Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

A/N: Well, now they all know. Let's get on with it.

The next day was Saturday, and it was already 10 am when Harry felt like he couldn't stay in bed a moment longer. Ginny was asleep – finally – he estimated she'd only drifted off at 8 – so he took extra care not to make a sound as he slipped into his clothes and eased the door open.

Once he walked into the kitchen, though, he stopped short. Ron was already there, gloomily pushing his cereal around with a spoon. He looked up when Harry walked in and forced a very unnatural smile.

"Morning, mate," he said. He sounded tired, Harry realized with a pang. For a moment, he watched Ron noisily slurp his milk, but before he could say anything, Ron mumbled, "So what are you and Ginny doing today?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally, dropping into the chair across from his friend. "Dunno. Maybe going over to Diagon Alley. She also mentioned a muggle movie she wants to see since she never gets to go to those when she's off at practice."

Ron nodded. "Sounds good," he said distractedly.

"How about you and Hermione?" Harry asked. He tried not to wince at the false nonchalance in his own voice.

But before Ron could answer, Hermione came bustling into the kitchen. She looked ready for the day, and she had a piece of paper in her hand that clearly contained a list of some sort.

"So I was thinking, Ron, about what we might want to do first. We –" She broke off when she saw Harry and gave him a tired but relieved smile.

"Oh good," she continued as if she hadn't missed a beat. "This'll be easier now with you and Ginny here too."

Ron and Harry both stared at her for a moment.

"What will be easier?" Ron asked, and Harry didn't miss the edge in his voice. Hermione, for some reason, either missed it or chose to ignore it.

"Well, deciding who you want to talk to first. Do you think it would make the most sense to go to Shell Cottage since Bill's known the longest?"

Harry felt as if he were frozen to the spot. He couldn't look at Hermione, and he certainly couldn't look Ron, but that couldn't have mattered less at the moment because Ron suddenly shoved his chair back from the table and charged from the room – bumping hard into a very sleepy, very startled Ginny on his way.

"What on earth…" she started, but he hissed, "Mind your own business!" and continued on his path, taking the steps two at a time until they all heard the resounding slam of a bedroom door.

For a moment, they all just stood there in shocked silence. Then Hermione spoke, and her voice was nothing like it had been just moments earlier.

"I – I didn't mean it in a bad way," she mumbled. She looked plaintively at Harry. "It's just – last night – he – he said he wanted to talk to his brothers, and …" and she couldn't continue. Tears filled her eyes, and she sank into a seat at the table, burying her face in her hands.

Harry looked at Ginny desperately, but he saw immediately that her mind was already upstairs with Ron, so he nodded for her to go, which she did without a second glance behind her. Harry sighed as he looked at Hermione's shaking form. He didn't much want to go over to her right now – if he were being honest with himself, he was a little afraid of how much her tears might affect him – but he knew he'd rather be in his place than in Ginny's – or in Ron's, for that matter. He'd seen the look on Ginny's face as she turned to go up the stairs. She certainly wasn't in the mood for Ron's temper.

But Ron wasn't in the mood for hers either. She'd been hammering on his tightly locked door repeatedly for the better part of five minutes, when he finally shouted, "Oh just come in already, but knock off that bloody KNOCKING!"

The door banged open, and Ginny stood there, breathing heavily, her red hair standing out every which way. It was a remarkably good imitation of Molly Weasley at her angriest, but neither of her children was in any mood to appreciate that now.

"What?!" Ron spat, glowering at his little sister.

"What?" she mimicked, advancing into the room, glaring right back at him. He was sitting on his bed, his back to the walls, and he had a book balanced on his knees. She had to resist the urge to snort. "You just shouted at your girlfriend – who is only trying to help you, I might add; you knocked into me without so much as a sorry, and now you're sitting here reading a book? Really, Ron – I think I'm the one who should be asking the questions here."

If anything, Ron's eyes grew even colder, and he quickly tucked the object of derision out of sight.

"What do you want?" he asked. "I came up here to be alone, in case you missed that."

"Too bad," his sister replied. "You don't get to be alone after the way you just shouted at Hermione. You do know that she's in the kitchen with Harry right now crying her eyes out? And you do know that it's your fault?"

For a brief moment, Ron's eyes filled with anguish, but then he seemed to catch hold of himself.

"Well, she shouldn't have said that," he blustered. He couldn't quite bring himself to look directly at Ginny now, though. She noticed.

"What, exactly, did she say that was so terrible?" she prodded, but her voice wasn't quite as cold, and now she walked into the room, edging the door closed behind her. She still didn't sit, though.

"Bringing up Bill – well, in front of the two of you. She shouldn't have."

He knew it made no sense even as he said it, and he didn't need to look at his sister to know that she knew it too. So he didn't. And now Ginny sat on the edge of his bed without even responding.

For a long time, neither of them looked at the other. Then, Ginny said quietly, "What – what book was it that you were reading, Ron?"

Without a word, he reached behind his pillow and pulled out the book.

Muggle Tumors and How to Cure Themby Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Oh, Ron…" Ginny whispered. Her heart suddenly felt very heavy in her chest, and she could no longer see the bedspread clearly. She still couldn't bring herself to look at her brother.

And then she heard it – the sound she was all-too familiar with but dreaded nonetheless.

Ron sniffled. "He – he didn't say how many months," he mumbled. The strain in his voice made his words almost unintelligble, but Ginny understood him perfectly.

"He said a few," she whispered. She continued to stare at the diamond pattern beneath her even as it blurred. She swallowed hard but still couldn't bring herself to look up even as she said, "Ron?" and her voice broke.

And then she felt herself being pulled roughly into his arms, and she hugged him just as hard. He threatened to squeeze the air out of her as he choked, "Ginny, I don't know – I don't know how …"

"I know," she somehow managed to say even as she found herself crying again.

It was a long time before he was ready to let go, but when he did, he turned away from her quickly to wipe his eyes. Still not looking at her, he muttered, "Yeah, thanks," and she sighed. She was dismissed.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, but he resolutely opened his book, his eyes on the page, his ears the usual Weasley red.

"I hope you find something in there," she whispered. He nodded but wouldn't look up. They both knew he wouldn't. Then she remembered what she'd heard Hermione say as she'd attempted to walk into the kitchen (what now felt like hours ago.) She cleared her throat. "Shell Cottage later?" A longer pause, and then he nodded again. Ginny let out a small sigh of relief. Bill would make things better. He always did.