Later that night, as the steady hum of crickets dusted the Burrow, Ginny lay on her side in bed, one arm propping up her head and the other draped loosely over Hermione's stomach. Stifling a yawn, she attempted to steady herself in the smooth rise-and-fall motion beneath her left hand, the one that meant Hermione was dreaming peacefully and she could be too.

With painstaking care, Ginny eased her head back onto her pillow, and then immediately tensed when she heard a soft and sleepy mumble escape the other girl's lips. "Gin?"

"Yeah, Herm?" Ginny breathed in reply, cursing herself for not staying still.

But Hermione didn't answer, and instead simply nestled closer to her, until her back was pressed firmly against the younger girl's chest and her long tangles of hair temporarily stole the air from the room. Another minute passed before Ginny let out a contented sigh of relief, satisfied that Hermione had never really woken.

"Sleep, love," she whispered softly, wrapping her arm more snugly around her friend, "Sleep on, and I won't leave you. I promise."

Although the red-head knew that Hermione did not hear this vow, she nonetheless managed to ease her own mind with the truth of it. Over the last several months, Ginny's every sense had grown attuned to the smallest sign of need emanating from the other girl, so much so that the mere fearful quickening of Hermione's breath would rouse her from even the deepest of slumbers.

Grateful as she was for this ability, however, Ginny was even more grateful that it was growing obsolete. How long had it been since Hermione had clung to her crying in the night, images of Jacob's hurt still crowding her mind? Two weeks, or maybe even three? How long had it been, for that matter, since Hermione had wept at all? Nevertheless, Ginny's best friend still refused to go to bed without her, would not even nap lest she was enclosed in such an embrace. Not that Ginny had ever raised any objection or ever would.

Maybe that's all these befuddled feeling are, the Weasley girl sighed to herself, my protectiveness stirring in with the affection and sisterly love that's always been there. But as the warmth of Hermione's body continued to flood through her own, Ginny was forced to remind herself of all the many nights they had spent in just this position, nights before the trial, when Hermione had needed her even more.

Pretend as Ginny might, the emotions she felt then were not the same as the ones that she now battled, not even close. They certainly, for example, did not call forth any images of her own beloved brother cowering beneath the threat of a double bat-bogey-jelly-legs jinx.

For love Ron, though she might, Ginny could not help but let her imagination tenderly stroke the jealous monster that had been birthed inside of her on the Hogwarts Express that afternoon. The green-tinged beast that had roared a rush of heat to her face when she saw her brother take Hermione's hand just beyond the door of her compartment, the one that had muffled her hearing and seized her breath when she heard them bashfully announce that they were now dating.

Shuddering with embarrassment, Ginny recalled how quickly the words had caused her to reach for her wand, how easily the gesture might have been seen if Luna, at that very moment, had not distracted everyone by loudly rolling up her Quibbler and jabbing it at the invisible Wrackspurts floating around Neville's dozing head. She'd have to be more careful, the red-head reminded herself, more careful to control her impulses in the days to come, even if took an internally-repeated mantra of whatever-makes-Hermione-happy.

For that was all she really wanted, no matter what lies the monster told her. And if Ron could make it so, well, what choice did she have but to sit back and let him? Sure, it would have been easier if she at least still had her confusion to cling to. But in the moment of the wand-and-the-Wrackspurts, she had recognized a truth that she now forced herself to swallow. I love her.

Not as a sister, not just as a friend. I'm in love with her.

But it isn't her fault, and it isn't even my brother's. They can't help the way they are any more than me, and even if it destroys my heart to let her go, I'll do it if it means I won't lose her.


Despite the declaration she had fallen asleep to that night, Ginny could not help, over the next few weeks, but to make her brother share the smallest possible portion of the angst she felt daily.

It had started small at first--the wash-load with his favorite jeans 'accidentally' getting turned up to hot and shrinking all of its contents a smidgen, the family of garden gnomes captured and then let loose in his bedroom on a rainy afternoon, the harmless house-spider placed on the bathroom sink right before he went in to have his morning shave. Honestly, Ginny meant no harm by any of it. She had actually even cried a bit when she heard his high-pitched squeals echoing past her bedroom during the spider bit. Granted, they were tears of laugher. But who could really tell?

No, fun as these exploits were, she'd never really hurt her older sibling, who for all his absurd maleness could sometimes be rather sweet and funny. She just also couldn't let her conscience rest easy, lest she put a few slight dents in the bottomless-glee of the one unfairly snogging her girl, no matter who that person was.

Not that she ever saw them do this, not that Hermione talked about it if they did.

Harry and Roxie though, were another story entirely. After Ginny's lightening-bolt scarred friend had put in two weeks of what he called "Dursley-duty," he had decided to spend the rest of his holiday at the home of his best mates. Of course, it was only coincidence that his new girlfriend happened to be suitemates at Hogwarts with Luna Lovegood, who lived just an hour's walk from the Burrow. Also a coincidence that she happened to suddenly develop a rather close friendship with the blonde-haired Ravenclaw, one that earned her a summer invite coinciding with Harry's arrival.

Even the trees out front had seemed to turn a slightly lighter shade, in their embarrassment over the magical-hormones those two subjected all within view to, on a constant basis. Ginny herself wondered how they maintained the energy, since their mouths were rarely ever free long enough to take in some nourishment.

Still, it was nice to have Luna about, someone interesting to pass the time with, on those rare days when Ron and Hermione snuck off for an hour or two alone. Every time they did so, Ginny hoped it was just to gossip about Harry and Roxie, as she and Luna often did, and not to mimic them.

Every time they did so, she also tried to remind herself not to follow them and find out, partially for fear of what she might see, but more for fear of the hexes that might find a taller red-haired target if she saw something she didn't like.

Instead, she would stay with Luna, whose company always brightened her spirits more than a bit, even when it meant that she had to follow all the details of the Ministry's secret plans to build a defensive army of vampire-werewolf crossbreeds. She would listen, and nod, and laugh where appropriate, nursing the growing emptiness inside of her and counting down the minutes until her brother brought safely back her heart.