In response to Ronhemie's review, yes, I know three weeks is sort of… unusual. Basically, I needed the wedding to be then so I could include it in the story (part 5) . Blame it on the war, I guess. Thanks to you and the rest of my small but awesome audience for reviewing!
You have no idea how much fun this chapter was to write. I hope you like it, too.
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Well, maybe they're mine when they're drunk.
Part 3:
The night before Harry was due to arrive, Ginny found that she simply couldn't will her body to sleep. It was the strangest thing – 2:00 a.m., and she simply wasn't tired at all.
At 2:30, she crept downstairs for a glass of warm milk, which only made her have to use the toilet. At 3:00, she moved her pillow to the foot of her bed and tried lying in the other direction.
By 4:00, she was getting desperate. Even reading Hermione's dog-eared copy of Hogwarts, A History by wandlight wasn't boring her to sleep. She wished fervently that she could do a sleep charm on herself and be done with it, but she wasn't of age, of course. Bugger.
By 4:30, Ginny was feeling inexplicably anxious. Hermione was sleeping soundly in her bed across the room, her chest slowly rising and falling underneath the blankets. Ginny couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Hermione look so relaxed.
Why couldn't Ginny make herself relax, too?
It was as if every bad thought she'd been keeping at arm's length now rushed towards her with stultifying speed. What if Harry never made it here tomorrow – what if he was intercepted somehow? What if something happened to Ginny's dad as well, who would surely be with him? She didn't think she could bear it. She could hardly bear thinking about it, but it was 5:00 in the morning, and she was keen out of distractions.
Her mind kept returning to that awful night at the Department of Mysteries. As if it had been yesterday, she recalled the sinking dread that none of them would survive the night. She remembered the terror of watching her brother struggle against the suffocating tentacles of some sort of brain, her ankle throbbing, a red light moving towards her…
Oh, how had she fooled herself into believing she was safe? All summer, she had flitted about, messing around on her broomstick and writing letters to Dean and Harry, as if there was no danger. Now, it was as if someone had stripped her of that sense of invulnerability. All of the sudden, everything felt so precarious…
By 6:00, Ginny was finally asleep, her pillow damp with tears.
"Wake up, Ginny, it's 9:30. Harry's going to be here in half an hour!"
Ginny could barely open her eyes. "Wha…?"
"You've got to get up now, Ginny," Hermione said firmly. Strange, she mused – Ginny wasn't usually so tired in the mornings.
"Five more minutes," Ginny mumbled with a yawn.
"That's fine," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. This was like trying to wake up Ron.
Ginny, for her part, was finding the challenge of sitting up in bed to be positively overwhelming. She hadn't felt so physically and emotionally drained since the morning after her dad had been attacked by that snake.
Oh, but she didn't want to think about that! Why couldn't her mind focus on silly, pleasant things anymore, like Quidditch or boys? She had been so excited about Harry coming, but now it felt as if she'd never be excited about anything again.
"Okay, Ginny," Hermione said firmly, yanking away Ginny's duvet. "Five minutes are up."
"I know… I'm awake." Ginny yawned and stretched.
Pull yourself together, she told herself. Harry will be here in a matter of minutes, and you need to look fantastic. But when her mirror gasped with horror at the size of her undereye circles, she realized that "fantastic" might be somewhat ambitious, given the circumstances.
"I think I'll go see if Ron's awake," declared Hermione, looking fresh and dewy in a denim skirt. Ginny halfheartedly pulled on some old Muggle-style blue jeans and her sweater with a hole in the sleeve. She washed her face quickly and ran a brush through her thick red hair.
"Look lively," she told her reflection sternly.
As it turned out, Harry and Mr. Weasley were half an hour late, which left plenty of time for Ginny to torture herself with every horrific scenario imaginable. By the time they emerged from the fireplace, Ginny's fingernails were bitten to the quick.
Harry looked a bit pale and thin (as he often did upon returning from time with the Dursleys) but Ginny, sleepy bundle of nerves that she was, registered that he still looked fit. He smiled shyly at all of them and said, simply, "Hello."
Mrs. Weasley was the first to descend upon him with one of her famous bone-crushing hugs. "Oh Harry, dear, it's so good to have you back. Look at you – you must be starving! What would you like, dear? I'll fix you anything – ,"
"Mum, let him be for a minute!" said Ron. He grinned at Harry. "Good to see you, mate." He gave Harry a pat on the back, as Hermione swooped in for a hug.
Harry laughed. "God, it's good to see you guys again." His eyes locked with Ginny's. "Hello," he said, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards.
Ginny couldn't help but smile back. "Hi," she said.
Harry felt as if his mind was traveling at full speed in a hundred different directions. On one hand, knowing that he'd be spending the rest of the summer with the Weasleys and Hermione, as opposed to the Dursleys, was such a relief he almost felt like singing. And not only that, but tomorrow he'd be celebrating his sixteenth birthday – the first birthday of his life during which he wouldn't even have to lay eyes on his aunt, uncle, or cousin.
But then, on the other hand, he had a feeling it wasn't exactly going to be easy staying at 12 Grimmauld Place, where everything reminded him of Sirius. It wasn't as if there was any choice, he reminded himself. Sirius had willed the place to remain the Order's secret headquarters, so Mr. And Mrs. Weasley could hardly dally away at the Burrow all summer. Anyway, the property had been promised to Harry after the war (a bit optimistic, he thought, but he appreciated it nonetheless). He supposed he'd best get used to living here.
And then there was Ginny, whom he was more excited about seeing than he cared to admit. They had been exchanging owls fairly regularly all summer, but Harry didn't know what to make of it. Ron had mentioned several weeks ago in a letter that Ginny had been writing to Dean Thomas all summer as well. He watched her surreptitiously throughout brunch, trying to gauge her level of excitement over his arrival. As Ginny's main contribution to the conversation was a yawn big enough to engulf the entire kitchen, Harry glumly assessed the situation to be somewhat less than promising.
The day was filled with so much activity that, though Harry was reminded of Sirius at every turn, he was able to push all gloomy thoughts from his mind. There was plenty of gossip to exchange. Ginny had heard from Dean Thomas that Neville and Luna Lovegood were "spending a bit of time together", which actually made sense to Harry, strangely.
By 2:00, they were absorbed in the closest thing to Quidditch they could manage with just the four of them. They played boys against girls, and Harry and Ron were dominating; Ginny was not at her best today, and Hermione was just hopeless in general. Naturally, Ron was as smug as Ernie Macmillan walking out of an O.W.L. practical.
"Bit out of practice there, Hermione?"
Hermione glowered at him, her cheeks still red from the exertion. "Looks that way, huh, Ron," she snapped. "Looks like I've wasted all my time on silly things like studying for the O.W.L.s, when I could have been doing something truly important like your precious Quidditch!"
Ron blinked. "Well, yeah," he said, amazed that she was finally seeing things his way.
All in all, it had been quite a good day, Harry reflected, as he relaxed in his and Ron's room later that evening, listening to a band called Malleus Maleficarum. Ron and Ginny were engrossed in a game of chess on Ron's bed, while Hermione was curled at the foot of Harry's bed with Crookshanks, reading a book. To Harry, it felt almost as if they were back in the Gryffindor common room, in front of a warm fire. He could hardly remember the last time he felt so peaceful.
He stole a glance at Ginny, who was concentrating hard on her game. Her red hair had been pulled off her face into a ponytail, the end of which she was twisting nervously through her fingers.
Ron, grinning wickedly, made a move. "Checkmate," he said ever so sweetly, as one of his bishops pounced upon Ginny's king.
"Bugger," muttered Ginny. She quickly collected her pieces, taking a moment to coddle her disgruntled king.
"No rematch?" asked Ron.
"Nope," said Ginny, yawning widely. "Listen, I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."
"Shame on you. It isn't even eleven o' clock yet!" Ron exclaimed.
Ginny ignored him. "Hermione, I'm taking Crookshanks. Goodnight, guys."
"'Night," Harry said, wishing she wouldn't go.
Ron flopped backwards on his bed and punched the air triumphantly. "And young Ginevra retreats," he declared, "crushed by the realization that she is no match for the Quidditch and chess master Roooooonnnn Weasley!"
Hermione rolled her eyes, not bothering to look up from her book.
There was a small, round clock on the night table, and Harry couldn't help but watch the hands click closer to midnight – his sixteenth birthday. Strange, he thought suddenly, that no one had mentioned it all day. He wondered if they'd all forgotten, in the excitement of the war, Bill's wedding, and the like.
"If they've forgotten, they've forgotten," he told himself firmly. At least he was bound to have a better birthday than he'd ever manage with the Dursleys.
He needn't have worried, however, for at 11:59, Ron suddenly leaned over the side of his bed and began rooting around underneath it. He emerged just as the clock struck midnight.
"Well, Merlin's beard, I do believe it's your birthday, mate," he said brassily.
Hermione tossed her book aside and hugged Harry around the neck. "Oh, happy birthday, Harry! It's so nice to actually be able to spend it with -." Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "Ronald Weasley, what on earth have you got there?"
Ron was grinning from ear to ear. Cradled in his arms was a long, slender glass bottle that appeared to contain some sort of green liquid.
Harry's eyes widened. "Is that –,"
"It's called Essence of Applethorn," said Ron, proudly. "A gift from the twins, but I saved it for tonight. Thought we could kick the celebration off a bit early…"
"I'm sorry," interjected Hermione, looking scandalized. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the drinking age eighteen in this country, Ron?"
"Ah yes," said Ron agreeably. "In the Muggle world, I believe it is. But wizards tend to be a bit more lax about these kinds of things, you know? I mean, we've been drinking butterbeer since we were kids."
"This is hardly butterbeer!" exclaimed Hermione.
"It's the same idea," Ron insisted. "Fred and George said it was like butterbeer, only… three times as strong." To be honest, he didn't exactly remember how strong they'd said it was, but he was sure it was something like that.
"Can I have a look?" asked Harry. Ron carefully handed him the bottle. Harry slowly read the label, nodding with approval. "Count me in, mate," he said, grinning.
Hermione sighed. "It's just slightly stronger than butterbeer, you say?" Ron nodded and shrugged.
She looked from Ron to Harry to the bottle, her lips twisting slightly upwards at the corners. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt anyone if we just tried a little bit… well, for God's sake, shut the door!" she said suddenly.
"Thought you'd never ask," Ron murmured, grinning to himself.
Forty-five minutes later, Hermione was draining her second cup, and considering going for a third. "You know, this stuff isn't half bad!" she declared, nodding emphatically. "Definitely butter than betterbeer… oops," she giggled. "I mean, better than butterbeer." She felt very warm and a bit dizzy, but in a pleasant way.
They had positioned themselves on the floor between the two beds, Ron leaning against one and Hermione and Harry leaning against the other. The boys had been passing the bottle back and forth, taking generous swigs from it in turn. Between the three of them, they'd managed to consume half its contents.
"Okay, I've got one," hooted Ron. "Fourth year, when Moody turned him into a ferret!" The trio laughed uproariously at one of their very favorite memories, which had never seemed quite so funny before. Harry took it further by pantomiming a ball being bounced, which sent tears streaming from Ron's eyes.
"It wasn't even Moody!" Hermione protested mirthfully. "It was…" Suddenly, her smile disappeared. "Well, I guess it turned out to be Barty Crouch."
The boys stopped laughing and regarded her solemnly. No one spoke for almost a minute, but Ron's mouth was twitching. Then his shoulders started shaking. A giggle escaped his lips, and soon all three were doubled over, laughing heartily. They had never realized it before, but Barty Crouch pretending to be Mad Eye Moody was, in many ways, hilarious.
"Admittedly, that was a good one," said Hermione, when she caught her breath. "But I have to say my favorite Draco Malfoy moment was third year when I -,"
"When you smacked the living daylights out of him!" exclaimed Ron, clapping his hands with glee. "Oh, Hermione, that was so bloody brilliant when you did that. Merlin's beard, I'd never been so turned on in my life."
"Really?" asked Hermione, blushing deeply.
"Oh, definitely," assured Ron. "It was a defining moment for me. You basically ushered in my puberty." Harry nearly spat out a mouthful of Applethorn all over the carpet.
"I…erm…will you excuse me for a moment?" Hermione asked, with a strange sort of half-smile that neither Ron nor Harry had ever seen before. She stood up and walked purposefully, if a bit unsteadily, out of the room, shutting the door neatly behind her.
Ron looked at Harry and shook his head. "Quite a woman, that Hermione Granger," he murmured with a sigh.
Hermione wandered into one of the mansion's many powder rooms, shutting the door behind her without a second thought. The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly one way, then the other, and she felt so delightfully giddy, she couldn't stop smiling.
"And what are you so cheery about?" the mirror asked bitterly. Hermione, though a bit taken aback (she had never truly gotten used to talking mirrors), grinned widely in response.
"I ushered in Ron's puberty!" she murmured, immensely pleased with herself. She studied her reflection in the mirror, trying to envision herself as womanly and desirable, but it was the same brown-eyed, bushy-haired Hermione that smiled back (though perhaps a bit redder in the cheeks than usual).
The mirror snorted rudely. "I don't see it either, dear. You'd best hurry along, and do put out the light."
By the time she returned, Harry was yawning vigorously and eyeing his bed with longing.
"You can't nod off now," whined Ron. "It's your birthday!"
Harry stood up and stretched. "That it is, mate, but the lovely thing is – it'll still be my birthday tomorrow when I wake up."
"Too right, Harry," Hermione said, patting his shoulder encouragingly. "You get some sleep if you need it."
"But I'm not tired!" said Ron, pouting magnificently. Hermione found this to be both tremendously annoying and utterly adorable.
"Listen, I'm not tired either," she said. "I'm sure Harry won't mind if we chat a bit longer, as long as we keep it down."
"Don't mind at all," Harry said graciously. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" He removed his glasses, placed them gently next to the clock on the night table, and wriggled beneath the duvet.
"Goodnight, Harry," Hermione whispered, smiling fondly at his restful form. "Happy birthday…" She flipped out the light.
"Now I can't see you, 'Mione," complained Ron. "I can't see anything!"
"Shh," she whispered, grabbing his hand. "We should sit on the other side of your bed, where we're least likely to be a bother." With her free hand on the edge of Ron's bed, she traced her way around its perimeter until they were on the other side.
"Let's try not to wake him," whispered Hermione, settling in cross-legged on the floor.
"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "Not my fault he's such a party pooper on his own birthday." He sat down quickly, aiming for the spot on the carpet right next to Hermione, but he miscalculated somehow and ended up halfway on her lap. "Oops," he said, giggling.
"I'll thank you to move your bony bum about ten centimeters to the right," Hermione said primly. "And no laughing! Let the poor boy sleep."
"No laughing?" gasped Ron. "But you can't help laughing sometimes, Hermione. Say, what if I were to do this?" He poked her gently beneath her ribcage. "Or this?" He moved in suddenly with both hands, tickling her stomach.
A high-pitched giggle escaped Hermione's lips as she doubled over to protect herself.
"No laughing, Hermione," Ron said sternly, now catching her beneath the chin. "We certainly wouldn't want to wake up Harry."
"Stop!" wailed Hermione, giggling uncontrollably now. "I surrender! Truce!"
"Knew you'd come around," Ron whispered smugly, poking her one last time for good measure.
Hermione poked him back. "You should be nicer to me, you know. If it wasn't for me, remember, you'd never have known the joys of puberty, and then where would you be?"
Ron blushed. "Well…erm…" he croaked, wondering why he'd seen fit to mention that detail earlier tonight.
Hermione grinned, feeling lightheaded and giddy all over again. "Oh, I see," she said. "You'd rather not talk about that right now. Shall we talk about Quidditch instead?"
"Since when do you want to talk about Quidditch?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"Since always," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "I looooove Quidditch. I root for the Chubby Cannons."
"Oh, that is not okay, Hermione," Ron whispered, horrified. With one deft maneuver, he pulled her legs out from under her and pinned her to the ground. Leaning over her, he gave her his most menacing glare. "Say what you like about me, but you are not to insult my Cannons."
Hermione tried desperately not to laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, looking up at him innocently. "Did I say something out of turn?"
Ron leaned in closer. "You'll be calling the Cannons by their proper name from now on, Hermione, or I'll -,"
"Or you'll what?" whispered Hermione, her heart beating fast.
"Well…this, I reckon." And with that, Ron gently placed one hand beneath her head and kissed her softly.
"Oh!" murmured Hermione, surprised by the sudden tingly sensation below her stomach.
Ron drew back, looking slightly alarmed. "This okay?" he asked, so tenderly Hermione almost couldn't catch her breath.
Hermione smiled. "Quite okay," she whispered, burying her hands in his hair and pulling him closer. Their lips met again, less tentatively this time. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as she allowed herself to savor the warmth running all through her body, and the soft pressure of Ron's lips on hers. He tasted like Applethorn, and his hair felt like silk…
Ron paused for a moment and caught his breath. Hermione opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he smiled back at her sweetly.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he murmured, tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear.
Hermione sighed happily. Never let me forget this moment, she thought, as Ron leaned in to kiss her again.
Fin- Part 3
Author's note: Please don't hate me for corrupting the trio! It's just that, and maybe I've been in college too long, but it seemed like Ron and Hermione needed a push. And a little bit of alcohol (just enough to get you tipsy) has worked for me in the past.
And if you were wondering who ushered in my puberty? Devon Sawa. ::dreamy sigh::