Author's Note: I know this chapter is awful - please don't hate me for it. It has given me such agony, and it's taken so long, and I've been absolutely freaking out about it, so...yeeeah. It sucks. I'm forewarning you. I apologize wholeheartedly.
And Ron and Hermione are being mean to me, too, which is most unexpected. Usually I can write them easily, but in this chapter they're terribly OOC. Please, please try to ignore that, for your own sanity's sake.
Also, I didn't bother to proofread, since I desperately just want to get this chapter out of the way and never think about it again. So I apologize for any grammatical errors, etc.
Chapter Nine: Complications, Revelations, and All That Jazz
(Or 'THIS DAMN THING TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE AND YOU'D BETTER BE THANKFUL FOR IT', which is the title that Milla suggested. I rather like it.)
He didn't know why the memory plagued him so persistently.
During Voldemort's rising, Harry had witnessed countless awful things; he'd seen fellow classmates slaughtered, people he cared about in pain...
And yet none of those things haunted him.
Not as the Dark Lord's downfall haunted him.
It had been rather uneventful, considering it had happened to him. Harry had always imagined (quite horrified) that Voldemort's downfall would be filled with bloodshed and pain, lasting for a vast amount of time and quite probably taking Harry's life.
None of those things had happened.
And perhaps that was why it plagued him.
It seemed as though the Dark Lord had never really fallen; the big, climactic event that Harry had always expected hadn't come.
And then there were his last words, echoing through Harry's mind even after he'd awoken.
'Fate...fate will take its course, Harry Potter. And our fight has only begun.'
Fate.
One word, lingering in silvery smoke aside the Dark Lord's mark.
Fate.
Shivering, Harry tried to shake the thoughts from his mind as he rose quietly from bed. He took his glasses from the bedside table and put them on before creeping out into the kitchen. There was only one known remedy to rid him of bad memories, and that was a huge slab of Honeydukes chocolate and a bottle of butterbeer.
Upon entering the kitchen, he found that Ginny was sitting at the counter and consuming those very things.
"That'd better not be the last one," he whispered, nodding toward the butterbeer.
"Fear not," Ginny responded with a wry smile. "There's one more."
"Thank God," Harry said, grinning back. "You scared me there for a minute."
He retrieved the last butterbeer from the counter and twisted it open, feeling its soothing, familiar warmth rush through him as he took a long sip.
"Chocolate?" Ginny asked, holding a piece out to him.
"Don't mind if I do," he responded, taking it from her. He sunk down onto the stool next to hers and they sat in silence for a moment.
"Couldn't sleep?" he finally inquired.
Ginny nodded. "What about you?"
"Same."
Harry was quiet for a moment. He found himself wanting to talk to her about it, how it haunted him - wanted to ask if she couldn't forget it as well. He'd never talked to anyone about it before, but now...There was something almost intoxicating about telling her. Telling Ginny was different than telling anyone else - Ginny had had encounters with Voldemort like he had. Ginny would understand.
But as he opened his mouth to speak, her voice filled the room.
"Do you ever remember it? Like, really remember it? As though it's happening all over again?"
Harry nodded, feeling inexplicably relieved.
"He....Sometimes when I sleep, I relive it," Ginny continued softly, absently twirling a scarlet strand of hair around her finger as she stared upward into nothingness. "I don't like remembering."
Something occurred to Harry that hadn't before.
"What happened, when he came?" he asked curiously. "Before I got to the Chamber? How did he get you down there?"
Ginny paused - he wondered if he shouldn't have asked.
"I..." she said weakly, voice almost desperate. "I..."
"You don't have to tell me," Harry cut in quickly. "If you don't want to, I mean. I was just wondering...I always wondered..."
"No, it's all right," Ginny said softly. "It's just..." She took a deep breath. "I went on my own."
Harry blinked. "What?"
Ginny sighed. The sound almost seemed to echo in the quiet night air. "I...when he rose to power, I felt it. When he was angry, I felt it. When he killed, I felt it." She bit her lip. "I suppose it's because of the diary, in my first year. And I sensed him there, and I...I wanted him so badly, and..." Her gaze had fallen to the floor - he saw that her cheeks had flushed in humiliation. "He...he was part of me. I went down to the Chamber...I can barely remember it now. But I saw him and..." She sighed again, this time almost inaudibly. "I felt as though I'd been missing a piece of me for so long. It was an insane sense of bliss...something I'd never felt before. It was almost overwhelming - just this feeling that I'd never need anything again, as long as I had him."
A long silence enveloped them, and Harry averted his gaze from her; she looked as though she was almost in a trance.
"And then he..." she paused, as though mustering up her courage. "And then he kissed me." She shuddered involuntarily. "It was awful; like my blood turned to ice. I'd never felt more cold...more scared. And then I remembered you, and I knew you were going to come, and...and I told him that you were coming, and you'd save me, and you'd defeat him." Another pause. "And he just laughed. It didn't sound like his voice - it was so cold and cruel. And he asked me, 'Do you really believe that your dear Harry Potter is some sort of god? That he's immune to me? My dear, sweet Virginia, how little you know.'"
She didn't look like herself anymore, as she talked. Her eyes had a strange glint that looked so utterly unlike her - her voice was cold. Harry felt fear ease up inside of him as he watched her.
"'He will join me, Virginia,'" she continued, very softly. "'He won't refuse me....Just as you won't refuse me, my dear, sweet Virginia.'"
A shiver shook her body as the words left her mouth; she looked so frail and small that Harry found himself wanting to protect her somehow.
But you can't, he told himself sternly. You can't protect her from something that isn't there. She doesn't need protecting anymore.
But she certainly looked as though she needed it now. She didn't even look like herself. Yes, she was still Ginny, with the petite form and the flaming hair-
But there was something in her eyes that scared him. Normally a sparkling chocolate brown, they suddenly looked dull.
Deadened.
"Ginny," he said tentatively, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said. Her voice was cold. Not cruelly so. Just cold.
The words she had spoken moments ago rang in his ears, in the voice that wasn't her own...
'Just as you won't refuse me, my dear, sweet Virginia.'
And suddenly, things all focused in his mind - a frightening clarity took over him, a fear seized up inside of him; icy dread mingling with a livid, hot anger. Surely Voldemort hadn't...he couldn't have...
"Ginny," he spoke her name again. "He didn't...?"
"It doesn't matter," she whispered, gaze averted. "It's in the past." Almost subconsciously, her hand flew to her neck, fingertips lightly grazing pale skin.
And for an instant, her hand disappeared, replaced by another...long, thin fingers encircled her throat...she shivered, and a sickened certainty filled him.
"He did," he whispered hoarsely.
"Harry, it doesn't matter-"
"Does anyone know?" Harry asked, heart beginning to race. "Did you ever tell anyone? Ron? Hermione? I-"
"Stop," Ginny requested simply.
"Ginny." His hands were trembling with silent fury now. "How....how could you just stay quiet? How could you just let him-"
"Harry, it's in the past." She sounded very tired. "There's nothing that can be done. I don't want to think about it."
She looked so saddened, so utterly...old. Jaded. Harry didn't like seeing her like this. She'd always seemed so young to him; so sweet and vulnerable and alive.
And the Dark Lord had ruined that. She had been forced for the past five years to live with agonizing memories that existed only within herself: no one deserved that eternal torment.
If only he had gotten there sooner. He could have prevented this. He could have saved her.
But he hadn't.
"I'm sorry," he said numbly.
"For what?" she asked, voice expressionless.
"I....I didn't save you," he said weakly.
She shrugged. "You can't save everyone."
A horrible, sinking sensation filled his stomach - guilt had enveloped him in its suffocating embrace, and didn't show any sign of relenting.
She gave him a weak smile and placed a hand lightly on his arm. "It's over, Harry. I'm fine."
He nodded, her words barely registering in his mind.
Sighing, Ginny leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "Please don't worry."
She rose quietly and left the kitchen, the shadow of her kiss still tingling on his face.
A sudden thought came to him, and he tiptoed out into the hall behind her, leaving the chocolate and butterbeer completely forgotten.
She stood leaning against the wall, head in her hands.
"Ginny," Harry said softly, taking a few tentative steps toward her.
She didn't reply.
"Ginny, it was Cryssa, wasn't it?" he asked. "Who conjured the Dark Mark earlier?"
Of course it was Cryssa. He didn't even know why he was bringing this up - it was a subject that obviously pained her, and he was only making it worse. Why couldn't he ever shut up when he was so clearly supposed to? Was it healthy to be this stupid? Was it possible? Did he-
"Harry."
The sound of her voice immediately brought him from his self-bashing reverie.
"When...." she sighed and ran a hand through her scarlet hair, still eyeing the floor. "When Tom....when Voldemort was defeated, he didn't disappear completely." She looked up at him - it struck him how tired her face was. "There are still traces of him left behind....In you-" her gaze flew to his scar, "...In me."
"Ginny," Harry said, startled.
Oh God. She couldn't actually think he'd done this...could she?
"Ginny," he said again, desperately, "I didn't conjure the Dark Mark. I didn't, I would never-"
"I know," she said, very simply. "Good night, Harry."
And she disappeared down the pitch black hallway. Harry stared after her in disbelief, her words echoing through his mind.
In you...
In me.
*
House cleaning.
No words in the vernacular could express how much she hated house cleaning.
Perhaps hated was too weak a word. Detested! Despised! Loathed with the passion of a thousand endlessly smoldering suns!
Yes, the last one fit quite nicely.
And of course Harry oh-so-conveniently had to work the lunch shift at the Three Broomsticks, leaving Ginny the privilege of being able to clean all by herself.
Yay.
Running a hand through her hair, she pointed her wand at the tattered dishrag and muttered "Pannus actus". The rag obediently began to scrub the kitchen counter, and Ginny continued to wash the dishes. She didn't trust them to wash themselves - the last time she'd attempted that spell, she'd wound up with a lot of broken china and a not-so-thrilled Mrs. Weasley.
Ron and Hermione were arriving that evening from Hogwarts - apparently, McGonagall had given them the Christmas holidays off so that they could arrange their wedding, which was set to take place on New Year's.
And so Ginny got to clean the house.
She was downright positive that Ron wouldn't care whether it was spotless or an absolute wreck, but she wasn't as sure about Hermione, who seemed to be just a bit of a neat freak. It was best, Ginny had decided, not to take any chances.
Ginny didn't mind it, really, despite the heated proclamations of loathing that zoomed around her mind. It kept her thoughts away from...things. Away from that Mark, and that memory, and....
She shivered involuntarily, and immediately hated herself for doing it.
He wasn't there anymore.
He was just a memory.
She hadn't thought of him for so long - she'd simply willed him out of her mind, and obediently, he'd gone.
She wasn't about to let him come back anytime soon.
"Done," she muttered as she rinsed the last dish. Allowing herself a little victory dance, she announced, "Time to move on to the living room."
Upon entering the living room, however, she discovered that a certain someone had already made himself very much at home.
"Your fireplace was open," Draco Malfoy informed her in a deadpan from where he sat on the sofa.
"Great," Ginny replied dryly. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Just felt like dropping by," Draco replied. He studied her quickly, a smirk coming to his lips at her disheveled appearance. "Lookin' good, Weasley."
"What is that, tradition?" Ginny demanded in irritation.
"Well, I know how you love it," he said, grinning in an extremely aggravating manner. "So, house cleaning?"
Ginny nodded. "House cleaning, self torture, it's all the same."
"Care for some help?"
"Nah, I think I've got it under control."
"Good," Draco said smugly, "Because I wasn't going to."
Ginny smirked. "I bet you've never even washed a dish."
"Am I supposed to?" he asked innocently.
Ginny shook her head in disgust. "Or made a bed..."
"Servants exist for a reason, Weasley."
"Bastard," she muttered, just conveniently loud enough for him to hear.
Draco rose from the sofa and took a few mock-threatening steps toward her. "What was that, Weasley?"
She smiled innocently. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Draco dear."
He continued to approach her. "Are you sure?"
She nodded, widening her eyes. "Oh, yes. Positive."
"You may as well confess your vile name-calling act now, Weasley." Malfoy grinned lazily. "Or I just might have to resort to drastic measures."
"Oooh, I'm scared," she deadpanned.
"You should be, Weasley," Draco said. "Prepare to experience torture in its finest hour...its most terrifying form..."
"George singing?" Ginny suggested.
Draco sneered. "No, Weasley. It's far surpassed that." He lowered his voice and whispered, quite dangerously, "Prepare to be....tickled."
She snorted. "Rictusempra away, baby."
Gray eyes dancing mischievously, he announced, "I prefer to do it the Muggle way."
And with that, he lunged forward and jabbed his fingers against her ribs, tickling her violently.
"This...is so not...Slytherin-style badass of you...Malfoy," Ginny gasped between bouts of laughter. "Stop...you'll ruin your reputation...major blackmail..."
"What did you call me, Weasley?" Malfoy asked slyly, tickling her even more insistently.
"Bastard!" she yelped, swatting at him lightly with her hands. "Bastard bastard bastard bastard bastard!"
He drew away from her, smiling in an infuriatingly satisfied manner. "That's what I thought you said."
She pulled a face at him, but he paid no mind - instead, he looked around the living room. The television in the corner seemed to strike his interest.
"Hey," he said, "Is this one of those teleseer things?"
"Teleseer?" Ginny repeated, not able to hold back laughter. "Television, you mean?"
"Whatever," he said. "I don't bother with Muggle trash. What are you doing with one of these, anyway?"
"It's Harry's," she informed him. Draco's lip curled in a sneer of dislike immediately, but she ignored him. "It's quite neat, actually. Hermione lent us some great films."
"Films?" he repeated blankly.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "This is sad. Truly sad."
"Excuse me, Weasley," he snapped, "But any self-respecting wizard wouldn't own pathetic Muggle forms of entertainment."
Ginny smiled deviously at him. "I bet you'd like it."
Draco snorted. "Yeah, right."
"No," Ginny argued. "You would. Seriously. Let's watch something."
"I thought you were supposed to clean the house?" he asked, shiftily eyeing the not-particularly-messy room.
She shrugged. "I'll straighten up while we watch it." She paused. "Are you...scared?"
"Scared?" he smirked. "Me? Of a teleseer?"
"Television."
"Whatever," he snapped. "Come on, Weasley, you must be insane if you think I'm scared of...that."
"Well, then, that settles it," Ginny said, snatching up My Fair Lady from the stack of videos next to the TV. "I'm just going to have to test how much of a man you are."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Prepare to experience....My Fair Lady," she said, tempted to add a melodramatic 'dun dun DUN!' at the end but resisting the urge.
"My Fair....Lady?" he repeated skeptically.
"It's a musical," Ginny informed him, beaming.
"Musical?"
"They sing," Ginny said. "Randomly. Just burst out into song. It's great."
Draco blinked as Ginny popped the tape into the VCR and the sweeping overture filled the room. Ginny began to hum along loudly as she sank down next to him, for the sole purpose of scaring him as much as humanely possible.
"What's wrong with you, Weasley?" he demanded.
She smiled sweetly. "Nothing."
*
"Harr-yyyy!"
Harry rolled his eyes and continued to wipe down the counter. The Three Broomsticks was buzzing with the merry laughter and lighthearted conversations of its customers, who were scattered around the dimly lit pub. It was all in all a pleasant atmosphere, one that he usually didn't mind. Normally, he could tolerate his job - it wasn't all that demanding, and Madame Rosmerta often sent home free packs of butterbeer with him.
But normally, Susan wasn't here.
"Harry, this is so boring!" she whined, rapidly drumming her lurid pink nails against the counter. "Can't we leave?"
"Susan," he said impatiently, "I'm working."
"When do you stop working?"
"Thirty seconds less than the time I told you half a minute ago," he replied through gritted teeth.
She glared at him, and he gave her a very broad, very forced grin in return.
"I don't know why I put up with you," she sneered.
Ooooh. This could be good. Very good. If he made her angry enough, he might have a Susan-free Christmas.
What he needed now was a bona fide, genuine, wretchedly dramatic public break-up.
And yes, this situation definitely had potential.
"Then maybe you shouldn't put up with me," he replied, rather unenthusiastically. How many times had they had this conversation?
Susan paused, apparently considering his words.
Come on, Harry urged silently. You're angry. You hate me. I'm the worst boyfriend in the history of the universe.
She narrowed her eyes.
Go on...yell out something dramatic for the whole pub to hear...cry...dump me...hate me.
Susan seemed to make up her mind...
Hate the Harry...hate the Harry...
...And to his utter dismay, she smiled.
Dammit.
"You know I adore you, Harry," she cooed. "I'd never let anything come between us during the holidays!"
"Last Christmas you hurled a chocolate cake at my head," Harry volunteered hopefully.
"Oh, that's all in the past," she said amiably. (Harry groaned.) "So, what are we doing for Christmas this year?"
Oh. Great.
"Erm," he said, "Actually, Ginny and I are having Ron and Hermione come to stay."
Susan wrinkled her perfectly shaped nose.
"Ew," she said. "That bushy haired know-it-all and the redheaded sleazeball who's always ogling me?"
"They're my best friends," Harry reminded her tersely.
"Why?" Susan demanded. "Aurgh, Harry, don't let them come. That Hermione Granger hates me."
"...Er," Harry said intelligently. Susan had, quite miraculously, been right about that. During Harry's birthday party earlier that year, Susan had taken Hermione aside and lectured her on proper hair care and its longtime benefits. ("Guys might actually be interested in you if you did something about that frizz fest." A look of sheer incredulity from Hermione - "I know, I know, it seems, like, completely impossible, but dare to dream!") To top off the evening from hell, Susan had flirted shamelessly with Ron, which Ron hadn't exactly disliked.
Yup, it was safe to say that Hermione wasn't one of Susan's biggest fans.
"Well," Harry said helpfully, "Didn't your family want to see you this Christmas?"
Susan smiled. "I'd rather be with you."
"Don't say that," Harry said desperately. "Christmas is a time for family!"
"Then why aren't you spending Christmas with your family?" Susan asked, looking rather triumphant.
"My family is dead, Susan," he reminded her shortly.
"Oh, yeah," she said, apparently not the least bit aware that she'd struck a nerve. "Right."
"Right," he echoed in a rather menacing growl.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. "Is something wrong?"
No, Susan, nothing's wrong. Nothing at all. First, you blatantly insult my best friends, and then you apparently find nothing wrong with reminding me that my parents are, in fact, dead. Nothing wrong indeed.
"Maybe you should go," Harry said weakly.
"What?" she asked, alarmed. "Why?"
That was a good question. The obvious answer was 'you're annoying the hell out of me, that's why', but he couldn't very well tell her that. His eyes fell upon her tacky fingernails, and he asked at once:
"Didn't you have a manicure appointment this afternoon?"
She studied him in confusion. "No, I don't think so."
"Well, er," he bit his lip. "Maybe you...should get one? That pink nail polish really isn't working for you."
Susan gasped in horror.
Bwahaha. Jackpot.
"How...dare...you?!" she demanded, positively seething. "I can't believe you just said that. Tell me that you did not just say that."
"I did not just say that," he replied obediently.
"Yes you did!" she wailed. "Harry, I can't believe you. I really can't. You have to be the most awful boyfriend on the face of this planet."
He resisted the urge to grin broadly and instead said, very tonelessly, "No, Susan. Please stay. Don't get angry about this."
"You brought this on yourself, Harry Potter!" she screeched before promptly rising from the barstool where she sat and flouncing out of the pub. A few of the customers stared after her in interest before looking back at Harry.
"Nice girl you've got there," Rosmerta commented as she emerged from the back with a new jug of pumpkin juice.
Harry watched as she pranced out onto the street, staring at her fingernails and muttering to herself.
"Thanks."
*
Cryssa was utterly tired of this.
He had been seeing this Ginny girl for, what, three days?
Three days, and there had been an unhealthily drastic change in Draco Malfoy's personality.
Three days, and he was singing.
All right, he was humming. But it was still frightening nonetheless.
Draco Malfoy did not sing. Draco Malfoy did not hum. Anything that sounded remotely musical did not escape Draco Malfoy's lips.
...Until now, anyway.
"Have a nice time with your girlfriend?" she asked as he entered his bedchamber. She'd made herself at home for the last hour, lazily flipping through old spellbooks and collections of Shakespeare sonnets that Narcissa had forced him to memorize throughout his youth.
"Making yourself at home, Raine?" he demanded, smirking at her as he removed his cloak and tossed it carelessly aside.
She shrugged, stretching her arms above her head with a feline grace. "You like this girl, Malfoy?"
He groaned. "She made me watch My Fair Lady."
"Great," Cryssa said tonelessly. "And what the hell is that?"
"Some Muggle film," he said, sinking down next to her on the bed. "Everyone was....singing."
"Hellish," Cryssa commented.
"To the point of no return."
"You sure take a lot of abuse," she said. "You must really like this one, despite her numerous torture antics."
"She's sweet," he said simply.
Cryssa raised an eyebrow at him. "Sweet?"
He nodded, almost defensive. "So? Is there something wrong with that?"
"Nothing," she said innocently, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I just never would have expected Draco Malfoy to fall for....sweet."
"I never said I fell for her," he said calmly; she could tell that he was struggling to sound nonchalant.
"Some things don't have to be said," she informed him.
He seemed to consider her words for a moment. "Why do you keep harping on about this, Crys?"
"I don't know what you mean," she said at once. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was jealous or something of that ridiculous nature. She simply knew that it wasn't going to work. Quite frankly, she couldn't think of two people less suited for one another than Draco and that Weasley girl. It simply wasn't meant to be.
Fate wouldn't will it.
"Draco, you know why I don't want you to be with her," Cryssa said quietly. "You know why it won't work."
She felt him sit up a bit straighter next to her.
"She'll never forgive you if she finds out, Draco," Cryssa continued, her voice soft. She knew that he was hanging on her every word, though he did a good job of hiding it. "Even she's not that sweet. She'll hate you, Draco."
"She..." he said weakly. "Cryssa, I don't care. I don't want some kind of sappy sentimental relationship with her, all right? I don't fucking care."
"Don't swear."
"Fuck off."
Perfect. She had him now.
"You killed her brother, Draco," she said, allowing the tiniest bit of triumph to leak through in her silky tone. "You are the reason that Percy Weasley is dead. She is not going to forgive you."
"Get the fuck out of here," he ordered coldly.
Cryssa allowed a smug half-smile to toy around the corners of her lips. "Feeling guilty, are we, Draco?"
And with that, she left, deliberately leaving the door ajar.
She knew he was watching her.
She liked the idea.
*
"You're here!"
Ginny threw her arms around Hermione, and then her brother, both of who looked incredibly relieved to be away from Hogwarts.
"Thank you for having us come to stay," Hermione said, smiling. "I've been quite desperate for a break for a while now; it's so nice to just be able to relax over the holidays."
Ron, however, was surveying the living room rather critically.
"Ron?" Ginny asked.
"Has...he been here?" Ron demanded.
"Oh, honestly," Hermione said, elbowing him lightly in the stomach. "I thought we talked about this, Ron. Ginny's allowed to date whoever she wants to." Aside, she informed Ginny, "He's been taking this a bit hard."
"I can tell," Ginny whispered back.
"Ginny?" Harry called from the kitchen, "Are Ron and Hermione here?"
"Harry, mate," Ron yelled, immediately bounding toward the kitchen. "Has he been here? You have to keep him out of the house, Harry! Keep him away from her!"
"Oh, Lord," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes. "I can't believe him sometimes."
"He is a bit protective," Hermione said delicately.
"To the point where it's creepy," Ginny scowled. "Good God. I went out with Malfoy on Friday night. He came over to watch a movie today. It's not exactly a fiery and passionate love affair."
"He has a tendency to overreact," Hermione said. "Goodness, when I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor in fourth year, he went absolutely barking mad."
"That's because he was jealous and it's somewhat endearing," Ginny said. "In this case, he's just an idiot."
Hermione sighed. "I suppose so." She lowered her voice a bit. "So...what is happening between you and Draco?"
"Not much," Ginny said. "It really isn't as exciting as you all seem to expect it to be." A recollection from earlier that day came back to her. "Though he did - and this will make Ron's millennium - tickle me today."
"Tickle you?" Hermione repeated, disbelieving laughter escaping her lips. "Draco Malfoy? Tickling?"
Ginny nodded. "And then we watched My Fair Lady."
Hermione's mouth dropped open, and she immediately shoved her hand in front of it to stifle her laughter. "I don't suppose he enjoyed that."
"I think he did," Ginny said, giggling a little as well. "He smiled when Eliza came back at the end."
Hermione blinked. "You're not serious."
"I swear," Ginny said solemnly.
Hermione shook her head. "Ginny, you're certainly going to have some interesting effects on him."
*
"Here's the guest list that I have so far," Hermione said, handing the piece of paper to Ron. They'd just finished dinner, and had gathered around the living room for wedding preparations. Harry's two best friends sat on the sofa, Ron's arm slung casually over Hermione's shoulders, while Ginny had opted for the floor. She was currently driving Crookshanks mad with a piece of red ribbon which the cat seemed almost unhealthily insistent upon brutally murdering.
Harry himself had claimed the beat-up arm chair, and he was watching Ron and Hermione in amusement. An argument was brewing - he'd come to sense them over the years.
"I'm still surprised that Minerva said we could have the wedding at Hogwarts," Hermione said. "Not that I'm not excited about it, of course - it will be a bit strange to have all of the students there, though."
"Well, they all know about you guys already, don't they?" Harry asked. "I mean, it's a little hard to hide relationships for long at school, isn't it? If two teachers were madly in love, everyone'd know."
Ron and Hermione locked gazes and simultaneously burst into laughter. Harry and Ginny exchanged bewildered glances.
"Care to elaborate?" Ginny asked.
"Well...." Ron said, laughing, "It's...just...it's...oh, it's too foul...Snape..."
"Don't tell me this," Harry said immediately. "Tell me nothing that involves secret romances and Snape."
Hermione had apparently regained composure, and she asked, "Do you remember on that day when Snape was under the Commodus Dominatio, and he was going to kill Sinistra but faltered?"
Harry nodded.
"Well," Hermione said, smiling a bit, "When Dumbledore performed the counter curse - you were still asleep, in the Hospital Wing - Sinistra burst in, absolutely in hysterics, and..."
"-And laid this big old kiss on Snape," Ron cut in, still laughing. "It was bloody disturbing! And she goes, 'Sev, I love you, you idiot'." He burst into hysterics again, apparently not able to relay the whole tale with a straight face. "Sev! Sev! It was brilliant."
"And it turns out that they were together for years," Hermione continued. "Long before we even came to Hogwarts."
Harry blinked.
Well, that was some fascinating information that he really hadn't needed to know.
"What's this?" Ron asked incredulously, pointing to something written on the list Hermione had compiled.
She leaned over to see what he was pointing at.
"Severus Snape," she read out loud.
Harry laughed, but at once turned it into a cough; he didn't want to be caught by the wrath of Hermione.
"Hermione," Ron said, sounding alarmed, "Severus Snape is not coming to our wedding."
"Of course he is, Ron!" Hermione argued. "It would be impolite not to invite him! The wedding is at Hogwarts, where he happens to work! He'll be there!"
"But...it's our wedding, Hermione!" Ron cried. "He'll probably slip bloody poison into the champagne!"
"He will not," Hermione said irritably. "Hush up. He's coming, and that's that."
"Why do I put up with you?" Ron asked, kissing her hair.
"I should be asking you the same question," Hermione retorted, resting her head against his shoulder.
And suddenly, Harry felt strange simply being there. Ron and Hermione had always been his best friends throughout school, but he found himself realizing that they weren't anymore. They had been the Unstoppable Trio, best friends forever....
And now they were Ron and Hermione, soon-to-be newlyweds.
Oh, yes, and Harry. Harry, who they visited sometimes on holidays. Harry, that boy with the glasses and the scar. Oh, yes, he sounded vaguely familiar. Hadn't they used to know him? Weren't they sitting on his couch right now? Oh, yes, that's right, Harry that used to be their best friend. Harry who-
"Are you all right?"
Harry looked down to see Ginny studying him, her voice a soft whisper. Ron and Hermione apparently hadn't noticed, and continued alternately exchanging insults and kisses.
"Fine," Harry muttered back.
"Okay," she said, sounding unconvinced. "You just look a bit...perturbed."
He shrugged.
Ginny eyed him, concerned, for a moment more before saying loudly, "For the love of God, knock it off, you two. It's downright nauseating."
Harry flashed her a bit of a grateful smile, and she winked at him.
Ron and Hermione ceased obediently, immediately reviving their Snape 'to invite or not to invite' row.
And they're off, Harry thought glumly.
Again.
"Aurrrrgh," Ginny groaned, rather loudly. "I don't want to clean the kitchen." She widened her eyes slightly at Harry.
"Er....I'll do it?" he suggested. Ginny beamed, so he supposed that he'd answered correctly.
"Thanks, Harry," she said with a grateful smile. Then, very tersely, she ordered, "Ron, go help."
"Why?" Ron groaned. "Ginny, can't you see we're trying to do something? I-"
He fell silent at once, however, when Ginny flashed him a death glare that was no doubt inherited from Mrs. Weasley.
"Come on, Harry," Ron yelped, rising from the couch at once and grabbing Harry's arm, practically dragging him into the kitchen.
"I swear," Ron complained as the door swung shut behind them, "She's got a glare on her that's as bad as Mum's. It's scary." He scowled. "Wish I could have gotten that. Instead, I'm stuck with Dad's rubbish ears."
Harry laughed weakly and went to fill up the sink while Ron gathered the dishes from the table.
"So," Harry said, struggling to sound casual. "Married. In less than two weeks."
Ron nodded. "Weird, isn't it?"
"You could definitely say that."
"I know. But I....she..." Ron paused. "Harry, d'you remember the first time we saw her?"
Harry groaned. "Please don't tell me that you knew then and there that you would marry her someday."
Ron snorted. "Don't be thick, Harry. I thought she was bloody insane."
"Good," Harry said.
"Do you have a problem with it?" Ron asked, a bit weakly. "Hermione and me getting married, I mean?"
Harry shrugged. "I've seen it coming since fourth year, more or less."
"That's not what I asked."
Harry filled the sink with plates and began to scrub them absently. "No. It's just..." He faltered. "No, it's nothing."
"Oh, that's real convincing, Harry," Ron said. "You've got me completely fooled, mate."
He couldn't tell him. He couldn't talk to him - it was simple as that. The last thing that Harry wanted was to come off as some overly emotional, weepy, woe-is-me, jealous...girlfriend or something.
It wasn't a big deal. All friendships had to end eventually, and he would just have to grin and bear it.
He attempted to force a smile (Grin and bear it, Harry. Grin and bear it.), which caused Ron to study him strangely.
"What?" snapped Harry.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm smiling," Harry informed him through gritted teeth.
"Oh," Ron said, shrugging. "I thought you'd been hit by a sudden bout of food poisoning or something."
"Funny," Harry deadpanned, resisting the urge to hurl the soapy dishrag into Ron's face. He clearly wasn't trying to make this easy.
"Listen, Harry," Ron said, rather seriously. "I can understand if this is weird. Hell, if you and Hermione were getting married-"
"-You'd beat me to a bloody pulp after gouging my eyes out," Harry finished.
Ron blinked. "Right."
"You did snap off Viktor Krum's arm," Harry reminded him.
"He bloody deserved it," Ron growled. "Why the hell would he-"
"Okay, okay," Harry cut in quickly. The last thing he wanted was another rant from Ron about Krum. One would think that the anger would have bubbled down after eight years, but no, no, no: it was still thriving quite strongly.
"Sorry," Ron said, a bit sheepishly. "But...well....Harry, you know that you'll always be my best friend, don't you?"
Harry stared at him blankly, wondering whether he should answer truthfully with 'No, not exactly.'
Instead, he intelligently replied, "....Er."
Yes, indeed, he was an articulate one.
"You do realize, don't you, Harry, that without you around to save me Hermione would have driven me absolutely barking mad ages ago?"
"Then why are you marrying her?" Harry asked, smirking. "Secret desire to be shipped off to St. Mungo's?"
Ron pulled a face at him. "Quit being a prat. I think it's pretty selfless of me to go ahead and marry her when I know that my sanity's at stake."
"Nah," Harry said, shrugging. "You're just an idiot."
Ron glared at him, but Harry couldn't help but feel inexplicably relieved. Sure, it hadn't exactly been a heart-to-heart talk, but it was close enough. He knew that Ron wasn't spilling out clichéd sentiments insincerely - if that had been the case, Harry had no doubt that his best friend would have phrased everything exactly as he shouldn't have and ended up making Harry furious.
"Are you cleaning, boys?"
Ginny's familiar voice filled the air, and Harry turned to see she and Hermione standing in the doorway. The look that she gave him seemed to question whether he'd had enough time with Ron, and he gave her a small nod in reply.
"We're bloody slaving away in here," Ron replied bitterly. "Aren't the women supposed to take care of dishes? What are you two sitting around for?"
"Excuse me!" Hermione exclaimed, immediately affronted. Her brown eyes began to flash - never, never a good sign. "Honestly, Ron, how can you be so utterly chauvinistic? You're so insufferable sometimes, I don't know why I-"
"Oh, come off it," Ron snapped back. "It was a bloody joke, for crying out loud. Why can't you just laugh? Contrary to popular belief, my sole purpose in life isn't to cause you as much anguish as humanely possible..."
And they're off, Harry thought dryly, exchanging a glance with Ginny. She rolled her eyes and muttered as she walked toward him, "I really don't know how they do it. People shouldn't be able to get into screaming fights that easily."
"I figure it's a gift," Harry replied, glancing at the not-so-happy couple. Ron's ears were going red.
"I swear, I'm going to throw something at him if he doesn't shut up," Ginny said rather viciously, eyeing the dishrag in Harry's hand.
"Go on," he responded, handing her the sopping wet wash cloth. "Aim for the head."
Ginny grinned wickedly. "All right, but then you have to shut Hermione up."
"How?"
"Be creative," Ginny said, her warm brown eyes sparkling rather devilishly.
Harry shrugged. 'If you say so."
And with that, he crossed the kitchen and promptly slid his arm around Hermione's waist, dipping her with all the Mr. Suave charm that he possessed. She screeched, and Harry pressed his mouth to hers an instant before a dishrag soared through the air and hit an unsuspecting Ron right in the forehead.
After all, if he was going to shut up Hermione, he may as well do it with flourish. (And make Ron furious in the process.)
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Ron roared at once, wiping the soapy water from his face.
Harry pulled away from a very bewildered Hermione, helped her up, and grinned at Ron.
"Well, you know," he said innocently, "I figured that since you and Hermione argue constantly, marriage may not be the best idea. Hermione and I, on the other hand, never argue. So maybe I could take over your duties as groom-"
"Sod off," Ron ordered crossly. "Do you think you're being clever?"
Harry nodded earnestly. "Well, I thought it was quite ingenious, actually."
Ron rolled his eyes. "We can go without fighting."
Ginny smirked. "Sure."
"We can!" Ron protested. "Can't we, Hermione?"
"Of course we can!" Hermione said, absently wiping at her mouth with her sleeve.
Harry and Ginny gave the pair matching skeptical glances.
"We can agree on things just fine!" Ron said defensively. "I bet you that we can go through this whole holiday without quarreling once!"
At this, Harry had to allow himself an amused smile, while Ginny flat-out burst into laughter.
"I'd like to see you try," she said, giggling.
"Fine," Ron replied stubbornly. "We will."
"Shake on it," Ginny ordered, holding out her hand and struggling to keep a straight face.
"Sure." Ron took her hand and shook it firmly.
Harry and Hermione exchanged incredulous glances.
One thing was for sure, this was going to be an interesting holiday: he only hoped that Susan would stay out of it.
Things would almost certainly be disastrous enough without her.
Author's Note II: Okay. I don't know what the heck that was. I was getting so frustrated with this chapter that I just needed to end it before I went positively mad. So, er, the story went mad instead.
Lord, this is painful to even think about.
Yes, I would have deleted that last moment of insanity (what with the kiss, which is definitely the most H/H-esque thing I've ever written, minus a parody called There Forbiddin Luv: Harry & Hermoine that I'm doing with my fellow Potterettes), but Norah said that it was hilarious and it made her night.
So it stayed.
Please don't kill me.