Chapter Eight
"What They Have"
"Oof."
Generally, Ginny did not greet early mornings with a mumbled oof—she preferred to swear groggily and roll over before something—alarm clock—or someone—Alyson—forced her out of bed. What brought her instantly out of bed was the fact she'd nearly fallen out of bed—no, the couch—and only her instincts had brought her arm out to stop her. When she rolled onto her back, Ginny yawned and rubbed her eyes, feeling much disoriented and distinctly agitated.
Obviously, she had fallen asleep, Ginny thought, snuggling under the blanket and vaguely wondering about the hour; it must be early, no one was moving about the house—where did the blanket come from?
Ginny sat up in alarm, her last memory being of writing in her journal—which wasn't where she'd left it.
Panicking, she tossed off the quilt and swung her legs around. Her left foot landed on something flat, solid, and leathery. With a small squeak of relief, she swept it up, her heart pounding both in relief and suspicion. What if whoever put the quilt on her read anything?
"Merlin," Ginny swore softly, turning to her last entry. She hadn't thought about charming her journal in a long while, and she had been too distracted last night.
Last night . . . Ginny rubbed the crick in the back of her neck, thinking. It was odd, but after drowning herself in angry, angst-ridden music, and then writing in her journal, Ginny felt calmer, reflective. Even if Harry changed his mind between today and whenever he returned to Australia, Ginny knew she would leave, anyway, and being completely, utterly alone might be okay, too. She knew now, no matter what, she had a direction, even if it simply was Out.
"And I'm not running away," she whispered, index finger stroking the bind. How could she be possibly running away if she was placing herself even closer to Harry, and thus, the pain of knowing she'd betrayed him? Although she knew it was as foolish and delusional as her naïve assumptions before she'd broken under Voldemort, Ginny felt slightly braver, more confident, in this.
And so, this admittedly deranged but purposeful Ginny neatly folded the quilt and returned it to the rocker. She wasn't sure of the exact time, but knew that it was before seven-thirty, because, later years at the Burrow, her mother had decided that breakfast should be served deep into the morning so she could have a lie-in. Not a single Weasley had disagreed. After all, it meant they could sleep in all the more.
Which meant Ginny had a probably an hour or more of peace and quiet.
The Madness of Myself:
- What am I doing? Apparently placing myself directly into contact with source of pain, i.e., Harry. This may be an act of stupidity and self-affliction, but maybe it's because I need to face the pain directly to absolve it. No, not absolve. It can't be forgiven; it is what it is, I can't change it. Maybe I'm trying to "face my demons" so I can move on. Yeah, moving on. Bloody hell, it's still probably self-affliction. Which is a shameful thing to do – but aren't I already ashamed?
And I'm getting away from here. I'm not running away. How can I be running away when I'm leaping into the pit?
- What is wrong with me to be doing this? First off, something is definitely wrong with making lists about yourself in a journal you have tried not to make a diary or hold anything easily identifiable with yourself. Oh well, another thing to add to my list of failures. It's getting quite long. I am a weak, stupid, self-defeating simpleton who has fallen into that entrancing trap of depression and degradation, and so I'm torturing myself by placing myself in Harry's presence. Basically, I'm banging my head against a brick wall. Swell.
- What am I going to do? Wish I knew. I guess just be my wonderful, cheerful self that was the life of the party last night. Try not to break down in front of Harry. Leave as soon as possible. Keep my distance from Harry, even though he is being a remarkably tolerable gentleman that really should toss me off somewhere bleak. How am I going to stay 'normal' with Harry? We haven't ever been normal. And now we never will.
"Oooh, that smells delicious," Hermione groaned, stretching in her cot. She had been rubbing her eyes groggily when Ginny had entered after a shower and journaling. Now the enticing aroma of cooking eggs, bacon, and flapjacks wafted up the stairs. As Hermione sat up and pushed off her blankets, Ginny had to stifle a giggle—Hermione's hair resembled a caricature afro. "Happy Christmas!" the older girl yawned.
"Happy Christmas," Ginny replied, already rummaging through her satchel for her baggy jeans and last year's jumper. She was debating about wearing any eye makeup or not. It seemed pointless, she wasn't going anywhere but home in the afternoon, but she felt—it was ridiculous, really—safer with it on.
Hermione left for the bathroom, and Ginny changed with a sense of relief. Her friend from Hogwarts wasn't being inquisitive or snoopy like everyone else. Perhaps Harry hadn't said anything to Hermione or Ron.
Ginny bit her lip, suddenly nauseated by the scent of breakfast. How was she going to face Harry now? Earlier she'd been so focused on leaving England that she had spaced her ticket—Harry—off!
"Oh, bloody hell," she swore to her jumper, pulling it over her head. Maybe she could just stay up in her room again; no one had come for her last night, so why would today be any different? Because it is Christmas, you idiot, and I bet Harry would come inquire after that display last night.
Ginny shuddered at the very idea. If she couldn't handle today, there was no way she could handle Australia with him.
Taking an enormously deep breath, Ginny finished dressing and then applied her eye make-up. Just liner and mascara today, no need for actual shadow. She loved how she could reveal her dark moods with it, yet still hide behind the masking edge around her eyes. By the time she had begun detangling her hair, Hermione returned, a towel wrapped around her head.
"You have no idea how lucky you are," Hermione sighed, gesturing at Ginny's long, straight locks. "If it wasn't for magic to keep it in order, I'd probably spend hours every morning on mine."
Ginny smirked in the mirror, briefly catching Hermione's joking look. "I used to envy your color, though."
Hermione rolled her eyes as she towel dried her hair. "It's just brown. Nothing special."
"To each her own, then." Ginny studied her hair in the mirror. It really was getting long, nearly down to her waist. Perhaps she'd cut it soon.
Ginny fussed with her quilt as Hermione cast quick-drying spells in her hair and brushed it out. She couldn't help but feel the other girl's eyes studying her surreptitiously. Although Hermione had seemed friendly and less dramatic than everyone else last night, Ginny knew that she'd taken her school friend by surprise. Hell, she'd shocked everyone but Fred and George.
Just as Ginny was thinking of saying something about Hermione's not-really-inconspicuous staring, the other girl blurted, "What happened between you and Harry last night?"
Immediately, Hermione gasped and dropped her wand to cover her mouth. "I—I mean, oh bullocks!"
"What?!" Ginny whirled around, her momentary punch-to-the-stomach forgotten. She stared at Hermione's reddening face, trying hard not to grin disbelievingly.
"I said—oh, forget it—it's not my place—"
"Did you just say 'bullocks'?"
"What—no—" Hermione wringed her hands in frustration. She bit her lip, dropped her eyes, and then sighed resignedly. "Well, yes, but don't tell—"
"RON!"
Oh, revenge is so sweet, Ginny cackled gleefully as she bolted up the last set of rickety stairs to her youngest brother's room, Hermione gibbering at her heels. "Ron, you bugger!" she hollered, pounding on the door. "Get up, you lazy arse!" In the past, she had unabashedly barged into his offensively orange room, but had learned one unfortunate occasion that wasn't very wise anymore.
"Ginny!" Hermione wheezed, coming to the top step. "Please! I'll never hear the end of it!"
"Precisely! RON!"
"Ginny! It's because I asked about Harry, isn't it!"
"Ronald Weas—"
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" The door swung open, revealing a shirtless, flannel bottomed Ron with very bedraggled red hair haloed non-flatteringly by the Chudley Posters behind him.
Ginny beamed at him, feeling rather invigorated by being an annoying little sister. "Happy Christmas, Ronniekins! I just thought I'd let you know that your lover said something quite vulgar just now."
Ron, looking extremely annoyed, suddenly brightened. He turned a teasing smirk on Hermione, who was glaring openly at Ginny. "Oh, really? Hermione?"
"Last time I spend Christmas with you lot," Hermione muttered, crossing her arms.
Ron's grin widened. "What did you say?"
"No." Hermione turned up her nose and sniffed, her cheeks starting to flush again. Ginny bit back a giggle—it was just like being back at Hogwarts.
"Come on," Ron wheedled, stepping into the hall. He tilted Hermione's chin up, and instantly her stubborn jaw softened. "I can coax it out of you, you know . . ."
"Spare me," Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes and turning away. She felt a pang not of disgust but envy. Her eyes cast into the bedroom, and she instantly regretted her glee at Hermione's profanity. She had unwittingly brought herself right into Harry's midst. Luckily, he was rubbing his face and casting about for his glasses.
"Morning breath!" Hermione warned. Ginny turned back to find Hermione pushing Ron away with a barely concealed grimace.
Ron, however, chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Tell me." Hermione mumbled something and tried to step away, but Ron held fast. "What was that? I seem to have gone deaf all of a sudden."
"Bullocks," Hermione muttered, looking down at her feet.
"What?" Ron cupped an ear and leaned down.
"BULLOCKS!"
"My my, such language!"
"Tut, tut!"
"I never heard such vocabulary from a Head Girl!"
Ginny, Hermione, and Ron whirled around to find Fred, George, and Bill grinning madly from the staircase, all looking as if they'd dragged themselves out of bed. Ginny glanced at Hermione, who was turning a rather Weasley shade of red. But then she took a deep breath and rolled her eyes.
"Honestly!" Then she stomped past five Weasleys and Ginny heard her door shut forcefully.
"Well, that was lovely," Ron said cheerfully, tugging on Ginny's hair.
"What's going on?" Harry asked blearily, coming to the door.
"Oh, things are just back to normal," said Ron, winking at Ginny.
Ginny bristled and saddened at once. What business was it of his if she wasn't her 'normal' self? And how could be possibly think one outburst set everything in order? "You're an idiot," she told Ron as calmly as she could, then turned and headed downstairs to breakfast.
"I honestly don't understand that girl!" said Ron, raking his hair in frustration as Harry followed him down the stairs fifteen minutes later.
"Hey, she's your girlfriend," Harry said lightly, although he knew whom Ron meant. Hopefully he could steer Ron away from something he wasn't quite up to talking about. They had opened their presents in an awkward silence after Ginny and Hermione had jarred them awake. Last night's incident still sat too freshly in their minds to be discussed with her cheerful-then-abrupt manner this morning. Harry had been hoping Ron would avoid the topic, so he didn't have to brush off his questions about what had happened on the stairs last night.
"No, I mean Ginny," Ron said in a low voice, pausing on the second landing. He turned to Harry, frowning worriedly. "Last night isn't the only thing. She's been distant ever since she got back from Hogwarts, and she quit Flourish and Blotts, which is really weird, because she said she liked that job. And then that thing with Dean and her dark make-up . . . I don't know, Harry, I'm really worried about her."
Harry just stared at Ron. What could he say? "Yes, Ron, your sister seems a bit off her rocker." He could see her, as she was last night, clinging to a wall. It was not a vision he wanted to give Ron.
"I don't know, mate," he finally said, when Ron seemed to want an answer.
Ron sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "You'd think everything would be great with Voldemort gone."
"Yeah," Harry mumbled, not wanting to discuss it. It was Christmas morning, he was at the Burrow, and the last thing he wanted to think about was Voldemort. "C'mon, let's go eat. I'm starving."
When they entered the kitchen, everyone, including Percy and Charlie, who were shedding their cloaks to Mr. Weasley, instantly greeted them. The Grangers were thanking Fred and George for their gift of chocolates, and Hermione was shaking her head vigorously at her parents while shooting the twins a vicious glare. Ginny was setting the butter dish down by the muffins, looking almost sixteen in her blue jumper. She seemed to be the only one not enthused by Harry and Ron's entrance and turned away to grab the salt and pepper shakers without making eye contact.
Harry felt somewhat relieved that she hadn't acknowledged him. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do after last night. Obviously she couldn't ignore him forever if she was going to Australia with him, but didn't they need to, well, discuss it?
"Sit, everyone!" Mrs. Weasley ordered cheerfully, her cheeks flushed from cooking and eggnog.
Harry sat between Ron and Charlie, noticing that Ginny had sat on the other side of Hermione, probably to prevent him from watching her again.
"Harry," said Charlie, passing him the plate of bangers, "have you had a chance to see any of the Australian dragons?"
"Well, no, but one started a brush fire a couple of weeks ago . . ." Harry went on to describe how Muggle Australians often accounted their fires as a norm for droughts, which made an easy cover for the Department of Magical Species Protection and Regulation.
He had just finished when Ron leaned toward Hermione and whispered, "Bullocks."
Harry watched Hermione's mouth turn very thin. "You are an imbecile, Ronald Weasley," she said out of the corner of her mouth.
"You must like imbeciles, then," said Ron, "or last night you wouldn't have—"
"Ron!" Hermione was definitely blushing now as she jumped between glaring meaningfully at Ron and casting her parents nervous looks.
Harry rolled his eyes across the table at Fred and George, but felt awkward with Ron and Hermione's banter. It had been awhile since he'd felt like the third wheel. He was glad they were happy and in love, and usually he didn't feel left out or unwanted, but witnessing their closeness made him feel envious and lonely.
Fred made a kissing-face at Ron, and then looked down the table toward Ginny. "I say, you up for a game of Quidditch?"
"Yeah," said Bill, grinning. "I haven't gotten to see you play properly."
"And we could do four and three to a side, unless Hermione and Percy do shock us all and play," Fred said, sweeping his eyes over the tables. "Wait, let's see—we could do Seekers, you know, with Ginny and Harry, and then a Keeper for each side and two Chasers—oh, wait, that won't work out—Okay, one Keeper, and Ron'll just have to be for both sides. And Hermione can charm snowballs into Bludgers—"
"Maybe I don't want to play Seeker," Ginny cut in, setting her fork down.
"Be a good sport, even if you have to play against the youngest Seeker in a century," said Fred, tossing Harry a wink. "And you do have a chance, you know, since it's not a real Snitch."
"Maybe I just don't want to play Quidditch today."
"But you play a side!" Ron protested, joining in with Fred.
"Yes, so maybe I would like a holiday from it!"
"A holiday from Quidditch?" Ron, Fred, and George cried.
Harry's mouth dropped open, but he quickly shut it. He had a feeling he was the real reason why Ginny didn't want to play—but then why the bloody hell was she asking to go to Australia?!
"And anyway," said Ginny, "I didn't bring my broom."
"Harry," said Ron, turning to him. "Help us out, will you?"
"Oh no," said Harry, putting up his hands. "I am not getting into a Seeker battle with Ginny again." He said it lightly, but felt leaden. At the moment he didn't give a flaming bit about Quidditch, except that Ginny was clearly bailing out to avoid him.
"Just when you think you can count on a bloke . . ." Fred shook his head sadly.
"Look," said Hermione soothingly, "I should have someone help me with the Bludgers. Would you like to help me, Ginny?"
Harry leaned slightly around Ron to see Ginny, under the pretense of reaching for a dish. She was gazing calculatingly at Hermione, leaving Harry to wonder if there wasn't something going on between the two girls. Finally, she nodded, "All right, then," and returned to her plate without a glance at the others.
Harry bit back a sigh and asked Ron to pass the rolls.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Ginny mentally berated herself as she followed George and the other Quidditch players traipsing through the snow to the back paddock. She glared at the scarlet robe stretched across his winter cloak, irked by the faded rearing lion.
Today was supposed to be okay, normal even. She hadn't been pretending to be normal or trying for normal, but she had wanted to avoid swerving in the opposite direction, as she had last night. She didn't want everyone upset, but she knew she wasn't going to try beyond nature to please them all, either. So why had she refused Quidditch?
Glancing up past George's bobbing shoulder, Ginny saw Harry's messy head bent as he stomped carefully through the snow, Ron a pace ahead of him. No, she wasn't playing Quidditch because of Harry, but she didn't know exactly why. At the time, her insecurity had led her to believe that Fred and George were attempting to get her to be 'normal ol' Ginny,' but now that she thought about it, what was so patronizing about her brothers wanting her to play Quidditch?
Nothing.
And now everyone was quite sure she was deranged; they were busy shooting each other looks when they thought she didn't notice.
It was Ron's fault. Sort of. He'd immediately put her on the defense that morning. And now she couldn't seem to get out of it.
"Since when did you all start using snowballs as Bludgers?" Hermione asked, quickening her step to walk beside Ginny as they entered the paddock.
"Oh, my fifth year. Over Christmas." Ginny wrinkled her nose at Fred and George, who were scrutinizing the huddle of men, obviously wondering how to divide sides. "I was mad at the twins, so while we were all trying to cheer Harry up with a game, I just started charming snowballs. Dobby was a wonderful influence, you know."
Hermione chuckled and stooped down to scoop up a handful of snow. "It's good today. Wet enough to stick."
Ginny nodded. Although Hermione wasn't nearly as dangerous in a snowball fight as Ron or even Harry, she was definitely going to be an asset with her wand.
"Harry, want to be Keeper or Chaser?" said Fred. "No point in being Seeker against yourself."
Ginny bit back a growl. It wasn't as if playing Seeker in the paddock was exciting. Hermione would just have to toss in the 'Snitch' when she felt like it, and it'd be up to her to control it so it didn't merely fall back to the ground. Where was the challenge in that?
"Doesn't matter," Harry shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. Ginny wasn't sure, but she thought he glanced quickly at her before rubbing imaginary dirt off his Firebolt.
"I'll do Keeper, if that's all right?" George said, the Quaffle tucked under his arm—a deflated Muggle football that had been given a new life by the Weasleys.
Ginny blocked out their muttering and set about making a decent place for her and Hermione to sit. She conjured a cushion for each on top the snow and settled down as the men mounted their brooms and kicked off into the air. Hermione followed her example, wand out, her cheeks pink from the cold and anticipation. Ginny rolled and packed large snowballs and stacked them around her as she explained to Hermione that Snow Bludgers were simple enough if you wanted to be brutal with Wingardium Leviosa.
"Oh, when do we start?" Hermione asked eagerly, a slightly vindictive glint in her eyes as she stared up at Ron's makeshift goal hoops on the west side of the paddock.
Ginny snorted. "Oh, whenever. Although, Hermione, it isn't very nice to take the Keeper out." She paused and scrutinized Ron, who was making a foolish gesture at Harry, who was coming at him with the Quaffle. "I won't stop you, of course."
Hermione giggled and pointed her wand at a rather large, solidly packed snowball. It hovered a moment before her, then rocketed into the air in a beautiful, direct vector towards Ron. Just as Harry wound his arm back to attempt a goal, the snowball collided spectacularly with Ron's face, blinding him and nearly sending him off his broomstick. Harry let out a whoop as the checkered ball soared through the right loop.
"ARGH! HERMIONE!"
"Now we're even!" Hermione shouted back, already another snowball hovering just above the pile.
Ron swore and dived down for the Quaffle, and then tossed it to Bill, who set off down the paddock toward George, but he was intercepted by Fred.
"Who do you want to hit?" Hermione asked after her next snowball missed Fred.
Ginny shrugged as she packed a ball. "Doesn't matter. They're all prats." She could feel Hermione studying her, but refused to meet the older girl's stare. Her earlier ire at Hermione didn't sting nearly so much, but Ginny wasn't about to indulge her. Wanting to break the silence, she launched a snowball at George, because he hadn't been hit yet.
"Isn't Ron a wonderful Keeper?" said Hermione. "Once he forgets that people are watching him, I mean." Ron had just blocked Fred's throw.
"Uh-huh." Ginny sent a Bludger at her youngest older brother, but he dodged it and waggled a finger at her. She dearly hoped Hermione wasn't going to get all conversational about her love life. Usually she would have enjoyed it, because teasing Hermione was rather gratifying (Ron was right about some things), but today she had no desire to discuss love, boyfriends, or anything related. Before long the older Gryffindor would inquire about Ginny's love life, which recently involved the very messy fiasco with Dean, and the even bigger fiasco with Harry—but Hermione didn't know about that . . .
Ginny sighed. She dipped her wand into the snow, tracing scribbles to keep from sending too many snowballs into the air. Inexplicably, her gaze drifted up until she found Harry trying to knock the Quaffle away from Bill.
What was she going to do about Harry?
She'd have to talk to him before she left today to discuss plans for their departure. Her stomach flipped and tightened with excitement and dread. Australia. With Harry. She shivered and stopped tracing in the snow.
Getting Harry alone to discuss these plans would not be easy. Nor did she want to be alone with Harry quite yet. She needed to prepare for that. If she did manage to get him alone at The Burrow, where no one could overhear, she would certainly catch flak for it from her brothers and even her mother. The teasing had stopped and she didn't intend to revive it.
"Oh no," said Hermione, breaking into Ginny's thoughts, "I'm all out!"
Ginny blinked, and then quickly duplicated her own set of snowballs for her. "Here. Sorry, I spaced off."
"Thanks. Hey . . ." Hermione frowned and nodded up into the sky.
Ginny looked up and narrowed her eyes. The Weasley men and Harry had either taken a time out for a huddle, or else they were plotting something. She smirked at the white patches on the black and scarlet cloaks. Ron was especially clobbered. He was also at the center of the huddle that included both teams.
"Unless I'm mistaken, we're about to be bombarded," said Ginny, leaning conspiratorially toward Hermione. "I've got an idea . . ."
"I love conjuring spells," Fred beamed as Ron passed around the Dungbombs. "Most excellent. I've got something to add to this lot . . ."
Harry smirked as he accepted the bag of smelly tricks from Bill and loaded his pockets. It felt like playing dirty, him being so unblemished compared to the snow-damaged Weasley players, but he wasn't about to toss away camaraderie.
"Brilliant!" George whispered as Fred conjured what appeared to be water balloons filled with pudding. "I didn't know you'd brought these."
"I didn't," Fred grinned wickedly. "They're Ginny's present from me."
"She'll slaughter you," Charlie warned. "She hates it when we take her stuff."
Fred shrugged. "Maybe."
"Three words," said Ron. "Bat Bogey Hex."
Fred paled, but then gave his head a toss. "I can take it."
"What's in these?" Harry asked. He held one balloonish object aloft. They felt rubbery, but he had a distinct feeling they would easily explode against sudden contact. And he doubted the twins would settle for pudding.
Fred's eyes widened in astonishment. "Harry, Harry! Surely you heard about what we did to Malfoy Manor—"
"Really Rank Rain?"
"Yes, but this is more like Malicious Mud," said George. "They were in development after Move Out, Malfoys! Day. The Aurors wanted first dibs, so they didn't get out on the market until this year."
Harry just shook his head. Move Out, Malfoys! Day wasn't a particular favorite in his mind. It had been a major victory for the Order, but he had been trapped in an underground hovel, incensed that he couldn't get to Ginny, and Draco Malfoy had apparently rescued her instead to satisfy a grudge against his father.
"Why don't we aim mostly for Hermione?" said Ron. "She's been really getting me with the snowballs. And she's not very good with the Bat Bogey."
"But she could turn your insides out," argued George.
"So could Ginny, just without magic," said Charlie.
"Oh, hell, let's just clobber them both and be done with it!" Fred said, rolling his eyes. "Okay, on the count of three. One . . . two . . . thr—"
Harry lurched forward on his broom, nearly knocking Fred off his as something hard, cold, and wet slammed into the back of his head. Another exploded against the side of his face. He'd have lost his glasses if not for a simple charm already placed to keep them on and intact.
"NOW!" Ron roared. The other players had blocked the snowballs from him. With a war cry, he dropped below their straggling huddle. Bill whooped and dived after him, already launching a Malicious Mud Mallet. Harry wiped the snow out of his eyes in time to be hit by a snowball in the chest and see Bill swerve and roll to avoid the onslaught. He quickly aimed his Firebolt up and to the right. The stream of snowballs fell below him.
"Aaah!" Ron cried, nearly falling off his broomstick. Charlie swooped past him, seemingly impervious to the snow attack as he launched three Dungbombs at Ginny, who swore violently and dove away.
Harry loaded two Dungbombs into his right hand, gripped his broom, and charged at a nearly vertical angle.
"You—" Ron shouted at the girls, but then he fell off his broom.
"Ha ha!" Hermione shrieked, sounding very un-Hermione-like as Ron landed face first in a snowdrift. She shrieked when George fired several Mallets at her. "Ginny!"
"I—am—busy!"
Ginny was standing again, her wand high as she sent no less than ten head-sized snowballs at Fred. He dropped into a Sloth Grip Roll, and Harry only had a split second to realize he was in the line of fire before he was careening blindly off course, gripping his broomstick for dear life.
"Oh, bloody—" Ginny suddenly screamed and Fred let out a manic shout of victory.
Harry sensed he was dangerously close to the ground. His face burned. With a desperate heave, he wrenched his entire body in what he hoped was up. Gravity suddenly pulled as he shot, thankfully, toward the sky. He slowed and shook his thumping head, feeling very dizzy. When he felt steady, he wiped the snow from his face and looked down to see a purple light explode from Ginny's wand to stop Fred, George, and Charlie in their tracks.
"You flaming imbeciles!" she shouted, face red, arms gesticulating wildly. "You bottom-dwelling wankers!"
"And you were the one chiding Hermione this morning?" Bill called, as high in the sky as Harry but on the other end of the paddock.
"Don't make me hex you too!" Ginny called threateningly, turning her wand tip at him.
Bill chuckled.
Harry flew slightly lower, squinting. Ginny appeared to be covered in a steaming greenish brown substance.
"We'll call truce if you let us down," George bargained from where he was frozen in midair.
"No, I don't think so," Ginny smiled serenely, arching an eyebrow. Then she turned her wand on herself and muttered a spell. The muddy blotches remained. "Oh, you bloody tossers! Evanseco!" Nothing happened. Instead of insulting her brothers some more, she merely turned her steely glare on them.
Harry glanced toward Hermione and Ron. She appeared to be scolding him as she checked him for injuries. Ron was grinning stupidly at her.
"Fine," Fred sighed. "Let us go and we'll get it off you."
Ginny shook her head, hands on her hips. "I'm not stupid, Fred. You must promise that if I lift the curse, you'll lift mine immediately without any other charm, hex, or trick, and march straight up to the house—that goes for George and Charlie as well."
"And if we don't?"
A catlike grin curved up her cheeks. "Oh, you just try it and see."
"Okay, okay, we promise," Fred said hurriedly. "Right?" he added, trying to turn to include George and Charlie.
"Yep."
"No problem, little sister."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Finite Incantatem."
Fred, George, and Charlie plummeted ten feet to a heap on the ground. Ginny kept her wand poised warningly on them. When George obediently lifted the curse, she still kept her guard. She didn't lower her wand until they were inside the house.
"Ron! No!"
Harry swiveled in the air to see Hermione flailing her arms and trying to dash away from Ron. He caught hold of her ankle and she crashed into the snow with a muffled shriek. Ron laughed and crouched over her, but she smashed snow into his face and rolled away, quickly up and running awkwardly towards The Burrow.
Harry shook his head at their antics and landed a few feet from Ginny. She was watching their squabble, arms limp at her sides.
"Gotcha!" Ron cried, grabbing Hermione around the waist. They tumbled on the hill and collapsed into a heap of giggles.
Harry came beside Ginny, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes. She looked lost, happy, and sad. And envious. He wondered if she even noticed he was there. Not to become entranced by her flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips, he looked ahead at Ron and Hermione, who were trying to shove snow down each other's jumper fronts.
"I want what they have."
Harry startled at the sigh and stared at Ginny, but she still hadn't twitched.
"They're so lucky," she continued. "Nothing's keeping them from each other."
Harry swallowed but kept very still. He wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or not. And if she was, what was she saying exactly? Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and opted to remain silent.
Then Ginny shivered and turned to him, her mouth set determinedly. "So. Harry." She paused and licked her lips, glancing back down at the ground before meeting his eye. "I suppose we have to discuss a couple of things. Australia."
"Yeah . . ." Harry glanced down toward The Burrow and rubbed the back of his neck. It ached from the impact of the snowball. She wanted to talk about Australia here?
"Of course, if you don't want me to come, that's fine, I understand," Ginny said quickly, misinterpreting his delay. "I was a bit intrusive for asking."
"No, no, it's not that!" Harry looked at her dumbly. What was he supposed to say? What were they discussing exactly? He hadn't been prepared for any of these conversations when he'd returned to The Burrow. In fact, he hadn't been prepared for anything except the strain.
"Okay." Ginny was giving him an odd look, but then she glanced upward and grimaced. Over her shoulder, Harry could see Bill heading back to the Burrow, tossing them a questioning glance over his shoulder. "Look," she said, "I just need to know when you're leaving, what I need to bring, that sort of thing."
"After New Year's . . . and I don't know, bring whatever you need to bring," Harry shrugged. How was he supposed to know what women traveled with? "I'll owl you if I think of anything else."
Ginny nodded but said nothing, her eyes roaming the quiet, white scenery, again looking lost. After a minute, she gave an almost inaudible sigh and turned toward the Burrow, retracing the path they'd all made earlier. Harry watched her for a moment, then shouldered his broom and followed, wishing that life were clear and simple.