Ginny stumbled through the door, bags and packages tumbling to the ground.

Shopping was fun.

She stopped in the entryway and surveyed her bounty. She marveled at the sheer volume of things one could buy if one had enough of the right kind of money. She'd never been particularly interested in shopping before; then again, she'd never seen a contraption that would squeeze an orange when you pressed a button.

"My God, Ginny," Hermione cried, closing her bedroom door firmly behind her. When on earth is she going to let me in there? Ginny wondered. "I hope this is everything."

"Everything today," Ginny said, grinning playfully. "Honestly, Hermione, the things Muggles think up."

"Yes, well, most of it is utter crap," Hermione said, nudging an electric fan with her toe. "We do have forced air, you know."

"I don't know what that is," Ginny replied. "And I don't care, I had fun. I got the money bit right almost every time! We can give it all away if you want, I just liked the shopping part."

Hermione smiled. "I'm sure we can find some place for it. Especially now that Lydia's things are gone. Speaking of," she said, "where are they? They're not on the table."

Ginny flushed. "They're . . ." she couldn't think of anything to say. Hermione looked at her curiously.

"They're . . . ?"

Ginny bit her lip. What to say? Mustn't tell Hermione that Lydia was here today. She'd have an absolute attack. "I put them away," she said finally. "I didn't want you to have to think about her." That sounded plausible. Plausible and attentive. Just let it work.

Hermione's brow furrowed. Ginny saw her trying to decide whether or not she believed it. Finally she smiled again. "How sweet," she said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Ginny gave silent thanks and began pulling her haul into the living room.

"How was your day? How was Bristol?"

"Clammy," Hermione said. "The wizard—ex-wizard, rather—I met was living in some godforsaken dungheap out in the middle of bloody nowhere. It reminded me quite a lot of the Shrieking Shack, actually. I'm thinking of changing my introduction to the book to examine why it is so many witches and wizards who have left magic seem to have left all civilization."

"You didn't."

"True. But it's so easy to lose yourself in a city. When I first moved out here I was so delighted by how I could go anywhere without seeing a single person I knew, or who knew me. Total anonymity. It was . . ." she trailed off. "Anyway, that's over. To be quite honest with you I'm a little relieved about it. Living as a Muggle was definitely a failed experiment, I mean, look what a mess I made of it."

"You didn't make a mess of it. Someone like Lydia could happen to anyone. Look at Neville."

"What's happened to Neville?" Hermione asked, interested.

"Oh, I thought you knew, he's married to some awful woman his grandmother met at a shop. Doesn't let him out of her sight. Not that he'd ever do anything to warrant investigation, Neville's probably the rightest bloke I know." Ginny dug through one of her bags, pulling out a black jacket. "Do you like this?"

"It's lovely! Not what I would have expected."

"What do you mean?" Ginny said, looking at her quizzically.

"It's just—well, when we were at school you seemed very . . . attached to brown trousers and knit jumpers."

"Mum was attached to them, you mean," Ginny corrected her. "I haven't worn brown trousers in . . . centuries, I suppose."

"Well, I like it."

The silence came back, slightly awkward.

"So," Hermione said.

"So," Ginny said.

"What shall we do tonight?"

Go in your bloody bedroom, how about that? Ginny nearly blushed at the idea. Not that way, she reprimanded herself. Just to get it over with. She nearly blushed again.

Stop it!

"We could . . ." Ginny couldn't think of anything.

The silence settled itself comfortably in the armchair and watched them, interested.

Ginny wanted desperately for Hermione to think of something to do. She wanted, desperately, for Hermione to think of something to do herself, so Ginny could watch her. After her altercation with Lydia her mind was swimming. The shopping had distracted her, but now, back in the flat, with Hermione there . . .

She looked just like me. She was so awful, so unbearable, so utterly un-Hermione, it's the only reason. It has to be.

She thought of the page from Quidditch Quarterly. Thought of Hermione going to her matches when Hermione had never particularly cared one way or the other about Quidditch. The idea that Hermione had secretly fancied her for so long, years, still sent giddy little shivers running up and down her spine.

It's not just because she fancies me that I fancy her, is it? It had been that way with Harry, and with the long string of boys before him. Ginny frowned. That wouldn't do at all. With the others it didn't feel like it had mattered, it hadn't mattered that she hadn't really cared for them, that she had only gone with them to please them, that she had only gone with them because their adoration had made her feel good. But with Hermione, now, it suddenly seemed to matter very much. She wanted Hermione to be happy, wanted to make her happy, and not just because it would prevent unpleasant scenes. After all, she rather liked it when Hermione cried. The memory of Michael Corner cornering her in the common room, tears glistening in his eyes as he pleaded with her to take him back, made her wince. But the memory of Hermione, her lip trembling, her long lashes damp, made her feel something else entirely. I don't want to make her sad, though. I want to protect her.

It must be real. How wonderful.

"Ginny," Hermione interrupted her thoughts. "You're doing it again."

Ginny blinked. "Oh, sorry," she said. "I just get so . . . wrapped up."

"I've noticed."

"It's just . . . I've got a lot on my mind."

Hermione's face softened and she looked vaguely distressed. "I know," she said quietly. "I do to."

"I didn't mean it like that!" Ginny said quickly. "It's only I've developed this habit of thinking." Hermione laughed. Ginny grimaced. "That didn't sound right at all, did it."

"Not especially, but I think it's charming. I think you're charming."

Ginny blushed. "I--"

Say it!

Hermione watched her, half-expectantly. "Yes?"

It shouldn't be so hard, you've been thinking about it for days. Just bloody say it!

"I—I quite fancy you, you know." She immediately wanted to disappear, or to burst into giggles, neither of which seemed appropriate, somehow. She settled on flushing a deep crimson and staring at the carpet, which was suddenly very interesting.

"I quite fancy you as well," Hermione said, and Ginny could hear the smile in her voice. She still couldn't bring herself to look up, which reinforced her conviction that this time, it was real. She'd never been half as awkward with Harry, not counting her schoolgirl-crush days, and even just yesterday when she had pressed Hermione against the counter and kissed her it had been infinitely easier than actually saying anything.

Her brain took a merciful detour back to that moment, her hand just on Hermione's face, the warm softness of her mouth, the split-second intake of breath, and she relaxed slightly. Curious, she thought, that action should be so easy and talking should be so hard. Well, she supposed it wasn't all that curious, she'd always thought of herself—before she started thinking so much—as vastly more physical than intellectual. Not that she was intellectual now, it wasn't her fault if her mind was such a bloody chatterbox.

"Ginny?" She could hear Hermione moving closer, and then she was there, seated next to her on the sofa. Putting her hand on Ginny's arm, which Ginny imagined would probably make her feel warm and slightly nervous forever. "It's all right, isn't it? I know it's sudden—well, I imagine it's sudden—and I understand if it's difficult."

"That's just it," Ginny said, still staring at the tiny machine-knit waves cascading across the floor. "It's not difficult. I thought—well, I think I would've thought if I'd ever thought of thinking about it--" brilliant speaker, you are—"I thought it would have been. Not because you're, you know, a girl, but because . . . oh Merlin, I don't know."

"Are you sure it's not because I'm a . . ."

"I'm sure," she said, finally managing to tear her eyes away from the carpet. Hermione was looking at her intently, her face creased with worry. Ginny resisted the urge to touch her, to run her thumb over the lines and try to smooth the apprehension away. "It's never bothered me," she continued. "I suppose what did bother me, maybe subconsciously, was how I never seemed to be very happy with a boy. I mean, I was happy, but it never felt . . . permanent. And anyway, I don't even know if I really fancy girls at all, or if it's just you." She blushed again.

"Oh Gin," Hermione smiled at her, sweetly.

"Anyway," she said. "I'm not bothered."

And Hermione kissed her again, and Ginny was absolutely certain.

Ginny leaned against her, Hermione's hand stroking her hair. "Look at all this shit," she said, amused. "Maybe I should send it off to Dad."

"He'd love it, I'm sure."

"Mum would have fits, of course."

"Of course."

They sat quietly, which was very different from silently, for several long, peaceful minutes.

"I thought you got rid of the rock?" Hermione said abruptly.

"The rock?" Ginny echoed weakly, dread poking at her blissful haze like thunderclouds at a Quidditch match. The rock. The fucking rock. She'd been so careful about hiding all evidence of magic from Lydia that she'd completely forgotten to hide all evidence of Muggles from Hermione. But there it was. Sitting stone-faced on the table, big as life.

"Yes, didn't you get rid of it?"

Ginny was flustered but tried not to show it. Just say you forgot. Just say you forgot. Just say you forgot.

"I--"

"Ginny?"

Just say it!

"I—forgot?" Bloody hell.

Hermione stood up, sending Ginny toppling over on the sofa. "Bollocks!" she cried. If she hadn't been so panicked Ginny would have laughed. But as it happened she was completely, utterly, abysmally panicked. "Ginny, did she do it again?"

Ginny nodded miserably. Brilliant. The one chance to lie and away it went. Stuck with the truth now. Lying fell into the category of "intellectual," since it very often required some sort of spur-of-the-moment cleverness of a kind Ginny did not possess.

Hermione stiffened, her face draining of expression. "And her things—you didn't put them away for me."

Ginny shook her head.

"You put them away because she was here. Oh Ginny."

Ginny couldn't decide if Hermione was angry or embarrassed and settled on both.

"Why did you let her in?" Hermione's face bloomed scarlet. Her fists were balled up and Ginny could see tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, only they weren't happy, or sad, or anything pleasant. They were furious. Ginny decided she didn't at all like those kinds of tears.

"I don't know!" she cried. "I was curious."

Hermione's chest rose and fell rapidly. Ginny stood up, crossing away from her. Fantastic. Bloody fantastic. It was all going so well, and here we are, and there's that bloody rock. "I can't believe you did that," Hermione muttered.

"Well what was I supposed to do?" A flush of anger spread through Ginny. Honestly, it wasn't at all fair, or even reasonable for Hermione to expect her not to want to know about Lydia. Even though, Ginny knew now, she had very good reasons for it. Still, how could Ginny be expected not to, especially when the girl had pitched another bloody stone through the window? "Hermione, that girl is crazy. I had to make her go away!"

"What did you say to her?" Hermione's voice was controlled, low, vaguely scary.

"I just . . . I just told her to leave and not come back." Angry Hermione was clearly a force to be reckoned with. Ginny decided it was probably best not to try and make her any madder than she already was. She choked back her own indignation. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't think it would be a big deal, I didn't think it would be . . ."

"Be what?" Hermione cried. "You didn't think it would be what?"

"Umm . . . what it was?" Ginny finished feebly. "I mean," she corrected, " I didn't think it would upset you so much."

"Well it has, and I don't see how you would think it wouldn't!" Hermione shouted. She spun around and stomped into her bedroom, slamming the door.

Marvelous.

Ginny sighed heavily. She'd been doing so well, she thought. If she'd only paid attention. She kicked at one of her bags. A stuffed giraffe sailed across the floor.

Give that one to George, she thought.

She could her Hermione muttering in her bedroom. Ginny sighed again and sat back down on the couch. She couldn't escape the feeling that she'd done something horrible—

You knew it was wrong when you told her to come up, the dark-haired girl reminded her.

"Oh sod off," she said.

Honestly, you don't know what you're doing at all, do you?

"How am I supposed to?" she cried. There was an answering thump from the direction of Hermione's room. Ginny lowered her voice. "Anyway," she hissed, "what do you know about it? You're just a photograph."

I seem to know quite a lot more about it than you do.

"Then help me, instead of being rude all the time."

The dark-haired girl sighed. Would have sighed, had she not been bound so restrictively.

Clearly she's upset about it.

"Obviously."

And why do you suppose that is?

"It's bleeding obvious, isn't it? I saw Lydia. Hermione's bound to be upset—no offense--"

None taken.

"And I suppose I can understand why. She's probably embarrassed."

And what are you going to do about it?

"I don't know, do I?"

The girl would've sighed again. Look, you didn't mean any harm, anybody can see that. So what you've got to do is tell her.

"But I don't want to bring it up. I don't want to remind her that I know that her sodding ex-girlfriend could be my sodding twin."

I don't think anybody here has forgotten that.

"So what do I say?"

The girl was silent.

"You don't know, do you. All you know about is shagging."

That's not true! Her tone was indignant. I've been hanging about Hermione's room for ages. I think I know a thing or two about her.

"So tell me something. Something useful."

She loves you.

"I know that. She's fancied me since school."

She doesn't just fancy you, you dense git. She loves you.

Ginny was struck unexpectedly dumb. She didn't know why it was so shocking, perhaps it had something to do with the endless action-versus-speaking debate that raged in her brain. She loves me.

Do I love her?

Don't look at me.

"I wasn't asking you," Ginny snapped.

Did she? She definitely fancied her, but did she love her? Ginny was puzzled. Certainly she'd always loved Hermione in some way, like a sister, she supposed, but did she love her in that way? And if she didn't right at this moment, could she? How hard was it for one kind of love to turn into another kind? Would she even know when it happened?

Suddenly she realized that even asking herself these questions must mean she'd never loved anybody that way before. She frowned, almost sad. Poor Harry. She thought she'd loved him, for a while, anyway, but now . . .

So?

"I don't know," Ginny whispered. If there was ever anything Hermione absolutely must not overhear, it definitely had to be this.

Think about it. Not that I have to tell you that.

And she was gone.

Ginny sat unmoving on the sofa. Hermione loved her. And not because she was brilliant at Quidditch, or because she was her brother's little sister, or because she was good at snogging, though that might have played a part.

She didn't know what to do. Part of her wanted to fling open Hermione's bedroom door and damn the consequences, and take Hermione into her arms and do what she was best at. But another part of her, the annoying, grown-up part, reminded her that Hermione was angry, very angry, and if Ginny burst in when she hadn't been invited Hermione might not respond too well to being snogged silly.

She sat for a very long time. Ages, it seemed. Just when she was on the point of action, even though she wasn't quite sure what action it would be but she knew it would be something, Hermione's door creaked open.

"Ginny?" Her voice was watery. But not in the angry way, the sad, hurt way that made Ginny want to pull her close. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ginny said, leaping up. "If anything, I'm sorry. I never should have let her in."

"It's just . . . I didn't want you to see . . ."

"Hermione," Ginny said firmly. "In what universe would I be anything other than delighted to find out your former girlfriend could be my twin? Especially after she turned out to be so absolutely unbearable."

"You thought so too?"

"Within the first thirty seconds of meeting her."

Hermione smiled. Ginny's heart soared. Not unfixable. She loves me.

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't be," Ginny said, crossing to her. "You didn't do anything."

"I should have told you about her."

"No. It's fine. You're allowed to have things I don't know about. I mean, I'm sure I didn't really need to know about it. I won't lie to you, I'm glad I found out, but I wouldn't have died from not knowing." She brushed Hermione's cheek with her thumb. "And anyway," she whispered, "I think it's lovely."

Hermione's lip trembled and she cast her eyes down, so prettily that Ginny was seized with the urge to kiss her. I can do that now, she marveled, and, opting to exercise that ability she pulled Hermione's face to hers.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured.

"For what?"

"Not thinking me the most colossal idiot in the world.'

"Hermione," Ginny said with mock exasperation. "You're the cleverest person I know."

"But--"

"No but," Ginny tucked a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear. "Shall we not talk about it again?"

Hermione nodded, then bit her lip—that gets me every time­—and looked into Ginny's eyes. "I . . ."

Ginny was quite sure she wouldn't be able to handle actually hearing what it was she knew Hermione was about to say, and let action take over again. I'm not being a coward, she reasoned. I'm just . . . nervous. I'm sure I'll be able to hear it one day.

Will I be able to say it?

Do I think it?

To shut herself up as much as Hermione, Ginny pulled her close and did her best to top herself when it came to snogging. Hermione fairly swooned in her arms.

That will do, she thought. For now.