A/N: Happy Holidays, everyone! Ok, I'm going to answer a couple of questions I've been getting. 1) No, I don't live in Australia. Yes, I've been there. I spent two weeks in Queensland a couple of summers ago. I'm mostly going on memory, my journal, and some help from the Sydney guide to jog said memories and clear up some confusion on my part. 2) Also, the abrupt scene changes that occur are a formatting problem with I have breaks in between scenes with nice little symbols, but for some reason, just doesn't like them. I've tried different ways, but it doesn't work. If anyone knows a good trick, let me know!
Chapter 15
"Innuendos and Howlers"
Something small, dry, and warm scratched persistently at her nose. Rumbling purrs joined the pawing at her face, steadily become more demanding. She twitched and there was a quiet 'meow' before a furry head promptly butted her.
Sighing and slowly opening her eyes, Ginny reached out to pet Rum, a sneeze from his fur tickling her nose. Although she washed her face every morning, she generally liked to do it herself, but not with cat saliva, thank you very much.
Even as she whispered this to the small, content feline rubbing against her chest and kneading the mattress in pleasure, she felt rather grateful to wake up to Rum's begging. After the dream she'd had last night, she was sure she would have woken to panic in the small room. Her head ached at the memory of Voldemort's deadly, spider-like hands snatching her private memories and cruelly mocking her as Lucius Malfoy laughed, holding her weakened body in a vice.
Shuddering, Ginny picked up Rum and cuddled him close to her, burying her face in his short, silky coat. He purred loudly, pushing his head under her chin, claws digging happily into the cotton of her pajamas. After a moment, she released him into her lap and pressed her back against the wall, allowing her head to fall back.
If she closed her eyes, she would feel the closed space of the bedroom, but if she kept them open, she had the assurance of the light beam coming through the cracked door. Although the fan was not running, the air did not feel stuffy. Renee had apparently re-Charmed it before retiring last night.
Last night . . . Ginny bit her lip and rubbed her still aching forehead at the memory. Her other hand found Rum, who had curled into her lap, his tail twitching against her thigh. She felt so stupid and . . . scared.
Looking back, she was just as sure now as she was then that Harry had been about to kiss her. She'd seen that look in his eyes before, that slackening in his jaw . . . It hurt. In all her pondering and worrying since Christmas Eve, she had not considered Harry showing any feelings like that. She'd known from his face and actions that he still cared about her, but she had figured that the past two years had quelled any amorous feelings he might have had, and that after letting her tagalong for a while with him that anything possibly remaining would be completely, utter squashed. If she pushed him away any farther, he'd be volunteering to jump off the relationship cliff, right?
At least, she'd thought so, until last night. The dress had been a mistake. Had joking around with him been one, too? Could she really not be somewhat friends with him? She hadn't been able to at Hogwarts after . . . after she'd come back, so why had she entertained the idea last night?
"It could have been the alcohol," she whispered to Rum. The cat rolled onto his back, inviting her to scratch his belly. She did so absently, still puzzling. "Mum's always said that makes you do and think things you don't want to—and you actually want to—Oh hell."
Groaning under her breath, she pushed both hands against her face, holding back a growl of frustration. Maybe she should pack her bags and go . . . somewhere else.
Then, as Rum stopped purring, she heard two voices coming from somewhere near the kitchen or living room. Briefly, she recalled the muffled sound of Harry moving around his bedroom last night and the protest of bedsprings suspiciously close to her wall. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep last night, wondering—on top of everything else—if Harry was indeed just a few inches of partition away from her, and oh, didn't this just make everything even more befuddling and painful?
Now, however, Harry wasn't in his room but out somewhere in the apartment talking with Renee. Ginny, having spent years eavesdropping on her siblings, couldn't ignore the compulsion to do so now.
"We should go, you know," Renee was saying, "and introduce Ginny to the rest of the mob. I know you're not much for parties, but most of the Wombats will be there. I'm sure Hugo will stop calling you Shark Biscuit by now. And, anyway, I already told Shelly yes, so it'd be rude not to rock up."
Harry's reply was muffled, but Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that he'd been purposely incoherent.
"It's that or go to the other one with Tommy and his mob," said Renee, a crafty hint in her voice. "He asked me about her yesterday when I came back from the beach."
"Fine, we'll go," Harry said curtly.
"You know, Tommy's really not all that bad," Renee said thoughtfully. "You two get on all right most of the time. And he's cute, athletic, not bad on the surf—"
"Look, I just don't want him around Ginny, all right?"
"Why not?"
"Because I don't."
"Fine. I'll tell him she's off limits," said Renee amiably. "I'll keep him in line."
"Good."
There was a pause, and then Renee, still nonchalantly wily, said, "So, why're you so cranky this morning? I know you barely had a sip."
"I'm not cranky," Harry said grumpily.
"Oh no, definitely not." Even from the closet, Ginny could hear the smirk in the older girl's voice.
"Just shut up, okay? I don't want to talk about it—ah, damn," he swore. "Hand me my wand, will you?"
"Accio!"
Ginny, already close to the door, leaned a bit closer to the small gap, her ears ringing from the conversation about her. She felt irritated and confused. Why couldn't Harry just be unconcerned and uninterested? Unrequited love was great company with the rest of her misery, and maybe then she wouldn't feel so guilty and deceptive—just completely, utterly miserable. Somehow betrayal was a bit easier to deal with when it was against someone who held you as someone of no importance.
"Whopper cut, Hay," whistled Renee, "but I do believe you're supposed to trim the broom, not your hand."
"Ha ha."
"Are you going to the park today? I know Hugo teed the pitch for Wednesday evening. We've got that tourney coming up."
"Maybe."
Deciding that she'd listened long enough and probably wouldn't gain much information aside from Quidditch, Ginny turned on the light and changed into her Wheezes t-shirt and pulled on the gray shorts from yesterday. After running a brush through her long hair, she wound it into a loose knot, glanced into the tiny mirror dangling from a hook in the wall, and decided that she'd wear a little eyeliner today. Snatching the small applicator, she crossed two steps to the bathroom and closed the door to collect herself before she faced the day—or rather, Harry.
Freshly scrubbed and eyes accentuated (she better be on her guard), Ginny entered the kitchen/living room area to find Renee laying on the couch, her legs up on the back, a magazine propped against them, and Harry on the floor, his Firebolt and a maintenance kit laid out before him.
"Weasley—Wizard—Wheezes," Renee read aloud, looking up when Ginny came within her eye range. "What's that?"
"My brothers' joke shop," said Ginny, her eyes trailing to Harry, who seemed very interested in polishing his Firebolt.
"Cool." Renee sat up, her long, tanned legs swinging to the floor. She closed the magazine and clapped her hands together. "It's about ten—did you want to go shopping before I go to work? Or swim? I'd just say Harry could take you, but he's not into either of those things."
At her feet, Harry cleared his throat and started putting his servicing kit away, the polishing rag draped over his shoulder. Ginny thought he might have glanced at her, but it was so fleeting it could have been her imagination. As if uninterested in her answer, he got up to return the Firebolt to the front closet.
Feeling the sting of his coolness, she tried to appear casual and unworried as she looked down at Renee's expectant face. "Sure, that'd be great," she said.
"Brill! I know just where to go—"
"D'you want breakfast?" called Harry.
"I already had—"
"Not you—Ginny. No one can keep up with you on an empty stomach," said Harry.
"He has a point, you know," Renee told Ginny, winking. "He's sworn off ever going to the markies with me. Go on," she added, rolling her eyes toward the kitchen. "He doesn't make breakfast for me."
Still feeling awkward and unsettled by Harry's cool demeanor and sudden offer, Ginny obeyed Renee and went into the kitchen, licking her lips nervously as Harry turned to her. His face was rather closed off, but since he'd been that way around her and everyone else for so long, she couldn't say it upset her that much. Actually, she felt strangely relieved and strained at the same time on such familiar ground.
"D'you want eggs or bangers or pancakes or something else?" he asked. As if sensing her indecision, Harry said, "There's toast or fruit, too."
"I'll—I'll just have that," Ginny said lamely. She felt like a sod, especially as Harry promptly popped some bread into the toaster and set butter, marmalade, orange juice, and strawberries out on the island in front of her. She couldn't tell whether or not he was offended by her lack of enthusiasm for what was probably a peace offering. Why did he have to be so obtuse and nice at once?
Just as she bit into her toast (and Harry was obviously trying to find something to do), a shrill ring burst through the apartment, causing her to drop her breakfast.
"I'll get it!" said Harry, springing toward the far counter.
Ginny realized that the phone was ringing and retrieved her toast from her lap, brushing the crumbs off hastily.
"Oh, hallo, Simon," Harry greeted. There was a pause. "How soon? Right now? Um—" He glanced at Ginny, his brow furrowing. She looked down at her toast, chewing slowly. "—Yeah, sure, I can do that. I'll be there shortly. Bye."
"What was that?" asked Renee, coming into the kitchen as Harry hung up.
"I've got to go in. Roberto called in sick," said Harry, tugging on a tuft of hair, "and some tour group has reservations, so they're understaffed."
"You couldn't just ask him to get someone else?"
Harry shrugged, frowning. "I already told him I'd go."
"But we can't leave Ginny to boredom!"
"There's plenty to do just down the street," said Harry, not quite looking at Ginny. "And you're taking her to Oxford and the Junction, not to mention there's the beach and park—"
"Oh, just nevermind," Renee huffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Get going."
Harry disappeared into his bedroom, and a couple of minutes later they heard a sharp crack as he Disapparated.
"Harry works?" asked Ginny.
"Yeah, a little," said Renee, flopping onto a barstool. "Why do you sound so surprised?"
Ginny shrugged and picked at the toast crust. "It's just that . . . he's got money and he's on sabbatical, so I didn't think he'd really want to work."
"Interest rates don't keep up with living and traveling," said Renee, brushing hair away from her face. "Harry said he's got enough money left to help with the rent for awhile, but he's also rather—oh what's the word?—well, his blood's worth bottling—not like those surfies. He doesn't feel right about not doing anything but playing Quidditch for the pub, so he gets an odd job here or there. Like today, Simon called him into Jumbuck's to cook."
"Is that a Muggle restaurant?"
"Unfortunately," Renee cringed. "And not the best stuff, either. It's more of a tourist spot in Bondi. We generally try to keep away from it. But I owed Simon's cousin—I went to school with him—a favor, so when Max—that's the cousin—asked if I knew anyone who could fill in one night—just about every cook had fever; I think they'd been training someone new the night before, and something wasn't prepared right, so they got sick—anyway, I knew Harry was looking for something to do, so he rocked up and Simon liked him enough to give him the position of fill-in lackey."
Ginny, used to following sporadic explanations (the twins, Hermione, Colin, etc), digested this and asked, "So, Max is a wizard?"
"Yeah. Simon doesn't know that, though. He just thinks we went to a boarding school in Queensland." Renee took a strawberry and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. "Harry generally does stuff for Muggles. He helped old Mrs. Cornwall move and weeded her garden and stuff." She bit into the strawberry, chewed thoughtfully, and then went on. "You can't really get into a wizard job without some training, and I don't think he knows what he wants to do. I mean, he quit Auror training, right, and traveled the world—not exactly the actions of someone certain what he wants, is it?"
Ginny shifted uncomfortably and looked down at her plate.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," said Renee. She bit off the rest of her fruit. "If I didn't love Australia or my job so much, I'd probably be doing the same thing."
"What do you do again?" Ginny asked curiously, opting for a couple of strawberries herself.
"Disc jockey for the AWWN. I take the one to five shift. It's not a bad gig, really. I get to chatter and choose music and bring the wizarding world some Muggle music—and get to meet bands and review them. I send the Muggle reviews to websites and magazines, too.
"I'd do it for free, really," Renee continued, "but I guess actually getting paid makes it seem less lowly and dero to Sean and Diana. They're not exactly pleased that I've got a share in the opals."
"Who?"
"Oh, they're my bro and sis—sort of. I'm adopted." Renee flicked her strawberry stem into the rubbish bin while Ginny tried to hide her surprise. The open, buoyant girl did not radiate the bereft, closed aura she'd first witnessed in Harry.
"I didn't know that," she said quietly. "Harry didn't tell me." She studied Renee, unable to connect this orphan with the one her family had more or less adopted all those years ago.
"Not surprised," said Renee with a shrug. "He doesn't exactly gossip about people, does he?"
"No," she agreed, fidgeting under Renee's scrutinizing gaze. "So, were you adopted by Muggles or wizards?" Ginny asked, hoping she wasn't treading out-of-bounds. The topic of parents was always a painful one for Harry.
"Muggles. See, Mums and Dad—er, the ones who adopted me—had a girl—Kristina—that got her letter for Queenstead. They let her go, but Sean and Diana, they were younger, never got their letters. Anyway, I'm not quite sure what happened, but Kristina was training to be a cursebreaker and was killed during an expedition in Tasmania.
"A couple of years later, Mums and Dad decided they wanted to adopt a witch. Sean and Diana were about ready for uni, and they decided they still wanted another kid, but they were a bit past age, so they went to adopt. It's rather difficult to adopt through the Muggle system, so they appealed to the magical world." Renee paused, her head tilted thoughtfully to the side. "I was about six then and lived in the orphanage my whole life, so it was a bit of a shock to be adopted." She smiled suddenly. "Mums and Dad are brilliant. They were so relieved when I said I didn't want to do anything but music, surf, and Quidditch—especially since I decided to go both ways and honor my surrogate Muggle heritage."
"What about Sean and Diana?" asked Ginny, remembering how Harry had said his Aunt Petunia despised his mother for being a witch.
Renee scrunched her face. "We get on all right, I guess. They don't necessarily approve of my 'irresponsible lifestyle,' but Mums and Dad just told them that not everyone needs to wear a suit." She grinned mischievously. "They really didn't like that, especially when I got a share in the opals on my seventeenth birthday. Now I can be as bohemian as I want and spend the profits off pretty rocks."
Ginny shook her head, amazed at the ease this girl had with her life. Her adopted parents were rich and did not push her to achieve with the rest of the family. No wonder Renee Blackstone seemed so content and free.
"I know, you want to hate me now," laughed Renee, catching the look on Ginny's face. "I admit it—I do have it rather good. Maybe that's why Harry agreed to bunk up with me," she added, moving to put the condiments back in the fridge.
Putting her chin in her hand, Ginny watched the girl, mulling over what she'd just heard. She could definitely see why Harry would be drawn to her and this place: as an orphan, Renee could empathize and understand what his friends could not, but she also was so open and accepting of people that he could experience a life not ravaged or tainted by war. Ginny knew enough about people and life to know that Renee Blackstone's life could not possibly be as rosy as it first seemed, but the Aussie definitely had a brighter perspective.
I could probably learn a thing or two from her, Ginny thought glumly, trying to ignore the underlying resentment she felt.
Holding back a sigh, Ginny helped Renee clean up, then changed into a pair of Renee's cutoffs, and followed her to the markets and shops scattered along Oxford Street. A veteran at finding bargains and shopping quickly, Renee enthusiastically helped Ginny find two "cozzies" (bathing suits), some summer-appropriate tops (it turned out that none of Renee's cast-offs were shrunken, as Ginny had thought, but a youthful Muggle style), shorts, flip-flops, and some "decent wandering shoes." Shopping felt more enjoyable and less of a guilty pleasure with the fantastic exchange rate, and Ginny felt some of her conscientious spending disappear.
Breathless but exhilarated at a quarter past noon, they grabbed a counter lunch of iced lemonade and mozzarella sticks.
"See?" said Renee, dipping her stick into the marinara sauce. "I told you I'm an excellent shopper."
"I think Harry was right," Ginny laughed, helping herself to the fattening but delicious food. "You're exhausting. You have Aly beat."
"Aly?"
"She's my best friend and roommate." Thinking of how Alyson would have had a complete spasm down Oxford Street, Ginny felt a slight pang that she couldn't share it with her friend. Gazing out at the wide expanse of crowded, hot Bondi Beach, Ginny decided she'd buy a camera and snap pictures for her friend and owl her very soon.
"Good view, isn't it?" said Renee, following Ginny's gaze. "The water is lovely enough, but I rather prefer the surfies."
Giggling, Ginny had to agree as a group of wet, board-carrying and very tan surfers came up the steps from the beach, speaking in a language that she knew somehow originated from English but sounded nothing like it.
"How're the waves, lads?" asked Renee as they started to pass their table.
"Bonzer," said a shaggy-headed blonde sporting reflecting sunglasses and carrying a vibrantly orange board. Behind his shades, Ginny had a feeling he was checking Renee out. An appreciative smile curved up his thin lips as he and Renee exchanged some sort of surfing banter. Then he followed his mates to the order window.
"Too bad I have to go to yakka," sighed Renee, gazing out at the beach full of scantily-clad, sunbaking Muggles. She glanced at her watch and frowned. "We better pop back to the unit and drop off your things."
They gathered their bags (Ginny wasn't the only one spending money) and walked off the main streets of Bondi to Apparate out of view. After Renee left for work, Ginny sifted through the CD collection scattered around the entertainment center, and smiled warmly when she discovered some familiar bands that Joe had hooked her on. She found the Eve 6 album and flipped to Open Road Song and cranked it up as high as she thought the neighbors would tolerate.
Singing along and moving her body with little nods, she stacked up a small playlist. Rum leaped onto the couch, his lavender eyes watching her interestedly. She ignored him and decided to take full advantage, as she never had before, of an empty flat and glorious stereo system—
"The night is beckoning although I have nowhere to go but home. Feels good to be alone! With every turn comes a new frame of mind, if I could frame my mind where would it hang? I crack a window and feel the cool air cleanse my every pore as I pore my heart out to a radio song that's patient and willing to listen, my volume drowns it out—"
Her voice grew louder as the guitar, drums, and vocals reached a new height, riding the emotion of the lyrics. "—Yeah, but that's okay, cause I sound better than him anyway any day. Yeah my voice is sweet as salt! I search for comfort and I find it where I've found it many times before—Times before can be forgotten!"
As the chorus ripped through the apartment, Ginny laughed and spun in a circle, causing Rum to shrink back. Although she'd never cruised around on the open road, she knew the state of mind, the overriding emotion, of this song—it explained how she'd felt last night, gazing out at the stars and glowing sprawl of the eastern suburbs. Hearing the song now, one that Joe had played on occasion, she burst with the energy that had been contemplative last night.
The song ended.
Ginny, breathless, quickly loaded the CD tray with more, adding in a band she was not familiar with. Once guitar and drums filled her ears, she crossed the apartment to her shopping bags and went to her little cupboard to sort through everything.
As she did so, she came across her writing journal. Perhaps she would write this afternoon. If nothing else, she would definitely record her impression of Australia. She set it down on her pillow and finished sorting out her purchases, nodding instinctively to the music coming through her wide-open door.
Deciding that the day was too gorgeous and feeling warmer toward Renee, Ginny decided to take up Renee's suggestion of going to the beach. She really wanted to stand atop the cliff Harry had shown her, stretch out her arms, and feel the ocean beckon to her.
She changed into her new jade green bikini, feeling somewhat promiscuous in what Renee had claimed would be "a killer." Compared to many of the other tiny costumes on the racks, Ginny thought this one was comparatively modest, but this didn't help her mother from nagging in her ear. Somehow she doubted the cute, tiny koala embroidered on her left hip would help appease Molly Weasley.
"Well, you're not here, mother," she said aloud, "and Renee says I look great, so I'm going to wear this." But as she looked down her pale, freckled body, she had doubts. I'll definitely use that cream Renee set out, she thought. The older girl had warned that the many Irish travelers haunting Bondi sizzled and fried under the sun. Ginny had a feeling she'd do just about the same.
Once she'd massaged the sun lotion into her skin, using a her wand to get her back and also casting an extra Anti-Sunburn Charm, she tied her new sarong around her waist and pulled a white tank-top over her bikini top; she stuffed her quilted satchel with some money, sunglasses, and her writing journal and pen. As an afterthought, she remembered a beach towel and charmed it to fit neatly into the satchel.
She Apparated a few minutes later behind the boulder, hid her wand in her satchel, and stepped out to see Bronte Beach.
Now in the early afternoon hours, the smaller beach was fuller—but still not nearly as packed as Bondi, where she'd just had lunch. Surfers and boogie boarders were rising with the swells while waders braced themselves against the hissing foam reaching up the white sand. Sunbathers stretched out on towels, their skin glowing under the hot sun. Under the shade of some edging trees, a family was in the middle of a picnic.
Ginny smiled and vowed to test out the water in a little bit. Then she turned and made her way up the little trail she'd gone up just yesterday. As she climbed, she saw several Muggles coming down a path to her right, cameras swinging around their necks as they tried to hold onto their hats.
"Oh, that was a lovely walk, wasn't it?" said a middle-aged woman breathlessly.
"My knee hurts," said another, limping a little. "Is the bus close or do we have to turn around?"
Ginny watched the little group make their way down the gentler path, then continued her climb. She was relieved to find their path did not follow hers up to the leaning trees and double rocks; she did not want this spot to be intruded upon.
In bright daylight, the ocean sparkled and moved differently in the distance, its deep blue, capping waves became indistinguishable from the sky. Sailboats glided languidly through the waves, cutting a white, rippling ribbon behind them. Further out a white ship made its way north toward Sydney Harbour, its distant, blasting horn drifting on the wind to warn the pleasure crafts to get out of its way. Waves crashed against the rocks below her, sending up spray that almost but not quite reached the cliff's lip.
Stretching her arms out, Ginny opened her mouth and shouted, "HELLOOOOOOOOO!"
As if in answer, a deafening crack exploded below her as a large wave smacked into the hard rock. She jumped back and laughed at her silliness. Then she climbed one of the boulders and perched on top, feeling the sun heat her skin.
After some time of just absorbing the sun and ocean breeze, she took out her notebook and pen to jot her impressions. Once she moved past describing this very spot and what she'd seen so far of Sydney, she moved on to Renee.
"Renee Blackstone is the epitome of what we all might have imagined we'd be like the first few years out of Hogwarts, if only we hadn't already been forced to see the darker side of life and so much death and pain. We would have felt our ages—nothing but aspiration and hormones and an optimistic view of what is ahead of us. I may have been just like her, but now I'll never know. If I had been born down here, gone to school at Queenstead and never known what I do, I can almost imagine myself so free-spirited now.
I know I could have, actually. Around fourth year, I would have believed this in-between world Renee dwells in. I think then I could have borne the belief that we would survive, we would go on, and after Hogwarts, I'd have fun with my friends and celebrate with everyone else when Harry wins England the World Cup.
I'd even fancied the idea of traveling the world, with absolutely no intention other than to see and experience it—not the way I was compelled to do it now.
But then I wonder about Miss Blackstone. Is she really content? Or does she hide in this in-between world? She said she likes to have only temporary roommates, people who wander. Why does she really do this? Is it because she's an orphan? Her story is so different from Harry's, but they're both living in-between at the moment. Wait—no. Harry's living in the in-between that Renee provided for him.
So why does she provide for others this little niche?
Unable to answer her own question, Ginny capped her pen and started down the rock. The sun was making her feel rather hot and the water beckoned invitingly. Once she reached the beach, she shed her flip-flops and sunk her toes deep into the white sand, delighting as the tiny grains filled between her toes and cushioned her feet.
Somewhat shyly, she shed her sarong and shirt, noticing that her skin seemed to be glowing under the sun. Frowning, she tried to decipher if it was burning or not, but it was hard to tell. Renee had warned that often sunburns were misleading and didn't look so bad until a few hours later. Still, she hadn't turned pink yet (thanks to the spell), and it didn't hurt to touch.
After casting an anti-theft jinx on her things, she made her way down to the surf, very aware how pale she was compared to the other beachgoers. A dog ran past her with a Frisbee clutched in his mouth. She watched it skid to a halt before his master and bark eagerly as the man sent the toy sailing away again. He caught her eye and grinned. She smiled politely and continued down to the wet sand.
She squeaked in surprise when sand started to disappear under her feet as the next wave pulled at the shore before breaking and sending foam hissing up to her ankles. Remembering Renee's warning not to go out too far, lest she get caught in a riptide or a wave she couldn't handle. "Just look where the other swimmers are. Don't go out to the surfers," she'd said seriously. "Once you get past the first breaks, it's easier to relax and go with the swell, but you have to be alert, 'cause you can get pulled further out before you know it."
Heeding this advice, she gradually made it out to her waist. Sand still disappeared from underneath her, but it didn't feel nearly so unbalancing and the gentle swell of incoming waves would push her closer to shore and she'd find the sand again. She noticed the other "swimmers" riding the swells as well while they chatted amiably with one another. Keeping close but not too close to be intruding, she listened absently to their conversation while making sure she wasn't being dragged out to sea.
At one point, one of older women (who had been talking of her neighbor who had stocked up on food for the Y2K scare) turned to Ginny and opened up some small chatting. By the time the group decided they were ready to go in for "a quick nip," she'd learned of some other choice places to visit as well as eateries to avoid. She followed them in, not wanting to drift where she shouldn't.
Laying out her towel, she decided to watch the surfers while drying out. Shortly after she'd settled down, however, the young man with the dog wandered over, carrying what looked like a shrunken surfboard. The yellowish dog immediately start sniffing her, so, giggling, Ginny reached out to scratch him behind the ears.
"G'day," the dog owner greeted. "I'm Bryan. D'you boogie?"
"Sorry?"
"Do you boogie board?" he asked again, waving the electric blue board.
"Er—no," said Ginny, feeling rather foolish. "This is my first time in the ocean." The dog tried to lick her face, but she gently pushed him away. He whined softly but then smiled and thumped his tail as she continued to pet him
"Would you like to learn?" the Australian said. "Slobber here's quite good and he only bites if you botch it up."
Ginny laughed. "Sure, why not?"
Harry bit back a groan as he fished his keys out of his pocket and made his way up the staircase to number six. Tourist group parties always meant more work and a grumpier Simon, and today had been no exception. He smelled of kitchen: deep fry, grease, fish, and sweat. A shower sounded wonderful just about now . . .
He had just about made it to his floor when he heard the front door open and voices below.
"G'day to you, Spunk," Tommy's hit-on voice echoed up to Harry. "Sav! You've been kissed by the sun today, love."
"Timothy, right?" said a familiar voice, causing Harry to whirl around and nearly fall down the stairs. Ginny stood just inside the door wearing something that would most definitely haunt him tonight and a black, mesh sarong that opened over one very freckled thigh. He couldn't see much of her face under the dark shades, but Harry was hardly looking at her face, anyway.
"Tommy—but no worries. Anyway, love, I'm throwing a real ripper Sunday—"
"Oh!" said Ginny, sounding a touch remorseful. "Renee said we were meeting some friends tomorrow night. Otherwise I'd love to come, but I already promised . . ." She trailed off and a small, please-forgive-me-I'm-so-cute-and-innocent smile crept under her opaque sunglasses.
Harry knew that smile well. She'd used it several times to get out of sticky situations. The only person it hadn't worked on had been Snape—he'd given her detention.
"No worries," said Tommy, sounding rather disappointed. But he still smiled and Harry also knew that smile—and he didn't like it. "I'll just Cook on you later then. How 'bout I walk you up?"
"Sure," Ginny shrugged, "but you needn't trouble yourself an extra flight."
"Ah, I need the exercise."
As they turned to go up the stairs, Harry didn't miss the way Tommy brushed up against Ginny, his fingertips briefly skimming the curve of her hips. Something hot pulsed through Harry, and it was all he could do not to pull out his wand and turn the randy little whelk into a cane toad. Ginny, for her part, seemed to stiffen at this brief contact, but she said nothing as she started to climb the stairs.
Tommy, still keeping too close in Harry's opinion, kept up a light chatter as they drew nearer to Harry's place on the next flight. Ginny nodded and gave little answers, but Harry knew these signals well enough—she'd used them on him—she was only tolerating Tommy until she could get away. Just as they turned on the first landing to start up the second—Harry's flight—Ginny seemed to look up: her mouth opened and shut subtly, making Harry wish she wasn't hiding behind those sunglasses.
Tommy looked up as well and raised his eyebrows at Harry. "G'day, Potter! You look a right mess. What's that smell?"
"Hello, Tommy," said Harry as politely as he could manage under the circumstances. "Sorry we can't come to the barbie tomorrow."
"Hey, you've got other plans, no bother, mate. I was just hoping to get to know Ginny, here, a little better, is all," he said, casually slipping an arm around her exposed waist.
"Yes, well," said Ginny abruptly, moving forward out of Tommy's grasp. "Some other time. Anyway, Tim—Tommy—Harry's here, so you're off the hook. Bye!"
Tommy shot Harry a dark look, and Harry tried not to look too smug. With a final smile for Ginny, Tommy bid farewell and went off to his own apartment, leaving them on the stairs. The moment he was inside the door, Ginny let out a breath and shuddered. "Lecherous little . . ." she muttered something rather impolite under her breath and Harry couldn't help but grin.
She stopped, tilted her chin up, and sniffed the air. "He is right, though, Potter—you stink."
"Well, you work in a restaurant all day and see how you smell afterwards," Harry said defensively.
Ginny smirked and started up the stairs. As he watched the small of her back and the curve of her hips move, tight knots formed in his stomach. He swore mentally and started after her, deciding it would not be safe to remain behind her. But once he was beside her, he couldn't help but glance over at her profile, where—ahem—other curves were evident and not at all helpful in solving what could very well be a big problem.
Stop it, Potter, you perv.
"So . . . you went to the beach?" he said stupidly, his voice rather constrained.
"Yes."
"Ah." Harry felt like smacking his forehead against something very hard, preferably granite. Iron would do as well.
"I hope I didn't burn," she added, stretching her arms out as they came to their floor. She looked at each arm, a slight frown on her face. Then she pushed her sunglasses up her head and looked at her arms again. "I don't think I did, do you? I've got more freckles, and I'm a little pink, but it doesn't look burnt."
"Um . . ." Harry tried to look only at her arms, but it was hard—er, difficult. She had freckles going down her neck to other places that he should not know about, a very good collection on her stomach, and all the way down her legs.
"Harry?"
He forced himself to look up, heat racing all the way from his toes to the very top of his head. He had a sneaking suspicion that he rather resembled Ron at the moment.
Ginny was giving him a peculiar look, with her arms still out for inspection. Her face was definitely more freckled than before and her nose seemed rather pink. "Does it look bad? Renee said that it might not look as bad as it is at first. Can you tell?"
"Are you mad? Do you enjoy torturing me like this?" Harry wanted to shout, but he bit his tongue and tried to gather his wits. "Erm . . . it doesn't look bad," he mumbled, pasting his eyes on the number 6 on his door. He really needed that cold shower . . .
"Hmm. Maybe I'll lotion it, just to be safe," she murmured.
Oh Merlin . . .
"Yeah. Good idea."
"Are you all right, Harry? You sound odd."
"I'm just tired." Harry drew out his keys and made for the door before he completely lost it.
Just as Ginny was setting her satchel on the counter and Harry was opening his mouth to excuse himself to the stopping effects of a cold shower, a large, white seagull flew in through the window and alighted on the counter, a red envelop trembling in his opened beak.
"Oh no," Ginny moaned as the bird waddled toward her. Cringing, she snatched the Howler. "It's addressed to me and You-Know-Who-You-Are."
"You-Know-Who—oh. OH." Harry backed away, suddenly very frightened that Mrs. Weasley, whom this was undoubtedly from, would place him on the same level as Voldemort. "Just bloody open it," he said meekly as smoke started to billow from the Howler.
"I'm so sorry in advanced," Ginny apologized. She took a deep breath—the bird launched out the window—and opened it.
"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY—HOW DARE YOU RUN OFF LIKE THAT WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE! YOUR FATHER AND I STOPPED BY YOUR PLACE TO SEE HOW YOU WERE WE WERE SO WORRIED AFTER CHRISTMAS AND WERE ABSOLUTELY SHOCKED AND HURT TO HEAR FROM THAT LOVELY BAKER GIRL THAT YOU'D TRAIPSED OFF TO AUSTRALIA!
"AND YOU—HARRY JAMES POTTER—NOT TELLING ANY OF US! IT'S ONE THING NOT TO TELL US ABOUT YOUR DOINGS AND LET US WORRY LIKE THIS BUT TO TAKE GINNY WITH YOU AND NOT TELL ANYONE! IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HER I WILL MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER LEFT ENGLAND!
YOU TWO BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXPLANATION LIKE ELOPING TO HAVE DONE THIS! AND IF YOU ARE ELOPING YOU ARE IN DEEP TROUBLE FOR NOT LETTING ME PLAN THE WEDDING! I EXPECT LONG OWLS VERY SOON!"
With that, Molly Weasley's towering voice stopped rattling the light fixtures, and the Howler shredded into a small pile like ash. Silence echoed loudly as Harry and Ginny stared at the remains, their ears ringing.
"Well," said Ginny, her voice unusually high. "Mum knows."
"Yeah." Harry was still trying to get past the thought of Mrs. Weasley thinking they'd eloped. She's not even close . . . He couldn't look at Ginny. "Well—er, I'm going to take a shower," he muttered, heading for the bathroom.
Except now he wasn't in need of a cold one. Mrs. Weasley had seen to that.
More Strine
the mob – group of people (this springs from a group of kangaroos)
the Wombats – Hay and Nay's pub league
Shark Biscuit – beginner surfer
rock up – arrive, turn up
teed (tee up) – book it, make an appointment, etc
dero – derelict
counter lunch – pub lunch
yakka – work
Spunk – a good-looking, attractive person
Sav – exclamation of wonder, disbelief, or the Aussie version of Movie!Ron overusing "Bloody hell!"
Cook on you later – from Captain Cook, in other words, it's "look" in "Let's have a Captain Cook." Tommy Boy has exercised the right of turning a noun into a verb and shortening it