Hello. Here's my fic-- sorry if it hasn't got off to a brilliant start. Anyway, there'll probably be a different POV for each chapter.
Please read and review. I highly encourage constructive criticism, but I'd appreciate it if there was no flaming. Thanks.
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling. Please don't sue me. I have nothing of any value anyways.
"They're not that bad, really," Ginny admitted, referring to Fleur Delacour's choice in bridesmaid dresses. "I mean, yeah, they're gold, but—" She looked across the table at Hermione. "Er… are you listening?"
It was early July, and Hermione, along with Harry, had been staying at the Burrow since school had ended. Bill and Fleur's wedding was two days away, and the house was full of activity. Or maybe it just seemed that way, because so many people— Hermione, Harry, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and soon, Fleur's parents and sister—were staying under one horribly small roof.
Hermione and Ginny sat opposite each other at the kitchen table, which had recently had a great frilly tablecloth draped over it by Mrs. Weasley. Molly believed that this new addition to the room would make it more suitable for guests (namely her soon-to-be in-laws, Emrik and Virginie Delacour).
Ginny made an impatient noise. "Hermione?"
"What? Oh—sorry." Hermione gave an apologetic smile. "I've just got a lot on my mind, is all. You can go on talking," Hermione insisted.
"Well—er—Mum's made Dad go into town to buy about a zillion yellow roses. She wants to put a rose-and-ivy-covered arch in the garden. You know, for the wedding. To perform the ceremony under. Only she doesn't quite know where you're supposed to go to buy an arch… Fred and George offered to build one, but Mum was scared they were going to bewitch it to make animal noises or something. Plus they're idiot's, so even if they did try to built a proper arch it'd probably come out all wonky …"
Hermione jumped. "Hmm?"
"You're not listening to me, Hermione. And I suppose you don't have to if you don't want to, but I just assumed you might like to know about—"
"No!" said Hermione, "No, it's fine. I was actually quite enjoying the arch story, but I sort of just drifted off… I'm sorry, Ginny. I've just got a lot on my mind right now."
Ginny sighed. "Well, would you like to talk about it?"
"Oh, it's alright. Okay, well I think I'll go outside for some air. It's really—er—stuffy in here."
This answer did not surprise Ginny. She was very familiar with the fact that Hermione really didn't like to talk about feelings. At least not her own. Yes, Ginny knew that this was going to take a bit of persuasion.
"Come on, Hermione, you know you can tell me. Whatever it is, I swear I won't blab to Ron or Harry."
No response.
"You know you can't keep things bottled up inside like that. It isn't healthy. In fact, it could be dangerous, even. If you want to stay emotionally balanced, then you've got to talk about what's on your mind."
Hermione made an unintelligible noise.
"Er… so what's on your mind, then?"
"Fine," said Hermione. "I'll tell you. But only if you promise not to breathe a word to anyone."
As Ginny nodded her head, she held back a smile. Hermione had finally cracked. But what was it, wondered Ginny, that had kept Hermione so distracted all afternoon? Was it what she thought it was?
Hermione's voice went down several notches until Ginny had to lean across the table just to hear what her distraught friend was saying. "Well," she started, "the thing I'm going to tell you about—it has been going on since my first year at Hogwarts. And I never thought it would get this far and soon it's going to blow up in my face."
Ginny had to concentrate very hard not to shake Hermione violently and shriek,"WELL, TELL ME ALREADY!"
"Okay," continued Hermione. "Well… I… er… I haven't been completely honest with my parents."
What? This was definitely not what the youngest Weasley was expecting to hear.
"Okay…" Hermione went on, "Ginny. Do you remember when Harry and Ron and I were in our first year and there was the whole issue with the Philisopher's Stone?"
"Erm… well, I've heard about it, but I don't actually remember it, seeing as I was not attending Hogwarts at the time."
"Oh, yes, I keep forgetting you're a year younger than us. Anyway, you remember being told about out little adventure with the Philosopher's Stone, then. Right?"
Ginny wasn't sure where this was going. "Er… right."
"Well… well, my parents don't. Remember being told, I mean. About the Philosopher's Stone. Because, er… because I never told them."
"What?"
"I didn't want them to worry, okay? My parents are very sensible people. They have to be, they're dentists. Anyway, sometimes they can just be too sensible. The bottom line was, when I saw my parents at the end of my first year at Hogwarts, I didn't tell them anything. Not about the Stone, not about Voldemort—well, I explained to them who Voldemort was, but not that Harry had come face-to-face with him. Nothing like that."
"Oh." Ginny was a bit let down. She had been expecting a really good, juicy secret.
"Because, of course, if I had told them they wouldn't have let me go back to Hogwarts. As I told you before, my parents are very sensible, and sometimes I think it's unnatural how much they worry about me."
"Your parents aren't going to care about a lie you told them six years ago. Besides, I lie to my parents all the time. It's fine."
"But then," said Hermione, "at the end of my second year, I never told them about the Chamber of Secrets. Nor did I tell them about Voldemort's return, or about the war, or what happened at the Ministry. And I never really saw them after school ended this year—I just came straight here. And so they don't know about Dumbledore's death, which I know they're going to find out about eventually. I mean… Albus Dumbledore was the only wizard He ever feared. And now he's gone. Someone else is bound to tell them. And then my parents will ask how it happened, and somebody will tell them all about everything and they'll know that I've been lying to them." Hermione's eyes were no longer on Ginny—she was looking down at the table, and she had gone a bit pale. "You know, I thought that maybe if I were the one to tell them… well, I figured I could… you know, casually bring up some of the events that I…" She trailed off, now clutching the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles had turned white.
"Hermione. I'll admit that you've got yourself into quite the situation, but I think you're overreacting."
"Overreacting? Ginny, if my parents want to keep me out of the wizarding world, they can. If they find out that my life has been in jeopardy—repeatedly—then nothing I can do or say will change their mind."
"But you're seventeen!" Ginny exclaimed. "They can't control you. You're of age!"
"I'm of age in the wizarding world," explained Hermione, "but in the Muggle world, I won't be of age until September, when I turn eighteen. And I can't afford to be away from here for the rest of the summer." Hermione leaned across the table towards Ginny. "Ron and Harry need me. This is a matter of life and death. We're going to end Voldemort's reign. We're going to end the war. We're going to save lives. And when my parents find out I've been lying to them, they're going to muddle everything up. I love my parents, but by letting them keep me in the Muggle world for only a few months, I am putting innocent lives at risk. So Ginny, that's what's on my mind. That's why I'm distraught."
"Hermione, that—" started Ginny, but all of a sudden, her voice was interrupted by a loud creak.
The two girls turned their heads to look at the front door as it swung open.
Still with me? If so, review and tell me what you thought. Another chapter will be up very soon. Possibly.