CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Plots, Espionage and Kissing

Hermione broke with her rule for once. She sat on the edge of one of the windowsills in the boys' dormitory, swinging her legs, her eyes fixed on Ron's face. He was staring into mid-air with his forehead creased in thought, and an adorable tendril of thick red hair flopped across his right eye giving him a rakish appearance. For once, she was finding it hard to concentrate on the matter in hand. At regular intervals, Harry would pass between her and the object of her attention as he paced the length of the room, and it was in those brief moments that she forced her mind back to what was being discussed.

"I don't get it," said Ron, suddenly. He flicked the tendril of hair out of his line of vision. "Who the heck is this woman?"

Nobody answered, and for a moment it seemed that his question had gone unheeded until Harry came to a standstill at the foot of the bed.

"To be honest, Ron, I'm more bothered about Malfoy."

Hermione gave a concurrent nod from her vantage point. "Truth is here to help The Order, Malfoy - well, he isn't, is he? He might be doing all sorts of damage."

"Like what? What can he do?"

He looked directly at her for the first time since his ambiguous statement in the common room earlier that evening. She managed to answer without a trace of emotion. "Well, we all know Lucius Malfoy is the world's greatest Death Eater. Anything Draco can find out about The Order would be helpful to him."

"Yes, that's a point," said Harry, thoughtfully. "We still don't know where the rest of The Order is, do we? Remember what Remus told us before we left The Burrow? The Order is re-establishing a headquarters and planned to meet this week!"

"Perhaps that's why Remus and Sirius weren't here today," suggested Hermione, dropping to her feet.

Harry shook his head. "No, Snape and McGonagall were here all day. I think the new headquarters is here."

"Hogwarts?"

"Doesn't it make sense?" Harry resumed his pacing, gesturing randomly with his hands as he spoke. "Hogwarts is the safest place in the country, more or less. I mean, it's one of the few places which could be used as a fortress or a hiding place in an emergency. Think of all the protective spells it has!"

Hermione let out an excited squeal. "Yes! I read about those in Hogwarts: A History. There are over four hundred different spells in place all over the castle and the grounds, and nothing can penetrate them because there are so many!"

Ron's expression shifted into a sly grin. "And of course, nobody can Apparate inside the grounds."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. "Finally!" she exclaimed. "You remembered!"

Oh my God, I wish he wouldn't smile at me like that when there's someone else in the room!

"And not only that, but look at all the secrets it has," Harry went on. "Do you remember Dumbledore himself saying that he still didn't know everything there was to know about Hogwarts, even after all the years he's been here. Even the Marauders never knew about the Founders' Rooms!"

Ron leaned his chin on his hand. "Mmm. It's perfect, really, isn't it? It's big, it's well-protected, it's got Dumbledore in it - what more do you need?"

"Order members," said Harry. "If we're right then the place will be swarming with Order members within the next few days, and Malfoy will have a field day snooping around. Even several dozen Aurors couldn't arrive at the castle unseen. Especially since they can't Apparate."

"Yeah, I was wondering when you two were going to spot the Slytherin element," said Ron, narrowing his eyes. "A quarter of the wizarding world is made up of them, and I doubt there's a place anywhere in the world with so many gathered in one building as Hogwarts! Loads of them have Death Eater parents! It's the stupidest idea I've ever heard bringing The Order here!"

"We're just going to have to watch Malfoy," declared Hermione, firmly. "He's Head Boy, he's Mr Popular - he'll be the one in charge of any Slytherin conspiracy."

"Oh yeah, and that's going to be easy!" snorted Ron. "How can we possibly tail him all the time? Not even Harry's cloak can get us in and out of the Slytherin common room every night of the year!"

"Don't be obtuse, Ron," said Hermione. "We won't have to do that."

"No?"

"He can only cause trouble by spying on the fourth floor, which he can only do effectively at night. Even then, as long as he doesn't inform his father about what he's found out, there's no danger. So we just have to make sure he doesn't inform his father."

Ron stared at her for a moment, and then fell back onto the bed with a groan of hysterical laughter.

"Well, if you've got a plan about how to manage that, 'Mione, then let us know sometime," said Harry, viewing Ron's shaking form with consternation. "Right now I think we're about to be interrupted."

The door swung open, admitting Dean, Seamus and Neville.

"Sorry to barge in," said Dean, stifling a yawn. "But I'm knackered. Sod off, Hermione."

Hermione poked her tongue out at him as he collapsed onto his bed, and stalked out without another word.

"Where have you three been?" inquired Ron, suspiciously.

"Around," replied Dean, tossing his discarded garments onto the floor.

"We had a nice moonlight game of Quidditch, if you must know," said Seamus, with a meaningful glance at Harry.

"How romantic," murmured Harry, making for the bathroom door. Six years of practice had taught him that speed and cunning was of the essence if one wanted a hot shower and dry towels and an atmosphere that wasn't damp with steam.

"It's pitch black, how could you see?" asked Ron, balancing precariously on the foot of his bed.

Dean sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well," he began, seriously, "it's like this, Ron. We stood in a line on the Quidditch pitch and raised our hands to the sky and cried in tribal chants: 'Oh magnificent Sun, give us light to play Quidditch by!' - " He paused to leisurely swipe Ron across the back of the head. "Magic, you twat! What did you think?"

Seamus snorted with laughter. "Perhaps we could conjure up a practice timetable too!"

Harry whirled round and planted his hands on his hips. "OK, fine. You win! I'll do the damned timetable now, before I sleep. Does that suit you?"

Seamus slapped him on the back and grinned. "Cheers, mate. See you tomorrow!"

Three sets of bed curtains closed with a clatter, leaving Ron and Harry staring at each other across the room.

***

Hermione stopped on the other side of the boys' door, considering her options. She wouldn't sleep if she went up to bed - there were too many things buzzing in her head. To sit up until the small hours with a huge mug of hot chocolate, chatting woman to woman like she did at home with her mother - that would be nice.

A slight sound on the lower stairs caught her attention just in time for her to spot Ginny creeping down into the common room, as noiselessly as an owl.

"And where are you off to, Miss Weasley?" she inquired, leaning against the archway.

Ginny whirled around and let out a sigh of relief when she saw who it was. "Nowhere. I just couldn't sleep and I fancied a cup of tea."

"That's handy," said Hermione with a smile. She flicked her wand and two enormous mugs appeared on the coffee table beside the fire. "Help yourself! Give me thirty seconds and I'll change into my pyjamas." She dashed up the stairs and crept into the dormitory she shared with Parvati and Lavender - both fast asleep with the curtains of their beds closed. Hermione could hear Lavender snoring slightly, and closed the door as quietly as she could as she tiptoed out onto the stairs.

"You're a useful little thing to have around the place, 'Mione," said Ginny, as they settled into their armchairs sipping their drinks.

"Well, I do my best."

"What are you doing up so late anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "The boys managed to get me riled up again. Why is it that whenever I'm in the same room as your brother for more than twenty minutes at a time, I come out feeling like I've recited the dictionary?"

Ginny laughed. "You probably have! I apologise for his idiocy. I can't imagine where he gets it from."

Hermione stared into space over the rim of her mug, hoping she wasn't blushing. The memory of that sly smile and that rakish tendril of hair would come back to haunt her for a good many nights to come. "It's odd, actually. He was making quite a lot of sense tonight."

"What were you talking about?"

Hermione explained how they had found Malfoy sneaking around the fourth floor that evening, and their suspicions about the new Order headquarters. Ginny remained in rapt silence until she finished.

"And now they think there's going to be a mass uprising of Slytherins which we alone are going to combat!" She rolled her eyes.

"They're only kids, most of them," Ginny pointed out. "Draco is the only one who could do any real damage, his father being what he is."

"Exactly."

"I could watch him," suggested Ginny, averting her eyes.

Hermione studied her face, wreathed in shadow. She was wrapped in a grey and green tartan blanket, her fiery hair lying loose over her shoulders and breast. The strands of coppery red glittered gold where they caught the light of the fire, darkening her eyes and bringing a rich glow to her cheekbones. She looked like a Medieval queen giving orders for execution or war.

"I have to confess that I did consider that," admitted Hermione, hesitantly. "But on top of everything else that's the last thing you need."

"Where's the difficulty? I see him so often as it is. It would be giving the torturous hours I have to spend alone with him a real meaning."

Hermione fancied that the slight movement of Ginny's lips and the glint in her eyes that accompanied it were indications that if Ginny couldn't deal with Draco Malfoy, no woman alive could do it.

"You're a braver woman than I am," she said after a while. "And I don't want you to do it. Ron will kill us both if he finds out, and Harry will dismember our remains and curse us into eternity. They both drive me mad most of the time, but I'd rather not make either of them mad if I can help it."

Ginny considered. "They still don't know, do they?"

Hermione shook her head. "No - although Harry thinks you're carrying on an illicit relationship with Malfoy."

"He doesn't!" exclaimed Ginny, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Yeah, he does. And he'll rip Malfoy to shreds if he gives him half an excuse."

Ginny leaned back in her chair with a sigh, her gaze fixed on the wall behind Hermione.

"Don't you think you should tell him?" persisted Hermione.

"Tell him what?"

"Everything?"

"No, not yet. You know what he'd say, and Ron too."

"You can't keep this charade up forever!"

"No, but I can keep it up as long as I can until one of them finds out. Which will probably be at the Christmas Ball."

Hermione stared. "Christmas Ball? There's a Christmas Ball?"

Ginny's set face softened into a smile. "Yes. We were told today by Dumbledore. He's going to make an announcement tomorrow at breakfast."

"Oh Merlin, that's the last thing we need!"

"How do you mean?"

Hermione could hardly give credit to the situation. Surely Ginny wasn't so obtuse as she failed to recognise the extent of Harry's feelings for her? But then - she thought, pensively - perhaps it's a Weasley family trait. "Think about it - Malfoy will be leering at you all night long, and you won't be able to fight him off if he catches you in a corner, and you'll probably have to dance with him in front of everyone. Which means Ron will be unbearable all evening and Harry will go outside before ten o'clock and start throwing things. Ginny - this is bad!"

Ginny waved her hand impatiently. "Oh, you can handle Ron and Harry! And don't worry about Malfoy." Her eyes narrowed again with that menacing cunning. "I can handle him!"

Hermione sat back and viewed her through coils of steam rising from her mug, a wide grin lighting up her features. More than ever Ginny looked the regal Medieval queen, with Draco as the unfortunate enemy. Hermione half expected to see her click her fingers and summon a guard to bring the death warrant for her to sign with a satisfied flourish. "You know what, Ginny Weasley? I think Mr Malfoy is about to meet his match."

Ginny smiled back.

***

Ron ran his eyes suspiciously over Hermione as she joined them in the Great Hall. The Gryffindor seventh years were almost the last ones left eating breakfast, except for a few small groups scattered across the other three House tables.

"You're late," he said, arching an eyebrow.

"Don't lecture, Ron," she sighed, reaching for the toast rack.

"Where were you this morning? Harry and I waited for you for over half an hour in the common room, didn't we, Harry?"

"Mmm," muttered Harry, automatically. He had no idea what he was responding to, since Ginny had followed Hermione in and was sitting a little way away between Neville and Dean.

She looked tired, he thought. There was something dull about her usually bright eyes, but she covered it well. She always managed to look beautiful.

"Ginny and I were talking, if you must know," Hermione was saying, heatedly.

Ron scowled. "And I suppose you're not going to explain why she's acting so strangely?"

"No, I'm not, and don't bully her."

"I never bully her!"

Harry sighed and refilled his mug with coffee. His head was throbbing, and all he could see in his mind was the image of that Quidditch timetable, etched into his brain after over an hour of concentration in the middle of the night. That, of course, and Ginny. She was never out of his head for a single moment.

He listened to Ron and Hermione exchanging the usual arguments. They had moved on from Ginny now, and were on the subject of the Christmas Ball.

That had been a bombshell. Dumbledore had announced it before the girls had come down, and suddenly the Great Hall had been filled with excited mutterings and discussion about dresses and hairstyles and so on. How Hermione had got to hear about it was a mystery to him, but still - she was always knowing things she shouldn't know about.

"You look exhausted, Harry," she said after a while. Evidently she had won the argument, judging by Ron's slightly flushed face and glaring eyes. He felt a cool hand on his shoulder.

"Quidditch timetable," he replied, anticipating her next question. It wasn't an entire lie - he had been working late on the timetable - but the hours between two and four had been spent lying awake thinking about Ginny. The recurring dream had kept him from sleeping - Ginny dancing in his arms under the stars, dressed in a filmy gold ball-gown with her head resting on his shoulder. Always the same dream, every night, always ending the same way. She would gaze up at him, a few stray tendrils of hair escaping from her elegant chignon and falling across her temples, and she would say, 'Harry - what's that star up there? That really bright one above the Astronomy Tower?'. He would follow her gaze up into the skies as they stopped dancing, returning his eyes to her beautiful face and speaking softly while he tilted her head upwards to him. 'Venus ascending'. Every time he would wake up suddenly, just as his lips touched hers.

After the first few times he had started to believe that it was a product of his frustrated desires at his birthday party. The situation was the same - Ginny in his arms while they danced. It was even the same song playing. But everything else was different.

He pushed his coffee mug away and rose to his feet quickly.

"I'll catch you later, 'Mione," he said. "Quidditch practise in an hour, Ron."

They stared at his departing back.

"Is he OK?" Hermione asked, leaning across the table and speaking in a low voice that only Ron could hear.

"Bad dreams," replied Ron, also leaning forward.

"Bad dreams! You mean he's having his old nightmares?"

"No, not those bad dreams. He was tossing and turning quite a bit, but he always does these days. I saw him get up and walk around the room for quite a while in the small hours. He was pretty stressed."

"Did you talk to him?"

Ron frowned. They had exchanged a few hesitant, unenlightening phrases on the top of the tower, but he couldn't very well tell Hermione that. The principle reason for them sneaking up there was so Harry could get some air and he could have a cigarette without anyone knowing.

"Nah, not really," he replied. "But I think it's Ginny. Seriously 'Mione, can't you persuade her to - I don't know - do something?"

Hermione's lips twitched in the manner he always found achingly attractive. "Like throw herself on him one night and start declaring her undying love? Really, Ron, that's not such a good idea."

"No, I meant disillusion him of this stupid idea he's got that she's seeing Malfoy. It's killing him!"

Hermione stared at him suspiciously. "You don't seem worried."

He shrugged. "I know my sister. Whatever else she may be doing with Malfoy it's not snogging him - of that I am certain!"

"We need to engineer a situation then, don't we?"

"He could try asking her to the Ball, I suppose. That's generally considered to be a romantic attention."

Hermione didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice, and she glared at him. "Don't you dare rake all that up again, Weasley."

He feigned incredulousness. "What?"

"You know perfectly well what! If you so much as mention a certain Bulgarian Seeker I will strangle you!"

"Oh, you mean Vicky!"

He had meant it as a provocation, and expected a verbal onslaught all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, and was therefore quite surprised when she rose to her feet and viewed him through narrowed eyes. She turned and walked slowly towards the Entrance Hall, her head held high. He decided to follow in silence, waiting for her to speak first.

"Ron Weasley, you git!" she yelled, rounding on him as he placed a foot on the bottom step of the Marble Staircase. She was the same height as him now, standing a couple of steps higher up, which made counter attack rather difficult as she leapt upon him.

"Ouch! 'Mione, get off!"

Eventually he caught her and pinned her between the bannister and himself, holding her wrists tightly behind her back. She giggled as he towered over her again. Her hair had come loose, and she looked so sweet and vulnerable. The temptation just to kiss her right then and there was horrifyingly strong.

"Mr Weasley! Miss Granger!"

Professor McGonagall stood at the foot of the stairs, extremely shocked and put out. "If you don't mind, would you please refrain from that kind of behaviour on the staircase? Off to your common room, at once!"

She shooed them upwards, and they broke into a run as they gained the first floor.

"Ooops!" said Ron, taking her hand and pulling her along with him.

"We're lucky that didn't get us detention, Ron!"

"Oh, stop worrying!"

"Detention, Ron!"

"You started it!"

"No, I didn't! You said the V-word and I warned you not to!"

"Why didn't you want me to say it?" He slowed his pace and glanced sideways at her. She blushed.

"Because we've already argued about it and there's nothing left to say."

"Did you like him?"

Her heart stopped. Never, never, ever had he been so blunt before.

"I - er - I, I mean - no, no, not like that!"

Anything else she meant to add went unsaid, because suddenly she found herself unable to utter a word.

Ron pulled her behind a tall marble statue and took her face in his hands. His warm lips pressed against hers before she could register what was happening.

Her back sank against the stone wall and she reached a hand out behind her to brace herself, the other clutching Ron's shoulder. If he let go of her now she would collapse onto the floor in an inelegant heap of hormones and liquidised limbs. What had begun as firm but chaste abruptly became passionate as she felt the delicate touch of his tongue running along her sensitive lower lip. This wasn't the first time she had been kissed - Victor had made a couple of clumsy attempts a few years before - but this was like nothing she had ever felt, made all the more intense by it's spontaneity and unexpectedness.

A small group of second year Ravenclaw girls hurried past, giggling and nudging each other. They stared rather rudely until they turned the corner.

Forced by the inconvenient need for air, Ron drew away. He gazed down into her face, flushed with heat. Her hair had fallen free of its ponytail now, and he found the limp band tangled around his fingers from where he had pulled it out in the force of the kiss. Her lips were slightly swollen and shiny with moisture, beckoning him to repeat the gesture.

"Gods, 'Mione, I'm sorry," he said, in a choked voice. He had to get away, and fast. She was driving him wild, and she would probably hit him at any moment if he gauged her astonished expression correctly.

It's OK - really, it's OK. I've wanted this for so long.

At least, that was what she ought to have said. In actual fact what came out of her mouth was more along the lines of a muffled squeak and the single word 'It's'. Not very edifying or useful, but for some reason her tongue wouldn't do what her brain was telling it. Forming the correct words, that is.

He had backed away looking aghast, fleeing into the distance before she could get out a coherent sentence. Disappointment washed over her like a tidal wave, and she stood against the statue, too shocked to move.

Perhaps this was how Ginny felt after Harry's birthday - she thought. Suddenly horribly empty and bruised. But then, Harry hadn't actually kissed her.

Conflicting feelings succeeded in temporarily numbing her confusion, and she made her way slowly up towards Gryffindor Tower. She needed Ginny.

Ginny would know what to do.