Nightmares

by Phoenix Pendron

A moment between Ron and Ginny after the second book because Ginny is having problems with nightmares (THIS IS NOT A RG FIC)

Disclaimer:  You know the drill.  None of this is mine, not the characters, not the setting, and for the most part not the story since it's a scene based on the events of CoS.  All the good stuff belongs to JKR.  The rest of this nonsense is mine.  (Does anyone even read this disclaimers anymore?)

Near the top floor of the home called "the Burrow" in Ottery St. Catchpole a tuft of bright orange hair could be seen writhing violently beneath an equally violent orange blanket as twelve year old Ron Weasley struggled in anguish through a hauntingly familiar nightmare...

The ceiling of the tall cavern was moist and smelled of dank molded earth as Ron threw himself against a solid wall of fallen stone. With nails worn down to the quick and scraped knuckles he tore at the rocks baring his way; scooping pebbles and debris into handfuls, groaning under the weight of larger boulders 'til they creaked and gave way, tumbling pass his feet to echo against the stone floor. Panting and sweating he finally cleared a hole in the barricade just big enough for his hand to squeeze through. Ron pressed his body flat against the remaining rocks, ignoring the uncomfortable jabs into his arms and sides, and screwed his eye against the opening. Peering deep into the blackness he tried to make out the figures of his friend and his sister. When nothing appeared the panic grew deeper in his stomach making his hands tremble as he lashed out against the stone with new vigor. Silence beat down on his ears from the outside while the sporadic pounding of his heart deafened him from within. At last a mammoth stone gave way, surging him with sick joy. All this time wasted on a menial task, all this time he should have been helping. What if it was already too late? The hole before him was now big enough to squeeze his head through. Ron pulled himself up on the rock to reach the opening, slipping and scuffing his palm. He cussed silently and continued to fight up the wall. Just as he was about to pull himself through, intent on getting into the fray and helping to save his best friend and baby sister, he heard a slow sloshing footstep from somewhere in the blackness. "GINNY!" he called. No answer. His voice choked him as he tried again, all along the footsteps growing louder, "Harry?" He strained to listen over his heart still pounding in his chest, bringing burning tears to his eyes. The footfalls drew up to the wall, and in the dim light a small white hand passed into the opening. Ron was dizzy with joy as he reached up to clasp it, and pull Ginny close to him. But the hand was cold; its delicate fingers limp in his palm. "Ginny," he breathed as the world sank through him. "I'm sorry, Ron" came the cold dead voice of Harry from somewhere he couldn't see. "I tried, but it was just too lat—"Harry's choked voice was replaced by a high shrill scream that echoed off the stone ceiling and walls jarring Ron from his foothold on the rock barricade. His fingers grazed rock roughly as he tried to cling to them. But it was no use; he was falling, farther than he remembered climbing, while the scream continued to mount new octaves of terror all around him.

Ron sat bolt upright in bed, breath coming in deep panting gulps, sweat forming a thin line of beads across his forehead. In the silence of the sleeping house he could hear the scream echoing up the twisting staircase. "Ginny," he gulped throwing the covers from him and sprinting for the door. As he bounded down the two flights of stairs separating his room from the origin of the screaming, sleepy faces emerged from closed doors and the solemn sounds of Fred, George and Percy could be heard behind him. As he reached the third floor landing the cry choked silent. Ron skidded to a halt before he stumbled over the tall figure of his father, slumped on the stairs just outside Ginny's door, holding his balding head in his hands. Ron picked his way around Arthur Weasley to stand before him with questioning looks, while on the other side of the door came the unmistakable sound of Ginny's sobs and his mothers attempt to reassure her. Deep bags piled upon themselves beneath Arthur's red-rimmed eyes as he returned Ron's pleading expression with solemn fatigue. Ron sighed and looked at his own barefoot feet as the other Weasley men approached quietly. This had become an almost regular routine for the normally joyful household.

After Ginny had returned to the Gryffindor tower from the hospital wing, she had seemed normal, almost her old, bubbling self. Her brothers had spent so much time, in those last weeks of school, showering her with time and attention, unconditional forgiveness for something none of them believed to be her fault. It had seemed to work, she laughed and smiled, and the weight on all of their hearts had eased. They forgot the guilt, shame, and heart crushing sadness they had lived in those hellish hours they had believed her gone forever. But eventually they had returned home. None of them really understood what had sent her back into it, the nightmares and the far-away looks. It started slowly, and grew. First she would wake up in a cold sweat, and they'd find her the next morning wide- awake in the kitchen claiming fear at falling back to sleep. But now they would all be awaken by her screaming in her sleep, reliving moments that none of them dared to imagine. On each occasion they would come, every last one of them, silently they stood their nightly vigil; rarely daring to speak until Molly would appear, white faced and teary-eyed, to tell them she had fallen back to sleep.

Fred and George looked at each other gravely, while Percy slumped against a wall covering his eyes with his hands. Arthur silently watched his youngest son, pacing in single strides across the narrow step below him, with a heavy heart. He was getting so tall, thought Arthur wistfully. It seemed like it was only in these moments that he ever got to see Ron, ever got to marvel over the young man his little boy was quickly becoming. After "the accident", as it was becoming known within the walls of the Burrow, Arthur had thrown himself into his work searching for something to cling to that wouldn't remind him of the ways he had failed his little angel. Quietly he studied the strong line of Ron's profile, the mused orange hair, the long nose he had inherited from Arthur himself, and the blue eyes that had developed overnight into piercing orbs filled with concern. Only twelve years old, he reminded himself, and yet so brave, so smart, so incredible. Not for the first time the father tried to imagine life as his son, facing his worst fears knowingly, and the even deadlier unknown. His thoughts were cut short and the whole group started as the door to Ginny's room creaked slowly open.

Ron glanced around his mother to see Ginny curled up under her blankets, which were twisted violently across her bed, ripped off the mattress, half- draping the floor. Her own identical red-hair half hid her tear-stained face, her body convulsing with suppressed sobs. He could just see her eyes locked to Molly's back as she asked Percy to fetch a glass of warm milk. Slowly they slid to Ron's and locked him in silent pleading. Unsure of what to say Ron chewed his bottom lip and tried to return her gaze with a reassuring look. Molly stepped back into the room and the door quietly clicked closed, echoing in the dead silence of the stairwell.

The few moments had left a hollow, swallowing feeling in the pit of Ron's stomach. The growing hole slowly started to fill with hatred, sloshing like bile through him as he was painfully reminded of the pain Ginny must be in.

"I hate this!" he snapped, startling everyone. "I hate feeling useless!"

"Ron..." his Dad began, trying to sound soothing.

"He's right," said Fred from behind their father, in a voice filled with quiet loathing. "There should be something we can do" George echoed his brother tone.

"I wish there was, boys, I truly wish there was. But all we can do is be here for her, and not let her forget that we all still love her terribly," Arthur responded. His voice was weak and trembled ever so slightly.

Ron grabbed two handfuls of own hair and pulled, hard. "But it's NOT helping her!" he shrieked in frustration.

"Son we can't—" Arthur started to explain with the heavy heart he always launched into this conversation.

"Can't what?" Percy cut him off, rounding the second floor stairs, carefully balancing the glass of milk.

Ron wheeled around, caught by an absurd idea. Why should he fear to see or speak to his sister? How was she any different from the girl who had pushed him off his broom when they were nine, in a desperate attempt to get the apple/Quaffle? Percy looked at him as though he had grown an extra head when he snatched the glass of milk from his hand, sloshing half of it down the front of his worn-out plaid pajamas.

"Hey! That's for—" Percy had begun to protest, but everyone was stunned into silence as Ron turned to face the bedroom door, rapping on it smartly.

Ron shifted his weight nervously from side to side waiting for the sound of his mum's approaching steps. Molly sighed as the door cracked open. "Oh, thank you, dear," she said reaching for the glass. But Ron had ducked under her arm into the room. Ginny was sitting up on the bed, her knees clutched close to her chest, head resting sideways on her arms. The room looked the same as it always had; the walls had been painted pink in their Mum's euphoria at actually having a girl, the bed was small and still had the stickers on the end supporting Puddlemere from when it had belonged to Charlie.

"Gin?" Ron said croakily.

Ginny's head lifted slowly from her arms and she turned to look at him. Wet strands of bright red hair clung to her flushed cheeks. She sniffed slightly in reply as she faced him and rubbed her already red nose. Suddenly Ron felt awkward and out of place as he realized that now that he was here ready to do something, he had no idea what he could or even should do or say. Feeling slightly foolish now he glanced back towards the door. Molly's face was still twisted in shock but framed in the amber light of the hallway Arthur and his brothers looked on in hopeful admiration waiting for him to take the steps that they too were uncertain of.

"Er..." he began feebly glancing around for some spark of inspiration, before remembering he was still holding, and wearing, the milk. "I brought you a glass of milk," he said finally. Behind him Percy harrumphed quietly and then groaned painfully as one of the twins elbowed him sharply.

"Thanks," she mumbled without making any move to accept the glass he offered. Instead she looked up at him keenly as though also expecting him to explain his presence.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," he replied to her unvoiced question.

"I'm fine," she muttered. She laid her head back upon her knees and returned to staring at the wall. Ron gaped at her clearly bewildered. 'Fine'? Ginny was anything but 'fine'. People who were 'fine' did not wake up every night screaming at the horrors of the nightmares. People who were doing alright did not move through their days like ghosts drowning in their own despair. People who were okay did not act as though... they didn't act... they just didn't act like Ginny.

When the insanity of the comment finally sank through him Ron spat at her, "Bollocks! You're not fine and we all know it."

"RONALD!" Molly snapped wildly from behind him. Ron's felt his face flush and his ears become hot. He had not intended to curse in front of his mother, but more than that he couldn't believe what he had just said to his sister. He cringed in anticipation of her to begin crying anew. It was a stupid thing to say.

Instead Ginny turned her face slowly to meet his. Her eyes were different this time. They weren't focused on some indistinguishable point in the space around him, they were holding his gaze powerfully; he felt himself squirm. "No you don't," she said so quietly he was almost certain he had imagined it. She snatched the glass of now luke-warm milk from his hand, sloshing some on her duvet. Clutching the now half empty glass she said more audibly, "You don't know." She turned away from him again but this time she didn't slump over her knees. She simply refused to look at him.

Feeling an inexplicable anger begin to boil inside of him Ron shot at her, "Only because you won't tell me! What do you want from us Ginny? We can't help if you won't let us, and obviously you can't handle this on your own."

"Who says I can't handle this?" she rounded on him "You never think I can do anything on my own. You weren't there when I needed you, none of you were. I don't need you here now!"

Ron felt as if the floor had disappeared from underneath him. She was right, he hadn't been there. His only effort had been too little and too late. He glanced at the glass which she held in a white-knuckled grip and was forcibly reminded of her white lifeless hand in his dream. The thought send a cold shiver down his spine and he turned his gaze to the floor. Swallowing the hard lump that had grown in his throat he said hoarsely, "You're right, I tried... but I wasn't there. I'm sorry Gin." As the corners of his eyes began to burn he turned quickly and strode towards the door.

Still framed in the amber hallway light Arthur and his brothers watched him approach with a mixture of shock and disappointment, while Molly simply looked scandalized. As he drew up beside his mother he heard her signature sharp intake of breath and cringed knowing that what would follow could only be a telling off for his language and behavior. But before Molly could scold him another voice called out to him.

"Ron," Ginny called in an uncertain tone. Every Weasley eye turned towards her as she sat up on her knees in the middle of the bed now, looking anxiously at him. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean what I said. I know that you tried," she said sincerely. He nodded in response feeling even worse with the knowledge that Ginny recognized how he had tried—and failed—to help her. He turned back towards the door. "Ron," she called after him once again, "please... please don't go."

"What?" he said stupidly. "You don't want me to go?"

"Well, not if you don't want to," Ginny said awkwardly chewing her bottom lip.

Ron was utterly bewildered. If he were Ginny he knew he wouldn't want to see him anymore. He had tried to save her and could only stand by waiting. He had tried to talk to her and had only started a fight. What could she possibly want him to do now?

Sighing deeply he said the only thing he could think of; "I want... I want to help—if I can," he mumbled rubbing the back of his head and shifting uncomfortably.

"I'd like that," she replied quietly.

Behind him huddled in the doorway Percy's mouth flopped open. Fred gripped George's shoulder tightly who nodded empathically at his younger brother. Arthur simply gaped with bated breath.

His legs felt oddly shaky as he walked slowly back to the bed. Nervously he perched himself on the very edge of the mattress and watched his toes clenching and unclenching the carpet.

"Ginny, dear," Molly said her voice cracking, "we all want to help you. I could—"

Arthur suddenly snapped out of his trance and side stepped his sons to interrupt his wife gently. "Molly," he said softly, "why don't we go and get her another glass of milk. They seemed to have spilt most of that one."

"But—" Molly stammered. Arthur grasped her elbow gently and steered her from the room. "Boys, why don't you come with us to get the milk," Arthur said suggestively. Fred leapt to attention and took control of his mothers elbow, leading her towards the kitchen with George following, smirking to himself. Percy looked blankly around for a moment til his father herded him also through the door. He gave his youngest son a final reassuring nod and followed the rest of the family down the stairs after the supposed new glass of warm milk.

Ron watched until the door finally clicked closed behind them. Sighing he turned back to Ginny. Well, he had wanted to be here, he had wanted to help. And now he was here, feeling more ridiculous with each second that crept slowly by. Fragments of thoughts and statement swirled in his mind. He bit back each one in turn, rejecting them as rude or inappropriate. When everything else had been rejected the only words Ron could find were simply—

"I'm so sorry," Ginny said quietly.

Ron jerked. That was supposed to be his line. "No, Gin. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things."

"Not that." Her voice was becoming quieter with each syllable as she pulled her knees closer to her chest shrinking into a small ball on the mattress. "I'm sorry for everything I did. I'm sorry for what I put you... and Hermione... and... and Harry, and everyone through."

Ron blinked slowly at her. "You're kidding right!" he said with a weak laugh. She shook her head slowly still staring at her knees. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, you didn't—"

"Don't!" she said daringly. "Don't you dare say it."

"But listen, Gin—"

"No, you listen." She was glaring at him now. "I'm so sick of everyone trying to tell me that I didn't do anything wrong or that it wasn't my fault. I was there, I lived it, and I think I would know!"

Ron shook his head stubbornly. "No, don't you dare! Don't you dare tell me that I am supposed to blame you! He tricked you! He used you the same way that he has used hundreds of other wizards."

"I let him do it Ron! I helped him!"

"You helped him?!?! You offered him suggestions on the best ways to attempt to murder your friends? What, you gave him tips on technique?" he said sarcastically his pulse rising with his tone.

"Of course not you stupid prat! But he couldn't have done it with out me could he?"

"He USED you! He twisted your thoughts; it's not as if you had a choice."

"But I did have a choice... didn't I," she said in a weak whisper. "I could have stopped writing to him. I could have told someone about it."

"There's NO way you could have known what he was up to!" Before his eyes she was sinking into a darkness that seemed almost tangible in the air around her. Ron could feel his blood boil hotter with the realization that her self-loathing was genuine as well as being utterly unfounded. "I can't believe that you would blame this on yourself! It's not as if you wanted it to happen—"

"Isn't it though..." Ron felt as if someone had punched him violently in the stomach. His mind reeled. "He said... he said that if I didn't... didn't..."

"Didn't what?!?!" he demanded hotly.

"He said that he couldn't have done it at all if I didn't want him to... in some small way."

The phrase echoed through his mind. There was no way, no possible physical way that Ginny could have desired any of it... not really. Was there? His jaw worked itself foolishly before it finally stuttered. "Did you? Did you want to hurt those people... to hurt Hermione?"

"No." she snapped quickly. "Not really..."

"Then what did you want, really?"

"I wanted... I wanted you to pay more attention to me!" she punctuated her self by beating the mattress. "I wanted someone to talk to! I wanted someone to understand! I wanted us to still be friends! I wanted... I wanted someone to like me." Ron felt queasy; before his mind's eye flash a sudden stream of images. Ginny sitting by herself in a corner. Ginny looking tired and sick. Not inviting Ginny to sit with them at meal. Not including her in their games of chess by the fire. A new wave of nausea passed over him as for the first time he realized in how many of those scenes she had been writing, scribbling furiously in that journal, sometimes even throwing him withering glances as she wrote. "He even said that... that I should be glad that Hermione..."

Ron's mind suddenly snapped back to the present. "Be glad that Hermione what?" he said sharply.

"That I should be glad that she...was out of the way."

"You DON'T mean that," he demanded.

"I didn't say it! He did. For awhile I was... I was a bit jealous of her. But I love Hermione; I don't want anything to happen to her. But maybe if I hadn't thought it then he would have never hurt her."

"But you were mad at me too. And I was never petrified!"

"No, but we're pure blood."

"So what? If he was really doing those things based on what you wanted, then I would have been the one staring down a Basilisk and not 'Mione—"

"Don't say that! I would never hurt you Ron, NEVER!"

"Right. Just like you would never push me off a broom—" he said with solemn sarcasm.

"It was only ten feet off the ground!" she protested.

"I broke my arm! You would never give yourself a bruise and tell Mum that I did it," he pushed on, ticking offenses off on his fingers.

"I was just a kid!"

"It was last summer!" he retorted. "You would never turn on the tears to Dad just because I wouldn't share something."

"That's not fair! None of that means that I want to see you really get hurt!" her voice cracked dangerously.

"What about the way I treated you this year? I was a complete git! If nothing else that should have put me on the top of your hit list!

"It wasn't my hit list!"

"Oh, really..." he said with a victorious smile. "Well then if it wasn't your hit list, then it wasn't because you wanted it to happen."

"But—"

"But nothing!" He leapt off the bed and stomped around the room restlessly. "Besides, you never did hurt anyone, he did. To say that you did implies that you knew what you were doing. You didn't wake up in the morning and say: let's see here... I have breakfast, followed by Transfigurations," he pretended to read of his hand checking a list as he went, "and I'll have to finish that essay for History of Magic during lunch, and then..." he put his finger to chin in pretend contemplation, "then I think I'll try to kill some Muggle-borns this evening before I start on my homework." He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was yelling. Although he couldn't figure why he was exactly he didn't feel like stopping. He wanted to fill the entire house with the sound of his voice. He wanted to shake the rafters with his fury. He wanted something to be mad at, a target for all of his frustration. He couldn't be mad at Ginny for what had happen at school—he wouldn't let himself. But he couldn't stop himself for hating the fact that she could blame herself. The truth of her innocence seemed so obvious to him, why couldn't she see it?

Ginny rocked onto her knees in the middle of the bed pointing her finger at him dangerously, "You have no idea what it was like!"

"You're right, I don't! You won't tell me."

"You don't want to know," she hissed.

"How do you know that?!?! You're right I've never wanted to imagine what it was like, just like I don't want to imagine what it would be like to grow up with a family. But I would rather know than watch you treat yourself like this! So what is it Ginny? Tell me about it! Help me understand why I'm supposed to hate you as much as you do." He crossed his arm stubbornly across his chest and cocked his chin towards her daringly.

Her eyes smoldered fire as her jaw clenched and unclenched. But then something happen that Ron wasn't expecting, though he probably should have been. Even with the contemptuous look still blazing in her eyes her lip gave an involuntary quiver. She pressed her lips together tightly and screwed her gaze up towards the ceiling breathing raggedly. He watched her in a mixture of panic and confusion. When she spoke the effort to keep her voice steady was painful to his ears. "He tried to steal my soul Ron, what do you think it was like?" With those words two long lines of tears began to stream down her cheeks just before she buried her face in her hands. She was breathing in gasping pants choked by sobs, her shoulders convulsing softly.

His body turned to lead. She was crying. He and his stupid mouth had made her cry. He felt like jumping out the window. "Don't cry," he said stupidly feeling small and useless watching her. "Please," his own voice beginning to crack as he moved towards her completely clueless as to where to begin undoing his damage. Uncertainly he moved to put his hand on her shoulder, hesitating as though she were made of glass and might shatter at his touch. "I'm sorry G—"

She lunged at him wrapping her arms tight around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Ron's face went slack and his body froze, hands hovering in mid-air. He was suddenly aware of how awkward his legs and arms felt, long and gangly. All of his anger had dissipated, washed away by the tears that soaked into pajamas. A strangling lump rose in his throat and his eyes began to burn as well. Sniffing loudly he blinked roughly, wishing desperately that she would quit crying. He couldn't remember ever wanting Ginny to be angry before; wanting her to scream at him, hit him even. Anything but this. "He told—" she sobbed, "He told me—He told me he would hurt you if I—If I didn't—"

"Shhhhh..." Ron said soothingly sudden felling life, fueled by protective mercy, flow back into his limbs. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her gently from the bed. He settled himself on the mattress and pulled her into his lap, hugging her tightly and rocking gently in the way his mother had done him when he was young and one of the twins had done something particularly horrendous. "He was so nice—by the time—I figured out what he—was really like—it was too late!" she gulped on her sobs as she tried to string her words together.

Ron rubbed his cheek against the top of her head as he stroked her hair. He tried in vain to fight back his own tears that rolled down his cheek to be buried in Ginny's fiery locks. "It's okay Ginny. It's over now.  It's all going to be alright," he said soothingly in his own cracking voice.

Her head jerked up to stare at him in horror, "But what if—" she began to plead.

"It doesn't matter what might of happen," he interrupted her sharply. "It didn't happen... and that's what counts."

"Because of you and Harry," she mumbled as she buried her cheek against his chest again.

Ron blushed slightly to himself. "No, because of you and Harry... and because Hermione is so bloody clever."

"Me?" she breathed.

"Yes, you," he said roughly pulling her out to arms length so he could see her face. "What you did was brave Ginny, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Think about how many wizards and witches have been taken in by You-Know-Who. Think about how many older and more powerful wizards have given in to him. But not you." It was Ginny's turn to blush. She looked down at the mattress in embarrassment.

Ron slid a finger under her chin and forced her to look back at him. His voice was becoming thick but he felt that he had to say all of the things he had been thinking about in the last weeks. "You fought him Ginny and you would have won if we hadn't stumbled on to that diary when you tried to get rid of it. Think about where you succeeded and others had failed. You are the only other person I know who has ever survived when he decided to kill them. But we know why you did—because he didn't realize how bloody stubborn you are. I think this is the only time I've ever been glad that you are."

"I'm not stubborn," she said indignantly. Ron laughed in spite of himself and hugged her close to him again.

For several long minutes they sat quietly Ginny letting her older brother wrap his long arms around her while she curled into a ball in his lap. She sighed deeply and let herself relax a bit. She felt safe here. Usually she got so aggravated when her brothers tried to be protective of her, it always felt like they were babying her. But she couldn't make herself believe that about Ron, not now, not after all the things he had said. In the back of her mind it almost felt as though Ron needed to hold her now, and she was more than willing to let him. Ginny wasn't sure how much of what he had said she truly believed. She couldn't deny that she enjoyed hearing how much Ron believed in her even with her doubts echoing their familiar chorus in her mind. Maybe she had come close to beating Tom, but in the end he would have beaten her if it wasn't for Harry and Ron. She had come close when she disposed of the diary in the bathroom...

"Ron?" she said suddenly, startling him. "What were you doing in the girl's lavatory?"

"Er... What?" he stuttered.

"When you and Harry found the diary. What were the two of you doing in a girl's lav?"

"Er... Well... you see... It's all very complicated." Ron could fell the tips of his ears beginning to burn.

Ginny stared at him stonily. "Explain it me," she demanded calmly.

"Well... Myrtle had flooded the lav when you chucked that diary at her head—50 points, by the way—and Harry and I had just gone in to see where all the water was coming from." Ron said trying to sound confident in his own explanation. It was, after all, the truth... or at least part of the truth.

"So you just walked in? How did you know there weren't going to be girls in there? That would have been embarrassing," Ginny continued, calm as ever.

Ron stretched his legs as though he was uncomfortable and Ginny scooted herself over onto the mattress beside him. "'Cause Hermione had mentioned it before that no one ever used that lav because of Moaning Myrtle. There wasn't anyone in there, was there? So it's no big deal."

Ginny eyed him suspiciously. It was obvious that she knew there was something he wasn't telling her. Ron's stomach twisted violently, she always knew when he was lying so it was pointless to try, and right now he really didn't want to start a fight... but he also didn't want to tell her that he and his friends had been up to embarrassing illegal activities.

"You'll tell me eventually right," she said as though she were reading his thoughts.

"Tell you what?" he said trying to sound innocent.

"Whatever it is you aren't telling me now. Just like you finally got around to telling me that those cuts on your face last summer weren't because you fell off Harry's broom."

"Eventually, but not right now." Ron had smiled to himself as he remembered Ginny's face when he had told her the story of the Philosopher's Stone. Wide-eyed and open mouthed hanging on his every word as though it were the most incredible thing she had ever heard.

"Does Harry know this story?" she asked timidly. Ron also remembered, as he rolled his eyes to himself, the thousand and one questions she had asked him about Harry; Harry and the mirror, Harry and the stone, Harry and he-who-must-not-be- named, Harry and the hospital wing...

"Of course he does. He was there for it," Ron answered, a bit annoyed. Ginny nodded quietly to herself.

"Ron... would you do me a favor?" he voice was small and quiet again.

Ron swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, "What's that?"

"Would you promise me that you won't tell Harry about this?" she said in a pleading voice.

"About what? Your nightmares?" he said a bit confused.

Ginny nodded weakly.

"Why on Earth would I tell him about this?"

"Because he's your best friend and you tell each other everything." Ginny stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah, but he's not my only best friend." Ron said dumbly.

"Don't be daft, Ron. You can only have one best friend, that's what best friend means," she said as she rolled her eyes at him.

"That's not true," he said sharply. "Harry is my best friend, but so is Hermione, and so are you. And there is loads of stuff that I don't tell Hermione, and loads of stuff that you know that they don't because—"

"I'm your best friend," Ginny cut him off in a stupefied sort of voice.

He stared at her blankly for a long moment not understanding what was so unreal about his statement. "Of course you are."

"But you get so mad at me sometimes...." She said still looking at him in awe and confusion.

"You get mad at me too. And so does Hermione, and I'm sure Harry does too. That doesn't mean anything." Ginny cracked a feeble attempt at a smile and Ron finally began to understand how much it meant to her to know that her brother was still her best friend. "Look, Gin, I know that I can be a stupid prat sometimes. And I know that I do it to you more than others... but you understand that. You've lied to get me out of trouble before with Mum, I've eaten some of the twin inventions so you wouldn't have too, Bill and Charlie still treat me like I'm five too."  He had been talking so quickly he was running out of breath.  Sighing deeply he began slowly, "What I'm saying is that it's always been me and you, and that's not changed. Harry may be one of my best friends but he'll never know what it's like to be poor, he'll never understand what it's like to have to live with the twins, he'll never be able to play chess the way that you do... and...and did you know that he doesn't even keep up with the Quidditch standings???" he said with obvious horror.

Ginny smiled softly, "He can't over the summer... the Muggles."

"That's what I mean though, if it was you, you'd find a way. To hell with the Muggles."

Ginny's smile turned mischievous, "By the way did you see the scores from last weekend? Puddlemere has 920 points on the season already. I can't quite remember what the Cannons have..."

"Un dunded en ssnty..." Ron mumbled.

"What was that?" Ginny asked with mock innocence.

"One-hundred and seventy. There, are you happy?" Ron said acting as if he were deeply offended. But he couldn't be, no matter how badly his team was doing, because Ginny was smiling. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen from her in far too long, and he couldn't help but feel warm in the pit of his stomach because of it.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it Ronekins, even at this rate they couldn't finish worse than they did last year," she punched him playfully in the shoulder.  Ron caught her hand were it landed. He hesitated a long moment before letting go. Her tiny fingers were pink and warm against his own hand; curled into a loose fist they were full of life. Letting her hand drop he pretended to grab his shoulder and pulled a pained face, but inside he sighed. Ron Weasley took his first completely relaxed breath in weeks. A silence that only people who know each other so impossibly thoroughly can settle into comfortably descended upon them. Ron stretched his legs out as Ginny yawned.

"I'm so tired," she mumbled as her eyelids began to droop.

"Tell me about it," Ron mumbled in response at last feeling the exhaustion that was left once the nerves and panic had ebbed away.

"Ron," Ginny said groggily, "you wouldn't mind sleeping here, would you? Just for tonight...?"

"On one condition," he said with a yawn.

"What's that?"

"I get the soft pillow," he said as he lunged towards the headboard.

The sound of Ginny's protest of "Not fair!" mixed with playful battling as laughter drifted towards the hallway where Arthur Weasley sat all alone in the corridor, his ear pressed close to the door. Feeling his age more than ever he got slowly to his feet and made his way down to his own bedroom. He knew it was wrong to have listened to their conversation, but he hadn't been able to the help himself. He had to know. As he crawled into bed and hugged his wife close to him he whispered it into her ear that she could know as well. "It's all going to be alright, we are all going to be fine," he said as he drifted off to sleep smiling gently.