The next morning, Harry went downstairs to find Hermione in the process of conjuring a picnic basket. She was dressed for the day, and her hair was still wet from her shower. She flashed him a quick smile when he came into the kitchen, and then focussed immediately on her food again.

Harry waited until she was done before asking any questions.

"Where are you going?" he said, as she eyed her basket with satisfaction. This seemed to surprise her.

"We're going out. Like we used to."

"Picnicking?"

"Yes, picnicking."

"We haven't picnicked since after seventh year," Harry said, a bit blankly, and she faced him with a patient expression.

"Yes, Harry. I know. I thought we'd take up the habit again."

"Oh," he said. "Sorry. It's early."

"That's alright."

"It's a nice idea."

"I know it is. You want to come don't you?"

"Of course," he said indignantly, and he did. He wondered if it would feel the same, but shook off the thought because she was waiting for him to go on. "Of course I do. I left Ginny asleep, but I can wake her up."

"Ron's already up and out," she said, averting her eyes now. Harry had thought they'd sorted themselves and nearly made to ask – she continued before he could. "He's picking a place, I think."

"Does he have his fishing rod?" Harry asked, a bit wryly, wanting her to smile again. She did, if a bit reluctantly.

"No. I think he lost it."

"Shame. He could have been great."

"Oh yes," she said, pushing loose curls out of her face and rolling her eyes. "Old boots and weeds just tremble when they hear his name."
They looked at once another for a moment, in a sort of fond recollection, but then Hermione glanced away. They must have really argued, Harry thought, as she checked her basket yet again. He resolved, a second time, to get it out of her later.

"I'm going to fetch Gin," he said.

She nodded. "I'll be here. We'll go on the broomsticks, shall we?"

Upstairs, Ginny was stirring in a half-doze, sun casting itself across her face and making her frown. He stood at the foot of their bed, reluctant, for the moment, to wake her. She looked perfectly content sleeping in. He had almost decided to leave her a note when she opened one eye.

"Harry?" she said hoarsely, and he moved to sit by her feet.

"Morning."

"Morning, early bird."

"Want to go out?"

"Where?"

"Picnic with Ron and 'Mione."
Her slow smile was sleepy and glad, and it made him smile too. He was happy, in the warmest kind of way, and nearly climbed into bed with her again, he was so unwilling for this feeling to disappear.

"I like your hair that way," he said softly, and she screwed up her nose.

"Feels a bit weird."

"Looks good."

She sat up and ran a hand through it. Her fingers stuck in a knot halfway, and she pulled at it gently until it ran smooth.

"OK," she said, and her voice was half-muffled in a yawn. "I'll just change, and we can go."

"Me too," he said, watching her push the covers back, stand, roll each foot around in a half-hearted stretch, and then head over to their as-yet-unpacked trunk to rummage for clothes. She moved like a quidditch player, like she could lift off the ground any minute. That was one thing he missed when she went away – just seeing her wander about. Kicking off her shoes in the evening. The way she touched her hands together when she spoke. Moments like that. 

She turned her head briefly and quizzically, towards him. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said. He hopped up and went to look for his jeans.

~

Harry and Hermione were lying on a rug (another of Hermione's creations) by their old stream. It looked mostly the same. A part of the bank had caved in during the last storms, and there were new saplings, and taller trees, but besides that, it was near unchanged. Ginny was ducking in and out of the stream, urging Ron, who was fiddling with his broom by the water's edge, to join her with teasing calls and the occasional enthusiastic splash.

Harry shifted slightly to look at Hermione, who had her eyes on the sky. The air felt like summer.

"So what happened with you and Ron yesterday?" he asked, deciding there was no delicate way to put it. She had apparently been expecting the question, because she did not seem thrown.

"It was silly," she sighed, sounding both frustrated and helpless. "He was being silly, that is. Such a small thing."

"It's always a small thing," Harry said dryly, and she frowned at him.

"It's not. Don't say that."

"Alright," he said, holding up a hand, even though he disagreed. "It's not. Well – what was the 'small thing'?"

A long silence, and Hermione swallowed. Harry had the sudden sense that maybe it wasn't such a small thing at all, and waited. When she spoke, her words tumbled over each other.

"There's this boy at college – this man, I mean, and Ron doesn't like him. He's nice, really. His name's Richard" (ah, said inner monologue) "and he's quite clever and polite and good-looking and all of that. He's in my course. Anyway, Ron doesn't like him, and I know why, I'd be blind not to, but there isn't anything going on. I'm not even – you know, attracted to him, and we had coffee once, but only because he cornered me after class, and why can't I have coffee with him anyway, if he's only my friend? And he is only my friend."

She paused for breath and glanced worriedly at Harry, who didn't know what to think.

"Er – he is only your friend, isn't he?" he asked.

"I promise he is, Harry," she said, a bit desperately, and when he looked at her face, he believed it.

"You don't have to promise. Why don't you just –" He was going to say 'tell that to Ron', but on second thoughts, he didn't think it would get them too far.

"Exactly," Hermione said, as he fell silent. "He just won't listen. And then – God, then Richard owled me yesterday afternoon, saying something about –" She descended into an embarrassed mumble. "About missing me over the break, I don't know, and Ron exploded. He shouted at me."

"He's jealous."

"Well of course he's jealous," Hermione said impatiently, "I know that. But I don't know how to make him stop. It's been going on all term. He's making himself miserable for no reason."

"Haven't you two figured it out yet?"

"Oh, we have. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

This alarmed him more than the rest of it. Hermione and Ron might argue pretty frequently, but almost directly afterwards they'd be apologising and kissing each other and saying how stupid they'd been. 'Sort of' didn't sound like that.

"I told him to calm down, and that I don't give two jots about Richard beyond friendship – not even friendship, he's an acquaintance more than anything – and Ron said he was sorry. But I think he's still upset, and I don't know how to fix it." She threw Harry a hopeless glance. "He can't get angry every time I make friends who are men. He must know I don't want to be with them."

"Well – maybe," Harry said.

"What do you mean, 'maybe'?"

"He loves you, 'Mione, and it makes him crazy sometimes."

"I know," she said, on an exhale. "But I don't go glowering at his girl friends."

"Does he have any girl friends?" Harry asked pointedly.

"Oh – not exactly," Hermione said, a bit defensive. "That's not what I mean, though. I mean, I wouldn't glower at them if he did."

"Right. Well, you won't change him. Not by just telling him he's silly, anyway."

"I know," Hermione said again. "I know that. I will fix it."

"OK."

She turned her head and gave him a half-smile. "Thanks for talking, Harry."

"You didn't seem very happy."

"And you've come a long way," she observed.

"In some things," he said, and shrugged (as best he could lying down). "It's living with bloody Ginny, I think. Girls are all talk-talk-talk."

"Ha-ha," she said, and poked him, before wriggling about to see Ron. Somehow – perhaps in testing the alignment of his broom tips in flight – he'd managed to get the thing lodged in a tree, and he was now swearing furiously, and yanking at it.

Hermione watched him for a few seconds, and Harry found himself grinning. Some things were never going to change. She seemed to be thinking something similar, because she stood and smiled a small smile.

"I think he needs a hand," she announced, and set off towards him.

A full minute passed before Ginny threw her wet body down in the space Hermione had vacated, spattering him in stream-water.

"Sorry," she said blithely, and patted the side of his face. "It's lovely, why don't you come in?"

"Too sleepy," he said. "And I'm counselling Hermione."
Ginny looked over her shoulder at Ron and his girlfriend. They'd managed to pull the broom out, and now Ron was speaking to her, and his arms were moving, as though of their own accord, around her waist.

"They seem alright to me," Ginny said, glancing back, and Harry shrugged again.

"There's some guy at college Ron's taken a dislike to. I think they'll sort it out, but you know Hermione – if she doesn't talk about it, she'll go mad."

"True," Ginny conceded, and wriggled closer. Her wet side was pressed against his, and his clothes were damp now, but he didn't complain. She felt too nice. "Isn't it funny," she went on, "how time passes? And how things change and stay the same?"

"What things?"

"Everything. All of us. This place."

"Things aren't all that different, are they?"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "There are lots of things different."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Ron and Hermione, for a start."

"Ron and Hermione? They're just the same."

"They're still themselves, of course, but they're different."

"'Mione's a little taller, maybe," Harry hazarded, and she shook her head at him.

"Not those things. She's a woman instead of a girl, you know? Look how she stands. Like – I don't know, like she knows who she is now."

Harry looked, and found, strangely enough (or perhaps not so strangely) that Ginny was right. Her description, in fact, was unsettlingly apt.

"And Ron's grown up. He's calmer, no matter what happened yesterday."

"I wouldn't be so sure …" Harry began, remembering Hermione's words, but Ginny spoke over him.

"I am sure. Trust me, I'm his sister. He's different, even if you can't see it all the time. Maybe Hermione's done it to him."

"Hm," Harry said. Ron was the Ron he remembered, as far as he could tell. His hair was shorter and he looked older, but he was still plain Ron.

Ginny lay back on the rug and watched clouds passing. They were mostly wisps of white and pale grey, and Harry watched them with her. He always had a funny, ageless feeling when he watched clouds, as though he'd seen the sky like this before, and would again one day.

"Do you think that's what's happened to us too?" Harry said eventually, and Ginny paused a moment before replying.

"Maybe," she said. "It's hard to look at yourself that way, isn't it?"

"You can look at me," Harry suggested, and she smiled and frowned simultaneously.

"No I can't. You practically are me."

Harry blinked at her, and felt his heart beat faster. Sometimes she said things, and they made him almost afraid with how much he loved her. He stretched forward and kissed her quickly, and then again, and then they lay still for a while, and she dried in the sun.

~

It was nearing dusk when they got home, and, to Harry's surprise, Fred and George launched out of the living room fireplace just as they arrived. Actually, he shouldn't have been surprised – the twins were always coming out with the unexpected, and popping up in places where they weren't before. The others took it in stride immediately, Ron, Ginny and Hermione offering quick 'hello's as they passed into the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, when everyone had gone ahead, and Fred's eyes were wild.

"If Angelina comes in, would you please tell her I'm not home?"

"Er – OK," Harry said, blinking at him, and Fred breathed a heavy sigh.

"Good. Good, thanks."

"I don't see what the dilemma is," George said matter-of-factly. "It's not like you won't eventually."

"Exactly, eventually," Fred said, running a hand through his hair. He had soot on his nose, but Harry couldn't tell him, because he was talking too fast. "Not now. I don't want to be cut down in the prime of my life."

"Cut down?" George repeated, and Fred nodded vigorously.

"Cut down. Reinvented. You know – un-bachelorated."

"You're not a bachelor. You've been dating her for four years."

"Dating. Dating is the key verb there."

"D'you mind my asking what you're talking about?" Harry managed to get in, and both twins spun to face him.

"I'd rather not –" Fred began, but George spoke over him.

"Angelina says she wants to get married, and he's in a panic."

"I'm not in a panic," Fred protested. "I just don't want to get married yet, and – OK, yes, I'm in a panic. And I'd appreciate it if we could stop discussing this."

"Oh, I'll discuss it for as long as it annoys you," George said, grinning. "Which I expect will be several weeks at the least. Maybe months."

"Sod off," Fred said, but then Hermione ducked her head back into the living room.

"Your Mum's here, and she wants to know if you're eating dinner?"

"Yes," said Fred, just as George called: "No."
The twins eyed each other, and then George sighed and held up his hands in defeat.

"Fine. We'll stay. But you do realise she's bound to notice you're gone soon?"

"I'm not leaving," Fred said defensively. "I'm just having – a bit of a break from talking about getting married. It's like if you were going to be castrated or something, and everyone kept on at you about it. Just makes me more nervous. Sorry Harry."

"That's fine," Harry said, even though the comparison of marriage to castration made him feel a bit woozy himself.

"Boys!" Mrs Weasley's voice echoed out through the house. "Come and tell me how much you want!"

Harry started off, and the twins trailed in behind him, still arguing under their breath.

Mrs Weasley seemed awfully pleased to have a few more family members at table, and even managed to make pleasant conversation about the joke-shop business. Fred's replies were a little incoherent (he jumped about a metre when Crookshanks knocked something over upstairs) so George fielded most of her enquiries. Harry enjoyed having the attention directed away from he and Ginny, and ate in near-silence.

Ginny only spoke to her mother to ask her to pass plates. Mrs Weasley appeared to have forgotten the wedding dress fiasco (or was very good at hiding her hurt feelings), and chattered on as she always did. Ron and Hermione were the same as ever, if a little quiet. The twins said nothing about Angelina.

Harry began to wonder just how many people were pretending at this table when Mrs Weasley asked them to clear plates.

He, Ginny, Ron and Hermione tidied up and carried the dishes into the kitchen. Harry was coming out again for glasses, and saw that Mrs Weasley had moved seats. She was now directly opposite the twins, and leaning over the table, speaking conspiratorially to them. Both looked very interested. Even Fred had lost his nervousness. They began to mutter in return – and then George noticed Harry and nudged his brother, and Mrs Weasley's head bobbed up.

"Oh – hello dear!" she said. "Come along, I'll help you with those."

She stood quickly and began to gather cups, all innocence. Harry was absolutely positive she was up to no good – at least from Ginny's viewpoint – and was of half a mind to say something, but decided not to in the end. Let her organise her part. Ginny could always stop her in her tracks if she had to.

Later that night, lying in bed, he began to feel that he'd gone sliding back in time, while at the same time moved forwards. That sense was rather disorienting. He considered telling Ginny about it, but she was sleeping soundly and he didn't want to wake her.