Chapter Eighteen

Morning After, Night Before

~*~

A/N: Leaning a little more toward our rated "R" disclaimer in this chapter, so if you're going to be squeamish about it, better to skip this one.

What, you still want to read?

Well, don't say we didn't warn you.

~*~

Lips softly touched Harry's, and slim hands moved in his hair. He stretched out totally and let her have access to him - he wanted her to have access to everything. Her fingers were on his neck; her mouth met his in a kind of sweet fusion he didn't recognize; she was warm and bright and real, and he wanted to keep her there so badly that he could barely breathe. When she pulled away, he mumbled for her to come back, but she continued to move backwards, swiftly, disappearing into the darkness around them as if she were being pulled. She stretched her hands toward him and he grabbed for hers, but missed - he had no power to reach her. His scar began to burn.

"Harry -" she called, frightened.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -" begged another voice, behind him.

Harry turned his head, frantically searching for his mother, but she was nowhere to be seen. Panicked, he turned back to look for Ginny, but she had disappeared entirely - he could hear her sobbing, just beyond the edge of darkness. Weak with fear, he tried to move his feet and found he couldn't.

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy..." There was a sickening scream, and Harry pulled at his legs so hard that he finally made them move, but to no purpose. His knees gave way and he stumbled to the ground, striking his head on the floor. Shaking the pain away, he groped for balance, pushing himself to his knees on the carpet, trying to disentangle himself from the sheet that had somehow got wrapped around both his legs and most of his middle. He fell against the side of something solid, realizing even in darkness that his glasses were gone. His surroundings were a blur. He groped around with his fingers and found himself vulnerable.

A loud voice cut into his fear and sent him awkwardly to his feet, where he fumbled uselessly for a wand that wasn't there. Panting, he tried to make sense of the world around him.

"Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse out of that bed! Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse out of that bed! Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse -"

"C'm'nharry -" Ron groaned sleepily. "Shutitoff."

Harry drew a shaking breath as the world began to make sense. He was awake. It had all been a dream. His legs buckled in relief and he found himself seated on his own bed, in his own room. He reached to the nightstand and blindly shut off the alarm clock that Remus had given him for his birthday, then snatched up his glasses and fixed them on his face to see that Ron had fallen back into a shallow, scowling sleep. He reached up two fingers and touched them to his scar; it was painless now. There could be no danger coming. It had truly been a dream.

It had been months since a dream like that had ruined his sleep, and Harry wondered if he shouldn't have gone to that wedding. Seeing Hogwarts had brought everything back in a terrible rush - there were good memories there, but the most recent ones had the power to drown them out. Hogwarts was still broken. Not to mention that Ron was in serious trouble and Malfoy was the cause of it. Harry flinched at the thought. And now the old terrors were showing up in his dreams, as if Voldemort hadn't been defeated at all, but had only disappeared for another year.

Slowly, Harry managed to pull himself free of the bed sheet that had been restraining him. Silently he dressed in practice robes, put out Hedwig's food, and picked up his Firebolt. In the kitchen he poured himself cereal, but stared at it and couldn't eat a bite. His stomach was tight. Placing his elbows on the table, he propped his face in his hands and moaned.

Ginny's body, in his arms. He could still feel her shift against him - that much hadn't been a dream. His fingers remembered the cool skin of her arms and the way faint bumps had raised up at his touch. Her hair had smelled faintly of pine, of being outdoors, and against his mouth, the nape of her neck had been unexpectedly warm and soft --

He had to go to practice.

Harry pushed back his chair and grabbed his Firebolt, ready to Disapparate, but somehow he found himself on the stairs instead, climbing them two at a time. He hadn't forgotten anything in his own room and he didn't try to pretend he was headed there; following the same gnawing inner directive that had taken him to the Gryffindor common room the night before, he went to the girls' room door, and pushed at it.

It squeaked horribly. Harry yanked back his hand, flattened himself against the wall and drew his wand, casting a quick and effective Silencing Spell on the hinges. Satisfied, he pushed again and opened the door just the necessary inches.

Dawn was breaking outside; the sky beyond the curtains grew dark pink with dim light. It spilled into the room in slivers, one crossing the girls' desks in a thin beam, lighting books and papers and a ridge of Crookshanks's fur. Another passed along the beds. Harry could see Hermione quite clearly; she slept nearest the door, curled on her side, hair obscuring half her face. And beyond her, flat on her back with her covers shoved off, was Ginny.

Ginny slept with one arm thrown above her head; the other was draped across her stomach. Her mouth was open, and light fell directly across it. Harry stared at it for a long moment, and jumped when her lips moved.

"No..." she mumbled suddenly, and Harry wondered if all the Weasleys talked in their sleep, like Ron. He listened close. "No... Tom..."

Tom. Harry shivered, and anger made a fist in his gut. She had nightmares, too. He remembered Ron having said something about that once.

"Please not Harry...not Harry..."

The words were too familiar, and Harry felt a wave of nausea so strong that he had to grip his Firebolt for balance.

"You're not him..." Ginny began to cry, very quietly, in her sleep, and Harry felt a rage of hatred for the thing that had made her - and all of them - this way. He nearly went toward her.

But Hermione's eyes had already snapped open - she rolled toward Ginny and her feet gently hit the floor. Harry moved back into shadow, knowing he shouldn't watch, but unable to take his eyes away as Hermione stumbled to Ginny's bed and sat sleepily on the edge of it. She softly smoothed Ginny's hair and then took Ginny's hand down from above her head and held it in both of her own. "He's not here," she said groggily, stroking the freckled fingers. "That's all over now. Shhh."

To Harry, it seemed that this scene must have played itself out many times. Hermione seemed completely prepared for the nightmare, and Ginny didn't wake, but the mothering seemed to do her good. Her breathing regulated and her mouth fell slack once more. Harry wondered if she had been just as affected as he, by visiting Hogwarts. She'd certainly seemed lost, the way she'd stopped in the middle of the grounds and stood there - he'd watched her from the bottom of the hill. And the way she'd pled to be let into the common room... he understood that.

Hermione replaced Ginny's hand on her covers and got up to go back to bed, but stopped short at a loud, hissing noise from her desk. Harry froze. Crookshanks was glaring right at him, his back arched, and Hermione peered curiously at the crack in the door.

"Who's there?" she whispered. "Ron, is that you?"

Harry Disapparated.

The next sound he heard was a shrill whistle, and the same voice he'd heard from his alarm clock.

"About time, Potter - it's nearly six in the morning." Oliver Wood strode toward him, looking as though six in the morning was a fairly lazy hour to show up on the Quidditch pitch.

Harry pulled gloves from his pockets and tugged the hide over his fingers, then mounted his broom with a muttered, "Sorry," and shot into the air.

"No - get back here." Oliver waved up at him. "No practice today, or have you forgotten? We're here to discuss positions and reserves. I've made my choices."

The Firebolt shot back to the ground, and Harry made a rocky landing, staring at Oliver. He had forgotten. The events of the wedding had driven the most important day of his life right out of his mind. Though, he dimly reflected, he was going to have to reevaluate what he'd consider as the most important day of his life. He stood in front of Oliver, but hardly saw his captain at all. There was a smell of grass and mud and practice robes, and Harry's mind traveled back to the Hogwarts grounds, where Ginny stood on the hill, staring at nothing, her pale blue dress robes whipping around her ankles.

"Potter?" Oliver demanded sharply. "Did you want to join us?" He pointed to the huddle of players that stood on the far side of the field, all looking quite nervous and excited.

"Huh?" Harry said, snapping out of it as well as he could. "Oh. Yeah."

"Unless you're not interested in the announcements?" Oliver challenged, crossing his arms.

"No, no - I am." Harry quickly followed Oliver toward his fellow players and joined them, glancing briefly at Maureen Knight. She stood to his left, face pale with worry, but her hands were clasped decidedly behind her back and her chin was bravely up, waiting for the outcome. Harry wasn't sure if it was his imagination, or if Oliver looked at her for an extra-long moment before opening his mouth.

"The Chudley Cannons," he announced, "will be making a comeback this year. You know it. I know it. Pretty soon England's going to know it, and won't it be priceless to see the crowd cheering when we walk away with that League Championship?"

There was a general muttering of assent, but the sharp "Yes, Sir!" that Oliver usually inspired seemed to be dampened by nerves. Harry wondered why he wasn't nervous at all. At least, not about Quidditch.

He was going to see Ginny again, when he got home, and he'd have to think of something... to say to her. Because there were still those things she'd said, about outliving him - Harry flushed with remembered embarrassment, though he found he didn't mind - and then her eyes, outside the door of the Three Broomsticks...

Damn George.

"Potter!"

Two sharp claps shattered Harry's reverie and his eyes flew open. Oliver was glaring at him.

"Tired, you?" Oliver barked.

"Nervous," Harry lied, his voice cracking.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, but appeared to be fighting a smile. "Ah. Well, let's get right to it, then." He withdrew a scroll of parchment from his pocket, and snapped it open in his hands. "Chasers!" he called. The group of players to Harry's right stepped forward slightly, as a group. Harry could feel their tension as Oliver read the list of names. "First string: Firoza Newland, Paul Wyeth, Cole Kerry -" Harry heard sighs of relief and saw Firoza slam a victorious fist into her palm as Oliver read out the names of first and second reserves. She shared a grin with Cole Kerry, while Paul Wyeth looked to be quite in shock.

"Beaters!" Oliver surveyed the group to Harry's left. "First string: Marty Gudgeon, Medusa Francis -" Marty turned deep purple with pride and looked down at his bat as Oliver listed the rest. Harry watched him and his heart began to pound, realizing that his own name might also be called at any moment. Maybe he was nervous.

"The Keeper - that's me," Oliver said cheekily, grinning up at all of them. "First reserve, Darren Wolfe, second reserve, Michaela Pummelfront." The two reserves shook hands, smiling. "And finally, the Seeker."

Oliver cleared his throat in the sudden silence. Next to Harry, Maureen Knight went very still.

"First string: Harry Potter."

Harry's jaw dropped. Numb shock overtook him and a rush of cold butterflies flooded his stomach. He was Seeker. For the Chudley Cannons. It wasn't just a school dream - it had happened - he was playing professional Quidditch. His heart, which had already sped up, began to beat wildly against his ribs as his mind spun in dizzy disbelief. He hardly noticed Knight slump a little beside him, her proud chin coming down just barely.

"First reserve: Maureen Knight," Oliver briskly went on. His eyes darted up toward her, then back down to his parchment. "And there we are. Everyone else..." Oliver let go of the parchment with one hand, letting it curl into his other palm as he looked across the group with a satisfied nod. "Thanks for a good, hard workout, this summer. See you next round. Team, come with me."

The disappointed few who'd been left out of the lineup gathered their things and Disapparated. Harry walked, with his teammates behind him, toward a table that Oliver must have magicked into place. It was covered with scrolls, and his eyes fell on the one that bore his name.

"Season contracts," Oliver explained briefly. "Take these home, look over the terms, and bring them back signed in the morning. Be sure this is what you want for a year."

"Who wouldn't want it?" Marty Gudgeon snorted softly, still red in the face with happiness. He grinned at Harry

Harry found himself grinning back, though he could hardly believe it was happening - it still hadn't really hit him. Seeker. For the Cannons. Ron was going to lose his mind.

"Congratulations." Knight had gripped his hand and was shaking it firmly. Harry jumped - the last hand in his had been Ginny's and though this was nothing like it, his mind went there immediately. Their fingers had fit together so easily, on the walk back into Hogsmeade; when she'd turned to him outside the pub door, her eyes had fallen half shut. Harry had felt his heart flip over; it repeated itself now, at the memory.

"Really, Potter, well done."

Harry jumped, trying to remember where he was. This was Quidditch. Ginny wasn't here. Maureen Knight was trying to be polite to him, and he was supposed to congratulate her in return. "You, too," he attempted, knowing it was a stupid thing to say.

"You deserve it," Knight insisted, and her voice was so well controlled that Harry could hardly hear the crushing disappointment in it.

Oliver slapped a scroll into Harry's other hand and grinned at him. "Yes you do, Potter," he agreed, reaching out to clap Harry on the shoulder. "Yes you do. You earned this down to the ground. Best Seeking I've ever seen from you, or anyone else, for that matter. Damned glad you came out for this team."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Maureen Knight grip her contract with unnecessary ferocity, and heard the parchment crumple.

"Thanks," he mumbled quickly. "I can't believe... so... we're done?"

"Until six sharp, tomorrow. Real practice, in the morning." Oliver's eyes narrowed happily. "Here's where the serious training begins. You ready, Potter?"

Harry nodded, incredulous. He could not remember a time when two such good days had come to him; he had no practice expressing the kind of happiness he felt. Oliver continued to beam at him until, being unable to think of anything coherent to say, Harry lifted his contract into the air in silent farewell, and Disapparated.

He Apparated within the safe confines of his bedroom, where no one but Ron would be lurking. Ron was there - still fast asleep on his back, his arms flung wide. He was mumbling to himself, and after Harry caught the word 'Hermione,' he was grateful that he couldn't make out anything else. Quickly he shed his practice robes and placed his Firebolt in the corner. He looked from the Chudley Cannons contract to Ron, and tried to figure out what was the best way to tell his friend that he was going to be playing Seeker for his childhood dream team. He grinned, just thinking about it, and was about to fall back into bed and get a little extra sleep, when an unusually loud rustling of feathers drew his eyes to the corner where the owl perches stood.

Pig flew in circles around Hedwig's head, but she ignored him; her attention was entirely focused on a sleek, dark brown visitor, whose beak was in her bowl.

"Hey," Harry whispered, and Hedwig immediately flew to him, perching possessively on his arm. Harry stroked her wing as he walked to the perch, then quickly detached a letter from the visiting owl's leg, noting as he did so that its other ankle bore a tiny silver ring, inscribed with the letters CC~MoM. The Classified Confidential tag of the Ministry. Hedwig hooted quietly at the stranger as if to say his job was done, and when he had departed she returned to her perch with a huff, unceremoniously displacing Pig.

Harry looked down at the letter in his hands. It looked identical to the one that Charlie Weasley had sent him, a week ago. He glanced at Ron, who had not stirred.

As silently as possible, Harry unrolled the letter and skimmed it.

Dear Harry Potter,

We apologize for addressing you again on the matter of the P.A.P., which has now become a matter of some urgency. In order to contain the Dementors at Azkaban, we will require nine flight-trained professionals to staff our dragons; we have not received as many affirmative responses.

Please reconsider your answer. The Ministry needs you.

Sincerely,

Charles Weasley

Chairman of the Permanent Azkaban Patrol

p.s. - Harry, mate, ignore this. I'm serious. The Secretary Privy's making me send them back to everyone who declined, otherwise I'd never bother you twice. Say hi to Ron and Ginny for me. ~Charlie

Harry wasn't quite sure what possessed him. Perhaps it was that there was nothing he wouldn't do for the Weasley family, and the Ministry seemed lately to be as much Weasley Headquarters as the Burrow itself. Perhaps it was simply that there was no one there to stop him. He sat at his desk, dipped a quill in ink, and scratched out a reply.

To Charlie Weasley and the P.A.P.

I'll be there September 7th. Count me in.

~Harry Potter

Before he'd thought about it further, Harry attached the note to Hedwig, who rubbed her smooth head in the crook of his arm appreciatively, and took off toward the Ministry after her fellow. Harry watched her until she was out of sight, then picked up the unopened Chudley Cannons contract, walked blindly to his bed and lay down, trying to work out what he'd just done, and why.

He was an idiot. He was insane. There was no call for him to go to Azkaban - Charlie had told him not to bother. Hermione would be anxious to the point of illness. Ron would be crushed when he knew that Harry had turned down the position of Seeker on his favorite team. Oliver would be disgusted to find that Harry had led him on all summer. Sirius would be enraged, when he discovered that Harry had signed on to face the Dementors on a daily basis.

Ginny would just look at him.

He could already see her expression, and he screwed up his eyes against it. He'd seen the look on her face before, in school, whenever she'd been worried about him - but it had never made him feel so sick to his stomach; he turned on his side, clutching the useless contract in his hand, and tried not to think about what he'd just given up. Seeking. Professionally. Flying against another team, ignorant to the real troubles of the world for the first time in seven years, taking just one season to enjoy what made him truly happy - he'd just tossed it away because of a letter from the Ministry that Charlie had all but ordered him not to answer.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a voice told him that his father would have done the same thing, and Harry clung to it, hoping it was right. His mother and father had both done everything in their power to fight the Dark forces in the world, and those forces were still at work. The Dementors had killed that woman, in front of her son. They could escape. And if somebody needed to get on a dragon and stop them, then...

Ginny would understand. She could hardly be upset with his choice - it was for her father and brother, as much as anything else, that he had chosen to gear up not for Quidditch, but for dragon riding.

Dragon riding.

Harry's stomach knotted in several places. He remembered, all too clearly, what it had felt like to step out of the tent and face the Hungarian Horntail during the Triwizard Tournament. He'd stood at its feet and felt like a morsel of food. He'd been a morsel of food, and very lucky to escape. He and Ron - and everyone else - had always considered Charlie to be partially mentally ill for dealing with dragons as closely as he did. This was the sort of thing that Hagrid might be able to handle, Harry thought frantically, but he certainly couldn't. He didn't even want to try. Harry rolled over and looked uneasily at Pig, wondering if he shouldn't try to get the tiny owl to overtake Hedwig and bring back his idiotic reply before it reached the Ministry.

Ron sniffed loudly. His bedsprings creaked, and he yawned widely. He'd be fully awake soon; it was light out now.

Harry looked dismally at the contract in his hands, knowing what Ron's first question of the morning would be. Not even the fact that Ron was facing a trial against Malfoy could make him forget that the Cannons' season roster was being announced today, and Harry knew it. He also knew that he couldn't face the inevitable disappointment in Ron's face, when he told him the truth. Maybe... maybe he'd just wait until Hermione was awake, to cushion the blow.

Without a sound, he rolled determinedly out of bed; there was no point in putting off telling Oliver about his decision. Oliver deserved to know as soon as possible - and at least one person would be happy about this. Maureen Knight would get to play Seeker. Feeling only a little less nauseated about the idea of facing his team captain, Harry grabbed Charlie's second letter from his desk, as evidence.

He slipped out of his bedroom and into the corridor before Ron could wake up, then stood in indecision, wishing that there were some way out of relating his decision right to Oliver's face, and wondering where he'd even find Oliver now that practice was done for the day. Maybe he should just contact him at home, by fire, Harry reasoned, twisting Charlie's letter in his hands. That way, if Oliver had an attack, he wouldn't really have to be in the room for it. But a sinking feeling in his gut told Harry that not only did he have to tell Oliver in person, but that it was more than likely that his old captain was still out on the pitch, practicing, where he'd be quite easy to find. He'd used to stay and practice long after the Gryffindor team had been dismissed, and Harry couldn't imagine that his habits had got any less obsessive.

Harry steeled himself for what would surely be a wretched conversation, and was about to Disapparate when the door to the girls' room opened.

He wasn't sure why he stayed there, waiting. All his instincts told him to get out of the line of fire. But, just as if he were dreaming again, Harry found that his feet were stuck to the floor.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, still yawning; her hair retained some of yesterday's dress-up curl, but she must have brushed most of it out - maybe because it had got so tousled in Gryffindor tower, against his shoulder. Harry's face grew warm as he recalled the way she'd reached up to fix it, failed, and smiled winningly at him.

She turned toward the stairs now, caught sight of him, and gave him the same sort of smile. It made Harry's heart pound twice as hard as it had when he'd been made Seeker.

"Good morning," she said shyly, but she didn't look away, and Harry knew that it was necessary that he reply.

"Hi." It had taken an Olympian effort. He congratulated himself for it. The greeting was followed by a pressurized silence; Harry felt as if he were underwater.

"So, tell me..." Ginny attempted, almost evenly, but, perhaps because neither of them had broken eye contact yet, her voice broke and trailed away.

Harry felt a flutter of nerves in his gut. She was going to bring up last night. She was going to ask him what he'd meant by it - she'd demand to know why he'd followed her and taken her by surprise and held onto her like that. He braced himself for it.

"Go on, tell me," she began again, more confidently, "what happened?"

Harry blinked, and tried to figure out what she was talking about. He had a feeling he was missing something obvious. "When?" he asked tentatively.

She frowned. "This morning," she answered, looking confused. "Didn't Oliver announce - I thought today was the day, but I must've got it wrong."

Quidditch. She wanted to know what had happened with the Cannons. The knots in Harry's stomach intensified tenfold and he watched her eyes, knowing what he was about to see in them.

"Yeah, Oliver announced everything."

Ginny's eyes lit up, a little, quite as if she couldn't help it. "Oh, all right. And...?"

Harry steadied himself as much as he could. "I made Seeker."

"Oh! - Harry - congratulations!" Ginny's eyes shone and she lost her reserve; she came quickly toward him and had her arms around him in seconds. "I'm so happy for you," she said, and she sounded it.

Harry didn't know how to tell her the rest. "I'm not playing Quidditch," he blurted, wanting to get it out before she could get really disappointed. "Don't get excited." He felt far-removed, as if he was listening to someone else say the words, and stood numbly as Ginny withdrew her arms and took a step away.

She studied him. "But you... made Seeker," she said. "You just said -"

"I know." Harry didn't want to say the rest of it out loud; to spare himself, he thrust Charlie's letter out, inviting Ginny to take it. She did so, warily. Her eyes skimmed its contents, and Harry waited for her to show her face again. He braced himself for the expression he'd been dreading.

She lifted her eyes - they were like little Pensieves, Harry thought suddenly. Everything showed right up in them. He didn't even have to guess what she was thinking.

"You didn't say yes," she whispered.

"Yeah. I did." Harry grabbed the letter, his defensiveness getting the better of him.

"Why? We all told you not to -"

"Because! This -" he shook the parchment "- is a hell of a lot more necessary than playing sports."

"Not for you," Ginny said, her voice shaking. "And you know it." She stepped up to him. "Change your mind," she said simply.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. She had no right to be upset with him - he was doing the right thing, and if she couldn't see it, well then, that wasn't his fault. "I need to tell Oliver," he muttered, stuffing the letter in his pocket and pulling his wand.

"No." Ginny grabbed the other end of the wand before he could twist it. "Harry, if you didn't answer that Ministry letter, then don't you dare." Her eyes were furious now, and steely, and Harry was shocked to recognize her mother in her.

"I already did," he shot back. "Excuse me, please." He tried to pull his wand out of her grip, but she held fast.

"No - write again and tell Charlie you've changed your mind. Harry, you're Seeker. He's going to understand that if anybody will."

"Let go -"

Ginny looked as though she'd burst with frustration, but she didn't hold on this time, when he yanked his wand away. She didn't drop her hand, either. To Harry's surprise, her fingertips fluttered up and hovered in the air, a few inches from his heart. She shut her eyes and tilted up her face, and Harry felt heat rise in his skin; it shot through his center and into his head. He didn't know what she was doing. But the last time her face had been this close to his... He felt his breathing grow irregular as he waited for her to touch him.

"Ginny?" he dared softly, when she didn't move again for several long seconds.

Ginny opened her eyes and snatched her hand away. "I'm going too, then," she announced.

It took Harry a moment to realize what she meant, and fear crept into the back of his mind at the look of total stubbornness on her face. She wasn't kidding. "No, you're not," he tried, but her eyes were flinty and her lips pursed.

"Play Quidditch, then."

Harry shook his head. "I can't. I already told Charlie."

"Then tell him this, instead."

"No." Harry felt the old determination rise up on him, and felt suddenly sure that he'd made the right choice. He had a duty.

"Then I will come up there," Ginny repeated hotly, looking quite as if she was ready to get on a broom and go, right then.

Harry made an agitated noise. "What for?"

"I'm a good flier. And I'm good with animals."

"And you've gone mental," said a voice down the hall, "if you think Charlie's going to let you near a dragon."

Harry whirled. Ron was looking right at him, pale with sleep except where Malfoy had bruised him, and spotted with freckles, his long arms dangling almost helplessly, his striped pajamas making him look almost like a first year, again. But his expression was not childlike. He looked unusually tired and unexpectedly resigned.

"You really did make Seeker?" he asked quietly. "For the Cannons?"

It was worse than anything Ginny, or anyone, could have said to him. Harry felt his heart crash into his shoes. He nodded.

"And you really... aren't taking it."

Harry opened his mouth to explain, then realized it was useless. "I'm sorry," was all he could say. "I'm sorry, Ron."

Ron was quiet a moment, and then he turned and went back into their room, shutting the door behind him.

Harry stood there, struck dumb, until he heard Ginny sniffle. He couldn't turn around and risk seeing her cry; instead, he looked straight down the corridor and fixed his eyes on the wall. "You have to understand," he told her, but the words came out more like a plea than he had intended. "I can't just... it's not my fault if..."

"Then you have to understand, too." Ginny's voice was thick, but determined. "If you're going, I'm going."

"But you'll have classes," Harry said weakly, instantly remembering the dozens of times that he, Ron and Hermione had skived off theirs, in order to help each other.

Ginny didn't answer; she was evidently through with the discussion. Harry heard her footsteps disappear down the stairs.

Feeling no great urge to follow her this time, Harry gave his wand a hard twist, and Disapparated to find Oliver.

~*~

Hermione sat in her bed, propped up against the pillows, idly running the feather of her quill across her mouth and back again as she decided what to write. She had been unable to say anything for several minutes, choosing instead to watch out the window at the moon and wonder about everything, her heart heavy and turbulent all at once.

It had been a long day. A long day. She'd watched Harry return from telling Oliver his decision, and watched Ron's face close off, and her heart had gone out to both of them. She still didn't understand what Harry thought he was doing, and both she and Ron had tried to talk him out of it, but he had only snapped at them that everybody needed to get off his case.

She looked across the room, to where her one small bag was packed and sitting against the opposite wall. Tomorrow morning she'd be getting off Harry's case, deliberately, for the first time since she'd met him - never before had she willingly parted from Harry or Ron. The only thing left to pack for Cortona was her diary, which sat open on her lap.

Deciding what to pack had been one of the most difficult decisions that she'd ever had to make. The Thinker wasn't expecting her. She'd received no formal invitation, but realized that what she chose to bring with her would probably be considered some sort of a test. She'd read as much as she could and after several long walks alone had decided that the best thing to do was to pack as little as possible. For a girl used to carrying four or five books around with her - just in case - it had been a monumental choice to make.

In the end, she'd packed several roles of parchment, a few quills and several bottles of ink, a spare set of robes and a few select toiletries. No books. She'd decided that in order to think, she would needed to free herself completely. Books were her crutch in life and she had to learn to get around them. Of course, she hadn't realized she'd packed Hogwarts, A History into her bag, and had only become aware of what she'd done after going through the bag for a third time, trying to figure out why it was so heavy.

Ron was still downstairs. Hermione glanced nervously toward the door and then towards Ginny's empty bed. Ron was still downstairs, but he hadn't said goodbye to her yet, and she knew he wouldn't waste his last night with her. He'd be up here soon, and they'd have the room to themselves. The thought gave her a funny little chill of anticipation and fear - Ron, on the few opportunities she'd had to curl up and sleep beside him, had been solid and warm at her back. Kissing him was such a lovely wrench all over, every time. He was so protective, so infuriating, so safely hers.

So hard to refuse.

Finally moved to write something, she licked the nib of her quill to start the ink flowing and wrote:

***

HQoW

Gwen?

Hmm?

I'm just sitting here, thinking.

About what?

Everything. I'm nervous.

Well, that's perfectly natural; you're getting ready to try something you don't completely understand. It's an adventure. Anyone would be nervous.

I'm nervous about something else.

Has something else happened with Ron? Have the Malfoys pressed formal charges?

No, they've just told the Daily Prophet that they will. Nothing solid yet.

Perhaps they won't follow through on it - there were witnesses, after all.

Draco Malfoy, even with a cracked head, will still find a way to bother Ron and Harry for as long as he lives. Especially Ron. I can't imagine that he won't attempt to get him in trouble, now that he's got the chance. I can't go to Cortona.

Why not?

I can't leave Ron.

Hermione... we've been through this before.

I know, I KNOW. I know. And it's all true. If I don't go, and I never find out what this is, then I'll think about it forever and I'll hold it against him in the end. I don't want to resent Ron. But I don't want to be away from him, either - and not just for his sake, Gwen... I don't know how to do without him, anymore. He's been the other part of me for such a long time, I don't think I'll know quite who I am, on my own.

I know.

Oh, I'm such an idiot. I'm crying.

You're allowed.

No, I'm really not. He'll be up here any second.

Up here? As in 'up in your room'?

Yes.

But where's Ginny?

Well... I had a long talk with Ginny today, after Harry told everybody about Quidditch and all, and she asked me if I was excited to be leaving and I just started to cry. I've got a hair trigger today, I guess. Anyway, I ended up telling her that I wasn't sure I could bring myself to leave Ron after all. And she said not to worry, that she'll write me and let me know everything that happens, and she said that she'll look out for him... And then she told me she'd arrange it so that we would have all night to talk and be with each other.

How did she do that?

She didn't say how she was going to do it, but just now she pretended to fall asleep on the sofa. I was so embarrassed - it felt so obvious to me. But I told Ron and Harry that I was coming upstairs to finish packing, and I just ran up here. I know Ron will follow me.

Yes. Don't you want him to?

Of course. I'm just... you know. Afraid.

Of what?

Of...

?

My self control. Or lack thereof. Oh, Gwen, do I have to spell it out?

Not at all, that's quite sufficient. I wouldn't worry, Hermione - you and Ron have talked that out. I'm sure he'll respect your wishes.

Gwen, don't say anything. But the trouble is, I'm not sure what my wishes are. I want... him. And then again, I'm just not ready - if I were, then I wouldn't be worrying over it like this. I wouldn't be asking myself if it's the right time - my mother always said "If you have to ask the question, then you already know the answer."

I wish I could talk to her.

Oh, Hermione. I'm so sorry.

But I can't. So you have to tell me. You have to tell me how I'll know when it's time.

The truth?

Of course.

You'll just know.

*

I knew you'd say something completely bloody unhelpful like that.

Yes, I do what I can.

Honestly.

You know, you really ought to use that language in front of Ron - that would certainly distract him from... various other pursuits.

Oh yes, aren't you clever. Well, I'm glad you're so entertained since I - Oh, Gwen. I have to go.

What?

He's on the steps, I hear him - oh no. Oh yes. Oh help.

Oh, the number of times you have shut me on an unbelievable cliffhanger.

Goodnight Gwen!

Good luck, Hermione.

***

Hermione closed the diary and quickly put out the light. She would pretend to be asleep - yes, that was it. Ron would come in, see she was asleep, and slide into the bed beside her. He'd hold her in his long arms, and everything would be just fine; she willed her heart to stop racing and tightly shut her eyes when she heard the door creak open.

"Hermione?" came Ron's voice, in a whisper.

She didn't answer. She heard the door slowly shut, then footsteps padded across the wood floor. She knew he was standing over her, trying to discern whether she was awake or not. He didn't speak again, but a moment later Hermione felt the bed sag next to her where Ron had just climbed into it. Her breath began to shorten into flighty little gasps and she knew it was a giveaway that she was awake, but there was nothing she could do to regulate it. She felt a thrill, waiting for him to dare something. It was dark. Ginny had made it clear that she wasn't coming upstairs. And this was their last night together for three months. What had she said to him, the day they'd fought? Wouldn't you want to make the most of it...

"Don't go." Ron's voice was right next to her ear, he was pushing her hair aside and she was trying to figure out how not to make any noises that she wouldn't want the rest of the house to hear.

"Please stop saying that," she whispered back. "Ron - are you trying to hurt me?"

Ron might have thought she meant that he was hurting her by telling her not to go, but that wasn't it. Hermione was actually in pain - because what Ron was doing to her jaw line with his mouth was more or less killing her - but in such a way that she wouldn't have dreamed of stopping him.

"Are you trying to hurt me?" he murmured back.

She wondered if he meant the same thing.

Instinctively, she turned her head and found his mouth with her own - it was amazing, the way he seemed to be able to anticipate what she was going to do with her lips, and arrive in the right places. Her head was spinning. It felt like a landslide, and all they had done was kiss. Hurriedly, unsure she'd be able to stop herself if they ventured any further, Hermione broke away and breathed heavily for a moment.

He was at her ear right away - he wasn't letting her go anywhere. "I'm going to miss you," he said in a low voice that made her shiver. Still, she managed to smirk slightly in the darkness. For someone who had never managed to do his homework, Ron certainly knew exactly what the answers were, in certain circumstances.

"I'm going to miss you, too," she whispered back, keeping her head turned away so that all he could get at was her neck. He did a good job of it.

"No you're not," he mumbled, "you're going to get all carried away out there."

"No." Hermione sat up abruptly. He sat up as well, and looked at her. The moon was bright enough to light up his eyes in the darkness; she reached up a hand and trailed her fingers on his face, over the bruise that Malfoy had left there. It killed her to look at it and know that someone had hurt him deliberately - someone right across the street and in her reach, someone she could out-duel in five seconds flat. Ron thought he was the only one who wanted to punch people.

"I'm really, really going to miss you," she said softly. "I want you to know that." She brushed his hair back from his forehead and looked at him.

Ron shut his eyes and leaned into her hand. "What will you miss, then?" he asked.

"You, making me laugh."

"Do I make you laugh?"

Not even meaning to prove it, Hermione laughed and dropped her hand from his hair. "Oh, please," she said, "you know you do."

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. "What else?"

Hermione thought a moment. "Your arms," she ventured quietly. She knew it was a dangerous thing to say - she wasn't surprised when he wrapped them around her. She gave a soft little cry and pressed herself close to him. "Your arms, just like this - this... just this."

They breathed together, feeling each other's chests rising and falling.

"Can you believe Harry?" Ron finally said, tightening his arms around her.

"No," Hermione sighed.

"Not wanting to play Seeker. For the Cannons."

It amazed Hermione, the way Ron could make the Chudley Cannons a part of their most intimate moments. She hid a smile in his shoulder. "He just wants to do the right thing," she said, after a moment. "You know how he is."

"Yeah, he's an idiot."

"Ron... just look out for him."

"Of course." One of his big hands played with her hair. "If I can... that is, if I'm here. Depending on what happens."

"Nothing bad will happen to you." Hermione kissed his neck, and left her mouth against his skin, trying to ignore the cold fear that touched her heart at the idea of Ron on trial against Malfoy. She held him tighter. No one would take him away from her. Ever. "You're innocent."

"Yeah. And Sirius'll make sure everybody knows it." Ron paused. "I can feel your heart beating," he murmured absently. The words went through Hermione like a shot. He really did know what to say in certain circumstances. She slumped on his shoulder, feeling tears come into her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, surprise in his voice, when suddenly Hermione was sniffling quite audibly.

"I d-don't want to leave," she said, in a very small voice.

Ron didn't answer.

It angered her that he wouldn't answer - he knew what she needed him to say. She needed him to tell her that she had to go, that he knew she had to go, that it was part of who she was and he understood it. But he wouldn't. He wasn't going to encourage her. Did he think that it had been an easy decision to make? Did he think she wanted to leave him, especially under the circumstances? It wasn't about that. It wasn't about him. And she couldn't explain herself any more than she already had.

Hermione began to detach herself from him, taking down her arms and turning away to stand up and go to the other bed, but Ron was too quick for that. He caught her, held her there, and buried his face in her hair again. Before she could protest, his mouth had found her ear - her cheek - her lips - her neck again and then her collarbone, never letting up. She fought to stay angry but he'd lit a small fire where the anger had been, and his hands were running up and down the length of her back - his mouth touched the hollow of her throat - his hair tickled her chin.

"Ron..." Her earlier sniffling was forgotten, it had been replaced with sharp, inward gasps of air. She grabbed hold of his shoulders and dug her fingers into the muscles there as he lowered her back onto her pillows, blue eyes naked in their intent. She whimpered slightly, not sure of her own strength, and wondered if she even wanted to say no. It was the last night. It was Ron. She knew she loved him.

Ron was pulling her nightdress aside, opening two of the little buttons, revealing her shoulder. Hermione felt his breath snake beneath the cotton neckline, and she nearly fainted with pleasure when he kissed her skin, brushing his lips from side to side, covering the whole exposed area. She clung on and pressed her eyes shut, saying nothing to stop him, until Ron slowly trailed his mouth toward the place where her chest began to slope forward.

Hermione's eyes flew open. This was more than they had done together yet and she could feel where it was leading.

"Ron, no - we can't - not with everybody home - not yet - don't - " The words were out of her mouth before she'd made the choice in her mind, and she felt a strange sense of relief, knowing that she still had possession of herself.

"Shh," Ron whispered, and the sensation of sound made goosebumps on her skin. "Don't worry, I wasn't going to try that, I know you want to wait."

"Well then what are you -"

"Tell me to stop if you want." He lifted his face to touch his lips to hers. "Honestly I will. But if you're really leaving tomorrow," he muttered, the words against her mouth making her shudder, "just let me give you something to remember me by..."

He gave her several moments to think, then pulled back and hovered above her, waiting for her answer. Hermione searched his face, and her heart.

She nodded briefly, watching his expression shift from hope to disbelief before she shut her eyes again. He'd stop. She knew him.

The next thing she felt was a kiss so powerful that she nearly lost her hearing - Ron's mouth had deep hold of hers and she forgot that there was such a thing as breathing.

"I love you," he gasped, when he broke off, and began to trail his mouth down her neck once more... and over her collarbone... and then across skin that he'd never touched or seen.

Hermione jerked and clapped a hand over her own mouth - whatever sound she wanted to make was certainly not coherent speech. Her vocabulary was gone; her brain had shut off. Ron was inside every one of her senses, and she gave herself over to all of it, trusting him to keep his word.

He did.

~*~

The next morning was unusually cold for so early in September - or maybe it was just that Hermione hogged blankets like a champ. Ron reached over and tugged some back, trying in vain to get them to cover his body and his feet.

"Stop wiggling around," Hermione mumbled, and fitted back against him.

"You've got all the covers pinned under you."

Hermione rolled toward him at once, bringing the blankets with her. She threw them sleepily over the top of him, and lay her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry... were you cold all night?" She tucked an arm around his bare chest, and sighed. "I don't want to wake up."

"Don't then." He kissed her hair. It surprised Ron, how comfortable it was to sleep next to her, and be with her. It felt strangely grown up, but so entirely natural that he couldn't believe they hadn't been allowed to do it for years. They'd never dared try, at the Burrow, but last night he'd had a chance to find the right angle against her, figure out where to fit his arms, and sleep without losing contact with her body. It was something, to wake up next to Hermione Granger, with a leg draped over her hip. Really something.

"I have to." She pulled her arm away and made to get out of bed.

Ron made an instinctive, whining sort of sound, and quickly rolled toward her, clutching her there with her back pressed to him.

"Ron..."

"No."

"You can't keep me here like this forever."

"Guess that's true... go on, then, get up."

"It's a bit difficult with my arms pinned."

"What, can't Little Miss Thinker work out a way to escape from the local bartender?"

Hermione started to laugh. "You make us sound sordid."

"We are."

"Oh, stop it." She wriggled, trying to get away. "Ron, honestly, let me go."

"First, promise you'll write me the second you get there."

"Of course I will." She yanked at her arms, but Ron kept them fastened in his own and grinned into her neck. She could outdo him with a wand, but hand-to-hand combat was definitely his territory. "I'll kick," she threatened, after a moment.

Ron grabbed her legs in a vise with his, enjoying that this was the nature of the game. "Don't give the enemy a warning," he taunted. "Didn't Moody teach you anything?"

Hermione giggled and uselessly fought him, but their playfulness didn't last long. Within minutes, she had given up and sighed. "Ron... the longer we wait, the harder it is."

His heart gave a terrible thud. Feeling suddenly sick to his stomach, Ron relaxed his grip and let Hermione get up. She took her clothes and robes and knapsack, doubled back for her diary with an arch look at him, and left the room. Moments later, he heard the shower running.

She was really going to leave.

He lay on his back, listening to the water run, thinking about the previous night in slow, exacting detail. He wanted to carry it around with him every day, while she was gone. It had been past imagination. And it was going to have to get him through until Christmas.

His thoughts were so engrossing that he never heard the water shut off, and it was another half-hour before he heard two separate doors shutting along the hall. Everyone else was awake. He should probably move, before Ginny came up here and tried to get into her room.

"Ron?" It was too late. Ginny softly knocked at the door. "You might want to come out. I think Hermione's all set."

Ron scrambled to his feet and threw on his T-shirt, then let Ginny in without looking her in the eye. He didn't know how much girls told each other, but she was his sister, and he liked to pretend that she neither knew what he did, nor did anything herself. He went quickly past to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth before heading down the stairs. Hermione was waiting in the front room, dressed, with her knapsack on the floor beside her.

"I've said goodbye to everyone else," she said simply.

Ron went to the knapsack and picked it up, pretending to be thrown off-balance by its astounding lightness. "Where're the books?" he demanded. "You have another suitcase around here, or something?"

"I'm not bringing any books. Just that."

Completely baffled, Ron said nothing. He weighed the knapsack in his hands again before managing; "You'll need more than this for four months."

"No, I won't." She held out a hand for the bag; Ron gave it to her, and she slung it diagonally across her body. "Okay..." she attempted. "Well..."

For the first time in years, Ron had no idea what to say to her. Certainly not, 'I'll miss you.' There weren't words for the kind of missing he was going to do, and apparently she felt the same way, because she reached out and grabbed both of his hands without another word. He had a feeling that she was trying to smile bravely - the look on her face was halfway there. It was just the look in her eyes that was dark and sad.

"I guess..." she began, half-heartedly.

A sharp rap! on the window behind her made both of them jump.

"Owl," Ron muttered, letting it in. He'd never seen it before. It was silver, sleek, expensive-looking, and had the sharpest beak he'd ever seen. It wasn't a public owl and it didn't stay a moment longer than necessary; when Ron had untied the letter from its ankle, it pushed off from his hand with rude force.

"Malfoy," Hermione whispered, staring at the back of the letter.

Ron turned it over in his hands, and in the silver wax, an impressive seal had indeed been stamped: an enormous, Gothic 'M', exactly like the one from Draco's ring. "I knew he really would," he mumbled to himself, tearing open the parchment and reading its contents without even needing to. "Summons," he finally managed, his voice dry. "Formal charges, I'm called to trial, and there it is."

Hermione removed her knapsack and threw it on a chair. "I'll go and get Sirius," she said anxiously, moving to the stairs.

"No, wait."

She turned and looked at him, pale with worry. "Wait?" she repeated faintly.

"Put your bag back on and go. I'll handle this."

Her eyebrows shot up and she came toward him again, shaking her head. "I can't go now," she protested. "How could I? I'll postpone Cortona until after this is all worked out -"

"No. The Thinker might have another apprentice by then. You can't stay." Ron couldn't believe he was saying it. He wanted her to stay more than anything, and finally it looked like she was going to go ahead and do it.

She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. "I'm not leaving," she said stoutly. "I'm not going off and letting Malf -"

Ron kissed her, hard, cutting off the words. "I don't want your plans ruined because of Malfoy." He cleared his throat and took her hands, looking down at her fingers as he spoke. "And... and you've stood right by me on everything important. " He took a deep breath, and said what he knew full well she'd been waiting to hear. "I want you to have whatever you want. I want you to go to the Thinker." He'd never told a bigger lie in his life.

Strangely, however, it was also the truth.

Hermione went very still, and gripped his hands in her little ones. "Thank you," she finally whispered. When she looked up at him, her eyes were full of tears, but she let go of his hands and picked up her knapsack. "Goodbye, Ron," she managed.

Ron felt his chin tremble. "Goodbye, Hermione."

She tilted up her face and he met her in a kiss so long and sweet that he wasn't sure he could bear to let her go, after all. But when she stepped back and pulled her wand, looking at him in a way she never had before, he knew that they were both doing the right thing. The difficult thing - but then, they'd learned that rule from Dumbledore.

"I love you," she choked.

Ron opened his mouth to say it back - and blinked. Hermione had already disappeared into thin air. He stared uncomprehendingly at the place where she'd just been, then dropped his gaze to the letter in his hands, hoping to make some sense of the summons - to take his mind off the terribly empty spot in the room.

But he couldn't read it, through the tears.