Title: Diagon Burning (8/20)

Author: 1eyedjack

Rating: R

Summary: Chapter 8: One breakup, one fight, one kiss, one hickey, and it's all Ginny's fault. Except when it's the skrewts.

DISCLAIMER: JKR and her publishers own the characters. We just play with them. Canon information, as always, comes from the Lexicon. Additional disclaimers at the end of the chapter.

Author notes: Huge thanks, as always, to reviewers and to emerald123 and Oli and co. for the betas. Naodrith and Alissa Raboin looked over earlier versions of the fic.

Diagon Burning

Chapter 8:
Ginny Weasley, Skank Extraordinaire

"I think Harry's got a girlfriend," Seamus announced one night in mid-October. Neville yawned, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

"A girlfriend?" Ron sat straight up. "Why do you think that?"

"Well, where is he now?" Dean gestured around the room.

Ron looked at Harry's empty bed. "At Quidditch practice."

"At eleven o'clock?" Seamus blinked.

"He stayed late to help Ginny. She had some questions about flying."

Seamus smirked. "Yeah, Dean knows all about those extracurricular practices with Ginny."

Ron blinked. "Dean isn't on the Quidditch team." Then it hit him. "Oh."

Dean had the good sense to look uncomfortable. "So how are those Chudley Cannons this year, Ron?"

"Why have you been having extracurricular practices with my sister?" Ron said. "Why have you been telling him about extracurricular…things with my sister?" He jerked his head at Seamus.

"I haven't told him anything."

"Dean hasn't told me anything," Seamus echoed.

"Have you been saying my sister is a slut?"

"Look, Ron," Dean said, "Ginny is my girlfriend. What we do is none of your business."

"Dean's just pissed because he and Ginny haven't had any extracurricular practice for two and a half weeks," Seamus pitched in. "She's been avoiding him."

"I thought Dean hasn't told you anything," Ron said.

"Uh," Seamus said.

Ron scowled.

"Never mind," Seamus said. "I was just wondering where Harry was."

"I don't like you talking about Ginny like that," Ron said.

"I never said anything about Ginny," Seamus said. "You're jumping to conclusions, Ron."

"I'll say," Dean muttered.

Seamus sat down next to Ron. "When's the last time Harry's been in bed before any of us went to sleep?"

"Last night," Ron said, feeling triumphant. "We came up early after playing chess."

"Ginny spent all of yesterday sick in bed with stomach flu," Dean remarked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron said.

"That was the first time he's been here since the start of term," Dean said.

"Dean's exaggerating." Seamus shrugged. "But you have to admit he's gone a lot, Ron. Especially in the last few weeks."

"The last two and a half weeks," Dean muttered.

"Harry's not doing anything wrong," Ron snapped.

"Then why hasn't Ginny talked to me in two and a half weeks?" Dean stood up.

"Because you're a shit hole who talks about her behind her back?" Ron said.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Seamus cut him off. "We still haven't answered the question of—"

"Where Harry is, yes, I know," Ron said. "I thought I told you. I don't know why you keep bringing this up, Seamus, unless you know something I don't. About where he is, I mean."

"Why would he tell me and not you?" Seamus said.

"I don't know."

"I already told you what I thought. I told you I thought he had a girlfriend."

"My sister?" They both looked at Dean.

"I thought he'd be better that that, you know." Dean looked down at his hands. "I always thought Harry was a decent guy."

"Dean," Ron began, very slowly and calmly, "if you want to sleep in this dormitory tonight, I recommend that you stop being such a faggot."

"So double-timing's okay? No wonder your Mum had so many kids, Weasley."

"That's it, Dean. Out," Ron said, teeth gritted.

"What do you—"

"Do it now, Dean, or you'll lose something a lot more vital than a girlfriend." He stood up and stepped towards Dean.

"I think he means it, Dean," Seamus provided helpfully.

"You too," Ron said. "Out."

"Trying to clear the place out?" Dean didn't back down. "Hoping that when Ginny gets back she'll show you a bit of what Harry taught her?"

Ron punched him.

Dean staggered backward. He opened his mouth, shocked, and spat blood on the carpet. "Was that for Ginny or Harry?" he said.

Ron walked across the room and threw open the door. "That was because I don't like your face."

"I think I'll be leaving now," Seamus said.

"Good idea," Ron said, as Seamus bolted out and slammed the door. "So Dean, what exactly was it you wanted to say to me? Just so long as you know that I'm not promising not to pound your face if you say anything I don't like. Actually, I'll probably pound your face if you say anything at all. You've put me in that good of a mood."

"If you want to fight, then quit talking." Dean said, rolling up the sleeves of his pajamas. The penguins on his shirt squawked menacingly. He jumped toward Ron, and then paused mid-lunge.

Ron heard someone shouting outside the room. The door clicked open. "Seamus, I'm telling you, I'm going inside." Harry turned around. He had a split lip and his eye was already bruising. "Oh, hello, Ron. I thought you'd be asleep."

"What happened to you?" Ron said, his fight with Dean temporarily forgotten.

Harry shrugged. "I went to visit Hagrid after Quidditch practice. He asked me to help him feed the skrewts." He looked around the room. Blood was dribbling down Dean's chin from where Ron had punched him. "What happened to you?"

"I popped a zit," Dean muttered, storming across the dorm, diving into his bed, and pulling the covers over his head.

"What's the matter with him?" Harry asked Ron, eyes following Dean's hand as he jerked the curtains shut.

"No idea," Ron said, his fist unclenching.

"He thinks you're shagging Ginny," Seamus said helpfully, venturing back into the room. He purposefully ignored Ron's glare.

"Ah," Harry said, but did not offer any additional commentary on the subject. "I'm going to go see how bad the damage is." He wandered into the bathroom.

"Potentially irreparable," Seamus said.

"He means to his face," Ron said harshly, but he had the feeling that Seamus was right about Dean. It wasn't bothering him too much at the moment.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed at breakfast, the Daily Prophet dropping to her plate, forgotten. "What happened to you?" She gestured at his face with her spoon.

"You should see the other guy," Harry said.

"Tell me you're kidding, Harry. You don't need to be getting in any more fights, especially with your probation and everything. Please tell me you didn't get in a fight with Malfoy."

"Don't worry, Hermione, I wasn't fighting with Malfoy."

"What happened, then?"

"I went to Hagrid's cabin after Quidditch practice and he had me help him feed the Blast-Ended Skrewts."

She eyed the bruises on his neck and jaw. "Blast-Ended Skrewts burn you, Harry. They don't punch you."

"Nobody punched me, Hermione. Give it a rest. The skrewts have a cold. When they catch colds, they get so cranky they won't let anyone in their pen to feed them or change their water or anything, so Hagrid had me feed them and stuff while he held them down, and even then a few of them kicked me. Hagrid got the worst of it, though. He's got out those dragon steaks again, like he used when he first came back with Grawp."

"How would the skrewts catch a cold?" Hermione asked. "And how would that make then stop blasting?"

"I don't know, ask Hagrid. We have his class second period. Or you could look in your textbook, I'm sure it's in there." Harry picked up his book bag. "I've got to go to Divination. Ron, are you coming?"

Ron blinked and broke the glaring contest he'd been having with Dean. "Divination? Right," he said and shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth. "I'm ready."

"We'll see you after class," Harry said.

Hermione watched them leave. Harry had to be lying. He hated the skrewts. There was simply no way he'd agree to help Hagrid feed them. But at the same time she couldn't believe that he would lie to her unless there was a good reason for it. She was sure he would tell her when he was ready.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team had just finished its seventh practice in the past six days, and everyone was worn out. That was good. Harry had accomplished what he'd wanted to accomplish. He'd ordered Colin and Dennis to hit the Bludgers at Kirke and Sloper whenever they passed to anyone but Ginny and forced all three Chasers to do nothing but throw the Quaffle at Ron all practice. The first hour had been a disaster, but after Sloper and Kirke had been hit by Bludgers the twentieth time they began to share the Quaffle and even Ron blocked a few of attempts at scoring. The team wasn't perfect, but after letting Slytherin score 140 points in ten minutes, Harry would be pleased with mediocrity.

"Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?" Ginny hadn't changed out of her gear yet, and her hair was falling out of its ponytail and curling damp around her shoulders.

"Sure, Ginny. What is it?"

"I need you to help me with something. Can we go outside?"

"All right," Harry said. He picked up his broomstick and followed her out the locker rooms doors and towards the Quidditch pitch, wondering what she needed help with. Not the Hawk's Head Move, that was perfect, but it might be the Starfish-on-a-Stick; her tailspin was a little too quick.

But she stopped walking well before they arrived at the pitch and turned into a side flower garden. Harry followed her, confused.

"What did you want my help with?"

"It doesn't actually have anything to do with Quidditch."

Weird, but, "Okay. They what does it have to do with?"

Ginny blushed, but did not break her gaze. "Do you remember how when you came over to our house during my first year at Hogwarts I would get all nervous and try to hide and stare at you at the same time? And I'd always end up making a fool of myself?"

"What about it?"

"Do you remember? Just humor me."

"Of course I remember," Harry said.

"What about that awful singing valentine I sent you in your second year?"

"Yeah."

"And remember when you asked me to the Yule Ball when you were a fourth year and I had to say no because I'd already agreed to go with Neville?"

"Yeah, but—"

"What about when I kissed you at the Quidditch afterparty?"

"You remember that?"

She grinned. "I wasn't that drunk."

Harry blinked. "You threw up all over my shirt."

"Okay, so I was."

"Ginny, what's all this about?"

Ginny stared at him. "Are you really this dense? Harry James Potter, I have had a crush on you for six years now and if you don't kiss me this instant, I'll turn your broomstick into a toothpick."

Harry did not ask if she was referring to his Firebolt.

"Harry's a little late getting back from Quidditch practice, isn't he?" Parvati said. "Are you sure you want to wait until he gets back to go to dinner?"

"He'll be back," Ron said. "I saw him heading outside with Ginny after practice. He's been giving her some extra help lately."

"It's been nearly half an hour since you got back, Ron. What could be taking them this long?"

"You know what, Parvati? I'm sure they'll—"

"I'll see if they're still practicing," Hermione said, more to prevent an argument than anything else, and walked over to the Common Room's pitch-side windows. She didn't see anyone outside; maybe they were back in the locker room, as it was getting dark.

But then her eyes caught on something: one of the gardens near the pitch was lit up with twinkling lights, the kind that were charmed to come on at twilight. In their glow, Hermione saw two figures, both obviously unaware of the lights, if the enthusiasm of their embrace was any indication. She immediately identified the long, flaming red hair as Ginny Weasley's, but the boy's head was tilted away from Hermione and she couldn't tell who it was. All she could see of him was a slope of shoulder and arms curving around Ginny's waist. Arms wearing Quidditch pads. Hermione ran down the list of boys on the Gryffindor squad: obviously not Ron, because not only eww, but he was in the Common Room; Dennis and Colin were too small; Sloper and Kirke were otherwise occupied in an illicit and obvious homosexual relationship; and then there was—

Harry. Ginny shifted and twinkling lights reflected off glasses, leaving no room for doubt. Hermione turned away and headed back towards the common room. She certainly couldn't tell Ron after the way he was acting towards Dean recently. If he found out Harry and Ginny were together he'd be even angrier.

"Did you see them?" Ron asked as soon as she walked in.

"Yes," Hermione said. "They were just heading inside."

"Oh, good. I wouldn't want to have to hunt him down. But I know Harry wouldn't miss dinner."

"Of course he wouldn't," Hermione agreed quickly, and gnawed on her fingernail, hoping that Ron wouldn't ask what Harry and Ginny had been doing.

Harry and Ginny wandered in, red-faced, ten minutes later. Hermione nearly swallowed her finger, but Ron jumped up and said to Harry, "Hey mate, where've you been?"

Harry grinned. "Helping Ginny."

That's an interesting way to phrase it, Hermione thought. It certainly explained some things about Harry and the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

They went to dinner, Harry still sweaty.

Over the summer break, the DA had apparently become a very public organization. It had been twenty minutes since the meeting started and Harry was just finishing up the roll with "Zanzibar, Abdul."

"Here!" Abdul Zanzibar's voice was high-pitched and squeaky. Harry couldn't imagine that he himself had been that small when he was eleven.

He set the roster down. He felt utterly exhausted. "Thank you all for coming. I didn't expect this many people." There were at least a hundred members. More than half were Gryffindors. "We may have to break up into smaller groups or something, but since we're all here tonight, let's get started on a charm that's pretty basic, but essential: Expelliarmus. If those of you who were here last year would walk around and help out, let's partner up and give it a try."

Considering that ten of the new members were first years and had only been doing serious magic for a little more than a month, the first round of Expelliarmus went surprisingly well. No one caught on fire and only three pieces of furniture were irreparably damaged.

Harry was particularly happy when he saw Neville bending over little Abdul Zanzibar telling him it was quite all right that he had knocked his partner unconscious and showing him the right way to hold his wand.

"All right, everybody." Harry held up his hands to get people's attention. "Good job. If you, er, knocked your partner out and don't know what to do, raise your hand and Hermione will come around and revive them. Now, for the second round I'd suggest concentrating on—"

The door to the Room of Requirement clicked open. "Sorry I'm late." Draco Malfoy stepped inside. Everybody looked at each other. A buzz ran across the students.

"Go away, Malfoy," Harry said.

Malfoy walked up to one of the Gryffindor first years and put his arms around the kid's shoulders. "But I want to be a part of your fight against evil, Potter." The first year started to cry.

"No." Harry crossed his arms. "You're not allowed."

"Stop molesting the children, Malfoy," said Hermione coldly, coming up behind him and forcibly removing his arm from the first year.

Malfoy smirked at her and then calmly reached into his pocket. He took out an official looking piece of parchment. "Your DA, Potter, is free and open to the public. I stole the 'Free and Open Organizations' sign from the Slytherin Common Room to prove it to you. You can take a look if you want." He held out the parchment.

"My organization is free and open to everyone except for you, Malfoy," Harry said. "And your girlfriend," he added after a moment's consideration.

"Don't bring Pansy into this." Malfoy sounded bored.

"She's your minion," Harry said.

"And cheap!" Ginny added from the second row.

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. I want to join the DA, Potter, and I want to join it now."

"You can leave, now," Harry said as Hermione grabbed Malfoy by the arm and began to try and drag him to the door.

He kicked her in the shin and flashed Harry a very sarcastic smile. "I want to join the DA. My little black heart has up and reformed itself. Isn't that what you've always wanted to hear, Saint Potter?" Harry walked toward him. They were glowering eye to eye.

"To tell you the truth, Malfoy, I've never particularly cared."

"Liar," Malfoy hissed.

Harry laughed in his face, but he said, "Fine. We'll see how long you last. We're doing Expelliarmus."

Malfoy bent down and looked straight at tiny Abdul Zanzibar. He smiled, showing all his teeth. "Will you be my partner?" Neville stepped in front of the child protectively.

Harry grabbed Malfoy above the elbow and yanked him to his feet. "You'll partner with me."

"How novel," Malfoy said.

"Everyone to the charm," Harry called over his shoulder. No one moved. They were too busy watching him and Malfoy.

Malfoy took out his wand. "You know, Potter, I already know how to do Expelliarmus."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Well then perhaps we should move onto more advanced things, like Patronuses?"

"I already know that, too."

"You're too good for me," Harry said sarcastically. "So what is your Patronus?"

"A fork."

"A fork?" Harry blinked.

"A pastry fork. I've always found there's something innately comforting about dessert."

"Of course, mine's not nearly as impressive as yours." Malfoy shrugged mockingly.

"Naturally."

"But then again, I could never be as impressive as a speccy git whose only talent is convincing other people to die for him."

Harry stared. "Die for me?" He pointed at the wall. "In that case, Malfoy, why don't you go jump out that window?" The stones in the Room of Requirement's wall changed to plate glass on cue.

Malfoy took a step closer to him. "I wonder if your parents would find you quite so funny, Potter."

"Don't talk about my parents, asshole."

"What about that mangy mutt—is it still dogging you?"

Harry grabbed his collar. "If you shut up now, I might remember to change that window back into wall before I throw you through it. On second thought, I might not." Suddenly he remembered that there was still a DA meeting going on. He felt a hundred pairs of eyes on his back. "Everybody out."

"What?" Hermione said.

"Everybody out. Meeting's over. Out!"

Hermione hesitated but she must have realized that he meant it because then she said, "Let's go, people, we're done for tonight!"

"We've only been here fifteen minutes!" someone whined, but Harry could hear people being herded through the door.

Harry realized he was still holding Malfoy's collar. Malfoy was grinning. Harry yanked the collar violently enough to wipe the smirk off Malfoy's face.

"Are they gone yet?" he said.

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Ron and I are the only ones still here."

"You, too."

"What?" Ron said.

"Leave," Harry said. "I'm going to deal with this asshole by myself."

"Harry?" Hermione said.

He turned to her. "Leave!"

They actually did. Hermione shot him a wounded look as she closed the door. He'd deal with it later.

When he turned back around, Malfoy was smirking.

Ginny could feel his eyes on her from the second she stepped into the Great Hall. A quick glance in his direction proved it: he was trying to glare her down. Did he actually think she'd be intimidated? Probably. Dean was just stupid enough to believe it.

She sat down with Julie, Regan, and Olivia, her roommates, who'd grown increasingly used to her company over the past couple of weeks. She hadn't sat with Dean at a meal since Tuesday before last, and he appeared to have finally caught on. It was about time.

"Have you taken a good look at Seamus Finnegan lately?" Julie said.

"No, not really," Regan said.

Julie shook her head. "Well, you are missing out. That boy is fine."

"Oh, no, you know who is fine? Calvin Andrewson Avery." Olivia pronounced the name clearly and grinned.

"You mean Professor Avery?" How in the world did they know his middle name? Never mind. These were the three girls who had spent a good two hours in the bathroom getting ready for the man's class on the first day of term, so Ginny really shouldn't be surprised. And she had a hunch that that kind of reaction—"eww, how can you say that about a teacher?"—was exactly what Dean was expecting out of her. Well, screw him.

"Cal is by far the hottest professor we've ever had," Ginny said, affecting a dreamy tone. "And those pro-Quidditch player muscles…"

Regan, Julie, and Olivia were too busy adding their own details to Avery's list of attributes to wonder at Ginny's sudden interest in joining the fan club. Dean, however, seemed curious.

"Dean," Ginny said sweetly, "would you mind staring at something other than me, like your plate, maybe? It might help you with eating your dinner, since you seem to be having some trouble with your aim."

Dean picked the mashed potato dribblings off his shirt. "There, is that better?"

"Much." Ginny turned back to the girls, who were now discussing Avery's "dark, mysterious eyes" which apparently had "hypnotic depths, like his soul." She plastered a wistful smile on her face and sighed along with the rest of them.

But she could feel his eyes on her again, and it was really starting to get creepy. "Dean, will you please quit it? I don't need you staring at me like that."

Dean's expression turned sulky. "Since when do I need your permission to look at you? You're my girlfriend, for fuck's sake."

"Which doesn't give you the right to stare at me all the time, especially when I ask you to stop," Ginny pointed out.

"I'm an artist," Dean said. "If I'm staring at you, it's only because I'm trying to see you more clearly, with an artist's eyes."

Olivia sighed.

At one point, very early on in the relationship, Ginny would have been sighing right along with her. Now, that kind of artist crap just freaked her out.

"You know, that's the other thing," Ginny said. "Your whole artist deal, and how you're always drawing me."

Dean looked wounded. "I like drawing you, Ginny."

"I know, and I was fine with it the first hundred times, but after that it just started to get weird."

"Well, why didn't you say something about it?"

"I did! I said, I don't want to pose for you anymore, Dean, and you said, okay, take a break, that's fine, and then I'd catch you drawing me at breakfast the next damn morning!"

Dean's patience broke. "Oh, really? And who was it that wanted me to draw her naked riding a broomstick?"

"Shouldn't you two maybe take this somewhere else?" Regan said a little nervously, but it was too late: Ginny heard Hermione saying, "He's not here, and he wasn't at breakfast, or at Herbology yesterday…" And where Hermione was, it was typically a safe bet that Ron would be there, too. And Harry. Ginny had just long enough to register that Harry wasn't, in fact, with them before she realized that, unfortunately for Dean, Ron had heard his last comment.

"What did you just say, Dean?" Ron said, sliding into the chair opposite him. His eyes were narrow.

Dean just glared at Ginny.

"If you ever say anything like that about my sister I'll ram a broomstick up your ass." Ron's voice was quiet with rage.

Dean's expression darkened, but still he didn't say anything.

"Ron!" Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Oh, Ron, don't do that," Ginny said. "That's the way Dean likes it."

"I almost wish I WAS gay—at least then I'd be getting some!"

Just then Harry walked up to the table. His collar didn't even come close to hiding the enormous hickey on his neck.

"Hey, guys," he said. "Have I missed anything?"

"Ginny and Dean are having a row," Ginny heard Hermione say, but everyone's eyes were on Dean. He'd just grabbed Harry by the shirt. He was fingering the collar with a maniacal look in his eyes.

"Speaking of people who are getting some," Dean said. His fingers were still on Harry's collar but he was staring straight at Ginny.

It didn't take much imagination to figure out what he meant. "You stupid git, I've been here with you all dinner! How, exactly, could I have given Harry a hickey when I wasn't with him?"

When she wasn't the one giving him the hickey. But Dean wasn't thinking that clearly.

"Don't try to tell me it wasn't you, you little slut. You could have done it before dinner, during Quidditch practice, at fucking breakfast—hickeys don't fade that quickly!"

She looked at Harry's neck. "My mouth isn't anywhere near that big."

"Maybe it can stretch!" Dean yanked Harry's collar down to his shoulder blade. The hickey was huge and unmistakably not her work. There was no way Ginny's jaw could open that wide unless she broke it.

"Harry," Dean said lightly, "would you mind telling us where you got that mark on your neck?"

"A Blast-Ended Skrewt bit me," he said. "I was feeding it for Hagrid and the bloody thing bit me."

"On the neck?" Dean said incredulously.

"Also on the arm," Harry said. His gaze didn't waver from Dean's face. "Do you want to see?"

"No." He released Harry's collar. But it was obvious from Dean's expression that he didn't believe him.

Ginny didn't, either, but she didn't see any good reason to be obvious about it. If she appeared too interested in what Harry had been up to, Dean would have real evidence to use against her, instead of the circumstantial bare bones we was working with now. Better not to give him any proof.

"How, exactly, could I have caused that bite mark when a skrewt did it?" Ginny said.

Dean didn't want to openly accuse Harry of lying, she could tell that much from his expression.

"Well, Dean, if Harry's not lying, then I'm not, either."

Oh, he didn't want to give her that win, but even he could tell that further accusations would make him look less and less credible.

"It doesn't matter," Dean said. "I've seen the way you look at Michael Corner."

Ginny couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. "Maybe if you were watching me last March. Or were you already stalking me then, Dean?"

"Liking someone isn't stalking them, even less so when that someone is my girlfriend!"

"Well, you can just stop it, okay? You don't need to watch me every bloody second of the day to see where I'm going and who I'm with! It's like saying you don't trust me, except you don't even trust me enough to say the damned words to my face!"

"I can look at my girlfriend as often as I want!" Dean shouted.

"Well, then, maybe I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore," Ginny said, her voice deadly quiet.

"Maybe you shouldn't be!" Dean was apparently incapable of turning down the volume.

"All right, then," Ginny said calmly, "I'm not." Then, just to make sure he got the message, "We're through, Dean."

"Fine!" he yelled. "That's just fine with me! Fine and fucking dandy!"

Ginny stood up. "Good."

Dean was still yelling something but she couldn't understand him and she didn't care. Before the doors of the Great Hall had even swung shut behind her she could feel the tears welling up and she didn't know why.

"I think Harry's got a girlfriend," Lavender announced one night in mid-October.

Hermione's brush froze halfway down her back. A hundred strokes every night, her mother said, and your hair will be shiny and beautiful. After sixteen years of bushy, she was skeptical and a little bitter, but patience, her mother said, and faith.

"A girlfriend?" She exhaled slowly. The brush slid down her back. "Why do you think that?"

"He keeps going out late and sneaking back in later when he thinks no one is paying attention," Lavender said. "He does it all the time, and never tells anyone that he's leaving or where he's going."

"That doesn't mean anything," Hermione said matter-of-factly. Seventy-seven, seventy-eight…

"I've seen him do it, too," Parvati said. "And I know you have. You're always down in the Common Room so late, you can't have missed it."

"I have seen him sneak out," Hermione said, "but that doesn't mean anything. It certainly doesn't mean he's meeting anyone. Harry's always liked to go on walks late at night. He's been doing it since first year. He just wanders around and forgets how long he's been gone. Sometimes he doesn't get back until almost dawn."

"When he gets back he's nearly always flushed," Lavender said.

"Filch and Mrs. Norris are everywhere at night," Hermione said, her voice sensible, not betraying a bit of what she was thinking. "It's uncanny how they can be exactly where you don't want them to be, every time. I bet he was flushed from nervousness at having to hide from those two."

"And the hickey we saw on Harry's neck?" Lavender raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I don't suppose you're going to say that Mrs. Norris bit him?" Parvati said.

She had been planning on "spider bite," actually, but same idea. Hermione couldn't help grinning. Parvati and Lavender laughed.

"I know you're just trying to deny this because we don't have any real proof, Hermione, but all joking aside, you're not stupid. You have to have suspected that something's going on with Harry." Lavender stared her down.

"I know what you mean," Hermione said, "but if he's got a girlfriend, he'd tell me. That's why we're best friends. If there's anything like that going on with Harry, I'm sure you'll know soon enough." She used a polite but firm tone that ensured that the conversation was over.

And it was.

Hermione finished her last five brush strokes and placed the brush on her nightstand. Only after she had drawn the curtains around her bed did she exhale: slowly, quietly.

Of course she knew something was happening with Harry. Like Lavender had said, she wasn't stupid. She'd seen everything Parvati and Lavender were talking about and more. But she hadn't been lying when she'd said that he would tell her if he had a girlfriend. That was what friends did: they talked to each other. He wouldn't keep something like that a secret.

Well, at the beginning he might. He hadn't told them about Cho Chang until pretty late in the game last year, after all. It wasn't so much that Harry meant to keep secrets as that he didn't always know when he should tell people what was happening in his life and when he shouldn't. He'd spent so long without anyone who wanted to listen to him that sometimes he still didn't realize that keeping secrets wasn't his only option.

It had been nearly a month, though, since Hermione had first noticed him coming home flushed at odd hours of the morning. Harry was seeing someone, that much was clear, and she had a fairly certain idea of who it was.

Ginny Weasley, of course.

Hermione wasn't stupid. Ginny might have gotten less awkward around Harry, but her feelings for him weren't any different. And Hermione had seen them snogging rather thoroughly in the gardens on Tuesday.

It had to be Ginny, and it made sense that Harry wouldn't have told them he was seeing her. With the way Ron had handled the Dean situation, there wasn't a chance in hell that Harry could tell Ron. And the only thing worse than not telling either Ron or Hermione about it would have been telling just Hermione. She hated keeping secrets from Ron, or from either of them, for that matter. Lying about the Time Turner all of third year had nearly killed her.

The odd hours Harry was keeping made perfect sense now, too. He couldn't very well meet up with Ginny anywhere in Gryffindor Tower and expect their relationship to stay a secret, could he?

Yes. Ginny was the answer. Hermione rolled over and fell asleep.

Ron fished the soggy newspaper out of his breakfast and dropped it by Hermione's plate. She scraped the porridge off the front page with her butter knife, revealing Sirius Black's face—his wanted poster, the same one they'd been running for three years now. She covered it with her napkin.

"Harry's not here, if that's why you're trying to hide it," Ron said. "He's still in bed." He'd woken up earlier than usual and hadn't gotten Harry up. He'd pulled back the curtains and looked in on him, but Harry looked like nothing short of Hogwarts exploding would wake him. He had been out when Ron went to sleep the night before. "What's the paper say, Hermione?" he asked.

"That? Oh. The Aurors are still looking for Sirius in Serbia."

"Actually, I was talking about that," he said, pointing at an ad for SPEW's newest members-only product, Freedom Fritters: Save the World by Eating Breakfast!

Hermione shook her head. "Can you ever think about anything but food, Ron?"

He glared at her. "Anyway," she continued, "you should be interested in the Aurors article. They've got half the task force in the Serbian mountains looking for Sirius—where do you suppose they'll send them next, Mongolia?"

Notes:

The line, "I recommend that you stop being such a faggot," comes from Old School. We know that "faggot" is an American term, but we wanted to keep the line as is.

On a similar note, we know that thorough Britpicking would call for replacing "ass" and "asshole" with "arse" and "arsehole." In this case, we consciously decided to keep the American terms. Any other Britpicking errors are accidental, however, so please let us know if you catch anything.