Chapter 2
"Look, Ron, it's not my fault that I have to share a room with you! If your wacked out sister would talk to me for once, then I would be there and not here!" Hermione ground out through clenched teeth.
"Well, it's not my fault either, Miss Perfect! I don't know what's wrong with Ginny, maybe she has PMS or something — " Ron began, but was cut off by Hermione's screeching.
"Don't talk to me about PMS as if you know what it's like! You are a man, and you will never, not in a million years know what PMS feels like, and if Ginny wants to have PMS, then I say we let her!" she yelled.She was getting even madder now, as she often did in the middle of an argument. Ron stood almost a foot taller than she did, something she was endlessly frustrated by, because it made her feel as if she had less of a chance of getting her point across.
"Am I going mad, Hermione? First you call Ginny 'wacked out', and now you're defending her! Oh, Merlin, I'm never going to last the summer with a house full of women!"
"Ronald Weasley, you are the most unbearable, impossible, ignorant prat I know!" she yelled, and stormed out the door. Ron went to his window and watched her march across the yard to the old willow tree by the pond and slump down, leaning against it, a scowl on her face.
To his surprise, no unpleasant names came to his mind as he followed her progress. She was beautiful when she was angry. He'd only just come to grips with the fact that he was in love with Hermione. She didn't know it, and neither did anyone else, though he had a growing feeling that Harry suspected something. And Ginny, as well. Ginny. He hadn't spoken to her since the morning of the day before graduation. That was the last day he'd seen her happy, and alive for once. He knew there was something wrong with her more serious than PMS, but he couldn't resist the urge to make Hermione angry.
Resigning for now on the Hermione front, he walked out of his bedroom with the intent of finding a snack, but stopped when he heard the sound of crying from Ginny's bedroom. He opened the door a crack and saw Harry holding Ginny, rocking her back and forth, whispering soothing words in her ear. The sight stirred something within him, and he knew what he had to do. He quelled the surge of anger at someone, anyone, holding his baby sister like that, and headed down the stairs; he passed right by the kitchen, an amazing accomplishment for Ron. Screw food, he needed to find Hermione.
When he got outside, he found Hermione quickly, her head resting against the tree, staring out into the water and emitting little huffy noises every few seconds. When she saw him coming, she stood up, ready for another argument.
"Look, Ron, you may think — " she began when he reached her, but he cut her off by grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close to him.
"Ron, what — " he once again cut her off by placing his finger against her lips.
"You talk too much," he whispered, and before she could retort, he covered her mouth with his own, halting any and all other remarks from her.
When he finally pulled away, he was pleased to see that Hermione looked pretty much the same way he felt. And he was also pleased that she hadn't beaten him senseless for what he'd just done. She brought her hand up, and he was sure she was going to strike him, but instead, she tenderly brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.
"So, you've finally realized it then, you daft idiot," she said, but there was no malice in her tone despite the name calling.
"Realize what?" he asked, confusedly.
She rolled her eyes and laughed. "That we love each other," she told him, looking deep into his eyes to make sure she hadn't been wrong, and that he really did love her.
He reached over and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I love you, and I always have. I just didn't realize it until now," he said gently, once again claiming her mouth with his own.
"Harry's with Ginny . . . I heard her crying when I passed her room," said Ron, when they broke away.
"That's good. At least it shows she's feeling something, and not just lying in her bed like a log all day," answered Hermione.
Ron sat down against the tree, pulling Hermione down in front of him. She sat between his legs, resting her head against his chest. It was amazing how fast the two had clicked, and the physical closeness that already existed between them. Though really it wasn't, considering that this relationship had been in the works for seven years already.
"I'm so worried about her, but I guess she'll be better now," Ron admitted.
"I wouldn't be too sure of that. Something happened that night, when we couldn't find her. I don't know what, but I'll bet it was something to do with Michael," said Hermione, taking Ron's hand and prying his fingers from where they were digging into the palm of his hand. Any time anyone mentioned the name "Michael", Ron had the same reaction. Fist clenching, teeth grinding, knuckle cracking, the usual things one does when one is getting ready to beat someone to a bloody pulp.
"Why would you think that?" asked Ron, livid at the idea that Michael had something to do with Ginny's behavior. His fingers found their way into his palms again.
"Well, do the math, Ron. We couldn't find her, we couldn't find him, and they haven't spoken a word since. Don't you find it odd that two people who were so inseparable for almost three months would abruptly stop speaking with each other for no obvious reason?"
"So, what do you think happened?" he queried.
"I don't know, but something bad, Ron. Something bad."
Meanwhile, back inside, Harry held the sleeping form of Ginny in his arms. He was leaning back against the headboard of her bed, Ginny next to him with her head resting against his chest and her arms wrapped around his neck.
He looked down at her and sighed. What am I going to do about this? He pondered the question, and all the possible options. There was no doubt in his mind that he would find Michael and beat the crap out of him, but what about telling the rest of her family? Would she tell them? Would she want him to? Somehow, he wasn't too keen on telling six men, all brawnier and taller than himself, that their little sister had gotten raped. It wouldn't matter if he wasn't the one who'd done it, he would inevitably be the bearer of bad news.
Ginny stirred slightly, and he glanced down at her. She had changed a lot since the little girl he knew when she first started going to Hogwarts. Not only in appearances, but on the inside as well. When he had first started to get to know her in his second year, she was a fragile young thing, with really no mind of her own, relying mostly on what other people told her to do. The incident with Tom Riddle, in her first year, didn't make her weaker and more fragile, as had been expected. On the contrary, it had strengthened her, made her more independent. After that terror-filled night in the Chamber, she would let no one take advantage of her, and she seemed to grow up a great deal after that year.
Appearances were a different story. He had noticed the changes in her, but tried to stop thinking about them, for fear of Ron or one of her other brothers finding out what he was thinking about. Her hair had grown to her waist by her fifth year, but in the beginning of her sixth, she had cut it to her shoulders. Her complexion remained much the same as it had been when he first met her, milky white with tiny freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. She had got quite a bit curvier, something that hadn't escaped his attention, though he hadn't wanted to elaborate on that aspect of her appearance too much. Thanks once again, to the ever present threat of the Weasley men.
"Oh, Ginny," he whispered. "Why would anyone want to do this to you? You're the closest thing to perfection I know, who would want to destroy that?"
"Michael would," she answered. He jumped, unaware that she'd been awake and listening to him.
"I thought you were sleeping," he replied, as she pulled herself up to lean on one elbow, facing him.
"I was, but I had a nightmare again. I keep remembering every single detail about that night, and I just can't get it out of my head," she said, looking slightly disconcerted at having been so open with Harry.
"Have you told anyone about this besides me?" he asked, hoping against hope that she had, and he wouldn't have to tell her family.
"No," she answered quietly, looking down. "I was afraid to, afraid they'd say I brought it on myself or something. But I didn't, Harry, I tried to stop him — "
Harry cut her off by placing his thumb and forefinger against her chin and lifting her head up. A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, and he wiped it away with his other hand.
"I know, Ginny, you don't have to tell me. Nobody deserves what happened to you, and there's no doubt in my mind that you didn't bring it on yourself. I know you tried to stop him, you're too strong-willed not to. Don't cry, love, it'll be okay now."
She smiled weakly at him, lulling down. "I hope so, Harry. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I feel so helpless, and frightened. Like there's nothing I can to do make this better."
"Well, you don't have to do anything. I'll make it better, Gin. I promise."
She buried her face in his chest once more, wanting to make certain that this was real. She had always dreamed of being rescued by a knight in shining armor. The Chamber was her first experience with being the damsel in distress. But she could never have predicted that she would have needed to be saved from something like this. But it was real — she felt Harry's hands comb gently through her hair and she heard his heartbeat through the thin cotton of his shirt. She knew, she just knew that this was real.
Later that evening after Ginny had again fallen asleep, Harry gently maneuvered her from underneath his arm and got up. He walked to the door, and looked back once, before walking up the stairs. He had no intentions on revealing Ginny's secret, but he did want to talk to Ron. When he reached the door bearing the infamous 'Ronald's Room' plaque, he stopped. There were sounds coming from inside Ron's room. He wasn't sure what was going on in there, but it sounded as if Ron was in some kind of danger.
He pushed open the door suddenly, without warning, and was rendered speechless. Hermione was on Ron's bed, half-naked, and Ron, from the looks of it was clothed in nothing, but had the good grace to grab a blanket before Harry could catch sight of anything that he'd rather not catch sight of.
"AHHHHHH!" Harry screamed. "I'm blind, my eyes!" he yelled, frantically trying to keep his hands over his eyes and find the way out as well. The only thing he succeeded in doing was knocking over quite a bit of Ron's Chudley Cannon's knicknacks and a lamp.
"Oh, honestly, Harry, a bit dramatic, aren't we?" said Hermione, her cheeks ablaze. She scrambled for the sheet and pulled it over herself.
"Dramatic? Dramatic? I find my two best friends snogging right in front of my nose and you call me dramatic?"
"Um . . . something you wanted, Harry?" muttered Ron from his place on the floor, where he'd landed when Harry opened the door. His cheeks were exactly the same shade as Hermione's, possibly brighter.
"No, thanks. I think I'll just go now," he mumbled, finally finding the door. An amazing fear, considering that his hands had been placed firmly over his eyes once he'd picked the lamp up.
When he was finally clear of the sounds once more emanating from 'Ronald's Room' (which was not until he reached the pond) he felt like being sick. That was just plain indecent, he thought disgustedly. He'd always known Ron and Hermione were going to get together, in fact, he'd been the only one Hermione had told her true feelings about Ron to. Ron had never told him how he felt about Hermione, but Harry knew. Ever since third year, the whole school had known. Bets had been circulating for ages! Even Ron's brothers and parents knew it, so it was completely lost on Harry why Ron was the only one who didn't know what he himself felt. Still, even though he'd always known they would end up together, there was really no need for him to witness that! And without any warning, either . . . hmpf.
He groaned, leaning his head against the willow tree and slumping down to the ground. Despite it being summer, there was still a slight breeze coming from the pond, and Harry was glad he'd brought his jacket as the sun sank below the horizon. Since he was finally by himself, he let his thoughts run free for the first time in a long time.
Naturally, the first thing that came to his mind was Ginny. Not so much Ginny as what he'd like to do to Michael Corner. Well, let's see. First his ever-loving face, he'd have to punch him several times there, possibly more than several. Then his stomach, oh, that would be recreation. Then, maybe he'd knee him a bit lower than his stomach . . . Harry thought these things without even the slightest feeling of remorse. Michael really did deserve anything he got.
And then of course, after Harry, it would be the Weasleys' turn. Every single one of them, one at a time. First Bill, then Charlie, then . . . well, Percy probably wouldn't even hear about this. But if he did, Harry was sure that he couldn't feign indifference. Then there was Fred and George, who could always be counted on if harm was needed. And Ron. Wow, Ron was surely going to be the worst of all Ginny's brother's, seeing as how close the two of them were. And Mr. Weasley would be, if possible, more furious than Ron. Cool, Harry thought. This is gonna be fun!
Before he could elaborate further on where and how many times he wanted to punch Michael, he saw a tiny figure walking toward him from the Burrow. When it got closer, he realized it was actually Ginny. He was surprised, Ron had said she hadn't even left her room since she got back from school. He immediately stood, waiting for her arrival.
"You okay?" he asked when she reached him.
"Fine, fine . . . I guess. I'm just not feeling all that well, that's all," she said quietly.
"Come here," he said gently, and she obeyed, moving closer. He pulled her so that her back was facing him, and his arms were wrapped around her waist. They stood like that for a while, looking out over the water. It wasn't until Ginny started shivering that Harry realized she probably hadn't been sleeping well and should get some rest. He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and placed it around hers. She looked back at him with a grateful smile, and pressed even closer against him.
"Don't you think we ought to be going back?" he asked warily, not at all sure that this nice Ginny would be staying for dinner. He understood the mood swings now at least. He couldn't blame her, being raped was certainly not an easy thing to go through.
"I guess . . . I think the others ought to know, Harry," she whispered fearfully. "I'm afraid to tell them. I think Mum suspects something like this, I mean, of course everyone knows something's wrong, but I think she really knows. What if they all just don't care or something even worse than that? What if they disown me? What if Michael finds out I've told and he comes back . . . "
Harry's face darkened at the mention of Michael. "Don't even worry about Michael doing anything more to you. And Ginny, the last thing your family's going to do is disown you. They know you, they love you! Do you really think that they'll think this was your fault? I don't think so. Don't worry so much, come on, I'll even come with you. Ready?"
"W — what? Now? But — "
"No 'buts', Gin. Let's go," he said, grabbing hold of her shoulders and turning her towards the house. He was sure to hold her gently, though. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.
When they were about fifteen feet from the house, she turned around, trying to back out of it.
"I can't do this, Harry. Don't make me do this," she said, heading back toward the pond.
"I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do, but sooner or later, the truth will come out. Don't you want to be the one to tell your family what happened? Or would you rather they found it out from someone else?"
"Oh, Harry! You'd do that for me?" she asked joyfully, misunderstanding his message.
"Oh, no! Where do you think the phrase 'don't shoot the messenger' comes from?"
"What?"
"Never mind, it's a Muggle thing. But it means that only you can tell your family the truth, no one else," he said searching her eyes. He could easily tell how badly she wanted to let her family in on the truth.
"Okay!" she said, with rekindled bravery. "I'm ready."