CHAPTER TEN
Through The Eyes of a Boy
Harry and Hermione watched anxiously as Ginny rose to comfort Mrs Weasley, who was still trembling.
"He didn't mean it, Mum," Ginny was saying, calmly. "He's just angry, that's all."
"I know he is, dear," replied Mrs Weasley, managing a weak smile. There were tears in her eyes. "But he's right, you know. We never used to argue in the family before."
"Everyone's under pressure," Ginny said, handing Mrs Weasley a tissue. "Maybe when Bill and Charlie get back things will start to look better."
Mrs Weasley blew her nose noisily, and nodded. "Yes. Of course, you're quite right. Oh dear, what a state to get into." She returned to preparing things for dinner, with the occasional sniff betraying her frought state every now and again.
"Perhaps someone should go after Ron," Harry began, thinking of all the terrible things Ron could be doing at that moment to vent his anger. He was half way out of his chair when Hermione stopped him.
"No, I'll go," she said, firmly.
Harry frowned. Somehow he didn't think it was very wise for Ron to have Hermione lecturing at him in his present fury.
"I know how to handle him, Harry, don't worry." She moved briskly across the kitchen and out of the back door.
"Try the treehouse at the bottom of the meadow!" Ginny called after her. Hermione nodded, and set off in that direction through the yard.
"He always goes there when he wants to think," said Ginny, quietly. She didn't look at Harry, but lifted her coffee mug up to her lips.
Harry watched her for a moment, while Mrs Weasley crashed about with pots and pans beside the Aga at the other end of the kitchen. Her hair, loose over her shoulders, shone in the sunlight that streamed through the window, and a few strands fell across her cheek. Harry felt himself seized by an inexplicable desire to brush them away.
In fact, he felt very strange now he thought about it. It wasn't a totally unfamiliar sensation, if the truth be told, but surprisingly strong. He was resisting the impulse to just reach out to Ginny and pull her close to him. However, common sense prevailed, and instead he leaned across and laid his hand on one of her wrists.
Please look up, he thought to himself. If only she would look at him -
Slowly she raised her head as if in answer to his thoughts. A pair of brown eyes, fathoms deep, gazed back at him. They were sparkling like stars.
Harry's chest constricted.
My God, she's beautiful, he found himself thinking. I could look at her forever.
Then he shook himself mentally. She's your best friend's sister, Potter. What the hell are you thinking? Snap out of it, man! Scarily, it wasn't the first time he had discovered himself thinking that, and it didn't do much to comfort him at all. He also realised that he hadn't breathed for an astonishingly large amount of time.
"Thanks, Harry," Ginny whispered, smiling gratefully at him.
Harry felt his stomach do a back flip.
"It'll be OK, Gin," he said, in a voice that was ever so slightly tremulous. He hoped Ginny hadn't picked it up.
She nodded, and slipped her hand inside his. Her eyes flickered down to the table, and so did Harry's. He watched her fingers gently entwine in his - her long, elegant fingers with those perfect nails. Before he knew what he was doing, his other hand reached out and pulled both of hers closer to him on the table.
Don't look up at her, don't look up, he said to himself, willing his cheeks not to blush. Just the silky smoothness of her skin was making his fingers tingle.
Just then, the door was flung open, and in came Fred and George, rubbing their hands together gleefully.
"What's for dinner, Mum?" asked Fred, eagerly.
Instantly Harry and Ginny drew back their hands, but not before the twins had stared suspiciously at them for a second or two.
"Roast beef, with all the trimmings," Mrs Weasley replied, promptly. "And you can lay the table if you like, boys. Ginny, will you go and tell your father to come in and wash his hands, please? He's trying to work out what's wrong with the car."
Ginny nodded, and disappeared out of the door without another look at Harry.
Damn. Now you've gone and blown it, Potter. Well done. Now she's going to think you're a sentimental, clinging little drip. Harry could have kicked himself senseless.
***
Hermione waded through the knee-high grass on the meadow towards a long line of trees at the bottom, separating the Weasley land from the common. Several yards away, the river ran softly through the valley, twisting and turning on its long journey down from the hills behind the village. One tree stood out taller and larger than all the others in the line - an ancient oak with gnarled branches and sparse leaves. About ten feet up from the ground was the treehouse that Mr Weasley had built many years ago for the boys and Ginny to play in as children.
Hermione peered up through the branches as she neared it, looking for any sign of Ron. She almost jumped out of her skin as a pebble hurtled out of the leaves somewhere higher up, landing with a violent splash in the river a little way off.
Ron was standing on the platform beside a small pile of stones, throwing them one by one across the stretch of grass between the trees and the river as hard as he could. His back was to Hermione as she climbed deftly up using the footholes in the trunk. He must have heard her footsteps on the wooden floor, as he stopped throwing the stones, but he didn't turn round to face her.
Hermione stood watching his back for a moment or two in silence, neither of them saying a word.
"Ron?" she said at last. He span round swiftly.
"Oh. I thought it was Harry coming up," he said, in genuine surprise.
Hermione shook her head. "He was going to, but I came instead."
Ron looked sulky again, and stared out across the valley. "Don't give me a lecture, Hermione. I came down here to get away from that."
"I'm not going to lecture you, Ron," she replied, patiently. "I just wanted to see if you were OK."
"Well I am, thankyou," he snapped.
"No you're not. This isn't you. You don't often get angry like that, Ron. Only when you're really upset about something." She was remembering the Triwizard Tournament, when Ron had refused to speak to Harry for weeks over some ridiculous argument, and her fight with Ron in the Gryffindor common room after the Yule Ball of the same year, and all the other times she and Ron had wound each other up and nearly ripped each other's throats out.
"I should have thought that was blatantly obvious!" he yelled, turning round so fast Hermione almost cried out in shock. He kicked the side of the treehouse in frustration.
"Stop it, Ron. That won't help."
"It makes me feel better!" said Ron, through gritted teeth. He was plainly trying to prevent himself from shouting.
"It doesn't change anything. Percy's still back home and your parents have forgiven him. Is that such a bad thing?"
"I thought you said you weren't going to lecture me?"
"Sorry."
Ron stared at her in amazement. "What did you say?"
"I said I'm sorry," Hermione replied, looking straight back at him. "But what are you trying to prove with all this?" She gestured randomly with her arm.
"I'm sick of all this fighting," he said, bitterly. "And don't tell me I'm not helping matters. I know I'm not, and I don't need you to tell me."
Hermione raised her chin slightly, staring defiantly back. Then she turned and slid easily down to the ground without another word, leaving Ron incredulously opening and closing his mouth. A tiny feeling of guilt crept into him, somewhere around his stomach. He ran a hand tensely through his red hair, and violently kicked the wall again with an angry shout.
"Damn!"
Why the hell did he always do this? Just for once in his life, Ron wished he could just hold a civilised conversation with Hermione without putting his foot in it or provoking her to get angry with him.
But she hadn't got angry with him.
Ron stopped furiously pacing and stared at the wall, deep in thought. That was the first time she hadn't answered him back. The first time they hadn't ended up rowing over a classic situation.
What the hell is going on here?
***
That evening, Ron and Harry sat together on the patio steps, neither of them speaking. The only sounds, apart from the wind, were the barely audible creak of the swing lounger as Ginny and Hermione sat there in quiet conversation, and Mrs Weasley's voice coming from the open kitchen window.
"It's not too much to ask, is it, that you get somebody in to mend that car, Arthur?"
"I can do it, Molly, I really can. Just give me another day or two and I'll have it right as rain."
The back door swung open and Mr and Mrs Weasley came out onto the patio, both carrying trays of hot chocolate.
"Fred, George, come and get your chocolate! And you too, Fleur, dear!" called Mrs Weasley.
The twins scampered over from the lawn where they had been showing Fleur some of their smaller fireworks. They practically leapt over Harry and Ron on the steps.
"Mind out, boys, or we'll tip hot choccie over you!" said Fred, poking Ron in the back as he clambered over him. Ron ignored him completely. So did Harry.
As Fleur glided up to the patio, they slid sideways politely to make a path for her.
"Thankyou," she said, brightly.
"It's only a car, Arthur," Mrs Weasley was saying, frustratedly. "We hardly need it to fly and turn invisible, do we? Just a plain, simple, Muggle-esque vehicle for emergencies, that's all."
"I just thought I'd personalise it a little," replied Mr Weasley.
"Hm. Surely you remember all the trouble that thing caused at Hogwarts?"
"I put that down to incompetent driving rather than flawed technology, Molly."
Harry glanced sideways at Ron to see how he would take this. Knowing Ron as well as he did, anything could make him fly off the handle after an outburst like that afternoon's had been. Ron, however, remained staring sulkily out across the garden.
The stars were shimmering above them brightly. Harry leaned his head back slightly to get a better view. Somehow the skies seemed much more attractive and awe-inspiring when viewed from the garden of the Burrow and not from the Astronomy Tower during a lesson. There was something infinitely more pure and untainted about the stars when one didn't have to plot a painstaking graph or leaf through textbooks every five minutes.
The breeze blew coolly against Harry's face as he stared upwards. He felt unusually calm at that precise moment. At least, until Ginny's laugh rang out clearly in the night air like a beautiful piece of phoenix song.
She was just behind him, sitting on the swing lounger with Hermione. He could hear her. But her face was in front of him in the skies. The stars were her eyes, perpetual and limitless. He could almost feel her right up close to him, her warmth on his skin. That gentle, velvety voice sending shivers through him like nothing else could.
Ron coughed beside him suddenly, and Harry jumped. What the hell just happened here? he thought, glancing frantically at Ron's face to judge his expression, as if all his musings had just been played out in front of everybody there. Ron, having cleared his throat, carried on staring across the garden.
Harry's heart was beating a tattoo inside his chest. Cautiously he turned his head a little, and looked over at the swing lounger. Hermione was lying on her side, her head in Ginny's lap, staring out across the garden just as Ron was. Ginny, her legs curled over the edge of the lounger, was playing absently with her hair.
Harry's stomach flipped over again, and he turned away hastily, his eyes wide open in astonishment. Ron's sister. She's Ron's little sister!
This is insane!