Ginny took the envelope, a deep sense of dread coiling in her stomach. How did Ron know where she was? Maybe he was only writing to say hello, it's not like he knew where the owl was going. But why would he write? He never wrote. Ginny knew in her gut it wasn't just a friendly note, and she worried its edges with her fingers. The only way he could've known is if Harry told him, but she hadn't told Harry, he couldn't have known, unless—

"How did he know?" Hermione whispered. Her hands were still trembling.

"I don't know," Ginny said. She turned the envelope over in her hands. She absolutely, positively did not want to open it. Maybe if she didn't open it they could pretend it had never arrived, yes, it would be easy.

"You have to open it," Hermione said.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. She slipped one cold finger under the flap and popped it open. Nothing happened. She realized she had been afraid Ron had done something to the letter, something horrible he'd learned in his training, afraid that maybe it would explode in her hands, or cause her to break out in festering pustules, or simply kill her where she stood.

"What does it say?"

"I haven't read it yet," Ginny half-snapped. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Hermione nodded mutely.

She slid the single sheet of paper from the envelope. It didn't appear to have too much writing on it, he couldn't be that upset, right? Holding her breath, she unfolded it. A single sentence was scrawled angrily on the page.

I LOVE HER, YOU CUNT

Ginny felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. Suddenly all the lovely parts of the past week were erased, and all the awfulness that her pure joy had held at bay came crashing forth. She hadn't bothered to think about Ron, not consciously, she'd pushed it aside. After all, she'd had Harry to worry about. Hermione should've been the one to tell Ron, she thought, but then again she hadn't bothered to tell him about Lydia, or Isabelle, or Merlin knows how many other girls. Hadn't bothered to tell him about Luna Lovegood. Hadn't bothered to tell him about her. A momentary flash of anger toward Hermione streaked through her. It shouldn't be my responsibility to tell him you've never fancied him. It shouldn't be my responsibility to explain that you're never going to.

"Ginny?"

Ginny couldn't decide if she should show Hermione the note. She couldn't decide if it was even a good idea to look at Hermione, not while the anger burned in her. Just breathe it out, she told herself. Just clear your head.

Good bloody luck.

She held the paper tightly. She stared at the words, trying to think. The only thing that came into her head, stronger than her anger, stronger than her fury at Harry—since he was the only one she could think of who could've told Ron anything—stronger than Ron's certain rage at the pair of them, was that she loved Hermione.

I love you.

The thought swept her anger away, replacing it with determination. Ron loved Hermione, all right, but so did she. And Hermione loved her. Ginny had gone her entire life trying to at least live up to her brothers, to make herself a presence in her own life, and this time, she'd bested them. She didn't like turning Hermione into a trophy, that's not what she was, but Ginny knew Hermione was hers, and in this case she decided Ron would just have to learn to accept it.

"He's not very happy," Ginny said, crumpling the note up.

"What did it say?" Hermione's voice was strained.

"It's not important. Honestly," she added, seeing Hermione's stricken expression. "It will only upset you more, and he obviously wrote it when he was very angry, so it doesn't matter. All right? It doesn't matter." She threw the paper into the air and muttered under her breath. The note flashed brightly and ash settled gently on the carpet.

Hermione's eyes slid closed and she began to sway gently. Ginny caught her under her arms before she crumpled to the floor. "Come on," she whispered. "Let's sit down." She guided Hermione to the sofa. "It will be okay," she breathed, kissing her on the temple. "I promise, it will be okay."

"It's been so lovely," Hermione said quietly. "I should have told him so long ago, Ginny, I should have told him."

"No, don't do this to yourself, love," Ginny soothed. "We can't change it, all we can do is fix it."

"How did he know?"

Ginny grimaced. "I can only think it was Harry," she said.

"But—but you didn't tell him anything."

"I know," Ginny sighed. "But I told him I was in London, right? He probably guessed I'd go to you. And I'm sure he told Ron everything, pissed as he was."

"But you said you got rid of the alcohol!" Hermione's tone was growing frantic.

"I can't stop him getting drunk if he wants to," Ginny said, trying to maintain a modicum of control. "And I can't stop him telling Ron."

"Why would he do that?" Hermione cried.

"I imagine it has something to do with my leaving him," Ginny said sardonically. "He didn't seem to be taking it too awfully well."

Hermione curled into a ball on the couch. "I knew this would happen," she said. "I knew it would."

"Well of course it would. Unless you were planning to keep Ron in Scotland forever."

"I don't know," Hermione moaned. "I kept thinking that maybe when he finished his training he'd realize we weren't really so together any more. I kept hoping he'd meet some girl while he was up there and he'd fall for her and I wouldn't have to go through any of this."

Ginny bit her tongue. You're not the only one going through this, she thought bitterly. You've had years to practice the speech.

Hermione started shaking next to her. Ginny looked over and saw the tears streaming down her face. Damn you for being so beautiful when you cry, she thought and stroked her hair. No matter how much she wanted to stay angry at Hermione for causing this mess she just couldn't make herself do it. At least it happened early, she thought. If it'd had been after I'd had time to find out all the irritating habits she has I probably would've been bloody furious with her.

"Oh Ginny," Hermione choked between sobs. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know what to do."

"I don't either," Ginny replied ruefully. "All I know is that I love you."

She stopped. I said it! Out loud and everything!

Hermione stopped too. She sniffled loudly and sat up. "You do?" she whispered. Her breath hitched in her chest.

"Yes," Ginny said, her voice tinged with wonder. "I do. I love you."

"Oh." Her voice was soft, faint. "Oh."

"I love you," Ginny said again. She'd said it before, countless times, but when she'd said it to Harry it was more mechanical, it was automatic, along with "did you lock the door" it was just one of the things you say to the person you'd been sharing a bed with for three years. But saying it to Hermione, realizing it was absolutely true, and in the proper way, filled Ginny with a warm, glowing light. She wanted to repeat it and repeat it and repeat it, just to make that warm feeling grow. But I don't have to say it at all, she realized. I just know it, and if that isn't the loveliest thing in the world, well . . .

Hermione pulled Ginny close, nestling her head in the hollow of Ginny's neck. "I love you," she murmured. Ginny pressed her lips to Hermione's hair, breathing in the light scent of it. Flowery, but not too flowery, and warm like straw that's been in the sun all day. Salty . . . but that must be her tears. I can smell her tears, Ginny thought. Is that weird? She decided she didn't care if it was weird.

"So," she said. "What shall we do about this?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied, sounding very tired. "I'd like to sleep for a month, do you think that will solve anything?"

"Unfortunately, as delightful as it sounds, I don't think it will." Ginny grinned. "I think, my darling, that we're going to have to take action."

"But I don't want to take action," Hermione groaned. "I'm sick of action."

"I pity you, then," Ginny replied, "because I'm afraid we've got a lot to do. Ron's bound to tell Mum--" the dread coiled in her again. She hadn't considered Ron, to be sure, but she certainly hadn't considered her parents. Though to be fair to herself, she really hadn't had time to consider them.

"Do you think he will?"

"I'm sure of it," she said glumly. "I know he's my brother and we're supposed to have a certain degree of . . ."

"Complicity?" Hermione suggested. Ginny nodded.

"Right, that. And usually we do—I mean, my parents have gone our entire lives never knowing exactly who it was who blew up the garden shed—but I think, probably, in this case that sibling pact just isn't going to hold up."

"What do you think they'll say?"

"I have absolutely no bloody idea," Ginny replied. "I suppose Dad won't take it too hard."

"I don't get the idea that he would either," Hermione said. "He's always seemed very . . . understanding."

"Yeah, Dad's brilliant like that. But Mum . . ." Ginny whistled. "All we can do is pray for a disaster."

"Don't you mean a miracle?" Hermione asked.

"Not at all. Mum's never been big on miracles. She thinks they're just laziness. Disasters, on the other hand, give her something to focus on. With a miracle, you see, all her work's been done for her, plus she isn't allowed to criticize anything. I mean, that's what a miracle is, right? So we would need a really, like, massive disaster."

Hermione shook her head incredulously. "You know, it might be better if we just kept pretending."

"That would've been my first thought too, but I don't think dear Ronald is going to give us that option."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "This is fucked, is what you're telling me."

"This isn't fucked at all," she said, indicating the flat. "This is wonderful." She kissed Hermione. "The situation, however, is most definitely fucked."

Hermione groaned. "Brilliant."

"Isn't it, though?"

Hermione buried her face in Ginny's chest. "I have to talk to him, don't I?"

Ginny nodded. "I'm afraid so. You might even have to go up there and talk to him face to face."

Hermione sat bolt upright. "No. I can't."

Ginny sighed. "Hermione, I know he's my brother and ordinarily I'd just say bollocks, what's done is done, but he's also my brother, you know? And as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes he deserves the truth, and not via owl."

"But I can't."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. Of course you can. I know you don't want to, but you can. And much as it pains me, I really think you've got to."

Hermione shook her head mutely. Her face was ghost-white, her lips pursed tightly. Ginny realized she'd never really seen Hermione quite so terrified before. Not even during the awful days when they had been fighting Dark forces, not even when they had been so close to losing everything. The realization made Ginny uncomfortable. Like seeing Harry drunk and sobbing it wasn't right; Hermione was supposed to be calm and rational, she wasn't supposed to be shaking with terror. Ginny was abruptly very aware of how everyone around her had changed. Hermione, with all her secrets, and so fragile, so hesitant. Harry, petulant, spoiled, lazy. And Ron, who even though she hadn't seen or heard from him in ages, had become focused and studious, in his third year of intensive training for one of the most difficult, specialized jobs in the entire wizarding world. I must have changed too. But what have I become? Who was I?

She suddenly wanted to play Quidditch very badly. To grab her Starchaser Mark VII and soar high into the air, to disappear into the total focus the sport demanded. She didn't want to have to think about anything.

Hermione clutched Ginny's hand. Her fingers were cold, clammy. Ginny sighed deeply. "Hermione, love, I know it's frightening. I was bloody scared out of my wits this morning--" had it only been this morning? Harry certainly didn't waste any time—"but I did it because I had to. And you have to as well, otherwise we'll never manage to be as happy as we could. And I don't think I'm far wrong in saying that this has the potential to be absolutely marvelous." She kissed Hermione's hand. "So please, do it. Please."

"But I've been so awful about it. It's been such a long time since I've seen him, it's been even longer since I . . . since I . . ." she started to cry again.

"I know," Ginny said, trying to repress her awkward discomfort. Why couldn't anyone just be normal for five minutes? "And I can promise you it won't be easy, or fun. But you've got to," she said, her tone firm. "It's the only thing to do." Hermione kept crying. "Let me ask you something," Ginny said after a moment's thought. "Are you happy?"

"Right now?" Hermione cried. "Of course not!"

"Not right now, for Merlin's sake of course you're not happy right now. I mean with your life. Are you happy—minus Ron, obviously—are you happy with your life right now? With who you are?"

Hermione considered the question carefully. Her breathing slowed and some of the tension eased from her face. Ginny used the break in the emotional maelstrom to take Hermione's tumbler of whiskey from the table. She downed it painfully and crossed to the sideboard, pouring another glass and handing it to Hermione who drained it in a single swallow. Despite her discomfort, despite the awfulness of the situation, Ginny stepped back for half a second to be impressed. She didn't even flinch. Maybe this is what comes from going to parties that are sheer shrieking insanity.

"Yes," Hermione said finally. "I am."

"And is telling Ron you're happy with your life going to change that? Project yourself out a month from now, I mean."

"No."

"All right, so that's all you need."

"I understand that, Ginny." Hermione sighed heavily. "I'm aware that it's the sensible, logical, right thing to do. I just don't want to."

"Nobody wants to do hard things. That's why they're hard. If they were easy--"

"He wants to marry me," she said flatly.

Ginny's jaw dropped. She couldn't help it. It wasn't especially shocking or unexpected, but much like hearing herself declare her love for Hermione it stopped her in her tracks. "Did he ask you?" she asked.

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes shut tight.

"When? What did you say?" Why didn't I know? Ron would've told me. He would've told Harry, at least.

"He asked me when he was on his last holidays. About five months ago."

"What did you say?" Hermione was silent. "Hermione, what did you say?" She looked at Ginny, her eyes glassy with tears.

"You didn't say yes, did you? Oh bollocks, Hermione! How could you?" Ginny leapt off the sofa. She couldn't keep herself from exploding, just a little bit. After all—

"I didn't say yes!" Hermione cried. "I didn't say yes."

"What did you bloody say, then?" Ginny's impatience was increasing exponentially.

"I said I would think about it. And I did. I did think about it, really. I just never thought about . . . doing it."

Ginny collapsed back on the couch, her arm flung over her face. She couldn't make her mouth work, couldn't make proper words come out, all she could manage was a low whine.

Hermione wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and sniffled loudly. "I know," she said, slightly petulant. "I'm sorry, believe me, I am."

Ginny still couldn't speak. She waved her hand at Hermione as though she were waving away a particularly persistent pixie. Hermione sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I have got the most bleeding enormous headache," she said.

"You do?" Ginny cried. "I feel as though I've just been Bludgered about sixty times."

Hermione started giggling.

"What?" Ginny was a highly unpleasant mix of irritated and confused. "What could possibly be funny?"

"It's just--" Hermione gasped, "it's just I got this image of you standing on the Quidditch pitch, getting hit by sixty Bludgers all at once. I'm sorry, it's kind of mean, but it was really—it was really funny." She dissolved into howls of laughter.

Ginny tried to maintain her disapproving exasperation but Hermione's laughter was infectious. She snorted and then fell on her side, her head resting on Hermione's knees.

After several moment they both fell silent. Hermione drifted her fingertips across Ginny's face, causing that prickly warmth to spread over her again. This really isn't the time, she thought. Very serious things are happening. Very serious.

Her body did not appear to care. All it appeared to care about was the delicate pressure of Hermione's fingers as they grazed her lip. The humming was getting louder and louder, and she desperately suppressed the urge to wriggle. That probably wouldn't be appropriate. But she keeps doing that . . . sod it.

She wriggled.

Hermione exhaled slowly and continued to trace the planes of Ginny's face and down her neck until Ginny was positively vibrating.

"I have to see him, don't I," Hermione breathed. Ginny hardly heard her. She didn't care at that moment. All she wanted was for Hermione to keep touching her like that, to keep her humming, vibrating, purring—

"Mmm," she mumbled.

"It's going to be very difficult, isn't it."

"Mmm."

"He'll probably hate me, won't he."

The sadness and timidity in Hermione's voice brought Ginny back to consciousness. The humming was ebbing away, replaced with that same awkwardness she'd felt earlier. What happened to you? she thought. New Hermione. With great difficulty she opened her eyes.

"He won't hate you," Ginny said. "If he hates anybody it's going to be me. Unless you were planning on going up there and spitting on him and running away."

"The thought had crossed my mind," Hermione said with a wry smile. "But something told me it wouldn't be very wise of me."

"No," Ginny sighed, sitting up. "Probably not."

"I should do it soon."

"Probably."

"Just go up there and get it over with."

"Yeah."

"He doesn't have exams or anything coming up, does he?"

"I have no bloody idea."

"Oh well," Hermione said. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. "I really am sorry," she said again, softly.

"I know. It's all right." Ginny tucked the strand behind her ear and looked at her. "I love you."

Hermione blushed. "I love you too," she whispered.

Bloody marvelous!

Ginny was delighted. So far in their infant relationship she'd managed to navigate several gigantic crises and tell Hermione she loved her, and it didn't seem to be on the verge of collapse. She felt very accomplished indeed.

"What did Ron's note say?" Hermione asked carefully.

Ginny sighed. "It's honestly not important." Hermione looked at her doubtfully. "Honestly, and I wouldn't tell you anyway."

"That's cruel. You're cruel."

"I'm not cruel, I'm just practical."

"You call that practical? I call it cruel."

"Clearly we have some communication issues," Ginny smiled. "We'll have to work on that."

"Clearly," Hermione smiled in response.

"When do I get to meet your friends?" Ginny asked. She had maintained a low-level curiosity about them ever since Hermione had mentioned them. Now that the most recent crisis seemed to be inching towards resolution her curiosity renewed itself.

"I don't know," Hermione replied. "We've got to do some studying first."

"Studying? Miss Granger, I'd almost forgotten it was you in there!" Hermione pulled a face. "I know, I've got to learn all sorts of things. Like what this is," she said, pointing at a large object just off the kitchen.

"That's a dishwasher, Ginny, I'm sure you've seen one before."

"Of course I've seen one, Dad used to bring them home all the time, but none of us could ever figure out how it worked or exactly what it did."

Hermione sighed. "Studying. Absolutely."

Ginny groaned theatrically. "If we must."

"But you know . . ." Hermione said, a glint in her eye. "Studying is always most effective when there's a reward."

"Are you flirting with me?" Ginny gasped in mock surprise. "I'm scandalized."

"You've never been scandalized a day in your life," Hermione said. "I know you too well, you forget."

"How could I forget?" Ginny said, kissing her on the cheek. "Tell me more about these rewards."

"Well . . ." Hermione squinted at her and bit her lip. Every bloody time that gets me. "I'd say it's more . . . erm . . . rewarding when it's a surprise."

Ginny sighed. "But I want to know now!"

"Good things to those who wait," Hermione said in her most proper tone. "Anyway, you've got to help me figure out what I'm going to tell Ron."

Of all the things Ginny had to do that particular thing was the least appealing. "All right," she sighed. "But I really don't want to."

"I don't either, but we've been through all that," Hermione said. "Unfortunately if we're ever going to have any peace it must get done, you said so yourself."

"Did I? That doesn't sound like me."

"Quit stalling!" Hermione punched her playfully on the arm. "Let's get to work."

Ginny groaned. She hated work.