Chapter 9

"Where are you going?"

"To the library."

"Why?"

"I've got to work on Hermione's gift. Valentine's Day is next week and I don't think it's going to be ready."

Ron explained all of this hastily to Harry as he scrambled out of the common room that Thursday. He and Hermione had still not spoke since their blazing row the day before. Harry was curious as to why Hermione had been calling him an eavesdropper, untrustworthy, and a liar, but didn't want to press Ron on it. Harry felt that he had had enough of it coming from Hermione's mouth.

Watching his friend leave, he shook his head slightly and looked back down at the poster board. The Quidditch team had gotten together the night before and Harry couldn't be happier with the way things were going. It was very obvious that they were going to flatten Hufflepuff.

Yet all the while, as he thought about 'flattening Hufflepuff,' his thoughts returned to the events that had taken place at Hogwarts two years before. Cedric had been the Hufflepuff Seeker, the only one to ever beat Harry on his once beloved Nimbus 2000. Cedric's untimely demise still made Harry feel queasy.

"Hello." A voice behind Harry shattered his thoughts and his queasiness seemed to melt away. Hermione had just emerged from the stairs, carrying four books and a small black sachet. Her wand was sticking out of the pocket of her robes. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Harry said, moving the poster board down some. Hermione seemed to be in better spirits, and he was intent on keeping it that way.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking over at the board.

He shrugged. "Making some plays," he cast a glance toward her books. "What is that? Extra credit homework? I don't recall needing those books."

"Oh these?" Hermione asked in pretend shock. "These are actually for Ron's Valentine's gift. Not that he deserves one," she said, her tone souring.

Harry frowned. "Hermione, I don't want to press…"

"I don't want you to either."

There. The matter was dropped. Harry turned back to his poster and went to sketch some more. In a voice very much unlike his own, he spoke.

"Hermione… do you remember fourth year?"

What a stupid question, he thought suddenly. "Of course I do," she said, sighing heavily. Harry had eventually told Ron and Hermione everything that had happened the night before they returned to their fifth year of Hogwarts. Hermione had gasped in shock, tears pouring down her face. Ron had been pale and shaking in fear. He also looked like he wanted to hold Hermione somehow, but couldn't.

"I was just thinking about… um… Cedric," he said quietly.

Hermione's eyes glazed over. "I know."

"Hermione, do you ever wonder why things happen the way they happen?"

She offered her friend a small smile. "Every day."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, which only succeeded in messing it up more than before. He pressed his hands to his forehead and sighed heavily. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He knew the tears were coming, but he didn't want it to show. Hermione knew her friend too well. She put a reassuring hand on his arm and he clasped it firmly.

Hermione smiled as she stared at her friend's profile. He had grown up too much for a sixteen-year-old. The things he had seen in his short life span were things no teenager should have had to see. His face was not an unattractive one, but obviously one that had seen far too much. Harry needed a break.

Harry looked over at Hermione and smirked. "We don't get to talk alone very often do we, Hermione?"

"I suppose we don't. You're always off with Ginny playing Quidditch and Ron usually occupies all my time. He grabs any chance we have alone together. I can't believe the number of times he's actually gone so far as to ask if I wanted to 'snog' with him. He's gone batty," she said, but Harry could tell by the look on her face that she didn't seem to really mind.

"You're right," he said, smiling. "I really wish we had more time to talk, Hermione. It's too bad that things just keep getting thrown at us. Sometimes I think we just connect without having to say anything."

Hermione sighed. "I've always thought that about the three of us. I always thought that there was some kind of special bond that ties all of us together. I think because I'm…" she coughed… "closer with Ron, I'm able to read his thoughts better. You're more of a mystery to me, but I wouldn't have you any other way."

Harry smiled at her. "I'm just concerned about all of this business with The Order. I'm afraid for their lives. And for the lives of the Aurors going out there to stop the Death Eaters single-handedly."

"It has to be done, if they're ever going to destroy Voldemort."

All Harry could do was sigh. "I don't know about anything anymore, really. I mean… I made a promise to myself that I was going to try and get on with my life. It's too much to constantly worry."

"You're right, Harry," Hermione whispered, staring into the fire. "Voldemort may have a lot of power where life and death is concerned, but he has no power over how you choose to live that life. You can't let him control your thoughts and allow him to get to you so bad you can't live your life." He nodded. "I'm glad you came up with that promise, Harry. I think both Ron and I needed that push. We needed to realize that life went on. We can still worry plenty, but we shouldn't let it consume us."

"You never spoke a wiser word," Harry said, beaming at her. He looked over her head and toward the stairwell. Harry saw a shock of red hair dash back up the stairwell. He grimaced at Hermione and all she did was nod. Harry got up from the couch and darted up the dorm stairs.

Ginny threw herself into her dorm room and crumpled onto her bed. She was exhausted behind belief. She had spent all night preparing what to say to Harry. It had to be perfect. She now knew he was the romantic poet she had been longing for. Where did she go from there?

It seemed all too perfect when she'd seen Harry sitting by himself in the common room. She hadn't gotten down there before Hermione was talking to him on the couch. She wanted the opportunity to talk to him alone, and was waiting for Hermione to leave and go find Ron or something. She hadn't waited for long. They were talking about The Order, Voldemort, and Death Eaters. She couldn't take it.

She had to run.

Ginny was now on her bed, staring at the letter. She had planned on handing it to Harry and then saying something she wasn't really sure about saying. Of course, how could she?

Ginny suddenly heard footsteps bounding up the stairs. They stopped outside the door and someone began knocking. Harry's voice came through the other side. "J, open up."

She wasn't sure whether to answer him or not. She couldn't let him in, she just couldn't. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She had to approach him, not the other way around.

"J, please, open the door! I have to talk to you about something."

In a hoarse voice, Ginny managed to say, "Go away."

The pounding did not cease. "Come on, J, open it! I need to tell you something! Don't make me blast this door open."

She sighed. "Please, Harry, go away."

The racket on the other side of the door stopped as well as the yells. Before Ginny knew it, she could hear the footsteps fading down the stairwell. She wanted to thrust the door open, run after him, grab him, tell him she loved him…

But she was far too apprehensive. What would she do after that? Stare him in the face, stuttering, like the great prat she was?

No. No, she couldn't. Maybe if she got her mind off of everything, she could start to focus again. She ran back to her bed and pulled out all of her homework. She still had a long way to go on her Transfiguration essay.

Ginny took her favorite white quill pen out and her bottle of black ink. She took out her parchment to begin, and realized she was down to her last color. But that was what stopped her.

Rose. The color was rose. Ginny jumped off of the bed excitedly; groping for her poems, and brought them back out. Setting them on top of the parchment, she realized they were the same exact paper. He had written the poems on the parchment she'd forced into his hand the night they got back from Hogsmeade.

"You moron," she chided herself. If she had just thought of that earlier, she could have solved the mystery sooner! Sighing as she recalled the memory, she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it sooner.

"If you don't use it, I will. It's our paper."

"No, no, those are yours."

"You said ours."

"I said I'd use them if you didn't."

"I want you to have some."

"J, I don't need any."

"Take them."

"No."

"Do I have to force you?"

"I don't need them."

But he did need them. He enchanted them and made them beautiful because that's what he thought of her. Why didn't she see it sooner? Why had she completely nixed the thought that it could be him?

As her thoughts of the past few week came back into focus, Ginny soon found comprehension. He had been trying to get through to her all that time, and she had simply blown it off. She was troubled at the thought of her romantic poet being offended by her love for someone else. Why was she so blind?

All this time… when he had pretended not to know who'd written it and then constantly asked her. If he hadn't written the poem, would he really be that interested? And as if by chance, an important memory replayed itself in her head.

"What do you think?"

"Well, it's obvious. Whoever wrote this is madly in love with you."

"You got that… from this?"

"Well, I'm just saying… you know how you felt a strong magical connection to the letter when you opened it? Well, I guess I did too."

"Y-You did? How is that possible, I mean… who could have written it? It couldn't have just come out of thin air."

"No it didn't."

Harry was madly in love with her? How could this be… she was just Ginny… just little Ginny Weasley…It wasn't possible…

Everything was falling into place in Ginny's head. Everything was making sense suddenly, but what she couldn't figure out was how to handle the next bit.