Chapter Twenty-Four

Halloween

~*~

A/N: It is very odd to be writing about Halloween in April.  Aura Libris is the brilliant creation of Elanor Gamgee.  Thanks to the beta readers!

~*~

The light from several hundred pumpkins filled the Great Hall with a warm orange glow and to Ron, it seemed almost like Hogwarts was back in session.  Though there were no students in work robes, the House banners hung proudly on the walls, the stones were polished, and the etched window glass had been replaced.  Professors ate and talked at the head table while discussing the difficulty of integrating first and second year classes when Hogwarts reopened.  The ghosts mingled with old friends, looking unusually cheerful; Nearly Headless Nick was tipping a festive-looking hat to the Grey Lady, and even the Bloody Baron seemed less gruesome.  Professor McGonagall's decision to host a Halloween Feast had been inspired; everyone had been happily surprised, and thousands of Hogwarts alumni and prospective parents had arrived on the grounds to see for themselves the state of the school.

"Happy, Happy Halloweenie - Watch your head 'cos I'm a meanie!"

Ron ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the full impact of one of Peeves's water balloons.  At least some things never changed.  He straightened and brushed some drops from the sleeves of his dress robes, and nearly tripped over Colin Creevey, who was kneeling in a very awkward position on the floor.

"Hey, Colin," Ron said. Colin had leaned far back; he was trying to get a shot of the newly restored ceiling of the Great Hall while, at the front of the Hall, Professor McGonagall was giving a "short" speech to a group of attentive parents.  She went on and on, detailing the significance of the ceiling in Hogwarts' history, addressing the cultural impact of having shut Hogwarts for a year, and assuring the parents that the school was well on its way to reopening by the following September.  Against his will, Ron found himself straining to hear her over the music that was playing.  Most of her speech sounded like something straight out of Hermione's mouth.

"Just a sec!" Colin grunted, snapping a photograph and then pushing himself upright.  "Hey, Ron."  He dusted off a hand on his robes, then offered it to Ron.  "Dean did a great job up there, don't you think?" he said, squinting upwards again.

"Yes, he did - look, do you think that I could get some copies of the photographs from tonight? I can pay you for them."  It felt so good to be able to say that.  He wasn't making much more as Sirius's assistant than he had been at the pub, but he no longer had to depend on tips, or lack thereof.  He was feeling a bit extravagant.

Colin shrugged.  "Sure, no problem.  Don't worry about paying, though.  I always make extra copies anyway - I'll send you some when they're developed.  Say, have you seen Eloise?"

Ron pointed to where Eloise Midgen was taking careful notes of all that Professor McGonagall said, her curls bobbing with every studious nod of her head.  Colin thanked him and strode towards her, and Ron wandered off with his hands in his pockets, cheerful enough to whistle.  He was employed at the Ministry of Magic, and his father hadn't handed him the job.  He was needed.  Sirius had made that very clear, telling Ron that he shouldn't take the job if he didn't want to be heavily depended upon, because "as soon as you're full time, I'm going to work you into the ground.  Are you sure you don't mind quitting the pub?"  Ron grinned to himself, at the memory.  He hadn't thought twice about quitting, and though it had been a wrench to tell Goldie, the old man had flashed his gold-toothed smile and given Ron a hearty pat on the back.  "You vill be makink sometink of yourself, young Veesley.  I am not surprised."  Ron's letter to Hermione had been ecstatic, and he still couldn't quite believe his own enthusiasm.  The work Sirius had been asking him to do was hardly glamorous; Ron had been hunched over books and old parchment for hours at a time, poring over details until his eyes swam with exhaustion.  But he loved it.  He actually loved it.  And better than that, he knew he was good at it.  It filled him with a sense of significance that was greatly unfamiliar, but not at all unpleasant.

Giving a satisfied sigh, Ron glanced up at the ceiling.  It was so good to see it back in place, like an unbroken sunset.  It was almost as if it had never been torn apart - as if that battle had never happened - as if students had not stood and fought each other and brought it toppling down.  It felt good, to see it whole again, as if not only his life but the wizarding world itself was finding new purpose.  Tiny stars appeared at the dome's darkening edges, and a half-moon crept slowly up into the fiery sky.  Ron watched, glad that Colin had promised him photographs - he knew how much the ceiling's destruction had disturbed Hermione; he wanted to send her pictures of it looking right. 

Hermione had been gone for fifty-eight days.  Longest we've ever been apart, Ron realized suddenly.  It was true.  Even in the first summers that they'd known each other, they had come together before two months' time to buy books in Diagon Alley.  He remembered how different she had looked each year - and yet, how much the same.  He wondered how different she would be when she returned from Cortona.  She'd be brown all over; that much was certain.  And her hair would be lighter, the way it had started to get after their afternoons down by the lake.  She'd probably have got herself all calm and serene from meditating - though Ron did not doubt his ability to crack her within hours.  But for all her differences, she would still have her expressions, and her way of walking, and just be... Hermione.  He missed her terribly, and wished it were Christmas already.  He had begged her to let him come to Cortona and visit, but she had stoutly replied that, though she wanted him there very much, it would distract her entirely and just make their separation longer in the end.  Ron cursed her for being so bloody responsible - it was painful to know that there were two more months before he would touch her again, and he sometimes wondered how angry she would be if he ignored her request and just went there.

At least he didn't have to worry too much about her state of mind anymore; it sounded like she was finally getting into things with the Thinker, though she had sounded a little forlorn in her last letter.  He sat down at the Gryffindor table, which had been put to the side of the room along with the other tables to create a dance floor, and pulled the well-worn folds of parchment out of his pocket.

Dear Ron,

I can't tell you how proud I am to hear about your new job.  Although, from the sound of things, you've already been doing it for the past month anyway.  I'm not surprised.  You've always been good at this sort of thing – remember when you spent all that time doing research to defend Buckbeak? I know it was difficult to tell Goldie, but I'm sure he wants you to do what's best, and I don't think that he was expecting you to work there forever.  Besides, it sounds like Ernie MacMillan's brother will do a fine job, and it was really nice of you to find a replacement yourself.

Thinking is finally becoming interesting.  I can now meditate for two hours every day, and I've managed to conceive some very simple spells afterwards without the use of any books, so that's something, I suppose.  Delia's had me practicing on little things.  The other day I created a small, but powerful spell to keep a pomegranate safe from invasion by gnats and flies.  Such charms do already exist, of course, but mine had to be specific to that particular pomegranate and Delia had to be unable to break it through obvious methods.  She said that it was probably impenetrable, though the best test is to consult a professional Charm or Curse Breaker.  When I get home, will you ask Bill to try and break my spells for me, so I can see if they work as well as I think they do?

I'm sad not to be there for Halloween, but I'm delighted to hear that they will be able to restore the ceiling in the Great Hall without too much trouble.  I hated thinking of it like it was all summer - caved in and horrible.  Actually, Delia told me that Professor McGonagall wrote to her for assistance, and that she is the one who actually came up with the spell to allow the magic from the undamaged portion to flow into the new sections.   So you'll have to be very observant and tell me everything that happens, because not only am I curious, but Delia is as well…

You know what else is curious?

Ron got his mental image of her fixed in his mind, and was just getting to his favorite part of the letter when Harry sat down opposite him.  He folded the parchment hastily to hide Hermione's next words, stuffed it back in his pocket, and flashed a smile.  "All right, Harry?"

Harry merely nodded.  

He was lying, and Ron knew it - he tried to put Hermione out of his mind for a moment. Since moving into the Notch, he'd hardly seen Harry.  Of course, in the beginning, they'd both been busy; Ron's time had been filled with sleeping, helping Sirius, and working at the Snout's Fair, while Harry had been sleeping, riding dragons, and spending time with Ginny.  He'd understood when Harry had refused to go to the Cannons game; he hadn't really expected Harry to want to come, although he had been a little disappointed.   Charlie had gone with him instead, and they'd had a smashing time, but Ron hadn't been able to help feeling a little bit jealous of his younger sister – he and Hermione hadn't been that exclusive of Harry, had they?

And then there had been that incident with the Dementors the week before.  Ron had returned home late from a double shift at the pub to find Harry asleep on the sofa, but fully dressed in his dragon-riding clothes.  The next morning, he'd woken early to go and help Sirius – Harry had already left, and Sirius, looking manic, had told Ron what he had observed at Azkaban.  Dementors had ganged up on Harry; his dragon wasn't safe, Sirius had said.  Ron had, of course, pressed Harry for details, but when Harry had stalked into his room without answering, Ron had given up.  He knew Harry too well; pushing him to talk would just make him retreat even further – a lesson that Ginny had yet to learn.  She'd been at their house every day for the past week, and Harry had feigned sleep every time - or at least he hadn't opened his door.

"Butterbeer?" Ron asked, holding out a bottle to Harry.  Harry shook his head.  "I've got to work tonight.  I can only stay for a little while longer."

Ron looked at his watch. He started to crack a joke about Norbert and his early life in a tavern, but caught himself, realizing that Harry probably wouldn't laugh.   The evening had started early – Professor McGonagall and the Hogwarts faculty had begun the festivities by initiating the spell to resurrect the ceiling in the Great Hall, and now it was not quite six-thirty.  The house-elves had already proven that they were still as talented as ever, and Ron was quite full from the assortment of food he'd managed to sample.  There had been steaming pumpkin pasties, miniature shepherd's pies, Cornish hens, crispy roast potatoes, and an assortment of other treats.  Dessert was still on the tables, and Ron reached for another éclair before turning to watch the dancing couples in the middle of the floor.  His brothers were out there: Bill with someone who must have been in his class long ago, George with Penelope, Fred with Angelina - Charlie wasn't there, but Ron spotted Mick O'Malley dancing with Lavender's sister.  Even his mum and dad were quite good dancers, and moved gracefully to the sharp, warped sounds of traditional wizard promenades, which were being performed by the official Ministry Chamber Quartet. 

"Hi, Ron.  Harry." Neville Longbottom sat down at their table when there was a break in the music, his cheeks rosy from having just danced with Parvati Patil.

"Neville," said Ron, handing him the Butterbeer that Harry had just refused.  "How's it going?" 

"Everything's good," he said, sitting back in his chair and looking quite at ease in grander robes than Ron had ever seen worn by anyone his age.  The scarlet over-sleeves were heavy and doubly layered with enormous trimmed wrists, and the hat he wore was properly crooked.  Neville was really starting to get professorial.  "I think everyone's having a good time – it's nice to see the Great Hall full again, don't you think?"

Ron nodded, and tried not to be bothered by the fact that Harry was staring off into space.  "It looks great in here," he said encouragingly to Neville.  "Did you have a hand in starting up that spell?  I couldn't see - too many people."

"Yeah," Neville said, half-grinning with pride.  "I did.  Professor McGonagall said we'd never get the ceiling back to normal without everyone's assistance.  It's amazing that it only took four people to set it in motion when Hogwarts first opened, isn't it?"  He smiled up at the half-moon, which crawled steadily upwards, then sat up straight, seeming to remember something. "Did you notice that Fleur Delacour is here?" he whispered, motioning across the room to where Professor McGonagall was standing.  The two appeared to be involved in a deep conversation.

Just as Ron set his eyes on her, Fleur turned and stared directly at them.  A moment later, both she and Professor McGonagall approached their table, and although he felt his ears burning red, Ron was surprised to notice that his mind remained relatively clear.  He certainly didn't have the urge to ask her to go on a date with him.  He'd noticed it the last time he'd seen her in Madam Malkin's, with Bill - he'd hardly done anything stupid at all.  Perhaps he was building up a resistance to veela as he got older.

"'Ello, Ron! 'Arry!" Fleur's voice was certainly very pretty; it reminded Ron of bells ringing.  He jumped up and pulled out a chair for her to sit in, saw Professor McGonagall roll her eyes, and quickly pulled out another chair for her.

"It's not necessary, Weasley," said the Headmistress, sarcasm heavy in her voice.  "Do sit down."  She turned to Neville.  "Mr. Longbottom, I believe you know Miss Delacour – she was, of course, one of the Triwizard champions.  She has a few questions for you, if you would be so kind…"

"For me?" Neville repeated, looking somewhat amazed. 

"No, for the other Mr. Longbottom at the table –" Professor McGonagall's voice was harsh, but Ron thought he saw amusement in her eyes.  "If you will excuse me, Miss Delacour?" 

"Thank you very much, 'Eadmistress." 

After McGonagall had walked away, Fleur flashed a bright smile at Ron, "Are those the new robes that you were buying when I saw you?  They are very handsome." 

Now Ron did feel a bit light in the head.  Did Fleur's hair really glow like that, or was it just the light from the enormous jack-o-lantern above the table reflecting onto it?  And her English seemed to be improving – she must be very clever. 

Fleur turned to Harry.  "I saw you last week when I returned to Azkaban to make sure that the charms were still good -  You 'ave been unsafe?" she asked.

"No, no -" Harry replied, with more animation than Ron had seen from him in a week.  "It's not that bad."

Still smiling widely, Fleur turned to address Neville, who looked afraid.  "Mr. Longbottom, would you dance with me? I 'ave many questions about 'Ogwarts, and I am told you can answer them."

She led a rather dazed-looking Neville onto the dance floor, before he could even answer. 

"Wonder what all that's about, eh, Harry?" Ron said, waggling his eyebrows. 

Harry smiled a little.

Well, there's a start, thought Ron. Encouraged by this small step, he began to talk.

"I'll miss working at the pub," he said neutrally, taking a swig of Butterbeer, "and I told Goldie that I'd be around to help him in a pinch if he needed it - but it's great working for Sirius, he's given me a lot of responsibility."

"Yeah," said Harry, sounding too casual, as if he were keeping his irritation in check. Ron followed Harry's gaze and his eyes came to Sirius; he was across the room talking with Penelope, who was flushed from dancing and looked healthier than she had in a long time.  She'd brought baby Leo with her, and he slept soundly in Ginny's arms. 

Harry looked away, and Ron glanced over at him, wondering what was going on between his best friend and his sister.  He hadn't been quite able to understand why they were fighting, and no one seemed willing to tell him, especially not Ginny or Harry.  Even Sirius had only said, mysteriously, "They'll tell you when they're ready," and Ron found himself getting annoyed.  There was no reason to be secretive – weren't they all friends?

"Hey Harry," he attempted, trying to sound upbeat.  "You want to go have a look at the Quidditch field?  For old time's sake?"

Harry didn't answer.

Ron waved a hand in front of his face. "Harry? Hello?"

"Huh?" Harry looked truly surprised, as if he hadn't been ignoring Ron on purpose.  Ron repeated his question.

Harry pushed up his glasses. "Oh. Er, I don't think so. I've got to fly in about an hour anyway."

"We don't have to fly, we can just go look.  The goal posts are back up and I just saw Fred and George walk out of here - ten to one there's a game on."

"I don't feel like flying," said Harry pointedly.  He pushed his chair back. "I should go."

Ron felt his anger bubble to the surface, and suddenly, whether he knew Harry well or not no longer mattered - he didn't feel like being patient with any more moods.  He banged his hand down on the table and leaned forward, aware that Hermione would not have approached things in this way.  But then, she wasn't here.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Ron demanded.

Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, but did not get up.  "Why?"

Ron made an impatient sound.  "You've been moping around, you look like hell, and you made Ginny cry last week.  You know she's been coming over, and I know you haven't been asleep, and I bloody hate answering for you."

"Yeah, well…" 

"Is that all you can say?  What happened with you two?  First you can barely look at each other, then you're all over each other -"

"Shut up, Ron."

"- and now you're just sitting here at opposite ends of the room being dismal?  Whatever it is, can't you just have it out?"

"No."  Harry didn't seem willing to give forth any other information.

Ron made an inarticulate noise of exasperation.  "I don't get it!" he said.  "Why can't you just yell at each other and be done with it?"

"That's not how it works."

"Believe me, Harry, that's just how it works."

Harry looked like he wanted very badly to say something, but was fighting to keep quiet. Ron didn't want him to be quiet - he thought he might continue to provoke him until Harry just let it all out, even if it happened right here in the Great Hall, in the middle of Halloween.  Anyway, he hadn't had a good row since Hermione had left for Cortona.  He was about to give Harry a little more inside information on relationships with women, when there was a loud crackling sound beside them that made them both jump in their seats.  Ron turned and found he was staring at a pair of overlarge eyes, which were focused worshipfully on Harry.

"Harry Potter, sir!"  Dobby nearly swooned.  "A very happy Halloween!"  Dobby turned to Ron, and jumped up and down several times, his ears flopping, and his expression ecstatic.  "Mr. Wheezy sir! Dobby wishes you a Happy Halloween as well!"  His limpid eyes filled with sudden tears.  "I know you are still bravely loyal to Harry Potter, sir."

Ron gave Harry a dark look.  "So far," he muttered.

"Are those new socks, Dobby?" asked Harry, ignoring Ron and pointing to Dobby's feet, each of which was adorned in a brightly-colored knit sock.

"Yes indeed, sir," Dobby said happily, kicking up his feet one at a time.  One sock had glow-in-the-dark skeletons dancing in circles around his ankle, and the other was white, with spiders on it.  The spiders were enchanted, and looked as if they were weaving thick black webs around his foot.

Ron squirmed. "Look, Harry," he interrupted, "I'm going to go and look at the Quidditch field – just promise you'll come out and have a look with me when you two are done, all right?"

"Fine," said Harry.  "You go.  I'll catch up."

Ron wasn't sure if Harry meant it or not, but he decided not to second-guess him.  He left the table and headed across the room to Ginny, who was stroking the bridge of Leo's nose while he slept.

"Look how tiny he is," she said to Ron, when he got close enough to hear her whisper. 

Ron didn't answer right away - Sirius was still talking with Penelope; they were going over the flaws in different existing imprisonment methods and the history of prison charms which had been abandoned.

"… and what happened when they did that?"  Sirius asked eagerly.

"Well, several prisoners learned how to use telepathy.  There's very little that can't be done, if one is willing to use Dark magic to do it - that's the main trouble.  Their bodies were imprisoned, but their minds were free to wreak havoc.  Telepathic interference from convicted criminals is what actually caused the Battle at the Baths in 683…"

Trying not to get sucked into the conversation, which he actually found quite interesting, Ron sat down next to his sister, who had just put her nose in Leo's fuzzy hair.  Her eyes were focused in Harry's general direction.

"Hey Gin," Ron said cheerfully.  She didn't respond.  "Ginny?" he nudged her slightly in the ribs. 

She sighed and straightened up, smoothing Leo's hair back down.  "What's up?" she asked, leaving her gaze where it was. 

"Er... " Ron realized that he wasn't sure what to say.  But he did know that sitting around not talking was no way to solve a problem.  He knew from experience that Harry was just as good at holding a grudge as any member of his own family.  "Nothing," he finally said, and then added, "You look like you need to wake up.  You want to go and get some air?  See the Quidditch field?"

She looked at him as if he were a little mad.  "Now?"

"They've put up the new goalposts, and people are out playing, and besides, Harry won't go with me."

Concern was evident in Ginny's face, but she said casually; "He won't?"

Ron nodded over to where Harry was actually laughing at something Dobby was saying.  "No, he says he has to fly in an hour anyway, and now he's busy with Dobby." 

Ginny shrugged.  "All right," she said, and Ron reached to take Leo from her arms.  "No, I want to hold him - Penny, can I take him on a walk?"

"Yes - but it's a bit chilly.  Here, hold on a minute." Penelope raised her wand and brought an enormous shoulder bag flying toward her.  She rummaged in it for a long time before coming up with a thick blanket and an extra pair of baby socks.  Ginny put on her own cloak while Penelope wrapped up the baby, and then took Leo back into her arms.

"But you can't bring him," Ron told Ginny, feeling a little frantic.

"Why?  I'm not going to fly or anything."  Ginny hefted Leo more comfortably into the crook of her elbow and tucked the blanket around his head. 

"He could get hit by a Bludger."

Penelope looked sufficiently alarmed, but Ginny turned and scoffed.  "Ron, don't be stupid - and don't scare Penny.  We all went to Quidditch pitches when we were little, and never got hit.  It's not like I'm going to walk him into the middle of the field and besides, the air will be good for him."  She smiled at their sister-in-law.  "See you in a bit."

"Well..." Penelope bit her lip.

"Ginny's right," Sirius said quickly.  "She's got Leo, you don't have to worry - now what I want to know is, what's stopping us from using individualized Binding Spells in lieu of faulty imprisonments?"

Penny nodded permission to Ginny and returned her attention to Sirius.

Ron scowled, but steered Ginny across the room to the far doors and through the entrance hall, out to the Hogwarts grounds.  It was dark outside, but a row of jack-o-lanterns had been placed on the ground to form a path to the newly finished Quidditch pitch.  As they walked nearer, Ron could make out what looked like at least two teams of people flying around on broomsticks. 

"I knew they'd be playing," he said delightedly to Ginny.  They paused at the edge, near the stands, and watched as people zoomed overhead – Ron waved as Fred, George, and Angelina flew by.  "Wonder if Fred'll let me borrow his broom for a few minutes," Ron said, squinting upwards.  "Feel like flying, Ginny?  I'll take Leo." He nudged Ginny again with his elbow, but frowned and looked down at her when he realized that she was standing very stiffly and had gone so pale that her face almost glowed in the dark.  She stared into the center of the pitch and leaned against Ron for support.

"What is it?" Ron asked at once.  "Here, give me the baby."

But Ginny didn't stir.  "Hello, Harry," she said very quietly.

Ron looked over his shoulder and gaped to see that Ginny was right; Harry was standing several meters away, frozen much as Ginny was.   He flashed an angry glance at Ron, crossed his arms, and then shot a defiant look at the back of Ginny's head.  She didn't turn around.

"Right," said Ron. They were probably both angry with him, but they'd thank him in the morning.  "You're both here - now have it out. Whatever you're fighting about isn't worth it.  Trust me.  Ginny, look at Harry."

Ginny took an enormous breath, and with what seemed like obvious effort, rotated slowly where she was standing, in order to face in Harry's direction.  But she didn't look at him; she glared up at Ron instead, trembling slightly.  "You must be joking," she nearly hissed.  "Get away, Ron - this isn't any of your business."

"Harry," ordered Ron, feeling very satisfied with himself, "Come here and talk to my sister."

"I can't," said Harry, looking equally furious.

"What do you mean you can't?" Ron asked, annoyed.  He couldn't believe how stubborn Harry was sometimes.  "You've got two legs – get over here."

"No, Ron," said Ginny softly, hugging Leo close to her chest.  "He really can't."

~*~

"Can't my arse," was Ron's helpful reply.  "You're both daft."

Ginny gritted her teeth and forced her arms to stay relaxed so that she wouldn't hurt Leo.  Ron had never done anything to embarrass her so much as this - not since he had first betrayed to Harry that she liked him, in her first year.  "You're so lucky my hands are full," she muttered.  He chuckled infuriatingly.  "I'm not joking.  You're a -" And she called Ron something that made Harry's stare turn from angry to amazed- and maybe just a little bit amused.

"Oh for God's sake, lighten up," Ron returned.  "Here, give me Leo -"

But Ginny kept tight hold of her nephew.  If Ron was this idiotic, then she didn't trust him not to drop the baby right in the lake.  "Leave," she said, working to keep the heat out of her face.  "Now."

There was a long, strained silence, and in it, Ginny tried to get hold of her mind; it had frozen in her head when Harry had approached.  He stood there now, close enough to talk to, but Ginny couldn't think of a word to say. He looked terrible.  His face was shadowed and drawn, and even his eyes seemed strangely dull; the past week and a half had muted their usual, startling color. 

A strong wind circled suddenly around the pitch, blowing back her cloak and making Leo stir.  She tucked a thin layer of blanket loosely across his face, to keep him warm.

"Never mind," Ron said abruptly, sounding truly irritated.  "If you're both going to stand here like you've been Muting Charmed, it's fine with me."  He turned to walk away.

"I want to talk," Ginny said faintly.  She searched Harry's eyes, but they made her feel empty; in them, she couldn't find any trace of the few weeks they'd spent as... Come to think of it, Ginny still wasn't sure what they had been.  Neither had ever brought it up in words. 

"I don't," Harry replied.  He looked up, away from her face.  She could tell by the movements of his eyes that he was studying the mock Quidditch match above them, but she also knew he wasn't really watching.

"Then don't," she said.  "I'm not asking you to say anything.  But you could give me a chance to explain."

"You don't have to," Harry said, still looking into the sky.  "I get it.  It's fine."

"Oh, would you stop saying that!" Ginny snapped, before she'd thought about it.  "It's so old, Harry!"

His chin came down and he gave her a vaguely shocked look.  "What?"

"You say that every time you don't feel like talking," Ginny pointed out, a little ruthlessly.  "It doesn't fool anyone, you know."

Harry stared at her.  "That's not true."

"Isn't it?  Okay, then - how are you feeling tonight, Harry?  Honestly?"

He opened and shut his mouth several times before spluttering; "Fine!"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him - there were many scathing things she wanted to say in response to that, but she bit her tongue.  It was still Harry, and they hadn't been intimate for very long.  She still wasn't sure, for all her Empathy, just how to approach him when he walled himself off.  A voice deep in her mind told her that it would be good for both of them if she continued to speak bluntly, but she tried to be gentle instead.  "You're not fine," she said, taking an unwitting step towards him. 

He stepped immediately back.  "Don't," he said sharply.  "You know you're not allowed to touch me."

Ron made a noise that sounded like muffled laughter; Ginny flushed.  She had forgotten he was there. 

"That's more like it," Ron said, sounding insufferably experienced.  He patted Ginny's shoulder.  "You'll be fine," he informed them, before striding off into the center of the field, looking as though he'd just done a great service, and got into a conversation with Fred.

"Bighead Boy," Ginny said under her breath.

"Smug bastard," Harry muttered at the same time.

Both of them laughed, but they cut their laughter short and glanced at each other.  For a second, the color seemed to come back into Harry's eyes; they flashed at her, and Ginny seized the moment.

"Please let me tell you why I kept the Healing secret," she said quickly.  "Don't ignore me - you have a right to be upset, and you do deserve an explanation, so please, Harry.  Let me talk."

Harry crossed his arms, but his face was suddenly much less guarded.  His eyes shifted to Leo, and he shrugged in acceptance.

"I was worried," Ginny said honestly, wishing she could touch him while she spoke.  She knew that just putting her hand on his arm would get the point across much better than words could.  "I thought it might upset you to know that I can sense all your feelings.  I thought it would seem like... an invasion of privacy."

Harry pursed his mouth a little, and shrugged again.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she offered.  "Don't stay angry."

There was a silence while Harry searched her eyes.  "Can you really sense my feelings?" he said.  His voice rasped slightly. 

"Yes," Ginny admitted, encouraged.  He was talking.  That was good.  "I'm not trying to, I swear - it's just that once I opened up to this thing I have, everything flooded in and hit me all at once - you can't imagine how strange it is.  If you'd just let me tell you what I'm trying to learn, then perhaps-"

"I read the book," Harry interrupted, and pushed his glasses up.

"You only read the parts -"

"I read the book," Harry repeated.  "I have a copy."

Ginny stared at him.  "You got a copy of your own?" she asked, and her heart sped up when he reddened and nodded.  "But when did you have time to read it?"

Harry flushed more deeply.  "I put it on Aura Libris while I was up on Norbert."

"Oh, Harry."  Despite the pain she knew it would cause, Ginny wanted to hug him. He had a copy of her textbook, and he'd made the book read itself aloud to him.  Her eyes stung, and she wished she had given Leo to Ron; she wanted her arms back.  "That was really good of you -"

Harry waved her off.  "I wanted to know what the hell you were doing to me," he said, his voice sharp.  "And I don't get Empathy at all."

Ginny nodded.  It was a difficult magic to understand, and there was a lot that still escaped her.  "Which part don't you get?"

Harry hesitated and looked defensively at her.  "You can't control it?" he asked.

"I can a little - I'm pretty good with plants."

"But with people."  Harry pushed up his glasses again.  "Like - with - well, you're around Sirius a lot."

"Yes."  It had hurt to be in the same room with Sirius last week, when he'd come home from Azkaban.  "He has a very strong history - very powerful and dark - I always know when he's there."

"But do you - " Harry seemed to be searching for words.  He looked terribly frustrated.  "Can you be around him?" he finally asked.

"Yes."

Harry avoided her eyes.  "But not me," he said.

Ginny ached at the hurt in his voice.  "I don't know why," she said quietly, stepping towards him again, and this time, he didn't recoil.  "I don't know.  It's not the same.  I haven't tried to do anything for Sirius, so maybe that's part of it."

"But you've made Wolfsbane Potion for Remus," Harry said.  His voice was low and quick, and Ginny realized that these questions must have been building up in him for the last ten days, ever since he'd found her out.  "You can be around him."

"I know."

"And that doesn't drain you?"

"It does," Ginny said truthfully.  "Don't you remember the first time I made the potion?  I thought I was going to be sick."

"But he doesn't hurt you."

"No - not like that."

Harry looked right at her. "Not like me," he corrected grimly.

"I don't know why," she repeated.  "I only have guesses."  When Harry didn't answer, she realized he was waiting for her to continue.  "I... noticed it happened both times when we... when you kissed me." 

Harry's cheeks colored.  "I kissed you more than twice."

"Not... like that.  Not the same thing.  When we - when you -" Ginny made a noise of frustration.  She was never going to clear things up if she kept acting like a twelve-year-old.  She took a breath, held tightly to Leo, and made herself speak like an adult.   "I think the trouble is that when I open up to you physically, I take everything on - all of your past and, well, just you, Harry.  When you're near me like that, I don't want to shut it out, I just want to let you - " Ginny blushed at herself, and at Harry's sudden change in expression.  His chest rose and fell rapidly and he looked half-panicked and half like he might launch himself at her.  She forced herself to continue, rapidly telling him everything she'd been theorizing for a week.  "I open up to you as much as possible, because that's just... that's just how it is for me. And I don't know, but I think you do the same thing - I think you forget to hold back.  You kiss me, and you forget to pretend you're fine, and then everything you keep hidden comes pouring right into me, because I'm too open, and I have this stupid gift that I don't even want -"  Ginny stopped, and realized she was panting slightly.  She had never wanted to touch him so much.

Harry looked powerfully dazed by this speech; his hands were clenched and his eyes were fixed on her.  Ginny gazed back at him, tired of talking.  She just wanted to go to him, and she might have done it if the baby hadn't needed both her hands - it wasn't right to stand back from Harry and talk so clinically about the way he made her feel.  The wind circled inside the stands again and blew the blanket away from Leo's face.  Ginny unthinkingly put it back, not taking her eyes from Harry.

"Can he breathe like that?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes," Ginny answered at once, glad for the change of subject.  "You just keep it loose like this." She showed him, lifting the blanket and putting it back in place.  "It's to keep his face from getting too cold, because heads and feet are so sensitive, especially on babies."

"Oh."  Harry edged closer.  "Won't he freeze out here?"

"No, he's got a little jumper and extra socks and everything, and the blanket's temperature regulated - you know, they charm them especially for infants.  He'll be fine."  Ginny pulled back the blanket and felt his nose to be sure.  "He's all warm," she announced, and nuzzled the baby's fine cloud of hair.  "I love holding Leo," she murmured.  "He has no fears and no pains and no history.  He feels wonderful, to me.  He's a relief."

Harry cleared his throat.  "I know I... my history or - or whatever - I..." He paused, looking helpless.  "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Ginny looked up at him and quickly shook her head.  "It's not your fault," she said.  "Not even a little bit.  And I should have told you before it ever happened."

"It still happened."  He raked back his hair and when it fell down on his forehead again, it parted over his scar.  Ginny couldn't take her eyes off it.  "So," he said, gesturing at nothing.  "We can never... I  mean, if it's going to make you convulse, then..."

"I'll get better at it," Ginny said vehemently.  "I'll learn to control it.  It can't take that long, and then we -"

"How's it going, you two?"

Ginny whirled toward Angelina's voice; both she and Fred were standing just beside them.  Ginny shot her brother a meaningful look, which he chose to ignore.

"Lovely evening for a stroll, eh, Harry?" Fred said wickedly, winking at him.  "Mind you get our girl home by daybreak at the very latest -"

"Fred," Angelina warned.  "We're going in," she told them.  "Wanted to know if either of you wanted my broom so you could fly for a bit.  Ron's already taken Fred's, so there's only one."

"No thanks," Harry said.

"That's all right," Ginny agreed, "but would you mind taking Leo?  He's getting heavy and I think his mum will want him."

Fred forgot to tease them any further; he held out his arms for his nephew and made an idiot out of himself fussing with the blankets.  "Ickle Leo is coldie woldie," he gibbered.  "Isn't he? Does him need to go back inside?  Hmmm?"

Angelina looked a little worried, and towed Fred away by the sleeve of his robes.  "Are you going to act like that towards our children?" Ginny heard her demand as they were swallowed up by the pumpkin-lit darkness.  Her question was followed by a decided: "Children?" before they disappeared entirely.

Ginny laughed, glad to have her hands free, and was glad to see Harry laughing, too.  In the dark, it was hard to see his lines and shadows.  He looked young, and normal, and happy.  And he was looking at her.  

"I've missed you," she told him on impulse.

He lifted a hand toward her, but didn't seem to know what to do with it. 

"What is it, Harry?"

He looked chagrined.  "I don't want to hurt you," he said, pulling his hand back again.

Ginny understood.  "I think it's all right just to..." she trailed off and moved toward him.  Harry hesitated, but only for a moment; when Ginny lightly rested her hands on his shoulders, he carefully slipped his arms around her waist.  She sighed, relaxed, and let him pull her close.  "Yes, that's fine," she mumbled into his robes, relief flooding her.  "This is all right."

Harry rocked her a little bit and she let her arms slide around his neck.  Cold air brushed across them, moving the skirt of Ginny's dress robes around her ankles.  She shivered a little, and burrowed closer to Harry.  She felt a dim, unpleasant, panging sensation in her stomach.

"You can't sense anything?" he asked, after a moment.

Ginny could.  She felt his heartbeat, for one thing; it pulsed quickly against her own.  She could also feel fear, exhaustion and grief, but decided to answer diplomatically.  "I can tell you're having trouble with the Dementors."

"But it isn't painful to you."

She sighed.  She didn't want to lie; it had worked out so badly, the last time she'd hidden something from him.  He'd find out eventually anyway.  "It hurts a little," she admitted, and Harry tried to pull away from her but she clamped her arms around him.  "No, don't.  Or I'll never get used to it."

"I don't want you to get used to it."

"I have to, by degrees, and build up a tolerance, and learn some sort of control," she explained.  "It's all right.  I'll tell you when it's not."  But though Ginny was working to protect herself as much as possible, her head was already very light, and her stomach had begun to hurt - just slightly - the way it had done in her first few days with Harry.  Eventually, if history was anything to go by, she would grow fatigued and sick.  And then she would forget to protect herself, and possibly lose consciousness.  Possibly cause herself real damage.  But she tried to ignore those facts for one more second, because having to let Harry go was in some ways much more painful than having him close.

From far off and above, she thought she heard someone catcall at them, but neither of them stirred. 

"Too bad Gryffindor Tower's off limits," Harry said. 

Ginny tried to smile, but his energy was getting the better of her.  Ten days he'd gone without releasing his edge - ten days of dragon riding and Dementors that she hadn't been able to help with - and now it was emptying out.  He didn't have to kiss her to do it.  He was simply relaxing and letting her in - no one else had this effect.  Ginny scrunched her eyes shut and tried to fight it off.  But she couldn't, and she didn't understand it, and there was no one in the world that she could ask for an explanation.

He kissed her cheek very gently and Ginny felt a throb of happiness and one of nausea mingle together in her chest.  Unfair, she shouted silently, and hugged him tightly.  "Damn," she mumbled.  "Damn, damn, damn."

Harry breathed a sigh into her hair, and cursed as well.  "It's too much on you, isn't it."  It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Ginny said angrily.  "Damn it."  She lifted her face and looked at him, wanting more of him and knowing that it wasn't going to work.  She needed to kiss him.  She would kiss him.  She tilted up her chin. 

"No - don't hurt yourself -" but Harry didn't pull away fast enough.  Ginny took his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his.  Instantly, his hands gripped her waist and he kissed her back with the same fierceness.  Just as instantly, the knot in her stomach intensified, her brain clenched, and Ginny began to sweat and shake; out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a flashing light, and though it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, she had to let him go.  She might have fallen if his hands hadn't steadied her. 

"Can you stand?" he demanded.

"Not yet."  She winced.

"Why did you - Ginny -"

"You know why."

Harry went quiet and held onto her until she was able to step away on her own.  "I think a few people saw that," he said, looking up.

Ginny hugged herself.  "I don't care."

"Neither do I."  Harry watched her for a long moment, and then squared his shoulders.  "Now what?" he asked faintly.

"I don't know," she answered, soaking in the way he was looking at her.  It made her feel... desired.  It made it twice as difficult to stand out of his reach.  "I'll work this out."  She reached out her hand to him on impulse, froze when she realized what she was doing, and slowly pulled her hand back.  "It'll work out," she repeated quietly, looking right at him, her hand still partly suspended in air between them.  "It will, because I -" she choked, slightly.  It was harder to talk about love, when there was no Expecto Sacrificum to complete.  "I - care about you so much," she finished.

Harry didn't answer.  He tilted his head to the side and observed her, chewing on the inside of his mouth and frowning slightly, as if he was trying to work out something important.  He took a quick breath as if to speak - then paused.

"What?" Ginny prompted at once.

"That part in the book," Harry began, but he stopped and shook his head.  "No, never mind."

Ginny tried to smile.  "Not fair, you can't do that - now you have to tell me -"

"No."  And Harry looked as if he really couldn't.  He glanced apologetically at her, then seemed to remember something - his eyes widened and he looked at his watch.  "I'm late," he said, sounding panicked.  "And I'm not dressed."

"It's all right -"

"No, it's not.  It's Charlie's shift I'm taking over."

"But I want to ask you about the dragons - Sirius said something about Norbert being sick and I want to make sure -"

"I'm okay."  Harry met her eyes and nodded as if to reassure her.  "Honestly, it was a fluke accident - they checked him and he's perfectly safe.  There's a virus that dragons can get - like a quick flu - it makes them really difficult to handle.  Mick thinks it might've been that.  Norbert's fine to ride."

Ginny knew he was telling the truth, but she didn't want to let him go.  It took all of her self-possession not to argue with him to stay.  "Quick, then," she said, trying to sound like she meant it.  "We'll try to talk later."

"Thanks," Harry said.  He stepped up, took her arm, and bent his head naturally toward hers.  Ginny had almost kissed him goodbye when she felt a bad pain in her stomach.  At the same moment, Harry seemed to realize his proximity to her; he pulled hastily back.  "Sorry," he muttered.  "I forgot."

"No, it's fine," Ginny said, though her body was tense with frustration.  "So did I.  Go."

He went.  Where Harry had just been, there was now empty space. 

"Ridiculous," Ginny muttered, clenching her fists and wishing there were someone to punch.  The pressure in her body was unbearable.  She wanted him to come back, and she wanted to be able to touch him - the idea of waiting made her feel very nearly violent.

"Hey Ginny!" George called from overhead, waving down at her.  "Beater spot's open - Lee's going, and he was on a school broom, so you can use it - want to play?"

"Yes!" Ginny yelled, relieved.  As soon as she had Lee's broom and bat, she took off into the sky, forgetting she was in dress robes.  "Whose team am I on?"

"Mine," Ron called from the goal hoops.  "Come over here, I'll tell you what formation we're playing."

But when Ginny reached the hoops, Ron said nothing at all about strategy.

"Looks like things are working out then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  "Glad you two sorted out your differences -"

"In front of half the wizarding world," George chimed in, having sneaked up behind her.  He tugged on Ginny's hair.  "Well, who can blame you?  He's got those eyes, hasn't he? They're as green as a fresh pickled -"

"SHUT UP -" Ginny whirled and tried to hit him with her bat.  When she didn't succeed, she whirled on Ron, who was laughing, and tried to hit him, too.  He dodged and dived, and a bit of something fell out of his pocket.  Ginny took aim and dove for it, and was delighted when her hand closed around a thick wad of parchment.  "I could've been Seeker if school were open this year!" she said happily, and hovered where she was.

"What is that?" Ron asked, flying towards her.  "Hey - did that fall out of my -"

"'Dear Ron,'" Ginny read aloud.  "Oh, it's from Hermione."

"Give that here," Ron demanded, holding out his hand.  He looked exceptionally pink around the ears. 

Grinning, Ginny held the parchment close to her chest.  "Why?  What could be so bad?" she asked.  "It's just from Hermione - here, George, come see what Hermione has to say to Ron."

"Certainly," George said, looking delighted.  He flew down and hovered next to Ginny.

"Give it," Ron said angrily, and lunged for them.

Ginny laughed and dove out of his reach.  "Don't dish out what you can't take!" she yelled back, and looked down at the letter again.  "Sorry you set me up now, aren't you?"

"Don't you read a word -" Ron warned, looking panicked.  "That letter's none of your -"

"Are we playing, or what?" came a voice from across the pitch.  "Come on, let's go, that's enough strategy back there!"

"We're ready!" Ginny called back, still looking at the parchment.  "Oh, but hello," she mused, "this looks like a good part.  Listen to this, George.  'You know what's curious?'" she read aloud, affecting Hermione's proper, breathlessly quick tone of voice.

"What's curious, Hermione?" George yelled.

Ron blanched.  "Don't - Ginny -"

But Ginny was feeling merciless.  "'I get into bed at night,'" she read.

"Oh, bloody hell," George said, and started laughing.  "This is classic."

Ron growled furiously, and shot towards Ginny - she shrieked, spiraled out of the way, and flew to George, reading loudly: "'I get into bed at night, and for a second, every time, I'm absolutely sure you're about to walk in and lie down next to me.  It would be the rightest thing in the world.  You could curl up behind me with your arm around me...touch me -"

"Touch me!" George cried, in a high-pitched voice.  "Oh, Ron!"

"Right, that's it, I'll kill you," Ron yelled, purple in the face, before barreling at Ginny again.  This time, he connected with her, nearly sending her off her broom; Ginny gasped and let go of the parchment, afraid she would fall.  She clutched the broomstick with both hands and Hermione's letter fell towards the ground.  Ron sped after it, caught it in his hands, and flew immediately to the goal posts where he hovered, looking especially murderous as he tucked the letter under his shirt, pointed his wand at himself, and muttered some sort of spell to keep it from falling again.

"I have a feeling you didn't even get to the good parts," George said wistfully to Ginny.  "Ah well.  It's enough to torture her with when she gets back - I won't forget a word of that.  Let's play."  He clapped his bat against Ginny's and flew off to the opposite side of the pitch.

Ginny threw herself into the game the moment it began, and while she played she felt like herself again, laughing and smacking at Bludgers, working to keep up with her brothers.  For a little while there was no Empathy; her mind felt clear and even and her worries seemed to shrink away to nothing.  Still, she couldn't quite forget that, somewhere to the west of them, Harry was flying too, on dragonback, in the darkness.  And towards the end of the game, when Ron "accidentally" flew into her for the eleventh or twelfth time, she wondered what Harry would think if she wrote him a letter before she went to bed.  Not like the one Hermione had apparently written - Ginny snickered to herself - but if she couldn't touch Harry for awhile, or even share space with him very often, then they were going to have to find another way to communicate.  Ginny smiled a little.  She didn't have anything in Harry's handwriting - they'd never kept in touch that way, during the summers.  Perhaps letters would actually be... rather nice.