Chapter Two: Never Been Kissed

Ginny Weasley was angry. Blazingly angry. Not just upset, or mildly irritated. Not even enormously annoyed. She had the trademark Weasley temper, and was currently doing full justice to it, much to Ron's chagrin.

The young Weasley male in question had just dodged out of the kitchen, a pot flying past his head as he ducked through the doorway.

Fred and George, the only occupants of the room, winced as said pot hit the doorframe and ricocheted, clipping Ron on the shoulder as he passed.

"Ouch," George cringed, then called out, "Half points, Gin! You missed his head!"

"Do not encourage her!" Ron said in a high-pitched, fearful voice, his eyes wide as he turned to look at his smirking brothers. "Are you mad?"

"Nope, but it looks like Ginny is," George said. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Ron spat, coloring. "All I said was..."

"Yes?" Fred grinned at Ron's hesitation.

"Well, I told her that Harry was coming tomorrow, and..."

Fred groaned, "Dear Merlin, Ron, what?"

"Well, I told Harry she was sixteen next month, and had never been kissed... and perhaps Harry would..."

"Ooo..." George cringed again.

"Ouch," Fred agreed. "Wouldn't want to be you, mate."

"But..." Ron looked confused. "I was just teasing..."

"I would consider going sleepless, Ron. If you go to sleep, your defenses are down, and you never know what she might come up with."

Ron gulped, "Not good?"

"Bad," Fred nodded.

"Very bad," George agreed.

"Surprised she didn't bat-bogey hex you," said Fred.

"She still might," George contributed optimistically.

"She... umm... tried," Ron colored further. "I dodged it."

Fred and George looked at each other, shaking their heads as though it were a lost cause.

"Bad," said Fred.

"Very bad," George agreed, nodding at his twin.

"Only make her angrier."

"Yes," George continued to nod sadly.

"If it were me, Ron," Fred turned to their younger sibling. "And you'll note that it's not, because I'm not an idiot..."

"I'd scarper..." George continued for his twin.

"... until Mum gets home..."

"... or Ginny leaves home..."

"... or at least until Harry gets here," they finished together.

Before Ron could respond, the door banged open against the lounge wall, and all three looked up to see their little sister standing there, the fire of battle in her eyes.

"You and you," she stabbed her index finger at each of the twins. "Out."

"Leaving," said Fred, moving quickly to the hall door.

"Already gone," said George as he followed closely.

Ron whimpered, getting up and trying to follow them.

"You!" she pointed at him. "Sit."

"Ginny..."

"Sit down!" she hissed.

Ron whimpered again, but sat.

"Now, am I to understand that you told Harry that I've never been kissed?"

"Yes?"

"And further, that you suggested to him that he might rectify that situation?"

"Um..." Ron swallowed. "Yes?"

Ginny sat down on the sofa, her head in her hands. She sat that way for so long that Ron began to get uncomfortable.

"Um... Gin?"

"Shut up."

"Um... why are we just...?"

"Because you have, with one conversation, destroyed a very carefully constructed reputation, Ronald Weasley. And I am attempting to figure out a way to fix it."

"Why don't you..."

"Shut. Up." She ground out.

"But Ginny..."

Ginny sighed, looking up at her brother.

"Do you know how long it has taken me to convince Harry that I'm not some silly schoolgirl with a crush on him any longer, Ron? That I've moved on?"

"I don't see..."

"Because, you halfwit, when he thought I was crushing on him, he wouldn't even talk to me. At least now I can walk into a room without him disappearing from it. Well, I could. Until now. Until you had to go and ruin everything."

"I don't understand. What difference does it make if you've... been kissed or not?"

"It doesn't, Ron. The only difference is that Harry now knows that I haven't, when I've been making very sure that he thinks I have."

"But..."

"Oh, never mind!" Ginny stood and stomped to the door. "Forget it!"

"I just don't understand," Ron said to the empty room.

Seventeen year old Harry Potter sat on the side of the small bed in a room on the second floor of number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. His Hogwarts trunk sat in front of him, fully packed, and Hedwig's cage, empty, was perched atop it.

The walls were bare. Every clue that a boy had ever inhabited this room during summer vacations from boarding school were erased; there wasn't a personal object to be seen. There was a shadow on the wall where a school banner had once hung. A single thumbtack that had held up a letter from a school friend closer than a brother now supported nothing. The loose floorboard had been lifted, the hollow beneath checked, but there had been nothing there.

He'd been ready to leave for four hours, and it was only eight o'clock in the morning.

This was it. He had just turned seventeen the week before; he was officially an of-age wizard, with one more year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete. And he never had to return to this house, ever again.

This summer really hadn't been so bad, of course. Dudley had been gone for the most part. He came home to eat and sleep, of course. Slept until noon, and was out the door after eating a monstrous meal at lunch, seldom to return before three or four in the morning.

Harry had wondered briefly what he was up to until that time of the night, but decided that he didn't really wish to know. The less he knew of Dudley Dursley, the happier he would be, actually.

Aunt Petunia had spent the last weeks wandering about, wringing her hands and looking perplexed. Occasionally she would mutter something about "Duddykins", but she certainly wasn't speaking directly to Harry, and he never caught all of what she was saying. Uncle Vernon had persisted in being the most annoying and annoyed man on earth.

Harry couldn't wait to be rid of them. He had played with the idea of thanking his aunt and uncle before he left, but then, he couldn't really think of what to thank them for.

Then, he had momentarily entertained the idea of hexing them into next week. Despite the prospect of the momentary pleasure that it might give, Harry felt quite certain that the Ministry would take a dim view of it, whether he was of age or not.

So, he was left with simply leaving. He knew he probably should let them know that he wouldn't be returning next year. After all, he wasn't "of age" in the muggle world until a month after school let out next June, but the closer it got to the time to leave, the less he felt like even speaking to them.

Within the hour, though, someone from the Order would arrive to escort him to Grimmauld Place. So he had to decide.

In the end, he wrote a short note, placed it neatly in an envelope, and left it on the small desk where he had done his summer homework since the Dursleys had been all but forced to move him from the closet under the stairs to Dudley's second bedroom.

Yes, it would be good to never have to face another day in this house.

Sighing, he turned his thoughts to a happier topic. He hoped that Ron and the others would be at Grimmauld Place when he arrived. He hated Grimmauld Place with a passion. He hated that bloody house elf, had in fact nearly killed it at the end of last summer. Dumbledore had stopped him, of course, and promised that the damned thing wouldn't bother him again. He hated the painting of Sirius' mother, and every Dark object within the walls of the Black family manor.

He felt the rage boil up and instinctively closed his eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on centering his mind. He had practiced hard this past month to get control of the dark feelings that welled up every time he thought of Sirius' home and what it housed. He tried to remember that it was just a house, a building. Further, one that now housed the Order of the Phoenix, a group that fought for the Light.

Lay new memories over the old, Ginny had told him in the one letter she had sent him, three days after his return to the Dursley's last summer.

Ginny...

Just as quickly as that thought occurred to Harry, he dismissed it. Ginny Weasley had moved on.

Ron, being the protective, and apparently blind, older brother he was, had it in his head that Ginny was completely innocent. As in, entirely. Ron had met him at Arabella Figg's house just last week and had come right out and said that Ginny had never even been kissed.

Well, Harry knew that Ron was delusional on that, at least. Hadn't Harry himself witnessed her coming out of the third floor broom closet one day last spring with Ernie MacMillan?

Ernie MacMillian, for Merlin's sake!

Harry had found it difficult to hold back from pounding the Hufflepuff. Into teensy, weensy pieces. Repeatedly.

But Ginny already had six older brothers. Six. She didn't need a seventh. Not that Harry had been feeling particularly brotherly at the time. Seeing Ginny come out of that closet, her blouse mis-buttoned, had nearly sent him over the edge, but not in a brotherly way. Oh, no.

As he pondered this, he heard the doorbell ring downstairs, then his uncle's raised voice. It would appear that his escort had arrived.