ever be able to give her the kind of relationship he would have wanted - the same kind both of their parents had.

Because usually, George couldn't imagine for a second that it would be very fair to someone like Katie to saddle her with all his emotional baggage. And despite the depth of his feelings for her, he often wondered if it would be best for them both to go their separate ways. He didn't think Katie would be content to sort of drift along with the currents and see what happened, which was how he seemed to live his life lately.

But right now... Right now, he chose to live in this moment and try to convince himself it could happen. Whatever gets me through the day...

*****

Harry filed the weekly report from the Aurors regarding Draco Malfoy's activities in Draco's file, after making copies to submit to his Head and the Minister. Draco hadn't once emerged from the mansion in the past month. Harry felt more than a passing twinge of pity for him each time he read the reports concerning Draco. Nobody had come to visit him, nor had anyone even applied to pay him a visit. It only reinforced what Harry had come to suspect ages ago - Draco was a profoundly lonely person. One couldn't really count either Crabbe or Goyle as friends. They were more like underlings. Harry couldn't imagine Draco divulging his innermost thoughts to neither Crabbe, nor Goyle, in the way he did Ron, Hermione, or Ginny. Harry silently began to calculate the odds of Draco dying a lonely, bitter old man. It wasn't a foregone conclusion, but Harry didn't see Draco's life improving in the near future. 'Worse than a sentence in Azkaban,' he muttered, sticking the report in Draco's file with a Sticking charm and tossing the folder into a drawer of his desk.

'The Minister wants to see you,' Gibson said from the entrance to his cubicle.

Harry frowned. 'Why?'

'I don't know, do I?' Gibson snapped. 'He just said he needs to have a quick word with you.'

Harry mentally reviewed the past several days. 'Have I done something wrong...? Well, lately,' he amended.

Gibson's lips pursed and she glared at Harry sourly. 'Not that I'm aware.' She held out a hand. 'Malfoy's report?' Harry handed her the sheet of parchment with a sigh. 'After you're done with the Minister, Carmichael's waiting for you in the training room.'

'Whatever for?' Harry bit back the impatience so hard his teeth clacked together.

'Legilimency practice.'

Harry swore softly, aware Molly would have Scourgified his mouth had she been there to hear him. Of all the Aurors to help him practice, Carmichael was not one he wanted near his mind. Harry was afraid in the state he was in, he'd let something of his own leak through and cause all sorts havoc in his work life. 'Fine.'

'Need to make sure you're ready for July,' Gibson reminded him. She looked down at the toes of her shoes. 'We're using Carmichael because of your rather - antagonistic - relationship here. It's my understanding you and the younger Malfoy were quite hostile to one another as well. This is the closest thing we can approximate. It's for your own good. And also for the Ministry.'

'And if you knew the procedures outlined for Draco Malfoy, you'd know he doesn't get Legilimency. He's a bloody Occlumens. Instead, he gets Veritaserum.' Harry's lips twitched, waiting for the barrage of irate verbiage Gibson was sure to unleash on his head, but she stared at him, open-mouthed, speechless. Harry edged out of the entrance of his cubicle. 'Pardon me,' he murmured to Gibson, who was quite blocking his way. 'The Minister's waiting...'

Gibson remained where she was. 'This is why I didn't want you on here,' she said. 'You're too young and too much of a liability to the cohesion of the department. No respect for protocol or procedure.'

'I figured,' Harry snorted. 'If you'll excuse me...?' He turned and strode purposefully toward the lift. Harry punched the button repeatedly, his teeth set firmly in his bottom lip, seething. Gibson's behavior was one reason he'd had misgivings about skipping the training program. Most Aurors had thankfully followed his supervisor's lead. Peter had gradually increased Harry's workload until he handled nearly as much as a third-year trainee. By this time next year, he would take on the full responsibilities of an Auror. Peter also didn't refer to Harry's age, nor did he treat Harry any differently than any other Auror on the team. In spite of this, there were still a few who saw him as nothing more than an upstart child. It seemed nothing he ever did was good enough.

The lift finally arrived and Harry shouldered his way through a throng of people already inside. He wedged himself into a corner, keeping his eyes fixed on one of the light purple paper aeroplanes that hovered above their heads. The lift glided to a stop and Harry hung back, waiting for the other occupants to disembark before he trailed after them, dawdling. He waited for the corridors to clear somewhat before he made his way to the double doors that led to the Minister's office.

Percy was busily engaged in a conversation that involved much gesticulating with someone Harry didn't recognize in the miniscule grate in the corner. Percy glanced over his shoulder and mouthed, 'Go ahead and go in. He's waiting.'

Harry cautiously poked his head into the partially-open door of Shacklebolt's office. 'You wanted to see me?'

'Have a seat.' Shacklebolt waved to one of the squashy chairs in front of his desk. 'They're dedicating the fountain in the Atrium in a couple of weeks,' he began, intentionally leaving the date vague.

Harry nodded, throat tightening. He had anonymously sent enough gold to rebuild the fountain, with a stipulation that it be constructed as a memorial to those who lost their lives in the war and that it not perpetuate the myth of the Fountain Magical Brethren that had been destroyed. Only Shacklebolt knew him to be the benefactor. 'Brilliant,' he said diffidently.

Shacklebolt folded his hands on the polished surface of his desk. 'On May the second,' he added with a slight cough. 'As part of the memorial.'

'Oh.'

Shacklebolt had the temerity to look uncomfortable. 'I was wondering if you wouldn't mind at least making an appearance.' He rubbed at a non-existent speck on the desk. 'You wouldn't have to say anything. No speeches...'

'No.'

'Harry, I know this is uncomfortable for you, but it would be... Since you're the he - Well, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here...'

'No,' Harry repeated flatly. 'I want no part of any memorial, public or otherwise.' He got jerkily to his feet. 'And I can't believe you'd even consider asking me to do that! Especially after everything you know about me, and we've been through. It's like the last four years never happened.' He stormed from the office, ignoring Percy's attempts to flag him down and marched to the lifts, wishing there was a convenient staircase he could use.

He felt a hand grasp his elbow. Kingsley stood next to him, impassive. 'Let's have a bit of stroll, shall we?' he rumbled, his tone brooking no argument. Kingsley began to propel Harry down the corridor. Harry attempted to unobtrusively tug his arm from the Minister's iron grip, but Kingsley merely tightened his grip. He steered the younger man into one of the more remote conference rooms and swung his wand around in an expansive arc. All ambient sounds abruptly ceased. 'You want people in your department to cease treating you as a sullen teenager, then I suggest you cease behaving as one when things do not unfold in the manner you believe they ought.'

Harry's mouth dropped open in outrage. Kingsley, however, shook his head slightly in wordless warning. Kingsley continued, 'I also realize that it will be difficult for you to take your place, as it were, in the history of the wizarding world. You wish to be left alone, as if it had never happened. But it did. That, Harry, is something you have to accept. Not this year, or the next. But some point in your life. I am also aware that you do not want any sort of unwelcome attention, while you are trying to live what passes as a normal life.' Kingsley released Harry's elbow. 'I cannot promise that I can shield you from such attentions, but I will try to deflect it as much as I can.' Kingsley ran a hand over his bald head. 'I do recall the treatment you received at the hands of the Prophet after the Triwizard. And how both Scrimgeour and Fudge tried to use you. That is not my intention.'

Harry jaw worked for several moments. 'My answer's still no.'

'Very well.'

Harry spun on his heel and tried the door. It was locked. 'The door?' he asked neutrally, inclining his head toward it. Kingsley casually flicked his wand at it and it opened a little. Harry opened the door wider and slipped through the opening, almost fleeing to the relative sanctuary of Level Two.

*****

Hermione looked up from the book she had floating at eye level. Ginny was absently moving her food around her plate, staring at her. 'Have I ink on my nose?' she inquired.

'Huh?' Ginny started, her fork scraping discordantly across the plate.

'You're staring,' Hermione said pointedly.

Ginny shook her head and looked down. She had loaded her plate with baked courgette, and she hated courgette. 'Just thinking...' She pushed the plate away and swung her feet over the bench. 'I've got drills to practice,' she mumbled, grabbing her back and nearly sprinting out of the Great Hall.

Hermione frowned at Ginny's abandoned plate. She hadn't eaten a single bite. Ginny was capable of putting away quite a bit of food at meals, especially when she was playing Quidditch. Ever since they'd come back to school, she'd bolted as little as she could eat without raising concerns and left the table to either study, do homework, or train. While Hermione knew Ginny took her N.E.W.T.s seriously, she also knew that Ginny wasn't fussed about earning top marks on them, either. Ginny couldn't have been that diligent about her studies.

She plucked the book from its place and stuffed into her already-straining bag and followed Ginny to the Quidditch pitch.

When Ginny emerged from the changing room, dressed in a pair of what could have only been a pair of Charlie's or one of the twins' discarded jeans and an Hogwarts sweatshirt of an indeterminate vintage, and might have belonged to Bill his first year. 'I thought you didn't care for Quidditch,' Ginny scoffed, not unkindly.

'I don't. Not like Ron does...' Hermione settled into the chair she'd conjured and stretched her feet out in front of her. 'Something's eating at you,' she stated.

'What gives you that silly idea?' Ginny dropped to the grass and began strapping on the shin guards under the legs of the baggy jeans. The late afternoon sun slanted through the stands, highlighting her cheekbones, throwing the hollows of her face into sharp relief.

'You've lost weight,' Hermione clucked disapprovingly.

'Just a bit from the training,' Ginny shot back defensively.

'Have you watched yourself hitch your skirt up while you're walking to your next class?' Hermione snorted derisively. She lifted her face to the sunshine and let the breeze play over her hair for a few minutes. 'What is you keep reading when you're alone? I've seen you when I've come down to the common room early. Last week. You all but jumped out of your skin when you saw me and crammed a book into your bag.'

Ginny toyed with the leather strap of the arm guard dangling from one hand. She heaved a sigh and got to her feet, disappearing into the changing room for a moment, returning shortly with a large book that wordlessly she dropped into Hermione's lap.

Hermione turned the book around curiously. 'The Chosen One? A Biography of Harry Potter by Rita Skeeter,' she murmured. 'Interesting...' She skimmed through a few pages, laughing outright at a few paragraphs. 'Honestly, Ginny, it's Rita Skeeter. You know what kind of lies she's capable of printing. She takes bits and pieces of someone's life and twists it to fit her own agenda'

'Yes, I know,' Ginny muttered. She retrieved the arm guard and wound the strap around her hand, then unraveled it. 'Is it true?' she said in a low voice.

'Is what true?'

In lieu of a reply, Ginny reached over and flipped the pages over to the spot she'd marked earlier, then folded herself to the grass, looking up at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione's eyes traveled rapidly back and forth, her face growing paler. A muscle in Ginny's jaw jumped. 'How long was Ron gone?'

Hermione's mouth was dry. 'I don't know...'

Ginny let out a bark of laughter. 'You don't know?' she scoffed. 'That's rich. You know everything.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I really don't. It was all such a blur. One day just bled into another.'

Ginny inhaled deeply through her nose. 'I see...' She began to rip up handfuls of grass. 'Ron had a nightmare last summer,' she blurted. 'I only know because Harry happened to be awake, or I'd never have heard Ron thrashing about in his sleep, because Harry would have been in the throes of one. I was in my room, and heard Harry go up to the attic. When he didn't come back down for a while, I snuck up to the landing outside Ron's room. And I heard Ron mention something about leaving...' Ginny grimaced, slightly abashed at having confessed to eavesdropping. 'Then, they started talking about how I slapped Harry earlier that afternoon, so I decided it was a good time to go back to my room...'

'I wondered how you knew about it,' Hermione muttered. As far as she knew none of them had ever told anyone exactly what had happened.

Ginny looked up at Hermione. 'I assumed he'd just left for a day or two at the time.'

Hermione slid to the grass, tucking her skirt around her knees. 'I'll tell you as much as I can, but I need you to promise not to be a Weasley for half an hour.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ginny asked sharply.

'I just mean that you can't get into a strop five words into what I'm going to say.'

'I'm not that bad,' Ginny protested.

Hermione just made a noncommittal sort of grunt, and gazed at the goalposts on one end of the pitch. 'It all started when we managed to find one of the Horcruxes,' she said dully. 'Remember the locket we found in Grimmauld Place?'

'Yeah... Sort of.'

'After Sirius died, Mundungus Fletcher went into the house and pinched everything he could put his hands on, including that locket. At any rate, we tracked it down with the help of Kreacher. Fletcher had sold it to Umbitch, and she claimed to be a descendant of some pureblood family called Selwyn.'

'And she's not,' Ginny guessed.

'No. We managed to take the locket from her and escape from the Ministry. But one of the Death Eaters - Yaxley, if I recall correctly - had a hand on my robes. He was with us when we landed on the steps of Grimmauld Place and because we were the Secret Keepers after Dumbledore died, I revealed the location to them...' Hermione admitted. 'So I panicked, and we Disapparated almost immediately.

'Since we had to keep moving, we took turns wearing the locket for safekeeping... We only took it off when it got to be too much.' Hermione trailed off, shivering with the memory of what it had felt like and the insidious whispers inside her mind. 'Do you remember what it was like when...' She gulped visibly. 'Voldemort,' she said tautly. 'Possessed you?'

'Yeah.' Ginny's voice cracked slightly. She remembered all too well the silky suggestions that she was nothing more than a whinging brat who would amount to nothing, was better off dead...

'The locket...' Hermione took a deep breath. 'Preyed on us. On our insecurities... And Ron...' She looked at Ginny, cheeks pink. 'I love him - I do... But he was so susceptible to what it told him, and he believed what it was telling him to the point where...' her fingers twisted together. 'He was Ron at his worst, and then some...' she said softly, almost sadly. 'He couldn't handle it anymore, and he left...'

'For how long?'

'I told you, I don't really know. I didn't know what day it was. It was sometime in November. Then he came back the day after Christmas. We - Harry and I - didn't really do very much. We sort of went through the motions, really. Wasn't the same without Ron...' Hermione's voice faded as the bright sunlight was replaced by the vision of bare, snow-laden trees. The sound of rain on the canvas tent. Ron's sneering voice accusing her of choosing Harry over him. She straightened suddenly and grasped Ginny's upper arm in one hand. 'You know nothing happened between Harry and me, don't you?'

Ginny seemed baffled by Hermione's unexpected revelation, but she nodded. 'Do you really think Harry would have been able to keep that from me?' she asked. 'I don't think his sense of honor would have allowed it...'

'I know there have been rumors,' Hermione said hoarsely. 'I can understand why people would think so, but it's never been more than friendship. There was the one time...' Mentally, she slapped herself. She'd never meant to mention that incident.

'Which time?' Ginny asked, her voice threateningly low.

Hermione's eyes closed painfully. 'Christmas... It was nothing,' she insisted. 'Harry sent me to bed and he was going to keep the first watch. We were both discouraged and feeling rather low, and I just ran my hand over his hair when I went inside...'

'He likes that...' Ginny murmured.

'It wasn't even half a second,' Hermione said, as if Ginny hadn't spoken. 'But it could have been... more...' she choked. 'What if he'd followed me inside, or I'd stayed outside with him...?' She shook herself. 'It would have been a horrible, immensely regrettable mistake, Ginny. If anything had happened, it would have been out of loneliness, desperation... For all the wrong reasons.' Hermione waited, nearly holding her breath for Ginny to say something. She sat so still and silent, that Hermione drew back just a little, anticipating the inevitable explosion of temper from her.

The sun was beginning to set behind the stand when Ginny finally did something. Ginny stiffly unfolded herself and gathered her belongings, leaving the despised book where it lay crookedly in the dampening grass. She still hadn't said a word. Hermione couldn't stand the silence. 'Ginny?' she asked tentatively.

'I know the three of you don't like to talk about last year,' Ginny said quietly. 'But this was something you should have told me. The three of you... You have your secrets and your shared history, and block the rest of us out...'

'Ginny, it wasn't...' Hermione said desperately. 'It's not deliberate.'

'If you say so,' Ginny murmured, and walked up to the castle, leaving Hermione in the lengthening shadows.