Chapter Ten
"The Beginning of the Journey"
"You would think they knew how to take care of things like this! Honestly! Why would something in Asia affect what's going on in Europe?"
From underneath the small brim of her cap, Ginny cast the whiny, irate witch in the peacock coat a scowl.
"And I'm just trying to get to Paris! Don't even have to go to Asia!" The middle-aged woman's complaint was shrill, causing her equally ridiculously dressed companion to wince before nodding in agreement. Each witch had obviously dyed hair, the first with orange hair that would even offend a Weasley. Their make-up was similarly fake and apparent, but the second began applying pink lipstick as the first clutched her handbag and continued to screech.
"You think I'll get into trouble for casting Silencio?" Ginny muttered to Harry, who was reading The Daily Prophet and shifting uncomfortably in his hardback chair.
"If you do, I can mediate matters with the I'm-The-Boy-Who-Lived routine."
"And be mobbed by your admiring public?"
"Ah—no." Harry visibly winced. His eyes darted around nervously, and he pulled his cap further down over his forehead and slouched a bit more in the chair. Not that anyone would actually see the scar if he hadn't—he'd cast a charm to disguise the unmistakable celebrity trademark. Nor had any wizarding publication ever taken a photo of Harry Potter in a light, trimmed goatee.
Ginny did her best not to smirk at Harry's disguise. Anyone who looked close enough at him would easily know he was Harry Potter, but he'd also expertly cast a Distraction Charm to keep any lookers from lingering long enough to recognize him.
"Attention, please," an amplified voice floated above their heads. "Would waiting parties twenty-seven through thirty-two please come to the Rerouting Desk at this time?"
"Well, it's about time!" the peacock witch huffed.
"Good riddance," Ginny said under her breath. She shifted in her chair and pulled her feet in just in time to prevent a toddler from tripping over her boots.
"William! Darling, please be still for Mummy!" A harried young mother came tearing around the corner, her cheeks flushed and hair falling out of her ponytail.
Ginny watched the mother snatch her giggling boy up before looking around at the crowded seating area. She'd been up since five that morning, packing last minute things before Harry arrived at six so they could Apparate to Southampton's International Portkey Center. They had been scheduled to leave for Monaco at seven, but just as they were queuing up all ports had closed. Apparently something had happened to bring all Portkeys into Europe and Asia down. The Portkey officials had given no information, but Harry had explained that often Muggle conflicts or wizard uprisings disrupted the network. England wasn't the only nation with power-hungry wizards.
Whatever was wrong this time, it had to be serious, Ginny thought with a sigh. The seating area was crowded with grumpy, agitated wizards and witches. Children too young for Hogwarts fidgeted and complained to their parents, and somewhere behind her a baby started to cry. A younger couple were speaking in Spanish and consulting a guide near the Help Desk.
As noisy as the place was, Ginny wasn't too bothered by the delay. It wasn't like she'd reach Australia today and she wasn't in a hurry, anyway.
Yawning, she looked back at The Quibbler, smiling a little as she saw Luna Lovegood's name under an article titled The Truth About Muggle U.F.O's. She had no idea what a U.F.O. was but it sounded like something Luna would believe in.
Even as she tried to read the article, Ginny's mind drifted toward Harry. She had woken up surprisingly calm and collected, and even his appearance at her door hadn't shaken her as much as she thought it would. Or perhaps she was just getting good at hiding her feelings, even from herself. Probably she was just relieved to finally be doing something, and her stern, self-given talking-to probably helped.
You're going to act normal. You don't have to pretend like before, but you don't need to burst into depressive hysterics. Whatever happens will happen. If you're hurt, it's your own damn fault. If Harry never wants to see you again, then fine. Just don't let him get close again, that's all.
And so far, things had gone well. Not brilliantly, but well enough. Harry hadn't pried, he didn't try to make small talk, and he didn't act like she was going to burst into hysterics. Well, not after a few hours. She still caught him watching her from time to time, but she tried her best not to react.
When her stomach growled, Ginny put down The Quibbler and dug around in her satchel for a few knuts and sickles.
"I'm going to get some food," she told Harry. "You want anything?"
He shook his head, glancing up briefly. "I had a big breakfast. Your Mum thought I wouldn't eat for a week."
Ginny nodded, feeling a teensy bit jealous, and then guilty. She still hadn't told her family she was leaving the country. With a small sigh, she turned and went in search of the small food kiosk she'd seen earlier.
From around the corner of The Daily Prophet, Harry watched Ginny depart. She looked very much like on Christmas Eve with her eyes darkened, lips a deep maroon, and wearing a black, swishing skirt. The long-sleeved, maroon t-shirt and navy cap were obviously Muggle. Her long, straight hair swayed as her head turned slightly to the left and right. She seemed to only vaguely resemble the Ginny Weasley he'd known at school and summers at The Burrow.
Except he'd known the beginnings of that drawn, haunted look.
Harry sighed and folded the two-days-old Daily Prophet. Reaching under his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd been stuck in a Portkey center before in Russia. It had nearly driven him mad—hardly anyone spoke English—and he'd been asking himself why he was even there.
Which brought his thoughts to Ron and Hermione, who had attended the going-away breakfast Mrs. Weasley had insisted on making. "When are you coming home for good, Harry dear?" "Why are you staying away, mate? The hype's died down a bit since you've been gone." "Harry, we really miss you."
He wished he could answer their questions, but he didn't even know the answers himself. As much as he missed Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys, he knew he wasn't ready to return to England's wizarding world. Away from England he was away from The-Boy-Who-Lived and could just be Harry, whoever he was.
Sometimes he woke up at night wanting nothing more than to return to England. He knew he could never rid himself of the war—it was part of who he was, just as Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, and the Order (all those dead and alive) were—but he needed to swallow it bit by bit.
"Ugh. Fish and chips," Ginny said, startling Harry out of his thoughts. He sat up quickly and blinked as she sat down, a greasy aroma filling his nostrils. "You'd think they'd have something else, wouldn't you? This is just so . . ." She seemed to struggle for the proper adjective. ". . . Muggle. Are you all right?" she asked, frowning and tilting her head to the side as she dipped a fry into some ketchup.
Harry studied her for a moment, caught by her familiar head tilt. How many times had she looked at him like that? Except usually there was a faint turn of her mouth, as if she were inwardly smiling encouragingly.
"Oh . . . nothing," he lied. "I just have a slight headache."
Behind her dark-lined brown eyes, she gave him a dubious look, but returned to her greasy lunch. "Want a fry?" she offered, holding one out to him.
"No thanks. I'm stuffed."
"Suit yourself."
Harry smiled as Ginny searched for edible pieces to eat. She licked her fingers delicately, and then wiped them on a napkin. As tomboyish as she could be sometimes, Ginny had usually been a proper eater—which generally meant rolling her eyes at Ron's animalistic method for consumption.
"Do you always watch people eat?" Ginny said suddenly, narrowing her eyes at Harry.
"Sorry," Harry said, quickly looking away.
"Huh."
Harry was saved from further humiliation by the call for numbers thirty-three through thirty-eight. Ginny swore softly and trashed the remainder of her meal. Harry smirked at her irritated scowl as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
They said nothing as they waited behind party thirty-six, which consisted of three Bulgarian wizards sporting fine cloaks and furs. Harry couldn't help but think of Viktor Krum and, of course, the bickering that resulted between Ron and Hermione. A small pang went through him. He'd barely seen his two best friends over Christmas and he had no idea when he'd be in England again.
Glancing down and to the side, Harry studied Ginny's unreadable face. Was she missing her own friends? Had she bothered to tell them yet? Actually, Harry was grateful for her persistent secrecy; the less people who knew where he was, the better. And it wasn't like he could really argue against secrecy from friends.
"Party thirty-seven!"
Harry startled at the sharp call from the witch at the Rerouting Desk. She reminded him frighteningly of Professor McGonagall with her severe mouth and bun. He quickly handed her the tickets for their cancelled Portkey.
"Mr. Neville Evans, then? And Miss Ginny Weasley?"
Harry nodded and Ginny said, "Yes." He could feel her eyes on him.
"Through the door, then." Matilda (as her name tag said) gestured at the navy door behind the desk.
"Neville Evans, huh?" Ginny hissed as Harry opened the door.
"It'd make these—" he pointed at his chin and cap, "—pretty worthless if I went with my real name, wouldn't it?"
Ginny smirked but kept quiet as they entered an office where a small, portly wizard sat at his desk surrounded by maps full of squiggling lines, times, and dates.
"Hello, hello," the man said hastily, gesturing at the chairs scattered between the door and the desk. "Please, have a seat? We'll try to be as quick as possible." A small plaque said Mr. Rufus Rankshot – Courtesy, Convenience, and Comfort.
"Party thirty-seven, yes? Mr. Evans and Miss Weasley? Yes . . . I've got you right here," said Rankshot, unrolling more of the large scroll across his desk. He pushed his spectacles further up his nose, scratched his balding head, and peered with his nose nearly touching the parchment.
"Were you merely passing through the continent, Mr. Evans?" he said after a minute. The small wizard swiveled in his chair and opened a drawer from the cabinet behind him.
"Yes." Harry never completely told the Portkey agencies his final destination, just in case, but if they were being rerouted, then he'd have to be a little more forthcoming. "We were planning to pass through Asia as well."
"Ah, I see. Hmm . . ." Rankshot waved his wand at the open drawer, causing three thick folders to swoop onto his desk. Then he spun again in the chair to consult the large maps behind him, his finger tracing the blue lines, which only seemed to cover the Western Hemisphere. Asia and Africa were flooded with red and black lines. Harry noticed that North and Latin America were substantially less lined in red and black.
"If you're headed for the Far East or Indonesia or Australia, we can put you through the States," Rankshot said after a couple of minutes. "Do either of you Apparate?"
Harry nodded.
"That's good," said Rankshot with a small smile. He opened the first folder and withdrew a sheet of parchment of the United States. "This is a map of authorized Apparition points for international travelers. Stay away from the areas in black—you'll get Splinched.
"Now," he said, turning back to the charts behind him, "I can put you through Virginia at three-forty-two. Richmond'll have some inns for you." As he spoke, the rerouting wizard's wand produced two tickets, and he stamped them with his seal. "Off you go then," he said, handing Harry and Ginny their tickets. "You'll want to head to Gate 4. Have a good afternoon!"
"I think I'm going to be sick," Ginny moaned, gripping her stomach as two wizards on broomsticks whooshed by.
"The potion isn't helping?" Harry asked, squinting in the bright sunshine as he surveyed the busy wizarding section of Richmond, Virginia.
Ginny shook her head—then stopped. The world seemed to spin. She'd never taken such a long Portkey before and hadn't thought it would really be much different from the old shoe they'd all taken to the Quidditch World Cup.
"How come you're not retching?" she said, surveying Harry's face for any green (aside from his eyes). "You hate Floo and Portkeys."
"I got used to it," Harry shrugged. He tossed her a cheeky grin. "And I took a little extra swallow of the potion."
Ginny had the urge to stick her tongue out at him, but her stomach gave another flop so she immediately shut her mouth. No good splattering the sidewalk with fish and chips. Instead she pulled her cloak tighter around her, wishing it wasn't the second of January. She looked at Harry, who had removed his cabbie cap. His hair didn't seem affected by its wear and rippled gently in the winter wind. Trust Harry not to get hat hair.
"So," she said, "what do we do now?"
Harry turned, frowning slightly. "Well, it's around eleven here. Do you want to Apparate today?"
"Not at this moment. Can we sit down somewhere?"
Harry led her across the street to a small café that seemed to be preparing for the busy lunch hour. An environment charm had been cast over the outdoor tables. The bright midday sun only enhanced the impression of early summer. Ginny grimaced at the lingering smell of breakfast as she sat down at the white tablecloth table. The waves in her stomach were calming down, but she didn't feel soothed by the tiny ripples. She massaged her temples and closed her eyes, waiting for the nausea to pass.
She remained like that for several moments, breathing deeply and slowly. The sound of parchment unfolding caused her to open her eyes.
Harry was reading the Apparition map. Two glasses of ice-cold water sat in front of each of them, Harry's half-drank. He was scratching his chin, and Ginny wished he'd just step into a toilet somewhere and shave.
"Well?" she asked.
"We can Apparate across the entire continent," said Harry, setting the map down, "or do it in hops. If we do it all at once, I wouldn't recommend doing it today."
Ginny shrugged and leaned slightly over the table to study the map. "Whatever you want to do, you're the expert." Personally, she didn't feel like Apparating anywhere today, but neither did she know what else they could do all afternoon.
"How do you feel?" said Harry, frowning.
"Fine. I'm not going to throw up or anything." Ginny sat back in her chair, wishing he'd look somewhere else.
"How far do you think you can go today?"
"I don't know." She took the map, distinctly aware that Harry could probably Apparate to California from here without a hitch. I'm probably a burden on him already, and he's too much of a gentleman to say so.
Ginny hadn't seen very many wizarding maps in her life, despite being a witch. She just didn't have much interest in them. Not even when she'd been planning her sabbatical, she hadn't had a chance to consult even a Muggle atlas. However, she was impressed with this one, maybe even more so than the Marauder's Map Harry had shown her in fifth year.
At first glance, it simply showed the states and the blacked-out Splinch areas. Then as her eyes focused on Virginia, Richmond appeared as a red dot. Several blue dots began to pop up in other states, as if the map knew she wanted to see how far she could get. Beside each dot were the city or town name and its coordinates. As her eyes focused on Lexington, Kentucky, a small list of inns, restaurants, and sites appeared below the dot.
Intelligent pieces of parchment unnerved Ginny. She knew it was just charm magic—probably an Optical Direction spell—but she couldn't shake her uneasiness, even with the Marauder's Map, which Harry, Ron, and Hermione revered.
Blinking, Ginny set the map down, fighting the urge to rip it. I hate you, Tom, she cursed vehemently. Now she had a full-fledged map phobia.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, his brow creased in confusion.
"Nothing." She'd never told him she wasn't particularly fond of his godfather's map.
Harry was giving her a funny look. "D'you want to try one state and see how that goes?"
"Sure."
Harry seemed to know where he was going. They entered a park that would have been beautiful in greener weather. Harry led her to the large, sculpted fountain of a sorrowful witch reaching her arms out in a plea.
"I think it has something to do with the Civil War," said Harry as Ginny stared up at the statue. "The plaque says she was a healer masquerading as a Muggle during the siege."
"Oh." Ginny had only a vague idea what Harry was talking about. Somewhere along the line, she'd read about the American Civil War, but she hadn't really given it much thought.
"All right," said Harry, shouldering his pack and withdrawing his wand. "Lexington, then?"
Ginny took a deep breath as she consulted the map again for the right coordinates. If Harry noticed her wince, he didn't say anything. She gripped her wand tightly in her hand, recited the coordinates, and cleared her mind of everything but the numbers and the vision of the map. Then she gave her wand a twist—Pop!
Harry Apparated the moment after Ginny disappeared. In an instant the cold park transformed into a back lot of an administration building. He cast around for Ginny and let out a breath of relief to find her adjusting her bag over her shoulder.
"Where next?" she said, walking over to him. Harry tried to detect any weariness in her face, but she was giving him a 'look' and he dared not continue.
"We could try for Kansas City," Harry suggested, taking the map out. "It's a longer distance . . ." He stole another glance. Ginny did look a little tired. Could she handle more than one state at a time? By the time he'd gotten to America, he'd been accustomed to Apparating great distances, but Ginny wasn't used to this yet.
"Great," she said, holding her wand up.
Harry opened his mouth to say something but then closed it and looked down at the map. Ginny might be as stubborn as any other Weasley, but she was smart enough to know when she was too tired to Apparate.
According to the map, Kansas City offered much less than Lexington or Richmond. Harry had skipped over Missouri and Kansas on his brief tour of the States, mostly because the wizard population was extremely thinned out. As much as he needed to get away from the United Kingdom's magical world, he wasn't ready to completely disconnect himself from the only world he belonged in.
He could try for Denver, but he didn't want to push Ginny. She could probably handle it. Or accuse me of treating her like a little girl, Harry thought, glancing at Ginny. She'd taken off her navy cap to fidget with it. Although he knew she wasn't a little girl anymore, Harry found he couldn't shake certain memories from his mind at times like this. Ginny lying as if dead in the Chamber . . . Bellatrix Lestrange pointing her wand . . . Ginny crumpled, white, in the middle of an empty street . . .
Of course, then there was Ginny yelling at him to get his head out of his arse, ducking under a Bludger to score for Gryffindor, hexing Malfoy with her wicked Bat Bogey, calling Michael Corner an idiot, and arguing fiercely to go to the Department of Mysteries.
Harry pushed his concerns out of his mind and focused on the coordinates to Kansas City. If Ginny felt fine after that, they could push on to Denver. Simple.
"Here," he said, passing her the map.
Ginny didn't take it, but looked at it with narrowed eyes. After a minute she nodded and raised her wand again. "See you there," she said, and then disappeared with a small Pop!
Apparating to Denver, Colorado, had been a mistake, Ginny realized the moment she appeared in a snowy courtyard. Cold, icy wind tore through her cloak, instantly exhausting her more than the trip from Kansas City had.
Harry appeared a few feet away. He stumbled slightly against the wind, but he didn't look drained as Ginny felt.
"Let's get inside somewhere!" he called over the wind, hurrying towards her.
Ginny nodded eagerly. High brick walls surrounded the courtyard and each corner had a large pine, but it did nothing to block the wind. The winter current seemed to leap right over the wall and plunge down upon them like a steeplechaser. A wrought iron gate shrieked on its hinges. Harry held it open for her and Ginny dashed through, but fell back against him as a blast of snow pushed in from the street.
She was warm in an instant. Ginny had a ridiculous, romantic sensation that her back against Harry's chest caused the sudden heat, but then she realized his arm was stretching out around her shoulders and his wand was glowing softly. The snow and wind had stopped blasting her, falling against an invisible, curved shield in a three-foot radius around them.
"Well, someone did well on his practical N.E.W.T.'s," said Ginny.
Harry grinned. "Well, perhaps if you'd studied the summer before as Hermione suggested, you'd thought of it too."
"Cheeky prat," she growled. "And you didn't study the summer before."
"Guess I'm just a natural, then," Harry shrugged, that cheeky grin still well in place.
"I just think you've been to Denver before," Ginny scoffed, nudging him. Harry's cocky, teasing grin was infectious, and she started to smile, but she let it fade. Harry shouldn't be looking at her like that, not when she was standing so close, not when she shouldn't be standing so close.
"Come on, let's find somewhere warm," Harry said, his grin vanishing with hers.
You stupid girl, Ginny scolded as she stepped into the gray and white world, Harry thankfully a step back.
Harry wasn't the only one casting an impervious charm from the whirling snow. As they proceeded down the street of second and third storey buildings, Ginny saw several bundled witches and wizards hunched against the miserable weather, but a few walked tall and straight, a faint tint of a shield appearing whenever the wind gave a mighty shove. Two young wizards were carrying skis into a large log building full of glowing windows. She was sure if the wind wasn't howling down the street, she would hear hearty laughter. Over the snow-covered rooftops, Ginny could see mountains darkening the gray-white sky that seemed to be pressing into the ground.
"This place has good food," Harry said just behind her shoulder.
Ginny looked to her left and stopped just before she hit the end of Harry's shield. A small, brick building nestled between two three-storey log structures much like the one they'd past, except they looked official rather than welcoming. The brick, however, had bright windows with red-and-white checkered curtains. The window display read Jane's with a slice of cherry pie and a steaming coffee cup underneath.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asked as they stood outside the door.
Ginny could see two old witches chatting adamantly over their coffee and cake, identical books open in front of them. "Yeah, a bit," she admitted, hoping Jane had hot chocolate.
They stepped into a warm, cozy room full of small round tables and a roaring fireplace. At the back of the room was a bakery counter and Ginny could hear the sizzle of a grill in the backroom.
"You didn't tell me Denver was snowy," said Ginny as she and Harry sat down at a table near the window. She glanced outside and shuddered.
"Well, it is winter. And it's not that bad. Hogsmeade's like this." Harry draped his cloak over the back of his chair. "Besides, you like snow."
"Not when it's trying to bury you."
A full-figured witch came bustling from the unseen kitchen then and took their orders after introducing herself as Mama Jane. Ginny sipped her hot chocolate (with marshmallows), feeling exhausted from travel and drowsy from the new heat.
"We should probably stop here for today," Harry said quietly when her eyes drifted shut.
Ginny forced her eyes open. She wished Harry didn't have such emerald eyes, because they seemed to pierce through her better than any other color did. Blast him. "Why?"
"You're tired. It's been a long day."
"The heat's just making me groggy."
Harry raised an eyebrow. He didn't look a bit tired. Maybe a little tense around the jaw and eyes, but not tired. Stupid powerful wizard, anyway. Who knew her a bit better than she'd like right now.
"Fine," she huffed, looking out the window so she wouldn't have to look at him.
Mama Jane returned with their food; Ginny had a club sandwich and a cinnamon role while Harry ate a steak and hash browns, testifying that nothing compared to Midwest beef. Ginny kept silent, both out of weariness and sulking. She didn't begrudge Harry his powers, but she hated the fact she was drained from Apparating and he wasn't. Or maybe he's just better at hiding it?
"You'll get better at it," Harry said casually halfway through his steak. "It just takes some time to build endurance."
Ginny gave him an unappreciative look. Harry just cocked another eyebrow and returned to his steak. When supper was over (for them, since they were still on London time), they ventured back into the blustery street. More people were out and about for the lunch hour, ducking into other restaurants and lodges. Harry, his shield up again, brought Ginny to an inn three streets from the one they'd Apparated on.
The Frozen Pine was suitably named, Ginny thought, as she clambered up the steps to the wrap-around porch of the log structure. Ice sickles hung from the roof, nearly touching the drifting snow bank rising up the wall. However, when she stepped inside, she was instantly bathed in warmth and light from three crackling fireplaces and a large candle chandelier. The heady aroma of pine filled her nose as she wiped her boots on the thick rug before stepping into the lobby. To her right the lobby opened into a large sitting area and lounge, where a table of five was playing Exploding Snap.
"Nice," Ginny said, following Harry to the reception desk.
"Welcome to The Frozen Pine," a middle-aged witch greeted them, a courteous smile on her face. "Do you have reservations?"
"Actually, no," said Harry. "Do you have any rooms open, though? We're rather stuck."
"I can check, but it's unlikely," the receptionist said, pursing her lips into a thin line. "It is the holidays, you know." She opened a large ledger and flipped through a page.
Ginny slumped her shoulders. She could curl up on one of the comfortable, cushy couches surrounding the fireplaces if there weren't any rooms available. Just a nap . . .
"It doesn't appear so . . . oh wait," the witch said suddenly, tapping the chart with a maroon nail. "Room thirty-seven had a cancellation. It's one of our smaller rooms, a single, but it does have a queen." She smiled at them, as if she'd given them something special.
A queen? And I thought America was a democracy, Ginny thought vaguely, feeling as if she'd missed something important. She looked at Harry for clarification. His cheeks grew slightly pink.
"We can go somewhere else, if you want," he said quietly. "Somewhere with two rooms, or somewhere with at least two, er, beds."
Had Ginny been her old self, she would have burst into laughter at Harry's flustered, embarrassed look. The situation would have been contrived involving anyone else but Harry, especially a flushed, jittery Harry. But Ginny realized quite suddenly that she hadn't given lodging a thought, especially a queen bed. The day had gone fairly well, but could she handle an entire night in Harry's presence? A girl needed a break every now and then . . .
But I'm going to be dealing with him an awful lot in Australia. And it's not like I'm in a stupid romance novel, am I? I can stay in the lounge for awhile or something.
Still . . .
"Is there anything else?" she heard herself saying.
"Probably not," the receptionist said, and Harry jerked his head around to her, as if relieved to hear someone else speak. "Most of the inns are booked."
"It's your call," Harry said, not quite looking at Ginny.
He's going to insist on taking the floor, like the men always do. And I'm supposed to say he couldn't possibly, let's share, and then . . . Ginny inwardly grimaced. She was not in a romance novel, she didn't need to follow a cliché. Besides, did no one in those novels study Transfiguration?
"Let's take it."
Harry gave her a startled look. He seemed slightly uncoordinated as he dug through his money pouch for the American wizard currency he'd converted in Richmond.
"Hey, what's my half?" Ginny asked, reaching into her own cloak for her money.
"Don't worry about it, I've got it."
"Don't be ridiculous, half that room's mine."
"Ginny—"
"No, Harry!" She fixed him with her steeliest glare and set her moneybag on the counter.
Having faced and defeated Voldemort must have done something, because Harry picked up her pouch, grabbed her hand, and put it back, closing his hand over hers. "You can pay for the next one," he said firmly.
"You don't always have to be a gentleman," she muttered, yanking her hand free.
"And you don't always have to be stubborn."
"I am not—" Ginny began, but stopped. It was useless. He was just as stubborn. Harry had an incredible stash of nobility. She should know better than anyone.
Harry paid for the room and took the key. Ginny stuck her tongue out at his back as he headed for the large staircase leading up to the second and third floors. It might be childish, but he deserved it, didn't he? Truthfully, she knew he wasn't doing it because her family was poor or she was a helpless little girl—he was Harry and he was dumping Lockhart's textbooks into her cauldron again.
"Well," said Harry, pausing outside of Room 37, "here we are."
Ginny watched as he ran a hand through his hair. She wondered if he realized how much he did that when he was nervous or frustrated. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Clearly he was thinking about what a queen bed insinuated. Finally, he turned the key and opened the door.
A light flickered on immediately. Ginny followed Harry through the threshold. The room wasn't nearly as small as she'd been expecting, but then again, she'd heard that American hotel rooms were larger than in England. The queen bed did take up most of the room, but there was enough space for a small table, two chairs, and a small loveseat near the popping fireplace.
"Well, I'll take the couch," Harry said, sounding rather relieved as he dropped his bag on it.
"Don't be silly," Ginny said, taking out her wand. Harry opened his mouth to obviously protest, but Ginny ignored him and pointed her wand at the large bed. She transfigured it into a twin and then duplicated it so two smaller beds now stood in its stead.
"Your turn to be clever," Harry smiled.
"I couldn't let you break your back on that tiny thing," Ginny shrugged, nodding at the loveseat. "And you did pay for the room," she added, narrowing her eyes meaningfully.
"Fair enough."