Chapter Twelve
"Terminal"
"Ginny."
Harry stared at the curled form clutching a pillow at the center of the small bed. Ginny's face was buried in her tucked knees, one arm draped over her head, reminding Harry distinctively of a cat shading her eyes under her paw. It really didn't look too comfortable.
"Ginny," he repeated when she didn't stir. It was five after eight, and although Harry did enjoy a good lie-in, he also knew that the Portkey terminals were going to be long.
She still didn't stir. Harry stepped closer and gently poked her arm. "Ginny, time to get up." Still nothing. How long had she been up last night? He'd waited up until one before realizing she'd probably be very irritated to know he'd done so. "Giiiiiinny," he tried again, hoping to annoy her now. "Up you get."
Ginny twitched and made a negative sound. Harry smirked and gave her arm another prod.
"Come on, big day today," he said, trying to sound as ridiculously cheerful as possible. "Australia!"
"Uh-uh." Ginny uncurled slightly and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. "I wan seep . . ."
Harry grinned. She reminded him of another certain Weasley in the morning . . . Of course, she would skin him alive if he used the same tactics on her that he used on Ron. A pull on one of those long braids would definitely work, but once again, Harry wanted to actually return to Australia. And not in a very small box.
"I'll drag you out of bed," Harry warned.
She shook her head and grunted.
"I could do it. Magic or not. Your choice."
Ginny burrowed deeper into the bed and Harry was certain he'd just been called something very foul.
"Okay, then." Harry unceremoniously took hold of her forearm and started tugging gently but firmly. Ginny groaned grumpily and tried to swat him, but Harry kept out of range. "None of that now."
"You . . . are an insufferable . . . git!" Ginny grabbed her pillow and threw it at him, but Harry easily ducked and tried not to grin at her sleep-blotched face as she sat up. She glared blearily at him, sleep-mussed hair frizzing around her temples and ears.
"Good morning," Harry greeted, letting go of her arm.
Ginny rubbed it grouchily. "What time is it?"
"After eight. We should have been in Los Angeles by now."
She sniffed, then rubbed her sleep-heavy eyes and yawned. Harry looked away as she stretched—the Wheezes t-shirt was loose, but not that loose.
"They serve breakfast until nine in the lounge," he said.
"Great."
Thirty minutes later, they were walking through the snowy streets to their Apparation point from the previous night. Ginny was as quick as any male in the bathroom in the morning (a result from living with so many brothers), but she didn't come out looking like one. Once again, she wore the dark eye make-up, but she'd let her hair down so that it fell in waves after sleeping in the braids. He stared at the brilliant contrast of her hair against her black cloak as they traipsed to the tiny courtyard.
"At least the sun is shining," she grumbled, as they watched a portly wizard remove a drift of snow in front of his shop with his wand.
"Yeah." Harry couldn't think of anything to say. Breakfast had felt strained after the failed conversation last night. Ginny had kept quiet and failed to meet his eyes again.
When they reached the courtyard, which thankfully had been cleared of snowdrifts, she asked, "Are we going straight to Los Angeles?"
Harry searched her face for signs of weariness. She looked exhausted as before, but he could sense that her strength was back, or at least she looked determined and stubborn enough. And she didn't have that long Portkey across the Atlantic to disorient her.
"If you want."
She gave a short nod. "I just want to get there."
Her voice was terse and low, making Harry want to stare and figure out what was wrong, but he quickly brought out the Apparation map. Somehow he doubted her behavior would be any different in Australia, but it was worth a shot, anyway. Once again he was left wondering about Ginny's intentions and how he could be involved in them.
"Okay," she said, after she'd studied the map in his hands. Withdrawing her wand, she gave him a slight smile and Disapparated.
Harry waited a moment, taking in the snowy courtyard that seemed to be an inverted snowdrift. He had a peculiar urge not to go to Los Angeles. Life had simply been easier before Christmas Eve—purposeless and wandering but definitely much easier. Not that Harry had any habit of shirking from challenges or turmoil, but he didn't like how dependable elements of his life seemed to continuously slip away during and after the war. Everything was supposed to be okay now, everyone was supposed to move on and be happy and content.
Seems everyone has moved on but me and Ginny.
Nudging the deep snow with his booted toe, Harry mulled over this idea. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Ginny's depleted cheerfulness and behavioral change could easily be explained as a consequence of the war. Why hadn't anyone else thought of that? Intentionally helpful, concerned questions had pestered Harry all through that strange, stressful year after Voldemort's permanent defeat, but Ginny had been off at Hogwarts, away from the hovering. Maybe she'd slipped everyone's mind . . .
No, that couldn't be right. Harry knew the Weasleys, and somehow he couldn't imagine Molly or Arthur Weasley, let alone any of the other Weasleys, forgetting about Ginny and passing her off just because she wasn't present.
Still, maybe she had just been really good at pretending. Harry had thought he was a regular expert at pretending by the end of his seventh year, but Ron, Hermione, and Remus had called him on it and all but banished him from Auror training and reconstruction. Besides, Ginny wasn't exactly pretending to be perfectly fine, that was for sure. Maybe she's tired of pretending . . .
Harry kicked gently at the snow and pulled out his wand, realizing that it had been several minutes since Ginny had disappeared for Los Angeles. Glancing quickly at the map, Harry found his coordinates and then Disapparated to the Los Angeles International Portkey Terminal, hoping Ginny wouldn't be too upset about his delay. How could he explain that?
Noise assaulted Ginny's ears the moment she Apparated into LAIP Terminal 12. Blinking, she tried to reorient herself, but someone firmly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her over to a gate. Loud cracks and pops seemed to follow in her wake. Turning her head, she saw witches and wizards appearing and stepping quickly toward the gate she was being led to.
"Wait!" she exclaimed, jerking her arm free from the Apparition official clutching her arm.
The wizard rolled his eyes. "You must clear the area immediately, miss," he said impatiently, reaching for her arm again. "Have your papers ready—"
"But I'm with someone—"
"I'm sure they'll be here at any moment. Now clear the area!"
Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but the wizard, several inches taller than her and with stern lines around his mouth and eyes, gave her a quelling look. She hurried after him toward the gate.
Grumpy and bored looking wizards and witches in uniform were directing the new arrivals to form an orderly queue and present all papers. Ginny fell in behind a slouched wizard, but craned her neck around to watch the Apparition area for any sign of Harry. She couldn't spot him anywhere.
Feeling uneasy, Ginny shuffled forward with the queue, constantly turning around to see if Harry had arrived yet.
"What's your problem?" the American wizard behind her demanded after about the fifth time she'd done this. He wore a Quodpot jersey and cap and seemed very impatient.
"I'm looking for someone," Ginny said, craning her neck around as he shifted and blocked her view.
"The line's moving," the Quodpot fan growled. "So move. Your friend's probably Splinched. They have a desk you can check in about that."
Ginny shot the man a dark look. Biting her lip worriedly, she obligingly moved forward, but couldn't resist looking back again. What could possibly be keeping Harry? Had something happened to him? Did he get Splinched, or had something worse happened? Could one of Voldemort's desperate followers have tracked Harry down and wanted to wreak a little revenge?
She was going to be sick.
"Damn it, Harry, where are you?" she muttered under her breath as she neared the front of the queue. Risking the man's irritation, she peered again around him, and nearly toppled over with relief.
Harry stood near the end of the queue, similarly peering over and around people to spot her. When he met her eyes, he gave a little sheepish wave and smile, but Ginny only glared. He owed her an explanation when he got through the gate.
About five minutes later, the queue of traveling wizards and witches in front of her cleared, and she was staring at bored witch holding out her hand as a wizard waved his wand over her, a faint blue light emanating from its tip.
"Your papers," the witch stated blandly.
Ginny quickly handed over her passport and the documentation given to her in Richmond. Although she'd also been searched for any human transfiguration, Polyjuice, and other such forms of disguise, the blue light still unnerved her. Harry's Distraction Charm, despite being a form of disguise, would not register in the search because it was too "vague" to pinpoint what it disguised.
"Do you have your tickets?" the Apparition official wanted to know as she handed Ginny's papers back.
"No."
"The booking station will be to your right. Thank you, have a nice day."
"Yeah . . . you too." Ginny knew for certain she could never become an Apparition Officer.
Hurrying through the gate, Ginny shoved her papers back into her bag and found a spot off to the side to wait for Harry. This earned her some suspicious looks, but she ignored them. When Harry did finally come through the barrier with his Neville Evans papers, Ginny crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
"Sorry," Harry said the moment he was within earshot. He looked a bit cowed even before she spoke.
"What took you so long?" Ginny demanded. "Did you walk here or something?"
"I said I was sorry," said Harry, sounding both apologetic and irritated. He motioned toward the booking station. "Come on, maybe we can still get a morning Portkey."
Ginny followed him, but she still wanted a reason for her worry. "So, what happened?"
"Nothing."
"What? You just stood around for awhile and then decided to Apparate?" Did that mean he'd had second thoughts about bringing her to Australia? Had he stood there in the snow thinking about just turning around? At that thought, Ginny stopped dead and felt the blood rush to her toes.
Harry, sensing her halt, paused and turned around, a little pink appearing in his cheeks. "Well . . . yes?" He licked his lips and gave a helpless little shrug. "Look, I just got . . . lost in thought, okay?"
Lost in thought? Ginny stared at him. It was too dumb of an excuse, even for Harry, not to be true. She shook her head and marched past him. "Whatever. Come on, Plato."
Wow, I've really been out of the big picture, Ginny thought, disconcerted, as she read The Los Angeles Chronicles's article on the Portkey delays and disturbances from New Year's Day through yesterday. "Yesterday international travelers were still frustrated with the European and Asian Portkey routes due to the boisterous ringing of the New Year. Officials report that pranksters and wizards with Muggle heritage caused most delays. Although the calendar year for 2000, the new millennium, is a few years off the planetary charts, Muggles-experts have reported a widespread Muggle panic over an event named Y2K, that threatened to shut down all electronic systems (a Muggle substitute for functional magic)."
Now that Ginny thought about, she remembered Joe muttering something about people stocking up old bomb-shelters with food and the End of the World. Fred and George had been plotting something for New Year's Eve, but Ginny had not been in an attentive state of mind.
The rest of the article covered some of the widespread pranks, along with interfering Muggle disputes through the designated Portkey routes. She remembered the griping witch and Southampton, thankful that everything seemed to be running on schedule so she wouldn't suffer through any more complaints.
Not that running on schedule was fantastic. Ginny folded her newspaper and glanced at her watch. Half past noon, and here they were, still stuck in bloody, smoggy Los Angeles with witches and wizards speaking countless languages. Every so often, a roar would rush overhead—an airplane landing or taking off—and children would start to cry. Apparently Muggles had built their airport right over the Portkey center, sending the magical world's operation below ground. Compensating rather poorly for this, decorative illusionists charmed "windows" to view different areas of Los Angeles, but Ginny couldn't see its appeal.
"Are you done with that?" Harry said, seated beside her, pointing to the folded newspaper.
"Yeah, here." She handed it to him, still feeling awkward about her outburst earlier.
Virtually nothing else had been said between them since.
Ginny massaged her temples and closed her eyes. It was her fault that things were so strained and awkward, after last night. Well, after Draco Malfoy had dropped her off in that field, really . . .
The crackling of an unfolding newspaper brought Ginny out of her dark thoughts. She glanced at Harry. He'd completely shed his cloak and winter clothes and stuffed them in his bag, and the cap and facial hair were gone (thank goodness). Although she wouldn't say he looked relaxed, he did look a bit less tense than in Southampton.
"What's Australia like?" she asked suddenly, surprised by an abrupt urge to talk.
Harry's eyebrows jumped under his fringe, but he quickly turned thoughtful and set the paper down. "I don't know . . . It's hot right now, 'cause their winter and summers are backward from ours . . ." He shrugged and gave her a sheepish little smile. "It's sort of like a hot, really laid-back England . . . only not."
Ginny snorted. "That's . . . descriptive."
"Well, we colonized it with criminals and such," Harry shrugged. "Not that everyone's a thief or murderer." He scratched the back of his neck. "It's just . . . nice. It's not England. I'm—" Pausing, he looked down at his shoes, a little red appearing in his cheeks, then said lowly, "I'm not a—a big deal—over there."
Ah, Ginny thought. Why would people living halfway around the world care what went on in England? Aside from Quidditch, of course . . . She wondered if perhaps the Australian wizards wanted to cut themselves off from the "Mother Country" now that Australia was a separate nation. It would definitely explain Harry's lack of fame down there.
But it wasn't really what Ginny realized she wanted to know. Studying Harry out of the corner of her eye, she bit her lip and tried to quell the unsettling sensation in her chest. Not once had Harry mentioned his roommate, other than to pass along that he'd sent Hedwig back with a letter to her about Ginny's "visit." Not until he spoke of her did Ginny realize that she'd be living, if only temporarily, with the gorgeous Australian witch that had been living with Harry for months.
As she watched Harry read the Y2K article, Ginny fought the urge to come right out and ask him just what sort of relationship he had with Renee Blackstone. It's not my business. It shouldn't matter to me if Harry's living with a witch. Needing distraction, she bent down to her travel bag, its strap locked around her ankle to prevent possible thievery, and withdrew a portable CD player and a small carrying case.
She smiled a little at the permanent black words scrawled all across the silver machine. May your Sad Eyes find Solace and Crinkle at the corners. Don't forget about your friends at home. Love from, Joe and Alyson.
"What's that?"
Ginny jerked a little but managed to keep hold of the delicate machine. She glanced at Harry, feeling inexplicably guilty. "A CD player. Joe gave it to me as a going away present."
"Oh." Harry's brow furrowed and Ginny could have sworn he gave the player a frown. "I know what a CD player is, by the way. Didn't you already have one? Hermione mentioned you listening to one at Christmas."
Feeling her cheeks warm at the word "Christmas" and why she'd been listening to music, Ginny struggled to pull off a casual shrug. "I borrowed Joe's player a lot, so he probably just bought this one to keep me from swiping his before I left."
By the way he'd pressed his mouth tight, Ginny knew Harry wanted to say something more. Instead, he turned back to the paper, and she let out an inaudible sigh of relief. Good, he wasn't going to interrogate her—
"So, are you and Joe, you know . . ."
He stared at the newspaper carefully, his voice studiously casual, but then Harry's eyes slipped toward her, and Ginny resorted to studying the twelve burned CDs Joe had made for her.
"No," she said shortly. She delicately removed the first CD and placed it in the player.
"Really?"
Ginny shut the lid with a snap. "Your roommate's really pretty."
Once again, Harry wore his Frown of Perpetual Confusion. "What does that have to do anything?"
"I was just making an observation," Ginny shrugged, unable to disguise her bitterness. However, she could fight the burning in her cheeks, and she did so, despite her embarrassment for snapping and so obviously turning the focus on Harry's love life. "She's pretty. My brothers are jealous you're living with her."
Still staring in apparent bewilderment, Harry shrugged and muttered, "I s'pose so." He ran a hand through his hair and turned away to watch the milling international travelers.
Ginny watched him for a moment. She wanted to know, right now, what sort of living situation she'd be dealing with in Sydney. If she was interrupting anything, she could bail out before things got any more awkward.
"So are you and Renee, you know . . . more than flat mates?" Ginny cringed as Harry turned back toward her, looking thoroughly unsettled before narrowing his eyes.
"No, of course not." He paused, and then raised his eyebrows slightly, expectantly. "Why?"
Ron has influenced you way too much, Ginny thought darkly, keeping her face impassive. "I didn't want to interrupt anything."
"Renee's always having people over," Harry shrugged. "One more isn't going to bother her."
Ginny wanted to know what he meant by that, but she didn't know how to ask it without implying something that her mother would have thought indecent. Instead, she said, "Sounds crowded. Do you mind?"
Harry suddenly grinned. "It's kind of like summers at the Burrow sometimes. Only without your Mum's cooking and all that ginger hair." His eyes fell to the hair spilling over her shoulder, and Ginny felt something wistful stir inside her. Then Harry's grin faded and he looked away.
Not wanting to see the dark shadow fall over his features, Ginny quickly pushed play and closed her eyes, settling back into her seat as guitar chords vibrated through her head.
According to the scenery-duplication along the stonewalls, rain began to spatter the tarmac above. The storm had come up quite suddenly, and as Harry tried to find a comfortable spot in his chair, he couldn't help but believe that the weather was being just a bit too metaphorical.
The past hour had been anything but sunshine, in Harry's mind.
Ginny had not emerged from her gift from Joe. She slouched a bit in her chair, eyes closed, and only showed signs of consciousness when she switched CDs. Then she would resume her sunken pose, arms draped over her stomach, chin down, and nod for a bit before coming still again.
Harry didn't like to think he'd been staring at her from the corner of his eye, but he had a sinking feeling that he'd been passing more than a casual glance every now and then. He couldn't help but be a little surprised that she had not yet yelled him out for having a staring problem like at Christmas.
That had been embarrassing.
Harry cringed. Rubbing at a crick in his neck, he continued trying to fathom the conversation—or was it an argument?—he'd had with Ginny a little over an hour ago. If he didn't know better (and he probably didn't), he would say that Ginny seemed rather jealous and bitter about him living with Renee, a woman. But she were indeed upset by that, and therefore jealous . . .
But that can't be it, Harry told himself for the hundredth time. Ginny had made it quite clear years ago that she harbored none of those feelings for him, and therefore, she could not possibly be jealous of Renee Blackstone.
But it'd certainly seemed like it, because her tone had matched his, and Harry recognized rather clearly that he was jealous of Joe.
Joe who came over for supper, Joe who gave her meaningful looks, Joe who gave her a going away present and had 'Love from' written on said gift . . .
Joe who was still in England.
Harry latched onto this comforting fact. If Ginny truly liked Joe like . . . like that, then she wouldn't have left him behind, right?
Still doesn't help me out, though. Sighing, Harry cast Ginny another bemused look. Faint strains filtered through her headphones, but he couldn't really make the music out. She seemed to be asleep; her neck seemed to be losing tension as she swayed slightly, her head tilted toward Harry, and the tension left her jaw.
With several hours to go before their Portkey was called, Harry decided to nap as well. He cast a Perimeter Spell around them to ward off possible thieves or other bothersome vagrants (at least the anti-soliciting spells left one less thing to worry about) around them. He only wished that the chairs didn't have the anti-Transfiguration wards to prevent careless or forgetful magic harming an unsuspecting traveler just sitting down for a rest or wait.
Then Harry tried to relax his back into a slouch and stretched out his legs. Hoping he wasn't trespassing any boundaries, he stretched his left arm over the back of Ginny's chair, and let his head fall against his shoulder and forearm. Unfortunately, his neck didn't find this comfortable and his shoulders didn't provide much cushion.
He dug into his rucksack and wadded up his Christmas present from Mrs. Weasley. Tucked between his head and his forearm, the jumper made a suitable pillow.
An unconscious Ginny must have thought so too, because she swayed a bit before sort of flopping against Harry's shoulder, making an incoherent little sound.
Harry went very still as Ginny's head burrowed for the jumper and even reached up to claim more of the material that wasn't pillowing his head. She had nearly all of it before Harry had the mind to keep hold of his last remaining portion of head comfort.
At this, Ginny gave a little growl before dropping her hand and going still again.
When Harry was certain that she wasn't about to do anything else weird and unexpected, he closed his eyes.
She felt deliciously warm and safe. Although her neck seemed to ache a little, the familiar material against her cheek seemed to slowly seep into the perpetual cold inside her. Dimly her ears registered the buzzing racket around her, but that too dulled in comparison to the lovely warmth at her side.
Strange how the warmth seemed to move slightly, and she could hear a low sort of throbbing somewhere nearby. How odd . . .
Just as she started to become less aware of warmth, throbs, or noise, a very deep rumbling vibrated through the warmth and the entire thing seemed to tense and move, making her neck hurt more.
Not liking this one bit, she groaned and tightened her grip on the lovely warmth. It stilled immediately, and in her vague state, she smiled a bit in triumph. That'd teach the lovely warmth to try to escape from her . . .
And again that rumbling!
Not just rumbling, but also something kept jabbing her arm, and the noise was getting louder.
Pain shot down her neck. She tried to adjust it, but as she did so, the noise got louder and the warmth moved.
And someone kept saying her name.
More to save her neck than concede victory to the jabbing and the noise, Ginny slowly opened her eyes. Groggy consciousness let her know several things in quick succession: she'd been sleeping in the Portkey terminal, Harry was poking her arm, and she was nestled against him with only a Christmas jumper between them.
Oh Merlin . . . Ginny immediately shut her eyes again, but she sensed no change around her or sleep returning. Hearing her own heart beating now, she slowly opened her eyes again and forced her breathing to be inaudible and steady. She could already feel the heat in her cheeks and knew it wasn't just heat transference from Harry's body—
Heat transference from Harry's body.
With a little gasp, Ginny shot up and slammed back into her chair. The world spun dizzily for a moment and the warmth fell away.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Through the ruckus her panicked thoughts and pounding heart were making, she glance at Harry out of the corner of her eye shoving his jumper back into his rucksack. His cheeks were slightly pink.
Harry looked up at her. Behind the obvious embarrassment and uncertainty, she detected an impish, amused glint in his eyes.
"You fell asleep," he said simply, and then as an afterthought, "and took my pillow."
Ginny dropped her eyes to her boots and bit her lip. What could she say? Once when her family had gone camping and she'd had to share a blanket with seven-year-old Ron, he'd complained in the morning that she'd taken all the pillows and the blanket and had kicked whenever he'd tried to get something back.
"They're calling our key, come on," said Harry.
Cursing softly under her breath, Ginny untangled her bag from her ankle and followed Harry, her cheeks still burning. Oh you snuggled right up to him, didn't you? And attacked him for the bloody jumper. Nice one. From now on, no bodily contact with Harry, no falling asleep in the same room as him, and definitely NO BLUSHING!!
Even as she silently lectured herself and followed Harry to Gate 345, she couldn't help but yearn for that feeling of being so close to Harry and unaware of anything else. A sharp pain started in her gut. She knew this emotion, this agony, way too well. It was the same feeling she got whenever she thought about that one kiss—
"Ginny," Harry nudged her. "Your ticket."
Ginny stared up at him, confused. Her eyes drifted to his mouth; the pain in her stomach intensified, shooting up to her chest.
"Ginny?"
Oh no, it moved.
"Are you all right?"
"Sir, if you don't hurry, you'll miss your Portkey. It's at least another day before you can get another ticket."
"Just hold on, okay?" said Harry tersely. Then, gently, "Ginny? What's wrong?"
She forced her eyes to pull away from his mouth and took in Harry's concerned face. She could read the fear in his eyes, the fear that she had changed her mind. Could likewise see her pain?
Immediately, she dropped her gaze to the floor. Her black boots faced off with Harry's worn trainers.
"If . . . if you don't want to come, that's fine," Harry said slowly.
Still looking down, Ginny shook her head. Going back to England seemed unbearable, even if she had no idea how going to Australia with Harry would be any better.
"No," she said quietly, lifting her face and forcing herself to meet Harry's gaze. "I'm coming with you."
Harry's eyes widened, and she felt even sicker at the hope there. "Really? You're sure?"
The moment had truly come.
She knew she couldn't get away from her pain just by relocating, but she knew she would regret this if she said no.
"Yes," she said resolutely. "I'm sure."