AUTHOR'S NOTE: Dun dun dun. WHAT? CAN THIS BE THE END? Yes. I'll probably add in another chapter, but this is it folks. I can't think of anything else. And now I have 145 pages of a new story. I don't think I'll upload any of those chapters until I've finished the story. Maybe. Read and enjoy. And if you don't, that's your fault.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine unless it is. If it is, it doesn't belong to J. K. Rowling.


Hormonal Half-Wits

Chapter 24: The End, The End: Part Seven


I'm writing this from a train headed for Eastbourne. The past couple of days have been so incredibly hectic, I'm not really positive I even have time to be writing this. That day…Boxing day, last week…it was unexpected and so confusing, what with all the attentions I was receiving. After Remus left me to go find Tonks, I thought that was it…there were no more Order members to harangue and harass me.

Or so I thought.

It must have been…ooh, let's see…near on eleven, or half past. I think I was one of the only ones awake then…everyone else had been tired out already, even though they didn't have a horde of hormone-rampant men on their heels all day long. No, all they had to do was go about their little lives and petty chores and they were tired. I scoff at the irony.

But, I managed to stop crying long enough to find my way downstairs and into the kitchen. Food! Food, food, food, food, food…lovely, yummy, scrumptious food! I love food. I miss food.

(I haven't eaten at all today, so if I bring up food a little too vehemently, you must understand why)

Late Boxing Day night I found my way to the kitchens…I remember I was craving some crème brullee really, really badly. I stumbled through the dark kitchen, not wanting to turn the lights on in case it woke someone on the first floor up. I rummaged around a bit and came up with the last slice of crème brullee. Ecstasy awaited.

I had a spot of trouble finding the table in the dark, and I distinctly recall slamming my shins into several somethings. Repeatedly. I think I was holding my ankle and cursing the table when a light flickered a foot away from me.

I still hold a grudge on Kingsley for sitting there the whole time, listening to me nearly kill myself…repeatedly…and not saying a word…and to top it, scaring the shite out of me like that. At the time I was livid. Well…perhaps livid isn't the most appropriately descriptive word…I did lose a perfectly good plate of crème brullee in the process of ranting at him.

I probably shouldn't have chucked it at him, though…it was the wrong thing to do…I mean, it was really good crème brullee, after all…but that's not the point…even though it was delicious crème brullee and oh so tasty and…I really need to get something to eat soon…

Right…so after I wasted my crème brullee on the little blighter, I sat down (somewhat childishly, as Kingsley reminds me) and glared at him for a while as he cleaned it up. I asked him what the fuck he was doing sitting in the dark.

He said he was waiting for me.

I asked him how on earth he knew I'd come down to the kitchen in the middle of the night. He pointed out that I was a Weasley. Well, I wanted to know exactly what he meant by that little statement…he wasn't going to insinuate things about Miss Ginevra Weasley.

But he just said I was a Weasley and therefore always hungry. I'm certain I would have cursed him if I hadn't been wary of waking anyone up. I told him to go away…not quite so politely, mind you…

He leaned forward in his chair…trying to imitate Dumbledore's wise 'I-know-all-and-everything-and-nothing' gaze…and asked me if I was alright. When I just continued to stare, he said he knew about me and Severus.

I was wondering how he knew (no chance in hell Severus would have told him…unless Kingsley really was in Slytherin…) when he repeated my earlier comment to Malfoy about the walls being neither paper-thin nor soundproof. He gave me this weird meaningful look and said he was in the room next to Severus'.

I swear I went ten shades of red. Kingsley laughed, and sat back in his chair, suddenly not so dominant-looking. He said he wouldn't say anything and that it was nice of me to do what I did. I asked him what exactly he thought I had done that was so nice. He looked at me, this strange expression of half-shock, half-hope, and said that he thought I had slept with Snape out pf pity.

I slapped him across his face.

Okay, so perhaps I was still a little tender about Severus then…but from where I was sitting, that was a slight on Severus and me. Kingsley rubbed his cheek and said 'apparently not'. Damn right, apparently not. As if either of us would stoop to something so low. I told him so. He said perhaps he'd misjudged me.

Awkward silence filled our ears for a while. I sat there, thinking and trying not to cry and Kingsley just sat there watching me expectantly. I felt horrible about slapping Kingsley. Sure, I'd slapped many, many more people for less substantial reasons and perhaps he did deserve it just a little…but I still felt rotten. I wasn't sure where I stood with Kingsley…we traded barbs, but not like how Zabini and Malfoy or even Snape used to do…we weren't technically friends, but I always felt easy around him. Not necessarily comfortable, but I felt at place. It felt right. Plus it was damn fun. Rotten sexy golden earring…stupid bloody captivating lips…buggering lean body…let's get off that track…

Finally he asked if I wanted to talk. I looked up. He was staring at me as he always did…but I caught something…something I recall with ease even now…a flash of something like uncertainty…I was smiling despite myself. I took his hand in mine. And said why not.