Ron?"
Ron turned over on his bed, trying to block out the voice. Who on earth was calling him at this hour? They had been nagging for some time, persisting until they had drawn him out of the warmth of sleeping. Ignoring did no good. He scrunched his eyes, suddenly aware of the sunlight hitting his face. Pulling the covers completely over himself, he tried to fall back asleep.
"Oy, Ron!"
Did they not get it? He – wanted – to – sleep. How simple could a request get? He felt someone poke him on the side. And again. He swiped blindly in the air, groaning. He thought he heard a someone snigger. Then silence. Good. They'd finally given up. Shifting himself into a more comfortable position, he started to drift again. That is, until something hit him square on the face. He made a noise of surprise, his mouth full of pillowed-feather.
"Oomph! Wha – who!?"
He bolted upright, looking around wildly for the culprit. He rubbed his eyes, his vision blurred in confusion. A very shameless Harry stood near his bed holding a pillow in his hand. He had a triumphant grin on his face; his unruly hair and rumpled pajamas added humor to the picture. Ron would have laughed at him if the expression were not at his own expense.
"Morning," said Harry cheerfully.
Ron grabbed his own pillow and chucked it at him; Harry dodged it swiftly. Having no more ammunition, all he could do was give Harry his deadliest glare.
"Why'd you wake me?" He asked groggily.
"Breakfast Ron," said Harry wisely. He was not dressed, but looked like he'd been awake awhile. "It's nearly nine 'o' clock."
"Nine 'o' clock, huh?" Ron flopped back onto his bed, regretting that he'd thrown his pillow. He rested on his arm for comfort.
"If your mum has to come get you, she'll be a lot less nice about it," remarked Harry.
"Yeah, and getting bashed by a pillow was nice."
They both went downstairs; the smell of sizzling bacon greeted them. Everyone else was already awake. Ron and Harry said good morning and sat down. Mrs. Weasley popped her head into the room from the kitchen and said they would have to wait a bit for some breakfast. Ron looked around the table for something to eat, and was surprised to see his Dad. He was having toast and coffee, but was not dressed in work robes.
"You're not going to work today dad?" he asked.
His dad shook his head, sipping his coffee. "I have to leave at ten, but not to the office." he said. Ginny put a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. "Ah, thank you Ginny."
"Where are you going then?" asked Ron, reaching for the toast.
"Secret mission," whispered Fred, who was on his left. "If he tells you, he'll have to kill you." Ron looked at Fred dubiously.
"I'm going to meet with a few people from the ministry," replied Mr. Weasley. "It's about the propaganda issue."
"Dad, that has nothing to do with your department."
"Yes, well I was personally asked to attend. All the news that's been going around is really getting to be a problem."
Ron considered this. He hadn't paid much attention to articles in the Daily Prophet or any other newspapers until last year. Those he couldn't help but pay attention to, since they were about Harry. They were food for gossipers, and not much else. Hermione also appeared in them, in a very unseemly light.
"What are you going to do?" asked Ginny, who came from the kitchen again, carrying her own plate. Mrs. Weasley followed, carrying Harry and Ron's plates.
Mr. Weasley put down his fork, his eyebrows furrowing. "Well, we are hoping to get a general true statement out to the public . . . but," he paused. Ron watched his dad, who now began to rub his temples in consternation. "Fudge." A silence provoked by that one syllable fell upon the table. Mr. Weasley continued, though it seemed like he was talking more to himself.
"I knew this would happen." There was a strained timbre in his voice, and Mrs. Weasley came and put a comforting hand on his shoulder; Mr. Weasley relaxed slightly. "Fudge let this go out of control, and now he wants us to calm down the public, but at the same time restricting what we say."
"You're trying your best," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "That's all you can do right now." She gave him an encouraging look, which Mr. Weasley returned with a wan smile. Ron looked from one parent to the other, sensing the conversation full of hidden details. He wished his parents would tell him more. He glanced at Harry, who was staring at his plate, a cloudy expression on his face.
Ron knew the propaganda his dad was referring to was of a very different nature than the kind he read last year. He had read the articles that had appeared recently of course, and wondered how so many people could swallow up the rubbish being printed. You-know-who claims the lives of four families. . . will yours be next? That wasn't all. There was the opposite of it too: All reports of He-who-must-not-be-named declared false by the Ministry of Magic. No wonder there was so much confusion.
The tense moment was relieved when an owl swooped in through the window. It flew once around the table, and then dropped a letter near Ginny, which fell to the floor. Ron saw Harry pick it up and hand it to her. She murmured a thanks and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning it quickly. She smiled as she read it.
"Who's it from?" inquired Mrs. Weasley.
Ginny raised her head, looking a little surprised. "Oh," she said. Ron saw her eyes dart to him and back to their mum. "It's – um, from . . ." Again her eyes darted to him. He picked up his orange juice, giving her an odd look. Why the hell was she–
"It's from Hermione," she said finally; looking determinedly at her mother. "She says that she can stay here." Ron nearly spit out his juice. He did, however, manage to swallow before he started coughing. Fred hit him rather forcefully on the back a few times until Mr. Weasley motioned for him to stop. "Her-Hermione?" Ron spluttered, finally able to use his voice, if not properly. "She wrote t-to you?"
Ginny looked extremely annoyed. "Yes," she retorted, emphasizing each word Ron had. "She wrote to me. We had fun last time she was here, so I invited her again." She turned to her mother, as if continuing a private conversation. "She'll be here in about a we-"
Ron got out of his chair in a flash. "Let me see it." He rounded the table, and tried to snatch the letter away. Ginny quickly pulled it out of his reach. He was about to make another grab for it when he caught the looks that Fred, George, (and what's worse) his parents were giving him. He felt his face grow hot, and lowered his arms reluctantly to his sides. Why couldn't they mind their own business? He cleared his throat and decided to try another tact. "So Gin," he began, trying to sound simply curious. "What does the letter say?"
Inside, he was boiling. What does it say! He had every bloody right to know what it said. Hermione was his friend, and he had written to her as well. Why didn't she write him back? And why did she write to Ginny. Maybe Hermione was hiding something from him. And from Harry. He added the last part, feeling a strange sensation when it considered only Hermione and himself. She probably did visit that prat in Bulgaria. That's why Ginny wouldn't show him the letter, and – and his mum! Another burst of anger flooded through him. His mum must have known that Ginny had invited Hermione, because Ginny had to get permission. Why didn't they tell him that one of his best friends might come visit? It was a damn conspiracy.
Ginny had begun to fold the letter again, ignoring his question. He stood next to her, fidgeting uncomfortably under the whole families attention. She's really a pain sometimes, he thought angrily. He asked her once more, his voice less controlled. "Ginny? The letter?"
Ginny speared some food daintily with her fork. She chewed it very slowly and thoroughly before answering. "It says," she replied, enunciating every vowel as if Ron were a three-year-old. "that Hermione can come over." She returned to her meal.
Ron did not bother to ask her again. Not just yet, anyway. He sat down in his chair once more. Everyone else continued to eat. No – wait. That wasn't true. He could sense Fred and George looking at him. Everyone else would turn back to their breakfast but them.
"Don't worry Ron," said Fred in a comforting tone. "I'm sure your dear little Hermione will be glad to see you."
Ron nearly choked again. "She's not my – " he began furiously, but then halted. His ears burning, he stabbed viciously at his food with his fork.
"Not your . . . what?" asked George sweetly. Ron glued his eyes to his plate, not wanting to look at either of their stupid grins.
"Oh stop, you two," scolded Mrs. Weasley. For once in his life, Ron was grateful for her reproach. The rest of breakfast was spent in light chatter, though Ron did not share in much of it. His food was tasteless to him now, but he finished it. After the plates were cleared, Mrs. Weasley sent them all to dress. Ron headed quickly for the stairs, to avoid Fred and George. He felt Harry close behind. When they were halfway up the stairs, Ron suddenly turned to face him.
"Quidditch?"
"Yeah, all right," Harry replied, and they continued up the stairs.
Ron was relieved at least one person in this house was not going to tease him about what happened at breakfast.
Harry gripped his broom tightly, mounting it and kicking of the ground. He rose nearly thirty feet before slowing down, making sure he didn't go past the treetops. The hot afternoon sun was cooling down, and a gentle breeze was blowing. Harry rode leisurely back and forth; it felt wonderful to fly again. The feeling of floating in midair, unattached to the earth, was relaxing. It almost made him forget everything. Last time he flew wasn't exactly pleasant, what with flames dancing at his heels, but even then he'd felt the comfort of riding his broomstick. He hoped Quidditch would be back next year.
Harry noticed Fred and George below with their broomsticks. Harry had been the first to find his, since he had just packed it yesterday. He was waiting for Ron and the twins; Ron was apparently still inside, hunting for his broom. Harry lowered himself twenty feet or so to talk to Fred and George.
"Almost a year without Quidditch, and now you're all rusty Potter," said George.
"Yes, our former lord and master Oliver Wood would be very displeased," added Fred.
Harry grinned. "Speaking of which, who is going to be the new captain this year?"
"We're going to vote before school starts," explained Fred. "And we have to find a new player as well."
"Oh yeah." Harry had been wondering about that. "How long will that take?"
"Not too long, we hope." George looked thoughtful. "Heard McGregor say he was going to give it a shot."
Fred snorted. "McGregor? He still has that twitching eye from when he got pelted with a bludger. Hathorne's a good bet, though."
"But she wants to play Chaser," pointed out George. "We need a Keeper."
Fred shrugged. "We'll find somebody in time."
They waited a bit longer for Ron to come out. He did a few minutes later, with a loud bang of the screen door. He had his broom, but still looked rather tetchy.
"I think Ginny was using it. Took me ages to find." He sighed. "She disappeared off somewhere…anyway."
Ron mounted his broom and kicked off. "What do you say? Me and Harry against you two?"
Fred and George grinned. "You're on."
The game lasted until two. Mrs. Weasley appeared under them at that time, and announced that lunch was nearly ready.
The twins flew quickly to the ground, dismounting from their brooms. "Hey Ron, get Ginny, will you?" called George skyward. He followed Fred inside.
Ron flew beside Harry, squinting at the clearing. "D'you see her? Shouldn't be too hard, with the hair and all." Ron shot ahead, calling Ginny's name.
Harry scanned the area for a minute, then shot in the opposite direction. He flew between two trees, and spotted a small pond not far ahead. A redheaded figure was sitting near the pond, leaning on her elbows. Her bare feet were splashing idly.
"Ginny!" Harry called, then realized he was still at a considerable distance. He glided over to her, his broom situated above her, near the tops of a low tree. She didn't notice him. Her eyes seemed to be closed.
He watched her for a moment. There was a very strange appearance about her. She ought to have been relaxed, what with the cool breeze and the shaded tree she was under. But as she tilted her head backwards, her ponytail swinging behind her, there seemed to be a sort of quiet vexation on her face. She almost looked like she was concentrating.
"HEY, DID YOU FIND HER HARRY!" Harry jumped. Ginny blinked.
Harry fixed his glasses, which had half-slipped off his nose, then turned his head left. Ron was waving impatiently. He seemed to have no problem shouting from far distances. Harry, feeling slightly foolish, looked down. Ginny was sitting straight up, her feet tucked under her.
"Err, lunch," said Harry.
"Oh, thanks," said Ginny. She sounded flustered herself, but she continued looking above her. "I'll be right there."
"Okay," said Harry, a bit awkwardly. He paused. It wasn't terribly far from the Burrow, but still . . . shouldn't he offer her a – a ride, or something? Their lunches were probably getting cold.
"HARRY!" Ron's voice once again came thundering across the trees. Harry looked up again. "YEAH, I FOUND HER," he yelled back. "I'M COMING NOW." A second, and then an "OKAY!" from the Ron's direction.
Harry found no Ginny when he looked down again. She seemed to have disappeared into the trees. He wondered how she got away so fast, and hoped she hadn't run from him. He listened carefully for her footsteps, but hearing nothing, he figured she must've got a bit of ways from him. Resigned, he gripped him broom, and flew in the direction of the Burrow.