Ginny eased herself into her chair at the breakfast table, and poured
herself a cup of milk. Her thoughts hadn't left Harry since she had seen
that strange image in her brother's crystal ball, and she was hoping that
Ron would leave the house sometime that day so she could steal another
glance at it. Fred and George had come that morning through the fireplace
at just about the same time that Bill left, and now they were sitting next
to her, discussing new plans for their shop.
"What kind of a name is Paradise Punchers? That's a horrible suggestion, George," said Fred, ripping a chunk off his toast and shoving it into his mouth.
"It makes sense!" protested George, "See, they're "paradise" because at first they taste so good, but then they're "punchers" because suddenly the candy goes mad and starts beating up your teeth!"
Molly walked up behind where the two young men were sitting and spooned hot porridge into their bowls. "I don't think you should be marketing anything that would cause children serious dental problems. Why don't you make some nice candy, for once?"
At that time Ron trudged sleepily into the kitchen, bare feet slapping against the tile floor. He dropped into a chair and laid his head down upon the table. "Feed me," he moaned, stretching his arms in the air like a feline. Fred reached across the table and slapped him across the back of his head, causing Ron to jump up in his seat with a start.
"Wake up, bloody git," snapped Fred, settling back down in his seat, "You're going to make me lose what little breakfast I've eaten." Ron glared at his brother and stabbed a spoon into the porridge that had just appeared in front of him.
"Mum, can Harry come visit again this summer?" asked Ron, minutes later. Ginny looked up, intrigued.
Molly sat down at the table across from Ginny. "I don't see why not. Why don't you write him an owl after breakfast?" Ron smiled and continued eating. Ginny stared wide-eyed at her the food in front of her, contemplating the effects of what a visit from Harry would entail. Would he explain why he was so bloody yesterday afternoon? Would he even mention it?
Hours later, Ron and his two visiting brothers were outside playing a simple form of Quidditch. Arthur Weasley was working at the Ministry, and Molly Weasley was at a neighbor's house. Ginny was left deliciously alone. The first chance she got, she ran into Ron's room and searched relentlessly for his last birthday gift. After tearing through his drawers and shelves, she finally found it under a pile of dirty clothes on his floor. Throwing herself on Ron's bed, she quickly rubbed the crystal orb and whispered Harry's name to it.
A dark-haired young man was holding an old shirt up inside a small, lonely room. He snipped an edge of the thin fabric with a small razor, then began tearing the shirt into long strips. Once he had finished that, he wrapped the strips tightly around his bare, bruised chest, wincing as he did so. He secured the end of the last strip with a small piece of clear tape, then sat dejectedly on his bed and hid his face in a pair of nervously shaking hands.
"Ginny! What are you doing in my room?"
She gasped and Harry disappeared. Ginny looked up guiltily at Ron, who was standing in the doorway looking rather shocked. "I...erm...," trailed Ginny.
"Were you spying on Harry? That's so gross!" he exclaimed, snatching the ball from Ginny's hands and staring at her, horrified.
"You don't understand!" she defended, "He was hurt, and I was worried!"
Ron's face fell. "What do you mean, hurt? Was he cutting himself again?"
"What? No...yesterday, when I first saw him in the ball, he was all messed up and bloody, and just now I saw him wrapping homemade bandages around his chest. I couldn't help being curious, Ron...he looked so sad." Ginny obligingly handed the ball to her brother, and with a knitted brow he said Harry's name to it.
"Oh my God," whispered Ron, gazing at the picture in the glass, "I...I think he's crying...but he never cries..." Immediately Ron snapped out of his daze, tossed the ball onto his bed next to Ginny, and began hastily scribbling a letter to his friend.
Harry,
Come over. Please, if we need to kidnap you again we will, I just really feel like you should live with us. I can't explain why, but right now, I mean THIS MINUTE my brothers and I can break into your room and steal you-- if you want. But please want.
Ron
"Oy, little bugger!" called Ron to Pigwidgeon, who was banging about restlessly in his cage. "Let me tie this letter to your foot." As soon as the letter was secure, he threw Pig out the window like a baseball and watched him disappear into the sun. Ginny looked up at Ron.
"Get out, Ginny," he snapped motioning towards the door.
"What?" She stood up, confused by her brother's sudden change of temperament.
"Just leave! Get out of my room!" Ron closed his eyes and turned his back to her.
Slightly put off, Ginny walked quietly out of his room and softly closed the door. She padded down the carpeted hallway and entered her own sanctuary from the family, sitting on the floor and pulling her diary from between her mattress and her bed-frame. With a frown she detailed her thoughts about Harry and everything that had happened in the past few days. She couldn't wait until Harry wrote back to Ron; not that her brother would actually let her read the letter, but as long as Harry was at her house she wouldn't have to be so preoccupied about his well-being.
"What kind of a name is Paradise Punchers? That's a horrible suggestion, George," said Fred, ripping a chunk off his toast and shoving it into his mouth.
"It makes sense!" protested George, "See, they're "paradise" because at first they taste so good, but then they're "punchers" because suddenly the candy goes mad and starts beating up your teeth!"
Molly walked up behind where the two young men were sitting and spooned hot porridge into their bowls. "I don't think you should be marketing anything that would cause children serious dental problems. Why don't you make some nice candy, for once?"
At that time Ron trudged sleepily into the kitchen, bare feet slapping against the tile floor. He dropped into a chair and laid his head down upon the table. "Feed me," he moaned, stretching his arms in the air like a feline. Fred reached across the table and slapped him across the back of his head, causing Ron to jump up in his seat with a start.
"Wake up, bloody git," snapped Fred, settling back down in his seat, "You're going to make me lose what little breakfast I've eaten." Ron glared at his brother and stabbed a spoon into the porridge that had just appeared in front of him.
"Mum, can Harry come visit again this summer?" asked Ron, minutes later. Ginny looked up, intrigued.
Molly sat down at the table across from Ginny. "I don't see why not. Why don't you write him an owl after breakfast?" Ron smiled and continued eating. Ginny stared wide-eyed at her the food in front of her, contemplating the effects of what a visit from Harry would entail. Would he explain why he was so bloody yesterday afternoon? Would he even mention it?
Hours later, Ron and his two visiting brothers were outside playing a simple form of Quidditch. Arthur Weasley was working at the Ministry, and Molly Weasley was at a neighbor's house. Ginny was left deliciously alone. The first chance she got, she ran into Ron's room and searched relentlessly for his last birthday gift. After tearing through his drawers and shelves, she finally found it under a pile of dirty clothes on his floor. Throwing herself on Ron's bed, she quickly rubbed the crystal orb and whispered Harry's name to it.
A dark-haired young man was holding an old shirt up inside a small, lonely room. He snipped an edge of the thin fabric with a small razor, then began tearing the shirt into long strips. Once he had finished that, he wrapped the strips tightly around his bare, bruised chest, wincing as he did so. He secured the end of the last strip with a small piece of clear tape, then sat dejectedly on his bed and hid his face in a pair of nervously shaking hands.
"Ginny! What are you doing in my room?"
She gasped and Harry disappeared. Ginny looked up guiltily at Ron, who was standing in the doorway looking rather shocked. "I...erm...," trailed Ginny.
"Were you spying on Harry? That's so gross!" he exclaimed, snatching the ball from Ginny's hands and staring at her, horrified.
"You don't understand!" she defended, "He was hurt, and I was worried!"
Ron's face fell. "What do you mean, hurt? Was he cutting himself again?"
"What? No...yesterday, when I first saw him in the ball, he was all messed up and bloody, and just now I saw him wrapping homemade bandages around his chest. I couldn't help being curious, Ron...he looked so sad." Ginny obligingly handed the ball to her brother, and with a knitted brow he said Harry's name to it.
"Oh my God," whispered Ron, gazing at the picture in the glass, "I...I think he's crying...but he never cries..." Immediately Ron snapped out of his daze, tossed the ball onto his bed next to Ginny, and began hastily scribbling a letter to his friend.
Harry,
Come over. Please, if we need to kidnap you again we will, I just really feel like you should live with us. I can't explain why, but right now, I mean THIS MINUTE my brothers and I can break into your room and steal you-- if you want. But please want.
Ron
"Oy, little bugger!" called Ron to Pigwidgeon, who was banging about restlessly in his cage. "Let me tie this letter to your foot." As soon as the letter was secure, he threw Pig out the window like a baseball and watched him disappear into the sun. Ginny looked up at Ron.
"Get out, Ginny," he snapped motioning towards the door.
"What?" She stood up, confused by her brother's sudden change of temperament.
"Just leave! Get out of my room!" Ron closed his eyes and turned his back to her.
Slightly put off, Ginny walked quietly out of his room and softly closed the door. She padded down the carpeted hallway and entered her own sanctuary from the family, sitting on the floor and pulling her diary from between her mattress and her bed-frame. With a frown she detailed her thoughts about Harry and everything that had happened in the past few days. She couldn't wait until Harry wrote back to Ron; not that her brother would actually let her read the letter, but as long as Harry was at her house she wouldn't have to be so preoccupied about his well-being.