A/N: Hey people!

Right, here we go – the first Christmas chapter. From different points of view, which I'll leave you to (easily) guess, we see Harry's growing frustration and weariness with his situation, and who he finally breaks down and confesses the whole awkward situation to…Enjoy…


Chapter 8: The Hippogriffs Are Not Merry

The Hippogriffs, Harry thought to himself, are not merry.

He frowned, stretching out slightly in order to reach the top of the leafy Christmas tree he was trying to decorate, remembering Sirius' merry, silly song the last Christmas he'd spent here. Harry sighed, awkwardly hanging the ornate angel near the top. It'll have to do.

The grief, which had seemed so far away at Hogwarts, miserable as he'd been with the awful situation with his friends, as well as the infuriating way Professor Snape had kept rejecting his – at least, he'd thought they were – simple, uncomplicated offers to talk to the only person who partially understood his new problems, had come rushing back as soon as he'd set foot in the measurably brighter, cheerier entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. He'd somehow survived the painfully happy welcome from a blushing Lupin and a knowing Tonks, and fled to his room for the next ten hours, ignoring the calls to come to dinner.

It had eventually taken the appearance of an irate Ginny, shouting at him for being, among other things, a 'bleeding tosser'. His heart had risen and plummeted at an equal rate, on seeing her in his room, then remembering the fact that had nearly driven him to distraction earlier in the day. Ginny, after a spectacular break-up with Dean – which he'd barely given thought to, as unsettled as he'd been that week, it being the week of the Enchantment Strengthener potion, which had been very painful to live with, after the initial dose – had been free for a week or so, but by the time Harry had noticed, and gotten up the courage to talk to her, a mistily apologetic Luna had told him she was going out with Horace Bletchley – some boy in her year. Harry, walking critically around the slightly lopsided tree, sighed to himself.

I was such a –

"Harry," came Ron's sullen, slightly cold tone from outside the spacious front parlour Lupin had finished rescuing. "Can we talk, for a minute?"

That was another thing that had gone wrong, somehow, Harry thought to himself, magicking the shiny ornament box shut. He'd made up a brilliant story to tell Hermione, in place of the truth – about foolish, grief-driven research into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. He'd even done a bit of research, too – conjured up a few messy notes, just in case – and told the story as contritely as he could, hoping hard to repair the rift that had sprung between them. Instead of sighing and telling him that he was so silly, and that nothing would bring Sirius back, and scolding him (kindly) for wasting his time, she'd blown up further at him, shouting that he was absolutely irresponsible if it was true, and that she couldn't believe he would scream at her in front of the whole common room for such a relatively unimportant thing –

Whereupon Harry, a little sore from the countless insults he'd weathered from Snape earlier on, had pointed out sharply, if a bit unwisely, that she had yelled at him too before the selfsame room, as well as the fact that Sirius' death was in no way unimportant to him, and the reconciliation Harry had planned had rapidly gone downhill from there on. He'd been shouting himself hoarse about it being his business again, to a teary, equally shouting Hermione, when Ron had found them in the empty classroom, and torn into him for shouting at her again. Harry's shoulders sagged. It was just ridiculous, how such a small lie – well, a rather big lie – had caused even more trouble between him and his friends.

Harry folded his arms, now sitting across the kitchen table from Ron. He'd given up, after that, burying himself in every Defence book he could lay his hands on, as well as studying obsessively for the rest of his classes. He'd not thought himself able to study more, at a point – but that had been before he found out about Ginny and that Bletchley character. Harry grimaced jerkily – he still wasn't entirely used to being careless with his expressions – feeling hard done by. Everything happens to

"So, Harry," Ron said, sounding a bit impatient. "When are you going to apologise?"

"To Hermione, you mean?" Harry said, a little sharply. She started the shouting first, each time

"Yes, Harry – to Hermione," Ron spat out, suddenly so vehement that Harry was taken aback. "Who else, Harry? Oh, no, wait – there is the little matter of apologising to me as well, and to Neville, and Ginny, and Luna, but we both know you've hurt Hermione the most – "

"I tried to apologise to her last week, Ron – you can't say I didn't – "

"Oh yes I can – looked more like yelling you were doing at her, in that classroom – "

"It started out as an apology," Harry pointed out shortly, "it only got to yelling when she started having a go at me – "

" – as she should've!" Ron shot back, his face starting to turn red. "As all of us should, come to think of it, Harry – "

"So you're telling me – "

" – after you wouldn't give us the time of day – "

" – making an apology means the person should shout at you – "

" – or tell us what the hell was going on IN YOUR LIFE!" Ron was on his feet now, shouting fit to kill himself. "You never tell us ANYTHING – "

" – for doing the SAME EXACT THING THEY DID TO YOU!" Harry shouted back. "If you'd only listen to me, you'd know I had GOOD REASONS – "

" – except when we corner you and drag it the BLOODY HELL OUT – "

" – for everything I didn't SAY – "

" – and I'm SICK OF IT!" Ron exploded, wildly waving his long arms about, temporarily cutting Harry off. "I'm bloody sick of it! If you want to keep your bloody secrets, then fine! KEEP THEM! SEE IF I CARE – "

"You just don't bloody get it – "

"And who does, Harry? Who gets it? SNAPE?" Harry stopped short, stunned. "Oh – you think we didn't bloody notice? Didn't see you slinking off to that git's office all the bloody TIME?" Harry jolted back into action. "Maybe that's your stupid bloody secret – "

"You don't understand – " he began, bitterly, but Ron headed him off, shoving the kitchen chair roughly against the table, stepping away.

"I don't understand? There's a bloody REASON I don't bloody understand, Harry – " he paused, right in front of Harry's red face, " – and it's because you don't tell me a bloody THING!" He stalked towards the door, angrily shoving past the shocked group of people that stood there, staring in consternation at Harry, whose abnormally tight grip on the chair in front of him was beginning to smoke. Wrenching his hands from the chair as if it was burning him, Harry strode past them too, not letting him see the saddened, puzzled faces of Tonks, Lupin – and Ginny.

The last name seemed to set fire to the glowing embers of Harry's anger, and he slammed the doors all the way to his room with a kind of eager passion, one thought seeming to stand out like a brand on his memory.

It's all going to hell. And everything – everything is my fault.

Warding his room with everything he could remember, he broke down into his pillow, sobbing with anger and frustration.

…all going to hell…

Jumping up, he slammed his fist into the wall nearest to him, not caring how it hurt. He could do this, at least – he could always heal himself – repair the wall –


Thump! Thump! Thump!

My heart begins to beat in time with those odd thumps coming – I sigh unhappily – from Harry's room. Merlin knows what on earth he's doing in there – I head for his room slowly. It's usually me, now, fixing his silly moods

Ow! I step back from the door – what on earth – the door handle – just burnt me

"Let me in this minute, Harry James Potter!" I shout, hammering my unhurt hand on the door in front of me, not really expecting the door to swing open, to reveal his wild, pinched features.

"What did you just call me?" he demands lowly, green eyes narrowed in fury. I blink inwardly – never seen him this angry – but answer as coldly as I can.

"Your name, Harry." I raise my chin defiantly. He glares at me for a moment, then suddenly latches onto my shoulder with an oddly wet hand, dragging me roughly into the room by the fisted shoulder of my slightly loose top. I feel a wash of strong magic grasp at me searchingly for a minute, then abruptly fall away as he leaves hold of me, slamming the door. He doesn't face me for a minute, one hand still on the door – it stung me, I still think, incredulously.

"Don't," he rasped finally, swiping at his sweaty forehead with the back of one wet – wait – is that – hand, turning to me, "call me that. Again. Ever." His green eyes pierce mine, even as I realise that the wetness on his hand – and on my shirt, I think, my hand twitching to my slightly damp shoulder – is blood. I swallow the hundreds of questions that threaten to overwhelm me for a minute, my eyes searching the room for – there it is – blood. I look away from that ominous spot beside his bed, where he evidently pummelled the wall in his anger, feeling his eyes on me. I ask the safest question I can think of, to dispel the rising tension in the air.

"Why did the door sting me?" Comes out more as a demand than a question, but it'll have to do. Harry frowns at me for a moment, thoughts clearly racing behind all the anger, then sighs, shoulders sagging, looking almost defeated. The answer comes almost too quietly for me to hear –

"Wards," is the faint word he says, his lips curling slightly into a sad sort of half-smile. He looks down at his hands, and I cannot help it – my gaze is drawn there too, to the broken, ugly skin. I find myself feeling helpless against that kind of anger, feeling that I have to say something, anything

"I can help with that," I blurt out, still staring at his bloody, curling hands, "we always have tons of bruises at the Burrow…" I trail off as Harry looks up at me, his face sad.

"I can do that myself," he replies, almost defensively, bowing his head to look at them again. "I know a few healing spells now – not tried most of them yet, but…" he trails off, sounding oddly nervous. I can't think why – can't get my mind round these rapid mood swings of his right now, but it can't be helped. I take over briskly, pulling out some tissue from my pocket.

"Then you shouldn't do them – may not work too well, doing those spells the first time," I pause, feeling shy, but plough on, asking my question in spurts. "You wouldn't – would you just – er – since I can't technically – er – do magic – you wouldn't mind if I used your wand, would you?" A small shake of the dark head sends me searching for it.

Silence reigns, and I can feel his eyes on me acutely, watching me as I fumble after his wand, which is tossed carelessly down on the floor, on the other side of the bed from the lowly placed dark, smudged handprints – must've – er – sunk – to his feet, at that point, I tell myself, my face flushing so hard it hurts, at the thought of a weeping, despondent Harry – and slight, even bloodier depressions, much higher up, in the wall. I curse my face, and say the next few words almost fiercely, not looking directly at him.

"If you'll just sit down – over here – "

Harry complies easily, moving with the odd, slightly graceful way he's had for a while now, and my blush recedes slightly, my body moving mechanically to sit by him, hair falling haphazardly in my face as I turn toward him, trying not to notice how his does the same, as he turns towards me. He doesn't speak as I say the simple spells, but I can feel his burning gaze firmly rooted on me all the same. It's maddening, this – this awful feeling that justwon't go away.

"Other hand now, Harry," I murmur, disregarding the fact that I don't really need to touch him to work the spell properly, just concentrating on the almost eager way he puts his bloodied fist into my own hand, and leans in just a bit, making my toes curl and my neck flush, again.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I chant to myself, fighting the feeling that seems to worm its way even deeper into my foolish heart.

"Thanks," Harry mutters hoarsely, leaving his hand in mine. My heart threatens to split open from the shame and pity and want that I feel, feeling the warm weight of that, now whole, slightly sticky hand resolutely hanging onto mine, my brain flooding with how unhappy he's been this term, and how bloody silly I am, being so angry at him for no real –

"It's okay," I say shortly, reluctantly leaving hold of his hand. "Here – " I don't dare look into his eyes as I hand him back his wand. "Thanks for letting me…er…"

"No problem, Ginny," he answers softly, head down as he carefully spells the blood off his hands, and – sending a jolt through me – spelling the blood off mine. I gulp, thinking maniacally of those three words. And the way he said them…

No problem, he said. As if – as if he'd give me – give me anything

I gulp hard, again, as he turns pulls me closer towards him, muttering spells at my shoulder until he gets them right, and the damp, sticky feeling is gone. I take a few deep breaths as I rise from the bed, slightly unwilling to abandon the feeling of such comfortable proximity to him.

You've got a boyfriend, Ginevra Weasley, I tell myself sternly, between breaths. You. Are. Over. This. Boy.

I have to be, damnit.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask slowly, gently, staring down at the top of his messy head, which remains still, unmoving, as he gives his answer. I hope, for a moment, that he'll say something about this awful anger – he told me small things, this summer, enough to make him trust me with something this big –

"Don't think I can," he mutters, clenching his fists again. He seems to eye the wall – Merlin, don't let him start punching it again – and rises, as if filled with new determination. As he Scourgifies the bloodstains, I feel ashamed, underestimating him like that. His shoulders droop, and he sort of half-leans, half-collapses against the wall. "I'm – I'm sorry. I just can't." His voice wavers horribly, striking a wild mix of fear and pity in me. So help me, I won't be held responsible for my actions – if he – if he starts – starts crying

"It's all right," I say, strongly, trying not to let my own voice waver. Somehow, I find the courage to walk over and give him a small hug, from behind, making it slightly loose, ignoring the interesting way he smells, and –

"Thanks, Ginny." His hand touches my arm slightly, as he sort of leans back into me, tense, roiling energy still rolling off him in waves. I step back – not too hastily there, Ginny – and start to make for the door. "Wait – " he commands me, turning round, flicking his wand and saying something in rapid Latin. "There – the door handle won't sting you, now." I can feel the tension still emanating from him as I toss a smile over my shoulder and leave the room, but I can't deny it –

Something changed, there. That last sentence was calmer, somehow. And, I tell myself, running noisily down the stairs, heading for the kitchen, I didn't see it – but I think he almost – smiled, there.

I shake my red hair restlessly, berating my imagination.

Angry Harry Potters, I remind myself, finally at the slightly ajar door of the kitchen, do not smile.


Bloody hell.

Those were the only two words that seemed to stay with me, for a while, this morning.

Tonks just – just kissed me. Me. Bloody hell…

Tonks just propositioned me. Bloody. Hell. ME!

Harry's here – finally – but, bloody hell, does he look awful

Voices in the – Merlin – that's Ron. And Harry. Screaming at each other. So – bloody hell – he just singed that chair…

They seem to be my words of choice today, really. Sirius would've laughed at that, I remember, my face falling slightly, prompting Tonks to give me a sharp glance and a gentle squeeze of my arm. Laughed that barking laugh of his – told me, I wager, that I have an unadulterated right, as a Marauder, to swear – at all times.

Sirius gone, I swallow, pain lancing dully through me, still, bloody hell. Tonks shifts her shoulder against mine, impatiently. Sometimes, I really wonder how she stands me and my everlasting grief –

"Stop that," she admonishes suddenly, giving me a small, fierce kiss.

"What?"

"Right then," she answers, annoyed, "you looked exactly like you did, at me, when I first asked you to have dinner with me. I won't have it – understand?" She glares at me until I nod, smiling now, and returns to her crusty teacup. I've no idea why she does that, but when she sips, and licks at it like that –

Bloody hell.

So, when a dishevelled Ginny comes bursting in, tiny drops of red on her slightly shabby white top, babbling about Harry and thumping and blood on the walls, they are unfortunately the first words that spring to my lips.

"Bloody hell…" Tonks and Ginny stare at me, making me feel defensive. I try to call the attention away from the unusual words flowing easily from my mouth by asking a question. "Could you repeat that again, Ginny? Slower, please – "

"Like I said," she continues, giving her red head a tiny shake of bewilderment, "he actually had wards on his door – it stung me when I tried to get in – "

"He knows that one?" Tonks interjected sharply. "They don't teach that at Hogwarts, do they, Remus – not while I was there, at least – and that lump of a Romulus Veron doesn't look much like a rebellious sort, if you know what I mean – "

"Wait, Ginny," I said, not wanting to openly agree with Tonks – it is a teacher of Ginny's, after all, "You said something about 'thumps' – what were they?" Her face darkens, looking, oddly, more frightened than angry. The way I heard it, it sounded like Harry was thumping the wall – I can't really believe that, though –

"Harry," she said shortly, sharply, glaring slightly at me, as if she can sense my disbelief. "It was him, Profe- er – Remus, I'm really serious – he bloodied his knuckles and everything, they were torn and that – "

"What?" I say, rising from my seat, fear starting to make its way into my heart. "Why – what on earth could – oh, Merlin, it was that row he just had, wasn't it? With Ron?" I'm already starting for the kitchen door. I remember that little display he had with Kreacher – with me, in fact, standing over me, eyes cold with determination, that very first day –

"Remus, don't just go charging off – " Tonks says hastily, clumsily setting down her cup of tea.

"Wait, please – " Ginny seizes my arm as I go past, her grip surprisingly strong for her size. "You didn't see him, Remus – he was almost ready to hex me for calling him his full name, for crying out loud – "

"Are you serious, Ginny?" Confusion swirls in, stalling me. That is so –

"Yes," she replies, leaving go of my arm, "just 'Harry James Potter', honestly, and he was ready to go off – don't think he would've even been angry enough to open the door if I hadn't said that – " She shudders, worry colouring her expression. "He's done that once or twice, come to think of it – it was with Hermione, I think – he tried to make up with her, and they ended up screaming at each other, and she came back babbling about something he really got angry about that she couldn't understand, and – "

"Hold," I say, setting a hand on her shoulder, steering her towards the table. "He got angry because you lot called him his full name? Why would he – "

"I know!" Ginny replied, miserably. "It's gotten really bad between him and Hermione – been horrid, really," she sniffed a bit, dragging fingers irritably through her hair. "What you saw just now, with Ron – doesn't really compare…" My eyes widen in shock and bewilderment.

"Sit down, Ginny – calm down, I can talk to him, you know, but I can't do that if I don't know exactly what's been going on," I pull out a chair at the table, which the shaken girl slides into easily. "He never sent me more than a couple of letters, really, with next to nothing in them, but I thought he was busy, or something – "

"Oh, he's been busy," Ginny cut in, almost bitterly, sniffing hard. "Busy running around, practically living in the library, and in the Room of Requirement – you know, where we did the D.A. – and he never told us why…Hermione told me," she lowered her voice, leaning in the direction of the two rapt adults, "he said he was researching the Veil – for Sirius…" My heart gives a hard thump – sinking down into my stomach heavily. I hang my head slightly, feeling utterly foolish for not having seen

"He was?" I clear my throat shakily. "Merlin – I saw him – he was torturing Kreacher when I Floo'ed in after the attack on Privet Drive…saying Sirius would've wanted it…I should've known – "

"Don't, Remus," comes Tonks' sharp voice, penetrating through the shield my hands have erected round my face. "Harry does what he wants – he's responsible for his own actions, you know, he's not a kid anymore, not after all he's seen – "

"I'm not even entirely sure, about – him being – responsible – for his actions, lately," Ginny says, eyes on the table, speaking carefully, embarrassedly.

"What do you mean?" I am genuinely perplexed – Harry's been doing well in his Occlumency lessons, I know that, at least, if not from Harry himself – My train of thought severs at the odd look on Ginny's face, as she sucks in a sharp breath of air, nervously pursing her lips.

"We cornered him, once," she said, softly, blushing, "oh – Merlin – we asked him – he said no, but – I've seen him myself, heading for the dungeons, coming up from there – we know he's meeting someone, now – Ron thinks it's Snape, but I don't – "

"Snape?" I feel the familiar warmth of wolfish anger flicker at the back of my consciousness, the need to know filling me like a too-tight balloon. But Ginny is already shaking her head, red flying from side to side.

"I don't think I should tell you," she mutters lowly, looking at the table. A terrible idea is lancing sharply into me – stinging me into jerking out –

"He's meeting Snape – he's not seeing him, Ginny?" I am halfway out of my chair before she can answer anything, and heading determinedly for the door by the time Ginny's anguished tone reaches me.

"It's not like that, Remus – we – we don't know – he told us he wasn't gay – "

"And how did you know he was telling the truth?" I toss fiercely over my shoulder, anger piping through my veins. If that BASTARD is using Harry

"That's for him to tell you," Ginny shot back, scraping out of her chair, doggedly trailing me out of the kitchen. "He wasn't lying then, I'm sure of it – "

"Remus, calm down," Tonks touches me softly, somehow appearing by my side. "It won't go well if you're too angry to think – you know Harry, he'll likely just shout right back, and where will you be then?"

"I'm fine," I say, shortly, easing my arm from her soft, insistent grip. "Honestly, Nym – Tonks, I'll be fine…" It comes out a bit harsher than I intended, because of the stupid slip. I can feel myself heating up, but ignore it all the same, turning to Ginny, who now has a rather calculating look in her eyes. "I'll be careful with him, Ginny – as careful as I can, at any rate," I give her a strained smile, "I definitely won't be calling him by his full name, of course…" She smiled back, too, but it was a small, mostly miserable smile.

"Yeah," she muttered, eyes dropping to the ground. "I just – I just wish…he just seems to have all these strange problems and everything – it's just unfair, for him…" she trailed off again, eyes softening as she looks at the revarnished steps, leading up to most of the bedrooms, and, by default, Harry. I put a calming, reassuring hand on her shoulder for a minute, then turn and face the stairs.

Even if I didn't want to do this – which I do, though it most likely won't be pleasant – I know I must – for Sirius.

Harry's not the only one that remembers Sirius. And I need to make him remember that, now.

Sighing, I move to open the door, having checked the wards on it. The stinging ward is gone now – traces of it linger on the door, along with a slightly more malevolent Impediment Ward. The rest of them are merely a system of trigger wards – nothing that should stop me from entering the room.

Right.

Bloody hell.


Remus has been in Harry's room for something over an hour now – far too long, in my opinion. I sneak a look at Ginny – she's almost writhing in impatience – that's still going strong, I suppose, I think wryly to myself, getting up. She needs a distraction, poor thing – same thing I'd need, in the same situation. I edge carefully round the chairs, levitating my old cup of tea carefully into the sink.

"Want some tea, Ginny?" She starts slightly, staring at me as if she'd sort of forgotten I was actually in here, sitting at the kitchen table with her, waiting for –

"Yeah," she mutters, combing out her ponytail with quick, jerky movements. I watch her for a moment, then set to making the tea. Her hair's so damn straight – I can never quite get the odd, thick texture right. I try now, forgetting the slightly squeaky teapot before me, lengthening the bubble pink strands first – that's always easier – then turning it to that lustrous red. I jerkily set down the two cups of tea – whoops, spilled a little – and levitate the small pots of sugar and milk over. Ginny spots my hair, and a small, sad smile appears on her face. I beam back as best as I can, adding sugar and milk a little haphazardly to my tea – I like having little crusty bits of sugar and milk round the edge, Remus always stares when I lick them off, see –

"Thanks, Tonks," comes the soft voice of Ginny, who is still staring at her tea, swirling in far too much milk. I toss my red hair as imperiously as possible, changing my features to the more haughty lines of some Lady I saw once, on the television my dad insisted on showing my mother once or twice, and peer down my nose at her.

"It is nothing, child," I say, drawling my words in a passable imitation of Narcissa Malfoy – as useless as she is, she does have rather a striking way of speaking. Ginny's smile deepens into a small grin for a minute, then fades as I turn my attention to my crusty teacup.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, sounding miserable, "I'm just – not – urgh – " she splutters on her milky tea, making a grotesque face that I admire carefully – interesting effect, that had – "Merlin," Ginny continues making slightly less grotesque faces, "I – goodness – can't have been paying much attention to that, can I…"

"It's all right," I offer, letting my face shift to my favourite set of features. "I understand." She gives me a look, brown eyes full of turmoil, then looks away.

And indeed, I do…I watch her absently add sugar to her unsatisfactory tea, and sip at it slowly, lost, again, in thought. If it had been me, and it had been Remus up there, bloodying his skin against the walls and refusing to talk about what was so obviously driving him round the bend, I would've been doing pretty much the same thing Ginny is doing now.

Brooding.

Perhaps trying to beat some sense into his head, as well, but that's slightly out of the question in Ginny's case – Harry can likely snap her like a twig, if he's angry enough, and not probably just with magic, either. And he was – angry enough to set Stinging Wards on his bloody door (still don't know where he found those), if you're Harry, means absofuckinglutely-frothing-at-the-brain.

I sigh, seeing the signs in her nervous, hunched posture clearly. I overheard Hermione talking to her once, something about her being over Harry. I'd snorted to myself then – even as I snort now. Over him, I want to tell that bossy, brainy, well-meaning girl, Pah.

Just that – pah. I sip some of my tea, savouring the crusty edge of my cup. The signs are all there, if you look – the way Ginny always knows where that dratted boy is, the way she listens to him, the way she looks at him – sort of wistfully – I can go on.

I know those signs – I've lived with them, myself. Ginny starts a banal little conversation about how nice the kitchen keeps getting, and I humour her, feeling pity sting me as I watch her slightly hollow gestures, the way she occasionally checks the door, tension in the lines of her small frame.

Poor thing, indeed – that boy is as thick as two short planks, when it comes to things like these, I think into my cup. Ginny twists her fingers in her hair as she drains the cup, in an odd ritual of sorts. Although, I continue thoughtfully, my nose lengthening unconsciously, he did see how much I chased that – werewolf of a man – this summer. I drain my cup as well. There's potential, really

I blush hard, suddenly reminded of just how blatantly I went about that little task. Of course, Remus, poor grieving sod, had been having none of my little hints and gestures, and the way I'd try to be on the same missions as him, and everything. I snort into my empty cup, then set it down a little hard. I had to take some kind of action, honestly – he kept dropping foolishly heavy hints about how old he was, and all…I smile a little to myself. Wasn't so old this morning, was he…

But, I tell myself, hastily moving away from those interesting memories, it was rather blatant, my – er – pursuit of Remus, this summer. I frown a little, looking at Ginny, who is now staring at her hands, conversation momentarily forgotten. He probably needs a few heavy hints – I'll just tell her, shall I – poor sod probably thinks she is over him, Hermione will have told him at some point

Because, I do see more than Ginny thinks, namely that Harry looks at her more than is healthy – in my opinion.

Ignoring the fact that such knowledge did come from eyeing Remus and watching him sharply to see if he was eyeing me, I levitate the cups and dishes into the sink.

"There," I say triumphantly, carefully intoning the Rinsing Charm over them – it's not every day I can do all that properly, really – "Now, Ginny – "

A small crash, just outside the kitchen, cuts me off. We both rise quickly, wands out by the time we reach the door, hearts beating, wondering –

"Tonks? Ginny?" It's Remus – Merlin, he sounds so – "It's me – just – let me in, all right?" We do so – wands still up, just in case – and we see it is truly him. We force him to sit down, not bothering with any hidden signal between ourselves – he looks so shaken it's disturbing.

"Are you all right, Remus?" I ask sharply, noting the nervous blinking and twitching of his facial features, the bewildered air in his eyes, as if he'd just found out something ridiculously awful. I bristle slightly. "Did he – "

"No," he cuts me off, just as sharply, some measure of clarity returning to his face. "We talked – for a while – how long has it…?"

"Just over an hour and a half, Remus," Ginny supplies, eagerly sitting opposite him. I take the seat beside him, covertly touching his arm – no, you fool – you're not supposed to look at me, it's not covert anymore

"What?" I ask softly – he's just staring at me, as if I'm some sort of precious thing…It shouldn't fidget me, but it does –

Are those tears – ?

"Good," he says blankly, turning from me. My mouth settles into a slightly grim line – we're definitely going to discuss that look – he was scared, I'm sure of it –

"We talked," he repeats, almost to himself. Ginny and I exchange looks of bewilderment at his silence, and it is she who snaps it first.

"About what?" she demands, almost impatiently. Remus seems to jerk into action, giving himself a little shake.

"I can't – "

"Don't give me that," Ginny cries, almost miserable, "that's the same thing he said – "

" – with good reason, Ginny," Remus interrupts, his expression hardening, becoming almost steely. "It's not just about him – not entirely his own secret – "

"He is gay," Ginny gasps, jumping to her feet, looking wild. "The – the prat – "

"Sit down, Ginny, don't be stupid," I snap at her, immediately, knowing that desperate look on her face bodes Harry no good. "Harry, gay, honestly…" I shake my head at an astonished, desperate Ginny. "He's no more gay than Remus here," I say, jerking at his arm – he blushes at everything, for Merlin's sake – "Honestly, Ginny – you really don't see him watching you, do you?"

"Watching me?" Ginny repeats my words stupidly. I nearly smile, savouring the almost greedy delight in her expression, which she struggles to hide, trying hard to appear calm. "You can't be seri – "

"Oh, yes I can," I cut her off. "I know these things – I've seen him watching you a lot, over these last few days. Not absently, either," I nudge Remus, who smiles, just a bit, at the thought. "The secret's got nothing to do with that – it'll be something far more serious, if he's not telling you lot…right, Remus?" He nods, shoulders sagging.

"He'll be all right, really – but I don't know if he'll be able to tell any of you for a long time," he offered, looking intently at Ginny, who has begun to slip back into her chair. "Give him time, Ginny – and tell Ron it's definitely not what he thinks," He really smiles now, as he continues, "really – when I asked him about that, he was nearly hysterical – with laughter, too. Don't worry about him, Ginny – he'll come around. Eventually." His kind eyes hold Ginny's, and she nods slowly at him.

"Thanks, Remus," she says, smiling a bit more vibrantly.

I sit back in my chair, watching her step out of the kitchen. It has a hint of a spring to it, and I'm glad. I did that.

"Nymph?" Remus' voice is distractingly close to my ear. "You didn't need to do that, with Ginny – "

"Of course I did," I retort, getting huffily to my feet. I give him a sly look. "Couldn't let her pine away for Harry like I did for you, could I?"

Predictably, he blushes. I merely grin, and seize hold of his arm once more.

Now, I'll see about understanding that little look of his, I tell myself, smirking inwardly at how willingly he follows. But first – a little – er – persuasion…


A/N:

Hey! I'd like to thank my new quasi-beta, Spirit White, for helping me correct the niggling errors that crept into this chapter. The last section is dedicated to her – surprise! I decided to add the conversation after all – albeit through someone else's eyes, through someone else's eyes again. Bit confusing, no? Sigh This chapter turned into a monster…a happy monster, but a monster nonetheless.

Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed! I assure you, as you will need, after the next chapter, that I do have the story planned out, and will try to put up the two next chapters instead of just one, so you're not left with too much of a cliffie.

And, as a bonus thought, I might just start posting Part the Second after the next two chapters, as they are strongly interwoven.

The next chapter – food for thought here! – will be called Chapter 9 – A Luckless Afternoon. Chew on that… ;)